#I’m gonna survive this trip by the skin of my teeth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xxgothchatonxx · 1 year

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Oh fuck, I just realized this is the “Please.” “Going my way?” “Meats back on the menu.” & Fall episode all in one. Idk how I’m gonna survive this.

I started this show (from the start) on March 8th. It’s now December 28!!!!

The Wrath of the Lamb:

* And we open with Reba & The Dragon!

* What are you doing…what are you planning?

* REBA NO NO NO NO

* OH MY GOD, WHY?

* NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

* DONT HURT HER, FRANCIS!

* WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY DO YOU HAVE GAS?? WHY ARE YOU GOING TO BURN HER?

* “BETTER YOU GO WITH ME.” NO NOOOO NO NO NO

* WHAT THE FUCK? HE SHOT HIMSELF WHAT THE FUCK?

* GET OUT THERE, GIRL!!!

* Oh sweetheart. & WILL!

* OH I LOVE THIS! How the world will describe her & Francis vs how they really are, as Will describes, “You drew a man with a freak in his back.” & she KNOws there’s nothing wrong with her ugh I love her so much😭

* AHHHH PALERMO MIND PALACE IN THE WHITE SUIT DATE LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOO

* “I was rooting for you.” “You came all this way & you didn’t get to kill anybody,” He’s such a comedian. & a bastard all in one!

* You say The Dragon stopped & yet we have 31 minutes left.

* “Think about me. Think about me, Will. Don’t worry about me.”

* GASP WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS THE HAND ON THE SEXY GLASS CELL EPISODE TOO WHAT THE FUCK

* Hannibal is once again not taking their break up not well at all. And Will is taking it PERFECTLY! Good for you, baby!

* I sense a JUMPSCARE FUCKING HELL FRANCIS WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?? GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!

* William Encephalitis Graham understands MORE THAN YOU KNOW

* OH MY GOD I LOVE THOSE MELDING VOICES OF WILL & HANNI FOR FRANCIS

* “I’m stronger than the dragon now.” Calling bullshit on that, but I love that William Revenge Eyes Graham is once again here for the fall of Hannibal Lecter! LET’S GET PLOTTING!

* Jimmy is doing lots of talking and interrupting Zoeller & I love it! I really miss this pair, which I think is very telling of me because I didn’t love them in the beginning lol

* OF COURSE HE KEPT & USED HIS GRANDMA’S TEETH!

* I’m GRINNING! I knew this plan was coming & I love it!

* Oh, here comes the “you love him so much it makes you stupid” bit from Bedelia who does not like this AT ALL!

* Will’s little eyebrow raise is getting him all the awards this evening. Main character energy

* “I don’t intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.“ In other words, you intend for Hannibal to be dead.

* You’re “BECOMING?” High empathy to bloody off a cliff pipeline incoming

* MEAT’S BACK ON THE MENUUUUU

* OH I FORGOT SHE SAID TWITCHY!!!

* Oh, yuck yuck yuck yuck yuck. The last time someone was in that kind of chamber they burned to death. I love you, Georgia Madchen!

* OH FREDICK IS HAVING A BALLLLLLL

* Alana is right, he’s never been comfortable in his own skin, but I do enjoy the Silence reference!

* Hanni is enjoying this. But he knows to be cautious thanks to Fredrick’s flame.

* “You died in my kitchen, Alana, when you chose to be brave. Every moment since is borrowed. Your wife, your child, they belong to me. You made a bargain for Will’s life, and then I spun you gold.” This man is evil. We all know that, but this is the one that I take the most offensive way. And he has said much worse.

* I enjoy this trio very much! Such a fun drinking buddies

* How the fuck do we have 15 mins left??

* His suit is so ugly. We begin & end the show with ugly suits.

* HE SAID MIC DROP STOP THIS IS IT?? MIND PALACE DATE TO TALK ABOUT REJECTION?? AMAZING

* Say the magic word, William. THAT’S IT!

* Oh my fucking God. Francis! You sneaky, sneaky little man!

* I really like this version of a Hannibal. No pretenses, no masking, just having fun and killing people. And going on a road trip with his ex.

* And there goes our adorable happy family! We really needed some thing with them, like way more than just this single scene!

* Mentions of Miriam and Abigail. Christ, I love how interconnected everything is, but it also just makes me sad.

* I mean, it’s a really nice Airbnb. I just know someone is gonna end up bloody on the floor in a little bit.

* “You intend to watch him kill me?“ “I intend to watch him change you.” OOOOHHHHHH

* I don’t know if I can save myself. Maybe that’s just fine.” I don’t know if you can either, sweetheart.💔

* A FRIEND? YALL ARE STILL AS FAR AWAY FROM FRIENDSHIP AS THE DARK OF THE SHADOWS OR WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT LINE WAS IN SEASON 2!

* OH FUCK HE GOT SHOT

* FRANCISSSSS, THIS SHOWS REAL GROWTH!!!!!

* & Will’s just there having his little drink, watching Hanni bleed. Good for him.

* HSHDHDHDJDBD SHEJSHDH YOU ATAB THE BOY? IN HIS FACE?

* Y’all are just taking turns with that fucking knife?

* OH NOT THE WINGS

* BLOODY WILL YES GO GET ‘EM!!!!

* AX AX AX OH DID NOT EXPECT THIS MUSIC SHIFT WOW THIS IS SOMETHING

* OH DID YOU HAVE TO BITE HIS NECK, HANNI? THE SLICE ACROSS THE STOMACH WAS ENOUGH!

* THE WINGSSSSS

* OH THE BLOODY WINGS

* YES, IT DOES LOOK BLACK IN THE MOONLIGHT, WILLIAM!

* WHAT THE FUCK?? “SEE?” SEE??? SEE???????

* IT IS BEAUTIFUL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

* OH MY GOD I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AHHHHHH NO NO NO COME BACK

* SIGH I DID IT BUT AT WHAT COST???

* SHE LOOKS GREAT, AND SO DOES HER LEG!!!! Oh shit, that’s her office!

And now you have seen one of the best series finales I've ever seen.. Bryan and co. were like "yeah the production phase was rushed as hell and the end scene didn't really sit well with us UNTIL along comes Siouxsie Sioux who is also a HUGE Fannibal, so she and Brian Reitzell kind of saved us at the end there"

I just- UGH, this show was so good! We'll never see another show quite like it.

I'm so happy you finally reached the end, my darling <3

If you'd like to see more Hanni and Will, I highly recommend Manhunter (w/ Brian Cox and William "best Will Graham EVER" Petersen) and Red Dragon (w/ Anthony Hopkins and Edward "...the writing is a bit off so he's my least fave Will, unfortunately" Norton)

#myst is me #hannibal #Myst and Nat presents Hanni & Friends

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shadow-8d · 2 years

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i have no idea if he’ll see this, or if he’ll care, but i just saw something he posted on snap this morning that lowkey hurt the shit out of me. i realized i’m probably overthinking it. it probably had nothing to do with me. he’s been around worse.

but i have to talk about it here; i have this incessant need to try. i don’t know if it’ll work. only reason i ever stop trying is cause of how exhausted i get waiting for it to work. but i still want to even in that state of exhaustion.

i have been FUCKED. UP. for a while.

toward the tail end of my innocence, i was in a really abusive relationship with a covert narcissistic dynamic, untreated in any capacity. but the girl i loved, she wasn’t a narcissist. no way. the girl i saw was so beautiful it makes me cry to this day. i doubt i’ll ever fall out of love completely.

but after the honeymoon phase it went like this: imagine you are sitting in a hospital in an uncomfy chair, visiting a friend who’s broken a leg. though it won’t make the chair any more comfortable, you’re not going to mention the uncomfiness of this chair to your friend. why? unequal damage. they’re going thru it worse than you.

she was beautiful but she was bruised. she was bleached, bitchy, beautiful, broken, and bruised. her one support system in her life was actively failing her in the middle of a pandemic before which she was already isolated within the confines of her lil ass town in her lil ass house.

but my sixteen year old hopeless romantic loner ass wanted her.

so i made the mistake of chasing.

shoulda known it was gonna destroy me.

i made a lot of mistakes after that relationship. i’m quite literally still high. started smoking the day after and didn’t stop. and i got into another one less than a month after that lasted for eight months. then into another situation i allowed to arise IN THE MIDST OF ENDING THE ONE PREVIOUS, for another seven months. then watched a boy fall for me as i fell for him in return; tried to pretend it wasn’t happening cause i didn’t think he could love me (turned out to be right) and i had other commitments i cared more about than whatever the fuck he was on.

always hated group mixing as a kid. i keep my foods apart on a plate and i keep my friends apart less i skate, word to god. but when i like somebody i can let my imagination run wild. and i liked the potential i saw in that cottage trip a LOT.

i hadn’t seen my boy for ages, cause he had shit to do for school. i refuse to get in the way of someone’s education. he needs to be able to do well in this life, and i’ll do whatever it takes to see him succeed. i stand by that.

even if i haven’t been able to communicate directly to him a lot recently, i already know how imma get his books back. i know he wants them. he cares. he needs em and he deserves em. redacted shouldn’t have taken them. but he’s selfish.

and i’d been, essentially, manic for the past few weeks. since my parents had argued with me so badly i realized no amount of communication was going to get through. i hadn’t told him that, really, but i’d been really really scaring myself with how far out of my way i was going to chase adrenaline. i think also in some way i was mimicking my friend, in how he always coped by chasing adrenaline on a skateboard. if he didn’t need to give a fuck, why should i? energy. maybe adrenaline does have a kick to it. but from that day on, i was out of my house.

i knew i was coming off as distant towards him, but i was being distant towards everyone. that’s how i get when i’m “manic” like that, i guess. i don’t have the capacity to give a shit about anyone who can’t facilitate the goals i have, because everything i’m doing is out of this mental illusion of a teeth-gritting necessity to survive. i don’t actually need to do those things, but if i don’t, the hallucinations start coming back. i start dragging metal across my skin. picking my fingers til they drip down hallways. and within the confines of his life, especially how important it is that he is NOT manic while he tries to finish his homework, i had to minimize my level of interaction with him not just because i knew he needed to do his shit, but because i felt i needed to protect him from how scary i was getting.

mania is one of the reasons i believe i was so okay with allowing him to be on that trip with that fucking bitch and redacted and redacted.: and redacted;. it was never a question of whether i wanted him there. i did. i know how good a cottage vacay is, and i can’t imagine how nice it must be to get an offer like that knowing shit’s RARE. it’s not like mom and dad got that shit at home, either, so when an opportunity opens up it’s NICE. but it’s also, i DID grow up like that. and u gotta understand, with my boy? he’s fucked up. i came into his life when he had his head over a toilet bowl. do you understand how much care and precision i had to execute to get this creature to trust me, to get him to come out of his shell, to open himself up? to be willing to DESTROY it with a PREDATOR like that fucking bitch? would be LAUGHABLY stupid compared to the level of calculation i’d successfully been employing - up until i got into that manic state.

another selfish factor of that manic state is that he isn’t someone who can give me those outlets the same way the friends i was around at the time could, which meant that i couldn’t be around him as much bc i relied on those outlets to survive the kind of lifestyle mania b thrustin me into.

both redacted and redacted.: had:

access to vehicles

had interest + time to hang (on daily basis at one point)

redacted specifically:

access to free drugs

1h skateboard ride in the country away

practical house

good ass food

parents who aren’t gonna judge me when i come over

logical stability w his daily routine that calms my actual soul

redacted.: specifically

within walking distance

made me feel less uncomfy about bein queer around a straight boy

uni student

constantly offered to hang

stuck RIGHT up for me during trauma. held me. talked me back into sanity

in contrast, though i very much was into my boy and i wished endlessly i could’ve had those convos with HIM instead of these guys all the time, there is difficulty in being around him. it’s unrelated entirely to anything he should feel bad for, not his fault. but it involves

all four of his guardian figures being in some way harmful to me

lives further away from me both bus and drive wise

is a year younger academically so academic requirements are completely unrelated

has responsibility for his lil sis on weekends

his dad didn’t let him sleep over for over half a year lol and made it rlly hard on him psychologically if ever he tried to question it

he is v mentally ill and we were to a degree engaged in a level of toxicity with the ignoring each other thing which i know made his shit worse

now let’s take a good long think. to be able to live up to what these above bullet points put in front of me, this is what i enacted like 2 months into our situation.

