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vendetta-if · 1 year

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Okay... Every. Single. Time. I see the hickey ask on an IF blog I follow, I feel the NEED to post this follow up:

What if very shortly after that, the ROs catch / hear the MC asking someone (or even if the MC asks THEM, depending on the context) if they have something to soothe mild allergic reactions to mosquito bites, because they got one on their neck.

So basically, how would they react when faced to the reveal it wasn't a hickey at all but a dumb mosquito bite!

Here goes out to all of you hickey anons and non-anons 🤭❤️ Also, the link to the infamous hickey ask is here for those who haven’t read it!

Ash

“Wait, wait, Ash!” They hear MC calls out to them and they stop in place. Oh, how they just want to bolt away from this nightmare, but maybe this is also a chance to just face it head-on.

“Ash, what’s wrong?” MC asks as Ash turns around to face them. Ash doesn’t really know what kind of face they’re wearing right now.

“Who was it, MC?” They ask, voice hoarse.

“Who, what?” MC asks in genuine confusion, which just irritates Ash even more.

“The one—The one who gave you… those marks!” They gesture at MC’s neck.

MC’s eyes widen. “What?! No! Nobody gave me these marks. These are goddamn mosquito bites,” MC explains as they scratch their neck. “I swear once I get my hands on those bastards…” They mutter under their breath.

Ash just stands there dumbfounded. “M—Mosquitoes?” Those are not… They glance down and just notice MC is holding a can of bug spray. Oh… Oh no… How could you think the worst of MC, Ash?

“Yeah, pesky bastards. Don’t tell me you didn’t have any in your room last night?” MC says, scanning Ash up and down for a second before concluding, “Oh, you didn’t, don’t you?”

“N—No,” Ash replies truthfully.

“Motherfuckers probably thought your blood is too hot to drink or something,” MC mumbles irritatedly. “Well, I’m gonna spray the whole penthouse now, if you don’t mind.” MC raises the can in their hand like a weapon.

“Uh… Yeah, please do that,” Ash says stupidly. “And, uh… Just forgot what I said earlier…” A surge of relief washes through their whole body, but it soon gets tainted by embarrassment.

“Aww, were you jealous?” MC smirks teasingly.

“Uh—Um…” Ash stammers. “I—I gotta go! See you later, MC!” They splutter in panic before bolting away for real this time.

Oh my God, MC is not gonna let them live this down, won’t they…

Rin

Rin decides not to embarrass themself further and chooses to just ignore MC, pretending not to see or notice them entering the room. They’re not going to lower themself to ask MC about the marks.

Honestly, they’d rather MC leave them alone for now. But of course, the opposite of what they want always happen. They groan inwardly as they see MC walking over to where they’re standing from the corner of their eye.

They steel themself for an unwanted conversation. They’re good at that.

“Hey, Rin,” MC greets them and they just grunt softly in reply. MC doesn’t even notice their curt reply, seemingly distracted by something else.

Oh, I bet their mind is still filled by whatever happened last night…

“Uh, this might be a weird question,” MC begins sheepishly as Rin just keeps staring at them unamusedly. “But, do you know any kind of salve or medicine that can help with these mosquito bites?” They ask, scratching at the marks on their neck.

Rin blinks. There’s no way that excuse would work on them. “Really?” They reply skeptically as they gesture at MC’s neck. “You’re bitten by mosquitoes in your penthouse?”

“I know right? I don’t even know how they managed to get in considering my penthouse is like… at the top floor of a skyscraper,” MC agrees, missing the point Rin is insinuating. “Probably through the elevator or the air vent or something. Anyway, Uncle Luka said he’ll personally get a professional pest extermination service to deal with that.”

Well, Rin did catch their father talking with Luka on the phone about choices of professional pest extermination services available in the city. For some reason, Luka asked their dad as if he knows anything more about it than Luka does. Maybe MC is telling the truth and it’s their paranoia and distrust running rampant once again…

Rin uncrosses their arms—when did they even cross them in the first place? “Uh… Tiger balm works wonder for bug bites,” Rin advises.

“Tiger balm, huh?” MC repeats. “Alright, I’ll just go get it at the nearest drug store. Be right back,” they say before swiftly making their way to the elevator.

Meanwhile Rin is left standing there, still processing what has just happened in the span of a few minutes.

Santana

“Hey, Santana!” MC greets them as they walk over to where Santana is standing.

Santana is already cringing inside at the potential awkwardness of the conversation. They’ll still try their best to try talk normally with MC, but it’s kinda hard with the hickeys still heavy in their mind.

“Um… Hi, MC,” they greet back cordially.

“So, how was your night? Had enough sleep?” MC asks them.

“Well, like usual,” they answer distractedly. “How about you? Seems like you had a wild night…” They gesture at the general direction of MC’s neck.

Oh my God, Santana! What the heck are you doing? Asking about the thing you wanted to avoid talking in the first place?! You idiot!

“Oh, you won’t believe this,” MC begins enthusiastically. “So, I was sleeping pretty soundly for like half the night, before my neck started to feel really itchy. I kept getting dragged out of sleep as I scratched at it. Woke up the next morning, and lo and behold, I just got frickin bitten by the most vicious mosquitoes of Elysium City,” they complain, tilting their head a bit to show them of the “hickeys” which turn out to be mosquito bites.

“Huh?” Santana remarks intelligently as they stare at the marks. Okay, now that they can see them better and closer, they do seem like bug bites instead of hickeys.

“I know right?” MC agrees, with… what? Santana is not sure because their mind is blank right now. “Don’t ask me how the mosquitoes managed to break into my penthouse, which, mind you, is located at the top of a skyscraper.”

“That… That is indeed weird,” Santana replies, chuckling in a mix of amusement and relief. It seems like their fear is unfounded after all.

MC continues their rant about the pesky mosquitoes and their plan on eradicating them from their penthouse. Santana just smiles softly as they listen to every word.

Skylar

Skylar quickly makes their way to MC before anyone else manage to make a conversation with them. MC stops in their track as they notice Skylar approaching.

“Hey, MC!” Skylar greets in faux-cheeriness.

“Oh, hey, Skylar,” MC greets back. “What’s up?”

“Well, I should be the one asking you that,” Skylar says, the grin on their face feels very strained but they hope it won’t show and that it still looks charming on the surface. “Who’s the lucky person?” They ask straight to the point, gesturing at the general area of MC’s neck.

“Certainly not me,” MC groans as they rub at their neck. “Just had one of the worst nights of the month.”

“Oh?” Skylar prompts, hopefulness crammed into that one single sound.

Inside, they’re gleeful though. It seems like whoever MC was sleeping with last night must’ve sucked balls—no possible pun intended. Well, this is their time to shine! Skylar would be more than happy to show MC how it’s really done!

“Yeah! I kept waking up at the middle of the night because these annoying mosquito bites were so damn itchy!” MC complains, scratching at their neck again.

Skylar nods before stopping. Wait, what? Mosquito bites? “What?” They ask, dumbfounded. The marks… they’re not…

MC doesn’t seem to notice Skylar’s confusion as they continue ranting, “I don’t even know how they managed to get in! My penthouse is located at the top of a fricking skyscraper!”

A sense of relief floods through Skylar, and their strained grin has shifted into a mischievous one. “Well, I know of a remedy to help with the bites.”

“Wait, really?” MC looks at them curiously. “What’s that?”

“I heard kisses can work wonder.” Skylar winks before pursing their lips and making kissy noises. “I’m always available to help, you know. Just give me a call whenever you’re ready.”

Skylar can practically see the blood surging up to MC’s cheeks. “Y—You—” they stammer. “You idiot! T—That’s not real! If you’re not going to help, then I’ll go to buy some real medicine for these bites instead!” MC harrumphs adorably, turning away to walk to the elevator.

Aww, MC is soo cute! It makes Skylar feels warm and gooey inside as they chuckle to themself. “Well, my offer will always be open! Whether you have more bug bites in the future or not!” They call out to MC’s receding back.

MC doesn’t even turn and just flips them the middle finger instead before stepping inside the elevator. Oh, they love MC.

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blondiest · 9 months

Text

The year is 2009. The month? August. The day...? I'm so glad you asked. It's the 24th. Birthday of the specialest boy in the whole world (Near. Obviously.)

Near HIMSELF doesn't actually do anything for it, sadly. He's on that grind working with the SPK. No time. Although maybe he makes Rester go pick up a fancy lego set he's had his eyes on for a while. Still, he doesn't actually celebrate — no one there knows it's his birthday, and that's how he would prefer it. He doesn't want anyone to fuss.

HOWEVER. Across the country. In the state of California. In the city of Los Angeles. Sitting on a zebra-print couch inside a highly secret mafia base. Mello is acutely aware that it's Near's birthday. And he's annoyed as all fuck that he's acutely aware of it. Near probably doesn't remember when it's HIS birthday, and he doesn't WANT to remember that it's Near's birthday, but here he is, remembering that it's Near's goddamn birthday.

Still, he's busy, too. All his mafia shit. Collecting evidence (and stealing it from Near through Ratt). Et cetera et cetera. So he manages to keep his mind off of it. For the most part, anyway. But then eventually it gets kinda late, and he's done the things that he can do for the day, so he's about to head back to his apartment. But one of the mafia guys invites him to drink with them.

Normally he says no. Mostly because he doesn't really want to be intoxicated / compromised in front of people that he doesn't really want to have info on him. However. Going back to his apartment alone sounds kind of wretched. So this time he joins them. Except Mello has an absolutely terrible understanding of his own limits / tolerance level so he gets completely blackout drunk :/

I'm imagining he has, like, a place he sleeps in the mafia base sometimes when he doesn't feel like driving back to his apartment (like if he stays late enough that there's not a point). So he wakes up. Horrible hangover. Wretched. He tries to remember the events of the night before; nothing past his third drink (<- a lightweight). He checks his cell phone; he made three calls to Ratt, two of which lasted less than ten seconds and the third of which lasted two minutes. This immediately sets off alarm bells in his head. He's panicking.

So Mello gets dressed and drags himself out of his shitty little makeshift bedroom and starts subtly asking around for what happened the night before. Several of the men are super evasive about it, but after a few well-placed threats, someone finally reveals that he disappeared for thirty minutes and came back with a box that he INSISTED needed to go to the post office first thing in the morning.

Huge wave of cold dread. He asks if the box has already been mailed. The guy is like. Well. Yeah. It's one in the afternoon. You told us to ship it first thing. So it's gone.

Mello is in shambles over this. He starts frantically searching his little makeshift bedroom for clues of what the hell he might have sent Near. In the garbage can he finds a crumpled-up and half-legible lovehate letter. He can't read all of it— some of the handwriting is atrociously messy, other parts a bit smeared— but what he can make out is damning. There are, like, three full sentences about Near's eyes. One of the sentences describes them as "bug-like," which isn't so embarrassing for him, but the other two use words like "captivating" and "enigmatic" and, bafflingly, "celestial."

((a bit ns // fw [not explicit, just suggestive] under the cut))

In addition to waxing poetic about Near's appearance, there's an entire paragraph of him speculating on what Near would be like in bed (the words "clumsy" and "squeaky" and "lousy" all make appearances). That's not great— he doesn't really want to sexually harass / insult his lifelong rival via snail mail, regardless of how celestial his eyes are— but the next paragraph is worse.

Paragraph is a generous description— it's just one very long run on sentence. Don't worry though it's okay you're a weird awkward virgin who would give really bad head I still love you think you're cute and youcould probably learn because I could teach you stuff and as long as you listen to me you'll be fine <- only HALF of the sentence from hell.

Anyways. For a second he's like well, it's here in the trash, so I guess I didn't send it, but it pretty much immediately occurs to him that the one in the trash was a draft, because notably something still did get sent to Near. It's weird that he used a box, but then, he was pretty fucking drunk, and he probably just used whatever was lying around. He goes through the five stages of grief plus three secret additional stages (which are all just him screaming into a pillow, but with varying degrees of anguish / rage / mortification) and then just. Hopes that the letter gets lost in the mail. Tries to forget about the whole thing. Moves on with his life.

A week later, in New York City, Rester brings a package to Near. They don't get packages— anything they receive from the US Government is hand-delivered by someone with clearance, and they always have a heads-up that someone's coming. The box has already been opened— Rester had someone screen it first, had it scanned via x-ray and then opened by someone dressed in head-to-toe biohazard gear in case there was anthrax inside. There wasn't. Rester tells him there's no return address and no name of the sender. Inside the box is a single disposable camera.

Near immediately knows that there is no one it could be from but Mello— no one else who could have figured out where he was. It looks like Mello's handwriting on the box, too, though it's honestly pretty messy, even for him. He doesn't know what could be on the camera, but he presumes it's got to be sensitive information.

He tells Rester he needs the film developed. Emphasizes how important the contents of the camera are to him. It's essential that not a single photo is lost. Rester nods, disappears. Comes back like five hours later with an expression of subdued bemusement. Hands Near an envelope with the photos in it. Looks like he's going to say something, but doesn't. Leaves.

Near opens the envelope. Inside are 30 separate photos of Mello. Most of them don't show any of his face. All of them were taken with flash on. All in front of a mirror.

All shirtless.

He puts the photos back in the envelope and tucks the envelope into his shirt and goes back to work. His face feels hot for a long time after. Distantly he feels disappointed that he can't ask Mello why he went to all the trouble of tracking Near down just to send something like that, but he can't ask his employees to spend their time trying to track Mello down in return for such a trivial personal matter.

Things proceed more or less as they do in canon. Mello kidnaps the NPA director, then Sayu, gets the notebook, kills Ratt and several more members of the SPK, loses the notebook, blows up the mafia base, drags his burnt-to-a-crisp ass to New York, finds Halle. He wants to ask her if Near got a letter a few months back, but he decides against it, because he doesn't want to show his hand. After all, there's a chance it got lost in the mail, or a chance he didn't sign it (though Near would undoubtedly recognize the sender as Mello just by the contents of the letter, and the fact that the letter reached him at all). He's trying to hold onto the possibility that he did not, in fact, send a deranged, multi-page, sexually explicit and obsessive letter to Near. He has to hold onto that hope.

