#this is going to be repressed until I move out when I have the brain space to actually do stuff about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stayinlimbo · 2 months

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the world is ending (but i'm happy you're here with me)

pairing: lee minho x f!reader genre: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort warnings: one (1) swear, mc is mentioned to have longer hair at one point, slightly unedited, lowercase intended word count: 1.07k note: i had a lot of fun writing this, so i hope you enjoy it too ♡

there comes a time in every girl’s life where the overwhelming urge to change her physical appearance eclipses all sensible and rational thought. as it turns out, you’re no exception.

“you’re going to laugh.”

“no i’m not.”

“you already are,” you deadpan, frowning at minho’s pitiful attempts to repress the growing smile quirking at his lips. your boyfriend has the audacity to chuckle at your words, pushing himself off the couch and gliding towards your stiff figure standing at the entrance of the living room.

“you can’t blame me, you look so cute and adorable right now,” he defends. an arm snakes around your shoulders and you relax slightly at his touch, wrapping your arms around his middle. “besides, it can’t be that bad—at least, not enough for you to have to hide from me.”

minho pulls you further into the warmth of his chest, the tender embrace sending a small shiver down your spine. his lips meet the side of your hooded head in a firm kiss, the extra pressure ensuring you would feel the loving gesture. the usual trail of kisses towards your forehead and cheeks is blocked, currently concealed by your (his) hoodie’s drawstrings working overtime to reveal only a small oval of skin.

the hood’s bunched fabric frames the top of your eyes and lips. you can barely see in front of you until one of minho’s fingers slips into the opening to try and take a peek at what’s covered inside.

minho is being nice; you look ridiculous.

and it’s your fault really. you should have known you couldn't escape your misfortunes that easily.

work for the past month has been hell: the road-closure of the usual route you’d take, tacking on an additional fifteen minutes to your commute. the early mornings you have to endure to clock-in on time. the “important” group project your boss delegated around the office. the unpaid overtime for said project. the same petty, passive-aggressive coworkers breathing down your neck and critiquing your every move because you made a mistake once—all casting insurmountable pressure on your already exhausted state.

you finally snapped when someone callously stole the lunch minho had prepared for you from the breakroom’s fridge.

you suppose now it was your brain’s attempt to regain some sort of control over the strenuous situation, but the impulse to cut your hair, try a new style, start fresh with your appearance bombarded every thought on the journey home. call it an impulsive thought, an intrusive thought, whatever—you needed to do something.

too bad the hair stylist couldn’t follow directions for shit.

“minho, i’m serious,” you whine, burying your face further into his chest. suffocating in the arms of the man you love doesn’t sound like such a bad idea right now. “she ruined my hair. how am i supposed to go out in public like this?”

“i can’t tell you if you haven’t even shown me yet. i’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” he muses, chuckling at the vibrations tickling his torso from the muffled groan you release.

minho starts to sway the two of you back and forth at your silence. the rhythmic movement cradles you in a comforting hold, temporarily soothing your spiraling thoughts. he’s right; you’re going to have to show him at some point. might as well just get it over with now.

a defeated sigh escapes you. well, here goes nothing.

you step out of minho’s arms and pry the hood off to reveal your botched hair in all its glory.

uneven bangs, a completely different color than from when you left for work this morning, fall into your face and cover the top of your eyes. you can’t see yourself but judging from minho’s small hiss and surprised, contorted face, it’s not pretty.

and it’s not like you asked for anything outlandish: a standard cut and a new style of bangs was your definition of revamping your appearance. so when the stylist cut off a majority of your hair, it took everything within you to not immediately burst into tears as the salon’s floor and your lap splayed the once lengthy remains.

you don’t even know where she got the idea of bleaching your hair. now your wallet and soul are emptier than ever and there is nothing you can do except hope minho doesn’t ask you to turn around because the layers are downright atrocious.

“so? what do you think?” a wobbly smile makes its way onto your face. “not what you were expecting, right?”

you can’t help the tears welling into your eyes at his silence. he’s just…staring. certainly this can’t be the dealbreaker, right?

…right?

you’re saved from your inner turmoil when minho moves forward to carefully bring you back into his arms. the tears finally spill down your cheeks and onto his shirt, the comforting scent of minho flooding your senses once again. if you could hide here forever, you would.

“it’ll grow back.”

“i know.”

“you still look sexy.” he pinches your side, coaxing a watery laugh from you. his smile is infectious, and you can’t help but tearfully look up at him with one of your own.

you playfully guide one of his hands towards the back of your damaged hair, leaving it there. “so you’re not breaking up with me over this?” you tease, resting your head back against his chest. you don’t notice the subtle shift in your boyfriend’s gaze until he softly calls your name.

“i would love you even if you were bald,” he confesses quietly, squeezing you tighter to him.

you can’t help but snort into his chest. “yeah?”

“yeah. i will love you now until it’s long again. i will love you with any hair cut, color, style, anything. even if you hate it or one day regret it, my love for you won’t change,” minho assures, his sincerity echoing in his words.

“so if i dyed my hair pink tomorrow, you’d be okay with it?”

“do what you want, whenever you want.”

because it doesn’t matter to him what you do with your hair. you’re still you, his beautiful and resilient (and sexy) girlfriend. even as his hands run through the chopped, disproportionate strands on the back of your head, he finds you more and more enchanting with each passing day.

“i will be here for you. always.”

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺

(“i still have to go to work.”

“just wear a hat.”)

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liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

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Steve very rarely gets sick. He prides himself on it.

But when Eddie spent three days in a row in bed with a fever, puking every time he got up, and coughing everywhere he could reach, Steve had no choice but to stay and take care of him. Which meant he spent three days in direct contact with whatever virus decided to leave Eddie bedridden.

Halfway through his shift at Family Video, he turned to Robin and said he was going to pass out.

She didn’t believe him, laughed it off like he was being dramatic. “You’ve been hanging around Eddie too much lately.”

So when he passed out five seconds later, she panicked. He opened his eyes to her frantically trying to move him onto his side.

“Robs, ‘s not a seizure.”

“Right, but what if you puke?”

“I’m just dehydrated.”

He wasn’t just dehydrated.

He was dehydrated and feverish and exhausted.

He was sick.

Robin called Eddie to come pick him up, rambling nervously over the phone about his symptoms. Steve couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he knew Eddie was probably laughing at the situation.

“He’ll be here to get you in 10 minutes. Can you please not pass out again because I don’t think I can handle it.”

“Sure, I’ll just tell my brain to hold off until Eddie’s here.”

“Thanks.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he settled on the floor behind the counter. Robin wouldn’t let him stand up again in case he fell and hit his head, which was actually probably a smart move.

When Eddie arrived, he took one look at Steve on the floor and sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I warned you, Stevie! I said ‘you’re gonna get sick, you shouldn’t stay’ and what did you do? Mommed yourself right into the flu.”

Steve didn’t dignify that with an answer, mostly because it would take too much energy to give one. He stood on shaking legs and made his way to the door.

He felt so weak, he barely registered when his knees started to buckle. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind and held him up.

“Jesus, Steve. Were you feeling this bad when you left home?”

Steve shook his head and let out an embarrassing whine. His head was throbbing, a dull ache set in shortly after he got to work, and only got worse after he passed out.

“Can you make it to the van or do you need me to carry you?”

“I can make it, just…help?”

Eddie kept an arm wrapped around Steve’s waist, supporting most of his weight as they walked to his van. He opened the passenger side door and helped Steve get seated and as comfortable as possible.

Steve let out another small whine when he realized he would have to move to buckle himself in.

“What’s wrong?”

Eddie was so nice. Maybe he could buckle him.

“Belt?”

Eddie wordlessly reached for the belt and buckled Steve in, his hair brushing along Steve’s cheek and chest as he pulled away.

Steve repressed another whine, though for a different reason, when Eddie’s hand brushed against his thigh.

His thighs were sensitive, even in jeans. Sue him.

Steve nodded off during the drive to his house, barely aware of Eddie singing along to something on the radio.

When they arrived, Eddie unbuckled Steve’s seatbelt and helped him out of the van. He was saying something to Steve, but his brain wasn’t processing any of it.

He could barely keep his eyes open while Eddie got him upstairs and into bed.

He could feel Eddie’s rough hands gently pulling off his jeans and shirt, but couldn’t offer much help.

Passing out really did a number on him.

“Yeah, I think it did.”

Oh. Steve said that out loud. Interesting.

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you? Get sick and it’s like your brain’s melted out your ears.”

Steve let out a giggle before relaxing against his pillow.

Eddie started to tuck him in, pulling his covers up to his chin and brushing a piece of hair away from his face.

“I’m gonna get you some water. You hungry?”

Steve felt his stomach turn at just the thought of food touching his mouth. He used all of his remaining energy to shake his head.

“Be right back, Stevie.”

**********

When Steve opened his eyes again, it was too dark to even recognize his own bed. It’s been so long since he slept with no light, he felt disoriented and scared that the power had gone out.

Just as he was struggling to sit up, he heard a grumble from the floor followed by a groan.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I’ll get the light.”

Before Steve could process who the voice belonged to, his bedside lamp turned on and covered him in a golden glow.

Eddie.

The room started spinning around him before he could say anything. He closed his eyes to avoid the disorientation, but it only made it worse.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. I’ve got ya.”

And he did. Eddie’s arms were wrapping around Steve and pulling him against his chest, solidifying his presence in one place despite everything else in the room moving.

Steve melted into Eddie, breathing in the faint leather and smoke smell that never failed to make him feel safe.

“You just have no filter when you’re sick, huh?”

Eddie laughed softly, brushing his lips against the top of Steve’s head.

Steve didn’t give a response, not able to actually produce words when he wants to, apparently.

“You’re burning up. I got some Tylenol for you while you slept. You should take some now and try to rest.”

“Stay?”

Eddie didn’t respond, just moved to grab the water from the table and hand it to Steve. He watched as he took the Tylenol, telling him he did a good job before putting the water back on the table.

Just as Steve settled against Eddie’s chest again, he was moved away by strong hands.

The whimper he let out stopped Eddie in his tracks.

“Are you in pain? Robin said your migraines get so bad sometimes you can’t move. Is that happening?”

Steve shook his head, immediately regretting doing so when the room started spinning again.

“Stay.”

It only took a moment for Eddie to adjust them both so they could lay down together. Steve wasted no time in curling into Eddie’s side, and Eddie’s hand found it’s way to Steve’s hair.

His fingers gently pulled through some of the tangles, smiling to himself when Steve couldn’t hold back a shiver.

“Feel okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Can’t believe you let me get you sick.”

“‘S worth it.”

“You’re ridiculous. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

Eddie only hesitated a moment before dropping a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“Promise.”

They hadn’t acknowledged the way Steve had acted when taking care of Eddie. They hadn’t talked about the cuddling and small kisses to his hair or cheek or nose. They hadn’t even been around each other since Eddie was feeling better.

But this felt like a turning point - no more ignoring the way they felt about each other. If Eddie was reading things right, Steve wasn’t just like this because he was sick and slightly delusional.

They’d have a talk when he was better, but for now, Eddie let Steve suction himself to his side and take the comfort he needed.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #ao3fic #shout at me about steddie #my fic #tumblr drabbles #sick fic #I actually started writing this one before I did the Eddie sick one with no intention of doing an Eddie one #but then I ended up liking the Eddie one more so that’s what got posted #I still don’t like this one nearly as much #but y’all are hoes for sick fic like me so come get y’all juice

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newtabfics · 6 months

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No title for this cuz brain go brr. Have some Astarion being a bottom and getting the kisses he deserves from Tav.

