#glad to be back! just got some rust to shake off still!

[planeoftheeclectic]

palutena trap for WIP Wednesday please

(and welcome back!)

The Falcon turned to the annoying kid and scowled. "My name is Pit Pairisetty." Then he smirked.

#thank you! #glad to be back! just got some rust to shake off still! #WIP Wednesday #my writing #palutena trap #zyrafowe-sny

[shoyoist]

ﾟ+* ꔫ — 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 : hanma shuji.

content: f!reader. bad toman!shuji. mentions of murder, blood and violence. use of guns and knives. some sort of mutual pining. work partners to fwbs to lovers kinda thing. you fuck on the hood of his car that's parked in an alley, you suck blood off his fingers, he licks blood off your body (not your own). unprotected sex, fingering, biting, body marking, shuji's a little crazy v_v.

word count: about 4.0k

— . ｡˚ ♡ when kisaki gives hanma a little ‘birthday treat’ by sending him on a hunt for some traitors, he makes you go with him as a leash. and hanma decides he wants to have a little more fun, with you.

an: i'm terribly late but here it is! happy birthday shuji my love.

the night is still — the sky dark, the moon blocked out by the heaviness of the clouds, and the expanse overhead stretches like a void, consuming all that lay underneath.

the sounds of the city fade further away, giving way to the clack of your heels and the thud of hanma's shoes against the asphalt with every step you take away from the main streets — following him as he turns wildly around the final corner into an alley, and you both at last make it to a safe place.

you stop just short of bumping into him, and the scent of sweat and drying blood, mixed with a familiar hint of cigarettes and men's cologne, invades your senses with your next breath.

you taste rust on your tongue, at the back of your throat, and now that you've stopped running, the smell and the taste remind you of how badly you've both just fucked your mission up.

"you know what," hanma laughs, barely out of breath as he lurches to a stop beside his car, parked unceremoniously at the back of the alley, concealed by the shadows of the buildings and midnight gloom. "i take it back. kisaki knew what he was doing when he sent me out to work on my birthday."

he gives his gun a little shake, watching as it spews the last wisp of smoke from its mouth, before putting it back in his pocket and turning to you with a grin. "heh, that was the most fun i've had in a while."

oh, you know he had fun.

you've known hanma quite well for quite a while, even intimately so because you've fucked on occasion, but still — you think you'll never quite get used to seeing him like this.

his suit had been clean when you'd left headquarters earlier that night — it was a grey two piece, form fitting and accentuating his lanky figure, and it was as expensive as it was lovely.

but when you'd watched him in the warehouse, told to stand by on guard in case someone interrupted his little kill job, you'd witnessed how he dirtied it, how he got it covered in blood.

the sleeves were dripping red, his white dress shirt splattered with arterial spray — and you couldn't tell if it was his own blood or not that was trickling down his chin, as he slid his tongue out to lick it up.

"fuckin' shit, you are," he'd cackled, on his haunches over the victim of his hunt, as the man under him screamed for mercy. "think you can fuck my boss over and get away with it? i'll kill you. yeah? say my fuckin' name with your last fuckin' breath."

and when he'd gotten back up, his hair was tousled, black and blonde curls falling over lusty gold eyes as he threw his head back and laughed — tall and broad shouldered, with a long, freshly used blade in his hand and with his pale skin stained red with blood, he'd laughed.

and god, he looked so fucking hot.

but you can't focus on that right now. you're too busy trying to catch your breath, and though you're glad you've escaped safely, though he'd looked so hot playing his game of being a ruthless villain — the task you were assigned with was still ultimately fucked. "shuji, what is wrong with you?"

and instead of feeling remorse or staying quiet, hanma just laughs. again. "babydoll, i think we need to do this more often. you're getting out of shape."

"kisaki said—" you're cut off by your own coughing, and hanma rests a bloodstained hand on the small of your back as you bend down and brace yourself with your hands against your knees. "kisaki said keep things under cover and deliver the body to the harbor, not make a whole massacre out of one little kill job and then be all fucking careless and almost get shot to death by the other guy hiding under a fucking cardboard box."

"hey," he rubs your back, thumb catching on the red satin of your dress as he presses into it, trying to get a feel of your softness. "i didn't die. you saved me."

"you almost died!" you protest — "you nearly fucking died and you would be bleeding out through a hole in your head right now, had i not been there to shoot down that other man first. who fucking knew he was even there?"

"you did save me." he smiles. "two birds with one stone! now hush. you're being a little too loud."

right.

"and who knows how many other people know what we were doing there tonight." you mutter sourly, thinking of how much trouble you'd all have to go through to cover up all that had happened tonight. if you didn't send people over to clean the bloody mess hanma had left at the warehouse tonight, there would be no escaping things.

you'd lose a lot of cash, at the very least, bribing people to stay blind and mute to the murder. "someone ratted us out. there's more traitors around, shuji. there were more people coming. that's why we had to fucking run for our lives all the way till we got here."

"you're right, babydoll." he says softly, rubbing your back for you as you sigh — and you'd believe he'd finally snapped out of his adrenaline high and sobered up, if he wasn't using that petname on you. "we've got more hunting to do."

you glance up when you catch something glinting between hanma's clothes, and you notice that the knife he had used to slash his victim up was carelessly stabbed into the folds of his own suit—

something he'd recklessly done that you hadn't noticed, as he'd grabbed your arm and run off with you, thanking you in a maniacal fit of giggles for shooting down the guy that would've shot him in the back of the head and killed him, had you been too late.

he's crazy.

"fuck's sake. at least you had your fun." you sigh again, and hanma steps closer to you still, chuckling as he runs his fingertips lightly up your spine. "i did, baby. it's my birthday, remember? i'm supposed to have fun."

you can feel the heat radiating from his body even from here — it chases away the cold, lets you feel some of the fire that's burning in him. "take that stupid knife out of your poor suit."

"you mad the suit's ruined?" hanma pouts, and you roll your eyes at him.

"enough." you mutter, straightening back up and taking another breath.

the polished surface of the car gleams in the light of the street lamp buzzing across the street, as you walk over, squeezing into the narrow space between the alley wall and the car door to open the shotgun. god, he had to park the thing in a place like this, too.

"we need to get home quick. you're all fucking dirty, and you'd be in worse shape if i hadn't been here to haul your ass. kisaki sent me with you so i'd keep you from getting killed or caught red-handed."

"aw, come on baby." hanma coos, shrugging his shoulders as if to claim his innocence, watching while you lean uncomfortably into the car and pull out disinfectant and a clean towel from the bag under the shotgun seat.

he watches as you struggle, twisting your body and cursing under your breath as you work through it. he remembers — how you'd watched him cut that man up, how you'd looked so enamoured by his violence, so afraid yet excited all at once, as you'd listened to him talk and watched him gut the man like a fish.

he remembers how you had run up to him, almost losing your footing in those cute little heels of yours as you pushed him aside and pointed your gun behind him, the weapon already loaded and with the hammer pulled back as you pulled the trigger — and shot another man that had somehow stayed silently hidden behind the boxes at the back the entire time.

"fuck," you'd gasped, and hanma had seen the anger, the fear and the flooding relief in your eyes as the man crumpled to the floor. then, you'd been interrupted yet again by the screeching of motorcycle tyres outside. "we need to get out of here, shuji. now."

and hanma's cold, ruthless heart had fluttered. you cared for him, didn't you? truly.

aw, he had thought. she loves me!

oblivious to his stare, you squeeze back out and set the bottle on the hood of the car, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder, turning him around and examining his condition.

half of his face is swathed in shadow, and half is bathed in the fluorescent light of the street lamp. you see the smatter of blood on his cheek, the stain of it at his lip and on his chin where he'd licked it away earlier.

there's drying blood all over his clothes, trails of it down his neck and spread over the white of his shirt, from when he drove his knife into the man's chest and it had cut a vessel, spraying blood all over him.

"take the jacket off." you say, and he does so.

the white shirt stretches across his shoulders, the buttons at the top undone to make it easier for him to move in the thing. the hem of it had somehow stayed mostly tucked into his pants the whole time, and the buckle of his belt shines gold as you looked down at it. his pants hug his legs, showing off his thighs and calves as he stands there, smirking down at you like he's reading your thoughts.

shit, he looks so good.

the round lens of his glasses flash as he turns according to your push, the edges flecked with drops of red — and when you reach up and take them off, his eyes glimmer gold, along with the dopey smile he gives you. "babydoll, you're my lil life saver, aren't you?"

his voice lilts with the words, and instantly, you know what he's trying to start. you say nothing, but the meeting of your eyes with his is all he needs to continue.

he towers over you, shadow falling on you and shielding you from the light as he draws closer. the thick scent of cigars, cologne and blood grows stronger, and you breathe it all in — and his smile widens along with the rise of your chest.

"shuji, wait." you try, but your tone is half hearted and you know he catches it. "i need to clean you up first."

"you're all dirty too, you know?" he hums. his right hand comes back up, still sticky and red with blood as he cups your cheek with his palm, lifting your face up towards his. "such a gorgeous fuckin' sight, when you're covered in blood and holdin' a gun."

it's true. right after you'd told hanma that you both needed to get out of there immediately, you'd fallen on your ass into a pool of the first man's flesh and blood. your arms, your dress and your legs were all dirty with it, and now with hanma's touching, your face is dirty, too.

"shuji," you repeat. "not now. we need to get back, report to kisaki, and send people to cover up the messes you made."

"that can wait, can't it?" he presses even closer to you, placing sin flat against your stomach and giving you a light push.

he coaxes you to sit up on the hood of his car, the metal cold and smooth against your bare thighs, exposed by the short length of your pencil skirt — and you almost fall against it as hanma pushes himself between your legs and lowers his face to yours, bending down so he can get a good look at your pretty face. "haven't had a taste of you in a while, doll. don't you miss me?"

his palm slides over from your stomach to your waist, fingers squeezing at your flesh over the fabric as he slides his palm higher up. "it's my birthday. can't turn me down just like that. that's mean."

"sh—shuji," you say, trying your hardest to sound composed but it's so hard when he's so close, so hot, and his voice is so low and delicious in your ear. "not here—"

"can't." he groans almost dramatically, hand making it up to your ribs before he slides his palm to your back, toying with the zipper that's hiding under the slit of satin at the middle of your back. "i can't wait. you don't fuckin' know what you do to me, huh? so fuckin' hot, all dressed up, covered in blood and bossing me around like you're my little wife."

and with a whirr of tiny metal teeth unhooking from eachother, your zipper is undone, and your dress hangs loosely at your chest.

"your hands are bloody, shuji." you protest, but your voice is reduced to little more than a whine — he's so hot it's overpowering. "can't touch me like that."

"suck my fingers clean for me then." he says, and laughs when you scrunch up your nose and scowl. he takes a moment to grab the bottle of disinfectant, pours some into his palm and lathers it over his hands and arms. the bloodstains disappear somewhat, but his fingertips remain red, skin and nails etched with blood.

wiping it off with the towel, he presents his hands to you again. "happy? now, suck them off for me, like you'd do to my dick." he doesn't wait for your answer, pushing his thumb past your lips and into your mouth, and you taste blood and disinfectant on your tongue— "mmph!"

"shhh, it's okay, baby." hanma chuckles, tapping your cheek with his index finger. "go on. i know you missed having daddy's fingers in your mouth."

fuck — hearing him call himself daddy makes you go weak. and he knows, god, he knows — you see it in the way his eyes darken, the way his grin widens as you curl a hand around his wrist and suck on his thumb, leaning into his touch. "that's it, there's daddy's good girl."

the edges of his eyes catch the light from the street lamp, glowing in a halo of gold as he watches you closely, letting out little groans of pleasure as you suck harder and harder.

he gives you another finger, and then another — and his other hand first pulls at his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it off, letting out a sigh as he then brings the hand over to your thigh. this time, it's punishment, and he slides it under your skirt swiftly, fingers tugging at your panties and urging you to lift your ass of the hood a little so he can take them off.

"'s my little doll gonna be quiet for me?" he croons, pulling the lace garment down and yanking it off along with your heels — you feel them slip off, hear the heels clatter onto the ground. "we're outside, aren't we? 'n even if we're alone, you're gonna hafta stay quiet. or do you need me stuffin' these panties in your mouth?"

"n—mm," you shake your head, trying to speak around a mouth full of his fingers, and he laughs, wishing it was his cock making your cheeks bulge like that, but he doesn't have the patience to play right now.

he needs his cock in your cunt.

"good girl," he gives you a smile, showing teeth as he presses into you, giving your pussy a quick swipe with two of his fingers to gather up your leaked slick onto them and pop them in his mouth for a taste. "mm, fuck, baby," he grunts, eyes rolling up as he exhales, hot over your neck. "so good. so wet for me tonight — y'like seeing me kill people, ah?"

"mhm," you moan, not even sure what you're saying anymore, more interested in the way he's pushing your legs further apart, fumbling with the zipper of his pants and pulling his cock out from within, the heady tip red and hungry to be buried in the velvet walls of your cunt.

"a dirty fuckin' slut, aren't ya? heh," he giggles, voice so deep yet playful at the same time as he slips his fingers out of your mouth, his other arm curling around your waist, forearm against your bare back because he's unzipped your dress already, pulling you in as he tries to angle himself right.

"shit, baby," he grunts, wet fingers going under your skirt to touch your pussy — digging through the folds and touching your clit before he's bringing them down to sink into your entrance. "move a little f'me? daddy wants his cock in you, doll. let me fuckin' get in there."

"hah," you gasp at the curl of his fingers in your cunt, warm, wet walls clenching around them and squelching loudly as you lean back onto your elbows on the car's hood, feeling it bend a little under your weight as you spread your legs further and wrap them around hanma's waist, dragging him in. "please, shuji — daddy, need it. hurry up, fuck."

"'m givin' it, doll." he moans, laughing hoarsely when he pushes his fingers in deeper and your pussy squelches again. "fuck, pussy's louder than your mouth tonight, huh? naughty girl."

he slips his fingers back out, lands a sudden slap on your cunt that makes you cry out, and laughs as he grabs his cock and strokes it, still caged into your body by your legs wrapped around his waist.

"daddy," you whine, and he moves in for a kiss, meeting your lips with his mouth open, forcing his tongue in your mouth and tasting the blood — and he chuckles into your mouth, brows screwing together as he tastes the bitter tang of disinfectant that followed.

you're really his little slut, huh? sucking on his fingers even when they tasted like that?

"shhh," he mumbles into the corner of your mouth, giving his cock one last pump before he bumps his head to your pussy, slowly slipping himself in. "i got you, baby."

the stretch is expected — you've had him in you more than a few times, but still, it's still fucking delicious when his cock slides into you.

you feel how your walls hug his length, sucking him in as you lay on your back on the hood of his car, legs spread out and wrapped around his waist as he slowly pushes himself balls deep inside, skin cold but body hot and heart beating so loud inside with him pressed to your body, his smell and his taste cloaking you along with the metallic odour of blood.

god, he's so hot — so, so hot — "let me clean you up a little too, hm?" he hums, voice breathy with pleasure as he kisses your cheek, feeling the smatter of dried blood on your cheek against his lips, and he puts his tongue out and licks at your face, sending shivers crawling up your spine when he moans into your ear.

"heh, so good, babydoll. all of you 's so good," he says, rolling his hips in and slapping them against your ass as he slides fully into you with a heavy chuckle that sounds so good you could cum just listening to it—

and then, he bites.

he grabs your hair, curls his fingers up your nape into your messy locks and pulls your face aside to reveal your neck to him — and he bares his teeth and bites.

"a—ah! shuji!" you cry, and he laughs, digging his teeth in just hard enough for it to hurt, for it to hurt so good, before moving his face back to see how his teeth have marked your neck. "it's halloween season, baby. you'll be getting bitten sooner or later, lookin' this fuckin' fine."

"mmm—more," you moan, pulling another string of pitchy laughter from him, followed by a low growl as he bites again, lower this time but still just as hard. "fuck!".

he starts to move then, knowing he's not going to last long with how you're fluttering around him, sucking him in like you're afraid he's about to get up and leave.

there's blood on your neck too, and down your collarbones, and he licks it all up as he pulls in and out of your cunt, filling the silent alley with muted slap-slap-slap sounds and your moans, your dress falling apart to reveal your tits to him — and as he watches them bounce with each slap of his hips into you, he thinks he might go insane.

your only warning is the sight you see, of his eyes going bright, gold and narrow with want—

and then he's got you shoved onto the hood right on your back, your head against the windshield as he grabs your waist and digs his fingers into the plush skin, leaning onto the car and telling you in a rasp, "fuck, hold on f'me, pretty doll."

then, his body offers the first snap — and his cock hits your cervix so hard, your head is knocked back along with the rest of your body — he has you seeing stars.

the night sky above, that you can barely see between the two buildings on either side of the alley, is pitch black — but hanma puts stars in your eyes with how hard he fucks you.

the hinges of the car's hood whine just a little under your shared weights, but you don't hear it — not over hanma's heavy breathing, his whispered fuckfuckfuckfuck as he gets closer and closer to his high, and your open mouthed gasps for air as each thrust of his big fucking cock in your cunt knocks your breath away.

his pace is so fast, so hard, it's incredible he has so much left in him after all that fighting and all that god damn running—

but he fucks you hard, big hands holding you pinned down as he uses you all up, dress bunching up at your stomach, and your zipper digging into your back as he sends you to heaven and back on top of his car, right in this stupid little alley with a dead man's blood still wet on both your skins and clothes.

"baby," he moans, sweat glistening on his brow, at his temples, as he struggles to look at you through the bliss. "gonna cum, gonna fuckin' cum."

"want it, shuji — fuck, inside, please." you beg, eyes rolled back into your head, back arching up as you try so hard to keep your orgasm away, because you wanna cum with him, not before him.

but it's impossible — each thrust sends a pulse of white hot pleasure into your veins, the head of his cock hitting your sweetest spots so well, digging into them and leaking precum into you as he nearly loses himself and collapses on top of you, blissed out before he even cums.

"inside?" he rasps. "want it inside like you're my girl? like you're my own little thing, my slut, my girlfriend, my wife?"

"i am—" your voice breaks with the next hit of his cock into your cunt, overwhelmed and unable to hold your high back anymore. "i am your girl— mmh, gonna cum shuji, gonna cum!"

"go ahead, cum f'me," he hisses, the words sharp and needy as he bends down to kiss you again. "make me cum too, yeah? cum nice 'n hard for me 'n help me fill you all fuckin' up."

"mmgh," you swallow, as he keeps fucking into you, and you're half afraid that there's someone around to hear you by now as you feel yourself slip, as you feel the first wave of your orgasm crash down on you and your mind goes blank.

your pussy tightens around hanma's cock, so tight and hot and wet, squeezing him in a vice — and when your hands finally come up from where they've been gripping the edges of the hood to try and stay balanced, to cup his face and pull him down for another kiss, before you wrap your arms around him and drag him ontop of you, he feels your body squish under his, and fuck, it pushes him off the edge.

"cumming—" he chokes out, and you feel the thick, hot seed paint your walls white a second after, as shuji tries his best to hold himself up over you, gasping out your name as he cums.

your orgasm milks him through, pussy eating all his cum up, as he falls still with his balls against your ass, dissolving into your frame and your embrace as he breathes, so tired but feeling so fucking good at the same time. "hah—shit, baby. so good. so—so fuckin' good, i love you."

"mmm," you whimper, as he kisses your neck, his hair in your face, his glasses getting smudged on your skin. you feel his cum fill your hole up and drool out, so much cum you can't even hold all of it in. "i love you, too."

the two of you lay there for a few minutes, catching your breath and pulling yourselves together — and then shuji says, "fuck. gotta get home now."

"would've been better if we waited till then." you grumble, feeling sticky and sweaty now that the euphoria is over.

"hah, no," hanma giggles, his cheek pressed to your chest. "much better this way, dollface. don't fuckin' lie."

"hmph," you huff, running a hand through his hair — and you feel how he relaxes into your touch, purring low in his throat as you scrape your nails at the nape of his neck.

"happy birthday, shuji." you sigh, and he chuckles, low and hoarse into your skin.

"thank you, babydoll. give me an 'i love you'?"

"i love you." you hum, tilting your head forward to kiss his hair — and you ignore the way he lifts himself up to stare at you and coo like you hadn't just said it minutes ago. "now come on, let's fucking go home, shuji. i'm tired."

"okay, okay. but — since it's my birthday and since you love me … you drive."

"shuji."

"fuck, fine. you're no fun."

and there's nobody to hear it, but if there were, then they'd hear two killers laughing together, huddled up ontop of a car in an alley in the middle of a late October night, after having freshly added to their body counts just that very same night <3

#₊˚ପ⊹ REKHA™. #₊˚ପ⊹ NYCHTA. #hanma shuji smut #hanma smut #hanma shuji x reader #hanma x reader #tr smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tr x reader #tr x y/n #hanma x y/n #hanma x you #hanma headcanons #hanma drabbles #tokyo revengers drabbles #tokyo revengers headcanons #hanma angst #hanma fluff

[recklessfiction]

The woods are dense and thick with snow, trees going on for miles in every direction and it feels like you’ve got barely enough room to breath. Your vision is dark and blurred and your right eye is gone. They took it, back at the Keep. They would have taken a lot more of you too if your chains hadn’t been as rusted as they were. And still, look where it got you; frozen, bleeding, and lost. Not much of a step up but at least you had lost the guards at the tree line.

A wolf howl, there in the distance. Best get a move on.

Its slow going. You try to stem the flow of blood from a wound on your side but in your haze you still see the bright red splattered against the snow.

More howls, not too far off now, and the baying of hounds. That gets you moving. Have they followed you, so eager to finish the job?

You pick up the pace, reaching out for the trees around you to guide you. You know you aren’t moving quickly enough, the sound of dogs no further away and indeed, they sound closer now. But you can’t stop, you won’t, if only to stave off a terrible death for a few more moments. You push forward and beneath you your legs burn with the effort. The winter winds bite at your face and arms.

You can no longer feel the pain of your wounds, much of your body having long since gone numb. You are glad for the relief but moving forward on legs you can barely feel is becoming nearly impossible.

Over the wind you hear them again, clamouring. Closer now; and with them, shouting. You cannot hear words, not over the roaring in your ears and really, by now you’re so far gone that you are nothing more than desperation and a steadily slowing body.

