#all of his clothes are RIDDLED with bullet holes

[bugslap]

Soul King Brook — part-time master of faking his own death to avoid the law and part-time professional fiddler (and harmonica player, and guitarist, and...)

#cowboy au #more lore in tags #one piece #brook #my art #fanart #alt on imgs #unmasking brook physically pained me #brook CONSTANTLY fakes his death to get away from the sheriffs of the west #he does it so much its on his file but its so believable ppl keep falling for it #so much so he's been named The Undead Outlaw #Soul King #The Skeleton #and other names #hes half outlaw half legend #all of his clothes are RIDDLED with bullet holes #he wears them anyway because 1) they were expensive 2) they help the whole aesthetix #aesthetic* WHATEVER anyway #he has a limp and amnesia from when law enforcement killed his entire bandit group #hes desperately looking for their bison- Laboon #but he cant remember where he is #so hes wandering the desert and grasslands aimlessly #like a ghost...

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 16

Jason Todd + leather or Latex

I had like, no ideas what to do with this prompt ngl, so I just kinda went with whatever came to me when writing.

Crime lord Red Hood has always had a special place in my heart

Kinktober 2023 masterlist.

Working for The Red Hood wasn’t too bad, especially compared to the other rogues you’d had to work for in the past. With Hood you didn’t have to fear suddenly being shot because Two-face suddenly felt like it, or being eaten by whatever plants Ivy had conjured up, or answering whatever riddles the Riddler came up with that day.

Best part was probably the uniform though. All rogues put their people in specific clothes. For the joker it was clown masks and all that junk, Riddler wanted you in stuff with question mark print, penguin wanted you well dressed in suit and tie, the list went on. For Hood just wearing red seemed to be enough. Most seemed to just resort to wearing a red hoodie under their jacket, and that was enough.

Interestingly enough, working for Hood also came with some benefits, like being allowed to keep stuff from different conflicts as long as it didn’t cause issues for Hood. That was where you found your first leather, some rich guy from Metropolis tried to set up in Gotham and was quickly dealt with. If Gotham hated anyone more than each other, it was outsiders trying to barge in and make a name for themselves.

The guy had been wearing a sturdy but not too flashy leather jacket, so after checking the pockets and for bullet holes and seeing it in one piece, you tucked it over your arm and brought it home. You had to cut the tags out and changed the inner fabric to something cheaper, and most importantly, into something red, but the quality was no lie.

You realized you might have had a thing for Leather one night when you had needed to go out for some small run for Hood, and you’d been too tired and lazy to put on a shirt. You ended up going out in a pair of low waisted denim pants, some well worn boots, and your jacket. No one batted an eye, at all, seeing a shirtless guy was far from the weirdest shit in Gotham, but the feel of leather on your skin seemed to have lit something inside you.

After that you might have subconsciously started looking for the stuff whenever you went on raids or into fights for Hood and his territory. Who cared if you stole some hotshot from star cities leather west and hat, or that guy from Texas whose black leather boots you stole right off his feet. You didn’t touch the pants though, even though you really really wanted too, you just didn’t trust them not to be contaminated by all kinds of junk.

You honestly thought you hid it pretty well, your draw to leather that is. Everyone had their thing, and you always wearing your jacket and boots was just something you did. If you went home to get dressed all the way down to just your jacket and boots though to jerk off was another thing entirely.

But it seemed your draw to the last targets pants hadn’t gone fully unnoticed by your boss. Imagine your surprise when he shoved a package into your arms one night and told you to only check it when you got home, the modulator of his helmet making him seem way more serious than he probably was.

You wouldn’t say you were outright friends with Hood, no one could really be friends with their boss in the criminal world, but you cracked jokes with the guy and even got him to laugh on the regular. You patched him up when he needed it, and he dragged you to Leslie’s clinic when you got knocked around a bit too hard, which happened more than you liked to admit.

When you got home you had almost assumed that the package would hold weapons or maybe even drugs, even though Hood didn’t personally deal the stuff. But instead, you found what you immediately noticed was leather, a card placed on top of the neatly folded leather. The letter was in Hoods writing, and you felt your face heat up a tad at the words on the page.

“Next time just let me buy it for you instead of stealing it off bodies” it said, and when you unfolded the leather, you felt your insides flutter. It was pants, they seemed even better quality than the ones you had been eying the night before. But it wasn’t just pants, there was a newer jacket, it was brown and heavy and was very well worn, and when you held it out in front of you, you could see it was one of Hoods own jackets.

You could feel blood running downwards, leaving you fumbling with your clothes as you got undressed, feeling almost desperate to pull the pants up your legs and hips. They were tight, but not too tight, and there was no question about the quality. Your original jacket fell to the ground with a heavy thud, your fingers quickly grabbing the heavy well-loved leather of the brown jacket and pulling it on, a shaky breath leaving you as the smell that was so clearly Hood filled your senses.

It smelled like leather, gun oil, the cigarettes he smoked when he was annoyed or on edge, and something undeniably Hood, and it had you tenting your new pants. Or tenting as well as one could in leather, which meant it was more a visible bulge running down the inside of your thigh. It had felt so good on your skin that you had found yourself grinding against your hand on your couch like some inexperienced fool. Your back had arched off the couch as you stained the inside of your pants, the leather growing slick against you as you groaned.

It was only later when cleaning the leather that you noticed the writing in the waistband, near the back so it would sit near the bottom of your spine. “Red Hood” it said, like some kind of statement of ownership, and you had shivered and exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over your face to dispel the thoughts it awoke in your body.

Next time you saw Hood you had worn the pants, but the jacket was left at home. The worn jacket didn’t go well with the newer shinier leather of the pants, so it was your normal jacket and boots, which had some of your friends joke a bit about you being some kind of leather daddy because of your interest in the stuff. You had let the jokes run off your back, joking along every now and then.

You hadn’t even noticed Hood being there until he had appeared behind you, his gloved hand grabbing your ass and giving it a squeeze. Youd almost snapped around and decked him, assuming it was someone else, that was until you heard his modulated voice. “You’re wearing my gift. You like it?” he purred obviously enough that you could hear it even through the voice changer.

You could feel your skin growing clammy as you gave a small nod, not even daring to look at hood as he pressed his crotch against your back, his erection obvious even through all your shared layers. “Good, you look so hot in it” he rumbled, giving your thighs an extra squeeze before he stepped back and wandered off, leaving you unsteady on your feet as you tried to force the obvious hard shape in your pants away, for once cursing how tight they were.

It continued on this way for a while, Hood leaving you presents, and you would wear them around his headquarters. It was never expensive or high quality enough for anyone to target you, but Hood seemed to enjoy it very much. It felt almost like having a sugar daddy or some kind, but he had never demanded much sugar, only grabbing your ass at times, or rubbing his hands up and down your torso that time you’d worn a leather shirt under your jacket.

He was a tease, and you could hear the shit eating grin through his helmet as you ground against his thick thigh one day. You felt so wound up from his lingering touches that you had found yourself in his office one day, or what you guys called his office anyways. Maybe you wanted a fight of some kind, you weren’t sure, but one thing led to another, and you pinned up against the wall, his thigh between your own.

And now you were grinding against his thigh like some kind of pervert, your fingers digging into the worn leather of his jacket as you gasped into his shoulder. You didn’t even notice as he pulled off his gloves or spat on his fingers, it was only when one of his hands was shoved down the back of your leather pants and between your cheeks that you realised. A groan left you as he rubbed the pad of his finger against your pucker, his voice cocky as he asked if this was what you wanted.

You tried to glare at him, but it only seemed to fuel him more as Hood pushed his finger inside, letting you adjust before he started moving to the best of his ability, your tight pants not leaving much room to move his wrist. The stimulation was driving you crazy, the tight leather of your pants doing nothing to lessen the experience as you ground forwards into his thigh, before you pushed back onto his hand.

Running your hands down his torso and up his shirt, you could keep the moan from leaving you as you felt something too smooth and slick to be leather. It was Latex, he was wearing a latex shirt under everything else, maybe it was even a full body thing as it continued as you thumbed at the waistband of his pants.

Your exploring just seemed to fuel him more as Hood added not just a second but a third finger at the same time, letting you just barely adjust to the stretch before he started moving his hand once more, causing you to grind harder against his thigh.

It was impossible to fight back the orgasm that rocked through you, thoroughly slicking up the crotch area of your leather pants as there was no fabric to soak it up, letting it splatter against your thighs and lower body. You could feel yourself twitch a bit as Hood removed his fingers, instead grabbing onto your hips and lifting you up, making your legs wrap around his waist.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to ask what he was up too as he walked backwards, plopping down on his chair with you in his lap, sighing softly as he started rubbing his hands up your torso, flicking your chest through the leather shirt you had chosen to wear. “You alright baby?” he asked, voice warm and caring, leaving you feeling all types of mushy.

You just scoffed and leaned forwards, resting against his broad shoulders and coiling your arms around him. Hood rubbed your back for a while before rolling his chair close to his desk, the taping of keys letting you know he was working on one thing or the other. In the end you found yourself with both your hands up his shirt, rubbing at his latex covered torso as you rocked lazily against his thigh, no hurry in your movements as you knew you had all night, and it would happen soon if the twitching bulge between Hoods thighs meant anything.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #male reader #jason todd #red hood #dc #justice league #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanon #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood headcanon #dc imagine #dc headcanon #dc x male reader #dc x reader #justice league x reader #justice league imagine #justice league headcanon #justice league x male reader #the outlaws imagine #the outlaws headcanon #the outlaws x male reader #the outlaws x reader

[random-movie-ideas]

Son of Batman (Movie Outline)

This movie is yet another part of the Cinematic Universe the others I've written have been a part of. This one specifically follows Batman & Batgirl: Arkham Assault which ended with Batman, Catwoman, and eight criminals all being captured by Scarecrow, as well as Nightwing: Under the Red Hood, where Jason Todd was revealed to be alive.

The movie begins six months after the disappearance of Batman and nine high profile Gotham criminals during the burning of Arkham. In that time, the remaining members of the Bat Family have worked tirelessly to find their missing friend while trying to maintain order in the resultant power vacuum that occurred in the city’s underworld.

We see Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, and Stephanie Brown (AKA Nightwing, Robin, and Spoiler) interrupt a meeting between crime lords Carmine Falcone and Rupert Thorne, taking them and their forces down. From the Batcave, Barbara Gordon, now wheelchair-bound and going by the name Oracle, works with Alfred to give them support. They are in constant contact with Barbara’s father, police commissioner Jim Gordon, who has now been let in on the full secret in Batman’s absence. Working together, they manage to take them down and arrest both crime bosses.

The next morning, a news report announces the arrests. We see a fourteen-year-old boy with messy hair and dark clothing watching the report on a public television. He looks at a piece of paper with several addresses written on it and puts up his hood. Meanwhile, back at the mansion, the family are in relatively high spirits celebrating their victory. Tim and Steph are goofing off and messing with Alfred a bit. Dick instructs them to do a little recon around the city today, while he heads down to the Bat Cave.

In the Bat Cave, he talks with Barbara, looking over a list of criminal activity she’s compiled, talking about how criminals have gotten bolder with the absence of both Batman and the major players like Joker and Two-Face. Barbara mentions to him again that names like Nightwing and Robin don’t strike as much fear as Batman does, and that maybe he needs to consider taking up the cowl. Dick turns her down flat. They flirt a bit before he heads out to get things done.

He first visits Jonathan Crane at the hospital where he now works. Crane complains offhandedly about not having nearly as good equipment as he had back in Arkham, but other than that, he has nothing new to tell him. Dick then stops by the warehouse where he regularly meets with his brother Jason. The pair talk but Jason has no new leads for him either.

Across the city, Tim and Steph are wandering around in their street clothes, keeping an eye out for signs of trouble. Tim lets Steph badger him into getting some ice cream from a local vendor, where they encounter the kid from the beginning of the movie, staring at the vendor out of curiosity. Steph offers to buy him a cone and he accepts but doesn’t speak to them. He seems to really enjoy it.

Later, Tim and Steph slip into their suits and sneak into the burned out ruins of Arkham. Tim expresses concern, as everyone who had gone in came back out horrified, claiming to have seen horrific visions inside. They decide to do so anyway, because they know there has to be some kind of clue. As they venture inside, one of them triggers a silent alarm. A strange mist fills the air and they end up getting separated. Steph sees someone shambling toward her, while Tim thinks he sees a scarecrow propped up. The figure approaching Steph turns into her father Arthur, riddled with bullet holes, while the scarecrow looks up as Tim approaches. Arthur apologizes to Steph, saying he got back into crime despite his promise to her before dying at her feet, while the scarecrow taunts Tim with images of Bruce, Dick, and Jason, calling him a faker, third in line of a second fiddle title, taking it on for fun while all who came before were forced into it.

Tim and Steph both run, Steph haunted by visions of other people she cares about being gunned down and killed, while Tim’s insecurities are attacked from every angle, with every member of the Bat Family calling him a fake. They both run into each other and find themselves surrounded by their respective specters. The Scarecrow steps out of their midst, laughing at them as more mist releases from his body.

A small hooded figure appears, striking the Scarecrow and knocking him back. He goes to Tim and Steph, giving them breathing masks and telling them it’s all an illusion. They recognize him as the boy from earlier, with his hood up and a breathing mask covering his own face. The Scarecrow attacks the boy, slashing at him and tearing his sleeve to reveal a symbol on his arm. The Scarecrow steps back in surprise as the boy covers it and tells the other two to run for it. The three flee from the mist and escape the ruins.

Tim and Steph wake up back at the mansion, being treated by Alfred. Barbara is nearby, telling them that they both inhaled a large amount of a hallucinogen that invokes a panic response in its victims. She is tending to the small boy, who doesn’t seem to want her help, while Dick and Gordon are both nearby. Dick tells them off for going there when he’d forbade doing so, but the boy says they were right to go there. That if they wanted answers as to what happened to Batman and the nine criminals, the answers were there.

The boy introduces himself as Damian and says that he’s a former member of the League of Shadows. Dick and Alfred both recognize the name, saying that’s the group who taught Batman much of what he knows. Damian tells them they’re a shadow organization that has existed for centuries, subtly manipulating historical events through assassinations and sabotage. Gotham is their next target, and the scarecrow that guards Arkham’s ruins is one of their agents. He set a trap for Batman and the nine missing criminals, and now he remains to make sure no one can find out what happened to them.

Dick questions whether or not Damian can be trusted, and if he’s not the one leading them into a trap. This leads into a debate between them all, but Alfred, who’d been staring at Damian as if he recognizes him, steps in and says they should all get some sleep and talk it over later. Alfred takes Damian to a guest room, but decides to let him into Bruce’s room instead. Damian stares at a picture of Bruce, and Alfred talks to him about him for a moment. Damian dodges his questions, which Alfred takes note of, and Alfred lets him go to sleep.

Down in the Batcave, Dick, Barbara, and Jim talk it over, joined by Alfred. They agree to go in, using the gas masks Damian offered them, but only Dick and Jim would go, while Tim and Steph would stay back at the mansion to continue recovering. Dick goes out briefly to find Jason and ask him to come with them. Jason acts dodgy as well and refuses to help. Later, Jason visits someone else, who tells him he is needed for a job.

The next day, Dick, Damian, and Jim head out to the island, Jim getting them through using his police clearance. Barbara and Alfred assist them from the Batcave. Damian supplies his companions with masks and they head in. Once again, they trigger sprays of mist, but remain unaffected by them. Dick uses a map supplied to them by Dr. Crane, and they work down into the lower levels.

As they travel, Damian tells them about his life before this, how his mother had been the daughter of league’s head, a man known as the Demon’s Head, and how she’d trained him in the same martial arts that Bruce knew. However, when she caught wind of what her father was planning for Gotham, and what he had done to Batman, she sent him in secret to help stop it.

As they reach the lowest levels, they find the door blocked by the Scarecrow. He doesn’t respond to anything they say, he just sits and waits. Then someone else appears behind them. Jason appears, and at first, Dick is relieved, but Damian points out a mark on his arm, and Jason reminds them how he was restored to life in the first place. He attacks them, ripping off Gordon’s mask and going for Damian’s as well. Dick blocks him and fights his brother as Scarecrow attacks from behind, gassing Gordon with a full blast of fear toxin, some of which gets through the damage to Damian’s as well.

Dick orders Damian to get Gordon out, while he holds off Jason and the Scarecrow. Damian struggles to hold his breath and get Gordon out of the mist while the toxin starts to take hold. Gordon starts to hallucinate visions of Barbara as Batgirl, taking a shot in the back, or getting knocked off a high-rise, both resulting in her falling to her death, coupled with images of her actual injuries from the Joker, his friend Harvey on the ground after being attacked by acid, and the small broken body of Jason Todd after being beaten to death by a crowbar.