My Tav is a wood-elf ranger that is just too sweet and caring for her own good and gets in trouble a lot. (Working up the balls to comm art for her lmao)

She smiled as she played with his hair. Astarion was snuggled deeply into the blankets of his tent. The night air soothed those around them. At Tav's request, they kept quiet and managed to not wake the others, somehow, with their lovemaking.

Astarion smiled at the notion: Lovemaking.

She had said it so innocently that his heart melted.

In this tent, they had the privacy to love each other as they saw fit, as long as they were quiet.

As her fingers danced around his ears, he found his lips curling up into a smile as he looked to her. "Are you looking for another round?" He teased. "You're insatiable."

"Quit," She chuckled, pinching his ear gently. He winced, smiling still. She hummed, studying the scars on his back. "You trust me, don't you?"

"With my life," He sighed helplessly then blinked when she moved to straddle his back. "Darling, what are you plotting?"

Astarion's breath hitched as he gripped the sheets when a soft kiss pressed against the back of his neck. "Darling–Oh."

Her tongue met the flesh of his scar, her lips following. Her mouth mapped out the surface of his scars, sending a jolt through his body that had him squirming. Her hands rubbed tenderly at his sides as she hummed.

"You know, could take a potion sometime to…change my body a bit," She muttered, kissing lovingly over his flesh.

Astarion bit his lip as he tried to repress the moans that escaped with each kiss. It was like his nerves were lit alive as her tongue and lips carefully worked over each scar.

"Oh shit," He whimpered.

Tav hummed as his body writhed, sliding her hands around to his front. She smiled when he adjusted his hands, giving her the ability to caress his chest as she continued to kiss and lick each scar slowly.

It was as though she were memorizing each scar. She hummed as she found a spot of unmarred skin and bit gently.

Astarion shuddered as his skin twitched, pressing himself into her hands. "Darling," He groaned, shuddering as her hands moved.

One hand on his chest, almost cradling his thudding heart. The other trailing down, down…down until she gripped him.

"Tav!" He gasped as she began to stroke him slowly.

"Shh," She cooed gently, kissing the scars lovingly. "Doing so good for me, My Star. You're so cute when you're like this."

He whimpered out a pathetic, "Not cute," before a whine escaped. Her thumb rubbed over the swollen head of his cock as she continued to pump him slowly.

Astarion whimpered and bit his lip, trying to hold in the moans as her lips moved up to his neck. His hips thrust into her hand, desperate for that release as she picked up the pace.

"My Star," She hummed. Her lips trailed up to his ear as he felt her breasts against his back. "Come for me."

The vampire had to bite into the pillow to muffle his grunting moan as his cock twitched. His load shot out onto the blankets. His body twitched and shuddered before finally collapsing into the bedding. His eyes fluttered as he panted, twitching as her hands carefully pulled away.

She smiled when those dark red eyes slowly looked to her, his teeth finally releasing the pillow.

Astarion blinked when she covered her mouth to suppress her laugh. "What?" He asked softly, still dazed from the quick orgasm. She pointed to the pillow.

Two puncture holes where he'd bitten.

His cheeks tinged as she giggled before he smirked. "Oh, now don't be coy. That's your fault you know."

"What? What'd I do?" She chuckled innocently.

His arms snapped around her, playfully nipping at her neck and making her squeak as he did. He couldn't help his giddy smile as he pulled her close.

#astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #bottom astarion #soft smut #baldurs gate 3 astarion #bg3 smut #drabble

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buckyalpine · 1 year

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Let go

18+

Bucky x reader

My brain is truly like a toddler that doesn’t want to put on pants. Anyway. Now that this thought is in my brain and I envisioned it, I must get it out. sorry

Warnings: angst, smut

Imagine emotionally repressed and touch starved Bucky.

He doesn’t really allow himself to cry. After a nightmare he tries to hurry away the sobs that wrack his body and pull himself together. He doesn’t think he deserve to feel sad after the things he’s done so he takes those nightmares like punishment's he deserves. He doesn’t talk about the pain he’s in because he doesn’t want to burden others with his problems.

Even with you. There have been so many moments where his eyes sting, his throat tightens, he wants to curl up like a baby on your chest and cry but he can’t bring himself to. Sometimes when you hug him for a second longer, his lip trembles and he lets go.

He’s touch starved in a way he doesn’t tell others; it’s not about people being too close or hugging him. He’s had plenty of bear hugs and drunken smooches on the cheek from nearly everyone on the team, especially after Tony’s parties.

That’s different.

He’s scared to let go. Scared to feel something so intense. He doesn’t even think he deserves that type of pleasure. He only has faint memories of what that type of intimacy felt like and he doesn’t feel ready to be vulnerable like that. His body looks different. His body is different; its pumped full of chemicals, all his senses are always dialed to a hundred.

It scares him so much, he doesn’t even do anything about it for himself.

It’s not that he doesn’t want it. When he sees you, he wants to touch you. He wants to feel every bit of your soft skin. He wants to feel your hands caress him wherever you want. But he never lets it happen, pushing it away for as long as he can.

Until he can’t anymore.

The soft kisses between the sheets become more needy and he wants to feel all of you. Your quiet moans each time he touches you make him crave more, he wants to make you feel good. So good. He wants to feel every inch of your body, fuck he wants you to touch him.

Touch him everywhere.

Where he’s the most vulnerable.

Where he’d moan for you.

Where he knows he’d be so sensitive, scared, shy, but no one else can have him like that, just you.

Once you’re both bare, he can already feel so much. Wanting your hands to stroke him, your lips to kiss him there softly. The need to be inside you. He wants to push himself inside you and stay like that forever, safe in your arms. He doesn’t tell you that this is basically his first time again; he can’t remember anything from before. He hopes you don’t realize he’s nervous, that you don’t hear the fast beating of his heart, his shuddered breaths when he feels your hand grasp him, giving him gentle strokes.

“You okay Bucky?” You look at him with so much love and kindness and for a moment he wonders if he can do this, if he even has the right to make love to such a beautiful thing like you. But you play with his hair, kissing his skin, reassuring him you want this and he knows he wants it too. He needs it.

You guide him to your soaked entrance, your thighs hugging his waist; this is already so much closer to you than he’d ever been before. He doesn’t realize his breaths are getting heavier, his heart racing even more, until he feels your hand cup his cheek, making him look at you to ground him. Your hand is rubbing up and down his chest, soothing his erratic heart, you just want the same as him; to be connected in a way you feel all of him.

“It’s okay baby, just look at me” You whisper, your breath hitching when you feel the tip of his cock nudge your core. “Let me feel you Bucky”

Keeping his eyes locked with yours, he pushes himself inside and he can’t help the deep moan that slips past his lips. Its almost euphoric. His body moves on its own, rolling his hips, chasing more of your warmth, his arms holding you close to him. Your hands are gripping onto him, moaning, telling him how good he’s making you feel, but he knows its nothing in comparison to the way he feels wrapped in your warmth. You would never have a clue how good you were making him feel.

“Y/n...”

He can already feel it, the pleasure blooming through his body, he can’t stop it from creeping up his spine, flowing through his veins, he’s never felt something so good and he can’t hold it.

“Fuck it feels good y/n”

You moan in response, loving the way he stretches you. His thrusts speed up craving more.

“Baby, touch me?” He looks at you with pleading eyes, he wants to feel your body enveloped around his. “Pleases, please t-touch me y/n, I need it”

You mark his neck with soft bruises, letting him feel your lips and teeth gently nip at his skin while your hands stroke up his arms before draping around his neck to hold him close to you.

“Please baby” He knows he’s not going to last longer; he desperately wants to but you feel too good and he’s too sensitive, feeling everything at once, “Please, it feels good baby, its so good, y/n, angel, I-I need it so bad”

You kiss his lips sweetly and the gentleness of your touch makes him melt.

“I-I can’t-I’m gonna-hngggg-”

“Let go Bucky, cum for me baby” you whisper, your hands stroking his body as he nearly whimpers, burying his face into the crook if your neck, hot puffs of air hitting your skin. Your words throw him off the edge, his entire body weight on you, words can’t describe how good it feels.

His first release.

His body is feeling so much.

Too much all at once.

The feeling is now overwhelming, he feels open and vulnerable, his body still throbbing, shivering at the cool air touching his sweat covered skin. He’s panting against your skin, body weight on yours. You start to feel a dampness on your neck, confused. Were those tears?

Then the first sob escapes his lips.

You’re terrified a boundary has been crossed or that a memory of his may have been triggered. Did you hurt him accidently?

“Bucky?” You try to pull away to see his face but he shakes his head and buries himself deeper, clinging onto you. “Baby, you’re scaring me, what's wrong?”

He can’t even tell you what’s wrong, crying harder and hugging you tighter, his body continues to feel, still wrapped in your warmth. He can’t even place where all his feelings are coming from; everything he’d been holding on the inside pouring out at once.

“Bubba” You coo, rubbing his back, trying to rock him and calm him down but sobs continue to wrack his body. You manage to pull the covers up, protecting him in a cocoon of warmth while he lets everything out. You realize its the first time he’s cried in front of you. What you don’t know is it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to cry at all.

“Its okay sweet heart, I’m right here James” Your lips brush against his forehead, stroking his hair.

“S-sorry” He whimpers, feeling bad for spilling all his emotions onto you without warning, hardly lasting, feeling like an even bigger burden than before. You shake your head, cupping his cheek to wipe some of his tears away while he continues to hide away from you, keeping his face in your neck.

“You can cry whenever you want to, I’m here to hold you. You can always cry baby, don’t hold it in”

His cries soften as he thinks about how much he loves you. He’d never felt safer, he’s never let anyone touch him or hold him or comfort him like this. All those rights were reserved just for you, his safe haven. His doll who took care of him.

“Shhhh” You soothe him as best as you can, kissing the top of his head, “You’re safe here bubba, I’m here”

He nods against your chest, little sniffles and tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“Y-you make me feel so good” He whispers, closing his eyes and clinging onto you. You giggle but Bucky shakes his head, pulling away from you and making you look at him.

“No angel, you don’t understand. You make me feel so good in everyway. Y-You make me feel safe baby, you take care of me. You love me so much, you’re such an angel to me” His eyes leave your gaze for a moment, his cheeks blushing, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re my first since I’ve gotten a little bit of my life back. I know I don’t remember a lot but no one else has ever made me feel so good. Not like you”

You kiss him deeply, the muscles in his body relaxing, allowing himself to get lost in you again. He groans into the kiss, letting his tongue explore your mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist, hugging him with your entire body.

“You’re making this hard for me angel” Bucky stutters, feeling your walls flutter around his semi hard length, still buried in your heat. “I-I won’t last” You can practically feel the warmth radiating off his cheeks, your poor touch starved baby.

“Just want to feel you” You whisper, your breath hitching when he starts to rock his hips again, making your moan. Your hands rub all over his body, your fingers carding through his hair, moving down to trace down his spine, your ankles locking around his waist. You kiss him and touch him in every way possible while he pants and moans above you.

“Is this okay?” He asks timidly, his hand hesitantly cupping your breast, toying with your nipple his forehead resting on your again.

“Touch me baby, anywhere” You moan out, while he grasps the soft flesh harder, dipping his head down to take your nipple in his mouth. The feel of your hands caressing his skin, your soft peaked bud on his tongue brings his release again, and he can’t stop himself, he chases it, his body trembling on top of you.