You don’t notice the embankment until the ground disappears beneath your feet and you are falling. You tumble against rock, sliding to a stop, sharp stones embedded in your skin, wounds grown, and you lay there. Above you, the sound of hooves, great and heavy. You don’t remember seeing any horses around the prison and you wonder if maybe the guards have gotten some knights involved. It seems like a lot of fuss to make over one petty charlatan. You hope.

“The hounds have lost the scent, my lady.” You don’t recognize the voice as any one of your jailers and there’s a strange, scratchiness to it that sounds unnatural to your ears.

A thud, someone coming down off a horse, and the sound of heavy footsteps pacing slowly.

“You see nothing from the trees?”

A full, deep voice, rough and heavily accented, rolling words like thunder.

“Not deeper into the forest.”

There is a low hum and the footsteps continue, stepping deliberately this way and that before they stop.

“Could the beast have fallen?”

Silence.

You should move.

Now.

But you can’t.

You try to move your legs and all you feel is a sharp, horrible burst of pain. In the state you’re in, you can’t contain the sharp gasp. The winter air has frozen your lungs and will not allow for a scream.

Thud

Thud

Thud

Your head tilts back, following the sound. Standing atop the embankment is a bear. No, not a bear, a- a lion? A boar? Your vision is almost non-existent at this point but you can see it’s seen you and for a moment the two of you stare at one another in silence.

“Not game, then,” it says, and steps carefully off the edge, “Philip, your cloak.”

“What is it, Wymarc?”

The way is steps down the side of the embankment towards you fills you with an irrational anger that is quickly dashed for a more appropriate feeling of panic as it gets closer.

“Just take it off,” it calls out, and then addressing you, “Do not be afraid. I am going to help you.”

You shake your head and jerk away, moving as best you can with what you assume is a broken leg, shuffling back on the rocks. You hadn’t realized how tall it was when it stood above you, but here you can see it towers over you and is, most certainly, not human.

“Stop,” a command hissed out as its mouth full of too large teeth winces, “You will make it worse.”

You can feel your heart beating, you can hear it in your ears. Here, now, even as the winter wind blows across your face, it is the only thing you can hear as the creature takes step after step towards you, its face tightening more each time you move away.

“Enough of this,” it rumbles and a large, clawed hand (you hesitate to call it a paw but-) grabs your leg and pulls you back towards it.

Ah, there’s that scream.

#I am absolutely willing to keep this story going and write like a whole short story if people want #my writing

[hershelchocolate]

of the songs you listed, whats your favorite lyric from each of them

OUGYUGGHH I LOVE COOL LYRICS

I want you to know in advance I listened to all of these to figure it out sorry this took so long to answer 🥺

Also some of these are gonna be whole verses and you can't stop me The Entire Statement Is Important Okay

Lucky Me: Like a rollercoaster that never ends / I keep wishing it would crash but the tracks just bend --- All this death just proves you're worthy, see!

Self-Proclaimed Angel: Don't try to change the story cause things got gory / a monster who fucks up people's lives when they get bored, see --- I'm not one to play nice / you should've thought twice / before every promise became a lie --- Haven't you heard it's breaking news / all of the crying lies tied your best friend's noose --- You claimed that it's us / that you're innocent / well watch your back cause karma can be a bitch (this song is just so fuckijg good)

Of Matches And Rust: And as your body hits the flame / I'll watch the motions of your melted face / hey ain't that funny, you can't bear the same / sort of agony you forced me to emulate / and as your body hits the flame / you meet the burning of a child's rage / and when they find your battered body trust / that your ashes will be drawn by matches and rust

Ruined Lullaby: Guide me blindly with your friendly lies / so kindly I'll see through your eyes / remind me where do you reside --- "Hush little baby don't say a word" / was the last song he had ever heard / poor mother woke up to a long lost son / the monster's task was already done (THIS BRIDGE FUCKS LIKE HELL)

Like A Disguise: All-seeing eyes / I analyze / I memorize / I can read you like a haunting script --- I will watch you all the while / and wear you like a disguise --- I'm alive but I'm dead / I can feel you in my head / spread my roots deeper into the garden bed / you can watch as I grow / I invade / I infest / I can show you agony that you've never known (THIS OUTRO FUCKS LIKE HELL)

Never Love An Achor: It's a secret I keep tucked inside my chest / with this heart of mine that's guilty, not remorseful / there is love that doesn't have a place to rest / but it would have buried you if it had settled on your shoulders --- There are times when I still wonder about you / You are someone I have loved but never known / and you'll never see the reasons I had / for keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you --- I am selfish I am broken I am cruel / I am all the things they might have said to you --- Do you ever think of me and my two hands and wonder why /// they never held you gently / and wondered why they never had the chance to lose you (THIS ENTIRE SONG IS SOOOOOOO makes me cry every time. I could have put the whole song here)

To Our Colorful Scintilating Future: But when night came / so did the nightmares whispering /// as I shook you held me in your warm embrace / and all my fears they all went away --- I know, we'll be alright / we'll live, live for another day --- Count 1, 2, 3 / tiny mushrooms picked / off from trees / white, pink, and blue / suddenly I felt the trees staring right back at me --- as I shook you held my hand / "I'll be okay" / you muttered in a withered voice --- "darling I'm home" everything was silent / you stood at the doorway your body shaking /// a grim realization is breaking my mind / and piercing, my, heart --- I saw no reason to carry on alone / without you here / I can't be strong /// I should have never stopped moving on --- Under sanguine skies / we watch the world distort and twist before our eyes / but I am glad that we can be together in the end / mutations and death will not deter my love for you / so please / sap my life and live / live for another day (this song is SEVEN minutes I'm allowed to pick a lot here I think)

Ragnarok II: In the carriages behind them / the window is no bar / to the giant raging fire / of an ever dying star --- In the now eternal instant of her loss her eyes grew wet / but instead of tears what falls is golden red as the final sunset --- I've done it though I never knew / the dreams that eat at me were true / a fool I was, hubristic, vain / to think conquest the purpose of my train --- I tried to stop it / but I failed / there's no protection now we are derailed // derailing, yes, its higher need / was reached as soon as it was freed / you heard the call but ran away / you could not stop the coming of this day --- I don't know what the hell she's saying but Raphaella's voice in this outro is so fucking beautiful what the hell

Stranger: In your place / a monster I do see --- I only hoped to understand / this work that drains you so / but I find this metal demon / spinning falsehoods into gold --- You don't understand / I had to keep my nature secret / this was never planned / you were never meant to know --- All this time / I've lived with your deceit // I meant no deceit (ouyughghg makes me think of The OCs)

Right As Rain: Cause you can't rely on lies or hopeful skies no more / without a knock on the door / who are you putting up this act for --- Right as rain / coming up roses / the saying goes / a bouquet / all fine and dandy / or so it goes --- for a shell I've got quite the heavy heart / for those who are at the very start --- then like a pack of wolves starving for a single bite / all those who catch will turn out right as / rain

Pathological Facade: Can I say the instrumental here? It's my favorite part of the song --- A year ago, I was told that I would be a miracle / something theoretical I guess / it's kinda like a psychedelic lie, and yet it tries to be / a line between the villains and the rest --- Bye-bye-bye goes the time, turning on a dime / gone without a reason or a rhyme / so flip a coin let's rejoin our family in the mirror world / where everybody's crooked by design (in all honesty the lines themselves don't really jump out at me TOO much, the song is just so fast it fits how fast I talk normally so it's REALLY FUN to sing in general. GHOST said they were focusing more on rhythm than making sense and by god they nailed it)

OUYGHG SORRY THAT TOOK SO LONG I JUST REALLY LOVE MUSIC

#easiest way to get me to go off congrats willow you found the secret #randy rambles #ask #arcaneyouth #music

[squishmallow36]

Keeper of the Lost Prepositions - Forty-six

Word count: 2.6k

Tw: Dex blaming himself for the events of the previous chapter

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-fruity-frog @poppinspop @crystallinewalker @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @books-over-boys @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @cotyledon-tomentosa @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @stuff-is-way

On Ao3 or below the cut!

    Standing a few metres away from home, I try to find the courage to cross to the front door. 

    Fitz whispers, “If you want, I can tell them.”

    I shake my head.

    “No.” It’s my fault.

    “It’s my fault for hiding Keefe.”

    “Well, Lovise getting hurt is mine, so don’t even try to play that card.”

    “Fine then. You tell your parents about that. But I have to tell them about their store.”

    “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

    “It’s my fault Gisela did what she did.”

    “She’d have--,” I pause, realizing the futility of my argument. “Honestly, I should just give up trying to debate against you.”

    Thanks to Wonderboy, I’m hyper aware that how I say ‘against’ is another one of my little things I pronounce oddly.

    He shrugs. “I already have.”

    I untangle my fingers from his, and take a deep breath, attempting to find whatever bravery I have.

    Slowly unlocking the door, I call, “Mom? I’ve got some news concerning the Neverseen.”

    I am aware it’s too formal, Fitzroy, before you even start.

    “One sec…” Mom replies from the living room. “Okay? What’s up?”

    I see Lex, running and yelling at the top of his lungs, and Mom notices my hesitation. 

    Apparently Fitz does too, as he supplies, with no apparent regard for the triplets hearing things, “I’m not going to beat around the bush here. The Neverseen destroyed the store.”

    I look at him, not sure how he just strung that sentence together.

    Mom’s reaction is less intense than I’d have expected. “Well. You’re not playing a prank on me, right?”

    I just now realize, “I should’ve taken pictures.”

    “Pictures wouldn’t do it justice,” Fitz says, “But I’ll stay here and watch the triplets if you and Kesler want to go visit with Dex.”

    “I’ll stay here,” I argue. 

    “No, you won’t,” he replies.

    I refuse to look at him, because I know for a fact that I’d be much more persuaded by his argument if I did.

    Mom goes to Dad’s office here, and I somehow register with a start that I should thank my lucky stars that Dad or anyone else weren’t at the store when it went down.

    Together, we leap to Mysterium, and both Mom and Dad’s initial reaction to seeing it involves a lot of swear words. 

    And you know it has to be bad because the triplets can destroy almost everything and they can still bleep it out at the very least. 

    “You okay?” Mom asks, ruffling my hair.

    Not really, but it’s fine. “Yeah.”

    Dad’s reaction is much more like my own would be. “It looks like there was an explosion that radiated out from here,” he says, pointing at a corner. 

    “I know it was somewhere more toward the back, so most, if not all, of our inventory is in a toxic soup back there.”

    “So maybe you don’t touch it then. Either of you,” Mom suggests. 

    “Yeah. There was something on fire near the caesium, because it turned violet for a little while.”

    “I’m just glad you and Fitz weren’t hurt.” Mom gives me a one armed hug, pressing me into her side for just a moment. It’d have been nice if I wasn’t taller than her. I don’t want to be tall because tall means adult and adult means responsibility. 

     Don’t argue with my logic. I know it’s irrational.

    “Lovise wasn’t quite so lucky. She’s fine, before you ask. Elwin said she’s just got a couple of bruises and scratches.”

   Mom says, completely deadpan, “You had to involve Elwin.”

    “Fitz texted him.”

    “Ah yes. Throw him under the bus.”

    Meanwhile, Dad’s train of thought has driven off its tracks as mine so often does, murmuring to himself, “Why would they have done this? You stay at home, and they know you’re part of the collective, so it can’t be against you personally...right?”

    I also talk to myself quite often, so I reply, “It’s probably mostly shock value. Although I’d argue how much of a shock they can cause after so many different demonstrations of their ability to strike anywhere at any time. Gisela also wants to know where Keefe is, so she must’ve had this set up in case we didn’t give him to her.”

    “How many times do we have to say that we can’t control him as much as she can’t?” Mom wonders.

    “You can’t reason with unreasonable people, Jules.”

    “You don’t have to remind me.”

    We stand there in silence for the next few minutes. It feels like hours. 

    I know they’re just trying to be strong, and pretend that everything’s fine. I think I am too, a little bit. 

    I can’t help myself from trying to figure out a simple solution of how to fix all of this, even though I know you can’t magically bring a building back up from the ground and pretend like it never went down. 

    Mom breaks the silence by saying, “I think I should go save Fitz.”

    “I’ll come with you. Unless you still need me here.”

    Dad replies, “No. I should go hail Uncle Grady or Aunt Edaline to borrow a few gnomes to help with the cleanup and then start on the plans of Slurps and Burps take two. Maybe finding a less flammable material would be a good place to start.”

    “Everything’s flammable if you try hard enough.”

    “I believe I was the one who taught you that.” 

    “Just checking. Gotta make sure you remember.”

    With that, we leap home, and I grab Fitz before leaping to the Healing Centre to visit Lovise. 

    And maybe him, if the triplets broke him. Just kidding. Mostly. 

    When I see her, I say, creatively, “Hey.”

    “I didn’t know I was allowed visitors yet.”

    Elwin notices me and starts preparing for the worst. Like I’m the usual bringer of destruction. Although I guess that has been my pattern recently. 

    “Don’t worry, Elwin. I’m just here to check on your patient.”

    “She is my patient no longer. She’s going to escape soon enough so I’m going to release her into your care. Just try not to get into too much more trouble today or tomorrow.”

    Fitz snorts lightly. “Like that’ll happen.”

    I take a second to consider the thought that decided to reveal itself.

    “I don’t know if this counts, but I do have a bit of a request. Just because I can’t exactly do it myself.”

    “What now?” Elwin sighs. 

    I give him a crumpled piece of paper with my calculations from earlier, complete with hand dragging across paper pencil smudges and all. 

    “Sorry about my handwriting, but I was thinking this could be a Keefe solution. You know, the next time he pops up out of nowhere.”

    He takes a few seconds before suggesting, “How about this? I can’t read this and I know how finicky alchemy is, so you can borrow my lab if you want.” 

    “Really?” I ask, knowing full well that I wouldn’t let others get their grubby little paws on mine. 

    “Yeah. Just make sure I have all of your ingredients before you start. I don’t know if I’ll have everything.”

    “Thanks,” I say, already beginning to search his beautifully maintained shelves of ingredients. 

    I see a nearly empty bottle of Cwiofyr, a rare mineral made from lightning striking lava that happens to be highly explosive, and mutter, “Easiest way to destroy a ceiling.”

    That greatly distresses Fitz.

    I get a decent amount down my list, and I can’t seem to find the mancas, which is the active ingredient. 

    “Elwin, do you know off the top of your head if you have mancas?”

    “Considering I’ve never heard of it, I’d say probably not. I’m going to regret this, but we’ve got a storeroom for all of the alchemy sessions here.”

    I smile. “Yes, yes you are.”

    Once you let me in there, you’re going to have to drag me back out whether you like it or not. 

    We get there, and I’d like to make a clarification. I’m never leaving because I’m never going to find anything in this place. 

    I mean, there’s only four rows of shelves, with actual chemicals being on opposite ends. Organic chemicals might be on the left side, but, at the same time, it could also be household products, while the right has your classic chemicals. 

    And there is no way I can understand how anyone can find anything here, apart from memorizing the shelves, on purpose or by accident. 

    I have to search slowly, vial of chemical by vial of chemical. There’s one just labelled, “Poison,” which would be descriptive if half the stuff in here couldn’t kill you. Easily. 

    Fitz, however, finds the mancas with zero difficulty. 

    How did you do that? 

    I take it and add it to a small tray so I can carry things back with me. Figuring it’d be easier to not bounce back and forth from the Healing Centre, I ask Fitz, “Can you find the forswigian? A one-tenth molar solution, if possible.”

    “I don’t know what that means but I’ll try.”

    It’s a mere few seconds before he asks, “Is this it?” 

    And it is. Down to the molarity, which wasn’t his doing but I still choose to be irritated. 

    I decide that I’m not going to find anything, and he seems to have a gift for this for some unknown reason. I find some space on my scratch paper and write down a list of everything I still need before giving it to him. 

    Two minutes. That’s how long it takes him to find a half dozen ingredients. 

    In this mess. 

    “Here you go,” he says, shifting around bottles in the tray to make space for the hlosian.

    “How do you do this?” I have to ask. 

    He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not that hard.”

    A wave of anger surfaces from his total apathy, because for some magical reason he can find his way around this place without any trouble. 

    Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t been conditioned with my Dad’s organization system.

    Nah. It’s magic.

    “You don’t understand how messed up the organization system here is.”

    “Oh. Okay...”

    “I’m going to make you find things if we have to do this again in the future. You don’t get a choice,” I snap.

    “Not that bad of a punishment.”

    Honestly, it’s more of a punishment for me. I get to stand here, useless, while he does stuff I should be able to do. 

    I turn and walk back to the Healing Centre without another word. 

    It’s definitely fun trying to balance a dozen bottles in a tiny tray without letting them make too much noise because glass clinking against glass is loud. 

    For the next hour or two-ish, my brain melts out of my ears, trying to take extra caution to not break anything of Elwin’s.

    It doesn’t help that Fitz is watching the entire time. Distracting me, per usual. 

    And there’s no nice way to tell him to go away and let me focus. 

    Finally, cringing as I wait to see if the mixture reacts negatively to the forswigian, I announce, tentatively, “It hasn’t exploded, so I think we’re good. Probably. Maybe.”

    Clearly concerned about something, Fitz says, “Cool…”

    “And it hasn’t melted through the glass, which is a major bonus.”

    “That’s a bonus? Were you going to give it to Keefe if it did?”

    “There’s more things at the store that are perfectly safe to consume, assuming you take the proper amounts, but that’s how everything works. Even water. Don’t drink several litres in a short amount of time. It won’t be pretty. Like a third of the store is in clear plastic or something similar because they enjoy burning through glass.”

    “Is this one of those?”

    “Nah. That’s how you tell you did it just wrong enough to not blow a hole in the roof. At least in its normal concentration.”

     “Alchemy safety standards are...very interesting.” 

    Even I can hear the sarcasm in that sentence. So you know it’s piled on thick.

    “Yeah, well, you’ve been saved by alchemy more than once. So shut up.”

    “Fair point,” he concedes. 

    A few seconds pass before I figure, “We should leave Elwin to let him do whatever he wants. You know, since I’m done and I have no clue why you’re still here.”

    He shrugs, mouth forming a word before I get a telepathic message. 

    Am I not allowed to watch my boyfriend work?

    I flush bright red on instinct, trying to piece myself back together.

    “Elwin,” my voice cracks, although I’m not sure if this is because I can’t function or because it hates me. “Thanks again for letting me work here. We’re going to get going now, if you don’t mind getting rid of us. Bye!”

    Voice slightly muffled by a closed office door, Elwin calls, “See you later!”

    Fitz and I both walk backwards out the door, waving, even though he isn’t looking. 

    Slowly, we start to make our way down to the Leapmaster, mostly because we, or at least, I don’t want to go home quite yet. 

    The door swings shut, and Fitz asks, “You okay? But don’t just say yes because that’s how your brain was programmed.”

    “You okay?”

    “I mean, now, I’m worried about how you just blatantly dodged my question, but overall, not terrible.”

    “What do you want me to say, then?”

    “Maybe I want you to acknowledge that you’ve thrown yourself into this project for the past few hours to distract yourself from actually thinking about things. I can tell.”

    “Fitzy, that’s just how I process things.”

    He raises his eyebrows. “Ignoring them until you don’t have to deal with them anymore?”

    Suddenly defensive, I ask, “Remind me. Who made you a psychologist?”

    He sighs, lacing his fingers with mine. “That doesn’t mean I can’t worry about my--about you.”

    He should really know by now to not let my imagination run wild like this. 

    With what was he going to end that sentence? Was he going to call me his boyfriend again? Was it just the fact that there could maybe be someone listening? Or something else?

    Did I do something to make him backtrack? 

    “And I’m trying to tell you that you don’t have to worry.”

    “You say that like I can stop voluntarily. It doesn’t work like that. I’ve lived with my Dad and his ‘no reason to worry’ crap for my entire life. I would know.”

    “And you say all of that like I’m not in the exact same boat. Godzilla was the one that threatened you.”

    “We already dealt with that. Earlier today.”

    “I refuse to believe that you’ve completely processed that.”

    “This is entirely off topic but you should add the way you say process to your list.”

    “I don’t have a list!”

    He gives me a look.

    “At least in the physical realm.”

    “Knew it. But the whole Godzilla thing is a conversation for another time. Because I don’t think we can loiter here too much longer.”

    Standing under the Leapmaster, I say, “I guess it is. But that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of it. See you tomorrow?”

    “If not sooner.”

    Fitz leans over, leaving the lightest brush of his lips against my cheek. 

    Unsurprisingly, my brain short circuits once again, and while I’m trying to fix it, he leaps away, smirking. 

    Although I may have imagined it.

    I have to take a good thirty seconds before I stop feeling like I’ve just had to do a presentation for Elvin history with a half-finished slide deck because I forgot what day it was. 

    I’d rather not fade away because I was too gay to function. 

    When I do get home, I smile, knowing that everything’s back to how it should be. 

    By which I mean lots of screaming and an immortal ice yeti that for some stars forsaken reason won’t get shattered into a million pieces.

#kotlc #detz #dex dizznee #fitz vacker #kotlc fanfic

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

Hi there!

I read that short drabble resulting in something of a 'Blood DI5 accident' Au with demon-blood-youths muses and yours. I read the one with Rust and Breezy but what of the others? Can get another short drabble of another pair? :3

((Hello there anon dear, hope your well today. I see that you read that short drabble an anon requested a few days back. Glad you liked it. But If you like sure, I can write another one for you too. Just a moment. And to say a reminder Jaron belongs to @demon-blood-youths ))

Silver butterfly mun/Peahen mom

It's been a few days since the accident. Even now from the hidden areas of a dark New York City, it was never the same again. The people were in hiding, the demons roam the streets, infecting other demons to spread the virus out. The fractions are missing and split up into teams or so. Seems like another dark blood moon night tonight as a pair was sitting but one was bandaging the other.

The ticking of a clock near by was the only noise heard, the sound of bandaging as well. Jaron Jackal was carefully being bandaged now but he was looking down as Melinda Brooks was careful. Ever since that day of the accident, she along with the others got separated. He was separated from the DBT while Melinda was separated from the cursed Vixens.

However, that's not what really worried her. Jaron was looking silent but he was trying to keep himself calm. His white hat was still on top of his black afro hair but he was looking really tired. "There, all fixed up. A...are you alright?" she asked but he slowly nods to rest against the pillow.

