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munsnz · 3 years

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TRICKS OF LIFE — STEVE HARRINGTON

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐯. — 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞? Overview: Y/N tells Mike information to help their lost friend, she also heads to the search party for Will with Victor. As they explore, the past unravels and there is an odd occurrence that happens. Navigation & Mixtape

Tag: @samiyamuntaha @thepowerstoner @ughgclden @mqyfield @cooperdaysgf

“So right by Mirkwood right?” Mike Wheeler’s voice peeped after listening to Y/N’s remark of details about what she heard at the Hawkins Police Department a few hours ago. It was around 7 pm, right around to where the girl was getting ready prone to the search party being held with a few of the residents of the town.

Y/N hummed a positive response to clearing out his doubts just in case he was confused by any means, this wasn’t going to help Mike, it was going to help Will get a faster chance to be retrieved to his home again.

Although Hopper disapproved the request of letting young people in the search, Y/N and Victor were eventually allowed to come along, “Yeah, but remember you have to be somewhat far from the real search group okay? We don’t want you to get caught.”

”Mike! What are you doing?” Nancy’s faint voice was caught on the other line of the phone, leading Mike to leave the phone out, Y/N overhearing them argue over the dumbest things.

Prior to the noises of Mike pushing Nancy out of the basement she guessed, the boy came back on the line, sighing loudly, “Sorry about that, Nancy gets so annoying, I still don’t know why you still hang out with her.”

”She could be a priss sometimes,” She responds, breathily giggling, clenching the ceramic telephone tighter, “But she’s still my friend if you could say.”

Continuing with their conversation based on the plan, it was perfectly assembled, safe with a high possibility of finding Will, even if it had been a day. Will couldn’t have gone far anyways. Y/N was about to speak, but was suddenly caught off guard as soon as she heard her dad in the hallway, getting prepared for the search.

”Oh shit! I have to go now,” Y/N hushed in a subtle tone, trying her best to keep away Hopper from listening to their discussion, “Remember to be home by 9 at least with flashlights. Stay safe Mike.”

The line went awfully silent, placing back the phone to its regular position on the handset, while it being attached to the wall. Rapidly, spinning to look at her father, trying to act as normal as possible, his brows furrowed at her.

”What were you doing?”

Shrugging it off calmly, Y/N breathily giggles while she put her hands on her hips saying, “I was just checking in with Victor, that’s all.”

Hopper’s eyes widened at her point, clicking his tongue as he started grabbing on his sweater for the frosty night ahead, “Funny, but I just called his mom to let him know that he was coming.”

”Right..” Y/N casually crossed her arms, cursing under her breath before she showed any subtle reaction to what she was up to. Play it cool.

In the silence of her looking around the messy home by the front door, Hopper sharply whistles while slinging the car keys in the air to catch them, making Y/N follow right behind me, pretending as if the few minutes didn’t occur. Feeling the breeze of the autumn air, both the relatives made their way to the vehicle, on their way to the small yet important search for this boy, Will Byers.

As the road got narrower and narrower, the car drove deeper into the dark woods, where Y/N could see the slender trees and branches surrounding them. The starry sky lit up the place with a soft tone of dim blues and grays painted across it on the chilly night. Watching out the window, Y/N squinted her eyes to see a figure from afar waving towards the vehicle, a familiar figure to be Victor. Hopper drove nearer, the headlights being able to guide him to the stop where a small crowd of people were surrounding along with the patrols.

Hopper cleared his throat, while he pushed the breaks down and turned to his daughter, “Hey kid, remember don’t be-“

Without hesitation, Y/N swung the car door open to step out of it, hustled her way to her so called “acquaintance”, Victor. It was more like a friend but she didn’t want to be that close with the boy. Victor wearily smiling at her.

“You seem tired,” Y/N creeps up next to him, watching the small groups of people around the mounds of dead leaves and twigs gathered for the search.

Victor’s voice brings the girl’s attention back to him, he clears his throat, “I mean dealing with Flo is already a lot for me to handle, so I suppose I am.” The two silently chuckled, the frost getting to their noses, “I heard there’s gonna be a chance of rain.”

”Really?”

“Yes really! Haven’t you seen the forecast? I’m even wearing a jacket!” Victor squinted his eyes, his eyewear raising up on the bridge of his nose and the girl shrugged aimlessly.

Y/N scoffed, shoving him slightly, “I think there’s way more important things we need to focus on instead of the weather.”

From afar, Hopper and the policemen indicated all the volunteers to gather around on the sidewalk, near the entrance of the forest. The flashing blue and red lights were turned off from the cars, everyone else preparing for the upcoming search.

”Okay guys!” The chief shouted to direct everyone, “We need to stay in the 5 mile radius from where Will was last scene! Everyone please be careful and remember to blow the whistle if you find anything at all!”

Heads were nodded, agreeing to the directions, Officers Powell and Callahan guided two separate groups from different directions, Y/N having to come along with the third group including her dad. Although the girl was 16, her father wanted to take the best care for her, after Sarah. He wanted to keep her as close as possible, but he knew she was getting older. It was just for today, he can protect her for today, now being aware of a kid disappearing in their town. Maybe one of them was next.

“I guess that’s your call genius,” Y/N told Victor as she pointed towards Powell’s group who were walking to the right side of the woods, the people disappearing one by one into the darkness.

Not budging at all, Victor stood his ground saying, “I think I’ll stick with you for now, there’s just soccer moms hoarding the group for Powell, he has a fan club.”

“You’re not wrong Vic,” She sniggered quietly but failed miserably, letting out a subtle loud laugh, both of the teenagers walking behind their group, down a steep hill leading to the inner nature.

Rushing down first to the bottom, the tall brunette reached his hand out for Y/N who was still at the top, to help her come down to his level, “M’lady?”

”Why thank you, what a gentleman!” Y/N sarcastically gasps, gripping onto his hand to steady herself below, after they jogged closer to the group, flicking their flashlights on to carry on.

Everyone glanced above the branches, the moon shining as the crickets chirped. The crisp wind running across their faces, making the trees shuffle loudly. As flashlights led them with its brightness, they all searched and searched, for any trace of the boy around the area.

Half an hour later, the air became cooler than usual, almost bringing a frostbite to their bare hands. The sound of branches and dead leaves crunching over the few people above them. In the silence, Y/N stayed near Victor and her father, hearing shouts for Will. The realization hit the girl, they were looking for lost Will, Will hasn’t appeared, he was probably in some sort of danger. She fastened her grip on the flashlight, looking around more closely, along with the rest.

”He’s a good student,” Someone decides to break the silence of the leaves and twigs crunching under their feet, Victor and Y/N turned their attention to him as they strolled in the woods.

Hopper cocks an eyebrow up and looks towards the teacher’s direction after the statement, “What?”

”Will. He’s a good student. Great one actually,” He elaborates, smiling sheepishly to lend his hand in front of the chief to introduce himself, “I don’t think we’ve met, Scott Clarke. Teacher, Hawkins Middle. Earth and biology.”

“Don’t you remember he was my teacher back in the day?”

Victor nods agreeing with Y/N’s statement from behind, Hopper reluctantly trying to remember his daughter’s middle school teacher, still not recalling since in those past years where fighting for Y/N’s custody between the parents, “I always had a distaste for science.”

”Well maybe you had a bad teacher,” Mr. Clarke remarks, checking if his flashlight was still operating, trudging closer to the group of three ahead of him.

”Yeah, Ms. Ratliff was a piece of work,” Hopper scoffs jokingly, Y/N doing the same as well, remembering his shitty science teacher from his past years while he studied at Hawkins High.

”Ratliff?” The teacher ponders, realizing that the same teacher still resides in Hawkins after all these years, “You bet. She’s still kicking around believe it or not.”

Victor elaborates in between them, sliding his hands onto his pockets, “I had her when I was in eighth grade a few years back.”

”Oh I believe it Victor. Mummies never die, so they tell me,” Hopper smiles, trying to get his daughter to notice but she dozed off beyond the sight of the woods, ”Sarah, my youngest, galaxies, the universe whatnot.. She always understood all that stuff. I always figured there was enough going down here, I never needed to look elsewhere.”

Y/N flickered her eyes towards her father’s direction after hearing the special name, it wasn’t so special to one, but to her, it was. Sarah, Sarah Hopper her little sister, but soon enough the teacher interrupted, “Maybe I’ll get her in my class I-“

“No, she uh.. she lives with her mom in the city,” He cuts the man off from his statement, Victor widening his eyes on Y/N’s side, knowing fully that wasn’t true.