He blushes, about to apologize again but you stop him, your thumb caressing his cheek, pressing a kiss onto his nose.

“We have all night solider. All night”

And he does just that.

He spends all night having release after release.

Until the bed is so messy, you have to take it to the showers.

Tags:

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rainybyday · 1 year

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I give you a twin au so let's do this really quick because i need sleep even if i dont want to

There's some fics that rights details of Jason and Damian meeting at the Leguae but a lot of them have either Jason forgetting Damian because of his dip in the Pit or Damian not remembering Jason because he was too young to remember. But in the end result, they both do form a tight bond, or essently a close bond, before one of them have their memories go bye-bye.

So two-ish ideas

One is where Danyal was in the Leagues during the time that Jason was in the League and that Jason met Danyal but not Damian. Jason and Danyal do form a close knitted bond with Danyal and Jason being a fresh pint of air. Danyal starts to care for Jason in the way he cares for Damian, where Danyal is displaying actions of an older brother to a little brother kind of way. Yes, Jason is older than Danyal but Jason isn’t acting it and is kind of brain dead from being revived. While he still can function, he can’t function in a way that expresses his own will or desires. This is what makes Danyal care for him and guides Jason because Damian also represses his own feelings and desires as an Al Ghul.

Yes, the bottom line is that they both grow close with Danyal telling Damian about Jason. (Damian and Danyal are twins and they do have a great bond with each other so there's no resentment with the two of them.) Damian is more curious and a bit envious towards Jason to be with his brother much more than he is, so Damain doesn’t have a good outlook of Jason at all. It was when Jason was going to be set to the Pit that everything changed from there.

Talia was going to place Jason in the Pit, but Danyal tried to deny her access to Jason which did not go well. This issue was brought up to Ra’s and in the end was forced to battle Ra’s in order to make sure Jason doesn’t get dropped in the Pit. But Danyal was still too young, even as mature for his age as he is he is still too young and weak against Ra’s. Danyal died that day and was ordered to be dropped in the Pit a week later, the same day Jason would also be dropped in the Pit.

When that day finally came, they both were dropped.

But only one came out.

That was when the whole League saw that the Pit chose Jason over Danyal al Ghul and prompted for Talia to use him against Bruce.

That was also the day that Danyal al Ghul’s name was forever erased from everyone’s lips, from Jason’s mind, and from the family tree.

That was also the day Damian held resentment over Jason that stretched over a lifetime.

Even when Jason was sent away and became the Red Hood, even when Damian moved with his father, even when he became Robin, even when Jason was accepted by the family and even then, and forever more - Damian will always hate Jason for being the one to come back over his brother.

(He hated his adopted brothers for being so kind and forgiving of Jason when it should be Danyal who was supposed to receive their love and affection. He hated that Jason could walk in his home with blood on his hands and no one gave a damn. He hated how Jason forgot the brave, kind, and warm person his brother was to him and how he gave his life to save him from a second death.)

(He hated how his brother chose Jason over him.)

And he hated and hated and hated.

He hated for a long time. He hated until there was a mission to look into a town named Amity Park for it ‘Ghost problems. He hated until he was left alone to stew in his anger that he looked through every persona file of every person in Amity all by himself.

He hated until he saw a face he never thought would rise up again.

Danyal was alive. Danyal was alive.

Danyal was alive and Damian finally felt the hate he buried fade away.

Only to give into fear that if the rest of his family knew, if Jason was to know that there was a person, his brother, out there with the same face as his then they would go find him.

They would find him and would take him into the family.

With Jason.

Jason who was still filled with hate and rage.

Ice climbed up his body before Damian deleted everything he can about Danyal and go through hundreds of plans of how to sneak out of the Manor and into Amity before his family could.

Damian can’t let them meet Danyal, because Damian knows Danyal to well.

Unlike Damian, Danyal can love more than one person. He can love the sun and the stars and still have more room to love the moon. Danyal can love Damian, but he would love his family and Jason again just as much as he would for him. Damian knows how far Danyal’s love can take him in order to keep all those he love safe. Danyal’s heart is too big to ignore when those he loves are in trouble.

Danyal will die again. Danyal can die again.

Damian can’t have that; he won’t let that.

Damian will have to find Danyal first, see if he remembers or not, see if he is still his Danyal and that he missed him just as much as Damian missed him.

He has to find him; he has to find him and protect him from the world if he must. He has to protect him.

(He has to protect him against Jason.)

Basically, Damian panicking again that he might lose his brother to Jason again, either by death or by favoring him more, and going off in a protective streak to make sure that he is protected by the bats and especially Red Hood. Whether Danny remembers or not (more emotional if he does, more crack and angst is he doesn’t) will still end up with Damian protecting him with his life.

If Danny remembers, then this would be a sad but happy reunion with Danyal trying to coax Damain to get him to see him new family while at the same time reassuring him that he will always love him and that he misses him. It will take a long time for Damian to feel reassure which then leads to the conflict of Jason/Red Hood showing up (along with the Bats) and out right attacking Danny because in this idea, Lazarus Pit and Ectoplasm do not mix.

If Danny forgets then this would be weird for Danny because he is freaking out over Robin in Amity and for some reason, he isn’t possessed? (Wait! Damian was dipped in the green goop water two! GASP! DAMIAN ENDS UP HAVING A GHOST OBESSION AND THAT IS PROTECTING DANYAL WHICH IS SO CUTE AND SAD AND WTF) Danyal would get to know Robin as both Phantom and Danny (not Damian because he needs to stay low from his family at least) and slowly starts to bond with him. But it feels like dejavu to Danny because his actions and little gestures he does with Robin feels natural and familiar in a way that makes him want to cry and to bundle Robin in a mountain of blankets. It gets to the point where he sees how Robin would only let him get away with creasing his hair with a swap of his hands but will pull out his sword to anyone that dared to get close to him. Danny starts to see Robin as some he cares for while Damian is slowly starting to know this new form (both forms because your face doesn’t change Danyal) and tolerate him (love him).

But this post is to long so i have to do the second idea in the morning now. ugh

#Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcau #twin au #big idea #damian loves his twin #he will fight the world for him #especially Jason #he will kill him in a heart beat3 #damian hates jason #and jason will never know why #batman #batfamily #barely #somewhat

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

Text

Cause of Action 3

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Mr. Barber –Andy– pulls into a spot along a street you recognise. You won’t voice why you find it familiar, that’s probably better left unsaid. Your nightlife is hardly relevant to a law office.

You get out and wait as he pays the parking pass kiosk and puts the slip in his windshield. He looks at his watch again. His apparent anxiety is adding to your own. You walk with him up the pavement and hesitate as he turns to cross. Oh, it can’t be.

You look up at the club’s marquee and repress any twitch of guilt. Of course you’d been there before, a couple times with friends, but you’re really not big on the scene. Still, you wonder what he would think.

It’s early. Door’s have yet to open but it doesn’t hinder him from walking along the brick front of the building and knocking on the double doors. You chew your lip. Your brain isn’t processing this properly. You have no idea what’s going on.

Andy looks at you and gives a rocky chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck, “client is a friend of the owner.”

“Ah,” you give a short nod.

“Not really our typical meeting place but he’s hard to pin down,” Andy explains, “we shouldn’t be long.”

The door opens and you’re greeted by a man with an imperious curl to his lips. Sleek black hair combed back so the spiraled ends cluster behind his ears. Andy gives a tilt of his head.

“Uh, Laufeyson,” he points at him unsure, “I’m here for Hansen?”

“Ah, yes,” the man, Laufeyson lets out a long exhale, “I should charge him rent with how often he frequents. Come.”

He steps back and Andy catches the door, holding it for you until you precede him inside. The dark-haired man considers you with an air of discernment. You squirm as you glance around. This place looks a lot different with the lights on.

“Oh, this is my intern,” Andy supplies, “showing her the reins.”

“Hi,” you greet and offer your name. The man doesn’t acknowledge you.

“This is Loki, he owns the place.”

“Doors in an hour,” Laufeyson intones dismissively as he turns on his heel, “I’m certain you’ll find your way.”

Andy sniffs but says nothing. It isn’t until Loki is halfway up the stairs that he even moves. Andy shifts into motion, gesturing you into the main room of the club. He halts and looks around before pointing out another staircase; that one twisting and metal.

“I think it’s just up there,” he says as he continues forward and you scurry to keep up.

“So, uh, what kind of case exactly is this for?” You wonder as he stops at the bottom of the stairs and again waits for you to go first.

“Standard lawsuit. Employment contract breach. Hopefully, we can keep it to a deposition.”

“Mmm,” you hum thoughtfully, “is this the employee?”

“Employer,” Andy tuts, “burden of proof really isn’t on us, so there’s that.”

“Right,” you don’t head down the hall until Andy directs you onward to the door with a golden snake on it, “if he’s doing business here…”

You let the thought drift. It’s not really your place to say.

“You’re not wrong,” Andy says, “I’ve heard wild stories about this place.” He reaches past you and taps on the door with his knuckles, “an ex of mine, she apparently came here, liked to hook up with strange men…”

“Oh?” You blink but add no comment.

“Meanwhile, when I was married, my wife accused me of coming to places like this while I was working overtime to pay the mortgage,” he scoffs, “well, I guess that’s not important. Sorry. Just… this is weird.”

“A little,” you agree as his vocalisation of the fact eases the tension.

The door opens and you’re met by a man with a rather bristly accoutrement across his lip. You almost snort at the mustache but think better of it. It wouldn’t do well to mock this man’s fashion sense. He is a client after all and despite the venue, this is still a professional meeting.

“Barber,” the man greets as he leers down at you, giving a wink, “you brought some fun?”

“Hansen,” Andy growls back, a silty tone that makes you shiver, “my intern. Play nice.”

“Ah, I’m always nice,” he smooths a hand over his hair before offering it, “how are you, sunshine? Lloyd.”

“Um,” you reluctantly shake his hand and give your name, “I’m fine.”

“Fine, well, let’s fix that, come in,” he backs up and turns, strutting away in his tight white pants and shimmery satin shirt. He isn’t really dressed for business. “Barber, you hound, you finally got me. You better make it fast.”

He grabs a bottle and pops the top, “you know, I have a long night ahead of me.”

“I told you I had noon free–”

“Noon? I was still waking the snake–”

“Hey, cut it out,” Andy warns.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lloyd looks at you with a smirk, “she looks old enough–”

“She’s not here for that. So let’s get to it. I need the records of employment. What you sent me is a cocktail napkin and a snapchat conversation. That’s not gonna cut it.”

“Oh really? Like I said, it wasn’t really a contract. Not in the way she’s saying. Bimbo,” he scoffs as he pours a shot, then another, “it’s simple, there is no case.”

“If there wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

Lloyd nears and offers one of the glasses. Andy sighs and stretches an arm in front of you to block the other man, “what are you doing?”

“You got this sweet little piece working late. I’m just tryna make it worth her time. You seem like the stingy type,” Lloyd sneers, “one shot won’t hurt.”

“She’s on the clock.”

Lloyd’s brows rise and he snorts. He doesn’t say whatever thought dimples in his cheek.

“Loosen up, you want some? I can get some scotch up here, old man.”

“I drove.”

“Uber,” Lloyd insists, “don’t be a fucking cock block.”

He elbows past Andy and presents you the shot, “there ya go, sweet heart. The good stuff. Top shelf. Whatever he pays you isn’t enough to get you a single ounce.”