Except when he goes to get the photo he left at the orphanage from Near, there's a weird vibe. A vibe that he can't help but feel is unrelated to him holding Halle at gunpoint and also pointing his gun at Near. The blonde guy that works for Near is giving him an especially judgmental look. Mello gets his photo and gives Near a bit of info and gets the fuck out, but he's haunted for the rest of the day by the knowledge that yes, Near totally got that fucking letter.

So he writes another letter. Makes it EXTREMELY clear that all of the things he said about Near's eyes being captivating and celestial were JOKES, and that he DOESN'T want to fuck Near and is not in love with him. Gives the letter to Halle to give to Near with express instructions not to open it herself. She agrees, takes it to Near.

Near opens the letter from Mello. Right off the bat, he's confused, because this letter mentions a previous letter, and Near never got a previous letter. The box only had the disposable camera in it. That was it. As he continues reading, the bafflement only increases.

By the end of the letter, Near's mind is scrambled, but he has little doubt what he needs to do.

He asks Halle to call Mello and ask him to come back to headquarters. They have some things to talk about.

sorry this is left open ended i simply don't feel like finishing it. please just assume they work things out and fuck nasty. thanks 🥰

#meronia #mellonear #FILE UNDER: POSTS I MADE IN AN ATTEMPT TO STOP MYSELF FROM STARTING A NEW FIC THAT GOT LONGER THAN THEY SHOULDVE #i will eventually write this tho #<- girl who says that a lot #blondiepost

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scaryscarecrows · 2 months

Text

Komodo Protocol

“You seen what they got going on in Demolitions?” Frank asks around his bacon. “Somethin’ real nasty, looks like.”

“No, I’ve been stuck on ‘light duty’ all week.” Antoine rolls his eyes. “You get one bug and everyone’s on your ass.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have tried breaking out of Medical all those times.”

“Shouldn’t have passed out mid-meeting, either.” Jimmy cackles. “Dude, if you died, we’d be fucked. Riley’s an enabler.”

“Clyde would take over,” the Knight says dryly. Jimmy squeaks. “Meeting at nine hundred.”

Meeting, not assembly. Something’s come up, then, because they had their weekly briefing two days ago. There hadn’t been anything of note at the time; next shipment of drones to Gotham, more than anything. Antoine’s pretty sure it was largely an excuse to hide from Deathstroke, who had left that afternoon anyway.

“Yessir.”

Once he’s gone, Jimmy leans in.

“So? What do you think’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Everything’s on schedule, and I haven’t seen anything weird come up.”

“Think something’s up in Gotham?”

“Maybe.” He finishes his coffee and tries–and fails miserably–at repressing a cough. “I’m fine, coughs linger, that’s not illegal!”

Mark frowns.

“That sounded ugly.”

“That’s what coughs do.” He’s not whining. He’s not. “Leave me alone, I’m better now.”

“I want you in my office after this meeting. Just for a quick check-up.”

“Oh, come on–”

“Forget, and I’ll come find you.”

Ugh. Fine. He’ll go. But he’s not going to like it.

* * *

“What is that?”

“Insurance.”

Okay. Insurance is always good. This, however, appears to be a bigass mine. Three feet in diameter, easy, and well-armored. Could probably withstand a Cobra drone rolling over it.

“Uh-huh,” Frank drawls. “For what.”

“It’s primarily to keep the military from getting involved.”

Antoine’s got news for him: the military, generally, considers Gotham as ‘fend for your fucking selves’ and probably would just pretend they didn’t see anything anyway. But sure. A little extra reassurance is nice.

“Also to keep anyone–or anything–else from stepping in.” Okay, that one’s fair. “It won’t hurt you if you walk on it; the sensors need more weight to activate the electricity.” Oh, it’s electric, too? Wonderful. “We’ll be deploying them pretty early in the night, once the drones have all been deployed.”

“They won’t fuck with the programming, will they?” Jimmy risks poking the thing. “It’s not like an EMP or whatever?”

“It shouldn’t, but I want you, when you map out the patrol route, to try not to run over them. I’ll give you a map of where I want them sometime next week.”

“How many are there?”

“Fourteen.”

Trent whistles.

“Jesus.”

“Gotham’s a big place.” The Knight shrugs. “We’re not shipping these over ahead of us; they go when we do. Clyde, I’m going to be making a special dummy; same sensors, I want to run some tests with the Cloudburst tank. If it comes to that, I’d really rather not blow this entire operation…literally.”

“Very funny, sir,” Frank says dryly. “I’ll make sure she’s ready to roll when you are.”

“Good. You five are dismissed. Drouot, you’re not.”

That doesn’t sound promising.

The others file out, though, leaving Antoine with the boss and a giant, scary-looking mine.

“These are also a contingency.”

And there it is. The boss has contingencies for his contingencies, which is, Antoine guesses, why they’re all still on this crazy crusade.

“Okay?” The Knight holds out a piece of paper with numbers on it. Antoine raises an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“The activation code to set these all off at once. In the event that I somehow end up incapacitated, unless I explicitly told you otherwise, I want you to initiate the Komodo Protocol: order a retreat and blow Gotham off the map.”

“Sounds like overkill.”

“When dealing with Batman, there is no such thing as overkill.”

“If you say so, sir.” Such an innocuous little paper. Ten digits. Ten digits and boom, one of the largest cities in the world turned into a charred crater. “Does Scarecrow know about this?”

“No, and we’re not mentioning it. If that code needs to be used, he doesn’t need to be informed.”

Well, in all honesty, Scarecrow is the one most likely to trigger this event. Antoine has never trusted the guy. He’s convinced that, Batman be damned, if he saw a chance to poison them all, he’d take it.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that, sir.”

“Hopefully not.” The Knight looks at the mine. “But I’d rather be prepared.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, boss?”

The boss just laughs.

“Probably not. Look, it’s like the bomb vests. I highly, highly doubt we’ll need it.”

Yeah…the bomb vests have not been mentioned to the troops at large. Voluntary or not, most people are not going to like the idea of a suicide vest being anywhere near them. If it comes down to that, then they’ll worry about it.

“If you say so, sir.” He looks from the paper to the mine again. “Did you need anything else?”

“No. You can go; I think Jones wanted to see you.”

Dammit.

* * *

“I’m sure that by now most of you have become aware of the events at Arkham Asylum.”

Antoine’s voice is hoarse, going in and out a little. He hasn’t slept, not really. Sure, Mark got a power nap out of him, but that’s about it and it wasn’t enough. He looks like shit, too, all washed out and with eye bags big enough to take on a cruise. That’ll happen, when you spend too much time in a chair.

“Batman do that, sir?”

“Yes and no. Before I continue, I want it clear: Batman is now considered a level five threat.”

“We can take him. Right, boys?” A cheer goes up. “Just tell us where he is, we’ll bring his head back in two hours.”

Ha. Trent disagrees. Bastard’s got clown morals with Bat-bullshit, if he’s still alive–and he probably is–‘taking him’ is going to be a real bitch. It’s doable, probably, it’s just going to be difficult, especially with their best resource on both Batman and Joker being at death’s door.

Antoine’s smile is wintery and the cheer dies down, gives way to an uneasy silence. Trent can’t blame them for that. He’s usually the nice one. Nice is relative, but still.

“What you’ll be up against isn’t Batman anymore,” he says. “Now, I’m sure you all attended the briefing regarding the Joker’s death of TITAN poisoning.” Pfft. Trent knows damn well they didn’t, but that’ll keep them from jabbering. “Before that incident, the Joker supplied hospitals with tainted blood, and apparently gave Batman a transfusion as well. The cure didn’t take.”

He turns to his laptop and taps a few keys. On screen, the footage Jimmy managed to get from the boss’s helmet earlier on Halloween looms large. Trent shudders. He’s seen some shit in his day, but that–a laughing, maniacal Batman attacking with full intent to kill–is in the running for his personal Top Five WTF. Thankfully, Antoine only lets it play for a few seconds, but those few seconds are enough to quiet the skeptical mutterings.

“That’s what you’re up against now. He will kill you, without a second thought. He has already killed Scarecrow–”

“Shit, we work for Richardson now?”

“No. The Arkham Knight dispatched her before the asylum blew up.”

At least that one stuck. Last thing they need is that vindictive little monster blaming them for what happened to Scarecrow.

“For the moment, we are going to continue as we were. I want drones sweeping the city, checkpoints manned, and watchtowers fully operational. If anybody sees anything, you call in immediately and you wait for backup. Don’t be a hero, your insurance does not cover facial removal.” There’s a smattering of nervous chuckles that Antoine does not join in. “Patrols: minimum of four, do not let each other out of your sight. Someone has to piss, you all go. Someone falls in one of those damn potholes and breaks an ankle, you all come back to base as a group. Understood?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. Any questions?” If they have any, they don’t ask them. Antoine closes his laptop, disconnects it, and turns on his heel. “Dismissed.”

Trent steps in fully as they file out. A few of them flinch, but most of them just keep moving.

“You look like shit,” he says bluntly. “Mark’s right, you need sleep.”

“I’m fine. Anything?”

“Couple of false alarms.”

“So no.”

“No.”

“Damn.” Antoine runs a hand through his hair. “Any change with the boss?”

“Still out. Look…what are we going to do, if he…doesn’t…wake up? Batman’s Gotham’s problem, right?”

Antoine just laughs, a little bitter, and starts towards the door.

“He only got maybe a quarter of the mines. We pull our men out and blow this city to Kingdom Come, see him walk that off.”

“What?”

“Komodo Protocol.”

Trent’s heard of it. Well, seen it, in packets, but there’s never been any information about it. It’s just come up as, like, the last resort, no specifications.

“That’s what that is?” he demands. “Detonate the mines?”

“If it comes to that, yes.”

“Jesus Christ, man–”

“My orders are to put the bastard down, whatever it takes.” Antoine turns towards the back hallway. “Check in with the Arkham troops again, make sure they don’t need any further supplies. Did you send them a Cobra?”

“Yeah, earlier.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

“Antoine.”

“What.”

“You’re sure about this?”

Antoine stops and turns around, swaying a little at the sudden change of direction.

“Yeah. If he dies, or doesn’t start waking up in another day or two, I’m calling it. We’ll finish the job one way or the other.” Jesus. “This stays between us for now. It may not come to that and there’s no reason to unsettle everyone.”

Trent nods.

“All right. You sure you’re not gonna grab a nap?”

“I’m fine.”

Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Look, Frank or Mark will probably bring the hammer down soon and when they do, Trent will be right there to enforce Bedtime.

“I’m gonna take a squadron out there,” he says. “Me and Riley: we’re taking some of his guys to investigate the little Batcave thing that turned up this morning.”

“Good. Stay in touch; that lecture goes for everyone.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find the bastard.”

“Hope so.” Antoine turns back around and starts walking again. “Good luck.”

THE END

#jason todd #arkhamverse #scaryverse #god so many mines in the road jason what the fuck #that was unnecessary #you know it was

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miryum · 10 months

Text

Sweetheart- Chapter 2

Summary: Jason Todd finds himself in a Groundhog Day situation and it won't stop until he finds his soulmate who's going through the exact same situation. But will you two stop being idiots long enough to too see what's in front of you? Not even the author knows...

ao3 link

Taglist: @susvale

Warnings: nerd references, Alfred and Harley Quinn being awesome, the latter half not being beta-read, but will be edited soon :)

Jason woke up to screaming and shouts. Another ordinary day. “Jason! Get up!” Tim banged on the door. “You’re gonna be late!” Jason groaned and covered his head with his pillow.

The door flew open and Cass waltzed in. “I think I left my book in here last night.” She started rummaging around the nightstand.

Jason snuggled into his covers. Then his eyes flew open. “No… you didn’t,” he corrected Cass, sleep evident in his voice. “You read in your room last night. It was two days ago when you bugged me.”

“Then why is my book in your room?” Cass wiggled her found book in his face. Jason glared at the book for a moment before shrugging it off. He must’ve forgotten.

“Come on, you’ll be late to see Y/n!” Dick called from the doorway before running off to shower.

Jason sat up slowly and the covers fell down to his waist. Why was he getting extreme deja vu?

“Oh, there he is,” Cassandra laughed. “That lovesick fool.”

“Didn’t you say that yesterday?” Jason mumbled. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He pinched at his shoulders, squirming at the tight muscles. Why were his muscles sore? He didn’t work out yesterday. Maybe they were still sore from beating Damian and Tim. He decided to test his theory, “Hey? What’s for breakfast?”

“Alfred made pancakes,” Cass said simply.

“But Alfred never makes the same thing two days in a row,” Jason said to himself.

“Yeah?” Cass was innocent to his inner turmoil. “Yesterday we had omelettes. What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing… nothing.” The room lapsed into odd silence and Jason, tugging on his leather jacket (which he pleasantly found to be clean), suddenly released what was wrong. “Did, uh, do you ever find it weird that Alfred is the owner of a multimillion dollar company and he still makes us pancakes?”

“Do you ever find it weird that Bruce is the economics teacher at our school and you still wind up in Gordon’s office every other day?” Cass started out of the room and Jason followed after her, silently congratulating himself on bringing the conversation back around.

“Do you ever find it weird,” Damian called from the bathroom, “that Dad quit his job to start teaching the youth of Gotham City and handed his company over to his butler after I was born? Clearly, we know who the favourite is.”

“Do you ever find it weird that you guys are interrupting my shower?!” Dick stuck his head out of said shower, motioning for Damian to close the door. Jason was baffled at how similar everything was. If he hadn’t heard of soulmate stories, he would think this was all one big prank. Or that he was going crazy.

“Do you ever find it weird that in a house of idiots,” Tim hopped down the stairs. “I’m able to stay sane?”

“Dude, same.” Cass fistbumped Tim and they shared a secret handshake.

Maybe Jason was going crazy. Did he really think the universe would give him a soulmate? After all his fights with Bruce? After all those nights he snuck out? After all his depressive panic attacks? What soulmate would want him?

During breakfast, Jason’s bacon was stolen by Damian, yet again. Tim rushed out the door on account of Coding Club and Alfred flipped pancakes while sporting an apron over his suit.

“Are you alright, Master Todd?” Alfred asked, placing more pancakes in front of him. From the head of the table, Bruce scoffed and straightened his newspaper. He had tried telling Alfred to stop calling them ‘Master,’ but old habits were hard to shake.

