#this book about the runaways is doing shit to my brain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladykailitha · 1 year

Text

Little Runaway Part 7

Oh my god you guys, seriously you all are amazing. I am really loving the reactions to this story. There is just one more part to go and it’s a sweet little epilogue. This is the showdown. The moment you’ve all been waiting for.

Also if you asked to be tagged after the limit of twenty, I’m sorry. I have the limit for a reason. I’m not doing it because I’m being elitist or whatever, my poor little ADHD brain starts getting frustrated and wanting to cry just doing the 20 I’ve got, but I do it because it makes me happy people want to be informed the next time a part goes up. I don’t know how people with dozens do it.

Plus tagging adds more time putting up the parts. Something that would take five minutes on AO3 (because they keep track of all the chapters for you) could take anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour depending on how many parts there are, and how many have been put up (I go and crosslink on EVERY part to make sure if a part in the middle gets found in the wild all by its lonesome the person can read the previous and subsequent parts). Add tagging to that and you can see the time starts to really add up.

Again thank you for all the love and support this little story has gotten. The last part will be up tonight after I eat dinner and then (cold permitting) I’ll put up the first part of Ser Stephan of Harring’s Town before I go to bed.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Eddie walked into the police station and right up to Hopper’s desk. He leaned on it with both hands and stared directly into Hopper’s eyes.

“I need you to arrest me,” he bit out. “Now.”

“What the hell?” Hopper asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Mr Harrington knows I know where Steve is,” he breathed. “I can’t let him get to me to get to Steve. If you need a reason, I have two baggies of weed in my jacket pocket. Please. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Hopper gulped. “Well there is a rumor you kidnapped him, so...”

Eddie nodded and held out his hands together at the wrist. “Save him, please.”

Steve was sitting on the sofa reading when Wayne came home from work.

“Where’s Eddie?” he asked on his way to the fridge.

Steve shrugged. “He just said he had errands to run.”

Wayne came back with two beers and handed one to Steve. Steve swung his feet off the sofa to let Wayne sit down. Steve set the book down and popped the lid off his bottle and then did the same for Wayne’s when the older man raised an eyebrow.

“Neat trick,” Wayne said, taking a swig.

Steve shrugged. “Turns out years of baseball, basketball, and swimming make you a strong person. I don’t do those things anymore, but I keep working out to keep that strength up.”

“That how you were able to break Clint’s nose?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t know how much to hold back when punching, because when I hit most of the time there is no holding back.”

“What have you got to be hitting that needs to be hit that hard, boy?” he asked.

Steve’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t tell you. I can get into a lot of trouble if I tell people. The only ones that know are the ones that have seen it for themselves. But I have seen things that have made grown men shit their pants. I have been hunted by things that would haunt the nightmares of the hardest of souls. I have been actually tortured and drugged. And yet face to face with my own father and I chickened out like a bitch.”

Wayne stared at the boy that should have had the dream life. Rich parents, everything he could have asked for. But instead nothing but heartache and loss for this kid. Because despite Steve almost being twenty, he was still a kid.

He put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and was about to say something when the phone rang. He frowned and got up to answer it.

As he said hello, a curly haired teenager in a trucker hat came barreling through his front door.

“Steve!” Dustin yelled. “Someone at Hellfire snitched and your dad is on his way here.”

Steve worked to calm Dustin while Wayne listened to the other person on the other end of the line, making the appropriate noises. Then he hung up.

“You must be Dustin,” Wayne said coming back over to the sofa.

Dustin looked over at Wayne as if he was seeing him for the first time. “Oh. Yeah. Um...sorry. For barging in like that, but I really needed to see Steve.”

Wayne chuckled. “Don’t worry, your friend here is going to be just fine.” He cocked his head to the side. “How did you get here so fast? I just barely got the call myself what was going down.”

“My mom drove me,” Dustin said, staring at the floor.

“Claudia is here?” Wayne asked. Dustin nodded. “Good. The more the merrier.” He turned to Steve. “Under the sink, behind the Draino is your bag. It’ll be up to you to decide what you want to do with it.”

Steve nodded.

Wayne walked outside.

There standing in a semi-circle was Claudia Henderson, Joyce Byers, and Sheriff Jim Hopper. Standing off to the side, was Eddie who was hugging his ribs. Wayne joined the semi-circle just as Clint Harrington pulled up to the trailer park and got out of his car.

“Sheriff!” Clint yelled. “I want that man arrested for kidnapping my son!” He pointed angrily at Eddie, who looked down.

“I don’t know about that,” Wayne said. “Hey, Steve! You being held against your will?”

Dustin and Steve came out of the trailer slowly, the backpack slung over one shoulder.

“No, sir,” Steve said, looking his father in the eye. “I am not.”

“Liar!” Clint bellowed. “Don’t you be believing a word out of his mouth. He’s been brainwashed.”

“No I haven’t,” Steve said, feeling a little bit more bold knowing he had people who would protect him.

“You leave that boy alone,” Joyce said. “He’s gone through enough.”

Claudia crossed her arms. “Agreed.”

“You better get out of my way,” Clint growled.

Hopped pulled out a piece of paper and held it up. “This here is a warrant for your arrest for the assault of Steven Harrington.”

Clint laughed. “You can’t prove a god damn thing.”

“Actually we can,” Hopper continued. “Steve was smart enough to take pictures after your little tussle and the bruises will match up with your ring.”

Clint went to work it off his finger, but Wayne stepped up to stop him. “I think I’ll be taking that for the Sheriff if you don’t mind.”

Clint growled, but handed it over. He walked back over to Hopper who was holding a baggy for Wayne to drop it into. Hopper sealed the bag and stuck it in his pocket.

“What do you say, Steve?” Hopper called over his shoulder. “Should we lock up this bastard and throw away the key?”

Steve held out his hand to Eddie. Eddie looked at it, unsure and then came over to take it. Steve pressed his forehead to Eddie’s. “What do you think I should do?”

Eddie cupped Steve’s face with his free hand. “You know what to do. You’re a good person, Steve. Do what feels right.”

“You fag, get away from my son!” Clint shouted. He tried to push past the four adults, but they closed ranks and wouldn’t let him through.

Steve breathed in.

“You’ve got this, baby,” Eddie assured him.

Steve nodded. He stepped away from Eddie and tossed the backpack at his dad. “Everything you want is in there. Just take it and leave. Know this. If I or any of my friends see you in Hawkins ever again, the Sheriff will arrest you.”

Hopper grinned. “I like that plan.”

“I’ll cut you off!” Clint snarled. “You’ll be penniless and homeless without me, you ingrate!”

Steve laughed. “I could stay at any number of these fine people’s houses and be welcome for as long as I needed. And as for penniless? I’ve already got a job lined up that I think will make me very happy. And maybe if I’m lucky, a boy who loves me.” He turned to Eddie, who was blushing deep.

Wayne chuckled. “You heard the man, Clint. Get the hell out of Dodge and stay the fuck away from my boys.”

Clint growled and stalked off to his car, the tires peeling out on the gravel as he tore out of the trailer pack as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.

Steve shook his head. “Doesn’t he know that’s bad for his tires?”

Everyone turned to look at Steve in shock and amazement before bursting into laughter.

Claudia took Dustin home and Hopper took Joyce, leaving Steve with the Munsons.

“Is it over?” Eddie asked.

“I’d give Clint a couple days to clear out,” Wayne said. “But yeah. I think it’s over.”

“Does this mean I can stay?” Steve asked, looking up through his lashes.

Wayne rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I was thinking of upgrading to a double wide with two bedrooms. I think we could just about afford it if you help pay rent.”

Steve lit up and turned to Eddie. “You hear that? You’re stuck with me now.”

Eddie smiled and leaned in. “I think it’s the other way round. You’re stuck here with me.”

Steve smiled softly. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

Epilogue

Tag List: @tauntedperfume @marivictal @eddiemunsonswife @namelessssho @dbquills @goodolefashionedloverboi @steve-the-hairrington @sadcanadianwinter @yearningagain @books-are-my-life-since-1996 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @homohomohoe @knightofthieves @flusteredcas @moonage-daydreaming @goblin-eddie @marvelousforlife @silversnaffles @satan-is-obsessed @yikes-a-bee

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #gay steve harrington #abuse tw #ladykailtiha writes

347 notes · View notes

lvllns · 9 months

Text

i got tagged by @rosebarsoap to do this funky fresh oc questionnaire!! thank u bb!! i'm gonna taaaag @malefiicarum @aragorngf @denerims @merry-harlowe @waspgrave @venusmages @kirnet @princesshoneytea and anyone else who would like to do this!!

favorite oc: xavier nicastro (misc) — he's my 6'5 built like a rugby prop baby boy covered in tattoos who rides a motorocycle. he's also a giant fucking sap when it comes to his boyfriend. rosie would know him best, and with the amount of things i have to say about this boy, it's no surprise he's my favorite.

newest oc: ophelia greer (misc) — she's not even that new but she is the newest. my pretty marine biologist turned waitress living in a tiny seaside town. she's sweet, she's soft, she's patient. every time i think i have her mostly figured out, i learn something new about her.

oldest oc: isseya mahariel (dragon age) — your honor that's my daughter. i've had her for...five? years? at this point i think. she's my fierce fighter, my warden-commander with a heart of gold.

meanest oc: lincoln cirillo (original work) — see, it's not that they're mean, per se, it's just that they're sick of eliseo's shit. they can be snappy, short, snarky. sometimes they maybe shoot first and ask questions later but can you blame them?

softest oc: kincaid anderson (misc) — it was a toss-up putting him here or smartest but. he has become softer than xavi is? somehow? an absolute gentle giant with endless patience, and a heart that's almost too big. he's kind, he's sweet.

most aloof/standoffish oc: wren (genshin impact) — wren's backstory is basically "oops! all trauma!" and it's turned them into a very quiet, very observant individual. it takes. a lot. to break through their uninterested exterior, and they would prefer most people keep their distance.

dumbest (affectionate) oc: bas darrow (misc) — this man could not be more of a himbo. runaway rich boy who becomes a pirate and knows......nothing. is he booksmart? to a degree. everything else? no fucking clue. easily flustered, easily taken advantage of when it comes to trading and things. he's......working on it.

smartest oc: sparrow moore (misc) — guess who got yeeted from vampire time and thrown into something better? they're mostly the same. smart, quiet, introspective. still my classics child with an arm covered in mythology tattoos with too many degrees for their own good.

oc i'd like to be friends with: emery caddell (original work) — quiet magical oddities shop employee who dresses like a history professor. they've got a dry sense of humor, a desire to help however they can, and they're just kind. they'd have all kinds of solid book recommendations tbh, and i want to pick their brain.

#reed.txt #the way this was Difficult bc i have wiped almost every oc except the misc ones and some old dragon age ocs......#i never talk about any of these guys except to tag them in posts DHGSJGS

8 notes · View notes

saiilorstars · 8 months

Note

Forgive me if I'm nosy but I saw one of your reblogs saying you had a new oc that you were making but hadn't written about yet? I get that 🤣. I do more imagining than writing too. If you don't mind me asking, what oc is it? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to just curious. I love your writing ❤️!

Hi! Thank you!! I make so many ocs that never see the light of day it's not even funny 😬. I'll always talk about my ocs if asked trust me lmao.

The oc I'm specifically thinking about right now is an OC for My Adventures with Superman because I've literally seen every fucking episode religiously lately. Let me tell you something I have never watched an adaption of Superman except for the crossover episodes the CW had with the Arrowverse. But thanks to my sister, I ended up watching this version and I fucking loved it. (So I guess I should say thank you to her idk)

So, naturally, my fanfic brain said hey let's do this and suddenly I've been thinking nonstop about an OC for the current season :))))))

I loved, loved, loved the Worldkiller arc that Supergirl did — its literally my favorite season — and I loved Reign (Sam Arias) so I decided it would be fun to piggyback off of that idea and make my OC the daughter of Reign. And reading the comic book worldkiller arc gave me some other ideas too. What I got right now is the OC — tentatively named Alazne (purposely named as 'blessing' for a specific plot point) — is left on Earth as a child by her mother (Reign) with no explanation. She theorizes that Reign is a ruthless worldkiller and having a kid just didn't fit into her plans. I mean, she didn't care about Alazne enough to even name her. Plus, Alazne is half human with less worldkiller abilities which she believes is a huge disappointment in Reign's eyes. Whatever the real reason Reign left, Alazne makes do as a runaway child on the streets.

Fast forward to the future, Alazne found a few nice humans who have helped her settle in as a full human in the eyes of the public. They were the ones who gave her the name 'Alazne' and taught her how to live like a human. Alazne went to school like a human, works like a human, lives life as a human…as much as she can. She remembers that her mother told her there were other worldkillers who had children for the sake of increasing their numbers so technically, Alazne has cousins. And she wants to find them. So on the side, without telling anyone, she searches for these cousins of hers. Reign swore that they were on earth and that was why they were there in the first place.

Alazne is still part worldkiller too and with all the experiments done on Reign that were passed down to her, Alazne is left with a hunger for the sole reason worldkiller exists: to conquer and destroy. It's something that she has been working on ever since she was a child. She finds a way to relieve that frustration almost every day to keep her human family from finding out the ugly truth about worldkiller urges. And everything is pretty much fine until one day, some heroe shows up on the news and suddenly the places she destroys are under his scrutiny.

And that's basically where she meets Superman and the gang, although she's met Superman as Clark various times before but of course neither one knows that. Because when Alazne goes out in public, she goes out as a morally gray worldkiller, suited up and masked up, doing what she needs to do to help herself.

So, yeah, basically we got a frenemies — sometimes enemies — to friends to lovers kind of shit here. Who knows but I like it 👌 😏

#ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #fyeahsuperverseocs #maws #my adventures with superman #maws oc #my adventures with superman oc #clark kent fics #clark kent ocs #oc: alazne

1 note · View note

darlingbudsofrae · 3 years

Text

Neil Josten Appreciation Post

Foxes Appreciation Series : 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 ||

Alright, let’s just start this by addressing the big elephant in the room: everyone loves Neil Josten. EVERYONE.

If you don’t, you’re lying.

Okay, first up- I’m glad this is getting addressed more on AFTG tumblr but Neil is literally so much smarter than the fandom gives him credit for.

Like yes, he’s a little dumdum on the social aspect of things (you could argue he kind of has a low EQ but also not really, I would argue that later)

but that doesn’t dismiss that he is smart af and that he can kill you and make it look natural if he wants.

For example, he literally outrun and hid from the mafia for years. Like, that in itself is an obvious point but we often forget that he did this at a very young age.

Like, he was presumably what? 16?? (when Mary kicked the bucket?) And kid was already playing hide and seek pretty well with a freaking mafia.

He does not get enough credit for this.

The survival skills it takes- the mental strength to survive as a runaway and technically he’s also homeless- at freaking 16, that’s just insane.

Also, let’s not mention the fact that it takes skills to forge official papers and all that.

We also do not talk enough about Neil and how he freaking have to relearn an entirely new position just to play exy.

I don’t think most remember that he’s actually a backliner, but have to play as a striker because it was the only available position in that local high school he attended in Millport, and that was how Kevin saw him so he was recruited as a striker.

