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coulsart · 2 months

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About the Unknown

I have a theory. A game theory. And we're going to ignore the fact that delving into this would put me on the Unknown's shit list IMMEDIATELY. It’s fine.

Disclaimer: I do not know what’s canon, and they kept it intentionally vague. Everyone’s valid to have their head canons and this is just the explanation my brain conjured up.

"The Unknown was believed to be a mysterious evil so heinous that investigating it almost immediately invited death. At least that was how the story went. And there were many stories. One story was of a woman in Greenville who disappeared without a trace on stage in front of a room full of witnesses. Her friend disappeared weeks later while trying to investigate what happened. The police were stumped. They had no clues or leads, and that mystery created the perfect storm for amplifying and spreading an urban legend." An excerpt from the very beginning of the official lore page

I want to focus on a few key words here. It was believed to be heinously evil. There were stories about disappearances. Said mysterious stories spread and amplified the urban legend.

The Unknown gains power from people's beliefs and thoughts about it. Not too unlike Pennywise from 'IT'. But there's a catch.

People theorize that it might be an alien, a curse, a cult-created abomination, or just a really elusive serial killer... but it is all of those things. Because people believe that it is.

It doesn't have control over what it is. It's a horrible hodge-podge monstrosity of many things, seemingly mashed and twisted together violently. It likely started as something completely different, or nothing at all. Maybe a vague presence that only observed. But people could feel the presence. And while neither good nor evil, the peoples' minds conjured up visions, explanations of what it might be. Some imagined it to be a man lurking in the shadows. Watching and stalking them. And so the Unknown's body began to form. First as a man. Even still, with this new body, it was inherently off. Uncanny from the start. The Unknown was at its core so far removed from humanity that it still could not pass as one of us. So it would linger in the forest, only venturing to the threshold between town and woods.

Maybe an unfortunate camper happened upon it at night. This shadow in the dark, distinctly the shape of a man. But what does one think first, encountering a strange man in the dead of night? All alone and isolated in the deep woods?

"He's going to kill me with a knife, or an ax!"

And so it did. Because they believed it would.

It only snowballed from there, after the body was found, only a few paces away from their untouched tent. There was no evidence left. No DNA, no footprints to follow. Just a bloodied body, with a skull cloven almost completely in twain; by what was suspected to be an ax. So the theories began.

No one could explain the lack of evidence left behind. It was too perfect, too efficient. And what were the chances of a normal man doing such damage in only a single swing?

More murders followed. At first, people started disappearing, their bodies later being found in the woods, not far from the first victim. They grew increasingly more mangled, to the point that authorities began to question whether it was done by a man, or an animal.

The people became afraid. Paranoid that this insane ax murderer would tire of the woods and enter their homes at night, while they were resting peacefully in bed. The fears were beginning to surpass that of just a serial killer. The Unknown was beginning to become more of a boogeyman figure to them. No human man could have committed such gruesome killings.

People began to disappear from their homes at night. Then the streets. Then the cafe and theater. Then... sometimes in broad daylight. Its territory only grew. Its abilities more and more vast and unpredictable. The theories only escalated... and throughout its rampage, the Unknown grew increasingly monstrous. Its humanoid body twisted and contorted to fit the peoples' beliefs. But nothing was erased - only added on. Which is why it existed in the horrific state that it did.

A body can only fit so much substance inside without tearing itself apart. Without becoming an deformed, unstable, and agonizing vessel to pilot and exist in.

Human beings did this to it. Human beings made what it was. They assumed the worst of it, and it became that.

So naturally, it became hateful and bitter. It loathes humans. They did this. It lives in constant agony and isolation because of them... only for the crime of observing and existing in their vicinity. That's why it killed the ones who dive deeper into its existence and theorize about what it is. They kept making it worse. Inflicting more pain upon it and twisting its body further and further.

It mirrors humans' own words to them. Snippets of conversation, pleas for help. It does not truly have its own voice. It only has what others have spoken about it, and around it.

But its feelings towards human beings are clear, based on its words. Especially in its memento mori. "The terror. The horror. Terribly frightening, isn't it." The way it parrots their words in this case almost seems vindictive and sarcastic. These are all things that human beings have said about it.

Thought outside of what it's been made into became increasingly difficult. Yet, somehow, the Unknown is vaguely aware of this fact: it could have been spared this horrific existence, had human beings chosen differently.

And for the Unknown, it only got worse when the Entity stole it away. It begged and pleaded for help - ironically, seeking it from that which it loathed most. A human being. It was torn from our world and plunged into the never ending loop that are Her trials. All for the sake of feeding Her appetite for suffering and torment. And it isn't only at the survivors' expense. It is at the expense of the Unknown as well. It suffers just as much as they... if not more. They at least have companions to rely on - with varying results, of course. It has nobody.

All hope for it healing is lost. The survivors have no reason not to think it a ruthless, horrific monster. And in turn, it has no reason not to hate and slaughter them.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

#couls art #theory #dbd #dead by daylight #the unknown #the unknown dbd #body horror #horror #gore #death mention #death #tw #long post #TRAGIC MONSTER IS MY SAUCE OK #IM REALLY PROUD OF THIS #also the pics are glazed and nightshaded so i hope they dont look too weird #itd be kewl if the devs saw this

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mothwingwritings · 6 months

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C and F for my boy Pickle

Eyyy sorry for the delay! (Yes I am still working on these!!!) Here is some Pickle goodness for you my dear.~<3

WARNINGS: Sex and violence and one love sick feral man.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Pickle would honestly treat you as nicely as he is able too. His living environment has its limitations, but he does everything he can to make it comfortable and inviting for you, adamant about making it a home that is fitting of his mate.

Once you are safely stashed away in his secret abode he sets to work constructing you a nest of things so that you may find pinnacle contentment in your new home. He’s gathered an amalgamation of the softest blankets, clothes, linen, etc. that has been given to him or that he has scavenged, so that you may rest in peace and luxury while in his presence. He also brings you the best cuts of meat after his hunts, though he caught on quickly that you were apt to turn your nose at his bloody, raw offering (he couldn’t quite understand why, he was sure you would love it if you just gave it a chance). Once he picks up on your distaste, he instead begins to hoard ingredients and snacks he steals picks up out in the world, supplying you all manner of foodstuff till he pins down the ones you like.

While Pickle prefers you in your natural state, he understands your body needs protection from the elements. He doesn’t quite get modern fashion, but you seem sad wearing the same thing over and over again. While he’s out he procures a hodge-podge of varying clothing, presenting it to you by dumping it at your feet, a huge dopey grin on his face. He loves seeing you in the clothing he gifts you, you look so beautiful in each and every piece that he can’t help but stare, holding back the urge to rip it right back off and have his way with you.

Pickle won’t mock you and wouldn’t dream of disrespecting you in anyway. Any harm he causes you is either completely unintentional or for your own good. He loses control of himself sometimes, forgetting his own strength. You are just so small and he loves you so much, it’s hard to hold himself back. He hates using his strength against you to prove a point, but if you remain insistent on trying to escape him he will do what he must to protect you. You are HIS mate and HE’S the only one who can take care of you. All that’s waiting for you in this strange new world is danger, so if you won’t stay by his side willingly, he will force you there.

All that said, while you may be relatively safe from Pickle’s more violent tendencies, anyone else most certainly is NOT. If another person approaches you, threatens you, or tries to take you away from him they will be obliterated, decimated, ripped to shreds, torn apart until nothing is left. He’ll bask in the gruesome slaughter, their end another validation that he is the best one for you, the one who loves and can protect you above all others. Doesn’t matter if that person is a stranger or your own mother-he is all you need, anyone else butting in is an unnecessary threat.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He would find it incredibly charming if you tried to fight him. Pickle doesn’t see it as an act of aggression at all, but views it as you trying to mimic him as a sign of reverence. You think he is so impressive and strong that you strive to be like him, going so far as to challenge him to a fight. It’s adorable, and he can’t help but break out into a huge toothy grin when he sees you assume a fighting stance.

And it excites him- seeing you tense up, clenching your fists and bending your knees, preparing to strike at a moment’s notice. Seconds before the fray, you stare him down with such intensity, sizing him up and calculating what moves you should make against him, gears turning in your head as you focus wholly on him. The fixation on him sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine. He is the only one you are thinking of in that moment, and in turn you are all that is occupying his thoughts.

Your strikes never hurt him and he can tell how much that frustrates you. He’ll play along sometimes to make you happy, yowling like a mother lioness that is being batted by her cub. He’ll cringe at your punch, shy away from your kick. If he’s convincing enough, you sometimes award him with a small smile, a brief look of accomplishment. It warms his heart, knowing you are having as good of a time as he is.

He also relishes the closeness the two of you share when you initiate these little fights. Usually you try and hide away from him, distancing yourself as much as possible whenever he is in the vicinity. At first he thought it was another game you were trying to play with him, something coy, cute, and seductive to grab his attention. But when the chase became a regular thing he was disappointed, why did you put up such a fuss each time your mate tried to approach you? You didn’t even give him a prize when he finally caught you, just flailing and screaming and spitting. It hurt his feelings- this was supposed to be fun.

But the little brawls you had were fun, and they gave him a chance to have you near him without any to-do. He could feel your skin on his, smell your sweat as your body writhed and wriggled against his. Feeling your small hands grab at his hulking form, listening to your strained moans and heavy breathing as you threw your all into attacking him… Witnessing you in such a state, holding you close as your body rubbed his in just the right way, it doesn’t take long for him to completely lose control.

Before you can recognize what is going on, your body is sheathing his cock, previous grunts of exertion quickly turning into wails of pleasure.

He doesn’t understand why you cry so much afterwards, though. Were you not having as much fun as he was? You initiated the fight, why are you so upset at the outcome? It was a good tussle, and judging by the noises you were making, he was able to make you feel good. Even if you struggled a bit when he was trying to enter you, you always end up yielding to him. The fit is tight, and there have been several times he was afraid he would outright break you when he pushed deeper, pressing into your core. But the pleasure that courses through him as he bottoms out is indescribable. He loses himself in the feel of you surrounding him, completely consumed by the euphoria your body has supplied him.

You are his perfect mate, his brave little warrior, and his love for you is endless. So don’t cry, OK? Maybe next time he’ll let you really ‘win.’ :)

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tblsomedoodles · 1 month

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I can explain.

So, i've been thinking...i've never done anything with the non-apocalypse futures past a few months.

I'd also been thinking, that out of all the fan kids i've seen around, there wasn't a lot (if any) for Raph.

I ALSO thought, Family Web would be an absolutely horrible au to have Bishop be involved in (mostly b/c Leo would NOT be good with an evil government scientist. at all.)

anyways, here's an in-story explanation for what i got so far

When Raph's 25, he gets word that there's some government program doing some shady things. Now that wouldn't really be his concern, but they're rumored to be using mutagen so they feel obligated to check it out.

SO the three of them check it out (Not leo. He tried but the medical equipment got to him. He portaled to the roof to wait on standby.) They find a lot of failed experiments and the like, most being with at least some turtle dna for some reason.

They also find two very young, very alive baby turtle mutants.

So, of course, they take them home. (after completely destroying the lab, information and all.)

They find out a few days later (b/c of course Donnie copied the info and he and Jenny have been going through it for anything good) that ever since the failed invasion, Bishop's group had been taking their DNA samples left over from various fight locations, (and probably paying a few people to get blood samples too) and using it it to do genetic experiments. B/c the four have such a hodge-podge of dna to start with, the experiments were never stable. The two they stole being the best they've accomplished over the years. The two that just happen to have used Raph's dna.

I'm going to have to do more with this. Like give the boys adult looks and the like. but these two were being rotated in my brain on high for list the last 9 hours now and if i didn't share them tonight i was going to go insane. (i couldn't even focus at work i was so fixated on these two bitties.)

#tmnt #rottmnt #family web au #my doodles #good future stuff #this might be my friday update #we will see how much i draw of this later #THey aren't as small as Clara was when she was newly hatched #they're probably twice as big at least #they just look small b/c Raph's holding them lol #I think Raph usually defaults to his human form when he's handling them at that age #b/c he feels like he's going to break them if he's his big turtle self #Clara's 4 at that point btw #and she doesn't get that cousins come that tiny #she keeps trying to play with them in her dollhouse as the dolls #and Raph keeps having to rescue them lol

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year

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@tadpoledancer made a throwaway post about someone writing Vash getting fingered until he cries, and somehow I’ve transformed that little thought bunny into 3,500 words of gratuitous Vash The Stampede smut. Also please keep in mind that there’s only three episodes of Trigun Stampede out so far, so even though this is Stampede!Vash it’s more of a hodge-podge between his ‘98 and ‘23 personalities as I know them to be.