You stare at the shot, then Andy. You know you shouldn’t and you really don’t want to drink. You tend to stick to a single drink on your nights out and dilute it with as much water as you can get.

“Um, thanks, but–”

“But nothing. Don’t let the geezer get you down.” He holds the shot almost in your face, “take it, sweet pea. Trust me, you’ll thank me.”

Andy nudges you gently, “it’s fine,” he grumbles under his breath as he takes out his phone, “I’m not leaving until I have something, Hansen.”

“You know what, I’ll give you better than hard evidence, something even harder,” Lloyd snickers as you take the shot but make no move to drink.

Andy backs off, rubbing his cheek as he turns his back to you. He’s angry. You can tell. You’re starting to wonder why he even brought you if he knew this man was like this. Maybe it’s good to get a taste of the difficult ones.

“Cheers, baby,” Lloyd clinks his shot glass against yours, “bottoms up.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #drabble #series #au #the club #cause of action

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chaotic-neutral-knitter · 6 months

Text

Let's do soup.

A lot of people have been talking about how soup is doing some symbolic lifting in this season, but I've gotten really stuck on this scene in particular. Ed doesn't know that Hornigold is his own subconscious yet, but he confronts him about a time that Hornigold killed a member of his own crew (hey Ed are you maybe feeling bad about something?) and Hornigold gives him three options for dealing with all the horrible shit he's seen, done, or been unable to stop.

The first option is just "move on, you gotta move on." Or, in other words "toughen up, who cares that you feel bad about it, just lock that shit up and get over it." Ed got this advice a lot in season one. Izzy told him "the love of a pet makes a man weak" and Calico Jack told him "what kind of pirate has a friend, we're all in various stages of fucking each other over." It seems like this is just what pirates do. Frenchie starts out this season talking about how he bottles it all up. It's a stand in for all the toxic masculinity and repression that the show enjoys unpacking - in Hornigold's mind, if feelings can't rebuild an abdominal wall, they're useless.

The second option is "blow your brains out." It's become pretty clear at this point that Ed is trying his best to get someone angry enough to kill him. In season one, Ed is told repeatedly that dying is what happens when you fail to do option one. When Izzy says, "the only retirement we get is death," that's what he means. Ed can't retire, can't stop being a pirate, can't do things differently. He has to tread water until he drowns. When Izzy says "Blackbeard is my captain. I serve Blackbeard, not Edward. Edward better watch his fucking step," he is telling Ed to toughen up or die. At this point Ed, unimpressed, asks "Those are the options?" Hornigold does his little bup-bup-bup thing where he weighs them in his hands and says "Or, we could just make some soup."

Ed says "Yeah, soup. Let's do soup."

The third option is "soup." Soup can mean a lot of things - it's warm, it's nourishing, it's what you eat when you're sick. The show has been tying it to the crew of the Revenge by having them continually eat soup and talk about how great it is (Notably, in the scene above, Olu asks Yi Sao if she's really a soup seller and she says "Not exactly.")

What does "make some soup" mean for Ed? I think, above all, it's a third option in what has been an inescapable dichotomy of "be tough or die." The first person to break this dichotomy in the show is Stede, when he refers to piracy's culture of abuse and says "And my thought is, 'Why? And also, what if it weren't like that?'" before encouraging his crew to talk through their feelings. To the surprise of literally everyone, that works. The crew of The Revenge took the space that Stede gave them and built a family inside of it. They gave Ed the idea that maybe "tough it out or die" aren't the only two options, and he's still thinking about it even now.

Making soup is also work - Ed's going to have to deal with the fact that he tried to torture his crew into killing him - but it's good, useful work. It could be a metaphor for the kind of work you have to do to repair relationships with people you've hurt. The first thing Ed does in this episode is refuse the soup that Hornigold is giving him. It's poison, he doesn't want it.

So, I'm wondering if there's going to be a moment later in the season where Ed either literally makes soup or accepts it from someone else, and whether that will be Important To His Arc in some way.

Also, I'm really craving soup, so.

#hey what if I spent my entire evening writing a meta about soup #my nonsense #our flag means death #my brain just wouldn't let go of SOUP #ofmd meta #ofmd s2 #this is all actually meaningless and david jenkins is just in the pocket of Big Soup™#edward teach #our flag means soup

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chaotic-orphan · 8 months

Text

Intoxicating Fear (IV)

Breaking Balls

Continued from // Masterpost

I hope this is coherent, it went under a lot of revisions, but finally it is done! And this part is dedicated to @nameless-beanie because it wouldn’t have been updated as quick without their very kind words :3

Enjoy~

*~*~*~*~*

Kit came to, slumped in a chair. His head hanging forward, almost resting on his chest. Omen was squatting in front of him, curious black eyes trained on Kit as he slowly woke up. His head heavy and groggy from sleep.

“Naughty, Kit. Very naughty. I didn’t say you could wake up yet,” Omen scolded, his voice dreamlike and faraway, as if Kit was hallucinating him.

“Where—”

“Shh, Kit. Go back to sleep.”

Kit didn’t fight the command. He was tired anyways. He closed his eyes and willingly let the darkness take him into a dreamless sleep.

When Kit woke again, he was horribly aware that this was the second time he awoke. The realisation sent every nerve in his body on fire, awareness hitting him like a truck as he forced his Omen induced sleeping body awake.

He was in the same chair as last time, a metal chair, he realised, his hands taped to the armrests at the wrist with thick black tape. Bright red rubber gloves that went halfway up his forearm were tapped in the same black tape as his wrist. Kit pulled at his restraints, testing how tight he was stuck, his heart leaping in his chest when he found a little wiggle room. Kit leaned forward in his chair, yanking at his arms, pulling them back and forward and side to side with all his strength trying to loosen the tape further.

Until light flooded the room and Kit froze in his seat, playing possum, hoping Omen hadn’t realised he was awake yet.

“You just keep surprising me, Kit,” Omen said, a smile in his voice. A hand settled on the nape of Kit’s neck and Kit flinched, moving away but the villain’s hand followed him wherever he moved. Kit couldn’t repress the shiver that ran down his spine as he stayed silent, waiting for Omen to speak again. “I’m still not finished with your new predicament, Kit, so I’m afraid you’re going to—”

“No wait!” Kit cried, panic climbing up his throat and bursting from his mouth without any thought. To his surprise, Omen paused, the pad of his thumb running up and down Kit’s throat, waiting for him to continue. Kit swallowed and said, “please, don’t put me back to sleep. Please. I won’t— I won’t fight I’ll be good I just— don’t put me back to sleep, please.”

Omen let go of Kit and walked around the chair to face him. Kit leaned back in his chair, looking up at Omen’s smiling face as he came around to stare at Kit.

“You promise you won’t fight me?” Omen asked, cocking an eyebrow at Kit. Kit licked his lips, shocked at himself for suggesting to willingly be in Omen’s presence longer than he had to, but he just knew he couldn’t go back to sleep again against his will.

It’s not like he was even getting a good rest from it. Each time Kit woke up his body was more and more sluggish, his brain overrun with fear or panic, and he just wanted to have some idea of what Omen was doing to him while he slept.

“I—” Kit began, swallowed, and looked away from Ambrose nodding. Kit was stupid to think a nod would satisfy Omen in all his sadism, and he barely suppressed the flinch when his hand reached out and took Kit’s chin, steering his head back to look at Omen. Onyx eyes studying him, something Kit didn’t recognise gleaming in their fathomless depths.

“Say it,” Omen commanded, his voice just a bit above an alluring whisper.

Kit swallowed hard, wanting to look away again but knew Omen wouldn’t allow it, so he steeled himself and said: “I won’t fight you, just please, don’t put me to sleep again.”

A triumphant smile spread across Omen’s features as he let go of Kit’s face. “Look at that. So polite, Kit, Superhero must have been teaching you something at least.”

Omen’s smile quipped into a smirk as he stepped around Kit’s chair again out of sight. Kit could hear Omen doing something behind him. With his heart hammering against his chest, Kit couldn’t help the curiosity at wanting to see what torture Omen was creating for Kit to endure.

He turned his head to look over his shoulder, but a firm hand rested on his cheek and turned him back to face forward. “Ah, ah, ah, Kit. No peeking. Can’t have you spoiling my fun now, can we?”

Kit didn’t reply, just chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyes trailing back down to the semi-loose tape that kept him restrained to the chair. It was heavy and bulky, not ordinary tape, but Kit didn’t really care about the type of things Omen was tying him up with, he only cared about getting free from it.

As quietly as possible Kit started turning his arm as much as he could, yanking it forward and back, side to side, hoping Omen was too preoccupied with what he was doing to notice Kit’s struggles.

Kit’s head was yanked back by his hair, craning his neck at an awkward angle until he was looking up at Omen. His black eyes regarded Kit coolly, as he said, “the terms of our deal were that you didn’t fight, Kit. Are you telling me you want to go back to sleep?”

“No!” Kit protested and then let out a small whine as Ambrose yanked his head back further.

“Then sit still, and don’t fight. That is the only warning I will give you. The next time you struggle, you’ll be asleep in an instant and when you wake, I’ll make sure you regret your decision.”

Kit couldn’t stop the anger bubbling up in him at his helplessness. “You’re a sick bastard,” Kit spat, and Omen’s features melted into a delighted smirk Kit had grown used to.

“Thank you, Kit. Now be a good little hero and sit still while I work.”

Omen let go of Kit’s hair then and Kit’s head bobbed back up to stare at the wall in front of him.

“Please, stop using my name,” Kit said quietly. He froze like a deer in headlights as he realised, he said that, actually said it out loud for Omen to hear. He heard Omen stop working again and he wished he didn’t say anything at all. Footsteps from the left and then Omen was in front of Kit, staring down at him with his stupid smile. “Forget it.”

Omen tsked, drawing Kit’s attention and keeping his eyes locked on Kit’s. “Is there something wrong with your name?”

“I said forget it.”

“What,” Omen pressed, ticking Kit off. “I just assumed it was your name considering it’s the name that ran through that water Hero’s mind once you showed up. Do you want to be called Christopher or something?”

Kit’s nose scrunched up at Omen. “My full name isn’t Christopher.”

“Then what? –”

“Look, I said it didn’t matter okay!” Kit fumed, unable to control the anger that bubbled up for no good reason. Well, no, a good reason, but misplaced at the time.

Omen stared down at Kit. “You’re annoyed that I know your name.”

“I’m not,” Kit said much too quickly. Omen’s smirk returned.

“Are you upset that I didn’t ask your name?”

“I’m just saying it’s a bit creepy to go around and invading people’s minds and using their name like they gave it to you.”

Omen laughed. “You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?”

Kit huffed out a breath and looked away. Omen’s stupid smirk was doing his head in, and he kind of wished he was knocked out right now so he didn’t have to witness it.

“Hey, Kit,” said Omen, and Kit made a point of not looking at him. “Kit, you have to the count of three to look at me. Thr – good. See, you can learn. You’re so obedient today.”

Kit gave the villain a blank stare. Omen smiled, not his stupid smirk, but a smile that if Kit passed him in the street he would think that he was a nice, normal guy.

“My name is Ambrose,” said Omen. Kit couldn’t help the surprise from knitting his features together. “Nice to formally meet you. Are you satisfied? We both know each other’s name now. Equal footing.”

Kit snorted and pulled his elbows up, showing his tied down arms. “Yeah so equal.”

Ambrose shrugged and walked around the chair again. He wouldn’t admit it, but it did make Kit feel a little better to know Ambrose’s name instead of calling him Omen. Now he had someone to curse and pray to every god to smite before he could torture Kit anymore.