we are going to hang out at my house when possible, not his house, to avoid the guardian factor. i have trauma related to how little the parents of the people i date feel about me and so if i continue engaging with this i’m going to want to do an oopsie.

when he does come over, bc it means he’s gonna have to travel, ima do my best to take care of every physiological need he’s ever had cause that’s the one way i can actually, concretely help with the level of shit he’s dealing with. quite doable. my resources privilege me.

i couldn’t date him because i felt that i couldn’t handle an (unstable, out of either of our control) relationship during school when i was slipping in and out of wanting to do oopsies. it was too much.

i tried to avoid facetiming him on weekends because the way he’d still sit there on the phone with me while talking to his lil sis the whole time, hurt. i knew he wanted to talk to me or he wouldn’t have been there, but he literally did not have the time. and she needs him more than i ever can.

i tried not to press the sleepover shit in terms of it being his fault or his responsibility to fix, because of how hard it was for him to do, and how hard it was for me to watch him fight what i saw as a pointless, endless fight. he still won it anyway, stubborn bastard. but at what cost?

i never let my ignoring of him get to the degree of cutting off communication because i knew if i were to abandon him it could leave him worse than when i met him, which was actually sickening to conceptualize, so i always have kept some avenue of communication between us open.

i was hoping the cottage trip would be a way for him to see that kind of stability and get a slice of it himself so he could see why and how it was necessary for me in that moment. but the most crucial aspect of this trip that has carried forward until this point is that it did the EXACT opposite for me - it DESTROYED the only stability i had managed to build since i had been ripped apart at the end of 2021.

it took away the boy i was talking to, it took away both of my best friends and sent them right back to their vices and within that took away my daily routine, and it made my parents angrier at me. it took away the shit i had to keep me occupied during work. it took away my inspiration and motivation to create art. it took away my capacity for any and every form of connection.

it completely traumatized me in front of the people i had worked my ass off to heal for.

that’s why everything became so dramatic. it ripped the rug right out from under my feet in every single direction. and given his direct involvement with why i, specifically, was so fucked up, i was in absolutely no state to even speak with him for a few weeks after i came back from that trip. that was the case BEFORE all the other shit started unfolding on top of me - watching redacted run off with a girl when i needed him to be there for me. watching redacted.: start vaping again and get a hyperfixation on fishing. the two of us begging redacted not to leave us for her and him refusing and going anyway. trying to explain what had happened to eli, the only mf who even tried to listen, then that boy started ignoring me for weeks. this was, of course, after i had to bring myself to TYPE my feelings out to him because he had started refusing to show his face on facetime or actually open his mouth and speak on the phone.

it was so bad redacted felt, of his own volition (oblivious boy), that he had to call me to try and calm that shit down. i was so terrified i was gonna be abandoned i was half suicidal with fear. and that boy didn’t help. he added to it in his own unintentional way by what i assume was being so consumed with his own emotions that he couldn’t even try and protect mine from him.

couldn’t even try and protect me from how badly that would amplify redacted.:’s abandonment in the coming weeks, or redacted’s moving away, or his stupid little disloyalty stunt.

didn’t even realize how angry i would’ve had to be to block him from me. stop him from having access to me because of how fucking badly it hurt to keep trying to fix something that every time i’d approach, i’d be met with LONG. FUCKING. STREAMS. OF SILENCE.

say something, i wanted to scream. but i could only mutter it in my own head. over. and over. and over. and over.

i’ve been so fucking crazy these past few weeks since school started i’ve been literally going insane. skateboarding all over town. bruises the size of my shins covering my calves, knees, arms, thighs. staying up til 3, 4, 5, or going to sleep at 6/7 and waking up at 3, 4, 5. i’ve slept outside twice now, once in a different city. imagine that, huh. and i was alone. and no one knew.

feel what you want about how i reacted to this situation, but understand i’m still reeling from the effects of it and coming to me to try and heal it in the way you’ve been doing is only going to see you walking up against a burning building and wondering why you’re walking away in flames. i get that you’re angry, zero, but you don’t need to fucking hate me when all i ever wanted to do was love you, you fool. i never wanted it to hurt like this, so you can stop pretending i’ve been reveling in it. i’m fucking aching too, and i’d actually kill to be able to take this weight off my shoulders. i wouldn’t ever have broken your heart on purpose. fuck. stop taking it out on me like i would’ve after i fought so fucking hard to protect it.

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bumpscosity · 3 years

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My stomach hurts but I can’t tell if it’s my period or bc I ate a lot last night or because I didn’t eat much this morning or because were traveling or bc I had a lot of anxiety yesterday and I feel like if I do the treatment for the wrong one it might fuck me up more so I guess I’m just gonna do nothing

#the hotel gave up apple juice so I’m gonna drink that and I might take some Tylenol if it gets rly bad #I’m gonna survive this trip by the skin of my teeth #also I thought I got that expression wrong for a sec bc it’s so weird but I guess not…. skin of your teeth? who came up with that?#sassy speaks #period tw #uterus tw

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phantomrose96 · 3 years

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Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #long post #wanted to write A Thing so here is A Thing!

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benevolentcalamity · 3 years

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Dragon x Human (Female) Reader

I’m bored.

This is gonna be a two-parter, just FYI.

You’d learned the legend of a dragon that lives in a cave at the top of the mountain. Dare you say you had visions or even dreams of it flying over your village, not to harm but simply to remind your neighbors that it is there, alive, and far from a myth. Though you were known to be different - a bit weird, even, so your father practically challenged you to find this great beast.

“Dragons like music and fancy things, right? So take your harp with you... Just hope he brings you back! Hahaha!” It’s easy for him to laugh over a good ale.

So you’re here, ascending the mountain path. Carved for adventurers like you, more or less, but it’s the first clue you may find something. Which would be a relief, considering your knapsack, which mom packed because there was no stopping you, weighs a ton and you want to sit down.

Something falls on your nose, and you flinch, peering up for a moment before more drops on you, until your face is nearly drenched. The clouds above turn dark, lighting flashing in the distance but fast approaching, and your hair stands on end in fear as you run as fast as your legs will allow as the rain beats down on you and the ground below.

“If you’re not back by tomorrow night,” Your mother’s words echo in your head, “We will send someone to find you. I might not be able to stop you but I am still your mother.”

Yea, thanks...

Opting for shelter wherever you can find it, you find an enormous cave just when your legs are ready to give out, lumbering into it and plopping down once you’re somewhere dry.

Leaning back against the cave wall, you take your knapsack off, setting it beside you and your harp on the other side. Thankfully it’s not ruined by the rain, but it’s still wet. It’ll need time before you can properly operate it again.

Reaching into your bag, you find an apple and a small wedge of cheese. Deciding not to be too greedy, you set the cheese on your leg, biting into your apple. It’s crunchy and sweet despite everything, soothing you from the thunder and lightning burning the sunlight away from the remaining white clouds.

Finishing all too soon, you decide to chuck the core out into nature, bringing the cheese to your lips. Much to your relief you only eat half of it, putting it back in your bag and settling back in. Finding your cloak, you drape it over yourself, yawning.

BOOM!

The thunder sends you upright, shrieking for a moment. Deciding to get away from the noise, you pick your bag up, adjusting your cloak as you go further into the cave, swallowing as it grows darker seemingly with each step. It’s confining, but you don’t wish to face the lightning when it frightens you so.

You blink, and there’s light eventually after a sharp turn. Torches light the walls, leading into an enormous area filled with... treasure.

It’s more than you’d seen in even storybooks, from gold coins to ancient necklaces, to even mirrors and gems and everything in between. Mesmerized, you venture closer, before you trip on a goblet and into the pile, freezing up at the resulting noise.

A breeze, hot as if to warn of fire, soars through the cavern, and you helplessly stand, bag and harp falling from your arms as you hear dull thuds echoing through the cave.

Something’s coming toward you, or this place. Something... huge.

“It would seem I have an uninvited guest,” A gravelly, fatigued voice growls. “Human, let me ask: Would you like it if I entered your home without a proper invitation?”

All you can do is tremble. “N... No...”

“Then why, pray tell, do you intrude?” The scales reflect the fires’ light, and the deep blue serpentine eyes stare down at you, as if daring you to answer. “Think you can haul my treasures away, do you? Touch a single coin or stone and I can promise you now that you will not live to see the dawn.”

You swallow. “I’m not here to steal anything...”

The large head tilts, before lowering until it’s in view of the light. It’s spiky, implying the dragon has been in battle and evolved to survive, the scales a perfect black to blend into the shadows. It stares at you quizzically, as if trying to solve the answer to a riddle.

“Then what is it you seek, human? I warn you, clever words will lead you to a fast grave.”

The feeling slowly returns in your hands. “... I need your name.”

It blinks, amusement entering its eyes. “My name would mean nothing to you, regardless of how our encounter ends.”

Taking in a deep breath to keep calm, you peer down at your harp, then back at the dragon.

“I ran into this cave seeking shelter from the storm. I was unaware that I was intruding into your home, and thus I would like to make an apology in the form of song. If you would allow it, of course, for I hear it’s common for dragons to take a liking to music.” It’s a gamble, but worth trying if this is where you should meet your death.

Curiously, the dragon straightens its head, before exhaling through its nostrils.

“Maythyr.”

With a soft smile, you bow your head. “[Name]. It’s an honor.”

“Indeed it is. Now, you’ve a harp, and my attention.” To emphasize this, Maythyr lowers onto the mountain of coins, laying his head down so he’s closer to you. “Play your song.”

Picking up the cue, you kneel down, tugging the harp into your arms. Poking your tongue out to moisten your lips, you pull a few strings, until a song begins pouring from your fingertips.

youtube

As the notes flow through the air, Maythyr’s eyes close as his head sways to the song. His breathing is slow and calm, with the occasional yawn that sends some small sparks to fade on the treasure below.

Noticing his sleepiness, your song comes to a halt. Standing back up, you move to retreat away, when his eyes snap open.

“Did I say you could stop?”

Sitting back down, you continue your song, but his eyes remain locked on you.

“You’re from the village just down the mountain, correct?” He asks. You nod. “Then I am fortunate, that you are not far. I think I would enjoy it if you would play these songs for me should you return.”

Blinking, you tilt your head. “Do you mean to invite me?”

“Consider it more of an order from a superior beast,” He chuckles. “I ask myself why I haven’t burned the village to cinders, then a human like you shows themselves, and then I remember why. You amuse me, greatly so, and as such not only will I spare you, I welcome you to return.”

You’re not sure whether this dragon’s favor is a blessing or a curse.

“But what if I’m not allowed to return?”

His teeth show, but more in a grin than a ravenous intent to eat you.

“Then I shall wear your kind’s skin, and seek you out by your melody. That is my word as a dragon, that I am bound by. I look forward to our next times together, little songbird.”

You reflect his smile, but more out of nervousness of what’s to come than excitement.

Oh... my...

#dragon x reader #hi #my writing #monster x reader #monster x you #dragon x you #dragon x human #dragon story

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milliedazzledust · 3 years

Text

Even When It Hurts (Clark Kent imagine)

Request by @icyhollands : Clark comforting the reader after she got hurt by someone pretty badly, and him comforting her from a anxiety attack after she gets hurt

Words: 2009

A/N: I know a lot of you were waiting for this so I’m sorry it took so long to write - thank you for your patience and I hope you’ll like it :)

“Clark, you need to come down, now!”

Flying across his enemies on the battlefield, he faintly heard the sound of a voice, even with the distance. As soon as Bruce had found the aliens associated with Darkseid, they had been quick to act and the whole team had made the trip to fight.

While the others were keeping most of their opponents on the ground, he had taken upon himself to divert their attention from the precious object they were trying to steal by attacking from the sky. Too focused on the task, he had missed Arthur and Y/N going after a bunch of them. When she had seen her friend in bad posture, she hadn’t hesitated to put herself between him and the alien, taking the full blast of his hit. Her body had flown across the field before landing on a large tree trunk, breaking it in half. Her vision had been blurred for a moment, too disoriented as her breath was knocked out of her by the hard impact. She hadn’t been fast enough to notice the monster running toward her until she had felt the pain. Arthur had come to her rescue and killed him, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

When she looked down, all she saw was the tip of the weapon he had used, the other half was deep in her side, buried between what she guessed was her ribs.