Tadpole, and others, I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 here!

Stampede!Vash, G!N Reader but sharing a room with Meryl is mentioned, fingering, sub!Vash, dacryphilia, gratuitous use of the word “fuck” (if y’all notice anything else i should add to this top bit here lmk)

"Shh! Shh!"

"I'm not saying anything! You're the one giggling!"

"You're giggling too! Don't try and pin it all on me!" You hissed back, though it held no bite past your eager smile. The sun had set a few hours prior, desert air cooling just enough to no longer sting as you snuck down the motel hallway to Vash's room. Your socked feet slid silently along the old wooden floor as you crept past your companions' rooms to your target, the door cracked just enough to see Vash peering out waiting for you with a red flushed cheek and an eager eye shining behind his tinted lenses.

As you slipped through the gap and let the door slide quietly shut behind you, you found yourself bracketed in by Vash's arms. He stooped a bit to reach you more easily, cheeks rosy and eyes love-drunk as he hovered near you, bubbling with eager, nervous energy. Not that you didn't feel the exact same.

"Hi." He murmured.

"Hi." You responded. He squirmed a bit under your gaze, shifting from foot to foot. You leaned in to press a fluttering kiss to his cheek. Just a brush against his sun-kissed skin was enough to make him shiver, both flesh and metal hands resting on the sides of your shoulders, rubbing slowly up and down. He was beaming when you pulled away, red enough that you were surprised his glasses weren't fogging up.

This had been pretty routine for the two of you since joining up with Meryl, Roberto, and Wolfwood. Though you did your best to keep things low-key around the others, Nicholas had been the most vocal about pointing out Vash's favoritism for you. His teasing only served to make things more obvious to the others, and, well… You and Vash didn't want to give them any more ammunition to fluster the two of you than they already had.

Doubling up into hotel rooms was the best way to save some cash on the road, usually with you and Meryl in one, Roberto and Nick in another, and Vash in the third. But you always found yourself slipping out the door once Meryl dozed off, scampering and giggling down the hall to warm Vash's bed instead. And really, if you weren't keeping an eye out on your Humanoid Typhoon, who knows what could happen to him?

"Just one?" Vash nuzzled your cheek with his nose, letting out a delighted little hum when you gave another kiss on the cheek, then a third before meeting his lips.

"You look like you could fry an egg on your face right now. I don't need you overheating or anything."

He chuckled and leaned in for another kiss, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. "What can I say? Maybe you're worth frying for."

His lips were warm, ever so slightly chapped, and it wasn't long before they were parting to meet your sly tongue with his own. You tangled your fingers in his shower-damp hair as he pressed you up against the door, molding his body perfectly to yours. His hands slid down the length of your arms, down to cup each of your hips and hold you right up against him, leaving nowhere for you to go between his broad body and the door.

"Did you-mmh…" He struggled to keep his train of thought on track in between wet, lazy kisses. "Did you still wanna…?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?" You responded, pulling away both to let Vash continue to ramble and to pepper teasing kisses down the slope of his neck.

"I dunno, I just, hah… Wanted you to know you could change your mind if you want. I wouldn't-ohh…w-wouldn't mind."

You knew Vash could feel you smiling against his neck right before you trailed your teeth down the tight, corded muscle. "You ask me if I wanna finger-fuck you and you honestly think I'm gonna say no?"

He let out a quiet little eep! at your choice of words, tipping his head up and away so you couldn't see his wobbly, flustered expression. "I mean, you don't gotta say it just like that!" Lucky for you, trying to hide his face like that only served to give you more room to kiss and nibble on his sun-warmed skin. "Just letting you know you have the option, is all."

"Vash." You cooed against his neck, and you could swear you felt his length stiffen against you through his old, worn-out pajama pants when you did. "I just wanna make you feel good, that's all. If you're not sure we don't have to do anything, but I promise I'd tell you if I wasn't comfortable."

"Yeah?" He hummed. Finally he tipped his head back down to meet your gaze, and you could see it in his eyes. As far as he was willing to go to make sure you felt okay and comfortable, Vash really wanted this. He wanted it bad.

"Yes. Let me fuck you, baby boy. I'll make you feel so good."

He whimpered, and you knew you'd gotten him hooked. It was a clumsy backwards stumble to reach the bed, neither of you willing to part from the other for more than a breath. When the backs of Vash's knees hit the mattress edge he tumbled back, taking you with him in a clumsy heap and a painfully loud squeaking of old bedsprings that you probably should have been a bit more worried about than you actually were in the moment. You tugged at the bottom of his nightshirt as you straddled his hips, shoving it upwards to reveal more of his broad, scarred chest.

"Take it off." You mumbled, dipping your head to kiss around the edge of one of the deep pink wounds before he could reply. As he struggled to get the fabric around and over the shoulder joint of his prosthetic you lathed your tongue over the hypersensitive skin, smiling to yourself when you felt him shiver down to the tips of his toes.

"Th-That's cheating, you know? Getting me while I'm distracted?" He huffed. You just blew softly over the place you'd just licked and made him shiver a second time. "Maybe you're the real dangerous one around here, Mayfly."

Down the broad slope of his chest you continued to kiss, over faded slash marks and old bullet holes, lavishing each inch of him with the love and attention you knew he deserved, no matter how often he tried to rebuff it. You felt one of his hands cup the back of your head, fingers warm and rough in your hair so you immediately knew which one. At the waistband of his pants you peered up again through your eyelashes, over his heaving chest to his face where he had his lower lip worried between his teeth.

"Having fun?" You cooed. He bit out a short laugh and cracked a wobbly grin in response.

"Could be having more." He responded.

"Are you gonna keep being cheeky or are you gonna help me get your pants off first?"

"Little bit of both. Gotta keep things entertaining, after all.~" You both laughed as he lifted up his hips, letting you wrestle his sleep pants and underwear off in one fell swoop to be tossed somewhere on the floor to find later. This was an unfamiliar position for the two of you to be in, Vash naked with you still basically fully-clothed. He was always a giver, never wanting to take the pleasure you offered without offering it tenfold in return. But tonight you were the one in control, not Vash. So you cozied yourself right up between his legs and ran the pad of your thumb up his length, slow and steady, from the base all the way to the tip. His hips jumped in response, a short, stuttered thrust chasing the fleeting touch of your fingers even as you trailed them away and Vash let out a punched-out whine.

"You've still got lube, right?" You asked. It took a second for Vash to process, eyes lidded and expression trained on your hands, but once it sunk in he snapped back up to attention.

"Yeah! Little pocket of my bag, lemme just…" He rolled over onto his stomach to reach over the edge of the bed for his bag. As he strained outwards for the handle, unwilling to actually stand up and walk over to it, he presented you with an accidental view of his pert, toned backside. You slid both hands up the backs of his thighs to his ass and squeezed, digging your fingers into his firm cheeks. The scandalized little yelp you got in response made it absolutely worth it.

"Taking advantage of me when my guard is down, even! Who's the real dangerous outlaw around here?"

"Big talk from the guy who's about to get railed." You purred, stretching over Vash's body to pluck the mostly-full bottle of lube from his grasp. You spread him open with one thumb, the other popping the cap on the bottle with an audible click that sent a shiver down Vash's spine. "This is gonna be cold, m'kay?"

"'m ready. Hit me with your best shot!" His voice was partially muffled by the pillow, but there was a waver of unabashed desire behind the playful taunt. You tipped the bottle over and squeezed, letting a generous amount of lube dribble down Vash's ass and pool at his hole.

"Cold!" He yelped. You simply shushed him, rubbing your thumb back and forth over his slick, pink entrance.

"Shhh, don't worry baby. It's gonna feel real good, I promise."

You spent far too long simply teasing at the edges of pleasure, thumbs spreading Vash open and drawing slick trails of lube as you slowly worked him up. You massaged your fingertip over his entrance, rocking slowly back and forth and letting his body open up to you. Every time you got a stifled little sound of pleasure out of Vash you made sure to reward it with a praise of your own; knowing him he'd probably think his little sounds were annoying but you just couldn't get enough of them.

"You can-" He gasped, back arching and pressing towards you with the next swipe of your thumb over his twitching hole. "-Can try putting one in now. Please?"

"Of course, baby. Stay just like that for me, okay?"

You were almost surprised how quickly Vash's body yielded to you, your index finger sinking up to the second knuckle in his wet, pliant heat. You pulled back slow before pressing forward again, a gentle rhythmic rock that already had Vash keening. His cock was pushed down between his legs and pressed against the mattress, and on the next slow thrust you rubbed your wet thumb across the underside of his head. The response was instant, a muffled wail, a gush of pre-cum drizzling across the bedsheets, it damn near gave you a headrush yourself with how much it aroused you.

"Vash." You groaned, thrusting your finger forward and watching his entire body jolt again. "Fuck, you look so good. You should see yourself right now, baby. So fuckin' eager for me. You think you can do two?"

He nodded frantically, voice muffled by the pillow and garbled with pleasure but you were still able to make out something that sounded mostly like "Yes!" So you carefully pulled out, pressing your index and middle finger in this time, slow and steady. It was tighter this time, obviously, but Vash's walls gave away as you gently worked him open, his pink hole stretching around your fingers as you scissored them. You tried to crook your fingers down, towards his stomach. There was supposed to be a spot there, small, kind of spongy, if you could just get your fingers to curl the right way then…

"AAAH!?~"

Vash seemed as surprised by the noise he made as you were to hear it, clapping both hands over his mouth and wincing as his metal fingers clanged sharply against his teeth. The two of you fell perfectly still as your ears strained to hear if any of your room neighbors had awoken. From the opposite wall you could just barely make out Roberto's thunderous snoring, blissfully asleep and oblivious to you and Vash's night time activities.

"Holy shit, Vash."

"Sorry!" He hissed, the back of his neck and ears burning bright red. "I didn't know it was gonna feel like that!"

"No, no, it's okay! It was just… Fuck, that was really hot. You still good?"

He nodded, face still hidden mostly by the pillow. You crooked your fingers again to hit that same soft spot, and though the sound was much more muffled this time the effect it had on him was still obvious. He shuddered, a deep, desperate groan muffled into his pillow case as you thrust forward again, and again, grazing that soft spot half the time but hitting it dead on every other. Now that you'd found that spot, you didn't want to give it up so easily, especially with the noises it kept drilling out of Vash. The wet shlick of your fingers pounding his asshole joined the sound of each of your huffed breaths and his pleasured whimpers.

"You're so good for me, baby." You murmured, feeling woozy and delirious with power over how easily you were able to make the world's greatest gunman fall to his knees before you. Pleasure coiled low in your gut, hot and wanting, but you were more than willing to wait for it just for the chance to watch Vash fall apart. "So pretty, taking my fingers so well. I'd do this for you every night if you wanted it Vash, you sound so fucking wrecked."

You couldn't really hear him all that much anymore, but you could see the way his shoulders were shivering with each ragged breath and pulse of white-hot pleasure. You crooked both fingers hard, finding his prostate and pressing down, not letting up. His entire body quivered like he'd grabbed a live wire, and somewhere through the din of your own desire and his muffled noises you heard something concerning. A single soft, wet sniffle.

Immediately you pulled back, easing up on the pressure and watching his entire shivering body drop back into the mattress like he'd gone limp. His glasses had been pushed up into his bangs, his face fully hidden by the pillow. But without the continuous slick sound of your fingers you were able to hear another near-silent sniff.

"Vash, baby?" You carefully pulled your fingers out, resting your clean hand on the small of his back. "Are you okay?"

He nodded frantically in response, but otherwise stayed perfectly silent.

"Can you roll over for me?"

He jolted, falling perfectly still. You rubbed a slow, careful circle into his lower back with your palm.

"Please? I wanna see your face, Vash. For me?"