“Probably just anxious about the test he has today,” Damian said through a mouth full of food. “We all know it’s impossible for him to concentrate with beautiful Y/n sitting next to him!” The young boy sighed dramatically. Jason hurled the syrup bottle at him. Dick caught it mid-air before the bottle could do any damage.

“I remember Miss. Y/n,” Alfred mused. “When are you going to invite her over again?” Jason wasn’t sure who Alfred’s question was directed at- him or Cass- so he kept his mouth shut.

“Can she come over tonight?” Damian asked. “I need help with homework.”

“Didn’t we finish that yesterday?” Bruce asked, setting down the newspaper.

Damian shoved more pancake in his mouth, mumbling, “not all of it?”

It was unsettling to pull up to school and see everyone wearing the exact same clothes, having the exact same conversations, and walking the exact same steps.

You were stepping off the bus, talking to Artemis and Kori. “Go on, loverboy,” Dick snickered, taking Jason’s analysis of the crowd as scanning for you. (Which was also true, not that he would ever admit it.)

“Fuck you,” was his automatic reply.

“Hey, Todd,” Cass called. “When we get back home, I’m gonna re-dye your hair. You’re losing the white streak.”

Jason groaned, thinking of the torture he had gone through yesterday. He hadn’t realised he would have to go through it again.

“What’re you reading today, L/n?” He tried to copy his movements from yesterday, snatching your backpack away from you. In order for his plan to work, he would have to act exactly as he did yesterday.

You slowly scanned him up and down, and Jason couldn’t decipher your expression. It seemed like you were hopeful at first, overanalyzing him, but it was quickly washed away. “Uh, The Fault In Our Stars, a reread,” you said. Jason wanted to believe that the bookmark was farther than where it was yesterday morning, but he shook it off. He probably just wanted to believe it.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, doll,” Jason said. He puffed up his chest, pleased that he could still make you flush at his nicknames.

“Prove it? I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t need to tell me you’ve read it before to prove you’re smart. You’re telling me it’s a reread cause you’re showing that you could be reading harder, more complex books but you “settled” for this one. But don’t worry, doll, I know you’re smart.”

You stilled, before slowly replying, “Thank you. You get good grades, too.”

“How sweet,” Jason placed a hand over his heart, pretending to swoon. “The Lady L/n thinks me as smart as she.”

“I never said you’re as smart as me,” you corrected.

“Care to make a little wager, then?” Jason held open the school door for you. He carefully concocted the wager as he did the day before. Jason went through the rest of the day, trying hard to remember what he did yesterday. But, of course, it wasn’t technically yesterday. It was still Thursday. Only, it was the second Thursday he’d have this week. Geez, this was going to get confusing, he thought.

Meanwhile, you were trying your best to not to have a panic attack. You had woken up to the same texts on your phone and the same greetings from your parents. At first, you had thought it was a big joke that your friends had roped your parents into. You confronted Artemis and Kori on the bus, already frustrated with your parents when they hadn’t let up. Either Artemis and Kori were incredible actors, or something weird was going on.

Something was nagging at you and when Artemis had pulled you aside and suggested you talk to an adult about it- “Ms. Quinn might know what you’re talking about. She knows a lot of random bullshit,”- you decided that was the best course of action.

“Ms. Quinn,” you approached her after the school day. “Do you know anything about days repeating themselves? Or am I going completely crazy and deserve to be in an insane asylum?”

Ms. Quinn laughed and said, “well, it seems to me as if you might’ve found your soulmate, my young padawan!”

“Padawan? When did I become a Jedi?” You cocked an eyebrow at your favourite librarian.

“You’ve always been my padawan,” Ms. Quinn said, as if it was obvious. She stood up and led you to the non-fiction section. “But I can’t guarantee I won’t lead you to the darkside.”

“Understandable,”

“I always wondered when you would find a soulmate,” Ms. Quinn commented. “You’ll have to invite me to the wedding.”

“Ms. Quinn! I’m not- we’re- I haven’t even met them yet!”

She handed a book to you, smirking. “Alright. Whatever makes you sleep at night. Check the index of this for looping days.’”

“Thanks, Ms. Quinn.”

“Anytime!”

You snuggled up in a corner of the library and flipped open the book, titled, Soulmate Identifiers. The index pointed you to page 42, in which you chuckled to yourself, silently thinking of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

“Is something funny?” A voice asked from above you. You looked up to see Jason standing over you.

“What’re you doing here?” You didn’t answer his question, glaring in suspicion at him. You didn’t see him in the library yesterday, but then again, you were helping Ms. Quinn and probably didn’t run into him.

“I need to check out a book for History,” he explained.

“What’re you doing here, bothering me?” you clarified.

“Can’t I see my sweetheart without her lashing out at me?” Jason asked, laying down next to you and using his backpack as a pillow.

“No.”

“Fair enough. What’re you reading?”

“Um…” You paused, wondering if Jason would make fun of you for your choice of book. “I.. don’t know.”

“You... don’t know?” Jason snickered, eyeing you. Clearly he knew that you were lying, but he allowed you to stay in your dishonesty.

“I don’t know. I just picked it up.” You buried your face back into the pages, trying to mask the embarrassment. Quickly, you scanned the words: While perhaps not the most common or conventional soulmate identifier, Looping Days is a personal favourite of mine. Looping Days happen when two soulmates have ignored their feelings long enough for the universe to take notice. One singular day continues repeating, akin to the famous movie Groundhog Day, however, unlike the movie, both soulmates experience it.

The day keeps repeating until the two soulmates confess their feelings, whether romantic or platonic, to each other and the week continues on, every other person unaware. When the soulmates confess, a soulmark of something significant that happened over the repeating days appears on the wrist.

The book went onto explain the questions scientists had about this soulmate phenomena, but you had read enough.

In order to escape this supposedly endless Thursday, you had to find your soulmate.

------

A whimper escaped Jason’s mouth as Cassandra tugged on his hair. He was seated on the toilet while his sister attempted to wrangle him with hair dye. “Woman up,” Cass grumbled.

“Would you tell me if you found your soulmate?” Jason asked softly.

Cass stopped, eyes meeting Jason’s in the mirror. “You found them?” she whispered. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t found them yet.”

“Why? What’s the indicator?”

“I think it’s time looping. Yesterday was Thursday too. It’s really weird seeing the same things happen all over again. It kind of makes me feel like a god.” he chuckled. “I can predict everyone’s move.”

“Who do you think it is?” Cass yanked on his hair. “‘Cause I’ve heard that whoever you want it to be, that’s probably them.”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Y/n’s here!” Damian screamed out.

Cass placed a firm hand on Jason’s shoulder to keep him from jumping up to greet you. “Lemme finish!” she scolded. “I’m almost done.”

“But I wanna… okay. Fine.” After a couple of minutes with Cass slapping upside the head whenever he squirmed and wiggled. How was it fair that Damian, Tim, and Dick got to spend time with you?

“Okay, you’re free to go,” Cass said, but Jason was already halfway out the door. “Sure! I’ll just clean up by myself!” she rolled her eyes. “Wait! Jason!” Jason poked his head back in the bathroom. “To answer your question, yes, I would tell you if I found my soulmate.” Jason gave her a faint, trusting smile.

Jason took a moment at the top of the steps to compose himself. He subconsciously ran a hand through his newly dyed hair, wondering if you would notice. He noticed you at the kitchen table, hunched over with Damian. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he crooned in your ear.

You elbowed him in the gut and he groaned at the newly forming bruise. “More like, look what your brother dragged in,” you replied.

“The scores just came out, sweetheart,” Jason smirked, slipping into the seat next to you. “Shall we see who the victor is?” Cass groaned loudly as she walked in, opening the snack cabinet. She pulled out a bag of pretzels and poured herself and Tim a bowl. Tim graciously accepted it.

“No! I need help from my future sister-in-law!” Damian cried. Jason’s heart thumped widely. He hid a smile at the slim idea of marrying you. He couldn’t imagine the image of you being the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night. Were you a cuddly sleeper? Or did you prefer to stay to your side of the bed? What did your morning voice sound like? Did you prefer evening sex or morning sez? He flushed at the intrusive thought. Dick laughed loudly and even Tim pressed his lips together to stop a laugh.

“Damn right,” You held up your hand and Cass slapped it. “Cass and I are getting married and none of you are invited to the wedding. Except Alfred, of course.”

“Of course,” Cass agreed.

“Just show me your score,” Jason whined. “Please!”

“Fine,” you pulled out your phone. Jason’s leg bounced up and down and Dick raised an eyebrow at him, silently telling him to cool it. “What’d you get?” you asked.

“A 97, but technically a 92.” Jason proudly said. “I got extra credit.” He hadn’t changed any of his answers for fear of getting something wrong. And then maybe you would surpass him. He couldn’t have that.

“Ms. Prince doesn’t give out extra credit!” you exclaimed. “What the hell?!”

“If you ask incredibly nicely and tell her it's for a good cause,” Jason explained. “Then yes, she does.”

“You fucking told her about our bet, didn’t you,” you accused.

“Why yes, yes I did.” Jason smirked and you looked incredibly frustrated.

“What bet?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing,” both you and Jason answered at the same time Dick launched into an explanation of the wager. Bruce peered at Alfred who gave him a small shrug in response.

“Just make sure no one gets emotionally hurt, Jason.” Bruce said.

“How come you’re telling me and not Y/n?!” Jason stood up, aghast.

“Because Y/n is smarter than that,” Bruce said simply.

Ignoring his father, Jason rounded on you. “Seriously, doll, what was your score?”

You glanced down at the number on your screen and Jason swallowed. “95,” you said after a tense moment.

The room went silent. Bruce and Alfred exchanged a glance and Bruce immediately took out his phone and started typing away. Cass looked over your shoulder and hummed. Tim let out a low whistle and Damian cackled. Dick closely watched his younger brother with a pleased smile.

“Wait, actually?” Jason asked.

“Yes, Todd,” you sighed. “Actually.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bruce show his phone to Alfred. Alfred raised an eyebrow and you had an inkling of who Bruce had texted.

“Damn, sweetheart,” Jason continued. “Did you throw the test on purpose?”

“Just take the date, Jason.” You said, “I wouldn’t dwell on it. Though I am expecting you to pull out all the stops.”

“You won’t be disappointed, sweetheart.” Jason pressed a kiss to your forehead and practically skipped to his room, his smile lighting up the room. Later that night, as he lay in bed, he silently wondered if he was technically cheating on his soulmate by promising you a date that he may get to go on. What would happen if he found his soulmate, but you still expected a date? He didn’t want to let you down. He didn’t know if he could ever let you down. If you asked him for anything, he would probably trip over his own feet to complete your request.

Jason made a pact, then and there, that he would take you on a date no matter if he found his soulmate or not.

It was the least he could do.

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argisthebulwark · 1 month

Note

Blackreach! To spice it up, answer on a normal level and a horny level 🤭

hello anon sorry this took me so long i had to THINK skyrim ask game

Blackreach - What's your favorite enemy in the game? What's your least favorite? Why?

My favorite enemy in the game normal style is probably the guards. I love killing them. They get sooo mad and just keep spawning over and over, it's my favorite way to get out frustration when the game breaks or something makes me mad lol. I usually end up loading a save, but god throwing hands with a city guard is too fun.

Least favorite is the Chaurus Hunters because those mfs scared me!!! When I started playing as a young lad I didn't really know those were in the game, so I'm sneaking around hiding from Falmer, doing stealth archer shit as you do, and all of the sudden there's a huge bug absolutely wrecking my shit!! They're not too scary anymore but sometimes when I play late at night they spook me a lil.

Horny style my favorite enemy is Mercer. He's so annoying but I do wanna fuck him. Like, yeah, he's self righteous and paranoid but god I do want to sit behind his desk and mess up his plans. I wanna disable those traps in his house and dangle that I know the truth just to see how pissed it makes him. I want him to be so horny he can't think straight.

#ask games #anon #mercer frey posting again i will not apologize

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nompunhere · 11 months

Text

Knightly Security (H/ollow K/night Vore Fic) (Illustrated)

Voretober promp- y’know what, maybe I shouldn’t even bother trying to link it back to that But it’s finally hereeeeeee! Collab with @scketchorinopop , he made art for this!!

Characters: H/egemol (going off of the maggot!H/egemol headcanon), O/grim (aka the D/ung D/efender or, more accurately to this fic, W/hite D/efender) Word Count: 6,310 Warnings: Anxiety, H/ollow K/night Spoilers, Bugs, Implied/Referenced Bug Racism(?), and Safe Soft Vore (I’d call this quarter-sized, probably). And in the same vein as the bug racism, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism(? sort of?? You’ll know what I mean if you’ve read the H/unter’s J/ournal entry on maggots) Other Notes: Yeah this was originally gonna be for Voretober 2022, either for the Bubble prompt or the Blanket one. College kinda threw that plan out the window. But hey! My cool good friend Scketch wanted to collab, so you get ✨art✨!! and also me starting to love the maggot!H/ege headcanon. it’s got Potential. now blease take this fic I can’t stand to look at it for another minute

Fic under the cut

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Hegemol was usually happy in his workshop. It was his safe space, a room filled with the tools and materials to bring his ideas to reality, a place where the maggot was free to express his ingenuity in a constructive way. The King had truly been generous in granting him this boon along with his knighthood.

At the moment, however, he couldn't find the focus to work on his creations. He was too distracted by the anxiety creeping under his skin. A room couldn't protect him from the fears that plagued his mind.

His armor was missing. No one was sure of the who, how, or why of the matter, but they at least knew when it was taken and where from. He found himself running through the details once more.

The Great Knights were reasonably certain that the set had been stolen while Hegemol was asleep in the City barracks, resting after a day of being stationed in the capital for an assignment. He had gone to bed in the room set aside for the knights or other important visitors. The Five didn't exactly like the separation, feeling like they were being treated as above all the other sentries and guards in more than just rank, but Hegemol did require the privacy that the room afforded. He did not need it getting out to the public that he was a maggot. Many theorized about what he could be, but of those guesses, few ever put forth the idea that the armored knight could possibly be "such a lowly creature," and those that did were scoffed at, regarded as delusional.