“Y/N’s been hit!” Arthur yelled as he grabbed her when she fell on her knees.

High above their heads, Clark looked down and quickly spotted the wounded woman. He wasted no time in making his way to her, sending some of the aliens flying with a flicker of his hand. When one of them launched at him, and conjuring up all his frustration and his anger, he punched him with a force that knocked him out instantly.

His eyes remained on her, always. He felt his heart clenched when he saw pain twisting her features and instantly understood the gravity of her situation. She was holding onto Arthur, clutching her side, holding the weapon steady in her flesh. Fear is all he could feel when he landed on the ground, staring at the large gash of blood around her wound. He could even hear her heartbeat getting faster by the second.

Furrowing his brows in concern, he kneeled in front of her and grabbed her face. For a second he just studied her, softly brushing a tear with his thumb, until his eyes landed on hers.

“How bad is it ?” She asked him, her voice a weak whisper.

“You’re gonna be fine” He assured her.

“You’re a terrible liar, Clark” She tried to smile but even that simple movement seemed too much in her state.

She knew if she didn’t feel a thing yet it was purely because of the adrenaline. Tiny little molecules running through her veins, urging her body to fight back, to survive and fix what the foreign object had torn. She could sense fluid pouring out of her injury, the hand clutching her side was already covered in red. She was waiting for the moment the hormone would stop working and she would feel like a bomb had exploded inside of her.

She closed her eyes and a sob escaped her mouth. Her breathing was getting irregular and she was losing her grip. She was exhausted.

“Y/N, stay with me” The superhero tried to motivate her, slowly shaking her head. “Show me those pretty eyes”

She was starting to lose consciousness, and that observation alone terrified him. He kissed her forehead in a sign of encouragement and laid his hand over hers so she wouldn’t let go. She cried out in pain and glanced down. It only took a couple seconds before he was covered in blood as well. He pursed his lips, forcing himself to keep his eyes on hers and not look at the wound. His face was betraying him and he wasn’t even aware of it. She could so easily see the reflection of his own fear in his gaze, the depiction of worry over his features that she lazily traced with her fingers. The shadow of a smile appeared on her lips knowing only she could read him like an open book.

“It’s alright, baby” He comforted her.

“You should work on your poker face” She tried to joke. She was glad it made him smirk.

He turned his head toward Arthur, still holding the woman’s body.

“We’re gonna lay her down” He told him.

“I don’t think that��s a good idea” Y/N warned him, grabbing his biceps to stop him.

“Do you trust me ?” He muttered, stroking her cheek.

“You know I do”

“Then trust me”

She faintly nodded and let the men handle her wounded body. Arthur was behind her, holding on her shoulders, and Clark was in front of her, one hand on her wound, the other behind her neck. As gently as they could, they started to rotate her. Clark never moved his gaze away from hers, not even when her hand gripped his shoulder in pain or when her tears flowed freely as the pain started to become unbearable.

The moment her head touched the ground, she began to cough blood. Her eyes widened at the realization and her heartbeat hastily palpitated.

“We’re alright” He reassured her.

“We’re alright” She repeated in a whisper. She could no longer focus on anything around her. Anxiety was creeping up and threatening to take over. She knew it would do no good but she couldn’t stop it. Her hand tightly clutched the fabric of her man’s costume and her chest started to rise more rapidly as bile rose in her throat.

“Clark” She called for help in a single breath.

“I’m here, baby. I’m not leaving your side”

He wiped the blood on her mouth with his finger.

“You and I have a date tomorrow, remember ?” He spoke, smiling when she faintly nodded. “So you’re not allowed to fall asleep. I haven’t even introduce you to my terrible cooking yet”

Her laugh started a coughing fit, bringing more blood out of her mouth.

“I have to take it out, Y/N” He said more seriously, motioning to the weapon in her body.

Her eyes widened in panic and she shook her head, ignoring the pain.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, beautiful. I’ve got you”

“A .. plan ?” She asked.

“Yes, I do have a plan” He understood her question. “But you’re not going to like it”

“Tell me” She murmured.

“You’re hemorrhaging,” He explained. “If we let it in, you’re risking an infection”

“And if you take it out, I’ll bleed out” She weakly responded.

“Not if I cauterize the wound”

“How ?”

She understood the moment she saw his eyes flashing red. She gulped, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

“I trust you” She repeated the words she had said already.

He nodded and gave her one last encouraging smile before motioning for Arthur to come closer. He explained his plan in a hurry before standing up, letting the King of Atlantis take his place.

“Ready ?” He questioned the woman.

“Do it” She said, clenching her teeth.

She averted her gaze toward Clark, mouthing one last ‘I love you’ before Arthur pulled out the weapon in a very fast movement and held her down. Superman’s eyes immediately started glowing and he directed his heat vision to the open wound. The moment the high temperature laser touched her skin, she screamed in agony. A horrible, searing pain suddenly invaded her body and she was convinced she was going to die right there. She felt the urge to get away from the source but Arthur had a good grip on her. She kept shouting, as if it would ease the burning sensation. Clark’s jaw tightened and a tear rolled down his cheek, hating to be the one causing her pain.

After only a couple of seconds, she could no longer handle the torture and lost consciousness. The superhero stopped his ministration when he was sure the wound was closed properly and no blood was leaking anymore. Ignoring the smell of burned skin, he silently picked her up in his arms, listening closely to her heartbeats to make sure she was alright.

“I’ve got her” He told Arthur before bolting in the air.

She woke up hours later in a bed, completely disoriented. It took her a solid minute to recognize Clark’s bedroom inside the Kent farmhouse. She felt a throbbing ache on her side and muffled a scream when she touched it. When she looked down, she realized Clark had taken off her suit and had replaced it with one of his shirts. She lifted it to inspect the damage but all there was left of her wound was a small scar made by the man she loved. She shuddered at the memory and swung her legs off the bed. The moment her feet touched the ground, her body crumbled and she lost her balance. A pair of strong arms caught her before she could injure herself.

“You’ve not healed yet” A voice scolded her.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes closed, she let her head fall on his chest and circled his waist, squeezing him in a tight embrace that she so desperately needed. He was her safe line when she was spiraling down, which was happening now that she remembered she had almost lost him.

“How are you feeling ?” He inquired, kissing her head

“Alive” She replied. “I got … I really got scared for a minute”

She brushed a tear and tried to stop the hurricane of negative thoughts hitting her. He felt it too when her body started shaking and ran a hand on her back to calm her down.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you” He swore, holding back the anxiety creeping in. “And I hope you know I won’t let you out of my sight for at least a week”

She knew it was his way of lightening the mood when he could feel her darkness hovering above both of their heads. He had a way of guessing when it was coming and always reacted quickly, diverting her attention to anything else but her mind playing games.

“Do I, at least, get to spend that week in your arms ?” She smirked, raising her head so only her chin was resting on his chest.

“I have conditions” He replied with a smile.

She rolled her eyes.

“Name it”

She saw the change in his attitude and tilted her head in confusion when he took a step back. Cupping her face with both his hands, he stared deeply at her. She could see his quiet emotion through the way his eyes bore into hers, his fear and his devotion.

“Never say I love you like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to hear it” He told her, his lips quivering as a shaky breath escaped his mouth.

Instead of answering, she led him to the bed behind them and together they laid down. He pulled her close and she raised her head until her lips found his. She didn’t need words when she could condensed a million loving thoughts into this moment. The emotion of that kiss alone spoke volume. A simple gesture that meant ‘you’re my home and I won’t leave’

“I love you, Clark”

She repeated the words again and again, making him laugh with happiness. He tightened his hold around her waist until she was almost laying on his chest. Her ear against his heart, she listened with a smile and closed her eyes, soothed by the steady rhythm.

“Thank you” She whispered after a while.

“What for ?”

“Bringing my head and soul back home to you when they get lost”

“Always” He promised.

Her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, she kissed his cheek and peacefully fell asleep in his protective embrace.

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent imagines #clark kent fanfiction #superman #superman x reader #superman x you #superman imagine #superman imagines #superman fanfiction

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amjustagirl · 3 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.9k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm

Masterlist link here

AO3 link here

Author’s Note: And we’re at the final chapter! Thank you so much for going on this wild ride with me, and I’m rly excited to hear what you guys think - so please, drop me an ask, a note, a comment, anything!!!

It takes time and effort to rebuild a home wrecked by a storm, and reconstruction efforts aren’t necessarily smooth sailing, especially at the start - after all, he’s still the same Miya Atsumu, arrogant and brash and foulmouthed and hyper focused on volleyball, and they both have baggage from years of regret and pain to work through. But he has determination to spare, and she loves him too much for her own good, so they start from the very foundation and work their way up, step by step, one day at a time.

‘I’ll kill ya if ya ever hurt her again’, Osamu threatens darkly when she and Atsumu break the news to him.

‘Go find yer own girl and stop being sweet on my wife damn it! ’ Atsumu growls, but the kiss he presses to her forehead when she smacks the back of his head for being mean to his twin is achingly sweet.

‘Ugh, soppy. Get yer shit outta my house!’ Osamu scrunches his face in mock disgust.

Both brothers are surprised when she beats Atsumu at flipping Osamu off.

Atsumu moves back home (he’s not even going to hide how happy the sound of that makes him), and they mark the occasion by slipping his wedding ring back on his finger and eating take-out pizza on the living room floor.

Her burly brothers turn up on their doorstep with a glint in their eyes and too much teeth in their smiles, determined to drag Atsumu off for a couple of drinks and what she assumes will be a very unpleasant chat. She’d insisted on patting them down to make sure they’re not packing any knives - ‘what do you take us for, little sis’, they’d protested - but she’s not taking any chances, and begs Osamu to join them, ‘please ‘Samu, I don’t want to be a widow right after I decide not to divorce his ass’, and he agrees despite grumbling that he might as well be Atsumu’s glorified babysitter at this rate.

She’d woken up in bed the next morning to find the space beside her empty, but the living room crammed full of those four silly men. Atsumu and Osamu share a single futon between them, snoring back to back. There are faint bruises on Atsumu’s cheekbone and telltale scrapes on her own brothers’ knuckles, but otherwise they all seem relatively unscathed.

She bends over, tracing her thumb along the contour of Atsumu’s jaw, and he stirs, eyes half lidded with sleep.

‘Hey darlin', I’ve come home’, he tells her, warmth flickering in his smile.

‘Welcome home, 'Tsumu’, she says, tucking the blanket under his chin and he hums in contentment, falling back asleep.

His nightmares of brown envelopes and harsh neon lights distorting her face slowly fade, and he dreams instead of weeknight dinners and weekend picnics at the park, relishing the quiet domesticity of grocery trips and laundry loads, and delighting in home games with her and Shino cheering him on.

Some piss poor excuse of a gossip hound corners him after a match to ask him about whether he regrets leaving for Milan since his season ended in injury - and he freezes when the reporter slyly adds ‘especially since we all knew it’s a move that required you to leave your wife and daughter behind ‘. His manager is about to intervene when she sneaks up on him to slide an arm around his waist, apologising to the reporter that ‘she’s just so excited to give her husband a congratulatory kiss!’ .

Sakusa and Meian have to join forces to pull Atsumu back from punching the reporter when he grins shark-like, thinking he’s spotted easy prey and asks her whether she felt abandoned in Japan due to his move - ‘pardon me Miya-san for my unwieldy choice of words’.

‘Not at all’, she says without missing a beat, and Atsumu wonders if he imagines the flash of a knife in her smile. ‘I’ve always supported my husband in all his endeavours. It was a joint decision that I should stay in Japan to ensure our daughter has some stability in her life.'

‘She’s good’, his manager tells him when the reporter slinks away with his tail between his legs.

‘Yeah - I don’t deserve her’, he answers with a rueful smile.

When he tries to thank her that night, she levels him with a look that could knock a grown man (i.e. him) off his feet, but her voice is gentle and her words are soft.

‘Don’t thank me’, she says. ‘Just be a better husband and father, ok?’