Meanwhile Damian starts to see images of his grandfather, Ra’s al-Ghul, looking down at him with contempt and calling him an embarrassment and a disgrace. Then his grandfather’s face morphs into that of Bruce, saying the same thing. He cries out for his father and grandfather, when Tim and Steph appear from the mist, collecting up the both of them and pulling them out.

Back outside the ruins, Damian and Jim both come back to their senses, Tim and Steph having inoculated them with a cure for the toxin that had been finished during the night. Barbara comforts her father over their comms, while Alfred brings up what Damian had said during his hallucinations. Damian comes clean and reveals that he is Bruce’s son from his time training under the league. Damian asks how Alfred knew, and Alfred says it’s because he raised a small boy who looked nearly identical.

Down in the asylum, Dick continues to fight Jason while the Scarecrow disappears into the mist. Dick is furious with Jason, but Jason reminds him that his goals are the same as the League’s, to truly cleanse Gotham, not just wipe up after it the way they and Bruce had done all these years. Their battle becomes more and more intense, both breaking each other’s masks. Their strength starts to waver, Jason first as he starts to be overtaken by images of the Joker striking him with a crowbar over and over again. Dick starts to see the very same thing, but with every strike, Jason turns into Tim, and Steph, and Barbara, and Bruce, and Alfred. He tries to attack the imaginary Joker to no avail, and instead, grabs Jason and pulls him through the last door and into the secret lab.

Inside the lab, Dick searches for anything resembling a cure, reasoning that the Scarecrow surely has some for himself. He finds a vial and tests it on himself, finding, to his relief, that it actually does cure the toxin. He then goes to Jason and administers it to him as well. As Dick looks around the room, he sees controls for the entire prison, ten special cells, all of which are crusted with ice around the edges, all leading to a secret train tunnel.

Jason tells Dick that they’re not here, that Bruce, Selina, and the criminals were all taken to a special prison run by the league. Dick demands to know who the Scarecrow is, but Jason refuses to tell him. Dick tells him that if the League gets their way and cleanses Gotham, it won’t just be villains like Joker and Black Mask who suffer, but little street kids like the two of them were. He can’t just let it happen. Jason relents and looks up at his brother. He says, “Is it not obvious?”

Back at the Batcave, Barbara and Alfred talk with Damian, Jim, Tim, and Steph, having lost contact with Dick during his fight with Jason. They talk about how, if the League is as far-spread as Damian suggests, the Bat Cave may be the only safe place left. A familiar voice scoffs at the idea as Jonathan Crane appears. The doctor says they’ve always known about this place before gassing the both of them.

Dick and Jason re-emerge from the asylum, telling Damian, Tim, Steph, and Jim that they need to get back to the mansion, that all of this here had been a distraction. The team try to contact Barbara and Alfred, but are met only by the voice of Jonathan Crane, telling them that if they want to save their friends, they will return to the mansion immediately.

The group returns to the mansion. They say it’s likely full of the fear toxin, and Steph jokes about it becoming a literal haunted mansion. They each strap on a gas mask and enter. Dick and Jason go with Damian, and they talk to him about him being Bruce’s actual son. Damian tells them his mom had been keeping tabs on Bruce through the league all these years, so he knew all of their names and many of their adventures. Dick tells him welcome to the family.

Dr. Crane torments the team throughout the mansion, using the smoke and mist to keep his location a mystery in lieu of the toxin working. One by one, he lures them into a trap and attacks them, taking each hostage in turn. Soon enough, Dick, Jason, and Damian are left, and they find their way down to the batcave. There, Crane reveals Barbara, Alfred, Tim, Steph, and Jim, all unmasked and unconscious from fear toxin.

Crane talks to them through the computer, saying that the League had been perfectly content to leave their little team be, as they’d never pose the threat Batman himself posed, but they just couldn’t keep their noses to themselves. Dick and Jason both try to attack him and free their friends, but he ends up catching them off guard and capturing them too. Finally, only Damian remains.

Crane talks to Damian, saying he’d heard of him, the Demon Head’s little embarrassment of a grandson, surprised to learn that he’d been the Bat’s child all along. Damian creeps around, keeping Crane talking, until he can manage to track down his actual body. He attacks Crane from behind, taking him by surprise instead, but Crane holds his own, reminding Damian that he’d received League training as well. The pair duel, but in the end, Damian comes out on top, giving Crane an overdose of his own toxin.

All the rest of the Bat Family are freed and administered the cure. They question Crane on the whereabouts of Batman and the villains, and Crane admits that Ra’s took them to a special prison where they will never escape. Damian says he knows of the prison, that it’s a horror story spread around the league. Crane is handed over to Amanda Waller in ARGUS.

Damian wakes up the next morning in his father’s bed. The entire family greets him and makes him feel at home when he arrives at breakfast. As they start eating, the team begins discussing how to move forward, to save Batman and to stop the League’s plans. In a post-credits scene, we see Selina tending to Bruce inside a dark cell, Bruce clearly unable to move. The cell door opens, and the silhouette of Bane appears.

And that's our story. This one will be followed by a two-part Bat Family finale, the first focused on Bane and the prisoners locked in his prison. What do you think? Would you watch a movie like this?

#damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #barbara gordon #alfred pennyworth #jim gordon #tim drake #stephanie brown #jonathan crane #scarecrow #son of batman

[hyperfixatinglove]

Made the confession fic with Zeus ♥

’’Freeze ZEUS!’’ Stern unfamiliar voice, muffled with helmet obscuring all traces of humanity.

Blackwatch soldier stood by, their rifle pointed at Zeus, fingers twitching by the trigger for any movement. Black armor from head to toe masked all identifiers, night goggles in front of their eyes.

The virus being stiffened. His eyes narrowed under his hood, his arm morphed into two-sided long blade, growl echoed in silent little alleyway away from general populace.

’’I knew it. You are ZEUS.’’ The soldier affirmed, even under all the gear he stared at the blade replacing human arm. ’’You bastard. I’ll shoot you where you stand.’’

Zeus darted. Bullets fired. His body riddled with holes and blood, coated his shirt and ground when he ran and didn’t stop. Bullets still firing when Zeus jumped onto the man, like panther jumped to kill antelope. Soldier screamed in vain as Zeus punched him in the face again and again, coating the walls of the alley with blood, making his knuckles bruised and bloody. He bashed and bashed, until barely anything was left of the soldiers face, his helmet destroyed long ago by his super strength.

Tentacles formed from his back, the soldier engulfed by black and red mass, the fresh body disappearing, absorbed into Zeus own being in a instant. He laughed, low and mocking. The only proof of crime was the fresh blood dripping down on Zeus’ shirt and knuckles, the walls coated in red.

His cold pale blue eyes fell onto the civilian with him. Their face twisted with horror, disgust and fear. Zeus could almost taste their fear. He wanted more. Once he got into the taste of killing after so long, he viscerally demanded more.

’’What the fuck Zeus?! He didn’t do anything!’’

He sneered. They saw with their own eyes the soldier had meant to kill him and this is what he gets. No thank you for saving their asses or protecting them but accusation.

’’He tried to kill me.’’ He growled back. His blood lust retreated by their voice, their words forcing him to focus onto the situation at hand.

’’After you created a damn weapon and charged at him!’’

Zeus knew Roe was on thin ice in this argument. He knew more than they ever did what Blackwatch was up to.

’’Blackwatch either kills me or captures me. If they do you’re in danger. They’ll execute you. I had to.’’ He was speaking facts, that was all the military ever tried to do. It was why from the moment he was born he fought them, fled and hid. He was sick of it.

’’Don’t you dare use me as your excuse for killing Zeus!’’

Something in those words caused him to snap. Roe, his Roe had never been like this, this mad and righteous. His Roe was usually gentle and demure, did not view him as monster or killing machine. Growl, low and threatening erupted from his throat and no sooner did they whimper, their back collided with a wall further down the alley shrouded in darkness.

His eyes glowed in the dark, observed how quiet and docile Roe was reduced to by his action. He played the last few seconds back to back and silently concluded he liked when he was challenged. Blush Roe had was not hidden in the dark, but their eyes had fear in them. Zeus hand on each side of them, clenched, the brick wall cracked.

’’Are you going to consume me too? Was I just amusement to you?’’

The meaning of the words slipped out of fear shook him to his core. The crack on the brick wall deepened and snaked further and further, the hood hid his features melted away in black and red, revealed messy black locks of hair. Subconsciously Zeus shifted, the parts of him changed his biomass to appear different clothing, to separate himself from his creator, in silent, futile effort to convey he was serious, he was no threat and oh so in love with the person staring back at him.

By pure impulse to devour, to feel, to show how much and how desperately he loved them, Zeus surged forward, sealed their lips against his in act so delicate. Oh how his entire being sang. He would not admit it, but he had dreamed of this exact thing for months now. He was lost in the feeling of their lips, how well he fit into theirs, the pure happiness he felt when he could tell he was kissed back. His rapidly forming body destroyed the brick wall Roe was against but Zeus couldn’t bring himself to care. His body shifted to shield them both from the rubble, as he hungrily kept kissing.

Slams to his chest bought him back from cloud nine. Reluctantly he let go, instantly missed the sweet contact he wished to savor.

Their eyes studied him, while Zeus own couldn’t look away. Their cheeks were scarlet, fear diluted away in return for curiosity.

’’I love you. Can’t really explain how much and how badly, but I’m so fucking obsessed with you. Possessive even. I need to stay by your side. My love for you is consuming me from the inside and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Every cell in my body is yours and yours alone. You’ve changed me.’’

The remnants of the brick wall were keeping Roe in place. Zeus could see the moment his words were properly conveyed, the bright, big smile blinded him by the radiance and sweetness. Their hand was rubbing his arm up and down absently. Where their fingers glided his biomass shifted and pulsated, reached farther up to sought out the contact, which their owner didn’t even realize. They jumped repeatedly, up and down and up and down with that brilliant smile.

’’I love you too Zeus.’’

The words he had dreamed for months to hear. To hear them from his own personal angel. Zeus was overflowing with happiness, he couldn’t contain it. He was so happy it physically hurt him, he could feel his body hitting the breaking, critical point. Multiple red, thin spikes erupted violently all around him, into almost every direction, destroying the small alley to rubble and dust in seconds. Zeus groaned, releasing one of the most powerful attacks in his arsenal made him fatiqued from the effort.

He didn’t know when he had collapsed to his knees, clutching his head in his hands. Terrified, he lifted his head and form, crushed Roe into tight hug. There was nothing left when he did that, for a moment he had feared his spikes had killed his beloved.

’’You okay?’’

He could only nod as he breathed their scent in. They’re alive, they’re alive.

’’Guess you too have to release the extra energy sometimes.’’

Zeus chuckled weakly. The fatique was getting worse. He didn’t exactly need sleep, but recovering from one of his devastators, as he and Blackwatch called them, took time. Roe’s hands created circles in his back.

’’Seems like we need some good relaxation. I’m spent. You make me too happy Zeus.’’

The words weren’t muttered with ill will. He could hear how happy they truly were from the soft tone, their lips teased his temple.

Zeus laughed as Roe shifted to support him, with his one arm over their shoulder. The small height difference made the arrangement little awkward but they would manage. Roe’s house wasn’t far.

’’You destroyed whole damn alley, that’s pretty impressive.’’

’’I’ve done worse.’’

Roe hummed and fixed their shoulder. Even exhausted, Zeus took care not to lean too much to them, if he did he could easily crush them, the last time he had leaned on in relaxation the roof of building, there was crater shaped after him.

The pair, who looked to onlookers in a city that never slept like pair of drunk and happy fools, started the short journey back to Roe’s apartment and Zeus unofficial residence. Roe muttered about the oncoming cuddles and kisses, while Zeus tried his hardest to keep the worst of his exhaustion away.

#you consume all of me #my fics #zeus truly gets me to writing again yay

[queenkaiju]

I Can't Be Without

Maribat Febuwhump Challenge

Marinette remembers walking out of the convenience store, ramen in the bag on her shoulder. Then black. It was just supposed to be a quick run to the store for dinner.

When she came to, she felt bindings around her legs, arms and torso, strapping her naked body to hard, cold metal. She screamed her voice hoarse, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. A warehouse if she had to guess. She sat in the darkness, blindfold firmly in place and tears flowing unrelentingly for what felt like days.

Finally, the silence was broken. She'd hoped it was her boyfriend and his family come to rescue her, but no. It was a voice she'd hoped and prayed she'd never have to hear again.

"Oh, princess. Beautiful as ever. Even if you did let that street scum touch you." She couldn't see him, but she felt his hand cupping her cheek. She let out a strangled cry, biting his hand. Hard.

"Shit!" Adrien drew his hand back, cursing under his breath. A moment later, he chuckled, shoving a ball gag in her mouth. "Naughty, naughty, M'lady. You may not see it now, but I'm doing this because I love you."

"Please, don't." She sobs around the gag. She couldn't do anything as the man she once loved smirked at her. A smirk she once associated with victory now promised a world of pain.

She floated in and out of conciousness, not able to do anything but cry as she tried to tune out the horrible sensations.

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? All she knew is that she ran out of tears somewhere along the way. She's dead inside.

-

Marinette had been missing for three days, and Jason was worried. At first, he'd thought she'd left, but everything she owned was still in their apartment. Her clothes, her laptop… the Miracle Box. When he finally opened it, the kwami had no idea where she was, but they knew who took her. He'd destroyed the apartment that day.

He stormed into the Batcave surprising Bruce and the rest of Jason's replacements. They got over their shock at seeing him alive quickly enough.

"Help her," He begged, on his knees before Batman. "Please, Bruce, help me."

It took two weeks to find footage showing where Adrien took her. He was out the door before Tim finished his sentence.

_

Lightning cracked behind Jason as he ran over the rooftops of Gotham. He desperately raced, pushing his legs to go faster, farther, ignoring the burn throughout his body.

He could hear the rest of Gotham's vigilantes in his ear, asking him to slow down, wait up. He can't.

His pace didn't falter in the slightest as he crashed through the skylight of the warehouse Marinette was being kept in. His guns were out before he hit the ground. As he took in the sight around him, his vision tinged green. Various racks of weapons, tools and sex toys. A not-quite-human sound escape his throat as he riddled the display with bullet holes.

He heard a soft noise behind him and whipped around. Jason felt his blood run cold as he saw Marinette's broken, bloody and bruised naked body strapped to a metal table. A familiar tall, lanky man was looming over her, a jug of water in hand. Jason stormed forward, grabbed Adrien by his hair, and threw him across the room.

Adrien sat up, blood matting his hair. He coughed and sat up. "Well, well. If it isn't Red Hood. Or should I say, Jason."

At the sound of his name, Marinette started struggling against her restraints. The green haze receeded from his vision, and Jason ran over, pulling the rag off her face. "Jason…" Marinette whimpered. He was about to start undoing the straps when something heavy and blunt hit him on the shoulder.

He slowly turned around, the madness coming back full force. "You…" He growled out, stalking toward the blonde bastard. Jason could see the fear in his eyes, the tremble in his hands as he dropped the plank he'd hit him with. "I'm going to kill you."

He leaned down and grabbed Adrien by the collar. The smell of urine filled the air as he hefted him over his shoulder and slammed him into the ground. Adrien hit the floor with a loud, resounding crack. Jason knelt down and pinned him to the ground by the throat.

The Pit was screaming at him, desperate for blood. Jason punched him. Again and again, each hit earning him a satisfying crunch, and a blood spatter. He finally stopped when Adrien's head was sitting at a very wrong angle, with a dribble of blood leaking from his mouth, mingling with the rest from his forehead.

Adrien was dead. The voices whispering in the back of Jason's mind should be gone, but they're not. He pulled out his gun and shot him. Once. Twice. He emptied the whole clip into the corpse on the floor, blood pooling and staining the tiles underfoot.

With his bloodlust finally sated, Jason turned back to Marinette. Seeing her cleared the fog from his mind and he raced over, panicking. "No, no, no. Marinette? Marinette?!"

He quickly untied her, the rope burns around her wrists and ankles and the rest of the wounds covering her body causing bile to rise in the back of his throat. He took off his jacket and balled it up, pressing it to one of the worse cuts on her side. There's so much blood. Why won't it stop?! "Marinette, love?" He put two fingers on her neck, feeling a faint pulse, getting weaker. "No… no, not like this. We promised! We're not allowed to die! Please!" He sobbed, pulling her to his chest.

"Ja… son…" She whispered, her voice barely audible. "I... love… you…"

"Marinette?" He looked up, seeing her blue eyes start to glaze over. "Marinette?!" He brushed her tangled bangs out of her face. "Mari? Please, don't leave me…" Her chest slowly lowered under his hand and didn't rise again. "Mari?! Marinette!?"

