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vampcubus · 1 year

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𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐇𝐂𝐒

a/n: i've been fussing over these for weeks just take 'em ;-;

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 : inosuke, tanjiro, zenitsu, kyojuro, and tengen + wives.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, references to marriage and children.

𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐀

— Inosuke is not used to sleeping with other people, and you can tell he’s never been cuddled either. He tenses up and wriggles away the first time you attempt to spoon him in your sleep.

“You really don’t want to cuddle, Inosuke?” you sighed dejectedly.

“Why would I?!”

You make a sad face and shuffle back to your own bedroll. With Inosuke’s usual total disregard for personal space, you’d thought he wouldn’t mind if you swooped in for a cuddle. He’s very much like a cat in that regard, he only wanted to be touched on his terms.

There’s a moment of silence before you hear grumbling and shuffling, and the next thing you know he’s pressed to your side, the fur of his mask tickling your chin as he tucks his “face” into the crook of your neck.

— Refuses to sleep any other way after that.

— He’ll act betrayed when you take naps without him when he’s readily available. “You took a nap without me?!” his heart is shattered, how could you?

— God forbid one or both of you are injured and get put in separate rooms because as soon as he wakes, he’s sneaking out to crawl into your bed with you. No amount of scolding from you or Shinobu is gonna keep him away for long.

— Tends to spoon you subconsciously, either slipping a leg between yours or wrapping it around you n holding onto you like a backpack.

— He moves around a lot in his sleep, so prepare to wake up with a foot in your face or from getting kicked. Especially if he’s having particularly engaging dreams, you may or may not be mistaken for some all-powerful beast for Inosuke to conquer in dreamland.

— Inosuke is so god damn hyper in the morning and it can be a lot, especially since he wants you to be up too so you can start a new day together. It’s hard to keep up with his enthusiasm, and sometimes you just turn over and cover your ears with a pillow to drown him out. Most times that'll get your blankets yoinked, and you’ll be beaten to death (not really) with that same pillow.

“HEY DON’T IGNORE ME! WAKE UP!”

— Though sometimes he can be soft. You’ll wake up to a strange weight on your tummy and find him sitting there, staring at you like a cat waiting for its owner to wake up. And sometimes he’ll just lay back down, covering you with his body and nuzzling his face into your neck. And if you lift a heavy hand to play idly with his hair, he might just fall back asleep again.

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎

— A cuddle bug that wants nothing more than to snuggle up on the futon with you after a long night of demon slaying.

— He’s the type to scoot closer if you move away in your sleep since he will wake up if he doesn’t feel you there anymore.

— Please spoon him. You will not regret it for a moment. He runs warm and is the perfect size for cuddling! Tan sighs so happily when you pull him against you, tucking his head right beneath your chin. Your comforting scent and firm embrace lull him right to sleep.

— Alternatively, he wakes up if he smells your distress, so you’ll never be alone if you have a nightmare. You don’t have to tell him what it was about, but he does insist on staying up with you to comfort you. Even when he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, he’ll pet your head and just talk to you until you’ve calmed down enough to doze off again.

— His duties as the Sun Hashira often keep him away for long periods, and he definitely misses your presence at his side when he stops to rest. It’s simply not the same without the weight of your arm strewn over his waist or the soft sounds of your breathing. He’ll even miss your snoring. That’s why he's always eager to return, all of his worries disintegrating as you gather him in your arms and murmur sweet things to him until he nods off.

— In the summer months, he’ll understand if you don’t want to cuddle, but he’ll want to at least hold your hand.

— Settling down for the night together is a cherished ritual and he wants to be a part of it. Whether it’s taking pins or accessories out of your hair, or putting it into a protective style for sleeping, he wants to help out. He’s also damn good at giving massages and head rubs, so never be afraid to ask if you need a little more help winding down. That man lives to dote on you.

— Tanjiro rarely has the heart to wake you up early, but he makes you breakfast and leaves notes around your home if he’s gotta run somewhere. He melts into a puddle if he finds you making breakfast early in the morning, domesticity really does it for him.

𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀

— You’ve married a cryptid. I'm so sorry.

— Zenitsu sleepwalks as I’m sure you can imagine. You’ll wake up to him out of bed, standing ominously in the middle of the room.

“Zenitsu honey, come back to bed,” you’d murmur tiredly after the initial shock wears off. Even asleep he bends to your will, crawling back onto the futon to sidle up against you once more.

— Other times you’ll hear noises coming from the kitchen and find him making a whole meal in his goddamn sleep. Which is quite adorable, but also dangerous like pls you’re going to hurt yourself.

— The times he’s not wandering about, he’s snuggled up to you as close as he can get, face buried in your chest or neck, arms and legs wrapped around you.

— He snores if he’s on his back but it’s soft enough to sleep through.

— Giggles in his sleep if he’s having a good dream (he always says all the best ones are of you ❤︎)

— Zenitsu tends to sleep sprawled out on top of you. Oftentimes he returns from a long day of demon slaying, crawls right on top of you, and crashes for several hours.

— He’s your weighted blanket <333

— Zenitsu never wants either of you to leave the bed in the mornings. He’ll cling, whine, and plead for “five more minutes.” (but it’s always much longer than that)

— Sometimes you can coax him to release the death grip around your waist with promises of his favorite breakfast or endless kisses, other times you’ll just have to cope with being late to places.

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔

— Deep sleeper!! with you anyways. As soon as he’s out, very little will wake him.

— Kyo’s definitely a cuddler! And the best suited for it too since he radiates heat like a furnace. It’s stifling during the summer months, but he truly can’t bear to be parted from you. Sleeping light or nude would be best, not like you’ll have to worry about getting cold when your husband is a literal space heater.

— He’s an absolute dream during the colder months, and you know he takes full advantage of the weather as an excuse to snuggle every second of the day.

— Mumbles in his sleep every now and then. It’s usually gibberish or a breathy chuckle, but sometimes you can discern whispers of “tasty” and bits and pieces of your name.

— Kyojuro becomes reliant on your presence to sleep over time. It happened so slowly he didn’t realize his dependency until he found himself lying wide awake and restless out in the field.

— He swore he could fall asleep anywhere before he met you but now… now he needs the sound of your soft snores next to his ear. He needs the feeling of your warm body against his. How was he supposed to sleep without someone there to hog the blanket? or crawl on top of him in the middle of the night when close just wasn’t close enough?

— Worst of all, you aren’t there to pet his hair and whisper sweet nothings to him as he wakes up — it’s those moments he wouldn’t trade for the world. You always treat him with such care, allowing yourself to be held hostage in bed until he also awoke, even when his profession meant his rest stretched on into the afternoon hours.

“The Flame Hashira lives!” you’d sing playfully as he blinks the film of sleep from his eyes, staring up at you with nothing but love and adoration. You’d lean down to kiss his lonely forehead, but not before purring your eagerly awaited utterance of “Good morning, baby.”

His eyes flutter closed as your lips brush over his forehead, grinning so widely his cheeks dimple.

“G’morning, darling flame,” he’d rasp in that rumbly morning voice that makes your cheeks feel warm. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

— Kyojuro tends to nod off while he’s got his head resting on your lap during dates, especially if you start playing with his hair. He wakes up later to find you’ve also drifted off while sitting up, slumped forward just slightly. Your hair frames your face, the late afternoon sun casting an ethereal glow onto you.

— Napping together is quite a regular occurrence, especially when your duties tend to keep you up during the evening hours. If you’re a slayer too, your sleep schedules match up rather nicely, meaning you’ll be frequently found in a tangle of limbs somewhere.

— If you have children, you’ll often find them knocked out cold with their father. (he’s the type to fall asleep with a baby on his chest) it’s the kind of scene that puts tears in your eyes and makes you sink to your knees. It’s all too tempting to join the cuddle pile with your husband and children.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈 + 𝐖𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

— Tengen snores, but not as loud as Suma. The two of them are making harmonies while Makio and Hinatsuru hardly make any noise at all. Though the three of you can all agree you wouldn’t be able to sleep without the sound of your lovers’ snoring after a while.

— They all say goodnight to one another which is very adorable.

“Goodnight Suma.” “Goodnight Hina.” “Goodnight Makio.” “Goodnight Lord Tengen!!” “Goodnight Y/nnnnn~”

It’s back and forth until everyone is accounted for

— You five sleep in a tangle of limbs, but it’s the coziest cuddle pile you’ll ever sleep in. Tengen’s been married long enough not to be disturbed by shuffling or moving around since sleeping with various other people requires occasional readjusting no matter how you romanticize it.

— Suma usually demands a spot at your side so she can wrap herself around you like a koala. She does drool, but she usually looks so damned cute doing it that you don’t have the heart to move her away from your shoulder. She’s always whispering to you as everyone settles down for bed, and Makio often scolds her for giggling and keeping the others awake.

— Prepare for those two to bicker over you, oftentimes literally. They’ll hiss and argue whilst they have their arms full of you.

— Hinatsuru sings you lullabies when you just can’t seem to sleep and plays with your hair. Her fingers scratch lovingly over your scalp, smiling as your eyelids droop further under her gentle affections and ethereal voice. You always wake up with a mouthful of her hair, but it’s so worth it.

— Makio gives excellent head rubs when you have a headache, and although she may pretend that you’re a nuisance, you can tell she enjoys taking care of her partners. She’s a big spoon and likes to hold your hand while she sleeps, blushing furiously when you raise her knuckles to your lips.

— Tengen rarely manages to snag you from his wives’ clutches for a spot at your side, but when he does he wraps his entire body around you and nearly smothers you with his heat. He cutely holds things while he sleeps so expect to wake up in a headlock. And if you’re in his clutches when he goes to roll over, you’re getting rolled over as well. It’s a bit disorienting, but he soothes you with an apologetic kiss on your temple if he wakes you.

— Tengen thinks it’s endearing that you try to hold him just like he holds everyone else, even with him being so big. You don’t seem to mind his size, wrapping yourself around him like a backpack and tucking his head under your chin.

— Mornings consist of detangling and lots and lots of kisses!

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redstarwriting · 11 months

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the clash | vii. i wanna be sedated

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, you(?) hating hobie, anxious hobie, panic attacks, mentions of death, threat of main character death, giving blood, negative self-talk, ANGST

a/n: another short one, but that’s because it’s about to get intense. there’s a possibility the series may be ending within the next two chapters, but we shall see what happens! please enjoy this one, and i promise it won’t be all angst the rest of the time lmao there will be a pay off, next chapter should be LONG and give a smidge of happiness

previous chapter: vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

now reading: vii. i wanna be sedated

next chapter: viii. love you to death

───────────────────────────────────

Hobie stares at Miguel. He can see his lips moving, but he can’t hear what he’s saying. All he can hear is his heartbeat and the blood rushing to his head. Kill? This other version of him was meant to kill you. Does that mean he’s going to kill you now that he killed him? No. No that can’t happen. He won’t let it happen.

“HOBIE!”

