#so what if i went in manually and made his scar more noticable

[bruhlpng]

joel miller + details

#so what if i went in manually and made his scar more noticable #SO WHAT #pedro pascal #joel miller #ppascaledit #joelmilleredit #tlouedit #the last of us #tlou hbo #pedropascaledit #hboedit #pedrohub #this originally had like 4 more gifs but ps hates me atm #mine* #**

[robert-j-t-wilson]

Chapter 15

Word Count: 1360

Months went by, my family was interrogated about the problem with Gustav and if Mycroft Holmes had seen me in that period of time, everyone repeated the same story, at one point, the government and the MI5 stopped asking and just went along with our story. My relationship with Mycroft was getting better that even at one point we almost had sex, unfortunately, we were interrupted by a call of his brother saying that he needed some sort of access to solve a case, we even became so close that either he spent the night at my house or I spent it at his, but still, there was no sex. I hadn't told him about the problem with Magnussen, he had enough with his work that adding more problems would seem selfish, I hadn't received another message about it so felt no need to bring the subject

"When can we have a rest? you always work and me...", I was putting my pajama on

"You also have work, and one that gets to be as stressful as mine", he sat down on the bed, we were spending that night at my house

"I know Mycroft but still, we should ask for a short holiday so we can both go somewhere where we can finally relax", I crawled behind him

"Still, we would be stressed not knowing if the people we left in charge are going to mess up", I grabbed his hair, we were so close to each other, he even tried to kiss me but I moved away from him, "what is going on in that brain of yours",I could swear I heard a moan left his lips

"Nothing that needs your attention", I didn't knew if I was ready for it but my body was needing it when I felt the warmth in my trousers get bigger and bigger, "I'll go to the loo, if you excuse me"

As soon as I entered the bathroom, I took off my trouser to see that I was having an erection, oh lord, this might just be the chance but I don't want to pressure Mycroft, I decided not to do manual work but to instead see if I was going to have a bit of action after a long time. When I got out of the bathroom, Mycroft was seated in a sofa I had on the side of my room near the window, he was wearing his long sleeve red satin pajama, it was as if he was inviting me to do it, he was reading a book, I got closer until I reached the side of the couch

"Give me that", I took off the book and his reading glasses and moved them to one of the book shelves

"What do you want to achieve Admiral?", he stood up

"Ohh.., I think you know", I undid the buttons of the top part of his pajamas one by one while pulling him closer to the bed

"I don't think it is the...", he moaned at the touch of my fingers tracing a path to his right nipple

"Just shut up and enjoy", he just nodded

I pulled down his shirt and started a kissing trail that went from his mouth to his neck, then down his collarbone and finally to his shoulder. Mycroft didn't wanted me to had many clothes on, while I was working my way to his chest, he started to unbutton my shirt; I pushed him to the bed before he could finish his task, I moved to be in top of him, I noticed the hardness on his trousers, I took of my shirt, while still kissing him, and pulled his trousers down along with mine; we were left on just our underwear, in the dim night light, I could appreciate the body of Mycroft, it wasn't the body of someone you normally see on the telly that are very big and ripped, instead he was a bit paunchy, had body hair covering his freckles in his chest and stomach but it was really short , my body was more muscular and well defined due to the military training I was constantly doing, completely hairless, still, had many battle scars all along my body. I kept the foreplay on for a bit more, exchanging kisses and caresses; he thought it was better to end this game with a caress to my groin, I felt a shiver moved all along my spine

"Good Lord", I moaned when he introduced his hand inside my underpants

"Shut up darling" he whispered to my ear

With his legs, he pulled of my last piece of clothing, I was left naked, he then made a move so he could be on top of me and while taking his briefs off he stoped at my cock, there was no fault in Mycroft's technique, he was so good at it, I knew I was going to come but my ego wasn't going to let me come first

"Mycroft, don't", were the only words I could say

"Anything wrong dear?"

When he stopped I dragged him back to the bed, him facing downwards while holding a pillow, it was now my turn to do the work, I grabbed the lube I had on the cabinet and started rubbing Mycroft's arsehole until he had fully relaxed, I opened his cheeks and started a trail of kisses all through his spine to end up back in his butt, I then, let my tongue do the job, he was now fully relaxed, I opened a condom packet and rolled it all around my cock, he turned to face me, his legs were on my shoulders

"Are you ready?", I had to ask before entering sacred terrains, he just nodded

I was slowly introducing my index finger, when he felt confortable I introduced a second finger; I knew by that time that this wasn't his first time having sex, he was far too good.

"Please, I beg off you, get inside right fucking now", I couldn't blame him for being urged to feel me inside, I wanted the same but I had to prep him first

I hold my cock with one hand while the other one was holding my body in top of Mycroft, I just entered a third of me inside him so he could get used to the feeling, he started moving backwards so I moved inside a bit more until I was completely in, Mycroft had written the word pain all over his face but it was just for a few moments, you could then see pleasure was running his body

"Just tell me when", I needed that consent, it didn't mattered if I was seeing the pleasure, he had to tell me to move, and that only took seconds

"Now"

I started rocking forward, I was holding myself with my both hands, he was hugging me with his legs, the embrace of Mycroft was just perfect I thought it might had been bespoke

"Christ, you feel so good" I moaned

He told me to go faster, his cock was doing instead the Princeton belly rub, at one point I grabbed it and started to do masturbate it. We were both at the edge, he came first all over my belly, it was going to drip to the bedsheets, moments after I came inside him, we stayed in that position just a couple of seconds before I got out, I took off the condom and threw it away, thankfully, we didn't made a mess, the bedsheets ended up clean

"I have to say that was the best sex I ever had", he was breathless

"Still, it wasn't the first time, was it?", I had to ask

"How do you know?"I lay down on the bed while he was tucking in

"Mmm, you weren't as tight as a normal person would be on his first time", he cuddle, my shoulder was his pillow, "Goodnight darling"

"Goodnight, I love you"

He said he loved me, it was the very first time he had actually said those three words. We were both very exhausted, we fell asleep almost instantly, it was nice, it felt amazing to had finally done it with the man I loved, it had been ages since I felt this kind of love

@anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek

#bbc sherlock #mycroft bbc #mycroft holmes #original male character

[hellothere-generalangsty]

Hello doll, it's Minty! 💚 I saw your requests are open and I simply had to dance into your inbox! I would adore a Bad Batch Western AU fix with Crosshair and the sentence prompt "If that wound doesn't kill you, then I will". I love you friend! 💚💛💚💛💚

Crosshair – Dust and Blood (TBB Western AU)

Summary: Every story need a beginning, a middle, and an end. This is the beginning, and it starts with a man who calls himself Crosshair.

From the sentence prompts:

22. “If that wound doesn’t kill you, then I will.”

Word Count: ≈1535 words

CW/ TW: Angst? Idk if you could say it’s angsty - it’s not happy that’s for sure but angsty? Idk anyway; western stuff, wounds/ injuries, (death) threats, pain, scars, blood

Tags: @mintywriteswritings @chaoticvampirejedi @loth-wolffe @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s (thank you again for the help!) @dusk-dawn-and-stars @tacticalsparkles @imalovernotahater @canwestayinthisdream @wakeupjackthisisntfair @namesmox @badbatch-simp24 @lightning-wolffe @maddieskywalker @for-the-love-of-clones @m-e-w-117 @99squad @equalityforcats

@ladykatakuri @firelordillyria @andiebell2023

Notes: This is so exciting for me you can’t even imagine; thank you Minty for the request! I’m really happy to dive a bit more into the stories of the boys, and Crosshair’s arc is one I’m really happy to explore ^^

Also feel free to check Little One – Highly Suspect (you’ll find out a lot of their songs help me dive into that AU)

Dust.

This is how everything started, and how everything would end. He knew it the moment he jumped down his horse, a grimace of pain twisting his face as the dry coat of blood on his ribs ripped open once again. He tried to take a deep breath but stopped halfway, the pumping in his head becoming too strong to focus on anything else. He almost tripped on his feet, grabbing the beige mane of his companion to keep himself up; which made the horse neigh.

“Sorry, pal.” He barely muttered, unable to do more than loosen up his grip a bit.

Above him, an old sign falling into pieces, and a barely readable inscription on it; bleached by the constant exposure to the sun and the occasional rains.

Marauder Valley.

He walked through the entrance of the abandoned village – if one could call it a village – and wandered next to his horse, looking for shelter and a new shirt. His was tainted with red; dark and dried, smelling like iron and sweat. His wound wasn't bleeding too much anymore, but he could still feel a thin dash dripping against his skin when he was turning around or raising his arm.

It took him a few minutes to find the abandoned saloon, and the sight made him hum in a mixture of disgust and relief. A thick coat of dust was laying on the floor, and most of the bottles and tables were left to be; frozen in the middle of their usual occupations. A deck of cards was spread on one of them, and he came closer to take a better look.

Poker. And it was a good hand. Whoever played it knew what they were doing.

The wooden floor was lightly creaking under his feet as he walked around; and hadn’t it be for the few footsteps he was leaving behind, no one could have guessed he came here. He took a small hallway, leading to a few unsanitary rooms – barely big enough for a bed and a chair for most of them – and looked under the beds for a medical wallet or something he could use to patch himself up. His head was spinning a bit, but the clicking of a gun’s chamber and the cold metal tickling the back of his neck felt more important in the moment.

“If that wound doesn’t kill you, then I will.”

He slowly turned around, hands barely raised to show he intended no harm, and came face to face with a lady; probably in her mid-forties, small and chubby, and visibly determined to fulfil her promise.

“I need a doctor.”

“You won’t find any ‘round here.”

“Then a drink will do.” he shrugged, unimpressed.

“We’re going out and get you a drink then.”

She moved the cannon of her gun toward the main room, letting him open the way. He went in with the hope of getting some rest and medicine, and got back outside empty-handed and under the threat of an armed lady; bathed by the burning sunrays of a hot afternoon, in the middle of nowhere.

Nothing had changed during his little visit in the saloon but his state. He tripped on his feet, unable to focus on the stairs and the figure next to him, and fell on his knees next to his horse. The pain was getting worse; stinging and burning, the sensation of warm blood dripping from his open wound and straining his shirt even more; and the headache, the heat, the shivers-

“Alright, sit down.”

He dropped his weight on his behind, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Stay here. And don’t faint!” the woman warned as she walked away from him, disappearing behind the horse. His head felt too heavy, his veins pumping too hard to let him think straight. He let himself lay back against the dusty wooden floor, closing his eyes under the bright light burning above him.

He woke up when cold water splashed his face, making him jolt and grimace in pain.

“ Told you not to faint.”

“I didn’t.” he groaned, trying to sit again, the coat of blood ripping itself a bit as he did.

“Feel like y’can walk?” she looked down at him with a sort of irritated worry. He nodded, grabbing the guardrail to get up, slowly. “Good. Follow me.”

He stumbled a bit, trying to catch up with the woman. He thought he could handle it; he had gone through a lot to get here, and it couldn’t be worse than what he had left behind.

Or maybe it could be.

The loud thud of a body falling on the ground caught the woman’s attention, and as she turned around, a sigh escaped from between her lips.

“Great… Now I have to get the big guy.”

.

Waking up was painful, sudden. His ribs were on fire, his eye stinging – though the light was filtering through old curtains – and the remaining of his headache was still blurring his vision. He didn’t noticed the comfort of the mattress right away, neither the voices filling the room he was in.

“Ha, coming back to us. Told ya ‘t would work.” A deep voice commented in a smile.

“And that?” the woman’s voice asked, and he guessed she was pointing at his wounded ribs. He brushed the tips of his fingers against his own torso, realizing he was bare skin and wrapped in a bandage.

“Can’t do miracles. ‘Have to rest for a few days, go easy with manual tasks for a while.”

He let out a groan when he heard the recommendation, and tried to move his arms to push himself up and sit in the bed.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the voice advised in a laugh, “Unless ya want to open that wound ‘gain.”

He blinked a few times, and managed to see who was talking to him; a man, tall and visibly strong, dressed with dirty clothes and a squared shirt – probably a farmer. A scar was covering the side of his bald head and reached his left eye. The man was neither scary nor impressive, and seemed friendly enough.

He abandoned the idea of sitting, letting go of the light pressure he had put on his elbows and falling down against the mattress. His head gently buried itself in the pillow, and he let out a long, tired sigh.

“Who’re you?” he muttered in his breath, turning his head their way to look at them.

“’Name’s Cid,” the woman told him, “and he’s the big guy.”

“You know that’s not my name.” the man chuckled, and his voice filled the room with warmth and amusement as he looked at Cid.

“Don’t know your name, and couldn’t care less about it.” she shrugged.

“And you are?” the big guy asked, shifting his attention back to him.

He had expected the question, and he knew the simple answer would be to give his name. But he couldn’t stand the sound of it anymore, and his spite told him to go for that one instead. After all, it was “made for him”.

“Crosshair.”

 “Well then, welcome to Marauder Valley Crosshair.” The man smiled at him.

He didn’t feel like returning the gesture, but nodded nonetheless, out of respect and gratitude for their help. He scanned the room, bringing a hand to his face; a light grimace twisting his mouth as he felt the skin stretching on the side of his body.

His fingers ran against his scar around his eye, trying to sooth the stinging pain. It was still recent, bright red, not quite blending in with his warm skintone.

“Well, ‘gotta leave now,” the big guy smiled, grabbing his hat in hand as he walked toward the door, “but if you need anything, I won’t be far.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cid pushed him out of the room, following his steps, “we know. You,” she pointed to Crosshair, “don’t play stupid, stay in bed.”

And on these words, she dragged the door behind her, slamming it before her heeled steps hit the apparent stairs outside the room. Crosshair stared at the door for a moment, contemplating once again getting up, but he was tired, and the bed was comfortable; and these people didn’t seem to want him any harm.

He didn’t seem to want any harm either, right, “Crosshair”?

He groaned faintly at the thought, and his hand dropped from his face to his chest, barely grabbing the thin blanket above him. He was far from him; from them, and now he just needed to sleep the pain away.

Sleep the pain away. Sleep.

Don’t let them get to you. Because they will get to you.

He will find you, you know he will.

They did this to you. They will do worse.

You know that, don’t you, Crosshair?

He let out a frustrated sigh at the thoughts, and slowly turned his head to look at the window. The sun was shining bright behind the curtains, and he could see the dust floating in the rays of light filtering through. It was peaceful.

For now he was safe, far away in a lost, abandoned town, in the middle of nowhere.

For now.

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb western au #mesa writes #yousa request mesa #crosshair #western crosshair #i forgot the tags when I posted it lmao #minty 🤠 #hope you'll enjoy it! #sw tbb #star wars the bad batch #sw #tbb crosshair

[hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis]

The Distance Between Us: 01. Escape from Hell

Summary: Alexandria Eaton is the youngest child of Marcus Eaton. What will happen when she defects from Abnegation and decides to follow in her older brother’s footsteps. Can she make it through Dauntless initiation with her secret or will she find herself in the factionless? And what will happen when the most cold-hearted leader takes an interest in her?

Post Date: 05.10.21

Word count: 2.2k 

Pairing: Eric Coulter x OC

Masterlist

DBU Masterlist

Warning: child abuse (just this first part)

Today is the day. The day that I get to start my new life away from this hell. It’s the day I take my aptitude test and tomorrow I can leave. Although I already know what I want, I’m still scared of the consequences of my actions. What is my father, Marcus, going to think of me? The factions, are they going to think something is wrong when the second child of the leader of Abnegation defects from her home Faction? I quickly try to get rid of these thoughts and start getting ready for the testing. 

I get dressed in a long grey skirt and a tank top. I then put my caramel brown hair in a neat low bun and open the mirror. I check to see if I need to fix my bun and look at myself studying the blue and purple bruises on my arms in the mirror. I leave the mirror open a little longer than I should have, the next thing I know it’s slammed shut.

“Too long,” The raspy voice of my father says.

“Sorry,” I respond quietly.

“You know better, Alexandria,” he says as he grabs my wrist tightly and pulls me from the chair and onto the ground. I stay on the ground while he goes over to grab a belt, afraid of more consequences for fighting back. The next thing I know he’s punishing me for leaving the mirror open too long. All I could feel was pain shooting throughout my body, as he hits me from all angles on my already bruised skin.

“Now finish getting ready, it would be a shame if you were late, representing me and this faction.” He says, with one tight grab of my wrist pulling me up. He expects me to upkeep our reputation since my brother had left and regardless of what happens in our house, I’m not allowed to speak about it. Especially now that Erudite is trying to discredit Abnegation. 

I then slowly slip on a loose long sleeve shirt, trying to ignore the pain. I grab my bag and go to meet my best friend, Beatrice Prior, and her brother, Caleb Prior, outside their house. I met her just after my brother had left and she is the closest thing to a real family, she had become my escape and my rock. We knew that no matter what faction we’d choose, we’d be happy for each other. After a few minutes of waiting they finally come outside.

“Hey Alexandria, you ready?” Beatrice says hugging me as I try not to wince.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, you guys?” I respond looking between her and her brother.

“I’m nervous,” Beatrice says.

“ Let me help you with that,” Caleb says, running over to an elderly woman to help her. I follow quickly behind and grab a few items.

“Beatrice, do you wanna get the other bags?” Caleb questions looking over at her.

After helping the elderly women we continue to walk to where the aptitude test is administered. I tune out most of the conversation Beatrice and Caleb are having. We finally arrived at the building and get in line behind the Abnegation doors. While we are waiting in line we hear a boy from Candor talking to a group of kids from Abnegation, although it doesn’t sound like a friendly one. I see the boy shove one of the kids from Abnegation and see Beatrice step forward slightly before Caleb stops her, “Beatrice...Don’t” She looks at me to see if I disagree with him, but I shake my head letting her know it would be a bad idea. 

The next thing we hear is a train approaching, signaling that Dauntless has arrived. They’re yelling and shouting while they jump off the moving train. It makes me wonder if that train ever stops. A few moments later the doors open and we were put into rooms. There were kids from all of the five factions, Candor, Dauntless, Abnegation, Amity, and Erudite. Luckily I was in the same room with Beatrice and Caleb, I definitely felt way more comfortable with them.

“One hundred years ago, after the war, our founders created a system they believed would prevent future conflict and create lasting peace. Today, aptitude testing based on your personality will assign you to one of the factions. While it is our belief that choosing the faction indicated by your test is the best way to ensure success within the faction system, it is your right tomorrow at the choosing ceremony to choose any of the five factions, regardless of your test results. However, once the choice has been made, there will be no change permitted.” The woman in front of the room said. 

We were then split into smaller groups to go into the testing rooms. Beatrice and Caleb went before me. When their group was done, I only saw Caleb walk back in and Beatrice was nowhere to be found. I was then called up to be tested. Once everyone in my group had gotten to the doors of their room they opened simultaneously. I walked in and  I noticed that my test was being administered by a woman from Dauntless. It was no surprise since we can’t be tested by someone from our own faction. 

“My name is Tori, have a seat.” She said sounding like she didn’t want to be here. I sit down in the metal chair. Although I’m wearing long clothing I still felt the coldness on my skin. It felt soothing to my bruised skin. 

“You'll be offered a series of choices to test your aptitude for each faction until you get one result. 95% get the faction of their origin,” Tori says, explaining how the test works as I sit quietly, trying not to look at myself in the mirror-like walls.  She hands me a small glass of blue liquid and gestures for me to drink it. I don’t hesitate to drink it,  wanting the test to be over as soon as possible. 

I close my eyes and when I open them I find myself in the same room except Tori isn’t there. I got up from the seat and looked around and found two pedestals. One with a knife. The other with a large piece of meat. 

“Choose” I hear my own voice say. I study both items but soon enough they both disappear and I hear a dog bark from my right side. I try to calm the dog, but I didn’t have any success. I then think that dogs can sense fear. I calmed my breathing and sat on the ground to get to the dog’s level. The next thing I know the aggressive dog becomes a puppy, I give him a little scratch behind the ear. 

I then hear a little girl point out the dog, but when I turn back the puppy had turned back into the aggressive dog it once was. The dog starts to chase the little girl. I run after them and get in between the little girl and the dog. When the dog had jumped onto me, I wake up suddenly from the simulation.

“Shit, not again” I hear Tori whisper. I look at her with a confused look. 

“What happened?” I ask her as she guides me to the door.

“Your test results were inconclusive. They were Dauntless, Abnegation, and Erudite. You can’t tell anyone. I manually entered Abnegation as your results” she explains to me in a hushed voice. 

“Wait what does that mean?” I question.

“You’re Divergent, you don’t fit in just one faction.” She says and then opens the door and pushes me out. 

For the rest of the day, I sat in silence, and not looking forward to going home. I walked with Caleb back to Abnegation since the serum had made Beatrice sick and she left early. I came home to my father sitting in the living room drinking a beer. 

“How did the test go?” He asks even though I knew he didn’t genuinely care.

“Fine,” I respond quickly. 

“Regardless of your results, you know what faction to choose if you know what’s best for you,” He says as he finishes his beer. 

“I know,” I say as I sit across from him knowing this conversation won’t end quickly. 

“You know, maybe I should take some precautions. In case you do leave,” Marcus says and he grabs my wrist and drags me to a chair in the dining room. He sits me down and tells me not to move unless I want more consequences. 

He rolls up my sleeves, high enough so no one else would notice the marks he leaves. As I look at a few of the previous scars he’s left, he breaks the beer bottle he had just finished against the table making me flinch at the noise of the glass breaking. He picks up a small sharp piece and digs it into my left arm. I let out a small yelp, which causes him to put his hand over my mouth and shove another piece of glass into my leg. He drags it down my leg, it rips my skirt, letting blood bleed into the fabric. I try to keep myself from being audible as my eyes start to tear up from trying to stay silent.

“This is for your brother leaving and for you if you leave too. If you tell anyone about this, just know what will be waiting the next time I see you.” He says menacingly, leaving me sitting teary-eyed with glass stuck in me.

I slowly take out the glass he left in my leg and arm. And clean it up as soon as possible. I head to bed, not caring that I’m still in my bloody clothes. I just can’t wait to leave, regardless of the repercussions. The next morning I was sore after my punishment from the night before making it hard for me to get up and walk. I hear a knock on my door and go to open it. 

“We’re leaving in 30 minutes. You better be ready by then. And get rid of those clothes,” Marcus says and walks away.

I change out of my bloody clothes and into a similar set of clothes. I hate the Abnegation dress code. I finish getting ready and wait in the living room for my father. We walk together with the Prior family to the Choosing Ceremony. Beatrice, Caleb, and I walk in silence while our parents talk a bit about their jobs and old family memories. I hate how my father acts all happy and makes us look like we’re a perfect family, it disgusts me how people buy it. 

We make it to the choosing ceremony and are sat down next to the Prior Family. A woman from Erudite, Jeannie Matthews, had the honor of the opening speech this year. After her speech, my father went up to call the names of the kids participating in the choosing ceremony. A few kids stayed in their home faction while others left, you could hear the upset parents in the crowd. 

Next up was Caleb, he chose Erudite. It was a complete surprise knowing that they have been trying to take control of the government and discredit Abnegation. Then it was Beatrice's turn, she was up there for some time, I could tell that she was struggling to choose what faction to pick. At the last moment, she let her blood drop over the hot coals, which signifies Dauntless. Roars erupted from their side of the room. 