We also additionally do not talk enough about how Kevin “literal and figurative Son of Exy” Day found potential for court in Neil “I’m a backliner but I’m playing striker because it’s the only thing available and I’m an exy junkie” Josten who only played it for like a year or less.

Like yeah, Kevin said he needs more training but it’s not even Neil’s official position.

The talent on this man- I cannot, he is such an icon.

Aside from his great survival skills and being literally great at picking things up- he’s also like freaking academically smart.

Like that also doesn’t get enough credit- I mean, he does math for fun.

Frankly, I think if you did Kumon or if you had an awesome teacher you could also do math for fun (I know I did) but this should be noted with the fact that he didn’t have proper schooling.

He went on a run at a really young age so there is no way he received formal education.

Which means he is naturally like really smart.

He’s also a polyglot. And the languages he has under his belt are all freaking difficult to learn- like, no kidding: French, German, and he can assumingly speak intermediate Spanish, and we don’t even have an idea if this is all the languages he can speak.

Also, he and Andrew learns how to speak Russian, right? Like, that’s crazy.

The brain on this man and the power that he has- my son, I am so proud.

I mean, for all we know- there’s more than that and the fact that he’s like 18 at TFC screams supremacy.

This is where I argue about his EQ but Neil is crazy perceptive.

It took him like freaking 3 seconds to figure out the team dynamics the foxes have, and how to work against it.

He later figured out how to make it all mesh together.

Like the way he do things isn’t conventional but reading him analyze his team despite his lack of empathy really makes me shudder.

Like, this kid is so freaking smart. I remember reading his thought process for the very first time and being like, okay- I definitely did not think about that.

The main problem with his EQ though is that he doesn’t know how to process positive stuff when he’s involved, but when he’s the outsider- his perspective is so amazing.

Like again, he kind of lacks empathy but the way he understands things and is just so sharp is just noteworthy.

I’d argue he doesn’t understand social cues and “modern teen things” but he isn’t so completely clueless on the social aspect in general as to not manipulate an entire team of misfits with issues to work together.

He’s literally the key to unity in AFTG. Even Dan says so.

Also, the way he puts things into play- like he’s a master manipulator, and I love that for him.

We do not talk enough about manipulative Neil, like I just really love manipulative characters in general so much- especially if they’re just owning it.

I mean, he freaking manipulated Andrew and Aaron into therapy. Kind of evil but also wow. (just a sidenote, please don’t force people into therapy lol)

Going completely dark for a second, Neil also has a freaking high pain tolerance.

The amount of horrible things he went through in the books were just so sad and the fact that he just kind of moves on from it? That’s just completely oh my gods.

My poor summer child, even if you can kill me at any given time, let me just hug you for a second with consent.

Everyone also gives shit about Neil’s fashion choices and granted it is said he kind of bags the homeless looks but the fact that he values utility above all else-

Yes, we stan a resourceful king.

Lowkey though, am I the only one who appreciate Neil’s average style?

Speaking of style- I love the way Neil narrates. Like, the way he doesn’t give much attention to how the character looks- it’s just so realistic?

Because if I’m talking to a person in real life, there is no way I am noting how his blue polo makes him kind of casual but clean-cut and how his brown eyes is as warm as my morning coffee. Like, who even does that?

The thing with Neil’s narration is that it’s just so authentic- like it easily engages the readers and the way he gives importance to every thing the same way, it really makes it easier for the reader to discern things objectively, y’know what I mean?

He just has that quality in a main character and narrator- he’s laidback and sarcastic but not trying too hard, and he’s just really easy to love.

Like, I normally don’t like narrators/main characters in books because I favor a side character more or just because they’re annoying, but Neil Josten is legit lovable.

At the same time, he’s also a really well-written character. Like, for all the technicalities I point out in AFTG, Neil is an asshole. He’s not perfect and I don’t 100% love everything that he does and I love that.

He’s a flawed character but he gives you something to root for- and I just really want to appreciate his characterization for a second. Most books make their characters’ flaws not even their fault to put a check to the flawed character but at the same time still have that perfect character. Eeww, no- give me real flaws to work with.

He’s one of the realest protagonists I ever read.

Like people give him shit for wanting to hide but also choosing to play a nationwide-discerned sport on an infamous collegiate team but for me it’s kind of realistic.

Because I think we, as human beings, also do things we love too much regardless of logic. I don’t know, like it’s kind of funny the way Neil is written but I honestly didn’t see him joining Palmetto as a loophole.

Like, just think of all those successful people who hid their identities via pseudonym or other necessary means to do things they weren’t expected to do or weren’t allowed to do.

For me, his character was really just looking for excuses to play his favorite sport a second longer and if anything, that’s just kind of sad.

But also, his dedication and love to exy is really admirable- like I never understood it but the way he literally does everything to stay on the court for a second longer just makes me want to root for him.

On a random note, Neil may not have an eidetic memory like Andrew’s but the way he memorize most phone numbers by heart?

Bruh, I don’t even have my phone number memorized and I freaking have it for two years now.

He also memorizes every twists and turns at every trip, every exits at a room he enters, and most people’s tics upon the first meeting, and other things and that’s just crazy perceptive but also really crazy on another level.

Also, we don’t get much ace/demi representation and out of the few I’ve consumed, demi Neil Josten validates me. He’s legit my favorite character that belongs in the ace spec in books.

I just really love Neil’s character so much- he’s just so amazing.

One thing I always appreciate about Neil Josten is that while he’s not a total angel (sadly), the way he loves the foxes- like he legit tried to mend the team and make sure everyone is going to be okay before walking straight to his death- like I’m with Andrew on this one, what a fucking martyr. Why are you like this and why am I crying?

Neil Josten is by all means not soft, that much is established, but the way he’s just still as precious and must be protected at all costs-

"You know, I get it," Neil said. "Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you're worth a damn off the court—yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time."

I love him, your honor- where can I file this adoption papers and do I have anything else to sign?

131 notes · View notes

dameronology · 3 years

Text

rescuer {din djarin}

summary: din djarin rescued you - and then you rescued him {for @drinksomecoco !! i hope u enjoy}

warnings: brief mentions of torture, swearing

this is like....4k words?? it got a little out of hand, i won't lie to u.

- jazz xx

It wasn’t often that The Mandalorian found himself becoming attached to bounties.

Twice. He’d done it twice.

The first time, he swore to himself that it would be the last. Adopting his little green surrogate...frog? Son?

Okay, adopting his little green surrogate Grogu had brought enough tension into his life. It had gotten him back onto the radars of both the Empire and the New Republic; thrown him into some weird form of fatherhood that he wasn’t quite ready for and tipped his entire way of life upside down. Despite all that, he never stopped to question if all the exhaustion was more trouble than it was worth, because he loved his kid. Completely and entirely in ways that no parenting book or fairytale could ever quite describe. It was an intense form of love and attachment - and Din knew it was going to hurt when he would eventually have to return the Child to his own people. That was a little far off though, because he couldn’t investigate any further til he had the means to do so. Money and resources weren’t limitless and even The Mandalorian had to find means to an end.

Going back to the Bounty Hunter’s Guild wasn’t ideal, especially not with the kid in tow - but did he have any other way? Din didn’t know any other way of life, let alone another way of earning money. Besides, he figured it would only be a quick few months. A couple jobs here and there until he had enough in savings to travel far enough to find where Grogu really came from.

But it was two bounties; two bounties that he would find himself becoming attached to. Grogu was the only one.

It was through that decision to return to the Guild that Din Djarin would find himself stumbling across the next one. He was offered five pucks - the first four were easy. Standard jobs, really. Runaway criminals and Imps who had crossed people so many times that trying to work out their loyalty was head-ache inducing. He found them all in a matter of days, really. They were good at hiding but it didn’t count for much when The Mandalorian was good at finding.

Then there was you; the fifth puck. The one he thought was going to be the easiest.

Finding you wasn’t a problem. Tucked away in a corner of rural Tatooine - maybe twenty, twenty five minutes shy of Mos Eisley - you were hiding in plain sight. It would have been enough to protect you from anyone else but Din was an unrelenting expert in finding those who didn’t want to be found.

He never quite knew what to expect when he closed in on a bounty. Sometimes they ran and sometimes they hid. A few of them had tried to appeal to his humanity; to try and connect with the man they hoped was behind the mask. Because aside from the husky voice that occasionally escaped the helmet, there was no proof that The Mandalorian was anything other than a very convincing droid. That was, until, someone would lay a hand on his son or ship and suddenly, a wave of pure human rage would burst out from beneath the beskar.

You couldn’t have hidden from him or run away, even if you wanted to. Not because you were scared, but because you were chained up; wrists and ankles in shackles, keeping you tied to the walls of a filthy docking bay. From the sand piled around your feet, it was clear that you had tried to kick up a fuss at some point.

But based on the way that you looked at him - with tired eyes and a hopeless expression - that made Din realise: you’d lost the will to fight. He knew that you weren’t going to wriggle away or try to engage in combat.

“Are you…” The Mandalorian trailed off. “Are you alone?”

“Probably,” your eyes flicked up from the ground, unknowingly capturing his gaze. “I think I’ve been left for dead.”

He sighed. “I’m looking for a...Kan Durant. Is he here?”

“No,” you shot back. “He left me here for dead about a week ago. Probably knew that a bounty hunter was going to come after him at some point.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“I’m chained up,” you said. “Isn’t the answer to your question a little axiomatic?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But if you know anything, it might be helpful.”

“Try Corellia,” you muttered.

Corellia. That was...doable. Not too far and not too hard to search. That would be his fifth and final puck and then Din could set off for the sunset in search of his kid’s home planet. That’s what this whole thing had been about.

But...you. You’d been left for dead - and based on the bruises around your eyes and on your limbs, that was the least of what you’d gone through recently. What kind of man would it make him if he left you? A fucking awful one, obviously, but what was he supposed to do?

Din slowly leant down, pulling a thin tool from his belt. He fiddled around with your cuffs for a moment, until there was a low hiss. They fell from your hands and onto the sandy ground - he expected you to get up, or to run, or do anything but sit there and stare at him with gaunt eyes. Maybe it was foolish of him to think that merely freeing you of your restraints was doing his part for the greater good.

“Is there anywhere around here where you can go?” he asked. “An inn? A cantina?”

You snorted. “No. I’ll die.”

“You can get food and medicine out there.”

“Mos Eisley is swarming with Durant’s men,” you explained. “The minute I step foot in any town or port here, they’ll know.”

Maybe being with Grogu had softened him, or maybe The Mandalorian genuinely couldn’t find it himself to leave you. But, he found himself doing the unthinkable: sticking his hand out to you, lifting you up, and leading you out of the docking bay and back towards his ship. He didn’t know what he was going to do or how he was going to do it but really, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. His main focus had been on keeping you alive until you were within the safety of the Crest.

You stumbled slightly when he put you down, tripping and falling towards the control panel to shut the loading bay doors. At least you were intuitive.

With that, you fell back to the ground. It was becoming clearer and clearer that you were in a bit of a state - how long did you say it had been? A week since Durant had left - so that was at least seven days without proper food or water. It was a miracle you were alive. Din had got there just in time.

“Why are you helping me?” you asked. “What do you want?”

He glanced over in your direction. “I don’t want anything.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” you shot back.

“I wasn’t going to leave you there,” Din replied. He paused for a moment, before turning to face you. “I’ve heard Durant’s name before. I know what he does to people.”

“Aren’t you more worried about finding him and getting the bounty?” you pushed.

Truth be told, Din wasn’t that bothered. He had enough money from the last four pucks to get him where he needed to be. The fifth had just been a little extra, so he had an easier time letting go of it. He certainly wasn’t the only hunter going after Durant’s ass and worst case scenario, Karga would give him a little bit of shit for not completing the job. All of that was a lot more manageable than living with the guilt of leaving you in the dark to die.

“Someone else will get him. I’m sure.” Din muttered. He reached for a ration pack stored away on a shelf and tossed it in your direction. “You should eat this. I’ll get us in the air and find some bacta-”

“- you really don’t need to,” you cut him off.

“Eat,” he pushed again. “You’re weak. You’ll need it.”

Over the next few days, you would come to find that forceful-but-caring demands were The Mandalorian’s main language.

He didn’t talk much - or at all really. He didn’t need to, not when you kept to yourself on the lower deck of the ship whilst he dealt with everything else. He didn’t seem to mind that you weren’t helping; after all, you’d been in a weak state when Din had found you and standing up had been hard, let alone maneuvering around the flying hunk of metal. You were beginning to feel a little more spry, thanks to the food, water and bactaspray. The combination was hardly an elixir of life but you’d found yourself feeling a little more human.

Sleep was the hard one. A combination of confusion - at the situation, at Din, at where you were going - and nightmares made it hard. Every time you closed your eyes, you found yourself hurtling back in time to when Durant had first captured you. You’d been a test dummy for all his weapons and experiments and really, you were just lucky to be alive and in one piece. It didn’t count for much though, not when you couldn’t get a single fucking second of shut eye.

You would have been a fool to think that Din hadn’t picked up on it.

He was observational by nature and even more so by craft. A man who was constantly looking over his shoulder and straight ahead; a warrior who had been raised to keep a weapon by his side at all times. Of course he was going to notice your insomnia, and the way your eyes seemed even more sunken and dull than when he’d first found you.

You were sitting in the hull when he approached you. Not a lot had been said, other than the occasional eat this or put this on your bruises. Again - all a little forceful, but with a sense of genuinity behind the words. You still had a hard time believing that he was legitimately just a man who wanted to help you.

“I find that noise helps.”

You glanced up at him. “I’m sorry?”

He cleared his throat. “When I can’t sleep, and when I have nightmares, I find that being in a room with white noise helps distract my brain.”

“Oh, right,” you gave him a small nod. “I s’pose it is pretty quiet down here.”

“It’s noisier up there in the cockpit,” he replied. “We’re going to be in hyperspace for a while so if you want to get some sleep, I’ll stay down here.”

“Thank you.”

For the first time in days, you finally showed a glimmer of emotion. It was just a smile - and one he figured was a forced one - but still, it was a good sign.

Din’s eyes followed you as you stood up, heading for the ladder up to the cockpit. You stopped in front of it for a moment, palms wrapping around one of the rungs. At first, he thought you were just pondering, or taking a moment to rethink your actions, but then a light bulb went off in his head. You were too weak.

Moving slowly, The Mandalorian positioned himself behind you.

“Is it okay if I put them here?” he quietly asked, large, gloved hands hovering over the side of your hips.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied. “Thank you.”

With Din’s support, you were able to grab onto the hatch above and pull yourself up, boots hitting the ground of the cockpit. He followed you up, guiding you over to one of the pilot’s chairs. The lights of hyperspace were flashing by, illuminating the entire room in a white-gold glow. It felt odd to be up here after so many days of confining yourself just to the hull - forbidden, even with the invite from The Mandalorian himself.

“How did you know that I get nightmares?” you asked, turning around to face him.

The helmet tilted slightly. “I get them too.”

“I’m sorry,” you softly sighed. “Thank you again for your help.”

“It’s okay,” Din brushed it off as though it were nothing. “We have about four hours til our next stop. I’ll wake you up before we get there.”