Back to the point, he had gone to bed, and though he could sleep in his armor, it was not the most comfortable, so he generally didn't if he had the choice. He'd gotten out of the suit, packed it into its space-saving form, and made sure it was within line of sight as he tucked himself under the blankets. He should've heard if someone tried to move it, or even enter the room, and yet, he didn't. Somehow, someone or something got past the locked door (or windows), took the heavy block of metal that was Hegemol's armor, and left with it, all without making a sound as he slept. It should've been too dense for a single bug to lift without immense effort. Maybe there was more than one perpetrator involved? Or perhaps magic was used? It had to have been stolen. There was no way it just- disappeared.

All these thoughts led to the tinkerer being highly distracted as he worked. He was abruptly dragged back to the present when the bracket he was welding loudly cracked. Quickly, he cut off the flame and set his blowtorch aside, peering closer at the damaged metal. He'd overdone it, the maggot realized with a groan, planting his masked face on the tabletop. That was what he got for letting his mind wander while using dangerous tools, he supposed.

He left his head on the table for a few long moments, until a quiet knock at the door made him flinch. He looked up, hesitating. The retainers knew not to come in without his express permission. If anyone was going to enter his workshop, it'd be someone who already knew his secret.

"What is it?" he called, just loud enough to be heard.

"It's me," came the response, gentle and friendly, a toned-down version of that familiar jovial tone. Hegemol made a sound of acknowledgement, and the door slowly clicked open, revealing the face of his close friend and fellow knight, Ogrim. Currently the only active knight within the walls of the White Palace, as the other three were in the City, guarding the streets and searching for the all-important tool that would allow their fifth to perform his job.

"Hello," the Defender greeted, leaning into the room, "Just checking in. My patrol brought me to this area of the halls, and I figured I should see how you're faring? Wouldn't do to let you feel abandoned when- well, I'm sure you're well aware." He gave an uncertain chuckle, tapping a claw against the doorframe and glancing into the hall. When he looked back at Hegemol, his gaze was colored with curiosity. His eyes lingered on the maggot's small form perched at the workstation, clad in only his welding gear.

The armorless knight cleared his throat and stared at the tools in front of him, prompting Ogrim to do the same. "Heh, yes, I'm- I-I'm alright. Thank you," Hegemol tried. He winced at the stutter. It was so much easier to hide it when making use of the artificial confidence the suit provided. His friend merely nodded, though he looked unconvinced. The tinkerer sighed and pulled off his welding mask to give the other a weary smile, getting one in return.

He set the mask down as Ogrim stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him with a quiet 'click.' The beetle came closer, gesturing to the bracket and other bits of metal spread over the workspace. "So, what were you working on, if I may be so bold?"

"Oh, just- some.. locking mechanisms. F-for the armor." He leaned forward to pick up the bracket once more, glaring at it with a huff and turning it over in his hands. To his side, Ogrim tilted his head, giving an inquisitive hum to prompt him to continue. Hegemol glanced at him, then back to the table. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was okay for him to go on about his work. His friend was offering him the opportunity.

"T-the suit itself should be too heavy for a bug to lift, especially when condensed as it was, but if it were unfolded, it could be moved piece by piece, or even w-worn out of the room. Only the King and I know how to unfold it—though I could teach you if you'd like—but it's theoretically n-not impossible for another bug to have f-figured out the mechanisms." He gestured to the bracket and the other metal pieces before them, the other knight following his movements with interest. "I was thinking of adding these extra locking parts, to make the set more difficult to unpack if you don't know the exact process. They would also offer more surface area for further spellwork to be inscribed, particularly if I can add pale ore to increase the efficacy of the magic. I plan to work with the King to design some that would reject anyone who isn't the proper owner or a trusted ally, w-when he has time," the maggot finished, quieting to a mumble at the end.

Meanwhile, though Ogrim was genuinely interested in what his friend had to say, he still found himself focusing on the smaller bug's state more than the words themselves. Hegemol was a lot harder to hear than normal, despite the lack of metal shell to cover his mouth—or perhaps because of it. The Defender didn't know the specifics of how the helmet worked, but he distantly recalled hearing about how it amplified sound in both directions, making it easier for the wearer to hear and to be heard. It gave Hegemol's voice a resonance that was strange to hear him without after so long.

Aside from that, the technically-smallest knight was always rather soft-spoken, but rarely to this extent. Ogrim nearly had to strain to pick out his words. His voice picked up a little as he talked about his passion, but otherwise faded to something anxious and uncertain. In fact, as the beetle watched, his body language screamed of anxiety: the constant fidgeting, the unfocused gaze, the shifting of weight on the stool. Hegemol was actually quite expressive when not covered in layers of thick metal—Ogrim just wished he could see those expressions in better circumstances.

The tinkerer looked up at his compatriot, waiting with bated breath for any sort of response to his ideas. The larger knight stared back, blinked, and after a moment, offered another bright smile. "That all sounds very impressive!"

Hegemol waited another second or two, then let out a short sigh, half disappointed and half relieved at the generic reply. "Thanks," he intoned.

Ogrim, seeing the half-hearted acceptance of his own lackluster response, tapped a claw to his chin in thought. "I do believe the idea has potential," he elaborated, moving his forelimb to rest gently on the other's shoulder, "I just can't say how much, precisely, as it's not my area of expertise. I have hope it will prove effective, though. You’re very good with this type of thing." Hegemol slowly nodded. It was then that the beetle noticed just how tense his friend was, even as he felt quite squishy under his own hard, chitinous claw. He turned it so that the sharper bits were angled firmly away from delicate skin and used the flat side to slowly rub the maggot's shoulder, keeping the pressure light while still trying to offer some sense of comfort.

His friend bore it for a few moments before shuddering and nudging the claw, signaling him to stop. The Defender quickly removed the offending limb and tilted his head in concern. "Are you sure you're alright, friend? It's not like you to shy away from contact."

"Yes, it's just," the tinkerer hunched in on himself, "when outside of my armor, every t-touch feels overwhelming, you know? I'm not used to feeling so.. exposed."

"Oh! Of course, of course, my apologies, I should've realized-"

"I-it's fine, you meant well, I know." He huffed and gestured loosely with an arm. "It's as if.. everything's so sharp, a-and cold, and defined out here. Like anything could p-pierce through me at any moment. Not that it hasn't happened before," Hegemol muttered, pulling off his welding gloves to stare at his callused hands, and the old, jagged lines that criss-crossed up his arms. The results of years of learning his craft the hard way. Ogrim hummed sympathetically at the sight. The Five all had their scars—his just came from a different source than the others'.

"I k-know I can handle myself without the armor," the maggot continued, squeezing his hands shut, "but after so long being r-reliant on it, when it's not there for me to retreat into, everything suddenly feels like so much. It's not that I've forgotten how to feel—I still c-can, through the metal, thanks to His Majesty's enchantments—but it's usually dulled. Like- like going from a shell with all setae shaved off to one freshly molted, or so I imagine. A-and usually, when I do come out, it's only for short spans, or for rest. It's just- it's all-" He fumbled for a moment before slumping with a sigh.

"No, I understand. You've explained it quite well, I think," Ogrim chuckled softly, suppressing the urge to reach for his friend again. Hegemol offered a brief tired smile in return, then went back to fidgeting with his tools, picking off lingering flecks of dirt. The beetle tilted his head at how worn-out the other seemed, noting the droop of his antennae and darkness beneath his eyes. It made sense; the tinkerer was highly distressed at the loss of his armor, and it had been missing for over a day, not to mention that he had been in his workshop almost the entire time since. The Defender found it hard to believe that he would've gotten any sleep last night. "Is there anything I can do to help, my friend?"

"Hm? Oh, uhm," Hegemol tapped at the table, contemplating, "N-nothing that I can think of, at the moment. I'll.. let you know? Though I w-wouldn't want to keep you from your duties." He paused. "Speaking of which, shouldn't you be getting back to those, soon? Not that I don't appreciate your company, b-but…"

"Ah! My patrol, yes. I should, shouldn't I?" The dung beetle rubbed his horn sheepishly. "It just feels wrong to leave you unsupported when you're struggling like this. I don't suppose the King would mind a few minutes' break too badly, would he?"

No, he'd likely be far too absorbed in his own work to notice. The maggot scrunched his face a little, then snorted at a joke he kept to himself. He wasn't certain the most loyal of the Five would take as much humor in it. "You're probably fine," he mumbled, absently scrubbing at his eyes. "And I'm not completely unsup- supported. The others are doing their best out there to help."

"Still, I feel as though there's something more I could.. do…" Hegemol looked up as Ogrim trailed off. The Defender had a thoughtful look in his eye, a claw tapping against his chin. "...I may have an idea."

"Mm?"

"It would allow me to give you comfort and respite, while still being free to perform my tasks," he continued. There was a cautious air to his voice, quite unusual for the boisterous knight.

"I'm listening." The other's hesitance made Hegemol rather nervous himself, but he was open to ideas. He got a sense that he should know where Ogrim was going with this, but whatever it was, it eluded him. His friend was rarely one to choose his words so carefully.

"What if.." The beetle clicked his forelimbs together, glancing toward the pile of prototypes in the corner of the room, then back at their creator. "I could share my armor with you, in a manner of speaking? Just until your own is found."

Okay, he knew the larger knight didn't mean that in the literal sense, but what did he mean? The answer teased frustratingly at the edge of the tinkerer's mind, just out of reach.

Seeing his smaller friend’s look of confusion and concentration, the Defender gave a quiet laugh. He could practically watch the thoughts churning behind the maggot’s eyes. Might as well make it easier on him. “I’m sure you remember a.. particular rescue tactic, that I sometimes employ? Very effective in emergencies, but unrecognized by the public, due to its, er, taboo nature?” At Hegemol’s dawning comprehension, Ogrim released the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. He hadn’t realized it would be so nerve-wracking to tiptoe around the subject like that! He should’ve just ripped the bandage off. It wasn’t as though he’d ever gotten to ask before, not in a casual setting such as this. Of course, he’d been planning out how to bring the idea up to Isma, but- heh, no no, that could come later. A good.. good while later. “I know it’s.. odd… but it should serve our needs quite well, I think.”

“I… ah.” The smaller knight slumped back on his seat, leaning against the table as he processed. “Could- could I have a moment to think about this?” “Of course, my friend, of course! I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t truly want, or frighten you away from something that may help.”

Slowly, Hegemol nodded, grabbing a drill bit to fidget with off the workbench while he considered the offer. Ogrim was asking to- to eat him. His immediate instinct was a shot of fear through the chest, based upon childhood lessons specifically intended to help him avoid such a fate. Of the few things he could remember about his parents, those instances were what stuck out most—their desperate attempts to ensure his survival in a world full of predators that would take any chance they could get to sate their hunger with a maggot’s succulent flesh. Even those among Hallownest’s noble class weren’t above such desires, much as they claimed to be.

Focusing on the weight of metal in his hands, he pushed the fear down. It wasn’t a life-or-death situation. This was Ogrim. Loyal, honest Ogrim, dedicated to his friends and kingdom above all else. The knight who’d sooner make himself completely vulnerable to a terrified citizen than let them come to any harm. This was something the beetle did on an almost regular basis, protecting those in need with his own body when the situation called for it. Of course, the average Hallownestian had claws, or horns, or at the very least, a hard shell, of which Hegemol had none. He'd be entirely at the mercy of his friend's gut. Still, the Defender had experience. He knew how to do it safely.

That's not to mention, the maggot had done something similar himself, two or three times before. Only in absolutely dire situations, of course, and only when he could be certain that the citizen in need of protection was unconscious and wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. He wasn't taking the risk of letting a stranger in on his secret. Not a chance. Though, tucking them into the hollow space at the center of his armor's torso was.. not the safest, he'd admit, what with all the exposed mechanisms, the only cover from such being haphazard platforms and sheets of metal installed to make the inner workings more accessible for maintenance. Perhaps he should improve that a little, add some padding to it. It'd make it more comfortable on him for routine cleaning and repairs, at least…

He repressed a jump when Ogrim abruptly shifted, glancing toward the door. Right, he should make his decision. He tapped the table a few times, both as a means to grab attention and to expel restless energy. When the beetle turned back to him, Hegemol voiced his concerns. "So- erm. You say it would be- it would be until my armor is found, yes? But.. w-what if it isn't found? I would need to get back to working on a n-new suit."

His fellow knight gave him an understanding look. "Should that be necessary, I'll let you out to continue your work. I'll let you out whenever you ask, really! The goal is to ease your mind and allow you some rest, not to trap you. Once you feel ready, you can get right back to it. I'll even let you back in later, if the need arises," he finished with a wink.

The tinkerer obliged him with a laugh. Yeah, Ogrim would never want to hurt him. He was far too kind-hearted, not to mention a dear friend. Giving the situation one last thought, Hegemol weighed the pros and cons. There weren't all that many cons, truthfully. He would be putting his life entirely in the Defender's claws—in his stomach, even—but he knew he could trust Ogrim. And there would be little to no privacy between them, but again, he trusted his friend not to abuse that. The courtesy would extend both ways, of course. And it would be strange, and new, and scary, but isn't everything, the first time around? He couldn't have gotten this far in life without taking a few risks.

As for pros, it would be… comfortable, supposedly. Dark, warm, and soft—ideal sleeping conditions. He didn't know if he'd be able to get past the other traits that defined the inside of a digestive organ, but he supposed he'd simply have to find out. But, most importantly, he'd be shielded from the world. He would have to relinquish all control, but in exchange, he would gain full protection. The thought gave him pause. It would only be for a resting period, and then he'd be released, he reminded himself. In sleep, he would have no control either way, so he wasn't sacrificing much of anything in that regard.

In the end, it all came down to trust. Trust, and willingness to try a new experience.

Finally, Hegemol looked up, meeting Ogrim's gaze head-on, and gave a single, firm nod. The dung beetle brightened considerably. "You accept?"

This was his chance to back down. He fought off the urge to take it. Be brave, o Mighty One. "Yes."

"Excellent! And, er.. Just to clarify, you do know what, precisely, I am offering?"