He’s not ashamed to admit that he actually cries.

He learns to tell her he loves her at least once a day. She starts to smile back cheekily and reply ‘of course’.

The game is in between sets when the skin at the back of his neck crackles with nerves. From the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Osamu sprinting right into the stands. Then his ears pick up on his little girl’s scream - ‘mama’ she cries, her shrill voice ringing above the confusion rippling through the crowd and his legs move of their own accord, leaping over the barrier into the audience, as he snarls and shoves his way to her usual spot.

He thought he’s had his fill of nightmares to last him a lifetime. He’s evidently wrong.

She lies crumpled on the ground, head resting on Osamu’s lap. Her lips are pale and her eyes are closed but thank god - thank whichever deity’s listening - her chest still moves with her breath. He’s not quite sure what happens next - he knows he dives to his knees and pulls her towards him but everything else is a blur until her eyes flutter open and she groans.

‘Darlin’, can ya hear me? Can ya tell me where you are?’ he asks, forcing his voice to remain calm.

‘Tsumu? Why are you here? Aren’t you in the middle of a game?’ she murmurs, confused.

‘Fuck the game’, he snaps. ‘Are ya feelin' ok?’

‘Something hurts, Tsumu’, she rasps, eyes glazing over. He can feel the chill of ice seep into his spine.

'Yer fine, yer fine, yer going to be fine' he mutters, over and over and over again, willing her to sit up and tell him she's fine, she's ok, she'll just shake it off - but light starts to shutter out of her eyes and frost creeps up his throat.

‘I need a medic!’ he shouts, voice cracking on every word. ‘I need a medic, now!’

‘Tsumu’, he hears his brother interrupt urgently. ‘Tsumu, she’s bleedin’.

He’s never been more grateful for Osamu when his twin turns to yell for an ambulance and yanks Shino away with him. The little girl is kicking and screaming for her mama but he knows she would kill him if he lets their little girl be traumatised from seeing her mama lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

He can’t breathe - not even when the medics finally come and whisk her off to the hospital, his mind hardly able to process anything, terror still coursing through his veins when the doctors press brown envelopes full of forms into his bloodstained hands for him to sign so the relevant procedures can be carried out.

‘Don’t!’ Osamu says sharply, when he drops his head into his hands and starts to whimper about how he’ll die if he loses her again and what the fuck is he gonna do, ‘Samu, if she doesn’t make it out alive – ‘she’s stronger than ya think, don’t ya dare give up on her like that’, and he promptly shuts up after that. Time in the waiting room passes agonizingly slow, seconds feeling like minutes, minutes stretching into hours, and he would have drowned from the weight of his despair if he weren’t anchored in place by his twin’s hand on his back.

His breath rushes back into his lungs when the doctors later tell him she’s fine, they carried out the standard operation - but she doesn’t look fine, doesn’t seem fine, is very clearly not fine when they wheel her out, huddled into a ball with her head between her knees, like her world has just collapsed into itself. She doesn’t even look up when he sits beside her, the bed dipping under his weight.

‘I’m sorry’, she eventually says, voice barely a whisper, and he fights the urge to break down into tears – because ‘Samu’s right, she’s so much stronger than he thinks. They'd been talking about trying for a sibling for Shino for some time now, since they've both grown up with brothers of their own and can't imagine life without them. But the doctors tell him that it’s just bad luck - the baby was never going to survive, and her collapse was probably exacerbated by stress, overwork, perhaps even fatigue from her skipping lunch for work and dinner to rush to his match.

‘Don’t be. It’s not yer fault at all’, he manages to pull himself together to reassure her, but she just stares blankly at the wall.

His grandmother calls when they find out the baby they lost would have been a boy, and he fails her again when he’s too late to snatch the phone away before the old lady’s poison drips into her ears and traps her in a deadly fog. He’d cursed the old bitch out relentlessly, but the toxic words fester beneath her skin and she fades into a ghost before his eyes. He desperately tries to stop her spiral into frozen silence, but he’s away for games more than half the time, hands tied behind his back by the stranglehold of contracts and commitments he has no choice but to fulfil.

He’s never been so thankful before when the season finally ends - but he is, at least this time, so he can talk her into taking two weeks off from work. They drop Shino off with her indulgent grandparents, and drift down the coast on the back of her bike. She doesn’t try breaking any speed limits - and he knows he should be happy about that, but there’s no spark in her eyes, no smile to answer the wind - there hasn’t been, not since she collapsed.

(not since they lost their child)

He buys her mochi at every town, but she picks at it listlessly, just like she does these days when Osamu tries to tempt her with his latest creations. He insists they stay at ryokans, traditional inns with onsens attached, hoping the heat from the water might chase the chill from her bones, but colour does not return to her cheeks. There are shadows beneath her eyes, and she seems to wilt under the vibrant red and gold of autumn leaves.

They go for a walk after dinner one night, tracing a path along the shore. He’d been talking non-stop the entire trip to mask the gaps left by her silence, but tonight he falls quiet, allowing the hum of the waves to wash over them. Her hand is cold in his, so he wraps his jacket around her shoulders and hopes the warmth from his body bleeds into hers.

She comes to a standstill, feet sinking in the sand, and tilts her head to face him.

‘Tsumu?’, she breathes, a question in her eyes.

‘I’m here’, he says, a prayer in his heart.

There is a lighthouse on the cliff just a few miles ahead, illuminating the shadows of the waves. The faintest reflection of light pools in her eyes, and he stills as she lifts her gaze to meet his.

‘I know’, she says, offering him the smallest of smiles.

He interlaces their fingers together firmly, and tugs her towards shelter, as a storm brews over the horizon.

That night she tucks her head under his chin, and he holds her until she falls asleep, cradled in his arms. He keeps slumber at bay by counting her breaths, and only falls asleep himself when the storm breaks.

'Why did I wake up to a blonde octopus wrapped around me', she mumbles, voice heavy with sleep.

'Nah. More like a seahorse, cos I'm not letting ya go, sweetheart', he replies, tightening his grip on her waist. 'Ya got a problem with that?'

Her only response is to burrow herself deeper into his chest.

'Guess not', he chuckles fondly, nuzzling his nose into her hair, hope blossoming anew in his heart.

Time turns their wounds into scars and they heal together, one breath at a time.

She stays away from their first few matches when the season begins again. The press is coerced into passing over reports of her collapse by the dual forces of the MSBY press machine and their legal team, but they are forced to ride out the gossip generated in internet forums by a fringe group of deranged fans. His teammates treat her like she’s made of glass - even Bokuto dials himself down a notch, all save for Shoyo, who slips her his mother’s number, telling her gently that the six year gap between him and Natsu wasn’t deliberate, and that she would find a sympathetic ear in the older woman.

He knew he was right to anoint Shoyo as his favourite wing spiker - not only does he fly high enough to answer the demand of every single one of his sets, but his sunniness drags her out of the fog into yoga classes and meditation practices, and slowly but surely he watches her bloom again. It’s a powerful combination - Shoyo-kun’s friendship and his mother’s gentle conversations, Osamu’s cooking and her love for Shino, capped with his determination to show her he loves her and prove that he’s here to stay.

‘It’s like Kintsugi’, she tells him, with a wide smile. ‘All of you poured gold into the cracks of my heart and made me whole again’.

The years pass.

Shino turns seven – a very respectable age for his very best girl, he tells her (I'm your only girl, Papa, Shino informs him archly), and obliges her demands of a bicycle in MSBY colours and volleyball lessons, forcing all his teammates to turn up for her birthday party, volleyball themed of course. The look of unadulterated joy on his princess’ face is worth every ounce of effort to put up with Sakusa’s complaints at having to turn up for a kiddie party full of loud noises and far too much candy, and the sweaty afternoons spent hand painting the bicycle black and gold.

The day Atsumu discovers his first white hair makes her thank her lucky stars that she’s immune to his nonsense by now, because the wailing and gnashing of teeth she has to put up with makes ‘Samu offer her his couch as refuge. She slaps tape and salonpas on his aches and pains, and points to the deepening lines on her face when he complains about his age.

‘Those lines aren’t wrinkles. If they’re caused by laughter, it doesn’t count’, he reasons laughingly. She’s left befuddled by his logic and shakes her head.

Meian Shugo retires, and Hinata throws a party to celebrate in his honour, cramming the entire MSBY team and assorted friends into his penthouse apartment on a rainy Saturday night. Osamu’s hired to cater the food but remains as a guest, shooting a smirk at him when Shoyo drags her off to dance during his favourite song, twin flames burning bright in the night.

‘A hundred yen for your thoughts?’ she asks, when Shoyo returns with her breathless but wreathed with smiles.

‘Was just wondering when you were gonna save a dance for this old man’, he teases.

‘Oh?’ she says with a laugh. ‘Thought you said your back hurt, and you didn’t want to move?’

‘Meh - I was hoping you’d forget that’, he says airily, then frowns when he notices there’s no drink in her hand.

‘Not drinking tonight, sweetheart?’, he asks, curling his fingers around her empty hand.

‘The doctor warned me not too’, she answers, her smile growing impossibly wider. He blinks in confusion when she leans on to her toes to whisper into his ear - then oh.

‘You’re pregnant?’ he repeats, unable to trust his ears, eyes filling with tears when she bites her lips and nods.

‘Are you happy, ‘Tsumu?’, she asks, her face alight with hope.

There is so much he wants to say to her, starting with thank you loving me enough to give me another chance all those years ago and ending with I love you, so ridiculously much – because he can never say it enough, she’s given him more than he deserves – her heart, Shino, a happy home and now the promise of another child.

But there's salt and water welling up in his throat, and it’s all he can do to choke out a shaky ‘of course’, before gathering her in his arms, warmth pooling in his eyes, love overflowing in his heart.

They stay that way for most of the night, entwined in each other’s arms, so drunk on happiness and love and warmth that they don’t even notice the storm clearing and the moon rising in the clear night sky.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu writing #hq writing #haikyuu angst #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #inarizaki #haikyuucreations

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britishassistant · 3 years

Text

The Villainous Paranoiac Needs a New Uniform

You hate magic.

You hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic so so so much.

You especially hate magic when it’s being used by an off-his-rocker prince with a persecution complex the size of Shibuya to disintegrate you because you’re trying to stop him from being consumed by evil magic waste and turning this dumb boy’s school into a desert over a sports tournament.

Your left side throbs around the grit of the sand buried in it as you desperately scramble upwards. All around you the formerly stable bleachers are wavering, tonnes of metal and support slowly crumbling to dust from the ground up with every second that passes.

“Prefect! Are you okay?!” Deuce has begun taking a few steps towards the bleachers—

Turning his back on Kingscholar.

“DEUCE, GET DOWN!!” You scream.

One of Cater-senpai’s clones trips him up, only to scream in agony as the magic blast intended for Deuce disintegrates it instead.

You try not to retch as you heave yourself up onto the commentator’s box roof.

“Pay attention, dumbass!” You faintly hear Ace bark. “You can’t just forget about the crazy overblot! We’re in the middle of a battle here!!”

“But my minion’s stuck up there!” Grim wails back, “We gotta do something!”

Buchie-senpai says something you can’t hear in reply, because you’re too busy hollering, “Howl-san, MOVE!!”

Howl-san only narrowly dodges the incoming attack despite his speed. The sand slams into the already weakened bleachers, causing you to stumble as the roof shakes under you, tilting at an alarming angle.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Kingscholar mocks, creepy hollow voice clearly audible despite the distance. “Didn’t I tell you herbivores to be prepared?”

You fight the urge to flip him off with great difficulty.

This is so much worse than Rosehearts-senpai’s Overblot. The ligament in your right ankle still gives twinges that show it’s not fully healed yet, but at least you weren’t the only one roughed up in that battle, as the dorm head lashed out at everyone and everything in his rage.

Kingscholar is aiming for you specifically. Which means that this overblot can think enough to recognize threats beyond those flinging magic attacks at it.

And exploit the fact that the you’re weak and in danger to force the others to choose between saving you and taking him down.

Your teeth sink into your thumb. You don’t wanna die here, you refuse to die here, so what are your options??

Option one; focus on directing the battle and try to stick it out up here until Kingscholar is defeated.

A bad plan right off the bat, if the tremors underneath you are any indication.