Restlessness crawled ugly and brutish under Kit’s skin as he stared ahead, fingers clenching into fists, the rubber of the gloves creaking against itself. Only then did it grab Kit’s attention. The fire truck red of the gloves almost comical as he stared down at them. His eyes flashed to the tape, thick and black and heavy.

Kit couldn’t feel the electric currents in his hands from the air, couldn’t feel his power anywhere the gloves were. The realisation settled like acid in his stomach.

Rubber gloves. The bastard used rubber gloves on him. Rubber’s an insulator of electricity, meaning it’s harder to pass a current through it, and Kit only ever used his hands to start a spark. Ambrose had taken his power from him without putting Kit in power dampeners just to prove that he could. To prove who had the real power, how easy it was to take Kit’s power away; put him in metal, in water, make him use his powers against himself then put him asleep and tie him up in rubber and what Kit could only assume to be electrical tape.

Tears gathered behind Kit’s eyes, but he wasn’t upset. Frustrated, yes. Angry, definitely. Not sad. More despairing and hopeless.

What had Mentor ever saw in Kit that would make him take interest in him? Make him his protégé, teach him the ropes of the Hero industry? Kit was a joke. The first villain he encountered solo was Omen, the Omen, and he was completely powerless to stop him; to protect Other Hero, to do anything.

Superhero would have beaten Omen.

Any other hero would have beaten Ambrose, but Kit couldn’t.

He didn’t even deserve the title of Hero.

Kit clicked his fingers anyway, trying to get that spark of friction but nothing happened. The air remained the same. Kit stayed in his chair, trapped and powerless.

He didn’t even notice that Ambrose walked around to his front until the villain crouched to meet Kit’s eye. Fear gripped Kit’s throat and settled at the base of his neck as he met Ambrose’s black smiling eyes. His too red lips quipped into a horribly sweet smile.

When he spoke his voice was gentle, “it’s awful, isn’t it? Knowing that your power is there, sizzling under the surface, knowing that you could still use it.”

“Yeah, I could use it, until you wrapped me up in rubber,” Kit spat, leaning forward in his chair. The side of Ambrose’s lips quirked into a smirk at Kit’s anger.

Ambrose reached his hand out, placing it on Kit’s cheek and Kit, thankfully, didn’t flinch this time. He didn’t pull away, or show that it bothered him, even though Ambrose’s hand was so cold.

“It’s just maddening,” Ambrose laughed, though laugh was a generous word. The sound that came from Ambrose’s mouth was unhinged and baffled. “I could turn your brain to mush like I did to Mentor. Leave you in a pool of your own drool, babbling about true horror and plant shadows in your brain to keep you occupied as you slowly waste away to nothing.”

Kit’s lips curled back into an ugly snarl, glaring at Ambrose as he said, “then how about you make good on your threats and get to it, Ambrose, hmm? Because I feel like sitting here listening to you is a worse fate than Mentor’s.”

Ambrose tilted his head to the side, eyes locked on Kit’s. He must have put up a convincing enough front because Ambrose huffed out a soft breath of a laugh, taking his hand off Kit’s face.

“You know Kit I can see why Mentor and Superhero liked you. When you’re not hanging by your wrists there’s a devil-may-care courage about you that borders on stupidity. I suppose you heroes would call it bravery, though, right?”

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed, his smile staying on his face, unnerving Kit but he didn’t react. “Mentor was the bravest of you all and look what I did to him.”

Kit jerked forward in his chair again, his movements limited by his arms being taped down, but he didn’t care. He was so sick of fearing this fucking Ambrose that he was throwing all caution to the wind.

“Yeah. Mentor was the bravest of us, and you know what Ambrose? As long as you’re around, there will always be brave heroes willing to fight you. All you did with Mentor was put a target on your back and every hero in the city is gunning to take you down.”

“I’m honoured, Kit,” Ambrose said, standing up straight again.

“Do what you want with me,” Kit continued, his words and voice far braver than he felt. He didn’t know where this was coming from, but he didn’t try and stop it. “Torture me, take my powers, talk me to death,” it was Kit’s turn to smile now. “Just know, that Superhero is out there looking for me too, and when he finds you—”

Ambrose let out a small laugh, the melodic sound filling the cool silence, interrupting Kit. Ambrose waved his hand at Kit. “No, no, go on. You were on a roll there.”

“What’s so funny?”

“No, no, Kit. I insist, continue. It’s good to see you brave. Good for your spirits. Keep going, sorry for the intrusion.”

Kit’s hands clenched into fists, the rubber creaking loudly around him. “What?” Kit demanded through gritted teeth, suddenly very aware that he was at a loss to what was happening on the outside world and Ambrose was in the know.

Ambrose rolled his eyes dramatically, but Kit could tell there was something brutal about the glee hidden under his expression.

“I mean…” Ambrose began, but paused for effect, then shook his head, holding his hands up. “I was going to wait until you were more properly secured, but if you insist, I can show you now.”

“Show me what?” Kit all but growled, panic seizing his chest. Ambrose walked behind Kit, and Kit turned his head to follow but Ambrose tsked and said: “eyes forward Kit or you’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?!” Kit demanded, his heart pounding against his chest. The lights switched off and he was plunged into darkness. Kit sat back in his seat, about to ask Ambrose what he was playing at when light flooded the wall in front of Kit and he stared.

Kit felt the blood drain from his face, nausea settling into his stomach and filling the gaping pool of dread and fear that had frozen Kit’s blood in his veins. He was suddenly very cold as he stared at the wall, his hands loosening his fingers from his clenched fist.

It was a picture of Kit and Superhero on the steps of the Hero tower. Superhero had an arm thrown around Kit’s shoulder as he smiled for the cameras. The small podium Superhero did press announcements on in front of them.

The Headline read: SUPERHERO’S SUCCESSOR VOWS CITY IS IN SAFE HANDS. Then a smaller title beside it reads: an insider scoop with the hottest new hero on the block.

The reviews seemed very good, so Kit should be happy that his debut to society was received well, only the article filled Kit with a heart stopping dread.

Kit didn’t debut to society yet.

Kit didn’t do an interview with the City’s Newspaper.

He didn’t hold a press conference with Superhero on the steps of the Hero tower.

That wasn’t Kit.

It was some imposter wearing Kit’s skin and living Kit’s life. Somewhere in the back of Kit’s mind something was screaming, clawing, trying to get free, to warn Kit, to tell him not to forget again.

Forget again?

Kit looked to the date in the corner of the image, and he wanted to scream.

It’s been ten days since Ambrose took Kit.

The image changed and it was another page of the paper. Only this time it was an image of Kit at the docks, wrapping a steadying arm around Other Hero and hauling them away from the docks where… where Ambrose took Kit from.

Kit was going to be sick.

It felt as if every nerve in Kit’s body was clenched, and he couldn’t release the tension from solidifying every part of his body. His breath became laboured, stuttering out incoherent, half formed questions to Ambrose.

“What?”

“How—”

“Who…”

One word is all Kit could manage on the exhale; his ribs felt like he were trying to inflate an accordion with a hole in it. As soon as he got enough air to pump through, to breathe, it was gone, ripped from his lungs by Kit’s quick panicked breaths.

He wanted to look away. He wanted so badly to look away from the wall, the article, the image of them helping Other Hero, but it felt like his eyes had been stapled open and he was forced to take in every detail.

The Headline: SUPERHERO’S PRODIGY: THE HERO FOR HEROES.

Kit’s eyes scanned his face, over and over and over – looking for a flaw, for the catch. For the thing that was wrong so he can catch Ambrose out on a lie because this was just too much.

Still that voice in his head screamed and begged Kit to remember this time.

Kit’s eyes went to the date.

It was published the day after Kit fought Ambrose on the docks, so how? Kit wanted to scream and cry and thrash in his restraints and curse Ambrose, but he just stared, trembling.

“The people love you,” said Ambrose, his smug charm lacing his tone and Kit shuddered. “You’ve made quite an impression, Kit. You should be happy! Celebrating.”

“Yeah, I’ll celebrate as soon as you let me go you fucking psychopath!”

“Hmm,” Ambrose replied, putting a hand on each of Kit’s shoulders. Kit flinched and instantly regretted it, but he didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know what to do. “Resorting to anger when you’re scared isn’t very healthy, Kit.”

“Shut up!” Kit snarled, yanking at his wrists, and throwing his head back trying to catch Ambrose off guard.

“That’s not very nice Kit.”

“Who is that?!” Kit demanded, turning to look at Ambrose over his shoulder. Furious eyes met the smiling abyss of Ambrose’s and narrowed at the villain’s silence. “WHO IS THAT?!”

The scream that tore from Kit’s throat was desperate and raw. He was crying and he didn’t care, he just needed to know. He needed Ambrose to tell him what he already knew, somewhere, in the furthest, darkest corner of his mind.

“I think you already know,” Ambrose said, smile coy.

“Just tell me,” Kit cried, struggles weakening the longer it took for Ambrose to just answer a simple question. Kit was exhausted, and he wished he’d never stayed awake. He wished Ambrose would have put him to sleep forever and never have him wake up.

There was a reason there was no sign of the imposter in the pictures. Kit knew that as sure as he knew his own face, because… because…

“It’s you, Kit,” Ambrose said, voice soft and deadly. The knowledge went through Kit’s ears like a sweet whisper and plunged into Kit’s heart faster than snake venom.

Kit looked back at the image on the wall, his body heavy, sunken, tired on the chair. Kit stared into the image of him helping Other Hero through bleary eyes, mouth parted slightly because he couldn’t close it. He was crying silently now, the tears flowing freely down the curves of his face that was looking at them on the wall.

Ambrose came around to stand in front of Kit, blocking his view of the paper. Kit didn’t even fight it when Ambrose took his chin in his cold hand and tilted his head. He probably looked horrible, tears and snot flowing freely down his face and chin, eyes hollow and hopeless.

“Nobody is looking for you, Kit,” Ambrose told him softly in his voice that was like sweet honey. Everything he said sounded so lovely, and everything he meant was so horrific. “Superhero’s not looking for you because you’re not missing. At least, in his eyes anyways.”

The sound of the rubber creaking filled the room as Kit clenched his hands into fists because he couldn’t do anything else.

Ambrose tilted his head to the side, as if trying to measure a new angle on Kit’s suffering.

“If I took you and didn’t cover my tracks, well, then, yes. Superhero would be knocking down my door right about now, probably scorching the Earth trying to find you, but as it happens,” Ambrose’s grip tightened on Kit’s chin, his eyes lighting up at Kit’s grimace of pain. “I do cover my tracks, and I cover yours so beautifully that no one knows you’re not you. The world thinks you’re just Superhero’s new hero and why would he need to look any closer?”

“You—”

“Go on,” Ambrose cooed, releasing Kit’s chin, and instead putting his hands on Kit’s forearms, leaning his weight on Kit and relishing in how Kit squirmed in discomfort, but Ambrose didn’t care and kept leaning down until his faces were nearly touching. Kit could feel Ambrose’s warm breath on his cheek as he spoke. “Call me a name again and see where that gets you.”

“He’ll find out,” Kit tried, though the excuse sounded desperate even to Kit’s ears. “He’ll know it’s not me, Superhero—”

“Superhero, Superhero, Superhero.” Ambrose echoed, rolling his eyes before a deadly, charming smile broke across his pale face, stretching his too red lips into a beautifully gruesome smirk. Ambrose reached his hands up to cup Kit’s cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh. “How about you be selfish for once and worry about you, Kit, hmm? There’ll be plenty of time to mourn Superhero once we’re through with the heroes.”