“Is that where I get off?” you asked.

“No,” he firmly replied. “It’s not safe there either.”

You had more questions that you wanted to ask - now more than ever that he was finally talking - but you were far too exhausted to even try. Once you’d fallen back against the chair and been handed a blanket out of nowhere, the noise of the surrounding machines practically dragged you out of consciousness.

---

One question you had wanted to ask Din had been about the duration of your stay.

How long were you supposed to stay on board? How long did he want you there?

You were almost scared to ask, for fear of the answer. After all, you barely knew him. He could get up at any moment and demand that you left, and you wouldn’t have been able to argue. All of this - this looking after you, this roof over your head, this care - felt too good to be true. Like it was all part of some elaborate ruse.

But it was funny, because you were even more scared that it wasn’t. If Din - or The Mandalorian, as you knew him - was truly just a nice person with pure intentions, then that was about to be dangerous territory for you. The minute that you started trusting him, and the minute you started to see him as someone who could protect you, would spell trouble. You had never intended to become attached, but it was only natural. You hadn’t had a single person look out for you - not once in your life.

Every time he made you food, or helped you up into the cockpit, you felt yourself slipping that way. A six-foot pile of beskar should not have been a sign of comfort, but the helmet came to symbolise...something. You didn’t know what. Attachment, maybe? A little inkling of affection for whoever the hell was below those inches of steel?

A few weeks passed and the tension slowly began to falter. It was probably the proximity more than anything, but the time proved to you more than anything that Din was genuine. He was helping you because he wanted to - there was no personal gain for him, nor monetary. He actually, honestly just wanted to do good.

And doing good, he was. Whilst he still kept his distance, he looked after you. He made sure that you ate enough to recover from your periods of deprivation and once a day, he would clear out of the cockpit for you to get some rest. He still helped you up the ladder every time -and even when you told him you were strong enough, he still stood back and watched just to make sure.

Because, truthfully, The Mandalorian was beginning to see something in you. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what, but he was intrigued by the way you were slowly beginning to show him parts of yourself. Where your eyes had once been gaunt and lifeless, they now had a spark in them. You were quiet when you’d met, but now you spoke to the kid and you hummed to yourself. It was like the life that was sucked out of you was slowly being breathed back in, day by day and bit by bit.

“Do you wanna get some sleep?” Din asked you one day.

“Yeah, sure,” you glanced up at the Child, giving him a small smile. “When did you last sleep, Mando?”

Another helmet tilt. “I get enough sleep.”

“I don’t believe you,” you thinned your eyes at him.

The Mandalorian sighed slightly - normally, that would have been a sign to literally anyone else to drop it. But with you? Nope. You saw that as a sign of progress; that the little, tiny display of emotion meant you were beginning to chip past those godforsaken layers of beskar.

“I get nightmares about Durant,” you continued. “Every time I panic and wake up in a cold sweat, I remind myself that I’m safe, because I know that you and the kid are here.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You can tell me anything and I promise I won’t judge you. You’ve never judged me.”

He pondered for a moment, before releasing another deep breath. “I can’t sleep alone.”

“Really?”

“Last time I did, I woke up and my parents were gone,” Din explained. “So I wait til the kid wants to go to sleep and I just go with him, so that I’m not alone.”

Your heart dropped a little at that - partially because he’d opened up to you, but also because the Child rarely ever slept. If Din only ever waited around for their exhaustion to coincide, it must have been months since he’d last got a decent night’s rest. It was the least he deserved.

Nodding, you stuck your hand out towards him. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna sleep and so are you,” you replied. “You need it and if I’ve done everything that you’ve instructed so far, I think I should have the same in return.”

Din didn’t want to admit it to himself at first.

It being multiple things: the fact you were helping him, the fact your presence on his ship had made the place seem better, the fact that his heart skipped a beat every time you brushed past him.

Bar his surrogate son, Din had never been close with anyone before. He’d never even slept in the same goddamn room as anyone else, even. That was a fucking mammoth step for him, but when you took his hand? It felt like a baby step. Just a tiny hop from A to B. Not a massive milestone, or a moment of personal progress. You had made it seem so simple.

Maybe that was it.

You never over-complicated anything. Your intentions were always clear and simple - there was no moral ambiguity, no moments where Din had to question whether or not he could well and truly trust you. He just knew. It was funny, because it was the exact same situation you’d had with him - questioning why he was helping you, trying to work out what he wanted. This whole time, Din had been helping you solely because he thought it was the right thing and it’s what you were doing for him too.

Din liked when you sat close to him. There was a little wave of warmth he felt every time you shuffled a bit nearer to him when you both crashed on the floor of the cockpit, and a tiny swarm of butterflies that flew through him when you stuck by his side in busy towns and cities. It was clear that you found comfort in him after so many years of going without it.

In turn, he found comfort in you. Not just in the way you unintentionally looked after him, but just...everything. Your presence had been a little odd on the Crest at first, but now it felt weird to be without it. Hearing you single quietly in the shower and have one-sided conversations with the Child filled a hole in his life that he hadn’t even realised had been there.

It was as though he’d had a missing puzzle piece his entire life; a gap between all the interconnected parts that hadn’t been integral, but certainly inconvenient. And now that it was filled, he could take a step back and finally look at the bigger picture that had been forming. All the pieces were finally there - you and the kid and whatever odd family unit that made you - and the galaxy didn’t seem so nonsensical anymore.

A little over two months after he first found you, word got around that Durant had finally been captured. Not by Din, but that hadn’t mattered - because killing the man who had hurt you, even after everything, would never amount to everything he’d done for you.

The relief didn’t last long for you, though - because as soon as you realised you no longer had a reason to hide, it dawned on you that you no longer had a reason to stay with Din. Or, at least not one you were willing to share with Din. Begging to let you stay just for the sake of being near him didn’t seem like a very convincing argument - at least not from where you were standing.

But from where Din was standing, it was a little different. You were part of his life now, even if you had no idea. That wasn’t your fault, though. He wasn’t exactly the best at vocalising it. Admitting it to himself had been hard enough, let alone to you.

“So,” you spoke softly, clearing your throat. “I suppose you’ll drop me off at the next planet?”

You were both sitting in the cock-pit; the Child was asleep downstairs and the Crest was soaring through the last stretch of hyperspace before Nevarro.

Din didn’t want to drop you off. He didn’t want his ship to be silent all over again or to sleep without you by his side. The thought alone of not having you around anymore was enough to make him a little watery-eyed beneath his beskar barrier. You’d grown on him, and in return, he’d kind of, accidentally fallen in love with you.

“You don’t have to go,” he said.

You peered over at him. “If you can think of a reason for me to stay aboard, please do let me know.”

“I want you to stay,” Din replied. He gently reached out a hand and took it in his - it was the first time that he’d given you such a vast gesture. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “It is.”

Staying aboard the Razor Crest was one of the best decisions you’d ever made.

Not only because it meant you were well and truly safe, but because Din’s direct request was a sign to you that you weren’t imagining things. Whatever attachment you felt to him, he felt it too - but it ran deeper than that. There was a mutual concern and respect for one another. Something born of two lifetimes spent on their own, finally coming together in one.

Things had been a little slow before then; the way that you danced around each other, like two magnets that were meant to come together - just with a little hesitancy. There had been a lot of late nights and long trains of thought about the signals that the other was giving off; about whether you’d misinterpreted the way his hands lingered over yours, or the way you’d practically passed out on his shoulder.

But, after that - after Din had openly asked you to stay, and you’d happily agreed, things began to move a little faster. Where you’d once been slowly walking down that hill and towards each other, you were now slipping, tripping and falling.

With each passing night, you inched closer towards each other. God forbid you ever found out, but Din even found himself pushing the pilot’s chairs closer to each other when you weren’t in the room, just so he could properly feel you next to him when you dozed off. He enjoyed your presence at the best of times but it was those dark, quiet moments when he genuinely and fully needed you.

It came to a head one night when you’d laid down with the Child beside you - not upstairs in the cockpit, but in the tiny cot in the hull of the ship.

There wasn’t room for one person, let alone one person and a tiny creature. Even worse, for two people - one in a beskar suit - and the creature. It just didn’t work. It shouldn’t have worked.

But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and the moment that Din saw you dead to the world with the Child in your arms, he was certain that he was going to make it work. Maybe with a bit of reshuffling there, and if he just moved the kid here - and that was when Grogu bit him pretty hard on the finger.

Disregarding his reshuffling plan, he knew there was only one option left.

It was something he’d never dreamt of doing before, simply for how terrifying and exposing it was - but he took one glance at you, and once glance at his kid, and he knew it was going to be worth it in the long run. It was merely a necessary step to getting closer to you - physically, mentally emotionally.

You stirred slightly at the sound of metal clattering to the floor - not enough to wake up, but enough to be a little more aware of the room around you. A moment later, there was a quiet hiss, and then everything went black.

In your sleepy state, your brain reacted a little slowly - but then the mattress beneath you dipped, and you felt someone’s skin against yours. Not just skin, but stubble against the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to it, and warm fingers tangling with yours.

“The armour,” you murmured. “You took it off.”

“It was the only way,” he softly replied. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” you let out a sleepy hum. “Good night…”

“Din,” he quietly said.

“Good night, Din.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin reader insert #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian reader insert #mandalorian imagines #star wars reader insert #star wars fan fiction #star wars x you #star wars imagines

378 notes · View notes

themadauthorshatter · 2 years

Text

My brain: You know... Crowley and Aziraphale would be in a LOT of trouble if they got caught before the events of the show.

Me: Don't.

My brain: Like... A LOT of trouble.

Me: DON'T.

My brain: Like, both are forced to sit in a prison and watch the war and Armageddon play out. They both wonder if they'll be executed, but do commend themselves and each other for not killing each other and for trying as hard as they did. They also admit that they wouldn't fully be friends if there wasn't a bastard in a Aziraphale and if Crowley wasn't a good person, which neither are afraid to admit now, seeing as they're on borrowed time.

And when that time's up and neither side wins, only exhausting themselves and each other, they come to collect their prisoners, but where they can't agree on who's better, they agree on what happens to the traitors.

Heaven takes Crowley and Hell takes Aziraphale.

The two are hauled off, kicking and screaming, and are taken to Heaven and Hell, Hastur in charge of getting Aziraphale to Hell by... 'knocking him out' first, and Crowley more or less being dragged by Michael and Uriel by his arms and hair.

The two get a complete 180, being made to endure and get used to the things they'd been opposed to for so long, Crowley made to repeatedly wash his hands with Holy water and Aziraphale made to repeatedly touch Hellfire until they're immune.

They also get an opposite side makeover, Heaven washing Crowley of his 'filth' and Hell removing Aziraphale of his holiness.

I won't go into detail, but just know that they were made to basically forget each other, having no memory of each other's faces or voices or even names, though there is a HUGE amount of effort put into trying. Also, they're made to forget their old names.

Over time, Earth rebuilds and humans are reborn, but neither are allowed to go because who knows what they'll do to stop Round 2 of the war. It's worse because the others are sent to Earth and keep talking shit about it, calling it boring and a waste.

When there's no one willing to go to Earth, the two are reluctantly sent to Earth, but are on 24/7 surveillance, like they're accompanied by other angels and demons.

Crowley, now called Samuel, is surprised to see Earth returned to what he remembers. When he is repeatedly made to stay on task, he eventually shakes off the angels with him and books it, outrunning both angels and looking arouns without any strings; he reasoned he could lie and say he saw a crowd of demons and knew they couldn't fight, so he ran.

Aziraphale, now called Alistor, reminisces on Earth and the fact that all his books are gone, but Hastur and a reborn Ligur tell him to stay focused or he'll be stuck with paperwork again. And they'll give him a bad pen to do it with, too. He remains focused, but that shatters as the angel Samuel races past them.

Hastur watches him run and asks if that's Samuel, Ligur confirming that it is. Hastur then wonders if he looks familiar, something Alistor backs, as Samuel does indeed seem familiar.

The angels stop at the three demons and ask if they've seen a runaway angel. Hastur asks why the three would know and the angels get scared as they see Alistor, who eyes them coolly and asks why they can't keep a hold of any angels nowadays, insinuating that they're lazy and would rather guve them to Hell. It scares them away, as they remember how Aziraphale used to be, and run.

They look back in the direction Samuel ran and Hastur and Ligur glance at each other, nonverbally deciding to follow him a little bit.

Samuel stops running, glad he outran the angels, but now he has another problem: Hastur, Ligur, and Alistor, the three having garnered a reputation for being violent and sadistic, though Alistor is more.of a 'hit first and think later' type, like he does it more because he seemingly can rather than because he likes causing pain.

Still, he vaguely remembers Hastur and Ligur and simply tells them he simply went off for a run, stretch his legs a litte, and will now be on his way, so have a nice day.

Hastur stops him and asks if they've met before, because this goodie two shoes, "all life is precious" angel seems familiar. Samuel simply offers that he was taught by Raphael, who simply comes and goes because business, hence why he's never around.

Ligur stalks his way in front of Samuel and comments that he does indeed seem familiar. Samuel lies that he's never met these three before in his life. Well, Hastur takes a look at the angel's face.

Samuel backs away from the two and says he's had a nice time talking to them, but needs to go because Heaven isn't very nice with slackers, shuffling past Alistor in the process.

Before he can really leave, the pieces click together and Hastur and Ligur smirk.

"Crowley!"

Me: ... I'll see how this does and think about it. Cool?

My brain: Cool!🙃

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #angel crowley #demon aziraphale #ineffable husbands #kind of reverse ineffable husbands #implied torture tw #forced identity change tw #forced side switch tw #world extinction tw #war tw

52 notes · View notes

nbrook29 · 3 years

Text

robbe 1️⃣8️⃣

Warning: This is smutty, proceed with caution if it’s not your jam ;)

ao3

If anybody asked Robbe, bad weather in the summer should be illegal. Because what the hell? He needs sun rays and blue sky like he needs oxygen, he wants 30+ degrees temperatures and not a single cloud above, and he always welcomes it with all the small inconveniences it brings along, like clammy skin mere minutes after showering or freckles covering his nose and arms. So when it’s August and it’s raining, sorry, pouring buckets, sue him if he turns into a whiny mess for a bit. That’s just who he is.

Or, that’s who he was. Because right now, lying on a soft cloud-like throw blanket in a not-his t-shirt and sweatpants, head a mess of wild damp curls, fuzzy socks on his feet tangled with another pair, he’s feeling pretty good.

Even though the original scenario for his birthday was supposed to be different.

It all started at 12:00 am sharp with a dorky text from Sander because of course it did.

Sander: Hey there you sexy thing

Heard you're legal now 👅

Robbe: Omg sander 🙈

Sander: Yes, that's what you'll be screaming today during our own little celebration 😈

Robbe almost spat out the water he was drinking, face burning hot as he tried to assess whether anybody was paying him any attention.