A few more kids went up before I heard my father call my name. I slowly got up out of my seat and made my way to the stage. I saw the look in my father's eyes telling me to stay where I am or else. But I didn’t let that scare me. I picked up the knife and cut the palm of my hand, thinking about what happened the previous night. Before I could even process anything, I quickly put my hand over the burning coals and squeezed my hand to let my blood drop as fast as possible. “Dauntless” I hear my father’s voice boom through the auditorium and a few quiet gasps from the crowd. I knew I had made a bad choice for Abnegation, almost confirming for Erudite that Abnegation is not worthy of being the governing faction now that all four children of leaders had left. But I didn’t care, there was nothing good left for me in Abnegation except Beatrice and she had chosen to leave and join Dauntless as well, all I could think about was getting away from him.

I look slightly up and see the face of my father looking like he wants to murder me. I quickly pick up a pad and cover the cut on my hand and make my way to the Dauntless side as they cheered for another one of their newest members. They had opened a seat next to Beatrice for me. I sit down trying to feel relieved that my father can no longer hurt me but I can see him glaring at me from across the room. I was anxious for the ceremony to be over so I can never see his face again.

A/N: Here is the first part of DBU! There isn’t going to be a set schedule for this series, but I will try to update as often as possible. I already have the second part written and that will probably go up later this week. Also, the age for this series is 18, for choosing ceremony (just makes sense), and it will be based on the movies solely. I'm not sure how far i'll go into this series, but i will at least complete the first movie. Please lmk what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist! Thanks for reading!

#beatrice prior #caleb prior #abnegation #eric coulter imagine #dauntless #marcus eaton #divergentDBU

[clareguilty]

Nice

Read this one on the AO3 you sluts

This is my 69th fic on AO3 which means you should definitely click the link and leave a kudos and a comment saying “Nice”

Mandalorian/Gn!Reader (reader has a coochie)

Rating: Explicit | No Warnings, just 69

Word Count: ~2400

You made doubly sure to lock the door as you trudged into your quarters, engaging both the electronic lock and the manual bolt. Afternoon sun poured into the room from the large window; the sky on this planet turned everything a strange lilac color that you had never seen before -- so used to the orange of Tatooine, but that was about the nicest thing you had found so far since landing here.

Your travels with Din had landed you smack in the middle of some kind of galactic conflict, and neither of you were happy about it. Sure, you supported the New Republic and you wanted to see the last of the Empire wiped away, but you didn’t necessarily want to be on the front lines of that whole mess.

And Din hated it even more than you. Grogu was away training with Commander Skywalker while the two of you had gotten trapped in this horrible diplomatic dispute. From dawn to nightfall it was nothing but meetings and councils and speeches. Din had no choice but to go, an unwilling participant in the Republic after his accidental takeover of the Mandalorian throne. You weren’t necessarily required to attend, but you had very quickly grown bored of sitting idly around the New Republic base and decided that listening to delegates drone on and on about unity and healing was slightly more appealing. Bo Katan had ignored both of your endless pleas to just take the kriffing darksaber, instead scowling from the sidelines of every meeting.

It wasn’t like Din was making these decisions anyways. The other Mandos deliberated over every choice, and he simply passed the messages on as their representative. He was a figure head. Nothing more.

But still, it was only late afternoon, and you were already bone tired. You pulled off your boots and made your way to where Din was sitting on the bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. The lilac light reflected off of his newly polished beskar. You thought it looked nice.

“We have to meet everyone for supper this evening,” you reminded him. “I was going to sleep a few hours and then spend tonight drinking as much spotchka as I can get my hands on.”

Din chuckled. “As long as you don’t pass out and leave me to fend off everyone by myself.”

“Sounds tempting.” You draped your overcoat over the nearest chair and pulled your top off. The fancy clothes the New Republic had given you were far less comfortable than the loose, desert-wear you were accustomed to, and you stretched and sighed as soon as you were free from the constricting garments.

Din had glanced up, but you weren’t sure if he was watching you. He had seen you naked plenty of times now, and you were perfectly fine being undressed around him. It had never seemed to bother him, though he was still most comfortable in his armor and helmet. 

Since meeting the other Mandos and rescuing Grogu from the imperials -- and then subsequently letting Commander Skywalker take Grogu for training, Din had been willing to take his helmet off around others. It wasn’t a common occurrence, only in dire situations or at times when he felt completely safe. You had only seen him without it a few times, and you were honored that he trusted you enough to show you his face.

His eyes were so warm, so expressive. His lips were so soft. You cherished every chance to see him, to feel him.

You were folding your pants when Din reached up and pulled his helmet off. Instinctively, you turned away at the first sight of his stubbled jaw. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can look.”

You hated the way that your heart sped up as you turned back toward him. You never would have thought that seeing your lover’s face would send such a thrill through you. 

He looked… not very good. Dark circles under his eyes, shoulders hunched with exhaustion. He was under much more stress than you, and it was wearing on him. It pained you to see him this way. You sat next to him on the bed, completely naked while he was still in full armor.

“Maybe you should stay in tonight? It’s just supper. I can pick up something from the kitchen and bring it back here for us. We can get drunk on spotchka in the privacy of our room.” You didn’t even try to hide your staring as you rememorized his features, resisting the urge to brush his flattened curls away from his face.

He shook his head. “It’ll be fine.” Despite not even wanting to be the representative for the Mandalorians, he took the responsibility very seriously. He pushed himself so hard trying to do everything he could for his people. You loved him more for it, but you wanted him to put himself first for once.

You reached out and very gently tugged at his armor. “You’ll rest with me, won’t you?”

He looked at you, his eyes roaming over your body. His eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. You could tell exactly what he was thinking as he licked his lips.

“Rest,” you insisted, smiling. It was exciting to see the desire in his expression. Din wanted you. It was reassuring to know. He was always so shy, so scared to ask for what he needed, letting you take the lead. You had been with each other many times before, but rarely had he let you see his face. It was sweet, how clearly his desire and arousal were written in his features.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he began undressing as well. Beskar and tough fabric gave way to tanned, scarred skin and muscle. Your mouth went dry as he bent forward to pull off his boots. He didn’t make the same effort as you to fold his things, simply letting them lay to the side of the bed where he would fetch them later. He was usually so careful with his armor, you knew he must have truly been exhausted.

He tugged his pants off and you noticed that, despite how tired he looked, his cock was already half hard. Maybe... your nap could wait a little while.

When he turned back to you, you were laying back against the pillows, legs splayed, smirking with your lip caught between your teeth. “I changed my mind,” you grinned.

Din flushed bright red, eyes darting everywhere. It was adorable. You knew he could get overwhelmed easily, but it was fun to watch him flush and stammer when you were particularly forward.

“Come here,” you sat up and patted the bed next to you. “What do you need?”

He settled in beside you. And when he didn’t pull away, you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheekbone, gently running your fingers through his helmet-hair. You loved the way he melted into the feeling of your fingers against his scalp. He let out the softest moan, shuddering under your touch.

He didn’t say anything, but he pulled you in so he could cover your chest in chaste kisses, trailing down over your stomach and toward your hips. Occasionally, he stopped to suck a mark into your skin. He enjoyed leaving little reminders, and he absolutely loved when you returned the favor. Even though no one would see the marks, you had caught him admiring them one morning before he put his armor on.

He seemed directionless, unsure as he kissed across your body. You let him take as much time as he needed. He deserved this chance to explore you. He seemed to be working up the courage for something. You got the message when he tried to nudge your thighs apart. Stubble rasping over the soft skin.

Oh.

The two of you had never done that before. Din was hardly comfortable with his helmet off, much less with something as intimate as this. But here he was, kissing along the inside of your thighs.

You had to be careful. So many things were new to Din and you didn’t want to ruin any of his first experiences.

You nudged him away, pulling him in for a breathy kiss. “I’ve got an idea,” you said. “Lay down for me, okay?”

He did as you asked, hands trailing over your skin as you rearranged yourself. You planted your thighs on either side of his head, bracing your hands on his chest as you lined yourself up.  “This okay?” you asked as you peered down at him.

“Yeah,” Din nodded, eyes wide. “More than okay.” He had never been this close to you before -- not like this at least. Now, there were mere centimeters between your pussy and his lips.

You slowly lowered your hips. Din was light, tentative at first. As much as he wanted this, he was out of his depth. You knew this kind of thing was new to him. His tongue found your clit and you moaned. “Just like that,” you encouraged him.

Spurred on by your words, he licked a broad strip over your slit. You couldn’t help but grind down against him. It was slow, teasing for you as he found a pace he was comfortable with. Din had certainly learned how to make you come on his fingers and cock, and he was going to take his time to master this as well.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around your thighs, gripping tightly as he pulled you closer. You gasped, raking your nails over his stomach. For all of Din’s inexperience, he wanted to make you feel good. 

“Stars! Din!” you gasped. He moaned and his cock twitched where it was resting against his hips. He was already leaking onto his stomach and painfully hard just from having you like this. It was so easy to get him worked up. You knew it would be overwhelming for him, but you couldn’t stop yourself as you reached out to stroke him. He groaned low between your thighs, abs tensing as you dragged your fingers along his length. It didn’t matter to you that he became uncoordinated; you just wanted to show him how good he made you feel, how wonderful it felt to be with him, that even with all of the pressure he was under, he deserved this pleasure.

You leaned down, wrapping your lips around his cock. You weren’t trying to break him, but he gasped and dug his fingers into your thighs, bucking his hips where they were pinned beneath you. It took all of your self restraint to give him a moment to come down. You knew he would finish quickly, overwhelmed as he was. 

Din felt vulnerable without his armor and out of his depth as he tried to pleasure you, but he loved the sounds you made above him, loved the warmth of your body against his and the softness of your breasts against stomach. The way your thighs felt in his grip, and the taste of you. It was too much but in the best of ways. He thought he was going to die the most pleasurable death beneath you.

And he wanted you to feel the same. Even though he was clumsy and uncoordinated and inexperienced, he wanted to make you come. Pulling you close, he licked and sucked your clit, using your moans and praise as guidance.

You came with shaking hips and loud moans around his cock that had him finishing in your mouth with a choked off groan. You continued stroking him even after his cock stopped pulsing. He didn’t stop his own efforts until you were squirming and pulling away from him, rolling to the side with a satisfied sigh. Din was still reeling from the overstimulation. He had wanted to try something new, try to pleasure you in a way he hadn’t been able to before. Now that you could see him -- that you could feel him and know him -- he wanted to give you everything. And you had given him everything in return.

It took several long moments for him to come back to his senses, in which you laid against his side and pulled the cover over you both. You grabbed his face and kissed him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue as he could taste himself on yours. He shouldn’t have found it as arousing as he did, but he moaned into the kiss.

You held him in your arms, and he placed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your chest. While he knew it would be a while before he wanted anything more, he still wasn’t satisfied, and he slipped his fingers down between your legs to try and coax another orgasm out of you. You let out a small, surprised gasp as he curled his fingers inside you.

Exhaustion had finally gotten to the both of you. When you came, it was a lovely, floating pleasure. Your eyes fluttered shut as you drifted on the haze of orgasm.

Din curled into your chest. You wrapped your arms around him and pressed a kiss to his hair. You still had a few hours before supper, and you were going to make sure Din slept if it was the last thing you did.

“I miss Grogu,” he murmured, half asleep. You felt a pang in your chest. Even if it was for his own good, letting Grogu go with Commander Skywalker was one of the hardest choices both of you had been forced to make. It had been weeks now, and you still expected the little beast to be around every time you woke. You missed the weight of him in your arms and his strange, all knowing eyes. You knew Din only had it worse.

“Me too.” You blinked away tears. “First chance I get, I’ll break us out of here and we can go get him back from Commander Skywalker. What’s one Jedi against two angry parents?”

You felt him smile against your skin. “We’ll be on the run from the Empire and the New Republic.”

“We’ll have the kid hide us with The Force or something. No one will ever find us.” You ran your fingers through his hair, unable to even keep your eyes open.

Din snored softly in your arms. You let yourself drift off as well. After everything, both of you desperately needed the rest. A few hours of sleep would be nice.

#Mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #smut #lemons #nice #sw fanfic

[peralta-guaranteed]

Ao3 prompt by strwbrystars : my first is to do another chapter focusing on jake protecting amy in a similar situation as the closet one in this chapter pre-relationship or established.

This turned surprisingly long...

(thanks to @dolston17​ for the mafioso names :D)

They’ve made all the wrong decisions right from the start, Amy thinks later, as she’s trying not to hyperventilate, with Jake’s breathing next to her not much slower than her own. 

Well, maybe not the very first decision. When the radio crackled on in Jake’s car, asking for an EMT and back up for two beat cops a block down from them, there really was no other option but to turn and drive down to join them. But once they did find them, every decision made after that came straight from the ‘What Not To Do’ part of her training manuals.

_+_

Officer Rogers was sitting on the ground with his back to a wall, his partner Carols squatting in front of him, and he was obviously injured. Amy noticed the trail of blood leading back into the building behind them as they ran up towards the beat cops.

“Two guys. Possibly gang-related. They were fighting over a drug delivery or sale, we’re not sure, and we tried to separate them and question them when the taller guy pulled out a knife and went for Rogers.” Carols informs them straight away while putting pressure on the large wound in his partner’s thigh. “In the fight the other one, probably Italian background, short and stout, managed to unclip my gun - he must’ve known how to work a holster - god, this so - unprofessional, I’m sorry -”

“S’all good.” Jake interrupts him, and Amy wants to interject that no, it’s obviously not good if a criminal manages to take a gun away from a uniformed officer, but the short relief washing over the young, newly instated beat cop at hearing a detective calm him stops her. “Any more info?”

“They ran deeper into this building. We’ve patrolled it before - this is the only exit, so they must still be holeing up inside. They probably thought I was going to follow them, but I carried Rogers out instead so we could radio-”

“Yes, that was absolutely the right decision.” Amy joins in to support him, and it works maybe half as good as Jake’s casual reaction had before. She squats down too, to inspect the wound that Carols is pressing his jacket onto. “The EMTs are on their way, and this doesn’t look like too deep a cut for any lasting damage, even if it hurts like hell, I’d guess. Good, quick reactions, from both of you.”

“Thank you, detective.” is the first thing Rogers says, but Amy barely hears him when she looks up at Jake. He’s staring straight into the building doors, and she definitely, absolutely doesn’t like the look on his face.

“Jake-” She says with both a questioning and warning tone to her voice.

“This is Mancini territory.” He says out of the blue, and she can see his deducting brain working. “If it’s drug-related, and the other guy looked Italian, must be… Chiellini.”

“Chiellini, like Mafia boss Chiellini?!” Carols asks with shock in his voice, and Rogers hisses as he lets the pressure on his wound go for a second. Amy can’t fault him for that moment of surprise.

Roberto Chiellini, one of the two guys Jake’s undercover sting with the Ianuccis hadn’t been able to pin to any crimes, had quickly worked to establish himself as the new family leader of some Brooklyn areas, focussing on heavy drug trafficking for easy profits. They’d had more and more cases and minor arrests coming across their desks lately that mentioned his name in hushed tones, but had still been unable to actually go after him for any of it. Amy knows it’s been costing Jake sleep, but she still hates to see the conclusion he seems to be coming to right now.

“Jake, even if it is, that goon is way to low-level to have any useful info-”

“Stealing a government-issued gun, and assaulting a police officer? We’d have some leverage-”

“We’ll have absolutely nothing if he decides to use that gun-”

Right at that moment, the sound of a gunshot rips through the air, as if she’d predicted it, and silence falls around them for barely a second before Jake unholsters his own gun and starts moving.

“I’m going in there.”

“Jake you are not- Jake- JAKE!”

_+_

She ran after him, of course. He was her partner - she had to be his backup. Backup that could hopefully talk him out of this entirely once she caught up, but still backup. Most of all, though, he was her partner - running gun-first into what was clearly unnecessary danger. She’d be an absolute fool not to go after him.

Even if it did go against the manual.

(She realised a lot of things she was willing to do for Jake went against any manual she’d ever read, but maybe it was too early in their relationship to admit that, even to herself.)

But she has no time to talk some sense into him, or scold him, or really say anything when she rounds the corner of the hallway he’d stopped behind with his gun up, freezing in point for the scenery before her - the ‘tall man’ Carols had described splayed on the floor, with about 70% of his brain blown all over the concrete behind him, the ‘stout Italian’ standing over him with Carol’s gun still smoking from the shot.

Jake’s hands in her periphery, holding his own gun straight up at him. Jake’s hands, shaking.

“Drop the gun, Riva.” 

Gianluigi Riva, Amy’s brain supplies even in her frozen state. The other one of the two men that walked free after the Ianucci wedding. The one that very definitely could’ve been arrested for various things after, if he hadn’t been so perfectly elusive.

The one Jake had a picture of stuck to his computer screen at work ever since he came back from that undercover mission.

“Jakey the Jew.” she hears through her freeze in the most hateful, spite-dripping voice she’s ever heard. “Or should that be Detective Peralta, I guess?”

“Drop. The gun. Riva.” Jake repeats through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t you love that.”

She thinks she sees Jake’s finger actually move for the trigger, but that is before Riva’s attention turns towards her , and suddenly all bets are off. And Riva’s gun is on her.

“That your little bitch, Jakey? The one you whined about?”

“I’m not playing this game. Drop your gun.”

“What a shame if she got caught in the crossfires on your mission, huh?”

“One last warning-”

“Get fucked, pig.”

And then, one strong, big hand against her shoulder, pushing her backwards with force before another gunshot sound.

Another hand, pulling her up, pulling her forward, running, dodging, running, slamming into a wall as they round corners, more gunshots behind them, and shouting, curses, screaming, rage-

They dodge around several more corners as the noises trail further and further behind them, Jake running at a speed she didn’t think he was capable of and pulling her along. There’s a barely visible door she notices before him, and uses her full body weight to drag him towards, opening and slamming it closed behind them so quickly she can only hope that even if Riva had followed them close enough, he didn’t see it.

And then complete silence falls over them in the dark room they find themselves in, safe for their ragged, exhausted breathing. Amy can feel her pulse pumping in her ears, even as Jake nexts to her drops against the wall and slides down, not fully hitting the ground with a  quiet ‘Fuck’.  

“What the hell, Jake?!” Is the first thing she manages to whisper-shout through the heaving, and maybe she should pick her words more carefully right now.

“Riva.”

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“Ianucci’s torture guy.”

And that certainly shuts up whatever angry rant has been bubbling up in Amy’s throat about following procedure and not running in eyes closed, head first like he always does.

She knows barely anything about Jake’s time undercover, safe for the ‘funny’ stories he’s been willing to share at Shaw’s. Even now, as his girlfriend, there seem to be walls around the subject - for obvious reasons, if she thinks about the many little scars and marks on his skin that her fingers keep trailing over. Some that make his breath hitch when she kisses them. Some that he pulls her hands away from almost on instinct.

“Fuck.” She simply echoes him, and he nods before pressing the back of his hand to his lips, trying to keep from being sick - whether from the unbelievable running they’ve just gone through that is still wrecking his body, or from memories that Riva dredged up, she’s not sure.

She turns to inspect the too dark room instead, trying to gather her bearings as best as she can before her brain can switch into panic mode completely. It’s not as small as other places she’s had to hide in, luckily, so her claustrophobia is yet to rear its ugly head, but it’s not exactly spacious either. She can’t make out much that could be of help, a few shelves that have seen better days, an empty barrel or two in the far corner. A lot of darkness. She can’t exactly retrace their steps through the building, but they must have ended up in a half-basement level, the only light coming from a small set of windows a few metres up the wall. 

“Okay.” She manages to level her voice to a normal whisper. “Carols and Rogers must have heard the shots. They definitely called in more back up. All we need to do is stay hidden and wait-”

“They don’t know it’s him. They won’t send much backup.”

“They know two detectives went into a building with an armed criminal and did not come out yet so yes, they will send heavy backup, Jake.”

His voice is still muffled through his hand near his mouth, strained but for something else.

“He was gonna shoot you.”

She doesn’t have much to say to that.

“Because of me.”

She has even less to say to that. Yes, is pretty much all she can think of. Yes, because you ran into a building without backup, without a vest on, without so much as a plan. Yes, because you didn’t think . But given the wavering of his voice, the way he’s still breathing like they’d only just stopped running, the way she could see his hands shake even in the darkness, she’s not going to say any of that, ever. There’s something else on her mind, anyway.

“He recognised me?” She asks as she sinks down to Jake’s level, squat-sitting against the wall. The one you whined about is stuck in her memory, but Jake only shakes his head before dropping it to stare at the ground.

“They- the guys- they kept pushing me to gossip and trash talk about the ‘pigs I left behind’.” He coughs as quietly as he can, and she tenses for a moment trying to listen to any sounds from outside of their room. “I tried with the others but- I just couldn’t say anything bad about you.”

Her hand finds its way into his hair, sweat-sticky on his forehead.

“They picked up on that and kept teasing me about it. Then they started finding hook-ups for me to ‘forget’. I think I got too drunk once and told them to fuck off, or something.”

She scratches over his scalp down to his ear, rubs a soothing circle into his cheek as best as she can.

“I know it was stupid and I put you in danger and we weren’t even- you were with Teddy and I-”

“Hey.” She drops her hand to his upper arm and squeezes for support, wants to say something calming before he spirals, but is met with a quiet hiss and - a wet patch on her hand, the feeling of ripped fabric and skin and blood.

“You were hit?!” She gasps before easing the pressure she was unwittingly putting on his wound.

“Grazed. It’s okay.”

“It’s not, it-it’s-” Her fingers are shaking as she pats around her suit to find something to wrap around his arm to stop the bleeding and comes up empty until she shrugs off her jacket. She won’t ever get the stain out of the light fabric, she thinks for a second as she bandages his arm as best as she can in the dark, but who cares?

Who the fuck cares when he got hit by a bullet that was aimed at her? When he pushed her out of harm's way instead of following protocol and shooting the attacker instead? He could’ve had Riva down and out for the count, he was in perfect position for it, and even gave him ample warning. But he might’ve had her on the ground as well if that’s the option he’d picked.

Something tells her that simply because of that, it was never even an option for him.

Their eyes meet, close enough in the dark to really see each other, and they’re swimming with emotions before Jake’s flinch shut as a distant “Jakeeey~" echoes through the halls they’ve just run through.

“We need to get out of here. We- you don’t know what he’s willing- if he finds us-” Jake is up, all of a sudden, the motion making her sway and almost topple over. He’s scanning the room just like she did earlier when she stands up next to him, and his eyes lock onto the barrels and windows.

“I can give you a leg up high enough to reach the window if we climb that barrel. You’ll fit through it, and get over to Rogers and Carols and see if the backup-”

“And you stay here?” She finally scolds him with a look. “With the man who wants you dead? The one you called ‘torture guy’?”

He’s quiet at that, but she can see on his face that the decision was clearly made in his mind.

“You got any better ideas?”

“Like I said, we wait until backup gets here.”

Almost as if to prove the faults in her argument, another “Jakey boy! Get out here and face me, bitch!” drifts in from outside - closer than it was before, and Jake throws her the most panicked ‘told you’ look she’s ever seen.

“We’re still two against one. He’s emptied half his magazine earlier. If we corner him right, we get the element of surprise in the room as well-” her mind continues to work as her eyes settle on the door- “hug the wall next to the door, and we can disarm him or get him down before he’s even barged in completely.”

