#yellow jacket sting care

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 [Snippet] 🔞

Jungkook just loves to show you off- because while everyone on his planet might get to look at you, he gets to touch and love you in private.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Bunny Hybrid!Reader, Extremely flirty Jungkook, suggestive, Major Fluff!, Romance, Established Relationship, JK has tentacles oops, smut

Length: It was supposed to be a drabble but I ended up writing ~2.5k words oops

There is no taglist for this fic

A/N: Boo here you go hybrid alien tentacle porn yay 🥳

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"There you are!" Jungkook sighs in relief, finding you in an isle for fresh produce, staring wide eyed at the round plastic containers filled with cubed fruits. "You want those?" He asks, pointing at one with pinkish and pale yellow cubes. You nod.

"Sweet?" You ask, unsure, and he shrugs, pulling the item down to inspect it, before he nods.

"Yeah, those are sweet- but I gotta…" He mumbles the last part, reading the label a bit further while you begin to wander off again- though this time you're pulled back by his hand reaching out during his task of finding out more about the fruits he's about to buy, to hold onto the hood of your light cotton jacket to keep you close this time and not lose you again in the grocery store. "..safe for human consumption. Hm, there's nothing written about hybrids though.." He mumbles to himself before he pulls out his phone to search online if you can eat those fruits native to his home planet, hand now leaving your hood- one of his extra appendages sneaking out from beneath his shirt to hold onto the belt loops of your shorts to keep you close.

Basilisks- that's what they're called here, which confused you for a good while, until you learned that they actually didn't ever have a true name, but that it was simply an earth-term his kind had adopted to use for them, because it sounded like a similar word which means 'Blood-snake' in his native language. You remember how terrified you were of his uniquely inky-purple colored tentacles everyone of his kind has- mostly though because you met them when he'd used them to defend you both, the images still very vivid in your mind. But these days, you've come to love them as just another piece of him- even though you remember Yoongi, a good friend of his and your doctor currently, explaining to you that they do have their own minds.

'It's actually quite surprising they chose you.' He'd told you. 'I've never seen them so interested in their host's mate.'

Mate. It's still odd to think of yourself as that, though it makes sense with how he cares for and about you.

Jungkook is, nowadays, a bit more careful now with your food for example. He'd hate for you to have another situation like a month prior when you had eaten Nacuri- a vegetable he himself actually likes a lot, but that is apparently not very good for hybrids such as yourself, having caused you some major stomach cramps that pained him to simply watch- and ever since then, he's checking everything twice just to make sure. "-but can be eaten as a snack in small quantities." He reads out loud. "Alright, so only the small box then!" He chirps, putting the big container back to exchange it for a smaller one.

The moment his hands are free again, his inky-purple appendage disappears underneath the back of his shirt again, hiding away as to not get in the way, while he holds your hand as he walks through the different isles at the store.

He notices you yawning a lot more now as you stand on the metal parts of the shopping cart while his chest is warm against your back, and he's learned that's not always just a sign for tiredness in humans and hybrids. "We'll be home soon. I didn't think the line for checkout would be this long.." He tells you, hand running over your hybrid ears, while you suppress another yawn, tears stinging in the corners of your eyes from it. Oxygen levels inside buildings like these are fine for him and his kind- but humans and hybrids like you need a lot more than him to thrive properly. It's why he's got a special air filtering system installed in his home to accommodate for that- to make your life with him as comfortable as he possibly can.

It's the least he can do to show gratefulness for what you've done for him in the past, after all. And also, what kind of partner would he be if he didn't provide the absolute best for you?

He doesn't like how your ears droop after a few moments more- so he searches in your shoulder bag for the familiar pale pink plastic inhaler, setting it up with a few clicks for the proper dosage. "Here. It's almost our turn." He reassures again, offering the inhaler to you which you take with a nod. It'll help you with a bit of extra oxygen until you're out in the open again, levels today high for his kind, but perfect for yours. "Do you wanna eat the fruits in the gardens near the Archives?" He wonders, and you seem to think.

"What about.. those?" You ask, pointing at all the groceries.

"We can eat the icecream there too. I've got a spare blanket we can sit on, in the car." He says, leaning in to rest his chin on your shoulder. "I wanna have some.. cozy time with my baby, what do you say?" He purrs, and you shiver a bit, bunny tail wiggling around.

"Hmhm." You nod. You're not sure what entirely he means by 'cozy time'- because with him, that could honestly mean anything.

Later, outside on the blanket he'd laid out in the park in a more secluded space, you're happily filling your stomach with the fruits he'd bought you. He's watching fondly, because moments like these remind him that the past truly is behind the both of you. You no longer seem scared of anything as long as he's around. You speak freely to him, you're not shy at all, and you've even become a little bit daring these days.

You're no longer the empty, confused and almost soulless hybrid he'd met years back at the facility he'd found himself in. You no longer need to be told exactly what to do or otherwise you'll end up having a panic attack. You've become your own person, independent. You've blossomed, vibrantly.

And he loves it.

He loves you.

Especially now, hours later back at home, groceries still in their bags in the kitchen while you whine pitifully against his lips, with his grin satisfied while he watches you cling onto him. Something you've learned fairly quickly is that his kind is one that treats intimacy a little differently than humans back on earth. There's nothing forbidden or to be shy about for his kind- every type of intimacy or romantic displays of affection are normal even in public- no one stares at a couple kissing or hugging. If anything, people will just instantly believe a relationship is bad if there's no PDA ever between mates.

And sex? That's something sacred, it feels like.

Enio people just like himself find pleasure by feeding off of other's pleasure. They thrive when their partners thrive, they're happy when their partner's happy, and they're sad or in pain whenever their mates are. They also have relationships between multiple people- rarely ever having just one partner. Jungkook however had told you numerous times already that he's completely fine with just having you.

'Why would I ever need anybody else-' he'd said into your neck, '-when you're making me lose my mind every single time we're together?'

He's long lost his shirt by now, his dark purple tentacles already eagerly touching you. They're clearly just as excited as he is every single time you're together like this- and it's honestly almost cute.

Almost- if it wasn't for one of them very eagerly sliding right through in between your legs, back and forth, making you cling onto his arms as he watches you with an intense gaze. His eyes have always been something unique- like two pitch black voids, but only ever if the light doesn't hit them just right, making you able to see the deep red-ish brown and slanted pupils, similar to a feline. But in times like these, in the barely lit bedroom of his, they're just two nightsky colored marbles, reflecting anything like a galaxy.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip, licking over his silver piercings on one side. His grin is that of a predator, watching his prey struggle. But not for it's life- no, you're struggling for entirely different reasons.

"They're horribly impatient." He chuckles when one of his purple appendages moves to instead play with your pearl, before it prods at your entrance, almost as if to see if Jungkook will allow it.

He doesn't.

And it's clear with the way they retreat from between your legs, instead roaming your hips instead, before two of the four spread your legs open for him. That's how it usually goes- a rule set by him. Only he gets to be inside you- gets to claim you like that.

Your underwear is still hanging from your ankle when he pushes himself inside, hands gripping the soft flesh of your waist. He tends to be impatient like this, can't help himself, as he always tends to say to excuse his eager nature. You're perfectly compatible to him, physically and emotionally as well.

You're his, and he just can't help but want to make sure everyone knows that.

The windows are open, and your sure someone way down can probably hear your faint moans, but you can't bring yourself to care about it. "My baby.." he purrs into your neck, where he kisses and sucks his marks, hands gripping your body wherever he can while his tentacles roam around to offer you their own ways of pleasure.

You don't kind the almost sticky substance they begin to leak onto your skin. You've gotten used to it by now.

You're dizzy with everything going on around you. You're unable to quite move much, but you don't have to- both Jungkook's arms and his extra appendages make sure to keep you in place while his hips snap into yours, skin wet as it stays connected to his with thin strands of both your arousal and the sweet smelling precum of his tentacles.

A year ago, you would've tried to hide in shame of it all- thinking you dont deserve nice feelings like this. You would've never thought you'd be loved like this, touched like this.

But he's made that possible. He makes it happen time and time again, and in every touch he places on your skin you can feel the tenderness he has for you in his very soul. He's not lying when he says he loves you. He's not deceiving you with acts of kindness and care. He means every single affectionate gaze he throws your way.

You love him because of that alone.

"My sweet little bunny baby.." he chuckles out of breath as he rolls his hips in just the way to make you arch your back in pleasure, as he leans over you to kiss your lips bright red.

He likes to bite. Likes to pull a little on your bottom lip and likes to get you into any position he sees fit. Sometimes he'll kiss up your back as he takes you from behind- other times like now, he wants to watch your face as you come undone under his steady pace.

It fuels his ego every single time seeing you all fucked out like this.

Every time it's proof that he's a good lover to you.

The moment you come undone and clench around him in waves of pleasure, he's quick to shoot his shot as well- hips stuttering as he pushes himself inside, one of his tentacles sneaking between you both, running over your pearl just to coax another orgasm out of you, thighs trembling a little. You're somewhat glad his basilisks are keeping your body in place, because at this point you're just absolutely boneless.

He's humming in pleasure as he sighs into your neck, body covering yours now almost protectively. 'Shielding' is what it's called- you've looked up some of his behavior just to figure out things you're too shy to ask him yourself. It's an instinctual thing- a remnant of a time long passed when his kind had to protect their mates whenever they were in a vulnerable state.

And then he moves again, tentacles slick with their own arousal as they wrap around your ankles, adjusting your legs as he moves lower, his hands on your hips cherishing your skin it feels like.

And then his mouth is on you, licking you up, probably tasting both you and him in a sinful mixture- but it's another behavior of his that always repeats. He does this every single time, claims it's nothing special and that for his kind, it's basic care after getting his own fill of you. He's constantly surprised at what things surprise you- but then again, you both grew up on entirely different planets, with entirely different culture surrounding you.

So it's normal that some of the things you do tend to catch him off guard as well.

Such as after you're both done showering and cleaning up- he's always surprised how clingy you get after being so closely together just minutes prior. Normally, with his kind, it's like he's recharged his social batteries- now able to go about his day easily, no need for too much physical affection. But for you it seems to be almost the opposite- you love to cuddle and be close to him afterwards, and maybe that's one of the key points that just make you so endearing to him.

He loves cuddling. He loves being lazy with you, especially like this. "I booked our flight to Doria for the end of this cycle." Jungkook hums into your skin, letting you lay almost on top of him, skin still bare. "It's gonna be a long flight, but I already talked to Yoongi about medication in case you feel sick." he reassures you, and you just nod, way too tired to really comprehend what he's talking about. "You're not even listening at all, are you?" He laughs because he knows as well- though he doesn't mind. He knows your body works a bit differently than his own, and knows by now he can be… quite exhausting.

So he let's you sleep, and decides that maybe a short nap isn't the worst idea either-

especially not if he gets to sleep with you in his arms.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook imagines #alien jungkook #alien!jungkook

[finntheehumaneater]

⭐️Radio Star⭐️ (part four! I think.)

(TW: THE WORDS “F*AGGOT” (AND “D*KE”? Maybe?) USED IN A POSITIVE WAY, and not censored like that in the actual writing)

(Part one) (part five)

Steve was going to die. He was alone, and it was crowded and cold, and he was actually going to fucking die. His head was spinning, and his hands were shaking, and he had been walking around for hours in this stupid fucking corn maze, and he just wanted to sit down—but he couldn’t find Robin. And that was a problem, because Robin kind of shut down when he wasn’t around, and that really wasn’t a good idea when they were in a public space. (He also kind of shut down when she wasn’t around, which he was doing now, but that's besides the point.)

She should have been easy to spot in a crowd—sort-of-tall, skinny, always wearing yellow sweaters or Steve’s t-shirts and jeans—but he couldn’t find her anywhere, and it didn’t help that his eyes were blurring again.

It also didn’t help that people in face-paint and masks kept jumping out at him, screaming and grabbing him. Were they even allowed to do that? Fuck, he really regretted agreeing come here.

He turned a corner and something latched onto his arm, moving out from between the corn, and Steve fell flat on his ass, sitting on a rock—which, first of all, fucking ow—and now he couldn’t breathe, gasping for air, the palms of his hands stinging from where they scraped against the dirt. 

“Shit shit shit—hey, hey…” The person dropped to the ground in front of him, and he could hear the small rock pieces shift beneath their knees as they reached over and grabbed his arms to keep him from tipping over onto his back.

Emptiness was rattling around his lungs, devoid of all air as he tried to pull away from the person, but they placed a hand on his chest and he looked up at their face. Their eyes were brown, and they were searching over his face, their eyebrows pressed together. “Hey. It’s okay, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

They had skull face paint on, black over their thin face, their nose, and their eyes—wait painted over their cheeks and forehead, and there was a bit of paint over their few face piercings, and Steve was too busy choking on nothing to care about staring. 

He sucked in a breath, but it snagged in his throat half-way through, making him cough and choke again, and then the person was next to him, one hand on his chest and the other around him. “Fuck, it’s okay, it’s okay…just—deep breaths, okay? Slowly.”

Steve felt himself leaning into their touch, and there were a few other people walking around them in the maze, not even looking down. He felt his breath steady a bit, and a woman in a pink sweater froze, looking over at the person next to him. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah.” The person said, their thumb smoothing over the back of Steve’s shirt. Steve just gave a weak nod and tried to keep his eyes open, even though he felt like sobbing. 

Once the woman was gone, he looked Steve over again, before sighing. “It’s Steve, right?” 

Steve flinched, looking up, albeit a little—no, fuck it, very much—confused. Some of the guy’s frizzy brown hair was falling out of the loose, low bun, and Steve had the urge to reach over and fix it, but he didn’t. He just sobbed quietly in response, hating the fact that he was now crying.

“Oh, hey, it’s okay.” The guy said quietly, helping Steve to his feet after a kid ran past and nearly tripped over his hand—which, upon Steve glancing down, he noticed was bleeding. Not a lot, it was only a scratch, but it was enough to hurt. 