A hand fell on his shoulder, and the only thing stopping him falling into another murderous rage was the rapidly cooling body in arms.

"Jason…" It was Dick. "I'm so sorry."

#I only got 24 of the prompts #but that's fine #febuwhump #adrien agreste #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #mlb x dc #maribat #batman fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #DCUValentinesDay2024 #hurt no comfort #angst #cw blood #cw waterboarding #cw toxic relationship #cw torture #cw violence #did I make you cry?

[yeahyankee]

Palimpsest [Trigun '98 - Post Show - Vash x Meryl] - Pt. 2/?

Meryl's aching feet carried her home, stupefied from the dusty red heat bearing down on the town. She dropped her boots off by the door and slipped upstairs, drawing herself a bath.

It was a long day of holding slamming doors open, trying to get any sort of quote for the paper. The hours of walking around in the baking sun made her calves scream.

She took her time drawing her bath, tossing the day's dusty clothes over her changing screen. She traced her thumb down the length of her arm, marveling at the layer of grime that came loose.

If a bath for dinner was all that she could muster tonight, that would be fine, too. If anything, she'd rustle around the ice box for something to hold her over, after everyone was asleep.

A polite knock on the door nudged her out of her thoughts. Probably Milly asking if she was ready to come down for dinner.

Meryl took a bracing breath and opened the door, not prepared to see Vash on the other side in the half-dark of the hallway.

He wore a set of work clothes--something leant from Milly, no doubt--a loose-fitting shirt and a faded pair of dungarees. She noticed that he was dusty from the day's work as well--but cleanly shaven.

"Mr. Vash," Meryl said, suddenly very aware that she'd answered the door in a nightgown. She pulled herself behind the door.

"Milly thought you might like dinner upstairs tonight," he gave her a smile, and she recognized that it was to put her at ease.

Meryl looked down and saw that he was holding a plate of meatloaf, piled high with mashed potatoes and gravy. Her stomach clenched hungrily. "That does look good."

"Gotta love a woman with an appetite--it mean's she's got the spirit to live," Vash nodded sagely, he was echoing an old joke back to her--one she'd tell him when all he could keep down was noodle soup and ice cubes, riddled with bullet holes.

"Mind if I come in to put this down?"

"Sure, I was just getting ready for a bath, so you can just put it down on the desk," Meryl watched him come in, uselessly trying to smooth down the silk front of her nightgown to look presentable.

"Sorry, I'm not really fit for company right now," she said, training her eyes on a spot on the ground, still too nervous around him alone.

He laughed, "Haven't you seen me in a worse state?"

"Well, I had to bathe you unconscious for quite a bit, I would say so. You were damned heavy," she blurted suddenly, not meaning for that memory, or those words to come bubbling up.

"I never did get to thank you for that," he said, crossing the room.

She felt the panic attack coming on in full force now, squeezing her heart in her chest like a dark hand coming to smother the small, fluttering bird inside her ribcage.

"It's fine," she said curtly, eyes still cast downward.

"What you did back there, I owe you my life. I never got to tell you that," he paused. "Meryl, why won't you look at me?"

"I can't--I'm sorry, I'm not feeling too well right now," she managed, her hand balling in the silk of her nightgown.

He couldn't be standing there after all this time, picking up where they left off. After so many years of waiting, disappointment, giving up hope.

"Hey--what's up?" He asked, hands reaching out to steady her shoulders. "You're shaking all over."

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to keep it bottled up, from spilling out. Tears squeezed out of her eyes as she stood and simply shook in his arms.

"Shh, it's okay, stop apologizing," he smoothed the bangs away from her forehead, "Are you hurt anywhere?"

The absurdity of the question made her start to cry harder.

"No," she said, between gulping breaths. She felt like she couldn't catch up. Of course she was hurt, she hurt everywhere, all over. It felt like her whole body was a bruise she'd carried around, aching, for years.

"I'm having," she heaved, placing her palms against his chest to steady herself for the coming dizziness.

"Yep, come on," Vash nodded, not needing any further validation. He lead her over to the tub, and lowered her gently to sit on the lip.

He steadied her with one hand while reaching for the wash rag with another. Against the window, the steady scrape of sand and rattling of the outside shutters was already becoming a symphony.

Vash murmured softly and lowered the damp rag onto her nape. The shock of cold against her hot neck sent a shiver through her. He swiped a thumb over the tense cluster of muscles behind her ear, slowly working out the knots.

Meryl's eyes slipped closed, leaning back against him.

Another quiet splash of water from the tub, and then she could feel his hands back over her shoulders. Vash gently placed the rag against her and gave it a soft squeeze, sending a flurry of cold rivulets down her neck.

She shuddered, but the cold tickle of water felt like relief. The taut feeling in her abdomen began to unfurl.

Vash's fingers slipped the straps of her nightgown aside, dribbling water down the round slope of her shoulders. Then, he moved the rag down to her décolletage, and the water dripped past the lace trim of her nightgown.

She opened her eyes halfway, watching the water soak the front of her gown, gluing the fabric down around the curve of her breasts.

Vash's fingers pinched softly at the sore spot at her neck and then eased away the pressure.

A quiet moan escaped from Meryl's lips, too quickly for her to catch it. Her eyes fluttered open, her embarrassed gaze shooting up to Vash.

He smiled down at her serenely, "Feeling better?"

Meryl pulled back, slipping the straps of her nightgown back over her shoulders, "Yes, thank you Mr. Vash."

"Just Vash," he corrected her. "You used to call me that."

"That was a while ago," she said, feeling very aware of her body, how close he was, how very long it had been since her touch-starved body had been held this way.

"Not that long ago," he said gently, giving her that classic pout that let him get away with everything. Vash's eyes stayed on her, as if he was hoping she would say something else.

She tried to bring herself to say something--anything at all that could encompass how surreal it was see him again, after so much unfinished business. How much she'd missed him, cursed his name, cried about his absence.

"I'm going to go check on the generator and then head to bed," Vash said after a moment, rising from the edge of the tub. "You make sure to eat something."

"Thanks," she said, leading him out of the bedroom. Her voice rang like a joke back in her own head when she closed the door.

What just happened?

#trigun 98 #trigun spoilers #vash x meryl #meryl stryfe #vash the stampede #hurt/comfort #Depressed!Anxiety Disorder! Meryl Stryfe #descriptions of anxiety #panic attack comfort #these two are so bad at communicating oh lawd haha #trigun fanfiction #post show

[gravitytrips]

Ello

Am totally stranger.

Have fANGSTfic idea!

Any of the mercs (ex: Scout [lol twink angst]) having a nightmare dream thing that all their teammates are permadead maybe?

As much as I love seeing Scout suffer, I think it would be more logical for Medic to have this nightmare. One of his worst fears is certainly not being able to help his team. (I promise I’m writing yours Schnozz)

Medic was exhausted. It was four in the morning and he was still buried in a mountain of paperwork. Why did he always leave the boring work for the late nights? He didn’t know. He rubbed his eyes as the pages blurred. He glanced at the cord in the medical bay. Maybe he could rest for an hour or two. Just a nap. Medic stumbled over to a cot and laid on it. He was out almost immediately.

Medic stood in the battlefield. Everyone was calling for him. Scout had a hole punched through his chest. Heavy was holding a piece of cloth over Scout’s torso to keep him from bleeding out. It wasn’t working. By the time Medic made it over there, it was too late. He didn’t have time to grieve. Heavy’s head exploded. Soldier fell from the sky, splatting on the ground. Demoman charged into a sentry nest. Sniper fell from his place, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Engineer shook Medic, telling him that Pyro was down and they needed to run. Engineer suddenly slumped forward, a knife in his back. The Spy was decapitated in front of Medic’s eyes. The carnage unfolded around the doctor, and he was powerless to stop it. Finally, a bullet found his skull.

Medic was suddenly standing in Resupply. He expected to see the others there with him, but they were nowhere to be found. Medic left the room, walking through the base, looking for his team. He had explored every inch of this place. He knew where the best places to hide were. Those places were empty. Finally, he walked onto the battlefield. The blood was dried the stench was horrible. The sight brought Medic to his knees. All of his teammates. All of his friends. We’re dead. Heavy’s headless corpse slumped over Scout’s. Engineer’s body laid flat on the ground. The mangled mess that was once Soldier attracted flies. Demo’s body was riddled with holes. Too many to count. Spy’s head was on a pike, several feet from the rest of his corpse. Medic’s heart shattered. His team…was dead. They hadn’t crumbled to dust and reformed in the base like they were supposed to. Where a group of people who were very important to Medic once stood, there was now just a pile of blood and broken bone. Medic let out an anguished scream.

Medic shot up on the cot, still screaming. His body shook. Sweat poured down his back. He looked at the clock. One hour had passed.

Just a dream. Just a dream. A dream that had struck a deep part of Medic’s heart. For the first time in many years, Medic allowed himself to cry.

(sorry if this one sucks. It didn’t sound that good when I was writing it. Feel free to give pointers or ideas of what I should change)

#Fanfic

[radioactivecatboy]

🗣️ 📝

hello eulie my beloved friend eulie. cracks my knuckles.

🗣 talk about your favorite WIP:

okay this is a hard one actually bc i actively have approximately 178 million wips going on at any given moment bc i have thoughts and ideas and opinions Always and Forever. i'll be popping out of the ground at my funeral with a finger raised to say "and another thing!" but i think . i will talk abt my good beloved close personal friend "nicholas d. wolfwood's guide to making the most of second chances" which i have talked to you extensively about but by fucking god. i will do it again.

so this is a fic i've been working on for uhhhhh. idk whenever it was that i finished trimax. couple months at least. it's about wolfwood literally clawing his way out of his grave a couple weeks after being buried, and having a really normal and fine time about it. it's very much focused on wolfwood and him trying to learn how to be a person and not a weapon, about him being loved with the blood on his hands, being held and soothed and treated like a child again because he lost so much time after going with eom. there's a lot of like, scrabbling for normalcy in a time of upheaval, what with the earth federation being there and knives no longer being a threat to him personally or the planet itself. it's also about me hitting him with the chronic pain beam and giving him a cane. bc i love to project <3

📝 share a snippet of an unposted wip, with or without context

here's a snippet of said fic <3. enjoy. content warning for uh, bugs and paranoia and also panic attack. um gore? oh also vomiting. sorry. also it's long bc i just enjoy this bit. it sucks so bad <3333

Consumed by thoughts of getting rid of the vile taste in his mouth, he turns the corner into the bathroom and jolts in shock at the sight of someone else already there. Oh. It’s not another person. It’s him.  Wolfwood stares at his reflection like it’s a predator he needs to be prepared to field an attack from, something venomous and hungry with slitted eyes and cold, scaly skin. But it’s not. It’s just him.  He looks like shit. His clothes are riddled with bullet holes and stained brown with dried, dead blood, stiff with it. They’re coming apart at the seams, too, like something was having a nibble while he slept under the sand. The thought makes his stomach roil and the image keeps building on itself. His flesh decaying, burrowed into, turned into the home of flies and maggots, being made food and cradle both— He collapses on his knees and vomits, nothing coming up but stomach acid because the last time he ate was before he fucking died. He stays like that a long time, bent over and shivering, gagging occasionally when a new image enters his mind, each one more terrible than the last. By the time he can sit up again he’s clawing at his clothes before he can process what he’s doing, knowing only that he needs to see his skin, measure the damage, find out what was consuming his body while he wasn’t in it, certain beyond certain he’s going to be a mess of tattered flesh and exposed bone. Fabric finally gives way and— Smooth skin greets him, touched only by hair and dry blood, and that was there before he died. He paws at it, running frantic, confused hands over it, twisting to inspect himself, touching at where he can’t see. It’s all smooth. There’s no white, writhing pockets of spilling maggots or beetles skittering between holes in him to root around in his organs. There’s no gaping wounds or flashes of chalky bone. There’s not even any scars. 

thank you for asking eulie <333333

#jellyfish txt #gnomebud #i think i've sent u this snippet before but it's just soooo everything to me. i love putting that man through the fucking horrors :D #jellyfish fic #trigun #wolfwood #<- for my own blog sorting

[soyces]

Morning Tea (Johnlock) Pt 2

tags- fluff, angst :)))))

Chapter One(Sherlocks point of view)

I  wake up to the sound of the kettle whistling and footsteps. But I don't move because I almost physically cannot, my head is pounding almost as if I were talking to Moriaty or Anderson…god do they give me a headache. I struggle to get up from my bed which seems to be filled with clothes and some sort of wrapper? I put the pieces together and realized that I must have slept with someone from the bar- but these were not only my clothes…but Johns? I sit up rather quickly and scan the room which is quite hard when you feel like you have just been hit in the head with a hammer. I crawl from the bed to my clothes and manage to put my trousers on with much effort and energy. I scatter through the room to find my dressing gown and stumble my way to the loo. As I'm sort of walking I can hear John making his way to the window, I glance at him then quickly look back at him once more. Has he always looked that way? I wasn't sure what he looked like but he looked nice? I don't think I've ever referred to him in that way… I shake my head and try to focus on something important rather than how a person looks. Peeing. Yes, let's try completing that without cracking my skull open. As I walk in I glance in the mirror and realize how dreadful I look so I quickly fix my hair. As I'm looking at myself in the mirror I think about John, specifically what his clothes were doing in my room…did he leave them there? Did he sleep in my room? My brain struggles to put the puzzle together almost like a riddle, I've never liked these guessing games, and was never good at them either. One thought that pops into my head is that maybe John was the “mistress” from last night…but I erased that thought and finished doing my business( i dont think youd want to know the details…) and I stumbled to the kitchen. I tried to stay quiet but ended up tripping on one of my wires connected to my glass capsules filled with something I cannot remember now. But I don't think I want it touching my skin- I hear John say something but it sounds muffled and loud at the same time? I respond 

“Shhhh- just…quiet please John” I almost dont recognise my own voice…and my breath is horrible lord- I try to put the kettle on but trip yet again and fall onto the cold kitchen floor. I can hear John rush over to me as he notices the situation. I notice a small smile curl on his face and that's all my mind is filled with. His smile, it's always been there but I'm only now noticing how pleasant it is to look at- I snap back into reality and hear John say something and then I hear myself asking for his help. Then before I know it I'm in my chair and John is hovering over me. I feel a bit annoyed with myself for not being able to make tea for god’s sake- I look around our lounge, looking at all the scattered papers and bullet holes i left in the wall, the faint smell of tea and cigarette smoke lingers in the air. I’m just hungover, big time. I can hear John and Ms Hudson chatting in the kitchen. I've never really seen the point in small talk, if you're going to talk, make it something important, not something about the weather! After I finish complaining to myself I realize John has made me a cup of tea. Eargrey with a little bit of honey. I awkwardly thank him and watch him sit in front of me. We sit in silence as we drink our tea looking at seemingly nothingness before John decides to speak. 

“Do you have any memory of last night?” He asks with a certain tone that makes it seem he’s been racking his brain about this topic all morning the same way I have been. There's a pause and I take a breathe then start to speak. 

“Well…from what I put together is that we went to a bar…for my birthday. We drank, a lot-”

“Yeah I got that much…”

I sigh “Alright… And we spent a lot of time in the bar and- well..”

“My clothes were in your bed, yes…”

I pause once again, I know he's not an idiot but he seems upset- does he regret it…? I notice he's running his hand through his hair and looking a little more angry but I cannot seem to figure out why… I mean sure the situation is awkward but I don't see a reason to be angry. He puts his mug down and looks up at me, his face is puzzled and upset. I notice him wanting to say something but going silent suddenly. 

“Yes…?” I ask to try and make him feel less awkward about saying anything.

“This can never happen again. We are partners, friends, colleagues but we cannot be more-” He says in a tense and angry voice. His words seem to hit me hard and I am unable to understand. My face scrunches up with confusion and a little bit of sorrow. 

I open my mouth to say something but stop myself to collect my thoughts that have started spinning in my head like a washing machine. Then I finally said something.

“Do you…regret it, John? I ask, looking at my feet and twiddling with my mug.

He grows silent. Oh god- He regrets last night…

“I-...You wouldnt understand why-” He suddenly speaks with a tense yet soft tone, not looking me in the eye. My stomach sinks…why wouldn't I understand? Is this about Mary…?

“Try me.” I say putting my mug down and clasping my hands together as I lean back in my chair.

He’s still silent, he is not saying anything and it's getting on my nerves. I should be more patient with him. But I can't help getting angry at things I don't understand, especially when it comes to John. Then I hear him sigh and start to say something.