Robbe: SHSHDHSHSJSJS STOP

Sander: I'll do that thing you like 😏👅

Robbe: IM WITH MY PARENTS DICKHEAD

Sander: Am I bothering you cutie? 😏

Robbe: Yessssss 😩 my face is all red they're gonna know what's up

Sander: I think *I* know what is up 😏🍆

Robbe: 🤣 GO COOL OFF

Sander: Hehe

No but for real now

Happy birthday! 🥰🥳😘❤🎂

I love you SO much ❤❤❤💯

Robbe: Thank youuuu baby 😊😘

Sander: Can't believe you're an adult *wipes a tear*

You'll always be my baby tho ❤

Robbe: Haha yes ❤❤

Sander: I'll be waiting for you at 4 pm

Robbe: But where??

Sander: 😌

Robbe: Sanderrr tell me

Sander: Nope

Goodnight 😌

Sander absolutely loves to tease him and keep him at the edge of the seat which is why he told him the place only half an hour before their meeting, for which Robbe intended to tell him off. That is until he actually got to Park Spoor Noord and saw his boyfriend lounging on grass, blanket underneath him, surrounded by Robbe’s favorite food and wearing the most charming smile as soon as their eyes met.

And he got him a sunflower. A sunflower. How cute is that?

Needless to say, there was no telling off, Robbe didn’t exactly find time for it between kisses and laughs and Sander feeding him croques and fries and cupcakes (which Sander baked and decorated himself, swearing for dear life the small thingies made from frosting on top were not dicks, but Robbe knows him too well to believe him).

And then all hell broke loose and the storm that had been loudly talked about in the media came to Antwerp and made a puddle out of the two of them.

They looked really miserable, but somehow Robbe couldn’t care less as they were running to Sander’s house holding hands, water in their shoes, the sunflower cradled carefully underneath his shirt, huge smiles on their faces as they finally got there, tripping in their haste to get inside.

The hot shower that followed next and Sander taking the lead oh so well will definitely rank in the top 5 moments of Robbe’s life. He’s very grateful Sander’s parents are on holiday in London because he’s not sure he’d ever be able to look them in the eyes otherwise.

Afterwards, Sander made them ice coffee and handed Robbe his real gift which turned out to be a long weekend in Paris a week from now, shutting him up with a kiss when Robbe was about to protest and complain about it being too expensive.

Since the concert they were supposed to go to was canceled due to poor weather conditions, they resorted to eating cake in Sander’s bed and watching the show Robbe had been talking about for weeks now. Sander, being the thoughtful and amazing boyfriend that he is, graciously agreed to Robbe’s birthday wish and sat him down between his legs, kissed the side of his face, brought his laptop closer and pressed play, as Robbe made himself comfy in his arms, the smile that originated at midnight not slipping off even for a second.

***

Another thunder strikes the night sky and Robbe jumps involuntarily, only a little, more from shock than actual fear, but it doesn’t stop Sander from tightening his arms around him, lips grazing delicately the lobe of his ear.

“Don’t worry, Robin, I will protect you,” he whispers with a teasing note in his voice, grunting when a well-aimed elbow meets his side.

“Shut up, I’m not scared.”

Sander’s only reply is a low chuckle and a kiss on that sweet spot under Robbe’s ear that never fails to send a shiver down his spine. Without barely having to move at all considering how close they are, he tilts his head and noses along Sander’s defined jaw, leaving a peck or two on his cheek.

“Now shush, I can’t focus.” He unceremoniously turns away from Sander’s searching lips, a sly grin on his face when he hears an affronted huff.

“Oh I see how it is, you-”

“Shhhh, Wille is talking.”

Robbe loves to be a little shit sometimes, especially if he wants to get a certain reaction from his huffy other half.

“Look how cute he is.” He has to press his lips hard to keep the giggle in when Sander whines in protest.

“Stoooop, why are you being mean to me.” He now has a full-blown pout on his face. “Jerk.”

The laughter finally comes out and Robbe pauses the show, cooing at Sander’s little frowny face and brushing the runaway strands away from his forehead, leaning up to press a kiss there too.

“It’s okay, I still think you’re the cutest prince in the entire kingdom.” He runs a thumb over his jutting lower lip, kissing it once, twice, three times, until the corners of Sander’s mouth pull up.

“Whatever. Simon is cuter than the other one anyway.”

Robbe grins cheekily. “You just think that because he has curly hair like me.” Sander’s jaw drops at that.

“Wow,” he exclaims, voice faux-scandalous as he shakes his head at Robbe. “Someone’s cocky today.”

“It’s my birthday so it’s allowed.” Winking at him obnoxiously, he turns back to the screen, hands reaching for Sander’s arms to wrap them around himself again as he settles in his embrace with a content sigh before pressing play.

Sander’s quiet behind him for a second, and then his lips touch his ear again, tongue slightly peeking out to play and lick the shell of his ear with just the tip, hot air hitting Robbe’s skin turning his insides into mush, butchering his focus again just as Sander purrs, “I think it’s hot when you’re like that.”

There’s something important happening on screen, but Robbe can’t make any sense of the subtitles because Sander’s lips continue their path down the column of his throat, stopping for a second to suck a kiss in the middle, killing any rational thought Robbe might have had. His hand rushes to Sander’s head to keep him there without his permission, eyes closing as he sighs when the kiss turns into licks and nips to the thin skin.

“Do you think he could kiss you and touch you like that?”

The question breaks the fog in Robbe’s brain for a second, and he barks a laugh at the slight possessiveness in Sander’s voice that’s poorly hidden under a joking tone.

“Like what?” He presses, excitement bubbling in his stomach when one of Sander’s hands sneaks underneath his t-shirt, fingers grazing the skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake as they finally reach the place Robbe needs them most.

“Like that.” He flicks his nipple with those black-polish covered nails of his that make him look so hot Robbe’s head spins. “For starters.” He keeps it up, tugging and pinching unhurriedly, with a dirty smirk growing on his face that Robbe can just feel on his collarbone, and he pulls on his hair as he arches his back a little, seeking more of those skillful fingers.

With his hooded eyes, he can see Sander closing the laptop and putting it away quickly before his other hand joins in the fun, a featherlight touch to the growing bulge in his sweatpants, nothing more than teasing for now.

When Sander’s teeth tug at his earring, Robbe lets out a frustrated whine because it’s too much and not enough at the same time, and his boyfriend reads him like a book because he pulls the t-shirt off him to gain full access, mouth latching on his neglected nipple just as his hand dives inside his pants. It doesn’t grant him any relief though, bypassing his dick completely and traveling lower, caressing the soft skin, one finger running back and forth without reaching any further, and Robbe grabs Sander’s thigh in desperation.

“Sander...”

“You didn’t answer me,” Sander whispers in a sweet sweet voice.

“Whaa?” It takes a second for Robbe to understand what he’s asking and he would laugh if his body wasn’t on fire, Sander playing him like a violin.

Also, this playful possessiveness is getting to him, whether he likes it or not.

He does though. Like it.

Oh fuck, he likes it so much.

“Tell me, baby,” Sander breathes into his mouth as he reaches for something Robbe doesn’t see, and he can hear in his voice how it affects him too, can feel him against his lower back, rubbing himself off with minuscule moves, clearly struggling to hold back.

“You, just you-, fuuuuck,” Robbe’s cut off when two lubed fingers press inside him at the confession, back arching slightly, the feeling so intense he keens and searches blindly for Sander’s lips. Thankfully, Sander doesn’t waste any time and plunges his tongue inside his mouth, swallowing the little whines that escape them with each twist of his fingers.

The rocking behind him gets faster and this is not how Robbe wants this to end so he breaks the kiss, ignoring Sander’s protests as he pulls away from him, only to pull his pants off completely, green eyes following his every move like he’s ready to pounce, and the need inside Robbe’s stomach only grows. He tugs impatiently at Sander’s sweatpants, biting his lip when his hard cock slaps his abdomen, the smirk dancing on Sander’s lips at his reaction liquefying his insides and he crawls closer to him, needing his touch to ground him.

“You’re still good to go?” He loves how even when it’s hot and heavy Sander still remembers to check in with him.

“Uh-huh,” is the only thing he can come up with now, especially when Sander’s hand settles on his hip bringing them so close there’s no space left between them, guiding his movements just like Robbe likes. He kisses his glistening neck, licking the sweat of his body as Robbe reaches behind to position his slick cock at his entrance, forehead resting against Sander’s as he sinks down fast.

He gasps at the feeling of fullness because it’s always a lot, but Sander’s hands are always there, brushing his sides in a comforting motion, even when his own body is probably screaming at him to move.

“Happy birthday to me,” Robbe lets out a shaky chuckle that ends up in a gasp when Sander laughs too and involuntarily moves inside him. He’s quick to lick into his lips and distract him from the momentary discomfort, and once he’s done with him, the overwhelming need is back double force.

Sander notices right away, guiding Robbe’s hips to keep grinding for a while before planting his feet on the bed and holding them in place giving several hard jabs that make Robbe hide his face in his neck, cries leaving his mouth with each thrust.

“Like that?”

Robbe just nods helplessly, mouth leaving a wet trail on his skin, but Sander doesn’t seem to mind because he continues his pace, completely taking over once Robbe’s thighs give out and turning him into a mess.

“You’re so hot like this, fuck.” The strain in Sander’s voice tells him he’s getting close so he goes back to bouncing, meeting him in the middle, and it only takes a minute for things to become too much, Sander’s uncoordinated jerks when he’s coming triggering Robbe’s orgasm too.

They stay like that, cooling off while kissing lazily, tongues sliding against each other, but without a rush for now.

Sander pulls back first, their lips smacking when they disconnect. "I'm sorry today didn't work out." Scrunching up his face, he reaches to comb through Robbe's hair consolingly. He leans into the touch before cuddling even closer, seeking warmth when the cold air makes goosebumps appear on his heated skin.

"But I loved today, really. We can go to a concert another time." He kisses the underside of his jaw, sighing dreamily. "And I can't wait for Paris with you."

#wtfock #not my best work in a long shot #im sorry robbe :(#you deserve better

46 notes · View notes

queenmuzz · 3 years

Text

Heat of the Moment

A Dante x Reader Valentine’s Day Special!

Your mom had always told everyone, in a disapproving tone, that you were too impulsive for your own good. You darted into the road to get a runaway ball. You bought that awesome looking jacket, without checking to see if it was on sale. And now, because you were craving pizza, and didn’t want to shell out the four bucks extra for delivery, you were in a mighty fine pickle.

You decided that taking the deserted looking street at near midnight, just to shave a few minutes off your walk to Angelo’s Pizzeria was a perfectly splendid idea. So splendid, you didn’t notice the shadowy figures following you, until you were grabbed from behind, and a cloth covered with some sort of chemical was placed over your screaming mouth.

So now, here you stood, or rather...laid, on cold grey stone, that seemed to leech all warmth away from your flesh. It was still dark, but illuminated by torches, you seemed to be surrounded by columns of stone, like you were in some knock off kid sized version of Stonehenge. You immediately attempted to get up, only to find to your irritation, your wrists and ankles were bound by industrial grade chains.

“The offering has awoken!” called out a woman’s voice, and from the darkness, like the damn Ringwraiths from Lord of the Rings, nine cloaked figures came out of the darkness. You tried to make out their faces, but both their pitch black cloaks, and blood red masks hid everything about them.

“Brothers and Sisters, we are gathered here tonight to call forth from the very bones of the earth, a power far greater than any human can imagine. The stars have aligned, the incense has been lit. All now,” she motioned to the cultist beside her, who handed her a leatherbound book, “Is to speak the incantations, and complete the rituals.”

And then, with the help of her assistant, the group began to chant. You had no idea of what was being spoken, but it sounded Latin.

“Really... Latin? Guys, there are a tonne of other languages you could use! What happened to originality?!” you grumbled, but while you could feel their glares, none stopped their inane chants

Upon each pillar, a letter lit up, one at a time. You couldn’t recognize the script, but it looked like a five year old’s attempt to write Hebrew. For some reason, that irked you. This makes no sense. Latin is an Indo-European language, and Hebrew is a totally different family! These idiots are mixing everything up!.

But the incantation seemed to do the trick, and the flames grew, and changed to a sickly green colour. And now, all these cultists raised their arms in exultation

“Lord of the Underworld, we present you this offering, a Virgin Offering, for you to consume!” The lead cultist chanted.

“Wait!” you blurted out, in a desperate attempt to avert your fate, “I’m not a virgin! I’ve had sex before, dozens...no, hundreds of times!”

Her assistant leaned over you, their mask barely concealing his skepticism.

“Name one person you have laid with,” he tested.

“Well…” Your mind was blank, and so you went with the first thing that shot through your brain.

“Your mom, for starters.”

You could have slapped yourself for such a dumb comeback, had your wrists not being tied up, but you needn’t have worried about not getting slapped. The cultist’s lips twisted into a snarl, and you felt white hot pain radiating from your cheek, and the taste of blood filling your mouth. Even though it hurt like hell, one part of you was mentally high fiving at that comeback. His hand raised up one more time, to give another strike, but the leader quickly grabbed his wrist.

“Calm yourself, brother… the offering must remain undamaged. Besides,” and you could swear you heard a smirk in her voice, “It’s not their body that must be virginal, it’s the blood.”

Well shit, you thought, as you placed your burning cheek against the cool stone to relieve the pain.

The ritual continued. “We humble servants provide both the firstfruits of this offering to open the way.” The woman took out a jet black dagger, and approached you with steady steps. Would she cut out your heart, Temple of Doom style? Rip out your entrails? Slit your throat? All you could hope was that it would be quick and painless.

What you hadn’t expected was for her to grab one of your restrained hands and with surprisingly gentleness placed the edge of the obsidian blades against your palm.

As she dragged the razor sharp edge, a line of crimson bloomed, like a trail of bubbles. It almost didn’t hurt, but you couldn’t help but get upset. All this pomp and ceremony, and they were just giving you a cut that would irritate you for weeks...if you lived that long. Whatever happens, you said as the cultist began using your blood to paint the two largest stone pillars, in a perverse parody of the Passover ritual, I hope whatever these bastards are summoning crushes them.

“COME FORTH!” The whole group chanted in unison, “Taste the blood… DEVOUR THE FLESH!”

And without warning, the blood...YOUR blood, burst into flame, racing up the pillars as if gasoline had been pumping through your veins. At the top, the flames connected and formed a gateway...a hellgate. And within it, an orb, an inferno expanded...and a roar that sounded nothing like any earthbound animal emanated.

And then, an explosion of heat and sulfur knocked down the stones, and the cultists, sending the leader flying back several feet. Only you, chained to the granite altar, remained in place.

You squinted as the searing light dissipated. Among the now dying flames stood, or hovered… a demonic sight. You could swear you saw the air distort from the heat that seemed to generate from within his chest. Four leathery wings splayed out, the inner skin swirling designs constantly shifting, almost hypnotising. And the horns! A good foot long that curved and twisted, glowing like charred wood both above and around his face. A face that reminded what was in front of you. A demon. Teeth as long and sharp as paring knives, eyes glowing like the pits of hell. As if Satan himself had come up from the depths. And for all you knew… he probably had.

You heard the sound of crumpled paper. “Oh man,” the demon rumbled, his voice distorted by the sound of the exhaust coming from between his teeth, “I was just getting to the good part…”

“Oh Great and Powerful Lord…” the devil stared at the surrounding area, at the the cultists that had recovered began following their leader’s motions and bowed prostrate on the ground, and you still chained. It was hard to make out his expression, but it seemed like...surprise?