Steve let himself be pulled onto his feet slightly and moved over, the person was holding his hand, and it felt wet between them, Steve's blood probably smeared onto his palm. The sleeve of their brown leather jacket was cold from where it occasionally bumped into Steve’s palm.

It was a bit big on him, covered in pins saying things like: Save water, shower with a friend, Ban The Bra! and I was there: STONEWALL RIOTS. 

There were others, but they were small and harder to read.

Steve was too busy staring at the big, metal rings on the guy's hands to realize that they were now out of the maze and in the field.

It felt dry, away from all of the people, and he nearly collapsed onto the grass. “Woah there, sweetheart,” the guy muttered, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist as Steve slumped down, his face pressed into the guy's shoulder. He smelled like cigarettes and lavender.

"Sorry," Steve whispered, but made no attempt to move, this poor stranger holding him up. "What's….?” He trailed off, looking up slightly.

“Eddie.” The guy said, helping Steve sit down on the picnic table. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Should I?” Steve suddenly felt guilty, his eyebrows pressed together.

Eddie’s face softened as he shook his head, before promptly falling off of the picnic table and onto the grass, a hand over his heart. Steve scrambled over to help him, but his head spun again. Eddie was already on his feet, anyway, picking leaves out of his hair.

His fingers worked at the bun to take it out, and fuck—was it weird that Steve wanted to touch his hair? Yeah. It probably was. “Are you okay?” Steve said quietly, a startled laugh slipping out when Eddie tried to throw one of the leaves at him, but it fell slowly to the ground a few inches away from his black boots.

Eddie grinned and shook his head, putting his hair back up. “I’m never really okay, sweetheart, but thanks for asking.” He unzipped his jacket, shrugging it off and tossing it over to Steve, who nearly missed grabbing it. 

“You looked cold.” Eddie explained shortly, shrugging slightly and pulled the very front strands of his hair out of the bun. Fuck. Steve’s face was bright-fucking-red right about now. 

“Thanks.” Steve said, slipping the jacket on. It wasn’t as big on him as it was on Eddie, but the end of the sleeves still fell a bit past his palms. The leather there was worn away slightly, like Eddie rubbed at it a lot. 

Steve looked up from it and noticed the tattoos on Eddie’s arms as he pulled off the deep-orange flannel that he must have had on underneath the jacket. Why was that also hot? He tied it around his waist—and fuck, Steve remembered him, now. From the coffee shop last week. Two weeks ago? 

“Windsor’s?” He said hesitantly, forcing himself to look back up at Eddie’s eyes and not the barbed wire tattoo that wrapped around his left elbow and disappeared under the sleeve of his Van Halen t-shirt. 

“There it is, good boy. I knew it’d come to you eventually.” Eddie said, crossing and arm over his chest and tugging at one of the loose curls that framed his face. Steve really wanted him to take his hair down, but he was too busy trying not to show any reaction to Eddie’s comment. He was so fucking forward. “I mean—who could forget this pretty face, hm?” 

Steve laughed quietly and stood up. His vision wasn’t blurry anymore—and it hadn’t been super blurry, like it had been at the coffee shop. Windsor’s, it had been called—and he only remembered the name because Robin kept reminding him of it. Fuck—Robin. He was supposed to be looking for her. 

He stood up, glancing back at Eddie. “Sorry about that, you just…look so…”

“Different?” Eddie offered, and Steve nodded, looking around. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eddie motion to the skull painted over him.

“Yeah, the face-paint will do that t’ya.” He then paused and said hesitantly. “Steve?”

Steve turned back to him, but he was still looking at the people nearer to the maze and not at Eddie, only humming in acknowledgment. 

“Steve. What’s wrong?” 

“I—nothing, just looking for Robin.” He muttered, finally looking back at Eddie, who was worrying at his bottom lip, one of his lip piercings clicking as it knocked against his teeth. “Who?” “Oh, uh…like…this tall—“ Steve held his hand pretty low to the ground, which got a laugh out of Eddie. “Kind of blonde hair, but it’s…more brown. And—I think she’s wearing yellow.”

“Wait, is she the lesbian? Who really likes sharks?”

This was enough to stun Steve into silence, and his eyes widened slightly. How the fuck did he know Robin was gay? Also—shit. “She talked about them a lot to you?”

“When you flip a shark upside down, they go into tonic mobility.” Eddie said, shrugging. 

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Sharks are cool.”

Steve sighed and looked around again, and—there was Robin. Talking to some girl in a red sweater and a pink mini skirt with fishnets and orange-blonde hair. Steve was going to fucking murder her. “Found her.”

“Ah, I see she’s found Chris. I was wondering where she had run off to,” Eddie said, patting Steve on the shoulder, but his hand stayed for a moment too long as he walked past him and nearer the girls. “Glad she’s chatting with someone and not doing what I assumed.”

Steve didn’t ask what he meant by that. “Chris?”

“Chrissy. My roommate.” He said the word…in a weird way, like he didn’t really mean it, and Steve felt his heart sink slightly, his smile that he was already struggling to keep afloat dropping. Eddie glanced over and his cheeks flushed slightly. 

“She’s a fag,” he explained quickly. “I’m also a fag. We’re not—I didn’t mean it like that, we’re just friends.”

Steve was a bit startled by his choice of words. He had never heard anyone willingly call themselves a slur in a positive way, but he kept quiet. 

“What I meant was,” Eddie continued, sighing. “She doesn’t technically live in my apartment with me. Her parents found out she was a dyke and kicked her out, so she’s been sleeping in the spare bed for the past few months. I don’t mind. I like the company. It gets kind of lonely when all your friends live half-an-hour away and only drive over on the weekends for band practice, Y’know?”

            Steve nodded and looked back over at Robin. She looked happy, laughing at something Chrissy had said. Once they got close enough, he could read a pin on Chrissy’s sweater that said, in big black letters: GOOD GIRLS SWALLOW, fight eating disorders!

She looked over at Steve, and Robin finally tore her gaze away from Chrissy, looking relieved. “Oh, thank fuck.” She breathed, tugging Steve into a hug and pressing her face into his shoulder. “I was worried you were off having a panic attack or something. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Steve muttered, squeezing her gently before letting go and turning back to Eddie. “We should go. Do you need your jacket—?” He said quietly, already taking it off to hand it back to him, but Eddie stopped him and pulled it back onto his shoulders, smoothing over the sleeves and smiling.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me next time, yeah?” 

“Is that just because you want to see me again?” 

“Mhm. Maybe.”

Robin elbowed Steve and mouthed ‘phone number’, to which Steve elbowed her back, nearly missing the small laugh that slipped out of Eddie’s mouth. His cheeks flushed slightly, but he straightened up and turned to face Eddie again. “Could I give you my number? So I can…give you back the jacket.”

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat, nodding. “I have a pen?”

“I don’t have anything to write it on.” Steve muttered as Eddie handed him the pen, looking back at Robin and Chrissy, who shook their heads. “I’ll just—,” he grabbed Eddie’s arm gently and wrote the number on the inside of his wrist. It was just pen ink. It would wash off.

“Just call me whenever, yeah? I can’t promise I’ll always be there to answer, but I’ll try,” he said, smiling as he watched the blush creep up Eddie’s neck. 

They said their goodbyes, Chrissy going off to do her own thing while Eddie went back to the maze. Maybe he worked there, too? Or he was just fucking around. Robin and Steve went back to his car, and Steve slipped into the driver’s seat, dropping his head against the wheel and muttering, “We’re you flirting with Chrissy?”

“No—“

“It looked like it.”

“She was—she was flirting with me,” Robin stuttered, and Steve saw her cross her arms as he looked back up. 

“I thought you had a girlfriend?”

“Vickie is not my girlfriend.” She said firmly, glaring at him slightly, her cheeks red as she looked down.

“Look, I’m not saying you can’t flirt with other girls—“

“I know, but I wasn’t flirting with Chrissy—“

He didn’t finish, just putting the car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot. He needed to go home. They could talk about this later.

——

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, LET ME KNOW! And if you want to follow along with the story but don’t like being tagged, then you can either follow my blog, or follow the tag “Radio Star by Finn”! ⭐️

also let me know what you think I crave validation 🥺

sorry this part took so long!!! I’ve just been feeling super tired recently and haven’t really had the motivation to do much. Also thank you to @an-atlas-or-other for being the beta reader for this, <3

(If you saw Eddie’s character design change, no you didn’t. Also he’s a lot more put-together when he’s not highly caffeinated and stressed, lmao)

taglist:

@strangersteddierthings @aol19 @randombibitch @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @stillfullofshit @steventhusiast @estrellami-1 @jaytriesstuff @itsthestrangestthings @5ammi90 @absolutegremlin @txumxssianfox @goodolefashionedloverboi @hbyrde36

#Radio Star by Finn #Eddie Munson #Stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things modern au #Stranger things 90s au #Stranger things au #eddie Munson fic #eddie Munson fanfic #eddie Munson fanfiction #Robin Buckley fic #Robin Buckley fanfic #robin Buckley fanfiction #Steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #Steve Harrington fic #steve Harrington fanfiction #my writing #my fic

[kisskawa]

— reservations cw food

"table for two, please." the words spill from geto's lips before he can help it. force of habit, he curses himself.

he isn't given enough time to correct himself, waiter nodding and beaming at him, happy to help. they can’t pull the truth out of his throat though. instead, the waiter strides forward to a window table, open and barren, a pair of menus in hand.

there's something reminiscent of a smile on geto’s face as he offers his thanks, partly awkward, partly small. it doesn't sit right on such a man. all simple charm and easy grace, the waiter had expected nothing less than confidence and allure. but the single sentence, single word, saps the energy from geto and he finds himself falling clumsily into his seat, hip pressing against the glass beside him. it digs into his skin, cool to the touch and slowly starting to sting.

a gentle "excuse me? sir?" snaps geto out of his trance, gaze fixated on something outside. cobbled pavements, twinkling yellow streetlights and freshly painted benches, no other can seem to catch sight of what he does. the image morphs however, for he turns to the waiter and sees you. the softness of your eyes which always tended to crease around him, the texture of your skin which he had traced countless times before, the curve of your lips which he had kissed so lovingly.

it takes a harsh blink and a sharp shake of his head for your image to twist, geto’s eyes clenching shut even if for just a second. hair lengthening and face rounding, you distort into that of the waiter once more. there's a cautious, too perky smile on their face and their eyes shine with sympathy. geto doesn't know what to do, doesn’t know how to explain no, he hadn't been stood up. for you weren't coming in the first place, you hadn't stood next to him for a while now.

another thing geto doesn't know is why he does it. maybe it's a farewell, he thinks, trying to fool himself, all too aware it's nothing more than second nature as he orders two dishes. he had always known your favourites - colour, animal, people, anything. food was just another category to add to the list. geto had indulged you for the duration of your relationship; he had taken to hiding your choice of snacks in his jacket pockets, and filling his hands with the very takeout you so craved on miserable days in. no matter what, you were guaranteed to be on his mind.

you hadn't expected to see geto suguru - the ex you desperately hated to think about, the ex you desperately hated calling your ex - at the quaint little restaurant. you’d shared it with him only once, attempting and failing to stifle down the excitement in your voice as he agreed to the suggestion. though, you supposed, tearing your stare away from geto to the date you were currently on, he had always been awfully perceptive, knowing your preferences from your go-to drink order at the local cafe to here, the restaurant that held too many memories for anyone's good.

"something wrong?" your date smiles too wide, bared teeth cutting through your distracted thoughts and a careful hand covers your own. you can’t help the reaction that escapes your throat, ragged exhale hardly able to be called a gasp. your hand is quick to slip out from their reach, dropping limply, pathetically, into your lap. their voice, their touch is nothing more than wrong and your eyes soon find the picture of geto once more, ignoring the churn of your stomach as you drink him in - the slope of his nose which you had enjoyed pressing a kiss to just to see it scrunch up cutely, the gorgeous locks of hair which you had tangled your fingers through so often, the shine of his eyes, so distinct and familiar, warm with love.

"sorry," you stammer, words dropping carelessly, "i don’t, i can't do this, 'm sorry."

you move without thought, weakened legs making your knees knock together as you stumble over to the table by the window. your chest aches with each painful hammer of your heart, pulsing and thrashing against your ribcage the way it always did around geto. you can’t help but embrace the reminder of your obvious, lingering feelings fully. no one else could make you feel such a way.

“suguru,” the name slips out of your mouth as easily as an exhale, unprepared for what to say next. you hope your muddled mind can figure it out before the alarm bells can start ringing, pounding.

you don’t need to. geto sighs out a call of your name in response, familiar and light. his eyes are wide as he drinks in the sight of you, lovely albeit rattled. there’s something slightly panicked in your gaze, your breaths are heavy and lips parted so slightly. they tell him the fact of the matter, convince him that standing before him is you. truly. for once not a ghost of the past. and yet despite your imperfections and worries and jolting nerves, geto thinks you’re incredible. better even than how his golden memories dared to place you in front of him.

“please sit,” he gestures, voice rumbling straight through to your heart, calming as ever even if the gentle hitch gave away his nerves, “i got your favourite.”

#geto #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #geto fluff #geto angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jjk scenarios #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #geto scenarios #geto imagines #geto drabble #geto suguru #getou suguru #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #hiiiiiii do we remember this one <3

[captain039]

PART 5 Stains of red

Astarion x omega!reader

Warnings: Vampire things, blood, light gore, witch things, fantasy things, swearing, age gap, heats, smut, shameless flirting, virgin reader, indulging in pleasure xD, pining, jealousy

Previous part <-

Astarion didn’t visit the next few days and you avoided seeing anyone. You needed supplies, but didn’t find the energy to do anything. Pax was always with you except for night time, worried caws and gently pecks. You’d pet his head from time to time enjoying the soft black feathery feel. You jolted awake to a knock and frowned seeing the sun still up, you must’ve fallen asleep. You opened the door seeing a stranger, a traveller.

“Sorry my lady, I’m terrible lost” the alpha said.

“Oh course, just follow this path, you’ll get to the village” you said pointing to the path going to the forest.