The maggot nodded again, more shallowly, expression revealing little. "Y-you wish to… ingest me. And hold me harmlessly within y-your stomach while I rest. Is my understanding correct?"

The Defender leaned back a bit. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least somewhat looking forward to this, but it didn't seem like the time to admit that aloud. "Ah, heh, 'wish' might be a strong word for it, but, er. Essentially, yes. That's my offer. Knowing that, you'd still agree to it?"

"Mhm."

"Good, good, that's good. I just wanted to make certain you knew what you would be getting into. Now!" He grinned and clacked his claws together in a clap. "Let's get to it, shall we?"

Hegemol let out a slight huff of relief. If his friend asked him if he was sure one more time, he was almost certain he would've changed his answer. He scanned the beetle's face, considering. "So, how do we.. go about this? I'm not too familiar with the process."

"Right, right. Well, to start, we need to get you into my mouth, which- hm. That's a good question, actually! We have a couple options for that. Would you be alright with me picking you up? That would be the easiest way, I think. Otherwise, I could hold my forearms out, and you could climb onto them yourself. Oh, or we could use the table! I could rest my chin on the edge, and you could crawl in of your own volition."

Ah, another chance to lose his nerve, how lovely. Still, with how excited his fellow knight looked over having the idea, the tinkerer could hardly find it in himself to turn him down. "T-that last choice sounds, um, acceptable."

Once again reminded of his comrade's hesitance, Ogrim tried to tone down his enthusiasm. Keeping his expression and tone light, he provided directions, wanting to make it easier on the smaller bug. "Alright. Go ahead and hop up, and I'll be ready whenever you are."

The beetle backed up a little to give Hegemol room as the tinkerer moved his tools and materials out of the way, shuffling them aside to be put away properly later. That done, he pulled himself from the stool onto his workbench. Cautiously, he turned back to his friend, who had gotten to one knee and was already lowering his head onto the surface.

Gods, even at eye level, he was.. big. Big, and yet not big enough, or so it appeared. His mouth was larger than the maggot's own, yes, but their eyes were around the same scale. There couldn't have been much difference between the sizes of their heads, even. Ogrim gave him an easy grin, then everything else stopped as his maw opened wide.

Oh.

The anxious knight couldn't help the shudder that ran through him at the yawning cavern. No, Hegemol. Calm. Focus. It's just Ogrim. Just Ogrim… He steeled himself and crept closer. Those jaws could open further than he expected, honestly. He eyed the saliva starting to pool alongside the beetle's tongue with trepidation. He was hoping there'd be less of it. Leaning forward on his forelimbs, he took in the sight of the Defender's waiting mouth, shivering as humid breath washed over him, antennae flicking back. It was so still, so patient, and yet he could see all the little twitches of each muscle, held taut in anticipation. He sat back, just enough to lift his upper hands and tap them together nervously.

This didn't escape the other's notice, of course. Ogrim let his face fall into something more relaxed and reassuring. "I promise you, this is safe. I won't let you come to any harm, and certainly not from my own body."

Hegemol heaved in a breath and straightened up, rubbing his arm, brushing over his scars. "I-I know. I trust you. That's.. that's not it, e-exactly, it's just…"

"Mm?"

He huffed and blurted out his concern. "Just- are we- we sure I-I'll fit? Not that I d-don't trust your judgment, it just- i-it seems- …improbable."

The dung beetle blinked. After a moment, he put a claw to his mandibles, eyes squinted slightly in thought. "Hmm… It shouldn't be a problem! I've never ingested anyone quite your size before, true, but your, er, malleability should more than make up for that." To prove his point, he carefully pressed down on the maggot's head, watching the flesh bounce back into place as he released it. Hegemol shook himself out and nodded, eyes squeezed shut. Ogrim chuffed apologetically. "The process of getting you down might be rough, but I assure you, it should be quite comfortable once you're safely inside."

"I-I'm sure. Could- could we..?"

"Of course, friend, of course."

Once more, the maw was laid open before him. Once more, Hegemol inched forward, until his vision was almost entirely taken up by the shadowed green inside of his fellow knight's mouth. Once more, he steeled himself for what was to come. And with that, he pushed forward to immerse himself in Ogrim's depths.

Or he tried to, anyway. In reality, what happened was that he flinched back as soon as he felt mandibles scrape against the sides of his face. Sharp, sharp, far too sharp. As he crouched there, panting and staring, those perfectly innocuous chunks of chitin seemed all too threatening. He could feel lingering points of contact where they had just barely brushed against him. As the larger bug closed his mouth to tilt his head in concern, Hegemol gasped in a breath and let his eyes fall shut. Scarab mandibles aren't sharp, you blubbering fool. Where's all that courage it took to get here? He barely touched you.

"...You don't have to do this if you're not comfortable, Hege-"

"No, no," he shook his head and sat up, meeting the beetle's eyes with a determined look. "Th-that was just- instinct. I want to do this. I-I just.." Ogrim gave him a questioning look, waiting patiently. "Could," the maggot started. He huffed, frustrated with himself. "Could you.. put me in your- your mouth? I- You have experience with this, and I- I'd rather this part b-be over with."

Somehow, the Defender's voice fell to an even gentler tone. "Of course, I understand. Just relax, close your eyes if you'd like, and I'll take care of it from here."

With one final nod, Hegemol went still, his eyes falling shut as instructed. He couldn't bring himself to go entirely limp, but this would have to do. He couldn't keep himself from tensing slightly as large claws came to rest on either side of his face. Thankfully, Ogrim provided him a moment to breathe and resettle himself before gently tugging him forward. The solid chitinous appendages squeezed ever so carefully to reshape his head into something narrower. He took one more deep breath, and with that, he was finally guided into the maw of his brother in arms.

The beetle tried not to gasp as Hegemol made contact with his tongue. The taste… He wasn’t normally one for meat, but by the gods, his friend tasted divine. He couldn’t help the saliva that rushed in upon detecting such a delicacy entering his mouth, but he could at least make use of it. He promptly began to slather the maggot with fluid as soon as his head was engulfed in his jaws. The sweet, savory flesh was still highly malleable, conforming to the limits of Ogrim’s mouth, giving so easily to the ministrations of his tongue. He stayed mindful, of course. He didn’t want to startle his friend any further, let alone make him feel like a mere morsel, Wyrm forbid. No, no, of course not, he was just.. slicking him to ease the trip down, that’s all. He’d just have to make sure to clarify that once the tinkerer was settled. Along with, perhaps, a brief, tasteful compliment to his flavor. The Defender couldn’t exactly lie to his fellow knight, now could he? Especially when- ah, it seemed he was humming his enjoyment aloud. He let the low sound peter out, gave the other a short pat, and eased him further inside.

The smaller knight would've very much appreciated it if his friend could have gotten this part over with. He didn't need his thoughts spiraling out of control again before he was even fully inside. Nearly holding his breath, he hunkered down and let everything happen around him. It was difficult not to struggle, but he managed, keeping himself limp. Luckily, it seemed that the brunt of the.. tasting was over, though he couldn't help tensing as his head met the back of the throat. His antennae twitched against the damp surface. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, it was easy to feel when the flesh before him parted, opening into a yawning void that he didn’t dare gaze upon. The sparse moments before it pulled him inside seemed to last an eternity, until finally, Ogrim swallowed.

The scarab couldn't help but grin as his comrade began to slide into his gullet. He'd never gotten the chance to really enjoy the process before, especially not with anyone so squishy. Now, he could finally be slow, gentle, rather than rushing to get his charge down and out of danger. He could feel every little detail of his friend's form, taste every little subtle flavor. Every twitch and squirm was clear to him, even as he could tell how much the smaller knight was trying to keep calm, keep still. Without his input, another hum kicked up. His claws met his chest, hardly able to detect the near-formless shape past his own flesh and shell and armor, but distinctly feeling the mass pushing outward against the muscles of his esophagus. His tongue flicked out against his mandibles, seeking more of the exquisite taste. Such a wonderful little warmth, being squeezed down, down, deeper into his body.

Despite the discomfort of being shoved around like a helpless ragdoll, Hegemol was grateful that at least this part of the process was smooth and efficient. The esophageal muscles’ actions were involuntary, simply performing the job they were made for and giving him no special treatment. He was shunted downward at a steady pace. Fast, but not so much as to be disorienting. The mechanicalness of it all was almost a comfort to the tinkerer. More examples of automation and consistency became clear to him as he was pushed deeper. The regular pounding of his friend’s heart, pushing blood through the beetle’s hemocoel. Breaths drawing air through the spiracles to spread into tracheae, carrying oxygen to tissues throughout the body. Soft gurgles of the lower digestive tract processing food eaten long before his arrival. The rhythm of life was overwhelming, when heard all at once, but as he broke it down in his mind to its component parts, it became a sort of reassurance. Things still made sense, even when made up of complex organic matter rather than raw elements or simple minerals.

All this self-soothing focus was enough to occupy his attention until he was dropped unceremoniously into Ogrim’s stomach. He quickly pushed himself upright and shook himself out, scrubbing at his face with his upper set of hands. He had barely a second to orient himself before the wall behind him squeezed inward, making him gasp.

The Defender hugged himself tightly as his fellow knight was deposited safe in his belly. So soft, so warm, just barely weighing down the organ. The perfect size to make him comfortably full, while still having a fair bit of wiggle room. He wasn't sure if the maggot really was as warm as he seemed, or if it was just his own fondness and contentment making it feel that way. And the softness… With how pliant Hegemol's exterior was, it was hard to make out his outline, discern where the smaller bug ended and his own flesh began. He could only determine his friend's exact location by the movements against his inner walls. It made every shift of the limbs and flick of the antennae feel special, ephemeral, giving him a fluttery sensation as though his gut were full of lumaflies rather than a comrade. He gave another small squeeze, then loosened his hold to instead pat lightly at the hidden form. This was lovely, every bit of it. He'd have to see if Hege would ever be willing to do this again sometime.

“Make yourself at home, dear friend,” Ogrim sighed, a blissful smile on his face. “Are you alright? How is it in there? Comfortable, I hope.”

Hegemol shuddered a bit as the wall retracted. Sitting up, he looked around, not that he could see anything, exactly. His antennae waved about in the darkness. It smelled.. odd. He wouldn’t call it gross—as a maggot, he’d be hard-pressed to find much of anything disgusting—but it was certainly new. Not impossible to get used to though, given enough time. He reached out to touch the enclosing flesh. Damp. Slippery. Dragging his hand along it, he felt out the space around him. There wasn’t much. The walls kept closing in on him, rubbing against him, kneading him. He wasn’t food. There was no acid, he- he wasn’t food, it was just- the organ was investigating its new occupant, that’s all. Breathe, Hegemol. He was fine. …He’d be fine.

“..Hegemol?”

Slowly, he turned around to face the front, resting his forehead against where Ogrim’s claw was with a sigh. “I-I’m alright, yes.” He was safe, he knew. No stinging, burning, or tingling, and he was certain he’d notice a lot faster than most other bugs if there was. As for comfort… He moved a hand to rub back at the beetle’s innards. It was.. soft, yes, and warm. That was to be expected. Arthropods’ interiors tended to have far less defense than their exteriors. And there was plenty of padding to hold in heat. The walls were slick, but covered in thick fluid that clung to anything it touched. It… he couldn’t say it was unpleasant, really, not when he knew it couldn’t hurt him. Perhaps if he viewed it as a warm bath..?

“I-it will take some g-getting used to, I think, but it- it should d-do nicely.” After all, it did provide the one thing he wanted. The outside world was entirely blocked out, hidden behind layers of muscle and one of the toughest sets of armor in Hallownest. There was nothing sharp or cold or hard, deep in the dung beetle’s gut. Nothing to possibly hurt him but for the acids that could threaten to escape the walls, kept inert by Ogrim’s sheer force of will and care for his wellbeing. He knew the larger knight was experienced in this, and that his will was strong. He could trust him with his life. He was safe.

The tinkerer did one more loop of the space, trying not to shudder as the surrounding muscles brushed against his side, then settled right in the center, lying down in the pit of the stomach. He shuffled his limbs a bit, adjusting his position to root himself more firmly amongst the ever-moving tissues. At least he could be somewhat stable. The organ still kneaded and pressed at him curiously, not quite knowing what to do with him. The front wall, especially. He shut his eyes tight and tilted his head down as something rubbed at him from the outside. Ogrim’s claw, right. Rightrightright. His friend was merely checking in on him. He leaned into the show of concern, just a bit. Just to confirm that he was doing well. He appreciated knowing that the scarab wouldn’t forget about him so easily.

Ogrim rubbed his stomach, satisfied. The little engineer really hit the spot. He flushed slightly; he shouldn’t be thinking of his comrade that way. He was so delectable though, and so filling-! His breath hitched as Hegemol nuzzled(??) back at him. That’s what it felt like, anyway. He quietly chuckled at the abrupt show of affection. Always full of surprises, that bug. Though perhaps this shouldn’t have been quite so unexpected. Hegemol was plenty tactile with his fellow knights when safely concealed in his armor, after all. Maybe this was a sign that the method was working? Was the maggot feeling more confident, thanks to the experience? Thanks to him? Oh, he hoped so. He so adored being able to successfully assist others with their needs and problems, particularly those he cared for. It always left him with a sense of fulfillment.

“It’s time for me to go back to my patrol now, but you try and get some sleep, alright? I’ll wake you if there’s any news regarding your armor, or if the King requests your presence, but otherwise, you should remain undisturbed. Just let me know when you want out, or if you need anything else, and I’ll be happy to oblige.” Somewhere under the layers of his body, he felt the up-and-down movement of a nod, as well as a small vibration from Hegemol’s hum of acknowledgement a moment later. With one more good pat, he stood and began towards the door of the workshop, trying to keep his steps smooth and steady for the tinkerer’s sake. It felt as though the smaller bug was already nestled right in. The occasional shudder or shiver came through, but those were starting to die down. Hopefully they would dissipate in full within the next few minutes as the maggot adjusted.

The White Defender paused as he reached the exit, one claw on the handle. He gazed fondly downward, towards where his brother in arms currently resided. Inside, Hegemol would hear one last reassurance as his sleepless nights caught up to him. “Rest well, friend,” came the hushed murmur, “I’ll be your armor for as long as you need.”