After a long, silent moment, Vash finally shifted, pulling his face away from where he'd hidden in the pillow and turning around to face you. He looked thoroughly fucked, face red with an indent of a fabric crease in his cheek where he'd pressed the pillow too close for too long. But he was also sniffling, snotty and wet as fresh, hot tears rolled over his cheeks. It made your heart clench, twisting painfully behind your ribcage as you reached up to cradle his face.

"Oh, baby. Baby. Hold on." You shifted up his body, straddling his waist so you could cradle his head to your chest. He let out an embarrassed little hum, but made no move to push you away. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"...It's embarrassing." He mumbled. "Didn't want you to see me all wrecked like this, it's seriously uncool."

"But I didn't hurt you?"

"Whuh-? No!" He jerked back, finally meeting your gaze with wide, red-rimmed eyes. He grabbed your wrists with each hand and held you close to him. "No, never you, Mayfly."

"So you're crying cause it feels good?"

He shifted anxiously at the question, gaze flitting around the dark room. "I, uh, I mean- Yeah? I kinda thought that was obvious, and you keep saying all that stuff that's like- like wow. Wow."

You didn't hurt him, not in the slightest. You'd brought him so much pleasure with your touch and your words that you were able to bring him to tears? That… That was…

"Vash, that's so fucking sexy."

"Bwuh?"

You shoved against his chest, pushing him back into the mattress as you shifted back down his hips. The low, pooling desire that had been purring in the pit of your belly erupted into a bonfire of pleasure as you situated yourself again, crooking two fingers into Vash's open hole while your other hand fisted his cock. He keened, hips jumping up into your grasp as his hands flew to cover his mouth.

"I wanna hear you. I wanna see you." You groaned, straddling one of Vash's legs so you could roll your hips down against his knee. It sent little white sparks of pleasure dancing up your spine and behind your eyelids, but they were nothing compared to the picture painted before you. "Lemme make you cry, baby boy. Let me see it."

"Oh, oh, oh fuck." He gasped, ragged and wet. Another wave of big, shimmery tears rolled over his cheeks, and he accidentally knocked his glasses all the way up and over the top of his head while trying to scrub them away. They clattered somewhere down in between the bedframe and the wall and you knew you'd have to get down on your hands and knees and feel around for them for him later but right now you just didn't care.

Now you had Vash, Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon, whimpering and begging at your mercy.

Both his face and his cock were shimmery-wet and flushed red, punctured gasps and dribbles of pre-cum escaping with each harsh thrust of your fingers. You could feel his thigh strain and twitch desperately beneath your crotch, each jolt and shiver making your own pleasure burn all the hotter. Finally you could hear him, each ragged gasp, each wet sniffle and whine, each punched out, desperate wheeze of your name interspersed with little 'fuck!'s and 'please!'s and 'I love you!'s.

"Fff-uhhh, fuck please. Oh, oh, please if you don't let me cum I'm gonna break, please Mayfly!"

"Yes, yes Vash. Do it. Cum for me. That's my good boy!"

Twice, thrice more you thrust your fingers up hard against his prostate before his back arched off the bed and a shivering desperate groan escaped his lips as Vash unloaded himself all across his scar-marked chest. You slowed your hand but kept your fingers pressing, massaging, pulse after pulse of thick cum splattering up and across his chest as you wrung him dry. His hole twitched pathetically around your fingers as you worked, and you heard the sharp, metal creak of his lost-technology hand permanently denting a grip mark into the metal bed frame as he sobbed.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Finally, when you'd wrung him dry and he had absolutely nothing left to give, you released his cock from your grip and let it fall to his tummy with a wet smack. Carefully you removed your fingers, trailing a final thumb over his red, stretched hole before turning your attention back to Vash's face. It was impossible to tell where tears ended and sweat began, his eyelashes clumped and shimmering and his bangs plastered to his damp forehead. He moaned softly as you scooted towards him, giving him another soft, fluttering kiss on the lips.

"You're gonna… You're gonna get a lot more than you bargained for if you kiss me now, Mayfly." He teased. "But that's your problem, snot mine."

"You're so gross." You hummed, all the love and affection you could fit into three words swimming in your tone. You snuggled yourself up next to him, cradling your head in his arms. "I'll get a washcloth in a minute, okay? Get you all cleaned up."

"Mmh, okay." He let his head thunk into the valley of your chest, eyes fluttering shut. "Gimme… gimme fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty. Then it's your turn."

"You are way too fucked out to do anything for me, Vash. Just rest, I'll be fine, I know you'll make it up to me."

He whined, kicking one foot like a petulant child. "Aww, c'mon! It doesn't have to be much. What about my fingers?"

You could feel him smile slyly against your chest as he continued.

"...My mouth?"

A pulse of heat made itself known once more between your legs, and you hummed softly.

"Let's see if you can stay awake that long, wonderboy."

"What happened to 'baby boy'?"

"I'll call you baby boy when you're being good. Do you wanna be good for me?"

Despite how wrung out he was you could feel Vash shiver against you and oh, oh, the two of you would certainly be exploring that dynamic more in the future, so long as you had anything to say about it.

"Mhmm…" He hummed, barely awake.

"Alright. Then let's get you cleaned up, baby boy."

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash #vash the stampede #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #trigun imagines #trigun x reader

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markrosewater · 6 months

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I just saw a collection of 7 screenshots from 2011 thru 2018 from this blog where you repeatedly shoot down the idea of doing mtg crossovers. You said "We think it's important that Magic is one cohesive game, and not a hodge podge of different things." This hurts to hear because it's verbatim sentiment that has been expressed to you about UB which you shot down as unreasonable, and you never addressed the contradiction. I know things change, but how can we trust what you say to us here?

I've never said anyone's feelings are unreasonable. People can and should feel justified believing whatever they want. My goal on this blog is to share with you my best sense of where Magic design is at that moment. Often Magic moves in directions I can't predict.

If you asked me ten years ago, as many people actually did, I wouldn't have predicted Universes Beyond. But now that I'm knee deep in it, and I've seen a lot of data based on the ones we've released, I'm a convert. I believe it is something that will bring lots of happiness to Magic players. For example, I was in a playtest for a Marvel set the other day and it was one of the most fun playtests I've had in years.

I'm a huge fan of Marvel, and, obviously, a giant fan of Magic, so bringing those two loves together is quite joyful. It really hammered home to me the power of Universes Beyond.

Trust is a thing to be earned, and I've worked hard for twenty-eight years to form a trust with the players. I've never lied to you, but I have said things that I didn't think would happen that did. Saying something not knowing the future isn't lying. I 100% believed the thing I said when I said it.

Also, I always stress that I couch future talk with the mindset that I don't use my future knowledge. If I know we're doing thing X next month, I'll act as if I didn't know that when asked about it, because it's important for me to not ruin the surprise of what's to come. This is much more like not telling someone they're having a surprise party than straight up lying, but yes, whatever you want to call it, me not ruining future surprises is something I do regularly on this blog, and I'm totally transparent that I do it.

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rehfan · 1 month

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The Boy Is Mine (Amy’s edition)

From @carolmunson ‘s prompt found HERE

The scene: a romantic night at the trailer

Props included/mentioned: a throw pillow; vanilla frosting; a small notebook

Dialogue included:

“I ran out of like, nice cups. Is this okay?”

”Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true.”

”And you like that?”

”If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Tags/Warnings: Rated PG; reader has self-image issues; light spanking (Eddie receiving - nothing harsh); fluff and then more fluff

Words: 1.2K

***************************

“So uh… we ran out of nice cups,” said Eddie, “Is this okay?” He held up two glass jam jars without lids, clearly part of the hodge-podge of cups in the back of the cupboard at the Munson trailer.

You snickered. “Sure thing, handsome. Just bring the liter of pop over here to the coffee table with you.” As he came around the kitchen counter toward you, you couldn’t help but ask: “What’s a matter? Did you fire the dishwasher again?”

He sighed as he set the glasses down and poured pop in each one. “What can I say? Can’t find good help these days. You know how it is. You fired that maid of yours last week, didn’t you?”

”Yep. She had to go. Caught her helping herself to the sherry.”

“Shame,” he said, passing you a slice of pizza before heading to the television to start the movie. He affected a posh British accent saying: “I daresay, darling, we shan’t have much to look forward to in the coming weeks and months without decent help around the mansion.” He drew himself up and lowered his eyelids, contorting his face into an exaggerated overbite.

You grabbed behind you and threw a throw pillow at his chest, laughing. “Sit down and eat before the pizza gets cold.”

He scooted next to you on the floor, your backs up against the couch, sitting on the pillow you just shied at him. The pizza was good, the movie was great, the kisses during the cleanup were the best.

But, as it always was, you began to doubt your place in this relationship. You had been together for a month now and you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that Eddie was as gone on you as he apparently was. Something inside you kept eating away at your confidence, never letting it truly build and allow you a solid enough foundation to build your relationship on. Instead, there was always a niggling voice telling you that he was too good for you. Too kind. Too nice. Far too handsome. Soon he would figure out how boring and ugly you were.

Which was probably why you hadn’t had sex yet.

Not that Eddie was pushing. He never would. He wanted to have sex — of course he did! He had a pulse, didn’t he? But he would never ever push you to do something you weren’t comfortable doing. He never wanted to see you cry, much less be the cause of your tears. He had told you that a long time ago now.

So it was kisses and soft touching and stopping when you said so. And you were convinced it was because he would think you were ugly. Uncoordinated. What if you kissed him so passionately there was too much spit? What if your teeth clacked together? What if you raised your knee and caught him right in the nuts accidentally? It was all too embarrassing to contemplate.

So here you stayed: a comfortable swim in warm romantic waters without losing sight of shore and with every imaginable flotation device attached to your body.

You watched his profile as he was telling you about the engine rebuild he was doing at work while you idly dried the dishes and he washed. He had the best mouth. You could still feel it on you the day you had the guts enough to go swimming with him last week at Lover’s Lake. His touch had been so tight, so warm. Strong arms wrapped around you, holding you up in the water, keeping your toes out of the muck of the bottom. And then he was kissing you. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it was the first one that left you dizzy. And you had wanted more. But on the shore, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the van’s window looking like a drowned rat and you couldn’t.

Just one of many disappointments for you both.

”Hey. Where’d you go?” he asked, waving a hand in front of your face. “You with me, sweetheart?”

”Yeah,” you said, laughing it off and drying yet another cup, “just went down the rabbit hole again.”

”Still thinking you don’t belong here with me?” His warm arms were around your waist again. Safe. Comforting. The long line of him a buffer against the evils of your own brain. He planted a gentle kiss on your nodding head. “Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true.” He wrapped you up even tighter and swayed back and forth. He hummed an idle tune and slow-danced you around the kitchen.

Slowly, the tight hold your doubts had on you drifted off and away, out of the trailer and high up over Indiana off with the stars in their revolutions around the galaxy. Your hands flat against his back, your ear against his heart, he rested his head on yours and you let your mind go blank.

He stopped humming and pulled you away to look at you. “Better?” His evaluating gaze saw clean into your soul.

You couldn’t help but be honest with him. The alternative would be to see doubt - or worse, hurt - in those eyes. “A bit better. So kind of you to dance with me, darling. Journeys to the ballroom always soothe me.” He huffed a laugh. “But I feel we need a better orchestra.” You moved to the transistor radio on the kitchen table and turned the light rock station. As if on cue, a perfect slow song started playing.

His forehead creased. “And you like that? This… schmaltz?”

”Oh shut up and dance with me, Edward,” you said, holding out your arms.

As if he could turn you down. He scooped you up and swung you, pulling you off the floor with a giggle and a shriek. Setting you down gently, he nuzzled his nose into your hair and you into his neck. “Happy, baby?” he asked.

”Ecstatic,” you replied. And it was true. He had this gift for quieting the loud parts of you that grated against your peace. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was utterly gorgeous and eternally patient.

”Good,” he said. “And now, if you don’t mind, my lovely, I beg of you a favor.”

”Hmm?”

”Keep talking to me because this saccharine sweet song is killing my soul by degrees.”

You slapped him on the ass and laughed at him.

”E-e-easy, you,” he said with an extra squeeze.

”What? You like that?” you asked and smacked his plump ass again.

”Uh,” he started and you stared at him. “If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.”

”Whoa. You really do like that?”

”You have no idea what you do to me, sugar,” he said. “Not that I’m pushing for anything! Don’t think that!”