“We are your most humble servants,” the leader continued, “All we ask...is a scrap of your power...a trifle for one such as you, as payment for summoning you..My Lord?”

The demon didn’t even spare a second glance as he strode past her, past the other shrouded forms, and made a beeline towards you. This was it, you thought, time to come up with a witty parting remark. But of course, your impulsive nature wouldn’t cooperate right now. At least the demon seemed to be the ‘fire and fury’ style, he would probably consume you quickly.

He towered over you, and even now, the stone, which had been ice cold the entire time, began to heat up beneath you...sweat, both from terror, and the inferno looming above you, beaded on your forehead.

“My Lord?” the assistant asked, “Is the offering suitable for your arrival? They have a wicked tongue, but they are perfect for summoning.

“I think you got it all wrong buddy,” the demon turned his eyes on the unholy congregation, and strangely, a chill appeared in the air, “You guys didn’t summon me….” A razor claw extended out and pointed at you, “THEY did… and if they summoned me…” the cultists slowly became aware of what he was implying, the quicker ones started making a run for it, “YOU guys must be the offering! Who’s volunteering first?”

The answer was nine sets of panicking feet trying to sprint out of the stone circle. The demon glanced back at you, “You might want to cover your eyes for this, it’s gonna get a little messy,” and with the speed of a racing forest fire, he charged, blades of superheated air swirling around him.

The scream of the lead cultist was enough for you to clench your eyes shut, and then followed by a multiple of cries of terror and death, as the coppery scent of blood, not your own this time, scented the air.

A few minutes later, there was nothing but silence, except the sound of boots on gravel. You couldn’t help it, you took a peek.

Instead of the cultists, or the demon, there was just a guy, shaggy white haired, with a worn t-shirt that clung juuuuust right against his broad chest, and a smile on his face. You looked around, trying to find either a surviving cultist, or the demon, but all you could see in the darkness were void black shapes, lying on the grounds, their robes moving slightly in the breeze.

“That can’t be comfortable, let’s get you out of there,” the man said, and without a hint of effort, he gently grasped your hands, and with the other, he gave a quick yank. Immediately the sound of snapping metal, and to your amazement, your arms were free. And if you had thought he had done a sleight of hand with those chains, the way he effortlessly ripped the chains around your ankles off immediately clued you in that this man was more than he seemed.

You rubbed your wrists as you slowly sat up, staring at him. “Who are...you?”

“Ah, yeah...forgot to introduce myself in the whole hubbub. Cultists always ruining get togethers.” He stuck out his hand, “Name’s Dante.” And as you shook his hand, with your uninjured one, you noticed that for a brief moment, his eyes momentarily glowed red, like embers. Embers that had once been blazing coals.

He must have seen the flash of panic in your eyes, because he backed away, his hands raised in surrender.

“Don’t worry! I ain’t going to hurt you… yeah, I’m the demon those jackasses called for” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “but I’m not the ‘MUST RULE THE WORLD’ type, I usually am the one people call to get rid of what was being summoned, not actually BEING the ‘sommonee.’ Wait, is that the correct term?” He paused for a moment to think it over, before he seemed to come back to the present. “Anyways, I was just relaxing in my office, reading a magazine, and then POOF, I’m in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people with horrible sense of fashion. Speaking of my magazine...where did I put it?”

You saw the magazine, its pages fluttering in the wind, and picked it up. A copy of ‘Half Cocked’, and on its cover, a buxom young brunette was getting a bit too friendly with a revolver, alongside a well toned man wearing little more than a bandolier.

“Oh thanks!… that” he quickly snatched it out of your hands, “I read it mainly for the articles…” he explained lamely, before hurriedly shoving it in his back pocket, as he looked you up and down. “Besides...I got a feeling I won’t need it much anymore…” And in the flaming remnants of ritual, you swore you saw him turn a shade of pink...although that could just be the fire.

“Welp,” He stretched, “You ready to blow this popsicle stand? All that work made me famished.”

You had no idea where the hell you were, but you were still ravenously hungry. Which reminded you how you got into this mess in the first place.

“I could go for some pizza or-”

You felt a blaze of warmth, and suddenly you felt your legs swept under you, and you looked up at Dante, now back to his demonic form carrying you bridal style. But no longer did it strike fear in you, just a sense of awe...and admiration

“You truly know how to get to this demon’s heart,” he practically purred, and with a slight grunt, he leapt up and started flying towards the nearest collection of lights on the horizon. “Pizza it is, then!”

Despite the remnant of chill from spending God knows how long on that stone, and the brisk breeze of the upper atmosphere blowing past you, you didn’t feel a little bit cold. It was like being held by a flying furnace.

“You know Dante….” you spoke, barely audible above the wind.

“Hm?”

“You’re pretty hot.” Instantly, you realized what you had said, and would have preferred him to just drop you to your death at this very moment.

You heard him chuckle.

“Yeah, this form runs a bit warm….”

And even though he didn’t say it, you were almost certain he knew exactly what you meant.

#Devil May Cry #Dante #dante x reader #dante x you #Valentine's Day Special

150 notes · View notes

demoneyesanddamagedsouls · 3 years

Text

Sparring Partners

Chapter 1: Office Politics

A/N: Oh my goodness hi! This is chapter one of quite a few of my first ever fanfic starring my absolute favourite Pedro Pascal’s Agent Whiskey. I feel like I haven’t seen enough fics with him in it and I thought I better write one myself. Feedback and comments are so welcome, I’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you’d like to be tagged for the upcoming chapters just let me know! xxx

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F! Reader

I have also just created a playlist for ya’ll to listen to while reading. I hope it gets you even more invested! ✨COCKY COWBOY PLAYLIST✨

Summary: You and Agent Whiskey are long time rivals. As Statesman agents you both have been put up for the same promotion and this mission is your final chance to prove yourself. Have you got what it takes?

| Read on Ao3 |

Next Chapter

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Slight Language

|| Writing Masterlist ||

Get added to my Taglist!

CHAPTER 1: Office Politics

You and Tequila circle each other in the ring, moving expertly as the new recruits looked on, watching your every move. Darting forward you catch him with a sharp jab under the ribs, startling him. He makes his move aiming a strong blow at your jaw, but you duck away with seconds to spare moving just out of his range. Tequila turns around and smiles at you gesturing with his hand for you to come closer. You lunge at him aiming another devastating blow to his stomach, but he knows your play. Sidestepping your punch, he grabs hold of your arm throwing you to the ground and completely winding you. Your eyes go fuzzy as you try to regain your strength. You have to think on your feet. As he’s smiling at the crowd of recruits all of them cheering him on, a grin spreads across your face.

Idiot.

Lightening quick you lift your torso and wrap your legs around Tequila’s shoulder and chest, pulling him to the ground with such momentum it takes all the breath out of his lungs and he wheezes. You quickly throw your legs over his stomach, straddling him and holding him down.

“Alright, alright Vodka! I yield!” He laughs as he realises, he’s been defeated. Again.

You lift off him and help him to his feet. “That’s why you never celebrate before you know you’ve won.” You say addressing the recruits. You heard some snickers from the back, no doubt at Tequila’s expense at his quite sudden defeat.

“Now after Tequila catches his breath…” You chuckle, “we’ll start running through some of the moves we just demonstrated. Its important to tackle different opponents to learn how…” You trail off as Champ enters the training facility.

“I see you are all enjoying your training” Says Champ, his voice a booming presence in the large room, “a little more than I expected.” He smiles over at you and Tequila, “Unfortunately I need to steal Vodka away from you for a short while.”

He nods over at Tequila. Tequila responds in kind, then turns to the recruits. “Alright everyone let’s split off into pairs and practice some of those moves.” You hear him say as you walk out of the room.

You walk down the hallway next to Champ towards the elevator. Stepping in Champ leans forward and pushes the top button. We were heading for the main conference room. As the elevator clunks to life, you slowly leave the basement level and emerge into the bright glow of the afternoon sun. The glass capsule of the elevator allowing a full view across the Statesman distillery, a place you had come to call your home after 8 amazing years of working as an agent. You reminisce as you look out across the large estate, thinking about how you first got here. You were a young runaway, freshly 18, out of luck and out of money. To make ends meet you had become a great pool hustler… and an excellent thief. You were light fingered, quick and if you ever got caught you knew how to defend yourself. However, one day you picked the wrong pocket.

***

Seeing an easy score as you passed through the local fete, an older gentleman decked out in a dashing suit with a matching black Stetson, his wallet practically hanging out of his jacket pocket. You purposefully shoulder past him knocking him lightly, using the opportunity to sneak your hand into his jacket, relieving him of his wallet. Apologising quickly, you continue along, mindful to keep your head down so as not to be spotted later when the gentleman finally realised what had happened. As you rounded the corner to move away from the large crowd you stumbled headfirst into a tall foreboding man in a white Stetson. What is it with the cowboy look in these parts? You thought to yourself.

Attempting to move past him you suddenly feel the grip of a hand on your shoulder. “Now hold on there little one. Just what do you think your doin’?” The stranger drawled as he kept a firm hold on you.

“Nothing,” you said keeping your eyes trained on him as you continued, “Just lookin’ for my parents is all.”

“And what’s that wallet in your hand got to do with finding your parents?” He questions, a small knowing smirk creeping across his face.

You feel panic start to rise through your chest as you realise you might not be able to get out of this, you’re boxed in and the man currently holding you is not someone you think you can beat in hand-to-hand combat. You needed to think on your feet. Standing next to him, resting all your weight on your feet you quickly sweep your right leg forward and then straight backwards, the full force of your body colliding into the back of his knees causing him to crumple onto the floor, releasing his grip on you. He reaches for your ankles, but you see his movements just in time to tumble out of the way. Back on your feet you dash down the path behind the fete tents in a desperate attempt to flee.

You smiled to yourself as you wove your way along, hidden from the hustle and bustle of the fete. You got away you thought as you turned around, only to see the stranger once more. Your face distorting in disbelief and then suddenly everything went black.

Never celebrate before you know you’ve won…

…

You woke to find yourself sat in a soft leather chair in an office lined with rich mahogany bookshelves filled to the brim with books. Swivelling around you find a large window looking out onto a spectacular evening sky, the sun just setting, lighting up the clouds with beautiful orange and purple hues. Shit. How long have I been out? What the fuck happened? You swivel round again to find the door to the office, realising you can hear voices behind it.

“Why on earth did you bring her back here Tequila?”

“I thought she’d make a fine recruit.” That voice you recognised, the stranger from the fete. “She managed to take me down swiftly with no training at all. Not to mention she managed to elude your notice when she grabbed your wallet straight out of your jacket.” You heard a chuckle. So, the other voice must be the gentleman you stole from.

“Well, I’m inclined to agree with you Tequila.” A third voice chimed in, “We’re always on the lookout for new talent and she definitely has potential.”

What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

The three gentlemen entered the office to find you staring directly at them, your fight or flight response kicking in. The panicked look on your face evident as your muscles tensed up.

“Woah, woah, there sweetheart, we’re not here to hurt you.” The older gentleman spoke, “In fact we’re here to offer you a job.” He smiles at you giving you a long hard look up and down, sizing you up.

You look back at the stranger who you now understood was named Tequila, the one who obviously brought you here. “There are better ways of doing that other than knocking a person out cold.” You shoot directly at him with a distasteful glare.

A loud chuckle erupted from the older man at your response. “That’s certainly true young lady.” Turning to address Tequila and the other man in the room, “You’re right she definitely has some fight in her.”

“Am I being held against my will? Or am I allowed to leave?” You shoot back, confusion still evident in your voice.

“Feel free to be on your way.” Grunted the man under the black Stetson, a bruised ego evidently still weighing on him. You smiled at the thought.

“You’re certainly able to leave if that’s what you’d like,” Said the older man giving him a hard stare, “No one will force you to stay. But I hope you’ll hear us out on that job offer I spoke of. I think its high time we introduced ourselves gentlemen. My names Champ, this is Agent Tequila,” Tequila dips his hat to you in response, “and this is Agent Whiskey.”

“Agent?” You responded, surprise registering on your face.

“Yes, Agent. This is Statesman, a secret independent intelligence agency.” Your mouth opens in shock as you listen to Champs explanation. “You’re currently sitting in my office in our Head Quarters in the fine state of Kentucky. And it seems that you may have what it takes to become an agent here if you’d be interested. It’ll take a lot of training and hard work but it’s a very rewarding path to take in life.” You brain running over everything Champ was saying at a 100 miles per hour. “So… what do you think? Are you interested in my offer?”

Purpose, that is what you had been searching for your whole life. Although, it seemed it had found you instead. “Absolutely.” You smiled, what had you got to lose?

***

“We’ve got a new op we need you on.” Champ says as you walk towards the conference room snapping you out of your thoughts. “We’ll run through the specifics when we get there. Now just remember that teamwork is vital here in Statesman and don’t you forget that…” You give Champ a quizzical look. As you open the doors you realise why, finding yourself face to face with the one man in Statesman who knew just how to get under your skin. Agent Whiskey. “Hey there sugar.”

Your confusion quickly changes to distaste as you stare up at the agent, a forced smile plastered across his lips under his black Stetson. His deep brown eyes smouldered with the same distaste you felt. Ever since your fateful first meeting he had disliked you, making sure to be nuisance to you whenever he was able. It’s not like you made it any better, you constantly made an effort to show him up whenever you were competing. Always reminding him of that day you first met especially in front of the other agents, a conversation which never failed to make Whiskey angry, a deep flush making its way across his cheeks, caused by anger or embarrassment you never knew. All you knew was that you loved to tease him and best him whenever you could. You both were professional when you needed to be, always putting the mission first, but your rivalry was always there.

“Hey there Whiskey,” You said through gritted teeth. “So… Champ what is this op that requires Whiskey and I’s expertise?” Directing your question to Champ with a quizzical brow, curious as to what type of mission would require the two of you specifically.

“Well, it seems we have a potential problem right here in our own backyard.” Champ starts as he gestures for the two of you to sit down. As the three of you take your seats, Champ at the head of the table, Whiskey and you across the table from each other, he continues. “We noticed that a few private hospitals and medical centres in the area have been bought up by a company that we had been keeping tabs on called CleanPlanet. They have been managing to stay out of the news, but the company has recently been responsible for some very dangerous drug trials which resulted in a large number of casualties.” He lets out an audibly frustrated sigh. “They have been paying people off and continuing to conduct these trials, and now they may just have the facilities to conduct them on a larger scale. I need the two of you to figure out what is going on, what they are testing at these facilities and what they are trying to achieve. You both have your own strengths that you bring to the table and I need both of you working different angles to get to the bottom of this mess.”

Champ turns to Whiskey, “I need you to infiltrate the higher ups of the company, find out who is running this operation and what they’re trying to accomplish. And Vodka,” He turns to you, “I need you to get a look into the hospitals, find out exactly what trials they’re running and what is happening to the patients of these tests. Make sure you both keep each other up to date on whats happening on your end so you both have all the information you need. Report back to me with any solid leads you have so we can figure out our next move. I need you both to work together on this one alright. So, remember to keep it civil.”