"Go...good. I'm going to try getting some food for you. Just rest here alright?" she said seeing he slowly nod but she was more worried to check the food they were able to get from traveling around. She was worried but it's only because of what happened.

Jaron was infected.

He got the DI5 infection where he craves demon blood for a while or sometimes. He got this way due to saving Melinda from another poor soul infected before it got her. He took the bite and that risk. Now, she was told and read up that he had to drink demon's blood but he hasn't as much.

All she knew was this: "Although infected demons can eat human food and other things normally, they still need to drink demon blood to ease the urges off. Ignoring will make them feel sick and be in pain."

"........." She wanted to help him as much as possible but she also hopes he will stay strong. After she fixed some food, she turns to go to him. He was resting on the side while looking at his hands. She can see his eyes half way open but noticed the new pair of sharp teeth between his lips.

"J..Jaron? Here, can you try eating something?" she asked as he heard her to slowly sit up as she sits down by him showing the hot food she was able to make. She hopes he will eat it. Getting some from the bowl, she begins feeding him as he eats. It tasted good to close his eyes chewing then swallowing. At first, Jaron was eating the food as normal after getting infected but at other times, he wouldn't eat anymore feeling sick. Seems he was alright but when eating another bit, he couldn't eat anymore.

"Jaron, what's wrong?" she saw him look down but looks at his lap.

"I..I'm f..fine...just..I don't think I can eat anymore....." he mutters but Melinda was quiet to holding the bowl and sets it on the table.

"Why? Ar...are you sick?" she asked, reaching to take his hand but she got silent feeling it shaking. This worried her that she slowly turns to face him. "Jaron....do you need to...." she started to say but he looks to the side looking at the wall.

"N..No..No, I'm fine. I d..don't need to again.." he lied even if Melinda knew better. When he sounds like this he did. Jaron was growing hungry for demon blood again. She sighed to take his hand.

"You're lying. You need to eat again don't you?.." she said but he looks to see her about to lift her arm when he stops her. She looks to him but Jaron looks down. It was taking all of his will power not to eat from her.

"Don't...I'm fine really. I don't need to eat. I'll be fine, Melinda honest." he said but he looks to her and to the side.

"But you do. You know what will happen if you don't eat. I don't want to lose you due to that...if you need to eat then please eat-"

"It's not that simple, M..Melinda. I just can't....keep eating from you like food. I don't want to..h..hurt you.." he said softly to look at their hands but Melinda looks to him.

"Your not but if you don't eat you won't be able to focus. You'll end up attacking who you think is food and I don't want that. You have to eat Jaron please.." she said worried but he looks down not wanting to hurt her. He didn't want to.

"...N..No no. I'm f..f..fine..really I'm......" he started to tell him this before he winces feeling a sudden pain in his stomach. Melinda looks wondering if he was alright but he was hugging himself suddenly feeling weak again but shook from the sudden pain.

"Jaron?!"

He didn't respond but looks down to lay on his side twitching. The cravings were coming again but he was trying to ignore them. However, they were more painful this time. Melinda was more worried seeing this but he was twitching from the pain.

"Jaron? Jaron, come on! You have to-"

"I..I can't! I don't want t..to hurt anyone. I don't wanna hurt you.." he speaks in a weak tired tone but Melinda saw him shaking. He seriously was fighting this but she sighed to look at him but touch his cheek to see him tense.

"...If you don't eat..I'll have to for...force you to and I can d...do that. I don't wish to but if it me..means you eating.." she said but he looks to her.

"Y..You...."

"Please....." She looks to him but Jaron said nothing to him being helped to sit up but she gets in front of him that she sees him looking down. She knew he was scared even from this but she didn't want him to get sick or lose himself to that hunger.

"......."

Melinda looks to him but she gently hugs him while feeling worried. "I know your scared but you have to trust me. I'll be fine but you have to eat..I won't let you lose to this infection Jaron. So...just do this for me because you did save me and I owe you for that....but I know you would've done the same thing for me.." She looks down but her own eyes were half way open.

Jaron's own eyes were looking at her but he grips the sheets in his hands. He didn't want to hurt her, he didn't but the urges were bad that she didn't move while he rests his hand on her hand.

"H..Here, you c..can eat..I'll be alright." she said lifting her wrist to him but Jaron lowers it that made her think he was rejecting it. "Your still not going to-"

Suddenly, he pushes her down on her back to hold her wrists above her head. She had her eyes closed but she didn't move. Jaron knew he shouldn't but he looks quiet while he looks at her.

".......I...I'm sorry I.."

"I..It's okay. I'll be okay......" she said looking to him worried. "I..I rather you e..eat than lose t.. to the infection. I'll be alright..so please..." she turns her head to show her neck to him or shoulder whatever works for him.

"........" Jaron didn't say anything else but he lowers down but he did gently kiss her forehead as a sorry but he then moves to rest his lips or between the neck and shoulder. His eyes were half way open even if they were glowing from the stupid infection cravings. The upper part of his face was hidden in the dark of the room while he closed his eyes half way a little. His own eyes showing the same orange glow.

"A..are you sure about this? I really don't wanna hurt you.." He speaks in a quiet tone against her neck but Melinda didn't move feeling her face warm.

"I..I'm sure. I'll be alright so g..go ahead and eat..."

Before long, he grips the shirt sleeve to pull it down before suddenly sinking his own sharp teeth into her skin.

She hissed a little from the slight sting, gripping the pillow near by with a whimper. He draws blood from her as she winces but she feels him eating. She didn't mind him drinking from her but it was to keep him sane. Her face was flushed pink from the stinging but she bares through it.

She won't lose him to the infection, she'll help him no matter the cost.

#OOC #scattered silver rose petals #ask answered #mun answered #silver butterfly mun #peahen mom #the mansion owner #older jaron #older melinda #The DI5 infection accident au #anon #short drabble #The fractions of NYC #peahen writer

[phantom-ellie]

The Art of (Smashing) Crockery Chapter 12: Directions

Summary: Stede's family life begins to fall apart.

Click here for CWs/Full Chapter List

The thing about coming home at 4 am after a rousing company party is that you get to decide to sleep in while your kids head off to school. And since said party had involved maiming, mayhem, fire, and assault, you may not feel the need to call in sick to work that day, or show up at all, especially if your sperm donor who hit you in the face happens to be there. That seems reasonable.

Which is what Stede tells himself when he finally pulls himself out of bed at 1 pm. He checks his phone to blissful silence, which he hopes isn’t an angry silence coming from his wife. There’s no sign of her in the house. Feeling the need to apologize in some way, he shoots off a text offering to pick up the kids from school. She returns a thumbs-up emoji, which could of course mean anything at all.

He gets Louis in the car seat with some effort while Alma buckles herself in, old enough to take care of herself. When did that happen? Stede starts the car and drives.

“So… how was trick-or-treating?”

Alma looks out the window. “It was good.”

“Mmhmm? Did you get a lot of candy?”

Louis beams in excitement. “Yeah! I got three big Snickers bars!”

“Oh, wow! I didn’t know people still gave those out.”

Alma rolls her eyes. “They don’t. I’m pretty sure Doug just slipped them in our bags.”

Stede’s smile falls from his face. “Doug? Who’s Doug?”

Alma sighs and looks out the window. “He’s mom’s new art teacher. He came trick-or-treating with us.”

“Oh. That seems… he sounds… nice? Is he nice?”

Louis smiles. “Yeah! He always likes the drawings I give him.”

“The draw… well, that’s good to hear. I’m glad you had a nice time.” The cogs in Stede’s head spin so fast the rust flings right off of them. But he has to keep smiling. They deserve to see him smile.

Louis hasn’t drawn anything for Stede in months.

---

The eighth time it happens it isn’t some stranger Ed doesn’t know anymore, but his friend, Stede. Ed wonders how much of this is Stede wanting to spend time with a friend, and how much is still just blowing off steam.

“Thank god you’re open today, Ed.” Stede sighs, throwing cash on the counter.So we’re back here, then. Ed grabs the money and sets Stede up for his forty minutes.

“Still have a job?”

“Oh, I don’t know, probably. I didn’t bother showing up.” Stede waves it off. “It’s not important today.”

Ed looks at Stede with concern. “Everything all right?”

Stede shakes his head. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I think my wife is… cheating on me?” He looks at Ed, as if Ed would be able to tell him for sure.

“Uh, wow, that’s a lot to unwrap. You don’t know for sure?”

“No, she might just have a friend. A friend who is… my replacement… in some things.” Stede sighs. “Sorry Ed, I’m just vomiting words, I shouldn’t have said anything. I just need to work through some things.”

“Yeah, I’ll say. You know, you could always… talk it through?”

“Oh, that’s nice of you to offer, but actually I just came here to rage tonight-”

“I meant with your wife. You know, communicate?”

Stede’s shoulders fall. “I know. I will. Probably. But let me do this first.”

And Ed does. Stede is his own person. Ed needs the business. Those hideous porcelain rabbits he found aren’t going to smash themselves.

Stede enters the room and assumes the position. Ed can’t help but pipe his voice into the room.

“Song request?” Stede nods and makes his request. The baseball bat claims many victims that day, L’enfer et Moi blasting angrily through the speakers.

---

Excerpt from blog Hear Something Weird:

Here's some music, not sure anyone reads this anyway. Directions - Nahko and Medicine for the People & Joseph. It must be so comforting to have someone to call on.

Comments:

LuciFlawless: i think some people have therapists for that PainInTheBoatswain: I advise leaving an offering of ale to Seonaidh at the pier, but Karl says that if it is vengeance you seek, the Morrigan is a better choice LuciFlawless: seriously buttons? no

Chapter 13

#ofmd modern au #modern alternate universe #ellie modern au #cross posted on ao3 #ofmd fanfic #our flag means death fanfic #ellie aosc

[softvoicemonty]

Waste Deep Chapter 2: "Definitely a metaphor."

Harvel wiped the condensation from his glasses and yawned. He always slept on the cart ride back up to the station. He never managed to get too much sleep, at least not enough for the nightmares to start up. That usually happened at the three hour mark, but he was honestly just glad to catch any sleep when he could.

He rubbed the side of his head with his palm. The steady, gentle, rocking motion of the cart had been interrupted by a violent jarring, causing Harvel to slip down from Dibbuks shin and slam his head on the floor. It had made a reverberating "Poong!" sound upon impact.

'Selby did mention rusted joints somewhere. Guess he wasn't kidding about the rough ride.' He thought while he watched Mary curse at the controls. Varying iterations of "Bullshit!" and "God damn it!" were coming in a steady stream.

She gave up for a moment, throwing her hands up in frustration. She resumed fiddling with the panel for a second before kicking the controls. When that didn't seem to work she gave Don, who had been sleeping in the corner, the same treatment. "Get up idiot. We got problems." She growled, her lips barely moving.

Feeling slightly more refreshed than he had a few hours prior, Harvel put on a smile and attempted to shake Dibbuk awake. She shook her head drowsily and mumbled something incoherent. Harvel sighed, 'fuck it, might as well let her sleep until we get to the station.' He thought, looking out of the cart window.

Wondering what line they were on, Harvel glanced out of the carts porthole. The lights that lit the tunnel shone blue as they crept past. If they were on the blue line now, they'd have to switch over to the red line before they hit the five mile mark. Any further than that and they would start going in a circle.

Don finally stirred almost a full minute after Mary had set her boot shaped alarm clock off into his side. "Ugh, we hit the switch station yet Mary?" He grumbled, still half asleep, or drunk. You could never tell with Don.

"Uh, no. I think we're still somewhere under Lamb street." Harvel interjected, pulling his pack off and setting it in front of him. He was starting to feel the little knot in his stomach that told him he was hungry. He rifled through its contents until he found the crumpled up fruit bar he'd thrown in a week ago.

It was made of buunchal, a watermelon shaped fruit indigenous to the planet. His mom had always told him they tasted like pears but seeing as he'd never tasted a pear this made no real difference to him. She didn't know what pears tasted like either. It was just what everyone said if you asked. He took a second to wonder if everyone just thought this was what pears tasted like. If anyone alive at this point had ever really eaten one.

The bar was in pieces after its rough journey at the bottom of his pack. 'There might be some sort of metaphor here.' He thought fiddling with the plastic. The fruit itself looked like it might've gone bad. 'Hmm, definitely a metaphor.' He tossed the pieces into his mouth as he waited for Mary to fully stop the cart. He knew he'd have to be the one to check the rails.

The cart ground to a halt just as he was popping the last piece into his gullet. Mary shook her head and sighed. "Harvel can you go check exactly what it is that's making that noise? If the joints were just rusty we would be fine but something must be real fucked up for it to be that goddamn loud." She said still smacking the edge of the panel a few times for good measure.

"Already ahead of you." Harvel replied, draping the strap of his shotgun over his shoulder and clicking on the flashlight. This sort of thing wasn't all that uncommon. Both the carts and the rails were older than his family could go back in generations. They were about as reliable as the word of a used boat salesman.

The boarding ramp of the cart opened to a pipe about the size of a triple decker bus. Harvel stopped the ramp at about half way and walked out to the edge, trying to not shake the cabin. He lifted his gun up to shine the flashlight on the rails. He could see rusted cracks running along the rail and off into the distance.

"Well, I can see the rust, but I'm gonna have to go up top to find out what's really wrong." He shouted back into the cabin, a grimace quickly forming on his face. He really didn't like getting on top of the carts. The footing was bad and there was nothing besides the rail to hang on to if you slipped. Seeing as the rails were consistently coated in a thick greasy grime, hanging on to one was barely a pretense to falling.

The environment suits they wore had a tethering unit built into them. He pulled the inch and a half thick tether out and hooked onto the middle rung of the ladder that led to the top of the cart. He climbed the rungs, nearly slipping on the second to last.

Cresting the top of the cart he instantly understood what had happened. A fatburg from a pipe above them had gotten too heavy and broken through the top of the tunnel. It was laying on the rail and blocking the front right wheel from moving. It was most likely what had caused the rust as well.

Harvel carefully made his way up and over to the affected wheel. It wasn't so bad, but it had wrapped around the wheel itself. He pulled a canister of fast acting solvent from his chest pocket and sprayed the wheel and chunk of fatburg liberally. After a few seconds he realized that it wasn't going to be enough to get the job done.

Using the butt of his shotgun he tried to just knock the chunk out of the way with minimal results. Between the solvent and his regular strikes he could see that he was making some headway, but it was a long way from efficient. After a minute or so he stopped to catch his breath and immediately regretted it.

He heard a sickeningly familiar clicking and chattering coming from behind the cart. He shut his eyes and slowly turned his head to see exactly what he had been fearing. At least six warrior davy ants were making their way toward the cart, and he knew there were more pouring in behind them. This was a very, very bad development for him.

"Mary! Start the cart! We've got warriors incoming!" He shouted down into the cabin. He felt the carts engines roar into life as confirmation that she'd heard him. Harvel turned back to the wheel, resuming his strikes with frantic abandon. Through the sweat pouring into his eyes he could see the wheel beginning to move.

He looked back for just a moment to check on the advancing ants. They were mere seconds away from the back of the cart. He didn't have time left for caution. "Fucking gun it! Fucking gun it!" He screamed back down into the cabin.

The cart lurched like a beached whale and the wheel broke free. In his infinite wisdom, Harvel had forgotten to grab a better hand hold and the sudden motion of the cart made him lose his footing. He watched, in what felt like slow motion, as the cart seemed to pass right by him, before the tether snapped taught and pulled him along with it.

He felt his side slam into the boarding ramp, still half open. Pain quickly spread along his left side like fire. With tears forming in his eyes he could see Dibbuk standing at the base of the ramp, about to make a grab for him. For a moment, hope of a safe but daring escape filled him. Then he noticed the hook on his tether was bending. With a barely audible "Ping" the hook snapped, and then he was falling.

He didn't even have time to scream before he hit the thick sludge that lay at the bottom of the pipe. Sliding into the muck like a flailing meteor, he could almost make out the lights of the cart disappearing into the distance. He knew they wouldn't be coming back. He was well and truly on his own this time. He immediately glanced behind him to see that most of the ants had seemingly given up chase.

They must have moved at least a thousand feet from where they were stuck, as he could no longer see where the fatburg had broken through. He breathed a short sigh of relief before hobbling up onto his feet. This relief was short lived as he watched the sludge begin to shift around him. He knew what was coming, he just had no idea what to do about it.

'I am utterly fucked' was the only thought he could muster before it hit him. If the giant muck centipede hadn't grabbed him first try he might have been able to run away, but he would only be so lucky. He held his breath as the giant tube of legs and pincers dragged him through the muck for a solid three seconds.

It had grabbed him from the right side and was trying to cut him in half with it's two massive mandibles. He had been extremely lucky as his shotgun was trapped in between his chest and the bastards jaw. He felt the centipede loosen its grip for just a moment as it chewed on his gun, and took the opportunity to curl up and wedge his feet into it's maw. His shotgun was pinned to his chest and pointing away from the head of the 2 ton insect.

He used what little power he had in his legs to pry open the jaws, just enough to allow the shotgun to slip under his armpit. He could feel the pain as the barbs of the centipedes pincer dug further into his back. It was now or never. Before it could attempt to drown him again, he used his elbow to break one of the antennae on the top of the monsters head.

In the moment that the centipede reacted to the pain sandwich it had just inadvertently ordered, Harvel was able to slip his arm down and back, fumbling for the shotguns handle. He found the safety and clicked it out of place. With extreme force, he jammed the barrel into the bottom of the bastards head and pulled the trigger.

All movement stopped in the matter of a second. Having closed his eyes in anticipation of a slow and painful death, Harvel wrestled himself free of the now limp centipedes grip before he could even open them. He felt each barb rip free as he did. He stood there for a second to catch his breath and try to calm down but his rage got the better of him. "Fuck you! Stupid! Fucking! Bug! Fuuuuuuck!" He screamed, punctuating each word with a forceful kick to the remains of the centipedes head.

He slumped down onto his knees and panted, using the centipedes body to lay on. He could feel blood pooling in the back of his suit. The barbs had done exactly what they were designed to do.

As much as he would've liked to just lay there and sleep, he remembered the ants. He couldn't stay here. Not if he didn't want to end up as ant shit. He knew they would come to investigate the commotion like any good neighborhood watch association.

The ants aside, he felt like he was being watched. It wouldn't be another centipede. They were lone predators, fiercely territorial, and as big as this one was it must have ruled this level for a few miles. He was surprised that the ants had even risked coming after them.

He knew he had about 12 extra shells on him save for the four already loaded into the shotgun, but that wouldn't do him too much good against the warriors. They each took three at the very least. His back was torn up pretty badly and at this rate if he didn't get it looked at quick infection would set in. He checked his legs to make sure they still worked and grabbed his shotgun.

As he wrapped the strap over his shoulder, he felt that something about the weapon was off. He held it up to his eye to sight in and realization dawned. The barrel was bent in at least a 15 degree angle. It must've bent when the centipede had tried to chew him in half the first time. It was a miracle that it hadn't exploded as soon as he'd fired it.

The feeling of being watched was still there. Like the hand of a large man wrapped around the back of his neck. He couldn't tell if he was shuddering due to adrenaline or fear but it didn't really matter at this point. He had to move either way.

Begrudgingly thankful that he'd been (if only slightly) lucky, he made his way down the pipe. Keeping an eye on the sludge he trudged through and his shotgun ready, he stopped to listen every few hundred feet. It didn't sound like the ants were after him. They most likely had found the centipede and were enjoying the spoils of his currently unfolding near death experience.

The switch station was only about a mile and a half away and he figured he would reach it within an hour. Dibbuk and the rest of the team would probably be there posted up, waiting for him to make his way to them. If he managed to make it that far this might be a hell of a story.

Even the scouts that had their names plastered all over the pump station had never taken down pedes by themselves. He might even get a few days off. He hoped.

He had to stop a few times to catch his breath and to keep himself from losing consciousness. However much blood he was hemorrhaging from his back, it must have been more than he'd thought. Every step felt like he was throwing his legs at the ground. He only really stayed upright by locking his knees as he put weight on them. Any bend and he'd either lose his strength or his balance, and he didn't need any more sewage in his pants.

It took Harvel another 45 minutes but he reached the switch station faster than he had predicted. As he had hoped, he could see the cart parked just outside the switch station. Multiple large spotlights were shining down the tunnel, occasionally blinding him. He held up his arm to block the light, now settled directly on him.

"Harvel! That you?!" He heard Dibbuk shout from behind the source of the light. Harvel was so tired he looked down to check. "Yeah! Think so!" He bellowed back, wiping some of the grime away from his jacket. He had only just noticed how much muck was caked to his entire person.

He didn't get any further response, but he did hear what must have been Dibbuk jumping down into the pipe. He would have sped up but with the punctures in his suit the cold had really started to seep in. He could barely feel his chest and he knew the muck had gotten in and was now semi frozen within his suit.

He decided to save his energy and stood there. He only noticed that he was shaking when he looked down to see the large ripples emanating from his legs, still calf deep in waste. For the first time since he'd fallen off of the cart he had some time to actually process what had just happened.

He hadn't really felt fear while it was going down. At least, not as he understood it. He had just sort of reacted. He had been as close to death an hour ago as he had ever been. He hadn't thought about that. He'd only thought about what to do next.

'That's a good thing right? I mean it's not like I'm not afraid of dying. I just didn't consider it when it was about to happen.' He thought, allowing gravity to finally set in and slumping down onto the curve of the pipe that was still dry.

Dibbuk was getting close now, her rifle trained on the darkness behind him. He decided to leave all the deep thoughts for when he had time for them. For now, he decided he was tired. And hungry still for what it was worth.

As he closed his eyes he felt Dibbuks claw close around his shoulders. "C'mon, we gotta get you to a doctor. What happened with the ants?" She asked, gently pulling him backwards, one arm still aiming the rifle.

"No problem with ants. Caught by a centipede. Killed it. Walked back." He mumbled, his tongue lazily serving up the words. He was too tired for annunciation at the moment. His back was beginning to burn like hot coals in each wound.

He tried to open his eyes but all he could see were the trails his boots were leaving in the muck.

If you've made it this far, thank you for reading. Hopefully you enjoyed it enough to continue on to the next chapter.