”I don’t,” you said. “Only you have waited for a while now and I’ve barely let you—“

”Shh,” he said. “Shut up about that. I don’t want to talk about that tonight. I just want to eat pizza with you, watch movies with you, and dance to schmaltzy music with you in our ballroom. Okay?” He brushed your hair away from your face.

“How are you real?”

”Sweetheart, that’s what I’ve been asking myself about you this whole time.”

#fanfic #writing #joseph quinn #joe quinn #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #my eddie #blurb

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moongreenlight · 2 months

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U already KNOW what time it is baybee!!!! WIP WEDNESDAY!

Been riding the Gaz high and this has been in the works recently (I wrote 2k words yesterday) so here's this!

Director!Gaz x Actress!Reader

Summary: It’s the mid-1970’s and you’ve recently made the unshocking discovery that it’s difficult to find good work acting. Lucky you stumble on the wrong opportunity at the right time!

You’re not dumb enough to fall for the advertisements in the papers looking for actors in ‘up and coming independent films.’ Not anymore.

After being burned so many times by ‘pay to audition’ schemes and sleazy directors only looking to collect videotapes of girls doing porno auditions, you gave up on that front.

But what’s the stipulation on extenuating circumstances? Like when you’re working at a bar a few blocks away from the community theater and a man comes up and sits at the counter all by himself.

He’s gorgeous and a sweet talker. Seems intent on chatting with you even though you really should be polishing glassware. And once he’s finally caught you in his snare, he drops a bomb that up until this point you’d only ever heard stories about.

He says he’s a small-time director and he saw you in the last production the theatre put on. He laughs and makes a lighthearted self-deprecating joke about being “one of those wankers in the paper” to which you wrinkle your nose and give him a weary smile.

But, Jesus, if he can’t make a bad thing good. He’s got all the makings of a politician the way he’s able to talk circles around you until you agree to show up to an audition for his latest project. ‘Trouble in paradise’ or something to that tune.

He tips you twenty pounds and his business card on a coke he barely touches. Uses your pen to write your audition time on the back of the card.

Wednesday at 11a. x

He doesn’t give back the pen.

Your roommates do no good talking you out of it. Hushing your half-arsed arguments about scams and serial killers and all kinds of things. It ends with the four of you in a pile on the couch, wine-drunk and giggling yourselves into hysterics.

So two days later you go. Forcing your roommates to promise no less than five times that if you’re not heard from in an hour that they’ll send in the authorities.

You find your way to the address on the card that now looks tired in comparison to when you first got it. The edges are fussy and dog-eared from your worrying with it and passing it around to prove its legitimacy.

It doesn’t look like any studio or office you’ve seen. Far from. And that should have been the final nail in the coffin. Should have been the reason you turned tail and went back home. But something pulled you up the worn steps of the house. That same something, now cowering a bit at the looming possibility, brought you to rap your knuckles sharply on the part of the door with a few different layers of paint chipped away to expose the cheap metal underneath.

You’re left standing on the stoop for a few moments too long with no answer. And just as you were about to come to your senses and return home with some sliver of your dignity still intact; the door swung inward and exposed the same man from the bar - Kyle - with his horrible, beautiful, toothy smile.

“Thought you were going to stand me up. Wouldn’t have known what to do with myself.”

You catch yourself thinking it’s a shame that he’s directing and not starring in movies. His devastating good-looks and all. Must be a terrible read.

There’s a card table set up in the living room. Two folding chairs behind it that look flimsy at best. Three thick packets that have been three-hole punched on the side, but held together by a binder clip in the top center.

The rest of the furniture is pushed up against the wall. A hodge-podge of mismatched chairs and a sofa that very well could have been your grandmothers and a few banged-up side tables.

He offers water. Offers to take your purse. You decline both. Opt to stand a bit stiffly on the faded rug in the center of the room with your bag tucked snugly under your arm.

Maybe you should make a run for it. Maybe you were stupid to come at all. He’s a total stranger for Christ sake.

Before you can will your feet to move, there’s s bang from behind you. A screen door slamming shut and rattling on its hinges. It startles you almost a foot into the air.

“Nervous?”

Kyle is cool as ever, sliding into one of the chairs, waggling his eyebrows at you. It whines under his weight and you’re suddenly very aware of just how bulky he is. Doesn’t look it on passing glance, but when all you’ve got to look at is the way his shirt fits it becomes glaringly obvious.

“Easily startled.”

You correct, trying to decide whether or not it’s passé to turn over your shoulder to find the source of the heavy footsteps behind you.

He hums and grabs one of the packets, taking off the clip and leafing through it. Pulling out a few odd pages and setting them on the table.

The footsteps reveal their maker when he rounds the corner into the room and shuffles behind the table. If you thought Kyle was big, this man is properly a behemoth. A bit taller, broader in the shoulders, a layer of fat packed on over his muscles. He looks to be older by a few years. He gets crows feet when he nods and smiles at you before taking his seat.

The chair looks as though it would be happier pulling its own legs out from underneath itself.

“Cap’.”

Kyle doesn’t look up from his papers when he addresses the man.

You get no formal introduction to ‘Cap’ though he doesn’t seem to be truly involved in the audition process. He barely glances up from his packet. Content to nurse a fresh cigar and lean further back in the chair than you think should be plausible.

You read from the stack of pulled-out papers with sloppily highlighted lines and try not to shy away from meeting Kyle’s watchful eye.

The audition goes normally, all things considered. You’re instructed to read three different scenes. Without the time to read the blurb on the project, you draw the conclusion that “Trouble in Paradise” is some sort of short suspense film centered around a woman living, shockingly, in paradise.

The writing isn’t first-rate, but you suppose that’s to be expected. You have a hard time piecing together how the scenes flow, but that’s not your largest concern.

“Lovely. Really, darl’.”

Kyle stands when he talks. Commands the attention even of such a small audience. Takes up space in the room like he’s owed it.

You smile, feeling a bit more at-ease now that things seem to be wrapping up.

“N’ how do you look in a bathing suit?”

The question takes you entirely off-guard. It makes your jaw fall far enough open that you’re left looking like a fish out of water.

“I- sorry?”

Kyle’s face doesn’t change. Fantastic at keeping up appearances. He’s still casting that warm smile over you. The focus of it makes you feel like you’re sunbathing.

“Bathing suit, love. How d’you look?”

Disappointment drops like a stone in your belly. Heavy and fast. It’s another scam. Of course it is.

“Oh. I don’t- I don’t do dirty movies.”

It must be palpable on your face even more than it is in your voice.

‘Cap’ glances up at Kyle when he ashes his cigar. The smell is nauseating. He seems to be chewing on a smile. Kyle meets his eye for only a moment, amusement painfully evident on his face.

“You’ve just read the pool scene. Hardly anything dirty about costuming.”

#gaz x calling reader 'darl' you will always be famous #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #gaz x reader #gaz call of duty #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick #wip wednesday

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ode-to-fury · 1 month

Text

Obessed obsessed Obsessed with my hc that Tav as a sorcerer has never had anyone teach her magic by definition. Over the course of her life/adventures she had to sort of figure it out and go with whatever and sort of learn from whoever she was around that could do magic (which I think is actually a lot rarer in Faerûn than many a dnd character would have us believe) so its like a hodge podge thrown together mess of spells and weird words and gestures that don’t really make sense (because sorcerers cast with charisma so its more about belief that the spell will work) and then Gale mister ‘composer of the Weave’ himself who loves illusion magic because it lets him be whatever he wants and do whatever he wants putting his hands over hers and moving her fingers in the correct way and teaching her the words to say so little illusory butterflies float across the camp and telling her why these specific things have this specific result and finally letting her learn magic just for the fun of it instead of for survival-

#magic as a tool vs magic as an interest #imagine sort of being scared of this uncontrollable talent you have your whole life cause you know youre faling it the whole time #and then someone finally fucking teaches you how to use it properly #they make me insane your honour im sorry #wildweave #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale/tav

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mortuarywriting · 18 days

Text

If I outline what the fuck i wanna see in my self indulgent au will it give me the kick in the ass to write it.

Obviously relative spoiler/high notes/plot points below

The premise is, so far, nobody has seen where Simon lives. As far as they- they being Gaz, Soap, and Price- know he has a flat in Manchester.

Well leaving base one night(ish, time negotiable), the road they were all taking in their separate vehicles is closed due to a nasty accident. Gonna be blocked for 24 hours kinda mess.

So Ghost offers to let them all stay at his place, if only for a bit or the night if they prefer

Everyone just kinda. Well this isn't what we were expecting but alright. So they follow his car, it's pissing down rain and you can't see shit before you but the tail lights you're following but they've committed and by the time they pull off the road they're fuckin nowhere. House is fairly isolated, separate garage building, coop in the backyard, and a thatch roof cottage. Whose Nan's attic is Simon living in???

Except, not a random old biddie. Just a random fat American?? It's obvious they're familiar enough with each other, giving each other shit and that there's a whole "you got back from a mission here is our you came home routine"

Whole mess. The group stays the night because now they're nosy and wanna find out what the relationship is. You both say roommates. They don't wholly believe that.

Simon and roomie sleep downstairs, he can't sleep in a bed yet after the mission and roomie makes sure there's enough background noise that he doesn't snap into combat mode everything is about to go to shit.

Next morning roomie and Simon team up to make a hodge podge of all kinds of breakfast food and between them all there are no leftovers. Concerns are had if everyone ate enough (and then biscuits and gravy settled).

Its back to routine and roomie goes out to grocery shop to stock back up on "i need to feed myself and a whole ass army dude" levels of food and snackies.

While Simon is trying to get Soap and Gaz to stop making excuses to stick around (all good-natured fun) there is a call. Roomie prefaces this with they're fine!!! But uh. They did get hit by a car. A bit. Enough that there has to be a report. Come get the groceries?

And this is the part where they find out Simon and roomie are married. Have been for y e a r s. Technically the town knows them under roomie's last name as a couple.

After the dust is settled and everyone is back at the cottage the explaining happens. Yes, they're married. Vegas happened. It's been a long time and they kinda glossed over the whole "he's a dead man" legal bit for it. Roomie still gets married rights. How do you think he has a lease as a dead man roomie legitimately wants to know. The cottage is in their name, his isn't on it to keep it all off the record if people come knocking for him.

(He does actually have a Manchester flat, though. Landlord takes cash payments however many months at a time and doesn't ask questions. Roomie gets mail from it every once in a blue moon.)

Relationship is largely "we're married but for tax benefits"esque because they're both some flavor of ace. If he's in town roomie checks on if he wants to go to the Saturday munches or not but that's sir not appearing in this fic.

But yeah. Just fun self indulgence.

Could go write the Vegas bit. Write work "being brought home". Bonding activities. List of things for when he retires. Potentially kidnapping. S o many fun options but I just. Gotta write it.

#rambles from the morgue #Some day this will be written #It's sure as shit not today

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erisenyo · 7 months

Note

idk if you’ve done this already bc it fits so well but if you haven’t: “you were dead, i saw you die” for jetko?

For this prompt game! (And also this one!)

The attack when it comes descends on Zuko’s carriage from both sides with near-perfect coordination. And from above, judging by the weight landing on the carriage roof, a distinct thump amid the sudden clamor of shouting and weaponry as Zuko whips his dao from beneath the carriage seat, silently cursing the current fashion for floating, flowing layers as he gets his swords into his hands, the familiar hilts welcome and nearly foreign in his grip after so long wielding inkbrush and paper instead and Agni’s tits, has it really been that long since his last real vacation?

Zuko strains his ears, tracking the rapid sounds of the fight, his instinct to hurl himself into battle biting up against Captain Rin Mai’s constant admonishment for Zuko to please stay in one place, Your Majesty, so we can protect you.

Though judging by noise suddenly replacing the woodland quiet of the North Omashu-Chu road—

“Great hit!”

“Get ‘em, Hands!”

—it’s not Zuko who might need protecting today.

Zuko breathes up his inner flame, letting it shiver in his veins and pool in his hands as he hears Private Wang let out a low grunt and drop to the ground. He eyes the carriage door and its flimsy lock, mind flicking between a fire blast or just launching himself bodily through it and holding his fire in reserve, estimating just how much force he could barrel out with if he—

“Aw, fuck,” a clear, high voice suddenly says, “Look at ‘em, these aren’t the right guys!”