“Yes Champ.” You both say in unison.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiles, rolling his eyes. “I also need to tell you that I’ll be keeping a close eye on the both of you. I have thought long and hard about this and I plan on stepping down as the head of this organisation.” Shock registers on Whiskey’s and yours faces but Champ continues talking as if it was just another statement. “I’ve been working here and running this operation for most of my life and I’m gettin’ tired. I want to settle down with the misses on a nice ranch of my own to enjoy the time I have left with her, my kids, and my grandkids. Every minute of this job has been thrilling but I want to start stepping back and making time for my family. After much deliberation I believe one of the two of you would be the best fit for this position. So, consider this mission a final show of skills and strengths before I make my decision on who will be my replacement.”

Unable to wipe the surprise off your face you stutter, “T-Thank you for this opportunity Champ. Its an honour to be considered for this position… I won’t let you down.”

“Yes, thank you Champ it’s a real honour.” Whiskey says with a similar expression to yours evident on his face. For once he doesn’t exude the cocky energy he usually has.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t last long, as he turns to face you once more, a smirk forming on his lips. “Well then Vodka, it seems we have a challenge on our hands… May the best agent win.” You look deep into his eyes, a wicked glint behind them, his lips curled into a mischievous grin.

What an exciting challenge. I look forward to showing him who’s the boss. You think to yourself, an equally cheeky smile spreading across your face.

“Alright Whiskey… Let the games begin.”

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

173 notes · View notes

bitchesgetriches · 2 years

Text

MASTERPOST: Everything You Need to Know about Repairing Our Busted-Ass World

On poverty:

Starting from nothing

How To Start at Rock Bottom: Welfare Programs and the Social Safety Net

How to Save for Retirement When You Make Less Than $30,000 a Year

Ask the Bitches: “Is It Too Late to Get My Financial Shit Together?“

Understanding why people are poor

It’s More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

Why Are Poor People Poor and Rich People Rich?

On Financial Discipline, Generational Poverty, and Marshmallows

Bitchtastic Book Review: Hand to Mouth by Linda Tirado

Is Gentrification Just Artisanal, Small-Batch Displacement of the Poor?

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights

Developing compassion for poor people

The Latte Factor, Poor Shaming, and Economic Compassion

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Stop Myself from Judging Homeless People?“

The Subjectivity of Wealth, Or: Don’t Tell Me What’s Expensive

A Little Princess: Intersectional Feminist Masterpiece?

If You Can’t Afford to Tip 20%, You Can’t Afford to Dine Out

Correcting income inequality

1 Easy Way All Allies Can Help Close the Gender and Racial Pay Gap

One Reason Women Make Less Money? They’re Afraid of Being Raped and Killed.

Raising the Minimum Wage Would Make All Our Lives Better

Are Unions Good or Bad?

On intersectional social issues:

Reproductive rights

On Pulling Weeds and Fighting Back: How (and Why) to Protect Abortion Rights

How To Get an Abortion

Blood Money: Menstrual Products for Surviving Your Period While Poor

You Don’t Have to Have Kids

Gender equality

1 Easy Way All Allies Can Help Close the Gender and Racial Pay Gap

The Pink Tax, Or: How I Learned to Love Smelling Like “Bearglove”

Our Single Best Piece of Advice for Women (and Men) on International Women’s Day

Bitchtastic Book Review: The Feminist Financial Handbook by Brynne Conroy

Sexual Harassment: How to Identify and Fight It in the Workplace

Queer issues

Queer Finance 101: Ten Ways That Sexual and Gender Identity Affect Finances

Leaving Home before 18: A Practical Guide for Cast-Offs, Runaways, and Everybody in Between

Racial justice

The Financial Advantages of Being White

Woke at Work: How to Inject Your Values into Your Boring, Lame-Ass Job

The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander: A Bitchtastic Book Review

Something Is Wrong in Personal Finance. Here’s How To Make It More Inclusive.

The Biggest Threat to Black Wealth Is White Terrorism

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 2: Racial and Gender Inequality

10 Rad Black Money Experts to Follow Right the Hell Now

Youth issues

What We Talk About When We Talk About Student Loans

The Ugly Truth About Unpaid Internships

Ask the Bitches: “I Just Turned 18 and My Parents Are Kicking Me Out. How Do I Brace Myself?”

Identifying and combatting abuse

When Money is the Weapon: Understanding Intimate Partner Financial Abuse

Are You Working on the Next Fyre Festival?: Identifying a Toxic Workplace

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Say ‘No’ When a Loved One Asks for Money… Again?”

Ask the Bitches: I Was Guilted Into Caring for a Sick, Abusive Parent. Now What?

On mental health:

Understanding mental health issues

How Mental Health Affects Your Finances

Stop Recommending Therapy Like It’s a Magic Bean That’ll Grow Me a Beanstalk to Neurotypicaltown

Bitchtastic Book Review: Kurt Vonnegut’s Galapagos and Your Big Brain

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Protect My Own Mental Health While Still Helping Others?”

Coping with mental health issues

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Self-Care

My 25 Secrets to Successfully Working from Home with ADHD

Our Master List of 100% Free Mental Health Self-Care Tactics

On saving the planet:

Changing the system

Don’t Boo, Vote: If You Don’t Vote, No One Can Hear You Scream

Ethical Consumption: How to Pollute the Planet and Exploit Labor Slightly Less

The Anti-Consumerist Gift Guide: I Have No Gift to Bring, Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum

Season 1, Episode 4: “Capitalism Is Working for Me. So How Could I Hate It?”

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 2: Racial and Gender Inequality

Shopping smarter

You Deserve Cheap Toilet Paper, You Beautiful Fucking Moon Goddess

You Are above Bottled Water, You Elegant Land Mermaid

Fast Fashion: Why It’s Fucking up the World and How To Avoid It

You Deserve Cheap, Fake Jewelry… Just Like Coco Chanel

6 Proven Tactics for Avoiding Emotional Impulse Spending

#masterpost #mental health #poverty #gender equality

2K notes · View notes

mattholicguilt · 3 years

Text

cats in the cradle by Duck_Life

Fandoms: Supernatural [Gen, No Archive Warnings Apply] Words: 1,745

Tags: Claire Novak & Patience Turner, Cats, Psychic Abilities, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Friendship, Found Family, claire novak will see a stray animal and be like, is anyone gonna project onto this, and not wait for an answer

Summary: Claire helps Patience hone her abilities. Patience helps Claire track down a cat.

Written for SPN Women Week Day 1. Prompt: "skills"

Bub is missing again.

“Bub” is the name of a mean stray cat missing a chunk from his ear. Claire’s been leaving cat food out for the ugly old thing for weeks now, and whenever he doesn’t come running she panics.

So, for the third time, Patience finds herself enlisted in the search for a cat that Claire doesn’t even technically own. “If it’s gonna bother you this much every time,” Patience says, “why don’t you just take it in? You know, get him his shots, a collar, a microchip.”

Claire makes a face at her before turning back to look at the road. She’s been driving around the neighborhood slowly, scoping out every shrub and checking under every parked car. “Bub doesn’t want to be chained down,” she explains. “He’s a free spirit.”

Alright, well, Patience is too tired to unpack that right now. She lets it lie and looks out the passenger’s side window, alert for any signs of movement. “Maybe he was never a stray at all,” she tries, “and his owner finally tracked him down and brought him home.”

“Do you know that?” Claire asks.

Claire’s always asking if Patience knows things— what happened on Jody’s date last weekend, what Dean’s middle name is, whether or not Alex is the one who ate the last ice cream sandwich in the freezer. Patience keeps trying to explain that she can only see the future. “Psychic” might be a misnomer— her abilities are precognitive, not telepathic.

She basically gets previews, little spoilers about what’s to come. And though she’s been working at it, she can’t seem to get her psychic abilities to do the kind of reading and divination her grandma could do. She gets glimpses with no context, no backstory.

Missouri Moseley could walk into a room and feel every ounce of heartbreak, grief, hope and faith in the people standing there. Patience can barely pick up on it when Alex and Claire are pissed at each other.

Still, Claire brings her along whenever the cat goes missing. Seems to think her ESP can home in on missing animals. Patience keeps telling her otherwise, and yet here she is, once again. That’s the trouble with having no social life and no better plans.

Maybe she should join a book club.

Claire rounds the corner, eyes darting around for any sight of the mangy cat. The first time Bub vanished from Claire’s sight, all the neighbors seemed intent to help. They explained they hadn’t seen the cat, but hoped Claire would find him soon and offered baked goods and platitudes in the meantime.

But these things have an expiration date. You can only lose the cat so many times before the routine gets old and the neighbors lose interest.

“My educated guess ?” Patience sighs. “The cat’ll come back when it gets hungry. Just like before.”

Claire makes a tch sound and mouths “educated guess” under her breath. Apparently, because Patience is psychic she’s supposed to be omniscient. “So which is it?” Claire says. “Is he back with his ‘real’ owners or is he going to come home when he gets hungry?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Patience says. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m helping you.”

“... Yeah. You are,” Claire says, ducking her head. “Sorry.” Her eyes scan the road ahead, looking for the telltale streak of a cat darting out from under a parked car or vanishing around a tree trunk. Still nothing. “Hey, Patience the Pet Psychic,” Claire says. “You should write that down, that’d be a great children’s book.”

“Very funny,” Patience says, rolling her eyes. She’s silent for a few moments and then says, “Cla-aire the Monster Slayer.”

“That doesn’t really rhyme.”

“Sure it does.”

When the sky darkens and the streetlights flick on, Claire drives them back to the house, Bub-less and dejected. “I’m sure he’s fine,” Patience tries.

Claire bunches her shoulders, the collar of her leather jacket looking like a cat’s raised hackles. Maybe, Patience thinks, that’s the connection— Claire in many ways resembles an angry cat. She and Bub might be kindred spirits.

“I’m just tired,” Claire says, yanking the keys out of the ignition. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Patience considers pointing out that Claire could at least ask instead of just assuming , considers reminding Claire that she has her own life outside of playing “pet psychic.”

But she doesn’t actually have anything to do tomorrow. Or the rest of the week. And as futile as it feels riding around looking for a runaway cat, it is something to do. And it makes Claire feel better.

And… straining her psychic muscles to pick up on any trace of the old tomcat is at least better than doing nothing and letting her abilities degrade. Over the last year, she’s been trying to find ways to train her brain, shape her psychic visions into something useful.

Jody’s supportive, but she, like most people, doesn’t know anything about being psychic. Kaia’s got a fraught relationship with her own special skills and usually chooses not to talk to Patience about seeing the future, and Alex is so entrenched in nursing and hunting that the few “normal” moments she gets at home are devoted to unwinding and relaxing.

Which makes Claire Patience’s most ardent supporter in developing her psychic abilities. A very grouchy, blonde and mostly clueless Yoda. What she lacks in background knowledge she makes up for in persistence.

“Hey, Patience, guess which hand?” Claire will ask, holding the last fortune cookie behind her back. “Hey, Patience, what number am I thinking of?” Claire will ask, perched on the arm of the couch. “Hey, Patience, heads or tails?” Claire will ask, flipping a coin to catch it in midair.

That’s not how it works. That’s not how any of it works— Patience can’t predict things at will. Her psychic visions operate on a schedule of their own, with no concern for Patience’s own convenience or comfort. One minute, she’s watching shitty reality TV while Alex nods off on her shoulder. The next, she’s watching Jody narrowly avoid being bitten by a vampire.

It’s a lot different from just guessing a coin toss. Still. Patience can’t help but think that her grandma would’ve passed all of Claire’s little tests with flying colors.

That night, Patience doesn’t dream about anything— at least, not anything useful. She has an anxiety dream about being lost in Aldi, roaming the aisles with increasing frustration. But nothing about the future. Nothing about Bub the cat.

She’s pouring herself a bowl of cereal when Claire stomps inside, the porch door swinging shut behind her. “Still gone,” she says darkly, grabbing the cereal box and her own bowl. “Food hasn’t been touched.”

“Claire,” Patience says, “why don’t we just go to the SPCA? You can get yourself a cat that’s not, you know—”

“What? Not damaged? Not a lost cause? Not hard to love?”

Whoa, Patience wants to say. “A cat that’s not missing ,” she finishes. “We can get him his shots and a collar and everything.”

“I don’t— I don’t just want some random cat,” Claire says. “I want to find Bub. I want… I want to find him and bring him home. I have to bring him home.”

“I know,” Patience says, and just like that she does . She does know.

She knows everything, feels everything, the aching loss in Claire’s bones that’s both recent and so, so old. Memories of Claire hitchhiking and stealing and conning her way through the country, desperately chasing a mother who was desperately chasing a dead man. Jimmy Novak’s voice in her head, his face seen through Claire’s eyes, Please, Castiel, take me. Just take me. Again, his forehead pressed to hers, Take care of your mom, okay, bub?

Bub.

Patience looks at Claire. Sees her, in a way she hasn’t been able to see anyone before. “Bub… ‘bub’ is what your dad used to call you.”

Claire squints at her. “Uh. Yeah,” she says. “Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t tell you that.”

“No,” Patience breathes, meeting her eyes across the kitchen, “you didn’t.”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Claire’s face. “Holy shit , Patience, you just… ? You just did that. You, like, read me.”

“I, uh, I didn’t know. That I could do that,” Patience says, caught between marveling at this new development and feeling self-conscious at intruding on Claire’s emotions and her past.

Claire doesn’t seem put off at all. She’s actually bouncing with excitement. “We gotta test this out. Oh my God. It’s like a whole new Pokemon evolution for you.”

“It’s not really. Like that. In any way.”

But Claire is already humming the Pokemon theme song. She grabs her car keys. “Alright, well, let’s go look for that cat. I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

“I read you, Claire, that doesn’t mean I can read the cat,” Patience reminds her.

“Yeah, yeah, but you can still help me look,” Claire says. “I don’t need your third eye, just the two on your face.”

“That’s… yeah, fine,” Patience acquiesces. To be honest, she’s buzzing with the knowledge of what she can do with her powers. If Claire’s happy to be her test subject, she’ll spend all day with the girl. “Just let me grab a coffee.”

“Ooh, me too. Wait!” She wiggles her fingers toward Patience. “Do you Know how I like my coffee?”

“Half-and-half. And enough sugar to kill you,” Patience reels off. “But that’s not because I’m psychic. I’ve just seen you fix yourself coffee before.”

“Y’know, I think the line between ‘psychic’ and ‘observant’ is thinner than you might think.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Patience says, and then pretends to stumble backward toward the table, overacting the part. “Oh, oh, I’m having a vision… I see you … making coffee for us…”

Claire rolls her eyes, but she dutifully sets her keys down and busies herself with getting the travel mugs out. “That’s not gonna work for everything, you know.”

“Aaah I see you bringing Jody’s suit to the dry cleaners next week. I also see you driving me to the science museum.”

“Hilarious.”

Patience smiles at her. It’s nice to have someone else get excited about her powers. It’s nice to be allowed to be excited about this, to learn a new skill and have it mean something good to someone besides herself. She doesn’t feel like a freak or a failure. She just feels… like a psychic.

She feels like her grandma would be proud.