#satirical #mystery #science-fiction #original #horror #mystery-thriller #original work #underground

[wolferine]

Heart Skips a Beat - Part 4

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha faces her worst nightmare when a rescue mission goes wrong…

Warnings: Violence, blood, torture

Word count: 2843

Part 3

Tags: @blkmxrvel @blackxwidowsxwife @marvelwomen-simp @phoenixofash @marvels-bitch-boy @when-wolves-howl @bitterlime13 @hallecarey1 @orangewheein @unexpected-character

AN: I apologize if some tags don’t work! Tumblr can’t find some of your usernames.

After listening to Steve’s plan, all four of you—technically five, since Bucky had to tag along—take the Quinjet to Siberia. The goal was to break out the five soldiers in Bucky’s former task force and bring them back to the Avengers Tower, where there was the technology to free their minds from HYDRA. 

Each of you were armed with a mask which would spray a powerful sedative into the face it was applied to, keeping the victim unconscious until it was removed. It was the simplest solution to taking down the super soldiers—when Bucky had been skeptical, Natasha had slapped a mask on him and he was out before he hit the floor. You were pretty sure you pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.

Now, you and Natasha sat in the cockpit while the others sat behind you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky says suddenly.

“Yeah?” You don’t even look over your shoulder.

“I’m…sorry for shooting you.”

“Twice,” you clarify. “I didn’t forget the count.”

“Sorry,” he repeats.

“Well, as long as you don’t mistake me for Steve again, I’ll be okay,” you say with a chuckle.

“So, just to reiterate our plan, Bucky will be with me and Clint, and Nat, you’ll be with Y/N,” Steve says.

“Even Captain America knows better than to break up the power couple.” You grin and reach over to put your hand on her thigh. Without taking her eyes off the controls, she takes your hand and interlocks your fingers.

“Yeah, so you two just do your thing—” Steve catches himself. “Wait, not that kind of thing.”

Clint explodes into wheezy laughter and Natasha shakes her head, her cheeks reddening. You’re not embarrassed like she is, but you’re still quick to defend yourselves.

“It was one time!” you protest. It had been a mission where everything that could’ve gone wrong did, and you and Natasha were convinced it would be your last. You two decided to end it wrapped around each other, but then the rest of the Avengers had barged in and said there had been a miscommunication and it wasn’t the end of the world after all. It was the one mission you would never live down.

“Just keep it professional, please,” Steve begs. “No matter what happens, we’re all going home alive, okay?”

Bucky looks completely lost.

Natasha lands the Quinjet in a flurry of snow and all of you exit the warmth of the plane.

“I should’ve brought one of your hoodies,” she mumbles, walking as close to you as she can without tripping you. 

“It would’ve clashed with your uniform,” you say, putting your arm around her waist. The super soldier serum in your veins causes you to run a higher-than-average body temperature. You feel as comfortable as if you stepped out of hot shower.

The facility is the only building for miles. It looks big enough to fit a space rocket and has a dull, concrete exterior. The only security is a chain-link fence with a frozen padlock that Steve breaks open with his shield. You file through the gate, and Bucky inputs a code into the door to grant everyone entry. The interior is just as disappointing as the outside. Nothing but a maze of concrete halls with metal doors. The ceiling has dripping water stains and an uncomfortably musty, moldy smell hangs in the air.

“I bet you’re really glad you escaped this rust bucket,” you say to Bucky. He only shakes his head.

“Stay alert,” Steve advises. “We’ll split here. Keep us updated on your position and if you find anyone.”

“Copy that.” You and Natasha turn right while the others turn left. She finds a flight of stairs and you follow behind her. You unholster your gun, holding it at the ready by your side. Natasha makes random turns and ignores every room you walk by. You listen intently for any sort of noise that would indicate a person lurking in the shadows, but so far, there’s nothing.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” you ask.

“Do you?” she snaps.

“Hey, I’m just following you.” You back off. Even though you know this is no time to be making jokes, you still can’t help yourself. High-stress situations make you nervous, especially when you’re with Natasha, because anything that could happen to you could happen to her.

When you pass by a room with its door open, you see a large glass tank big enough to fit a human and filled with murky green water. For a reason you can’t explain, you feel yourself drawn towards it and you step into the room, a chill raising goosebumps on your skin. You reach out to touch the tank’s wall and close your eyes.

You’re floating in a tank of your own, tubes running out of your nose, mouth, and down every limb. You jerk around wildly in the water tinged pink with your blood. Your lungs seize for air, but every breath you inhale is wet and salty.

“Shall we go another round?” you hear someone on the other side say.

“Might as well. No pain, no gain, right?” someone replies.

You want to bash your hands against the glass, but you’re too weak to have any control over your movements. You feel a sharp pain in your lower back, at the base of your spine, and your body arches as more drugs are pumped into you. You have no breath to scream with as your body twists in agony. It feels like a fire eating you from the inside out, burning through your bones, and you want nothing more than to wither away to ash...

“Hey.” You jump when you feel Natasha’s hand on your shoulder. “What are you doing in here?”

“Um, I…I thought I heard something,” you lie. Natasha frowns. Like Steve and Bucky, you had been a lab rat yourself, although not to SHIELD or HYDRA. You had been passed around other government agencies—at least, that’s what you think. Most of your memories of that time were fuzzy, which you were fine with. The ones you did remember weren’t worth reliving anyway.

“Y/N.” Natasha looks concerned.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” You don’t want to interrupt the mission with your personal problems.

She knows better than to push you, especially at a time like this. “Okay,” she says, leaving the room. You take a minute to collect yourself. When you finally turn around, you see a black-haired woman, shorter than Natasha even, standing in the doorway in the same vest Bucky had worn the first time you met him.

“Hello,” you say, holstering your gun. You’re not going to shoot someone who looks like she’s barely of age. “You must be one of the super soldiers Bucky told me about. Who was your target supposed to be? Romanoff?” you tease.

“Thor.” The woman’s voice is dainty. Her body is literally the size of one of Thor’s arms. There’s no way she’s telling the truth.

You laugh. “That’s cute. But this is no place for a kid,” you say, walking towards her. But she sees that you’re too casual, your guard let down too low, and takes advantage of that. “Now all I need is for you to put this mask on and—”

The woman launches at you with a speed you don’t even process. She swipes your legs out from under you, causing you to crash on your back. Then she’s on top of you, hands around your throat. You reach into your pocket for your knife, all jokes lost with her attempt to take your life.

You flip the blade out and swing at her face, but she’s quick to dodge and rolls to the side. You jump to your feet, wondering where Natasha is. But you’re too embarrassed to call for her help, even if this soldier claims she was given the task of taking out the god of thunder.

The woman is impossibly fast and she lands blow after blow on you while you stagger back and slash out helplessly with your knife. When she kicks you in the stomach and your back collides into the water tank, you’ve had enough. 

You switch your knife to your left hand and aim for the woman’s neck. She grabs your wrist and twists it around so the knife turns towards you. Your eyes widen as she puts her entire body weight behind the knife. The blade sinks into your shoulder.

“What the—” You don’t even register the pain, more upset that you’ve been harmed with your own weapon. The woman grins, distracted, and you punch her in the throat as hard as you can. Her eyes bulge and she coughs, her hands flying to her neck. 

You take the mask out of your pocket and shove it onto her face, hearing the hiss as the sedative is instantly released. The woman immediately goes limp and you have no problem letting her drop to the floor.

“Y/N!” You look up and see Natasha staring at you, arms crossed over her chest.

“I got one.” You puff out your chest proudly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Natasha comes over and inspects the soldier’s limp body.

“I didn’t need to. I handled her all by myself,” you say, a little annoyed by her doubt in your abilities.

“Is that a knife in your shoulder?” she asks.

“I…Oh, yeah—” 

“Is that your knife?” Being called out hurts more than the actual pain of having the knife in your shoulder.

“Uh…maybe…” You can’t even look her in the eye.

“Y/N,” Natasha growls. “Here, let me take it out.”

You back up until you hit the tank again. “Wait, shouldn’t we—ow!” you yelp as Natasha jerks the knife out.

“You’ve been through worse.” She tries to hand you the knife, but you shake your head, too embarrassed to continue carrying it with you since you obviously can’t be trusted with it. She shrugs and pockets your knife, taking out some gauze and tape to patch up your wound. You rotate your left arm in circles; besides an uncomfortable twinge, it works fine. 

“So, what do we do with her body?” you ask.

“We’ll come back. We need to find the other three first.”

“Three? I thought there were four.” You try to do the math in your head. Bucky had said there five super soldiers, and you had just defeated one, meaning there were four left—

“Three,” Natasha repeats and you look at her in confusion. “Mine’s outside.” Unlike you, there wasn’t a single scratch on her. Together, you leave the room and find a man slumped on the floor, a mask on his face.

“When did this happen?” you ask.

Natasha shrugs, but you can tell she’s extremely proud of herself. “When you were busy dealing with that little girl.”

“Excuse me. According to her, her target was Thor,” you say. “So, I just took out the soldier who was supposed to take down the god of thunder.”

“Yeah, you can keep telling yourself that.” Natasha nudges you playfully.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey, are you two okay?” Steve asks in your earpiece.

“We disabled two soldiers on the second floor,” Natasha responds.

“Perfect. We got two down here as well.”

“Who did you take out?” Clint asks.

“This tiny woman and a guy,” you answer.

“How big was the guy?” Bucky asks.

“Maybe around your size?” you estimate, staring down at the soldier Natasha subdued.

“Okay, because the two we took out were also average-sized dudes. The last one—I was hoping it wouldn’t come down to this—he’s an absolute beast. I think he’s almost seven-feet tall and could bench press a plane with one hand,” Bucky says.

“So whoever takes him out wins,” you say. Between you and Natasha, you were certain you could win any fight.

“You’re on,” Clint says.

Natasha and you leave the soldiers where they lay and search the rest of the floor. This time, you take the lead, a little more cautious since you know what to expect. You head up to the third floor, expecting the last soldier to jump out at any moment. The tension of waiting to find him is almost unbearable and your muscles ache from being coiled so tightly.

“You guys find him yet?” Natasha asks through the earpieces.

“Negative.”

Suddenly, a moving shadow catches your eye and you throw out your arm to stop Natasha. A man steps out from around the corner and Bucky wasn’t lying about his size. He’s so tall the top of his head disappears behind the ceiling beams and he looks like he would sweep any bodybuilding competition he entered.

“Never mind, we found him. Third floor,” Natasha mumbles.

“Don’t engage him alone.” That’s Steve’s voice. “Try to stall—”

“Too late” you want to say as the man charges towards you. There is no way you two are taking him down without the use of any weapons; plus, you don’t have any more masks to use. But if you punched or kicked him, you wouldn’t be able to reach his face without catching airtime. You run backwards, fumbling with your options. An idea pops into your head.

“Maybe he has a safe word, too,” you say, crashing into Natasha and shoving her back. “Lizzie! Karen!” you scream the first names that come to you. “It could be a guy’s name—can’t assume anything, right? Chris! Tom! Mark!” The names have no effect other than making you look like an idiot.

“Shut up, Y/N—” Natasha hisses.

The man roars and reaches out, grabbing a fistful of your shirt. He throws you like a javelin and you can’t believe how far you fly, landing on your stomach and skidding another 30 feet.

Natasha tries engaging him, and although she’s faster than him, any punch or kick she lands goes completely unnoticed by him. The man flings her aside like a sack of flour and comes towards you.

You reach for your gun, but before you can bring it up, he kicks it out of your hand and stomps on it. The barrel literally flattens before your eyes, and you roll onto your back to face him. He lifts his foot, which is easily as big as your calf, and brings it down on your right knee.

CRUNCH.

The pain of your leg snapping in half is so blinding and nauseating you don’t even scream. It feels like someone is holding a blow torch to your bones and your entire body starts trembling in shock. The man scoops you up with an arm leveraged underneath your chin, and once you’re upright, you feel the lower half of your right leg dangling like a broken branch.

He lifts you high enough so your feet don’t touch the floor, leaving you scrabbling at his arm and choking on your saliva. Your vision flashes white and you feel the overwhelming urge to vomit as he spins you around to face Natasha.

She has her gun out, pointed at his head. “Put Y/N down,” she orders.

“And what if I don’t?” the man says in a voice that sounds like it came from the depths of the ocean. “You think you can shoot me before I can break a neck?” He squeezes you harder and you whimper.

Natasha pauses to think, and her eyes dart to the side before looking back at the man. “Okay, okay.” She sets her gun on the floor and raises her hands. “Just please don’t—”

“Kick it towards me.” The man crushes your windpipe like a straw and your eyes water.

Natasha reaches out with her foot and sends the gun spinning towards you and your captor. Suddenly, the man tosses you away and when you crumple on your broken leg, you swear you see purgatory. 

“Get on your knees,” the man tells Natasha. She doesn’t obey. “I said, get on your knees!” Very slowly, with a defiant look on her face, she drops to her knees one at a time. The man picks up her gun and holds it in front of her face. “I’ve been waiting years to finally meet you, Agent Romanoff.”

“Well, sorry for not coming around sooner.”

“My comrades may not have been successful in eliminating their targets, but I don’t fail,” the man says.

Natasha looks away from him to you. “I love you,” she calls, as casually as if you two were lounging on the couch watching a movie together.

You blink away tears to make eye contact with her. You can’t move, you have no weapons, and he has a gun pointed at her head. The complete helplessness you feel hurts more than your broken leg, more than Bucky’s gunshots had, more than any pain you’ve ever felt before. There’s a thousand things you want to tell her, but you only have time to say one.

“I love you t—”

But there isn’t even enough time for you to finish your sentence, because suddenly Natasha’s face is covered in blood.

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

Click here for Part 5!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #black widow fanfiction #black widow #marvel

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Howdy! I got an ask/react for the Fo4 companions! How would a romanced companion react to Sole (preferably female) doing things to make them feel 'stronger' or 'protective' over her? Some random examples: Sole "can't" open something and has to ask for help/Sole conveniently forgets her overcoat when she knows it's going to be cold out, etc. the little things :) (Extra thing: you don't have to but if you could go into a bit more depth for Deacon and Hancock's response that'd be great :D )

Okay, this was so. much. fun. I took a few... creative liberties with the prompt, but I hope it’s still in the realm of what you were looking for! And, of course, thank you so much for the ask! I hope you like it!

Cait: 

     Sole pressed a cold cloth to Cait's cheekbone, and she hissed at the pressure of the contact on her swollen cheek. 

"Shit, sorry, Cait." 

"Eh, I've had worse licks than this."

"I know, but still… this one is definitely my fault." 

"It's hardly yer fault, luv, I'm the one who got meself inte this."

"How? I'm the one who started the fight." Sole protested, pulling her hand back so she could look her companion in the eye. 

"Maybe, but I'm the one who gave you yer drinkin’ problem, and that's what got us inte the fight in the first place." Sole chuckled at that, shaking her head. The two had had this discussion what seemed like a hundred times, both trying to take the blame for the constant slew of bar fights that they found themselves getting into. 

Tonight, it had been four intoxicated men who had decided it was a neat idea to discuss the details of what they’d do to Cait if they could get her drunk enough. While the redhead hadn’t seemed to hear, Sole had briskly made her way over to the group to give her two cents on these ideas of theirs. So, Cait had a point, maybe if Sole hadn’t had quite so much whiskey, she could’ve tried to solve the problem more... verbally. But alas, her confrontation had officially started with her fist landing at the temple of the man nearest to her, effectively knocking him out. And it had ended with Cait hauling Sole to her feet after disposing of the man’s companions. 

Cait picked absent-mindedly at the scabs forming on her knuckles as Sole brought the wet rag up to her face once more, dabbing at the blood next to Cait's lip. 

"God, how is it that you always end up with the injuries? All I got was a bruise to the cheek, and yet, here you are, looking like a human punching bag."

"I can tell ya that. It's cus it's always me rushin' in te save your arse. Why do you always take on more than ye can handle?" Sole snickered, not knowing if Cait found her own words as amusing as she had. 

"Because, I know no matter how many assholes I take on, you'll always be there to save me." Cait made a disgusted sound, rolling her eyes at that, much like Sole thought she would, before letting her emerald gaze meet Sole's eyes. 

"I wish you weren't, but yer damn right." Cait said, and Sole felt a little jump in her chest at the sentiment. Cait wasn’t the most tender person in the wasteland, but somehow, she always seemed to know what to say; to Sole, anyway.

The pair sat silently for a bit as Sole finished cleaning up her defender. Wiping down her bloodied hands, and the remainder of the crusted crimson on her face.

"Are ya done fussin yet? I'm tellin’ you, I'm fine. Can we just go te sleep already?"

"One more spot left." She told her, bringing the rag up to her bruised face once more. Sole's eyes fell to Cait's swollen lips as she drew the cool fabric over them, before leaning in to press her mouth softly to Cait's. Sole pulled away, but stayed close enough for Cait to feel her warm, whiskey-tinged breath fan over her as she whispered, 

"Thank you for saving me tonight. I really was way in over my head." Sole looked down, embarrassed at her admission, as Cait smiled at her. 

"It was my pleasure, luv. As you said, I'll always be there te save yer arse." 

Curie: 

     "You know, you don't have to come to me for something as small as zhis." Curie said as she examined the minor cut on Sole’s arm. “You could patch zhis up yourself easily!” 

“Well…” Sole felt heat rise to her cheeks as she searched for an explanation. She knew that every time she came to Curie for something like this, she was taking up the doctor’s precious time, but she couldn’t help herself. What was she supposed to do when Curie insisted on working all day when they were at a settlement? They usually came to settlements to relax, to help make repairs and look into any problems the settlers might be having, but Curie always insisted on doing check-ups for everyone in their vicinity. Sole loved her selflessness and dedication to her work, but… When were they supposed to spend time together? This is what I get for having a workaholic for a girlfriend.

“You know, infection is a big problem out here. I just thought it would be best to seek the help of a professional.” 

“Oh, of course, of course. How responsible of you.” Sole bit at her lip as Curie laughed at her. Well, she really has caught onto the whole ‘sarcasm’ thing.

 “Fortunately, you do not need to worry about infection in zhis, it iz not deep. But come here, with me.” Curie urged Sole off of the cot she was seated on and brought her to a table at the back of the clinic. 

“Wait here, se vous plait.” With that, Curie disappeared around the corner, and Sole stood around, twiddling her thumbs, as she tried to think of an excuse to get Curie off of work early. 

“I was going to clean my supplies with zhis, but we can do your arm first.” Curie said as she came around the corner, a bucket of soapy water in-hand. 

“Here.” Curie set the bucket onto the table and had Sole hold out her arm as she produced a clean rag from the pocket of her lab coat, and dunked it into the warm water. Sole watched as Curie wrung out the cloth, and brought it to the miniscule wound on her arm. 

It was comical, really, the care that Curie took in cleaning the cut that couldn’t have been more than an inch long, and was almost too thin to see. Another rush of heat made its way to Sole’s cheeks as she realized how ridiculous she must seem to the doctor, but Curie made no complaints as she used the other side of the rag to dry off her arm. 

“Zhere! It should be all better. I can wrap it for you too, if you’d like.” 

“Thanks Curie, you’re a lifesaver. But I don’t think you really need to wrap it.” The synth laughed at her as she threw the rag into a basket and picked up the bucket again. 

“Oh, mon dieu, I don’t know about zhat.” She shook her head, a pink tint coming to her pale cheeks at Sole’s flattery as she turned to go into the back of the clinic again. 

“Wait!” Sole said, reaching out her “good” arm to stop Curie before she could vanish around the corner once more. Curie looked at her, a questioning expression on her face. Sole stood, her hand still wrapped around Curie’s forearm, utterly at a loss of what to say. I just don’t want you to go. It’ll be another four hours until you get off. 

I think you should take a break?

Maybe you should have a half day?

Do you need some help here at the clinic? God, when did I become so damn clingy?

“Hmm.” Curie’s eyes pierced into Sole’s as a knowing look washed over her face. “I zhink I know what it is you want.” Sole just stared ahead, wondering silently if that were true. The doctor set down the bucket yet again, delicately taking a hold of Sole’s “injured” arm once more. Slowly, she brought it upwards, then lowered her head to place her lips gently over the cut. “Iz zhat better?” 

Sole giggled, still embarrassed, but definitely glad she had come to interrupt Curie’s work. I guess I can wait a little longer. Maybe make us a nice dinner for tonight...

“Much. Thanks again, Curie.” 

“Of course! Anytime, mon amour.”

Danse: 

     Sole sat at the kitchen table, draining the last of her coffee as her gaze fell to Danse, where he was seated on the steps outside the front door of her Sanctuary home. He stared ahead blankly, brows knitted together above his lusterless eyes as his hands worked to remove a spot of rust from a piece of power armor he had taken off his suit temporarily. Lately, the ex-paladin had been adept in putting on a show for Sole, making her think that he was okay, even after everything that had changed in his life over the course of a few hours. It had been over a week since he had found out about his true identity, and in that time,  Sole could tell that he had tried to remain strong. For whom, she wasn’t sure. She thought she had made it clear to him that she didn’t care about his “strength” in these times, she just wanted him to get through them, whatever the means. Yet, he only seemed to don this look of despair and hopelessness whenever he thought she wasn’t looking, and if she tried to bring it up, he would always attempt to change the subject, or he would tell her not to worry and simply say that he was still working on “adjusting.” 

She hated when he didn’t talk to her. The seemingly insensitive man was always happy to listen to Sole’s problems and offer what advice he could, often suggesting that she discuss her own issues as a form of therapy. But God forbid she tries to get him to do the same. Sole sighed as she mulled over what to do, and noticed Danse’s head twitch to the side, listening, before his gaze dropped down to focus on his task.

He’s been working on that same spot for almost an hour. If it’s not out yet, I don’t think it ever will be. Sole looked around the room, trying to find something that could possibly serve as a proper distraction for Danse, and her eyes fell to the wooden stereo below the window in the living room. She had left it there because she simply didn’t have the heart to scrap the old thing. Too many good memories surrounded it. Memories of her and Nate, dancing the night away as the records spun on and on playing soft love songs until the sun rose; of her rocking Shaun in her arms as she mosied around the living room, listening to the nursery rhyme vinyls that she had received as gifts at her baby shower... But those memories, they were from another life.

Sole shook her head. This is about him, she thought, not me. I can deal with my shit later. Right now, I need to focus on Danse.

She huffed another sigh, this time a bit louder, and watched as Danse ceased his hand movements and tilted his ear towards her again.

“Is everything alright?” He turned to look at where she sat, and Sole tried to look melancholic.