If you try to hold out until the end of the fight, the sand will finish eating through the bleachers’ supports just like it’s eating into your thigh and hip right now. You will not survive the fall onto the jagged steel and rebar below.

The others might manage not to get distracted by your messy death, but if they haven’t finished off Kingscholar by then, they’ll be sitting ducks if they can’t agree on a strategy.

Ace and Grim are down there.

There’s no way they’re not dead if you bite the dust.

And all that’s on the very generous assumption that Kingscholar won’t just King’s Roar you right here and now. He’s certainly smirking like he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, the cocky bastard.

So option two; get the others to help you down ASAP, preferably while Kingscholar is distracted.

Marginally better than option one, but not by much. If they all come to help you, Kingscholar can just pick them off at his leisure, even if Cater-senpai uses his clones to try and confuse who’s who. While all of you are struggling to see in the sandstorm, the accuracy of the overblot’s attacks show that the storm isn’t affecting his eyesight one bit.

Plus, the more of your allies get on the bleachers, the higher the likelihood of the bleachers collapsing faster and crushing them and you with it.

Even if you try to have one or two of them split off from the group to help get you down while the others try to keep him occupied, Kingscholar can target you, the splinter group before they can get to you, or even wipe out the remainder of the attacking formation who won’t have the necessary magic to defend themselves from a head-on assault.

Divide and conquer. As expected of a might makes right fanatic.

Kingscholar-senpai, you decide, is one of the biggest bag of dicks you’ve ever laid eyes on. Even counting the ones you’re related to.

All that’s left is option three.

If you want a job done right, do it yourself.

“Eyes on the Overblot guys, nobody break formation no matter what you think you see or hear!” You wince as you strip your blazer off, feeling fresh blood soak into your side. It’s tattered around the edges where King’s Roar tore into you, but the body of the jacket seems whole enough at least. “I’ll be fine, so just focus on Kingscholar!”

You grit your teeth as you tie the sleeves together. “Buchie-senpai, I need you to use Laugh With Me to keep him still so Rosehearts-senpai can Off With His Head. Howl-san, Cater-senpai, Deuce, Grim, you need to hit him then with everything you’ve got! I’ll signal when by telling Ace what he needs to do! No more holding back, we need to end this, understood?!”

“Loud and clear!” Buchie-senpai calls back, brandishing his magic pen.

“You better not be planning anything too crazy Yuu-chan~” Cater-senpai calls up, his exhaustion evident through his usual bravado.

Kingscholar chuckles. “If this is something you think you can fight back against, just try to fight it! I’ll turn all of your meaningless efforts to sand!”

The sandstorm picks up in response to his words, the small grains burning your eyes and scraping across your skin.

“On my mark!” You yell, bracing yourself.

The roof shrieks in protest under you.

“Ace—“ You hold the ragged edges of your blazer tight in your hands. “Give me some wind!!”

You start running.

You jump.

You vaguely hear yelling below you, beyond the swoop of your stomach and the roar of the bleachers collapsing into rubble behind you. Your makeshift parachute feels like it’s on the verge of tearing itself out of your grip. You think you’re screaming.

Oh god, this was a mistake, this was a horrible, horrible mistake. You don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die—

The wind picks up in your ears, but it’s not enough, you’re barely slowing down, why did you think this was a good idea, you saw it in a video game for the love of god, you’re going to die, you’re going to break your legs and die—

Small pricks of pain seize onto your hair, your shoulders, your back, and your uninjured leg. Several small and hard somethings start hitting you in the face repeatedly.

Huh. You thought bats were nocturnal. What are they doing here in the middle of the day?

Wait, before that, why are there even bats in a sandstorm in the first place?! And whey are they all latched onto you like you’re a piece of fruit they’re trying to carry off??

“Sebek, if you would~?”

You shriek as something clamps down hard around your injured thighs and waist, the wind half knocked out of you as a shoulder is driven into your stomach.

“Stop screaming, human!!” The loud green-haired Diasomnia member roars at you. “Be grateful Lilia-sama saw fit to sav—”

“Yes, yes, I’m very thankful, just hold on a sec!” You babble, twisting in his grip. The sandstorm’s weakened a lot, and while Kingscholar’s looking a lot worse for wear than he did before you leapt, he’s not down for the count just yet.

But you know exactly the combo to finish him off.

“Grim, Ace, Deuce!!” You yell. “Fire-tornado-cauldron him!!”

“Leave it to me, fnagh!” Grim crows as Ace shouts, “We have GOT to come up with a cooler name than that!!”

The overblot dodges out of the way of the aptly-named fire tornado, still smug if tired and badly scorched. However, as he races forward to counterattack, it becomes clear that he forgot about the third part of the combo you yelled.

“TAKE THIS!!” Deuce screams.

The look on Kingscholar-senpai’s face before the cauldron lands on him is something you’re gonna treasure for weeks.

“King...I’ll...be...” The lion prince staggers, and finally, finally collapses.

There’s a quiet moment as the sand storm slows to a gradual stop.

Kingscholar doesn’t get back up, the giant lion dissipating like a mirage and the grey and black leeching from him.

“It...it’s over.” You pant. “We...we beat him...!”

Rosehearts-senpai doesn’t lower his magic pen. Instead, he wheels around and points it at you with a thunderous “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!”

The heavy metal collar snaps shut around your neck. “ACK!”

“Prefect!”

The Diasomnia guy actually drops you at the sight of Rosehearts-senpai storming over, face redder than a strawberry tart and eyes burning with fury.

Please God, don’t make you have to deal with another Overblot after just beating an extremely painful one.

“YOU— YUU— YOU— WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, JUMPING OFF THE BLEACHERS LIKE THAT?!” He screeches. “THAT'S A FORTY FOOT DROP, AT LEAST!! YOU COULD'VE BROKEN EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY, OR, OR BEEN KILLED, ARE-ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“No, I just didn’t want to get impaled!” You bristle, gesturing at the rubble. “If I jumped, I at least had a small chance of surviving—”

“Sure, because that’s what you falling with that dumb torn jacket was!” Ace snarls, popping up over his dorm head’s shoulder. “It was everything I could do to even make you slow down some—‘give me some wind’ my ASS!”

“It certainly was interesting though.” The Diasomnia vice dorm head pipes up from behind you. “I was almost worried for a minute there that my bats wouldn’t be able to rescue you and you’d be a smear on the playing field.”

“Th-THAT'S RIGHT!! MAGICLESS HUMAN!! PROPERLY PAY YOUR RESPECTS TO THE GREAT LILIA SAMA FOR DEIGNING TO SAVE YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE!!” The green-haired Diasomnia guy screams in your ear.

“The hell d’ya think yer calling ‘worthless’, hah?!” Deuce growls, storming over to him.

“Yeah, don’t insult my minion, fgnah!!” Grim barrels into your good side, hissing at the Diasomnia guy from under your arm, conveniently turning you into a shield.

“WHY YOU LITTLE—!”

“WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED TO THE BLEACHERS??” The dumb bird headmaster’s shriek rises over the din. “OH HOW COULD SOMETHING SO TERRIBLE HAVE HAPPENED TO ME, THE MOST GRACIOUS OF HEADMASTERS?!”

You flop onto your back. The pain from where King’s Roar tore into your left side is returning full-force, now there’s no threat to divert your attention from it. The collar around your neck only adds to the pain with its weight, and all the yelling is giving you a headache.

You hate magic.

You hate magic so much.

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

Say It To My Face

Nestor Oceteva x F!Reader

Request by @n3ss12: can I request a smutty fic where Nestor and reader get in a fight and one tells the other to go f*ck themself and ya know you can decide what happens after that

Warnings: language, unprotected sex, choking (sexual), Nestor surviving an argument by the skin of his teeth

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This fic is brought to you in part by half a bottle of my favorite wine lmao. Wine drunk me decided that Nestor likes being choked and tbh??? I love that for him. (Also please friends don’t use sex to avoid arguments. It’s great for fics but terrible for irl relationships lol)

Join my group-chat here: (X)

Mayans Taglist: @garbinge @mayans-sauce @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @queenbeered @sillygoose6969 @sesamepancakes @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @multiyfandomgirl40 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @themoonandthewicked @bucky-iss-bae @encounterthepast @everyhowlmarksthedead @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @masterlistforimagines @kkim120 @toni9 @shadow-of-wonder @frattsparty (If you want to be tagged in any of my writing let me know! xo)

You’d been giving Nestor the cold shoulder all day, and surprisingly it had actually gotten under his skin a little bit. He was usually good at keeping his cool, but it hit him just a little bit different this time. He’d been distant for a while because of work, both geographically and emotionally, which wasn’t necessarily new, but he wasn’t used to coming home to you being cold and distant as well.

You were always pretty understanding when he couldn’t keep in constant touch with you because of things going on with his job. It was the nature of the beast. However, he always said that if an emergency ever arose that he would be there in a heartbeat, no matter what the circumstances were. And he fell short on that.

“I said that I’m sorry,” he spoke up from the other end of the couch, cutting through the silence of your house.

“And I said that I’m still not done being mad at you.”

“Y/N I—”

“I was in a car accident, Nestor!” you cut him off, shaking your head angrily, “I was in the goddamn ER! I called, I texted, I did everything but send a fucking smoke signal.”

“I had Galindo send—”

He wasn’t going to be getting a word in edge-wise if you could help it. You were too pissed off for that as you stood up off the couch, “But I wanted you! I needed you.”

He stood up as well, turning to face you, “If it had been more serious I would have—”

“I shouldn’t have to be on my deathbed for you to fucking show up. I said that I needed you, and that should’ve been the end of it. Yea I ended up being alright, but fuck, I was scared.”

He recoiled slightly, realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one. Maybe once you cooled off, but definitely not right now. He shoved his hands into his pockets, “What do you want me to do?”

You looked at him and shook your head, “Nothing. Fucking nothing. You can’t just weasel your way out of this, Nes. I’m fucking mad.”

“Yea, I get that. I see that. That’s why I’m asking wh—”

“I want you to go fuck yourself,” you snapped, not wanting to hear him asking for forgiveness any longer, “Because I’m not in the fucking mood for this right now.”

You turned and started to storm through the house to head to the bedroom that you shared with Nestor, one you were completely set on locking him out of for the night. You only got a few strides away before you heard him mumble something under his breath.

You quickly turned back around to face him, “What?”

His eyes widened slightly, “What?”

“What’d you just say?”

He shook his head, “Nothing.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “C’mon. You got some shit to say? Say it to my face.”

He wasn’t used to you being so confrontational. And while it was frustrating for him, it was also the slightest bit amusing. It wasn’t a side of you he really got to witness very often, lucky for him.

He was biting back a smirk as he cleared his throat and repeated himself, “I said I don’t think that you actually want me to go fuck myself.”

You rolled your eyes, not in the mood for the immaturity, “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“I swear to god, Nes, sometimes I just wanna fucking—”

“What? You want to what?”

The same way Nestor never saw you get argumentative and snappy, you never really saw it from him either. The attitude caught you off-guard—he’d always been better at keeping his composure than you.

You shook your head, “Forget it. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

You turned back around to continue your walk to the bedroom, but within seconds Nestor was next to you with his hand wrapped around your arm, “Nah. You got some shit to say? Say it to my face.”

The fact that he got such an immediate opportunity to use your own words against you was infuriating. You shook your head, “I just wanna fucking strangle you sometimes,” you snapped.

“Then do it.”

That statement gave you pause, “What?”

“Do it.”

You rolled your eyes, “Nestor, I’m not gonna fuckin—”

He slid his hand down so it was wrapped around your wrist. Neither his movements nor his eye contact wavered as he lifted your hand to his neck. You fought him on it at first but you knew it was useless, and part of you was incredibly intrigued.

Your hand looked so small against his throat. You tilted your head slightly, taking in the sight of it. Your eyes traveled back up to his and everything about the look on his face was telling you to go for it. His chest rose and fell, breathing faster in anticipation. You took a second to mentally gear yourself up for it, finally tightening your grip. The second you did, it was like a switch flipped in your brain, and you could see it in Nestor’s eyes that the same thing happened for him.

You pulled him close to you, causing your lips to crash into his in an angry, needy kiss. With no hesitation he scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and walking the two of you to the bedroom without taking his lips off of yours.