The girl beside the tall boy looked back at his dark eyes, signaling him to be quiet, Y/N was aware of the fact that everyone in Hawkins knew Sarah’s death. Just because of her own blabbermouth, Steve told everyone including the parents her little secret the young female confessed to.

As much as her dad still wants to deny the fact the little one was gone and resting in peace, staying of his delusion Y/N wished she could have. It was a promise. A promise that everything was okay and there wasn’t nothing to worry about, almost some sort of fairy tale where everything had its happy endings with a happy family which wasn’t it.

“Thanks for coming out, Teach. We really appreciate it.” Hopper clears the air, trudging past them farther into the dark eerie woods, Y/N and Victor repeating his steps behind him.

Once they were out of the picture and range from hearing, a middle aged woman spoke up next to the teacher, in a hushed tone saying, “She died a few years back.”

”Sorry?” Mr. Clarke shifted his head in bewilderment towards the lady for any clarification from the inadequate statement given.

”His kid.”

The teacher’s eyes widened, observing the two family members mumbling inaudible words behind the brisk trees of the cool night. He didn’t know the Hoppers hid their family, they never talked much about family when it came to projects when Y/N was younger. It seemed like something ever so private not like where many kids shared experiences with their loved ones, they always kept everything about their family closed up. Almost a mystery.

Y/N could hear the soft mumbles of the quiet conversation being exchanged by the lady and her former teacher, she felt sick knowing that her father stays in the delusion of her sister being alive, lying. Lying wasn’t so hard for her, Y/N was almost a professional at it when it came to helping the party in situations. But lying to her dad was different, it was the both of them against the horrid place called the world.

“Is Sarah going to be back?” A small girl walked over to the grown adults who stood at the front door, puffy eyes showing on their faces, as they held a plastic wristband and stuffed tiger after a long day from not seeing her sister. It was already near midnight.

Without any move, the woman, who to be seen was the girl’s mother, bursted into tears, her husband catching her into his arms. The youngling worriedly watched her parents shed tears, a middle aged woman got up from the couch to comfort both of them. Whispers and mumbles being shared between the adults, bringing more tears.

”Mommy?” The girl steadily crept next to her mom’s leg, wrapping her short arms around her waist, pressing her cheek against the woman’s body, “Don’t cry, I’m here.”

Sobs were still heard from the mother, the two of the women held each other tightly while the tall man let go from their hug, kneeling next to the girl’s level, “Y/N, kid-“

”Dad, where’s Sarah?!” Y/N shakily shouted, her stomach feeling uneasy, with her sister not being found. What happened to Sarah? She knew Sarah was going to get better. Why was mom crying? So many questions filled her head, eyes welling up, her father hugging her tightly with all the hurt and love. Y/N noticed the wristband that her father was holding, she peered closely to see a sloppy handwriting shown as the name Sarah, written all over it with the date when she was sent to the hospital.

”Sarah is... gone.”

The little’s watery eyes widened, her bottom lip trembling, she threw her arms around her father, her head leaning onto his shoulder. Her little sister was gone, she was alone now, her heart crumbling into a million pieces. Sarah, Sarah wasn’t here anymore. But it seemed so surreal, it was only yesterday the two sisters laughed about one of the nurses dropping her cup of coffee while getting chemotherapy.

“Dad.. Can she come back?”

Sadly grinning, Hopper wiped the girl’s chubby face from her tears, shaking his head, “I’m sorry kid, she’s not coming back.”

”But she has to! Sarah has to come home with us,” Y/N choked in her tears, her eyes becoming swollen, grabbing the wristband from her father’s large hand, “Sarah can’t leave me alone here. She promised she would stay.”

”Y/N, I know this is difficult but your sister left us. She’s in a better place now.”

Making her cry even more, Y/N’s mother rapidly kneeled next to her husband and daughter, she sniffed, grabbing onto her daughter, “We promised Sarah we would love each other and always stay safe. Forever.”

”Promise?”

Both of the girl’s parents joined in for a tight hug, Y/N fastening her arms around the two others, “Promise. We promise you sweet pea.”

”Y/N! Y/N!” A familiar voice boasted in the ears of Y/N, she focused her attention back to the voice. There was no one beside her by the time she looked around, it was the sounds of the wind and her alone. Her flashlight flickered in her hands, she shook it vigorously to try and turn it back on, but there was nothing coming out of it, just a dimly lit tone guiding her way. Nothing else in her sight except for the trees and moonlight, she tried her best to not overthink this and make her way back to the group.

Every turn she made in the paths, it led her to nowhere, noises filled the aura. Slowly, she began to worry, she wasn’t coming back to the group. Y/N’s head filled itself with thoughts, there was no way she could be lost, last time she was with Victor, rambling about the weather. Where was she? Looking up, she felt small droplets of water dripped onto her face above, Y/N squinted her eyes to avoid the drizzle. The water fell down slowly until it started raining heavier in the air, she wiped her face to dry it off and continue to try to find her way back.

“Dad!” Y/N shouted, wrapping her arms over herself, her hair becoming soaked along the time. She kept shouting and shouting, worry filling her in. The girl was afraid. What if she went missing like Will? Oh no.

Without a precaution, a branch from behind was heard. Y/N whipped her head to the direction, seeing a small human with a white gown rapidly run off to opposite direction, the rain blurring her eyes. Was that Will? Curious, she picked up speed to follow the boy, it may be Will. A chance of relief rushing in as her adrenaline sped up, almost running faster. “Will! It’s me!”

The boy didn’t stop, sprinting faster with his bare feet. Y/N still yelled, slowing her pace down, then picking it back up, going through the trees. An idea came to her, tugging at her metal whistle to her lips, blowing on it. The sound coming off it, maybe attracting people to find her and the boy, it has to be Will. Using her arms to run faster, she suddenly trips over a thick log after not seeing below her because of the wind, sending her to the floor. She whimpers as she felt her ankle burn in a pain, whistling even more.

From the distance, few people to what she could tell came forward to her, rain soaking over her head. Thunder being heard far away, Victor came into the picture to kneel down next to Y/N.

”Hey are you okay?” He worriedly checks on her, receiving a nod. Victor looked around for any possible wounds since he found her on the ground, “We couldn’t find you!”

Y/N hardly paid attention to him and looked afar to see if the boy would turn up again. She held Victor’s jacket to pull him closer, “I think I saw Will! He was running through there I-“

”Chief Hopper coming through, excuse me,” A voice from the crowd of people called in, Hopper bringing himself forward to find his soaking daughter on the ground pointing toward another direction. “What’s wrong?”

Victor moves to tell Hopper while being next to shaking and wet Y/N, “She saw Will.”

#Steve Harrington #steve Harrington x reader #steve Harrington fanfic #steve harrington series #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington x Hopper reader #Stranger things #stranger things x reader #Stranger things Fanfiction #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington fanfic navigation #Steve Harrington x reader Fanfiction #Mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #jim hopper #stranger things season 1

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marvelslut16 · 4 years

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What were you thinking?

Prompt number: 14 “You better leave now.”

Fandom: Marvel

Paring: Sam Wilson x reader

Rating: T

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Swearing. A man that can’t take no. Dumbasses who are oblivious to each others affections. A terrible Hawkeye pun. Reader called a slut.

A/N: This is day 10 of fictober, it was my moms birthday so I spent it with her and not on tumblr. But when I logged into tumblr this morning I saw that this fic didn’t post at it’s scheduled time, so here it is a day late. First time writing Sam so I’m sorry if it sucks.

Tony’s endless galas could be fun, you had an excuse to dress up instead of being stuck in your Avengers gear, and it always includes a free bar. The downside is the hoards of drunken men that hit on you that can’t seem to take no for an answer. And tonight is no exception, dressed in a black dress with a slit up your right leg, men can’t seem to stay away from you.

You sigh as Nat hands you a refill, she had snuck behind the bar moments earlier to make yours and her drinks extra strong. Both of you going through relationship woes, more like non-existent relationship woes. Her eyes never seem to leave Clint for long, he’s standing on the balcony above the ballroom watching the guests like a hawk, his job never seeming to be done. When Nat does look away you catch his longing gaze on her. The two dumbasses can’t see the love they have for each other buried under their years of friendship.

Your eyes trail from Clint back onto the main floor only stopping when they land on Sam’s back, he’s standing next to your favorite couple Steve and Bucky. Nat gives you a sympathetic look while you just roll your eyes at the three women hanging onto Sam’s every word, and two more clinging to his arms. At least Clint only has eyes for Nat and she doesn’t have to watch the man she loves be flirted with constantly.