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

And there we go! Thank you to everyone who stuck around during these. massive gaps between posts;; And again, a big thank you to Scketch!! This has been fun, I'd love to work with you again sometime. Or merhaps another friend who would like to collaborate? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also also! I have been granted permission to share these other sketches as well, from earlier in the writing/art planning process:

(That last one was a little what-if scenario of Hege getting unwillingly nommed and not really having a way to effectively struggle, eheheh) (it’s not like I have a fic outline where THAT would ever happen. ahaha. ha,,, ha)

Thanks for reading! Feedback (and reblogs) are greatly appreciated, and criticism is welcome, so long as it’s constructive/respectful. Asks are open.

—————

DNI NSFW blogs, blogs that post exclusively hard and/or fatal vore, weight gain blogs, mpreg blogs, proshippers, TERFs, ace exclusionists, etc.

#soft vore #safe vore #extreme cuddling #hk vore #fandom vore #vore fic #my writing #vore art #not my art #collab #size difference vore #hk spoilers

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sunwarmed-ash · 7 months

Text

Voters Choice: Roy x Jamie x Keeley snippet

AN: its gonna start p angsty before it gets happy, season 2 is where sad boi Jamie shines.(BUT S3 THE POLYCULE POTENTIAL EXPLODES) Trigger warnings: physical violence, Drink spiking/drugging (NO SA)

“What's next for Jamie Tartt?”

The obvious answer was to go back to Man City. But much like, well, everyone else in his life thus far, Keeley, Richmond, Love Island, even his hometown didn't want him. And that was just too much to swallow. Everyone wanted him, ever since he hit puberty. And even more once he became a footballer.

“The fuck you mean no one wants me! I’m Jamie fucking Tartt!”

“Jamie, you know I love you, you're like a son to me. But now you're like a dead son. Which makes me love you even more. Now get out.”

For the first time in years, he was at a complete and total loss as to what to do next. He didn't know where to go. He couldn't go home. Not after that horridus talk show re-airs on the late night telly and his father starts blowing up his phone with cruel, warranted abuse. He couldn’t go back to Richmond. He couldn't. The team would probably physically rip him to shreds.

He was lost. So fucking lost. He needed to talk to someone.

And he doubts even she would be particularly happy to see him….

Fuck!

Arguably, his talk with Keeley did make him feel better. She helped remind him at least one person in this world still wanted to get to know Jamie Tartt the person and not the (failed) celebrity and footballer.

But now that he's left her place, he’s stuck with the hollow feeling of loneliness again. Keeley was just helping him as a friend, and only a friend. Because Jamie’s the one who fucked up and blew his chance with her. And now, well she’s found someone who treats her better than he ever could. She deserves better than Jamie…

He talked with Ted too, and it went okay, yeah. If anything, it felt nice to tell someone about his dad. But then he had gotten rejected, again.

‘Jamie, you're a hell of a player, but I don’t think it's a good idea.’

Further reinforcing his manager's (and inexplicably fathers) words that truly, no one wanted him anymore. And it fucking stung. Jamie stared hateful daggers at the beer Ted bought him.

Well, fuck that shit.

It was Friday night, he was back in Richmond, and too fucking tired to really go anywhere else. If he hopped enough pubs, he would surely find someone who wanted him.

“Well, well well, look who it is! Me own flesh an' blood!”

Before he can even make it to the first pub he wanted to check out, his blood runs cold and stops him in place at the voice of his father. “Surprised you’d show your face in public after such a pathetic and public fall from grace!” Jamie Sr. continues.

Jamie had hoped, prayed, if he actually gave a shit about praying, that 200 miles was enough distance between him and his father to avoid a ‘bump into’, but it seems like his bad luck just kept coming tonight.

He ignores him. Tries to be the bigger person. Jamie cuts left and turns to try and get anywhere public as soon as possible, but before he can take a step he’s going down. The first hit was solid, and right to the ribs. It absolutely came from his dads hand. Each of his fathers friends took their turn after. Bug was easy enough to avoid, the man was out of shape and old. But Denbo had power behind his fists. Jamie yanks himself off the ground in time to duck one, but practically walked right into the second one. It hit him square in the gut, knocking almost all of the air from his lungs.

“Fuck,” he wheezes, wrapping one arm around his torso before rearing back and kicking. He had more power in his legs than his arms, and the swift deliverance to Denbo’s sternum with his heeled dress shoe had the older man collapsing on the cobblestone.

And then, Jamie runs. And doesn't stop until he reaches the back alley of Crown & Anchor again.

As soon as he reaches the deserted location he collapses, wheezing out his agony. When his back came in rough contact with the brick, he folds like a paper plane. He yanks up and grips his knees, trying to focus on the steady intake of oxygen and not the throbbing unanswered question of What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He could feel the anxiety rapidly building in his chest, it was too much. He didn't have anything to relieve it.

Someone is shouting across the street, not close enough for him to be able to make out who or if they are talking to him or not. Jamie pulls up his hood and pushes on his sunglasses. He just wants to be left alone.

“Jamie?” the soft, now familiar voice asks again. Jamie barely registers the soft hand on his shoulder. He blinks up to see the kind, and familiar eyes of his ex, and favorite person in the entire world (outside of himself), Keeley Jones.

“Keels? Uh, yeah hey.” He says, quickly adjusting himself so he didn't look so fucking pathetic. Girls didn't like that.

“Hey babe,” she smiles kindly, reading through his bullshit as she offered her hand to help him up. He took it. Of course he did. “Let's get you somewhere warmer than the alley huh? Want to come to my place, it’s just a few blocks. We can take the back way, less people at this hour.”

Jamie couldn't process most of what she said, but he nods as soon as she said leave here.

Most of the speed walk to their old shared flat went by in a blacked out blur, but when he was greeted with the familiar scent of sandalwood and citrus he knew he was home. It helped bring some of the feeling back into his trauma-numbed body.

“I just need to rest a few hours, honestly,” he starts, hoping maybe she’d offer to lay next to him, but then his eyes land on the most emotionally complicated person in the world, and now ‘home’ is the last place he wants to be. Because it's not his home anymore. It's theirs. Without him.

“Why’s he here?” Jamie asks, though he knows the answer.

“He lives here,” Roy explained, albeit nicer than Jamie's immediate, snappy tone.

The confirmation hurts worse than all of the physical attacks he’d endured tonight combined. Rejection burns hot in his gut. He’s gotta get out of here.

“We’re here to help Jamie.” Keeley attempts to reassure, but the panicky feeling only compounds, and he hates the way the spotlight is now on him. Even if they were just trying to help. It was having the opposite effect.

“I- can’t- this is too much-” he is barely able to get out.

“Maybe we should get you in bed,” Roy offers.

That’s enough to stop the panic attack in its tracks, switch railways and turn Jamie’s mood around. His eyes are blown wide in hopeful confusion, and he’s about to agree, yeah, that actually probably would help, before Roy quickly edited, “not- like that. To sleep.”

Jamie’s mouth snaps shut and he bites into his tongue to keep back how disparagingly rejected and embarrassed that made him feel.

In hindsight, they were probably right. He was exhausted. His body ached where there were surely bruises forming. Yet another thing he’d have to explain away at training, or tonight if they have sex. Jamie needed sleep. Not sex.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

They didn't talk about it, not really. Roy and Keeley gave him the support he desperately needed that night. They surprisingly allow him to cuddle between their two warm bodies, and it helps more than he can ever make his mouth admit.

But then in the morning he left, giving them their life back.

And they didn't talk about it.

Like it never happened.

-One week later-

Jamie doesn't drink, and it will become abundantly clear over the next few hours why he doesn’t. Part of it is because his fathers lost his entire life and mind to booze, and tried to take him and his mum down with him. But mostly he just didn't like it. Didn't like the smell, didn't like the taste, and he didn't like feeling out of control of his body. But he was in a mood, one that would not be lightened by anything but sex or Keeley and currently both of those options were off the table.

The idiots down at the end of the counter are trying not stealthy at all to take his picture and he is just not having it.

“CAN I GET ANOTHER ONE MAE?” he asks loudly in the crowded pub before flipping the three fans off. It only makes them cheer and giggle more.

“One second Tartt,” she shouts back, though not unkindly, and his eyes go right back into the bottom of his empty glass. The buzzing in his head was still too loud. He needed something to dull it out.

“Maybe I could interest you in this, it'll save you the refill time,” An older blonde gentleman probably Ted's age said as he saddled up next to him. Jamie hadn't seen the man come in, or seen him around town really. This pub had a pretty reliable clientele. Jamie has definitely never seen this man before.

“What is it?” Jamie asked, nodding towards the fruity looking drink with the pink paper umbrella.

“Mai Tai,” the older gentleman smiles and something about it makes Jamie's stomach turn.

“Do I look like I drink Mai Tai’s?” Jamie shot back, because he felt almost insulted by the cocktail. He could hear his fathers hateful monologue in his ears discrediting anything that could be considered soft. Not masculine. Queer.

“You look like someone who might want company tonight, which is why I came over.” His accent claimed he wasn’t from around here and Jamie considers, well maybe, sex wasn’t completely off the table.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks. Tonight, he really doesn’t want to fuck a fan.

The man tilted his head like a confused puppy. It was kinda cute. Ya know, if you were into that…

“No, should I?”

Jamie scoffed. American’s. No taste in real sport.

“Guess not.”

“My name is John,” the man said, holding out his hand with a radiant smile.

Jamie returned it.

“Jamie.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Jamie.”

Jamie blinks and suddenly he can't tell if they have been sitting here at the hightop for 5 minutes or 5 hours. All of the faces of the pub patrons look the same and it makes his eyebrows bunch together in frustration. At least he thinks they do that, he actually can’t feel any part of his face…

He turns and suddenly he’s face to face with the Mai Tai man and he’s grinning, in a way that makes Jamie's insides churn and threaten to spew. The next moment the man is attempting to close the distance between their mouths and Jamie is acting on instinct. His fist comes out fast, punching into the jaw of the older man hard.

It makes quite the commotion, because the man shouts, smashes his own glass over Jamie’s head, and Jamie is shouldering him into the rough edge of the counter in an adrenaline fuled rebuttal.

The next moments pass in a blur. Everyone is screaming, Mae is yelling at him specifically, and then two bigger regulars are carrying Jamie out of the bar. His attacker is conveniently nowhere to be found.

Jamie just wants to cry because how could this night get any worse?

#jamie tartt #royjamiekeeley #roy x jamie x keeley #royjamie #roy x keeley x jamie #keeleyjamie #roy x jamie #jamie x roy #ted lasso #find me on ao3 #sunwarmed ash #links in bio #i post new stuff every sunday #sinful sunday #kjr wips #i love these three #their character growth is so fucking amazing

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nessieart · 11 months

Text

》Teeth

Tony Stark, Peter Parker, a Shifter!Reader.

WC: about 2.3k

Warnings ⚠️ cursing probably, no y/n used, Canon level violence?, made up fantasy elements probably. image from google.

Summary: It was a nice evening for a walk before some jerk in a metal suit tried to take matters into his own hands.

---**---

Next>>

This wasn't anything new to you; that feeling of someone watching you. Although it was normal, you suppose, being in a big city like New York would do that. But you still couldn't shake that feeling that someone was just beyond your periphery.

It was colder today than it had been all month. The end of summer finally giving way to the cooler days and nights of Autumn. The wind swept low in Central Park, as you made your way through a small forested area.

The sun was setting behind the skyscrapers, painting the sky in bright shades of pinks and orange. It was your favorite time of day, the noise of the city didn't really reach you here, and there wasn't a lot of foot traffic either.

As you walked, your hands reached out to touch the leaves and twigs as you went by - the wind shifted and blew your hair in your face. Then you smelled it, the change of scents in the air. You stopped and turned your head into the wind, sniffing again, yep there was definitely someone following you - and poorly at that.

You had a few choices you could make: make a break for it and try to outrun who was following you; run at them head-on and take them out, or confront them politely, it could just be a misunderstanding... right?

Right. Ok. Think fast.

So, outrunning was as good an option as any! Dropping the things you had in your possession, you sprinted through the woods and down the path near a small lake. Behind you, you could hear someone cursing, trying their best to keep up with your unusually fast running.

You lept over fencing as you sped through the rest of Central Park, the exit only a short distance away. You could lose whoever was chasing you in the evening crowd of people coming out of the subway. Then you heard it; a whirring, loud and getting closer. Instinctively, you ducked, dodging out of the way of red metal fingertips close to closing around the hood of your hoodie. You skid to a stop as the one and only Iron Man pulses to a stop about 20 feet from you, in the air.

Iron Man's blue gleaming eyes of his helmet zeroed in on your form, your chest heaving as you catch your breath.

You narrow your eyes at his hovering form, "ain't you got bad guys to chase, metal man?" You shift on your feet when he only tilts his head at you. Huffing, you look around you, maybe you could lose him if you could make it to the subway and hop the turnstile if you really tried.

"She's at the south entrance, spidey," you can hear Iron Man speaking to someone, you assume since you don't smell or see anyone else around. "Yeah, don't worry, kid, she isn't going anywhere."

You think you can hear a smirk under his mask, you roll your eyes. The whirring of his repulsors slowly fade out as he sinks back to earth, his heavy metal clad feet clomping on the asphalt. You shift on your back foot ready to run as he approaches you.

Iron Man raises his hands up in surrender when he sees you take a defensive stance, "Easy, lady," he says, his mask still in place, "wouldn't want things to get...hairy." That damn smirk was clearly back on his lips and you stilled.

He couldn't know. I've been careful. He's just being a dick.

Then you heard a thwip, and a soft padding of feet land on the lamp post above you.

Shit. "Well, howdy there, little bug," you say, faking nonchalance, glancing up at him while also keeping Iron Man in your sights.

"That's her, Mr. Stark! I can't believe you found her!" The spider boy said. His enthusiasm palpable as he leaned far over the lamp post and hung upside down to look at you.

Heaving a sigh you said, "listen, Bug, I thought we had a deal?"

"W-well, ye-yeah," he stuttered. "It's just--"

"No!" You interrupted his stuttering, "I was pretty crystal clear there, bug boy!" You snarled. You were getting irritated. Maybe because it was only a few days away from the full moon, who's to say.