#sherlock fanfic #fanfic #writing #fanfiction #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #johnlock

[blixtrandetorst]

{A bit of Dieter’s life that plagued my mind till I wrote something on it. Could be used as a starter for the right character(s)}

“I uh….I’ve never seen a vampire like this…” the soldier’s footsteps slowed approaching the giant body. Its bat face half covered in the dirt where it looked to have skidded into no man’s land. Laying on its side it resembled more a gargoyle than any incarnation of a vampire they were familiar with. Leather wrap around mimicking those officers wore were stroll strapped around its calves. Gigantic riding brechers were the only other article of clothing worn. The rest was weaponry and accessories to boot. Strewn about the long line it carved into the dirt upon landing.

Wings doubling its height were bend and broken in ever which way. A jumbled pile of leather. Bullet holes riddled the entire body. A machine gun spray looking to be the culprit. Silver bullets perhaps.

The fur that shielded its great neck and chest was laced with blood, long since ceasing its drip it dried in chunks. Mixing with the soil kicked up.

“One of ours…that’s all I know.” His buddy added.

“Ours?!”

“Yeah, our fliers I heard don’t need machines…never thought they were like this though…”

“How on earth did you think they fly then?”

“I don’t know! We got rocked by artillery fire before I could ask!”

Their eyes moved back to the motionless monster as if it stirred. One moved closer, ever so gently.

“Careful!” An urgent whisper.

“What Are you doing?”

“Finding out who it is.”

He rooted around in his overcoat, both pockets before a stack of small papers were found. Sanke cards.

“How? It doesn’t look very human.” They continued to hush their voices.

“There’s a scar.” Finally shushing his friend to focus. He moved closer, inching, to get in close to the humongous face. He wanted to brush the dirt away to get a good look without disturbing it. A tester brush revealed no new info but did give him confidence. The monster didn’t move. A few more vigorous brushes with a gloved hand. The scar revealing itself. Seemingly running through its right eye, down the length of its nose and across to his left bottom lip. It reminded him of lightning.

Back to the cards, shuffling them quickly. He had an idea who it could be. Though doubt crept in. Maybe not too notable. This is the most quiet sector on the front. Why would an ace crash over here? Had to be one of the less notable fliers.

He found the card. Holding it up, comparing against the inhuman face. He found a match. “No way…”

“What?”

“NO WAY.”

“Who is it?!”

He turned to show the card. A flier from Richthofen’s own squadron, and a 24 victory ace. “Dieter Bergström.”

“NO.”

“Yeeah…look.” He said in a nervous laugh. His friend rushing over as quickly as he felt prudent. They almost completely forgot that they were two feet away from it. Nevertheless he examined the scar with scrutiny then to the card he ripped from his comrade’s hand.

“Fuck, you’re right.”

“we have to report this!”

“Sshhhhhh!”

“We have to report this. They probably think he’s dead.”

He got a look. “He’s been dead…he’s a vampire dumbass.”

“Well, is he like…dead for a vampire? You know, done?”

“What am I a vampire expert?”

“You have all the Sanke cards! There’s not a flier from Germany that isn’t a leech!”

Their raising voices seemed to actually stir their discovery. A freezing air escaped its nostrils. They both jumped back. Scurrying to the relative safety of pile of dirt from previous mortar fire.

“Uh, you stay here huh? Make sure the tommies don’t find him.”

“How in the fuck am I gonna do That?! HES LIKE 20 FEET TALL!”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on him!”

“NO! Just mark where we are and let’s go!”

“Oh right, alright!” His fingers were messy, fishing a beat up map and a pencil from his bag. Quickly with shaking hands marking an x where they assumed they were. Then shoving it in a front breast pocket as a residual growl grumbled from monster. Giving them both the kick in the ass to get moving.

#exploits. #ooc.blix

[adriantumble]

Baseball vs. Football

“Baseball is different from any other sport, very different. For instance, in most sports you score points or goals; in baseball you score runs. In most sports the ball, or object, is put in play by the offensive team; in baseball the defensive team puts the ball in play, and only the defense is allowed to touch the ball. In fact, in baseball if an offensive player touches the ball intentionally, he's out; sometimes unintentionally, he's out.

Also: in football,basketball, soccer, volleyball, and all sports played with a ball, you score with the ball and in baseball the ball prevents you from scoring.

In most sports the team is run by a coach; in baseball the team is run by a manager. And only in baseball does the manager or coach wear the same clothing the players do. If you'd ever seen John Madden in his Oakland Raiders uniform,you'd know the reason for this custom.

Now, I've mentioned football. Baseball & football are the two most popular spectator sports in this country. And as such, it seems they ought to be able to tell us something about ourselves and our values.

I enjoy comparing baseball and football:

Baseball is a nineteenth-century pastoral game.

Football is a twentieth-century technological struggle.

Baseball is played on a diamond, in a park. The baseball park!

Football is played on a gridiron, in a stadium, sometimes called Soldier Field or War Memorial Stadium.

Baseball begins in the spring, the season of new life.

Football begins in the fall, when everything's dying.

In football you wear a helmet.

In baseball you wear a cap.

Football is concerned with downs - what down is it?

Baseball is concerned with ups - who's up?

In football you receive a penalty.

In baseball you make an error.

In football the specialist comes in to kick.

In baseball the specialist comes in to relieve somebody.

Football has hitting, clipping, spearing, piling on, personal fouls, late hitting and unnecessary roughness.

Baseball has the sacrifice.

Football is played in any kind of weather: rain, snow, sleet, hail, fog...

In baseball, if it rains, we don't go out to play.

Baseball has the seventh inning stretch.

Football has the two minute warning.

Baseball has no time limit: we don't know when it's gonna end - might have extra innings.

Football is rigidly timed, and it will end even if we've got to go to sudden death.

In baseball, during the game, in the stands, there's kind of a picnic feeling; emotions may run high or low, but there's not too much unpleasantness.

In football, during the game in the stands, you can be sure that at least twenty-seven times you're capable of taking the life of a fellow human being.

And finally, the objectives of the two games are completely different:

In football the object is for the quarterback, also known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use shotgun. With short bullet passes and long bombs, he marches his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack that punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy's defensive line.

In baseball the object is to go home! And to be safe! - I hope I'll be safe at home!”

-(believe attributable to George Carlin)

[commonwealthoccurences]

Life Worth Living

Request: "I don’t know if your still taking requests or if your willing to write a part 2 for this since you wrote it so long ago but could you make a part 2 to “X6-88 As A Brother Figure” where sole works with the Railroad and comes back for him."

TW: Mentions of starving and its respective appearance and trauma related effects. Very brief, nondescribed mention of throwing up. Canon typical violence, particularly threats of gun violence. Descriptions of dissociating.

Note: I bullshitted a lot of Institute lore in this for the sake of the story ngl. I hope it’s not too disorienting lol Thanks to @ryleeamberrr for editing and beta reading!

Est word count: ~12,000

Walking away from the Institute, Sole thought, was the hardest thing they had ever done.

The confusion and distress still smarted as much as it did when X6-88 told them they had to leave, that it was time for them to sneak away, but he couldn’t see them again, not in the next few years at the very least. They had just crossed fifteen, and though growing up in the Institute had made them more mature than any Pre-War fifteen year old could claim to be, they felt more like a five year old being betrayed by their older brother.

All but clinging to his clothes, stiff and unwrinkled as they always were when he was within the Institute, Sole protested. Every manner they had learned, any restraint they held proudly due to X6’s almost-parenting went out the window as they argued and nearly cried. And though it was never a question whether or not X6 loved them dearly, he detached them from his clothing, powered up the teleporter, handed them their most important belongings and some rations within a backpack, and sent them on their way without much emotion.

That day marked the worst moment in Sole’s life, and the first and only time X6 cried thus far.

Sole wasn’t particularly proud of their resilience in the Wasteland. They found no pride in white-knuckled survival. The fact that they could pull a bullet out of their arm and patch themself up to keep moving wasn’t some sort of winning story in a tale-telling competition, it was born out of the spite they mustered up to live. Very quickly, they figured out that spite was the one thing they could cling to to keep the Wasteland from drowning them in their own suffering.

The first few years they spent on their own, sleeping amongst the piles of rubble curled into a ball, covered only by a thin blanket riddled with holes and coated in dried, gray mud that blended them into their surroundings. It was cold and lonely, and they often found themself fighting off or huddled with the scavenger dogs. Reflectively, it seemed fitting to them. And how pathetic must they be, for even the most desperate of the Wasteland’s creatures to take pity on them.

At the tail end of those first years, they were found by Mayor John Hancock of Goodneighbor. They’d never stepped foot into Goodneighbor; Diamond City tales of its brutal and harsh nature were enough to keep them giving it a wide berth. It seemed he was great at finding all the trouble left in the Wasteland, and as he would often remind them after they met, they were the most troublesome thing he could’ve found out there.

The walk they took back to Goodneighbor was slow going. There wasn’t much of Sole left at that point, though the scavenger dogs had taken a liking enough to them to bring back bits of what they found to eat. Winter was cruel, and even in the distant future, when the answer to how and where they would survive was reliable, they still trembled at the sight of snow.

Starving bodies weren’t unusual in the Commonwealth, least of all amongst those between settlements, drifting in and out of Goodneighbor, jerked around by the lead of their chem addictions. Still, it was hard for Hancock to look at Sole for the first few weeks. They were bordering emaciated and something about how utterly hollow their eyes looked broke his heart. 

Fahrenheit quietly warned him not to collect too many strays when she saw Sole curled up in his bed, piled under blankets and fast asleep. Hancock, resting on the couch across the room looked more haunted than usual. He didn’t move to acknowledge her. And despite her warning, Fahrenheit felt a pang of distress when she saw the cruel lines that emphasized Sole’s bone structure.

Sole didn’t often speak of where they had come from, but it became relatively obvious to Hancock as time crawled forward. They spoke of the Commonwealth in an abstract, scientific sense, and fought hard to bite their tongue to not make some choice negative comments that had obviously been ingrained in them. Hancock didn’t hold a grudge. Being raised in the Institute was the worst fate of all, in his mind.

The subject of family was a notoriously sore spot for them, though. There was a hurricane of emotions that rose in Sole when the topic came up. On one hand, they never wanted to bring it up. On the other hand, X6 was everything to them, all the family they had, and yet they couldn’t shake the bitter taste in their mouth when they thought of what he did to them. Sure, it was probably for the best. But there was resentment all the same.

There had been no choice for them. Maybe it was intentional. The fact that they would’ve chosen to stay with X6 a thousand times over was probably written on their face every time they were separated, in the way they turned into his shadow for a few days after he returned from one of his Courser assignments.

The thought spiraled into more resentment in turn. He knew he was their only family, that they had never been on their own for even a moment in all the years they lived in the Institute, surrounded by bustling scientists and synths alike, and yet he sent them away into a Wasteland he himself expressed disgust for. 

Betrayal was a wound that stung fresh every time, and never seemed to heal.

And yet, Sole knew. If they were given the choice at any moment in their journey through the Commonwealth to return to him, wherever he was, they’d agree without hesitation. They could find contentment in starving together, even.

So Hancock didn’t ask except for that once, in the first week since they had arrived at Goodneighbor, his eyes averted from the way they clutched to the bowl of soup he’d given them as if he might take it back at any moment. Even then, the way they shuddered with the weight of whatever tale they were holding back was unmistakable.

Slowly but surely, they filled out and began to heal physically. The muscle and weight they used to back up all the training both the Institute and X6 put them through returned, and they were able to stand on their own two feet. Daisy would throw them a few caps for whatever meat they hunted down, and a few more for what electronic parts they could scavenge from the broken buildings. KL-E-0 helped them keep up to date on their fighting skills.

Sometimes, when they sat on the benches just below the balcony where Hancock made his speeches and the wind whipped past them, it felt like living.

A few more years ticked by at a snail's pace and they started to spend their evenings in the Third Rail, listening to Magnolia’s crooning voice and questioning just how much damage all the smoke in the bar was doing to their lungs. It had been a long six years since they had left the Institute, and the answer was that they simply didn’t care. Their lungs were probably ruined already, anyway.

Life was unremarkable for the most part, and Sole preferred it that way. 

It was still hard. In the traditional sense, of fighting tooth and nail to keep the Wasteland from getting its claws back in them, but also in the sense that Sole always felt there was something missing. Six years and they still felt as if X6 was supposed to be returning to their side at any moment.

Sole recalled, with a melancholic bittersweetness, one of the times they had almost died. They had woken up heavy and nauseous with the familiar sickly sweetness in their mouth that came with being dosed with Radaway and nearly hurled overside the cot they were resting on. Rough hands brought them back to rest on the cot and they could feel a cold sweat coating their own skin. Distantly, they felt themself shivering. Hancock leaned a bit to hold them.

Selfishly, they had turned to Hancock to fill the void X6’s absence had left. Part of them felt as if he knew, in the saddened looks he sometimes gave them when he thought they weren’t looking, but it was hard not to cling to the man that pulled them out of the literal gutter amidst an apocalypse and helped them feel like a person again— and so, despite the fact that they were almost notorious for the fact that they hated being touched, Sole leaned into him and clutched at the sleeves of his coat. 

Silence drove the time forward, and they eventually stopped wavering in and out of consciousness. When their voice croaked as they asked for water, Hancock jumped up and retrieved it for them without a second thought. They drank greedily and though it still had that same tinny, stale taste it always did, it was the essence of relief in that moment— and then Hancock had to shatter the silence. “Who’s X6?”

They stilled. They couldn’t help but dart their eyes over to him in a panic, almost as if they were flinching at the mention of his name. Somewhere in their subconscious, they were begging to hear it again. It had been so long since they had heard his name. They cleared their throat, “Who?”

Hancock gave them one of his sad smiles they’d grown to resent. “C’mon now. Please don’t try that on me, kiddo,” He sighed, “You were crying out for him when the radiation sickness got real bad. We can drop it if you want.”

It had always been one of Hancock’s little sayings, “Talking about it will help.” The things they went through, their frustrations and defeats. He had always been there to listen. Would talking about it really help?

And so they talked, in spite of themself.

Sole started with the way he had been so cold they had met. An immovable iceberg of the greatest degree in their mind, he was strong and resilient. A weapon. A threat, but never to them. He had seen something in them, maybe something of himself that he held deep down. Something vulnerable.

They talked about the way he protected them in the most logical of senses, but still let them crawl into his bed when they had nightmares, even if the only way he knew how to help was to explain why their nightmare didn’t make sense. The way he stood between them and the Institute and kept them from getting harshly punished for their antics, and the way they stood between him and the Institute and vowed to take care of his so-called “malfunctions” so scientists wouldn’t have to.

The words came spilling out, slowly at first, then flooding out with the emotions they had been suppressing for six years. It was jumbled and imperfect, but so was Sole, and they didn’t have it in them to hold back anymore. The reality was that X6 was family, and that was a part of them they couldn’t pretend didn’t exist anymore.

After they had said everything that needed to be said, and even the things that didn’t need to be said, they felt winded. Like they had run a marathon. “Can I get some more water?” They asked quietly.

Hancock was staring at them. His sadness had turned to thinly veiled anger and they resisted the urge to flinch in the face of it. He had never been angry at them before. Irritated, sure. They irritated each other quite regularly, bickered for fun— it was never serious— but he had never gotten angry.

He stared down at his lap for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Sorry, kiddo. I just seem to find a new reason to hate the Institute every time I think I’ve run out of ‘em. I’ll getcha that water.”

Sole was slower to drink this time, considering they nearly choked last time and the desperation wasn’t so close to the surface anymore. When they had finished he rested his elbows on the cot and looked at them seriously. “You said he gave you a light? The one where you light yours and it lights his, too?” He asked.

Sole nodded slowly, not wanting to irritate their forming headache. Radaway was nearly a miracle worker, but not quite; the side effects weren’t a walk in the park. “You still have it? Think it still works?”

“In my backpack. I, um, don’t really check to see if it works, though.”

Hancock’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Sorry kid, I don’t understand. You just said how much he meant to you… seems like that’d be a priority.”

They gave a wry smile. “You asked me once what my biggest fear was.”

“Yeah. Distracting you while Daisy pulled that bullet out of your arm. That was a few months ago, why–”

“Mhm. Hancock– what if I turn the light on and he doesn’t respond?”

Hancock blew out a breath and shook his head. “Kiddo, you’re not giving him enough credit.”

“What?”

“That Courser bent the rules of his nature for you, defied the one thing he’d known like the back of his hand before the Institute even thought to let you be born. And he defied the nature you helped give him by letting you go to give you a chance.”

This brought some of that well-known bitterness to the surface in Sole. “A chance. What kind of chance is the Commonwealth?” They practically spat the words out like they were rotted.