Hobie realizes he’s gripping the desk in front of him. His eyes are wide, and his heart is beating faster than he has ever felt it beat before. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, swallowing nothing. His throat is dry. Miguel hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder. “Hobie, can you hear me?” He nods, staring ahead of him at his hands. “I think I might know what you’re thinking. You won’t kill them. You aren’t going to take the place of Hobart on their world,” he assures him, and Hobie tries to control his shaky breathing. “You have to calm down,” Miguel says in probably the gentlest voice Hobie has ever heard from him. He forgets he’s a dad sometimes. And that he also has gone through some shit. He nods again, trying to take in what Miguel just said. He accidentally snaps two pieces off the desk with how hard he’s gripping it. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “You were trainin’ ‘em to stop him.”

Miguel nods. “I was.”

“Does that mean I can still save ‘em?” Hobie looks at him, and Miguel sighs. “Maybe… but–”

“But what?” Hobie frantically asks, and Miguel frowns. “The Venom symbiote was supposed to take over as the Spider-Person for their world as Hobie Brown… if we defeat Venom…”

“Please don’t tell me…” Hobie whispers, and Miguel nods. “There is a 100% chance their world will collapse. It’s the final canon even in (Y/n)’s story.”

“No…” Hobie shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, there has to be a way! We can do somethin’!”

“Hobie…” Miguel starts, but Hobie turns his head towards him, suddenly angry. Ready to fight. “And you were just gonna let this bloody shit happen?! You care so fuckin’ much about the fuckin’ canon that–”

“HOBIE. No! I wasn’t going to let it happen. Why do you think I put so much time and effort into helping them?! I’ve been trying to fix it!” Miguel yells, “I know you might find it hard to believe but I’m not a fan of an evil symbiote taking over the world of someone I’ve been mentoring for the past month.” Hobie looks down again. “What if they just… stayed with me? In my world?” “Hobie, if their world disappears, they disappear,” Miguel explains and Hobie shakes his head. “No. Find out a way to make ‘em stay! You can do that! You have tech and all the shit to do it! We can save ‘em!” Hobie is screaming at this point, and Miguel stares at him for a moment. He sighs, rubbing his face, distressed. “There… might actually be a way,” he says. Hobie nearly falls to his knees. “How?”

“I’ve been developing something to change the genetic code of someone, making them appear like they belong in another universe. My thought process behind it is if Miles did it with the spider from Earth-42, we can do it here as well,” he explains, typing something into his computer. Hobie watches the screens. He reads everything happening in front of him, but it’s a little hard at this particular moment as it feels like everything is kind of crashing down around him. He is able to get some basic information on how Miguel would do this, though. “We’d just need somethin’ from my world, then?” he asks, and Miguel nods. “Yes… but unfortunately the process can be… painful.”

“How painful?” Hobie asks, and Miguel glances at him. “Are you willing to do anything to save them?”

“Yes!” Hobie says, and Miguel nods. “We tested it on inanimate objects until we were sure it would work, then we tested it on animals. And while it always turns out fine in the end… the process is difficult to watch. Their molecules will be rearranged and changed, tearing them apart and piecing them back together. Can you sit by and watch that happen to them?” Miguel asks, and Hobie gulps. “I can try…”

Miguel holds up a smaller device, showing it to Hobie. “What you do is you take anything from your universe, inanimate, and put it in here. I’ll also need a blood sample from you.” Hobie then notices that he’s still gripping the pieces of the desk in his hands. He opens his hands, and the remains of the desk fall out of them and onto the floor. Miguel hands the device over, and Hobie holds it, tossing it back and forth in his hands. “What do I do with this?” “I just told you,” Miguel says, glancing at him. Hobie stares at the little device in his hands. Right. He did just tell him. He hasn’t felt this scatterbrained in a long time. He takes off one of his pins from his vest, sticking it inside. It whirs and shuts tightly. Miguel takes it back from him and nods. “This should work perfectly. Now, I need some blood from you. We’ll perform a blood transfusion with the blood from your world to stabilize them as the genetic splicing takes place, luckily with the technology we have here on Earth-2099, the transfusion should take no longer than 3 minutes,” Miguel explains, as he begins walking toward his lab. Hobie follows him, quieter than he’s ever been in his entire life. Miguel glances back at him. “Are you okay to give some blood?”

“Yeah. Should be nothin’,” he mumbles and Miguel nods.

Miguel motions him to sit in a chair so he could get some blood from him. He sits. “You know, this is the first time you’ve done what I’ve said without fighting me on it,” Miguel says as machines start up, preparing Hobie’s arm for blood extraction. Hobie scoffs. “Come off it, mate,” he mumbles and Miguel shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

“I’m still Spider-Man. I can be responsible or whatever,” Hobie says as the machine takes some of his blood. “Mhm. Apparently, you can,” Miguel says, and he looks at him. “So, you like them, huh?”

“What?”

“(Y/n)? You actually ended up liking them?” Miguel asks again, and Hobie shrugs one shoulder slightly. “Guess so,” Hobie mumbles, and Miguel shakes his head. “The blood extraction should be done soon. How are you feeling?”

“Bloody brilliant,” he mumbles, and then sees Miguel’s face. “Buck up, bloke. I’m fine,” he answers and Miguel nods. “I’ll get everything ready. Bring them here, and we’ll figure out the rest. If it’s the worst case scenario, let me know. I’ll send back-up.”

Hobie stands, giving Miguel a nod, and walks out of the lab. The blood extraction did make him a little light-headed, but he doesn’t have the time to sit around and wait to feel better. He’s lost in his thoughts. He let his anger get the best of him, and in doing so, put you in danger. That was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to protect you and getting that asshole out of the way was the best way to do it. He thought it was the best way, at least. But it turns out that that asshole was him. And now you’re in even more danger than you were before. If that symbiote bonds with you… He doesn’t wanna think about it. Symbiotes can fuck up a host. He’s seen it happen. He doesn’t want you to have to go through any of that. And to top it all off, Miguel was saying how dangerous this symbiote is. Does that mean if it bonds with you, it’ll kill you? And is it like his symbiotes where noises drive it crazy? How did he fuck up this bad?

He's torn out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. “Hobie! Hey!” Gwen yells, landing next to him. “Alright?”

“I’m good. You should have seen it, Miles, Pav, and I took down Doc Ock after he escaped from prison, it was crazy. We could have used you and (Y/n),” she starts rambling off and he just listens. “Sounds great,” he mumbles, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “You okay? You seem a little… down.”

“’m fine,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t believe him, but she knows he’ll talk about it when he’s ready. Miles and Pavitr appear shortly after, talking to each other about how they did a move together that was ‘so cool!’ and how they need to show Hobie it as soon as they can. “Right, great talkin’ to you all, but I have to go visit (Y/n),” Hobie says, fiddling with his watch to open a portal to your world. “Oh, are you guys on speaking terms again? About damn time,” Miles says, and Pav leaps up and down with a little clap. “Have the two of you accepted your feelings for each other yet?” Pav asks, and Hobie just glances at him, not saying anything. Usually, he would tell him to piss off. But he’s not about to do that when he did realize his feelings for you. So he just stays quiet.

The three of them look at each other with wide eyes as Hobie steps through the portal and into your world without a word.

As soon as he’s back, the air feels a little… different. Maybe it’s just him coming to terms with what he’s done, though. He’s unsure how much time has passed since he left, but a quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of your room tells him he’s been gone about three hours or so. He hears a soft meow and looks to see Shadow peeking out from behind a small crack between the wall and your fridge. “Hey, Shadow,” he says, crouching down and holding his hand out. Shadow cautiously approaches him, sniffing his fingers before walking into his hand. He pets him and looks around. “(Y/n)!” he calls your name but gets no response. Strange.

He hears another meow and looks down at Shadow who is staring at your balcony doors. The curtains have been pulled over them, but he can see that one is open from the wind blowing the curtain inside. He sees the silhouette of someone on your balcony, but if it was you, you would have been saying something to him by now.

He gets a bad feeling.

He slowly stands, and Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr end up coming through the portal. “Shh,” Hobie says, holding up his hand and pulling his mask over his face. The three of them glance at each other as they realize something is wrong, too. Hobie slowly walks toward your balcony doors, pushing the curtain out of the way and seeing your form facing out towards the city. You seem to be in your suit, as you’re shrouded in black from head to toe. But it looks like a new suit. Pav, Miles, and Gwen follow him, on edge the whole time. He stares at you for a moment, but you stay still.

“(Y/n)?” he says your name, and he sees your head tilt slightly, signifying you heard him. “Is that… you…?” he asks. You turn slowly. His eyes widen and his heart drops. He was too late. He sees a toothy grin spread across what was supposed to be your mask and clenches his fists as he hears Venom laugh. “(Y/n) can’t come to the phone right now,” Venom says, their otherworldly voice causing the four spiders to prepare for the worst. “But I would like to thank you, Hobie Brown, for freeing me of my constraints.”

Hobie has a flashback to his fight with himself. “The glass…” he mutters, and Venom lets out a laugh. He feels the world close in on him. His hands shake. He was too late. You were already taken over by Venom. As if reading his thoughts, Venom smiles at him, muttering the words that make his heart stop.

“You led me to them.”

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canyourfavesurvivecastledracula · 3 months

Note

Can Percy Jackson survive Castle Dracula?

To cut to the chase: Yes. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that he is *insanely* well prepared for this encounter.

First off, Dracula did not invite young Mr. Jackson to the castle. Percy took a wrong turn and stumbled in there by accident while on some other quest to recover a magic doodad or stop the evil whatsit, because that's what he does! (I love that the PJO books really take the "greek adventurer wanders around and has unconnected adventures" structure to heart.) But once he's in there, Dracula is delighted to take him in as a guest--canonically, halfbloods smell delicious to monsters. Taste delicious too. Percy is exactly the kind of snack he'd get excited about.

Fortunately, Percy would be on his guard pretty much immediately. The whole "monster pretends to be a gracious host and then tries to imprison and eat you" stunt gets pulled on him about every other week. Plus he's armed with a celestial bronze sword, which is specially forged to vaporize monsters. I dunno that Dracula would follow greek myth monster rules and vaporize per se, but I think it's reasonable that Riptide would be an effective weapon against him. And crucially, Dracula can't take it it away from Percy, since it is enchanted to always reappear in his pocket no matter how it gets lost. (And extremely useful trait for an ADHD teen that I wish my belongings had.)

But it gets better. Let's go into the specifics:

The Crucifix: Percy would accept it. He's used to receiving seemingly nonsensical gifts from people that save his life later at crucial moments. Plus he knows that gods and supernatural beings are real, even though he's not christian-religious, I think he would recognize the woman's sincerity in her belief that it would protect him.

Shaving: He's too young to shave! No confrontation here.

Going exploring: He 100% would. Percy never follows directions when someone says "don't go there." I could list at least 10 examples right now of him wandering off when he's explicitly told to stay put.

The Girlies: Percy has been known get distracted by hypnosis by female monsters before, but he's pretty good at snapping out of it. I think he's likely to clock 'em as enemies pretty quickly and get his sword out, at which point he should be able to fend them off.

Climbing the wall: One of the standard training activities at Camp Halfblood is a rock wall that undergoes earthquakes and pours lava on you. I think he'll be fine.

Wolves: Small beans compared to other monsters he's fought. Plus, Percy has an empathy link with his satyr friend Grover that allows them to communicate through dreams, especially when one of them is distress. If Percy is stuck at the castle long enough, then I think by the time he gets to facing the wolves there would have been enough time for Grover to get the memo and come help him--and Grover can talk to animals! So there's a good chance he can just talk the wolves down and not even have to fight them.