--*--

A month ago...

The full moon was tonight and you were itching out of your skin. It was always like this -- living in a new city was like that. Uncertainty around the corner, and in alleyways.

You've been bussing at a restaurant when you arrived about a week ago in the city. It was easier getting food when you could sneak it out with you when you left. Living on the rooftop of the building wasn't bad either, at least the weather was nice.

That evening before the moon was high, you made your way up the fire escape of the opposite building to get to your sleeping arrangements when you hurt a commotion coming from the alley across the street.

Thinking nothing of it, you continued your way up.

"Please! Someone, help!" You heard someone cry. Placing the food that was wrapped up in napkins down, you peered out from the fire escape to see if you could get a better look at what was happening across the street.

Leaping off the fire escape, you landed swiftly and started to jog your way to the commotion further down the alley. There you found a group of men - to say men would be an understatement -

"Scum," you snarl at the group of four. One of them has a woman in his hold, her back to his front as she struggles to get free. His arms are wrapped around her midsection and across her shoulders, he whispers something in her ear and she turns to look at you with wide eyes.

"Please," she whimpers, a slight shake of her head. Was she warning you? Maybe she should warn the men, you smirk.

"Why don't ya'll let the lady go, yeah? Pick on someone else, or maybe just fuck right off." Your skin prickles, a feeling you've becomes so used to since the first time you shifted.

One of the men takes a few steps closer to you as you take a defensive stance. He goes to attack you, punching with his fist as you catch it in your palm. His eyes widen as he looks down at you, "what the hell?" You shift your weight and toss his clear overhead at the side of the dumpster.

The other two men not holding the woman look back at the one that is. He must be the boss man you think. They charge at you and you dodge one, punch the other in the stomach and he doubles over. Quickly turning around, the one you dodged comes back to tackle you. As he grabs around your midsection you grab around his torso to hoist him over head and he falls down to the concrete of the alley with a heavy thud.

The last one standing has shoved the woman he had in his arms to the ground, away from him. You nod to her, and she scrambles back as far as she can. The moon overhead breaks through the clouds and your heartbeat picks up, thudding in your chest you can hear the whoosh in your ears.

Your bones crack in a sickening crunch; it only hurts for an instant before you change. Teeth lengthening into large fangs, the bones in your fingers and toes crack and extend into claws. Your heels breaking and shifting. Tufts of reddish brown fur sprouted from your elbows, shoulders, the back of your calves and along your arms. Your ears point and extend, little tufts of fur forming at the tips.

Your height and build are lean and tall. A big bushy tail bursting out above the top of your jeans, which has ripped and shredded from your partial transformation. You look more coyote than wolf, in your half done features.

The process takes all but a few seconds while the assailant stands there gaping at your now towering form. Blueish green eyes glow in the dark alley, illuminating the frightened man's features.

You crouch, intent on knocking the man out, but before you make contact a sticky substance wraps around your ankles and you trip into the man in front of you. Sharp pain radiates in your side after you roll off the man as best you can. There's a knife sticking out of you. Growling low you remove the knife and jab it into the man's leg.

"Uh, h-hey! Excuse me," a voice from above you calls. Gripping your side you stand, bent over slightly. You glance in the direction of the voice. Was he sitting on the wall? Well nothing should surprise you, honestly.

"What d'you want, kid?" You ask, voice gravely and deep. Taking your clawed hand away from your side. Yep definitely still bleeding.

"Whoa! Are you like some kind of wolf? What do you call it? A werewolf? Man that's so crazy - oh man, Mr Stark will never believe this. Hey wait, where are you going?" The little bug kept going on and on, rambling faster than you could register. So you started making your way back up the alley towards your fire escape. The food was probably cold by now.

A boy clad in red with giant bug eyes leaps from the building to land silently in front of you; while also thwipping the men in the alley with - what the...webs? Did those come out of him? Gross. - Sticking them together for him to hopefully deal with later.

"Wait, you're hurt. Let me help you," he says, his hands up to show you he means no harm. "I'm Spiderman, by the way." His eyes squint like he's smiling under that mask.

You huff, "I'll be fine, Little Bug," you remove your hand to show him your side is already healing and the blood oozing out has stopped. You eye him warily, giving him your name quietly. His big bug eyes widen again and he goes to touch your side but stops short. You're a good 3 feet taller than him when you go to stand up fully.

Spiderman backs up quickly, thwipping up to the fire escape above you, "whoa ok hey, sorry. I was just curious! That's pretty neat, though. Do you also have a fast metabolism?--" he's rambling again. Rolling your eyes you leap from the ground up to him on the fire escape to pick up your discarded items and food.

As you make your way to the rooftop, he's still talking a mile a minute. You grunt responses every now and then to show him you're at least semi listening.

Before your little big friend leaves you for the evening you stop him, you have shifted back to looking normal, small again and around his height. He was less intimidated by you now after spending most of the night by your side.

"Listen, Bug, I would really, really appreciate it if you never told anyone about tonight. Or about me," you shuffle on your feet while looking around. "Can you promise me?" You look at him now, his giant eyes soften almost and he nods.

"Of course, I'm really good at keeping secrets! You can trust me!" He waves a little goodbye as he thwips onto a building and slings away.

--*--

You growl, "you said you could keep a secret!" Maybe you had too much faith in the spider-boy to keep his word. After all, trusting humans never worked out well for you before.

You crouched low as he dropped from the lamppost, his hands raised he called your name softly, "Please, I just want to help - we want to help," the spider motioned towards Iron Man who hadn't moved since he landed a few feet from you.

You shook your head, "can't trust humans as far as you can throw 'em." You backed away a few steps.

"Bet you could chuck Spidey here pretty far, Michael J. Fox," the robotic distortion of the voice was gone as you looked toward Iron Man. His suit slid open and out he stepped, wearing a beat up looking band tee and well-worn jeans. That stupid smirk you could hear earlier was at play on his lips.

You narrowed your eyes at him, straightening back up, "It's a figure of speech, metal head." He kept a nonchalant gait as he made his way towards you and Spiderman, his hands shoved into his pants pockets.

He shrugged, looking you up and down, "I've got an area back at the tower for you, during the full moon if you're interested," he didn't wait for you to respond as he kept talking. "It's a nice, secured floor only you can enter. Shift in the safety and privacy of your own space. Or whatever you need to do." He stopped about 2 feet from you. Looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

You sniffed, he smelled of engine grease and coffee, and maybe a hint of something else you couldn’t place. You couldn't smell any deception from him. He seemed sincere enough.

Eyeing him warily, "Why?" Was all you said.

He shrugged a shoulder, "I'm a generous guy, what can I say?" He sobered a look from the little spiderling to you. “Sometimes it's ok to take the help when it's offered to you," he nodded a little, stepping back a bit.

The spider boy stood near you bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands fidgeting at his side. Big eyes pleading silently at you.

You sigh, looking from your little Bug to the man who was offering you sanctuary for the next full moon. So you nod.

Iron man claps his hands once, "Great! Let's head out!" He turns to go back to his suit, which was waiting patiently for his return. Before he enters it he looks over his shoulder at you, "Are you more of a David Kessler or Jacob Black?"

You growl at him in response. His laugh echoes through the street as it morphs into that robotic lilt when the mask closes over his face, and he takes off into the night sky.

--*--

next>>

AN: I don't write. Well I haven't written anything since high school. But it's been in my head and I really need to get it out and put it down somewhere..

its bad but it's been haunting me forever and I just needed to get it out of my head. If you reached the end I want to thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this hot mess.

#Tony Stark x Reader #werecoyote!reader #weredog!reader #Tony Stark imagine #Spiderman is there too #we love an over excited Peter Parker #i'm bad at writing #but it wouldnt leave my mind #so here we are #shifter!reader #best friend!peter Parker

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morganofthewildfire · 1 year

Text

________________________________________________________

Light of Love

________________________________________________________

guys i wrote!

~ 900 words

CW: mentions of drug use, mentions of kidnapping

________________________________________________________

It was around 3 in the morning when a familiar knock rapped at his window.

Rowan was awake in an instant, a sigh escaping through his nose before he could even consciously comprehend what was going on. But he didn’t need to, this dance already so ingrained in his brain it was just muscle memory as he rolled out of bed, throwing on the glasses he never wore apart from times like this, before dragging his feet over to the window.

A familiar head of blonde hair was already peering at him through the glass, and he didn’t even need to look into her eyes to know she was high. But he did anyway, and like always, mourned the sight of that beautiful blue being swallowed up by that unforgiving black.

“You’re the best, Ro,” Aelin Galathynius said as he unlocked the window and pushed it up to let her in. Like always. Her words were slurred, and she was unsteady as she clung to him, smiling up at him with that wide smile of hers. “I’d go home, but, you know.”

She said it every time, and yeah, he did know.

Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius were the definition of overprotective. If they even smelled a whiff of alcohol on her breath, or gods forbid, the drugs she did at least once a week, she would be grounded before she could finish saying I can explain.

So…she crashed here.

Rowan had only known Aelin for a few years, after having moved to Orynth for high school when his dad died. His mom worked nights at the hospital, so it was usually just him there. A perfect place for her to lay low.

They’d met freshman year in English class, after an unfortunate partner project that had led to the friendship they had now.

Friendship. Yeah.

Because that’s what they were. Friends.

Rowan thought it was a little more than friendly as she clung to him when he shut the window and locked it again, as she didn’t let go when he wandered back to his bed, just clambering in after him like she always did. Especially as she cuddled close under the covers, her body wrapped around his like a godsdamned koala bear.

He didn’t have the heart to push her away, nor did he really want to, but friends certainly didn’t act this way.

Rowan just sighed through his nose again, taking his glasses back off and closing his eyes, settling in for what was quickly becoming a normal night for him. It’d started with the drinking, back in sophomore year. While Rowan had been studying for his AP exams, Aelin had been partying it up with kids way older than her, managing to somehow get perfect scores on all of her exams and still get into a fuck ton of trouble.

Junior year, it’d escalated to the drugs. He’d freaked out the first time she’d showed up at his window, high as a kite, but just like now, he didn’t have the heart to turn her away. So began their new routine.

It’d been only occasional that she’d get that bad, but now, senior year, she was coming over once a week. At least.

Rowan knew why she did it. It wasn’t hard to guess. Even though he hadn’t even lived in the city at the time, he knew about what happened.

Aelin Galathynius, daughter of two wealthy, politically connected parents. Kidnapped and held for nearly two weeks at eleven years old. For the ransom, for the connections, no one knew except for the people closely involved.

Rowan hadn’t asked her, and he wasn’t going to. He didn’t know what had happened to her in those two weeks, but he knew it was probably something that she was trying real hard to forget.

That’s why he didn’t bug her about it. That’s why he just unlocked the window and let her in. That’s why he let her cuddle close to him at night, liking how safe he made her feel in his arms.

It was too late to save her back then, but he could do the best he could now.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” Aelin said a few minutes later, after he thought she’d already fallen asleep. He cracked his eyes open, looking down at her. Her eyes were closed, but her face looked aware - and sad.

He didn’t answer at first, contemplating what to say. She’d told him last week that she was going to quit. But he didn’t believe her. She’d said that before, and she’d say it again. It was just the way of it.

Yeah, he wanted her to quit. He wanted her to be healthy and safe and not in need of something to dull the pain he knew was constantly flaring inside of her. But she needed to want it too.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” was what he settled on, and he felt more than heard her little sigh against the bare skin of his chest. Moments later, she was asleep, leaving him alone in the dark.

Rowan didn’t know what to do anymore, what to do with her. But that wasn’t something he could figure out now. So he just pulled her close, letting her head rest on his chest as he closed his eyes and waited for the morning light.

------

@wordsafterhours

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#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass au #light of love

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elvenbeard · 8 months

Text

3 hours into update 2.0.0....

I love it xD But also, I'm a little bit overwhelmed, but UUUURGGGHHH there are some real gems in there already 😩

So, I didn't start a new playthrough for time reasons and went right in with my post-ending save. There was some initial fuckery with my wardrobe outfits that seems fixed now though after unequipping everything and remaking the outfits xD Custom tattoo and scar mods work just fine though and I might test these next few days what other mods do :D I'm really happy about the tattoos though at least :3

Some Bugs

Also, someone desperately needs to send the NCPD some funds cause....

That vehicle doesn't look like it should be allowed in traffic (this happened twice, and I was cackling xDD honestly just a really funny little bug that's probably gonna get fixed somewhere down the line xD)

But yes... Man the new skills and perks and cyberware and EVERYTHING is so fucking cool, but also so fucking overwhelming when you're already level 42+ and have everything at your disposal all at once xD But I was so excited to see all the different new Kiroshi options and how cyberware is tied to skills like... damn. And the strongest quickhacks really need a fuckton of RAM... as they should. And I still need a fuckton of practise in terms of using them, but I'm really excited to get the hang of it all somewhere down the line :D

They didn't forget about the LIs!!!

But then this:

When I read this in the patch notes, I was so fucking excited xD Hell yeah, a good reason to go to the apartment apart from sorting through my inventory xD Some more Johnny interactions!

AND. A DREAM COME TRUE WITH ONE OF THE DIALOGUES!!!

I was always a bit sad that Johnny had no comments whatsoever on V's relationship with Kerry, when he did with some of the other LIs, so this already made my evening xDD and one of the big perks of jumping in with my post-ending save to already get to see and hear this now :DDD Not gonna spoil what he says but... yes XDD It fits, I figured. And I hope the other LIs get something similar because it's glorious xD

Vehicles and Radio

In regards to vehicle handling... I can definitely feel a difference with my go-to bike! Like, it still has its weaknesses, but also feels a lot more stable in other regards, less flimsy and "heavier" like they described it in the patch notes. I love it a lot. I didn't try vehicle combat yet, although I did get randomly attacked in the badlands by some NPCs once, which was very fun XD I almost had a heart-attack, but it did feel like something that could happen. Sadly didn't manage to get my revenge in time, but next time!!

I like the new radio stations, but didn't hear every song yet... but also, and I think some others already said that, they don't really add much new in terms of sound and genres. Nothing that isn't already there in some shape or form. But still nice to have something new to add to the rotation.