“It’s just… You know… nevermind, it’s not important.” Just as she assumed he would, Danse stood up and walked inside the house, setting the piece of armor and the rag on the table, and pulled out a chair so he could sit beside her. He looked down at her hands, which rested on top of the table near her empty coffee mug. She could practically see the sweat beading on his forehead as he hesitantly brought one of his large hands to rest over the top of her own. Ever since he found out what he was, he’s been afraid to touch me. So... this is a good sign, at least.

“If something’s wrong, I want to know.” He said as he looked up to meet her gaze, his worried expression matching the concern she was feeling towards him. Sole took a breath to appear as though she was steadying herself.

“It’s just… being in this house. It’s great, I mean, it’s still my home and everything, and I don’t want to go anywhere else, but…” she trailed off, her troubled expression only half-feigned at this point, given the truth behind her words. His eyes never wavered, silently encouraging her to continue.

“Some things are harder to look at than others. And that damn stereo over there just has to be staring straight at me every time I sit down at the table, it’s the hardest one for me to see. It's just, it was a house-warming present from my parents. They gave it to me and Nate after the wedding, and now… well, there are no more records to play on it. They were all ruined, and even if they weren't, I don’t think the thing would work anyway. But every time I see it, it reminds me of the people I’ve lost. My parents… Nate… even Shaun.” Sole didn’t have to fake the tears that came unbidden to her eyes as she recalled the memories of her loved ones, and she knew Danse hadn’t missed a thing when he started rubbing her hand softly with his. They sat there in silence for a moment, as Danse tried to reassure her with his gentle touch.

Then, still remaining silent, Danse stood, reaching his hand forward to brush his thumb over Sole’s cheek, wiping away the tear that had fallen. He then turned towards the living room, but instead of going straight to the stereo, as Sole thought he might, Danse opened the side door that led to the covered driveway. She watched as he doubled back, now approaching the stereo. Sole wasn’t sure what she had expected him to do when she mentioned her problem to him; maybe offer to help her take the thing apart, or try and see if it still worked, or simply give her another perspective on how she should view the piece of 200-year-old furniture. Whatever she expected, it certainly hadn’t been this. 

Danse squatted down in front of the large wooden beast of a stereo, wrapped his broad arms almost all the way around it, and stood, lifting the whole damn thing up until he was standing completely upright with the stereo held firmly to his chest. Sole’s mouth hung open as she remained seated at the table, seemingly paralyzed by the shock of what she was witnessing, as Danse sauntered awkwardly towards the exit. A thick vein protruded from his neck as he twisted the piece of furniture to fit through the door, and made his way out into the driveway.

Sole heard a groan from outside, accompanied by the sound of something hard hitting concrete. She stood up, prepared to head outside and see what exactly he’d done with her “problem,” but before she reached the doorway, she heard him call from outside,

“You can’t still see it, can you?”

“Um… no. But Danse, is it-- I mean, are you okay? It took like, four people to bring that thing in when we first moved it to the house.” The brawny ex-soldier appeared in the doorway, his chest still heaving from the effort of wrestling the wooden monster outside. He nodded to her,

“I'm fine." He huffed, "You don’t need to go out there. I’ll take it apart later, if you’d like. Or we can store it somewhere for the time being.” She shook her head at him, a little smile touching her lips. Even after everything he’s been through, he's still always looking out for me. Even with something as small and insignificant as this.

“You know,” she said quietly, “you didn’t have to do that.” Danse looked down at his feet, seemingly searching for something to say in response.

“But thank you.” Sole finished, and his eyes came back up to meet hers. For a moment, she saw a spark return to Danse’s amber eyes as the smallest hint of a smile softened his expression, and Sole felt hope. Hope for him overcoming his grief in this time of crisis, and hope for herself in being able to move on from the memories that had kept her chained to her past for so long. Together, she felt like the two of them could overcome anything.

Deacon:

     “Yes. Two please.” Sole said as Takahashi voiced the only question he ever seemed to ask. The robot placed two bowls of scrumptious smelling power noodles in front of her, and she reached for the bag of caps hanging from her belt. As she looked down to count her money, she heard a clatter of bottlecaps hitting the counter beside her.

“Got it covered. Come on, let’s dig in.” Deacon grabbed a bowl in each hand and headed over to a couple of empty seats at the bar.

“I thought you were still trying to stay undercover?" Sole gestured to the Diamond City guard outfit that the spy donned. "Doesn’t it kinda ruin the illusion if you’re seen in public with me?” She said as she followed him over, sealing up her cap purse once again.

“What? You’ve never seen one of these guys at the noodle stand? Cuz I sure have. Just don’t talk to me, and I’ll be good.” Sole shook her head as she took a seat beside him, instantly deciding to ignore his request.

“Hey officer, I’ve got a question.” Sole swirled her chopsticks around the steaming bowl in front of her, before taking a bite.

“Yes, citizen?”

“Hold on--” she said through a mouthful of noodles.

Deacon laughed as he looked at her full mouth,

“Why--” He tried to talk through his bout of chuckling, “Why would you say you’re going to ask me a question and then take a big bite of food? What did you think would happen?”

Deacon thought he heard her tell him to ‘shut up,’ but it was hard to tell, given the noodles that filled her mouth, and the fact that she was nearly choking in her own fit of laughter.

Eventually, she managed to swallow her food successfully, and was finally able to get some words out.

"No, okay, serious question--" Deacon interrupted her with a snap of his fingers,

"Serious answer." Her genuine curiosity forced Sole to ignore him, and continue with her question.

"Tell me, why do you always pay for everything?" She asked.

"Ma'am, I am a law-abiding security officer. I always pay for the products that I intend to consume."

"I said serious, Deacon."

"Hey, shush!" He brought a hand up to Sole's mouth at the mention of his name, "What part of undercover did you not get?" She cocked a brow at his faked panic expression, noting the grin that he was trying to hide, as he lowered his head and turned back to his noodles.

"Like, okay," she continued, expanding on her inquiry, "whenever we go anywhere, you always pay for everything, and it's really odd. I've never met anyone in the wasteland who's done that, everyone's too busy trying to keep themselves alive to worry about paying for others. So, what? Are you, like, rich or something? I mean, c'mon, what's the deal? I have caps on me all the time, you know that, right?"

"Oh?" Sole saw his eyebrows rise above the tops of his sunglasses as he turned to look at her, "you don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my cold, black, heart, do you? No, I'm running a tab over here, honey. You owe me, big time." Sole narrowed her eyes at him, her uncertainty keeping her lips sealed.

"You mean, you didn’t know? Look, I don't know what to tell you," Deacon continued, "I thought you knew! Man, I'm glad you found out this way. Now it won't be such a rude awakening when the invoice comes."

Deacon turned back to his noodles, shaking his head at the thought. Sole's gaze bore into him, trying to figure out his level of seriousness. I really wish I was better at this. This is why I believed he was a synth for a month and a half.

"And if I don't have the money… you're not gonna call out a hit on me or anything, are you?"

“Hmm," he brought a hand to his chin, stroking his finger over it animatedly, "surely there must be some way you could pay me back…” He turned to look at her, wiggling his eyebrows as he did so, and she rolled her eyes, looking back to her noodles as she scoffed.

"Hey! What's with the face! I was talking about community service. Y'know, helping the children, and the elderly, all that good stuff. Get your mind out of the gutter, perv. And to think, I was going to have you volunteering at the children's hospital next week."

Sole instantly regretted taking another bite, as she tried desperately to fend off a fit of giggling in an effort to keep from choking again.

"I can't keep up with you Deacon," she said as she swallowed her food. "You're gonna kill me one of these days."

"Eh, don't worry, I can pay for the funeral." Sole raised a hand and shoved him in the shoulder playfully as he grinned at her.

"Okay, really, though. You do know I can pay occasionally, right?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm your partner, remember? I'm pretty much right next to you whenever you get paid.”

"So… then, why do you do it?"

"Do what?" Sole's nostrils flared at his obnoxious question.

"No? Joke didn’t land? Okay. Serious time," he flung his hands in the air as if surrendering, "I read about something… wasn't it, like, customary before the war to pay for stuff for your… friends?" Sole scrunched her eyebrows in thought,

"Friends? Not really. Significant other? Yeah, a little more common." She looked to where Deacon stared down at his noodles.

Is that, is he... blushing?

"But hey, I don't mind if you don't." She finished, tilting her head forward, in an attempt to catch Deacon's eye. She spotted a flushed little grin spread on his face, before he leaned his head back, restoring his cool composure.

"Oopsies, sorry about that, then. But I did warn you, I'm pretty new to this whole friend thing. So… you know, that's on you."

Hancock: 

     The ghoul lounged comfortably on the couch in the Old State House, idly playing with his combat knife as he waited for Sole to finish readying herself for their outing.

“Ahhh!” 

Hancock leapt from his place on the couch at the sound of Sole’s shriek, his combat knife instinctively falling into a position poised for violence.

He ran across the hall, crashing through the door and into the bedroom. Teeth bared and eyes wide, his head lashed from side to side in search of Sole’s assailant. He spotted her, cowering in the corner as she raised a shaky hand to point at the opposite side of the room.

Hancock’s glare followed Sole’s fear-stricken gaze, and he started towards the desk in the corner she had pointed to, but ultimately failed to see what it was causing her distress.

He turned back to her, an eyebrow cocked, as he raised the silent question of what had been the cause of her terror.

“On the desk!” She said, pointing towards it again, this time with greater intensity. Hancock slowly approached the corner of the room, knife still at the ready, as his eyes continued to search for any sign of… well, anything, really. An exasperated smile spread across his lips as his eyes fell to your attacker. A small, brown, spider picked its way through the objects littering the top of the desk, and Hancock had to hold back a laugh. 

“This is what had you all riled up? Oh, sweetheart, he’s just a little spider. C’mon now, he won’t hurt ya.”

“You don't know that.” She said firmly, her round eyes still trained on the desk. It had sounded like a joke, but her expression remained serious.

“Alright, you want me to get rid of him for you?” She nodded her head vigorously, and he chuckled as he turned his attention to the unsuspecting arachnid. He watched as it delicately stepped over a series of writing utensils, and Hancock frowned. Bringing his knife up to the top of the desk, he rested the flat of his blade directly in the spider’s path,

“That’s it, up you go, little guy.” He said quietly, as it stepped onto his steel vessel. Hancock twisted the knife around in his grip as the spider crawled around it, and made his way to the balcony. Once outside, he tipped his knife to the railing, encouraging the spider to crawl off the tip of the blade. Once the spider was safely making its way along the top of the railing, Hancock turned back towards the doorway.

“There,” he said, stepping back inside, “Now he can’t hurt ya, he’s all the way out there.”

“You… you didn’t kill it?” She asked, tentatively standing up.

“Nah, we only hurt the ones who hurt somebody else first, remember?”

“You don’t know that he didn’t hurt anybody.” She mumbled as Hancock sauntered over to her.

“Aw, give him a chance, maybe he can change, y’know? He doesn't really seem like the troublemaking type to me, anyhow.” He brought his hands to your waist, a smug expression playing on his face.

“Oh yeah, just like the way you always tell people you’ve changed?” She said, sliding her hands up his chest to rest them on his shoulders. “Way I see it, you’re still just as bad an influence on me as when I met you.” She said, a playful glint dancing in her eyes.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right, sunshine. Maybe I can't change any more. Maybe it's just my nature to be a bad influence on you.” He said quietly, a wolfish grin spreading across his face as he leaned into her. 

“Huh, maybe so. But bad influence or not," she pulled away from him slightly, to look up into his smoky eyes, "you really did save me back there. And, I know it seems silly... but I am grateful." His eyes softened at her little confession and, though he knew this too was silly, he couldn’t help but feel a swell in his chest at the thought of "saving" her. 

“And I’ll always be here to save you... from any spiders we happen to come across.” He pecked her lips tenderly, their close proximity practically forcing his mouth to hers. He should’ve known better, once he had a taste, he couldn’t get enough of her. 

“Even though,” He continued, as he pressed a kiss to her nose, “I’ve seen you,” then to her right cheek, “take down,” now her left, “deathclaws,” another to her jaw, “single handedly,” and now down to her neck, “I’ll be sure to handle all the unruly arachnids.” He whispered into the crook of her neck, before moving upwards again and pressing one more kiss to her forehead. He watched, grinning like an idiot in love, as a crimson flush crept up her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was from the embarrassment she felt regarding her phobia, or from the heat of his lips on her skin, but he decided it didn’t matter. Either way, he found it irresistibly adorable, and with that, he set his sights on her lips once more. 

MacCready: 

     MacCready sat on the floor, legs crossed, as he counted his ammunition cartridges. There were four of the .308, six of the .50, ten of the 10mm, and a few of the .38. There certainly wasn’t as much as he’d hoped there’d be, but he wasn't worried. Sole always seemed to have ammo to spare, and she wasn't stingy with it like he was. It was yet another perk to being with her.

He gathered his full magazines together near the ammo bag resting beside him, so he could begin placing them inside in preparation for their next outing.

"How are you doing over there, babe?" He asked as he stored the outlying bullets in little bags.

"I think... you know what, nevermind. I'm good." MacCready ceased his action, turning to look at where Sole knelt on the carpet of her Diamond City home. A pile of bullets and empty magazines surrounded her, the stack of seemingly full cartridges was pitifully small compared to his own.

"You, ah, need some help?"

"... No.” 

"Mmhm, okay.” he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but she wouldn’t look up at him.

“Well,” he continued, “I'm going to put my full mags in the ammo bag, why don't I grab yours too." The sniper stood up, and made his way over to her, bending down to grab the cartridges that looked full.

"Wait! No, these, um, these ones aren't done yet." MacCready's eyebrows furrowed, but the shadow of a smile began to spread to his lips as he realized what was going on.

"So," he said, kneeling down so he could see her pretty little embarrassed face. "You haven't finished loading any of them?"

“No." She said quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. MacCready lowered his head so that he was looking up at her as her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. A lock of hair was draped over her forehead, obstructing his view. He reached a hand up and gently pushed it behind her ear, leaning in to give her nose a small peck with his lips.

"You want some help?" He said as Sole raised her gaze to meet his, a small blush forming on her cheeks. She didn't say anything, only nodded yes.

"Alright, you know, you could’ve just asked. I might have said ‘no’ the first time, but you know me, I eventually would’ve come around." MacCready said as he set to work with the magazines that had appeared full, but in reality, only housed half of the amount of ammunition that they could fit within them. He snickered in understanding, it really was the second half of bullets that was hard to load.

"Thank you, sweetie. You’re just so much better at it than I am." She said as she watched his practiced fingers make quick work of what probably would've taken her another hour.

"Of course... but, you are paying me for this, right?"

"Ohh, I think we might be able to work something out." She said, a sly grin playing at her lips.

He just chuckled at her words, but she could've sworn his fingers starting moving a whole lot faster at her suggestive phrasing.

Nick: 

“Tell me, why is this now a regular part of my job duties?" Ellie asked as she finished sewing up yet another tear in Nick's trench coat. "You know you're just going to end up with more holes in this coat every time you leave the office, and I don't seem to recall you ever caring about this old thing's appearance before…" she trailed off.

Nick knew that Ellie was fishing for answers. One specific one in particular, but he liked the ambiguity of the situation. It was this little game he and his secretary would play. He would leave clues here and there that pointed to the nature of his and Sole's relationship and wait to see if Ellie would say anything. All while she continued to try and force the truth from him verbally. He wasn't going to lose this round.

"What? A private detective can't keep up appearances for his clients? I think it's just good for business."

"I think it's a load of bologna. You know we gave Sole her own trench coat after she saved you, right? She could just wear her own, rather than steal yours every time you two go out on a case."

"What kinda fun would that be? I don't mind it, it's not like I get cold anyway. And the poor little lady never knows how long we're going to be gone, so I don't think it's her fault when we're out after dark and she wants to wear it."

Ellie rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh as she poked the needle back through the worn, beige fabric once again.

"She's got you so tightly wound around her finger, it's a wonder she doesn't call you 'Jared'."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, it’s something I’ve read about, I guess it was a ring shop, or a jewelry company, or something before the war. I thought it sounded clever. Just humor me, won't you?"

The synth just shook his head, uttering a low chuckle as he watched Ellie tighten the thread, forcing the last hole closed.

"There." She said, tying up the last bit of string left over, before cutting off the excess. "It's done." 

"Perfect, thanks a million, doll. I'll see you soon, I've just gotta head out for a--"

"Date?" She finished the sentence for him suggestively, raising her eyebrows in question.

"A case. We're going to head out on a case, Ellie."

"Uh huh, sure. Well, here," she handed him back the coat, "now she doesn't need to worry about the cold air seeping in through all those holes. Let me know if you want me to insulate the damn thing when winter rolls around."

Valentine smiled, an uncharacteristically goofy smile, at Ellie's words. He was so obvious, why didn't he just come clean already? 

"Will do, I’m sure she’ll enjoy that. Thanks again, Ellie. You're the best."

"And don't you forget it." She said, turning back to the mound of paperwork still on her desk beside her sewing supplies.

“Ah well, I’ll get him to admit to it one of these days.” Ellie mumbled as she began sorting through the files in front of her.

Piper:

     Piper looked up at Scarlet from the table in the corner of the Dugout Inn, 

"Yes, so I think we'll both have a nuka cola to start off. Then I'll do the crispy squirrel bits, and she'll have the Salisbury steak." Piper pointed her finger to Sole, who was busy looking down at the table, before making a last-minute decision, "Aaand you'd better bring some of those snack cakes at the end, too." 

"Hm, as usual." Scarlet chuckled at that as her pen scribbled across the notepad in her hand. 

"But that sounds good, you two. I'll have that out in just a minute." The waitress grabbed their menus, Sole reaching up to hand it to her with a smile on her face before turning to peer at her partner from across the table. She waited for Scarlet to disappear around the corner to the kitchen before speaking.

"You really don't find it annoying?" She asked. 

"What?" Piper loosened the scarf around her neck as she looked questioningly at Sole. 

"I know that I ask you to order for me whenever we go out to eat, or drink, and it's gotta be getting a little old at this point, right?" 

"No, not at all, Blue!" Piper said as she took her hat off and placed it on the table, mussing her hair a bit with one hand. "This reporter actually finds it to be pret-ty endearing. It's like, the one thing you can't do. You’re good at, like, everything else, but this I get to help you with. It's a welcome change." Piper's hands dropped to the top of the table as she began absent-mindedly fiddling with her silverware. But her eyes stayed on the woman across the table as Sole smiled at her, still appearing a little embarrassed. 

"I don't know why I can't do it," Sole tried to explain, "I've just never been able to order for myself, even before the war. Just one of those bizarre anxiety things, I guess."

"Well, like I said, I don’t mind at all. In fact, I think it's cute." 

 Preston:

     Sole approached her Lieutenant, shaking her head at him, and she saw him sigh.

“No, the river just keeps going until it reaches a ravine." She told him, "And it’s too steep to climb down. Any luck on your end?”

“Hmm, not really. It's a little more shallow upstream, but it’s still about ten feet wide.”

“Damn.” She said, “We need to get across.” A settlement had sent a distress call across radio freedom almost an hour ago, if Sole and Preston took any longer, they might be too late.

“I guess we’ll just have to go for it.” She said, her face painting a picture of clear disgust at the thought of wading through the murky water.

“Well, let’s at least head upstream a bit. To the shallow part.”

“Okay.” Sole said begrudgingly, her footsteps unconsciously heavy as she followed her companion to the shallow part. Not shallow enough, I bet.

And she was right. As the pair arrived, Preston turned to Sole to gauge her reaction, noticing the way her nose wrinkled at the sight of the brown, swirling water.

Preston heaved a sigh, and started forward. Before he reached the waterline, he turned to see Sole still standing back, feet seemingly glued to the muddy ground. He couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at her, eyebrows creasing upwards as he watched her eyes look longingly at the far shore.

“Come here.” He said.

“I know, I know. Just start going, I’ll follow.” Preston chuckled at the exasperation in her voice. Instead of repeating his command, he simply walked over to her as her eyes remained locked on the other side of the river, when he reached her, he slowly pressed his hand to the small of her back.

“Hey, what are you--?” Before Sole could finish her question, Preston had scooped her up into his arms, bridal style. She let out a squeak of surprise, and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

“Is this okay? He asked, the brim of his hat pressing against Sole’s forehead as he looked at her.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” Preston laughed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on her, ensuring she was secure before making his way towards the river.

“Hold onto me.” He said, and Sole wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders.

“Ready?” Sole nodded to him, and Preston took a step forward, frigid water seeping in through his boots as he waded in.

“Wait, are you sure you want to do this?” She said, her eyes trained on the river as it raised up to Preston’s knees.

“I might be wrong, General, but I think I already am.” He said, the amusement in his voice faint as he gritted his teeth against the cold.

She felt his body shutter as he continued forward, the water reaching up almost to his waist, as he held Sole up higher to ensure it wouldn’t reach her. She let out a small sigh of relief as they reached the end of the channel. The water became more shallow, and Preston quickened his pace with each step that brought him closer to their destination.

Once completely out of the water, and past the muddy shoreline, Preston finally set Sole down gently. As her feet touched the ground, Sole kept her arms wound about Preston’s neck.

“Thank you, love.” She said, her voice soft as she addressed him as her partner rather than her Lieutenant.

“It was my pleasure, m’lady.” He said, briefly removing his hat from his head as he did so. Sole smiled at him warmly, but detected the faint chattering of his teeth, and when she looked down, she couldn’t help but notice the goosebumps littering his skin. 

“Oh, Preston…” Sole said as she pressed herself to him, rubbing her hands against his back and arms quickly, in an attempt to warm him with her friction. She felt hot air wash over her neck as he released a shaky breath of relief, leaning into her touch. The pair stood there for a moment, Preston syphoning off Sole’s warmth as she tried to repay him for his earlier act of kindness. Her hands slowed from her vigorous rubbing to a more tender sort of touch, before Preston’s head shot up.

“Shit, Sole, the settlement! We’ve got to move!”

X6-88: 

     This had become a common routine of theirs, and X6 wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Every time they were in Sole’s Diamond City home, she would insist on making dinner for the two of them. That, X6 didn’t mind too much; although, after consuming nothing but food supplements in the Institute for so long, it did take some getting used to. But eating the food wasn’t the issue, it was the making of it that had him perplexed. 