You were with Steve when he met Sam back in DC, and you were immediately enraptured with his sarcasm and dry sense of humor. Steve was always your closest friend on the team, but that quickly changed when you befriended Sam and you became inseparable. For a few months, about two years ago, you were convinced Sam had feelings for you. Everyone around you said he was being obvious; always spending days off with you, nights at bars after a rough mission attached to your side, volunteering to go on missions with you when you needed a partner, and demanding he go as backup when you had a different partner. You let your hopes get the better of you and you let the walls around your heart fall for him.

But you built them back stronger, thicker, and taller than before when he invited a woman he met at a bar one night to be his date to a gala. Prior to that you were each other's dates, always matching his tie color to match your dress, but suddenly that stopped with no warning or no specific event to blame for his change of heart. So for the past two years you had each either gone stag or with your flavors of the month.

You lean back on the bar, trying to stop from seeing red as the woman draped on his left arm leans up and nibbles on his earlobe. You catch both Steve and Bucky sending you looks of pity, if you weren’t trained to be so observant you wouldn’t have caught them, that’s how fast they are. A tall handsome man leans on the bar next to you, arm draped on the bartop behind your back, his front facing your right side.

You look at him through your eyelashes; he’s taller than Sam, at least six and a half feet, his skin not as rich and chocolatey in color, and his eyes didn’t hold that same look that sparked a fire in your soul and core. But he’d do for the night. You send Nat a quick wink before turning your attention to the mysterious man on your right, focusing your attention solely on him.

“You wanna dance gorgeous?” the Cheshire grin that splits across his face is momentarily off putting, you can already tell that this man has never been told no in his life.

“You bet,” you grin and agree anyway. What’s the harm in a little fun anyway?

Once on the dance floor he pulls you in tight, chest to chest. Your slightly tipsy and hazy mind ignores the warning sounds being fired off in your brain. Instead you dance with him, letting his body lead yours in the slow song. Throughout the song the man, whom you still don’t know the name of, his hand slowly slips closer and closer to the curve of your ass. The next song is a bit faster so you start to pull away like the rest of the couples on the dancefloor, instead of letting you go the man’s large hands grab you by the ass and press you up against him again.

Your eyes widen as your eyes frantically search for one of your friends: your eyes go to the balcony but it’s Clint free, he’s talking with Nat at the bar; Tony and Pepper are in a quiet corner saying goodnight to Morgan, who’s being watched by Happy and May; you finally find Bucky and Steve standing just off the dance floor, both sets of eyes locked on something behind you.

Before you can turn around and see what's causing Bucky to smirk and Steve to have a knowing grin, the hands are being ripped off of your ass and you're pulled into a firm, familiar, chest. You relax slightly as Sam wraps you in his arms and holds you securely to him.

“What the fuck?” the man you had been dancing with swears a little too loudly, eyes from surrounding party goers are now on the situation. Their murmurs alert more and more people to the possible fight brewing in front of them between an Avenger and some millionaire over another Avenger.

“I think you best leave,” Sam grits his teeth, arms squeezing you a little tighter. The man lets out a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh, rolling his eyes at Sam.

“Do you even know who I am?” the man tries to intimidate Sam by staring him down.

“No, and quite frankly, I don’t care,” Sam moves you from his chest to where he’s standing in front of you slightly, but keeping an arm around your waist. “You made (Y/N) uncomfortable, so all I know is that you better leave now.”

“Well if she wasn’t dressed like such a slut-” Sam’s arm unwraps from you, he’s forming a fist and getting ready to take a swing.

“Oh how original,” you roll your eyes from behind Sam, moving to stand beside him. “Let me guess, it took you all night to come up with that excuse just in case someone tried to turn you down?” Sam steps in front of you again as the man goes to lunge at you. You giggle and roll your eyes again, is he really dumb enough to try and pick a fight with multiple Avengers. “Did I strike a little nerve there? Was I too on the nose for you?”

By now Tony’s called security and the man is being forcefully removed from the gala, Sam’s hand wraps around your wrist and he pulls you out a door in the other direction. He leads you through multiple winding hallways and away from the prying ears of gala guests. Sam only stops when he feels you’ve put a substantial distance between you and the party, having taken too many different turns for anyone to follow.

“What were you thinking?” Sam asks, you can hear as he fights with himself to keep his voice level.

“What was I thinking? What were you thinking? You almost got yourself into a fist fight Samuel!”

“What were you thinking dancing with him?” he sneers.

“I wanted to dance, he asked, therefore we started dancing!” you glare at Sam.

“You could have gotten hurt!” he sounds exasperated.

“Says the one that almost got into a physical fight with him,” you roll your eyes at Sam, arms coming up to shove him lightly at your next statement. “I can take care of myself Samuel, I don’t need you to save me.”

“You think I don't know that?” he grabs both of your wrists as you go to shove him again. “You’re strong, capable, and can kick just about anyone's ass. Hell, you took down the tinman in training the other day. It’s one of the things I love about you, but dammit I want you to need me as much as I need you!”

“What did you just say?” you latch your hands onto his wrists since his hands are still holding your wrists. Your heart swells at his slight confession, an overpowering feeling of love washes over you as your walls crumble down.

“I love you (Y/N). And I need you,” he lets go of your wrists to wrap your arms around your waist, you rest your hands on his biceps. “I pushed you away when I realized how much you meant to me, when I realized I couldn’t function right when I wasn��t by your side every day. So I pushed you away and into the arms of countless men I was scared would sweep you off your feet.”

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh lightly.

“That’s what Barnes tells me every day,” Sam looks down at you sadly, and you realize you haven’t said it back.

“I love you too, you winged idiot,” Sam cuts off your giggle with his lips, finally kissing you with those plump lips for the first time. “You’ve already swept me off my feet, both figuratively and literally.”

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always

#sam wilson x reader #fictober20 #day 10 of fictober #sam wilson #the falcon #the falcon x reader #the falcon imagine #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson fanfiction #sam willson one shot #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #marvel #fictober 2020

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onyxium · 3 years

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PRIVATE + HIGHLY SELECTIVE + LOW ACTIVITY + MATURE ROLEPLAY BLOG FOR 𝑳𝑬𝑽𝑰 𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑬𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑵 FROM ATTACK ON TITAN. PRIVATE ? i will only interact & write with mutuals. inbox / ims are open to anyone. SELECTIVE ? i won’t respond to everything that’s sent my way, & do not write threads in any particular order. in short, i write what inspires me. LOW ACTIVITY ? i have a life & plenty to do outside of tumblr. this is my hobby! if i’m not answering your ims or asks, i am probably not around.

𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑺.

LEVI. 34 years old. cis male. captain of the survey corps’ special squad & begrudging team dad. s tier titan slaying machine. probably will not kiss your oc.

𝑩𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑺 .

FOLLOWING. i am incredibly choosy about who i follow ; please do not take any sort of offense if i don’t follow you back! to increase the likelihood of me doing so, please have your age clearly visible on your theme or in your rules ; failure to do so will result in me unfollowing or passing you by. i do not follow underaged roleplayers! INTERACTING. quickest way to interact with me is by sending memes! if you respond to a meme that i sent using tumblr’s ask system, i will create a new thread for it rather than reblog it directly to keep things neat & tidy. please TRIM YOUR REPLIES as you are able! CONTAINS NSFW CONTENT. triggering or otherwise. anything that falls into this category ( gore, sexual content, excessive violence, otherwise mature themes ) will be tagged with ╰—; 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍. ⋆ ( R18+. ) ; please blacklist that tag if you are sensitive to it, though lbr here we’re all in the snk fandom & know what we’re in for. TRIGGERS. i do not have any triggers that you need to worry about ; however if you need me to tag certain things that could trigger you, please send me a message about it!

𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑫 �� 𝑵𝑶 ’𝑺 .