But I don't think it would come that. No, I think the biggest issue Percy would face is that he would force a confrontation with Dracula MUCH soon, probably within the first few days of entering the castle. Percy isn't particularly polite, and he has a bad habit of talking back and picking fights with powerful supernatural entities that already want to whoop his ass. (He picks a fight with the God of War as an eleven year old, and that's how the series starts.) Add that to the fact that he'll already be on high alert for monsters, and I think he'll be in a flat out combat with Dracula before the roasted chicken has cooled on his plate.

Fortunately, Percy is quite the accomplished swordsman. As mentioned, I think celestial bronze would be an effective weapon against Dracula. Unfortunately, Percy won't have access to one of his biggest advantages--water! Being a son of Poseidon would be very useful given vampires' aversion to running water, but I don't think there are any sources close enough to the castle for him to call on. In extreme situations, Percy does have an Ultimate he can use to call forth the sea from within his own body, but it wipes him out pretty thoroughly, and if he used that I think he would be at risk of dying in the woods after unless his friends showed up to get him somewhere safe. But even without water powers, I think Percy would put up a very good fight against Dracula and have a good chance of making it out alive.

...there's one more wildcard which might get played in his favor, which is that the greek gods love jumping in on his quests at the last minute with some divine intervention. So even if things go south fighting Dracula, I could see some kind of literal deus ex machina showing up at the last moment to give him the last push to victory.

So yeah. Castle Dracula would end up being just one more pesky side quest. XD

Aw man I was actually going to answer this one. Buuuuut I've had all week and I didn't so I can't complain.

N.B. I have not yet seen the new TV series, so hereinafter we will be talking about the books.

I think you're absolutely right about Percy stumbling haplessly into Castle Dracula, which is a bummer because it robs us of the Calèche ride, which is our only real opportunity to have Percy use his Poseidon powers by talking to the horses. I want to see Dracula's horses chatting with each other about the fresh meat, being nervous about the wolves, changing their tone in a truly disturbing way as Dracula calms them ... and Percy sitting in the back listening in like "I'm in Danger 🙃." He may not speak Romanian, but he might well be adequately warned by the horses.

One place where I am going to disagree with you a bit is the Celestial Bronze. Monster in this setting is a technical term - a species, really. Dracula is not a Monster in the Greek Mythology sense - he's just a guy. A human born to human parents who then got upgraded. So Percy's sword isn't going to turn him to sand and return him to Tartarus, because he is fundamentally not a creature of Tartarus. Now, does Dracula count as human for Celestial Bronze purposes? Will Riptide pass harmlessly through him? Maybe not. Maybe it's still at least a long sharp piece of metal and can be weilded as such. (Of course, if he goes after Dracula at night, it'll still pass harmlessly through him, but for unrelated reasons).

I agree that he will clock the Girlies as enemies immediately - as you say, this kind of thing happens to him all the time. I am less confident than you are that he could simply snap out of a trance, something that happens neither in the novel Dracula nor, to my recollection, in the PJO books. Usually iirc he is rescued from hypnosis via some sort of outside influence - much as Jonathan is woken by the baying of dogs the second time the Girlies come after him. I feel like Percy would give us some self-effacing narration to the effect of "now you're probably thinking - why did you just lie there!? You know they're vampires! And you'd right, because I was thinking that too! But for some reason I just couldn't seem to move. Man, I hate being hypnotized." That said, attacking something that can dissolve into moonlight with a sword is a good way to get dead, so it's just as well.

I agree that he will be able to manage the wall, and yeah, once he gets outside the castle, he's a good candidate for divine intervention or just another wacky encounter. He's so good at being rescued and/or nursed back to health by things. And the more I think about it, the more the wolves being organized by Grover as a rescue is exactly the kind of thing they would pull. "Oh no, I'm being ripped apart by woooooolves~~~"

Despite his battle reflex and excellent skills, I'm not convinced Percy could best Dracula in a direct fight, but he might be able to match him well enough to fall or jump out the window and escape. Alternatively, do Percy's demigod powers let him control Dracula while in mistform?? If so, Dracula will NOT be pleases.

As for general pugnaciousness, I dunno. He does pick fights with Ares but I don't know that he'd start something with an extremely scary dude whose house he is trapped on - unless he's deliberately trying to provoke him for some advantage. He does go in for the "get the other guy so angry it makes them stupid" approach quite a lot. But I don't know if he's try that on Dracula. He might well go for the "keep your head down and try not to get murdered" approach.

Percy's Fatal Flaw (tm) is his devotion to his friends, but since they're not here that's unlikely to be a problem. His ordinary flaw is that he's stupid (affectionate) - but again that might work to his advantage here. Because he is genuinely very stupid, no one ever expects him to be clever, and he's clever enough to lean into that. If he can play dumb and keep his anger in check, he might well last long enough to escape. And as you say, Dracula has an interest in keeping him around, because he smells delicious.

So on I guess precisely opposite reasoning, Perseus "Percy" Jackson, half-blood son of Poseidon, can survive Castle Dracula

#percy jackson #pjo #avatars and demigods #children

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priniya · 5 months

Text

🌊 ASSUMPTIONS

SYNOPSIS. jj maybank gets a little too involved with a kook for his friends’ liking, but he wouldn’t be jj maybank if he gave a shit. on contrary, you do and it bothers him.

NOTES. jj maybank x kook!reader. a little short + not proofread

you definitely underestimated how much things people assume on a daily basis. it had never bothered you before you got with a certain blond pogue — maybe, because beside your small friendship with sarah cameron (and an occasional hook up with her older brother), no one really cared. then you started hanging out with jj maybank and nothing was truly the same.

some people shamelessly assumed that your sweet relationship was strictly of convenience. maybank was with you for the money, giving you weed and fulfill your sexual needs whenever you wanted. some would say that you knew how rafe… wasn’t exactly a fan of pogues, so you hung out with jj to get back at the oldest cameron sibling.

on the other hand, hardly anyone reckoned that due to all that time you were caught spending together made you genuinely like him. no, you always had to have some kind of cruel reasoning for skipping school to smoke weed in the back of twinkie (and make out).

did it bother you? unfortunately, a little bit too much. your boyfriend just got into your room by the halfway open balcony door while you were scribbling down math homework on your ipad. your coursework was one of the small amount of activities that let you rest your brain and get busy with something so insignificant to your relationship.

jj knew you were subconsciously upset. he didn’t really have to ask — the uneasiness painted all over your gorgeous face. his long, distressed sigh got you out of trance. your eyebrows scrunched at the sight in front of you. how did he get there?

“tell me what’s in that pretty head of yours.” he muttered, face inches away from yours after having kissed you — too shortly for your liking.

“my brain.” you let out, hands going to the collar of his t-shirt, unsuccessfully trying to pull him into another of those sweet, mindblowing kisses. “jay.” a groan slipped from your lips as he refused once again and you felt like going insane, one night he says he can’t stop himself from kissing you and now he does? liar.

“let me rephrase the question, you brat.” his eyes rolled. “what’s bothering you so much that you can’t tell me?” his fingers brushed through your hair as you sat yourself in his lap.

“kiss me and i’ll tell you.”

“tell me and i’ll kiss you.” another groan left your mouth, earning a quiet chuckle from him. he was worried, but sending you over the edge was funny, hilarious even.

ten minutes. that’s how long the two of you sat in silence until you were ready to reveal the reason of your upset, thoughts organised and your forehead against his shoulder, while his fingers were tracing different patterns on your back, sending a shiver down your spine once in a while.

“i just— shit, it’s so stupid.” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “i hate that people think you want something particular from me or the other way around.” it’s there and jj couldn’t help but chuckle at your explanation.

not because he thought little of your worried, but because it was almost unlike you to be so bothered by people so insignificant in your life. “doll.” the blond cracked a smile, gently nibbling at your earlobe. “me and you, ride or die, eh?” jj’s smile only got wider, when you nodded. “let them assume whatever they want, why stop ‘em? you know your feelings and i know mine. this is the thing that matters. not gonna lie, though, if you were with me just for my weed or my dick, that would probably give me a god–complex. imagine that the hottest girl in the entire outer banks is with you, because you fuck her so well? jesus, i might get a hard–on right now.”

“you really can’t simply tell me that you love me, can you?” you asked with a smile lingering on your lips long before he finally pressed his mouth against yours.

“you know i do, doll. where’s the fun in that?”

#jj maybank x reader #outer banks x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #outer banks smut #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x you #jiara #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank thoughts #rafe cameron x reader #niki’s works 🫂

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ddejavvu · 9 months

Note

mei! can you write a little hangman trying to corral and take care of his drunk gf?? im a lil tipsy rn and thinking abt it

tw for mentions of getting sick

"Bradshaw," Jake taps his fellow aviator on the shoulder, two beers in hand, "Where's my girlfriend?"

"Phoenix took her to the bathroom," Bradley informs Jake, "She was feeling a little queasy, I think."

"Shit," Jake groans, shoving both beers into Bob's unsuspecting hands. The WSO blinks bewilderedly, but passes the drinks to Fanboy and Payback when they invite him over to the dartboard.

Jake shoulders his way through the crowd, beelining for the women's restroom and slapping a hand over his eyes before pushing the door open.

"I'm not trying to see anything," He calls out, standing in the doorway, "I just want to know if my girlfriend is in here."

He hears a distressed groan from you to his left, and Phoenix calls out, "It's just us, Hangman. You can come in and open your eyes."

He does as instructed, finding you crouched on the floor inside the third stall. Phoenix is behind you, your hair gathered back into her hands as you hover expectantly over the toilet.

"Nothing yet," Phoenix fills your boyfriend in, "I think it's less about the booze and more about the bottomless fries."

"Gotcha," Jake nudges her away to take her place, swooping your hair up again when it falls over your face, "You've been snackin, huh baby?"

"I didn't eat that many," You swear, but Jake knows practically any amount of the bar's greasy french fries can be vomit-inducing, "I want- I need water."

"I got it," Phoenix heads for the door, "Don't let her eat any more, Hangman!"

Jake's confused until you reach for your purse and retract a napkin stuffed with fries.

"Hey- hey! No," He takes them before you can eat any of them, chucking the handful into the toilet to deter you, "Baby, what are you doing? Those made you sick."

"But they're so good," You lament, "Jake, they've got the garlic salt on 'em, and- and I want more!"

"But they're too greasy for you to handle right now," He smooths a hand down your back, "Baby, you can't eat those when you've been drinkin', that's why we're in here. You can have some on Friday night, m'kay? You can be DD."

"I'm not even sick anymore," You grumble, all of a sudden struggling to your feet. Jake backs out of the stall so that you can stand, but your drunk mind seems to envision a velcro patch covering Jake's chest, and you stick your own matching one to it to throw your arms around his neck.

"I want food," You inform Jake, and he leans in to kiss you despite your beer-breath, "I want something big, and- and greasy, and meaty, and-"

"How about pancakes?" Jake offers, ringing his hands around your waist in case you decide you're going to lean your full weight on him, "We can head to Denny's, it'll only be a five minute drive."