He let your feet hit the floor and the two of you pulled apart only to strip yourselves of your clothes. Pieces of clothing were flying in every direction, the buildup of his absence and your fight coming to a head. You kissed him hungrily as you backed him towards the bed, practically pushing him down onto the mattress.

Wasting no time, you threw your leg over him so that you were straddling him. You locked eyes with him as you positioned yourself so he could slide into you. He gripped onto your hips but when he went to pull you down onto him, you braced your hands against his chest, thwarting his efforts.

You shook your head at him, “Let go of me.”

He did as instructed, letting his hands slide down so that they were resting lightly on your thighs, not wanting to completely give up contact. You gave him a slight nod of approval before slowly lowering yourself onto him. The moan that came out of him was like music to your ears, and it reminded you that before you were mad at him, you had missed him. A lot.

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath as you let yourself revel in the sensation of having him inside you for the first time in far too long.

You leaned down, pressing your lips hard against his as you started to grind against him. His hands slid up your thighs and hips, landing on your sides. You could feel it in his touch that he was fighting the urge to grip onto you, not wanting to be told to let you go again. The realization made a smile cross your face as you continued to kiss him. Your hand slid up and once again wrapped around his throat. You pulled away from your kiss as you tightened your grip, sucking on his bottom lip.

Nestor had never looked so vulnerable, and you couldn’t deny that you loved it. A small smirk appeared on his face as you tightened your grip a little more. The power trip of it all made your head spin as you continued to ride him.

He reached up and gripped your wrist, and you were about to pull your hand away, thinking that he was going to tell you to stop. But when you went to try and move, he shook his head at you. Your hips came to a stop, brows furrowing as you looked down at him.

“Harder,” he whispered.

That one word was like a shot of straight adrenaline. You let out a breathy laugh as you brought your other hand up to his throat as well, completely enveloping it in your grip. Nestor practically melted into your grasp, his hands resting on the small of your back. His eyes fluttered shut as you simultaneously tightened your grip and picked up your movements once again. Your name fell from his lips in choked gasps, only serving to encourage you to pick up your pace. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, wanting to take in everything about the scene underneath you.

His nails clawed lightly at your back, causing you to moan. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his, still not taking your hands away from his throat. You bit down hard on his bottom lip and in response he dug his nails harder into your back with what he could manage of a moan.

You could feel your body beginning to tense up and you knew that you were close. Nestor saw it on your face and with a smug grin he gripped onto your hips and lifted you for a moment before pulling you back down hard, slamming himself into you.

“Fuck,” your grip around his neck tightened but you didn’t want him to stop, “don’t stop.”

His smile grew as he did as you asked. Your legs began to shake and you let go of his neck, hands sliding up to cup his face. You didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath, though, as you instantly pressed your lips to his. You pulled him tight to you, moaning into his mouth as you came.

He wrapped his arms tight around you and with a few final thrusts you felt him release inside you. Your body all but melted into his at the sensation, not letting him take his lips off of yours. Your hands slid up and down his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat underneath your palm. His hand rested on the back of your neck as his lips continued to move needily against yours.

Finally, you pulled away and gave him the first opportunity since you started to catch his breath. You rested your forehead against his chest, and the first thing he did with full access to oxygen was let out a chuckle. His fingertips drummed along your spine as he tried to get his mind and body in order. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, enjoying the feeling of still being inside you. You could feel the slight vibrations in his chest as he tried to fight back another laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you asked as you caught your breath, sitting up so you could look at his face.

He shook his head, taking a deep breath, “Nothing,” he smirked, “Feel better?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, “Maybe a little,” you wanted to follow up with another smart comment but instead you lightly traced your fingers along his neck, “You good?”

He nodded, laughing, “I’m great.”

“How long you been thinking about that?” you were genuinely curious.

He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head, “I haven’t been.”

“Just wanted to tell me to put up or shut up?”

“You brought that on yourself,” he smirked.

You smiled, “Maybe,” you paused, “You weren’t worried that I was actually gonna strangle you to death?”

He shrugged, “What a way to go.”

You playfully slapped his chest, “You’re ridiculous.”

He watched you as you traced the outlines of the tattoos on his chest, “I’m sorry,” he gave your sides a light squeeze, “Really sorry.”

You nodded slowly, not looking up from the ink on his chest, “I know.”

“I love you.”

That got you to look up at him. You smiled, your frustrations had faded for the time being, “I love you too,” after a few seconds of silence went by, you let out a laugh, “Who knows what we’ll figure out next time I get royally pissed off at you.”

He laughed, pulling you down so that your chest was against his. He kissed you lightly on the lips, “Hopefully we won’t have to figure that out for a while. You’re scary when you’re mad.”

You chuckled, thumb gliding across his cheekbone, “Keep that in mind next time you wanna do some dumb shit.”

He kissed the tip of your nose, “I will.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva imagine #nestor oceteva smut #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

Text

@damianwayneweek Day 2 (6-14): Undercover | Sibling rivalry | Damian having a nice day

Warnings: Mentions of trafficking, threats, violence, attempted kidnapping, injuries, healthy doses of angst

Note: hahahahaha once again I'm begging you all to pretend I posted this when it's still the 14th somewhere in the world. Please enjoy.

---

Damian didn't mean to get caught. Honest. As annoying as it is, he understands that there are certain parts of their nightlife that have to be handled by an adult. Going undercover, for one, is usually something that's left to Grayson. It's easier for adults to blend into some things than it is for... well... Teenagers.

Children, as Grayson would say. Even though Damian is not a child.

Not that it matters, however. Grayson, for the past week, has been putting off their normal patrols to get insider information on a recent underground trafficking scheme. Grayson has been working hard to find the people responsible for this and get on the inside to find where the victims are being kept and Damian had respected that. He's kept to the sidelines and worked on other cases that don't require so much adult delicacy.

The only issue was that tonight he ended up getting bored. There wasn't anything for him to do, and that butler wasn't giving him any useful suggestions to fill his time. He wasn't allowed to patrol alone while Grayson was undercover, but escaping through his bedroom window in a dark hoodie was simple enough.

One thing leads to another. He ended up walking into an alleyway where a man was getting rather forceful with a drunk woman. Damian was jogging forward and calling him out on the disgusting behavior before he even realized he recognized the profile of the man.

Grayson turned from the woman with wide, horrified eyes, not moving a muscle even as the woman slipped from beside him and rushed back into the bar's side door.

"Shit," is all Grayson said before more people came out from the shadows, and Damian realizes he's just stumbled upon Grayson's undercover work.

Damian, for all of his training, has no idea what to do as he's suddenly grabbed by one of the newcomers. He's just witnessed Grayson in his undercover work... attempting to kidnap a woman... and he shouldn't be here.

"The fuck did this brat come from," the man grabbing Damian sneers.

Damian reacts instinctively now, slamming his elbow back into their gut. The man wheezes and weakens his hold. Damian then ducks under a new pair of arms making a mad grab for him and is sure to trip them over onto the cement ground as they stumble past.

A beefier man charges at Damian like a bull, and he prepares to retaliate... only for Grayson to grab him by his arm and shove Damian behind his back.

"Wait," Grayson gasps, bringing his free hand up in front of him. The man stops in his tracks, as do all the others. "It's my... brother."

"Your brother?" A woman scoffs, and Grayson gives her a hard look.

A mean looking man steps forward, glaring daggers at Grayson. "What's he doin' here Malone? Thought'chu said you weren't followed."

"I'm sorry," Grayson says, sounding panicked. Damian wants to jump out from behind Grayson and give these kidnappers a piece of his mind. There can't be more than seven of them. Damian can take them with his hands tied behind his back. Grayson must sense this, because he tightens his hold on his arm. "I thought he was at home."

"Well, he wasn't," the man snarls. "And now that bitch is probably in there telling the barkeep some guy got handsy with her."

Grayson shakes his head. "She isn't. I paid off the barkeep. If we calm down, I can go back in there and finish the job. Danny here won't say anything, he knows what we have to do to survive these streets. Right, Danny?"

Damian's lips thin, but he nods. Damian doesn't know why Richard is acting all frightful right now. Has he forgotten the legacy of Damian's father that he holds? He carries the name of Batman, yet here he is looking like a frightened animal in front of these low-lives. He wants to argue and take down these imbeciles... but if there's one thing he's learned while in his ever lengthening stay in Gotham, Grayson usually has a reason for everything he does. If he thinks they need to act like they're frightened, then Damian will humor him. For now.

The man looks down from Grayson and gives Damian a narrowed look. It lasts only a moment before he looks at the bar side-door and... smirks?

He looks back at Grayson, keeping that smirk. "Alright, Malone. I'll take you up on that offer. You get the bitch, and we'll take care of Danny."

A bad feeling settles in Damian's gut. The hand on his arm tightens even more, proof that Grayson has the same bad feeling. They don't have a chance to say anything about it, however, before the man strides forward and grabs Damian by his other arm; yanking him away from Grayson and towards the big man.

Grayson shoots them a murderous glare, but doesn't come to Damian's aid as the big man tightens both of his hands on Damian's biceps. His pointer fingers press just under his shoulders, and he swears his pinkies wrap close to Damian's elbows.

"Go on," the talkative man says, jerking his head to the door, showing his rotting teeth in a grin. "Get the bitch."

Grayson shoots a look Damian's way, then nods. "Okay," he says placidly. "Okay." He turns his back and starts towards the door.

Then, the man looks at another in their group and nods his head. The man's cheeks rise like a Cheshire cat before he starts towards Grayson, raising a fist.

"Grayson! Look out!" Damian shouts. Grayson, for his part, reacts immediately. He ducks under the blow and side steps his attacker.

However, that's all Damian sees before the man that has him in his grasp changes position quite suddenly so that Damian is practically hanging in his grasp—an arm the size of a log wrapped around his neck. Damian's hands fly to the arm and he attempts to kick his feet for purchase. His air is already cut off, and he curses himself for getting in a situation like this.

He stills, however, when something cold and metal is pressed against his head by the man's free hand. Through blurry eyes and choking gasps, he notices Grayson has gone still too.

"I knew you were fishy," the man from before cackled. "Grayson? That your real name?"

Grayson glares, but doesn't move.

"Here's what's gonna happen, you're gon let us do whatever we want wit'cha, and maybe we'll let the kid live after."

And just like that, Grayson is at the receiving end of a savage blow to his jaw from another member of the group. Grayson stumbles and clutches his jaw, but he doesn't fight back even as another jumps in and throws their own punch. Damian can already see blood dripping down his cheek from a cut in the skin.

He's hit again, and he continues to not fight back. Damian knows he'll take the beating, even though he can easily take them down. He won't risk the gun pressed against Damian's head. He won't risk the arm wrapped so right around Damian's neck it feels like he's breathing through a coffee straw.

A particularly savage punch has Grayson falling to the floor, scraping his hands, elbows, and knees on the rough and suspiciously wet asphalt. Damian growls and digs his nails into the arms of his captor, but they tighten the grip threateningly and his struggles are forced to come to a stop.

Pathetic. Idiotic. Childish. This is Damian's fault. Every blow that hits Grayson's body as punches are replaced by kicks might as well be dealt by Damian himself.

He argues with Grayson. Calls him out on not acting how his father would. He calls him incompetent, insignificant, idiotic... but some time these past few weeks the bite he means to carry with those words have turned fond.

He... He likes Grayson. He's the first person to show Damian unconditional kindness... other than his own mother. While being stuck here with him rather than his own father had, at first, been miserable and annoying... it's turned out to be... fun. For the first time in his life, he almost feels like a normal kid with Grayson here to lead him along the way.

Damian wonders at night if that's what his mother intended. Why she hasn't taken him back yet.

He doesn't mind it. He likes the time that he spends with Grayson now, even if he would never admit it. And here he is, helpless and unarmed as Grayson is being beaten to a bloody pulp all because Damian couldn't listen to instructions and snuck out when he shouldn't have.

For a moment, pure terror fills Damian's veins that he's most likely going to witness the death of Grayson tonight. If he tries to fight his captor, he'll get a bullet in his brain. If Grayson decides to fight back, then Damian would die anyways. Grayson wouldn't do that. He would rather die himself.