NO BIGOTRY / SEXISM / RACISM / TRANSPHOBIA / HOMOPHOBIA / GENERAL DOUCHEBAGGERY / ETC.. just don’t be a fucker. i think that should go without saying, but apparently it doesn’t on tumblr dot com. NO PERSONALS. don’t follow or try to interact with me. don’t like / reblog my roleplays or graphics. all personals are blocked on sight, as are any blogs that cannot be determined to be roleplay blogs. NO ANON HATE OR DRAMA. this includes vaguing. this blog does not send or participate in anon hate, burn books, or anything of that nature, & i expect my followers to comport themselves in a similar manner. if i find that you have been engaging in these behaviors or your blog contains vague posting or too much ooc complaining or drama, i will block you. NO KINS. this is not a kin friendly blog. sorry, it makes me very uncomfortable. NO GENDERBENDS. see the above reason. NO BLOG POLICING. this is my blog & safe space. boundaries are safe to draw for both parties without attempting to cancel the other for not behaving the way that is desired. if we don’t mesh that’s fine! i’m here to have a good time & release stress, not to be bitched at by someone over a computer screen for writing something that someone doesn’t like or agree with. FANDOMS. if your muse is an integral part of any of the following fandoms, do not interact with me. i am not interested in partaking in their fandom mentality & the drama that they carry or simply their content. dc comics. harry potter. hazbin hotel. helluva boss. homestuck. marvel comics / mcu. my little pony. on that note, obviously do not follow me if you have attack on titan in your dni. duh. i don’t have the patience to constantly explain that just because i write a character from the fandom does not mean that i agree with the author’s views.

𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑷𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮.

I WILL NEVER HATE ON / UNFOLLOW YOU FOR YOUR SHIPS. MULTISHIP. i will not tolerate flack or jealousy. CHEMISTRY BASED. all ships are to be previously discussed if the muses seem to be interested in one another. levi is decidedly not pro—relationship, good luck. SMUT. more likely to occur than romance. if this bothers you, please blacklist the tag ╰—; 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍. ⋆ ( R18+. ) to avoid seeing it. I SHIP ERURI !! rivetra is also possible. pretty much if you aren’t erwin or petra, don’t expect a romantic relationship to come easily, if at all. only other relationship that is pre—established here is levi’s bond with FARLAN CHURCH.

𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑰𝑻𝑺.

GRAPHICS. psd is crossroads by jaynedits with some tweaks by me. they also made my icon frame, & i edited the faux block quotes. IMAGES. all art herein is from the manga for no regrets & various doujinshi unless otherwise noted!

𝑨𝑫𝑴𝑰𝑵 .

ARLO. 29. MST ( colorado ). aries. hiddlestan. proud supporter of the survey corps & team instinct & loki’s army ; horror connoisseur of medical intrigue & a mythology nut. enjoys superhero shenanigans, hoarding aus, & dark / horror content. constantly listens to music. FACECLAIM. snufkin from the moomin franchise! SCHEDULE. i work part time for amazon from 2—6pm sun—thurs. DISCORD. will be selectively given out.

#╰—; ᴛʜɪs ɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 sᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ﹗﹗ ⋆ ( OOC. )#rules post !!#long post is long i'm sorry but ... y'know. necessary.

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spnsmile · 4 years

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[Hello! I understand this can be upsetting to some so tags are on: RPF, ENGINE FAILURE, ANGST, EMOTIONALLY HURT/ COMFORT/ FLUFF] work of fiction BUT FLUFF/ KISSES

Response to @cocklesdestielfiction prompt BOTTLE (Cockles, a 5K story)

“The right engine exploded… like… BOOM!”

— Richard Speight Jr. (VegasCon 2020)

********

“Where’s Misha?” says Jensen above the steady hum of the plane’s engine blending with sounds of shuffling bags, pitter-patters, and clinking glasses but Misha can always hear him perfect pitch or not.

“Here.” he heaved himself from the end of the aisle after unloading his personal bag with the other smaller luggage. He can hear Cliff talking to the attendant by the coach but he’s just too tired to say hello.

“Hey, Cliff.”

Misha’s eyebrows rake up and unfortunately for him that’s all he can muster with his limp. There’s a blunt grunt from the security papa bear.

“Nappy time for you, Misha. You look shit.”

“Thanks.” he grimaces. After ten hours on set (and that’s without Jared), he’s just too exhausted. Stalking to the cabin seats, Misha joined the others with bleary eyes.

He catches glinting green whose cherry lips begin to form into a wild smile. There has to be some rule about instant rejuvenation just from receiving that dose from such a nice face.

Richard beats them both in whatever shit they were about to say.

“Service is slowing, Misha. Your customer’s been addressing his complaints to the not-so-proper authorities.”Misha sniggers.

“Who’s proper here, do tell.”

“Jensen’s not being proper at adulting.” Alex supplies staring out at the green primo uomo Misha’s been ignoring. The whine comes. It’s like a sweet tickle on his ears. Petulant and cheeky growly voice—signs Misha learned—since his first day—never to encourage.

“Misha! Mish! One more call you’re gonna deliver a bar.”

He turns.

“Been callin you out.”

“You do that to spite me, fucker.” Misha drawls, walking to Jensen and holding out another bottled water that has to be his 8th. “Here. Don’t believe the media when they tell you the world will never run out of water. Maison says the water sprites will invoke the right to strike just on principle.”

“Sweet faerie. But I believe you. You just hoarded eight hundred Aquafina.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

If Jensen wasn’t giggling so dorkily at him, he would have snatched the bottle and cursed him for the reminder. But Misha couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of lips. Even Rich and Alex hark laughter at the meaning.

Cause Misha Collins just had a truck of bottled water delivered on set that’s still causing stomach hurts from the cast. Recently, Jensen had taken up the habit of ‘mentioning Misha ’on set as a result of that one interview involving some intense heart eyes and delivery of drinks caught on camera. Nothing to deny there, relationships over ten years tend to turn if not bitter-sweet memories, then the opposite tooth-rotting.

This takes the cake. Everyone began doing the same.

Of course, Misha— pleased by the attention and a new game to distract himself from the already distracting Jensen, returned all summons. Misha who was never one to do things halfway and pledged on delivering all sorts of drinks every Jensen pings his name—except apple juice, jesus.

But it’s one of those feats that usually get out of control in Supernatural so by the end of the first week, everyone’s just going ‘Misha.’ He liked that a lot. Also, like the truckload of bottled water delivered on set much to their amusement.

When Vicky saw the number on their credit card receipt, she didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Oh, but he wanted to tell her anyway.

All fun aside, Misha’s particularly grumpy now for another reason. Sleep-deprived and emotionally drained after pouring everything on that last take, he’s now headed to Vegascon with this little group. It was nice Jared arranged his private plane to take them. The pretty convenient thing when a pandemic is out there.

Jensen looks tired too, dark lines under the eyes, lips dry— thus the water bottle Misha’s been carrying around— but how the fuck he managed to radiate with teenage energy even when it’s already late will forever evade Misha who wants to snuggle beside him but instead just looks him straight in the eyes.

“Fuck you,” he mouths, backing to his empty chair.

“Do it.” Jensen teases him and Misha will not appreciate that radiance of beauty pulling him in.

“Can’t, there’s our kid here. Don’t wanna make it awkward.”

Alex shakes his head. “Nope. I think I’ve seen the worst of it.”

“That’s what you think.” Misha chuckles.

“Buckle up, Mishano, signals on.” Richard turns his back from the window facing Jensen with red-light flashing above their heads. “Let’s save the Cockles once we’re in Vegas, kay guys? Innocent guy trying to avoid diabetes so save the Cockles.”

“Save the Cockles.” Alex fumbles inside his jacket to fix his earphones.

Misha and Jensen roll eyes at each other and Misha returns to his spot. Jensen is directly on his line of sight so it’s quite easy to check out on him, maybe snap adorable photos and stack it on his 100 terabyte collection he can post someday when he’s 90.

Taking his phone out after securing his belt, he hears the pilot give instructions as the plane begins to move. Soon, he’s immersing himself with replies on tweets and messages on his number using his extra handphone. Zoning out wasn’t difficult, especially when trying to block out the funny feeling of the engine preparing to take off. They’re all used to it by now.

A few minutes later, they all feel the usual sensation of slowing down bodily before the plane thrusts forward— Misha closes his eyes, hands clasping his chair until they feel the plane level after the accent. When he opens his eyes, he hears everyone including him take a deep breath. There are exchanges of words but he is already glued to his phone answering messages sleepily. He’s so tired he can sleep forever. His eyes begin to droop and he sighs in content, finally able to rest even for just minutes.

Till there’s a gentle nudge on his leg.

He ignores it.

Another kick.

No.

“Mish.” Kick again.

Misha grimaces. Such long reach for bowlegs…

“Misha, I swear—”

“Social distance, Jen?” he opens his eyes, obviously grumpy.

“A truckload of beer from Poland sounds nice, I’d prefer that.” Jensen wags the water bottle with mischievous dimples showing off on the corner of his cheek. Misha frowns and shuts his eyes again. Good god for distractions. Good god for soft manly middlemen with so much energy…

“Mish…”

Ignore him.