“Institute life isn’t living. You know that, Sole.”

No. It wasn’t. But living with the loss of X6 was barely better. Hancock grasped their hand. “Sole, I might have people who can get him out, but we need to test the light. If he doesn’t respond…”

The hitch in their breath was the culmination of the thousands of times they wondered what if. What if he was dead? What if they were too late? What if. 

They nodded. “Go get it.”

It felt oddly ceremonial, to be laying on that cot after having barely dodged death in the form of radiation, the essence of the Commonwealth, as Hancock brought them the light. It was a simple light, unremarkable in design, but it shone bright when it was on, enough to illuminate an entire room and then some. They held it stiffly in their hands. The shape had grown unfamiliar in the years that they had left it wrapped up in their backpack, padded with cloth by X6’s own hands when he had prepared their pack for them and sent them on their way. A bolt of panic shocked its way down their spine. “You gotta turn it on at some point, Sunshine.”

Sole’s hands trembled as they dug their fingers into the metal base and reached up with their other hand. A simple tap and the room was lit with a warm, orange glow. It had been meant to mimic sunlight, something Sole had only seen once in their life before they had left the Institute. They shuddered, and tears spilled over to dampen their cheeks. 

X6’s version of the light was much more subtle. It was a simple band he wore around his wrist that glowed softly and buzzed when Sole turned their lamp on, and its activation came in the form of a small button on the side of the band. Easily disguised as an odd piece of his armor, it reflected X6 perfectly.

The lamp remained on, light steady and unwavering for several minutes, and with each one that ticked by, Sole felt their heart sinking lower and lower. Maybe they had been too late. Or maybe he hadn’t forgiven them for not contacting him all these years. They only noticed they’d been chewing on their lip when the sting of the salt in their tears met the wound of the torn skin.

Dread came cold, like the snow of that winter when Hancock had found them curled up and discarded. They felt the iciness in their fingertips, where they held the lamp, and it spread through their veins till it reached their feet. It felt wrong, how warm the lamp looked, when they felt so cold. “I’m sorry, Sunshine. I thought–”

The light went out. The pair were left in the patchy daylight that streamed through the dirty windows of the Old State House windows. Then, like the sun showing its face between clouds, the lamp came back on again.

Sole let out a cry that was so unlike themself it startled both them and Hancock, but when they placed the lamp down with care and flung their arms around him, defeated tears turned astonished and hopeful, he caught them with a familiar, rough laugh. Sole was squeezing him tight enough to hurt, but he didn’t care. Hope was a look he hadn’t seen on them enough over the years.

Meeting with the Railroad couldn’t wait, Sole insisted, and when they put their mind to something, nothing could get in their way. Hancock had learned that a long time ago, and had stopped trying. It was hard to get into contact with Deacon; Hancock hadn’t really even tried before. It was like trying to catch flowing water with your bare hands, and when Hancock called him a slippery motherfucker, it was with a tone of admiration and respect. Sometimes it paid to be nobody in the Commonwealth.

Hancock did his best and put out the word that he was looking for contact with the Railroad, knowing that with the way Deacon heard everything that happened in the Wasteland he’d be on their doorstep before long. He told Sole to focus on recovering, that their plan was in motion and they’d be able to stress over what to do to their heart's content soon, but they were restless.

Often, he would come back to the Old State House to find them pacing rather unsteadily, still lightheaded and wavering from the side effects of how much Radaway had been pumped through their system. It had been a few days, but the chem was a nasty thing when it wanted to be. They couldn’t rest until Deacon showed up.

And show he did. He was subtle, and that much was familiar about him, but there was something off-putting about him to Sole. The fact that he could blend in and disappear so easily, change faces like they were masks and accents like they were accessories; he was dangerous. Sole wondered if this is the way the Commonwealth felt when they saw Coursers. Slippery, deadly predators, both Deacon and the Coursers were. They resisted the urge to shudder, even when he gave them a warm smile.

It was easier to let down their guard a little when Hancock greeted him with a clap on his shoulder and a wide grin, asking where Deacon had been for so long, leaving poor ol’ Hancock to deal with their halfway house all on his lonesome. Sole wasn’t sure what they started discussing, but that was alright by them. Hancock and they never discussed his work with the Railroad after they found out it was to do with synths— touchy subject and all.

Impatience was an itch on their skin, biting and angry and familiar. They clenched their jaw and kept quiet, though. They were roughened and bittered by their experiences in the Commonwealth, sure, but their Institute mannerisms were instinct, not completely lost in the years they’d been gone. It’d be counterproductive to make a bad impression on the person that seemed to be X6’s ticket out of the Institute.

Luckily, Hancock knew them well. “We can catch up another time, Deacon. We need your help.”

Sole, in their reckless affection for X6, was ready to break down the doors of the Institute and steal him away that day. Unfortunately for them, Deacon being Deacon meant that he was slow and steady in what he did, especially when it had anything to do with the Railroad, which meant they would not be rushing into the Institute without proper planning.

He listened to their story with a solemn, focused expression that left them a little unnerved in the way his eyes never left theirs. He never interrupted as they spoke and simply took notes that seemed to be coded, because of course they were. When they finished he allowed a moment of silence. “I’ll talk to the boss. I can’t guarantee anything, but… we’ve been looking for an in.”

“An in?” Sole asked.

“To the Institute. To bring it down for good.”

They couldn’t help the discomfort that showed on their face, or the way they pressed their fingertips into their palms to channel their anxiousness somewhere. Deacon, with his eyes like an Institute crow’s, noticed. “I need to know for certain that you’re done with them.”

“I am. It’s… instinct. I’ll get over it.”

They weren’t fond of the way he looked them over, similar to the way Institute scientists had looked at them like an insect under the microscope. They bit their tongue and raised an eyebrow, a challenge for him to speak. “We’ll see,” He said, with finality in his tone.

Sole nodded. Despite their qualms with the man, it seemed they had passed his test. He rose and seemed to shed the air of formality he held with them, easing back into the joking nature he had with Hancock. They decided to take their leave, not wanting to disturb the mood of the room with their presence.

When they entered their room their lamp, which they’d given a new home on their desk, was on. They flicked it off, then back on again. They felt warm for the first time in years.

Deacon left that night. He’d turned down the drink Hancock had offered him with the easy, inviting mannerisms of someone that’d turned socializing into a science, then mastered it. Sole understood why he was so likable to everyone, but that didn’t mean they trusted it.

The wait for him to get to the Railroad, talk to the “Des’” he spoke so highly of, and return to Goodneighbor to form a plan with Sole was excruciating. They filled their days with busywork just to keep sane. They repacked their backpack, rations and clothing tucked away just in case, though their lamp remained on their desk in the Old State House; it would go in last. They needed the reassurance that X6 was still alive every time they turned the lamp on.

When Deacon did eventually return it was nearly a week later and Sole had started losing hope that he was who Hancock said he was. It seemed the entirety of Goodneighbor was swept up in his presence, with the way people seemed drawn to his effortless charisma and the fact that everything seemed to roll off his back. Sole would follow suit and stop raising their hackles when X6 was safe, they decided.

The plan was relatively simple.

Sole was to spend about a month with the Railroad, proving they were worthy of trust. Desdemona, the leader of the Railroad apparently, and Deacon would try to poke holes in their story, see if they ever slipped up during conversation. All the while Sole would be doing small jobs for them under Deacon’s watchful eyes. Then, they would start in on getting X6 out and burning the Institute to the ground.

The idea was that Sole would be their ticket in. If they signaled to the Institute that they wanted to return, potentially with a captive from the Railroad, and pretended they were still loyal, there was no reason for the Institute to reject them. Once they were in, they’d find a chance to break free, insert a software virus courtesy of Tinker Tom that would keep the teleporters open permanently to give way to Railroad agents, and then they would be given permission to go find X6. It was their responsibility to get him out before the place blew.

That month was one of, if not the, longest of their life.

Sole had never been so disciplined, even in their childhood with the Institute. They listened to every word Des and Deacon said unhesitatingly and did their job with precision and efficiency that would’ve impressed even X6. This was one of the most important moments of their life, and they weren’t going to mess it up for anything.

They missed Hancock terribly, but they would live. They were practically a professional at missing family.

The month went by with Sole counting every moment, down to the second, that they had left before they and the Railroad would go through with the plan. Or, they supposed, the Railroad would go through with the plan. There was no separating them now, with all the work they had done for them; they were part of the Railroad. When they had crossed that line they didn’t know, but they supposed it was somewhere between Deacon giving them a compliment on their skills and Glory demanding they go rest before they passed out standing up on watch. Her tone had been harsh, but her hands had been soft as she’d pushed them away, towards their cot.

Sole grew fond of the little organization and their cause. It seemed perfectly fitting, for them to end up there, and they regretted not talking to Hancock about the work he did with them sooner. If only they hadn’t been so stubborn to keep the pain of X6 locked up, maybe he’d be out already. Maybe they’d be living. Both of them.

It was good to feel like they had a purpose again, but they couldn’t help but mull over the potential outcome of their mission. The fact that it was entirely possible the whole of the Railroad would be wiped out, and it would be Sole’s fault for dragging them there with their mission to bring back their brother. Sure, they had been looking for an in, but Sole was giving it to them.

And the possibility that X6 wasn’t going to go with them. It was one thing for him to respond to the lamp, like he always did. It was another to leave everything he’d ever known to travel a deadly landscape with a kid he hadn’t seen in six years. Hancock’s “Kiddo, you’re not giving him enough credit.” echoed in their head. He was right when he’d first said it and he was right at that moment, too. They weren’t giving X6 enough credit. They had to trust that he’d make the right choice, for the both of them.

They weren’t sure what they’d do if he didn’t, anyway. Die there, among the clean, white walls as they got blown to pieces? Had they starved and struggled for all those years just to return and die in their old home? Sole shook off the thought as Deacon approached.

They found his eyes weren’t so cold and intimidating anymore. “Hey. So, we’ve got the beacon set up so you can contact the Institute. We’ll be ready in about half an hour. Just wanted to see how you were doing.” He plopped himself onto the seat next to them, his eyebrows furrowed with concern as he looked them up and down.

“Alright. Just…” They sighed, and couldn’t find the words to continue.

“Yeah. I get you.”

They sat in the quiet for a few moments, listening to other Railroad members murmur amongst themselves about what was about to occur. Recruiting new faces had gone successfully over the month since Sole had joined, especially with Deacon and Hancock’s combined ease and charisma to ease the process. It turned out once you could offer a solid, but vague, plan to bring down the Commonwealth’s boogeyman, some people were just unhinged enough to join. “Where do you think you’re going after this?” Deacon asked.

“It’s– things are gonna be hard for him, y’know? It was hard for me and he– I dunno. Somewhere quiet, hopefully. Maybe check out that neighborhood up North. Clear it out and get a settlement going. Help him settle into this life, figure things out.”

“That’s a good idea. I’m sure some of the folks here could use a good place to retire, wouldn’t mind helping get things started.” He gave them a lopsided smile, but they weren’t paying much attention anymore.

“...I don’t think I care where we end up. As long as he’s back.”

Their voice was small, the kind of vulnerability only an older loved one could invoke. Deacon placed a hand on their knee. “We’ll get him back, kid. Try not to worry too much.”

They looked at him, the lines around his mouth, the wrinkles that lined his forehead, the way he flexed his fingers to keep them from getting stiff since his joints had gotten worse as winter began setting in. They nodded. Something in the way he spoke with such confidence had them nodding in agreement before they registered it. If he said it like that, it just had to be true. Right?

Sole fought to not get lost in thought after that. Doing so would only make their confidence waver, and they had to cling to what Deacon had said to keep their head above the water. Going into the Institute afraid and quivering would only doom the plan from the start. They had to keep their wits about them, stay cool and collected. They had to get him back, no matter the cost.

It wasn’t long after when Desdemona called them forth to radio in to the Institute signal. They cleared their throat as Tinker Tom adjusted a few knobs, fiddling with things they couldn’t begin to understand the purpose of. He’d tried to explain at some point, but they’d been lost after the first sentence. They never had gotten the knack X6 had wanted them to get for coding and electronics. It seemed such a pity now.

The receiver was lighter in their hand than they expected it to be, and it just added to the feeling Sole had that this was all off. Their hand was shaking, they realized in a manner so disconnected to themself. Like they were watching someone else have to carry the weight. Deacon stepped up beside them and placed a hand over theirs, steadying it. When they met his eyes, he nodded. They could do this.

There was a switch somewhere in them still, they knew. It held everything the Institute had instilled in them when they were younger. All the demands and expectations, the rules and punishments. Mannerisms and restraint all came rushing back as they took a deep breath and set their expression to a steel mask; they weren’t Sole, the survivor, a nickname Hancock had given them that had quickly spread through Goodneighbor. They were Sole. Institute pawn extraordinaire.

Sole eased into a stiffer posture and raised their chin. The receiver crackled violently as it tried to connect to whatever scarce signal they could get ahold of; the Railroad had taken the necessities to the outskirts of the Commonwealth, so the Institute couldn’t track the signal back to one of their bases. The crackle shifted in tone, then cut off. “Speak.”

The wind was knocked out of them and their idle hand reached up to grasp the receiver in a last ditch attempt to get their hand to stop shaking again. They were gasping for breath, praying it  couldn’t be heard on the other end of the line, and stared at the ceiling above them as they made a desperate grab to keep hold of the mask they had just assembled. To keep themself together. “Courser X6-88 receiving, speak.” There was a slight impatience in his monotone voice; just a sliver, barely there.

They gritted their teeth. “Organics 111 requesting transport back to Gateway. In possession of a Railroad asset.” 

Silence. Their eyes ached from how hard they were squeezing them shut, trying to picture X6’s face on the other end of the line and willing themself not to cry. They braced their hand on the table in front of them and could feel the wood start to give way to their nails as they dug them in. Splinters be damned. “Repeat.”

There was something else in his voice, something they hadn’t really heard from him before. It wavered. Of course, not enough for it to be noticeable, even to the scientists that were undoubtedly listening in, but enough for Sole to notice. Enough for it to break their heart a little more. “Organics 111 requesting transport to Gateway. In possession of a Railroad asset.”

A pause. “Request received. Allow thirty minutes for response.” And then the channel clicked dead.

Sole felt their legs nearly give way underneath them. Deacon was there to catch them, thank God, and haul them into a chair beside the table as they covered their face with their arms. “Clear the room, please.” He meant business with his tone, so different from the usual lightness in his voice.

They heard the shuffling of bodies, curiosity stalling the Railroad member’s movements, but eventually it stopped. They were alone. Still, they refused to lift their head. Stubbornness would be the death of them one day, even if at that moment they were just hiding the fact that they were crying. Not very well, considering their shoulders shook. “Sole, I’m going to step out. Hancock’s here. I’ll leave you two to talk. We’ll be back at ten minutes till the call.”

More shuffling, and quiet, deep murmurs from Deacon as he left the room, undoubtedly explaining what had happened to Hancock. When the door closed behind him, Sole lifted their head. 

They looked absolutely wrecked. Their face was red and blotchy, their eyes already swollen from the tears they couldn’t hold back. It was the vulnerability of a child in their eyes, something that had Hancock swallowing in shock. “Oh, Sunshine.”

Two words and they couldn’t hold back their sobs anymore, their entire body shaking with what felt like the weight of the world. Hancock knelt in front of them and wrapped them in a bone-crushing hug, an earnest attempt to carry some of the burden. If they were half a mind steadier, they might’ve been conscious of the whimper that left their throat, but they couldn’t care. “John, he’s– I heard him.”

“I know, Sunshine. S’alright. You’re gonna be just fine.”

They let themself indulge in a few more moments of something so rare to them; being held, and allowing themself to be visibly hurt. When they pulled away and quickly swiped their hand over their face, Hancock prepared himself to be the bad guy. “You know normally I’d be grateful you’re not being such a stubborn ass about your emotions,” this brought a weak, but affectionate scoff from Sole, “but… you have to brace yourself.”

Sole looked at him, eyes shining with the few tears they hadn’t shed. “You have to pretend you’re not phased. When you see him you can’t–”

“I know,” They swiped at their face again, eyes averted from his as they pulled themself back together. “I know. I can do it.”

“I never doubted that for a second, kid.”

The Institute, just as greedy as they were intelligent, were eager to receive such a valuable asset. Sole found themself reigning back anger, acidic in their throat, at their ego. The Institute was cautious, sure, cautious enough to set terms for their transport and demand they and their hostage be checked by Coursers before they were transported back, but not cautious enough to suspect that their brainwashing wasn’t flawless. They didn’t suspect that Sole wasn’t on their side.