“Thank you my lady” he nodded his head and flashed you a brilliant smile.

“My names Ivis” he said holding his hand out. You went to shake it, but instead he kissed the back of your hand making flush slightly and say your name.

“Beautiful name, May I ask why’re you out here by yourself?” He asked and sighed thinking, another alpha who can’t see an omega surviving by herself.

“I’m the village witch I suppose” you shrugged.

“Oh how wonderful!” He said and you frowned, not the usual reaction.

“Perhaps you could help me” he flushed embarrassed.

“I’ve got this problem, on my back it itches like hell, I think I bathed in something bad in a river” he grimaced.

“Oh of course come in” you said stepping out the way so he could step in. He set down his backpack outside and headed in. You caught more of his scent, something infecting him, but a nice spice to him.

“Just in that room on the chair” you pointed and he nodded going to it and sitting down. He took off his jacket and you saw tattoos down his arms, strange swirls and patterns. He shrugged off his shirt, he was all muscle, probably from travelling a lot, his tattoos going up and circling in and end on his shoulders. You winced though seeing the angry red rash on his back, yellow infection seeping from where he scratched.

“Oh boy” you muttered going to moosh up some ingredients.

“Bad right?” He laughed.

“I’m sorry” you quickly said and he chuckled.

“It’s alright I know it’s bad, it feels bad” he said and you smiled. He was carefree in a sense, good humour.

“This may sting and be cold” you said and he nodded bracing himself making you smile. This big alpha probably swam in a gross swamp, thinking nothing of it and got this rash and ignored it for weeks. He hissed slightly when you applied the salve and you apologised. Though you could heal it with magic instantly, you felt he was more into the medical approach.

“I should’ve said I can heal this with magic” you said softly and he shook his head.

“I don’t mind, magic is hard, draining on the body, wouldn’t want you to waste your beautiful energy on me” he said and your heart jumped a bit.

“Besides magics quick, I can talk to you this way and come back” you could hear his grin and couldn’t help but, chuckle.

“There” you finished up gently placing a cool towel over it and he groaned.

“Oh that’s much better” he said and you chuckled.

“Gods this good” he added and you laughed shaking your head as you sat across the table from him.

“How long have you been out here?” He asked soft brown eyes looking to you.

“My whole life, my parents died when I was young, Asta-“ you stopped, Astarion had traveled a bit, you didn’t know who he had bad blood with.

“I’m sorry” he said sadly.

“My parents died too, not that young, when I was twenty. Headed on a ship and never came back” he sighed.

“I don’t know if they died though, I assume so” he shrugged lightly.

“Then I just started travelling” he shrugged.

“Who took care of you though?” He asked head slightly tilted.

“The villages aided me, funny really they all chipped in to raise me” you lied with a chuckle, hell the villages were not allowed near you, Astarion was territorial. Talking with Ivis was calming and nice, he was easy to talk too and a good laugh. By the time you knew it, it was night time.

“Gods its night already, I best leave you” he said and you stood checking his back, all the liquid from the had soaked in, leaving dry leaves and flowers.

“I’ll wipe this off first” you said wiping the remnants off. His back was less red and angry now.

“It feels much better than you” he said putting his shirt on gently.

“Of course, you may want another layer tomorrow, I can make you some” you said going to your bench.

“No, no it’s ok, I’d like to come back” he said and you turned to him slightly shocked.

“Oh, yeah of course” you said cheeks hot.

“Thank you again Y/n” he said and you nodded avoiding his eyes.

“You’ll want to see Lily at Lilys garden, she has the best hot meals and then head over to Haira at sleep and dreams for lodging” you recommended leading him to the door.

“Thank you very much” he smiled and you smiled back, he looked even better in the moonlight.

“Try to avoid sleeping on your back tonight” you added.

“Yes ma’am” he chuckled and you smiled shaking your head.

“Have a goodnight” you said as he waved and left.

“Goodnight” he called. You smiled, but frowned slightly at the overly glowing red eyes staring at you through the forest.

Next part ->

#Astarion #bg3 #Astarion x reader #x reader #aob #vampires

[jupiterswasphouse]

Hi! I'm doing a project involving yellowjackets this summer. Any tips on getting them to cooperate/getting stung less often?

Howdy there!

For one, in general and specifically in my experience, yellow jackets that are separated from the hive are less likely to attack, especially around sources of food such as flowers, hummingbird feeders, honey, or fruit. They can be fairly easily coerced with the use of these sweet, fragrant things.

Social wasps are known to most positively interact with humans they see as a bringer of food, however, you don't necessarily need to give them food. The general rule of thumb, if possible, is to at least appear as calm around them as you want them to be around you, do not flail around or generally make fast movements that might be perceived as threatening to the wasps.

You can get closer to stinging wasps than you might think, with the right amount of experience! I've gotten some very close up photos of wasps and even held them in my hands without issue. However, a colony in their nest is, unlike a separated individual or small group, much more on edge due to the need to defend said nest.

ALWAYS practice the highest amount of care when dealing with nests containing a large amount of stinging insects. Take your time getting closer to the nest and make sure to give them space if it looks like they might be on alert and preparing for an attack. Over time, a colony that frequently sees nearby human activity and sees that said humans aren't a threat to them will slowly become less alarmed (you may even be able to notice this behavior change visually in that they don't raise their wings as much). Be very very careful when attempting to get close enough to the nest to take macro photography, and it may be best to also take any equipment with you during the process of calming the nest so they can get used to that too.

When it comes to minimizing the risk of pain from a sting, consider wearing thick clothing and other protective wear. This can be hard in the summer, as thick clothing and heat do not mix well, but dressing thicker when applicable and where you're most concerned about getting stung can be helpful. Also be wary of places on you where wasps or other stinging/biting creatures may be able to get into your clothes!

If all else fails and you do get stung, apply heat to the area of the sting. In the rare instances I get stung, I use a towel soaked in hot (but not too uncomfortable) water on the sting, this helps break down and render the venom far less effective and may relieve pain, itchiness, and swelling.

Happy observing and good luck on your project!

#Bugblr #Wasps #Hymenoptera #Wasp #Wasp House Answers

[nightendale]

Living dead girl | yellow jackets Van Palmer x reader

For this request.

Fem!reader x van Palmer (96’)

Notes: I wasn’t really sure how to make a point that this reader was femme cause I personally think van and Taissa are quite feminine already but I hope you like it :)))

-

You sit on the thin bed left in the cabin by its previous owner staring into your half broken half still usable applying the last finishing touches to your make up. you’re getting ready for doom coming, a event hosted by your fellow teammates to make light of your situation.

You were all supposed to be at nationals right now, winning, having fun and partying but instead fate had other plans for the Yellowjackets girls soccer team and while on the way the plane crashed, stranding your team, coach and two boys out in the woods.

You finish the last of the make up and look at yourself, wishing you were anywhere but here, you sigh and get up to head to the party.

While walking through the cabin to the front door you notice a blob of a person out of the corner of your eye, van, you take proper notice turning your head to look at the other girl.

Van, she was lovely, a fiery red haired girl with a personality you couldn’t help but fall in love with, van was everything to you, she’d had your back through out every game with the soccer team and now everything in the wilderness.

Van eventually looks up at you, most likely feeling your gaze. You smile softly at her and walk over plopping yourself down next to her.

“Hey van ban” you smile grabbing her hand playing with it.

The redhead doesn’t say anything back to you, opting to give you a small nod in response.

You let out a small sigh under your breathe knowing what was going on, van had recently been attacked by a pack of wolves, the redhead nearly lost her life but instead was just left with a few big cuts through her face.

Ever since this attack though you had notice vans sudden seclusion, she would look away from anyone that even slightly looked near her. The girl would never fully admit it to you but you knew she was feeling insecure.

You stand up now extending a hand out to the other girl who’s still sitting, “come on let’s get you ready for doom coming.” You smile.

“I’m not going.” Van mumbles looking away from you and at the ground instead.

“Why not? It’ll be fun?” You try to persuade still extending your hand.

Van pushes your hand away and looks up at you “I’m not going when I look like this.” She says with a hint of finality and anguish in her tone.

You pull your hand back, the push feeling like a sting of a burn. You stand up straighter and look head on at van, “fine,” you say shaking your head slightly “if you won’t believe your beautiful van, then I’m going to have to just make you feel beautiful.”

You turn around before you get a response and walk back to the cabins one bedroom area, entering the room you grab your makeup bag, the tiny mirror that had a million cracks through it but was still holding up and a brush one of the girls had packed and make your way back over to van.

When you get back to van you sit yourself down in front of her, her eyes slightly widening when she sees the items you’ve brought.

Careful and calm, you slightly hold the underneath of vans chin and grab your blush brush and start applying, van sitting slightly letting you do as you please.

After a matter of minutes you’re done doing the make up, you lean in and kiss her lipstick stained lips and when you pull back grab ahold of the miniature mirror.

You hold up the mirror up to the other girl so she can see what she looks like, she stares for awhile and then grabs the mirror of you staring at herself closer. You stay quite letting her have this moment with herself.

She finally puts the mirror down, “thank you (y/n)” she whispers, leaning in to kiss you.

You kiss back smiling against each others lips, when you both pull back you rest your forehead on hers “come on we have a doomcoming to attend.”

And for the first time since the crash you can see her spark come back.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets x reader #van Palmer #Vanessa Palmer x reader #van palmer x reader #van x reader #wlw #x reader #vanessa palmer

[someweirdoreblogger]

You have an "admirer," apparently. One that has no sense oncesoever.

Odin, the All-father, iron fist of the Norse.

You use everything in your willpower, hidden deep, to not flip your shit each time he graces your weaker presence.

Odin comeths baring no warning. Does a King need formal reason to wander inside his own castle?

Suddenly, day after day, night after night-this intimidating figure finds you worthy of not just a simple glance.

Not a word spoken, without distraction nor misdirection. He is elegant down to how he walks, with purpose and unwavering resilience.

The All-father is supreme and tyrannical in godly definition, of the legendary Bifrost's chosen few. A rapid tide in constant pursuit, edgeless flood overcoming building after building in its merciless path of endless devastation, devouring those who dare oppose the roaring waves.

Odin is... just there.

Next to little ol' you, a lowly servant, the great All-father. Without a care in the world. The sheer audacity to treat this like it's not extremely unusual for an all-powerful god such as himself to take interest in another out of the blue, let alone someone so painstakingly simple. Someone never pinned on the radar of another god, definitely not one of their strongest ancients.

Either you found him, or likewise, the latter; waiting ever patiently by the bay of your active sector, stuck in the ground like a tree stump. Is he even breathing? Feet rooted, immoveable as stone.

It's hard to not miss him in this lightful realm, a towering candle of stern darkness-permeant arrogance written on his face. Wrinkles forming indifferent strokes, old indeed, but nevertheless immortal. Long scars, they decorate him in tight and unnerving brushes. A bleak void carries the stinging yellow jackets in his eyes, stoic, unrelenting. A force to be reckoned with, even then, any blind fool can tell this highly dangerous god homes a deep attractiveness mortals are blessed to witness. The devil is hideous on one hand, yet beautiful on another. People become frantic in trying to appease their quite unexpected guest, you can't blame them, if you didn't know what Odin was here for-vaguely at the very least-you would've tripped on yourself to ensure no bloodshed as well, no one wants to wipe up intestines and tethered remains off the walls. Frightened assistants question one another, curious bombarding. A sea of peeking servants and turning heads, eager but not too eager to learn the answer to the question lingering in everyone's mind- -Why Odin of all damn people is in private servant quarters? Endless blunt remarks of his loyal crows fill the air, interesting how they obviously contrast, scolding unlucky others getting far too close for their liking (Getting used to that nonstop bickering and annoying flaps of their feathery wings deserves a round of applause admittedly). Shouting in a voice you swear can be heard all across Heaven that the All-father needs not justify himself to weaker masses. And soon, the crowd disperses till Odin is all that remains, looking upon reality like it matters little to him in that current moment. Continues to stand moving not an inch, dead to the knowing world. Maybe he was ready to stay there for years, just for you. Ridiculous, but the determination itself is admirable, terrifying as the person it belonged too. Holding, distant, stubborn on holy soil older than your great grandfather until you're unfortunately noticed; The only servant Odin made eye-contact within the past few hours, a small part of you immediately died in that current moment. Caught. Well, better to accept fate then delay the inevitable.

Furthermore, Odin never fucking leaves. Unless swayed by the heavy burden of his responsibilities to Valhalla, he is practically glued to you. Hip to hip, never behind.

Where you least expect him, somehow, he has unadmitted reason for popping up into your vision like a mole, driven by curiosity.

Coincidentally, in your most favored places. Including personal ones.

(There next to your bed watching you sleep, there behind you during your break, there standing next to you as you dust the priceless artifacts of the great halls. Wherever you go Odin is almost certain to trail after, turning this into a childish game of follow the leader.

Odin goes where you go, regardless of actually where 'where' is. At this point, you can only expect but never predict. Quick as lightening, an invisible thundering sound in the distance, appearing where most convenient. Your face sinks the moment his face enters your sights, you won't shake him off matterless of whether or not you really tried, both stuck together till night falls from Olympus.

(Yeah right, you shaking off Odin. No fool can ever dream hard enough to achieve such a feat.)

It's an unlucky series of unwanted occurrences that all servants know better then to suggest otherwise.

You swear, this is on purpose. But for what?

Pleasure?

Curiosity?

This torture of constantly hanging on the end of the cliff, not knowing if someone behind you is waiting the perfect moment to push. To see you fall down into the bottomless abyss. Thor and Loki had to get their tendencies somewhere.

You are fairly confident in yourself, even when it comes to dealing with the gods. You have worked for Olympus long enough that little to nothing surprises you anymore. You've witnessed aplenty things, from disasters to miracles, you have never seen-

-this.)

And Odin just...stares at you the entire time, much to your intense confusion and unbridled fear.

Odin grants no hints and admits nothing, an intimidating statue of a great towering godfather who can erase your mortal existence off Heaven in under a millisecond. Completely and utterly unpredictable, reeking of boundless bloodlust and pure fighting prowess. Won't take the unrivaled intellect of Tesla to recognize Odin can't be a bearer of good news.