"Do they put garlic salt in their pancakes?" You wonder, gazing at Jake like he's a prophet. He's not, but he thinks he knows the answer anyway.

"Uh," He chuckles slightly, glancing at the door when Phoenix returns, a glass of water in her hands, "I don't think so, darlin'. Here, drink that," He pats your back, releasing his hold on you so that you can take the cup from Phoenix, "All of it, honey, then we'll head for Denny's. Okay?"

"Mhm," You nod around the rim of the glass, the sound echoing slightly as you gulp down the water.

"Takin' her for pancakes," Jake locks eyes with Phoenix, "I'm gonna go get her purse, can you supervise?"

"Hurry up," She nods towards the door, "Fanboy's a nosy drunk, I'm pretty sure he already rooted through her stuff and found a tampon."

"Christ almighty," Jake scoffs, storming out while you chug down the rest of the water in your glass. He does, in fact, find Fanboy seated by your purse, inspecting a plastic-wrapped tampon with bewildered eyes.

"It comes out of the plastic, dipshit," Jake demonstrates, popping the applicator off and stuffing it back on after they've gotten a good look, "Phoenix was right, you are nosy. You wanna inspect her lipstick, too?"

"Oh please, we see that all the time." Rooster drawls, yanking at Jake's collar and revealing a deep pink kiss mark against the base of his neck. The pilot grins beneath his mustache, collecting the coins from your wallet that Fanboy had counted to occupy himself and handing them off to Jake, "Just be lucky he didn't go through your wallet, Hangman, he would have found those nudes you keep in there."

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman fanfiction #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x y/n #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader

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clusterbuck · 1 month

Text

got the notion

7x02 coda

Hen drives to the firehouse, and changes her mind with every stoplight she hits.

Red light. Maybe this is an overreaction.

Green light. Bobby and Athena need help.

Red light. Cruise ships are built to withstand the weather, and the Uno had turned away from the storm. The Coast Guard has to be aware of the storm by now, and they’ll be on high alert for any distress.

Every rational thought points to everything being fine.

But—the light turns green, Hen hits the gas, and she remembers a sunny afternoon six years ago. Then, too, every rational thought had pointed to everything being fine, until she and Buck had found Bobby passed out cold.

There’s just one nagging thought at the back of her mind.

“Hey, Siri,” she says, slowing down at yet another red light. “Call Karen.”

“What did Maddie say?” Karen asks as soon as she picks up. Her voice is concerned, and Hen loves her for it. Karen, at least, understands.

“Am I overreacting?” Hen asks instead of answering. The question had been building so long it needed to escape.

“Tell me what Maddie said first,” Karen says. “I can’t answer without all the information.”

“She thinks something happened,” Hen says. “She called the local 911 down in Mexico, apparently they got a bunch of calls from the ship that all dropped.”

“Sure sounds like something happened,” Karen says. “So, you’re going out there?” She sounds the way she always does when Hen is about to run headfirst into danger, proud and terrified all at once.

“I—” Hen says, her fingers gripping the steering wheel. “I was going to, but I ran into Chief Simpson.”

“Oh,” Karen says, then, “oh no, he didn’t fire you?”

“No,” Hen says. “Just told me to get back to work. I told him about the ship, but he just said it’s not in our jurisdiction.”

“Oh,” Karen says again. There’s a humming on the line like she’s about to say something else, but she stays silent and lets Hen gather her thoughts.

“Is he right?” she asks, after another few seconds of silence. “Am I making the wrong call again?”

“What do you mean again?” Karen asks. “Didn’t you just say he told you to go back to work? That means you made right call, doesn’t it?”

“Just because it wasn’t wrong doesn’t mean it was right,” Hen says. “It was—Karen, I honestly don’t know what it was.”

“We don’t need to figure that out right now,” Karen says. “Do you think going after Bobby and Athena is the right call?”

Hen takes a breath. One second stretches into two, then five, and still, she doesn’t answer.

“Hen,” Karen says. “What does your instinct say?”

“Something is wrong,” Hen says. “I know it is. And the ocean may not be part of the LAFD’s jurisdiction, but Bobby and Athena are my jurisdiction.”

“Then go get ‘em,” Karen says. “But, Hen?”

“Yeah?”

“Come home to me.” Karen’s voice doesn’t shake, but Hen knows that’s only thanks to years and years of practice.

“I will,” Hen says. “I promise.”

By the time she hits the red light around the corner from the firehouse, Hen is certain that she’s made the right decision. She might have forgotten it for a moment, but she trusts her instincts.

The only uncertainty remaining is how she’s going to convince the rest of the team to accompany her, with nothing but a map of ships off the California coast and a bad gut feeling to go off.

But when she walks into the app bay, Chimney, Eddie, and Buck are lined up and waiting for her.

“Get changed and let’s go,” Eddie says. “Chopper’s on the way.”

Hen blinks. “How did you—”

“Maddie called,” Chimney says, brandishing his phone. “So I called Tommy, called in a favour.”

“Don’t you still owe him from last time?” Buck asks, and Chimney frowns.

“Well techincally—”

“We can settle it on the way,” Hen says, before the two of them can really start bickering, but her heart feels like it grows a size with every half-jogged step towards the locker room.

Bobby and Athena are their jurisdiction, and they’re on their way.

#911fic #hen wilson #911 7x02 #911 spoilers #shush emma #emma writes #they threw off my lyrics from a soundtrack song naming scheme so the title is from the song rock the boat instead #this was hard bc everything is kind of unfinished and i like to do look back and reflect codas lmao #but here we are anyway

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lamemaster · 1 month

Text

Made of Sugar

Request: Hi! Hope this finds you well, mind if i req for a Thranduil x reader where they're like telling legolas how they met, maybe they met during the war of the last alliance? anyways love ur work especially the angst but now i need some not angst? cus im actually going to cry lmao

Pairing: Thranduil x Wife Reader

Genre: Fluff

AN: This has been due a long time! I'm sorry for the delay but this writer suffers from smooth brain 98% of the time.

“Legolas Thranduilion!” Your voice rings out loud, breaking his thoughts. For once, he wishes his father's presence was there. “Have I not made it clear that you are not to go to the wine cellars?” You pinch your nose blinking furiously as was your habit when agitated.

Legolas hasn’t known love stronger than the one he has felt for you, his eme. Your stories, your songs, the little stars you paint on the roof of his room– Legolas absorbs them with the wide-eyed devotion of a sunflower turning its face to the first rays of the sun.

But all that love does not diminish the distress of your anger. You, the one who laughed most easily, whose smile could chase away any shadow, were now a storm cloud gathered over his head.

The familiar scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke that clung to you did little to soothe the storm brewing in your eyes. Legolas flinched – he knew the terrifying, steely glint that hardened your gaze when truly angered. It was a sight rarer than a dust storm in Greenwood, but all the more impactful when it came.

At barely 80 years old, facing your wrath felt far more daunting than any monstrous spider lurking in the Greenwood.

"You are too young," you said, your voice tight. "Just you wait until I tell Thranduil." You paced around the room, pinching the bridge of your nose, a telltale sign of your agitation. "Maybe he will listen and move the wine cellars away from the main palace."

Staring at the untouched cakes, Legolas yearned for nothing more than for this tension to pass. He longed to see your easy smile return. The sight of untouched cakes, usually a source of joy, only emphasized the heavy weight of your displeasure. He longed for the days when your laughter filled the room, chasing away any shadow.

“Beloved queen of mine,” Thranduil sauntered in, his footsteps barely a whisper on the polished floor. The scent of pine needles and leather, a familiar trail, announced his presence even before he entered. “The cellar unfortunately cannot be moved.” Thranduil is already in the process of taking off his heavy robes while detangling his hair from the crown's tiny branches.

Legolas watched with a flicker of worry as your eyes narrowed in annoyance before you gave up to help his ada. "He went in there today," your gaze felt heavy on him even as you busied yourself helping Thranduil detangle the crown. "What if he drank your wine? That thing is disgusting and Legolas is too young. You must move the wine somewhere else." You placed the crown on the table.

Thranduil threw him an amused grin as your back remained turned to them as you instructed the staff to bring fresh snacks and tea. "What if I didn't get there in time…good thing Feren was kind enough to inform me."

"I am disappointed Legolas," Thranduil looked at him without an ounce of anger, and your glare at the king of Greenwood told him that this did not go unnoticed by you. "But I am sorry, my love," He looked up at you with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, "The cellars must remain untouched. I would never in a million ages, change the place of our first meeting."

Legolas' breath hitched in his throat. You frowned. And Thranduil snickered in delight.

"You cannot be serious!" You replied indignantly.

"You met in the wine cellars?!" Legolas asked at the same time.

"We did, ion," Thranduil adds before you can cover his lips with your palm. Thranduil throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the room. A weird sight to see you this flustered, this agitated.

"We did not!"

"We absolutely did!"

"Well, I was 120," you say, a blush creeping up your cheeks. "You were not princeling."

The servants gawk at the term of endearment that slips past your lips. Some almost drop the trays of food as they put them in front of you. But both you and Thranduil are too taken by the task of bickering like decade-old elflings. "Oh yeah, I too was of age," Thranduil counters with a twinkle in his eye. "Almost of age. Only 4 years shy of it."

Thranduil straightens up, taking a playful bite into a fruit cake. "Four years too young, my love," you smirk, the topic of Legolas' transgression long forgotten. The steel of your rage softened into its original inky warmth.

"I acquiesce, my respected elder," Thranduil bows dramatically, sending another wave of laughter through the room. Legolas watched in amusement, a flicker of relief washing over him as the conversation shifted. Your voices rose in a playful argument.

Legolas, eyeing the untouched cakes, finally understood. Your gentle nature thrived beside his father, much like the sweetness of a cake is best appreciated with a pinch of salt.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil #legolas #fluff #tolkien #tolkien elves #family feels

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sassmill · 2 years

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Somebody please tell me how to let go of caring about everybody else’s feelings so much in environments where nobody cares about mine

#therapy was rough and my therapist and I agree I need to quit #but I have so much anxiety about the fact that they can barely function day to day WITH me there and me quitting leaves them understaffed #and I know that poor management is not my fault and I’m not obligated to care what happens after I leave #I know that’s the directors problem not mine #but I feel so much guilt knowing that my leaving is going to be stressful for everyone there #and I’m so nervous about the kids suffering #because when staff is stressed the kids end up stressed #and I’m also going to miss the kids so much #I’m sobbing again writing that because working with these kids has brought me so much joy and so much healing #and I’m scared that I’m going to spiral once I don’t have that every day #bad brain bad brain oh god #em does a distress

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babybluebex · 9 months

Text

rememories | tommy shelby x fem!reader

summary: the lee family trashed your betting room, including your most prized possessions, and tommy does everything in his power to soothe you and right the wrongs that the rival gang caused. pairing: tommy shelby (peaky blinders) x fem!reader tags: s1!tommy, tommy being a sweetheart, your daughter's name is thomasine (thanks @lost-in-sokovia for that one), no real warnings for this other than like angst? brief emotional distress? idk author's note: it's come to this lol. i'll be fixing my cillian masterlist later and reblogging it, so y'all can read all of my old tommy fics (and a few other cillian characters lmao) but i hope you enjoy this one!