Fear gripped Kit’s heart in its cold, unyielding grip, as if it was pierced with ice, or Ambrose’s vile freezing fingers.

“You can’t—”

“Oh, I know I can’t. But you and me, together, oh, Kit. There isn’t a thing that will stop us, and the best part is, your heroes will never see you coming,” Ambrose said, then booped Kit’s nose and stood up straight again.

“I’ve got some arrangements to make, some evil plans to pour over, and since you beg so beautifully, I am giving you your wish, Kit. I won’t put you asleep again. You can just wait here and stew on things, it was a lot of information to throw at you all at once I realise,” Ambrose said, already walking out of Kit’s sight.

“Wait! Ambrose!” Kit screamed, thrashing like a wild animal in his restraints. “Ambrose! Don’t! Ambrose—”

“It’s okay, Kit. I can be reasoned with. You don’t want to sleep so don’t sleep, relax here. We’ll have plenty of time to chat later.”

“Ambrose!” Kit screamed, his voice cracking. He heard the door open and shut and a lock click into place, but Kit didn’t stop screaming for hours. He pulled and pushed and tore and bit and gnawed and tried to get the tape off his arms so he could stop Ambrose’s heart the next time he saw him.

The tape didn’t relent.

The rubber still insulated Kit’s powers.

The tears still fell.

And eventually, mercifully, Kit fell asleep, slumped in the chair, staring at the wall with his face watching over him.

*~*~*~*~*

continued here

Tag-list (pls lmk if you wanna be added or removed) : @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whatwhumpcomments @whumpasaurus101

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scatterbrainedart · 6 months

Text

Izzy Hands’ inability to get a single fucking win in any given situation has captivated me. He’s so SAD. Brother literally cannot catch a break for the life (or death) of him. I wanna be silly about him, but he’s such a sad goddamn character that I just can’t. It just feels wrong. Like, who am I to kick at someone who is already down? And who pretty much has been down since ep 2 at BEST? Sigh.

I adore inner conflict in a character, I eat that shit UP. Outer conflict is nice too, but ohhh. Love me a good worst-enemy-is-oneself trope. Realistically, that’s more so Ed than Izzy, but still. I think it’s the contrast that does it, too.

Izzy is so terribly loyal it hurts. He just has so much bottled up for the entirety of the first season, so many things that he’s repressed that all feeds into his bitterness. That, within itself, is really interesting in a character. Let’s start with his feelings of Ed. He starts of the series smug, confident. He looks up to Ed, as pretty much everyone do. He’s the one person he doesn’t mind being “inferior” to. He’s built up this image of Blackbeard in his mind (which is precisely what Ed struggled with the most part. The way his reputation has outgrown him in a multitude of ways) which he puts on such a high pedestal. Working together with the mighty Blackbeard is an honour. He adores him, and he’s very much pleased with the role he’s serving beside him.

Then in comes Stede, who is everything Blackbeard and Izzy is not. Or at least so it seems, until his whole fucking world has been turned upside down and everything he treasured has been snatched right out of his grasp. Then, to make matters worse, when Stede finally is out of the picture and things should be able to go back the way they were, they don’t. For a while, he could at least hold onto the idea that there was hope, that time would work its magic and things would revert back to normalcy. But it only gets worse, and worse, until it’s undeniably so much worse than it was at the former worst moment.

And the barriers start to melt away. Izzy isn’t dumb, he’s always quite aware of the situation he finds himself in. Even he, the former worst enabler of Blackbeards pirate shenanigans, knows when it’s time to stop. And so he takes on a somewhat more caring role, because he cares. He cares more about Ed than most, and he knows him better than most. Even when he’s unpredictable, and when Izzy himself thinks of him as a stranger. He still knows him better than most of the crew, to the extent in which Ed has allowed it. There is a lot of Ed that Izzy doesn’t know, but I’d imagine he knows the way he functions off by heart. The way his brain works, the way he plans, his mannerisms, stuff like that. Stuff you learn by paying close attention to someone as you spend every day together for years. And stuff you need to learn to survive in an abusive relationship, or in a relationship with someone unstable, in order to keep the water’s calm.

Izzy cares. It comes naturally to him, at least it probably did once. And now, after all that has happened all of him that has been broken down, it shines through again. It seeps out of the cracks of his crushed self, where every part of him is on display in a way he can’t or doesn’t bother to control anymore.

Despite everything, he shows mercy to Ed.

Despite everything, he teaches Stede how to survive (when it wouldn’t have been unexpected of him to want him dead at this point, again).

Despite everything, he lies about the ruined portrait to protect Stede’s perception of Ed.

Despite everything, he tries to move on and move forth.

Despite everything, he helps. He tries to make amends about things that were or weren’t his fault.

And despite everything, despite how much he pushes it away and tries to act like he doesn’t, he wants nothing as much as he wants something gentle. Something kind. He has gotten so much harm done to him by people he trusts, people he trusted and people he doesn’t trust at all. Every touch he’s ever received, to our eyes, has been one with the means of harm.

In season one I enjoyed seeing his homophobic homosexual messiness unfold, and his misery was all good fun. This season? I just wanna lay him to be cozy in a bed somewhere and give him some soup and a kiss on the forehead and tell him it’s gonna be okay. What the hell man.

#my memory of past seasons is always. well #it’s famously not great #so sorry if I got things wrong #and this is generally just so all over the place #but I have Thoughts and I need to just get them out somewhere #I’m obsessed with him I really am #ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #our flag means death #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #scatterbrained rambles

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shy-urban-hobbit · 9 months

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Aiden groaned as he finally allowed himself to flop down face first onto the unoccupied side of the bed, “I’m just going to sleep for the next two days. Leave me here and I’ll catch you up.”

“You’re paying for the extra day out of your share.” Lambert answered, not bothering to look at Aiden from where he was already under the covers with his back turned. Equally tired and sore after the two of them had spent hours dealing with a pair of incredibly stubborn griffins who just refused to go down. At least the pay had been fairly good.

“And here I was hoping you’d offer to join me.” Aiden joked as he got himself comfortable.

As tired as he was, apparently tonight was going to be one of Aiden’s ‘twitchy’ nights. He lay trying not fidget too much (Lambert would kick him out of the bed. Had done twice before on separate occasions) and ignore the familiar growing, uncomfortable tension in his limbs as a part of his brain demanded touch. It was always worse the first few weeks back out on The Path. After months back with the Caravan, where everyone was constantly tripping over one another and personal space when sleeping was a totally outlandish concept, going from that to next to nothing was...lonely. He’d gone to wrap a friendly arm around Lambert one time and the Wolf had looked this close to biting his hand off if it came any closer.

Granted, Lambert had gotten better about accepting the casual affection but it was still a balancing act with the prickly Wolf. An act Aiden was still working out. Sometimes he’d accept Aiden’s touches; even if he did make a show of grumbling about it, he never moved away. Other times Aiden would receive a snarl or flinch for his trouble.

The steady breathing next to him told him that Lambert wasn’t fully asleep yet. Slowly, Aiden rolled slightly until his shoulder was lightly resting against the others back. A back which immediately tensed and moved away.

Message received.

Aiden shifted back to his original position and wrapped his arms around himself. It was a poor substitute, but it would do.

Aiden woke to a weight across his middle. Lambert’s arm had shifted to rest across him in the night, the others hand limp where it rested on Aiden’s hip. Aiden made to move, not wanting things to be awkward when the other woke up considering his reaction during the night. Or he would have moved if Lambert’s fingers hadn’t curled around his hip in a definite grip.

“Five more minutes.” Lambert mumbled into his pillow. Half demand, half plea.

Aiden repressed a snort at that. Amused by how childlike the other momentarily sounded.

“Five more minutes.” He agreed, settling back down. The arm across him more soothing than it had any right to be.

#the witcher #Witcher #witcher fanfiction #lambden #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #Lambert #lambert/aiden fanfic #lambert/aiden

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buckactuallys · 10 months

Note

For the soft prompts:

16, Buddie

how could i resist writing something for "laughing while kissing"? thank you for sending the prompt <3

[read on ao3]

It’s late, the kids are in bed – even Chris is in his room, though he’s probably still up reading or on his phone, Buck only made sure he turned off his laptop – and his husband is waiting for him by the back door with a smile.

“Sit outside with me?” Eddie asks, and Buck grabs the hand he’s holding out. He’d follow Eddie anywhere, and their backyard is one of the least scary places he’s followed him to.

The backyard is lit by the string lights they put up last year, a few months after they moved in. One of the neighbors is having a party, laughter and the distant sound of music wading over to them.

They’ve got a Hollywood swing on the porch, one of the big 4-seater ones that Christopher insisted on getting, now that they have the room. Buck and Eddie often sit on it in the evenings, and Buck always thinks of that cliché of an old couple on their rocking chairs. If he and Eddie get to grow old together on this swing, he’ll have fulfilled a dream he’s had since before he could articulate it.

Tonight, though, Eddie leads him past it and off the porch into the middle of the backyard.

“Where are we going?” Buck asks, curious but not worried. “I thought we were just gonna sit out here.”

“Changed my mind,” Eddie says, grinning in that playful way he’s only started doing in the past few years, in the time after his breakdown and his way out of all the pain and repression. Buck loves it.

Eddie pulls on his hand sharply, and Buck stumbles into him, bracing himself with a hand on his chest. Still grinning, Eddie wraps an arm around him and lifts their joined hands in the approximation of a dancing pose.

Buck laughs. “We’re dancing?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, swaying them back and forth in the rhythm of the song playing in the distance. “We’re dancing.”

Buck smiles and steps closer, letting go of Eddie’s hand so he can wrap his arm around his shoulders instead. Eddie adjusts easily, leading them in small circles around their backyard.

“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” Buck asks quietly after a few minutes, his temple pressed to Eddie’s.

“If someone had told me that first day we’d end up here, I would’ve sent them in for a brain scan,” Eddie answers, and Buck pinches his chest lightly, grinning into his neck. Eddie laughs. “No, I don’t know. I mean, after a certain point I hoped we would, but I don’t think I really believed it until we got married.”

“Sometimes I still don’t believe it,” Buck admits, and Eddie turns his head to kiss his cheek, his lips trailing all the way back to his ear.

“Well, believe it,” he murmurs. “None of us are going anywhere.”

Buck smiles, thinking of the rest of their family in their house behind them. This is his life, and he gets to keep it. Gets to keep them, be kept by them.

“I love you,” he says, and Eddie squeezes his waist, kisses the spot right below his ear.

“I love you,” he echoes, and Buck will never ever get tired of hearing those words from him.

The music in the distance switches to a more uptempo song, and Eddie speeds them up too, spinning faster. Buck grabs his hand again and lets Eddie spin him, laughing.

“I’m gonna get dizzy,” he warns, and Eddie wraps him in his arms for a moment before twirling him again.

“I’ll catch you,” he promises.

He will, he always has, but Buck changes the placement of his hands anyway, using Eddie’s surprise to spin them once quickly, and then dipping Eddie.

Eddie lets out a yelp that turns into a laugh halfway down, his hands clinging to Buck’s shoulders tightly.

“You dick,” he laughs, and Buck kisses his bared throat, keeping them in this position for now.

“Revenge,” he says, laughing when Eddie kicks a leg up and tries wrapping it around the back of Buck’s.