As far as he knew, Sole had been the one to install the shelves in her kitchen; and yet, every time she was in need of a spice of some sort, or a condiment, or one of her dishes, she would ask X6 for assistance, given that the shelves were apparently too high for her to reach. Why Sole continued to store her items on the too-tall shelves, he couldn’t begin to guess. But here she went again, asking him to reach for the box of blamco mac n’ cheese on the top shelf, the highest one, one that he could barely even reach. X6 decided it was time to voice his confusion.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” She asked distractedly as she focused on the strength of the flame burning on her stove.

“Why do you use these shelves?”

“What else would I use, silly?” X6 scrunched up his face at that, trying to hold back a verbal scoff at her wording.

“Would you rather I just store everything on the floor?”

“Well, no. That would… hardly be sanitary.” He wasn’t sure if she was joking with him or not. Did she think he was joking with her?

“Why do you ask, X?” She grabbed the box from his hand as he extended it towards her, and began tearing at the top of it with her finger.

“Well, it seems nonsensical to me, for you to continue placing all of your items out of your reach. What happens if I’m not here?” Sole placed a saucepan filled with water over the stove and turned to look at him.

“But you are here.” she said, shrugging, “What? Don’t you like helping me out in the kitchen?”

X6 blinked. What the hell did this have to do with what he liked?

“Well… I don’t dislike it. I’m just having trouble with-- I don’t-- I just... do you want me to fix the shelves so they are the right height for you?”

“No, I like them the way they are.”

X6 felt his eye twitch from beneath his shades. Confusion built up inside him, making the courser feel as though he might explode.

“Ma’am--” His voice faltered as he realized he didn’t know what else to say.

“I know they’re not practical, X. But you can reach them, and I like that about them. Even when I’m here alone, the fact that I can’t make dinner without you makes me smile.” X6 furrowed his eyebrows. That explanation didn’t help at all.

“Don’t you get hungry?”

“I'm not completely helpless, you know, I can usually figure something out.” She attempted to look annoyed at his question, but her grin gave her away. X6 narrowed his eyes at her, still not completely satisfied with the way the conversation had gone. He was still just as confused as he was before.

“Huh.” He said, mulling over all she had said on the subject. “Perhaps... in that case, we should ensure that I am by your side for any missions near Diamond City. That way, I can be sure the future director of the Institute doesn’t go hungry.”

“Well, if you think that’s necessary, who am I to argue?” The left side of X6’s lip tilted upwards in an expression of amusement, and Sole openly smiled at him, laughing a little to herself as she turned her attention back to the boiling water on the stove.

“Can you hand me the pepper mill? Second shelf.”

“I know which shelf. But yes, I can.” He said, turning around to grab it, as Sole continued grinning to herself.

Now I just have to make sure he never looks under my bed. Sole thought. If X6 ever found the step stool she had hidden there, what would happen to her kitchen helper?

#fallout #fallout companions #fallout companions react #fallout companions reactions #fallout companions reacts #fallout 4 #fo4 #fo4 reacts #fo4 react #fo4 companions #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 companions react #fallout 4 companions reactions #fallout 4 companions reacts #fallout cait #fallout curie #fallout danse #paladin danse #danse #fallout deacon #deacon #deacon fo4 #fallout hancock #john hancock #hancock #nick valentine #fallout nick #fallout nick valentine #maccready #fallout maccready

[caitybug]

PROMPT

leaving cute notes for the other on the fridge

BONUS ROUND - involve a banana or bitmoji

Tessa, you're after my heart aren't you?

A banana for you, my dear.

Prompt from this list <3

If you prefer, you are welcome to read the fic on ao3 here

Or under the cut below

(I hope you enjoy, I'm trying to shake off the rust.)

Baz

Now that uni’s back in session, it’s been more and more difficult to find time to be with Snow. He’s been working with Niamh, taking care of the animals brought to her in the evenings, and I’ve been in classes.

It’s been hard to say the least. We see each other at night, but we’re both so knackered that neither of us have much energy beyond a quick touch base before we fall asleep.

But Snow, true to his word, is putting in effort. He’s trying.

Every morning I find a note on the fridge from him.

Sometimes they’re simple. ‘Have a good day, babe’ or ‘Kick your exams arse!’

But sometimes he says he loves me. That he’s proud of me. (That one made me choke up more than it should have.) He even put something on a post-it that made me glad it’s only him and me here. Distracted me all day. Like my mind isn’t already thinking of him constantly.

(Neither of us got much sleep that night.)

Today, however, I’m staring at the fridge and it’s blank. I know he made one. He does it every night when he gets home, late enough that I’m usually on my way to bed, or getting close to it. I’ve caught him a few times as he writes them out. He frantically holds them behind his back and asks me what I’m doing.

“I’m thirsty, Snow,” I said one time.“Am I not allowed to have water?”

He coughed and grabbed me a glass, filling it to the brim with water. “Here!” He shoved it to me, spilling some on the floor. “Uh, wait.”

I looked down and back at him scrambling to grab a towel to wipe it up. His wings knocked down his empty mug that was waiting for tea, causing him more distress.

“I’ll just—” I pointed to the bedroom “I’ll meet you in bed.”

He grunted as he began picking up the pieces of his mug. The post-it note sitting on the counter, damp with water smudging whatever he was writing on it.

Since then I decided to leave him be. He gets home, makes tea, writes his note, and then comes to bed.

Him coming to bed is typically the signal that everything’s safe again. That I’m clear to move around the flat.

But last night he took longer than usual. I heard him clamber through the door, his boots hitting the floor as he shook them off his feet. (He never unties them. Just pushed them off his feet. It ruins the heel.) Even heard the typical sigh of him stretching his wings from under his shirt. (He’s still not gotten them removed. I think he’s not committed to the idea either way.) (I, for one, hope he keeps them.)

And yet, nothing.

It’s empty.

A blank fridge in a barely lit kitchen.

I take a deep breath.

I know it shouldn’t be a shock to me. The notes weren’t always going to be here, were they?

Relationships evolve and grow. This is just the next step, right? I don’t need a note every day, right? Surely I can survive without a square sticky yellow piece of paper with Snow’s horrible handwriting telling me something like hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave or don’t drain your professor dry today.

I steel myself before turning to the counter.

Tea. I need tea and then I’ll be off for the day.

While I’m warming my tea I hear the faint noise of Simon snoring in his bed.

He didn’t sleep much. I know because he was tossing and turning and keeping me awake too. Almost sent him to the sofa.

I think I was afraid to. As much as I know he’s not leaving. That things are different this time, there’s that tinge of fear that pops up.

It’s gotten less and less. Diminishing as my confidence in him, in us, grows.

If I’d have known he didn’t write me a note I would have kicked him off.

The kettle goes off and I pour myself some water for tea, spotting the fruit we have sitting on the counter.

I grab a banana and sit at the table, but when I look at it—really look this time—it’s browned.

Not just browned in the way that bananas get when they’re old, but poked through. Like someone pricked tiny holes in it to spell out words.

We’ve run out of post-its.

(Fuck, I meant to pick up more.)

I turn it over to see more writing.

And I hope this doesn’t drive you bananas.

(That explains the chuckling I heard from the kitchen last night.)

I turn it a bit more.

I love you, Baz. Good luck on your presentation.

It’s so incredibly stupid.

So incredibly soft.

No wonder it took him so long. The menace must have used a needle to do this.

I look up at the door. Simon’s still snoring softly.

I love him so much.

I place the banana down and bring the tea to my lips.

Simon

When I wake up it’s nearly one in the afternoon.

I didn’t sleep well last night, and I nearly moved to the sofa because I was afraid it was keeping Baz up.

But I didn’t want to leave him.

Sometimes it still feels too new. Like I just got him and I’m too afraid to let him go.

Surprised he didn’t kick me off himself if I’m being honest. I was waiting for it, but he’s too much of a stubborn git to do it I think.

“I’m a Vampire, Simon,” he said once when I told him he needed to go to sleep. “I’m supposed to be up all night.”

I’ll remind him of that if he complains that I kept him up.

I make myself a cup of tea and take a seat at the table. I see the banana on top of a notebook. It’s looking worse for wear. The words I pricked in are practically unrecognizable at this point, the brown around each poke spreading more and more.

I look at the notebook underneath the banana. I open it to the first page, worried that it’s one Baz needed today, but then I nearly drop it in shock.

I flip through pages and pages of paper filled up with post-it notes. All the ones I’ve left Baz over the past couple of months. (Which has been every day. I’ve shocked myself with it.)

I pull out my phone and send a text.

13:56: I love you.

13:56: I’ll be home tonight. Want takeaway?

I don’t expect a text back right away. Baz is such a stickler about phones during class. But my phone vibrates a minute later.

13:57: Yes. I can pick up. Going to grab another stack of notes for you too.

13:58: I love you too, banana head.

I snap a photo of the notebook and send it to him with the caption: You love it.

I close the notebook again (bloody sap) and continue to drink my tea.

Baz

I do, Snow, I do love it.

The small acknowledgements, the feelings of normal in a relationship with you.

I rise from my seat now that class is over, typing out my response to Simon.

14:17: I’m coming home, grabbing two sandwiches.

14:18: Don’t you have class?

14:18: I’ve suddenly become under the weather. I think I need to be taken care of.

14:19: Grab three sandwiches. I’ll make you a cup of tea and get the bed ready.

#snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #caity does prompts #caity does fanfiction #Tessa I hope this fills your prompt well haha #thank you for the banana I loved it

[please-buckme]

A Broken Heart.

Lee Bodecker x fem!reader

Chapter 2

Chapter warnings: 18+ mentions of death, mentions of sex, cursing, Lee being an ass, angst, meninist behaviors

Chapter summary: You move back home after three years to find your heart still in shambles.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

3 Years Later

After moving a whole county away, Highland Ohio to be exact, you stayed for quite some time. Your aunt was amazing and the sweetest woman you’d ever known, and living with her was a breeze. She’d even gotten you a job at the auto shop her recently deceased husband left to her, which you loved. Life was good, for a while. You never had a reason to come home until your momma got sick.

For the past year you watched as your momma slowly faded away until the last week of April when she finally passed in her sleep. You were devastated, of course, but not only because of her death. She didn’t have much to her name besides a couple thousand in the bank and the house you’d left so long ago, which she left all to you.

The house was old. White paneling a faint tint of brown, grey shutters that were almost all off their hinges and rust anywhere you looked. It was a fixer upper and there’s no way you could sell it in its current condition. So, you decided to move back to Knockemstiff, just for the time being.

In all honesty, you’d grown to hate that town. Nothing but bad memories and any good memories you’d had were tarnished completely. So, once the house was decent enough to sell, you were out of there and back to the life you’d created in Highland.

Your aunt and you drove together in her pick up truck back to the house after your momma passed. She helped you unload your stuff and take things to the necessary rooms.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I can make my famous pancakes. I know you love’em.” She grinned.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m fine. Please, I insist you go now before it gets dark.” You pull your aunt into a hug, a tight hug.

“I’m gonna miss havin’ you around, kiddo.” She sighed, her breath fanning over your neck.

“It’s only for a few months. I’ll be back to annoying you in no time, oldie.”

“Hey, I’m not old.” She laughed and pointed her finger at you sternly but still in a lighthearted way.

“And I’m not a kid.”

She laughed a little more then sighed, “Well, I guess I’ll head out. Call me if you need anything and don’t forget to go down to Billy’s tomorrow. He’s excited to bring you in.”

You smiled, “How could I forget? I need some sort of income to fix this craphole up.”

You walked your aunt to her car and waved her goodbye as she drove way. Your eyes welled up but you made sure not to cry in front of her or she’d never leave.

Once you went back in, you immediately got to work. Starting in the kitchen, you didn’t have much but a few coffee cups. The house was still occupied with your momma’s things and you were already dreading having to go through it all.

Things started to come together room by room as you worked most of the day away. You cleaned and rearranged things to your liking now that it was your house. It felt almost empowering to do what you want. You’d never lived alone so, in a way, this was an adventure as well.

You took your old room instead of the master, since that’s where your momma passed. It gave you goosebumps just thinking about and you knew you’d never get any sleep if you stayed in there. Your room wasn’t big but it was good enough for now and much better than sleeping in your momma’s death bed, hard pass.

You’d taken a seat on the couch with some tea you’d brewed up earlier that morning. This was the first time you sat down since arriving, and of course there’s a knock at the door.

“Whatever you’re selling, I promise you, I ain’t interested.” You shout, too exhausted to even attempt getting up.

The knocking continued, “Oh, for fucks sake.” You groaned under your breath and stood on your aching feet to tell them to fuck off in person. You opened the door, “did you not hear me the first time. I said-“

“Hi, Y/n” Lee greeted as he removed his hat.

You scoffed, “Can I help you with somethin’, Sheriff?”

Lee stood there, fiddling with the bill of his hat. His belly had gotten a little bigger and his cheeks had gotten a little chubbier, but you couldn’t help the hitch in your throat when his wedding ring caught your eye. Just a basic silver band, nothing special. But it still left a hollow pit in your stomach.

“I-“ he cleared his suddenly dry throat. “I heard you was back in town. Thought I’d come see for ma self if the rumors were true.”

“Welp, here I am. You can go now.”

“Y/n, I-“

“No, Lee, please. I’ve had a long day and I honestly don’t feel like talking to you right now. No, I take that back. I don’t feel like talking to you at all.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think, doll.” He grins.

“Goodbye, Sheriff.” You shut the door only to hear him holler at you from the other side.

“Still can’t say my name, huh, Doll? Boy, I really did a number on you, didn’t I?” Your heart sank at his words. It seemed your pain was a joke to him this whole time. You’d always pictured him crying alone like you were but clearly that was never the case. Y’all’s relationship didn’t seem one sided until you were the only one hurt by the fall out.

“Welcome home, Y/n.” He said before you heard his boots click against the porch as he left.

You took a deep breath as you backed away from the door. Tears rimmed your eyes and you scoffed aloud to yourself. After three years you still weren’t over him and you knew that. You didn’t know, however, that he’d still have such a hold on you. And by the way he reacted to how sensitive you were towards the situation still didn’t help the ever growing void that ran through your entire loveless body. The only man you ever loved looked at you as if you were a quick fuck and a punchline.

A tear burned against your cheek and you were quick to wipe it away. You swore to yourself that you’d never cry over that man again and you won’t, instead you decided it was time for a much needed bath.

The bath was scolding hot, just how you liked it, and you opened up a bottle of wine as a sort of reward for the work you’d done today. Once the water got cold and the wine ran out, you brushed your hand and teeth and went to bed.

//

The sun beamed down against your skin as you walked to the local auto shop where your aunt had set you up with another job. You were always good with numbers and they desperately needed someone on the books. Your job would be to look at their spending over the last few months and figure out some sort of budget. You did that for your aunt at her shop, so this didn’t worry you at all.

“Hi, you must be Billy.” You greet the owner, “I’m

y/n, Peggy’s niece.”

“Oh, yes. I’m glad you finally made it down.” He beamed, shaking your hand, “How long will you be here for?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Just until I get my house fixed up enough to sell.” You say, retracting your hand from his sweaty one.

“Ah, well as luck would have it, our secretary just quit on us last week, so there’s a position you’ll adjust to right fine.”

You scoffed, “Wait a minute. Did you say secretary?”

“Yeah. You need to get your hearing checked, Honey?” He grinned. What is it with the men in this town?!

“No, I heard you just fine. My problem is that I was supposed to be your Budget Holder, not a damn secretary.” Your face was turning a touch of pink as you became increasingly annoyed.

“That’s a man's job, sweetie. We don’t you blown a fuse tryin’ ta add up all them numbers, now do we?”

“You can’t be serious.” You say flatly.

“Look, it’s the only position we got. Take it or leave it.”

Everything in you wanted to March out of that shop and never go back again. A secretary's position is nothing to frown upon, but to only be offered it because you’re a woman was despicable. Sadly, you needed this job and it would only be for a few months. So, when you told him you’d take the job you swallowed every ounce of respect you had for yourself. Knockemstiff was truly the worst town in America.

“Sounds great. We’ll see you tomorrow for training. There’s no dress code but there are a few things you’ll need to know before starting. I’ll fill you in once we start your training tomorrow.” He shook your hand again, completely ignoring the furious grimace on your face.

“Great. See you tomorrow.” You mumbled, walking away so you didn’t ‘accidentally’ hit your new boss.

//

Before heading home you decided to stop and grab some things for the house. Being sick, your momma didn’t eat much besides soup, and there was an over abundance of vanilla flavored Ovaltine cans littering the kitchen counters, which you hated.

The second the doors opened, all eyes were on you. You even heard a faint gasp coming from the woman at the register. A smirk crept upon your face. These people's lives were so boring that they still aren’t over your breakup that happened so long ago. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a cart and headed down the produce aisle.

Once you grabbed the vegetables you’d need for a stew, you headed towards the baking aisle. You need the ingredients for an upside down pineapple cake your momma used to make for you as a kid. Your aunt was coming into town on Saturday to lend a hand and celebrate her birthday. You told her to go have fun, but she insisted on spending her special day with you.

As you searched for the baking soda, you heard your name.

“Did you see Y/n’s back in town?” A lady with a high pitched voice whispered.

“I did. I just saw her. Poor thing. She’s probably still caught up on the sheriff. Prolly wish it was her that was on his arm instead of Laura-Jean.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I know it. Wouldn’t you, though? He’s so handsome.” The lady with the high patched voice giggled.

“Oh, hush! Don’t say things like that.” The other lady joined the high pitched one in whispered giggles. “Oh my goodness, here he comes.” She cleared her throat, “Afternoon, Sheriff.”

“Evenin’,Ladies. Y’all behavin’ yourselves?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

They both giggled and in unison said, “Yes, Sheriff.”

“Oh give me a break.” You grimaced to yourself.

“Heard Y/n’s back in town.” The high pitched one spoke up. Your face burned. Why would they bring you up to him so bluntly like that? Everyone in this town was so unbelievably nosy.

“I- I heard. Actually just went to see her yesterday.” He said, clearing his throat.

“Uh-oh, the misses didn’t like that, I’m sure.” They giggled.

“Oh, no. She didn’t mind. I was just droppin’ by to give her my condolences about her momma dyin’. Then, she slammed the door in my face. I guess she’s still pretty upset with me.” He was pouting, trying to get some sort of sympathy. If you rolled your eyes any harder you thought they’d pop out of your head.

“Oh, you poor thing. Is there anything we can-“

Suddenly the baking soda slipped from your hand and scattered all other the floor in a puff of dust. “Shit, shit, shit.” You whispered to yourself.

“What was that?” One of the ladies asked.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Lee said. You could hear his boots clacking against the floor on there way over to you.

Shit.

You desperately wanted to run away but leaving this mess for someone to clean up wasn’t right, not even with the predicament you found yourself in. “Well, well, well,” Lee mocked as he rounded the corner. “Only here for less than a day and you’re already causin’ trouble.”

“Stay out of this, Bodecker.” You huff, trying to scoop the baking soda back into the card box it spilled from.

“Was you eavesdroppin’, girl?” He asked, kicking the soul of your shoe.

You scoffed, “Oh, please. I could give two shits what you say about me, Bodecker.”

He leaned in close, hovering over your left side. You heard him chuckle which startled you. He was so close. You could feel the familiar heat radiating from his body and smell that familiar cologne. His lips came down close to your ear. He licked them and then whispered, “If ya weren’t eavesdroppin’, how’d ya know I was talkin’ bout you, hm?”

Your eyes shuttered closed as he spoke, feeling his hot breath against your cheek. His deep southern drawl always made you weak. It took you back to those times in the back of the cruiser. He whispered such dirty praises in your ear when you would ride his cock. Those dirty words that could make you cum in seconds.

“You still with me, doll?” You felt him tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You flitched and stood up, “I- don’t touch me and stop calling me doll, alright? I really don’t have time for your games today, sheriff, and I’m not even really sure what you’re playin’ at in the first place.”

He smirked, running a thumb across his lip, “Darlin, I think the only thing I ever played was you..”

“I-“ your breath hitched in the back of your throat, “I have to go.” You turned to walk away, leaving the mess you’d made and your cart behind. Your eyes welled up with tears again. You didn’t know the man that stood in front of you. Lee was nothing but good to you when you dated and now he’s the most hateful man you’d ever met. The man you loved had disappeared and there’s nothing you could do to bring him back, no matter how bad you wanted to. A tear stained your cheek as you sped through the aisle. You could hear Lee hollering for you to stop but you wouldn’t this time.

All the heartbreak and sorrow that you’d left behind was creeping its way back in. The sooner you sold the house and got the hell out of there, the better.

Dividers by: @firefly-in-darkness

Taglist: @haydens-moles , @c00lkidvibes , @tcc-gizmachine , @buckysm3talarm , @gogolucky13 , @cryptidcasanova , @heavenlyseb , @writersbuck , @teddy-bearbaby , @bbmommy0902 , @sweetllamaparadise , @thereblogcrusader , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @frostbytebaby , @jessyballet , @emotionallyandphysicallydone , @sarge-barnes-sir , @generalbagelcookieslime , @lady-loki-ren , @dime-piece-xo , @greeneyedblondie44

(Dm me to be added to taglist)

[corysmiles]

Sup! I'm back from Barcelona! Hope you're doing well!

Remember that sbi rust prompt you gave me a month or 2 ago? It is done (not readproff tho so there may be some mistakes) anyway enjoy my grand return!

Edit: did you know 250 paragraphs is the limit lenght to an ask? On an unrelated note I will have to cut this into multiple parts so enjoy this first chapter!

-----

"Whaaat the-"

Wilbur took a step back, mouth agape and watched the figure inside of the dome. A human, identical in the looks, if not for the size of it.

When he went to explore the looming monument that rose from near his house, he expected food or scientific papers, perhaps some gas masks and equipment, not a... giant.

Weren't those things a myth?? Just a silly fictional creature to scare children away, not... not real and THERE, sleeping right in front of him??

The thing was curled up on himself, unable to fit in the 30ft wide sphere if going to its full lenght.

Wilbur was trapped in the walls of flesh.

And to his dismay, he was just in time to witness the creature wake up.

Lazily, they opened their eyes, squinting. They looked at their surroundings, the roof, the walls, the floor.

And the man was able to pinpoint the exact moment their eyes landed on him.

They gasped softly, almost mute. Their eyes widened, and they stood here, studying the punny intrudor for a too long moment. Only after, they spoke, barely above a whisper.

"Uhm... hello."