The backroom was in total disrepair. Chairs were tipped over, things were thrown from tables, coins scattered everywhere and marks of bludgeonings on the walls. The poor little room was merely a shell of itself, its personality and life battered away. You could still hear your husband’s jaded laughter as he made fun of John for wanting to marry Lizzie Stark, but mere minutes ago now seemed like a lifetime away.

Scudboat sat as Arthur poured him whisky, and he explained how the Lees, “the whole lot of ‘em”, came in and destroyed the betting backroom. He was ambushed, he said, or he would have done a better job defending it. You held Tommy’s hands as fear made your own shake, and your husband sighed. “Find what can be salvaged,” he said, narrowly missing John’s angry fit as he kicked a box over. “Anything is better than nothing.”

“This is terrible,” you sniffled, and Tommy extracted his handkerchief for you. It was one that you had bought for him right after you had gotten married and just before he went to war, and you were always amazed that the silky cloth made it as far as it did. You dabbed at your eyes, scowling at your dark makeup that came off, and your heart beat fiercely against your ribcage for a moment. “The children. Was Finn here for this, Scudboat? Or Thomasine?”

“Nah,” he said. “Finn was off in town; Thomasine ain’t come home from school yet.”

“Oh, Tommy, they can’t see the house like this!” you whimpered and clutched your husband’s arm. “It’ll upset Thomasine too much. I’ll fetch her from school and keep her away from the house for a while until this is mostly fixed.”

Tommy nodded wordlessly in agreement, and he began to take off his cap, but he quickly stopped. He was fixated on something on the floor at his feet, and you looked down to match his gaze, only to be greeted with the big leather book that held your most prized possessions: your photographs. You kept the album in the betting room because it was always filled with people, witnesses in case something happened, and, really, who would want to ruin Tommy Shelby’s wife’s photographs?

Your knees crunched on glass as you lowered yourself to the album, and you took it in your shaking hands. The dark green leather was stained black with spilled ink and oil, obscuring your gold-foiled name on the spine, and you opened the book with a creak of the old pages. You didn’t want to have to assess the damage, but the first page already had you weeping pathetically again. The first photograph, the first one ever taken of you and Tommy, sitting and laughing together as Ada tried out her new camera, years and years ago at fifteen and thirteen. It was gone. The page was yellowed all around where the photograph should be, but the picture itself was gone. You wanted to throw the book across the room and scream; you weren’t concerned with material things, many girls from Small Heath were the same way, but those photographs were your pride and joy. The next page was a formal picture taken of Tommy wearing his Army uniform, his lanky seventeen-year-old build a little too small for the uniform that he would grow into. The corner of the photograph was torn but, thankfully, mostly intact.

The third page made you press the book to your chest. Your wedding photographs. You and Tommy had gotten married quickly, two days before he had to go to France, and, in your haste, you hadn’t been able to afford much. You could only afford a single copy of each photograph: one of you in your Sunday best that was your wedding dress, one of Tommy in his uniform, and one of you together. All three photographs were torn to shreds, settled in the spine of the book, waiting for you to find them. Those wedding photographs were the most important thing in the world to you, and now they were gone. Not even pasting glue could fix it. “Tom!” you sobbed, pressing the back of your wrist to your mouth. “O-Our wedding photographs! Th-They’re all ripped up!”

Your husband’s attention went from Scudboat to you, and he walked over to you and knelt down next to you. He took the small bits of photographs in his fingers, examining them intently, and he sighed heavily. “Fuck, love,” he whispered, and your sobs grew heavy. If Tommy was resigned to fate, then there was no chance of them being fixed. “I’m sorry.”

“We-We don’t have any extras, do we?” you stuttered. Your mouth felt dry as your fingers tried to match the ripped edges of photographs up, but they were too far gone. “Tom, d-do we have any others? Th-These aren’t the only ones we have, right?”

Tommy sat down next to you and put an arm around you, and he watched you frantically sob for just a second more before he used his strength to pull you into his chest. The photo album fell out of your hands, and you clutched your husband as you wailed in sorrow. Your wedding photos were gone.

“Mummy?” you heard a little voice call from the doorway, and you turned to see your wee daughter, Miss Thomasine Sophia Shelby, standing at the door. She was holding her school books in her arms, the pink ribbon in her hair coming loose. Thomasine was born just after Tommy come home from France, five years ago, and she looked like a Shelby, dark hair and bright eyes, but she had her father’s smile. “Mummy, why’re you crying?”

You sniffled and wiped at your eyes, not caring that you streaked your makeup to hell and back, and you mumbled, “People came into the house, did us over. I-I’m just sad, that’s all.” You didn’t want to worry your daughter with the real reason why you were so upset, because, truly, you felt silly for being so distraught at fucking photographs. It felt ridiculous for you, as a grown woman, a mother, to be crying over photographs.

Thomasine ran to you and sat her small body in your lap, and she wrapped her small arms around you. “Don’t be sad,” Thomasine told you, and you laughed humorlessly. “It’s okay, Mummy.”

You sniffled and soothed your hand down Thomasine’s hair— the ends of her long hair were turning a little ginger, just the same as her father’s tended to do in the sun— and you kissed her forehead. “Thank you, love,” you whispered. “Hug your father, he’s sad too.”

Thomasine crawled out of your lap and into Tommy’s, and Thomasine started to suck her thumb as Tommy stood up and settled his daughter firmly on his hip. He offered you a hand to stand up, and you sniffled as you gathered the soiled photo album up in your grip and stood up on your own. “If you find any of ‘em,” Tommy called to the room, and he gestured to the album in your arms. “Bring ‘em to her, don’t waste time. Yeah?”

You hardly slept that night. After securing the house and making sure that there wasn’t any other part of it that the Lees had touched, you had tried to go about your life normally, but it was difficult to pretend like you didn’t know that, at any time, rivals could enter your home and slaughter every last one of you. You put Thomasine to bed after dinner, and your girl fell asleep quickly, but you yourself were awake for hours. Tommy had taken your photo album and put it away in his wardrobe; “If you keep it, you’ll fret over it forever.” He was right, of course, because, when the sun came up, you had tugged it out and was trying to sort through the scraps of photographs on your bedroom floor. The room was cold and part of you wished that you could be in bed, holding your husband close, but you needed to do it for yourself. You had managed to salvage a single photograph by the time Tommy was blinking himself awake, and you sniffled as you beckoned him over. “Tommy, look!” you exclaimed. “I-It’s Thomasine!”

“Jesus, woman,” Tommy sighed groggily. “Have you been at this all night?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed. “Her baby picture, look!”

Tommy reached down for you and he took your hand, and he helped you stand up, his hands going to hold your cheeks. “I know you’re having a hard time with this,” he whispered. “But obsessing over it is only going to make it worse. They’re as good as gone, darling.”

“B-But—” you sniffled, and Tommy shook his head.

“You have to let it go,” He told you firmly. “Come back to bed, you don’t have to be awake for hours.”

“Oh, Tommy,” you sighed, shuffling back up to bed. Your joints hurt from sitting on the floor practically all night, and your vision watered up as you watched Tommy gather up the album and photograph scraps and set them back in his wardrobe. “What am I going to do? All of my favorite memories are lost.”

“You still have the memories in your head, love,” Tommy told you, sitting next to you. You leaned into him and pressed your cheek to his warm chest, and you sniffled as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I just…” you mumbled. “Our wedding pictures is the thing I’m most upset about. We were so young, and that was before everything went to shit, and we were so happy…”

“We’re still happy,” Tommy assured you. “We’re happier now, because we have Thomasine. We’re a complete family now.”

“You know what I mean,” you said. “We were poor kids, and-and looking at those pictures gave me hope that you’d come home when you were in France. They were my lifeline for a long time, and to have them ruined like this…”

Tommy’s lips formed into a thin line, and he rubbed your back comfortingly as you finally laid down and tried to settle into sleep. Your sleep was thin, hardly even deep enough to call proper sleep, but you finally woke up and got out of bed when you heard shouting down in the bottom of the house. You were used to that, but you still felt like you ought to make sure everything was alright, so you pulled yourself from bed and went about groggily getting ready for the day, slipping on a dress and spraying on perfume before descending the stairs.

The noise seemed to be coming from the back room, the ruined betting room, and you carefully pushed back the plush curtains and opened the doors to see a sight. Your eyes first landed on your husband, dressed in his old uniform. It certainly looked too small for him, tugging a little at his chest, but you clenched your teeth together at the sight. How long has it been since you saw him in the pea-soup-green uniform? Five years, at least. “Tommy,” you said softly. You couldn’t help yourself from stepping closer to him as his head snapped to look at you, and his hard gaze softened in the way it always did when he saw you. He never subjected you to his steely gaze, and, whenever you saw it, it always reminded you of what a feared man he was.

“Fuck, love, what’re you doing down here?” Tommy asked. “You’re supposed to be asleep still.”

“Heard shouting,” you said softly. The other men were bustling around the room as you smoothed your hands up Tommy’s chest, and your eyes went all watery again. “This isn’t happening, please, no.”

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asked. “Talk to me, darling, what’s the matter?”

“How long have you known?” you asked, sniffling. “Leaving us like this, how could you?”

“What?”

“The uniform, Tommy!” you cried. “You’re being called to the war again, why else would you have this shit on?”

Tommy grabbed your cheeks and kissed your forehead, and he angled your head to the side. Arthur stood there, behind a massive camera, angled at a blank space on the wall, and your breath caught in your throat. “What is this?” you asked.

“I’m not being called back,” Tommy explained. “I got to thinking about our wedding pictures, and I went to see the photographer who made them. He said the film was too old and that they couldn’t make you new copies, so the next best thing was to retake them.”

“Oh?” you asked. You sniffled and wiped your nose, and you gently reached out to touch the camera. “We… We’re retaking our wedding pictures?”

“With a few adjustments,” Tommy said. “Back then, I couldn’t afford to even get you so much as a bouquet, but now… Well, I took your measurements to a dress shop, and even though the dress was pre-made and only adjusted to you…”

“Tommy?” you whimpered.

“I got you a wedding dress, love,” Tommy told you. “Better than the flour-bag Sunday best that you had on.”

You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, and you sobbed once before flying to your husband and crushing him in a hug. “Oh, Tommy!” you cried. “Thank you! Can I see it?”

“Pol’s got it in the kitchen,” Tommy told you. “Go put it on, why don’t you let me see it?”

The dress was beautiful. Eggshell-colored silk that fell below your knees with long sleeves and deep neckline, very fashionable and pretty, and it fit you like a glove as Polly helped you into it. She primped you a little, fixing your hair and patting red rouge onto your lips, and she upturned a vase next to the stove and handed you the bouquet of wildflowers that Thomasine had picked a few days earlier. You felt timid and almost nervous as Polly escorted you back to the betting room, and you cleared your throat once you passed the threshold, afraid that, if you spoke, your voice would give up on you.

Tommy looked to you in an instant, and he gave you a small smile as he stepped towards you. “Aren’t you a sight?” he said in his rumbling timbre, putting his hands on your hips, and he kissed your lips for a moment before he added, “Thomasine might get a brother before the day’s over, if you keep looking that beautiful.”