It’s not a big change and doesn’t make Eddie much heavier in his arms, but it’s still enough to make Buck lose balance. He tries to catch himself unsuccessfully but topples over, trying to control Eddie’s fall as much as possible, which means that his hands are so busy catching his husband that he can’t catch himself and lands right on top of him with a breathless, “oof.”

“You okay?” Eddie asks, and Buck lifts himself onto his elbow so he doesn’t crush him anymore.

“Yeah, are you?” he asks back. “I’m sorry–”

“It was my fault, Buck,” Eddie interrupts him, grinning again already. “And you know I don’t mind having you on top of me.”

Buck snorts. “You could’ve just said. There are easier ways to get me in this position.”

“Yeah, I know exactly how easy you are,” Eddie teases, and then he’s laughing again, his body shaking under Buck’s, and Buck can’t help but join in.

“You’re an idiot,” he says without any heat, and Eddie’s hand comes up to cup the back of his head.

“But you still married me,” he says, sounding so pleased about it that Buck has to laugh again, and bend down to kiss him.

“What can I say,” he murmurs, his grin meeting Eddie’s. “You’re my idiot.”

Eddie laughs into his mouth and keeps kissing him, right here on the dry grass in their backyard, someone else’s music the distant soundtrack.

#buddie #911fic #911 #buddie fanfiction #pia writes #ask #hozey-nevergoingtochurch

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ilikeyoualive · 1 year

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Wendigo Simon "Ghost" Riley HC's

Warnings: Mentions of Cannibalism (duh), Possessiveness, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wendigo's are their own warning really

Word Count: 724

Tagging @resident-idiot-simp because Wendigo Ghost Supremacy.

And, if your interest is piqued by this AU, feel free to check out my Main Masterlist!

My personal headcanon is that Wendigo's tend to be hoarders, although that particular instinct has been heavily repressed by Ghost due to a mixture of intense military training and sheer willpower. However, even though Ghost won’t randomly collect things that catch his eye in the field or on base, he still allows himself to covet essential items such as his tactical skull mask, his numerous skull-themed balaclava, and his favorite mug.

Seeing as they are particularly territorial of the things (or people) that they consider theirs, it’s kind of a big deal when they start giving and/or sharing stuff with others because it’s a sign of kinship and/or affection. So Ghost will randomly offer to make his team members a cup of tea when he’s making some for himself, subtly sharing with them. But he only does little things that wouldn’t be recognized as the affectionate gestures that they were unless you know him well.

So, for example, after the “Alone” mission in canon Ghost would simply let Soap keep the knife that he had found in the unfortunate Shadow that had crossed the Ghost’s path. To do this, Ghost probably just wouldn’t bring up the knife at all once everything has settled down, which in itself is a subtle indication that Soap has permission to keep it because if he didn’t want Soap to have it then he would bluntly ask for it to be returned.

Unfortunately, Soap still recalled how Ghost had said that he would like the knife back during the whole mess that was “Alone” and would totally approach Ghost privately to try and return it to him. Though Ghost wouldn’t move to take it, merely leveling poor Soap with that empty stare of his until Soap lost his nerve and beat a hasty retreat. The bizarre and nerve-racking experience would lead Soap to never try and give that particular item back again, but he does start carrying the knife with him on missions.

Due to the typically uncontrollable/untamable nature of his particular species, Ghost’s instincts are the hardest to repress, which makes hostile and bloodthirsty his default state of being. But with people that he sees as his (the 141, essentially) the urge to eat them decreases a significant amount, but that only makes the instinct to possess them all the worse. It’s a trade-off that Ghost is more than willing to make though, because he likes his team alive.

One of the pros of being seen as one of Ghost’s “possessions” is, first and foremost, that if he were to go into a feeding frenzy then you wouldn’t be on the menu. There’s also the simple fact that he’s easier to direct toward a target (or targets) while his higher brain function is switched off in favor of mindless feeding, which usually only happens when he’s “fatally” wounded in the field.

Not that he can actually be severely injured or killed by anything other than fire, that is. So Ghost is able to heal from wounds that would be a death sentence to a human and even other supernatural creatures because he only actually has one thing that can do serious damage to his person and since the fact that he’s a Wendigo is kept under lock and key -along with the knowledge that the supernatural exist in general- that means that most people wouldn't think to bring a flamethrower to a gunfight.

Ghost’s mind is dark and more than a bit twisted due to being a Wendigo for longer than he had been a human, so I see him as having a bit of what I like to call “Hannibal Mentality” where he just kinda wants to possess people and keep them with him forever. His way of doing so? Eating them.

Not, like, while they're alive mind you. But say, Roach were to die on a mission with Ghost, who would be compelled to eat Roach’s body since he doesn't have bodily functions that cause him to produce waste, so whatever he eats is quite literally with him forever. It would be challenging enough for him to simply give Price the dog tags instead of keeping them for himself, but there would certainly be no body to give to relatives or next of kin.

#cod cryptid au #cryptid tf 141 #headcanons #modern warfare ii #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #cod mw 2022 #mw2 2022 #cod modern warfare #simon riley #ghost #wendigo ghost #wendigo simon riley #ghostsoap #ghost x soap

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emry-stars-art · 10 months

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Hi again!

As fun fact in osteopathy there is actually a method to treat psychical trauma. It's part of craniosacral therapy and basically looks like some voodoo shit (i tried it on my two friends and it works 🤯) .

To do it u need at least 3 people, one holding patient's head, one holding their legs and one holding their hand in the areas like heart, liver and brain. People holding their head and legs must move them accordingly to patient movements ( which way is easier) and person holding hands above the organs need to check in which directions there are restrictions and work on them.

During this therapy people fall into a state similar to meditation or REM faze of sleep (they still can hear every louder noise so it's important to be really quiet). Our job is to observe what their reactions are. One of my friends started putting his hands into his jeans pockets every few minutes, it can be really anything that their memories bring back at that moment.

They can just move in a specific way but also they can start screaming, crying, suddenly sit up or roll on their side and if it's connected to any accident they can feel it like it is happening again at the moment ( my other friend told me that when she was the patient she felt like she was about to cry, started shaking and couldn't speak for a few minutes). It also may bring back memories that are bad but we erased them from memory as a defensive mechanism.

One of my instructors even said that he calls this method "casting out the devil" because of its effects 😅.

Personally I think it's very interesting and I didn't even know that something like this existed until two years ago. Also there are a lot of videos on youtube of people talking about how this helped them with their problems.

*quietly* wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf wtf

Okay so I’ve been looking at this for like two days trying to figure out what I could possibly say or add to this but I haven’t found anything, everything you need to know is here! Like!! What!!! This sounds so insane, I’ve never even heard of anything like it :o but that is fascinating I’m still reeling

Voodoo shit indeed, just thinking about an average person’s reaction to this back in whatever time the au is set in… yeah that some witchcraft right there for sure 😂 I’d have to do a lot more research but just the thought of there being someone that specializes in this stuff. Feels like when police depts would bring in psychics to help them “solve” a case or something except it actually works lol. Somebody comes in to the castle and all the medics or professionals are like “who are you” and then this happens?? My brain would have exploded

This is so rife with angst potential… I don’t even have to point it out. You’re reading this, you know exactly what I’m talking about. But the one thing I got stuck on for slightly longer even than anything else was the recovery of repressed memories. Maybe it’d help in the long run but at the moment? Ow

Thank you for another great ask, it hurts my heart to think about Kevin, Andrew, and Wymack watching this, hurts even more to think about Abram allowing them to do it 🥲 well I’m intrigued and I’m gonna go look some stuff up, have a great day everyone

#I might actually be back later today it depends #but I couldn’t keep this in my inbox any longer I needed my fellow angst enjoyers to see it #shipshifting-monster #you are a fascinating individual with a fascinating pool of knowledge #I don’t even have a scene idea for the tags I’m just. WHAT #so insane omg #not art sorry guys #asks #royal au

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mandos-mind-trick · 10 months

Text

Instinct, Part 11

Summary: Omegas were rare. Some even thought them extinct. So when Boba contacts Din saying he has a gift Din can’t refuse, the last thing he expects to find is an omega in need of an alpha. Din has to make the hard decision, but what else was he really doing anyways? But naturally, there’s more to this omega than meets the eye.

Pairing: Din Djarin x female!reader

Warnings: Injuries, blood, PTSD, some light medical stuff, The Empire, A/B/O

A/N: Uhhh yeah, it's been a minute with this one. I probably shouldn't say I had most of this one written up already, but I couldn't decide where I wanted to take the story. Well, I've decided now so I can confidently finish this one up.

< Previous | Next > | MASTERLIST | OC Version

It doesn’t hurt.

You’ve felt a lot of pain in your lifetime, but the stab wound is almost nothing. Or maybe you’ve just gone numb. You had practically seen the shift in Din as he’d stood there, staring at the red on your fingers, the red staining your shirt.

You're not sure when exactly he’d stabbed you. You hadn’t felt it in the haze of adrenaline. You're not sure where the knife is either.

Din had approached you, taking one look at the wound before lifting you into his arms. You could sense the change in him, the detachment. He had one instinct in that moment and that was to get you help. You feel dizzy, vision in and out as you stare up at the sky. It’s blue, very blue.

The blue fades to white as he enters the medical center. Your arms and legs have begun to tingle. Were you going to pass out? You're bleeding a lot. You can feel it. You squint up at the ceiling as Din lays you on the hard exam table. He’s scared, you can scent it under the tang of blood.

You blink as your vision fades in and out, someone coming to stand over you. You don't recognize them...no. You do.

“No...no...please!” You struggle, but your limbs are restrained.

“It’s alright.” He speaks quietly, leaning down closer to you. “Everything will be alright.” A bright light in your eyes. You feel far away, like your body is floating right out into space.

“No!” You cry, weakly fighting the urge to sleep. “No!”

“Everything’s going to be just fine.”

****

His hands are shaking.

He had felt the shift in his brain, his mind shutting down as soon as he saw the red on your fingers. He had acted purely on instinct, moving to catch you before you fell. He had held you up, analyzing the wound oozing thick red liquid for half a second before scooping you into his arms. He’d walked out the front door, uncaring of the police droids making their way down the street.

He’d been totally numb as he carried you to the nearest medical facility. He could have taken you back to the Crest, but it was too far, and he wasn’t sure a simple bacta patch would work fast enough. The wound was deep and clean, the straight edge of the vibroblade meant to make the wound bleed and bleed.

You had been awake the whole time, though your gaze had been hazy. He’d been rushed back into a room, the Nautolan doctor jumping right in to try and help.

That was when everything had gone wrong.

You had started fighting, struggling against the doctor and nurses. You had been screaming, eyes far away like you were seeing something else. He had managed to get you calm enough for them to administer a sedative. He had held you until you were unconscious and limp, the bloody smear on the front of his chestplate as you’d reached out for him.

“Buir.”

His hands are still shaking, the event playing over and over in his head. He’d never seen you like that before. He had been scared of you possibly losing control and your omega coming out, but it seemed you were somewhere else entirely. You had never spoken about anything like that, nor had Boba mentioned any aversion to medical centers or doctors.

Maybe it had been deeply buried far below, repressed by years of suppressants.

He’s worried. Whatever you had been seeing, it had been bad enough for you to call out for your parents. You never talked about them, never mentioned them beyond the night you’d told him how you got off Mandalore. They likely hadn’t made it, like so many others. That was a harsh reality to face, one he knew well.

He stares at your peaceful face. You're still unconscious, the bacta working quickly to heal the stab wound. He feels guilty. You were here because of him. He had failed to consider that they might have known about him, about his quest. You had gotten hurt because of him, because of his mistake.