He irritates the sensitive hairs on your neck, pricked up, suffocating in fright. His aura scorches you, a transparent brand of godly fire. Daring you to move out of line, defiance is forever intolerable in the biased eyes of the Heavens. You can't imagine doing anything to potentially earn his ire.

You have no intention of betraying Valhalla, unfond as you are about the gods, not that you'd foolishly announce that to fucking Odin.

Your conclusions are empty stales of bread, no meat and cheese, sauce, mayonnaise or mustard. No excuse for this argumentatively, obsessive behavior about following you like a shitty puppy. You can't guess why Odin is even here to begin with, why he bothers you with never-ending oversight.

Thankfully, Odin only looks. Just watching.

Seems merely seeing you just living is a newfound hobby for Valhalla's ruling god, whatever that means for you.

As deeply unnerving as his constant observation is, you suppose it could be worse, as you and your beloved nymph friends speculate. All you can do is wait for something to happen. You take it as a sign to perform your duties more perfectly, though it was more out of crawling desperation to live than inspiration.

(You read and carefully organize the ancient books in a quiet, knowing patience.

Counting the lively torches upon the grand Olympian walls, which ones are lit, which aren't.

Writing down assigned addresses, preparing for the awaiting visitation of the next Pantheon for Hermes.)

Non-blinking, holes burning at the back of your head. Analyzing the most basic specks and wrinkles of your face and neckline, fair hair whistling silently against Winter winds. Eyes of an eagle locked onto their target, dreadfully focused. By far the most scared you have ever been in your entire life, and that's saying a lot from a mortal servant of the gods. Luckily, it gets easier and easier to ignore. Silence seems to be Odin's consistent trait.

Odin is a walking blank slate blessed with legs. He does nothing, says nothing, and acknowledges nothing. Nothing but you, in the slightest form of a distant bat of thick eyelashes thrown in your direction.

You can't be certain if that's better or worse.

Apart from constant observation spilling not a single question, Odin hasn't raised a hand or tried to bring upon you any sort of harm. Made not even the tiniest peep across your numerous encounters. Done anything other than made you incredibly creeped out.

Odin is a constant, looming shadow. A curse, razor-sharp, an unpredictable element of nature. A sinking feeling of never being left alone in peace, sticking on the very edge of every corner of your unrest. That dark gaze is something no one ever forgets.

Certainly not you, a victim of that judgmental pair of golden ores, staring into your soul. Every truth of you naked to his eyes, like glass.

You still have no clue why Odin decided that you must be the center of his undeterred attention.

(Oh, you poor unfortunate soul,

If only you knew the storm coming your way.)

#mypost #anime #manga #record of ragnarok #odin is his own wanring #odin #record of ragnarok odin #ror odin #odin ror #record of ragnarok x reader #odin x reader #tw implied stalking #tw yandere-ish #kinda? #this can be taken as that

[topguncortez]

Day 12: What could go wrong? ➣prompts: "Mayday, Mayday!" ➣Character: Robert 'Bob' Floyd ➣warnings: drugging, attempted sexual assault, physical assault, blood, vomiting, happy-ish ending ➣word count: 2.7k

|| masterlist || whumptober || whumptober masterlist || library page ||

Y/N and Bob were inseparable, the true definition of “best friends forever.” They grew up next to each other in Wyoming, their parents' ranches separated by a barbed wire fence. They were in the same grade all through school, and eventually both went to University of Wyoming. The only time their lives went in different directions was when Bob decided to become a Naval aviator, and Y/N decided to become a Naval nurse. They went to bootcamp at different times, Y/N having to say a tearful goodbye to Bob, as she had to wait an extra three weeks until she left. 

It was nearly a whole year until Bob and Y/N were reunited at their first duty location in Virginia, and since then, they were once again inseparable. Even when Bob got sent back to Miramar, Y/N was sent back too, and worked at the hospital on base. To everyone, they looked like a couple, they did things like couples do, hell, they even lived together. They both wanted to be a couple, but both of them waited for the other to make the first move, which neither one did. 

“How long do you want to stay?” Bob asked her. They were currently at the Hard Deck, waiting to meet with the other members of the dagger squad, “The bachelor is on at nine.” 

“I said you didn’t need to come,” Y/N giggled as she snacked on the pretzels at the bar, “And besides I’m uh. . . meeting someone.” 

“Meeting someone? Like Coyote?” Bob asked.

“No,” Y/N shook her head, “A guy I matched with on Tinder.” 

“Y/N. . . “ 

“Before you say anything, cause I know that look Bob Floyd,” Y/N said, pointing at him, “I met him the other day and got lunch. He’s a nice guy. He works at a start-up doing stock production design, has his own house, his own car, and a cat.” 

Bob sighed and looked down at his shoes. It wasn’t unusual for Bob to tag along to when Y/N met guys for drinks. He hated it, but wasn’t about to tell her that. He was jealous of the guys that she got to meet and talk with and occasionally go home with. But it wasn’t like Bob was going home empty handed either from those nights. He usually would find a girl later on, and wind up at her house. 

“Well I guess he’s already better than Derek,” Bob said and Y/N giggled, “Just be safe.” 

“I’m in a bar full of people,” Y/N said, and waved her hand around at the crowd, “If I need help, I call out ‘mayday’.” Bob smiled at that. It was their signal that they used when the other one needed help. It was only to be used in cases of emergency, and it meant drop everything and help, “Oh! He’s here!” 

Bob watched as Y/N jumped off the bar stool and walked towards a man in a leather jacket by the door. Bob rolled his eyes, Y/N hates leather, she’s a vegan, he thought to himself. Bob focused his blue eyes on her yellow sundress clad body, and watched as she greeted him with a kiss. Looking down at his drink, Bob tried to ignore the sting that he felt. 

Bob was sulking in a booth, across from Jake and Bradley. They were in an argument about some sports team that Bob could care less about. The WSO’s blue eyes were locked on his best friend and her date at the bar. She laughed at something he said, tilting her head back and placing a hand on his thigh. Bob jumped as he felt Jake kick his leg from under the table. 

“Ow,” He said. 

“Quit staring at her,” Jake said, “It’s a little weird.” 

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Bradley asked. 

“She doesn’t like me like that,” Bob shrugged. 

“Oh please, you two have more sexual tension than Rooster and I do,” Jake said, and put his drink down on the table, “You need to stop being a pussy and go get your girl.” 

Bob looked back at the bar and noticed that Y/N was gone, but Leather Jacket guy was still there. Bob sighed and looked back down at his drink, “I know she doesn’t like me.” 

“How?” Jake asked, sitting back in his spot. Rooster put a hand on Jake’s thigh, giving him a warning squeez. 

“Cause I told her once and she said she didn’t feel the same,” Bob mumbled, “It’s fine. I told her that I would always be her best friend. Always be there when she needs me.” 

Y/N sighed as she sat back down on the barstool, rubbing her hands to warm them up after washing them in the bathroom. She smiled at Jackson, her date, as he slid over another vodka lemonade for her. She took a sip from it, and squinted her eyes at the taste. 

“Shit, that’s strong,” She giggled, putting it back down. 

“Yeah, the barkeep kind of had a heavy pour with it,” Jackson said, and shifted a bit closer to her, “So what were you saying about this farm incident of yours?” 

Y/N had to think for a moment, suddenly forgetting the conversation she had before going to the bathroom, “Oh,” She blushed, “It was uh. . . my sister and I, and we were messing in the cow pin. . . Are you hot? I feel really hot right now?” Y/N said, feeling a rush of warmth throughout her body. She fanned herself, and could feel her cheeks turning red. She reached out to grab her cool glass, but noticed the fuzziness of her vision. 

“You alright, babe?” Jackson asked. He was now standing behind her, his hands slowly trailing up her body, until they rested on the edge of the bar. She was suddenly very aware of the heat that was radiating off his body, and the smell of alcohol on his breath, as he moved her hair off her neck, and placed small kisses on her neck, “Do you want to go home?” 

“I-” Y/N tried to get her mind to think of something coherent, but it was completely blank. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong. 

“Let’s go home, okay?” Jackson said, grabbing her body, and helping her off the barstool. She swayed in her spot as Jackson put cash on the bar for the tab. Everything was moving in flashes of light as she looked around the crowded bar. She managed to focus her eyes on the general direction Bob was sitting in, “Alright, let’s go.” 

“Wait,” Y/N slurred, “My friends. . .” She pointed over to them, “I need to. . .” She tried to take a step forward, but stumbled. 

Jackson steadied her, “No, we need to leave.” 

“Please,” She whimpered and looked at him. 

“No, sweetheart, we can’t,” Jackson said, and guided her away from the bar. 

Y/N felt the tears now falling down her cheeks as she felt her body moving under his direction. It was like everything was moving slow, but she knew they were probably moving fast. She looked back in Bob’s direction, seeing him deep in thought with Hangman talking about something, gesturing wildly. When the doors shut, she felt like she was running out of time. 

“M-my purse!” Y/N squeaked out, “I. . . left it. . .” 

“Jesus fuck,” Jackson rolled his eyes, and looked around. He found a nearby bench in the dark part of the building. He quickly walked them over to the bench and sat her down, “Don’t fucking move. Got it?” Y/N nodded weakly. Jackson huffed as he walked back into the bar. 

When he was out of sight, Y/N pulled her phone from the pocket of her sundress. The brightlight made her head hurt worse than it already was, and she had to force herself to focus on finding the messaging app. She wasn’t sure who she was messaging, but she clicked on the first contact and typed the message the best she could. 

“All I’m saying is, Bob, you are sixteen, things change! I didn’t think I’d ever like Bradshaw, but here we are!” Hangman said. Bradley rolled his eyes as he heard his phone ding next to him. He picked it up and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Why would Y/N be texting me ‘may day’?” 

Bob snapped his head up and looked at Bradley, and then over to the spot at the bar she was sitting out with her date, “Call her,” Bob said, standing up quickly, his eyes searching the bar for her. 

“Why?” Bradley asked, feeling the frantic waves coming off of his friend. He quickly dialed her number, not hesitating. 

Bob didn’t answer, but spotted her date walking around the bar as if he was looking for something. He huffed and threw his hands up as he couldn’t find whatever it was he was looking for and headed back out the door. Bob moved quickly, pushing through the crowd over to the door. Hangman and Bradley shared a look before following the WSO. Bob ran out the door of the Hard Deck, looking around in the dark of the night to hopefully spot a glimpse of that yellow sundress. 

“Bob,” Hangman said, pointing over to the parking lot. Bob looked over at the direction Jake was pointing, and took off towards her. 

Y/N could barely keep her eyes open as Jackson led her to his jeep. She was praying that someone would spot them, or that whoever got her message was on their way to stop this, but it felt like the light was dimming. She let out a sob as Jackson opened the door to his car, and bent down to pick her up. 

“Hey!” Bob yelled as he ran up to them, “What the hell are you doing?” 

“What does it look like?” Jackson smiled, setting Y/N’s feet back on the ground, “Taking my girl home. She got too carried away with the vodka lemonades.” 

“She’s not yours,” Bob said. 

“Listen, I don’t know who you are but-” 

“Bob,” Y/N cried out. She found the ounce of strength she had in her body, and pushed herself forward. Bob moved and caught her as she stumbled into his arms. 

“I got you, I got you,” Bob said, and held her securely in his arms. 

“Let me take my girlfriend home,” Jackson grabbed her arm, but was stopped by Jake grabbing his arm. 

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Jake said. 

“I want to go home!” Y/N sobbed, and Bob felt his heartbreak. 

“We are, I promise, we are,” Bob said, as Bradley pulled up in his bronco. He jumped out of the driver's seat, and opened the backdoor, “Cops?” 

“Penny called as soon as he walked out of the bar with her,” Jake said, “Go, I’ll wait here.” 

“Hey,” Bradley said to him, “You have a career.” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Jake said, “Fuckers like him,” Jake looked at Jackson, “Need taught a fucking lesson.” 

“Just don’t get caught,” Bradley said, and Jake nodded. 

“You two fuckin-” Jackson’s speech was cut off by a sick crack of his jaw as Jake punched him. Jackson fell to the ground, spitting blood out of his mouth. 

Bob had her head in his lap as Bradley drove to their shared apartment. Y/N had passed out the second that she laid her head in Bob’s lap. Bob ran his hands gently over her hair, occasionally wiping away the tears that threatened to spill. She didn’t look peaceful like she usually did when she was asleep, her eyebrows were furrowed and small whimpers left her mouth. 

“You saved her, Bob,” Bradley said, looking in the rearview mirror, “Who knows what that sick freak would’ve done if you didn’t-” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bob said. Bradley stopped talking as he pulled into the apartment complex. He opened the doors for Bob as he carried Y/N into the apartment. He laid her down softly on her bed, placing her on her side, “Stay with her a sec.” Bradley nodded and sat down on the bed next to her. Bob was only gone for a couple minutes, coming back with a bucket, a bottle of water, and a damp washcloth. Bradley stood up from his spot, as Bob placed the items on the bedside table. 

“Do you need me?” Bradley asked. 

“Jake’ll get himself arrested,” Bob mumbled, and placed the back of his hand on her forehead, “She’s hot. Her body is burning it off.” 

“He’ll be okay,” Bradley said, and watched as Bob walked over to her dresser and pulled out an oversized t-shirt that must’ve belonged to him. Bradley moved back over to the bed, and helped Bob change Y/N out of her sundress and into the shirt. Bob gently laid Y/N back down on her side, and placed the cool washcloth on the back of her neck. 

“Jake will be fine,” Bradley said again, and Bob looked up at him, “But will you?” 

“Mayday is a distress signal,” Bob said. 

“I know-” 

“It’s a distress signal that means drop everything and come help. And I was so caught up in feeling bad for myself that I almost missed stopping-” Bob bit his lip as tears threatened to spill, “She’s everything to me. I can’t lose her.” 