“Shit, what?”

“No!”

“The uniforms are all wrong,” the voice grumbles, disgusted. “We’re gonna have to cut them loose and hope they don’t cockroach rat.”

“Are you sure?” someone else asks, doubtful. “It could be a ruse.”

“We can't be positive without an interro—”

“We are not,” a new voice cuts in, low and exasperated like he says it often and tickling the back of Zuko's brain, “Going to interrogate—”

“Because this,” the woman snaps over top as she rips open the carriage door, skipping back when Zuko whips his dao into a ready position and keeping a wary eye on him as she shouts to her companions and Agni's balls this is a girl, Zuko reazlies, looking beneath the dirt and bright streaks of paint, “Is definitely the wrong target.”

“Oh yeah?” that new voice drawls, even more familiar now in a way that has Zuko's adrenaline wanting to spike against well-worn thoughts like ‘betrayal ’ and ‘assassination' even though the context— “What makes you so sure, Greenie. I believe you, but lay it out for the rest of us.”

“Well,” the girl—Greenie?—says, sarcastic, “He is Fire, for start.”

“Oh, well then,” Jet says, stepping around the open carriage door, “You know what we do with Fire around these parts,” he continues, eyes landing on Zuko and flaring wide a bare second before his expression closes into something aloof and watchful and deceptively amused.

Zuko can only gape back, stunned, barely keeping the tips of his dao from sagging and aware his usual court-trained neutrality is nowhere to be found as Jet slowly drags his eyes over Zuko from head to toe. Maybe, Zuko thinks wildly as he takes in the slashing eyebrows and shaggy hair and age-sharpened face, the attack was actually successful and this is all some kind of dream, his mind struggling its way back to consciousness. Or maybe Zuko actually did get assassinated this time, which is going to make things unfortunately difficult for a number of people, but Zuko doesn’t know how to explain the fact that he's seeing a ghost.

“You’re not going to ask?” Jet finally prods, tone low, dangerous, hook swords dangerously easy in his hands, "What we do?"

And Zuko doesn't know that he does want to ask, that he wants to know, but even if he did he doesn't have the words, couldn't speak if he did with how dry his mouth is as his eyes bounce across the familiar breadth of filled-out-now shoulders and the hodge-podge of armor that actually fits and that knowing, would-know-it-anywhere smirk that tils Jet's lips at the silence.

“Tell ‘im, Greenie,” Jet orders, soft, eyes half-lidded and intent and so familiar, too, never wavering from Zuko’s face in a way that makes Zuko's heart trip in his throat and that’s familiar, too, and—

“We tell ‘em,” Greenie says, drawing herself up and clearly imitating Jet’s drawl and slouching ease and somehow managing the bravado to pull it off in her small frame, “That we’ll get a Fire Nation audit set on their ass unless they clear out.”

Zuko jolts, blinking over at her in surprise, knocked out of his stupor with pure shock and gaping for an entirely different reason now as he stares at the girl, then finally back at Jet.

“We hear around here," Jet says like he was waiting for Zuko's attention, "That the Fire Lord is very strict when it comes to audits and impropriety among his ‘citizens living under Earth Kingdom jurisdiction’ these days." Jet's tone is sarcastic and mocking and laughing, his eyes sharp as they slide pointedly to Zuko’s headpiece.

“You were dead,” Zuko finally manages, shock sending the words tripping out of him, the only ones that currently matter. “I saw you die, you were dead.”

“What?” Jet frowns, taken aback enough to actually show it before he pulls his smirk back into place. “When, you weren’t there,” he says, nearly accusing.

“It was in a play,” Zuko says, numb, struggling with the wherewithal to explain right now that he was there, kind of, just early, or maybe late, depending on how you’re measuring it, “You—you got brainwashed and crushed and—” Zuko cuts off hard, gulping back the rest of the words at the way Jet’s hands tighten around his swords, corded muscle shifting along his forearms, Zuko's eyes flicking down and then catching at the faint patchwork of lines against tan skin, an array that could just be dust and dirt and the scars of living or could be—

“So the Fire Lord is getting his information from musical theater, in the new administration?” Jet finally asks, mockery back in his tone like Zuko can’t see the guarded wariness in his eyes, the ready anger, Jet’s gaze still staying fixed on Zuko even as Greenie jolts, her eyes flying wide, mouth forming a nearly comical oh of realization. "Is that an official policy? Part of the 'new era of peace and cooperation?'"

“It wasn’t—” Zuko snaps, hot and feeling himself flushing as he immediately cuts off, because…there might have been a song or two, actually. And Zuko wouldn’t say that puts the entire work into the musical theater category, but he knows that Earth Kingdom plays are generally so low on lyrical music that Jet might consider—

Jet raises his eyebrows, amused, and Zuko corrals his wayward thoughts as Jet crosses his arms, swords loose again in his hands. “Was I at least hot in it?”

“…Uh,” Zuko says, no part of him prepared to articulate ‘yes but not as hot as the actual you.’

But apparently he doesn’t have to articulate it with the way Jet’s smirk curls wide again, with the way Jet gives Zuko a smoldering, lazy once over that’s exactly the same as nine years ago on that boat in Serpent’s Pass, and Zuko swallows hard as his stomach swoops and flutters in answer like he’s sixteen again with that, too.

“We’re heading to rob a corrupt tax official, you know,” Jet suddenly says, tilting his head toward the line of curious eyes peeking around the carriage door, his eyes laughing when Zuko startles like he knows Zuko is only just noticing them. “Not Fire,” Jet smirks, amused and completely insincere as he adds with a casual wave toward Zuko’s unconscious guards, “Sorry.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, blank, rote. “Okay.” If the official isn’t Fire then Zuko can just…not care about it, for now. It’s Bumi’s problem, or—no, this far north it’s probably Lady Tang’s problem, actually, which under the treaty agreements eventually would make it Zuko's but either way, it’s not Zuko’s right now, and that’s what matters. His mind is currently otherwise occupied.

Mostly with the way Jet is watching him, eyes laughing and familiar and here.

“I hear,” Jet says, tucking a stalk of wheatgrass into his mouth and Agni, the way Zuko's stomach swoops seeing it, like in the nine years since he hasn't— “That the guy’s eating like a king, while the rest of his province has to feed off his scraps.”

Zuko stills. His breath catches, inner flame flaring into the gap in anticipation and then in answer as Jet smirks like he knows it, both of them locking eyes and ignoring the whispering behind the carriage door of, "Wait, I thought it was a lady, not—" "Shut up, idiot, do you want them to—"

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Jet drawls, gazee half-lidded and intent, and Zuko licks his lips, hesitating, because the next line isn’t his. Except Jet seems to know it, too, and also the girls, because Jet nudges her without looking and she obediently, immediately pipes up, “What sort of king is sh—he eating like?”

“The fat, happy kind,” Jet purrs, like an invitation, like a seduction, like a challenge, and Zuko is suddenly too impatient to wait for the question, exhilaration and a fuck-the-consequences kind of thrill he hasn’t been able to indulge in years flaring in his chest as he grabs the headpiece out of his hair, tucking it into his belt as he shrugs off his impractical outer robes to reveal the black, utilitarian, close-fitting garments underneath.

“I’m in,” Zuko rasps, familiar words and familiar excitement in his chest, and the feral smile on his lips familiar, too, and just like the one curling Jet’s lips in answer.

(If you'd like to imagine a grown-up Jet, my I direct you to this marvel)

#asks and answers #ask game #fic writing #my writing #This was a fun one I do love some Jetko egging each other on into idiocy #And also some Jet who cannot stop himself from adopting strays #Zuko #Jet #Jetko

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hiorintruther · 1 year

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Given that Blue Lock is an in-universe reality show with (apparently) millions of worldwide fans, that implies the theoretical existence of a Blue Lock fandom and, by extension, Blue Lock fanfic.

What kind of mischaracterisations do you think in-universe fans have of the various members of Blue Lock? Which ships would be popular? This is an rpf situation so what sort of drama goes on surrounding the very existence of bllk fanfic? Does the fandom have pockets which behave like other rpf fandoms such as Kpop and streamers? How much does Reddit fucking hate the stans? I NEED ANSWERS!!!!!

Firstly, the fandoms tagged in fics would be a mix of: Football RPF — all media types, Blue Lock (Football RPF), Neo Egoist League (Football RPF) and BLTV (Football RPF).

Common fandom-specific tags include: ‘Referenced Professional Footballers’, ‘No Beta We Die Like Kunigami Rensuke’s Ratings’, ‘Not Safe For Ego Jinpachi’s eyes’ and ‘Author Uses Football Not Soccer’.

Platonic relationships are pretty common in the fandom, with the most popular ones being ‘Michael Kaiser & Alexis Ness’, ‘Meguru Bachira & Lavinho’, ‘Yoichi Isagi & Noel Noa’ and ‘Yoichi Isagi & Rensuke Kunigami’.

Personally I think the most popular ships (as of right now) would be Kaisagi, Kainess, Reonagi and Ryurin. Bachisagi would be practically nonexistent because fans wouldn’t have seen them interact much. Only old fans know they were basically unstoppable together during the U-20 match. Most fans joined during the NEL, after the show started streaming.

Noel Noa gets shipped with Lavinho but only because he’s always the dad in fics who needs emotional support. In these fics, Isagi and Bachira are always the gremlin step brothers who scheme their not-dads into getting together.

There’s a ship war going on between the kaisagi and the kainess shippers. There’s also a third party which is against real-person shipping but is fine with rpf in general so Bastard Munchen for them is a hodge-podge, falling apart at the seams found family trope. The same goes for all the other teams but the Bastard Family TM is the most popular one.

THERE ARE SO MANY FOUND FAMILY AUs. Popular tags include: “Noel Noa Is A Tired Dad”, “Isagi And Kunigami Are Brothers”, “Kaiser Is The Rich Cousin” and “They’re A Family Of Bastards Your Honour”.

There’s definitely fandom drama around the ethics of reading and writing fanfic. General consensus seems to end up being that non-ship fics are technically fine. Shippers still do their thing though because they’re impossible to get rid of.

The fandom ‘cinnamon rolls’ are definitely Bachira and Ness. Ness especially get mischaracterised as an ‘innocent, fragile flower’ that Kaiser has to protect. Bachira is most;y just characterised as Lavinho’s protege who is a happy lil sunshine with no flaws. Nagi also nearly falls into the ‘cinnamon roll’ category because he’s quiet and gives off ‘uwu’ energy (according to his stans) but slightly less so.

Rin gets the most x readers written about him. He beats everyone else except maybe Kunigami, who is a close second. They’re always characterised as the ‘bad boys’ and are the kings of Wattpad.

Sae gets inserted into Rin fics all the time purely because they’re brothers. Because he doesn’t appear in the NEL, his fandom interpretation is COMPLETELY off. Fans have basically turned him into a completely new, fictional character, he’s that different. He’s always dating Shidou though — Ryusae is a rare ‘it’s probably okay to ship this’ ship because literally everyone is convinced they’re actually dating irl.

If Kaiser is in the fic, his tattoo is usually brought up either as some kind of trauma-related thing or, in fantasy AUs, as a cursed mark. Fans have written whole ass essays about the symbolic meaning of his tattoo and how it can relate to fics.

Some of the more popular fics in the fandom, by kudos, include:

the obligatory fantasy AU where all the teams are kingdoms — 240k words, major character death, hurt no comfort (one of the fandom’s ‘cinnamon rolls’ dies in the third act).

the obligatory university/college AU where for some reason the university uses the US system despite none of the characters being American, each team is a different frat house and the fic is 25/? chapters, 32k words.

A Fluff And Angst, completely unrealistic found family “they all live in one house” fic where Noa adopts Isagi and it’s tooth-rottingly sweet but it’s clear that the author has been through some shit and is drawing from personal experience when writing. All the kids from Blue Lock and Bastard Munchen are like 10 years old. Noa is shipped with Lavinho and people choose to either ignore it and enjoy the fluff or are active shippers — 56k words, 19/22 chapters, hurt/comfort, implied/referenced child abuse, Noel Noa Is A Tired Dad.