Jake seems to want to protest, even as the logical part of his brain is clearly telling him she’s right and that this is the best way to go at it, so he ends up simply nodding before gripping his gun and leaning against the wall next to the door, Amy following him suit on the other side.

They’re staring at each other while the noises outside the room seem to creep ever closer. ‘Come out and plaaay~' almost makes her snort for its ridiculousness if it wasn’t so terrifying, thinking about the things Jake has probably seen this man ‘play’ with. 

She tries to calm her mind by focusing on him, instead. On his face in the hazy dark, the curls on his forehead she managed to jostle free earlier, the tense line of his neck, the glare of her beige suit jacket tied around his arm. The way he looks at her, even amidst the panic, amidst all the fear and worry stuck in the room with them.

He pushed her out of Riva’s aim. He dragged her close to him as he ran. He ignored his own injury, offering to lift her up to an escape he wouldn’t be able to make after her. It’s… it’s a lot. After barely two months of a relationship, it’s a lot to take in.

Except she knows - she knows deep down that he would’ve done all of this three months ago, too. Six months ago. Maybe years ago, even.

“We need to switch.” He whispers suddenly, pulling her out of her deep thoughts, and is already stepping over to her before she can ask. She feels his hand on her shoulder, nudging her back to where he’d been standing, and squeezing three times while doing so.

Sometimes she almost hates that squeeze. She knows what it means now, even though they haven’t said those three little words his squeezes represent yet, but in situations like these - it never forebodes anything good.

And she realises what it really means now, too, as she sees the hinges on the door on her side. The door that opens inwards. The door that will completely hide her behind it once it opens, and leave Jake alone in -

It opens before she can say anything, and then things happen way too quickly - there’s noise and shouting and she thinks she hears Jake’s “Down on the floor!” in between Riva’s angry screams and then there’s another gunshot. A single gunshot, and all she can see is the back of the door in front of her, frozen to the spot, unable to run around it and see if- see who-

“Fuck, Amy. Help me pin this fucker!” She hears the next moment and breathes out in relief. Her feet find themselves again as she runs over to where Jake is kneeling on Riva’s back, struggling to hold him down even with the gunshot wound in his thigh. He’s shouting obscenities, screaming and thrashing around, and Amy is so, so tempted to embed a bullet into his other thigh to get him quiet, but she joins Jake’s knees on his back instead, yanks his arms back in a way Jake couldn’t with his injury, and they click the handcuffs around him together at the very moment a team of heavily suited up officers rounds the corner.

_+_

  He’s sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a brightly lit, wide open room of the hospital, squeezing her hand that is holding onto him while his other arm is propped up on a table and getting stitched up.

The EMTs that were taking care of Rogers checked him, too, but the injury wasn’t bad enough to warrant a ride in their ambulance with him, so Amy took over the keys for his Mustang and drove him after briefing the backup team and handing over a still cussing Riva to be brought into Holding. She put in a whispered request to be the one questioning him - with Rosa as secondary - to Terry, who was part of the backup team, and only gave her a quick look and then a nod after Riva screamed something about how he ‘shoulda offed that snitch when he had a chance’, watching Jake several feet away from them twitch and turn towards the EMT handling his arm.

The young doctor stitching him up seems suitably impressed by both his badge and his injury, remarking something about ‘bravery’ and ‘sacrifice’ he would usually eat up with glee, but all he’s doing is smile at Amy while his fingers intertwine with hers, squeeze only once before his thumb rubs circles across her hand.

They’re left alone soon enough while the doctor gets his painkillers subscription, and Jake takes the chance to lift Amy’s hand up to his lips and kiss it.

“Jake…” she begins when their hands drop again, and she can tell he’s getting ready for a lecture. “You risked too much back there.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in without backup, and made a lot of wrong decisions, and-”

“No.” She interrupts him, much to his surprise. “I mean, yes, obviously, and I’m glad you see that now, but that’s not what I meant.”

She sighs, deeply, and stares at their still interlocked hands.

“You risked too much for me.”

“Not possible.”

“Jake!” Her eyes dart up again, want to level him with an angry stare, but can’t help but soften when met with the absolute shine in his. “Jake, you got hit because you pushed me, you wanted to bail me out of the room to leave you with even less backup, and then you manoeuvred me into a dead corner to face a Mafioso on your own-”

“Yeah.”

“Why?!”

“Because it would’ve kept you safe.”

“That’s not how police work is supposed to-”

“Am I not supposed to keep my partner safe?”

“Not when it puts you in danger instead!”

“Hm.” He hums and looks at the bandaged up stitches on his arm. “Gotta rework the manual for that, then. Because frankly I don’t give a shit about me when it means helping you.”

“But I do.” She almost whispers, but he still looks back at her immediately, balks at the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I give a shit about you. You think I want to see you shot on the ground? You think I want to run away from a building when I know you’re stuck in there? You think I want to stand behind a door and only hear you get- get-” She bites back a sob and fixes him with a dedicated stare instead, a look on her face that makes his heart clench and dance at the same time. “We’re a team, Jake. In the field and off it. You can’t- you can’t play the hero and leave me behind.”

Her mind jumps back to an empty parking lot, the cold wind rushing over her flushed cheeks as she watches him walk away with his little box of things in his arms, not even waiting for her answer. Maybe not even hoping for one.

He sighs and nods back in the present, squeezes her hand again, twice.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, and she squeezes back once. 

She knows they’ll probably be talking about this again in the future. She knows it’ll come up repeatedly until he learns. But she also knows, with a certainty that should maybe scare her after their short time together, why it’ll happen again in the future - because he’ll still be by her side no matter the situation. Because she’ll still be the one thing on his mind, no matter how panicked he is. Because they’ll go through it all together, as a team. As partners.

And deep down, she knows with an equal certainty that if the roles were reversed - she would probably rework the manual herself in her mind, to keep him safe. Would do anything and everything she could, no matter how many protocols it went against, to help him, save him, protect him, make him feel safe and secure. 

Right now, she’s glad all it takes for that is a little lean into his direction to kiss him before the doctor comes back, and squeeze his hand three times before letting go and holding onto his face instead to deepen the kiss.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet #fic

[the-melting-world]

picrew

Seeing as how long I have been a HUGE fan of the airbender series (ATLA), it's actually kind of ridiculous that I never got into the fandom. Anyway, humor me while I go through each of my ocs and babble about their roles, histories, and bending styles in the ATLA universe! Also please excuse the fact that they had zero afro-textured options for hair in this one lol.

*Check under the cut for an unnecessary amount of lore.*

Kipling ~ Waterbender | Northern-style waterbending, vine/plant-bending, healing

Water Tribe Babeyyyyy

I don't really see Kip hailing from the Southern or Northern Water Tribes, but rather from a coastal village that developed after a handful of Southern Water Tribe hostages escaped one of the prisoner of war strongholds in the Earth Kingdom. I mean, if Hama (The Puppetmaster) and the plant benders from Foggy Swamp were any indication, there were water benders scattered all over the Earth Kingdom during Lord Ozai's military campaign.

Bending-wise, Kip has always been an average waterbender, whose bending is strongest when she's manipulating the water in plants and vines. When she comes of age, she is determined to advance her skills and find a way to serve her tribe more directly. So she travels to the Northern Water Tribe to seek an apprenticeship. There Kip advances her skills in traditional water bending forms (because up until then, her methods have been rather unorthodox) as well as her affinity for healing.

While Kip is up north, she does get close to Princess Yue in their healing classes. For a long time, Kip develops what she believes is a stupid crush, but eventually discovers the Princess has mutual feelings. Step aside, Sokka, you ain't the only one. Kip and Yue explore their relationship, but only briefly until the guilt and paranoia of getting caught and tarnishing Yue's reputation catches up to them. Kip ends up leaving in the dead of night leaving nothing but - you guessed it - a poem for Yue to find.

Kip happens to be one of the travelers Team Avatar meets while they're on the road. It's quite some time after the invasion of the Northern Water Tribe. This is after Yue has passed on, but before the group reaches Ba Sing Se. Both being kind of self-taught waterbenders, Kip and Katara bond very easily. Kip has a hard time being around Sokka since it's the first time she's felt something for someone since Yue. Still, despite Kip's efforts to ignore Sokka, they end up bonding over a lot of stuff, both stupid and serious. I'm not going to go into details about what went down when they inevitably learned of each other's past relationships with Yue, but yes, there were lots of emotions. A lot of Kip trying to run away and shake herself of Sokka. A lot of Sokka battling between pursuing her or leaving her alone. It's a mess. And no I still don't know how it turns out. Haven't planned it out that far.

After Ozai is defeated, Kip makes her living as a traveling waterbending instructor with her good Earth Kingdom friend, Khleo. She travels the territories, finding hidden water tribes and informing them of the fall of Ozai. She works with Khleo and the community members to open smalls schools, closely modeled after the earthbending schools in Omashu.

***

Khleo ~ Earthbender | earthbending, sandbending, lavabending

Khleo had a rocky start to their journey. Sorry, I couldn't help it.

They were born in an area that bordered on the Si Wong Desert and the mountain chain dividing the land from Chameleon Bay (where they later meet Kipling.) Naturally, Khleo picks up a little bit from each of the known forms of earth manipulation. Although they develop into a fully realized master by the time they reach adulthood, they don't ever try their hand at meltalbending when it starts to gain popularity after the fall of Ozai.

Khleo grew up poor and had to resort to unsavory business ventures with the local sandbenders in order to keep food on the table. But since they were the sole bender that could calm down the nearby volcanoes whenever they acted up, they were always regarded as a hero within the community.

Eventually, the Fire Nation finds a way to complicate Khleo's existence and they have to flee their home. First, they cross the mountain range to Chameleon Bay, where they meet the waterbender Kipling, who they easily bond with. Khleo and Kip travel together for some time until they run into Jet and his crew. Jet's lifestyle appeals to Khleo, who was tired of roughing it. But Kip takes one look at Jet and knows that he's bad news. She and Khleo part ways.

Like most of the kids in Jet's crew, Khleo blinded themself to his activities in order to survive and stay connected to a family group. But when his actions become too hard for them to go along with, they abandon the Freedom Fighters and go to go look for work elsewhere.

Khleo had set their sights on Omashu, where they believed they could earn an honest living and still practice their bending without the eyes of the Fire Nation bearing down on them. The journey was tough and Khleo had a few brushes with death, but they made it to Omashu. There they were immediately hired by a cabbage vendor who struggled in the past with keeping his wares in one piece. Khleo guarded his cabbage stand for all but a week before they were noticed by some Omashu academy trainers. They offered Khleo a job as an instructor in multiple earthbending forms. Surprised, but very willing, Khleo accepted. Eventually, Khleo was inducted into the Order of the White Lotus.

Years later, Khleo reunites with a very emotionally scarred Kipling. She stays with them until the capture of King Bumi, after which they quickly leave the city so that they can carry out the will of the White Lotus in hopes to undermine the Fire Nation's plan to conquer the Earth Kingdom on the day of Sozin's Comet 2.0.

***

Ozy ~ The Avatar Firebender/Airbender hybrid | firebending, airbending

Ozy's kind of special. He has an affinity for two elements.

He was born in the Fire Nation in a very, very small village on the coast of Crescent Island. When Ozy's parents noticed that their child was something of a prodigy, they brought him straight to the Fire Sages.

Now, there was a split among the sages. Some were loyal to Lord Ozai while others were secretly members of the Order of the White Lotus. One of the members recognized Ozy's affinity for airbending very early on and did everything they could to protect him.

Without being able to say goodbye to his parents or getting an explanation for what was happening, Ozy was sent to the Western Air Temple (you know, the cool upsidedown one) where he learned airbending with the help of older White Lotus members as well as spiritual experts like Guru Pathik (the same guru who taught Aang how to navigate the Avatar State.)

As Ozy became more and more enlightened, he came to believe that his gift was not a rare one. When he was not actively practicing the rudimentary components of bending, he was meditating on the factors that led the majority of people to believe that the ability to bend was inherited based on the ethnic and cultural group into which they were born. He thought that while this was true to some degree, additional affinities could be unlocked through the forgotten teachings of the Air Nomads.

To test his theory, Ozy went on a very dangerous journey to the Library in the Si Wong Desert, where he met and became very bonded to Uncle Iroh. Thankfully, Iroh and Ozy managed to not get eaten by the Library's spiritual patron. Later, Ozy declined Iroh's invitation to the Order of the White Lotus, instead choosing to retire to the Northern Air Temple. Thre he ended up assisting the mechanists with the construction of the flight technology (part of which had already been stolen and weaponized by the Fire Nation.) Ozy never left the Northern Air Temple to help in the fight against Ozai. Instead, he remained and became the first of the Air Acolytes, from which grows a community that later founded Air Temple Island and discovered the next child born into the Avatar Cycle - Korra of the Water Tribe.

***

Sun Bai ~ Airbender | proficient in airbending. Technically.

Bai, unfortunately, did not discover that he was an airbender until he was well into his twenties. The only way he unlocked his affinity for bending was through a traumatic event, the effects of which he managed to suppress for several years. It wasn't until Bai found himself in another flight or fight situation that he spontaneously called upon his connection to the air element. (Turns out Ozy was kind of right!)

Once Bai realized what he was made of, he made it a point to gather as much knowledge on the subject as he could. Everything that he came to understand about bending was self-taught. Meditation came more naturally to him, but even that required additional training, discipline, and theory to fully master. (He was basically the opposite of Avatar Korra, who picked up on the manual technique of airbending quite easily, but struggled with its spiritual component.)

Bai didn't really play a role in the fight against Lord Ozai. He didn't run into any of the Trio or Team Avatar. His journey didn't really start until after the war. At which point he meets General Adrenaline, and then later, Sascha of the Water Tribe.

General Rosario Adrenaline ~ Firebender | firebending, master in lightning redirection

Like Ozy, Adrenaline was another firebending prodigy. (In fact, it was Adrenaline who worked very closely with Princess Azula to hone her lightning redirection technique.) Eventually, Nali's skills were exploited to the fullest in the Fire Nation's military campaign, but long before that, firebending for her was a means to perform and entertain the masses.

Adrenaline grew up in the same circus troupe as Ty Lee! They had been best friends since childhood and ended up escaping together.

While Princess Azula always favored Ty Lee and Mei over Nali as bodyguards, she often went to Nali for "companionship." Azula kept her relationship with Nali very private. It lasted well into Azula's teenage years and got pretty serious. Though neither of them considered themselves in love with the other (just due to the fact that there was so much of a strain on them thanks to social hierarchy, and Azula being Azula) Nali developed a very deep, unhealthy loyalty to Azula, that in the end, resulted in her banishment from protecting the royal family.

After she was banished, Nali linked up with Zuko, who wasn't really all that happy about it, but Iroh steps in and gives the wise compassionate uncle lecture. Zuko folds and Nali becomes one his crew!

Nali and Azula continue to pursue their relationship. And now that it started to hinge on whenever Azula came around to fuck with Zuko's head, you can imagine how even more unhealthy and eventually toxic it became. Nali was torn between her loyalty to Azula versus her loyalty to Zuko. And Azula... didn't really care. It was a mess. Didn't end pretty.

Only after Azula was imprisoned by her brother did Nali finally wipe her hands completely clean of the Fire Nation's royal family. Not really caring what was happening in the rest of the world, she stumbled around from territory to territory, drinking, gambling, and taking up muscle for hire gigs to keep herself afloat. Until she meets and unexpectedly bonds with a very lazy monk, who needed an escort through the Serpent's Pass.

***

Sascha ~ Nonbender | weapons specialist - firearms and projectiles

Solo ~ Waterbender | Southern-style waterbending, bloodbending

Sascha and Solo were both students of Hama. Nuff said.

Although the twins soaked up much of Hama's ruthless, yet practical attitude towards survival, they just didn't inherit her very deep, eternal loathing for the Fire Nation.

They also realized that she was pretty messed up.

When Sascha and Solo were of age, they made a clean break from Hama and decided to open up a business in one of the towns along the mountainside.

Having grown up in the Fire Nation colonies, Sascha and Solo were very used to hiding their connection to their Water Tribe heritage. They blended in well and opened their garment and optics shop. It was a strange combination, but they managed to stake their claim in the community.

However, the two of them were still very clear enemies of the Fire Nation. They rebelled by getting the information out to other Water Tribe refugees living in hiding. Solo taught bloodbending in his self defense classes (which was much easier for him to pull off rather than traditional waterbending because it required less physical labor and thus did not put as much of a strain on his body.)

Meanwhile, Sascha would show Water Tribe nonbenders how to assemble firearms, which at the time, were considered still very new and dangerous technology.

Solo was happy with their life, but Sascha grew bored and restless. She wanted an adventure.

Then one day a very strange monk winds up wounded on her doorstep in the middle of the night. He's riddled with bullets - the kind of which only Fire Nation militia and Sascha herself would know how to remove and treat the damage they could cause...

***

And a treat for those that made it this far! 😜

Me!!! A water-airbender hybrid. And you're damn right I would have some hair loopies!

#this ended up be very long and involved #yall i am sorry but i needed it get it out somehow lol #this has nothing to do with the arcana #and yet... #kipling the apprentice #ozy the grey mage #khleo the barhand #sun bai the psychic #mestra adrenaline #sascha the gunslinger #solo the seamstress #atla

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Prized Cattle.

Word Count: 5.4k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Life on a farm is difficult. What’s even more difficult is life underneath a farm, or rather, life in the basement of a farmhouse, where your captor’s content to treat you like a prized, albeit unwilling, hen. At least Zacharia’s never been a terribly cautious man. It makes breaking out of your pen that much easier. 

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader-Insert, Fingering, Dehumanization, Groping, Degradation, Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Past Abuse, Graphic Violence, Blood, and Phonetically Transcribed Southern Accents. 

Somehow, it’d never occurred to you that captivity would be this draining.

Logically, you knew you should be glad Zacharia was too busy to deal with you. He was your kidnapper, for fuck’s sake, a man who took you away from your home, your life, and beat every reason you should hate him into you over and over and over again until you couldn’t possibly forget your distaste. You had the marks to prove it, the lovebites and the lasting scars that had yet to fade, that you doubted every would, if you were being honest. Your hands weren’t bound, not anymore, but there were still a dozen different deadbolts on the basement door, a sturdy layer of wood keeping every window permanently shut, a locked box that kept everything sharp and useful out of your reach. You were free to roam around the basement, free to read the novellas Zacharia was so fond of and immerse yourself the few luxuries he was willing to provide, but you weren’t free. You shouldn’t let yourself start to act like you were. You shouldn’t let yourself stop thinking like a captive.

You shouldn’t miss Zacharia.

And yet, here you were.

You let out a long, languid sigh, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your bedsheets. It’d been like this for weeks, you’d been like this for weeks. Zacharia wasn’t a diligent man. He had farm-hands to take care of most of the manual labor on his land, leaving him with all the time in the world to pull at your hair and torment you to his contentment. Thankfully, blessedly, tragically, when one of his prized dairy cows fell pregnant, he’d taken it upon himself to care for the poor thing, doting on the creature as if he didn’t have a girl locked up against her will. You’d been relieved, at first. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have as much time to ‘look after you’, as he put it. You wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells or mind your manners, not when he only came down for breakfast and dinner, and even then, he was too distracted to do anything notably unpleasant. You should be happy, you should be elated, but after two solid months of being left to your own devices, it was hard not to feel… insulted. Neglected. Bored, but not just bored.

Horribly, guiltily lonely. Regardless of how much you wanted to be anything else.

Mindlessly, you gaze strayed from the sheets, falling to something you assumed you’d think about twice. A doll, no taller than your calf and painfully hand-made, all rough stitches and patchwork clothes and big, pupilless, unblinking button eyes, one beginning to loosen from the hours you’d spent picking at it. You hadn’t thought much of it. The toy was more for Zacharia’s enjoyment than yours, a jab at the fact that he could be a gentle, caring man and decided he’d prefer not to, but the purpose behind his gift didn’t matter, not to you, not now. There were scraps of fabric in your room, and you could scavenge thread from your clothes or a soon-to-be mutilated pillowcase. A needle would be more difficult to find, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

You already had a doll, and any doll could be modified.

~

Zacharia could make it very, very hard to hate him.

It was only when he wanted to, of course. Between escape attempts and punishments and shows of his superiority, he was capable of navigating the calm, domestic tranquility most couples didn’t need a list of rules and a flaying knife to reinforce. When he pulled you into his side, taking a lock of your hair to spin around his finger as he rambled on about his day or his plans or something particularly memorable one of his chickens did, it was easy to lay your head against his chest, play with the hem of his well worn, button-up shirt and be thankful for the change of pace. You could forget why you needed the doll (currently tucked safely underneath your bed), and you didn’t have to think about the fact that he was only visiting you to make sure he didn’t come home to a starved, emaciated corpse when he wanted the affection of something with two legs, rather than four. It was easy not to hate him.

And thus, it was easy not to want him to leave.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” You mumbled, keeping your voice low, quiet, doing your damnedest not to make your complaint stretch into a whine. It was only half-successful, but Zacharia was in a merciful enough mood not to point it out, his ever-present grin only broadening slightly as you swung your feet off the side of your bed, pretending to be more interested in the bare, cement floor than you were in him. “I just don’t see why you bother coming down here at all if you have to leave so soon. It’s not like a couple of seconds is going to stop me from trying to break out, again.”

“If you’re gonna say you missed me, you’re gonna have to say it,” He teased, ruffling your hair, forcing you to bat his hand away like a frustrated child before he stopped. Even then, he paused, taking a moment to scan over you before he continued, or rather, to scan over your new ‘dress’, a flannel shirt he’d been kind enough to give you for a few weeks of good behavior. The sleeves were a little too long, falling just below your fingertips, and saying the hem came to your mid-thigh would’ve been generous, but it was more conservative than anything else he’d given you, so far. It was a step closer to a full outfit, to proper clothes.

A step closer to being allowed to go outside, if you were being optimistic.

“Just be thankful it ain’t one of the mares,” He went on, letting out the indignant huff of someone who’d spent much too time around far too demanding animals. “Last one took two years to pop, and even then, the foal was just a touch to the right of premature. Not that he cared, though, we spent weeks fishing the poor, simple thing out of every ditch on the property. Kinda like you, the first time you made a run for it.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. It was hard not to smile while watching a grown man shake his head over a horse’s pregnancy. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”

“Much, much longer, pumpkin. These sorta things don’t happen overnight.” Another non-answer, the kind you were starting to get used to. You could suppress your frown, but your shoulders were slumping before you could catch yourself, an undeniable pout forming in the place of a more respectable expression. Zacharia didn’t take long to notice, humming gently as he bent down, coming just close enough to press a quick, comforting kiss into the top of your head before he pulled away. For a second, a traitorous part of you dared to want something more, something substantial, but thankfully, he was at a safe distance before you could act on the impulse, and you were too busy cursing your own mind to mourn the loss. “I’ll be back by dawn, this time, swear on the nearest grave. Wouldn’t want you throwin’ another hissy fit just because I missed a meal or two.”