Another blow hits Grayson's body, and he lays on the ground and groans, unmoving for a worrying few seconds.

Then, the bar door slams open and the woman from before runs out with fire in her dark eyes. No one has a chance to do anything before she kicks the main guy in the jaw, sending him down to the floor with more force than any woman... or man... should have.

Damian doesn't question it. The rest of them are distracted by her sudden entrance, and Damian uses that to his advantage. He throws his hands up and grabs at his captor's distracted face and claws at his eyes. The man yowls and drops Damian, leaving Damian completely free to make his own attack. He easily disarms him and jumps onto his back, wrapping his own arms around the man's neck and squeezing as tightly as he can.

It's all over in a matter of seconds. The man falls unconscious in Damian's grasp, and the woman finishes taking out the others.

She was in on this whole thing too, Damian realizes as she rushes towards Grayson's still form and grabs his arm.

Grayson blinking slowly at her through already bruising eyes and whispering "Donna..." is all the proof Damian needs to confirm his suspicion.

"I got you, boy wonder," Donna says fondly. She helps him to his feet and wraps his arm firmly around her shoulders, helping him stand. She looks at Damian. "You got a way to get us out of here, squirt? The cops are gonna be on their way any minute."

"What-" Damian starts, then pauses. Shame fills his gut. "What about the mission?"

"It's fine," Grayson says with a pained strain in his voice. "They're low in the chain. Won't be missed in prison. Can't give much away. I'll-" he cuts off to gasp as Donna shifts her hold on him. "I'll just try again later."

Damian nods, but the guilt doesn't leave. He looks away from Grayson and Donna to pull out his phone and request Pennyworth send the Batmobile to their position.

The entire way back to the manor is filled with tense silence, broken only by Grayson's hissed curses and groans as Donna helps give immediate first aid to the worst of the bruises and cuts.

Damian... he messed up. He disobeyed Richard and ruined the mission. This woman, Donna, is a better companion to Grayson than Damian ever was. Or will be. They get along. She's kind. She was trusted enough by Grayson to bring her in on his solo mission, and she clearly trusted him enough to go along with it and let herself be captured.

Grayson will never trust him as much as her. He's... He's fucked it all up. He won't want Damian around anymore. He'll want to send him back to the League, and if his mother and grandfather don't take him then his suit and the name of Robin must surely now be forfeit.

Drake will take back the suit, and Damian will forever be left behind by the man he thought... He hoped...

Sitting by his bedside after assisting Pennyworth in dressing Grayson's wounds... he mulls these thoughts over in his head. Grayson is fast asleep, and Donna has retreated upstairs for a shower and dinner by Pennyworth's insistence.

Then, as he's considering leaving so he's not the first thing Grayson sees when he wakes up, a hand grabs hold onto his.

"Don't blame yourself," Grayson whispers, blinking through his puffed up and exhausted eyes. Damian wonders how long he's been sitting here with his thoughts and when Grayson started to awaken without him noticing. "You have the same look in your eyes... That B always did..."

Heat flairs behind Damian's eyelids. He bursts. "But this is my fault. If I hadn't gone out- if I had listened-"

Suddenly, his hand is jerked, and Damian is dragged onto the cot and into Grayson's arms. He attempts to fight the hold, but Grayson holds tight despite his injuries.

"Mistakes happen," Grayson says, "they always do. I will never give up on you, Dames. No matter how many you make. Trust me on that."

He sounds so very much in pain, but he's relentless in his hold. All Damian can do is stop his struggling and lay in Grayson's grasp. His brain studies the words said to him, and his heart wants to believe him. Guilt pools to his throat and he opens his mouth to let it out before he can stop himself.

"I'm sorry," he chokes. He doesn't know when he started to return the hold Grayson had him in. His hands are bunched in the material of Grayson's shirt.

Grayson shushes him. "It's okay," he says. "What's done is done, and we've learned. We're okay. I got you."

And perhaps it's the moment of weakness, but Damian can't help but believe him.

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #dc comics #jin writes #fanfiction #violence tw #kidnapping tw #held at gunpoint #guns tw #im just in the mood for batman!dick and robin!damian angst this week huh?#hopefully donna being here made sense lmao

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wren-writes68 · 3 years

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So if you didn’t see corys ask and our little chat me and a @pixiethesizeshifter @awesome-slime-lover are doing a promt from someone who wanted g!naga tommy and t!sbi and was very eager about noms...very eager.

Blue I’m gonna say my apologies now T^T please don’t hurt me

“W-wait!” Wilbur screamed as a giant clawed hand slammed down next to him “tommy, please” Wil shouted the giant claws wrapping tightly around his waist and cracking a couple ribs as his giant brother held him up and stared at his blue eyes glazed over in hunger. “Tommy mate when was the last time you’ve ate?” Phil asked coming up alongside the nagas face. Tommy was laying down on his stomach sunbathing outside of his cave when Phil approached him, “I don’t know but I’m fine” tommy said remembering his failed hunting trips lately, his stomach picked that exact time to growl, “ok fine!” Tommy said as Phil gave him that look that said ‘take care of yourself or I will hurt you child’.

Tommy had tried to hunt, he really had, but after failing another hunt tommy was worried to go home to his family, scared he’d hurt them. Tommy doing the only thing he could curled up under a large tree and slept hoping he’d be able to find something tomorrow and not risk his family by coming home. His plans however were ruined when he heard something calling out, in a blind hunger tommy darted after the source of the sound hoping to find food and return home before his family came looking for him.

Wilbur was violently thrown into Tommy’s mouth, as he hit the tongue below him Tommy’s sharp fangs came down on his arm breaking the bone and tearing the flesh around it to nothing before he was thrown into the way of more teeth. The sharp canines bit straight down on Wilbur’s back and he was barley able to pull himself away before Tommy’s pearly whites ripped him in half. Wilbur crawled desperately toward the back of Tommy’s mouth trying to get away before tommy tilted back and Wilbur fell into the waiting throat. Tight muscles pulled him farther down and tore at the deep gashes on his arm and back, as he fought desperately to climb back up, unfortunately all in vain as he fell into a larger space.

Phil watched tommy swallow down Wilbur the bulge of his eldest son being lost under Tommy’s collarbone. “Toms” Phil said quietly shocked as blood dripped from the youngest’s mouth, “ Phil watch out!” Techno yelled frantic as the giant tail snakes around Phil blocking him from seeing out, “techno run!” Phil shouted as the tail moved around him squeezing him and lifting him up towards Tommy’s maw. Phill looked at the blood soaked teeth as the tail started to loosen above the open mouth, “Tommy wait please!” Phil yelled before suddenly free falling and falling into a blood puddle on the muscle. The giant tongue wrapped around him slicking him up before the world tilted back and he too was thrown into the throat.

Techno wouldn’t cry but watching phil slide down Tommy’s throat was the closest he’d ever get. Techno couldn’t help but thrash under the giant claws pinning him when he tried to run after Phil. Tommy was far more caring with Phil but he seemed to hold a subconscious vendetta as he dropped techno straight onto his teeth jagged points breaking effortlessly through techno’s skin. Techno scrambled backwards as blood dripped from the deep wound on his chest, he knew Phil had brought a first aid kit Incase tommy had gotten hurt which now it seems like they’re gonna be the ones to need it, if they survive that is. Tommy threw his head back sharply techno struggling for purchase as he fell back and down the throat like the rest of his family.

Tommy hadn’t realized when he’d gotten food but as the, humans? Struggled he decided to head home as to not worry Phil, and his brother though they wouldn’t admit it ever. “Phil?” Tommy called out seeing no one there to scold him for being out late, “tech? wil?” He called again wondering if they’d finally found a chance to leave him. Don’t get him wrong he didn’t kidnap them, if anything they kidnapped him, but the fear of being left alone or abandoned always haunted him.

“Tech? Wil?” They heard the youngest sounding somewhat frightened...“guys” tommy sounded heart broken and close to tears. “What do we do phil?” Techno asked as Phil applied bandages and regen pots to his wound, “I don’t know mate” Phil sighed wondering how in the world they could get Tommy’s attention, to save themselves, or tommy. The naga I question curled up on himself and answering their question for them, “I can’t keep you on there if you are human which means I’m going to have to go hunting...again” the three flinched slightly at how the younger was speaking, like this one act had killed his family which if they didn’t get out probably would.

Tommy had tried hunting but after an hour had only found a single raccoon, sighing tommy focused on the weight of the humans. There seemed to be anywhere from two to six but with how little they were moving it was hard to tell, “ok I’m going to let you out now just uhh don’t tell anyone about me. I guess?” Quickly the walls pushed the tiny weight upwards and into his mouth before they tumbled out into his hand, Tommy make quick work scarfing down the very much alive raccoon as I struggled to escape the nagas jaws.

Squeals were muffled as the poor raccoon was swallowed down leaving a bigger bulge then they had and making visible movements from Tommy’s tail. “Well then off you go, see ya little guys” tommy said putting them down and turning to leave without even looking at them. “At least we’re alive” Wilbur said sitting down among a small mushroom that to them was the size of a tree. “Ya but how do we get home?” Techno asked sitting next to Wilbur and holding his chest in pain. Phil worked on straightening out his soaked and bent feathered, “I guess we’re gonna have to wait until tomorrow mate” Phil sighed turning around to the empty forest. After today phil knew they were going to have to move otherwise the youngest would definitely starve, Phil sat in between his two boys wrapping his wings around them as they started to drift off the the calming sounds of the forest, he hoped tommy was ok.

Tommy was not ok, unbeknownst to the group he believed they’d finally abandoned him and cried himself to sleep begging them to come back in his dreams.

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Oof ok um sorry angst hit hard there...again please don’t kill me

#mcyt g/t #tommy and techno #tommy and wilbur #tommy and phil #tw vore #tw gore

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aurumacadicus · 3 years

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just had a stroke of brilliance and had to ask for the 5canon thing for your horror au w/ thunderiron for au-gust 2019/20?

You can find the story this is based on here on AO3 or here on tumblr :)

Bruce has Thor leave Tony in the infirmary, and Thor is loathe to leave his husband, but he has other duties he must attend to. He wouldn’t be any use to them there, anyway, what with his battle magic. He’d more likely get in the way. “I’ll look after him, Thor,” Loki says, putting a hand on his arm. He doesn’t say that his magic will be of more use there, like he usually would, or gloat about how Tony will owe him. It says more about the situation than either of them like. “I should have been here,” Thor replies morosely, watching as Bruce and a few others fuss around Tony. “Don’t think about the past right now, Thor,” Loki orders, voice firm but gentle. “We don’t have that luxury right now.” Thor takes a deep breath, then lets it back out slowly, frowning. “I know.” Loki stares up at him for a moment longer, then manages a sad smile. “Should I get Volstagg to take you away like a child, too?” “Please take care of my beloved,” Thor says, voice cracking. “Loki, I don’t think I can stand to lose anyone else.” Loki’s smile falls, and he gives Thor’s arm a squeeze. “We will not lose anyone else,” he assures him firmly. “Especially not Tony.” And they don’t, though it’s close. Tony only survives by the skin of his teeth, and Bruce chalks it up to Tony’s people having a record of surviving things that most would not. “There’s nothing to do for his scars,” Bruce warns Thor when he goes to update him on Tony’s condition. Thor frowns at him, grim and determined. “His scars are proof that he survived. If he can accept mine, I will gladly accept his, especially when his are from a battle on our own ground.”