“Oh, shut up,” you giggled, and he steered you in front of the camera as you smoothed down your dress. You were suddenly nervous, and you clutched Tommy’s hand as Arthur cranked the camera, preparing it to go off. “Tom?”

“M’right here, pet,” Tommy said, squeezing your hand. “Just smile; everything will be fine.”

By the time night fell, you had a whole slew of new film, new pictures to replace the ruined ones. Recreations of your wedding pictures, an updated picture of a smiling Thomasine, even one of Tommy kissing you when the camera went off on accident. Thomasine was tangled in your skirts then, gazing up at her daddy, and you looked at the film as you sat by the fire that night, smiling and admiring it. That was your favorite memory; you, your husband, and your daughter, smiling, laughing, loving. It was perfect.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders fanfic #cillian murphy x reader #cillain murphy x you

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sunlightmurdock · 5 months

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Operation Apollo | 2.8 | Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

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Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warning: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents, grief and manipulation, lying, distressing themes throughout but especially towards the end of the chapter. Graphic violence, dangerous situations, revenge, wc: 3.5k

For as long as you can remember, you had known that your father was going to be president. It was always discussed as a given. It was the coup de grace; he had been working towards it much longer than you had even been alive.

Those fourteen hour work days, and sleepless nights. The hard decisions and the time away from his family. All along, Matthew had sworn that it would be worth it. It would, one day, be enough.

Then, the first set of polls came in after those primary debates the summer before his first election run and with it, intel that Matthew plunged a sixth of his savings in to. Politics and bribery go hand in hand across most of the world; this wasn’t even the first step off of the beaten path.

The intel was clear as day; It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough. All of that time, and work, and desperation that he poured into his career, it wasn’t going to be enough to win him the presidency. The guarantee was next to nil.

But there was still time.

He remembers one evening, in particular, sitting with his advisors in his home office, and just sobbing. Every birthday he had missed, every milestone — it was all going to be for nothing.

“Look, Matt,” Arnie had said, stubbing his thin rolled cigarette out into a crystal ashtray and sitting back in the leather arm chair, sinking into it like the lazy waste of space that he was. He was a good friend of the family back then. “There’s still time. We’ve got options, buddy. Plenty of ‘em.”

Matthew had rolled his neck back slowly — he still remembers the stress-induced stiffness those days had caused him — and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, Arnie? — And what options are those?” It was a biting remark, untrusting and downright hateful by that point. Arnie had promised many things already, and rarely had delivered. On the times that Matthew thinks back to his twenty year friendship with Arnold Paulson, he finds himself glad that that asshole now resides six feet under.

The older guy had just shrugged, letting that snide little smile creep across his face. “I know a guy. I think he might be able to, uh… help you out. For a fee, if you get where I’m coming from.”

Ellis Armstrong. After three days, and more phone calls than you care to remember, you have a name. He’s a business-man, and a rather successful one at that. Works in corporate development — he’s not hidden from the public eye like you would expect a guy like this to be.

No, he’s got thirteen offices spanning three continents and a portfolio that would put the Forbes list to shame. Once upon a time, he had been a friend of the family. It’s easy to piece together the headshot of him sitting at the wide, mahogany desk in his new office and the fuzzy memories of the tall man in your father’s office late at night.

You remember him distinctly. The sound your bare feet had made, tiptoeing down that long, curving staircase in the old house. Far past your bedtime, your princess nightgown grazing your ankles. The halls dark, illuminated by lights pouring out from under doors. The house was never really empty back then. Pushing open the heavy pocket doors that separated your father’s office from the parlour.

The gaunt, tall blond man sitting in the armchair. His sunken eyes that had seemed so dark in the dimly lit room. His thin lips and hollow cheeks. The long, straight nose and the deep lines between his brows. Skeletal and still, he had looked like a monster. Something that belongs in the dark, lurking in wait.

“What are you doing up, princess?” Matthew had scooped you off of your feet and suddenly you were looking at him instead, in all of the warmth and glory and familiarity of a man adored by his little girl.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You remember, but it’s hazy now. You don’t remember the softer, higher pitch of your voice or really what had made the man in the chair quite so scary looking, or what had driven you out of the safety of your bed that night.

There’s a fondness to his smile in those hazy memories, a softness to his touch that feels so far away now. The stars and unicorns on your bedsheets, and the stuffie he had tucked under your chin. The safety of your childhood bedroom, with the warm pink glow of your nightlight and the embrace of your stuffed animal. How far away the fear of that man in the chair had felt once your father had kissed the top of your head and closed your door.

It doesn’t just feel far away, it is far away — everything about it. Your parents no longer own that house, you’ve long outgrown that bed and that stuffed animal ended up in the donate pile after one of your big moves. You’re no longer hiding from the scary man sitting in the armchair; you’re looking for him.

“I don’t understand,” You do, but showing your cards has never been part of your strategy. The woman opposite you forces her creasing mouth into a deeper frown as she pulls her coffee cup protectively closer. “Tell me, exactly, what you remember about your time working for my father.”

If Allen knew where you were, he would skin you alive. If Manny knew, he would be right here with you. If Jake knew, you wouldn’t be here at all. He would have locked you in a hallway closet before he let you set something like this up.

The woman sitting opposite you is a timid little redhead with big brown eyes and a disposition that brings new clarity to the term ‘afraid of her own shadow’. She’s jumpy, and looking over her shoulder constantly. You, are considerably cooler for a person more alone than they have been in more than a decade.

Her name is Ida — she was your father’s personal assistant the year before his first election, and it cost you to even get her to this cafe in Pasadena. You remember the long skirts and the narrow glasses, but you don’t remember Ida being quite so… afraid.

“He wasn’t— he isn’t a bad man, darling. That’s what you have to understand, it’s just that—“

“Ida, slow down.” You bite, growing tired of this. You don’t have long before someone notices that you’re gone, if they haven’t already. The sky outside is grey, and sullen, the cafe is almost empty for now but the lunch rush is approaching. “This isn’t about whether he’s a good guy or not. Tell me where Ellis Armstrong comes into this.”

Sitting opposite you, the mouse-like woman’s eyes turn wide like saucers as she shrinks down further into her seat, wringing her hands into the checked fabric of her skirt.

“He wasn’t going to win the election by himself. There was intel out there that… painted him in a bad light.”

“Details, Ida.” You click the pen and stare across at her impatiently. She swallows softly and checks around her again.

“Your father had an affair. It was all going to come out — it would have tanked any kind of campaign he could have put together, and you remember what times were like then… the kind of money it would have taken to make that go away…” The coffee mug in front of her scalds her trembling hands as she finally lifts her chin enough for you to look her in the eye. Raindrops start to beat into the sidewalk outside. A silence sets across the coffee shop as the soft indie playlist stops between tracks.

If you were still little, padding barefoot along the hall in your princess nightdress, this would have hurt so badly. The warm smile and his gentle disposition — and he was already betraying you, even then. You’re not little now. It doesn’t hurt like it would have then. You scrawl messily across the page.

“What was her name, who did she work for?”

Ida pauses briefly, blinking. Truthfully, she hadn’t been expecting this calculated coldness from you. She’s seen the videos of the frightened girl clinging to her bodyguard. She wonders how far he might be from you today.

“Suzy Blake. She was a political analyst for the New York Times back then.” Ida tells you, turning her head and checking through the rain-dotted front windows of the shop. You scribe the information and look back up to her, unsatisfied.

“All I’ve got on this is your word?” You prompt her.

“And her daughter — Matt never took a paternity test, but Suzy was always so sure.” This, Ida can see it worm its way under your skin, writhing under those years of collected conditioning. She blinks across at you and taps her nails against the coffee cup, glancing down at the milky liquid.

You have never heard of Suzy; couldn’t even begin to picture what she looks like. Her daughter would be nine, at least, maybe older. She could look like you, maybe. You press your lips together and grind the tip of the pen into the lined page, threatening to leave indentations of your anger through the rest of the book at once.

“So, Ellis paid for her to disappear?” You confirm, looking back up at Ida with an iciness that gives her a glimpse of her former boss.

“Ellis paid for a lot of things.” Ida answers you suddenly faster than she has in the entire hour that you’ve been sitting here. She doesn’t look at you as she says it, lifting the mug from the saucer and taking a long drink of her latte. The liquid shivers in the cup, disturbed by her trembling fingers.

“Ida.” You sigh, growing frustrated. She turns her head and looks towards the window again, craning her neck slightly. Frightened of her own shadow, you condemn her cowardice. “Details.”

Her eyes follow two raindrops as the grey droplets race along the windowpane. “He bought the presidency for your father.”

Your father is a proud man. He has told you the story plenty of times, of how your grandfather had tried to give your parents the down payment for a house, how your father chose to spend his first year of marriage in a studio apartment rather than taking it. Back then, you wouldn’t have believed he could do such a thing.

Now, you aren’t sure where to draw the line on where your beliefs lie.

“Extra campaign funding, promotions, big names,” Ida’s cup jingles as she sets it rockily back down onto the saucer. She turns her head back to the table, but avoids your gaze nonetheless. “Votes. Ellis made it all happen. He saved your father’s career.”

Your gaze flicks up from the scrawled information on the page, and lands on her hands. She picks restlessly at her cuticles, her attention shifting to every corner of the room but you. Your brows draw together seriously, taking a moment to check the empty space around you before you focus on her.

“And what did my father do to him?”

Such a clever little girl — that’s what Ida remembers most of you. So inquisitive, and engaged. So interested. It’s such a shame that no one had time for you, you really deserved someone who would have answered those wonderful questions you came up with.

She swallows softly, unsure of exactly how much information is encompassed by the umbrella of ‘everything’. In her industry, you never let go of all of your secrets at once. That’s just bad business.

“He ran for re-election,” Ida says calmly, her voice more confident sounding, even in its soft tone. She exhales slowly. “And, after the successes in his first term, it became clear that he could win the presidency again. Without Mr. Armstrong.”

Across the table, you set the pen down on the edge of the notebook and check the time on your watch. You should be getting back before Allen has time to deploy a whole search party.

“Again, Ida… I’ve just got your word on this.” You remind her. A jaded assistant from nine years ago isn’t exactly the concrete evidence that you broke out of your house for. The fear in her eyes is all the proof you need, but that won’t stand up in court.

You’ve been thinking about that a lot recently, as your research has deepened into your father’s past. You came across a picture yesterday, where he was your age, and smiling in the foreground of a Greenpeace conference. It struck you to consider if that young man would hate the man he was going to become as much as you have grown too — if maybe the two of you would have gotten along once, if things were different.

If you would be able to stand up in court and send the smiling young man, with the purest of intentions, to prison.

“You’re right,” She starts to shake her head and her chair scrapes across the floor. The loudest sound that has come from her all day. She twists in her seat and grabs her jacket and her bag from the back of her chair. “You’re right, I can’t prove this. This was a bad idea…”

Your eyes go wide as she scrambles for her things. “No, Ida, wait—“

She pauses, briefly, to look you in the eye. “I’m sorry.” She turns swiftly, and heads for the door, dinging the bell above it and slipping out into the sheets of grey rain outside the door. You slam your notebook shut and fumble to slip it into your back, all thumbs and no fingers, stuck in the struggle as she disappears from the view of the front window.