You didn’t respond to that, glaring at your knees, and Zacharia chose to take his leave with a smirk and a breathy chuckle. You didn’t look up, not when you heard him climb the creaking basement stairs, not when the door fell closed and an array of different locks clicked into place, and certainly not when you felt that dark, cold air of loneliness return, frigid and cryptic and unwanted. You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to come back and hold you and spend hours with you, dolling you up or making you feel weaker than you really were or doing anything, as long as he kept you company while he was at it. He’d left you alone, and you wished he hadn’t. He’d left you to suffer, and you didn’t want any pain he didn’t care enough to inflict by hand. You wanted him to--

No, you didn’t want anything.

You needed to get out of here.

It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted anymore. If your current thoughts were any indication, you had to get out of here. You’d been in the same room too long, in your own head too long. You’d let your intentions and your desires and your selfish, selfish wants mix together, and the results were little more than a muddled paint of confusion and uncertainty and more misplaced trust than you were willing to admit. Part of you was tempted to linger on it, to dwell in the space between what you desperately wanted to believe and what you knew better than to chase after, and you took the sign to push whatever remained from your mind and force yourself to stand, your fists curling at your sides as you bit down on your tongue hard, blood soon coating the inside of your mouth a second later. It stuck to the back of your teeth, its metallic taste heavy and unpleasant. It was refreshing, though, and it gave you the motivation you needed to push yourself to take a step, then another, and finally, you found the will to root through the pile of spare clothes and blankets and supplies Zacharia kept in the back of your closet until you discovered your reward.

A simple, black toolbox. Minimalistic and cheap, and the exact thing you needed to get out of this hell.

There was a lock on the latch, a dial meant to keep nosy children and curious captives out, but rather than aiming for that, you aim for the thick plastic of the lid, something that wouldn’t stand a chance against your preferred method of destruction - the one leg of your bed unbolted to the ground, just loose enough to be forced upward and just heavy enough to break through anything less sturdy than solid metal. The toolbox just barely fit underneath it, and when the foot first fell with a loud, unignorable thud, you almost held your breath, refusing to let yourself relax until the basement door failed to swing open and Zacharia failed to emerge with whatever awful, creative weapon he could scrounge up in less than a minute. It took three blows before the lid gave out, cracking down the middle and giving you just enough room to pry the two halves of the container apart, your fingers soon aching and cramping with the effort.

You were successful, though. In less than a minute, the fruits of your effort laid in front of you in the form of rusted tools and loose screws and wires, things that may’ve seemed unimpressive to anyone else but looked like small, disguised miracles to you. In hindsight, you should’ve been in more of a hurry than you were. You should’ve gotten what you needed and ran, as fast as you could and as far as you could, but freedom was a tricky thing. As soon as you got a taste for it, however small, all you wanted was more, even when real freedom was only a handful of rusted nails and broken boards away. You weren’t thinking about time when you grabbed the small, silver box-cutter, testing the dull blade against a lock of your hair, nor were you thinking at all when you decided what your next show of self-sufficiency would be. No, you were too giddy for that. You were too excited.

It didn’t take long to cut away the most visible mark Zacharia had left on you - your hair. He’d let it grow out since he took you away, refusing to cut it, letting every inch become another thing to tug at and wrap around his fist when he wanted something you didn’t know how to give. It felt good to rid yourself of it - no, it was more than that, it felt right. You couldn’t tear off the feeling of his hands on your skin or wash the memories away, but you could draw the box cutter through your hair until you no longer felt its weight pulling through your scalp, until the ends of it barely brushed against your shoulders. You weren’t a professional, nor was your impulsive haircut anywhere near even, but the deed was done and that was all that mattered to you.

In comparison, getting rid of the boards covering the basement window was child’s play. You’d done it a thousand times before, and Zacharia never bothered to upgrade his security. He wanted you to learn your lesson, he wanted you to be too afraid to try to run, but by doing so, he underestimated your tenacity and overestimated your will to recall all the bloody, grisly things he tried to teach you time and time again. The curved back of a rust-coated hammer did the trick, and within minutes, the two bottom-most planks had fallen away, giving you just enough space to haul yourself from Zacharia’s worktable to the edge of the windowsill and out into the darkened world, your eyes closing as you took in your first breath of fresh air.

It was a warm night, the kind of breezy, humid atmosphere you used to consider an unnecessary, juxtapositional nuisance. But, for all your opinion was worth, tonight was perfect, welcoming you as much as you welcomed it. You paused while you were still in the farmhouse’s shadow, looking out over Zacharia’s farm, the terrain you so often heard about but so rarely got a chance to map out, so rarely got the chance to see. It was bigger than you thought it’d be, but smaller, at the same time. Acres of crops stretched out in front of you, lines of yellow and green marching into the horizon, and to your side, only separated by a generous expanse of open field, stood a barn, all faded paint and sturdy wood and lights that were too bright and too harsh to be anything but industrial. It’d be a good hiding place, even if the woods surrounding his property would be your haven tonight. There were plenty of places to tuck yourself into, though. Full of empty stalls and unlocked doors and…

And a boy.

A boy with blonde hair, tan skin, a feed bucket in his hand and a smile too wide and too eager to belong to anyone you didn’t know.

You blinked once, then twice, and then you broke into a sprint, not bothering to stay long enough to hear Zacharia take off after you.

~

You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be chased.

All of it was so familiar, and yet, you could feel the forest getting further away every time the soles of your feet beat against the leaf-littered floor, every time your lungs ached and protested and every time you stumbled over a branch or a root and cursed your own body for being so useless. You knew what was happening. You were panicking, and thus, you were trying to distance yourself from the fight, the hunt, the sound of Zacharia getting closer and closer and closer until his hands were in your hair and his foot was colliding with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground. By the time he had you pinned, his body bent over yours as one fist kept your wrists trapped behind your back and the other pushed your cheek into the dirt, you could hardly hear Zacharia’s deep, labored breaths, feel the heat radiating from his chest. Even the pain was delayed, your mind going blank before a thousand different needles dug themselves into your skin, stabbing and burrowing and writhing, forcing out a scream you could barely bring yourself to hear.

Zacharia, meanwhile, didn’t seem to feel the tension. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he didn’t seem reluctant to draw out the experience, his teeth ghosting over the nape of your neck as he pushed a soft, airy kiss into your spine, the gesture as forgiving as it was fatal. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, letting the edges of his smile bite into your bare skin and muffling his chuckle, not that you needed anything other than the quick, almost unnoticeable squeeze to your wrists to know he was either amused, relieved, or so, so angry.

You had a feeling you knew which one, too. Not that Zacharia wasn’t happy to clarify.

“You fucked up.” It was a simple phrase, distorted only by the levity in his voice and his natural, charming drawl, making the words seem meaningless, disarming. You almost didn’t register his meaning, not until he let out an airy chuckle, the noise just low enough to make you flinch into the unforgiving earth. “You fucked up and you made me wait for it. This ain’t shapin’ up too well for you, honey.”

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t have time. As soon as he finished, you were being jerked upward, forced to your feet only to be pushed to your knees a moment later, your back now pressed against the thick, rough bark of an oak tree, Zacharia’s fingers entangled in the roots of your shortened hair to keep you grounded. You knew better than to try to fight him off, but you still winced when he spoke. “Wrists up,” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the length of rope at his belt. Already, you could feel the ghosts of past burns around your arms, your chest, and you hesitated without thinking, memories of pain warring with the knowledge that, if you didn’t comply, Zacharia would find a way to force you into something worse. It was a momentary reluctance, but that didn’t stop him from taking the excuse to drive the heel of his boot into your thigh, drawing both a pained cry and an instinctual shove, the former earning a tight, faux-sympathetic smile and the latter, a coil of rope, thick and heavy and so suddenly tight around your wrists, pulling your arms against your chest as Zacharia worked, restaining you against the sturdy trunk. “Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, don’t I?” He called, securing your restraints, leaving you squirming and shifting for a way out of his simplistic security. “We all know how much trouble you get yourself into, whenever I look away.”

“I don’t…” You started, but trailed off quickly, not sure whether to apologize, beg for mercy, or call him one of the many vile names swirling on the tip of your tongue. Any insult you might’ve conjured was quickly swallowed down, though, dissolved and forgotten as Zacharia came back into your line of sight, something long and silver in his right hand, and a similar shape now missing from the hip of his belt.

A thin square of leather, the pad wrapped around a handle made up of two intertwined steel rods. A fly-swatter

A fucking fly-swatter.

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve, but whatever sound made it through your lips was drowned out by a solid, quick snap, the noise catching you off-guard, silencing you before the pain kicked in. It was bright, sudden, firm, a spark to the side of your knee that spread over your skin, refusing to die until you let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. Zacharia only smiled, his sharp grin glinting in the moonlight as he reached down, fiddling with the first button of your make-shift dress. “It’s been so long since you acted up,” He muttered, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull it loose. You flinched in response, bringing up your bound hands to cover your exposed chest, but Zacharia flashed a smirk and shook his head, and you were left to avert your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek like a scolded child, letting him trace the shape of your collarbone. “Almost forgot why I don’t let my animals wear anything nice.”

You moved to protest, but with a clench of his jaw and a strong jerk, whatever defense your clothing offered fell away, buttons snapping or falling away and leaving you in little more than a blanket of red flannel and thin, lacy panties, neither providing much protection from the biting cold. An icy breeze ran over your skin, urging you to curl up and shiver yourself to a happier time, but Zacharia was nothing if not selfish when it came to your attention. His swatter crashed against your side, the bottom of your rib cage, and when that failed to satisfy him, your bicep, pure fire seeping into your flesh wherever the leather made contact. “Stop!” You cried out, mindlessly. “It hurts, Zach, it hurts. You have to--”

“Look at that, now she’s forgettin’ her manners.” He clicked his tongue, the noise accompanied by three strikes to your cheek, your head twisting to the side and your eyes clamping shut, this wound throbbing, aching, threatening to bruise in a matter of seconds. “You ain’t gonna tell me I’ve been takin’ care of an ungrateful bitch, are you? I don’t house brats, and I know I haven’t been treatin’ one of ‘em as well as I’ve been treatin’ you.” He paused, a ruthless growl crawling out of his throat as something hard and pointed rammed itself into your stomach. A kick, you realized, just in time for the second, this one forcing your eyes open as hot, metallic blood washed over your tongue. “Some fucking nerve. I should bridle you and send you to sleep with the damn horses, just for bein’ so goddamn rude.”

He was cruel. He was cruel and cold-hearted and evil, but more than that, he was persistent. Blow after blow rained down, your chest morphing into a patchwork of sensitive irritation and black-rimmed bruises, your nerves alerted and abused and your mind growing so overwhelmed, all you could think about was the pain, how it changed, how it got worse, how it never seemed to numb. Again, his heel dug into the inside of your thigh and again, you screamed, but it wasn’t just the pressure, this time. No, a thousand tiny needles seemed to burrow themselves into your skin and move, forcing themselves deeper whenever you shifted or bled or breathed, any action only driving the invaders further in. Nettle, you realized, green and thriving and happy to call your flesh its new home, but if Zacharia cared that your blood was staining his favorite boots, his concern was outweighed by his unadulterated, sadistic glee. His attacks became more focused, more aimed, determined to drive you deeper or bring you closer, to let the nettle tear you apart or persuade you to accept your kidnapper’s discipline with open arms. You didn’t know which you’d rather suffer through. You didn’t know where you were or how to leave. You didn’t care.

You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, and yet, tears were streaming down your cheeks before you could wipe them away, mixing with the blood pooling underneath you as they fell from your chin. Your lungs burnt, your chest heaved, each inhale becoming labored and each exhale turning into something desperate, something raspy and exhausted and barely human, as animalistic as he seemed to think you were. That was what satisfied Zacharia. Not your capture, not your pain, but your depletion and the emptiness that came with it. You didn’t look up when he dropped to one knee, cooing as he kissed the top of your head, and you didn’t stop mumbling your small, pathetic pleas until his rope dropped into your lap, falling to the ground as strong arms wrapped around you, looping under your knees and pulling you against a warm, welcoming chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter who it belonged to.

For a moment, you didn’t care that you shouldn’t want to be held.

The walk back to the farmhouse was a blur. Zacharia didn’t speak, not beyond a gentle hush whenever your sobbing grew a little too loud, but it was easy to fall into his heartbeat, his soft touches, the idea that your suffering was over, for now, at least. For the first time, you let out a sigh of relief when the basement came into view, but rather than dropping you into bed and leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity, you were carried to the ensuite bathroom, instead, left on the counter as Zacharia disappeared, searching for supplies and, hopefully, medicine.

You let yourself take a breath in, then let one out. It was easy, the easiest thing you’d done all night. Your pain didn’t reside and you were just as trapped as you’d been the night before, but you could inhale and exhale and you could convince yourself that you’d be alright, that eventually, you’d be fine. Zacharia couldn’t do anything worse to you, not tonight. He couldn’t humiliate you any further, you were sure of that. There was nothing else he could--

“Hey, baby, care to explain this?”

Instantly, you snapped towards the bathroom doorway, only to reel back once you saw what he’d found. In your manic escape, you’d forgotten about that damned thing, that terrible gift, that doll, its hair cropped short and its clothing sewn into something more specific, something boyish and so sickeningly obvious. Heat rose to your cheeks in a matter of seconds, but your embarrassment did little to stop a lazy smile from pulling at Zacharia’s lips, his satisfaction only becoming more apparent as he approached, throwing the ragdoll carelessly into the nearest corner as he settled in front of you. He got to work quickly, popping the lid off of some unlabelled, homemade remedy, but the soothing, oily balm soon being rubbed into your wounds did little to save you from Zacharia’s voice, the feeling of his teeth ghosting over your neck as he made himself comfortable in the crook of your neck. As you failed to fight back.

“If you missed me that much,” He started, his fingertips skittering over the shallow wounds on your legs and lower back, neglecting the bruises on your upper-body. He took his time, but he worked efficiently, letting his ointment smear your drying blood. Letting you feel the pricks of sterile, healing pain before something icy took its place and stuck around, making sure your injuries would stay in the back of your mind. Making sure you wouldn’t forget the lesson he’d cut into you. “You could’ve spoken up. I can’t have my little girl gettin’ this lonely, can I?” He barely tried to muffle his laugh, only kissing your shoulder hastily to stifle the sound. Even that came off as condescending - a consolation prize in place of his respect. “It looks like you’ve been coddling the poor thing half to death, too. You slept with it, didn’ya? Held it whenever I wasn’t around? C’mon, don’t keep me in the dark…” His left hand trailed towards the inside of your thigh, his thumb tracing over your covered slit. “You tried to fuck it, right?”

The question was so blunt, so out of place, you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid, but Zacharia was quick to take you by the shoulder, using a fraction of his strength to keep you in place as he slid your panties to the side, forcing two fingers inside of you without preparation, without ease, without love. The stretch was awful, the feeling of his gloves and his balm creating something slick and cold and unnatural, but Zacharia just hummed, kissing your temple as you let out a silent gasp, trying not to tremble as you fought not to collapse in on yourself. He gave you a moment to adjust, but only a moment, seeming to savor the way you whimpered as he began to pull out.

“Please, I’m not-” Your plea was cut short by another brutal intrusion, this one just as sudden, made worse when paired with the way his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you open with no plan or precision. No, you’d been through this before, you knew what he was doing, why he was doing it. He was trying to prove something, to force you into a drooling, blissful submission. To prove that he could make you unravel better and faster than you or anyone else ever could. “I’m not ready. Please, you can’t do this.”

“I don’t think I asked.” If he had any intention to make you feel something other than electric, invasive pleasure, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t favor your sensitive spots, he abused them, prodding and poking whatever made you stiffen and twitch and whine, his hips becoming the only thing keeping your thighs from snapping shut. “I’ve been treating you with nothin’ but kindness, but you’re awful mean to me, tryin’ to run away every chance you get then mouthing off without permission. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it. I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, not unless you’re ready to thank me for bein’ so forgiving.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth refused to form the words, your brain refused to work, your entire body somehow freezing and burning at the same time. Zacharia went on, but you couldn’t seem to listen, your own racing pulse and the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you soon filling your ears, making it impossible to take in anything else. It hurt. It was the best thing you’d ever felt. You wanted him to stop, and yet, you thought you might die if actually did. By the time he thought to actually consider your pleasure, the heel of his palm haphazardly grinding against your clit in rough, patternless motions, you were clinging to his shirt, mumbling out nonsense and begging him to stop, to keep going, to just get it over with. It didn’t matter though. Even if you had managed to speak, it still wouldn’t have.

Zacharia was too busy laughing to hear a word you said.

Your end came abruptly, too quickly but not nearly fast enough. His right hand fell, grabbing your waist and pinning you down as his left arched, poising as another digit slipped into you, giving you just enough friction and fulfillment to shove you over that desperate, messy cliffside. Your vision went white around the edges, your form tensing as your cunt clenched around him, the wave crashing as shakily as it’d formed. You didn’t try to resist your exhaustion, anymore. As soon as Zacharia pulled away, his now-unsanitary gloves easily discarded in the bathroom sink, you fell apart, crumbled, turned into nothing more than a pile of limbs and afterglow and shame.

“Poor baby,” He cooed, lifting you off the countertop as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t walk on your own. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up good ‘n proper tomorrow, a bath and…” He paused, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, evaluating your rush-job. “And a real haircut. We’ll see if we can’t get you somethin’ a little more effective than that doll of yours, too.”

You didn’t have the energy to retort. It was all you could do to stay conscious, and even that was a push, your eyes closing as he carried you past your bedroom and only opening again when your back hit something warm and plush, softer than anything in the basement. Blearily, you glanced around the new environment, but the plain ceiling and rafters above you did little to clear your confusion. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you might enjoy the change of scenery,” Zacharia explained, the mattress shifting as he sat down, leaning against the wooden headboard as he encouraged you to relax. You didn’t bother trying to resist, letting him guide your head into his lap, not batting his hand away when his fingers began to card through your hair. “The attic, sweetheart. There ain’t no windows up here, and you don’t have to worry about all the clutter in your last room. I made sure you have exactly what you need, no more, no less. Almost thought you weren’t gonna give me a reason to show it off.”

Dully, you noted that ‘exactly what you need’ probably didn’t include very much. “And you’re staying?”

“For as long as I can.” From anyone else, the sentiment might’ve sounded sweet, considerate. When the words fell from Zacharia’s lips, it just sounded like a warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was a fleeting concern. An immature one. Something you shouldn’t have cared about, but you clung to nonetheless. Like you were still coming to terms with the events of the past few hours. “What about your--”

Zacharia smiled sympathetically, pityingly, and you stopped talking.

Only then, with your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pants and his blunt nails scraping against your scalp, did you remember that Zacharia didn’t keep cows. He never had, and you doubted he ever would. He’d said as much himself, repeated it countless times prior to the past two months.

You stopped trying to keep yourself awake, after that.

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere prompt #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere scenarioes #yandere imagine #commission #commision #comission #writing commission #yandere commission #yandere fantasy #yandere fanfiction #yanderecore #yancore

[katsuflossy]

Best Worst Night Ever?

Pairing: Pro Hero Midoriya Izuku x Black reader

Genre: Fluff

TW: Sexual assault, obscenities, Drinking, throw up, cops, um pubic lice?

A/n: This is my thank you for 500+ followers!! I sadly have limited time to do any fics but I squeezed in a day to finish a lil WIP I had which is this!! I just watched Hercules and couldn’t help making this so please enjoy!!

BIG PSA: I am in no way romanticizing or poking at sexual assault. The story is inspired by Disney’s Hercules. 

Taglist: @sunset-novice-writer @goatsenpaiultimate

The Tokyo club district may be Midoriya’s most hated areas he has to patrol. Nothing attracted him here, in fact, the area repulsed him. The last time he stepped foot into the club was for Denki’s 21st. That night ended early for him due to an incident involving throwup that cost him his shirt, pants, and custom shoes. Ochaco still sends him apology gifts from that night. But even before the incident, the top pro-hero felt no pull towards club life. The music was so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. Someone always was pushing him in a shuffle to ruin their liver or to grind on strangers. Not to mention he is a pro-hero so there was a reason All Might never appeared in nightclubs – it’ll eventually turn into an unofficial meet-and-greet.  

So why was he assigned to watch over the district during one of the most popular summer nights? Simple, crowd control. Deku was one of the only pro-heroes who could sway a crowd to his will. His spirit could’ve reached anyone even if it was a simple crook or a drunk valley girl and his presence in the Shibuya would bring more foreigners to the club scene hoping to see the number one hero. 

A sigh escaped his lips as his fingers massaged his temples. Midnight announced its arrival through the train station nearby yet the soft pulsing from each club around collectively buzzed out the PSA automated message. His eyes strained to stay open as he passed the reds, blues, and greens of Shibuya’s active clubs. He stretched for the fifth time in the hour, the cracks of his back emitted little result to the weighty feeling on his body, like the humidity within the night. Tokyo was sure hot that night

Hot indeed it was. 

Izuku was on his twelfth attempt to suppress a yawn until his ears caught on to a female scream barely breaking through the night. He questioned whether the scream was fearful or...playful, remembering one specific night he interrupted a couple in an alleyway. However, the scream rang out again, pushing the pro-hero to the source and silently cursing himself for second-guessing. His ears led him three blocks up, beside the infamous Harlem. The red club light glared in Deku’s eyes as he tried to register the bodies in front of him.

Muted red scattered across your body front forward pressed against the bricks of the building. A tall, skinny man pressed his body against your own, restricting your thrashing from knocking him in the nose or somewhere much more sensitive. Your cheek pressed harshly against the rough texture you were forced upon as you glared at the perpetrator.

“Why don’t you just let me carry you home, babygirl?” The liquor and weed wafted from his mouth, singeing your nose hairs as you thrashed harder.

“Like fuck, you green bitch! Get the fuck up off me!” He sneered in response, ignoring your demand as his hand brushed your leg, trailing to the hem of your skirt.

“Stop! Let her go!” Your eyes snapped to the open end of the alleyway where the voice rang out. You wasted no time to take the distraction as you used your stiletto heel to stab his foot. He shrieked as he recoiled from your body. You took the time to turn around and kick him in his crotch, bringing the molester to the ground. 

“You fucking slut!” As he attempted to get up, Deku zapped in front of him, grabbing his elbow as he slammed him against the opposite wall. The man had his breath knocked out of him in an instant before passing out due to the impacting force. 

The alleyway stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing what just happened and how quickly the man crumpled against the wall. Your eyes furrowed and your fist clenched, walking up to the passed out body before commencing in a swift kick after kick adding stomps to his stomach. 

“That’s what yo filthy ass get!”

 “The next time I see you, I’m putting one ‘tween yo eyes cause you lucky I wasn’t packing tonight motherfucker!”

“If you had put your grimy hands on me further I would’ve bit your ear off like I’m fucking Mayweather in this bitch.”  

Midoriya, grabbed your upper arm, snatching you away from the bruising body on the ground, mortified by the profanities spilling out from your mouth.

“P-please stop, the police are on their way and they’ll deal with him.” His pleading stopped you momentarily. Believing that you were calm, he released the hand from your bicep only for you to get one more stomp in. He attempted to grab you again before you raised your arms and stepped away from the man, satisfied by the pain-filled groan he let out. 

Not saying a word to the pro-hero, you went to pick up your phone, which skidded from you as the molester wrestled you against the wall. The young hero also spotted your clear handbag at the corner of the alleyway, assisting you as you dialed your friends’ numbers on your phone. Your back faced him as he approached with your purse. You clutched your phone tight as you cursed into the phone, freezing Midoriya in his spot. 