Several one-shots involving the ‘brothers/cousins’ Isagi, Kunigami, Kaiser and Ness all doing random shit together. Usually the fics are either from Isagi or Kaiser’s perspective and you can tell which authors prefer the Blue Lockers and which ones prefer the German players — usually 3-6k words each.

A long-distance relationship Kaisagi AU named after a Glass Animals song that gets so popular it crashes AO3 twice- (sry I’ll stop, that would be rancid).

A Manshine City found family AU where Reo and Nagi are characterised as brothers to the nth degree, Chigiri is the golden child and Chris Prince is the uncle who didn’t want to take them in but had to and slowly grows to love them as if they were his own kids. The grown-up mentors all have weekly brunch down at the local diner where they talk like gossiping aunts — 19k words, 5/? chapters, Manshine Triplets, Reo And Nagi Are Twins, Chigiri is also there tho!!! Give Chris Prince A Break.

The aforementioned AU where Bachira and Isagi trick their not-dads into getting together — 16k words, 4/10 chapters, Fluff And Angst, Slow Burn.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #I wanna know what the in-universe AO3 page for Blue Lock (footballer RPF) looks like!!!

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starlitangels · 8 months

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Rocky Home Lives

This just kinda came to me. Teenage Shaw Pack boys + Darlin' 1.3k words

CW: discussion of parental issues and "marital" issues between parents

—

"Psst! Tank!" Milo hissed. I jolted out of my half-asleep stupor back into full wakefulness, anxiety clenching around my lungs and heart and in my throat. I sat up, looking around for a fire.

Asher rolled over, snoring, and scratched at his armpit. Still fully asleep.

Milo's smaller figure was silhouetted against the sliding glass door that led out to Gabe's backyard. The door was partially open. When he saw me sit up, Milo beckoned me closer.

Carefully, I eased to my feet and picked my way across every couch cushion and pillow in the Shaws' house that we'd gathered on the living room floor in a gigantic cuddle pile. I did my best not to step on Asher and hop over David so he wouldn't wake up. Amanda had rolled off the hodge-podge of blankets and fluff and was sprawled out on the carpet, drooling.

I tiptoed over to Milo. "What?" I whispered.

He slid the glass door open a little wider and slipped out, beckoning me out with him. Once I followed, he slid it shut behind us.

"What'd you wake me up for?" I asked, still whispering.

He scoffed quietly. "You were still awake."

"Barely. I was almost asleep, you moron."

"Sorry." He didn't sound apologetic at all. "Come sit with me."

Barefoot and in our pajamas, we crunched through the semi-dry summer grass to the pool deck. Milo carefully moved some of the pool cover out of the way and sat on the deck, dipping his feet in the water. I sat beside him. "What?"

His grey eyes were turned skyward. Stars twinkled in his irises. "We're not stupid, right?" he asked.

"Of course not."

"Okay. Then let's be honest with each other."

I raised a brow. "What are you getting at?"

He made a guttural noise as he sighed. Like a drawn out uuuuuggggghhhhh, but not quite. "You 'n' me both know that David doesn't spontaneously throw sleepovers. David doesn't host the sleepovers unless Gabe makes him do it."

"And?"

Milo looked down from the stars to fix me with a stare. "C'mon. My parents aren't the only ones arguin' tonight, Tank."

Ice spread out across my entire body from my heart. Even as anger at Milo's—correct—assumption boiled the blood in my neck and face. I sucked in a deep breath and huffed. "So?"

"So. We know why we're actually here. Not just for a fun night of video games and pizza. Gabe's tryna get us away from our folks tonight. Maybe it's an alpha's attempt to protect the young wolves in his pack."

I grunted and kicked my feet through the water of the pool, trying to be quiet. The water right at the surface was still warm from baking in the sunlight under the pool cover, but below the temperature dropped quickly. "Probably," I said noncommittally.

Milo pursed his lips in the corner of my eye and nodded.

We sat on the pool deck, listening to the crickets and trailing our feet forward-and-back through the water, for a really long time. Milo occasionally sniffed and scratched at the healing scab that split his left eyebrow from Asher's claw last week. The third time he reached up to itch it, I grabbed his wrist and dragged it back down. "Your mom said not to itch it. If you rip the scab it'll bleed a lot again."

That earned me an eye-roll. "I know," he retorted. "Doesn't stop it from bein' itchy though."

"That's because it's healing," I said.

With a quick yank, he pulled his wrist out of my grip.

I returned my hand to holding onto my knee, flicking my gaze up to the stars.

"Why..." I licked my lower lip, realizing how dry my mouth had become. "Why doesn't she ever... leave him?" I thought about the multiple times my parents split up and got back together.

Milo's expression turned thunderous and I knew I said the wrong thing. Stupid Tank. I always said the wrong thing.

I opened my mouth to tell him to forget I said anything, but he beat me to speaking.

"She never would," he said. Bare and honest and open in a way I just... never could replicate. "The thing about my folks is..." He made a face, thinking about how he wanted to word the next part, probably. "My parents love each other. Truly and deeply. It's honestly kinda gross sometimes. But..." He took a deep breath. "There are some... fundamental misalignments between them. Ma's priority is her family. Plain and simple. Dad... his is work. And then, y'know. The other stuff." The last three sentences were dripping with fury. "And I watch it break my ma's heart again and again but she'll never give up on him."

"Then your mom's better than both of my parents," I said.

Milo cleared his throat. "I kinda noticed that," he admitted.

I snorted. "It'd be impossible not to notice."

"Tank." He pulled one leg out of the pool to turn to face me head-on. "You're not them, got it?" he said.

"Both of them would vehemently disagree. I'm their blood."

"That means nothing. You've got your own life. How you choose to live it is up to you. Me? I'm terrified of bein' my dad. So I'm not gonna be. If I ever get a mate, I'm gonna love 'em and make 'em my number one priority and... avoid whatever sent my dad down the road he's on. Same can go for you."

I scoffed. "Oh please, Greer. Like anyone's ever going to want to date me. I tend to scare potential partners off before they're even within earshot. I'm waaay too much of a handful."

Milo fixed me with an expression that looked so much like his mother I actually leaned away from him. "Ya just gotta find someone who's willin' to use two hands, then. Look at my folks. Dad's a disaster 'n' Ma loves him anyway."

"Yeah, and look at mine," I replied sarcastically.

He screwed up his mouth. "You're not gonna be like them. Your heart's better'n both-a theirs."

"Maybe."

His hand landed on my shoulder, fingertips digging in tight. "It is. I see it all the time. No arguin', understand?"

"Yes, Marie."

"Oh, you little sh—" He shoved at my shoulder, kicking water out of the pool and over my pajamas.

I snickered and hopped up, water following me with a loud splash, racing away. Milo gave chase.

—

Gabe lifted one the slats in the blinds, looking down at the backyard. The starlight was barely enough to see two teenagers chasing each other around the lawn and pool. They were both smiling broadly, even through a plain competitive spirit.

Gabe breathed a sigh of relief. A lot of the younger generation of wolves in his pack had the misfortune of different degrees of rocky home lives.

At least here, those two got a little bit of respite to just be kids and chase each other around the yard.

He dropped the slat in the blinds and went back to bed.

—

I woke up the next morning exactly where I went to sleep.

Lying on my back in the grass with Milo's head near mine. But at a different angle where we'd laid down to look at the stars after running ourselves ragged chasing each other.

Morning dew clung to my pajamas and skin. The sun wasn't yet up, but it was ready to rise. Shafts of orange, pink, and gold were beginning to spear across the dark sky.

I made a face and sat up. "Wake up, Greer. We crashed outside."

Milo jolted tiredly and sat up. "Wh... what?" he mumbled.

"Let's get back inside."

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @darlin-collins @icedunderwaterroom

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Milo #Redacted Darlin'#Milo Greer #Redacted Audio #Starlit Fic

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fyonahmacnally · 9 months

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Luthor & Lane

Staring at the text like it offended her, Lena wonders why she agreed to meet. She is already unsure about this trip to Metropolis, even if it is for The Lena Luthor Foundation. Now she has the added stress of meeting up with Lucy Lane. Of course they’ve met before. In fact, they met long before she met Kara. Back when Lex and Clark were best friends, the three of them would hang out with the Lane sisters. Being so much younger than everyone else, Lena and Lucy were basically forced together while their older siblings hung out.

So yes, she’s known the younger Lane for a long time. Known of her, really. They were more acquaintances than anything else, but familiar enough with each other that they were able to spend time together without too much awkwardness. Although, it has been years since they’ve seen each other. Well, until Lucy came back to National City to check on Kara after her return from the Phantom Zone.

So here she is, landing at the Metropolis airport, her first visit in years. She actually has plans to meet the younger Lane around 7 at a bar for drinks. After Kara’s return as well as her own journey to Newfoundland in exploration of her magical ancestry, Lena's been pushing herself to try new things, to step outside her comfort zone. And since making friends has never really been her forte, she agrees to hang out with Lucy. Alone. Without her Kryptonian buffer. She really wasn’t kidding all those years ago when she told Kara that the blonde was her only friend in National City. What she didn’t say at the time is that the blonde was her only friend period. Which means, this is definitely outside her comfort zone.

Her little hodge podge family, the one that means more to her than anything in the universe, has been encouraging her to meet new people. To just be herself. She’s grateful for them and their confidence in her, truly, but there’s so much history between the Luthors and Lanes. At this point, she’s pretty sure meeting a perfect stranger in a bar would make her less nervous. What could the two of them possibly have in common? Sure, they both dated James and they’re both friends with Kara, but will that be enough to carry a conversation?

Come on, Luthor. You stare down misogynistic old men all the time, Lucy Lane is a tiny, petite, very attractive woman. Okay, slow your tragically gay horses, Lena. Fuck. Now you’re having a full-blown conversation with yourself. Maybe insanity is a family trait.

She sighs. She seriously needs to stop talking to herself, even if it is only in her head and not aloud. Her eyes focus on the street outside the airport, a sleek black town car awaiting her at the curb. She slides into the back seat after passing her luggage off to the smiling man standing by the open door. The driver is familiar, having worked for the Luthors for years.

“Good evening, Hector. It’s been a while.” Lena smiles, and makes eye contact through the rearview mirror as he gets settled. “I’ll be staying at the penthouse and not the manor.” She maintains eye contact and Hector prepares to pull into traffic. “How’re Donovan and the kids?”

Hector returns the smile and fills Lena in on his little family as they make their way through the Metropolis streets. By the time they arrive at the penthouse, she’s heard all about the twins and their new hobbies. She grabs her bags and makes her way inside, taking the private elevator to a place that hasn’t been home to her in over 6 years.

As she opens the door, she is grateful she had the staff that maintains the place air it out and restock everything for her short stay. It’s stifling enough as it is without the air being stale as well. Stepping inside the sterile place is a stark reminder that National City really has truly become her home. Glancing at her watch, she realizes there’s only an hour left before she has to meet Lucy. She heads to the bedroom and ensuite to freshen up, her stomach still nervously churning as she desperately hopes the night goes smoothly.

The walk to the bar was thankfully short. It’s one of the reasons she chose the place, it’s within walking distance of her penthouse and they stock her favorite top shelf scotch. The green-eyed brunette isn’t hard to spot as Lena walks inside and makes her way to the bar. They make eye contact and smile in acknowledgement when Lena sits down.

“Long time, no-see, Luthor.” Lucy grins, casually looking her up and down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything so casual. Always suits or pencil skirts. You look good.”

Lena does her best to school her features, the blatant compliment catching her off guard. “Appreciate it, Lane. You look good as well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so relaxed.” She grins and quickly orders a double scotch. “Metropolis must be treating you well.”

They ease into small talk, Lucy filling her in on what’s going on in her life, how things are with Clark, Lois, and Jon, and her decision to leave the military to practice law privately. In turn, Lena fills her in on renaming L-Corp again, naming Sam as the new CEO, and starting The Lena Luthor Foundation. The conversation is simple and flows easily when they’re talking about things that aren’t too personal. When they stick to things that are either public or common knowledge, Lena knows how to handle it. It’s when things start venturing into the more personal and private aspects of her life that she starts to squirm a little.

“So, you dating anybody, Luthor?” Lucy asks, a knowing smirk on her face as she sips the brown liquid in her glass. “The last person I heard about was James and that’s been three plus years ago now, right?” She sits her glass down and leans back, eyeing the obviously nervous woman across from her.