“Shit…” You mutter, slinging the bag onto your shoulder, forgetting your coat completely as you head after her. She’s much faster than she is loud. Rain chills your cheeks and dampens your hair before the bell above the door is even done ringing. Your shoes slap against the pavement, splashing fresh rainwater onto your jeans. You round the corner and squint through the grey ahead of you in search of her.

Her plaid skirt dips behind a car up ahead as she crosses to the driver’s side.

“Ida! Wait!” You call out for her, securing a hand around your bag as you jog to keep up, rushing for the blue sedan as she ducks into it. It doesn’t take you long, her hands are shaking too much to get the keys into the ignition. You slow, but don’t make it to a complete stop, reaching out to knock hard against the passenger window, as something cold, sharp-edged and hard slams into your right eye socket.

Your elbow hits the ground first, then your knee, then your left temple, before your body collapses to the wet pavement all together. Thrown off balance and reeling, your years of conditioning haven’t ever prepared you for this. Your skull aches, throbbing like you’re being hit with that first impact over and over, before you even feel the fingers curling around your arms and hoisting you off of the ground.

The car door clicks open. Blood rushes to the right side of your face, swelling in circles to form the deep bruise that will be left behind. Slow, blinking, your eyes drag themselves open and blink as you realize that it wasn’t the door of the car that opened. A second impact comes, but this one isn’t stone — it’s all skin. You can feel the warmth of the hand, and the ridges of each knuckle, as it drives forwards into your face.

After that, you can only imagine how easy you make for them to get you in that trunk. It hurts too much to open your eyes. Maybe that’s a pathetic thing to think, as you start to think of what they’ll do to you next — what pain is yet to come. But, it’s dark anyway, and in here, at least you’re alone. Your phone is in the bag. Maybe that’s still on th pavement, or maybe it’s in the car. But it isn’t with you.

Each turn sends you forwards or back, your body rolling over the thinly carpeted trunk, slamming into the back of the seats or the metal of the hatch. You can feel your face swelling, the heat from it stings like a burn.

Jake’s going to be so angry with you, for doing this to yourself.

Maybe it’s just a short ride, or maybe you black out a little on the way, there’s no way of knowing for sure. But, when your eyes feel open, they’re trying to focus to the new bright light after ages of dark. When they’re closed, it doesn’t look much different.

It’s cold, and the echo of the voices around you tells you that the space you’re in is wide open and empty. A warehouse, most likely. The perfect spot for an execution.

You’re held up by a hand on each of your arms, and your feet drag, scrambling for leverage against the ground as they tug you forwards. There’s some fight left in you after all. If it lasts long enough for someone to figure out where you are, that’s another story. You should have told Manny. Or left a note. Something.

The country is going to put your father on a pedestal when he’s grieving the loss of his beloved daughter.

Abruptly, you’re thrown down into a chair and your arms are torn backwards, making you cry out. Rope. Heavy, and fraying, rough against your wrists as you’re bound to the metal backing of a wooden chair. Fingers dig abruptly into either side of your cheeks, pressing the flesh of your mouth into your teeth until you’ve got no choice but to open up in complaint.

The second that your lips part, something is forced between them. A dry rag. It’s tied tight at the back of your head, digging into your cheeks, muffling your sounds of struggle.

Muffled and restrained, there’s no way to defend yourself when another blow comes. It hits the centre of your face hard, another fist, this one harder than the first. Not pulling the punch in the slightest. Instantly, liquid streams from your nostrils and the taste of copper floods your tastebuds.

Your screw your eyes shut and force yourself to blink, you force your eyes to adjust. You refuse to surrender your last sense. Gradually, the room steadies and your vision focuses. It’s grey and industrial, illuminated by a singular lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Empty, almost, bar a few storage crates, and a scary man sitting in front of you.

He smiles softly as your gaze settles on him and burns with rage.

“I know, I know,” Ellis offers with a small smile. He gives a small shake of his head. “This is none of your fault, darling. I know that. I’m sorry, really I am.”

You’re silent opposite him, your heartbeat thudding in your ears, sickened by the fact he has the satisfaction of watching you bleed. Turning your head slightly, you catch sight of the two men in your peripheral. Security, you guess, in case you do something.

This time, when you turn your head, you aren’t scared. The man in front of you is afraid of little, old you — so much so, that he needs backup.

“But Matt has a debt that I’m… not willing to forgive.” Ellis is wearing a green crewneck and black jeans, not like the suits in his pictures. This must be a casual kind of affair for him. His thin lips twitch, hinting at a smile as your gaze remains, unwavering, on him.

Saliva pools in your mouth, copper-tasting as your nose continues to stream with blood. It saturates the makeshift gag, spilling down your chin, your jaw aching and numb at the same time, pins and needles stinging through your hands as the restraints bruise your wrists.

“You understand, don’t you? — Smart girl like you, you get why we had to go after you, I mean.” Ellis sits opposite you with his long legs stretched in front of him, his palms braced on the cargo box that he is perched on. Maybe it’s because he’s closer now than he ever was before, or maybe it’s just because you aren’t a little girl anymore — but you look into those dark, hollow eyes and there’s not a fibre of your being that needs your father to rescue you from him.

“Fuck you.” You spit. It’s easy enough to pretend that the damp rag secured around your mouth doesn’t cut into the corners of your mouth when you speak. You’re stronger than that.

Ellis presses his lips together and sits forwards, his gaunt face leering closer to you as he twitches towards a smile. He lifts one of those bony, skeletal hands and reaches for his phone, angling it towards your bruised face. “Don’t worry, darlin’ — we’ll get you back to your boyfriend soon enough. Just smile for the camera.”

tags: @alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox@desert-fern @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter@shawnsblue@itsmytimetoodream

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em1e · 1 year

Text

ᶻz feat. toge + itadori + megumi !!

jjk && college tropes

☓ silly little college au's // insp from @k9wa my spinkle spoingle pumpkin pie's tr version

ᶻz・toge inumaki

⠀ ⬤ as the best damn tutor you’ve ever had

inumaki almost snickers when you all but throw your forehead against the table in the library, practically defeated by your ‘intro to anatomy and physiology' assignments. despite your clear distress, he taps the top of your head for your attention. with a huff, you barely sit up, chin resting on the polished wood with an angry red mark forming on your forehead.

he points to the work again, typing out on his laptop to make it easier to explain.

‘It’s easy once you realize the nervous system can be broken down to two different parts - the central nervous system and the peripheral nervous system.’

reading that makes you want to puke.

“the way you typed that makes you sound like a dictionary.” you grimace.

he smiles, one that has you flushing and looking away when he taps the hardcover textbook sitting open in front of him. you can hardly see it from the way you’re sitting, but just barely you’re able to make out highlighted text. the definition of nervous systems screaming at you in bright blue ink.

“that feels like cheating when you explain it in just a slightly different way than the book.” you kick at his chair leg, but there’s no real intent to harm him in any way. he only hums, typing.

‘It’s not cheating. I’m just using my resources.’

“using ‘em to make me look stupid,” you grumble, sitting up only to slump forward again with your head in your hands, “i’m hopeless, inumaki! i’m never gonna pass this stupid class and get my stupid degree.”

you’re complaining just to complain at this point, too overwhelmed with too many classes and assignments and other things in life to do to really be so stressed over something you could easily have done in half an hour if you just stopped whining.

if inumaki cares to unbox all that stress, he makes no move to show it, only typing away and nudging your foot when you don’t look up to read what he’s said.

‘Let’s take a break and go to that cafe you like, then we can work through every assignment together.’

okay, maybe he does show it a little.

“what about your assignments? i promised i’d help you make that diorama for your psychology class-”

he’s waving you off while packing his bag, waiting to put his laptop away so you can still communicate.

‘We’ll do it tomorrow. It’s not due for another two weeks.’

you puff out your cheeks, eyeing him. “you sure?”

he sends you a thumbs up and that smile that leaves you practically melting in your chair, and that’s enough to encourage you to pack your stuff with a small grumble.

“fine, but i’m buying.”

you pull your wallet from your bag just to have it on hand, but he snatches it with a swiftness you never knew he had, sticking his tongue out at you and keeping it out of your reach when you swipe for it again. he shakes his head when you pout, shoving it into his jacket pocket and taking out his own to wave in front of you. like he’s taunting you, despite him being the only real loser for having to spend money on the both of you.

“you’re no fair inumaki, how am i supposed to pay you back for tutoring me and buying me coffee?”

he pulls out his phone to his notes app, typing for a second before facing it towards you.

‘Maybe going on a date with me would be enough?’

you feel yourself flush, shoving his phone away as if that’d get rid of it, “o-okay, yeah, that sounds good. that sounds nice.”

he smiles, offering you his hand to carry your bag for you, but takes it for himself when you don’t pass it over. then he’s grabbing your own hand, bold in his own way, to pull you out of the library when you’re still too surprised by his declaration to do any of it yourself.

ᶻz・yuji itadori

⠀ ⬤ as the worst classmate to work on a project with

you felt doomed the second the words left your professors lips.

“itadori and (y/n), you’ll be paired for the end of the semester presentation. what you’ll be graded on is in the syllabus, and . . . that should be it for pairings. class is dismissed.”

your professor closes the book in his hand and everyone in the class begins to disperse, but you feel frozen at your desk with your head in your hands.

fifty percent of your grade sits woven into this presentation, and you’ve been paired with the one person in class you didn’t want. even megumi would’ve been better! at least you know he’d do his part!

someone taps your desk, and you jump, looking at whoever saw it fit to disrupt your clear mental breakdown.

“hi!” your presentation partner smiles down at you, cheerful and happy and god you hate to say attractive, “looks like we’re partners!”

“yeah!” you force a smile, shoving your notebook into your bag with a little more hostility than necessary, “let me get your number and we can talk about the details of the assignment-”

you flinch when he thrusts his phone in front of you, and it leaves him smiling sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “sorry, ‘m not used to doing projects without megumi or nobara. i’ll do my best to help you!”

the way he says it sounds so genuine, you almost feel bad for judging him so harshly. almost, if not for the warnings your friends in other classes told you about him and his group. that they’d do the barest minimum of work, questioned everything the other wrote, and all but argue over each slide in simple presentations. still, the way he looks at you reminds you of a puppy, cute and nonthreatening. you’ll take his promise with a grain of salt.

you offer a real smile to match his, “it’s okay, we’ll work on it together.” and take his phone to enter your number, sending yourself a text so you can save it.

and he does make due on his promise. hell, he’s done more than you when it comes to adding slides, and you only have to fact check him a handful of times! it’s honestly such a shock, practically gaping when you opened the slides for the first time to see it was almost done before you’d even had a chance to add anything yourself.

still, you do your part, and you have a respectable presentation finished almost two months before it’s even due!

you invite itadori out for ice cream to celebrate. he joins you only five minutes after you’ve been waiting, and the two of you stroll around campus to find a nice place to relax after you’ve acquired your goods.

“i have to admit something.” he says when a nice silence washes over the two of you, ice cream long gone. you sit up from your lying position in the grass you’d settled in. itadori has that same sheepish look from when he’d greeted you officially for the first time, hand rubbing the back of his neck and smiling.