Wilbur expected the giant to speak, seeing how akin to a human he was, but he didn't expect such a young voice to be held by the.... boy?

"Hey." Wilbur waved, hand as shaking and hesitant as his voice.

"... What's your name?" They spoke.

Wilbur gulped, more on instinct. "Uuh, Wilbur. Who are you? What are you doing here?" He pointed.

They nodded in a hum before looking at the floor below, eyes a bit blurry.

"I...my name is Tommy. And uh... this is where I sleep."

The stare the human kept on the boy was intense, full of disbelief and curiosity. It was uncomfortable.

He shifted a bit. And Wilbur's eyes darted towards the small movements. Ah, right. Humans were hyperaware.

"It's been a while since I met someone around here."

"Yeah, I can imagine that... ever since the nuclear incident, it's been quite the task to find someone." Wilbur explained. What did this being knew exactly?

"Oh... I see." He lowered his head, before letting it rest on the floor, and holy shit he was even bigger than he thought.

He swallowed the lump back down his throat, and sat legs crossed.

The giant, which looked like a teenager now that he got to see his face up close, kept looking at him, expression almost bored.

Then, without much a warning, he lifted his hand and moved it towards the human, who instantly scrumbled away as fast as he could.

"wowowwoowowo- what-"

The hand froze, and when he looked at Tommy, the expression was sad, almost hurt.

Silence filled the room for a minute.

"Sorry" the giant apologized. "I must be quite scary, huh?"

Without much thinking, wilbur nodded. "Um, yeah"

"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you." He reassured, his voice pathetic. "Can I come closer?"

Wilbur looked at the hand, then at the teen. He took a deep breath before nodding, earning a pleased smile from the blond.

More careful, a hand thrice his size came to him, fingers slowly wrapping themselves around the human. He tensed, unwilling to move an inch despite his mind begging him to get out of here.

He closed his eyes in anticipation, but after a minute of stillness, he felt a rough pressure on his head, ruffling his hairs.

"Wha- what are you doing?" He asked, refusing to open his eyes yet.

Before he got an answer, the mass, which he recognized as a thumb, moved from playing with the hair to caress his skin as gently as possible.

With much hesitation, the human opened his eyes and met the face of the teen, who beared an expression of pure shock and wonder.

As the thumb rubbed against his cheek, he inhaled, shivered.

"You're so small... so fragile..."

His face was washed with a wave of sadness, while Wilbur drew his hand closer to the gun hidden in his jacket.

"How do you feel, wilbur? Do you feel fragile?" His voice was as sad as unreadable.

And at the moment, Wilbur did feel as powerless as a bug stuck in a web. A tall, wide web. Not that he would tell Tommy.

"... Is that a threat?" He asked instead.

"No, I'm just curious." A sort of melancholy couldn't leave the giant's face. "If I were to threaten someone, it would be because they acted like a bitch. You're not a bitch as far as I know."

The curse took Wilbur off guard, and he found himself giggling at the vocabulary. The blong smiled as well.

Then, the thumb moved from the face and slowly descended to cover his chest (entirely)

And....

It felt... like a hug?

How long has it been since Wilbur has been hugged.

The gesture was confusing.

"... why?" He voiced.

"I don't know. I know people like hugs. Makes them feel safe."

He eyed the fingers around him before focusing, wary, on the face.

"What are you planning to do to me?"

"Huh?!" He raised eyebrow and his hands left Wilbur's surrounding in a too quick motion, gesturing in defense. "Nothing!! I just want you to be comfortable. Been a while since I talked to anyone." Without the giant controling his volume, Wilbur had to cover his ear at the sudden booming sound.

He nodded nontheless, still unsure, and the silence drawn out.

"...why did you want to explore the dome?"

For some reason, the echoing voice was quite soothing to the human's ears, now that it was bearable. He took a few steps and put his hand on the part of the dome not blocked by an enormous mass. His finger carressed the copper walls until he was sat.

"I wanted to explore. I don't live very far, and this structure intrigued me. I expected to find some researches, not.... uh..."

Tommy smiled and understood the man without him having to finish. "Yeah. I'm not really something to be expected."

He nodded. "And you've been here for a while?"

"Not so much." The giant responded, "I usually travel from place to place trying to survive, pretty much like everyone else."

"I see..."

"I can try and look out for any paper or stuff if you want, so next time you come, I can hand them over."

Wilbur paused. The idea of returning to the giant made him frown, but the blond did seem to hold no grudges against him.

".... Maybe." He landed on.

And visibly, the teen was elated at the news, his grin growing to his ear and his hands joining in a clap. (As gentle as he could to not make the small man deaf.)

"Welp." He got up, before he got a sugar overdose from seeing that excitment. "I think I'm gonna head back."

"Do you want me to help you get back home?" The other proposed, enthusiast.

"No."

It was quiet for a moment, silence only disturbed by the giant shifting position. It was... unusual. But the enormous teen didn't seem hostile, and if Wilbur could get himself such an ally, he wouldn't take it down.

And so he returned home.

---

2 days later, he returned.

He was surprised as well, but curiosity guided his steps much more than his fears ever since the giant teen revealed himself a potential ally.

He inhaled deeply before climbing the stairs, his feet landing on the metalic ground.

The smile on the teenager's face when he turned around and met the tiny man was as heartwarming as nervewracking.

"YOU'RE BACK!!!" He cheered, and already the human had to cover his ears, the joyous scream deafening. He realized his mistake pretty soon though as he covered his mouth and mumbled, much quieter "Sorry. Hi Wilbur."

"Hello, Tommy." He replied, cautiously removing his hands from his ear. "How have you been?" He started. Usual politeness shouldn't be too awkward.

It took all the self control of the blond to keep his voice quiet enough when he said "I've been fine, thank you." The energy bubbling from him only made Wilbur chuckle.

"Good, good." Wilbur took a few steps towards the blond (or rather his face, since the teen was kind of all around the room) "You seem happy to see me."

Tommy nodded way too quickly and strongly as he confirmed. "Yep! I-" he pained keeping his voice low "-I wasn't sure if you'd really come back. I'm very very very glad you didn't lie. Especially since I have..... THIS!!"

He didn't even bother whispering as his hand came to view, previously hidden behind his back, and coming towards Wilbur in a fist at a racing pace. The brunette couldn't help but flinch back.

Tommy stopped mid-way, realizing his carelessness once more. He whispered an apology and the hand came, much slower this time. (Almost comically slow, but Wilbur wouldn't really complain)

Then, when only at about 6ft away from the man, the hand opened, revealing several piles of papers.

Wilbur's eyes widened. He looked at the blond, confused.

"You said you wanted to look for researches and stuff, sooo I tried finding some. And you were right! There are papers everywhere in here!"

Wilbur looked at the floor which he now realized was almost white from sheets, as well as the several seemingly blank pages stuck on the giant's body, and nodded, repressing a chuckle.

"Yep. Everywhere."

Tommy held back a laugh as well, and Wilbur tried visualizing how this.... god knows how tall being could try opening drawers with his nails barely thin enough to hold the handler, and reading papers the size of a pins on his hands, all while trying to manœuver his body so he wasn't blocking the rest of the building.

He would lie if he said the thought wasn't amusing.

He went for the paper, and without much thinking hopped onto the hand, since the papers were mostly at the center of his palm.

He grabbed a few and sat down, begining reading when he felt a shaky inhale. He looked up to meet the amused eyes of the blond.

"... Seat's comfortable?" He teased, as playful as baffled.

Wilbur frowned, then looked below him and his eyes widened as he registered. He shot straight up.

"Oh-oh oh I'm so sorry- I- I sincerely apologize I-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as he covered his ears, a wheezed laugh echoing through the entire thing and sending Wilbur shaking from the vibrations.

He found himself laughing as well, barely able to keep up his balance as he stepped out of the hand, a good chunk of paper held between his chest and arms.

The laughs finally died down, the blond disforming his face with his hand trying hard to muffle the sounds. He looked back at the human with what could only be described as adoration. The hand left his face and he chuckled still as he talked.

"Ahh, don't worry about it. I expected you to just take the papers and go, but this? This was funny. Definitely the first time someone sits on my hand like that."

"I-... is it a bad thing?" Wilbur asked, taking slow steps backward while he kept a smile. The last thing he wanted was to upset a giant he was trapped with. Sure, the kid was nice, even though overwhelming, but a wrong gesture could change that first part pretty quickly.

"Nah, I don't mind. If the floor is too cold for your liking, you can sit here."

Wilbur sighed in relief and gave the blond a smile. "Alright. Thanks."

He still chose to sat on the floor, and started reading again. His intuition was right, there was tons of information in here.

He read in silence, only disturbed every once in a while when Tommy asked what was in the sheets. Wilbur explained as easily as possible and kept the details for himself. Tommy was satisfied with the answer he was given, though, so that wasn't a problem.

He was only a quarter through the first pile of paper when he felt something approaching. He froze when a mass, probably a finger, found itself on top of Wilbur's head.

There was a beat of silence when neither moved, and the finger ruffled ever so slightly his hair.

It was a bit awkward, but it wasn't uncomfortable, so he didn't protest.

A soft voice pierced through the silence.

"If I press on your head too hard or hurt you, warn me. You're small so I don't know how much pressure I can apply on you."

"Alright." Wilbur nodded. "You're doing fine right now, I'll tell you if that changes."

The rest of the reading was done with Tommy gently playing with Wilbur's hair or tapping his back in an attempt at a 'massage' (as Tommy called it). It was distracting, but not uncomfortable. At times, even soothing.

It was almost night when Wilbur read most of the first pile. He got up with the paper he read already and looked for an empty drawer.

Fortunately, since Tommy spent 2 days scrambling to get every possible paper out, it wasn't much of a challenge. Below Tommy's angled leg was a furniture. He went and deposited it.

"That should be good." He said as he closed it. He then turned around to meet the blond. "Well, I think it's time for me to go home. I'll be back soon though, this place is VERY interesting."

He forced himself not to fake a gag at Tommy's smile. Urg. So genuine.

"Yeaaayyy" the giant stage-whispered while clapping his hands as softly and quickly as possible. "It's nice having you around. Can I do anything to help you?"

Wilbur brought a hand to his chin and thought for a moment. "If you find an empty book, you can give it to me next time. I'll bring one myself though so you don't have to tear this place upside down to find one." That made Tommy chuckle.

And so, Wilbur returned home once more.

THIS IS SO GOOD MEL OMG!!!

Pls read this it’s amazing and so well done, I love the rust server and this is so good :D

#mcyt gt community #mcyt g/t #t!wilbur #g!tommy #rust server #melissas writing #ITS SO GOOD #READ THIS NOW #THIS IS A THREAT #>:D

[squishmallow36]

Keeper of the Lost Prepositions - Fifty-three

Word count: 2.6k

Tw: dex is kinda really nauseous also if you read the last chapter you know what this one is so be careful

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-fruity-frog @poppinspop @crystallinewalker @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @never-mourn-the-good @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @cotyledon-tomentosa @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @cherryberrybitch @blossomsxgalorex

On Ao3 or below the cut!

    I spend the next few hours playing on my Imparter to distract myself from the outside world. 

    It’s surprisingly effective.

     Except for the fact that I’ve eaten all of the food I’ve stashed in various places in my room and apparently my stomach doesn’t care that it’s seven thirty but it does care that I’ve been awake for long enough to go get myself breakfast.

    Also there’s the fact that I ate like four bites of dinner yesterday so it’s probably not pleased with that either.

    Honestly, I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long before having to scavenge for food.

    I find some cereal downstairs and just grab the box, deciding it isn’t worth it to make a bowl that has to be washed. 

    Somewhere around twenty minutes later, I hear quiet footsteps echoing from a different tower, and this tells me two things.

    One. It isn’t the triplets that are awake because I seriously doubt they are capable of being quiet.

    Two. The acoustics here are really great for hearing every single little noise. I already sorta knew that but it’s nice to have another example. 

    The footsteps stop at the kitchen for a minute before heading up my staircase.

    I prepare myself to scream like a banshee and wield my pocket knife if the footsteps try anything.

    When they get to my door, they stop and knock.

    I look through the keyhole, because I’m going to be so disappointed with myself if I let a murderer into my room willingly. 

    All of my worries are nothing, though. It’s Mom. 

    I open the door and ask, “hm?”

    She whispers, “You’re awake?”

     “Unfortunately.”

      “Oh. Well, then. Are you at least feeling better?”

       Headache-yes. Literally everything else-no. Just a blob of anxiety because I have no freaking clue how I’m supposed to tell you anything. 

    “Yeah. I just fell asleep super early and now I’m awake,” I hear myself answer.

    Mom ruffles my hair and I haven’t yet figured out how to escape that. “I’m glad you’re doing better.”

    She turns to leave but I say, voice cracking, “Wait.”

    Mom turns back, worried.

    “When Dad gets up I’d like to talk to you about something.”

    Still concerned, Mom replies, “Got it.”

    The next few hours are some of the longest I’ve had, and, honestly, I try to distract myself, but I can’t get into anything.

    Everything I try to do just makes me feel sick to my stomach.

    The best I’ve got is just lying on my bed, writing a mental script that’ll get thrown out immediately. It’s gone right after I think of it, anyway, but it keeps me occupied enough to not fiddle with some gadget.

    Also my hands are shaking so working wouldn’t be all that productive and I’d just get angry that I broke whatever I found. 

    It’s somewhere around noon-ish that I get another knock on the door, and I know I’m green and that Mom and Dad will know immediately that something’s off and that doesn’t go to my mental script.

    Give me one second. Why did I eat anything this week?

    I open the door.

    “He’s still slightly asleep but I’ve dragged him over here,” Mom says.

    Dad yawns, asking, “What did I miss?”

    “It doesn’t matter,” Mom replies, dragging him by his wrist into my room. “What’d you want to talk to us about?”

    I cringe. Preposition. I should fix it but that’s not the point of today and I doubt anyone cares except for me. And then there’s the Dizznee ‘about’ that I can’t unhear because of Fitz. 

    Fitz. 

    Somehow I will always manage to think of him in the most roundabout way possible.

    A flurry of chills race down my spine, bringing me back to the real world. 

    “Sit, please,” I tell Mom and Dad.

    Dad sits on my rolly chair, and Mom finds a nice spot on my bed. 

    I lean against the opposite side for support, knees ready to give out at any minute. 

    “Do you promise to not tell the Triplets about anything which occurs within this room unless otherwise indicated?”

    I have to cover all of my bases, and that is the one about which I am most worried.

    Mom and Dad agree to my terms, and I close my eyes, trying to find some way to soften what I’m about to say like it’ll just magically come to me after thinking about it for the past two hours.

    “I really don’t know how to lead up to this.” I take a breath. “I’m gay.”

    I squeeze my eyes closed, unable to even risk seeing their reactions. 

    What on Earth did I just do?  

    Just let me crawl into a hole and die.

    I’ve lowered myself onto my bed by the time I’ve worked through the initial wave of panic enough to be aware of the world.

    My eyes slowly open from sheer curiosity, finding the world spinning, and I'm feeling more sick than before. 

    Mom wraps her arm around my shoulders, and whispers, “Honey?”

    I nod, feeling the tears start to come.

    “We know,” Mom finishes.

    That’s enough to snap me out of my spiral for a second to ask, “What?”

    “You aren’t exactly subtle when you like someone. Everyone knew you liked Sophie before she did. I started to suspect when you two had that falling out and didn’t speak to each other for a while but now you’re friends like it never happened.”

    I sigh, “Even the council knows about that. But it never happened. I redacted it.”

    Mom smiles. “And, recently you’ve started acting that same way when a certain boy was around and confirmed my suspicions.”

    Dad fake-coughs, slipping Fitz’s name in between two of them.

    “You say that like you don’t owe me five lusters. Pay up.” Mom holds her hand out with a Deductor, fingers curling up in the universal ‘give me’ sign.

    “Well, Fitz is straight so don’t get yourselves any ideas,” I know he isn’t and calling him straight probably isn’t great for him but let’s just ignore that and make sure my parents aren’t shipping us because then they’ll be much more suspicious of how often he’s hanging around here. “So it doesn’t really matter but you bet on me? Being gay? And Dad, you bet against it?”

    “I, for one, was convinced you liked Sophie.”

    Mom snorts.

    “What?”

    “That’s a crap reason. I know there’s more in there,” Mom counters.

    “Maybe I’m just blind. Ever think of that? Also you were the one that proposed the bet and you know how I can’t refuse a challenge...So, Dex, how long have you known?”

    That’s...actually a better phrasing than I was expecting. I’d have guessed you would’ve gone for the classic ‘so how long have you been’ because the answer is a really freaking long time. Stick to the script, father. Not like there’s much of one anymore but at least try. 

    You’re not aware of what it says, but I expect you to follow it.

    “Two and a half months-ish. How long have you known?”

    Mom flinches. “L-longer than that….”

    Immediate regret.

    “I think the final evidence I needed was when you sent me that in-depth paragraph of like a half dozen different identities without even pausing to check a source.”

    “That was not more than two months ago and also I could have totally been reciting facts from Wikipedia or whatever that just decided to stick in my brain.”

    Note to self: type slower the next time you have to explain all the gay to someone. 

    Mom gives me a look that says, “Yeah, sure. Tell yourself that.”

    A few seconds of silence before Dad asks, “Dare I ask? What is this Wikipedia?”

    “Human thing. Has a whole bunch of articles on all the stuff under the sun. Crowdsourced so maybe not the most reliable, but it will, more than likely, have an article on whatever you’re trying to google.”

    “Google?” Dad asks.

    “Common human search engine. Has been adopted into English as a verb meaning to look up on the internet, which is just this network of computers that basically contains everything you can imagine plus ten. It’s really nice some days except for the ads. Ads are freaking annoying.”

    “Interesting.”

    The Triplets have apparently awoken and have started their paths of destruction, as something downstairs--probably glass by the sound of it--has been smashed.

    Mom squeezes my shoulder, saying, “I should probably go wrangle them.”

    Dad and I both know they won’t be wrangled, but nod because Mom’s going to try no matter what we try to argue.

    When the door closes behind her, Dad says, “Please don’t be mad at me.”

    “I’m not...why would I be?”

    “I just lost five lusters betting against you despite the evidence.”

    “Honestly I’m kinda relieved you didn’t think I’m gay because then I could stay in the closet a little longer. Also the fact that you were challenged and then confirmation bias took over makes up for the rest of it.”

    “Don’t hate me for this, but what do you mean by ‘stay in the closet?’”

    I smile just a bit. “Genuine questions won’t get you blocked. Basically the closet is a widespread metaphor for hiding your sexuality or gender. So, when you tell someone about one of those things, it’s called ‘coming out of the closet.’ Due to its metaphorical nature, you can use it in a bunch of different ways, hence, ‘staying in the closet’ means not telling people that I’m gay.”

    Dad mutters, “Why am I surprised that you’ve referenced a human thing?”

    “You sound like Fitz,” I mumble. 

    “Huh?”

    “Nothing.”

    It’s a few highly awkward seconds before Dad says, “I just…wanted to make sure you know that just because I’m blind, that doesn’t mean I’m…”

    He trails off, not knowing how to finish the sentence because he hasn’t studied the vocab words nearly enough. 

    “Homophobic?” I suggest.

    “I don’t even know what that means but I’m going to just assume you’re right. You seem to know these things.”

    I define it anyway. “Homophobic is an adjective, referring to someone who hates gay people for the sole reason that they’re gay. There are also some related terms using other stems like biphobic, aphobic, transphobic, and so on and so forth. There really are a ton, which is disheartening to know that people can be incredibly specific scumbags.”

    “I was right that you were right. You learned all of this on the Google?”

    I smile because ‘the Google’ is just priceless. 

     “More Wikipedia and the LGBTA+ wiki than Google answers itself, but I got there using the Google search engine, so I’d say yeah.”

    “...Do I…do I ask?”

    “There are a whole bunch of forms of the LGBT acronym, but one of the most common ones I’ve seen is LGBTQ+ which is what I’ve decided to define when asked about any of them. That one stands for lesbian, gay, bi, trans, and queer or questioning. Technically all of them have multiple different things for which they stand, like the g could stand for genderqueer, but we’re going to try to not make things too confusing for you. The plus at the end is just kind of an umbrella for everything else. The A at the end of the wiki one stands for aro and ace and agender.”

    “Those are words and I definitely know what they mean. Mostly. Just not the last two...or three...or four.”

    “That’s actually better than the average I’ve seen when dealing with elves. Average is zero. Aro is short for aromantic, and aros feel no to very little romantic attraction, but there are a whole bunch of nuances I don’t totally know as of yet. And then ace is short for asexual and it’s similar to aro in that ace people don’t feel sexual attraction. The terms are related but not the same. I’m not even close to an expert so I apologize for any information that’s not quite accurate.”

    “Okay. I know those words.”

    “I’m not an expert in gender identities, either, and this is probably a very long, very rambly rabbit hole that I’m going down. Genderqueer is kind of what it sounds like. It’s an umbrella term or label for anyone that has an experience with gender™. It’s not directly synonymous with nonbinary, but they’re related. Nonbinary means not strictly male or female. And then agender falls under that and means not having a gender. There’s a whole bunch of other stuff in there, but I think that’s a good enough intro.”

    “I’m going to need flashcards for all of this.”

    “That’s why Google exists. Although now I’m just going to be your walking dictionary, aren’t I?”

    “Like you aren’t already.”

    I smile. “You’re not wrong but that doesn’t mean I like it.”

    Dad rolls over to me in the office chair before standing up and wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug.

    “When you get yourself a boyfriend, if he hurts you, I may accidentally hurt him tenfold,” he whispers.

    “To be expected...wait a second. You said ‘when’.” I pull away just enough to look at Dad like he’s gone crazy. 

    Fitz is going to run away screaming eventually and I’m going to be forever alone. Also, we can’t make Dad suspicious of anything. That would be bad. 

    “You’ll find someone and he’ll be lucky to have you.”

    “You tell yourself that.”

    “I can and I will. Change my mind.”

    I mutter, “Already did once today.”

   “Touché. But that doesn’t change anything. You will not change that particular opinion of you.”

    “Challenge accepted.”

    “That’s not a challenge to be accepted.”

    “And yet I’m still accepting it.” 

    Maybe I should have thought this train of thought before deciding that this is the hill on which I will die considering the fact that I’m currently dating Fitz but, hey, I’m convinced that’s just an extended hallucination. He’ll run away screaming eventually if it isn’t. 