“You fucking bitches! Not only did y’all not tell me y’all were leaving the fucking club, y’all not answering the phone and still posting ugly ass pictures on snap. I knew I should’ve never fuck wit y’all stank ass hoes in the first place. And Charlotte? Suck my fucking dick from the back! Hope that nigga you let hit tonight gives you crabs, dumbass bitch!” 

You slammed on the send button in the group chat, giving your ‘friends’ a piece of your mind, forgetting about the audience that was behind you. 

“U-umm…” You whipped around at the sound of the male behind you, still pissed off about your friends ignoring your call. 

“Yes?” Your attitude fell a little when you noticed how handsome the man in front of you was. Freckles peppered the tops of his cheeks, deepening the blush he sported in miscellaneous places on his face. Scars did nothing to deter your attraction, in fact, they made him more alluring, giving a rugged look to his chiseled features. 

“I believe this is yours?” He held out your clear mini handbag revealing the few yens you had and your Fenty Beauty lip gloss. 

“Thanks.” You took it graciously before reapplying some of the gloss that had come off due to your ‘encounter’ just as the pro-hero actually looked at your appearance. 

Your plump, glossy lips reflected the red club lights so sinfully. His eyes noted the beam of light shifted at the slight lift and drop of your lips. Your skin compared to the softest velvet and satin as the red light refracted on the shimmer of perfume you wore. May he mention that you smelled like euphoria? Or what he may interpret as that. His eyes traveled down your outfit, a pink skirt slit on the side peeking more of your thigh and leaving the rest to imagination. As for your top, the fluffy pink bikini top had his mind on haywire, noticing the sheen on the curves of your—

—He blinked, removing the haze from his mind. He had to say something to you, like his soul begged for a minute of your time. Denki’s voice popped in his mind, “Be cool guys, after a DID (Damsel In Distress), lay it on little by little. Ask her for her name, then if she’s safe, be a sexy gentleman.” Swallowing the thick ball in his throat, he went with the advice.

“Are you...a-alright Miss?” His hand went to his nape, rubbing the end of his undercut as a blush grew on his face. You smiled at his flustered attempt.

“(Y/n). My friends would call me (N/n) at least they would if I had anymore.” You couldn’t help your eyes to roam his physique, noting the rippling muscle under the black and green suit. 

 “So? Does a name come with my hero or should I start calling you Hercules?” A warm feeling traveled through his body, making its way to his face, burning his cheeks a brighter red. He bashfully chuckled. 

“I-I’m uhh...uhh uh...uhh” You raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his brain malfunction, smirking to yourself at how cute this was. 

“Are you always this articulate?” His eyes widened realizing the babble was not coherent as he jumped to answer your question.

“Deku! My—” He coughed at the fine pitch in his voice, brain bringing up the “How to be Cool Manual” made by Denki as he readjusted his vocal placements.

“—My name is Deku.” A light chuckle escaped through the air as you smiled at his notably lower than normal voice. 

“Hmm, Deku? I think I prefer Hercules.” You joked before your teasing was interrupted by a loud groan coming from your forgotten assaulter.

“So? H-how did you get mixed up with the...uh?”

“Nigga who don’t know what the fuck rejection is?” You looked at the crumpled man again, having the thoughts to step on his globe head again. Deku’s eyes widen as if he read your mind, holding his arms out to stop you. You raised your arms, showing no harm before retelling the night’s events.

“Some bitches and I decided we were going to go to Harlem and I was the designated driver even though it wasn’t my car. Haven’t stepped into the club yet and they already drunk off of the entrance drinks. Lightweight bitches but they wanna chug down all the martinis in there. So one of them got a hookup and left without saying shit to anyone and the other was fucking faded—”

Deku flipped through his brain to remember what the definition of faded was.

“—my guy, like bitch was puking up in the stalls. So the third girl, almost as drunk as the other bitch, took the fucking car and ditched me. Didn’t tell me when I could’ve left this place cause in there was lowkey trash. All fucking mainstream pop, and few trap songs. But anyway, this pants-suffocating-my-balls ass nigga was preying on me the entire night and you know how men are. Saying 'no' means 'yes' and 'fuck off' means 'take me I’m yours'.” Your hands clasped together as you bat your lashes up into the sky. You quickly dropped your dreamy acting gig as quickly as you made it. Deku stood confused, chivalry and respect rolled off of his body as he did not know what the female interpretation implied.

“Don’t worry, ask rock-a-bye-baby here when he gets up.” Deku’s laughter halted as the sounds of sirens rang through the air. 

“Well, thanks for everything, Mr. Deku. It’s been a real slice.” You waved at him before turning to leave. Deku panicked, rushing to grab your forearm. You raised a brow at his actions.

“W-wait! U-um the police would like a victim report so he can g-get full repercussions for what he did to a l-lovely lady like you. Heat flooded your cheeks as you mulled over what he said, lovely lady?

“U-um sure, it’s still fuck 12 though cause they didn’t do shit.” You turned around again only for the pro-hero to turn you back around, completely facing you. 

“W-what?” You looked at him, wide-eyed at his boldness as he cupped your cheek. His finger swiped the side of your soft lips, almost dipping into the shimmery, inviting pool before retracting from your face. 

“Y-you had s-some lip gloss smudged on your face.” Deku’s eyes remained on your own as you tried not to melt on the spot. All you could do was simply nod as the police cruiser pulled up by the entrance.

“Well thank you, ma’am, he won’t trouble you any further.” You nodded as the officer went back into the car, the man in the back sleeping quite peacefully for someone who’ll wake up behind bars. Your fingers typed in the address for your apartment, which was a 20-minute walk from your current location. You sighed as your feet, sore from standing in heels all night long, trudged down the street. However, a certain green-haired hero refused to let you go. Thanking the officers in the car, he rushed to your distancing figure.

“(Y/n), wait for me!” Deku waved you down, not breaking a sweat as he reached your figure.

“Deku, I’m sure you have somewhere else to be, so thank you and–” 

“I’m a hero. My job is to make sure everyone is safe, including you. So please, let me walk you home.” His eyes were unyielding. He refused to take any other answer than a yes. You nodded your head, smiling at his chivalry before walking again.

“Alright Hercules, tell me why did you become a hero?”

And so the 20-minute walk seemed like only five as you and Midoriya talked about your childhoods, struggle, and funny memories. Your feet finally touched the doorsteps of your apartment after Deku carried you halfway through the journey. 

“Thank you so much for saving me, even though I had it in the bag.” Laughter broke from the pair into the twinkling sky of the night.

“I’m sure you did.” The lighthearted atmosphere trickled into the sewers of the streets as the pair realized that their time was coming to an end. Deku began to panic, he wanted to see you again, there was no doubt as Denki’s voice invaded his head once again, “Go for the kill bro! Go for the kill!” The young hero grabbed your arm before you turned to leave.

“Umm (Y/n), I know you had an awful night but I- I would like to see you again!” His forwardness stunned you, not expecting the man to be this bold. Your heart sped up and you attempted to keep your cool.

“Sure, you got your phone on you?” He pulled out his phone, handing it to you as his excitement built. A smile stretched across your face, unable to contain your happiness as you returned the phone to its owner.

“Alright Deku, Imma fuck wit ya.” You fist-bumped the hero before leaning into his face, making the daring move to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Bye Deku.” You unlocked the door of your apartment, entering the vicinity before waving at the scarlet faced hero, who, still absorbing what just happened, waved back aimlessly. As you closed the door, your knees finally buckled for the first time in the night. You slumped against the door, smiling to yourself, not knowing the number one hero was doing the same thing. 

#bnha midoriya izuku #bnha x black!reader #midoriya izuku x black reader #midoriya x black reader #mha x black reader #black reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x black reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #deku x black reader

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

Previous Chapter : Alex - Resurgence

Alex is now assigned to the 141 with the task of defeating Nero. Meanwhile, the Scottish Solider, John "Soap" MacTavish is tasked to train the newest addition to the squad. Will he be able to prepare her for the rescue mission bound to happen soon? Why am I asking you questions? Are you really reading this bit of text?

Chapter 2 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

F.N.G.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Headquarters - Briefing Room

Nero. 

This was John's first official target after being moved to the 141. He was excited and terrified at the same time. He wanted to run another round at the Obstacle Course right after this brief. He wanted to be 100% fit for this job. He learned a lot at Verdansk and realized that he always had to be ready for the worst.

The briefing ended with Captain Price calling him over. John easily followed the British Captain as they huddled for a small discussion.

"Hey lad. Heard you're beating everyone's records in the training room." Price chuckled and tapped his shoulder, his thick moustache wiggled on his every word.

"Anything to get me in top shape, Sir." he humbly replied, grinning a little at the praise he gave him.

"I got a little task for you. See that girl over there?" he pointed toward a soldier in uniform by the chairs, her straight black hair fell as she took off her baseball hat.

"Aye. What about her." John questioned, his eyes focused on the subject hand.

"General Shepherd wants her in at the last minute. Just make sure she's ready for tomorrow." Price whispered as he quietly left and made his way toward the other members.

"Is she-" John leaned and realized Price already left. 

"Bloody Great." he muttered as he crossed his arms, Price already left. 

John joined the rest of the team involved in the Nero case as they walked a straight line across the hallway, each slowly dispersing to wherever they were needed to be, until such time that the only ones left were Gary or Roach, Alex, the CIA from Verdansk who lost his leg in a fight somewhere, and the new girl.

"Soap?" Gary called. The fellow ex-sergeant looked at him as if he wanted to ask a favor.

"Whatcha got there Roach?" Soap replied, his accent articulated each word quickly.

"I've got my hands full escorting Alex to his quarters. Do you mind sending France here to the training grounds? Price told me you were going that way, anyway." Gary asked politely, scratching the back of his head.

Soap nodded. He's going to help her train anyway, so that's two birds in one stone.

"Aye. I'll take care of her." Soap spoke quickly, nodding at the two as they make their way to their destination. 

"Cool guy huh, wonder what happened to his leg." France mused. Soap rolled his eyes toward her not tilting his head.

"Heard he had to manually detonate a chain of c4 charges. Everyone initially thought he died due to the explosion." Soap replied as he gestured her to follow him to the training area, whose entrance was at the far side of the building.

The walk was too quiet but Soap was sure she's following. Her footsteps echoed the halls right after his steps. He wasn't the best at meeting people but he tried his best to get comfortable, she's going to be a teammate after all.

"So, what's your deal here?" he spoke, his voice echoed across the empty halls.

"What?" she replied.

"You heard me." was all he said.

"Stealth tactics and close combat." She muttered. MacTavish raised his eyes and nodded in acknowledgement. 

"Hmm. We're going to be playing in an open field soon. What made Shepherd think you're up for this?" his question was out of sheer curiosity but the female soldier furrowed her brows and took it differently.

"Maybe he thinks I'm that good." she retorted, emphasizing the word 'that'. 

Soap stopped on his tracks and turned to her, 

at this angle she could only see his left eye, noting the scar that ran across his eyebrows down to his upper cheek.

"Then why are we heading to the training room? You could just take a rest or something. Relax that best condition of yours." he complained. France stared at her angrily, his overall attitude towards her was questionable, and she expected Gary's words were true, guess he lied or he was wrong.

"Formality." she said, her voice felt it was holding back emotion.

"Aye. Then let's go." John turned back and continued walking to the training area. His mind was silently tracking her steps is she's still following. He couldn't help but sigh at the attitude he showed earlier, but what can he say? He wasn't good at people and it's something he wished to improve on here at the 141.

~

"Switching to your sidearm is faster than reloading." he muttered over France who was halfway through the course. He couldn't see it but he felt her roll her eyes as if saying, "I know that already." as she coursed through the area, shooting enemies and evading civilians. When she said she was great at stealth and close combat, she wasn't lying. Soap noticed how she smoothly maneuvered through the area, she knew which walls to hug, which enemies needed to be killed first to allow space and which spots would be the weakest and easiest to breach through. Soap was utterly impressed by her skills and now realized why Shepherd insisted on adding her last minute. This lass got some skill.

"1 minute and forty three seconds. Pretty good for your first." Soap mused noting her time.

"Let's-"

"Wait." she panted, catching her breath and looked at the board.

"I wanna go again." she exhaled. Soap turned his head in confusion.

"Okay. Then ready up." he casually instructed her as she made her way back to the start of the course.

"I'm never leaving this place until I get to that top spot." she waved and jogged to the start of the course. MacTavish chuckled.

"You could try." he boasted, but she was far enough for her to hear him. And that was what he intended.

Second try. Soap noticed a sudden spike in her efforts clearing the first area in as early as twenty seconds. Soap actually felt nervous, he wasn't rooting for her to beat him but at the same time he wanted her to… A little competition wouldn't hurt. He thought to himself

"Stop." she panted.

"Forty-five." He muttered, trying not to sound impressed.

"Another one." she panted.

"You sure? Don't over exert yourself." he replied.

"Just give me water." France demanded, lowering her rifle on the desk. Soap turned to her and nodded.

"Fine. It's over there. I'll bring you there." 

"Great." 

"What did you do to get that record? I tried it twice and I can't find a quicker route without taking a lot of time." she asked as she placed the cup on the desk.

"I could show you, because I can't put it into words." he muttered. France always found his words boastful, maybe because she didn't really like this guy's general attitude or maybe she expected a different John.

"Yeah? The master shows me a live demo?" she mused jokingly. She wanted to get into his nerves, if he's going to behave that way towards her then she isn't backing out without a fight.

"More like, the master teaches you how to ace this course. There's a pen and paper over there if you want to take notes." he winked and ran to the course. France crossed her arms and watched the Scottish soldier take the course. It was impressive, he was quick on his feet and accurate on his shots, never wasting a single second to think what's next. He finished the first part in under 10 seconds, France's jaw wanted to drop but she forced herself not to. She still had a lot of time to beat that record, and she isn't going to stop until she made it to the top.

Thirty-four seconds was all he took to finish the course. He didn't huff or show signs of exhaustion, France only noticed a faster rise and fall of his chest. 

"So, how did I go?" Soap placed his rifle on the table in front of her.

"It was good. You're actually fast. If you give me enough time, I'll beat you and rise on the top of that list." she said proudly.

You got yourself a deal." he chuckled, leaving his hand open for a handshake, a sign of promise. She smiled sarcastically and walked out of the training area, something Soap never expected from her. 

"Finally, some good competition within the base." he muttered as he picked up the rifles, unloaded them and placed them back on the armory. They didn't finish the whole training course protocol, but it's a simple thing to lie about to Price when he asks for it soon.

It was lunchtime when John finally spotted his new found rival. She sat on the usually empty table, which was now occupied by her and Alex, 141's FNGs. A Fucking New Guy and A Fucking New Gal. He lifted his tray and went straight to their table. Gary stopped his funny raccoon story and watched his fellow comrade leave their table and move to the new ones. Ghost didn't mind the move, he didn't mind anyone's affairs anyway. He just sat there and continued chewing on his food while listening to Gary's hometown shenanigans.

"Hey Alex. Do you mind if I sit here?" Soap smiled and asked the former CIA. Alex nodded in agreement and tapped his shoulder. It was a long time since they once saw each other and Alex noted the changes he had been through.

"Whoa MacTavish, impressive gains you had there. Almost didn't recognize you." Alex greeted. MacTavish sat down and placed his tray containing a single red apple.

"Verdansk taught me that I needed to be better." he muttered eyeing at the new gal who wasn't even looking at them.

"You're looking pretty fine yourself!" Soap laughed at Alex's new tan, something he wasn't aware he had.

"Yeah. This is what happens when you miss the beach so much." he scratched his head, laughing.

"So… Nero. I heard you already acquainted yourself to him." Soap informed, Alex turned to him.

"Not directly, but my previous case was about him."

"What's his deal? Intel says it's not classified as terror activity yet. Why are we after him?"

"He's got large connections to the CIA with a serum capable of deleting, altering and extracting memories. Multiple people are already reported missing and reappearing in a trance state and they think it's in preparation for a global threat." France accidentally scraped her fork causing the two to turn to her. What they saw was France, looking down on her plate, tears slowly falling, her hands gripped the utensils tightly ready to be used as weapons.

"You okay, lass?" Soap finally broke the silence.

"Ttthey.. " she sobbed, her sentence was cut off as she started to catch up with her breathing.

"There there…" Alex immediately rushed to her side to console her. Soap tried to reach out to her hand but she quickly retreated it to her pockets.

"They took my sister… and they're going to pay." she spoke softly, continuing her tears. It must be rough to have someone you hold dear get taken away. Soap thought.

"I lost someone too…" Alex whispered, France leaned on him and released her emotions. She found someone she could relate to. Soap realized that Alex may have lied just to console her, making him the second person who's willing to lie for her sake. 

In the middle of all the chaos of the 141 cafeteria, the PA system alarmed the people involved on the Nero case to immediately report to the briefing room.

"Looks like the informants found something." Alex stated.

Chapter 3 : Run Through the Jungle

#horRAYfic #codmwfic #john soap mactavish #make him a hashtag #is this series also daily? idk

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part One

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hello everyone, and welcome! I present a new indulgence, as I am a simple man subject to the whim of my hyperfixations. I hope that you all will enjoy this tale, though I warn it will be a tad less carefree. Darker subject matter will be tread in this series. But! My indulgences will shine through regardless, and my trigger warnings will be at the beginning of each installment. If you're interested in reading more of my attempted writing involving a space Pedro, I will direct you to Stay Safe, my completed Mandalorian fic. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

You ran.

The thrower knocked against your leg as you fled, almost tripping you numerous times. You couldn't bring yourself to fix it, though.

You didn't stop, even when your ribs started to ache and your vision went patchy. The pod is just in the next clearing, you kept telling yourself, the next clearing for certain. Once you were inside it, you could…

It had no lock. Damon hadn't deemed it necessary. Maybe...maybe that other man just wouldn't find you. The one that Damon had shot and tried to thieve everything from. How could he have believed that his greed would go unchecked?! Those two men had clearly been slaving in the Bakhroma Green for ages. Months at a bare minimum. Now one of them was dead, and the other had been wounded by Damon before your oh-so-illustrious companion had succumbed to the injuries inflicted by that railgun. 

You had been involved in dig disputes before, of course, but you were hard-pressed to think of a time where one had been settled with such...messy finality. 

You entered the pod with a gasp of relief, jerking your helmet off to breathe the comfortingly stale air. You dropped the thrower by the door, unable to bring yourself to even think about using it. 

Damon was dead. 

You pressed your hands to your temples and sank to the floor. The man who had bullied, browbeat and press-ganged you into this remote locale, was dead. And you…

You had no idea how to urge this pod back up past the thick canopy. You were a digger. Digging was what you were good at. It was what you knew. You were not a pilot.

Despair took hold then, as you realized you were truly trapped. Precious seconds ticked by while you laid there on the floor, a curled-up ball of miserable floater. There were three cycles left before there would be no escape, before the freighter slingback would be entirely inaccessible.

You dragged yourself out of your funk eventually, doing your best to wipe your face clean of all your tears. You could figure this out. All Damon had been good for was flying, right? You would inventory the supplies and see how many days you could eke out. Maybe you could reach someone on the long range. 

...

The sorting and cataloging work kept you busy. Which was good. You liked busy. Busy limited headspace. Busy kept people alive on digs. 

It was a little warm inside the pod once the sunlight started beating down on it. You wiped your sweat off with your forearm for the millionth time, flipping through your notes. If you were cautious about certain resources and supplements, you might be able to last two months down on the Green moon. But that was only if your filters continued to hold recharges. Uncharitably, you wished you had taken Damon's before you bolted. 

There was nothing for it. You would just have to make it back to the freighter in time. Two stands of miserable living would do you no good if you were still on this moon. Judging from the thickness of the pollen in the air, the plant life would be noxious. You wouldn't survive without your filters.

You leafed through the radio manual, flipping the power switch and grimacing at the burst of static that greeted your ears through the Arcsoko long range headset. "To anyone listening, this is Dasha Landcraft Rental, parcel-class, pod number-" you paused, fumbling through to the back of the manual for the number scrawled there by the company. "Number...eight-eight-three-nine-seven-five dash-zero-zero--" you stopped to inhale, "-two-seven-four-two. We have landed off course. I repeat, we are off target in the Green. Pilot lost." Your voice started to shake. "P-Pilot lost. If a-anyone is within range, please respond."

You flipped the switch on the signal amp and then pushed the looper, setting the message to repeat broadcasting for an hour. It would be a varying amount of expenditure on your chit for every additional hour you wanted to keep your transmission on the air, and you didn't exactly have money to throw around, so all you could hope was that someone would hear your distress message within the first free hour. 

You kept the headset on, rocking back and forth in your chair as the minutes ticked down. A few times there were bursts of static that sounded like someone was about to come on air, but they peaked as fast as they arrived. 

Hope faded the longer you sat there, sorting and stacking the brightly-colored Calori-pouches of Pastors Henry slurry. You staunchly ignored the way your lower lip was quivering. Damon hated it when you cried.

Within the last few precious minutes of your free broadcast, a noise outside sent your heart into your throat. You yanked off the headphones, scrambling for the nav console. The wall of bulky, jutting screens was the first thing you could seriously consider cover, but it was only once you'd tucked yourself beneath it that you remembered you had left the thrower by the door. 

You started forward to grab it, but ended up just lowering your body closer to the floor as the noises advanced, footsteps you realized. So he had found you. He would certainly kill you if only for what your partner had done. It had been careless of you to start your broadcast so soon after returning to the pod. You had essentially beamed out a homing signal to your exact location. 

For an hour.

This was it. Cowering in a rented pod, weapon feet away, clutching an itemized list of all the things to eat and drink. A fitting end, for a timid dust-scratcher like yourself.

I will not cry or beg, you told yourself sternly. It would do no good here. It was better to face your demise with some shred of dignity, and Damon had just gotten more angry when you cried. 

The hatch hissed loudly and you somehow made yourself even smaller while that man, the talkative one, lurched up into the pod. He stumbled, fighting with the latches on his helmet for a good ten seconds before finally managing to get the thing off, thus affording you a clear view at his face.

He didn't look particularly cruel, or Brism-busted like Damon had. Mainly, he just looked tired and dirty. He had a head of shaggy brown hair, olive skin and deep-set brown eyes. His nose was hawklike, prominent even alongside that heavy brow and the square jut of his scruffy jaw. When he turned his head, you spotted a curious chunk of blond hair that grew determinedly out at a different angle from the right side of his hairline, Mallen streak, your brain supplied oh-so-helpfully. An old scar, silver with age, meandered along his left cheekbone, and a halfway-maintained mustache shielded his upper lip.

His eyes roamed the pod curiously for a moment, taking in all the notes you had tacked to the walls in your inventory sweep. He absolutely noticed the thrower abandoned by the door. 

"This is a vexsome position that your friend Damon has put you into, I'm afraid." He drawled, his pistol loose at his side while he slowly rotated. "I will not apologize for my hand in his death, as he wounded myself, razed my associate and was planning to abscond with several stands worth of my hard work. His greed outplayed his hand."

Dark eyes landed on you, curled up against the wall beneath the console screens, and the smile that bloomed under his mustache was decidedly predatory. 

"I'm...I have food." You began to bargain shakily. 

"You certainly do, don't you?" He crooned in a patronizing tone, the thrower pistol humming as he primed it. 