It felt familiar to let the anger override their sadness, pushing the tears to the back of their mind as they let their fury towards the Institute take over. As they thought about everything that had happened, they were blinded by realization. It was all the Institute’s fault.

All these years they had been foolish enough to blame X6 for sending them away, when in reality it was the Institute at the root of it all. Sure, they had always hated them after they’d left, especially once they saw the effect they’d had on the Commonwealth and its people, but they’d never thought that X6’s actions were born out of necessity. So they wouldn’t end up in his position.

After that, it was easy. Easy to suit up in the protective clothing Tinker Tom had made them, woven with threads that were armored. Not bulletproof, but definitely better than regular cloth. It was easy to bask in the anger and let it fuel their determination to get this right. Even if they saw X6 before it was time to run, they would not fuck this up. Out of anger. Out of spite.

Hancock saw the shift and so did Deacon when he finally reentered. Hancock moved to hug them before they’d left, but that switch had finally been flipped inside them. They would keep the mask on no matter what, even in front of him, in order to survive. Because that’s what they were good at, deep down. Surviving. And so they simply sidestepped his open arms and nodded, and when he nodded back, they both knew.

They were to rendezvous near the old C.I.T. building and wait for Institute Coursers to teleport down to grab them. Once they were deemed safe for transport, Sole and Deacon would be teleported in and go their separate ways. Deacon with the Coursers, who no doubt couldn’t wait to get him alone to get information from him, and Sole to rig the main teleporter, the Gateway. What could go wrong?

For once, Sole refused to let themself dwell on that. Nothing would go wrong, because they wouldn’t let it. Everything they’d done and been through over the last six years, everything X6 had done and been through over the last six years, was for this. Nothing would go wrong.

The trip out to the C.I.T. ruins was completed in silence. It was Deacon, Sole, and a merc Hancock had hired to protect them on their way and not ask questions named MacCready. Hancock had wanted to go himself, but Sole had talked sense into him in the same realistic, logical way X6 had always done for them and he couldn’t deny they made sense.

What would Goodneighbor do without him? What explanation would they give as to why a ghoul mayor was so involved in Sole’s business if they were supposedly still completely loyal, considering the Institute thought so lowly of the ghouls of the Commonwealth? Sole never brought up their fear of a potential inability for them to protect him. If X6 acted on his nature and they were forced to choose between him and Hancock, what would they do?

There were few answers they didn’t seek out, but that was certainly one of them.

Sole said their goodbyes to the members of the Railroad, albeit stiff and somewhat formal. They didn’t protest. It seemed everyone knew the odds of them returning, all of them. Even if they weren’t warm and charismatic like Deacon was in everyone’s eyes, they were useful, and they would be missed.

The ruins looked daunting, wire supports bent with the weight of the crumbled stone, soil rocky underneath their thick boots. Sole took careful steps; the last thing they needed was to twist their ankle just before something so important. They couldn’t help the mechanical way they scanned the horizon and the buildings, searching for anything that would stick out. They knew that if the Coursers were coming, they wouldn’t see them. There would be no warning.

So they sat. Back stiff, eyes fixed on one spot on the horizon, awaiting whatever was to come. The air bit with the promise of winter and they couldn’t help but shiver, though it wasn’t that cold. Deacon chose to keep moving, to keep watch on their surroundings despite Sole’s ominous declaration of, “Don’t bother. You won’t see them coming.”

MacCready had scouted and chosen a vantage point as soon as they’d arrived, not one for sticking around to talk. He was good at what he did, Sole could admit. It’d taken them several looks over the landscape to figure out where he was. At the top of one of the buildings, laid out and camouflaged with the barrel of his sniper barely visible. God knows how he’d gotten up there, though they figured that was just another layer of protection between him and the Coursers.

Deacon returned to their side and sat. They pulled out the measly pistol they figured they could get away with bringing.

The harsh wooshing of air, a sort of snapping as everything shifted back into place, was all the warning Sole got. They could feel someone standing behind them. Silent. Daunting. They took a deep breath, not bracing themself, but easing their posture slightly, finding some relief from the ache of how stiffly they’d been sitting. They kept their eyes on the horizon and clenched their jaw.

When Sole turned and met eyes with X6, they felt the world start spinning. There was no telling which way was up, no grasp on the rocky ground beneath them. They searched X6’s eyes for anything. Anger, disgust, affection, warmth, anything. They didn’t care what it was, as long as it wasn’t a blank slate.

It wasn’t. They could see every ounce of restraint he was using in his eyes and something about it reassured them. They weren’t the only one struggling with their hold on the standard-issue Institute regulation mask. They held his gaze for a moment and he nodded. A fraction of a movement, hardly noticeable. They nodded back, just as subtle. “Courser X6-88 responding to Organics 111 transport request.”

He shifted his gaze to Deacon, who stood behind them. If the Coursers were well versed in body language, they would notice that Deacon’s stance was more protective than threatened. Not exactly the poster child for a hostage, but good enough to deceive. That prickling feeling they got when they first assessed Deacon as a predator, rather than the potential prey the Institute insisted the Railroad were, came back. This time it felt reassuring. “I have a single pistol in my possession for protection and direction of the hostage. The hostage has nothing on him.”

X6-88 stared at them for a moment longer, then turned every so slightly. Sole watched his eyes flicker to the exact spot where MacCready lay in wait for their signal that something had gone wrong. Their heart jumped into their throat, but it only lasted a moment. He looked away and turned to the other Coursers. “Conduct a thorough examination.”

And then he distanced himself from Sole.

They stood stock still as another Courser, one they didn’t recognize, ran her hands down Sole’s sides. They met eyes with Deacon as he was also patted down and let their eyebrows crease just a fraction. You alright? their expression asked.

Deacon simply blinked. It was the only signal he could give. Sole understood. It wasn’t long before the Coursers finished up their assessment and reported back to X6-88 that they, in fact, were telling the truth. There was no mention of the pair of eyes watching them from the building above them.

Teleporting was a sickly, disorienting feeling. If Sole felt turned upside down before, they imagined this was what it felt like to be in the eye of a hurricane. Their stomach jolted as the air seemingly collapsed around them, X6’s hold on their arm the only reassurance that they hadn’t simply vanished from reality all by themself; it always had been, when they teleported. Part of them, the kid version of themself deep in their subconscious, was grateful he was there even now for this bout in the teleporter. They had never gotten over their fear of it, even with all the times they had used it.

Coming through the Gateway felt poetic. It still smelled the same as it had when they left. Antiseptic and metallic, strong in the way that it stung at Sole’s nose and eyes, but it seemed they were still used to it considering they didn’t flinch. Deacon did. They watched as he screwed up his nose, the same way he had when they’d waded through the sewers on the hunt for the parts they’d needed for the receiver.

They let the stench sting their lungs as they inhaled and squared their shoulders. X6-88 placed a hand on their shoulder– to anyone looking in, it would seem like he was just making sure they weren’t going to try anything. But he squeezed and Sole knew he had their back. 

The walk through the Institute halls was shorter than they wanted it to be. If they kept walking, they wouldn’t have to move to the next phase of the plan. Of course, the world wasn’t so merciful, and they found themself at the lab in the blink of an eye. “We’ll take it from here with him,” one of the scientists spoke up. Also new. Sole was grateful not to run into any more familiar faces. “X6-88, please escort Organics– 111, was it? Please escort them to Father’s office.”

Father. God. Even growing up in the Institute, they’d only seen Father once. Whatever the reason, he’d grown curious of how they were aging and called them up to his office so he could ask whatever questions came to mind. They’d still been young, and hadn’t really understood that they were one of the first children born from the Institute’s creation program, so they’d only thought of the interview as boring.

They hadn’t been taught the lesson that they were meant to fear and respect Father, yet. The Institute was still working on that one.

Sole knew better now, knew that he was an old man bravened by the fact that he was defying nature and the ego-stroking the Institute did for him, but still. If the Institute was the Commonwealth’s boogeyman, Father was Sole’s. They swallowed harshly and hoped it went unnoticed as they followed X6’s guiding hand.

Once they were on one of the many intertwining pathways that led throughout the Institute and out of sight from the lab, X6 veered suddenly. He pressed them forward to what had been an old meeting room when Sole left, but now appeared to be out of use if the dust on the handle was anything to go by. The room was dark when they stepped in and X6 made no move to change it as he shut the door behind them.

They were wrapped up in his arms before they could even blink and they were grateful they’d spent their time before leaving for the C.I.T. ruins crying; they were out of tears. Still, they knew their nails were digging into X6’s armor as they clutched at him, clinging for dear life as he practically crushed them.

His breath was coming in short gasps, something they’d never heard from him before, even on the rare occasions he’d been injured. Sole held on even tighter and hid their face in the collar of his jacket. Never had they been more grateful to feel cool, faux leather against their cheek. X6 rested his chin on the top of their head in return, and they could feel his jaw digging into their scalp, but they didn’t care.

They were home. He was alive.

“I thought you died, Little Light.” His voice cracked.

X6’s voice never cracked. A choked laugh, watered down by the tears they were holding back, escaped them at the nickname. They never thought they’d hear it again. “I’m sorry. I– a lot happened, and I swear I’ll explain it all, but we have to– I have to–” they shook their head, trying to gather their thoughts.

He released them from his hold and the cold returned, though not as harsh as before. Sole squeezed their eyes shut for a moment and gathered themself. When they opened them, X6 had returned to how he’d always been, though there was a stray tear track on his cheek. The one thing out of place on a perfect Institute weapon. Sole dabbed it away with the sleeve of their shirt and gave him a weak smile. “Lead the way, Little Light.”

Sole was astonished at how easy it was. There was a new determination in their step, a leveled confidence in their eyes as they stepped through the halls to the Gateway. X6 mentioned no resistance to what he had to know was their plan. How he knew, they weren’t sure, but he always seemed to be one step ahead of them. They didn’t know why they were surprised. It seemed that hatred for the Institute had been building in him over the years just as it had in them.

X6-88 stood watch in the doorway as Sole inserted the chip Tinker Tom had given them into the control panel of the Gateway. They stepped back to observe as it crackled to life, undoubtedly sending a signal to every person of importance in the Institute, including Father, that an unauthorized transport was taking place. They were sure that a second signal would go out once they checked and realized the Gateway was, in fact, not closing.

They clasped their hands behind their back and observed as members of the Railroad and Goodneighbor residents alike stepped through the teleporter into the pristine room. They looked out of place, wonderfully so, and Sole grinned. They were looking at the inevitable downfall of the Institute, and they’d never been more pleased.

There wasn’t much need to talk amongst themselves after everyone started flooding in. The plans had been discussed a thousand times already, and there was no time for anyone to second guess themselves. It was time to plant the explosives.

X6-88 followed dutifully behind them as they separated from everyone else, headed to the lower levels to plant the riskiest explosives. Sure, if they were spotted they’d definitely still be suspected for the sudden invasion of such an untouchable location, but they had a better foothold than anyone else would. X6 could pretend like he had captured them, too, though they weren’t sure that he’d be able to slip back into that role now that he’d seen the promise of freedom.

Sole supposed they should’ve hesitated as they planted the bombs amongst the interworkings of the Institute. Down in the tunnels, with only the pipes and wires that provided so many essentials to the underground monolith, Sole had everything they needed: X6 and the tools to get vengeance. They’d never been happier.

Once the explosives were set up according to the meticulous— though verbally scattered— instructions Tinker Tom had given them, they made their way out of the tunnels again. X6 had taken to gripping their wrist instead of their shoulder; the fear of letting them out of his sight and losing them again was one he might never escape from.

The twists and turns were easy to get through, though running face first into someone as they came around a bend made their stomach drop. “Oof.” Thank God it was a familiar voice.

Deacon stood just around the bend, his hands on their biceps as he turned them upright for the second time that day. He looked like a ghost, so distinctly out of place down in the tunnels Sole used to hide in to get away from the pressures of the Institute. “It’s time to go, kid. Now.” Sole nodded.

Their hand flailed a bit as they shook off X6’s grip on them and instead grasped his hand, pulling him along the twists and turns just behind Deacon. It was a moment of much-needed relief to stand upright at the end of the tunnels and to take a breath, though it still stung when they did. “Lead the way, Boss,” Sole announced.

The center of the Institute was utter chaos. Sometime when they had been down below, the alarm had been sounded. Code red. Utterly catastrophic. Something they were sure the Institute members assumed they’d only ever hear during drills. Sole had thought the same thing, too, when they were younger.

There was a near equal sea of scrapped together Wasteland garments and too-clean Institute garb mixing in the center of the underground monolith. Sole had been informed that as soon as they were in they were going to put out the word that the Railroad needed as many armed Wastelanders to take down their boogeyman as they could get, but they didn’t think there would be so many. It was incredible what could happen when the Commonwealth had a common enemy, which was something the Institute failed to account for.

A fatal mistake.

They stood for just a moment, the trio, and watched and listened to the chaos below. Gunshots and lasers alike deafening, scientists who foolishly turned down the offer for combat training dodging away from the swarming threat. After that pause to catch their breath, they started moving again.

X6 led the way this time, all ideas of pretending to be under the Institute’s influence dead and gone. They had missed everything about his sharp, precise movements and the way he moved as if he knew anyone would be terrified to go up against him. It was a well-earned confidence, and they couldn’t deny it, not that they would ever think to.

It was turning past a doorway that proved to be their downfall. Distracted by making sure Deacon was still behind them, they didn’t see the scientist who was brave enough to yank them into the doorway until there was a gun pressed to their temple. X6-88 stopped so quickly Sole thought he might’ve burned the rubber of his boot soles, Deacon and him both raising their guns and pointing at the culprit. “Take me with you.” The man demanded, though his voice obviously wavered with fear.

Sole bit back their nature to put up a struggle. The last thing they needed was a bullet to the brain after coming this far, and they were sure X6-88 and Deacon both were thinking up plans as they stood there, trapped in his clammy grip. “Take me with you and I won’t shoot them. I want out of this mess.”

“Listen, buddy. You’re gonna have to put the gun down. We can be your ticket out, but it’s kind of a bad first impression to point your gun at Sole.”

The man scoffed. “Yeah, right. I put the gun down and you’ll shoot me.”

At least he was a little smart. Sole rolled their eyes. If they tried to break away he’d probably pull the trigger, not necessarily out of some sort of fantastic reflex, but out of fear at the sudden moment. No dice there. If they used their weight to collide into him backwards the gun still might go off, but it’d probably end up pointing towards either Deacon or X6 due to their momentum, so no luck there either.

Their train of thought was cut off with the sound of a gunshot. They flinched, dropping to the floor in the perfect imitation of X6-88 when he had taught them to do so as a child. When they turned towards their captor, he was on the floor. Dead.

Standing over him was what Sole would come to realize was the perfect picture summary of the Commonwealth. A man in a brown hat, pinned up on one side, and a blue scarf stood over the scientist, gun practically smoking. Sole opened their mouth to say something, to thank him, when he stepped forward and held out his hand. They took it. “Preston Garvey. Temporary leader of the Minutemen.”

Their stunned expression finally settled. “Impeccable timing.” They commented with a laugh.

Preston gave them a grin. Sole turned and gestured behind them. “Deacon. And X6-88, he’s with us.”

“I was told. Nice to meet the man who sparked this revolution.”

Maybe it was from being around Deacon so much, but the banter came easy to them, despite the situation. “Hey, where’s my credit?”

“He’s the spark. You’re the gasoline.” They shook their head at how fitting that seemed. “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be here when it all goes up in flames.”

The trio definitely agreed with that. Now four, they broke out in a run. The Gateway was within reach now, and just in time, too, as they were starting to smell smoke. There were other Railroad members piling into the teleporter, too. Apparently everyone had gotten the signal that it was time to get out before the Institute became their grave, too.

They were all getting closer to stepping through when a small voice piped up. “Excuse me– what’s going on?”

They turned and were met with the sight of a confused, young brunet, probably somewhere around eleven. Sole’s eyes met Preston’s over the head of the young boy, and they found themself kneeling down. “We’ve gotta leave the Institute now. You’re going to come with us, okay?”

“But it’s dangerous out there, Father–”

“It’s more dangerous in here, right now. I promise you. I grew up here, too. You’ve seen X6-88, right?”

The child turned and looked up at X6, who’s expression was one of extreme conflict. Sole knew the logical part of his brain was telling him that the child would be dead weight, one more factor to consider in a Wasteland so unfamiliar to him. They also knew that the part of him that’d taken Sole under his wing as a younger sibling was still alive and well, and there was no way he’d leave the child behind. It seemed everyone was in silent agreement on that. “Yeah. Father says he’s the best of the best.”