“Mish!”

Imagine if Jared’s around…

“Hey, Misha, Poland beer really—”

Misha’s eyes flutter open.

“No, honey, I will not argue with you about Polish ‘Alkohole,’ it’s not even articulated the same.” Misha throws a grumpy look over notorious green-eyed lynx whose chuckling over his misery, “You’re gonna fuck with me again and I’ll have another story in my head I am unable to tell a soul as its rightfully not for children, sorry, Alex.”

Ball on Alex’ court, he blinks from Jensen to Misha quietly then shakes his head.

“I am legally an adult.” He obviously could hear them from his pods. Misha raises a finger.

“Correction, the show says you’re 3. All fanfiction does.”

“I’m married.” Alex injects in amusement.

“Fanfiction says Misha and I are married.” comes from Rich’s corner.

At this Misha sits up, preparing his list of things why Misha-will-never-be-married-to-Richard-Speight-Who-Got-a-Rob impromptu—

“I’m married.” Alex retorts but Richard and Misha are bickering over the type of marriage to hear him.

“You both can say whatever the hell you want, Cockles will top.”

Sometimes Jensen just can’t bridle it. Sending Misha his heart eyes flirtatiously, he stops the argument with a wink. Misha giggles with all tiredness gone, replying to Alex about marriage while Rich says something about Jibcon to Jensen when things begin to go wrong.

Misha did not see it happen. He was busy looking over Jensen, admiring the bravado and confidence about the newly found comfort over their relationship (and their characters) when a loud bang from his right splits the air, followed by crashing sounds of that thing that Misha dreads, one of the worst sounds he never wants to hear in his life.

But that’s only just the beginning.

The first explosion rocked the plane violently forward, then topples without warning to their right. It throws them off with seatbelts tightening—making them grab around the seats, stomach in their throat as they keep their steady hold.

Misha looks outside to the cloud of smoke and crashing debris, his mind tuning only to the present and hears himself as well as Jensen and Richard cursing with jesuschrists. Misha doesn’t know. He was never a steadfast believer but for this one, he’s already calling out god.

The show’s influence is deeper than he thought. He thinks of all the near-death experiences he’s had but it’s nothing compared to this one. For one, he can only look at Jensen and the feeling sinks in the hollowness of his guts.

This is worse, much worse than the drop tower ride or any gyro drop his children always admired him for riding. No. Here the safety belts that kicked in didn't secure anything from the loud crashing sounds that pierced their ears, the shrill sound of the engine roaring like as it beat fragments unto the air leaving maybe nothing of its parts. How many engines are exploding?

Misha doesn’t close his eyes. He tries to deny the possibility that this is where him, Jensen— Alex, god Alex just got married! He’s so much more ahead of his life— and Rich just might finally find their end. An irony of life where the show that’s keeping their lives together now also on the way to its end. A kind of twist in reality that’s been shown by many, if not more famous names ahead of himself but Misha tries not to think about them. He tries not to think about the same profession that killed them. He can’t afford it, oh god his children…

He realized he didn’t even kiss West goodbye the morning he left. How he left the unkempt dish on the sink in a hurry. How he didn’t check Maison’s daily log of mischief she does while he’s away.

Now he may not return.

He closes his eyes as the plane shudders violently again. Please...

He calls Castiel’s name too, the back of his mind telling him they're dying. A more humorous, sadistic side of himself adding Dean is here, and that angel of Thursday isn’t going to let his husband die. They shouldn’t. He and Castiel shouldn’t.

But he’s no Castiel. He’s only Misha.

If anyone asked him how he felt when the plane steadies itself as the pilots pull for control, Misha is not sure anyone would believe him. For the briefest second, he feels this tug at the back of his mind telling him it will be alright and the remarkable part is, Misha believed it. Fucking believe the whisper.

That’s when everything settles down.

Misha quickly looks around at Jense, Rich, and Alex. All of them are pale and he knows he doesn’t look any better. He wants to throw up but the uncertainty of the flight kept him guarded, his grip on the armchair not loosening.

“You guys alright?” Jensen’s voice much deeper than Misha remembers barely managed a nod.

Alex is looking at the floor with concentration where laptops, neck pillows, cups, and stuff are all scattered on the ground. Richard looks as if he’s going to throw up the way he’s holding his stomach. Jensen is staring outside the right window while Misha tells himself to breathe.

“Are you alright?” comes Cliff’s low voice from behind Misha sounding obviously shaken too but still steady. Misha didn’t have time to collect himself. Not that he’s stupid, his body just doesn’t get it, but he quickly pulls his phone and begins texting Vicky and the children.

“What the hell happened?” Richard turns his head over the cockpit when the rumbling dies down.

“Right engine exploded.” Jensen is already unbuckling himself from his chair and casting everyone a look. “You all good? Mish? Cliff?” He doesn’t wait for answers. He shoots off to the cockpit and stops just by the door looking uncertain.

“Hey, uh… do we have a situation?” Nobody spoke while he was gone so it's easy to hear the response of the pilots ahead.

“We most certainly do. Get in your seat. Put on your seat belt. We’re doing emergency procedures.”

Calm. Collected. Professional. That’s all Misha had to hear. It doesn’t seem like he’s alone. Everyone else breathes in relief as they all watch Jensen amble back to his seat, nodding.

“Okay, you certainly have my attention, sir.”

He buckles up and lifts his chin. The look on their faces must’ve triggered Jensen to clap his hands together. “Hey, buckle up! Cliff, sit down. Rich, breathe, kay? It’s gonna be fine. It’s only one engine, guys, c’mon. This thing flies on three! You think Jared had anyone else to listen to about private jet education? We’re gonna be fine.”

Then like heaven-sent, the pilot begins giving them reports of the situation from the paging in a very clear and commanding voice. He tells them the right engine exploded which requires them to make a trip back to the nearest airport in Vancouver. That’s all he gives and a promise of an update as he wished everybody to stay calm and follow the protocol for emergency procedures.

“Hear that?” Jensen clears his throat, his hands clasping. Misha receives the full impact of the meaningful green eyes. The plane steadies itself with hum in the air. A full minute pass and the airplane did not drop.

“Fuck.”

Misha forces himself to relax as he drops his head back on his chair. He can’t feel his body. His hands are still trembling when he smacks it on his cold face. “Fuck!” He can’t seem to say anything other than that.

“Fuck, indeed.” Richard agrees, grabbing his phone, “Good thing I got my pods on, that sound coulda destroyed my ears.” he begins typing on his phone immediately. Alex begins a speed typing contest while Misha receives Vicky's reply after his first message.

‘Kids are mine, right?’

‘Because I cannot make them alone. What’s wrong?’- V

Misha goes on about the engine and the exchange of mail becomes rampant. When about twenty minutes pass with a few throws of questions around, Misha looks up when he hears the blubbing sound of whiskey. Jensen is pouring

“I’m gonna be drinking that scotch when I get back home,” he’s saying as he hands the glasses each to Richard, Alex and finally to Misha who shakes his head, putting the glass on the holder. Jensen takes the armchair beside him to which Misha is glad, especially when Jensen wounds his arm around his shoulder.

“We’re fine, Mish, stop shaking.” Jensen drops the side of his cheeks on Misha’s raven hair.

“I’m not,” Misha says shakily, wrapping his arms around Jensen’s torso and just pulling him into a tight hug. “Fuck!”

Continue reading: AO3

#cocklesdestielfiction #1kcockles #cockles #cocklesisreal #RPF #rpf fanfic #misha collins #jensen and misha #jensen ackles #emotional misha

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angelanimedesaray · 4 years

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Survive Or Live Chapter 1: The Barren World

AN: Its a wee bit short cause it’s more of an introduction, but it’s not prologue material, sooooo here we are. Just ask if you would like to be tagged in future chapters for updates. Also, I will tag all updates #survive or live

Characters: OC (Mae Brooks)

Pairing: Levi x OC

Warnings: Apocalypse Typical Violence, Gross Zombie Descriptions, Language

Word Count: 3103

Masterlist Next Chapter --->

(Gif owner Dave Mosher on Gify)

The crunch of broken asphalt beneath her feet made enough sound Mae couldn’t help but cringe inwardly, worried that the sound would be just enough to attract attention to herself. At the moment, there wasn’t anything moving along the street other than herself, but that was only what her light brown eyes could see so far. Her calloused fingers shifted slightly along the bowstring she pulled tighter at the thought of what could be lurking out of sight in the shadows, the index finger of her other hand rolling over the wooden shaft of her knocked arrow. Her shoulder rolled, adjusting the left strap of her hiker’s backpack that had started to slide down her shoulder, managing by some miracle to avoid getting her shoulder-length auburn hair caught under the strap in the process.