"I'm a good digger. Th-That's the only reason Damon dragged me here." You cringed when he took a step towards you. "P-Please, I didn't-"

"I have no doubt that whatever it was, you surely didn't. You could have picked me off easily out there had you wanted to, plenty of range on that thrower. What is a gentle soul like you doing with a character that had such a predisposition for marauderous pilferin', I wonder?" The man mused, his expression cheery to an unsettling degree. The grip he had on the pistol didn't waver an inch.

"He promised I-I would be able to finally quit with the points this planet would make." Why bother lying? This man would just kill you anyway. "B-But the pod, it...something happened during the landing. A malfunction, I'm not sure."

"Ah, so your friend Damon was the Ahab of this vessel as well. No surprise there, that steadfast moral compass of his must have seen you two just flawlessly across the vacuous expanse." 

Your lower lip began to quiver again and you dug around in your suit pockets for the lone gem that you had uncovered on your trek earlier. "I don't...I don't have anything to offer aside from the supplies and this. But...p-please, I just…" 

Your sketchbook tumbled out of your pocket as you removed the gem. The barrel of his gun grazed the side of your head in obvious response to the action and you froze in terror. "You keep those hands where I can see them, gentle soul. I am not in a gaming mood at the mo…" His words trailed off when he caught sight of the massive pearl cradled in your palms. "Well well, it seems you've got a bit of bargaining power yet." 

"I don't need much food, I p-promise." You had told yourself you wouldn't beg, but this seemed...very close to begging. "J-Just water and a pilot." You extended the aurelac, knowing full well that you were surrendering your ability to go home. That miserable rock would have paid for the lease on the pod and passage back to the Pug at the bare minimum. Which you had pointed out to Damon, but he insisted on trekking further. You found yourself agreeing wholeheartedly with this other man's earlier observation, his greed outplayed his hand.

"I am not overly inclined to rid this world of you, gentle soul. If I am reading the situation correct, you are not here because you wish to be." The man said after several breathless moments. He didn't seem concerned about taking the gem from you at the moment. "However, we are at a bit of a stalemate when it comes to locomotion." 

His gun dropped from the side of your head and you flinched again when he stretched out his hand towards you. "H-Here, here! Just p-please, don't-" You shoved the rock against his fingers, your eyes shut tight with anticipation. Why couldn't he just shoot you and get it over with?!

"I'm offering you a hand up, gentle soul. Squirrel away your bargaining chip for the time being." The man said, gently easing the gem aside. "I am not an unreasonable man. Let's get you up off that floor and we shall discuss terms as civilized folk do." 

"You...you're not going to kill me?" You asked weakly, daring to open your eyes.

"At this juncture? No." The man tilted his head. "Are you planning on doin' anything nefarious that may encourage my own expedient shuffle off of my mortal coil?"

You had to take a minute just to try and figure out what he'd actually said. It had been ages since you'd interacted with anyone aside from Damon, and your late 'partner' hadn't had the most expansive vocabulary. "I've never killed anyone before." You replied, your voice a whisper.

"A prudent answer, to be certain, for one never knows what the tides of fate have in store for them." He pondered for a breath, his eyes almost impossibly dark. "I'll take your word all the same, face value. You seem an honest sort, gentle soul. Makes me inclined to wonder how you got tangled up in this sorry soirée, though." His boot bumped against your sketchbook and he toed it a little closer to you, obligingly keeping his distance.

"That's not...it's not important right now." You snatched the book up and crammed it back into your pocket. Then, you floundered into one of the flight chairs, sitting sideways so you were able to maintain the barest pretense of eye contact. You clasped your trembling hands in front of you, trying to remember to keep them where he could see them.

"The terms will be as follows: we work together to get this craft airworthy once again. By my late partner's calculations, Kevva rest his soul, we've only got a few turns of twenty-four left until we're well and truly cut adrift on this forsaken Nessus." The way that he was using the term 'we' had your chest strangely tight. "I am loathe to be restricted here for the rest of my days, especially with a royal's ransom stashed in my trophy case. I doubt you wish to suffer that same perdition." 

He leaned forward and you shifted back on reflex, quickly dropping your gaze from the scar on his cheek to the floor. "I understand." You said softly. "What do you want me to do? I'm not...I don't know anything about the nav systems or engines or-"

"Gentle soul, how long had you wandered this world with that disreputable thief?" 

To your horror, you couldn't actually remember how long it had been. It was a haze of silent travel, punctuated by violent outbursts as you tried to make yourself seem even smaller than you already were-

"I did not mean to wound you, gentle soul. I offer my most sincere reparations." He apologized quietly.

"What?"

He gestured with his hand, a little slower now. "You are weepin'."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry." You fumbled to wipe your face off on your sleeve. "I'm alright, I'm fine." You assured him with a watery smile.

He studied you for what felt like a lifetime, those brown eyes boring into your own. "I am Ezra, gentle soul. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

Ezra. That's right, he had introduced himself as such to Damon before everything had gone so incredibly wrong. "I'm sorry about what happened to your friend." You said thickly. "I didn't...I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

He waved off your words, scoffing a bit. "Number Two was a utility, not a friend. I am none too aggrieved by his loss, and I implore you not to trouble yourself with such dour ruminations on his behalf." Ezra stretched, then swiveled his head around. "What does our supply situation look like? I can see your scrawlings, naturally, but I would prefer it from the merchant's mouth."

You leafed through your notebook pages. "If we're careful, we should have enough to last one month." Split between the two of you rations were a bit harder to calculate, so you went with the safe route of halving the time evenly. "I don't know your appetite. Damon would go days without food sometimes, because of the sleep meds."

"I am ravenous at any and all opportunities, I must confess." Ezra admitted. "Been surviving off bits bars for the last four stands. Calori-paste is my damn marrow at this point in time."

"W-We still have some powdered things, tea, if...I mean can I offer you...um, some coffee?" You warily turned your back to him and started rummaging in one of the many side compartments, pulling out a tiny sealed bag of dehydrated coffee mix.

"I would be…" He paused, sounding like he was fighting for breath. It was so dramatic that you actually looked at him, a touch alarmed. "I would be forever in your debt if you would grace me with so much as a watered-down teaspoon of that heavenly beverage." He settled on one of the side benches, his pistol holstered for the time being. "We will not need rations to last the month, gentle soul, so our best option in the event of calamitous mechanical difficulties may be to take any excess off to the Saders to trade for goods."

"Saders?"

"They are a group of people that inhabit the Green. Religious settlers, tedious scavengers."

Your brow furrowed. You were no religious expert. "Like Kevvaites?" You tried.

"No no, not so much with the monotheism. They believe in the Tides of the universe. The Currents, a certain...ebb and flow of life." Ezra waved a hand to illustrate. "All very poetic, giveth and taketh kinda' sort. Not bad folk to deal with, all things considered, but voraciously against conventional arms and armaments."

You wracked your brain for any other useful items you may have stowed away from Damon, lest he pawn them to pay for his drugs of choice. After you set the hydro to churn the precious dust into coffee, you knelt and shuffled your small personal storage compartment open. "I don't have a lot to offer, I'm afraid." You murmured, tugging out a few duct tape sealed bags. "Almost all the basic hygiene items, my emergency filters...anything he could get his hands on, really. He would just trade it for more drops or Brism." You continued apologetically. 

"That man was a junkie." Ezra said bluntly. "Now, I have my own vices and I am not above reproach, but I always assured that my consumption was never at the cost of someone else's comfort." 

Your throat felt tight and you ducked your head down, avoiding eye contact. "I...I'm sorry." 

"Whyever for, gentle soul?" He asked curiously. 

"I-I shouldn't have-" You had no idea what you were apologizing for, your words dying in your throat. After so much time with Damon, you did it automatically. The hydro beeped, offering you the opportunity to bolt. Which you took immediately. "Coffee!" You announced brightly, the flimsy cardboard container that it dispensed into almost scorching your hand. You passed it off to him, warning, "Be careful, it's-" 

Ezra slugged half the scalding contents in one go, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively. 

"-h-hot." You finished weakly.

"Kevva above, it sure is." He grunted, shuddering. "God damn, I have missed that acrid nightmare of flavor burnin' my esophagus like Satan himself. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder." He pawed idly at his wounded arm after a moment, grimacing. "I don't suppose that Damon kept any of the usual med supplies? A field kit, maybe?" The older man queried hopefully.

You hesitated, gnawing on your lower lip. "He...didn't." You answered carefully.

Ezra looked momentarily distraught before he seemed to catch himself, his expression smoothing into something closer to weary resignation. "Well, can't say I'm surprised. They're worth good currency in a trade. Bodes poorly for the survival of my arm, however." He said glibly, the wince that followed contrasting dramatically with his unphased tone.

"Y...Your-?"

"Once the dust gets in, it don't take too long for the fester to permeate." Ezra explained. The wound on his arm oozed a sickly, yellowish fluid down the sleeve of his exosuit when he pressed his hand over it. "It wasn't originally just myself and Number Two, you understand. We had a full crawling party before the muti--" He jerked to a stop, shooting you a wary glance. "Now, gentle soul, I don't want you thinkin' that you have anythin' to fear from me. The mutiny was...a misunderstanding. You saw today what depths desperate men stoop to over a bit of aurelac."

You nodded, your throat gone dry. 

"There were...concerns voiced about equal shares, it was a Kevva-forsaken mess. I don't know how many times I've told folk to draw up their union contracts before they get boots on the ground. Nobody listens, though. It's always 'mutiny once we're planetside' this and 'we can take everything' that." He griped. "Words and metal flew and, regrettably, myself and a few others were marooned on this damnable moon." Ezra drew his hand away from his arm, that yellowed fluid clinging to his fingers in thick, pitchy strands, "We quickly found that these climes are fiendishly inhospitable to floaters in damaged suits."

Your lip felt like it was about to drop off your face from how hard you were worrying it. "I...D-Do you promise not to hurt me?" You finally asked.

Ezra gave you a look of confusion, brown eyes narrowing slightly. "Gentle soul, I thought I had made it abundantly clear that-"

"Just-! Just say yes or no." 

"Yes, dammit, but I fail to see what that's got to-"

"I h-have a kit. A f-field kit." You stammered out. His eyebrows drew together in a thunderous frown and you saw his jaw working. "Wait! Wait, just let me f-f-finish." You extended your hands in a placative gesture, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. "I...trade. I'll trade you. Nobody does anything for free, right? I'll help you, and in exchange, I want you to promise me you won't hurt me."

"What would you do if I did hurt you, gentle soul?" Ezra inquired softly. Your breath hitched. "Indeed, what would you be able to do? Especially now that I'm aware you've got a kit hidden somewhere." The man got to his feet and you immediately flinched. "Your powers of persuasion need some...refinin', but I am not immune to civility. Gentle soul, if you give me that kit not only am I willin' to work with you to get us off this moon, I'll throw a chunk of my haul your way as a show of good faith." He offered, dark eyes watching you closely. "And, I will give you my word as an individual with the slightest, infantessible modicum of moral standing, that I won't lay a finger on you fueled by dubious or malicious intent." 

You stared up at him, your mind entirely blank from panic. His strange words certainly weren't helping your comprehension. "I..." No, no, this was wrong. He was putting far too much up for his end of the bargain! He must be planning something, some sort of trick.

Ezra cocked his head. "You still with me, gentle soul?" He asked cautiously. "Don't tell me you're strokin' out, it'd be a shame to lose such pleasant company."

Your laugh was a jagged hiccup in your chest. Ezra huffed out a breath after a moment, obviously uncomfortable. He probably thought you had gone moony, entirely lunar. "I'm...I'm sorry, I...that's a good, um, deal, b-but I can't accept it." You struggled to get your words out. "Y-You…that is, I don't...I don't want…" to be like Damon. 

"Perhaps your persuasion isn't nearly as uncalibrated as I originally surmised. Very well, gentle soul. How much is my dominant arm worth to you?" Ezra queried dryly, misunderstanding your hesitation. "Because to me, as a workin' man, it's worth its weight in aurelac sixteen times over." 

You hadn't thought of it like that. You felt a bit foolish now. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I...I'm sorry." 

"Kevva above, you are a tender thing. I don't mean to be so grim, but that's the harsh reality that I've been livin' with since I found myself marooned. It's a miracle I've managed this long with the meager supplies allotted to us." He said, sounding rueful. "I mourn my stomach every morning as I eat those crunchy bastard bits bars and I pray for my sufferin' to end."

You didn't mean to snort, but his colorful terminology caught you off-guard. His smile was less predatory this time, as if he hadn't expected your mirth. You knelt, burrowing even deeper into your compartment until you hit the false bottom. There, underneath several sheets of whitewashed cardboard, resided your precious field kit. You had traded the entirety of your meager share from an equally-meager haul for it stands ago, once you realized how deeply entrenched Damon was in his addiction. You had always clung to the faint hope (albeit perhaps in vain) that you might be able to escape from Damon and, if you struck out on your own, you knew you would at the very least need a good field kit as a failsafe for emergencies.

You hesitated before you tugged the box free, your fingers stroking the smooth plastic. You felt silly for the melancholic sensation that rose in your chest, it was just a field kit. You could always get another one. But it had seemed like so much more than a porta-surge. Until today, it had represented your dreams of getting out from beneath Damon's thumb. 

"Not to-" You had been so lost in thought that the unexpected sound of his voice caught you by surprise. You bolted to your feet in a rush and the top of your head met the bottom of his jaw with a bone-jarring impact. Your vision faded momentarily from the force of the blow, black dots exploding and fading out. 

The older man grunted, staggering back a step. He proceeded to sit down heavily on one of the bench seats as you held your aching head in pain. The porta-surgery box laid abandoned on the floor. You could only imagine what level of punishment you were in for now. 

"Martyr's malfeasance, gentle soul, if you try to ring my bell like that again you may do me in." He groaned hoarsely, working his jaw and tonguing the inside of his cheek. "What the fuck is your cranium comprised of?"

You didn't answer, sniffling a little bit and blinking back your tears as you scooped the field kit off the ground. You held the box out to him, your eyes focused on your boots while you struggled to keep your hiccups to a minimum; Damon hated when you would cry.

You cringed when a gloved hand rested gently on the top of your head, clumsy fingers parting your hair. What was he…? "You are goin' to have a fine bruise, gentle soul. Mercifully you didn't break skin. Guess my jawline isn't as sharp as I've been claimin'." 

Was he...was he joking with you? You dared to glance up at him and you were startled by how concerned he looked. Oh, I'm still holding the kit. You gracelessly pushed the field kit against his stomach, trying to use it to give yourself some breathing room. 

Ezra seemed to get the hint and he shifted a step back, taking the kit as he went. "Kevva, this is one of the portable surgicals. Sequestering it was the intelligent choice, gentle soul." He muttered, almost like he was speaking to himself. "I am loathe to willfully use your resources, so I shall do my best to be prudent." You could feel him looking at you again. "This is all that you have, isn't it?" He asked abruptly. "The kit, those few possessions you've already dug out of that compartment."

You just cleared your throat and avoided his searching gaze with studious intent. "You're wasting time." You whispered.

"True enough." Ezra agreed. He flopped back down on the bench and rummaged around in the box, tugging loose the tiny orange sepsis kit and the patch gun with a grimace. "Hello, old friend." He then raised his voice to address you once more, "I will be makin' a copious amount of noise presently, gentle soul."

You nodded jerkily, covering your ears and turning your head away.

Part Two

#ezra (prospect 2018) #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect imagine #slow burn #eventual romance #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #how do I tag this #aw heck #thanks for being here #you brave soul you #ezra x reader #prospect 2018 #prospect #this is prime indulgence hours boys #enjoy!

[lilyswrittenworks]

Intimacy

Pairing: Husband Optimus Prime x Wife Reader

Rating: PG & contains fluffy moments!

(1,982 Words)

                                ~~~~~

     Tonight, the moon shone down with such brilliance along with the stars that adorned the cloudless sky. The asphalt road was illuminated from the truck's headlights and there were no other vehicles in sight. Watching with heavy eyelids as the scenery changed from being surrounded by buildings until it was replaced by various tropical trees.   

It was the first week of summer which meant that the restaurants around town would be packed, and I was right. Today was supposed to be like any other Wednesday which meant that it would be a much slower day than the rest. However, the place was filled to the brim with people that by the end of my shift I was utterly exhausted.  

Since I work almost late at night as a waitress and a bartender at the same time was not an easy task. My extroverted self could only take so much interaction at a time that by the end of the day I simply can’t function, conversation wise. Let’s not forget about the sleepless nights that I’d have to endure on some occasions, especially when it was a large event, like New Year's Eve. It’s a good thing that my husband is almost always the one to pick me up whenever I worked overtime. 

With my shoulders slumped from exhaustion as my eyes were staring aimlessly through the tinted windows of the blue and red costumed semi-trailer truck. I involuntarily hummed tiredly and then rested my temple on the window. The soothing sound of the truck's engine made me close my eyes and was slowly falling asleep.   

“You mustn't sleep just yet.” His baritone voice had roused me from my short-lived sleep haven.  

My half-lidded brown eyes landed on the radio where his voice emanated from. “But Optimuuuus,” I drawled out his name playfully. “I want to sleeeeep.”  

“You can recharge after we return home, Sweetspark.” He gently reminded me and moved his rearview mirror to look at me.  

I let out a soft whine at the rearview mirror and then subconsciously traced the soft padding of his upholster with my thumb. This small action caused the interior of his cabin to shiver. It had been almost twenty-five minutes since our short conversation, and I remained awake until he had arrived just outside the gate. Right as I was about to open the door when suddenly I was held back by the seat belt which had tightened around me.  

“Ah-ah, no need. I will be opening the gate.”  

I turned to see Optimus’s holomatter materialize into existence. There sat a middle aged, well-built man with a full-on trucker beard with hair that was somewhat slicked back. He had on a red and black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and wore a pair of dark slim pants. I watched in silence as he exited out of the vehicle with the spare keys in hand and opened the gate manually.   

Since Optimus and I couldn’t afford to get an automatic gate it was best to have a manual one until we could afford to get one. Yes, Optimus works too, even though I told him on multiple occasions that I could easily handle our income. Yet, he simply refused and got a job as a—you guessed it—a truck driver!   

Once his alt mode was on the other side, his holomatter closed the gate and then entered the semi. From there he drove for another mile down the gravel road until he parked right beside the house. Just as I unbuckled the seat belt Optimus had already opened the door for me in his holomatter.  

I smiled at him gratefully and exited out of the costumed semi-trailer truck. As soon as my feet touched the ground I was greeted by the dull pain on the soles of my feet.   

“Coño… my feet are killing me!” I murmured tiredly and then swung my purse over my shoulder with a huff.   

“Busy day?” Optimus inquired curiously as he shut the passenger door.  

“Yeah... one moment I was attending three tables and the next thing I knew the place was absolutely flooded with people! It was chaotic to say the least.” I then brushed my fingers through my short hair and gently grabbed a strand of it to stare at. It had been dyed dark red recently since my brown roots were already growing out and I don’t plan on showing off my real hair color anytime soon.  

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt his arm wrap around my waist. I tilted my head up to see Optimus staring down at me and he easily towered over me. Being five foot four next to a six-foot hunk and I only reached just below his broad shoulders.  

It was so unfair to be this small. 

Soon we made our way up the front porch and there were two porch lamps already lit and then entered inside our cozy little log cabin. I flipped on the light switch and then hung my purse on the coat rack that was embedded on the wooden wall. Our coat rack was filled to the brim with our jackets, keys, and a little box filled with our mails. We got a second one for guests only and it literally had a single cowboy hat on the top that may belong to Optimus. 

  “What time is it?” I asked before slipping out of my shoes and immediately felt relieved to have them off. 

Optimus looked down at his wristwatch. “Past one.”   

I hummed softly to myself and then turned to give him a hug which he reciprocated. “I’ll be taking a bath since I practically reek of alcohol.” Then went on my tiptoes to give him a quick peck on his lips. “Join me, will you? ~”  

Without giving him time to react I scurried off into our master bedroom and was beginning to prepare the bath. I made sure the water wasn’t too hot before adding a blue bath bomb, which smelled like blueberries, and then proceeded to slosh it around to get that nice bubbly effect. Satisfied with the amount of bubbles on the surface, I then proceeded to strip down, throwing the dirty clothes into the basket and then entered the tub. Right as I sunk down into the warm water Optimus had walked in.  

I watched as he began to peel off his clothes and was admiring his physique without him noticing. No matter how many times I've seen him undress, I still can't get over the fact at how handsome he looked. Even if he was in his bipedal form, he is still the sexiest man.  

There was a smile that I couldn’t contain and then laid back on the bathtub where my gaze met the bathroom ceiling. It wasn’t long before the water shifted below my legs and glanced down to see Optimus staring at me.  

“Take a picture, it'll last longer.” I playfully said which got a light chuckle from him.  

The bathtub we laid in was a decent size to fit two people, it was wide enough for Optimus to fit in considering his height. The closeness we shared at this moment was pleasant, even calming whenever we bathed together. I then lowered my legs and intertwined them with his which he didn’t mind, in fact, he enjoyed the tangled mess with our legs. 

“When was the last time we bathed together?” I blurted out with my head resting back against the tub.  

Optimus sat back and allowed his arms to rest on the rim. “Given our hectic schedule, I believe it was one earth month ago.”  

“Huh, it honestly feels like forever...” He was right. We have been so busy with our jobs that we rarely had enough time to spend quality time together. The only times we ever get to do so is when we’re getting ready for bed. Lately, I’ve been missing every little moment we shared, from his gentle kisses, our odd conversations, but most of all, it was his overall touch against my tanned skin is what I craved the most. 

While he was relaxing, I took this opportunity to move and lay right beside him where he then draped his arm on to my waist. His muscles were firm to the touch and there was white froth sticking to his skin from the bath bomb I added. There were also faint traces of old battle scars on his skin, some were more prominent than others. He explained it before to me, whenever his cybertronian self would take damage it would then manifest on to his holomatter.   

My eyes drifted onto his chest and there was a vertical scar which stuck out the most to me. It was located where his heart was. I went and traced my fingers across the scar with curiosity and wondered how he got it in the first place.  

“Optimus?” A hum rumbled through his chest. “How did you get this scar?”  

He raised his head and looked down to see me tracing the scar. “A friend whom I considered a brother did this to me… which resulted in my immediate demise.”  

My fingers stopped stroking the scar and a frown had formed on my face. The thought of seeing his lifeless body plagued my thoughts and this made me feel emotional. I attempted to swallow down the lump forming in my throat but that didn’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. Optimus noticed this and gently positioned me on top of him where he proceeded to cradle me close to him.   

This is the one thing I absolutely hated about myself: it was being overly sensitive. Thinking back, I had always been the typical shy girl during my school years. Which meant that I was prone to getting bullied constantly. I was an easy target for them, and I didn’t fight back. The bullies back then were never physical in their assault; however, it was their hurtful words that struck the most. Eventually when I was in high school the bullying had been toned down significantly. Although that didn’t change me being an overly sensitive person… and for the silliest of things too. 

“I’m sorry for getting emotional.” My voice was muffled against his chest and then felt him kissing the top of my head.  

“You needn’t apologize for yourself.” He gently caressed my back, feeling the warmth of my breath prickling his skin.  

“You’re too kind for me.” I whined and raised my gaze to meet his azure eyes. That’s when he leaned forward to kiss my forehead.  