#spnwomenweek #day 1: skills #patience turner #claire novak #spn #supernatural

53 notes · View notes

boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 29

First time reader click here

Feels like this story is flopping. Is it flopping? Idk. This chapter is 100% plot and it is spooky. Cursed demon box. Helpful Stephen Strange and grumpy Wong. Hovering Bruce and Tony. Loki being a honorary Gen-Z. Found family but make it ✨superheroes✨.

"That's a lot to unpack," Peter stated once I had given him the bare bones report of the situation at hand. "Uh, are you okay?" The boy was obviously upset at my predicament, placing a supportive hand on my shoulder.

"Kinda?" I offered, making space for Wanda and Pietro who decided to join me and Peter, away from the arguing adults. The mission discussion - an absolute disaster - started as soon as Peter had walked in. Evidently experienced in such matters, the boy ignored the bickering and came over to steal me from Bruce's clutches to peacefully finish his egg sandwich in the company of his peers.

"I wanted to ask if I could see your memory of that time," Wanda meekly offered me a piece of candy. I accepted it - sugar sweet sugar, how I love thee so! The witch continued with a smile: "I think it would be helpful to see what we're dealing with, magic-wise."

"Sure," I trusted her. "Just don't scramble what's left of my sanity, please," All of us laughed at my remark as I laid down on the cold floor with my head in Wanda's lap. Her powers felt like small brain zaps, tingles that began at the front of my forehead and ran down into my spine. I followed her instructions and thought about the times I remembered, finding the box, placing it into my closet, the nightmares. I had a mild headache by the time she was done; no grudges against her - Wanda tactfully avoided my private moments and looked only at the ones containing the artifact.

"You've gotten really good," I complimented her with pure adoration.

"Thank you," She blushed, smoothing back my stray hairs. "That stuff is really strong. I don't think you should go near the box," She admitted. "And Doc should take a look at you. You have a residue left. I don't think that's good either."

"Well, fuck," I said in muted resignation.

"Press F to pay respects," Pietro joked in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

"Your luck is almost as bad as mine," Peter pointed out.

I scoffed. "Well, if I see any spiders around, I'll be sure to stay away in case they happen to be radioactive OsCorp runaways."

All of us laughed. Despite the grim situation, I didn't feel doomed. I was surrounded by friends and my boyfriends and my bestie who happened to be a mythical omnipotent god- welp, once again, I was getting too emotional. Once the adults were done arguing, we could start making sense of this mess and hopefully clean it up before the monster is out of the box.

"Mortals," I heard Loki scoff. The next moment, the Asgardian sat down noisily next to me, pout on full display. "This house is a nightmare."

His expression - or the accidental use of a meme - sent me completely, tension leaving my body via copious amounts of nearly hysterical laughter. Through tears and hiccups, I saw Wanda cackle with me and Peter show the meme in question to Loki, noting that he had been once sent to time-out on top of the fridge by Tony himself. Soon, all of us were laughing, much to the displeasure of the adults.

"Children, what is the issue?" Thor asked, irritated.

"We're just waiting for you to be done with arguing," I spoke before Loki could start bitching about Thor calling him a child. "Then I can show Steve and Loki where exactly have I buried the box so Stephen can take me to the healers and get this thing out of me or whatever," I pointed out the most logical plan of action.

Two long strides and the sorcerer was standing over me, boom-boom-whooshing and generally making very pretty golden patterns to appear and land on top of me. Tony and Bruce anxiously hovered behind him, both of my boys concerned and ready to mother-hen me. Ugh, so disgustingly adorable. Wanda's hand encompassed mine - she was nervous.

Stephen took a solid five-minute silence break before coming to a final conclusion. "Wong can get rid of the residual traces of the artifact's influence," The sorcerer announced curtly. "It's good you got rid of the artifact, a few more months and you would have started slipping into insanity if the magic within it was not released," He explained, slowly reaching out a hand to place it on top of my head. I wasn't sure if it was a gesture meant to bring comfort or another diagnostic test but leaned into the touch nonetheless. "Tell me, did you have any behavioral... Disturbances after...?" He trailed off.

I chewed on my lip, evaluating. "I honestly don't know. I've always been kind of an asshole," Honesty was the best policy. "Nothing seems out of order, sleepwalking aside."

"I see," Strange gave me a tight-lipped smile. "Perhaps, it was your stubborn nature that forbade the artifact from corrupting your mind completely. As evidenced by Captain Rogers, even undesirable character traits bring good into this world now and then."

That seemed a little bit hostile. I frowned, giving a questioning look to a frowning Loki.

"Speaking from experience?" Not the one to hold back upon witnessing first-grade bullshit, I withdrew from Stephen's touch, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

Surprising everyone, the man laughed soundly, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I most certainly do," Shooting me a positively mischievous wink. I felt like I was missing something.

The room's inhabitants slowly ticked out in pairs and threes, eager to complete their assigned tasks. Loki had insisted on coming along to the sanctum with me, even almost getting up in Stephen's face, but Bruce - out of all people - managed to calm the Asgardian down, and together we convinced him his magic would be considerably more useful during the retrieval of the cursed box. Loki was worried - everyone with a pair of functional eyes could see that the spiky attitude was his way of showing he cared about me, which made my insides briefly turn to mush. I didn't expect him to take the title of my best friend so seriously and I definitely was not complaining.

Tony was the last to leave, jittery and shaky, clutching me like it was his last time seeing me, kissing me hungrily in front of everyone. The joke or two he made were weak ghosts of his usual sharp snark.

"I love you and I'll be back soon," I whispered into his ear, feeling him freeze and his fingertips dig almost painfully into my sides. Louder, I repeated: "Not planning on dying any time soon, y'all gotta chill. Let's go, doc?" I addressed the tall sorcerer who was tactfully pretending to be busy with his smartphone.

Wanda pressed a duffle bag into my hands mouthing "clean clothes" a split second before Stephen opened a portal and with a great deal of curiosity, I stepped through it, eyes immediately drawn to the dimly lit space filled with books and antiques. So many books, so many unusual trinkets. The chandelier that hung over our heads rivaled the ones I'd seen in million-dollar-homes of dad's friends.

"Follow me," Stephen extended an arm in the direction of a smaller door, "Please do not touch anything."

I walked a pace behind him, satisfying my curiosity by looking around like a child in a candy store. The air smelled different in the Sanctum, almost as familiar as Loki's magic but less frosty... Warmer. A dash of red fabric swished from somewhere towards me; I giggled. The Cloak of Levitation liked me - not nearly as much as it liked Peter though - so I brushed my fingertips along the fabric, greeting it quietly. Talking loudly in this building was out of the question. I felt like any moment, a disgruntled librarian would appear to chastise me for making noise.

"Strange," A short Asian man appeared, book in hand and looking none too happy. Guess that's the librarian... "I got your text. The room next to yours is prepared for the ritual," The man I assumed to be Wong gave me a curt nod in the way of greeting, doing a quick 180° and walking us back to a small but tastefully decorated room with a single cot in the middle. It was pleasantly warm, a small fire lit in the fireplace, willowy smoke of incense rising from a few strategically placed sticks.

"The bathroom is that way. I'm afraid you'll have to be fully nude for the procedure," Strange declared apologetically, pointing to a door hidden behind the divide.

I snorted, but of course, the weird voodoo shit would require me to be naked. Not that I was embarrassed or anything but still. Tony would have a field day. Locating a chair, I dumped my duffle bag on it, flying out of my hoodie and sweatpants in record time. My underwear and socks followed, feet unpleasantly chilly despite the carpeted floor. I ran a hand over the faint bruises on my hips, evidence of last night, fondly - either Tony or Stephen had left marks on my body and that was... It was great. I loved it, drugs or not.

I heard someone clear their throat and turned around, nearly cracking up at the way both men suddenly averted their gazes, blush riding high on their cheeks. I snorted: "I'm hot, what else is new?"

Wong shook his head, busying himself with some sort of a book; Stephen lingered, eyes fixated on the very same bruises. His tongue darted out, wetting the plush of his bottom lip, and damn, this wasn't the time to get horny. I shook my head and with that, the sorcerer caught himself too, mutely motioning me to lay down on the cot.

"Whenever you're done eye-fucking each other," Wong piped up sarcastically - wow, I liked this man already. Stephen grumbled something quiet and rude, provoking another snort from me.

I followed their instructions - shortly after the Asian man began reading - or rather singing - something in a language I didn't know, I felt myself fall into a deep sleep. Or, I thought I was falling asleep. At one point, my eyes opened to an empty room, a thin sheet covering my bare body, and a silence that made chills run down my spine.

"Stephen?" I called out. I sounded like I was underwater to my own ears. "Wong?"

I was met with silence so deafening, I had no choice but to sit up and look around. The fire was burning strong in the fireplace, several logs blackened from it as sparks flew. It took a second for me to realize it made no sound - there was no crackling. Something was very wrong, the dread was creeping up on me.

Very familiar dread.

With the sheet firmly wrapped around me, I hopped off the cot, suddenly noticing the drawings on my arms, my legs. I was covered in runes similar to the ones I had seen on the cursed box - and my memories weren't missing. As clear as day, I recalled messing around with the box, debating on opening it, taking it out of my room only to find it back on my desk in the morning, some serious Anabelle shit.

I jumped as the floorboards cracked somewhere in the house. Every logical thought I had, backed up by every horror movie I had ever watched, screamed at me to NOT go towards the creepy noise; like moth to a flame, I was drawn in and couldn't resist the unnatural urge to investigate it. On silent feet, I padded out of the room, desperately trying not to think about the lonely, dark hallways filled with strange ancient objects. My steps made no noise.

On the couch, in the main room we'd arrived, sitting lazily, was Tony. I'd recognize his hair anywhere - and the Led Zep tee, old, frayed edges and loose threads. "Tony?" I asked hopefully, trying to make sense of this...

He turned around.

It wasn't Tony. Whatever it was, it wore Tony's face, it held his brown eyes and crow's feet around them - it wasn't him. Wrong, like the lack of sound in this place, misplaced and unnatural. The doe browns didn't sparkle, lifeless, dull color of dried mud. As much as I wanted to go and bury my face in his chest, my limbs filled with lead, my whole body screaming "DANGER".

The impostor kept quiet which only solidified my suspicions. Real Tony would be running his mouth already, poking fun at my impression of a sheet ghost.

"Princess?" The... Thing asked in Tony's voice, but it fell flat and monotone.

"Whatever you are, you sure as Hell ain't Tony," I stated firmly, hoping for some answers. "What the fuck?"

Not-Tony's face changed, familiar features twisting into something sinister, the malice making me sick to my stomach. The creature stood up, causing my feet to take an involuntary step back as he advanced slowly.

"You have no choice but to submit," The Thing replied calmly. "You're not getting out of here. Not even your little Asgardian pet god can save you," Its tone was absolutely flat. I would have thought the thing was a robot if not for the obvious involvement of magic in this situation. Its words filled me with dread as thick as molten lava; unfortunately for the creature, unlocking my memories gave me enough rational balance to be acutely aware of it and therefore, able to fight it.

I could fight it. I didn't know how exactly, but I could resist it. "That's a really bold thing to say for something that... What even are you? Magical STD?" As my brain desperately focused on finding a solution to a problem I didn't know all the details of, my mouth had a mind of its own.

The creature growled, a far more primal noise than a human could make. "You don't know what you're up against, child. I am one for we are many," Suddenly, the room was filled with shadows as if someone had turned off all the lights and cranked up the moon to be the brightest it ever was. The shadows moved, oozed, motion sinister without any light to back it up.

I had no choice but to pucker up. Nobody was coming to rescue me; in fact, I always have taken pride in being a self-saving princess. Damsel in distress wasn't really my style. The hunch in my shoulders disappeared, giving way to a stubborn and stiff expectation of the upcoming altercation, hands bailed in fists.

"I mean, like Legion the demon from the Bible?" I recalled what little I knew from Wikipedia. "I mean, I'm agnostic myself, but if you feel like identifying with that, you should probably see a therapist."

The entity growled, shadows gathering around it like fabric on a string, and lunged. Paralyzed by sudden blinding, deafening fear, I turned tail and ran.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #stephen strange x you

89 notes · View notes

rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

A Hand in the Matter

Chapter 11: All Your Friends in One Place

Tina was grinning at him over her beer glass, “So this new boyfriend of yours. When will Chris and I get to meet him?” Gavin groaned. They’d had this discussion at least a dozen times by now. Or at least it felt that way, “Tina, we’ve been over this. Richard isn’t my boyfriend. We’re just friends.” “Two things with that Gav.” Chris cut in, “Tina didn’t sat his name, and two, you spend all of your free time with this guy.” “He’s helping me with psychology. Midterms are coming up and they’re going to kick my ass.” Gavin took a drink from his beer, “Besides I doubt if he was interested in anyone at all that I would even be on that list.” Tina rolled her eyes, “Alright, gay crisis aside; what I meant is that we would like to meet him Gavin.” “Exactly.” Chris agreed, “He seems like a nice guy. We won’t scare him off.” Gavin let out a dry laugh, “You might not Chris, but Tina would send him away with his tail between his legs.” “I will be on my best behavior.” Tina pleaded and frowned when Gavin raised an eyebrow, “I cross my heart.” “Have a little faith.” Chris pushed, “We’re your friends after all.” Gavin gave a defeated sigh, “Fine, but we’re meeting at the cafe if I can even get him to agree. The bar would give him a panic attack.”

Tina whooped loud enough to turn a few heads despite the music and other conversations happening in the bar. Gavin and Chris both stared at her until she composed herself. This was exactly why Gavin was hesitating. As much as he loved his friends, they could be a bit much at times. “Does he know about Elijah?” Tina asked, “Does Elijah know about him?” “No to the first, yes to the second.” Gavin said flatly in hopes to avoid having this conversation before it turned into a game of twenty questions. “Teens, that’s enough.” Chris said, once again coming to Gavin’s rescue. That particular conversation died down and they made small talk until last call. They left their bar and went their separate ways with plans to do this again once Gavin’s midterms were over. Tina made Gavin promise to talk to Richard about meeting them, and with Chris as his witness he gave in. There was no getting out of this. He supposed he could see if he could convince Richard to wait until midterms were over or even after finals had ended to meet them. Assuming he wanted to meet them at all. Gavin got into his cab with the plan to at least approach Richard about it tomorrow while they were studying. He could possibly bribe Richard to say no with coffee. The last thing he needed was all three of them badgering him about his health. He and his bad habits wouldn’t survive.

Morning came with a slight hangover, but that’s what he got for coming home and immediately going to bed instead of having something to eat or something to drink before hand. He could still study, he just needed to take something for the headache. He rolled over to check the time, he had about two hours before he needed to leave. He got out of bed to get ready. After he showered and got dressed he made toast and filled a glass with water. He took the pain pills and chased them with his small breakfast. When that was done he checked his bag to make sure he had everything he needed. He fed Franklyn and checked his phone for the time and found two new messages from Richard.

Tall Phcker from Psych: The cafe is closed for a few days because a pipe broke. Tall Phcker from Psych: Is there another place where we could meet? Gavin: There’s a place near me called Pawsome Coffee. Its a cat cafe if that’s okay. Tall Phcker from Psych: That works. Can you send me the address? Gavin: Sure!