At least it was still decently light for now, even if that would be a bad sign if she left with a light bag.

Eyes on the two story white house several paces ahead of her and to the left, Mae stepped around a stray rusted car bumper and quickly approached the building, eyes darting around for any sign of movement. A gurgling followed by the sound of shuffling feet drew her attention to the right side of the house just in time for Mae to see a Rotter shamble around the corner, not yet noticing her presence.

The walking corpse stumbled across the dead grass of the house’s front lawn, pustule spotted flesh hanging in strips or appearing shriveled and wasted on the once-human creature’s frame. Dried blood and fresh ooze from ruptured pustules smeared across the remains of sallow skin, frayed hair, and tattered clothes. This Rotter was missing an eye, which meant it wasn’t fresh since the larger parasites tried to move on to another host after about a month, and the eyes were their choice of exit.

More asphalt crunched under her foot, and the Rotter spun around off-balance but still upright, focusing on Mae and the noise she’d made. Its remaining foggy eye focused on her as she raised her takedown recurve bow, arrow already knocked and drawn and simply holding so she made sure she made her shot count. A rattling snarl regurgitated from its gaping mouth as it sudden lunged at her, twitching as its sprint hurried it towards her. The Rotter only made it three steps before Mae released her arrow, which sunk right into the open eye socket and through its head.

The snarling stopped with a gurgle, the Rotter collapsing to the ground as Mae hurried over, hoping her arrow would be retrievable.

“Shame on you, Dave, sneaking up on me like that, it’s rude,” she muttered under her breath, boot on its neck as she yanked the arrow back and quickly moved away in case any of the squiggly parasites tried to latch onto her as a host.

It looked like it could still be used. Good.

Another snarl--much closer now--had her quickly backing away from the sound, knocking and drawing the arrow as fast as she could, loosing the arrow on instinct more than aim. It sunk into the back of the advancing Rotter’s throat, which didn’t do any good killing it, unfortunately. As soon as her drawing hand was free of the arrow it reached for the machete at her waist, and she swung with as much force as possible, the blade slicing nicely into its forehead. It slumped forward and she backed away to avoid the Rotter falling on her, yanking the machete out along the way.

“Oh, Mary-Ann, you’re here, too? Why didn’t you say anything?” Mae continued, wiping the machete off in the grass and scowling at the now broken arrow still sticking out of its throat.

Perfect.

Still holding the machete firmly in hand, Mae made sure to air on the side of caution--more than usual, anyway--and do a quick check around the house to make sure there weren’t any more Rotters lurking around.

Thankfully she managed to loop back around to the front without seeing any more Rotters, glancing back at the two she’d already killed as if to make sure they were still dead.

“How are the kids?” she asked a little louder. With a grimace, Mae looked away and made her way up the steps to the house.

Okay, that’s a little too morbid, Mae, shut up.

The house creaked with her every step, causing her paranoia to rear its head again. Every sound made her twitch uncomfortably, her teeth on edge with every step.

She passed by the living room quickly, a goal of the kind of supplies she was looking for firmly in mind. She went to the kitchen, the obvious choice, scouring open cabinets and looking for anything that might still be good. It looked like someone had already searched the house, but there were a few bouillon cube packages shoved in the back, an open and spilled box telling her someone had tried to taste the powdery cubes to see if it was an edible, but quickly decided otherwise.

Their loss was her gain. Thank God she knew how to use these things.

“Maybe there is still a God,” she murmured, shoving the beef and chicken bouillon packages into her back, including the open box. She’d been hoping to find another box of some kind of pasta, rice, canned meat, but even though she’d scoured three streets of homes, so far no luck. She was starting to come to accept that this town had already been picked over. She’d still check all the houses (eventually) just to make sure she didn’t miss any hidden gems like the bouillon, but she wasn’t optimistic about what she’d find overall.

If all else failed, she could see if there was anything left over in the local ransacked convenience store.

Heading upstairs, Mae started with the bathroom to see if she could find anything more medically beneficial. She had a supply of meds she kept carefully guarded she’d had ever since this whole mess started, but it never hurt to try and find more.

There was a package of cotton balls under the sink, and she didn’t hesitate to pilfer the two washcloths and one towel, but she couldn’t find anything else she thought might be of use. She’d even take a pair of tweezers to help this scavenging trip feel a little more productive.

After that it was simply a matter of looking for any kind of scrap she could reuse. The bedrooms had some clean clothes inside them that she picked through sparingly, only packing the best into her backpack so she could use the cloth for any need that arose.

“You’d think a hoard of goats came through and ate everything, with how little there is around here,” Mae said softly, sighing as she left the house, bow in hand again and eyes scanning the street for any more Rotters. She gave the ones she’d killed earlier a wide berth when she saw that the pustules on their bodies were bursting and oozing now that the hosts were dead, not wanting to get too close and risk the ooze landing on her. It was only infectious if the parasites got to you, but the ooze did a good job of masking the smaller parasites, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

Which was why she was wearing a flannel, jeans, and boots despite it being mid-spring. It was better that as little skin was exposed as possible.

Mae wiped the sweat on her brow with her flannel sleeve, continuing through the small town’s residential area while she prattled on with utter nonsense to herself and any Rotter she came across.

“Do you think there’s any other perks to being covered head to toe in warm weather, despite all the sweat and the lowered risk of getting infected? Think it helps protect me from getting a sunburn? That’s an annoyance I don’t want to deal with during the apocalypse, though I doubt anyone is tearing apart any Wal-Marts trying to find sunscreen. Except maybe Rotters trying to get to Annabelle hiding behind the sunscreen. She probably should have tried to hide under the giant teddy bears. Or is it the circus where you find those? I wonder if I could make a giant ass teddy bear chair out of one of those. It’s not like there’s any dumbasses around to judge me for buying a giant teddy bear to sit in like a weird armchair...er, or like I’m going to be buying it, since money’s useless for anything but toilet paper or tissues these days.”

She quieted her ramblings and slowed down, eyes suddenly drawn to the abandoned daycare on her right. The cloudy glass was busted out and littered what once was probably a neatly trimmed lawn, quarantine sheets and caution tape fluttering weakly in the breeze. A filth-covered doll was ripped almost all the way through the middle, resting between two broken panes of glass still jutting out from the bottom of a window.

She tore her eyes away with a lump in her throat, mood souring rapidly as she noticed the legless Rotter trying to drag its way over to her, what had once been sunday-best clothes now dirt and blood stained tatters.

“You’d think I’d be used to seeing this kind of thing by now, but every now and then, you see one that just…” she started to say to the Rotter, but the words died down, tasting like ash in her mouth as she watched the thing’s filthy nails clawed its way towards her feet.

It’s come down to me talking absolute nonsense at mindless creatures that want to eat me, huh? Something I’m starting to do on the regular…

Mae angled her head up at the sky, squinting at the sun high above her in silence for several long moment until she couldn’t stare at the bright sky any longer.

“...God, I really am going crazy, aren’t I?”

No one answered. There was just the continued raspy growls of the Rotter whose fingers had almost reached her boots. Seeing its proximity, Mae unstrapped her machete again, scowling at the creature.

“It’s because you’re terrible company, Steve,” she said bitingly, ramming the machete into the creature’s head and waiting until it stopped twitching to pull it free, making a point not to glance back behind her towards the depressing scene of the daycare as she moved forward a little faster, wiping the machete off in the grass of the next home she saw.

By the time she left the residential district and started to pick her way through the ransacked stores of the abandoned town--a few arrows lighter than when she’d started, but her pack a little heavier--the sun was starting to set, warning her that she needed to start heading back.

It was amazing how many potentially useful meds were passed over in a panic when people were only looking for the familiar drugs like ibuprofen or acetaminophen in stores. It also gave Mae a reason to be overwhelmingly grateful for her occupation before the world went to shit. If it hadn’t been for her pre-apocalypse background, she wouldn’t know anything about most of the medications that were now stuffed into her pack. In the mess of abandoned useless nicknacks and crushed, spoiled foodstuffs, she’d also managed to find a bottle of iron supplements, and heading back into the employee break room where their lockers were, she managed to find elastic bandages, and a bottle of ibuprofen after picking a few padlocks on the employee lockers.