    Dad smiles and squeezes me tighter before letting go. “Let me know if you need anything else because I just conveniently remembered that I have to get to the store. Stuff’s happening today.”

    “What kind of stuff?” I have to ask.

    “They’ve finished drywalling and I want to make sure everything’s as it should be before they continue with anything else. Like putting in the built-ins. There’s a lot of shelves.”

    “Cool. I might stop by if I get a chance. I should probably be working on something myself.”

    “Take a break. What’s the worst that can happen?”

    “I really don’t know if you’re allowed to know this but you get to know anyway. Tinker’s a member of the Neverseen, so now she’s in Black Swan custody, so I’ve been told to take over for them so if I just decide to take a random day off, I’m not sure how much stuff will blow up in my face.”

    “Okay...don’t get yourself hurt.” 

    That’s less of a reaction than I was expecting. Huh. 

    “I’ll do my best.”

    “Let me know if you need anything.” 

    “Yep.” 

    Dad leaves, I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and flop backward on my bed

    I didn’t throw up. I see this as an absolute win. 

    But then there’s another knock at the door. 

    “It’s open!” I call, turning to see who’s there. 

    Lex’s voice replies, “That just means you don’t want to get up.”

    “No kidding. What do you want?”

    “What does gay mean?”

#kotlc #detz #dex dizznee #fitz vacker #kotlc fanfic #gay

[softvoicemonty]

Waste Deep Ch. 2: Definitely a metaphor

Harvel wiped the condensation from his glasses and yawned. He always slept on the cart ride back up to the station. He never managed to get too much sleep, at least not enough for the nightmares to start up. That usually happened at the three hour mark, but he was honestly just glad to catch any sleep when he could.

He rubbed the side of his head with his palm. The steady, gentle, rocking motion of the cart had been interrupted by a violent jarring, causing Harvel to slip down from Dibbuks shin and slam his head on the floor. It had made a reverberating "Poong!" sound upon impact.

'Selby did mention rusted joints somewhere. Guess he wasn't kidding about the rough ride.' He thought while he watched Mary curse at the controls. Varying iterations of "Bullshit!" and "God damn it!" were coming in a steady stream.

She gave up for a moment, throwing her hands up in frustration. She resumed fiddling with the panel for a second before kicking the controls. When that didn't seem to work she gave Don, who had been sleeping in the corner, the same treatment. "Get up idiot. We got problems." She growled, her lips barely moving.

Feeling slightly more refreshed than he had a few hours prior, Harvel put on a smile and attempted to shake Dibbuk awake. She shook her head drowsily and mumbled something incoherent. Harvel sighed, 'Fuck it, might as well let her sleep until we get to the station.' He thought, striding towards the cart window.

Wondering what line they were on, Harvel glanced out of the carts porthole. The lights that lit the tunnel shone blue as they crept past. If they were on the blue line now, they'd have to switch over to the red line before they hit the five mile mark. Any further than that and they would start going in a circle.

Don finally stirred almost a full minute after Mary had set her boot shaped alarm clock off into his side. "Ugh, we hit the switch station yet Mary?" He grumbled, still half asleep, or drunk. You could never tell with Don.

"Uh, no. I think we're still somewhere under Lamb street." Harvel interjected, pulling his pack off and setting it in front of him. He was starting to feel the little knot in his stomach that told him he was hungry. He rifled through its contents until he found the crumpled up fruit bar he'd thrown in a week ago.

It was made of buunchal, a watermelon shaped fruit indigenous to the planet. His mom had always told him they tasted like pears but seeing as he'd never tasted a pear this made no real difference to him. She didn't know what pears tasted like either. It was just what everyone said if you asked. He took a second to wonder if everyone just thought this was what pears tasted like. If anyone alive at this point had ever really eaten one.

The bar was in pieces after its rough journey at the bottom of his pack. 'There might be some sort of metaphor here.' He thought fiddling with the plastic. The fruit itself looked like it might've gone bad. 'Hmm, definitely a metaphor.' He tossed the pieces into his mouth as he waited for Mary to fully stop the cart. He knew he'd have to be the one to check the rails.

The cart ground to a halt just as he was popping the last piece into his gullet. Mary shook her head and sighed. "Harvel can you go check exactly what it is that's making that noise? If the joints were just rusty we would be fine but something must be real fucked up for it to be that goddamn loud." She said still smacking the edge of the panel a few times for good measure.

"Already ahead of you." Harvel replied, draping the strap of his shotgun over his shoulder and clicking on the flashlight. This sort of thing wasn't all that uncommon. Both the carts and the rails were older than his family could go back in generations. They were about as reliable as the word of a used boat salesman.

The boarding ramp of the cart opened to a pipe about the size of a triple decker bus. Harvel stopped the ramp at about half way and walked out to the edge, trying to not shake the cabin. He lifted his gun up to shine the flashlight on the rails. He could see rusted cracks running along the rail and off into the distance.

"Well, I can see the rust, but I'm gonna have to go up top to find out what's really wrong." He shouted back into the cabin, a grimace quickly forming on his face. He really didn't like getting on top of the carts. The footing was bad and there was nothing besides the rail to hang on to if you slipped. Seeing as the rails were consistently coated in a thick greasy grime, hanging on to one was barely a pretense to falling.

The environment suits they wore had a tethering unit built into them. He pulled the inch and a half thick tether out and hooked onto the middle rung of the ladder that led to the top of the cart. He climbed the rungs, nearly slipping on the second to last.

Cresting the top of the cart he instantly understood what had happened. A fatburg from a pipe above them had gotten too heavy and broken through the top of the tunnel. It was laying on the rail and blocking the front right wheel from moving. It was most likely what had caused the rust as well.

Harvel carefully made his way up and over to the affected wheel. It wasn't so bad, but it had wrapped around the wheel itself. He pulled a canister of fast acting solvent from his chest pocket and sprayed the wheel and chunk of fatburg liberally. After a few seconds he realized that it wasn't going to be enough to get the job done.

Using the butt of his shotgun he tried to just knock the chunk out of the way with minimal results. Between the solvent and his regular strikes he could see that he was making some headway, but it was a long way from efficient. After a minute or so he stopped to catch his breath and immediately regretted it.

He heard a sickeningly familiar clicking and chattering coming from behind the cart. He shut his eyes and slowly turned his head to see exactly what he had been fearing. At least six warrior davy ants were making their way toward the cart, and he knew there were more pouring in behind them. This was a very, very bad development for him.

"Mary! Start the cart! We've got warriors incoming!" He shouted down into the cabin. He felt the carts engines roar into life as confirmation that she'd heard him. Harvel turned back to the wheel, resuming his strikes with frantic abandon. Through the sweat pouring into his eyes he could see the wheel beginning to move.

He looked back for just a moment to check on the advancing ants. They were mere seconds away from the back of the cart. He didn't have time left for caution. "Fucking gun it! Fucking gun it!" He screamed back down into the cabin.

The cart lurched like a beached whale and the wheel broke free. In his infinite wisdom, Harvel had forgotten to grab a better hand hold and the sudden motion of the cart made him lose his footing. He watched, in what felt like slow motion, as the cart seemed to pass right by him, before the tether snapped taught and pulled him along with it.

He felt his side slam into the boarding ramp, still half open. Pain quickly spread along his left side like fire. With tears forming in his eyes he could see Dibbuk standing at the base of the ramp, about to make a grab for him. For a moment, hope of a safe but daring escape filled him. Then he noticed the hook on his tether was bending. With a barely audible "Ping" the hook snapped, and then he was falling.

He didn't even have time to scream before he hit the thick sludge that lay at the bottom of the pipe. Sliding into the muck like a flailing meteor, he could almost make out the lights of the cart disappearing into the distance. He knew they wouldn't be coming back. He was well and truly on his own this time. He immediately glanced behind him to see that most of the ants had seemingly given up chase.

They must have moved at least a thousand feet from where they were stuck, as he could no longer see where the fatburg had broken through. He breathed a short sigh of relief before hobbling up onto his feet. This relief was short lived as he watched the sludge begin to shift around him. He knew what was coming, he just had no idea what to do about it.

'I am utterly fucked' was the only thought he could muster before it hit him. If the giant muck centipede hadn't grabbed him first try he might have been able to run away, but he would only be so lucky. He held his breath as the giant tube of legs and pincers dragged him through the muck for a solid three seconds.

It had grabbed him from the right side and was trying to cut him in half with it's two massive mandibles. He had been extremely lucky as his shotgun was trapped in between his chest and the bastards jaw. He felt the centipede loosen its grip for just a moment as it chewed on his gun, and took the opportunity to curl up and wedge his feet into it's maw. His shotgun was pinned to his chest and pointing away from the head of the 2 ton insect.

He used what little power he had in his legs to pry open the jaws, just enough to allow the shotgun to slip under his armpit. He could feel the pain as the barbs of the centipedes pincer dug further into his back. It was now or never. Before it could attempt to drown him again, he used his elbow to break one of the antennae on the top of the monsters head.

In the moment that the centipede reacted to the pain sandwich it had just inadvertently ordered, Harvel was able to slip his arm down and back, fumbling for the shotguns handle. He found the safety and clicked it out of place. With extreme force, he jammed the barrel into the bottom of the bastards head and pulled the trigger.

All movement stopped in the matter of a second. Having closed his eyes in anticipation of a slow and painful death, Harvel wrestled himself free of the now limp centipedes grip before he could even open them. He felt each barb rip free as he did. He stood there for a second to catch his breath and try to calm down but his rage got the better of him. "Fuck you! Stupid! Fucking! Bug! Fuuuuuuck!" He screamed, punctuating each word with a forceful kick to the remains of the centipedes head.

He slumped down onto his knees and panted, using the centipedes body to lay on. He could feel blood pooling in the back of his suit. The barbs had done exactly what they were designed to do.

As much as he would've liked to just lay there and sleep, he remembered the ants. He couldn't stay here. Not if he didn't want to end up as ant shit. He knew they would come to investigate the commotion like any good neighborhood watch association.

The ants aside, he felt like he was being watched. It wouldn't be another centipede. They were lone predators, fiercely territorial, and as big as this one was it must have ruled this level for a few miles. He was surprised that the ants had even risked coming after them.

He knew he had about 12 extra shells on him save for the four already loaded into the shotgun, but that wouldn't do him too much good against the warriors. They each took three at the very least. His back was torn up pretty badly and at this rate if he didn't get it looked at quick infection would set in. He checked his legs to make sure they still worked and grabbed his shotgun.

As he wrapped the strap over his shoulder, he felt that something about the weapon was off. He held it up to his eye to sight in and realization dawned. The barrel was bent in at least a 15 degree angle. It must've bent when the centipede had tried to chew him in half the first time. It was a miracle that it hadn't exploded as soon as he'd fired it.

The feeling of being watched was still there. Like the hand of a large man wrapped around the back of his neck. He couldn't tell if he was shuddering due to adrenaline or fear but it didn't really matter at this point. He had to move either way.

Begrudgingly thankful that he'd been (if only slightly) lucky, he made his way down the pipe. Keeping an eye on the sludge he trudged through and his shotgun ready, he stopped to listen every few hundred feet. It didn't sound like the ants were after him. They most likely had found the centipede and were enjoying the spoils of his currently unfolding near death experience.

The switch station was only about a mile and a half away and he figured he would reach it within an hour. Dibbuk and the rest of the team would probably be there posted up, waiting for him to make his way to them. If he managed to make it that far this might be a hell of a story.

Even the scouts that had their names plastered all over the pump station had never taken down pedes by themselves. He might even get a few days off. He hoped.

He had to stop a few times to catch his breath and to keep himself from losing consciousness. However much blood he was hemorrhaging from his back, it must have been more than he'd thought. Every step felt like he was throwing his legs at the ground. He only really stayed upright by locking his knees as he put weight on them. Any bend and he'd either lose his strength or his balance, and he didn't need any more sewage in his pants.

It took Harvel another 45 minutes but he reached the switch station faster than he had predicted. As he had hoped, he could see the cart parked just outside the switch station. Multiple large spotlights were shining down the tunnel, occasionally blinding him. He held up his arm to block the light, now settled directly on him.

"Harvel! That you?!" He heard Dibbuk shout from behind the source of the light. Harvel was so tired he looked down to check. "Yeah! Think so!" He bellowed back, wiping some of the grime away from his suit. He had only just noticed how much muck was caked to his entire person.

He didn't get any further response, but he did hear what must have been Dibbuk jumping down into the pipe. He would have sped up but with the punctures in his suit the cold had really started to seep in. He could barely feel his chest and he knew the muck had gotten in and was now semi frozen within his suit.

He decided to save his energy and stood there. He only noticed that he was shaking when he looked down to see the large ripples emanating from his legs, still calf deep in waste. For the first time since he'd fallen off of the cart he had some time to actually process what had just happened.

He hadn't really felt fear while it was going down. At least, not as he understood it. He had just sort of reacted. He had been as close to death an hour ago as he had ever been. He hadn't thought about that. He'd only thought about what to do next.

'That's a good thing right? I mean it's not like I'm not afraid of dying. I just didn't consider it when it was about to happen.' He thought, allowing gravity to finally set in and slumping down onto the curve of the pipe that was still dry.

Dibbuk was getting close now, her rifle trained on the darkness behind him. He decided to leave all the deep thoughts for when he had time for them. For now, he decided he was tired. And hungry still for what it was worth.

As he closed his eyes he felt Dibbuks claw close around his shoulders. "C'mon, medical team is on the way. What happened with the ants?" She asked, gently pulling him backwards, one arm still aiming the rifle.

"No problem with ants. Caught by a centipede. Killed it. Walked back." He mumbled, his tongue lazily serving up the words. He was too tired for annunciation at the moment. His back was beginning to burn like hot coals in each wound.

He tried to open his eyes but all he could see were the trails his boots were leaving in the muck.

#science-fiction #original fiction #satire #mystery thriller

[n-miri]

More Tommy-Purpled friendship content!! CW for: brief mentions of corpses and death (via being struck by lightning) 

Word count: 1610

On rainy days, Purpled polishes his sword. It’s a good weapon: netherite, with Sharpening V, Unbreaking III— the usual overpowered enchantments. He isn’t complaining though; the stronger he is, the better. He goes through a collection of blades, from the one he knows best to the oldest one he owns, on the verge of being grinded into dust. Wipe, sharpen, steer clear of rust. Keep the blade clean and dry. It’s easy to get lost in the repetitive motions. 

Dogchamp lies by his side, close to the fire, hind leg poking at his thigh through the soft material. Their ears perk up, and their tail begins to wag. Back, forth, thumping on the floorboards. 

A door slams open, followed by a myriad of curses. It’s the usual rainy day, after all. 

“Don’t let my floor get wet,” Purpled says immediately. His voice rebounds within the house, a meagre two rooms decorated with torches. A temporary base, if you will. One that he’s planning to blow up soon. 

His UFO was… 

It just isn’t the same. 

“Fuck you,” the trespasser immediately responds. The house is unbearably empty despite its miniscule nature. “I’ll do whatever I want.” 

A beat. He probably found the towel Purpled placed on the counter earlier, specifically for this scenario. Footsteps, sharp against the falling of rain—white hair peeks out from the door. Tommy sneers at the other derisively, before crossing the room in five long steps and dropping down on Purpled’s other side. 

This has become a ritual of sorts, with the two blondes (or, in Tommy’s case, ex-blonde) seeking refuge from bad days. Sometimes it’s sunny out, or the middle of the night; most of the time, it’s raining. 

The day they met, it was raining too. Wide eyes meet each other in the solace of darkness. The past is unforgivingly cruel, and whispers mockeries into their ears. Tommy looked so small, in the Church Prime’s pew; Purpled was sure he looked equally as haggard, hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. 

So, Purpled invited Tommy to his base. It’s warm despite being unfamiliar, and Dogchamp is amicable towards traumatised teenagers who need way more therapy than life is willing to give. They talked a bit about the stupidity of other members. Rarely, there was a glimpse into their lives, what they missed and have lost. Neither of them actively asked and, in a sense, it was comforting. 

Then it happens again. And again. Tommy pulls out his sewing kit on the third visit and demands to patch up his hoodie. Purpled teaches Tommy how to shear sheep, wool coming off in lines of blue. Just like this, they help each other. There’s too much left unspoken and no expectations to be had. There is no debt to be repaid, or a favour to be granted, or a profitable exchange. 

It’s just that. It’s just them, crossing each other’s path sometimes. Seeing how the other has changed from their previous meeting. 

“It’s stupid,” Tommy says suddenly. His shrill voice pierces through the haze of thoughts. Pale eyes flicker around the room, with shadows from corners pulling faces. “This is what you do in your spare time? Fight, prepare to fight, fight some more?” He scoffs, not even sparing Purpled a glance. “Idiot.” 

Much to the mercenary’s bemusement, Tommy proceeds to pull a cake out of his inventory. As in, a full-blown, home-baked dessert. 

“.... Huh?” 

An embarrassed scowl creeps onto his face. “Don’t be like that.” He drops the plate loudly onto the space between the two. “It’s edible, if that’s what you were wondering. I know how to cook shit. Niki…” Tommy’s eyes grow distant, fingers twitching, as if moving to punch the treat into oblivion. “She used to bake. A lot. Back in- y’know, back in L’manberg. I learned a bit from her,” he finishes lamely. All the bravado has left him. 

“That’s cool, dude,” Purpled replies. “It looks good.” 

“Wh- of course it does! I’m poggers at everything I do. That’s why the women love me.” Carefully, the boy flicks strands of white hair away from his eyes. “I’m astonishingly charming.” 

There was a time where Tommy’s hair imitated the sunlight, gold and yellow and bursting with happiness. He smiled more. Laughed more, too. Was more brash and insolent; was so willing to see the good in everyone he met. 

Now his hair is completely white. His dull eyes flicker around the room and his hands are always, always trembling. Tommy is different from who he was before. 

The Tommy and Purpled of before would never have become friends. 

“Hold up, let me cut it.” Saying that, the mercenary raises his newly polished sword. Tommy sputters, holding a hand out to stop him. 

“Why can’t you use a knife like a normal person!” 

Purpled shrugs. “Technically, a sword is a very big knife. It’s… stabby and shit.” 

Exasperated, Tommy gets up from his spot in a tangle of long limbs and half-hearted glares. “I’m going to slice this cake like a normal person. It deserves to be treated with respect.” 

“We’re going to eat it anyway,” Purpled points out. 

The other sniffs indignantly, turning heel to find cutleries. Dogchamp lifts their head in his direction, turning to Purpled, then back again. Slowly, the wolf raises from their sitting position and trots out of the room. Traitor. 

From the closed window, lightning streaks through the sky, followed closely by a clap of thunder. It’s loud, Purpled winces. He had expected it but- the sound still makes him jumpy. Rainy days in general are terrible. 

The patter of rain against the dirt and harsh concrete pulls out a vivid scene from his memory. Soldiers, rising out of graves, burdened by shiftless armour, heaving up weapons twice their arm span. Thunder imitates piercing shrieks, the blast of an explosion. Raindrops sound like corpses hitting the ground. 

Everytime it rains, he recalls that scene with bitter reminiscence; greets it like an old friend who came back to haunt him as an afterthought. It’s not the best way to spend his day. 

“You know,” Tommy says, having entered the room when he wasn’t aware, “I got struck by lightning once.” 

Distantly, Purpled thinks of raindrops rolling through hair and a shock so bright it electrifies the body. The event he construes in his mind, like always, paints his own death in a morbid way. He wonders if he died, would anyone come visit him? Would there even be a grave? 

“That sucks,” the blonde replies. 

Tommy gives a non-committal hum, shifting the objects in his arms. In one hand the boy carries a kitchen knife and in the other, a blanket. It’s the one with a UFO print on it—too childish for the purple boy’s tastes, yet too precious to be thrown away. 

Once again, the two -three, counting Dogchamp- are back in their original positions. The blanket is draped over Purpled’s lap and he watches, warily, as Tommy’s shaking hands raise the knife. At this point, Purpled would have offered to do it. He nearly does, too, but- 

Ten minutes have passed. Eyebrows scrunched, a bead of sweat against his forehead, Tommy tries to steady his grip and cut the cake in equal slices. It doesn’t work. It’s uneven at best, falling apart at worst, but- 

None of that matters. He did it. 

A ‘good job’ or ‘gg’ sticks on Purpled’s tongue, sincere yet worried of coming off as patronising. Instead, he gives a silent thumbs-up and hopes that conveys all the things he wishes he could say. 

Tommy grins. “Eat up before it gets cold, purple boy.” Neither of them mention that it’s definitely not warm anymore, with how long it’s been and how cold the weather is. Obediently, the teenager picks up the tiniest chunk of cake and pops it into his mouth. 

Sweet is the first thing that touches his tongue. Honestly, it shouldn’t come as a surprise— Tommy started over-seasoning his food after the prison visit, the same time he came back with a head full of white hair. That, paired with the fact Awesamdude said he had died, creates a sinking feeling in Purpled’s guts. It doesn’t take an idiot to connect the dots. 

“Yummy,” he comments. “Delicious. Uhh, what other synonyms are there? Delectable, tasteful-” A choking laugh cuts him off, too loud and too worryingly breathless all at once. “I’ll give this a… hm. Maybe an eight out of ten.” 

“I should have gotten full marks,” Tommy says sarcastically. “Glad you like it, though.” Underneath the amusement is the barest form of sincerity, and that’s enough for the both of them. 

“Uh-huh! I do.” 

Once the rain lets up, the two will part again. Purpled will wash sugar off his fingers, keep the polishing kit in a chest and carry on with his life. That’s how this has always been. 

But for now, light from the fireplace casts a glow across their faces, painting a sunset upon Tommy’s self. It’s reminiscent of older days, better days; ones that have long since passed. They’ll never get any of it back—family, homes, the people they once were. All they can do is yearn for what has been lost and move on. 

So for now, Purpled stops focusing on the what-ifs and could-have-beens. For now, he relishes in the warmth in his sides as he laughs himself silly. Dogchamp dozes off contentedly. A blanket is shared, covering his and Tommy’s laps, barely offering heat. The half-eaten cake lies between them and his friend is threatening to smash it into his face. 

Outside, rain drums against the earth. Neither of them pay it mind. 

#minecraft #dreamsmp #tommyinnit #purpled #dogchamp #purpled-centric #back at it again with boys being boys #tired writer moment #marie antoinette! tommy