“You got to her, Bob. You saved her,” Bradley said. 

“Yeah,” Bob nodded and gently ran a hand down the side of her face, “Go bail your boyfriend out of jail,” Bob looked over his shoulder, “I got this.” Bradley nodded and quietly left the apartment. 

Bob stayed by her side the whole night, scared to leave her. He sat in the chair in the corner of the room, switching between playing on his phone, to looking up youtube videos on his laptop. Every sound or move she would make, had Bob rushing to her side. He had googled the effects of date drugs so he would know what to expect. He knew she was going to sleep for a bit, until her body started pushing the toxins out. It was about 2AM that she started coming to, crying and whimpering in her sleep. 

“Y/N,” Bob said softly, rubbing her back as she threw up into a bucket. He ran a cool washcloth over her clammy, sweaty skin, “You’re okay, darlin, I got you.” 

“I don’t. . .I don’t. . .” She whimpered out, retching again. She had a fever, her body trying to break down whatever drug was in her system. Bob shook his head, realizing that the cold washcloth wasn’t doing enough. He pulled back her covers, and picked her up. She leaned her head against his chest as he walked down towards their bathroom. He gently placed her on the shower floor, sitting down behind her and pulling her against his chest. He reached up and turned on the cool water, clenching at the feeling. Y/N let out a cry as she rested against him. 

“It’s okay,” Bob said, running his hand over her hair, “It’s okay, Y/N. You’re safe.” 

“I’m so sorry,” She sobbed. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, baby,” Bob said, “This isn’t your fault.” 

After a couple more seconds, Bob turned the water off, and reached for the towel on the rack. He wrapped her up in it and sat on the floor for a moment longer, before maneuvering to stand up. Bob set her down on the closed toilet seat, and grabbed another one of his shirts to put her in. 

“Why can’t every guy be like you,” Y/N slurred, her eyes still shut. 

“Oh, I’m just nobody,” Bob said, and dried her hair, “Take a sip,” Bob said, grabbing the bottle of water. He helped take a drink before setting it back down, “I’m taking you back to bed.” Y/N nodded and lifted her arms as Bob picked her up bridal style. 

“You’re my Bob. You know that?” 

“Yeah,” Bob said, and placed her softly back down on the bed. Her eyes were still closed, but she nestled back against her pillow, “Do you need anything? Do you still feel sick?” 

“Tired,” She mumbled. 

“Okay, you go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.” 

“Don’t leave me,” Y/N grabbed his hand, and opened her eyes to look at him, “Please, don’t leave me.” 

“I’m never leaving you again.”

#top gun #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick imagine #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fan fic #bob floyd fan fiction #bob floyd x reader #Robert bob floyd

[bullet-prooflove]

Choices - Cyrus Lupo x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @@gia999 @darqchilddaydreamz @words-and-seeds @infinity-mars @malindacath @tkappi @greenies-green @trublu2u @thatcrimeshowchick

It’s late when Cyrus turns up at your door. He knows you’re up because he can hear the sounds of the TV. He raps his knuckles on the wood, a brief two knock before the locks slide across and sees your face peering at him through gap.

“Can I come in?” He asks and you sigh before opening the door and granting him entry.

“Sorry, it’s a mess.” You tell him, your hand rubbing over the back of your neck subconsciously.

You’re dressed in a pair of NYPD sweatpants and a jumper he recognises as one of his, from the time the two of you were together. Your hair is pulled back into a messy bun, stray tendrils escaping from the hair tie.

You aren’t doing well; he can see that. There’s half a bottle of red wine on the table alongside an empty glass. You drop back down on the couch, drawing your legs up underneath you, your eyes fixing on the TV. There’s a re-run of Frasier playing. He can tell you’re not really watching.

He knows what’s triggered you. It’s the polygamy case.

Michelle Landon’s decision to return to her sect with her unborn baby to trade her freedom for the sake of her children. You knew what Wyatt Landon was going to do to her and that you can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

You’d gotten close to Michelle, worked with her, soothed over her fears. It had been you that realised she was pregnant, who’d gone to Connie with the information, who had put her back in the hands of the man who had been raping her since she was sixteen.

It’s enough to fuck up anyone.

“Have you eaten?” He asks you as he strips off his suit jacket and hangs it on the back of one of your kitchen chairs.

“I’m not hungry.” You tell him.

“Ok then, I’ll just make something for you later and you can heat it up when you’re ready.” He says reaching inside the fridge and pulling out several items.

“You don’t need to do that.” You tell him quietly.

Cyrus sighs before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“I want to.” He says as he sets a yellow pepper down on the chopping board. “This is what we do, we look after one another.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.” You remind him as you push yourself up from the couch. “Not anymore.”

“It doesn’t mean that I don’t care.” He tells you as you lean against the work surface alongside of him. He tilts his head towards you, his eyes meeting yours before he asks. “You wanna talk about what’s really bothering you?”

For a second you don’t say anything, you simply tip your head back and raise your eyes to the ceiling.

“I know what men like that do, the revenge he’ll take. He’ll punish her for running away and I just…”

You purse your lips together grimly as you shake your head.

“I understand why she did it, I just can’t make peace with my part in it.”

“You did everything right.” Cyrus says quietly. “You did everything you could to help Michelle, but she made her choice, probably the last one she’s ever going to be able to make.”

“That’s what I can’t reconcile with.” You tell him, your eyes stinging. “The last choice she made was to go with him and I…”

You press your fingertips to your forehead, rubbing at the crease between your eyebrows. He can see the tears glistening on your lashes before you wipe them away with the back of your hand.

“C’mere,” He murmurs, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and drawing you into the comforting shelter of his body. You bury your face into his chest stifling the sound of the first sob that tears from your throat. He feels it vibrate through your entire body as he clasps you close.

“I got you.” He whispers into your hair. “It’s ok, I’ve got you.”

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#cyrus lupo #cyrus lupo x reader #cyrus lupo x you #lupo x reader #lupo x you #lupo #law and order #jeremy sisto

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] Ashes to Ashes

Once in a blue moon, I apparently have to write pure angst. For those not familiar with archives lore, Wallace is from Ace's tome "Go for Broke". Rated T | ❗ Major character death ❗ | 3.7k words | ao3 link

It’s a cold spring day.

The sky is gray and the ground is damp, covered in leaves that have rotted from orange to brown over the winter. A few ravens perched in a nearby tree and a car horn sounding somewhere far away are the only signs of life.

The casket next to the empty grave only radiates death.

Wallace swallows thickly and straightens the shirt he didn’t have time to iron this morning. The graveyard is windy and he’s already freezing, but if there’s anything he owes the bastard it’s to be there for him this one last time.

Like he wasn’t on the night he died.

Cold stings in Wallace’s suddenly wet eyes and he blinks the feeling away. He looks at the priest to try to figure out what they’re waiting for, but she just stands there and silently watches the only guest apart from Wallace who bothered to show up.

Wallace has never seen him before today. He’s tall and blond and dressed in a full black tux, the color so dark it makes his already pale skin appear a sickly white. A black dress shirt with a black tux is probably against some kind of dress code but apparently this guy really wants to pretend to be mourning.

Wallace doesn’t even own a tux. He’s wearing a simple green jacket and patterned yellow shirt with denim blue jeans.

Because Ace loved color. Red was his favorite color but Wallace couldn’t do red, not after the gunshots and sirens and running up to the motel room only to see the slumped body and splatters along the wall and red, red, red—

Wallace clenches his trembling fists until his nails dig into his palms. He fucking told Ace that those people were bad business but Ace didn’t care, laughing it off with a flippant, “I’ve cheated death more times than you can count, buddy. Have you forgotten how lucky I am?”

Now Wallace won’t even get the chance to say, “I told you so”. He doesn’t understand why Ace was so reckless, how he’d somehow gotten the idea that he was immortal.

Wallace relaxes his fists and looks back at the other man. It’s just the two of them: Wallace tried to get a hold of Ace’s remaining relatives in Argentina but couldn't find any. He always suspected that neither Ace nor Visconti were his real names, but that’s what Wallace knew him as and he refused to dig further. Ace would have told him if he wanted him to know.

But fake names or not, their friendship was real. Wallace didn’t always think so, but then Ace showed up one day from god-knows-where, after seven years of complete radio silence, laughing and slapping Wallace’s back and asking, “Miss me?” with that stupid, cocky smirk of his.

Wallace’s chest felt full then, like something he didn’t even know was missing was slotting back into place. He didn’t care that the bastard disappeared without a word or that he took even dumber and more careless risks than before. He was just glad to have him back.

Ace claimed he’d been in Europe working a con all those years. He was just as shady as usual, not saying much because Wallace didn’t ask. But based on the spring in his step and the grin he got whenever his phone buzzed, Wallace knew he’d found something more than just a quick buck in Europe. That chick had to be real special for Ace to stick around that long and even attempt long-distance after he returned to the States.

Or that’s what Wallace thought, but there's no mystery lady standing by his grave now. She clearly didn’t give a shit about Ace: she was probably the one who put those reckless thoughts in his head in the first place, demanding he earn more money to fund a life of luxury for her. Wallace doesn't know anything about her but he still hates her.

He looks at the blond again. He’s standing ramrod straight with his chin up like rich folks so often do. He has to be a lawyer or something, because Wallace was told there was someone to arrange the funeral and take care of Ace’s assets. Or the lack thereof.

The lawyer’s face is stone cold and without any emotion. Another asshole who’s probably happy Ace died just so he could get money out of it; Wallace knows the sort. At least this one had the decency to show up to the funeral.

“What’re we waitin’ for?” Wallace asks.

“The others,” the man says in an accent Wallace can’t place. It catches him off guard: not your typical west coast lawyer, then.

“There’s no one else comin’,” Wallace says through gritted teeth, because he doesn’t want to spell out that Ace didn’t have friends.

The man finally turns to face him for the first time since they got here. His expression is just as neutral as before, but his eyes are…wrong, somehow. His gaze flirts all over the place and he almost looks lost, completely at odds with the rest of his carefully presented persona. Like a crack in the facade.

“Just a few more minutes,” the man says.

“Alright,” Wallace agrees.

The stranger turns back to stare unblinking at the casket and, not having anything else to do, Wallace keeps looking at him to try to figure him out. The tux is tailored to a T and his watch looks expensive, making Wallace’s mind immediately jump to how much he could pawn it for. Bad habit.

Wallace frowns as he notices the man’s hands are scarred and blemished. He looks so perfectly put-together otherwise but his hands are in piss-poor shape, with bitten nails and picked cuticles and scabs that have barely healed. Wallace spots gloves peeking out from his pocket and realizes he probably usually covers them. But not for this, for some reason.

The guy must be cold in nothing but the tux, but he still insists on waiting. For what?

Wallace opens his mouth to ask again, when he hears it.

Car doors slamming and the gradually growing sound of voices and footsteps on gravel. And not just those of one or two people.

Wallace turns to look. Through the nearest cemetery gates, what has to be a group of nearly thirty people are making their way over. Young and old, men and women and boys and girls, chatting, laughing and some already wiping away tears. They’re dressed in both formal and casual clothes mostly in black, but also in earth tones and pastels and neons. Most of them are carrying flowers—more flowers than Wallace has ever seen at once.

Wallace blinks. Are they here for Ace? All of them?

A few of them push their way to the front of the group. A black woman in an evening gown and a blond girl in jeans and a sweater hurry past Wallace and to the other man.

The woman puts her hand on his shoulder. “Felix,” she says, voice gentler than her fancy exterior would suggest.

The girl comes to stand in front of the man—Felix—and looks up at him. “Are you okay?”

Wallace expects him to nod or at most mumble an unenthusiastic, “I’m fine.” Instead, the rich, obnoxious dick who Wallace hated nearly on sight simply…breaks.

Wallace watches as his face twists in agony and he hunches in on himself, his body wracked with ugly sobs that sound so unfitting for a man of his caliber. The women pull him tight and he clings to them desperately. It doesn’t even seem like he’s faking the tears. Maybe his arrogance was just an act.

The girl is crying now too, her hands trembling where she’s holding onto him. Her eyeliner is already running down her cheeks and ruining her makeup. The other woman doesn’t cry, but she squeezes the man’s shoulder and murmurs quiet reassurance.

More of the group hurry over to flock around the grieving trio, all worried faces and silent tears and, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” while the blond guy just keeps crying. Wallace can barely see him through the crowd; it’s like they’re shielding him from the world and Wallace’s prying eyes alike. Wallace doesn’t think a man like him needs protecting, but he still looks away out of politeness.

The rest of the group gather around the casket. They murmur and whisper amongst each other, some offering comforting words and touches to the ones who start sniffling.

Who the hell are these people, appearing out of nowhere to cry by Ace’s grave?

“Hey, you must be Wallace,” comes a voice from behind him.

Wallace turns to find a nerdy white guy standing in front of him. He looks young and has old-fashioned glasses and an ill-fitting suit, but he stands straight and looks Wallace right in the eye, with an air of quiet confidence that catches Wallace off guard.

“Y-yeah,” Wallace stutters. Clearly, he could use some of that same confidence.

The man gives a little smile and holds out his hand. “Dwight Fairfield. It’s good to finally meet you.”

Wallace accepts the handshake and asks, “You’ve heard about me?”

Dwight huffs, like something is funny. “More than you can imagine.”

—

With all of them there, the priest starts the ceremony. It’s short and simple and Wallace is thankful, because the only deity Ace ever believed in was lady Fortuna.

Dwight gives a eulogy. Wallace doesn’t understand most of it and by the looks of it neither does the priest, but he doesn’t need to know what trials mean or why some campfire is important to get the gist of it. This is the seven years of Ace’s life Wallace knows nothing about: these are the people he met and the life he led. So many people from all over the world—France, China, Brazil, Japan—and they all came here for Ace.

Wallace is glad Felix made him wait for them.

A black girl in a floral dress arranges the flowers on the casket. There’s so many different kinds and she quietly explains what they all mean, and Wallace chokes on a sob when she tells Ace’s casket, “And Snowdrops for good luck, because I want you to have that even when yours ran out.”