“How can I be a good husband if I don’t treat my wife well, hm?” He inquired thoughtfully a sudden glint flashing across those beautiful eyes of his before he closed the gap between us.   

Our lips connected and instantly melted into his lips. His kisses were gentle and held so much love behind them that it made my heart soar in delight. As we parted from the kiss, we then stared into each other for what felt like forever. I reached out to rest my hand on the side of his cheek to which he leaned into my touch and then kissed the palm of my hand. How do I deserve such a wonderful husband? Even after we married, he still treated me like he did when we first met. Using his actions instead of his words to prove to me how much he truly loved me. The mere reminiscent of it made my emotions swell again, except this time it was from pure bliss. 

“I love you so much.” There were already tears streaming down my cheeks except this time I had a smile on my face. Optimus smiled down at me and then lowered his head where his forehead rested against mine.

“And I love you, Sweetspark, to the moon and back.”  

#optimus prime x reader #reader insert #transformers the last knight #husband optimus prime x wife reader #short story #fluff #fanfiction #transformers bayverse

[endlessfangirlao3]

Why I like Gen

@assagirigen on twitter dared me so-

Gen Asagiri is an interesting person.

 When we first meet him he shows himself as a shallow man who wants nothing more than to be on the winning side. Does matter to him which side wins he just wants to be on that side. The reader already knows about Tsukasa and his plan at this point. We know he is killing older people and only letting the young live, so to hear Gen say he doesn’t care about that and saying he was leaning more to Tsukasa. was a great way of showing how shallow he can be. All though I don’t think he is as shallow as he claimed.

 Right after he says all of this he saves Senkuu from being killed by Magma. At this point Gen only heard claims of what Senkuu could do and has no proof for himself. Gen’s mission was to make sure Senkuu was dead so if Gen stepped aside and let Magma kill him Gen would be done with his mission, but no Gen stands up to one of the strongest people in the village with only flowers. The moment Gen saw electricity in the stone world his thoughts of a harem were totally outweighed. (Literally. Chapter 24 last page) If Gen really was on Tsukasa’s side his harem would be more important to him, but Gen isn’t and even praises Senkuu saying “Y..You can’t be serious Senkuu!! In this completely empty stone world starting from zero! I can’t believe you really did it..”. At this point Gen has proof of Senkuu’s genius, but he still knows being in the Kingdom of science meant manual labor. Something he was not about. Still, he helped Senkuu by convincing Kinro and Girno to help with the generator. I think the moment Gen saw the light bulb he knew Senkuu could 100% bring back the old world.

In chapter 26 we see a flashback Tsukasa depetrified Gen. The moment Tsukasa says he killed a man (That at this point Gen had no idea who) Gen looks suspicious of Tsukasa. 

In the same chapter we see the group talk about Gen and asking if he is a good guy. Chrome even asks if Gen is listening trying to rile him up. Gen blows off the statements from Chrome saying he is a silver tongue mentalist and he doesn’t care, but us the reader already know where his loyalties are. Even part of his name means loyalty. Asagiri, Giri (ぎり) being loyal/ duty. Gen walks over to the generator and runs his hand over it foundly. Even after Gen got stabbed and almost died by Magma he was still loyal to Senkuu and the kingdom of science. We find out that he used blood bags and that dulled some of the blows but it still left Gen hurt. One thing I want to point out quickly is when did Gen back the blood bags? You could say before he got to the village, but he didn’t know he would be attacked there. He was so confident in his flower trick why would he need blood bags? I think Gen knew he had to get away from Tsukasa because it wasn’t safe there. In chapter 50 we see another flashback where Gen thinks “It’ll be hard to break through with just eloquent words” when he looks at the blissfully happy people in the empire of might. Gen was planning to leave/ stop Tsukasa but he couldn’t do it alone. So what he said before was just a lie to see what Senkuu could do and if Gen was truly safe if he joined the kingdom of science. Gen heard what Kohaku said about if he didn’t go back to tell Tsukasa Senkuu was Dead Tsukasa was suely going to find out. Gen could have asked a lot of Senkuu seeing how smart he was, but no he just just asked for a cola.

The next morning Gen, still recovering, ran up a mountain to the empire of might. He makes it there and is clearly out of breath but waste no time telling Tsukasa that Senkuu was dead. In short Gen in that moment laced his fate with the Kingdom of science. If they went down so did he. Even adding “Without a shadow of a doubt”.

We don’t see Gen again for quite a bit of time but the next time we see him he says that “I need the kingdom of science to win this too,” He knows he had tied his fate with the Kingdom of science. He frames it like it is all for Cola but a few pages later Gen says “heh well, I don’t exactly think he is that nice of a person” When Gen finds the carbonic acid. Gen didn’t actually think Senkuu was going to make him a cola. When Gen walks back to the lab and sees the cola he is surprised too and the smile he had on his face while drinking the cola too says a lot about how this isn’t something he expected but an unexpected gift.

Gen is still a double agent in chapter 45 when he informs Senkuu that Tsukasa’s armies are coming. He still acts like he is just a shallow person but when Gen says that he is sweating and his scar is a bit beant. Gen puts himself in harm's way again By telling Hyoga goons that he is going to be a spy in the village. When Hyoga shows up Gen picks up on Senkuu’s plan and manipulates Magma into doing what Gen asks of him. Gen used his knowledge of Magma and his wants to help Senkuu. Gen made it look like the village had guns and forced Hyoga to retreat. Gen knows that will make the prideful idiots pissed off that they lost and they will want revenge as quick as possible so Gen brings up attacking during a storm. Gen leaves small trail flowers and makes small cuts into Hyoga’s spear with the hope that it will help save someone. Gen knows damn well how strong Hyoga is but he still risks his life making those cuts and leaving a trail. Gen has 100% of confidence In Senkuu and the kingdom of science and so officially sides with them. Even with a seemingly impossible goal of a phone Gen still gets the villages on Senkuu’s side and they help with the telephone.

Once Gen officially joins the kingdom of science we see him enjoying himself and actually smiling a lot more. He goes along with a meme, appreciates a christmas tree, and  he even does a little song while making batteries. (adorable). I also noticed that part of Gen’s manipulation is through his hand movements so when he is relaxed he hides his hands. (he does it a lot)

Chapter 54, Senkuu is visibly more stressed and then Gen notices he looks a bit sad. (excuse me fangirling) What does Gen do? Leave it be and let Senkuu be stressed? NOPE! He gets Senkuu up to watch the first sunrise of the new year. He even says “Changing the mood and refreshing one’s spirits… that is my job isn’t it?” Gen didn't say everyone. He said one’s like he knows Senkuu is worried and wants to help him relax a bit.

When Gen sees that Magma is clearlying going to try and kill Senkuu, Gen tells Mamga a quick story and saves both Chrome and Senkuu. I am guessing he told the same story to the village and convinced them to help with an observatory for Senkuu’s birthday. Did Gen have to do this? No. It didn’t do anything besides just make work for him (I swear this is not going to be a Sengen rant). The pleased face Gen has looking at Senkuu just says everything.

Not saying Gen isn’t still a manipulative person who will lie to get to his goals but it’s not really his goals anymore. It’s the goals of the kingdom of science Gen is now lying for. Even with his beyond crazy plan of tricking the Empire of might into thinking Lillian is still alive he knows that it’s wrong morally but that doesn’t matter. It will help take Tsukasa and Hyoga down. Gen was fully ready to be hated and hunted down by the others for lying but as long as they can save everyone that doesn’t matter.

Chapter 64,

Gen is with Chrome and Magma when they find the people that are going to be depetrified. Magma brings up just killing them and how that would just be the easiest thing. Gen’s logical side agrees and he says breaking them would be for the best, but right before Magma can smash the man Gen thinks about how the statue isn’t just a sauce but a human with a family, memories, and loved ones that would miss him. Gen stops Magma and says that they have done nothing wrong. “Even for a realist like me.. When the time comes that we take direct action we’re really weak aren’t we~? So weak…” Even though it would be the easiest plan Gen can’t bring himself to let people be killed.

Skipping the treasure arccc! I refuse.

American arc!

Last one alright. Gen is captured by Stan and is questioned about the leader of the ship. Gen being the master liar says it’s Taiju. Gen even apologized to Taiju for doing that to him. Gen knows he is in a lot of danger. This isn’t science v raw brute force anymore. This was science v science but still Gen remains loyal to Senkuu and buys him time.

Gen is full of cheap tricks he uses for the kingdom of science. While yes Gen is manipulative he uses it for good which I like. He could use it for his own gain but he never really uses his knowagle against people for his gain. Gen knows he is manipulative and is honest with himself about it. He was willing to take on the hate of others just to save other people. That’s why I love Gen Asagiri. (Also he’s design is great)

#dr. stone #drst #dr stone #gen asagiri #asagiri gen

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] Also on AO3

Chapter 16: Sasha

There’s a long silence after the door shuts behind Jon Prime. Sasha stares at Martin Prime for a long moment, several possible things to say next running through her head. How did we actually die wars with how much of that really happened and a slight humorous side trip into I don’t think I’ll ever wear this shirt again, because of course she’s wearing her favorite shirt today, as well as what words did Jon say in that memory and if he was in the other fourteen why did you talk like it was an unknown subject.

What actually comes out of her mouth at last is, “Wickie?”

Martin Prime sighs heavily. “It’s…an old name for a lighthouse keeper. Comes from trimming the wicks to keep the light burning.”

“M-my—” Martin rubs his temples hard, almost like he’s trying to manually turn the wheels in his brain. “Dad used to call…us that. I’d forgotten…” He looks up at Martin Prime, and Sasha is a little taken aback at the anguish in his eyes. “Is—was it a coincidence or—?”

“No. The Keeper is…he’s part of the Lonely, and maybe a little of the Spiral. The loneliness of distance. Not just being separated from someone you care about, but the specific loneliness that comes when you know exactly where they are but can’t get to them, either because there’s a physical barrier or because you just…can’t. The fear that if you reach out to them, they won’t reach back.” Martin Prime closes his eyes for a brief moment. “So the Keeper just…knows those sorts of nicknames. A name given to you by someone you miss…or someone who misses you. Someone you can’t reach, anyway. In this case, though…he knew it because he is the one who gave it.”

Tim’s eyes widen. “Wait, seriously? Does that mean you’re—”

“He made a deal to keep me—us—safe,” Martin Prime interrupts. “It’s why he left in the first place. I can tell you the story some other time, but…maybe not today?”

“No,” Martin agrees in a very small voice. “Not today.”

Tim drapes his arm around Martin’s shoulders and nods. Sasha is more inclined to press, but she swallows down on the urge. Curiosity is all well and good, but she shouldn’t sate it at the expense of her friends, so if they say no to a topic, she’s going to respect that. For now, anyway. Time to pick one of the other avenues of discussion.

She wants to ask about the pictures, get more details about what came before those moments, but something tells her that’s a discussion that needs to happen with the Jons in the room. Also, that’s going to hurt Tim, probably, so she starts running through her other options, looking for the least volatile one.

Tim beats her to it, which is probably a good thing. “So that was the first time…your Jon found out about all that? You didn’t, like, give him a taste last night?”

“No. That…I knew he’d need it. Like I said, he hasn’t had a statement since he got back. Sitting in on your—our, I guess—statements from last night…all that did was take the edge off of things. I knew what I went through was big enough that it’ll keep him going for a bit.”

“Right, but why not at least lay the groundwork? Warn him that it was going to be…bad?”

Martin Prime hesitates, turning in the direction of the door briefly before saying in a low voice, “He can’t always…the hungrier he gets for a statement, the harder it is for him to control himself. The last few months before the world ended? I found out, sort of by accident, that he’d been going out and…pouncing random people for their statements. One of them complained to the Institute and I had to stage an intervention. He’s doing better about it, but I didn’t want to risk tempting him. He’d never forgive himself.”

“For falling off the wagon?” Sasha cocks her head.

Martin Prime turns to look at her, and really, it’s a little unnerving now that she knows he’s blind. It explains why he always looks like he’s looking through her, but it’s still creepy. “It’s a lot more painful when he takes a statement by force. Even if I was going to offer it to him anyway, if he…pounced on it like that, it’d be more intense. He hates it enough when it’s strangers, but if it’s—someone he knows…” He trails off.

“Will that happen to our Jon?” Martin asks. His voice shakes a little when he asks. Sasha wonders how much of that is residual from hearing Martin Prime’s statement and how much of it is actually about Jon.

Martin Prime doesn’t answer for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he says at last. “Probably not so quickly, anyway. Gertrude Robinson…I don’t know if she just never got as bad or if she just could control it better. You can ask Jon later.”

“He won’t pass out if we do, will he?” Tim glances towards the door. Sasha suppresses a smile at the obvious concern on his face. Honestly, Tim fusses just as much as Martin does at times. He’s the consummate big brother, while Martin is something of a mother hen.

“No. What just happened was…he pushed too hard, against the wrong subject. He can’t Know what’s going on inside the Eye. Really, trying to Know anything about any of the entities directly is beyond him, and he knows that.” Martin Prime’s voice sharpens into censure for a moment before he visibly forces himself to relax. “Usually he’s pretty good at knowing his limits.”

“So why did he do that?” Tim asks. “If he knew it would hurt him, why would he push? He’s not that…masochistic usually. That’s your job.”

“Hey,” Martin mumbles, but without any real heat behind it.

“He’s not wrong,” Sasha points out. She’s watched Martin push himself, break himself into smaller and smaller pieces, trying to be what everyone needs him to be, always putting everyone else first.

“I think part of it is that it was something he genuinely wanted to know the answer to,” Martin Prime says. “We’ve never known for sure how much the Beholding can see on its own and how much it needs its…agents to give it. It for sure can watch us at the Institute, but in a very real way, the Institute is part of the Beholding, or vice versa. Honestly, it’s not something we think about much. But knowing Jon, once he had the question in his mind, he had to see if he could find out the answer to it, despite knowing it was a dangerous idea. Part of it might have been that he was so tired, too. The longer he goes without a statement, the worse his decision-making skills get.”

“Oh, brilliant. They’re so amazing most of the time,” Tim drawls. “God knows Jon never makes poor life choices.”

Martin Prime actually laughs. “I mean, not like we can throw stones here.”

Tim laughs, too, and Martin manages a smile. Sasha wants to ask if Martin Prime considers her one of Tim’s “poor life choices” or if he even knows they slept together, but just in case he doesn’t, she doesn’t want to drag that out into the open just now. Again, she’s fond of unearthing others’ secrets, but very close-mouthed about her own; it’s probably unfair, but there you are. Lest Tim bring it up, she starts looking for the next thread to pull on.

“That was Jon, right?” she asks at last. “In the…last gallery you were talking about. Those pictures. They were all of Jon?”

That fast, Martin Prime’s smile disappears. “Yeah. Most of them haven’t happened…obviously. And one of them for sure won’t now.”

“The third one,” Sasha guesses. “That was—when Jane Prentiss attacked you all?”

Martin Prime nods. “It was the middle of the day. Jon’s the one that accidentally went through the wall—there was a spider he was trying to take out—”

“The Web toying with him?” Martin asks. He sounds a little calmer than before, but still shaken.

“Honestly, I’ve never been altogether sure about that. It might’ve actually just been a spider, but…the balance of probability is on it being the Web, yes. Anyway, Jon accidentally broke the wall, the worms got in—our Sasha and I ended up having to drag him into that storage room, but he’d already been bitten a few times, he couldn’t walk. Our Tim was at lunch at the time, he came back and—Sasha went out to save him, they got separated, and Tim wound up in the walls. He came through the wall in that storage room and convinced Jon and me to come out with him. We got separated in the tunnels, just like you all did, but Tim and Jon found the trap door and I, well, I found Gertrude. Eventually. But yeah, when Jon and Tim came out in the Archives, Jane Prentiss was there and she attacked them. They were pretty bad off before…Elias finally set off the CO2 system.”

Tim looks down at his hands—or more accurately, Sasha realizes, at one of his hands, since his other arm is still draped around Martin’s shoulders. She wonders if it’s to comfort Martin or to reassure himself. “Are we lucky, then?”

“Yes,” Martin mutters. “Extremely.”

“You’re lucky, too,” Martin Prime says. “Trust me. It wasn’t…Jon’s right, just because I didn’t come away with physical scars doesn’t mean I got off unhurt. And that was when things started going bad for us all.”

“So how do we stop the rest?” Sasha asks. “Are you all going to tell us what happened so we can avoid it?”

“Yes, I think so, but I’d really like to only have to go over it once?” Martin Prime glances in the direction of the door again. “And most of them I wasn’t there for. He’s told me about them, but…I wasn’t there.”

“But what were they?” Sasha persists. “Just how he got hurt? How he got the scars?”

Martin Prime takes a deep breath and curls his hands into tight fists. “Broadly, yes, they’re how he was scarred. They’re…they were the encounters with the Fears that marked him.”

Sasha tilts her head to one side. “Like what Michael said about you—that you’d been marked?”

Martin Prime nods. “To be marked by a Fear is to feel it, all the way through to your soul. Sometimes it’s physical, sometimes not. Mine aren’t…at least, not really.” He runs a hand through his hair, seemingly without noticing. It’s the first time Sasha realizes how much grey is streaked through his curls.

Martin swallows audibly. “How…how many fears have marked you?”

“Four, I think. Three for sure. I’m not altogether sure about whether or not the Stranger actually marked me or not.” Martin Prime tilts his head to one side. “You’ve only been marked by two, though, and…I never got the mark of the Corruption. My others were the Lonely and the Spiral, and of course the Beholding.”

“What about us?” Sasha asks. “In your timeline, I mean. How many were we marked by?”

Martin Prime hesitates. “Tim…I think he was four as well. The Beholding, obviously, we were all marked by that one as soon as we set foot in the Archives. At least I—I think that’s how that worked. Or at least as soon as we put our voices on those tapes. Then the Corruption—Jane Prentiss’ attack—and he was with me when I got tricked into entering the Spiral’s domain, so it marked him too. And I’m pretty sure he was marked by the Stranger. I can’t say when, but I’m fairly sure he had been.”

Sasha waits, then prompts, “And me?”

Martin Prime takes a deep breath. “I honestly don’t know, Sasha. If I had to guess, I’d say two. Three at most, but I don’t know if your encounter with Michael really counts as a mark. Honestly, I wouldn’t have known the Corruption had actually marked you if you hadn’t mentioned that you could hear the worms singing.”

Sasha huffs. “I’m not sure what surprises me more—that I didn’t get more marks, or that you didn’t.”

“I spent more time at the Institute than I did actually tracking things down,” Martin Prime replies. “Someone had to keep the Archives running properly, and, well, that fell on me. Our Tim was…he had a project of his own he was focusing on.”

“And me?” Sasha asks again.

Martin Prime looks in her direction for a long moment. His face is tight with pain. “You’re really going to make me say it,” he says flatly.

“Sash—” Tim begins.

“Yes,” Sasha says over whatever it is Tim’s going to protest. “Whatever reason I avoided all that…don’t I deserve to know?”

“You died, Sasha,” Martin Prime says sharply. “You didn’t get marked by more entities because you died. You were torn to pieces by a—a thing that took your place, replaced you in our memories so that we didn’t even know you were gone. We spent almost a year believing that it was you, and finding out that it wasn’t nearly destroyed all three of us. Worse was finding out that Elias knew all along and didn’t tell us because he wanted to see what it would do to Jon, and damn the effect on Tim or me.”

Okay. Sasha really should have known that. She heard him describe the painting, after all, she even thought about not wearing her favorite shirt again because of it. She knew she was dead, and Tim too; it’s obviously why they didn’t come back with Martin Prime and Jon Prime. But something in her wanted to hear Martin Prime say it out loud, and she’s not sure she likes what that says about her. She bites down hard on her tongue to keep from asking about Tim’s death. That’s not hers to ask, and she’s almost sure its going to be something the Jons need to be there for too.

After a moment of awkward silence, Tim gets up from the sofa. “I’m getting us all tea,” he says, his voice unusually subdued. “I think we’re going to need it.”

“Do you…need a hand?” Martin pushes himself to a standing position.

Tim looks like he’s going to refuse, then nods. “Sure, c’mon.”

Sasha watches them go. Martin is walking well enough, if a little stiffly, but Tim still hovers just behind him, not touching but there to catch him if he falls. It’s almost funny how flustered Martin gets when Tim looks after him, too. For a moment, Sasha is tempted to ask Martin Prime about that—if it’s Tim he has the crush on—but that feels a little bit like a betrayal of Martin, to take away his choice to tell her. And she’s still stinging a bit from the way Martin Prime flung the answer to her last question at her.

After a moment of silence, Martin Prime sighs heavily. “I’m sorry for saying it like that.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” Sasha replies. “Not like I didn’t know the answer. I—I don’t know why I had to make you say it when I knew I’d died during your attack on the Institute.”

“I’m beginning to see why Gertrude Robinson expected you’d be appointed Archivist after her. You’re…a lot like she was. That’s not necessarily an insult, mind, but that’s not necessarily a compliment either.”

From what Sasha remembers of Gertrude Robinson—which isn’t much—she can understand that. They sit in silence for a while, listening to the clattering of mugs from the kitchen, before she finally says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, but I reserve the right not to answer.”

“What’s it like? Being blind, I mean.”

Martin Prime tilts his head to one side. “Are you asking me in clinical terms or in more general ‘how does it feel’ terms?”

“Both?”

Martin Prime smiles, briefly. “Fair enough.” He pauses for a moment, as if considering his options. “In the strictly literal sense…it’s like being in a room with really thick blackout curtains over the window. Sometimes there are…textures, maybe, to the darkness? Only if there’s a really bright light. For the most part, though, it’s just…darkness.” He takes off his glasses and holds them out to Sasha. “Here, take a look.”

Curious, Sasha does. She holds Martin Prime’s glasses up to the light, then removes her own and slides on Martin Prime’s. The strength of the prescription knocks her backwards against the sofa and makes her head swim. She takes them off, blinking, and puts them back in Martin Prime’s outstretched hand. “In other words, you were basically blind before all this.”

“It’s just that the glasses don’t help anymore,” Martin Prime confirms. He settles them back on his face anyway, which Sasha understands. They’ve got to be a comfort. “Not being able to see…I can work with that. It’s just the added layer of there not even being blurry shapes in front of me, and, well, Mum was a light sleeper, so I kind of got used to moving carefully and without turning on any lights when I was growing up. Moving around I can do, although I’m sure you noticed me running into things a lot over the last couple weeks because I don’t know there’s a table or a stack of books between me and where I’m trying to get. But it’s…it’s disconcerting to not know if someone’s in the room, or be able to see what they’re doing when there’s a silence. I can’t read faces or see hand gestures. I can still tell when someone is looking at me, but I can’t tell who, or even what direction it’s coming from. And there’s—there’s so much I took for granted that I won’t ever see again. Tim’s smile, Jon’s eyes, the sunlight sparkling on the Thames, the moon rising over the city.” He’s silent for a moment. “I didn’t even remember what you looked like. The—the Not-Sasha? It looked different, it sounded different. It had to, because whenever it takes someone’s place, there’s always one or two people who—who remember the person as they were before, only no one believes them.”