Thor gets the full story about what happened to Tony from Steven and Clint and Bucky. Apparently Tony and Frigga had set up boundary marks around the kingdom. As soon as it had been tripped by the invaders, Frigga had ordered that every child in the castle gather in the gardens. There, she’d told Tony in no uncertain terms that he was to take the children and anyone who would listen quickly out of the castle. “I’ve never seen two people get into such a short, mean row,” Steven adds, mostly to himself. “A row?” Thor asks him in surprise, because it seemed like they’d always gotten along, especially if they’d trusted each other with the knowledge that something was coming, even if they couldn’t figure out what. “Tony and your ma got into such a heat,” Bucky explains. “I thought they were gonna slap each other. But eventually Queen Frigga said something that made Tony give up his argument, and we left.” “Did you hear what it was?” Thor asks. Steven and Bucky look at each other, frowning. It’s Clint who pipes up, “They were trying to be private, but Natasha was holding Tony’s hand. She’d probably know.” “I see,” Thor says, then motions for them to continue. “And then?” “Queen Frigga sounded the alarm for everyone to get ready for battle, and Tony led us out of the gardens. Said he was gonna take us to his home country, if he could manage it,” Steven answers promptly. “We met some people on the way. Most of ‘em refused to leave the castle, because they thought they’d buy us more time if they stayed and fought, but there were some that came with us,” Bucky adds. “...None of them made it,” Clint adds quietly, looking down at his feet. “I liked Berta. She’d sneak us dumplings sometimes.” Thor feels his heart break for all that the children suffered, even as he feels proud of every person who laid down their life to protect them. “I’m sorry, Clint.” Clint lunges in for a hug. Thor holds him tight. “Some of the invaders cornered us when we first got into the forest. We think maybe they were waiting there for us,” Bucky continues softly as he watches Thor hug Clint. “We were trapped, so Tony... Tony, he--” “I’ve never seen such magic,” Steven breathes, staring down at his feet. “Blue and white fire that scored like lightning even as it burned. I think the other realms are lucky, that Tony’s people prefer physical weapons over magic. What he did was so incredible--and so, so terrible.” “He injured himself making sure we had a decent head-start on the invaders,” Bucky adds. “All the adults took turns carrying him, but as they peeled off, it fell to Steve an’ me. Then Steve and I were the next oldest, and I’m still down one arm, so Steve told me to stay and take care of Tony. And you know the rest, I guess.” “Yes,” Thor agrees, lifting a hand to his head where he can still feel the lump from Steven’s shield. “I certainly do.”

Tony wakes up and immediately goes to see to the children. Thor isn’t as hurt by this as he thought he might be--Tony’s last lucid memory was of blasting invaders with his magic so that he could defend the children Frigga had put him in charge of, so of course he’d want to see with his own eyes that they were safe. Thor finds him rocking a babe in his arms and any tiny amount of hurt he might have had just melts away. “Tony.” “Thor,” Tony says, turning to look up at him, then turns away again quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save more people. They insisted on staying, and we couldn’t waste time trying to convince them. I wanted--” “Beloved,” Thor cuts in gently, reaching out to rest his hands on Tony’s waist. “You have nothing to apologize for. The adults you met made their choices. You’re not responsible for that. You were only responsible for the children, and you did your job protecting them well. I’m so proud of you.” He pauses, then quietly asks, “Tony, will you look at me?” “I don’t want to,” Tony whispers. Thor considers this, thumbs rubbing slow, gentle circles on Tony’s hip bones, before he leans in and presses a kiss to the left side of Tony’s neck, then another, and another, until he feels Tony trembling against him. “Because you feel too vulnerable to meet my eyes, or because you’re embarrassed of your scars?” “Thor,” Tony whimpers. “Don’t worry about your scars, beloved. I could never be repulsed by them, especially with the cause of them,” Thor soothes. “But if you still feel too vulnerable to meet my eyes, that’s fine.” Tony remains silent, but he does lean more of his weight back against Thor’s chest, leaning down to press a kiss to the baby’s head. Thor doesn’t push, returning to pressing soft, idle kisses to whatever skin he can reach. “We have so many orphans,” Tony finally whispers. Thor takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, nodding in agreement. “Aye. But you’re so full of love, Tony, and the children know it. I was clubbed in the head and shot with an arrow by them in an effort to protect you. We’ll make it through.” “Will we,” Tony wonders, then jerks, finally turning to look up at him. “You were clubbed in the head and shot?!” “They were just small wounds,” Thor hurries to assure him, but then Tony is bullying him back to the infirmary, and he’s so amused by his smaller, injured husband aggressively bullying him that he just goes. It’s nice to hear Tony laugh as Loki recounts just exactly how Steven knocked him out with his shield, and how horrified Clint had been when he’d realized he shot Thor. Hearing his laughter, Thor finally feels that things might turn out okay.

Thor seriously considers moving survivors to Tony’s home country. Theirs is in shambles, and it seems like everywhere someone looks, the trauma feels brand new. He even suggests sending the children ahead, so they don’t have to watch as the adults continue to bury or pyre the dead. “I think you should ask the children, instead of just unilaterally deciding,” Tony suggests as Bruce has him articulate his arm. It’s slow going. He can barely twitch most of his fingers on his right hand. But he doesn’t look self-conscious anymore. Thor thinks it’s probably because all of the children had gathered around in awe and told him it looked cool. Tony seemed a very suave, confident person, but he was actually very self-conscious, especially because when he’d first arrived to Asgard, people had been visibly surprised by his small frame and reluctance to use magic. Apparently, now that they’d seen the destruction Tony’s magic had wrought, the children didn’t care if he actually used it again, because just the looming threat was incredible. Thor knew, as they grew older and came to realize the enormity of what Tony had done, their childish glee would change into wondered awe. Thor knows, because he’d gone to go see where Tony had unleashed his powers, and all that had been left behind was a dead patch of trees and a single, scorched piece of shoulder armor that had been shielded by a rock after it had been blown off its wearer. Tony had said, if he hadn’t been panicking about the safety of the children, he would have been able to hone that power more constructively. Thor has no idea how, and if he was a less confident man, he’d be a bit frightened; luckily he is not, and mostly just finds it arousing. “Start with the younger kids,” Tony adds. “So they’re not influenced by the older ones. The older ones will probably feel it’s their duty to stay. Maybe if they see the younger kids being honest, they’ll actually think about whether they want to stay, too. And if they do decide to go to my homeland, of course I’ll go with them to make sure they’re comfortable. Ouch!” he yelps when Bruce prods at his elbow. “Bruce!” “If it hurts that means you still have working nerves,” Bruce replies, and Tony goes from scowling to beaming at him. Thor doesn’t laugh, but only because he’s afraid Bruce might throw something at him.

“Natasha,” Thor says solemnly. “Your highness,” Natasha returns with the same gravity. Thor fights the urge to physically cringe. He’s still not used to adults calling him that. He doesn’t want this child doing so. “Just call me Thor,” he says, then offers her his hand. Her hand is so tiny as she slips it into his. Thor feels his stomach drop at just how young she is--just how young everyone who followed Tony out of the castle is. He can’t help the thought that he should have been there to help again, then brushes it off. If he could tell Tony not to blame himself, he should set an example by following his own advice. He leads her over to a table and pours her a cup of tea with a spoonful of honey and cream. Once she’s been distracted with picking out the perfect cookie to go with her tea, he gently asks, “Clint said you were holding Tony’s hand while he was arguing with my mother. Will you please tell me what was said, if you don’t mind?” Natasha considers a lemon cookie for several seconds before she finally turns and looks up at him. “Tony said he could stay and fight. He’d use his magic to protect everyone. Queen Frigga just insisted that we leave, but Tony didn’t want to go. Finally, she said he needed to protect the baby. So we left.” Thor wonders if he looks like she dropped a brick on his head. It certainly feels like it. “There were many babies,” he begins breathlessly. “He kept putting his hand on his tummy as we were leaving the castle,” Natasha continues, putting her own hand on her stomach to demonstrate. “And he looked really sad right before he used his magic.” She looks up at Thor with her solemn little face again. “He was holding my hand then, too. He looked really scared, but he still did it. I think that’s really brave.” “Me too,” Thor agrees, throat tight. “Natasha, Tony and I, we’ve been talking about sending you and the other children to Tony’s kingdom. Obviously he’d go with you. What do you think?” Natasha blinks up at him slowly, then says, “But my home is here,” and Thor has to bite his knuckles and direct her attention back to the cookies so she doesn’t see how close he is to crying.

#aurumacadicus answers #ask meme #5 headcanons meme #thunderiron #jkirk09

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thatoneteadrinker666 · 3 years

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The second part to the g/t exchange for @thatoneskully ! The ending was kinda rushed because I lost track of time but hopefully you enjoy it anyway-

Tw: soft safe vore, unedited writing :/

So far, the expedition was going well. No engine troubles, no unforeseen asteroid belts in the way. Things were going great! Puffy beamed and clapped her hooves. “Perfect! Right on schedule!” She flipped the long wool on her head and adjusted her hat.

Before she could celebrate any further, a jolt ran throughout her ship, knocking her to the door in a very undignified fashion. Puffy was up immediately and clutching a wall. What was that? She staggered over to the front window and clapped a hoof over her mouth.

Glittering slitted eyes burned into hers, pupils widening when she noticed them. Whoever they were, they were as big as her ship, which was no small feat. Puffy shook in place as they pushed the ship back slightly and opened their mouth which was filled with dagger-sharp teeth. And then.. they spoke; just a whisper of theirs sent rumbles through the ship’s structure.

“Hey.. listen. Miss captain. I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear. You just gotta trust me.” They brought the ship even closer to their mouth. “You’re in danger right now. There’s a big monster around here and they want to hurt you. They’re not good. I’m gonna help you, okay?”

Puffy, unsure about the situation, nodded. Well, if they wanted to hurt her, they probably would’ve done that already. Right?

“I’m bringing you to the nearest planet. Being out here in no grav is gonna mess things up.”

“Wait wait-!” She tumbled to the ground once more as her ship was taken off course and dragged down to a nearby planet, which thankfully had an atmosphere she could breathe so at least a suit wasn’t necessary.

The trip wasn’t long and after a very bumpy landing, Puffy got up and staggered outside.

Glinting green eyes followed her every move. Puffy tried to look up and nearly fell to the ground. They were TALL. They made her ship look like a toy. Swaths of gold and grey skin shifted as they knelt down to get a better look at her. On the top of their head they seemed to have a grey hat resembling a shark. Puffy flinched when the eyes, previously thought to be fake, blinked and peered at her.

“We don’t have a lot of time here. I promise I’m not going to hurt you, but this is going to be weird for you. Don’t get scared, alright?” They reached for Puffy, scooping her up in clawed hands and holding her right in front of their mouth.

She couldn’t help but cower as the lips parted, revealing those sharp teeth that made every survival instinct flurry in her chest. They said it was for her safety. Puffy wasn’t too sure, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She closed her eyes as she was set into the awaiting jaws.

Foolish had done this before. Many times. Loads of little astronauts and explorers passing through shared territory and finding themselves in danger of being gobbled down by some not so nice beings. He wasn’t one of those. Foolish thought they were adorable; they were out because they were curious about the unknown and wanted to know more. The little explorers didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing wrong with curiosity.

Even so, this little captain tasted absolutely delicious. She seemed to taste better than any other explorers he’d had to protect, being more sweet than the sour taste that usually came with space travel. It took a lot of focus to not rumble with utter satisfaction. He didn’t want to scare her. That wouldn’t be too nice.

Foolish maneuvered Puffy down the slick green length of his tongue, moving slowly to not scare the tiny captain. What he couldn’t control was the amount of drool that had begun to pool in his mouth and just hoped that she wasn’t frightened. After hesitating, he carefully swallowed her down.

Just as she had entered his storage pouch, someone much more dangerous arrived.

“Foolish, where did you- did you take this little snack?” The creature was bigger than him, by maybe a couple hundred feet, those were small numbers. They were friends, as much as they could be while being top predators on this side of the galaxy.

Foolish merely grinned. “Listen man, I was really hungry. Also it’s a cool ship to add to my collection! Look! It’s neat.”

They-he sometimes forgot their name, since it wasn’t his main language and he was also somewhat forgetful- just sighed. “I’m forgiving you only because that’s unclaimed territory there. Starspeed.” They vanished just as quickly as they arrived.

Foolish breathed out a sigh. “Hey, little astronaut? If you’re okay with it I’m going to bring you back up.” He listened. All he heard was light breathing. She must have fallen asleep. So Foolish sat, just fine with keeping her safe a little bit longer. She could probably use the rest too. Being such a small thing in such a big universe would take a toll on anyone. And he was perfectly content to take a nice break on this planet. He’d let her out when she was ready.

#g/t vore #mcyt g/t vore #tw vore #the much awaited story #this is not edited #yikes #don’t know much about Foolish and Puffy I am so sorry #did the relationship seem good #idk man wheeze

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