A redhead with glasses places incense by the gravestone. Wallace only then notices it says Ace Visconti, and he doesn’t know what strings someone had to pull to engrave it with Ace’s chosen name and not his legal one, but he’s grateful for it.

The incense smells like warmth and fire, comforting and so different from the cold and wet around them.

Felix wordlessly slides down to his knees beside the casket and nobody seems surprised by this other than Wallace. The expensive tux will probably be ruined by mud but Felix doesn’t appear to care: like he’s happy to lower himself to Ace’s level even if it means everyone else is now looking down on them. He places his hand—scars and calluses and all—on the smooth wooden surface of the casket and sits there for several minutes, murmuring words in a language Wallace doesn’t understand.

When Felix rises, Dwight asks Wallace if he wants to say something. Wallace shakes his head: he’s not good at speeches and he didn’t bring anything fancy to leave on Ace’s grave. 

The alligator tooth he won all those years ago presses into his chest under his shirt, but Ace would be pissed if he left it on the grave. He’d say something like, “I’m already dead, what the hell do you think I’m gonna do with a gator tooth necklace? Win a ghost beauty pageant?”

Or maybe Wallace just wants something of Ace’s to hold onto.

At the priest’s encouragement, some of the men in the group help lower the casket into the grave. Wallace assumed they’d have to let the church staff do it since it was just him and Felix, but now there’s also a big bearded man and a guy with face tattoos and a loud Brit and a quiet Hispanic man who help them put Ace into the ground.

A blonde woman plays guitar and sings. The song is melancholy and her voice sounds familiar, accompanied by sniffles from several people in the group. The priest gives a few parting words after to close the ceremony.

And then they shovel.

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Just as Wallace hopes this will be quick so he can go drown his sorrows in booze, the Brit points his shovel down at the casket and says, “Just layin’ there while we do all the work, eh? Lazy wanker.”

Several people laugh, and then others join in to tell stories and share memories of Ace and Wallace does too, even if he still doesn’t know what a trial is. He tells them about his and Ace’s big win in Seattle and one of the girls, the redhead with braids, snorts and asks, “Was that the time Ace stole a uniform and pretended to be a dealer so you guys could scam the casino?”

Wallace stutters and they all look at him expectantly. Some of the kids are grinning and even Felix is smiling, though his eyes are still red from crying.

Wallace finds himself chuckling and giving them the unfiltered version of the story, now knowing they can handle the not-so-legal parts of it. His audience listens raptly and some even chime in with details Wallace didn’t know about that day—or just typical exaggerations Ace would have added to the story. He doesn’t bother correcting them.

The priest shortly leaves—probably not thrilled about them bonding over gambling and stealing—but the whole group stays to wait for them to finish shoveling. 

Even after they’re done, nobody makes a move to leave; on the contrary, they all settle into a big circle on the ground, carelessly dirtying their nice dresses and suits. Felix takes a seat next to the grave and the black woman sits down on his other side, with the rest already having fallen into place like it’s a practiced effort. Like everyone has their own place.

Wallace hesitates. He thought they were done here, but the others urge him to join them, pointing at the other side of the filled grave. Wallace does as told and realizes the grave acts like an empty spot, like Ace is still part of the group.

Before Wallace can get too sentimental, a man with a prosthetic arm thumps a big cooler in the middle of the circle and beers and sodas begin exchanging hands. An Indian woman starts dealing playing cards and several bets are made among the group before the game even starts. The singer whips out her guitar again and starts strumming an upbeat melody.

“Is this allowed?” Wallace asks even as his chest warms. “It’s a graveyard. Isn’t this against the rules or somethin’?” 

An older black man shrugs. “Loitering isn’t grounds for arrest and I think Felix is more than capable of paying a fine if someone calls the police.”

Wallace only then notices a badge peeking out from his shirt pocket. He’s a cop: Ace somehow befriended a cop, and now he’s here, honoring Ace’s memory with an illegal party like the rest of them.

“Here,” Dwight says, handing Wallace a beer.

Wallace doesn’t ask if they should be drinking and celebrating at a time like this. He just uncaps his beer and raises it along with the others once they toast and the Brit booms, “To Ace!”

Because a party is exactly what Ace would have wanted.

—

They stay there for hours; laughing, playing, drinking and telling stories. Wallace actually makes an effort to get to know this strange group, though he still doesn’t catch all of their names.

Once the sun starts setting, the Korean woman complains about the cold even though she’s wearing a fur jacket. Jane fishes out a pair of keys from her pantsuit and says they have more blankets and snacks in the car, prompting the Brazilian siblings to jump up and volunteer to retrieve them.

On the other side of the circle, the boy with dark bags under his eyes has nodded off against Cheryl’s shoulder. Meg and Jake argue over whether to start a fire now that it’s getting dark, with Meg saying it’s not the same without a real campfire and Jake claiming they’ll end up burning down the whole graveyard. Adam manages to resolve the argument by retrieving a large lantern from the car, lighting up the area with a warm yellow.

Despite everyone’s best efforts to celebrate life and not mourn death, Wallace feels the heavy shroud of grief hanging over all of them. There’s a moment of hesitation whenever a card game ends and someone has to deal the players in again, strange gaps in conversation like they all expect Ace to fill the silence, and bright eyes glazing over in sadness whenever someone looks at his grave.

But there’s also joy and camaraderie. The wind is cold and the ground they’re sitting on is dull and brown, but Wallace can finally see a few flower buds sprouting through the rotten leaves. The group has lost one of their own but they choose to remember the good and not the bad; it’s probably a kindness Ace doesn’t deserve, but Wallace’s throat still feels tight with emotion from the respect being shown.

When the next card game ends, the Chinese girl starts cursing vividly, glaring at the grave and accusing Ace of cheating. Wallace laughs, because if Ace could, he would. Even from beyond the grave.

Some of the guys gather around newly appeared bottles of vodka for a drinking contest and the Japanese woman promptly gets up to join them. Her name must be Yui, because that’s what nearly everyone starts chanting.

Yui wins, drinking the much larger men under the table with what seems like barely any effort. There’s cheers and whoops from around the circle before the singer—Kate—encourages everyone to sing a campfire song together.

Wallace doesn’t know the song so he looks around, only to notice Felix quietly fiddling with something in his hands. It’s a ring: a particularly worn and gray and ugly ring, probably made of simple steel and not even silver. Why would someone like him even have a cheap knock-off like that?

Felix’s bitten nails trail over the inside of the ring and catch on an engraving and Wallace nearly swallows his tongue. He realizes he’s seen that ring many times before: Ace throwing it in the air and catching it; Ace fiddling with it in his pocket when he was impatient; Ace wearing it on his ring finger whenever a con needed him to pretend to be married; Ace having it engraved with some corny Latin phrase because it was supposedly another of his good luck charms.

When Ace returned from Europe, he claimed to have lost the ring, and Wallace should have smelled his bullshit right then and there. Ace wasn’t sentimental about a lot of things but his lucky charms were always the exception. Wallace had helped Ace throw a motel room upside down in search of a rabbit’s foot, listened to years’ worth of complaints after he won the gator tooth from him in a bet, and painstakingly superglued an old poker chip back together after it got run over by a car and Ace just sat on the sidewalk cradling the broken pieces like he was holding an injured animal.

Wallace should have known better than to think Ace would have just lost the ring.

Felix abruptly stills and Wallace realizes he’s been caught staring. Their eyes meet and Felix curls his hand around the ring, holding it tightly against his chest.

A lot of things suddenly make sense and Wallace feels stupid for not realizing it before. Felix isn’t even wearing the ring, but he doesn't have to: marriage isn’t meant for people like Ace and Wallace, and just Felix having something so important of Ace’s and being this protective of it says more than enough.

Wallace considers pulling out the alligator tooth to rest over his shirt instead of hiding it underneath, but he doesn’t want to give off the wrong impression. Ace was like a brother to him and he’s not sure what exactly he was to Felix—friend, lover, partner, kindred spirit?—but the specifics probably don’t even matter. Whatever they were, Ace was happy with Felix.

Wallace settles on a meaningful nod to Felix, giving his approval even if it wasn’t asked for. He then quickly turns back to observe the group’s singing, but can’t help smiling to himself: looks like Ace’s special European someone made it here after all.

“I’m gonna do a handstand!” someone drunkenly announces as soon as the singing stops.

“You only have one hand, jackass!” Nea pipes up.

“Does anyone want to dance?” one of the siblings asks, swaying a little on her feet.

“What, on Ace’s grave?” Zarina asks, arching an eyebrow. “Even I’m not that glad to be rid of him.”

Laughter erupts from the group once again. A few people roll their eyes at the alcohol-fueled antics but nobody protests or shushes the progressively louder voices; not even when someone suggests a handstand contest that will most likely end in a visit to the ER.

Wallace braves another glance at Felix but he’s just smiling again. Most people probably wouldn’t welcome this kind of behavior at the funeral of someone they loved, but Felix knew Ace—all of these people did, maybe even better than Wallace. And they stuck by Ace’s side for seven years and made this horrible day into a celebration he would be proud of.

Seven years. That’s all the time it took for Ace to somehow become a man Wallace barely recognizes anymore. He did what Wallace never thought either of them capable of, what he’d have bet his entire life savings on never happening.

Ace found a family.

Wallace bows his head and chuckles, addressing the empty space on his right. “Twenty-five years of friendship and you still keep surprisin’ me.”

He thinks that, somewhere, Ace is smiling.

#ace visconti #riconti #dbd fanfic #felix richter #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight

[harringtonswriting]

Can you write a Steve blurb/fic (whatever you want to) about pumpkin picking with “you’ve got leaves in your hair” from the prompt list, please? <3

ahh, thank you so much for requesting this! 💕 it was so cute, and so much fun to write!! i hope you enjoy it!!

...

“Y’know, when I said I wanted to go pumpkin picking, I meant you and me,” Steve says, sighing through his nose. His breath comes out his nose in a stream of steam in the chilly October air, swirling and dissipating in front of him. It comes out as more of a grumble, and you smile at him as you loop your arm through his.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up in front of the kids,” you tell him, and his grumbling continues as you walk towards the group of teens running through Merrill’s pumpkin patch. As soon as Steve had thrown his car in park, they’d all escaped with Dustin leading the charge to find the perfect pumpkin. Thankfully, due to Mike’s growth spurt and how distinctive his mass of black hair is, you can keep an eye on where they’re all inspecting the pumpkins across the field by the time you, Steve, and Robin make your way from his car to where the pumpkins start.

Robin inserts herself between you and Steve, replacing Steve’s arm in yours with her own before she presses into your side. Steve moves to ruffle her hair, and she sticks her tongue out at him before elbowing him in the side. The cool air stings your nose, but you can’t help the grin on your face at seeing the two of them interact. You crane your neck slightly, seeing Lucas ruffling Will’s hair and Dustin and Mike gesturing animatedly at each other with their hands as they traded words you couldn’t hear.

“Could’ve picked a warmer day to come, though,” Robin comments, and you can’t help but tug at her thin jean jacket she’s layered over one of her many button up tops. “It’s my favourite jacket! It’s got all these cool pins on it, see? I have a new one, too, did I tell you about it? Nancy got it for me.” She launches into an explanation as to how Nancy got the pin and what it means, and you listen as she pulls you along through the rows of pumpkins. Steve huffs and kicks at the dirt with the toe of his shoe as he dutifully walks behind the two of you, though he actually takes the time to inspect the pumpkins to see what ones might be nice to take home together.

The sounds of laughter and excited chatter from both the kids you brought and the other families wandering around blend into a buzzy backdrop as Robin’s story winds down to a close, and she excuses herself to see if she can steal Jonathan’s camera from Will, who’d borrowed it (with or without permission, you didn’t know) to document the trip. You don’t try to stop her, and Steve yells out to be careful where she’s stepping before both of his arms are wrapping around your waist to bring you into a hug from behind. You lean into him, watching the barely controlled chaos unfolding before you in the pumpkin patch, and take in a deep breath of cold air as you savour this moment.

Steve rather reluctantly lets go of your waist to take your hand in his as you bend down to examine the pumpkins at your feet. You should probably pick out at least one, so that you have something to carve later and stick on his front porch for the world to see.

A cool breeze whips by, stirring up the dirt and the leaves from the nearby trees that have floated down into the pumpkin patch. You stand up, and they swirl around the two of you for a moment, and you feel as if you’re caught up in some kind of movie as the beautiful yellows and reds and oranges move through the air, leaves tickling as they brush past your skin before they’re gone. You turn to look at Steve, who’s pulling his scarf tighter around his neck against the chill, and you notice that some of the leaves have made a home on his head.

“You’ve got leaves in your hair,” you say, and you reach your hand up to grab the red and orange foliage sticking out of his slightly stiff brown hair—his hairspray works wonders, you’d have to admit, at keeping his hair in place and looking good all day long. Your fingers scrape his scalp as you do so, gently but not accidentally, and Steve leans into your touch with a smile on his face. It’s a smile that you’ve come to realize he reserves just for you, where the corners of his eyes crinkle and one side of his mouth is pulled up just a bit higher than the other, and his nose scrunches just slightly. It’s almost unbearable how pretty your boyfriend is, made up of warm toned browns and golds, standing here in front of you, and you feel an overwhelming wave of love and fondness wash over you at knowing he’s yours and you’re his that you bring him in for a kiss.

His lips are wind bitten chapped from the cold, and they’re slightly cold as they meet yours. You’re quick to warm them up, though, as your hands wind around his shoulders. One of his comes up to cup the back of your neck, his cold calloused fingertips sending small shivers down your spine as they seek out your warmth. The kiss is soft and perfect, you think, just like Steve.

“Hey, Steve! We found the Great Pumpkin!”

The shout breaks you out of your reverie, and you break your kiss and both turn to see Dustin and Lucas holding up an absolutely enormous pumpkin between the two of them. You have no idea where they found one that big but they look so proud of themselves as they pose for Will so he can take a photo with Jonathan’s camera. Robin is laughing and egging the kids on, having obviously woken up and decided today was not going to be the day she gives Steve some peace, and you can’t help your own laugh at the sight. Steve groans, and you see him start to walk towards the teens with his hand outstretched.