“Which is how it feeds its patron’s fear,” Sasha guesses. “The Stranger?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Martin Prime nods. “I recognized your voice when I got back, only because we—we had a few recordings you were in from before. Your statement, your teasing Jon about the pronunciation of ‘calliope’, the recording Tim did on Jon’s birthday…a couple more you were on. But even having seen that—painting or whatever, I still couldn’t put a face to the voice. I only knew what you looked like in shadow and the most terrified you’d ever been in your life. I knew the Not-Sasha wasn’t what you looked like, but…I had to get Jon to describe you last night.”

Sasha glances in the direction of the kitchen, to make sure Tim and Martin aren’t coming back, but she hasn’t heard the kettle yet. “What did—it look like? The Not-Me? What did it make you think I looked like?”

“She—it—was…well, for starters, it was short. Petite, I think, is the right word. At least a head shorter than Jon and scrawny on top of it. Blonde hair in a shag cut, green eyes. No glasses.” Martin Prime pauses. “Only drank green tea.”

Sasha, who admittedly has a serious caffeine addiction, pulls a face. “How’d she drink it?”

“With cream,” Martin Prime answers. He takes a deep breath. “Don’t tell Jon, but…actually, there was a little part of me that was kind of relieved when we found out it wasn’t really, well, you. The first day we were back in the Archives after the attack, it was just the two of us, and…I made a cup of tea for both of us, we were both stressed out, so I thought it would help. I thought I made it like I always did, but…when I gave it to her, she took a sip, all but winced, and asked me if I’d made it for Jon or Tim. That’s when she ‘reminded’ me that she only drank green tea with cream. It—it threw me. Badly. I spent the next three months second-guessing myself at every turn, about the stupidest things, because if I could forget something like how one of my friends like their tea, what else was I forgetting? What else was I doing wrong?” He shakes his head. “Honestly, it was hard to shake that even after we knew it wasn’t our Sasha, but at least I could convince myself that there was no good reason for me to know how it would like tea. Even though, supposedly, it replaced all our memories of her—you—with the ones it wanted us to have.”

Sasha hears the unspoken question and considers leaving it, or forcing him to actually say it aloud, but honestly, she’s put him through enough already this morning. “I can’t stand green tea. I’m more one for coffee, actually, but when I do drink tea, it’s black with lots of sugar. Tim suggested once that you just heat up a cup of syrup and call it a day.”

Martin Prime’s face lights up at that. “I did remember it right then! Christ, thank you. You have no idea…it’s been eating away at me for ages. I know it’s ridiculous in the grand scheme of things, but…”

But a big part of Martin’s identity is wrapped up in his ability to care for others, and naturally thinking he got it wrong would set him atilt.  “Why leave you that, though?” Sasha asks curiously. “If you couldn’t remember anything else about—me—why remember just how I like my tea?”

“Well…I mean, I worked with you every day, if I’d remembered all about you, I’d have gone to Jon straightaway, or—probably not to Elias, but maybe. I didn’t…know I shouldn’t trust him then. If I’d laid down Amy Patel’s statement in front of Jon and pointed out the parallels, there’s a chance he’d have believed me, which would’ve ruined everything for it. So the one person it chose to remember you as you really were was someone who didn’t see you every day, or at least didn’t work with you closely enough to be suspicious. And—” Martin Prime swallows. “Part of the Stranger is that fear that you—you don’t know someone as well as you ought to. So what better way to make me afraid than to make me doubt such a fundamental part of our interaction? I-I mean, it wasn’t human. It might not have liked tea at all. Maybe it just picked something at random that was so different from what you liked that it would throw me off-balance.”

Suddenly, Sasha gets it. “That’s why you said you might have been marked by the Stranger! You don’t think that counts? If it made you that…paranoid and afraid?”

“Maybe? It was worse for Jon. It made him so paranoid he thought one of us was trying to kill him, and that didn’t count as his mark, if we’re going by the paintings.”

“Oh, please.” Sasha waves a hand. “Jon’s probably paranoid because of finding Gertrude’s shot-up body in the tunnels. That’s not a supernatural death, that’s something provable and possibly human. Was I—or the Not-Me—his top suspect?”

“No?” Martin Prime’s forehead puckers in a frown. “Actually, you—it—was the one he suspected least. At least at first. That doesn’t mean he trusted you, mind, but he did at least think you the least likely suspect.”

“Then the Not-Me didn’t mark him because it wasn’t what made him paranoid,” Sasha says. “If he’d been in his right mind, he’d have suspected me most of all because I put in for the Archivist position, so the logical conclusion would have been that I killed Gertrude Robinson in hopes of getting it and then might be out to kill him so I could take the job from him. He was on edge because of what happened, and what I’m guessing was the general atmosphere of mistrust and tension in the Archives at the time probably made it worse—but it wasn’t the Not-Me’s doing. You, on the other hand, were directly targeted by it, so any paranoia you felt was because of it. Hence the mark.”

Martin Prime blinks in her direction. “That…God, you’re right. I never thought of that before.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Do me a favor?”

“Don’t mention that to Jon, either?”

“Don’t—yeah. He’s got by all this time by reassuring himself that he wouldn’t have acted like that if the Not-Sasha hadn’t been there, but…” Martin Prime sighs and looks up at her. “I will tell him. It’s not fair not to. But just…let me do it?”

“Of course,” Sasha promises. “Despite how I’ve been acting tonight, I can keep my mouth shut.”

“I know. You knew I’d lied on my CV and never said anything.”

The kettle whistles from the kitchen, making Martin Prime flinch slightly. Sasha looks briefly over her shoulder. “They’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Martin Prime hums in acknowledgment. “Anything else you want to ask me while it’s just the two of us?”

Sasha can’t help but laugh. “Are you sure you don’t remember me?”

“Hey, I didn’t say the Not-Sasha was completely different from you, necessarily. It just looked and sounded different.”

“Fair point.” Sasha considers. She looks in the direction of the kitchen again and thinks of the paintings Martin Prime described. She looks back at Martin Prime and says softly, “Did we suffer? Either of us?”

Martin Prime swallows hard. “You, yes. The—the Not-Sasha bragged about how much it hurt you. Tim…I don’t know. The actual moment of his death might have been quick, but he was definitely suffering beforehand. Maybe not physically, but still, he was hurting and neither Jon nor I could do anything to fix it. Believe me, I tried.”

Sasha bites her lip and nods before remembering he can’t see it. “If you couldn’t fix it…I don’t think it was something that could be fixed.”

Martin Prime smiles. “Thanks, Sasha.”

A moment later, Tim pokes his head in the living room and announces, “Here we come. Tea’s up.”

He and Martin come into the room, Martin concentrating hard on holding onto a mug with each hand and Tim carrying two in each hand like it’s no big deal. He sets them down on the coffee table, then picks one up and hands it to Sasha with an overdramatic flourish. “Your hummingbird food, milady.”

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Sasha drawls, accepting the mug. It’s not the one she had her coffee in earlier, thank God, but she does wonder just how many mugs Tim has.

Martin sets down one of his mugs, then sits on the sofa with the other carefully cradled in his bandaged hands. Tim picks up the other mug and presents it to Martin Prime. “And here, this one’s yours. We picked a mug with a sculpted handle, so you should be able to tell it apart from the others if you set it down.”

“Oh, thank you.” Martin Prime reaches out hesitantly. Tim meets him halfway, settling the cup on his palm and turning it slightly so that it brushes his fingers and he’s able to wrap them around the handle. “As long as you’re not making me drink out of a horse’s ass.”

It’s probably a combination of the fact that it’s a joke at just the right time and the unexpectedness of Martin Prime using a profanity, even a mild and correctly-applied one, but the heavy mood shatters like spun sugar. Sasha and Martin both burst into giggles at Tim’s exaggerated expression of shock as his eyes go back and forth from Martin Prime to the white mug with a sculpted face and painted horn on one side and a sweeping, rainbow-colored tail for a handle on the other.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) #tma #the magnus archives

[tlbodine]

What exactly is 'character voice'? Is it merely a character having opinions on things? And how do I have good voice if I am writing in first or third person omnipresent? Do I give the narrator's opinion on things? The character's opinions? The different opinions of the characters?

Voice is a tricky thing to pin down -- a bit of a “know it when you see it” type thing. But I’ll see if I can break it down a bit. 

First: Stories will contain both “authorial voice” and “character voice.” Authorial voice is the individual writing style of the author, and you’ll start to notice it most strongly after you’ve read multiple works by one author. Character voice on the other hand is unique to the character. A strong character voice will often overshadow the author’s voice, which is usually a good thing! It keeps every book you read from an author from sounding the same. If you’re reading a book in first person or close third POV, the narrative should be in the character’s voice. If you’re reading it in a more omniscient POV, the narrative might have a very different voice. Books that alternate POVs might have different voices for different perspectives, so that you could tell who’s speaking even if the chapters weren’t labeled. 

But OK. What makes up Voice in writing? 

Opinions. Characters with a strong voice have opinions about the world, and those opinions color the way they see things. They don’t sit and tell you how they feel, but instead deliver the world through the lens of those opinions.

Focus. What a character chooses to pay attention to vs ignore in the world around them. This gives an underlying glimpse at what is important to them. 

Word Choice. On a structural level, voice comes down to word choice, grammar, syntax, etc. being used with purpose to create a cumulative effect. 

Books without a strong voice sound dry, like a technical manual or book report. They lack any poetic devices or colorful insights.  A strong voice is one that doesn’t sound generic, which means it’s not usually “correct” from, say, a middle school English class perspective. (In fact, some young writers may often butt heads with teachers over the use of voice in writing -- I know I did. Once you get good at it, 

It might just be easier to show this in action than try to explain it so...

Carrie, by Stephen King: 

She had tried to fit. She had defied Momma in a hundred little ways had tried to erase the redplague circle that had been drawn around her from the first day she had left the controlled environment of the small house on Carlin Street and had walked up to the Barker Street Grammar School with her Bible under her arm. She could still remember that day, the stares, and the sudden, awful silence when she had gotten down on her knees before lunch in the school cafeteria -- the laughter had begun on that day and had echoed up through the years. 

Carrie calls her mother “Momma” even in her head, which already implies a lot about her socioeconomic class, upbringing, and intelligence. She didn’t try to fit in, she tried to ‘fit’ -- a non-idiomatic description. The run-on second sentence gives a hint of a racing thought. “Redplague” as one word is evocative and more powerful than a more drawn-out metaphor might be. 

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams 

Mr. L. Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he was a carbon-based bipedal life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby, and worked for the local council. Curiously enough, though he didn’t know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generations and racial mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the only vestiges left in Mr. L. Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and predilection for little fur hats. 

Comedy lives or dies on the strength of its voice, and Douglas Adams is a master at a very specific type of comedy. Here we see it on display. Prosser is an antagonist, and he’s here being described in a way that suggests, without stating outright, that he’s quite pathetic. We open with a cliche saying, and then immediately deconstruct it in a way that’s overly precise -- a technique of absurdism. Then we compare him to Genghis Khan (also a villain, and a very strong one) in a side-by-side parallel that definitely paints Prosser unflatteringly (his genes are “juggled,” a word that evokes clownishness) and the “little fur hats” detail is the icing on the cake -- imagine standing beside Genghis Khan and the ONLY thing you have in common is the hat! (”Predilection” is also a fussy-sounding word. “Stoutness about the tum” sounds like a childishly euphemistic protest, sort of like “big-boned” but dialed up to 11). 

The Cabin at the End of the World, by Paul Tremblay 

Wen’s eighth birthday is in six days. Her dads not so secretly wonder (she has overheard them discussing this) if the day is her actual date of birth or one assigned to her by the orphanage in China’s Hubei Province. For her age she is in the fifty-sixth percentile for height and forty-second for weight, or at least she was when she went to the pediatrician six months ago. She made Dr. Meyer explain the context of those numbers in detail. As pleased as she was to be above the fifty-line for height, she was angry to be below it for weight. Wen is as direct and determined as she is athletic and wiry, often besting her dads in battles of wills and in scripted wrestling matches on their bed. her eyes are a deep, dark brown, with thin caterpillar eyebrows that wiggle on their own. Along the right edge of her philtrum is the hint of a scar that is only visible in a certain light and if you know to look for it (so she is told). The thin white slash is the remaining evidence of a cleft lip repaired with multiple surgeries between the ages of two and four. She remembers the first and final trips to the hospital, but not the ones in between. That those middle visits and procedures have been somehow lost bothers her. Wen is friendly, outgoing, and as goofy as any other child her age, but isn’t easy with her reconstructed smiles. Her smiles have to be earned. 

The thing I love about Tremblay’s writing style is how wonderfully understated it is. At first blush, it seems very straightforward and precise. But the details work to give such a rich image beyond what’s on the page -- like one of those paintings that creates a cat with just like, two brushstrokes of ink. This paragraph is jam-packed with information -- the character’s age, race, adoption, gay parents -- but also illustrates her character indirectly: a kid who is interested in precise numbers, competitive in a specific way, self-conscious, skeptical. Little lines really stand out, like “caterpillar eyebrows” and “reconstructed smiles.” 

Horrorstor, by Grady Hendrix 

It was dawn, and the zombies were stumbling through the parking lot, streaming toward the massive beige box at the far end. Later they’d be resurrected by megadoses of Starbucks, but for now they were the barely living dead. Their causes of death differed: hangovers, nightmares, strung out from epic online gaming sessions, circadian rhythms broken by late-night TV, children who couldn’t stop crying, neighbors partying til 4 a.m., broken hearts, unpaid bills, roads not taken, sick dogs, deployed daughters, ailing parents, midnight ice cream binges. 

But every morning, five days a week (seven during the holidays), they dragged themselves here, to the one thing in their lives that never changed, the one thing that they could count on come rain, or shine, or dead pets, or divorce: work. 

This is the opening of the book, and it does a perfect job of setting the tone for the story -- a combination of humor and horror, a lighthearted touch on a really dismal subject. Like the Douglas Adams example, it relies on an excess of hyper-specific detail to create comedy through absurdism. Describing the store they wrok at as a “massive beige box” says a lot -- beige is a boring color, box is a boring shape (and implies constraint, the opposite of “think outside the box” etc.) Calling the workers “zombies” and using zombie words (”stumbling”, “streaming”) invokes a specific set of concepts -- mindlessness, for starters, and death -- and using that to describe going to a job certainly implies something about what it’s like to go to work, right? This paragraph could just come outright and say “work is soul-sucking and pointless and takes you away from things that are important” but it illustrates that instead. A perfect example of “show don’t tell” in action. 

Hopefully that gives a bit more illustration to what I’m talking about. As you read, pay attention to the way things are said and how that varies from one book to the next, and you’ll get a better intuition for voice (and learn to craft your own through practice). 

Some general tips/things to think about when creating strong voice for your narrative and characters: 

Education and socioeconomic level of the characters. A professor will talk differently from a car mechanic; a college graduate sounds different from an elementary school student; an inner-city black teen will use words differently from a New England socialite. Think about what kind of background a character has and choose vocabulary and syntax that makes sense for them. 

Evocative descriptions. Words come with baggage, and good writing puts that baggage to use to create a meaning stronger than what’s on the page. Precision with language, not just what words mean but what they imply, is the hallmark of good writing. 

Words used uniquely -- in other words, avoiding cliches and descriptions we’ve seen before in favor of creating new word combinations that do the heavy lifting of the previous bullet point. 

Hopefully that helps! 

#writing advice #writing tips #narrative voice #strong voice #asks #ask box is always open btw #sometimes it takes me a bit #but I love answering writing questions #especially grammar type things #that is my jam #nuts and bolts of writing baby #my precious

[thelittleinjenthatcould]

Hi loves! My latest post is up #ontheblog Jen Finds Gems

New Post has been published on https://www.jenfindsgems.com/more-than-migraines/

Opening Up About my Health: More than Migraines

On October 11th the symptoms started. I went for a bike ride on a beautiful Sunday morning (feeling a little nauseous, but ready to power through it). It was pretty hot and I biked farther than usual so when I returned feeling more nauseous than before and a little “out of it”, I figured I was just dehydrated. I remember speaking to my sister and brother in law on the phone about an hour later and suddenly starting to feel a migraine come on. I figured if I just take it easy and drink some water with my usual migraine meds, it would pass quickly.

It didn’t.

On October 13th I visited my primary Doctor for my symptoms. My migraine was still present but I was feeling dizzy and nauseous. I knew something was wrong. I made the mistake of mentioning that I thought I had vertigo, and after doing a few manual tests (follow my finger, touch your nose, walk in a straight line, etc.) the Doctor said that’s what it sounds like so let’s treat it as vertigto. He preseribed me a anti-dizziness medication called Meclizine and told me that in order to recover and help with the dizziness, I should see a physical therapist.

What? A physical therapist? This won’t pass on it’s own? I have to see a physical therapist to help me walk “normal” again? How did this happen? How long am I going to feel this way? I had so many questions! I visited a physical therapist twice before I realized that there was a bigger problem that lied ahead. The therapist listened to my symptoms and concerns and ran a few tests on his own (the epley maneuver) and realized that this didn’t sound like vertigo at all. “I think we are dealing with something bigger here Jen,” he told me.

I kept that with me. Something bigger. Okay… but what? No one could give me answers.

I was a mess and everyday functions seemed difficult or damn near impossible. I couldn’t move too quickly. I couldn’t look around a room without getting pains. It had gotten to the point where just turning my head from one side to the other felt like the room was violently spinning and I was beginning to have double and blurred vision in my right eye. I couldn’t lay flat, sleep on my right side, or sleep in total darkness because that made the dizziness worse. I felt like I was free falling in the dark and of course that made me super nauseous.

Saturday morning I woke up ready to vomit and I almost fell to my feet. Walking was too difficult because I swayed from one side to the other and I had to run and grab a wall to hold. I fell to my knees and crawled to the bathroom, vomiting for hours. When my husband returned home (he went to drop the kids off at family’s house so he could take care of me) I was hugging the toilet, sweating and holding my head with my eyes closed. I didn’t know if I was having a stroke, a seizure, suffering from brain tumor, or an aneurysm. I was terrified.

That day Nick took me to the Emergency room. They drugged me up and ran countless tests from MRI’s, MRA’s, CT scans and heart evaluations. I was picked and prodded by nurses and Doctors and the on site Neurologist told me that my exams came back fine. He said there wasn’t any area of concern that he could find but he wanted me to follow up with ENT for a possible inner ear issue and then follow up with him for brain evaluations as this could have been linked to my migraines. He also prescribed a medication by the name of Topiramate which is an anti-seizure medication that is used to treat migraines.

After coming home from the hospital, covered in EKG tabs.

I have been suffering from migraines for over 20 years and they never presented themselves in this way. What was happening inside my body? Why now and why wasn’t anything showing up on the tests? I was confused and I was scared.

I was released from the hospital the next day, more confused and afraid than ever. I had no idea what was happening and what I was supposed to do from here. So this is it, I thought. This is how I’m going to feel forever.

As the days and weeks went on, I continued to do research, pray and research more. I made an appointment with an ENT Specialist that left me in tears because he said whether this is an inner ear issue or a migraine issue, it could take years to recover. Years? What the hell! I can barely walk without holding on to my husband or a wall, I can’t be in a bright room and too much noise or movement is over stimulation for me. Years?

That night I found two blogs that gave me relief- The Dizzy Cook and Jennifer of Migraine Strong. I read their stories and instantly felt closer to answers. They spoke about their experiences with vestibular migraines, dizziness and other symptoms, their road to recovery and their treatment plans. Every night I went back to their words. I studied their plans and their courses of action. I took notes of what they did and how it helped them. I looked up the books they recommended and the supplements they took and then… I found that Jen went to Dr. Danner in Tampa that specializes in migraines and neurology! He’s here in Tampa?! I HAVE TO SEE HIM!!

My first appointment with Dr. Danner was on November 4th. He listened to my concerns and helped me understand that what I was experiencing could have been an inner ear issue or be a migraine issue however regardless of which one it was, it would be treated in the same way. He encouraged me to follow a migraine elimination diet to help me find what my triggers are, start taking at least 500 mgs of a magnesium supplement everyday, keep taking my prevention medication, and follow up with him in a month.

I followed the elimination diet to a “T”. I fell in love with a book called “Heal Your Headache,” and I went down rabbit hole after rabbit hole of vestibular migraine research.

A few weeks went by my dizziness subsided but I started to notice that the migraine prevention medication that I was on was giving me adverse effects. I had crazy brain fog, to the point where I found it hard to hold conversations or keep a thought for longer than a few seconds. It made me crazy exhausted, depressed, and I lost about 20 lbs. It made my body feel cold (literally) and I felt frail and weak. The day before Thanksgiving I called Dr. Danner and asked if I should keep taking this medication or stop based on these symptoms and a numbness I started to feel in my right leg. After careful consideration, he recommended that I stop but continue the other migraine treatment plan and follow up with him at my next appointment (which was about a week and a half later).

When I had my follow up appointment, he asked me how I felt. By that time, the numbness in my right limbs had started to feel like a heaviness and my leg would sporadically “lock up”. My leg and arm would move (or not move) on their own and it started to worry me. Dr. Danner had his office staff call in an appointment for me with Dr. Sunil Reddy, an awesome Neurologist in Tampa that could take a deeper look to see if there were possibly any other neurological issues going on.

I have been going to my Neurologist and weekly physical therapy appointments since.

Today I experience less migraines and the spasms in my arms and legs are few and far between. These spasms are believed to be linked to Transverse Myelisits which is inflammation of the spinal cord. This was determined from a neck MRI that I had that showed some scarring on my spine. Sometimes Transverse Myelitis can progress to MS however sometimes it is a one time event that can heal on it’s own. After several brain MRI’s, my Neurologist does not see any lesions or scarring on my brain and does not see an area of concern there. My next order is to get an MRI of my spine and we will monitor and make an action plan based on the findings there.

I still have no idea what triggered all of this to occur and if they are linked in any way. Did my migraines progress into something more which caused these other symptoms and issues? Was something lying dormant and now decided to progress as I got older? How does your spinal cord even get inflammed? Is it something I did??

I’m still learning and I think that my greatest lesson is that I won’t always have the answers. But I know I’m not giving up, and all of this taught me that I’m more of a warrior than I realize!

I am writing this because I hope to help someone that may be going through something similar, just as Jen and “The Dizzy Cook” helped me. When all of this started to happen, all I could do was think of how much I wanted to write about my experiences for this reason. I wish that I could have given you a full synopsis of what I was experiencing in live time, but things progressed so quickly that I seldom had time to process them fully, or the energy or brain power to do so.

I’m sure I left out a lot of details. Like me crying every night wondering why this was happening. My husband having to physically hold me up to walk and take a shower because I was too dizzy to stand. The lack of confidence I had making eye contact with people, in fear that they would see my eyes darting from side to side or trying to focus. Wondering if people were whispering or thinking I was drunk when I stumbled to walk at my daughter’s Gymnastics class or my son’s Taekwondo class. Seeing more Doctor’s, nurses, emergency rooms and Specialists in the last 4 months that I have in the past 5 years. The time, money and MEDICAL BILLS I have racked up since this all started.

This journey has been humbling and frustrating, but I’m happy that I am stronger now than when I started.

I hope that this has helped you in some way and I look forward to sharing more of my journey with you here. If you haven’t already, please check out my blog post on my recommendations for dealing with migraines and follow me on IG for more health and wellness tips.

Stay encouraged and stay positive friends.

With love,

Jennifer.

#migraines