There was an odd silence at that. X6 glanced away and Deacon was obviously suppressing a chuckle at the irony. Preston was the one who kneeled. “Yeah, he is the best of the best. And that’s why he’s getting us out of here. He’s protecting everyone.” The half-lie left his mouth so smoothly Sole almost wondered if he and Deacon were somehow related. There was no prickle of instinctual alarm when he did it, though. Only relief that they had backup in this strange conversation. “...alright.” The child agreed.

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Shaun.”

“Okay. It’s time to leave, Shaun. Let’s go.”

Stepping out of the teleporter and into broad daylight was just as jarring as it had been the first time. The chill in the air felt harsher than it had been when they left, and without thinking they shed their coat and wrapped it around Shaun. He looked so tiny, out in the Wasteland landscape, drowning in their jacket. Something in their chest stung.

The quintet were on the top of one of the few standing skyscrapers in the Commonwealth, though rickety and filled with holes where the paneling had fallen victim to the environment. The height nearly made them dizzy and they reached for Shaun’s hand, which he clutched willingly. They both seemed equally concerned about him tripping and falling.

Desdemona was waiting expectantly a few feet away, and though she tilted her head at the sight of Shaun, she said nothing. “The button is yours to push, Sole.”

They moved forward, Shaun pressed to their side. “No, it’s not.” They turned and looked at X6-88, the emotion of six years on both of their faces. 

He stared at them for a moment, but they had no idea what was going through his head. He moved to stand next to them and everyone held their breath as he reached forward towards the button. A few seconds ticked by. “I–I can’t.” He shook his head, teeth gritted, as if he were angry with himself.

“Together?” Sole asked, their free hand on his arm.

He sucked in a deep breath and steadied himself. “Yes. Together.”

They both reached out, Sole covering his hand on the button with their own, the other clutched tight around Shaun’s. Preston watched with his chin raised, a relieved smile on his face. Deacon stood with his sunglasses pushed up onto the top of his head, his arms crossed, equally as pleased-looking.

They pressed the button.

The explosion surprised them. Not because of its size, though Sole wondered if this was what the pre-War people had seen when the bombs went off that fateful day, but because it was a stunning white-blue at first. Maybe it was something in the bombs themselves, or the the fire was burning white hot, but Sole was nearly knocked off their feet when the shockwave hit.

They nearly lost their footing, but four hands reached out to catch them. Deacon’s, on one arm. Hancock’s on the other; when he’d climbed up, they didn’t know, but later he’d admonish them for thinking he’d “miss the show.” X6-88’s hand landed on their shoulder, a familiar weight that was more than welcomed, more than relieving. Preston’s was placed on their back, and he gave a smile, full of respect, when they turned to look at him.

Shaun clutched at their shirt, eyes squeezed shut, their coat pulled tight around him as he shivered.

True to their word to Deacon, Sole traveled North to Sanctuary after the Institute had gone up in smoke. They were sure the Railroad could’ve used their help, even in menial ways, to deal with what had happened, but they didn’t have it in them. After everyone showed up and volunteered to go in, those who made it out alive stuck around for the most part. They had the manpower now, and less of a need to operate underground.

Deacon had given them a warm hug goodbye and wished them well. He didn’t protest their announcement. Sole had an inkling he understood.

Preston Garvey was another who hadn’t stuck around, which surprised them. He seemed like the type that lived for any good cause he could get his hands on, but apparently there had been plenty of volunteers for the Minutemen, as well. When they informed him they were headed to Sanctuary, to start a safe settlement, a little bit away from all the chaos and hopefully somewhere where people could seek refuge, his eyes lit up.

It seemed they were his new “good-cause,” and he offered them the General position a few seconds after.

Sole had told him to wait a few months and they’d give him an answer. They weren’t ready for another mission yet, not so soon after everything seemed to go to ashes. The choice was a good one, because after the first week in Sanctuary, X6-88 fell apart.

It was subtle. To the outside eye, he probably didn’t seem too different. In the few days after the explosion, he was quiet, stiff. Only spoke when spoken too, constantly stayed out of the way and observed.

Sole watched the pieces of his mask start to crumble.

X6 stayed inside. He didn’t talk, just sat and stared out the window at the landscape of the Wasteland. Sole remembered doing the same thing, at first. They’d sit on a hill and just stare, trying to make the landscape seem real. So they gave him time.

There were plenty of volunteers fixing up Sanctuary with Preston Garvey, the unwavering leader, at the helm. The holes in the walls were slowly patched, window panes replaced, soil tilled, lampposts scrapped, nature tamed. Weeks went by with X6-88 staring out that same window as the neighborhood was repaired around him.

Sole would sit with him for at least a few hours every day. Sometimes they’d read, sometimes they’d ask Shaun to come sit with them and ask him questions about his day, the things he was doing around Sanctuary to help out Preston. Shaun had taken to the man like a shadow, asking all sorts of questions that would’ve driven Sole mad. Preston had patience they didn’t, though, and was more than happy to watch the kid. Everyone had taken to calling him “Little Shadow,” though it was a nickname he protested.

After the first couple of weeks, when everyone had settled in and the excitement of a new settlement had worn off, Sole started to tell X6 about their time in the Wasteland, even though he didn’t really respond. They had reached the start of December and the winter had dug its claws into the Wasteland. Even for the Commonwealth, which was infamous for its harsh cold spells, it was unusually cruel.

Sole took shelter from the freezing weather by stoking a fire and settling onto their couch next to X6-88, watching him as he watched the snow. And they told him everything.

The way they’d been confused and distressed when they’d first landed their feet in the Commonwealth. Astonished something could be so destroyed and still be alive. The fact that the wasteland had nearly killed them, leaving them with scavenger dogs amongst piles of rubble, starving to death. 

They told him of Hancock finding them, barely alive, and the way Goodneighbor breathed new life into them.

After the first couple of tales, X6-88 stopped looking out the window and turned to look at them as he listened. They begged for it to be a sign that he was coming out of the shock of what had happened, that he was finding some sort of comfort in what they were saying. Because even though so far he’d only heard stories of their suffering, he was looking directly at evidence that they had prevailed. That survival was possible, even when the rug was ripped out from underneath your feet and almost everything you knew was gone.

Though they hesitated at first, they explained how they’d felt. That betrayal had run through them until they felt like they were barely a person anymore, how from their point of view they’d felt discarded and abandoned. And then they told him how Hancock had convinced them to have hope.

Sole untangled their legs from where they had been resting on the couch and got up. The floor was so cold it stung, despite the efforts of their roaring fireplace. They were glad Shaun was curled up in bed, piled under so many blankets he could barely toss and turn. In their room, on a makeshift desk Preston replicated from Hancock’s description of the one in their room at the Old State House (which was still untouched. Hancock wanted to make sure they could always return if they ever needed to,) was the lamp.

They brought it out with them and settled back into the couch under X6-88’s watchful eye. With a light, sad smile, they tapped the top of it. It still lit up, despite all it had been through. Seconds later, the band around X6-88’s wrist lit up, as well.

X6 collapsed into sobs.

Sole did their best to hold onto him, suppressing tears at the way he was practically wailing. Having been in the same position before themself, they wished more than anything they could’ve protected X6 from what he was going through. It was too late, though, and instead, they held him as the last piece of the mask fell away.

He clung to the sleeves of their thick sweater, head on their chest as his shoulders heaved with the weight of his cries. They were unsurprised when Shaun stepped out of his room, poking his head into the hallway, his expression fearful. They gave him what little smile they could, though they were sure it wasn’t very convincing, and shook their head. “Is he okay?” Shaun mouthed.

Sole nodded. Shaun had had his own moment like that, similar to Sole and now X6. It was less violent and loud; Sole wasn’t sure if the kid was just better at bouncing back than they were, or if he hadn’t fully processed what happened, but after about half an hour he was done with Sole’s hug and ready to go outside and help Preston with his patrol.

The night crawled forward until the sun rose, the low light slowly bringing some ease to X6’s heartbreak. Slowly but surely, his crying trailed off into labored breathing, and then his breathing leveled out. He had fallen asleep.

They smoothed their hand over his back, much like he had when they’d had a nightmare and couldn’t stop crying. Shaun crept out of his room sometime after eight, the time he usually rose, and examined the scene before him. Sole didn’t hear him at first.

He was an unusually calm kid, and they weren’t sure if that was due to the way he was programmed, or just in his nature. On a normal day, Sole would’ve been up to cook him breakfast to convince him to eat before he took off to run around for the day. Even in the dead of winter, he was happy to brave the elements and explore the settlement. 

When he stepped around the couch into Sole’s line of sight, they jumped slightly. “Sorry.” He whispered.

“It’s alright, kiddo. I’m afraid you’re gonna have to ask Mama Murphy for some breakfast.”

He nodded, but his eyes were on X6 sleeping fitfully. “He’s gonna be okay, Little Shadow. It’s just been hard for him, lately.”

Shaun nodded again. “Preston says everyone has a hard time with change.”

Sole smiled despite themself. “Preston’s right.”

Shaun started to step away, but Sole reached out to stop him. “Hey, make sure you bundle out tight. And don’t stay outside too long, you’ll catch your death.”

“And make sure to eat all three meals, and make sure you wash your hands before you eat, and make sure you don’t walk too close behind the Brahmin, and make sure…” His voice trailed off as he walked down the hall and closed the door to his room behind him.

“Who turned him into a smartass?” Sole muttered to themself, though they were grinning.

“You.” X6-88 answered.

Sole sucked in a startled breath and looked down at him. His eyes were open, and he was looking out the window, swollen eyelids blinking slowly. Not wanting to bring up the previous night, they laughed. “Great. I’m the irresponsible middle sibling and you’re the wondrous older brother. Wonder what he’s gonna be like when he’s older.”

X6 sat up slowly, flinching at his headache; an unwanted prize from all the crying he’d done from the night before. His feet landed on the floor and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He was still looking outside, though his eyes weren’t distant and hollow like they had been before.

Shaun came barreling out of his room, swaddled under layers and layers of coats, his scarf, and hats that “Mrs. Long” had knitted him. He knew that it wasn’t just Sole that would get on his case if he didn’t look like he was drowning in fabric, it was everyone in the settlement; they’d all taken a liking to the kid and his curiosity. The sight of X6-88, now awake and looking back at him for once, must’ve shocked him, because he stopped in front of him. 

After a momentous pause, Shawn patted X6-88 on the shoulder, and in a tone far too sober for an eleven-year-old, said, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Shaun was off again, barreling out the door, and neither Sole nor X6 could help the tears that escaped after he’d shut the door behind him.

After the dam broke that night and the following morning, X6 had eventually gotten up and gone into the room Sole had made up for him whenever he decided to stop spending all his time on the couch. After everything, he needed good sleep, and Sole had made sure he was just as bundled up as Shaun had been before leaving him alone with their light on the nightstand beside him.

There was a quiet knock on the door just an hour later. Preston stood on the other side, visibly concerned, but relieved at the sight of them. “Hey. I just wanted to come by and check on you. Everything alright?”

Sole sighed, “Did Shaun tell you?”

Preston shook his head. “Didn’t have to. I hate to say it, but I think the whole settlement heard.”

“Damn. Do me a favor, don’t bring that up to X6, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Mind if I come in? I have a few minutes before watch. Shaun’s over at Mama Murphy’s.” “Yeah– yeah, of course. X6 is just sleeping. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

“Where is that kid?” Sole asked, twisting around.

They were sat on an old log. A couple of the trees around the riverbank had fallen during the winter; they’d gotten a record amount of snow, according to Detective Nick Valentine, who’d come up to visit as soon as spring broke. Apparently Diamond City had also struggled with the weight of winter, but everything was turning upright now that they were out of the thick of it.

The river that ran underneath the bridge to Sanctuary was roaring with all the melted snow, but the sun was beating down on the settlement, and everyone seemed to have that newly-spring-energy. Shaun had been sitting between Six— as they’d taken to calling him— and Sole as they’d watched the river, but Trashcan Carla had come into town and shouted that they had a treat for him and he was off like a bullet.

Sole turned back towards the river, shaking their head. “I thought the same thing more times than I can count when you were younger.” Six commented, a smile making itself known at the corners of his mouth.

Sole rolled their eyes. “I didn’t have that much energy as a kid. I don’t know where he gets it.”

Six didn’t respond to that, but tilted his head thoughtfully. He still didn’t talk as much as the other settlers, choosing to pick his words carefully when he spoke, but Sole supposed that was just who he was and not the shock of everything anymore. Getting out of the house was doing him good, anyway.

The other settlers were still cautious around him, not because he was a synth, but because they knew he had struggled and didn’t want to say the wrong thing. It annoyed Sole a bit, they couldn’t deny, that they treated him as if he was fragile, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was left alone, and that he was fine with.

Heavy footsteps announced a new presence and Sole shielded their eyes from the sun as they looked up at Preston. “Six. Sole,” He nodded, “mind if I join you two?”

“Seats free. Shaun’s disappeared, probably raiding Trashcan Carla for everything she’s worth.”

Preston laughed, hearty and warm in the spring air and Sole couldn’t help but laugh, too. “She and Mama Murphy are enablers,” Preston agreed.

Six was smiling on the other side of Preston, too. The three basked in the sunlight, grateful for even the sting of the wind that still carried a chill, the last tendrils of winter in the air. They tilted their head back and closed their eyes. “You know what?” Sole announced.

“Hm?” Preston responded.

“I think this is living.”

Preston opened his mouth, curiosity evident on his face, but was swiftly interrupted by a whooping shout from Shaun. All three of them turned to see him racing around the corner of one of the houses, something clutched in his hand. “Slow down, Little Shadow! Watch the river!” Sole shouted. “God, he’s gonna give me a heart attack one day.”

Shaun came to a stop in front of them and nearly tripped over his feet. Preston, well-accustomed to his antics, caught him easily and set him upright. “Look what Carla gave me! She said I could pick anything from her stash!” 

He held out a figurine that looked quite identical to the settlement’s resident Mr. Handy, Codsworth, and speak of the devil, the robot wasn’t far behind Shaun. He floated up with a pleased clicking of machinery, “A wonderful choice if I do say so myself, sir!” 

Yeah. With all the chaos and everything, this is what Sole would call living.

#Fallout 4 #Fo4 #Fanfiction #Oneshot #Imagine #Angst #Found family #Fluff #Hurt comfort #Mayor Hancock #RJ MacCready #X6-88 #gn Sole Survivor

[svetlana-taleb]

The first thing Svet notices when she bursts out of Dominic’s office is the blood. It splattered all over the walls of the hallway and is pooling on the floor. The second is her husband in a heap on the ground next to the pool, his chest riddled with holes that were free flowing the dark, crimson liquid.

Chaos follows. Svetlana screams in a mixture of English and Russian, barking orders for the men around her. Two to fan out and find the shooter who must have taken off immediately after emptying their clip into Dominic. Another to bring a car around, the other to call their doctor. They all know the rules as well as she does, in these instances, no matter what, no cops and no hospitals.

It feels like forever before the backdoor bursts open and there is an SUV idling just outside. During that time, Svetlana is on the floor next to her husband with her hands pressed over as many of the bullet holes in his chest as she can cover and applying pressure. She stays like this as Maks and two other lower ranking men lift Dom and load him into the back of the car. She murmurs in Russian under her breath, begging her husband to stay with her the entire drive across the strip to Dr. Kozlov’s private practice. A close friend of her father and trusted confidant, he is their only hope.

It’s hours of waiting outside the surgery for an update. Svetlana paces and only paces. She refuses the change of clothes offered to her and doesn’t even wash from the blood from her hands. Not until she knows if Dominic kept the promise he only just made to her in Mexico. I promise I’m not going to die, not anytime soon. She mentally makes her own promise to herself as she paces, if…not if, when. When he wakes up she would tell him everything, how she feels now. How she might have felt their whole life. That she loves him. That she’s falling in love with him, that it’s not just out of convenience or necessity that they’re together and married now.

Finally Dr. K emerges, his somber expression has Svet holding her breath. “He’s stable now. I don’t know how, Mrs. Taleb, but he’s alive and he should wake up in a few hours. Come get me when that happens.” Nodding, she eagerly rounds the doctor and bursts into his procedure room. Dominic is in the hospital bed with wires coming from every which way with several machines beeping. His eyes are closed and all the blood had been washed clean from his body. He looks peaceful. She takes the opportunity to wash her hands now and change into the clean scrubs that had been left for her.

Taking the seat next to the bed, Svet takes his hand between both of hers and holds it tightly, watching and waiting. Now that she’s alone, the tears come and spill down her cheeks. She lets them fall until she’s run dry and after that she continues to wait for hours until she feels her husband’s hand flinch in hers. “Dom? Are you awake?” She asks, her voice shaking as she whispers.