Not a bad haul at all. Far less food than she would have liked to find, but she had enough stored up it wouldn’t be a disaster if she had to wait to raid another town for food a little further down the line.

She kicked a stray stuffed basketball plush aside, pushing her hair back out of her face as she made her way back to the main road, machete once more in her free hand in case any infected had gathered outside. To her surprise, there was only one standing in the street, twitching along it’s jagged sprint towards her once it had noticed her. She swung her machete into its brain just like the rest, a small frown on her face as it dropped to the ground in front of her. She crouched down in front of it--still a safe distance away, though.

“Any idea where your friends are? I expected to see far more of you Rotters shambling around town,” she asked, even pausing a few seconds as if waiting for an answer. “It’s like they have somewhere better to be...I’m offended.”

Mae pushed back up to her full height of five feet six inches--and three quarters, never forget the three quarters that brought her so close to seven inches--shifting her hiking backpack to a more comfortable position. She put away the machete for now and returned to her bow, knocking an arrow but not drawing the string back all the way as she walked casually back the way she’d come, eyes scanning her surroundings and ears listening for the tell-tale sounds of Rotters. If she’d seen more coming into town, she would have been a lot more cautious, but because of how scarce they had been through town all day, she was a little more relaxed going back through the area she’d already cleared.

A little relaxed. She wasn’t stupid, Rotters could still show up when she least expected--they had a knack for doing that. She wouldn’t have survived this long if she had ever let her guard all the way down. Even now, she couldn’t decide if this stroke of luck with the scarcity in Rotters was invigorating or unsettling.

As she’d suspected, retracing her steps through town was even less eventful than when she’d foraged her way through it, with Mae only coming across the occasional Rotter here and there. Perhaps something had drawn the attention of most of the infected to the other side of town, and that was where they all were? Wherever they were, she wasn’t going to complain. She was simply going to throw her pack into the back seat of the truck with the two gasoline tanks she’d filled yesterday, and head back home to get some rest. After such a slow-going scavenging trip, she felt drained--the kind that came from constant disappointment and even some boredom.

Not to mention months since I saw another living person--and that was from a distance; I didn’t even get involved. Didn’t like the look of them…

She was finally understanding the true horror of being driven to madness from isolation. Talking to rotting corpses and the sky was only going to get her so far.

Dwelling on the thoughts of her own state of sanity only served to make her view the overall silence of the town as irksome, a scowl on her face when she reached the home garage she’d hidden her truck in while she scavenged around town, muttering unintelligible nonsense about a world record for the quiet game as she opened the back door and threw in her pack, slammed the back door shut, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

A glance at the fuel gage told her the four wheel drive vehicle only had a little less than half a tank left. Enough to get her back home, but she’d have to fill up once she arrived. At least she had two more tanks in the back seat.

She kept the windows down as she cruised back through the residential streets, partially to listen for any sounds of Rotters, and partially to let the cool breeze blessedly blow against her sweaty face.

With several streets left to go before the houses started spreading out instead of being so packed together, the edge of town mere minutes away, Mae finally heard the sound she’d been dreading. The distant sound of an angry hive of snarling Rotters, growing closer with alarming speed. She thought she heard it ahead of her and on her right, instinctively rolling up the passenger’s side window to keep Rotters from flinging themselves through the opening as her head turned towards the sound, eyes scanning her immediate surroundings as her foot put a little more pressure on the gas, ready to peel out of town the first visual sign she had of an approaching hoard.

Finally, her eyes spotted a roiling mass of bodies squeezing its way down one of the narrow alleys between homes, more in the next alley, and the next, and--

Mae’s foot was already pressing down on the gas to give the truck a burst of speed and race by the incoming hoard before she finished processing the sight of the second alley full of Rotters. The idle wonder crossed her mind if it had been the sound of her truck which had drawn their attention--which didn’t seem likely to her--or something else.

A sudden thud and bounce of the truck bed, plus the brief flash of a shadow being cast over the truck, caused Mae to tap on the brake of her truck for the briefest second before survival instincts reminded her there was a hoard descending on her, and now was not the time to stop the truck. But there could very well be a Rotter in her truck bed, and she did not want one of the infected to eat her while she was dri--

“Fuck!”

Rotters didn’t curse, especially not loud enough she could hear it in the driver’s seat as the truck shuddered from her momentary tap on the breaks and something seemed to violently shift in the truck bed.

Since the road ahead was temporarily open, Mae risked glancing back to see what was happening.

The survivalist in her noticed the terrifyingly sized hoard racing after her in a mass of unnaturally twitching bodies, with a few clinging to the edges of the truck bed and snapping their jaws furiously at something within.

The rest of her focused on the figure that was sitting up with its back to the truck’s cab, one hand removing itself from its place pressed against the back of the head of a man with black undercut hair, a black and green scarf tied around his face with the fabric covering everything below his eyes.

Steel grey blue eyes that, as his head turned just enough to regard Mae in the driver’s seat of the truck, focused on her with all it’s hardened intensity.

“Drive!”

Next Chapter --->

27 notes · View notes

trappingguy · 4 years

Text

Rules!

1. Themes will vary with this blog. Mystery Incorporated is PRETTY dark at times, so it’ll be what you expect there. To that end, dark themes, violence and maybe swearing.

I will try my best to tag everything. These will be under the format of swearing tw. If you’d like me to tag anything specific, don’t hesitate to ask through anon / inbox / im!

I don’t have any triggers but I do ask you tag all of your NSFW (sexual) content.

Mun is of age, and as such I won’t be writing anything of the sexual nature with minors.

2. I’m private, which means I only write with mutuals (this is for my own sanity / comfort; everyone’s cool!). I’ll write with canon, oc, and crossover characters.

Although I’m private, when it comes to following people, I’m selective. We don’t have to have known each other prior to write!

As for following back, I usually take a week tops to do so - but if you’ve hit up my promo, I go through that eventually.

If it’s a crossover, I have to know the fandom and be at least a little bit confident with it. This is so I’m able to work with you, our thread and have muse for it.

I follow the tag #trappingguy. If there’s anything you want me to see, like dash commentary, just tag that and x-kit will alert me of your post! I may respond to ic stuff ic stuff if I’m feeling it.

In that sense, I’m chill with dash shenanigans with most folk, not just mutuals!

Absolutely no godmodding. It ain’t fun, fam. If you’re not sure what this term means, do look it up. This includes powerplaying, metagaming, and other things of that nature. This applies especially in fights if they happen (I’m chance-based and hope that you are too).

I can be picky with OCs. But rest assured, if you’ve followed me/interacted with my promo, I’ll always give your pages a read.

Please don’t be offended if I don’t want to interact with you (and please don’t try to guilt me into doing so!).

I DON’T CARE ABOUT AESTHETICS. I just think they’re pretty. If you don’t use formatting or anything like that, or heck - even wanna’ just do iconless rp - I have no problem with it whatsoever! It’s you, your writing and your muse I care about!

3. Please don’t rush me for starters or responses.

PLEASE understand that I have blogs galore and my muse tends to fluctuate; this can mean I’m everywhere at once and can end up neglecting a blog or two. It’s nothing personal; you know how muses are!

I have a full-time job (and I’m trying to get into screenwriting in my off-time) so sometimes I’m scrapped for time or exhausted. I’m also an introvert who deals with anxiety and depression, thus that may affect how much / how often I roleplay. If I don’t get chance to respond to anything ic or ooc, it’s nothing personal! Promise!

Chances are, I’ve probably has seen that bit of interactivity and just haven’t gotten around to responding yet.

My roleplaying style being para/multi-para, I may take a while to respond. I hoard drafts like a dragon - it’s really just the motivation to write and ship those out.

I hoard asks, but sometimes can’t find muse or interest for all of them. If it’s been a month or two, generally assume I’m not interested / can’t find muse for it. You’re free to send another though!

I answer asks from anyone - personals, rp blogs and anons. I’ll answer non-mutual asks occaisonally but I won’t be making threads out of them

4. Shippings? If they’re of similar age, sure!

If I don’t happen to be interested, don’t force anything on my character.

I do not ship incestuous ships. Do NOT follow/interact if you do.

The ship has to have chemistry; I’m generally shipping trash, but if they don’t click, they don’t click, sorry.

This is a multi-ship blog, meaning there will be more than one ship without them conflicting with eachother.

If you want to ship and I already have a ship of your choosing going with a duplicate, please don’t hesitate to hmu! My ships aren’t exclusive and each character/relationship portrayal is unique to me!

Relationships are eternal until you deem otherwise. If you’re not interested in a ship anymore, just let me know!