“No! No way that’s going in my car, put it back right now!”

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things reader insert #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #stranger things #starry-eyed-steve

[sergeantsporks]

writing request: hunter being comforted by camila + him being able to enjoy the rain, plus a little bit of protective big brother instincts over gus? :D/nf

“Hey, what was that?”

Hunter glanced over at Camila, tossing his old clothes into the washing machine. “What was… what?”

“Down in the basement last night. I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Gus, but…”

That wasn’t helpful. “…the broken snowglobe? I’m… I’m really sorry, it fell out of the wrapping Gus was fiddling with, we didn’t mean to—”

“No, Hunter, I mean… the kneeling?”

Hunter squinted. She HAD seemed uncomfortable with it.  “…I… apologize?” he tried.

“Oh, I didn’t… you don’t need to say sorry, I just… was wondering why?”

“Why…?”

“Why you’d do it?”

“You provided us with shelter and safety. I was expressing gratitude. I just assumed—we are unexpected guests, I thought it was best to be polite. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No—Hunter, sweetheart, I already said you don’t have to apologize. It’s okay.” Camila measured a white, grainy substance into the machine. “How are you feeling? Sore anywhere? Cuts healing up alright?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. Thank you, don’t worry, I’ve had much worse injuries, hardly even hurrrrrrrrttssssss hi.”

Camila had reached out towards him, but as he shied away, she withdrew her hand. “Sorry, I just… you’re safe here, okay, Hunter?”

“Oh,” Hunter said simply. He turned back towards the washer, even though he didn’t have any more clothes to put in. “Okay.” He gripped the top of the washer. “Okay,” he repeated, blinking rapidly, “Okay. Okay.”

“Ay,” Camila muttered to herself, “Creo que lo rompí. Hunter?”

“You promise?” The words escaped before he could stop them, and he flinched at the questioning tone.

“Yeah,” Camila said softly, “I promise.”

“Okay.”

Stop saying that, stop saying that, stop saying that!

“Thank you,” he managed, “Uh—that’s okay, right? Just saying thank you, no kneeling?”

Camila smiled. “That’s perfect. But you don’t need to thank me, not for this. I’m happy to help. And if you, or any of the other kids need something…”

“I’ll let you know,” Hunter promised, slipping out of the laundry room. He went outside, leaning on the porch railing. The rain was still coming down in torrents, turning the ground to sludge.

The door opened and closed, and Gus charged out, wearing a bright yellow jacket and matching boots. Hunter instinctively snagged his collar just before he ran out into the rain, yanking him back. “Whoa, careful!”

Gus yipped. “Hey!” he twisted around in Hunter’s grip. “Human rain, remember? We walked here in it.”

Hunter let go of the jacket. “Yeah, sorry. Force of habit.”

Gus took a running leap off of the porch, splashing down into a puddle. “WHOO!” He kicked up water. “This is never going to get old! C’mon, Hunter!”

“Mmmm, I don’t kn—”

Gus kicked another puddle, sending a wave of water up on the porch and soaking Hunter’s socks.

“Hey!”

Hunter stripped his already-soaked socks off and ran out after Gus, grabbing the branch of a tree and shaking it violently. Water scattered out of the tree and splashed all over Gus, who yelped. “AH! COLD!”

He kicked another wave of water at Hunter, but Hunter skipped backwards to avoid it. “Nice try. Can’t get me with the same trick tw—”

Gus appeared behind him, and dumped an old flowerpot full of water on his head with a snicker. Cold water crashed down on Hunter’s head, soaking him instantly. Hunter yelped and cringed, his shoulders hunching. “Cheater,” he sputtered.

Gus laughed, then fled into the house and safety before Hunter could react. Hunter squished his way back up to the porch, shaking his head to dislodge the water from his head. He leaned on the porch railing again, shivering.

It’s so cold.

Hunter reached out, feeling the cold raindrops sting his palm.

“I always liked the sound of rain.”

Hunter jumped as Camila came to stand out next to him. “Hi!” He settled back on the railing. “I didn’t want to go inside soaking wet.”

She handed him a towel. “Here.”

“Thank you.” Hunter toweled off his head and feet, and wrapped the towel around his shoulders. “It boils in the demon realm. The rain, I mean.”

“So I’ve heard. Sounds like it’s pretty dangerous there.”

“It is.” Hunter shrugged. “It’s not all bad, though. There’s a lot of good stuff that came from there. Like Flapjack. And Gus and Willow.”

“And you.”

“I’m pretty dangerous.”

Then again, so was Willow. Gus, too, if he had a mind to be. Maybe everything from the isles was dangerous.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not good, too.” Camila leaned on the porch next to him. “Luz was… happy? In the demon realm?”

“Oh. I…” Hunter scratched the back of his neck. “Luz and I… we weren’t on very good terms until recently. I, uh.” He coughed. “Ikindasortatriedtokillher,” he said in a rush, staring out into the rain. “Sorry.”

“I know,” Camila said evenly, “Luz told me.”

Hunter’s shoulders tensed up. “Oh.”

“That’s why I wanted your opinion. Of course her school friends will think she was happy, and will want her to keep going. But you became her friend during the worst of it.”

Hunter traced the grain of the railing. “Luz… Luz loves the Boiling Isles. And… she’s done a lot of good there. She saved me from Belos. Twice.” Hunter rubbed his coven brand. “If it weren’t for her, I would have died on the day of unity with everyone else, still trusting Belos to have the right plan.”

“I had her promise she wouldn’t go back,” Camila murmured, “But I’m starting to think that was too hasty. I can see how much she misses it, even only back for a day.”

“Yeah.”

Does she want to go back, though?

She thinks the day of unity is her fault.

“Do you want to go back?”

“Of course I do. I’ve lived there my whole life!”

“Doesn’t mean it’s home.”

Hunter twisted his hands around each other. “I don’t have a home. I… I thought I did. But that’s gone now. I just… the boiling isles is what I know. Or—well… I guess I don’t know how the Collector’s changed it.” He sighed, staring out into the rain. “I guess I don’t know what I want.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Hm.”

“No, you will,” Camila insisted, “It’ll be when you least expect it. But suddenly, you’ll just know.”

Hunter twisted his head to look at her. “You really believe that?”

“I do.”

#toh #the owl house #hunter noceda #camila noceda #asks #writing requests #toh fanfiction #my writing

[chihoshisai]

Days of Dash ch4

Goth Family (Zoro, Perona, Mihawk) and Straw Hats (Luffy, Nami, Usopp, Sanji)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3

cw : east blue crew shenanigans, overprotective perona, luffy is HUNGRY, // wc : 1,9K as a PREVIEW, the full chapter is 3,386 words you can read directly on ao3 or find the link at the end of the preview for the full chapter // no yellow for Sanji

Recruiting Friends : A Mellorine Cook

“Let’s get food!” Luffy joyfully exclaimed! 

“You’ve been wanting to go there since this morning,” Zoro stretched his back, feeling the weariness of sitting down inconvenience his back. 

“Right, it’s about time we go or it’ll be awfully crowded,” Nami pointed out, her eyes surveying the almost empty classroom.

Having reached the hallway, Luffy was up front, exchanging pleasantries with Usopp while Nami dutifully directed their group towards the cafeteria that flaunted itself by occupying a major proportion of the ground floor. Upon making their way towards it, Zoro lagged behind the group, drudging his feet with a yawn while his body adapted to the vacant feeling of hunger at the obvious fact that it would take a while for him to eat. 

With students heading towards a common area, making the scene look like an heterogenous horde of hungry animals, Zoro failed to notice the tricky arm that draped around his elbow, tugging him away from the crowd like an invitation towards malice. To his standard, little force had been put in the pulling, but his guard had been let down, or rather he became more complacent as the day went on due to how little attraction this new environment seemed to accord him, allowing for him to be trailed by the motion. The feelings that started boiling throughout his body — eyes showing surprise, mind panicking at the sight of the disappearing straw hat group, and fury through his veins caused the pristine emotions of delight he had felt throughout the day to melt as he reeled his head to fill his vision with the irrevocable smirk of his sister.

“Hanging in there?” Perona asked him, deliberately clutching the grip of her fingers against his jacket at the sight of her brother’s increasing irritation. 

Her sister’s concern was rare and often misplaced in the intimacy of their shared home but transformed into an overbearing, suffocating one once the familiar walls were left behind. Despite her obnoxious, self interested behavior she knew when and how to care, leading Zoro to entertain the idea that if she had noticed him following behind Luffy’s group, she failed to link the dots of their friendship. It was true that Zoro had been unable to form proper connections following his entanglement with Kuina, but continually being perceived with that label for the first time got under his skin. 

Zoro grunted his reply while harshly freeing his arm from the grip that served as a silent warning to his emotions. “Didn’t you make it sound like you wanted nothing to do with me this morning?”

“I’m not heartless! You should’ve seen the way you were walking!” Perona explained in an angry voice.     

Crossing his arms now that they stood near the wall, the inviting hollow of the cafeteria entrance standing teasingly close, Zoro couldn’t help but glance towards it, hoping to catch a glimpse from inside of the foreign sight while he further uttered in an irked voice, “what do you want?”

“So ungrateful,” Perona muttered, eyeing the brother who disdainfully refused to return a look. “Let me give you a piece of advice since you had the fortune of running into me. Don’t go on the second floor of the cafeteria, it’s for us seniors and you might regret stepping foot up there,” she warned with a finger buried in Zoro’s shoulder, nudging him in an uncomfortable manner.   

The feeling of a girl’s sharp nails would never fail to make Zoro’s skin crawl, with its stinging force, it was a lethal weapon that his sister had the malevolence to use one too many times due to its efficacy. “Fine I get it,” he reeled back to raise a protective hand towards the hurt shoulder while his eyebrow furrowed at her.

“No need to thank me,” she flashed him an angry pout before disappearing in the crowd, seamlessly blending in with the flow of her pigtails dancing on her back.

The anger that had been held in started to dissipate like the smokes of a dying fire, leaving behind the ringing heartbeat that came with the reality of having lost Luffy and the others. Following the diminishing crowd, Zoro entered the area, his eyes blinking at the sight of endless spotless ceramic tables and cushioned chairs that stretched before him, floor to ceiling windows filtering the golden ray of the sun to his right while an endless chain of food was being offered to his left, and stairs at the end of the room, leading to an open bistro area like a balcony upon the raise of his bewildered eyes, with the visibly older students consisting of its population, making truth to his sister’s words.    

The sight had completely frozen him in place, to the point he stood immune to the curious glances of some students. With hallways and regular classrooms that wouldn’t arouse admiration, this room however had by far exceeded his expectations, and lived off the tell tale reputation of a building with an imposing exterior. 

“Oh there he is,” the familiar light voice of Nami lifted the spell that suspended his body, leading Zoro’s glance to travel towards the origin of the words, and see the smiling figure of the tangerine girl with the others — all standing inside nearby the entrance. 

“Zoro!”

The waving hand that accompanied Luffy’s words along with the considerate gesture of having waited for him eased the worry that had been sailing along Zoro’s heart as the group moved to blanket his side. 

“Where have you been?” Nami asked, an eyebrow arching while her lips retained the glimmer of her smile.

“Maybe he got lost in the crowd or something?” Usopp pointed out with a chuckle, unaware of the truth behind his words.  

“That might explain why you were out there on the grounds this morning,” Luffy laughed at the memory.

Feeling an embarrassed heat forming on his cheeks at the accuracy of everyone’s words, Zoro momentarily lost his composure as he exclaimed, “I was not lost! Plus you were clearly fooling around Luffy!” 

“What exactly were you two doing this morning…?” Usopp asked, bewildered at the story, his mind racing with scenarios now aware of the straw hat’s carefreeness.

“If it’s these two, it must be such an absurd story,” Nami responded to Usopp, a smiling sigh escaping her lips.

A growling noise came to interrupt the conversation, much to Zoro’s relief, while everyone instinctively turned to see Luffy put a caring hand atop the instigator, his shoulders dropping making him seem like a slouching sunflower. “Forget that, let’s get food already,” he grumbled.

Seeing the energy sip out of the straw hat like so, prompted the group to start making their way towards the food court that stood on their left — mingling with a crowd of other hungry teenagers that gave false hope upon achieving their goal as an endless line stretched in the room. 

“Why does there have to be so many people?” Luffy whimpered, his lack of vigor becoming more and more apparent.

“Because it’s lunch time and there’s only one cafeteria. Don’t you dare think of skipping the line,” Nami warned.

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of food for everyone, so you’ll be able to eat!” The positive advice of Usopp tried to provide respite to the weary Luffy.

“Once we’re through it that is,” Zoro pointed out, feeling the dread of the line as they found themselves at the end — it was quite hard to see the end of the tunnel while it moved ever so slowly.  

But because they stood so far away from the enticing food, that they collectively failed to notice the kitchen’s door that easily camouflaged itself next to them through the distraction offered by the courses. And only when a blond haired student came falling from said door did they take notice of it — the words of one of the staff angrily hushing, “no students allowed in the kitchen,” to avoid attracting attention before disappearing behind the painted doors. 

The blonde, who pushed himself up dusting his pants, with a slender waist and broad shoulders exhibiting the perfectly put up uniform with the left side of his face hidden to reveal a curly eyebrow, filled Zoro’s vision — the word nuisance filling his mind upon the pitiful fall.  

Failing to startle Luffy, who stood too famished to care for his surroundings, and Zoro as visibly as the others, Usopp let out an audible gasp, while Nami’s eyes grew with concern.

“Are you alright?” the darling voice of Nami asked, triggering a cascade of fieriness from the blonde.

“I am, thank you for worrying about me, mademoiselle!” The purr took everyone aback, with the exceptional Luffy far too gone battling with hunger — Nami scrunched her nose, visibly appalled, Usopp arched a confused eyebrow and Zoro slightly parted his downwards curved lips as though unbelieving of the behavior. “I’m Sanji, what about you? What is your name?” The overly interested blonde almost seemed to cause his eyes to shapeshift into hearts as he stood oblivious to the overall atmosphere.