“oh god, what is it.” he winces at your sudden dramatics, afraid you’ll actually be upset for what he’s about to spill to you.

“i . . . didn’t do the whole presentation on my own.” he looks down, dejected and waiting for your barrage of insults he’s sure you’ll throw his way.

“well yeah, i helped.” you say as if stating the obvious. which is partly true, he guesses, but not what he’s getting at.

“no i- oh god, this is embarrassing to admit. i wanted to impress you so i had one of my friends help me put together a super cool presentation so you’d like me.” he flushes at the confession, leaving out the fact that he had to pay maki an embarrassing amount of money to help him.

and he expects you to berate him, or ask him why he’d do something so stupid, but instead the air is filled with your laughter.

“you didn’t have to do all that to impress me.” you say when you’re dwindled down to giggles, “you’re a pretty cool guy, i think i would’ve folded if you just asked me out.”

his blush spreads to his chest, but his smile only grows, “i wish i knew that before i gave away all the credits on my food card.”

ᶻz・megumi fushigiro

⠀ ⬤ as your favorite person to skip class with

you get the text while walking to your literature course, almost missing it to avoid being late.

want 2 hang?

you stop dead in your tracks, offering half-hearted apologies when you realize you’re in other people’s way in order to reply.

i have class.

he should know you do, given the fact that you shared your schedule with him and even tried to sync some overlapping classes together, with the hopes that you’d get to hang out in between certain times.

me 2. wanna get lunch?

you almost laugh, shaking your head to no one in particular. you are ahead in the course, and you rarely miss days for this class anyways. what’s the real harm in skipping just once?

sure, meet u in the cafeteria?

u know it.

with a hum, you turn on your heel in the opposite direction, fingers crossed that your dear friend megumi would be willing to pay for your meal using his dad’s credit card.

you spot him fairly easily once entering the cafeteria, sitting at the table you normally eat at, and greet him with a smile.

“hey.” you sit down, placing your bag to your side and taking out your wallet with a hum.

“hi,” he pushes one of the three items he has towards you, and you pause when you realize he’s already gotten you food. your favorite, no less, “how were your other classes today?”

“you’re too good to me, megumi,” you almost drool, saying a quick thanks before diving into the meal, “they were okay, mostly just reviewing old stuff.”

you pause for a second, eyeing him, “isn’t the class you’re skipping the only one you have today?”

he nods, too busy eating his own food to reply.

“what was the point of even coming today?” you laugh, flicking a packet of silverware at him, “why didn’t you just wait til’ after class? we could’ve eaten then.”

he shrugs, swallowing what’s in his mouth, “cafeteria would’ve been closed by then.”

he says it like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and you can’t stop the giggles that pass your lips, instead covering your mouth with your hand as if that’d hide them.

“we could’ve gone somewhere off campus, now both of us are gonna be behind.”

megumi seems unbothered at this, but you’re sure he has someone in class to grab notes from. probably itadori, if he promises to take him out to eat sometime during the week. still, he takes a moment to reply to instead enjoy the food he’s eating.

“if i did, we wouldn’t get to hang out for as long.”

you roll your eyes, deciding to not bring up how the two of you spend literally every other day together, “we still could’ve hung out after class, feels like a waste that you came here for one thing and didn’t even go to it.”

“‘s’not a waste if i’m hanging out with you.” he says casually, taking another bite.

you’d almost blush if not for the fact he has ketchup smeared against the side of his lip. it makes you smile, reaching over with a napkin to wipe it off his face and he hums at the familiarity. you’re glad the class you skipped is your last for the day, knowing megumi means knowing he’d easily convince you to forgo any others you might’ve had in favor of spending time with him.

he must pick up on the idea of you having a soft spot for him, because he takes each minute of your time in stride. deciding the hangout shouldn’t end at just lunch, he persuades you to join him at his dorm - it really didn’t take much from him, the offer of watching a movie with snacks provided leaving prettily from his lips being all you really need to say yes, and the day ends with you curled up beside him on his bed, ignoring the way itadori gushes at the two of you together in favor of watching the movie from megumi’s laptop.

#salmon rowe #inumaki toge x reader #toge inumaki x reader #toge x reader #inumaki x reader #itadori yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #yuji x reader #itadori x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk

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lunar-wandering · 5 months

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things about the Boboiboy series that drive me NUTS (this list is written solely from memory)

the fact that the first three elements, Wind, Earth, and Lightning, didn't really start out as having different personality's from Boboiboy himself (at least, not by much/it wasn't extremely noticable) but then, Lightning, after being split for too long, losing his memories completely, and achieving tier 2, becoming Thunderstorm, suddenly goes all Edgy(TM). and then Wind eats a mood-changing potion and goes manic, and not only does that unlock his tier 2, making him Cyclone but that becomes his personality. like. hello??? the implications.... and then later on, Fire, Water, Leaf, and Light manifest WITH their personalities pre-set. what??? the vague implication that the elements are sentient and the personalities started becoming more obvious when Boboiboy's mind started slipping/letting them have freer reign haunts me every day.

speaking of Fire's manifestation. he initially manifested from the stress of exams and walked around accidentally burning shit down in the middle of the night. what a mood tbh.

if the elements are sentient, the implications of Retak'ka stealing them from Boboiboy and using them- without having his personality change, is INSANE. like bro. he used them as a weapon instead of letting them be actual people..... and then later on in the comics Thunderstorm gets taken away AGAIN and is trapped in a sword, a literal weapon, and is used. again. HELLO????

both of the first times Thunderstorm gets summoned (both the obvious first time and the first time after they all got reset to tier 1 due to Complications) involving his phobia kills me every time why the FUCK did they do that. they didn't even address it the second time around but they animated Lightning looking like he was in distress anyways. WHY DID THEY DO THAT TO HIM. i know he's the fave but like. was this necessary.

BOBOIBOY JUST DECIDING "Y'KNOW WHAT??? I'M GONNA INVENT FUSIONS NOW HERE WE GO" IN THE SECOND MOVIE AND PROCEEDING TO ABSOLUTELY WIPE THE FLOOR WITH RETAK'KA

i could list so much Thunderstorm stuff tbh he's definitely the fave they give him so many cool bits of animation. he does the "teleports behind you" move SO OFTEN and it's SO GOOD

Leaf's deadpan "Fashion Tragedy" line

that one time Boboiboy split into Fire, Wind, and Leaf, and EVERYONE agreed he shouldn't have done that and should never do it again cause those three have negative braincells when in a group together

the songs??? like. the opening songs. the insert songs used in the movies. the OST. why the hell are they so good. i mean i know i personally like em cause they tend to use rock. but like. its SO GOOD.

Yaya and Ying being arguably the two most powerful/capable members of the friend group as they should

that one time Thunderstorm and Fang fought and they paused right before hitting each other and the objects behind both of them exploded from the force of the other's attack

in the first movie when it hinted that we'd see Boboiboy without his hat for the first time ever throughout the entire movie and then it FINALLY HAPPENED when he caught a giant hammer right before it could hit him and punched the dude away with a blast of energy. he has a white streak in his hair and it's visible in the series from this point onwards.

I KNOW IVE SAID A LOT OF THUNDERSTORM SCENES BUT THAT POINT IN GALAXY WHERE HE WAS USING TIER 2 BEFORE HE SHOULD'VE BEEN USING IT AND HE KEPT SWAPPING IN BETWEEN BOBOIBOY AND THUNDERSTORM THROUGHOUT THE FIGHT??? THAT WAS COOL AS FUCK I LOVED THAT

i could list so many of the really cool shots from this series tbh. that one time Light slow-mo backflipped over a bunch of debris and then activated laser eyes to shoot at the villain is a highlight.

literally everything about the fact the plot of this show went from "aliens come to earth to steal chocolate" to "boboiboy nearly fucking dies on an almost daily basis"

#Boboiboy

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ghostinthegallery · 8 months

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So a thing I’ve noticed about necron books…

I do not think it is controversial to say that Robert Rath and Nate Crowley really defined how a lot of us (especially me) view necrons in modern 40k lore. They did so much heavy lifting to take the faction that was literally just Terminator ripoff (aka Tyranids but worse) and make them into characters.

But they did it in such different and almost contradictory ways. And I think it boils down to this:

Rath's necrons are gods who were once mortal. Crowley's necrons are mortals forced to become gods.

(disclaimer: I don't think one author is "more correct" or whatever. Different characters experience the universe in different ways, embrace a little subjectivity does objective truth even exist?)

Let's start with Crowley. In both Severed and Twice Dead King, memories and bodies are defining features of their narratives. Oltyx can and does revisit his memories at will (not without consequence get your pins out and put em in). He is haunted by disphorakh, this feeling that he should have an organic body but does not and that this disconnect is actually killing him. The flayed ones' whole existence is steeped (literally) in flesh and blood and disphoria.

On the slightly less extreme end, in Severed Obyron remembers the flesh times vividly: the battles, the people, who and what he's lost. They are fighting the manifestation of what Obyron fears becoming: a mindless machine, “severed” from his past experiences. And the ultimate stakes in a Crowley book? Loss of memory. Loss of self. Obyron and Oltyx pay this price throughout their stories, and it eats away at them. Necrodermis makes their physical selves immortal, but their minds? Just as mortal as ever. If not even more so. The people they are were formed in flesh times, and all immortality does is wear away at them as they desperately try to cope.

Robert Rath's necrons? Not so much. Sure, Trazyn and Orikan angst about their loss of memory, but the memories of flesh for them are so distant and unreliable that they could not build their personalities around them even if they wanted to. Trazyn's link to the past is external: objects he has collected. Orikan... what memories he has of his past are fuzzy and in some cases straight up manipulated. That's distressing, but not enough to totally rock his sense of self. That’s a stark contrast to how Crowley’s necrons operate.

We all know the iconic Old Man Fight from Infinite and the Divine. Where Rath describes Trazyn and Orikan fighting and points out how stupid it would be back in the flesh times? Just two nerds hitting each other with canes. Well the flip side of that is that what is actually happening is NOT two nerds slapping each other but two immortals with incomprehensible power battling on a scale mortals cannot process.

Rath’s necrons operate on scales mortals barely understand. Oh, the Greek gods destroyed one city? Troy took em ten years? Trazyn and Orikan wiped out a planet's population by accident. And they are both so divorced from mortality that they don't care. Sheesh, Trazyn is so alienated from the idea of a body that in War in the Museum he informs a woman that he’s filled her up with her own dead sisters organs and I legit believe he thought this would make her feel better.

I adore both approaches! The differences in character and perspective, how they relate to the world and themselves. Yes, it creates contradictions in the lore (like why doesn’t Trazyn lose his shit knowing people like Zahndrekh or Oltyx just…remember necrontyr society perfectly clearly) but I aggressively do not care. I love the varying explorations or power, the nature of the self, the truth that none of these people have survived immortality “in tact.” Those are exactly the things that make necrons my favorite 40k faction. Hell, one of my favorite sci if aliens ever. Because both approaches are haunting and hilarious and poignant and so damn cool.

So…uh…thanks guys. Yeah.

#necrons #warhammer 40k #the infinite and the divine #the twice dead king #severed #i just think they're neat #contemplations on the self without a soul #Immortality sucks but HOW it sucks is the more interesting question #All of it is very gay

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