“I’m up, baby.” Dominic says in a hoarse, gravely voice that she wouldn’t recognize as his if she hadn’t been watching him speak. Relief floods through her but it’s short lived as another emotion takes over. Revenge.

#[sea // narrative 3] #[svet x dom] #[tw: blood]

[sparefry]

remember to breathe

(he does all the talking/'cause i'm the quiet kind)

post-canon au

after the "burial", character a goes feral with grief and bloodthirst. outwardly, no one can tell, but inwardly, he fucking snaps. he starts hallucinating (are they really hallucinations? he certainly can't tell) character b's presence everywhere he goes. character b is with him when he gets up in the morning, he's there when he goes to bed at night, he's in every dream, every nightmare---he's just always fucking there.

and at first, character a ignores him. clearly, he's gone insane, off the deep end, better not to pay this taunting spectre of his imagination any mind (how much of that has he left, anyway? seems like he lost it all, along with everything else that fucking mattered. why the fuck did he let himself grow attached again? stupid, stupid, stupid.)

but character b won't shut the hell up. he makes comments on anything and everything, his presence an unwanted comfort even in the darkest, loneliest moments---not that it diverts character a from his path of revenge, nothing can do that, he's a derailed freight train, ready to smash whatever crosses his path. (that's what he's good at. that's what he excels in. that's all he has left.)

so at some point, character a breaks. he's had enough, he cannot take it anymore, his heart is scorched earth, there is nothing left in the ruins, so why is his psyche playing cruel mind-games with him?

"WHY WON'T YOU EVER SHUT UP? WHY WON'T YOU GO AWAY? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME WHEN I---WHEN YOU--- LEAVE, PLEASE. LET ME SUFFER IN PEACE."

"because you can't fucking let me go. you refuse to move on. you've chosen a path, and we both know it's hell or high water with you. i cannot stop you, so, i'm staying. i'm with you 'til the bitter end."

from then on, he stops resisting and starts leaning into it. he speaks to the vision, the man only he can see, the voice that refuses to leave him alone to wallow in his misery (his imaginary fucking friend). the open fucking chest wound constantly leaking blood, soaking his skin and his clothes and everything around him, that's festering and eating him alive.

it helps. it doesn't change anything, but it helps.

he does it eventually, get gets his bloody revenge, and he takes pleasure in the kills, in every single life he snuffs out as payment. his meaningless trophies.

and then, he bleeds out---because he is a trained killer, and killers like him don't deserve happy endings---isolated and forgotten on the roof of an abandoned warehouse, protective gear riddled with bullets holes, his rifle going cold in his arms.

but he doesn't die alone, no. the image of character b stays with him, just as he promised. he's there when he gets hit the first time, he's there when he takes down every single enemy left in the building (grim satisfaction and pride in his constant commentary), and he's there when the final glowing spark of character a's consciousness finally fades.

#bleed this skyline dry #this concept is never getting written but it is haunting my brain rn hahahHAHAHA #incoherent ramblings of a manic woman #oh also title and lyrics from the sturgill simpson song in case that wasn't clear BECAUSE IM FERAL ABOUT THAT STILL #STAYING OFF THE RADAR LIKE A BOMBER ON THE RUN DO ANOTHER LAP AROUND THE TARGET JUST FOR FUN #STAYING QUIET KEEPING CALM UNTIL I FIND THE ONE FEEL THE WAVE WASH OVER ME WHEN THE DEED IS DONE

[frenchfrywrites]

April Showers Day 7: Pissing During Sex

MINORS DNI

Warnings: amab gn alpha (soft) dom top reader, sub bottom omega Simeon, piss, omegaverse, omegas have both a penis and vagina, dacryphilia, breeding kink, feminization

Simeon is a wonderful Omega. He’s everything an Alpha could ask for and then some. You’d go so far as to say perfect, after all he’s literally heaven-sent.

You know he thinks the same of you, considering he asked you to spend his heat with him. (Well you’re 99% sure that’s what he said, it's a bit hard to tell when his texts are completely riddled with spelling errors and nonsense.) Spending heats and ruts together are big steps for couples, and you feel incredibly proud of the fact that he trusts you and loves you enough to ask.

Though you’re proud, you stand at the entrance of Purgatory Hall awkwardly. With a deep breath you calm your nerves- because of course you’re nervous, this will be your first time seeing him like this- and push open the doors.

Simeon’s scent hits you as soon as you enter. Like a moth to a flame you follow it blindly until you reach his room. He knows you’re coming, but that doesn’t stop you from knocking.

“Come in,” he calls out breathlessly, and you don’t have to be told twice.

You open and lock the door behind you, even though everyone else is out of the house until his heat is over. The scent here is overwhelming to say the least, but not in a bad way. You take a deep inhale as your eyes find Simeon.

He’s laying on the bed, wound up in the sheets, sweating bullets, with his hand between his legs- no doubt trying to relieve the pain that comes with not being filled. Simeon looks at you with his gorgeous blue eyes like you’re the one who came from heaven, taking heavy panting breaths as your scent begins to flood the room.

“Alpha,” he whines, shuffling around the sheets so he can spread his legs for you, showing off his small, hard cock, and his gaping, completely drenched hole. You get the message loud and clear, making your way to him in quick strides, dropping your bag then crawling over him.

Your instincts are screaming at you to fuck him, to get your knot in him, and breed, but you love him and want to treat him right so you lean in for a sweet kiss. Simeon doesn’t let it stay sweet for long, but at least you tried.

“Alpha,” he pants against your lips, grabbing one of your hands with his wet and sticky ones and shoving it down to his pussy, “please,” he whines, gushing slick onto your fingers. You bite back a growl, pulling away enough that you can strip yourself of your clothes.

You place your clothes around Simeon’s head like a halo, so he’s surrounded by your scent. He lets out a pleased little noise, pressing his face into your shirt, taking heavy breaths and purring.

When he hears your zipper come undone Simeon pulls his head away from your shirt to watch you remove your pants and underwear. It’s not a surprise that you’re hard already, and he moans at the size of you, his hips jerking subconsciously as more slick comes from him to prepare for your impressive length.

You waste no time from there, quickly settling between his legs and rubbing your head against his hole. Cautiously you pause before pressing into him, looking for permission.

“Give me your knot, alpha please, please,” his begging is sweeter than his scent, and on a regular night you may have teased him to hear more of it, but he’s already so terribly worked up. Taking pity on how desperate he is, you push your hips forward with a groan, pressing your cock fully into his hot, wet, gooey, perfect omega pussy with one thrust.

Simeon wails and then a few things happen: first he begins to cry- this isn’t too alarming considering he tends to do it a lot during sex, but what’s surprising is what happens second. He starts to piss.

It sprays from his tiny cock, quickly covering the expanse of his stomach and chest. Your jaw drops as you watch him. You know what’s happening despite the fact that you’ve never seen it in person before. Every once in a while you see it in porn, but it’s so rare considering how primal it is. He’s so overwhelmed by his heat that his body is trying to submit in every way it can.

Your alpha instincts are going haywire at the display, and you nearly bust your knot then and there. Just barely, you hold back, instead focusing on the man beneath you. He’s obviously overcome by all the sensations and feelings he’s experiencing, so tenderly you take his hand in yours, kissing his neck all over, letting out a heavy but calming scent. Simeon whines as the stream tapers off, trying his best to rock his hips against yours. You take the cue, beginning to fuck him in earnest.

“Sorry,” he hiccups between sobs. You coo,

“Don’t be, mate,” Simeon keens at the title, clenching around you, “such a good omega for me, hah, you’re making me feel so good, making me so pleased,” you praise, picking up the pace of your thrusts. His piss spills over along his body with each thrust, soaking into the already slick-drenched sheets.

“Good omega,” he repeats, half delirious.

“Yeah, yes Simeon, gonna give you my pups,” you promise as you reposition your hips, trying to find his prostate, “you’ll be such a good mama, such a- fuck, a good mate, good wife,” his hand- still holding yours, squeezes hard and that’s all the warning you get before Simeon cums. His legs tremble around you as he hiccups something between a sob and a moan, copious amounts of slick spill around your cock, while his cock shoots cum along his stomach and chest.

You keep fucking him, trying to get him to orgasm as many times as he can before you knot him; it’ll keep him sedated longer when you’re waiting for your knot to deflate.

Simeon clings to you as you pound into him, loud squelching sounds echo throughout the room with each thrust. He’s so wet and messy and sticky, you’re already thinking about how rewarding a bath will feel after this wave of heat passes.

“Breed me- ah, alpha,” Simeon begs, sounding completely wrecked. “Give me your pups-hah please, make me pregnant, make me a mama- ah, make me your wife, fill me up, please- oh,” you cut off his rambling when you wrap your hand around his cock, engulfing it completely with your hand. With a few strokes he’s cumming again, arching his back and crying out your name. You catch his cum in your hand this time.

Like last time you keep fucking him, though you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to hold out, as you can feel yourself nearing the edge of a building orgasm. Simeon’s pussy twitches and flutters around you, and you can tell he’s positively aching for a knot, yearning for you to pump him full of your pups. You continue to stroke him off, faster now with the help of his cum that you’ve taken to use as a lube.

He pisses again as you’re jerking him off, once again barely aware of the fact that it’s happening. And again your instincts go haywire, yet this time you don’t ignore them. With a soft growl you bend down to bite a claiming mark into your sweet angel's neck, pushing your cock as far into him as you can, cumming deep inside him.

Simeon babbles happily, locking his legs around you to keep you where you are. He cums for a third time as your knot inflates, stretching him and plugging your cum within his cunt.

When you regain control of yourself you lick and kiss at the bite mark, purring alongside Simeon who’s completely beside himself.

“Oh thank you,” he moans, sounding far less hysterical now that he has your knot in him. He pushes your cheek up and away from his neck so he can now reciprocate the sweet kiss you’d initiated earlier. “I love you so much,” he confesses with a smile. You return the smile tenfold,

“Love you too,” you reply with no hesitation. You kiss again, but Simeon pulls away after a moment, looking a bit displeased.

“What I don’t love,” Simeon begins, his tone laced in disgust, “is laying in my cold pee and slick,” he pouts cutely. You laugh, brushing his hair from his face,

“Once my knot deflates, I’m going to fuck you in the bathtub,” Simeon moans softly, “so you can piss as much as you want, and not have to worry about it.” He huffs a laugh

“Oh my, what a good, providing alpha I have,” he jokes lightly, but it makes you purr all the same.

“And what a perfect, sweet omega I have,” you respond, nipping his neck lightly to hear him laugh.

Simeon is a perfect angelic omega, and you feel blessed to be his alpha.

#wahh last day 😭 #april showers event #p/iss #cw dacryphilia #cw feminization #cw breeding kink #cw omegaverse #obey me #spice

[archichilled]

Panic Attacks [Natasha's Version]

A/N: Okay so the reason this was posted later than the usual like 12 AM (for me, at least) posting time was because I was really apprehensive of posting it since I didn't really intend for a drabble to get this... intense? So I had to edit it a little bit to be a bit less extreme than I had originally written. Be warned, some parts can get a tiny bit graphic. Mentions of blood and killings.

After a long day of training, going to meetings, and finishing reports, Natasha was finally able to go back to your shared bedroom to get some well-deserved rest. Last time she saw you, you were preparing for a mission with Bucky, Sam, and Steve.

You had left earlier this morning, seemingly excited to get on the field again after being taken off missions because you had to recover from a few of your injuries. You had even boasted to the entire rest of the team how easy this mission was going to be.

So Natasha couldn’t help but be stunned when she saw your petrified expression as she was walking past the medbay. She wasn’t expecting you to be home this early, but the rest of the team had filled her in that Steve had sent them an emergency retreat signal.

Natasha pushed passed the rest of the team who were gathered outside of the medbay in order to make her way to you. “Y/N? Detka, can you hear me? What happened?”

You didn’t respond. It was like your eyes were glazed over as you stared at nothing.

At your lack of response, Natasha had decided to check you for any injuries, thinking that you were just in some sort of shock. However, as she rummaged through your clothes, going so far as to take off your padded uniform, she never saw a single wound on you. Only a few bruised ribs and a busted lip.

“Steve, what the hell happened?” Natasha looked at the super soldier who limped towards the bed next to the one you were sitting on. The look of dismay on her friend’s face didn’t really do anything to lift her spirits.

Steve grunted as he sat down on the bed, clutching onto his own injured torso. “We were too late.”

Her eyes narrowed at what he said. “What do you mean?”

“When we reached the location, nearly half of the hostages already had been killed. Their throats were slit, some of them had bullet holes through the skulls or body.” Steve said through shaky breaths. “But that wasn’t the worst part. The other half of the hostages had bombs attached to their chests. It was like a sick game of riddle-me-this with a psycho. Each incorrect answer, each wrong move, another person’s life would be taken. We weren’t able to save anyone, Natasha.”

“Who the hell did this?” Anger and disgust bubbled up inside Natasha. The entire ordeal sounded sickening, and she felt something drop to the pit of her stomach.

“That’s the problem.” Bucky said as he entered the room, Sam trailing close behind him. “We don’t know who did it. There were no clues, no signs of anyone. Whoever did this only left behind a trail of bodies.”

Her brows furrowed, growing even more disgusted at the whole situation. She was about to say something else when she heard you sob, her attention immediately turning to you as she saw tears falling from your tired eyes.

“Y/N tried to remove the bomb from the last hostage.” Sam informed her. “She wasn’t able to get it off in time. I had to pull her away with redwing. It exploded and… well, that explains the blood all over her.”

“She collapsed when we got out of the building, vomiting and panting when we tried to pull her back up. She was shaking all the way home. We couldn’t get her to talk.” Bucky adds, looking at your harrowed features.

Silence takes over the entire room as Natasha processed all the information her teammates had told her, not knowing what to do with you or with the new arising trouble you all had to deal with.

Steve is the first one to break the silence. “We’re sorry, Nat.”

“No. No, you don’t have to apologize.” Natasha shook her head, looking at the three of them. “This wasn’t any of your faults. You didn’t know what to expect. But could you give Y/N and I a moment?”

“Sure thing.” Steve nodded, standing back up and walking towards the door with Bucky’s help. "I’ll go give Tony and Bruce an update on the mission. Maybe Tony can trace whoever the hell did this.”

“Thanks, Steve.” Natasha sends him a smile as all three of them leave the room.

Now that she was alone with you, she took in your defeated state and the empty look in your eyes still haunts her. Natasha moved to take a clean rag from the bedside table, using it to clean off the blood that tainted your face. She moved in silence, tending to your lips and removing the blood off of you as best she can.

You broke out into a sob, covering your face with your hands. She couldn’t imagine the fear and anger you had felt in that moment, being so close to saving someone’s life only for it to be ultimately snatched away from you.

“I couldn’t stop it.” You say suddenly, causing Natasha to stop and look at you. She noticed the subtle way you were trembling and the sweat that had trickled down from your forehead. “I couldn’t–"

The frustration took over you, causing you to grip your hair in anger. “I could have saved him.” You choked out. “I could have saved him, and I didn’t. I was too slow. And— fuck.”

“Y/N, there was nothing you could d—” “You weren’t the one who had to look him in the eyes before he died, Natasha!” You burst out and stood up with fists clutched closed so hard your knuckles turned white.

“You weren’t the one who had to listen to all of their screams! You weren’t the one who had to listen to them beg! I watched as over fifty people died in front of me! I watched as each and every single one of them exploded!” Your face turned red, veins becoming more and more visible as you continue your onslaught. “And don’t tell me that there was nothing I could do, because I know! I fucking know! I stood by as people lost their lives because I couldn’t do jack shit!”

You looked at Natasha with the most ferocious look she had ever seen, but when you saw the tears spilling from her green eyes, you immediately shattered in front of her. You collapsed to the ground, and you sobbed. Your cries grew louder and louder as the situation finally fully dawned on you.

Natasha sucked in a deep breath, slinking down to your level as she places a hand on your back and rubbed circles around it.

There was nothing she could say to ever make the situation feel better, and she knew that, so she just stuck around.

She stayed as you cried, your sobs never dying down as the night went on.

Natasha knew a part of you had broken that day, and that you would never be the same as before you went on that mission.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, but you were never able to fully recover from that dreadful day. There was nothing she or the rest of the team could do to pull you out of your despondent state.

So Natasha stood by your side, watching you become an empty husk of your former self. She never left. She never complained.

She hoped that somehow, someday, the cries and pleading of the people who died that day would finally be put to rest in your mind and that you would be able to move on.

For now, all she could was continue living her life, not only for herself, but for you as well.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha x female reader #natasha romanoff marvel #natasha romanoff mcu #natasha romanoff #natasha marvel #natasha mcu #natasha #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow x female reader #black widow marvel #black widow mcu #black widow #angst #drabble #archichilled