5. Whilst I am of age, I’m not aiming for sexual content on this blog (and will not be dealing with fetishes). The occasional joke is fine, but anything beyond that makes me uncomfortable, and I typically don’t recommend pulling it with my character if you’re interacting with me.

6. About reblogs…

I am not a meme source, and reblogs clog up my activity. Please reblog any memes you find on this blog from their SOURCE. The exception to this rule is if there is no source; go ahead.

I don’t feel comfortable with Personals reblogging my IC or OOC posts, so please don’t do that. If I put something in the fandom tags for whatever reason (bar promos), you’re free to, though.

This goes for my art too unless it has the tag ok to rb, but otherwise only the person I drew it for can reblog it. If you wanna’ reblog something, I DO put it on my art blog eventually!

A few times is fine, as it happens, but repeatedly breaking these rules will result in me soft blocking you.

I try to participate in reblog karma as much as I can, but always reblog from the source/a meme source.

If a post or ask is for you, you’re free to reblog it to save it though - but only if you’re an rp blog!

7. I’m a para / multi-para blog, novella if I’m adventurous and have time. Whilst I may roleplay crack threads with shorter responses, this does not apply to all threads I write. This means:

I write my replies as detailed as I can muster, and length can range from 1 paragraph to 6.

Short responses (such as one-liners) in more serious threads where I’ve written a decent deal can instantly kill my muse for that thread.

Whilst I’d prefer for partners to at least somewhat match my length, it’s entirely up to you - just try your best and make sure you give me enough to work with. ♡

If my muse happen to go nuts out of nowhere - like, overboard - don’t stress too much about matching him.

8. Threads! You can yeet asks, memes, and even starters at me if I’ve liked a call! I’ll obviously have my own you can like.

You’re free to like starter calls even if we’re not mutuals; I can check out your blog that way. I still only write starters for mutuals though.

Starter memes are the BEST way to interact me because they just yeet a prompt at my face and really help me write starters. If you see me reblog one, send one!

If you want a certain verse, lemme’ know! Otherwise, I’ll probably default to a post-canon verse.

If you want to turn an ask into a thread, go ahead!

I don’t recommend writing starters for me unless we’ve discussed something. I don’t like to leave anyone hanging.

Please don’t assume things about my muse. If you’re uncertain about things, ASK.

IMs are open to mutuals, if you want to do any in-depth plotting. I also have Discord if that’s more convenient for you!

For the moment, I’m sticking PRIMARILY to Mystery Incorporated canon with some other media sprinkled in. It’s just because Fred has a lot of media to cover and I haven’t binged his stuff yet.

9. Guidelines on mains and relationships:

If we’re mutuals and we interact a lot, you’re welcome to ask me if I’d like to be your main!

Please don’t be offended if I deny, though; I typically want to pick those I trust to be my mains as well as people I can comfortably write with.

Not limited to them! I roleplay with duplicates galore so don’t be afraid to hit me up if you want to interact!

Pre-established relationships are a-okay in my book; if you have an idea for a relationship between our muses we can work towards, hit me up! I reblog those pre-established relationship memes every so often too. Romantic relationships link back to the shipping guidelines.

Also, friendship/family/rivalry relationships are EXTREMELY valid to me - so don’t feel scared about asking for them!

10. If you have any issues, please let me know and hopefully we can resolve it!

Mun is actually super nice, so don’t be afraid to hit her up!

I am absolutely terrible with IMs and Discord. I either respond quickly or days later, depends on my mood. Social anxiety tends to interfere with this (and more recently exhaustion from work) - but honestly, if you’ve sent something, I’ve likely read it and just haven’t gotten around to it yet! It’s nothing personal; trust me!

Please leave me out of drama; I’m here to have a good time, as is everyone else, and it pains me to see people arguing.

This is a little different with callouts - if I see anything on dash pertaining to any problematic users, I will take it into consideration and rb it if I believe them to be harmful.

11. To retierate, I tend to follow those that:

Write para and whom I feel my muse would click with.

Seem chill? Tone can really intimidate me honestly.

Have rules and about pages! Knowing the boudaries of my rp partners is super important as well as their lovely muses! Sometimes rules are enough, though, if you’re going to write the about eventually.

Tag their nsfw.

Don’t have massive icons - ie, have rp icons that take up an entire text post like 500x500 or something. I don’t want to clog the dash and it’s tiring to resize them.

…also, if I follow your hub blog (provided it doesn’t double as a personal), it generally means I’m cool with any blogs that are attached to it.

12. On threads…

If you’re not interested in a thread anymore, and would like to drop it, please let me know! I’d feel terrible if we’re both not having fun with it or if partners feel overwhelmed with the amount of threads we have.

Honestly, unless I let you know, our threads have no expiry date - so no need to worry about me dropping them without telling you. I can just be quite slow sometimes.

13. Mun does not equal muse! Anything my muse might say does not reflect on how I think unless I explicitly say so.

14. Know that if I follow you, I WANT to interact with you.

I literally couldn’t care less about follower counts. I care about YOU guys and our interactions.

15. Icons.

I make all of my icons by myself, however credit for the icon shape and psd goes here and here.

16. Rules are subject to change.

Please like this post if you’ve read the rules! You don’t have to, but it’s of personal reassurance to me if you have.

#.law

5 notes · View notes

coolxnxblue · 4 years

Text

de rules:

1. Themes might very with this blog. It’ll typically be SFW, but there will likely be dark themes, violence and swearing.

Things will be tagged! I’ll try my best, anyways. If you want something in particular tagged, please let me know through ask / anon / im. The format I use for tagging is, for example, tw: swearing.

I don’t have any triggers but I do ask you tag all of your NSFW content.

That said, I won’t do anything NSFW - gore is okay, though.

I’m of age.

2. I’m private, meaning I only really roleplay with people I follow. This is so things don’t get too overwhelming and for me and to cement who I want to interact with. I generally follow most people if our writing clicks, though.

If I don’t follow you and you’d like me to check out your blog, lurk in my notifs. I’ll definitely see you and make note to check you out. Same with promos, or you can just rb them to a sideblog / send an ask with its url. I can’t gurantee I’ll follow, but I’ll certainly check it out!

If it’s a crossover, I have to know the fandom and be at least a little bit confident with it. This is so I’m able to work with you, our thread and have muse for it. You’re free to ask if I know of a fandom or not! I’ll have a list at some point.

I follow the tag #coolxnxblue. If there’s anything you want me to see, like dash commentary, just tag that and x-kit will alert me of your post! I may respond to ic stuff ic stuff if I’m feeling it.

In that sense, I’m chill with dash shenanigans with most folk, not just mutuals!

I can be picky with OCs. But rest assured, if you’ve followed me/interacted with my promo, I’ll always give your pages a read.

Please don’t be offended if I don’t want to interact with you (and please don’t try to guilt me into doing so!).

As for following back, I usually take a week tops to do so - but if you’ve hit up my promo, I go through that eventually.

3. Please don’t rush me for starters or responses.

Please note the mun deals with anxiety and depression, and has part time jobs which are honestly tiring - this might affect how frequently she roleplays.

Chances are, I’ve probably has seen that bit of interactivity and just haven’t gotten around to responding yet.

My roleplaying style being para/multi-para, I may take a while to respond. I hoard drafts like a dragon - it’s really just the motivation to write and ship those out.

I answer asks from anyone - personals, rp blogs and anons. I’ll answer non-mutual asks occaisonally but I won’t be making threads out of them

4. Shippings? Heck yeah, I ship lots with my blue son! Just make sure they’re of similar age pls.

If I don’t happen to be interested, don’t force anything on my character.

I do not ship incestuous ships. Do NOT follow/interact if you do.

The ship has to have chemistry; I’m generally shipping trash, but if they don’t click, they don’t click, sorry.

This is a multi-ship blog, meaning there will be more than one ship without them conflicting with eachother.

Relationships are eternal until you deem otherwise. If you’re not interested in a ship anymore, just let me know!

Sonic X Tails won’t be happening on this blog, sorry.

5. Whilst I am of age, I’m not aiming for sexual content on this blog (and will not be dealing with fetishes). That stuff makes me uncomfortable, and I typically don’t recommend pulling it with my character if you’re interacting with me. Nonetheless, should it arise, I will tag it appropriately as nsfw //.

6. About reblogs…

I am not a meme source, and reblogs clog up my activity. Please reblog any ask / starter memes you find on this blog from their SOURCE. The exception to this rule is if there is no source; go ahead.