She’s gone toe-to-toe with the older Lane sister on several occasions, that is miles worse than having a simple conversation about dating. Isn’t it? Lena clears her throat and rolls her eyes, refusing to let Lucy see her squirm. “I haven’t really had time to date anyone since James and I split. End of the world, the multiverse collapse, and evil, insane older brothers with mommy issues tend to take precedence.” She takes a long swallow from her glass, mossy green eyes observing the smaller woman. “What about you, Lane? Find anyone to keep you busy between discharges and trials?”

Lucy chuckles, leaning forward, placing her forearms on the bar and wrapping both hands around her glass. “I’ve dated here and there. More so just to scratch that periodic itch than looking for a relationship.” Inquisitive green eyes bouncing between Lena’s own. “How’s Kara doing?”

The emphasis on the blonde’s name doesn’t go unnoticed.

A dark, perfectly manicured brow arches as her head tilts. “She’s been doing a lot better the past couple of weeks. I’m pretty sure you know that since she told me that you've texted at least once a week since she got back.” Her eyes narrow as she watches a mischievous glint shine in Lucy’s eyes. “What are you getting at, Lane?”

“I’m not getting at anything, Luthor!” A shit-eating grin crawls across her face and she orders them another round of drinks. “She talks about you a lot. Even in text. If I didn’t know the situation the way I do, I’d think you two were dating.” Her smile grows bigger as the bartender drops their drinks on the dark wood in front of them.

Lena’s not sure what happens first, the sputtering noise that spills from her lips or almost knocking her fresh glass of scotch over. Regardless, she’s momentarily stunned into a mouth-gaping, flustered mess. “Wha–why wou–You.” She fumbles incoherently, letting a frustrated groan escape before she can catch it. She sighs and shakes her head, still trying to figure out how she’s going to respond. She settles on the usual phrase. “Kara and I are just friends. You’ve been around us enough to see that, Lucy.”

Lucy laughs, a full-blown belly laugh before she seems to collect herself to down the last of her second serving of whiskey. “Oh, I’ve definitely seen the two of you together enough to know there’s more to it.” She motions to the bartender for another round for the pair. “I have also known Kara long enough to know that she is the most oblivious being on this planet and probably several others, if I’m being honest.”

Lena polishes off the last sip of her second round as the third is being deposited in front of her. She smiles and nods her head in agreement before raising her glass to Lucy’s. They clink them together as they both chuckle before savoring the flavor of the expensive alcohol. “She is pretty oblivious, huh? An adorably oblivious puppy.” Raven colored locks fall into her face as she tilts her head in thought. “I suppose it isn’t really her fault. Human customs and norms must be so odd to her, even after all these years. Social cues aren’t easy to master, I should know.”

“Yeah, I talked to Clark about it once. She still struggles with social cues and thinks people are just really nice when they’re flirting.” Lucy grins, throwing a wink at Lena. “And don’t get me started on her secret identity. She genuinely thinks she’s good at hiding it. I mean, come on! Glasses and a ponytail?!” She scoffs, downing another large gulp of the smooth golden liquid.

“Right?!” Lena exclaims. “She’s such a terrible liar and her excuses for disappearing for super emergencies? I mean, come on!” She rolls her eyes and smirks. “One time, she told me that she flew to my office on a bus. On a bus, Lucy.”

They both laugh heartily, tears forming at the edges of their eyes. Each of them subtly glancing at the other, refusing to acknowledge the fact that they were both duped by the glasses and ponytail they willingly scoffed at seconds prior. Nope, that would require the two ultra-competitive type-A personalities to admit to being fooled by the adorkable superhero.

They finish drink number three, both definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol pulsing in their bloodstream. Lucy gives the bartender a crooked grin, her eyes half-lidded and glassy as she asks for another round. While they wait for the next round to land in front of them, an idea pops into Lucy’s head. She decides they should move to the far corner of the bar where the dart boards and pool tables reside.

She nods her head in confirmation to herself before speaking. “Come on, Luthor. We have to play pool and darts, we’re at a bar.” She sloppily points in the direction of the games in question, a cocksure smile on her face. “I bet I beat you in both. What do you want to wager?”

The comment stokes Lena’s competitive side. She lifts a questioning brow, giving her best boss bitch glare, topped off with her cockiest smirk. “Oh you’re on, Lane. You’re going down.” They head toward the dart boards first. Lena’s never in her life thrown a dart at anything nor does she know how to play the game, but she’ll be damned if she backs down from a challenge. “What are the terms of this little wager?” She’s decidedly over confident in her abilities at the moment, but backing down is not an option. She is a Luthor after all. A good competition is fun, right? Especially when she’s feeling this thoroughly relaxed, nevermind that she’s essentially a drink away from staggeringly inebriated.

“Let’s see…” Lucy says as she tries to tap her fingers on her chin, but ends up practically picking her nose instead. Looking at her hand as if it offended her, she shakes her head and locks eyes with Lena. “If I win, you have to tell Kara you have the hots for her.” Lucy giggles as she watches the gorgeous onyx haired woman beside her blink owlishly while inelegantly fish mouthing. For a second, she thinks she might have broken the genius woman. It makes her fully burst into a bellowing laugh.

Before Lena can respond, round number four is dropped in front of them. Lucy snatches hers up and unsteadily stands from her bar stool. She pauses to glance over her shoulder and continues laughing as Lena stands frozen, mouth still gaping wide. Eventually, the genius CEO reanimates and follows behind her.

They make their way over to the dart boards first. The brunette gathers the darts, Lucy taking the red ones and Lena the black. Seeming to sense that Lena either hasn’t ever played or isn’t familiar with the game, Lucy takes the lead. After watching Lucy throw her first few darts, Lena realizes her background in physics should help her immensely. She smirks.

Turns out, her less than sober demeanor doesn’t do her any favors. To say that Lena is bad at darts would be a gross understatement. She’s horrendously terrible and Lucy ends up kicking her ass, gloating all the way to the pool tables.

“You truly suck at darts, Luthor. I’m actually impressed at how bad you are.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “We never discussed your terms for winning our little wager, but I guess it doesn’t matter now, huh?” She staggers a little as they reach the first open pool table, leaning against it for support.

Lena sighs, perching next to the shorter woman, leaning against the felt edge of the table. “We could sweeten the wager. If I beat you in a game of pool, you release me from the obligations of the dart bet.” She grins, thinking herself pretty clever at coming up with that little nugget. Her thoughts are a bit fuzzy from all of the alcohol still swimming in her veins. “What do you want for winning this round, Lane?”

Lucy pauses, her head slowly turns toward Lena and a truly devilish grin stretches across her face. “Easy. The obligations of the dart bet stand, you still have to fess up and admit that you’re in love with the all too cute super-puppy. However, if I win at least two out of three games of pool, you have to call her and ask her to dinner while you’re here in Metropolis. On. A. Date.” She punctuates each of the last words by poking Lena in the shoulder. “I’m sure you have a chef or something at that fancy penthouse of yours. That is acceptable, but you have to confess your feelings over dinner.”

Lena is speechless. She’s at a disadvantage. Again. She’s never played pool either. She’s watched Alex and some of the other Superfriends play at Al’s, but she’s never joined. Sure, she gets the concept and she can figure out the math of it all, but she has no clue how to actually play it. Add the fact that she is without a doubt quite drunk at the moment, she knows she can’t win. At this point, she’s fucked and not in a good way.

“So, if I manage to win, you drop the bets altogether, but if you win, you’re basically doubling down?” Lena raises her signature brow, hoping it is as menacing as it usually is, though she’s pretty sure she looks like a confused toddler trying to decipher a new word. “You drive a hard bargain, Lane. I respect your style.”

They both eye each other and then seem to come to an agreement as they reach their hands out and shake on it.

Initially her anxiety plays heavily into her seemingly hopeless foray into bar games, but it turns out Lena actually isn’t horrible at pool. The first game is a little shaky as she gets used to the rules and the feel of the cue stick in her hands, but she manages to hold her own. She still loses, but it is closer than either of them anticipated.

The second game, she is feeling a bit more confident and ends up just barely squeaking out a win, much to the dismay of the younger Lane. They stare at each other across the table as Lucy sets everything up for their final game. It’s at that moment that Lena realizes that as much as she wants to win, she also kind of hopes she loses. If nothing else, it gives her the catalyst she’s needed to finally tell Kara how she feels. It’s a revelation that startles her at the same time it makes her giddy.

When she focuses back on the moment again, Lucy is staring at her, head tilted and an amused look on her face. “What’s going on in that genius brain of yours, Luthor? From the look on your face, you just had a major revelation about something or the scotch is finally talking back.” She sports that all too smug smirk again and saunters over to Lena to hand her the cue ball. “Winner of the last game goes first. Care to share?”

Lena takes the ball from her and waltzes over to the edge of the table, dropping the ball in place and giving her own smug smirk. “There’s nothing to share, Lane. Let’s get this show on the road. One of us is going down.” She winks at the brunette and sends the cue ball soaring across the table. She manages to sink two balls, but misses on the third. “Why are you so dead set on getting me to tell Kara how I feel? Wait, how do you even know how I feel?”

Lucy laughs, the two of them really are fucking clueless. “Seriously, Luthor? Anyone within a 2 mile radius of you two can see how you feel!” She chuckles even more as Lena does her best fish impression, opening and closing her mouth several times before huffing and crossing her arms. “And I’m interested because I want Kara to be happy. She deserves it.”

After sinking a majority of the striped balls, Lucy finally misses, turning the table back over to her. Lena walks around the table looking for a decent shot before she turns back to the brunette. “You’re right, she does deserve to be happy, but that doesn’t mean I’m the right person for that.” She sighs, the cue ball clacking against one of the last few solid balls remaining. Standing and narrowing her eyes at the woman across the table, she glares. “You seem sure that she would be open to something like this. Why is that?”

They both watch as the solid ball bounces off the corner pocket and back across the felt table, leaving Lena with three balls to Lucy’s one. “For someone so smart, you sure are dumb, Luthor.” Her grin widens as Lena scoffs at her. “Kara feels the same way, she’s just too scared to admit it. Trust me.” She sinks the last striped ball and walks around to find the best angle on the 8 ball. “Besides, every time I talk to her she’s going on and on about you. Lena this and Lena that and Lena’s so amazing. Blah. Blah. Blah. Like I said earlier, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were dating already.”

She watches as Lucy sinks the final nail into her coffin. She’s lost another game to the feisty brunette. Lillian is probably rolling over in her grave. She sighs, drops her cue stick back into its holder, and turns to face her opponent. “Alright Lane, you won fair and square.” She glances at her watch and realizes it’s just after 10 p.m. Gods, it feels much later, she thinks. “What are the rules here? I have to call her and ask her to a dinner date tomorrow, then confess my feelings. How are you going to know if I hold up my end of the deal?”

“Oh that’s simple, I will hear from Kara pretty quickly.” A shit-eating grin splits her face, she didn’t bother to tell Lena that Kara’s already told her that she’s in love with the genius woman, but is too scared to tell her. Sue her if she wants these two idiots to get their heads out of their asses. “I guarantee you that I will either get a phone call or a text from her the minute she’s done talking to you.”

Lena narrows her eyes at the petite woman. There’s something more to this, her spidey senses are tingling. “What are you up to, Lane? Don’t forget I grew up in a house full of dishonesty, betrayal, and professional liars. I can smell a scheme from a mile away.” She steps closer to Lucy and watches the brunette closely. Her eyes never waver, her head held high and shoulders remain squared. Regardless of any outward sign, she’s definitely up to something.

Lucy plucks Lena’s phone from her hand and quickly navigates to Kara’s contact. Interesting – it’s Lena’s number one in her favorites. She presses the call button and hands it over. Laughing as Lena sputters and flips her off as they make their way over to the bar to cash out their tab for the night. Just as Lena signs the credit card slip, Kara’s melodic voice sounds on the other end of the line.

“Hi Lena.” She says, a smile evident in her voice. “Oh, it’s loud. Are you still at the bar with Luce?”

“Hello, Darling.” Lena says, hearing the slight lilt in her speech. She glares at Lucy as the shorter woman has the gall to gesture and giggle at her while they make their way out onto the street. “We’re just leaving the bar now.”