He wants to call it quits, wants to load you onto the ship and fly back to Tatooine, but he knows he can’t. If you wanted to continue, he would, even if it was a bad decision.

You have a lot to discuss when you wake up. He stares down at the smear on his chestplate. Just what exactly was that outburst? What had happened to you that had caused that kind of reaction?

******

“Hello. My name is Doctor Ellezac. I am the chief scientist on this vessel. I will be overseeing you.” You flinch away from the hands that reach for your face. “How are you feeling?”

“Where am I? Where is my buir?” You ask, voice thin sounding from the dryness in your throat.

“You are on a transport vessel heading for a research base.” He pries your mouth open, looking inside. “Don’t worry. You will be well cared for.”

You jerk your head away, glaring at him. “Where are the others?” You remembered the transport taking them to Concordia. The four omegas, the last four to make it off Mandalore alive.

“Don’t worry. They’re being looked after.” He turns, grabbing something off a table. “It’s very fascinating to me, your kind. The ‘second gender’ Mandalorians utilize. All beings carry the ability, but the mechanics of it have been lost to most of us for centuries. Except for the Mandalorians.” He turns back to you, a syringe in hand. “The ‘instincts’ as you call them, are incredible. Heightened senses, increased strength, enhanced regeneration, among many other benefits.”

You struggle against the restraints holding you to the bed as he sinks the syringe into your arm. He draws your blood, pulling from you until you begin to feel dizzy.

“You’re going to be a great help to us.” He says, looking down at you. “You’ll be a great help to the Empire.”

*****

You jolt as you wake, hands gripping the blankets tightly. You're wrapped tightly in blankets and a cloak, buried deep in Din’s scent. The whirring of the engines and the subtle shake of the ship tells you you're in the Crest.

It takes you a moment, but you remember everything. You had been hunting their next targets, when everything had gone wrong. You’d been stabbed and Din had taken you to a medical facility.

You had seen him.

In truth, you had forgotten it entirely in the haze of memories before awakening from suppressants. It seemed like a long time ago, because it had been a long time ago. You couldn’t have guessed you’d react in such a way. You hadn’t reacted like that on Tatooine when the medical droid had looked over you. You hadn’t reacted that way any of the times Boba’s medical droid had treated you.

Maybe simply because you didn’t remember.

You remember now. You remember everything.

You manage to free yourself from the cocoon of blankets, keeping Din’s cloak around you. It smells like him. It smells safe. You stand, stretching your side a bit. Your fingers slip under your shirt, feeling the smooth skin underneath. Not even a mark.

You climb up the ladder, knowing Din is in the cockpit. He’ll have questions, and you’ll answer them. It’s dark in the cockpit, the Crest drifting through space. Din is seated in the pilot’s chair, back to you as you enter. You sit in one of the passenger seats, bundling yourself in his cloak.

“We need to talk about it.” He says, keeping his gaze forward.

“I know.” You say. “First I need you to know, I didn’t remember. I didn’t remember any of it until now.”

“You were screaming. Calling out for your parents.” He says, voice pinched. “As soon as you saw the doctor it was like you’d lost your mind.”

“I wasn’t there. I was somewhere else. Somewhere worse. I didn’t know it wasn’t happening again.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry if I caused a scene. I’m sorry if I made things difficult, but please don’t be mad, I really didn’t remember exactly-”

“I’m not mad.” He says, finally turning around. “I just want to know what you saw that caused a reaction like that.”

You nod, taking a shaky breath, trying to calm the nerves that had built up. “To start, we have to go back to the Purge. There were four of us on the last ship that left the omega temple before it was hit. Four omegas and the droid pilot with coordinates to Concordia. Only we didn’t get that far. As soon as we left the atmosphere, something was waiting. Something pulled us in.”

Din nods. He knew most of this already from what you’d told him. The small bit you’d remembered after the suppressants.

“It wasn’t pirates or smugglers. It was the Empire. I don’t know if it was your luck, or somehow they knew where we were heading...they pulled us in. I remember them breaking through the hatch. Stormtroopers flooding the hull. I don’t remember much after that. I woke up sometime later in what looked like a medical facility. There was a man there. His name was Doctor Ellezac. He was the head scientist for some division of the Empire. He knew a lot about us, about omegas and alphas. Too much to be coincidence.”

Din shifts in his seat, hands closing into fists. The thought that it was the Empire that took the last of the omegas...it makes him angry.

“They took us to some facility. They ran tests on us. They wanted to know how our instincts worked, how our abilities manifested, how they were controlled.” You wipe a tear from your cheek. “I don’t know how long we were there, but I remember when the Empire fell. They tried to get off world, tried to evacuate us somewhere else, but that’s when the pirates arrived. They thought it had been abandoned, but we were still there. The Empire took ten omegas. There were only three of us by the time the pirates came.”

“They knew what you were.” Din says, trying to calm his raging alpha.

You nod. “They knew what we were worth too. That’s when it started. The suppressants, being traded across the galaxy.” You shake your head. “If I had known...I wouldn’t have-”

“I’m glad you did.” Din says. “Even if we’ve only killed seven of them, even if we can’t finish, I’m glad we at least gave some of them what they deserve.”

You wipe another tear from your cheek. “I don’t know if we should continue. I-I mean...we could wind up in something bigger than just the two of us. If there’s remnants out there, if they find out...I don’t know if they’ll come for me again. I don’t want to put you in danger like that.”

He leans forward, pulling you up from the passenger seat. “I made a promise when I mated you that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. That I would protect you and our pack. If that means fighting off the Empire again, then I would do it.”

You climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I don’t want you to have to fight the Empire. I-If something happened to you...”

“Nothing is going to happen to me.” He says. “I think we should take a break.”

You look up at his helmet, looking at the visor. “What?”

“We’ll take a break. Find somewhere to lay low for a while. I know you’re stressed, and this new development is concerning.” He spins you back around, keeping you in his lap as he begins hitting buttons on the console. “I already found us a place.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” You murmur.

“You were asleep for a while.” He puts a hand on your back as the Crest hums to life, preparing to jump into hyperspace. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while too. You’re not as accustomed to this as I am, and it’s not your nature to run around the galaxy non-stop. We have enough credits for now. We can worry about what’s next later.”

You press your nose into his neck, breathing him in for a moment. You can’t sense what he’s feeling, the beskar and his flightsuit blocking you from reaching his neck. You don't move to remove his helmet, not feeling like you’re in a good enough place to do something so bold.

“Din...” You murmur after a few moments, the blue of hyperspace flashing around you. “I’m sorry.”

He tightens his hold on you, the hand that had been on your back sliding up to the back of your neck. “Don’t.”

Tears spring into your eyes, your body pressing closer to his out of pure instinct. He lets go of you for a moment to pull his helmet off, letting it clunk to the floor. You immediately press your face against his throat, breathing him in. He’s not angry, not at you. His scent is thick with worry and the sharp edge of protectiveness alphas projected when their clans were in danger.

“I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I never wanted you to get hurt.” He says, pressing his face into the top of your head.

“You couldn’t have known.” You murmur against his neck. “It was always a risk.”

He tightens his hold on you for a moment. “I should have done more. I should have tried harder.”

“I was the one that asked to do this.” You say, pulling back to look in his eyes. There’s tears in them. “Maybe...maybe we need this break. Like you said...we can worry about what happens next later.”

He pulls you back in, holding you until the ship drops from hyperspace.

**** A Few Weeks Later ****

The warm breeze feels good against your skin. The sand is warm against your bare feet, your toes digging in, enjoying the feel. It’s not like the sand on Tatooine. This place couldn’t be more different than Tatooine.

Blue water stretches as far as you can see in front of you. It’s bluer than you’ve ever seen. Behind you stretches a line of trees, only broken by the small shack you had been staying in. There’s no one on the small island but you, most of the inhabitants on the larger island a short boat ride to the South.

You’re very much in love with this planet. You could stay here forever, basking in the warm sunlight on the beach. When Din had first landed here, it had been in the midst of a storm and you had been skeptical. By the time you woke up the next day, the storm had cleared and left a bright blue sky behind. Storms were rare here, according to the locals. There hadn’t been one since the day you arrived. It had been nothing but beautiful weather, and you had been soaking up every minute of it you could.

Arms wrap around your middle, pulling you back against the warm chest. You lean your head back against his shoulder, relaxing against him. “I could stay here forever.”

“I know.” He says, kissing the top of your head. His bare hands trail up your arms, brushing along the sun-warmed skin. “Eventually we’ll need credits.”

You pout. “I’m sure you could find a job doing something for the locals.”

“I doubt they have much use for bounty hunters out here.” He says, turning you back towards the shack.

“I wasn’t talking about bounty hunting.” You say. “You could be a fisherman.”

He opens the door to the shack, giving you a look.

You shrug. “What? You could! You’re good with repairs, I’m sure they could use a repairman or something.”

“Don’t get any ideas.” He says, lifting you up and dropping you on the bed.

“I know.” You sigh, pulling him down with you. “Boba might never forgive us if we moved to a planet like this without him.”

He leans down, kissing you softly. You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around him. “We need to get more supplies soon.” He murmurs against your lips, running his hand along your back.

“Tomorrow.” You sigh, pressing closer to him.

He shifts his body on top of yours, your thighs parting to welcome him. You tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head. It was a miracle you got him out of his armor, but after their confirmed solitude on the island, he loosened up.

“I love you.” You murmur against his lips, drawing his body closer.

“Kar'taylir darasuum.” He breathes, losing himself in you.

***

“Do you ever miss it?” You ask as you sit on the porch of the shack. The sun is setting, painting the sky in oranges and pinks.

“What?” He asks, pulling you closer against his side.

“Being with the covert?”

He stiffens a bit at your question. You hadn’t talked much about it, beyond him telling you about his exile. You know it’s a sensitive topic to him, but that’s what you had been doing during this break. Digging up all the ugly things, talking about them and working through them.

“Sometimes.” He says honestly. “It was what I was raised in. Being in exile, hiding away...it’s not the way Mandalorians are supposed to live.”

“Would you ever want to go back?” You ask.

He’s quiet for a few moments, his fingers tracing patterns along your bare arm. The touch sends shivers through your body. “It would be impossible.” He says. “Mandalore is cursed. Going there to try and bathe in the Waters...it would be impossible.”

You squeeze his side, offering him comfort. “I’d go with you, if you ever wanted to try.”

He sighs, leaning his head on yours. “It would be too much of a risk.”

Silence settles between you as you watch the sun set, turning the sky purple then grey as night begins to settle in.

“What would you do, if nothing was standing in our way?” He asks you, breaking the silence.

You chew your lip for a moment, thinking it through before sighing. “I’d get through my next heat. Then maybe decide what I want.” You shift just slightly in his arms. “It’s coming, in the next couple days.”

“I know.” He says. “I can smell it.”

“Do you want to leave?” You ask.

“No.” He shakes his head. “We’ll ride it out here. Then like you said, we’ll decide what to do.”

You rest your head back on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. It smells good, mixed with the salty air of the sea. You wish you could just stay here, but you know that’s not an option.

Taglist:

@donttamethebeasts, @unicorntrooper, @spacecluster, @hugmedin, @hungrhay, @fic-for-readers, @jaydiann, @tonystank3, @lokigirlszendaya, @6oceansofmoons, @star-trekker-0013, @bobaprint

#star wars #star wars fic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #alpha din djarin #omega reader

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