“I’m Nami,” she responded with a courteous smile and slightly surprised eyes, “and what exactly were you doing in there Sanji?”

Taking on a more serious air while hiding his hands in his pockets, Sanji let his voice take on a more natural turn, “I’m a cook in training and wanted to ask for recipes, and considering the atrocious line, I figured it would be quicker to directly ask the kitchen.”

“What, you're a cook? That’s amazing!” Usopp exclaimed. 

Though Zoro would never admit it aloud, he did find it quite admirable for a highschooler to be able to cook their own meal. Never in his life had he touched an appliance other than the refrigerator from the imposing land that were kitchens.  

“Thank you,” Sanji replied with a smile. 

“Then is there anything you’d recommend us?” Nami enthusiastically asked, “you see our friend here is quite starved and if there’s anything here that would make him last the rest of the day that’d be a real help!”

She pointed a finger to the slouching Luffy, that extended his neck so as to see how far he still stood from his salvation. “I’m hungry,” his words trailed.

“Stop complaining already,” Zoro grumbled, annoyed at having heard the same complaint for most of the day. 

“We’re almost there,” Usopp encouraged despite the line that stretched before them.

Eyeing the straw hat, Sanji gave a complacent smile, “I’ll see what I can do.”

And so, the blonde had successfully managed to waltz his way in their group, mostly sticking to Nami’s side, visibly giving the polite shoulders to the three boys that surrounded her. Sharing the burden of standing in a file with the vocal lamentations of Luffy, the group steadily made progress towards their goal, a non awkward atmosphere dancing alongside them as if it wasn’t their first meeting .  

“By the way, which class are you in?” Zoro asked, while his mind entertained the idea that Luffy would ask the blonde his usual question once he had recovered from his famine. Having acquaintances from another class was a step that required more mental preparation for Zoro, as he never considered the possibility to occur during his schooling, let alone on the first day.  

“Class 1 like you guys,” Sanji simply stated, somehow not crossed by the question and shattering Zoro’s internal adjustment.

Slightly disappointed but glad that the blonde proved to not be from another class, Zoro arched his lips downwards while delivering a flat reply. “What? You’ve been in our class this whole time?” 

Continue on ao3!

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #zoro fanfiction #perona fanfiction #ghost princess perona #nami fanfiction #usopp fanfiction #luffy fanfiction #straw hat fanfiction #straw hat crew #modern au #goth family fanfiction #roronoa zoro fanfiction #monkey d luffy imagine #zoro x sanji

[essektheylyss]

I might be wine drunk right now bit how chill you are with wasps even though one is bugging (hehe) you and you have been stung before just seems so good to me!! Like I donot know you but I feel proud thst you care enough about a wasp to stay kind! I always freak out cause I was stung omce and now these critters scare me but, I'm trying, and I think I wanna be able to act like you. Around wasps. Very positieve sweet post, thanks :) Just wanted to say, I like your attitude about them little yellow bugs :) (I checked for spelling errors but there might still be many, sorry)

Haha I'm glad it was appreciated! I don't know when I became really chill around critters, but I did realize recently that I have become that person who's like "Ugh it would be so much simpler to just kill this bug in my house because it's in an inconvenient place, but no, I feel morally obligated to catch it and let it outside 🙄" haha. The thing about a lot of stinging flying insects is that they generally won't sting unless they're disturbed (i.e. a bee had climbed into my jacket sleeve in an orchard, so when I put it on, it freaked out, validly—though there are some hornets that are a bit more aggressive) so I try to keep it cool and stay aware of where they are near me, and it's worked pretty well so far!

We did have to get rid of a hornet's nest recently that was next to the front door, which I did not enjoy, but there are limits to interactions. Actually, I just read A Honeybee Heart Has Five Openings and am currently reading Braiding Sweetgrass, and both of them have some applicable discussions of interacting with nonhuman life (and the first with bees in particular), so highly recommend checking one or both of those out if you're interested!

In general though I tend to let the urban wildlife do what they're doing, and don't move too quickly around them, and normally that cuts it, though I do draw the line at the squirrel that tried to steal my lunch the other week. -_-

#I do also have a habit of just talking to them like I talk to my cats xD I do not know that this helps but. just here to chat lol #@ the garter snakes that nap under my tomato plants: you're doing great sweetie #@ the squirrels on campus: where do y'all get the audacity #(it's from the tourists lmao) #but alas lol. my animism/pantheism is showing xD #truly do not know when this mindset happened. I did have to kill a spider in my laundry pile last year but #it was too big to really capture and it kept crawling into the clothing which was. yanno. a problem. lol #also apparently tumblr has stopped putting asks in activity on mobile? I will have to send in some feedback lol #also I'm sorry for the random book recs. it will happen again.

[ramblesbiab]

Do Us Part

This is a little writing piece I did! I'm very proud of it. <3

TW for lots of blood, character death, suicide

“You deserve so much better than a bullet. Of all the things to take you,” Carmine scoffs. Her ears still ring, and from outside the alley comes the sounds of anguish and flames, the stench of spilled blood wafting through the air with thick black smoke in tow. Yet the sight of her love, the deep crimson splotch under her disgusting old jacket, staining that damn white tank top that would normally cause her to grow feral. “Fucking cowards. That’s what they are, cowards waving around those wretched things like they own the world.”

“They do, don’t they?” Nyai asks. “Or have you forgotten why this fight’s taking place?” Her bangs stick to the sweat on her forehead as she groans and rests on her elbows, her skin wincing against the gravel which takes any chance to dig in. The paths of tears stain her confident cheeks. “I must admit, this has seemed inevitable for quite a while. I chose this fight.”

“You chose to be better than any other. You tamed those savages into warriors, you achieved more than any one of those pitiful resistances in our history, the ones we squashed like the bugs they were, you - you stayed. You were always persistent, you fought with a will stronger than titanium.” Carmine runs two fingers over the wound, as though to cover it will make it fade. “It’s cheap. It’s - it’s worthless. 

“Now I. I deserve it,” she continues, grabbing her love’s wrist and planting Nyai’s palm against the bloodied fabric of her dress. Fresh tears sting the corners of her eyes. “My father built the factories that pumped out guns and I took part in signing the orders to expand them. I stood behind bulletproof windows for all those years, overlooking it all, smirking at the slaughter. No better fate suits me then all but my own hand.”

“Where’s your father now? Or his dozen yes-men?” Nyai reaches up to the edge of Carmine’s jaw. “They’re behind that same glass, perhaps two layers now. If I had the funds or time I might bet they’re on a boat, fleeing to some other place instead of facing the mess they made, but Carmine, you’re here. You took a bullet for a cause you despised for decades.”

“The one you built for decades. And we both know I could not give less of a shit about the lives of your people, even if I had centuries to change my mind,” Carmine bites, not to her love but to the flaming expanse she can barely see behind the corner. She shakes her head. “None of them matter to me. No one matters any longer, whether they side with one of us or not.” Her body throbs. Something, somewhere. “You. It’s only you that I care for, Nyai.”

“And that’s why you believe I deserve better?”

“Among many reasons, but yes.” 

Nyai gives half a smirk, blood on her yellowed teeth and the cracks of her dry lips. “Come onto my lap, then.” Her voice raspy and breaking. 

“Even now you try to fluster me? Here of all places?” It pains Carmine to laugh. To find any source of joy in this moment, as she throws a leg over the splayed out, dying body of her lover. “There. You have me.” 

“As I prefer it.” Her hand drifts down to her hip, and she slips a dagger from her belt, the only clean one left. “You, too, are all I truly care for, Carmine,” she whispers. She runs her thumb against the metal. “And you say I deserve better. So I won’t die by a bullet.” Their eyes meet, Nyai’s sparkling from the everflashing lights from every direction. 

“What do you propose?” The throbbing continues, echoing through Carmine’s entire body. How she wishes the pain were silent, that she could sink into this moment, yet she isn’t a fool. She sees the way Nyai’s hand moves and feels the weight of the dagger’s handle tucking between her fingers, the soft grip slotting against her skin. 

“If I deserve better, then give it to me.” How she wants to throw the knife aside. “You’ll take it.” How she wants to stop the directing of her arm, to not see the sharp tip licking at her love’s chest. “You’ll kiss me.” How her beauty shines even now is a mystery, one that plays a symphony on the strings of Carmine’s heart. “And you’ll drive into me, right here.” 

She taps the blade down twice, parting the fabric below it into threads without effort. “Every breath, my love, I breathe for you. So my last belongs nowhere else but between your lips.” She kisses the back of Carmine’s hand, leaving what could almost be a lipstick stain, what could have been if only they lived in a different world. “I’d die by your hand a thousand times to taste your lips once. So truthfully, I’m beating the odds.”

A shiver jolts through Carmine’s body, peppering her with goosebumps and ripping the tears from her eyelids, sending them crashing down her neck. “I’m to kill you, then?” She thinks of each and every moment in her past where she told herself this was the dream above all others. How often she thought about the woman below her without ever knowing the extent of the emotions keeping her up at night, filling her mind with cruel, horrific fantasies.

Here they are now. Here a palm finds her face, and another kiss falls to the raise of her knuckles, and all noises fade but for the heave of her lover’s chest. 

“If I’m to do this, then - then you will promise me.” She nuzzles her face against Nyai’s hand. Burying her teeth in her cheek to stop the tears which keep thickening her throat. “You will promise me that death will not do us part. And it will never do so,” Carmine begs, gripping the dagger so her hand tingles and threatens numbness. “Promise to me now and forever that in every life from here on you will find me. No matter where you may be, you will - you will find me.”

“I will find you,” Nyai repeats. 

“No, promise. Do you promise?” 

“I do,” Nyai whispers. “You are the key to my soul. No other could ever fill the space you’ve created, and there’s not a single other way I’d have it. As long as you are mine I’m yours.”

“I’m yours,” Carmine repeats. She tastes blood in her mouth and loosens herself. She looks past the dagger and only to Nyai. “And while I have no control over the matter, our next life will be simple. We will be farmers in a distant land with acres all to ourselves, with a barn bigger than our home and a comfortable area on the second level where we can make love and look at the stars.”

“Can we have horses as well?”

“All the horses you could ever want. We will ride laps around our fields and rest under a tree until sunset.” She moves her hand down, nearly cringing at the greasy wetness of her lover’s hair. “We would shower together often so I could keep this clean.”

“That’s the reason why?”

“It’s one of them,” Carmine snickers and her body burns her for it. A shivering fuzz lines her vision. “I don’t wish to be away from you for so long.”

“May our love grow in time apart.” Nyai brings the dagger back into position, the heave more noticeable. “I will know you when I see you. No matter how you may look, my love, I will know.”

“And I will know as well.” She brings another hand to the knife. “I will know then and the next life, forevermore.” Carmine leans down, licking the space between Nyai’s lips. She tastes like copper and salt and perfection. “I love you,” Carmine whimpers. “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you,” Nyai repeats. “Forevermore.” 

They kiss recklessly. They’d do so until their skin grew raw and broken if time weren’t so cruel. Carmine lifts her hand, the end of the handle pressed into her dress. A dictionary runs through her mind until she realizes no word could ever fit now. No sentence, no noise. All which is left between them now is actions. So she kisses. And she kisses.

And she dives. 

“My love,” she cries. She can feel the smile on Nyai and can’t move away from it until all beneath her rests still as a stone. She sits up. Withdrawing the knife, now coated with her lover’s blood. Shining and metallic. 

Carmine can feel the adrenaline in her veins as it slowly slips away. With what energy is left, summoned from deep in her core, she screams into the sky, and her vocal cords threaten to shred. She can’t tell what lights are real anymore. 

She raises the knife. Focusing on the red. Nyai’s blood. 

She thinks of everything that brought her here. Every mistake she made, every lie she took at face value. None of it matters now. But she won’t die by a gun she sold, even if she may deserve it. 

She’ll die with her lover’s blood in her heart. 

She brings her arms in and screams again and sobs as her body quivers. Her stomach pulses. As everything fades her body falls, her head against Nyai’s chest. She swears she can hear the ghost of her heartbeat. 

Her vision grows coated in ink. With a dying whisper, the world hears her one last time.

“I love you, Nyai.” 

She dies with a smile. 

#writing #tragedy #star-crossed lovers #dark #lesbian #yuri #toxic yuri #I'm very proud of this #<3

[kedreeva]

Genuine question, how close did you get to that hornet? How zoomed in was your phone?

I'd have been so nervous to try to stand near them - wasps scare me pretty bad though

Maybe 6-8 inches, it was not zoomed in (though the video was cropped). The only reason I was not closer was because my phone doesn't focus well when zoomed in, not because the hornet cared. All it wanted was some wood pulp. I was standing at the door to the pen watching the birds when it landed next to me so I pulled out my phone to get some pics and a video before it flew off.

The only time in the last, like, 20 years that I've been stung was when I didn't realize some yellow jackets had made their yearly nest inside one of my bird pens and I practically stepped on it, and you know what? Fair. If someone stepped on my home I would probably sting them too if I could. We did end up having to cull that particular nest because they started going after the birds, but most seasons they make a nest or two around the property and we just leave them alone for the summer until they're done and they eat our pests. We've had a few paper wasp colonies before as well, and they've never hurt anyone. I see bumblebees, and hornets, and carpenter bees, and mud daubers, and several others, and they all have things they're doing just going about their business. Provided I'm not doing anything to them, they don't do anything to me!

And honestly? Most of the time if they're near a human it's because the human has food or water they want, are wearing a color they are attracted to, or smell like something they are investigating. They're not violent (provided you aren't starting shit with them first), they are usually just hungry or thirsty or wanting to know what's going on. I can relate!

#wasps #asks #anon asks #insects #i used to be scared of them #but I've worked to retrain myself #because i want to let them do their job #and live in their place in nature #i want the world to be kinder #and sometimes that means starting as small #as peacefully sharing space with insects and arachnids