He wouldn’t admit to having to google it if he was asked, but as soon as he found the address he sent it to Richard. Gavin had been wanting to show Richard this place for a while and now he had the perfect excuse to. He was pretty sure Richard was going to love it. There was only the matter of not getting distracted by the cats.

As it turned out, getting distracted by the cats was the last thing that Gavin needed to worry about. Once they had ordered their drinks and sat down Richard was buried in them. A short haired white cat settled across his shoulders, a black one with longer hair settled into his lap, and two more; one grey and the other a red-orange; hopped up onto the table. The grey one pawed at his arm to try and get his attention. Gavin couldn’t help but chuckle as he came back with their drinks. “Well aren’t you Mister Popular.” He joked as he set their drinks on the table. He leaned over to grab what they would need once his hands were free, “Normally it takes a few visits for them to warm up to people.” ‘I Not Do Anything Special.’ Richard signed before he reached out to pet the grey cat. “I think you just have that effect on cats and some people.” Gavin remarked as he set the textbooks down on the table, “Are you even going to be able to study like that?” ‘Yes.’ He replied, ‘S-I-L-A-S Worse.’ Gavin laughed, he supposed that was true. Silas was quite the character from what he had been told, “There is that I suppose.” ‘Will You?’ Richard asked. “Yeah.” Gavin answered as he settled in, “I used to study here all the time before I adopted Franklyn. She doesn’t like it too much when I come home smelling like other cats.”

‘Dirty Cheater.’ Richard signed with a straight face and Gavin inhaled his coffee and started coughing. “God damnit Richard.” Gavin wheezed when he caught his breath enough to speak again, “You can’t just say things like that when a guy is drinking his coffee. You could have killed me.” Richard only rolled his eyes at Gavin’s dramatic antics as they settled in to study. Gavin asked questions when he had them, and if Richard couldn’t answer them he pointed Gavin to the part of the book where he could find what he was looking for. It was nice. They managed to study for a few hours before Richard gave in and began petting the cats that had elected him as their new tower. Gavin figured they were probably done for the day. He was out of distractions. “Hey, so I have a question.” Gavin started. He only continued when Richard was looking at him, “Chris and Tina were wondering if they could meet you. Apparently I talk about you a lot and they’re curious. Obviously if you don’t want to, just say so and I’ll let them know.” ‘Not Today.’ Richard said and Gavin nodded, ‘This Weekend Maybe? If You Not Busy?’ Gavin wanted to groan. Of course Richard would want to get it done as soon as possible, “How does Saturday sound? That’s Chris’s day off.” ‘Saturday Works.’ Richard agreed, ‘Can We Meet Here? Hand Brewed Hope Not Open.’

They spent a little while longer at the cafe talking and making plans for Saturday. Gavin him told him a little bit about Chris and Tina so he would know what he was getting into. He seemed excited which helped Gavin relax some. They parted ways in the early afternoon because they both had other classes to study for. The plan was to meet at Pawsome on Saturday around noon. Gavin messaged Chris and Tina on the walk back to his apartment.

Oh No! Its the Cops: Gavin: Pawsome Coffee Saturday at noon. Gavin: You’re lucky I love you guys. Pocket Police: The cat cafe from high school? Talk about nostalgia. I’ll have to pack allergy pills. In Chris We Trust: Cool. See you then Gavin: Don’t forget that you promised to behave Tina Pocket Police: Fine Pocket Police: You’re not any fun Gavin: I am plenty of fun under the right circumstances Pocket Police: No thanks, I’m gay Gavin: You are the actual worst Pocket Police: I have to have it out of my system by Saturday. Gavin: Fair enough

The week passed in a series of tests that Gavin was less ready for than he would have liked. It was Saturday before he was ready for that either. He loved Tina, but he didn’t exactly trust her to behave; especially with as curious as she had been about Richard. Her mouth had a tendency to runaway with her before her brain had the chance to catch up. Gavin wasn’t looking forward to having to play damage control if she got too excited. He wasn’t expecting the three of them to be settled in at a table and talking by the time he arrived. Chris was pretty fluent in Sign Language because he had taken it in high school, he was playing translator and also signing as he spoke. Gavin ordered his usual Carmel Macchiato and made his way to the table once it was ready. The cat he had to pick up so he could sit beside Richard let out an indignant squawk. “I swear you keep treats or some shit in your pockets.” Gavin said in way of a greeting. ‘I Thought You Said I Have Captivating Personality.’ Richard signed with a grin. Gavin rolled his eyes, “With people as well as cats apparently.” “Captivating personality huh?” Chris said with a laugh. “Oh shut up Chris.” Gavin remarked. “So am I the only one that doesn’t know Sign then?” Tina asked. “Yeah.” Gavin replied, “But I’m still learning so don’t worry.”

‘I Teach You If You Want.’ Richard said. “He said he could teach you if you would like.” Gavin translated, “ Or we could add him to the group chat.” “Why not both?” Tina suggested, “But it seems like he has enough on his plate with tutoring you so Chris can teach me instead. Lord knows we have enough time between all the hours we spend on patrol together or at our desks.” “Thanks for asking T.” Chris said dryly, “But that’s not what we’re here for.” “True.” Tina agreed, “We’re here to have coffee and a good time.” They talked for a while before they split into separate conversations. Tina and Gavin started talking about high school since that was the last time they had all ben at the cafe. Chris was signing rapidly to Richard about something. From time to time they would cross conversations, or someone would say something that caught all of them off guard and the conversation would stall for a while. It was a nice change of pace and Gavin found himself smiling so broadly that his cheeks hurt. They were getting ready to leave when Tina spoke up again. “We go out for drinks at a local bar on Fridays if you ever want to join us.” She offered, and her hand was half way to his shoulder before she stopped herself. ‘Sounds Fun.’ Richard agreed and Gavin groaned.

Gavin stared at Richard for a long moment, “We can cab together then I guess.” Richard grinned and Gavin found himself returning it. ‘Thank You.’ Richard signed. They parted ways outside the cafe and Gavin felt his phone vibrate a few times on the walk back to his apartment. He didn’t check it until he was inside.

In Chris We Trust added Tall Phcker from Psych to Oh No! Its the Cops.

Tall Phcker from Psych: Thank you for today. I had fun. Pocket Police: Of course! It was great to finally meet you. In Chris We Trust: See you Friday! Gavin: I’m in danger. Tall Phcker from Psych: Only if you don’t take care of yourself. Pocket Police: I like him In Chris We Trust: Same

Gavin rolled his eyes and locked his phone so he could relax for a bit. He was glad to see them get along but he didn’t want to read a play by play of them planning the demise of his bad habits. His biggest worry had been that Richard would be overwhelmed, but he was relieved that hadn’t been the case. Richard deserved all the love he could get.

#A Hand in the Matter #AHM #reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh nines #dbh fic #dbh

19 notes · View notes

thebluemallet · 2 years

Text

Immediate thoughts on Bridgerton Season 2, Episode 1 ("Capital R Rake") below the cut.

Eloise's debut was hilarious. Not everyone can pull off that huge feather, and Eloise does not. And she knows it. Good on her brothers for not laughing. You could tell they wanted to. I love how Violet hushed Benedict before he gave Eloise any ideas on how to make her escape.

Alright, my "someone will discover Pen as Whistledown" theory is already shot down, but I wasn't 100% sure about that theory, so that's alright. But I did get spoiled for part of this scene and knew Penelope would try and negotiate for higher wages for the runners. The way people were complaining, you would have thought the scene took up more than half the episode instead of the maybe 1 minute of screen time it ended up being.

I loved the montage of debutantes Anthony was interrogating getting to know better. You could tell which debutantes had half a brain by whether or not they had the "oh dear God someone get me away from this man" eyes or not.

Kate and Anthony first meeting! I like the fact that Anthony meets Kate first and they're both intrigued by the other. Even Kate "I do not intend to marry this season" Sharma. The banter! Also, part of me always wanted Kate to be the one he noticed first when I read the book. Kate always seemed to be the afterthought with how she was treated in the books.

Watching Kate speak with Lady Danbury is just...holy shit, she is Anthony. I'm surprised Lady Danbury didn't immediately turn to Mary and say. "I know just the man for Kate." I can just see Edwina biting her tongue whenever Kate speaks on her behalf. People speaking for Edwina and making assumptions about her will probably be a theme throughout this season.

Lady Featherington's crocodile tears over the new Lord Featherington's delayed arrival as a means of stalling on Philippa's nonexistent dowry. She's not the best mother out there but she's going to do what she can for her girls.

The whole time Anthony is dancing and Kate is skirting the edge of the dance floor, I was just yelling SHE'S RIGHT OVER THERE, ANTHONY! LOOK AT HER!

So now we have the full truth! Mama Sharma was not necessarily a runaway bride in that sense. Her parents probably did have someone in mind for her to marry, but Papa Sharma and Baby Kate caught her eye instead. And they're trying to control Edwina's marriage now. Kate's not telling her sister, so this is probably stressing Kate out, which is making her unintentionally put pressure on Edwina, which is going to make Edwina snap. I can only see this backfiring on Kate in the worst way and at the worst time.

"I would rather die!" Good on you, Eloise for putting Cressida in her place.

The new Lord Featherington has arrived. From America. Which was at war with Britain in 1814, but okay. I'm calling it now: new Lord Featherington is going to be a slimy bastard.

#bridgerton #bridgerton season 2 #bridgerton spoilers

4 notes · View notes

thechildofstark · 3 years

Text

The Problem With Civil War

Civil War was supposed to be a Captain America movie. It was not a Captain America movie.

However.......

The problem with it being a Cap film is that Steve (+ his team) are supposed to be the ultimate good guys. In all the previous Hero Title films (Iron Man Trilogy, Thor Trilogy, Etc.) the guy whose name is on the poster is the guy the audience is supposed to root for. However, because of CA:CW’s marketing and story arc, it was very much a Steve & Tony / Steve vs. Tony film, while trying to simultaneously portray Tony as a secondary character.

This post isn't about Team Cap or Team Iron Man.

The catalyst for the story of Civil War is...........interesting. (in the comics, its different. and a whole lot easier to understand the reasoning of both sides of the argument. but that's a post for another time.)

Tagging/registering/tracking every mutant/mutate/superhero/powered person is objectively a very bad idea. but so is running amok with no supervision in other countries and destroying property whilst literally wearing the American flag.

There are big problems on both sides.

The issue I find most people have with Tony is that they find him an entitled sellout who only cares about himself and that he committed war crimes, and the problems I find most people have with Steve is that he defended a baby Nazi and went on an violent international rampage in direct violation of the UN because his dead terrorist ex-boyfriend may or may not have murdered a whole bunch of people.

Ooof.

The main reason I think people get very annoyed/attached a specific side is because they are still projecting the characterisation from the earlier movies.

Iron Man 1 and The First Avenger? I love them. No notes.

Obviously yes there are issues in-universe but these are flawed characters with complicated issues and stories and so on, and I like them that way.

If I wanted a Nice Unproblematic Superhero I’d rewatch the Christopher Reeves Superman films. That is not why I am here today.

But by the time we get to Civil War, Tony and Steve have become caricatures of the ideals that they represented, so that the studio can make a movie.

Morally, Steve is in the right. Legally, Tony is in the right.

Ethically? I don't fucking know, they both suck equally in that regard.

Okay to be fair, Tony does try to help Steve like.........so often in the film. Because Steve is the Protagonist and he is Right even though half his actions don't actually fit with his previous characterisation/character arcs/basic human logic.

CA:CW was supposed to be a movie about Steve Rogers. But it failed in the single regard that the story wasn't about him. Even other Hero Title movie, the main character either does something, or has something done to them, and then they react to the situations and there are gratuitous explosions and a life lesson and probably a kiss near the end. But this film had the kiss nearer to the middle ew Sharon why and while plenty of shit got blown up, plenty of civilians and local law enforcement also got mashed by/because of the title character.

That is not how the lead in a superhero movie is supposed to behave.

And the film also continues down the general path of giving Tony shittier and shittier character arcs. The war he behaves in his own movies vs the avengers films? it’s a complete values dissonance. It is literally not the same character. Probably the closest to consistency we get is Iron Man 3/Age of Ultron but even then the differences are pretty startling. At the beginning, Tony was, idk, a realistic if fictional person. But the time we get to CA:CW all we have is an avatar for the writers to manipulate, damn character consistency, damn reasonable behavior and logic and everything that the audience has been told about him in the past.

Same with Steve. Heck, same with everyone in the entire damn movie. Barely anyone acts or reacts in a way that either A) previous behavior would suggest, or B) an actual human person would act or react.

Yes. I know. It’s fiction. I can suspend my disbelief.

But like........damn they fucked Clint and Natasha over.

The creators were trying to recreate a well known and well liked comic book story arc, capitalize on the growing divide in parts of the fandom over preferred characters/character ideologies, and do so without using the expanded universe and added context which made the original comic book arc so fucking good.

They tried to split the Avengers in half, only to realize that they had split the Avengers in half, and then when Infinity War came along, they basically had to write a plot where both sides did their thing without sharing a single second of screen time together, because the whole -

S: you tried to kill my best friend

T: he killed my mother

S: actually he was brain washed

T: but you knew and didn't tell me for years

S: well I was worried you would react badly

T: I wouldn't have

S: you literally tried to kill him

T: yeah I'm sure you be totally fine if you saw your parents being violently murdered and the guy was right there and your teammate lied about it and you were very sleep deprived to boot

- drama would start up again.

ANYWAY

the point is, I used to really like both these characters - I still like the comic book versions tho - but then they got way fucked over. I'm extra salty about Steve, because this was supposed to be his movie but loads of the screen time was given over to other shit and he literally commits so much crime and murder and has absolutely zero moral or emotional consistency. especially when it comes to Bucky and Wanda vs. everyone else.

Also with Tony, there is so much of an issue with Telling vs Showing vs other characters in-universe opinions of him I genuinely don't even know what the creators want me to feel about him anymore.

uuuuururhrhrhrhrhrhrhghfjjhdhjf.

tl;dr -

I saw this movie like six years ago and the way I feel about it has changed a lot over time. I used to be team iron man, could you tell? But the basics of it is this should have been an Avengers movie if it had to exist at all, there are so many cool Captain America stories worthy of being put to film, and this really wasn't the most perfect option. Civil War has so many problems, and I can even begin to try and list them here.

But I'm making this post because I just followed a really cool blog who happens to hate on Tony a bunch (I don't really mind consciously) but that annoyed me out of habit, so I started examining why I liked him as a character, and it mainly boiled down to A) some of the comics are cool, and B) CA:CW said I had to pick a side and Steve did so much dumb shit I just went with the easy option.

the blog doesn't seem to be a huge fan of Steve either.

my current stance is that they both got fucked over and if you want some solid positive Marvel content go read Runaways, or the Hawkeye comics.

The Hawkeye comics are the best.

#literally only one person is going to read this #anti tony stark #anti steve rogers #pro Tony stark #pro steve rogers #cacw #civil war #captain america civil war #marvel #disney #mcu #hawkeye #clint barton #natasha romanov #wendy mayomoff #bucky barnes #marvel comics #team cap #team iron man

49 notes · View notes