Lucy continues walking alongside Lena toward her penthouse as she and Kara chat about their evening. When they eventually make it to the lobby of the building, Lucy pauses and makes a ‘wrap it up’ gesture with a raised brow added for good measure. The patented Luthor glare is what she gets in return causing her to gulp. That thing is a potent weapon, Lucy thinks, shaking and shuddering. She watches as Lena wraps up the conversation with the question she’s been waiting for.

“So, what are your plans tomorrow evening once you get off work?” Lena asks, a flutter of nervousness dancing across her skin and twirling in her stomach. She patiently waits for Kara’s response.

“Nothing on the agenda. The usual, dinner and patrol. Hopefully it’s a quiet night.” Kara says alongside the muffled noise of the television playing in the background. “What about you?”

Lena smiles, here goes nothing. “Well, I was wondering if you wanted to fly over and have a dinner date with me. We can order in and watch a movie. Whatever you want.” She does her best to swallow the terrified feeling brewing in her throat and hopes Kara isn’t listening to her heartbeat at the moment.

“Are you okay, Lena?” She asks, obvious concern laced in her voice. “Your heart is beating really fast. Is someone trying to hurt you?” A slight panicked tone knits itself into the blonde’s last sentence.

“Darling, I’m fine. Just a little tired.” Lena sighs, rolling her eyes and flipping the bird at Lucy again as she stands across from her still watching the scene unfold. “Would you be my date for dinner tomorrow?”

“Lena, of course I will. I’ll always want to have dinner with you.” She smiles. “It’s a date. But um, are you sure you’re okay? Your heart is doing some crazy things right now.” The last sentence is in a higher octave than normal, concern still oozing from her voice.

“Kara, I promise I am fine. Lucy is standing here with me to make sure I get home safely. I’m fine.” She glares at the brunette again, desperately trying not to shove Lucy into the nearest trash bin. “How about meeting me on my balcony around 9 p.m. Metropolis time? That should give you plenty of time to finish work and head this way.?

Kara is quiet for a few seconds before she says, “Yeah, okay. I can’t wait to see you.” Lena can feel her heart race and she knows if she isn’t careful, the blonde will be on the sidewalk next to her in seconds. “And you’re sure you’re okay, Lena?”

She chuckles, she can’t help it. Her traitorous heart gives her way at every turn. “I promise I am fine Kara. Just tired. And probably a little buzzed.” She shakes her head, already thinking about tomorrow night, though she wonders if Kara realizes it’s a real date and not one of their ‘friend’ dates. “Alright Darling, get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“You too, Lena. See you soon.” Kara says and ends the call.

Lucy smirks at her. “I’ll walk you up to the penthouse. By the time we get there, Kara will have either called or texted me to ask questions.” She nods her head as the doorman opens the lobby doors and they make their way inside. “I’m guessing she’s trying to figure out if you really asked her on a date.”

Sure enough, by the time they exit the elevator and reach Lena’s penthouse, Lucy’s phone vibrates. The brunette lets out a loud cackle and turns the screen toward Lena. Green eyes scan the screen and her mouth drops open as she giggles, her mind focuses solely on one specific part that makes her heart soar.

Displayed in front of her is a text from Kara that reads: ‘Oh Rao! I think Lena just asked me on a date. Did she?! Are you still with her? Does she like me back? Lucy. H.E.L.P. Is she asking me out?’

“I told you, Luthor. I bet you all of your other friends have been wondering when you two would get your shit together.” Lucy laughs, stuffing her phone into her pocket. She will call Kara once she leaves. “Now, don’t forget…you have to confess at dinner. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

Lena eyes the green-eyed woman, unsure what to make of this newfound camaraderie, but no less grateful for the less than subtle push to go for it with Kara. “I’m not sure why you decided to do this, Lane, but thanks. Who knows, if all goes well, maybe you’ll be in the wedding party.” She winks at Lucy and chuckles. “Now, go call Kara before she freaks out.”

They both laugh, a mutual nod of respect as their friendship is solidified in the middle of a hallway in front of Lena’s penthouse in Metropolis.

Years later at the wedding reception, during her matron of honor speech, Lucy regales the guest with what she calls, ‘The Tale of the Two Idiots in Love’. Lena and Kara just roll their eyes at the woman. The tale has gotten taller and more embellished over the years, but there’s one thing that remains true.

None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for that one night of drunken competition between Luthor & Lane.

#fanfic #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp fanfic #supergirl #fic #kara #lena #ao3 #lucy lane #friendship #idiots in love #supercorp endgame

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 1 year

Text

Previous Husband AU, Pt 7

(Content warning for abuse and violence)

---

Over the next week, Lena mutes Tom's number on her personal cell and routes her work cell through to her assistant for screening. She works from home-- well, Kara's home, technically-- rocking the satin blouse and pajama bottom look when she needed to be on video chat.

Besides that, she keeps a low profile as she worked out her next steps. During the day, she reaches out to her lawyers, quietly investigating her options before making any moves. Each night, when Kara returns home with takeout, Lena always asks before sharing what strides she's made.

"Are you sure you want to hear about this?" she confirms for the third night in a row. "I have people to help me with all this."

"Lena," Kara says bluntly. "I want to hear about it. I'm in this with you. I want to know what's going on."

Lena gives her a grateful smile. It helps to talk through it-- it not only vents the pressure of stress that builds in her chest throughout the day, but also makes her exit plan all the more real. The light at the end of the tunnel creeps closer by the day.

The good news, Lena explains that night, is that their finances were never joined. They'd signed a pre-nup-- the one thing Lena will ever thank her mother for insisting upon-- which means that besides a few joint investments that Lena won't be hurting to lose, her resources are safe.

Her main concern is her apartment, which has been Tom's home ever since he arrived in National City. Lena doubts he'll move out evem if she demands it, but if push comes to shove, she reasons she can have a team in to pack the place in one day and have the unit listed on the market by noon the next.

No reason for her to step another foot into the apartment again.

It stings a little, she confesses to Kara, to be driven out of her own home. To make even a single concession just to be rid of Tom. But to be rid of him with minimum fuss and zero risk of confrontation is worth sacrificing her pride.

In fact, despite the dread and anguish that had first driven Lena to Kara's door, she now feels... hopeful. She feels like in a way that makes her realize how miserable she's been-- and for how long.

So it's with a smile that Lena sends Kara to work a week to the day since she arrived in tears. Today she upgraded to jeans and a blouse that's soft on her skin, allowing her comfort while also remaining a tad more presentable than her previous hodge podge of dress codes.

Settling onto the couch to thumb through an R&D report, Lena takes a moment to pause, and simply breathe. She feels good.

When she opens her eyes to get down to business, Lena spies Kara's lunch and keys on the counter. Almost as soon as she notices the forgotten items, a knock sounds at the door.

"Dork," Lena mutters with a grin to herself. She plucks lunch and keys both from the counter on her way to the door.

When she opens the door, it's not Kara she sees on the other side.

"Tom."

The air instantly seems to suck from the room, leaving Lena's chest hollow. Every muscle tenses, teetering on the edge of fight or flight.

The smile Tom gives her would be considered congenial, if not for the dark glint of anger in his eyes.

"Hey babe."

Lena swallows the reflexive "what are you doing here?" that rises in her throat, clinging to what little dignity she feels she has left. She lifts her chin, jaw clenching.

"What do you want?"

Tom heaves a sigh. "I missed you too," he drawls sarcastically. His gaze scans the apartment behind her, before Lena too late tries to close the door tighter around her.

"I almost forgot how dramatic you are," he continues. "But a week is stretching it, don't you think? Even for you."

Saying nothing, Lena scowls at him. "You hurt me, Tom."

"You know I didn't mean to, Lee."

"Don't call me that." She's always hated that fucking nickname, and he knows it.

"Look, I'm sorry. It's just, sometimes you get so irrational, it makes me nuts. I snapped, okay? But I promise it won't happen again. We can work through it, together."

The last sounds almost like the promise Lena had made to Kara, but this time it rings hollow. Even as his words spark guilt and shame in her chest, Lena retains the presence of mind to recognize the red flags his tactics are.

Flipping the blame on her.

Casting her as hysterical, irrational.

Downgrading the severity of the event.

Empty promises to do better, next time.

Lena's hand curls into a fist at her side. There won't be a next time.

Tom looks her in the eye. "It's time to come home," he tells her.

Panic rises in Lena's chest. This is it. The final moment between reconciliation or outright confrontation. Lena hates conflict-- always has. She avoids it wherever possible, but right now, she has a choice to make: a single confrontation now to cut ties, or countless more in the future if she goes back.

She makes her choice.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Tom stares at her, his features suddenly unreadable. Then, before she has a chance to react, he lunges towards her and grabs her bicep in a vise grip.

"Hey!" Lena yelps in reflex, pulling back too late to escape.

"We're leaving," he growls. He yanks her from the doorway into the hall, and starts dragging her towards the elevator.

Lena's socked feet slide too easily on the smooth floor, even as she pries unsuccessfully at his fingers. "Ow! Tom, let go! You're hurting me!"

"Shut up!" he growls, yanking her sharply, making her cry out in pain. "If you had just come home, we wouldn't have to go through all this mess."

The elevator door opens, and Tom flings her inside. She bounces off the back wall with a grunt of air escaping her lungs, winding her. Before she can take advantage of her momentary freedom, Tom is right there, pressing against her to pin her against the wall as the elevator closes behind them.

"Stupid bitch. You're so fucking predictable. You know all I had to do to find you was think who would be gullible enough to take your pathetic ass in. And of course it's the cunt who tossed you aside like it was nothing!"

Lena hisses, grimacing as the handrail presses sharply against her spine. "You're the cunt, Tom," she snarls back. "Poor little boy who has to throw women around just to feel like a big strong man--augh!"

Tom's palm cracks across her cheek just as the elevator dings its arrival at the ground floor. He takes Lena roughly by the arm again and pulls her forward once more-- only to stop short of bouncing off another body waiting to step inside the elevator.

"Kara!"

Relief isn't quite the word she'd use to describe the feeling that lifts in her chest. Fear still coats her throat, strangling her. Meanwhile, Kara's pleasant features freeze in surprise-- then darken a moment later as she takes in the scene before her.

Her gaze bounces once between Tom and Lena, scanning Lena for sign of injury before narrowing in on the grip Tom still has on Lena's bicep. Then her eyes flick up to the wide fear in Lena's, before turning her entire focus on Tom.

All this happens in the space of a heartbeat, and in the next breath Tom puffs upright and thrusts his chest out menacingly.

"Get out of--"

Kara winds back her right fist and punches Tom square in the face.

Lena's left to sag a little and catch her breath when Tom's hand lets go to fly up and cradle his face.

"Motherfucker!!" Tom yells, his voice claggy with blood. Even through his fingers, Lena can see his chin coated with the stuff. Before he can do anything more, Kara grips him by the shirt and hauls him around and out of the elevator, releasing him with a shove towards the door.

"Stay the fuck away from her," Kara growls. She plants herself in the threshold of the elevator, ignoring the repeated bumps from the door trying to slide close.

"Or what, bitch!" he roars back. Anger seems to have dulled the pain in his face, because he struts back towards them, seemingly ready for more.

This time, Lena is the one to stand between them.

"No!" she bellows, sharp enough to stop them both short. Tom only pauses a moment though, before continuing to press forward. Finding her nerve and fueled by her own anger, Lena smacks both hands into his chest, shoving him back. "No."

"Lena--"

Lena cuts Tom's threat off with a glare. "I want a divorce," she declares bluntly. She scowls.

"Until then I'll settle for a fucking restraining order."

Stepping back into the elevator, Lena grabs Kara by the hand and pulls her inside as well. Together they stand side by side, glaring at Tom until the door finally slides shut. They both bristle from the altercation on the ride up, storming back down the hall to Kara's apartment.

Only then, after the door has closed behind them and Kara turns all the locks, does Lena's chest catch. Her breath suddenly shortens, and her next attempt to inhale is sharply abbreviated.

Kara's arms wrap around her as Lena's anger falters, leaving only a bubble of tears that soon bursts into a bevy of sobs. Kara says nothing, and simply holds her as she cries.

#supercorp #prev husband au #abuse #violence #confrontation #tom comes looking #ye be warned

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