Leveldesign

And as I was driving around, I randomly stumbled right into Dogtown :DDD well, not quite but, damn, that was an impressive moment:

The faction of the guards was labelled as "Test" though xDD Close but, not quite... Figure that's also a little bug though.

Overall... I fucking love how they integrated it into Pacifica o.o It's insanely impressive, huge and rundown and maaaaaan.... I cannot wait to explore behind the walls!!

Also, random little thing... I feel like the clouds looked nicer? But that could be me not paying much attention/ rain being rare-ish in Night City.

Not Dogtown but North Oak, obviously. But... idk o.o The light shining through like that looked so fucking cool and realistic, but I really dont know if maybe this wasn't already part of the Pathtracing update and I just never noticed it like this before XD

And lastly... I discovered whose nooks they added to the Columbarium. Right in the feels.

Cannot wait to discover more little details as I go but URGH yeah. The tiny little Kerry convo already made it worth it for me XDD And Viktor <3 And the Autofixer shop is so cool! And aaahhh I cannot wait to see what's gonna come with PL :333

#cyberpunk 2077 #phantom liberty #phantom liberty spoilers #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers #elven plays cyberpunk 2077 #spoilers

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broskiblurbs · 1 year

Text

When I Lose You (A Tom Holland FanFic)

Words: 2729

Summary: You and Tom are engaged, but a battle with cancer has other plans.

Disclaimer: ANGST ANGST ANGST; mentions of death and vomit

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

Life. It’s a fragile thing. Something that can be taken in a second. You can do everything right and still not have enough time. Humans long to live until a hundred years old, but death could overcome them before another breath. In reality, how do we have the right to make plans for the future if it isn’t promised? Wouldn’t that be an insult, no, a challenge to the Grim Reaper himself? Death is horrifying and it’s coming.

This was something you found out on starry Friday night, well you imagined it would be starry if there wasn’t so much light pollution. The Hollands, a family you grew quite fond of, were having a rooftop party to celebrate Paddy graduating from secondary school. Everyone was having a great time. The loud music was causing a headache for you, but you just popped an Ibuprofen and kept pushing through. Headaches haven't been an uncommon thing for you recently, especially in the mornings. You figure it’s just the stress of wedding planning.

Tom Holland, your husband to be, currently had his arm around your waist and boasting to his best mate, Harrison, about soccer. Well, Tom would call it football. The world seemed to start spinning, so you burrow your face into your fiancé’s shoulder.

“You alright, love?” Tom’s sweet voice rang through your ears.

“I’m not feeling so well,” you answer, feeling your stomach turning inside and out.

“We can leave if we have to. Paddy would understand,” he suggested.

“No,” you respond. Sure, Tom’s little brother would understand, but you only graduate from secondary school once and you wanted to celebrate with him. “Maybe, we could just sit down for a bit.”

“Of course, darling.”

The two of you sat at a couple of loveseats where Harry and Sam Holland were sitting as they discussed bright ideas for The Brother’s Trust. The twins have been your best friends since long before you and Tom started dating. They were running down the sidewalks, for God knows what, in New York City, and Harry accidently ran into you causing you to spill your coffee all over yourself. To make up for it, they bought you a new shirt and coffee. You all have been the dream trio ever since.

About twenty minutes after sitting down, you started feeling even worse. You felt like your brain was going to pound out of your skull. The dizziness felt like you just got off of one of those spinning rides at the amusement park. The vomit, well, you were sure that was going to come back up at any moment. It was dancing its way up your throat and you knew it was coming.

“I’m going to be sick,” you announce, weakly. Tom rushed you inside, knowing you wouldn’t want to throw up in front of everyone. Harry and Sam were right on your heels. They wanted to be there for you, but they didn’t know how. You emptied your insides in the nearest trash can you can find. Tom gently rubbed your back and pulled your hair out of the way as you puke.

“I’m going to go get you some water,” Sam said and hurried on his way.

“It tastes disgusting,” you manage to say in between chunks.

“I know, love. Um, Harry. Do you think you could grab something like a paper towel or a wash rag?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” The two of you sit in silence, other than the sound of you gagging, for a while before Tom speaks up.

“Darling, I know you hate doctors, but maybe it’s time to see one. You’re always sick and I’m worried,” your fiancé suggests. You finally manage to stop throwing up.

“No, it’s probably a bug. Nothing a little rest can’t fix,” you respond.

“But-”

“I said it’s fine, Tom,” you bite back a bit more harshly than you intended.

Before Tom could say anything else, the twins were back and ready to help their friend any way they can. They wiped the puke off your face and made sure you’re all hydrated before you make your way back to the party. Unfortunately, you never make it back to the celebration because you pass out cold right before you get to the door that led out to the rooftop.

“Y/N!” Tom and his brothers rush to your side. “Darling, can you hear me?” Sam checks for your pulse and thankfully it’s there, but weak. “Harry, call 999. Sam, get Mum and Dad.” Tears are rolling down Tom’s cheeks as he screams for you to be okay.

Your arms and legs start jerking. Your head starts shaking all around. Your lips are turning blue and you are obviously having a hard time breathing. Tom sits next you panicked, having no idea how to help you. He felt completely useless and because of that he might lose you. “Oh my god, she’s having a seizure,” Nikki, the mother, exclaimed. She immediately takes control of the situation by making sure there were no harmful objects nearby. She also turned you on your side so you could breathe easily.

“I didn’t- I couldn’t help her.” At this point Tom is hysterical.

“Hon, I know this is really scary, but right now, the best thing you could do is keep calm. Take a couple deep breaths. That’s what she needs from you.” She turns to her twins. “You two, go downstairs and direct the paramics up here. The last thing she needs is to be crowded when she wakes up.”

But, you don’t wake up until you’re in the emergency room. You are hooked up to a monitor and IVs. You have a device around your face that helps oxygen go into your nose. You will later find out that it is called a nasal cannula. You still have a headache and you feel like you’ve been hit by a bus. You see Tom staring at you. His eyes are puffy and red. His cheeks are very tear-stained. He’s just looking at you. Not saying anything.

“How long have I been out?” you ask, deciding to break the silence.

“A day,” he responds, almost emotionless.

“Are you-” You were going to ask if he is okay, but he interrupts.

“I’m going to go get the doctor.” He leaves you worried. He never acts like that: cold and distant.

A few minutes later Tom comes back with a cheery doctor. A doctor who you will get close to in the upcoming weeks, Dr. Parker.

“Good morning, Y/N,” she greets. It wasn’t morning. She’s just trying to lighten the room a bit. “I’m Dr. Parker. How are you feeling?”

“I have a bit of a headache and I feel a bit weak, but nothing to worry about,” you respond, which causes Tom to scoff.

“Go ahead. Tell her. Tell her what you told me,” he demanded. He couldn’t be completely depleted of emotion because you caught a glimpse of a tear rolling down his face.

“When you came in we ran a couple of scans: CT and MRI. It showed you have a large mass in your brain tissue,” she informed. That's when you noticed the “oncologist” on her medical jacket. Your heart dropped to your bum by the news.

“I-I have cancer?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Brain cancer has been in your family for generations. You knew it was only a matter of time until you got diagnosed, which is why you hate the doctors.

“Unfortunately, the test did come back cancerous,” she responded softly.

“How much time does she have?” Your fiancé asked. The doctor took a deep breath.

“It’s hard to say, but I would say weeks, months at most.” Her cheery smile has fallen now.

Everything you look forward to seems to be taken from you in an instant. Going to the movies with Harry and Sam to see the new Marvel movie next month. Going back home to the States to visit your mother who was not healthy enough to come visit you on your deathbed. Your wedding. Having children. Growing old with Tom, the absolute love of your life. All gone. No longer your moments. Simply wishes of a future that you don’t get to have. It wasn’t fair.

“I’ll give you two a moment and then I’ll come back to discuss chemotherapy to see if we could slow the growth.” You look at Tom who was sitting back down in the chair, his hands on his face, and staring blankly into space.

“Tom, I’m so sorry,” you apologized, crying.

“I asked over and over again for you to go to the doctor,” he whispered. “We could have caught it in time. I wouldn’t have to watch you die.”

“I-I didn’t think it would be this serious,” you replied.

“Of course you didn’t,” he scoffs, running his hands through his brown locks.

“It’ll be okay. We will figure something out,” you try. Tom jumps up.

“You don’t get it. It will have to be me who has to learn to live without you! It will have to be me who buries you!” He yells causing you to startle. Seeing this reaction seems to calm him down a bit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. I am scared. I don't know what I will do when I lose you, darling.

“I can fight this. I will fight this. It can still get better. We can do this,” you promise. He nodded his head in agreement and hugged you.

A few weeks have passed and chemo has taken the light out of your eyes. You’re not the same as you used to be. You’re always tired and ill. Your hair has been falling out, which was the biggest thing for you. You love your hair. It’s your favorite part of you.

“Tom, I’m going to have to shave it all off,” you cry into his shoulder.

“I know, but you will look just as beautiful, I promise,” he coos into your ear.

“No, I won’t! Imagine the wedding photos. They’re going to be awful,” you exclaim.

“They will be wonderful. You have nothing to worry about,” he replies.

“Will you do it?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Do what?”

“Shave it off,” you respond. He gives you a concerning look. “Please.”

The next day, Tom shaved all your hair off, which absolutely broke your heart. You cried for hours in the hospital bed. You were going on about how it wasn’t fair, you were ugly now, and that you were tired of all of this. Tom knew your time was coming. The doctors said you were getting worse by the hour and all chemo was doing was delaying the inevitable.

“Hey, look Y/N! We got a surprise for you! Ta-da!” Harry and Sam came into the room with their hair completely shaved off. They were bald just like you.

“You guys did that for me?” You asked.

“We knew how much it upset you,” Sam said.

“We thought if we shaved our heads it would make it seem less scary,” Harry added.

“That is so..” You sit there, thinking “I can’t think of the word.”

“Thoughtful?�� Tom suggested.

“Yes, that’s the word. That is so thoughtful. Thank you.” You smiled, but were clearly upset you couldn’t remember a word.

“Now, it’s harder to tell which is who,” Nikki exclaimed. “Hello, dear.” She gave you a big hug. “I brought you these.” She laid out a few wigs and head scarfs.

“Oh, thank you! They’re so pretty!” You look at all the different options you have.

“We also brought you this,” Sam said as he laid out a white and black shirt.

“Oh, thank you,” you thanked questionably.

“You don’t remember it?” Harry questioned. You shooked your head. “It was the shirt we bought you when I ran into you.” You still looked lost.

“Remember, that’s how we met. Harry ran into you and spilled your coffee, so we bought this shirt in return,” Sam added hopefully.

“Oh, yeah,” you answered, not sounding convincing at all. You couldn’t remember. You had completely forgotten how you met your best friends. It only got worse from here.

A few more weeks go by and it’s clear you weren’t getting better and you were never going to get better. You had already flatlined twice, but the doctors were able to bring you back. You were even more exhausted. You barely could walk or go to the bathroom. You were as weak as ever and it felt like torture to you.

“Tom,” you call.

“Yeah?”

“I want to marry you,” you announce.

“I know and you will, darling,” he answered. He was also exhausted. He had barely slept. He hasn’t been home in weeks, not wanting to leave your side. He was afraid as soon as he left, you would die and he wouldn’t be there for you.

“No, I mean, now. Here,” you clarify.

“In the hospital?” He asked and you nod. “No. No way. You will get better and we will have a big ceremony with pink roses. Just like you wanted.”

“Tom, we’re kidding ourselves. I’m never getting better. I’m dying,” you said. This is the first time you said it out loud, which made it even more real, causing the both of you to cry. “I’m tired, Tom. I’m done.”

“W-what happened to keep fighting? We can do this. You just have to keep believing, please,” Tom begged, tears streaming down his face. You shake your head.

“I have no more left in me. I can’t even sit up in my bed without help. I don’t even remember my birthday. It’s time, and I want my last moments to be marrying you, please, Tom. Help me.” You pleaded.

“You’re giving up? What about our life together?” His eyes are now red and puffy.

“We already lived our life and it was perfect. Now, now, it’s the end. I want it to be a happy one. I want to die as your wife. Please, Tom.” You grasp his hand. He knew you probably weren’t going to live for the rest of the day. Even the doctor told him that you should be dead by now.

“Darling, I-I can’t,” he cried.

“Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know.” Tom is sobbing into you. “Please.”

He finally agrees because deep down, he knew it was time to let go. He called his family to the hospital. He helped put on your favorite wig, paint your nails, and put some make-up on. Once everyone got there, you immediately started, knowing the clock was ticking.

“Thank you,” you say. Tom couldn’t say “you’re welcome,” so he just nodded. The two of you shared your vows. Yours wasn’t very long since you couldn’t remember what you were going to say, but Tom’s was beautiful, yet heartbreaking. He talked about how he enjoyed the little time you two had together, how it wasn’t fair that you were being taken away from him, and that he couldn’t wait to dance with you in the afterlife. You two shared your “I dos.”

Tom kissed you like it was the last time he’ll ever kiss you because it will be. He tried to hold on to how your lips felt brushing against his. He tried to remember every detail of you: Your smile, you beautiful eyes, your laugh, just you.

“See you later,” you bid him goodbye. The monitor flat lines as your heart was too weak to beat. Tom yells in pain. He holds to your body, feeling the last of your warmth leaving your body. He sobs into your hospital gown. Sam and Harry are crying too, but not as much. They already mourn your loss while you battled cancer. The doctors come rushing in to try to save you. They try to pull you out of Tom’s grasp, so they could resuscitate you.

“No! Please, no! She doesn’t want this,” Tom begged, still holding onto you. “She told me she was ready.”

“She didn’t sign a DNR,” Dr. Parker said.

“I know, but she told me. Please, don’t do this to her,” He pleaded.

“It’s true,” Harry and Sam agreed, even though they weren’t there. Dr. Parker took a deep breath and signaled the doctors to go.

“Time of death: 18:47.”

part two here

#fanfic #my writing #spiderman #fiction #reader #marvel #celebrities #cancer #tom holland angst #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland x you #thehollandfamily #angst #tw death

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