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peachesofteal · 7 months

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Happy Hunting

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Consensual non consent. Explicit sex, creampie. Predator/prey, hunter/hunted. Use of restraints, a gag. Blood, violence. Dirty talk, size kink, praise kink. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Horror-ish. Horror media references/influenced. Tags are for your health, not mine. “Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance." - Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

It was the porch light, that cost you everything.

The porch light that flickered through the brush with strokes of silver moonlight, the porch light that cast a wan, yellowed haze out from its warped wooden and stone host. The porch light, that shone like a lighthouse, calling you home, calling you to safety, security. To sanctuary.

You spotted it from a distance the first day, once you had already changed course that morning, tromping across a stream and shimmying through a nasty spool of barbed wire. You hunkered down next to an outcropping of rock, peering through the morning fog, searching for your hunter, watching for the tell tale signs of his presence, a wide path cut through the forest by his broad body, punctuated by trampled underbrush, damaged petals and leaves. The house stood on the hill in the distance, rising just above the tree line, the shimmer of the little yellow light drawing you in, making you curious, filling you with an urge to look closer, as the hair on the back of your neck rose in warning.

The rocks were a perfect natural shelter, a good place to take a nap, if you wanted, if you could. It would be easy to bed down in the soft dead-fall of the leaves, sink into the earth, into the heavy mist that had lingered past dawn, but you couldn’t risk closing your eyes. Not even for a second. Not when you knew he was so close, when you could hear his breath, feel the pads of his fingers on your skin, reaching, stretching, desperate to snatch you away forever. If you held your body still, you swore you could feel the vibration of his feet in the forest, rustling against the brush, covertly honing in on your location, stalking closer and closer to his target. His victory.

Even if you never saw him, you knew he was out there, watching patiently. Waiting for you to make a mistake, for you to miscalculate.

You told yourself the house was not an option. Even when you got a good look at it on that first day, something about it stuck low in your belly, an off feeling, a warning. You opted to circumvent the entire thing, giving the long overgrown driveway, endlessly black windows and snarled thicket that grew thick at its foundation a wide berth.

Old stone mansions left abandoned, remnants of old families, old money left to rot, were not unheard of in this area. You had spent your youth crawling around in them and knew them well, knew their warning signs, understood what it felt like when they might give way on you. You knew how to unlock their secrets, knew how to read the gothic stories that had settled into the crumbling, peeling wallpaper. They spoke their own languages, histories spiraling out from their nooks and crannies, trauma and laughter etched into the joists and support beams, sagging with the weight of their own age. They could be easy to read, easy to listen to, if you knew which doors to pry open, and which to leave locked shut.

Still, it was too convenient. Too much of a risk. Too much confinement. There was a zero chance of you besting him in a physical fight, and you had to depend on your speed for survival, your aptitude, your skill to ensure your success. Pigeonholing yourself in a mansion with god knows what inside did not allow you to excel at the things you were good at.

You felt confident in your decision to avoid the house. You felt good about it.

The storm rolled in with tenacity. The rain was frigid, wind howling through to your bones, chilling the blood that pumped in your heart. It's strength pulled at your resolved, ready to tear you to pieces, to force you to your knees. It pushed you off course, away from the rushing water of the creek, and up the hill of water soaked leaves.

You lost your bearings for a moment, and that’s all it took for you to slip up, all that was needed for you to catch the sight of his grim shadow from the corner of your eye, the crack of a branch breaking beneath his boot shattering across your brain like a gunshot.

You tore through the woods, gait bogged down by the water logged earth, by the thick of the mud, chased by the sound of his voice, calling for you through the forest over the raging fury of the storm.

"Happy hunting, little dove."

You narrowly escaped, but the skull mask watched. He waited. He tracked.

He hunted.

It’s too dark.

Too dark to see anything, too dark to see your hands that are spread out in front of your body, hands that desperately try to act as your eyes, feeling, touching, scraping across surfaces to keep you from bumping into things. Doors. Walls. Whatever could be lying in wait here.

The weight of your wet clothing irks you. It hangs heavily on your body, and you wish you had chosen better layers, shivers working up and down your spine, goosebumps rising against the soaked chill of your shirt. It could be pneumonia that gets you in the end, if he doesn't catch you first, you muse bitterly, wringing yourself out as well as you can, water droplets pattering against what you believe sounds like a wooden floor.

The lack of light is unnerving. You'd expected it, knew the chances of there being anything working in here slim, but you still hoped that maybe the lone flickering porch light meant there was something still left inside these old bones, a spark, a connection feeding a light switch or a lamp somewhere. The dark of the house is endless, and your mind works quickly to imagine the worst case scenarios, the potential that this tenebrous pitch may drag you below forever settling heavily in the back of your mind. It's deep, the darkness of the house, like you could fall into it and drown, never resurfacing, never to see the sun again. You move slowly, hands in front of your face, body and feet making contact with as much of the wall as you can, trying to paint a picture with touch. The dark, combined with the new and unfamiliar territory, is enough to unsettle your usual steady demeanor.

The combination is a lethal one. It’s one that leaves you hesitant. Unsure. It’s one that keeps you off balance, spine ram rod straight, nerves alight with fear.

It wasn’t so bad, in the woods. The silver glow of the moon illuminated the lay of the forest, sprawling swaths of brush and low growing thistle, tall trunks that stretched to the sky, stout shrubs with thorns that scratched at your clothes. That was easier, than this.

Easier than this maze called a house. Easier than these hallways that morphed into a labyrinth that stretched for miles and miles, twisting together into a Fibonacci sequence of pitch-dark terror.

No. You swallow. You’re not afraid. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine. You're going to win.

But even as you repeat it to yourself, even as you coach your reserve, you can hear his voice. Can hear the grit and gravel of the Manchester accent, can smell his skin against yours, lips rough on your mouth before your cheeks were pinched between a thumb and forefinger.

“Want to play a game?”

You work forward in a half crouch, staying pressed to the wall, form as tight as you can manage, unobtrusive. Your hand stays projected in front of your body, the other along the wall, waiting to feel an angle, an edge, a door, a window… anything.

You shouldn’t have come in here. You walked right into a trap, you're sure of it now, fairly positive after feeling the way the corridor twists and turns away from the front. Walked right into a confined space and now you’re lost, stuck, like a fly in a web. Waiting to be devoured. Waiting for your end to be delivered by a spider who lurks just out of sight.

But you did it for a reason, didn’t you?

You’re so, so close to the finish line. So close you can taste it, the trepidation beading into sweat that drips down your back, cold and unwelcome against the damp of your shirt. It’s already been two days. The morning of the third day is just on the horizon, sun due to come up, you think, within a few hours. Your mouth salivates at the thought of it, the idea of sinking your teeth into sweet, sweet victory. Of winning. Of beating him.

You take a moment to stop and reassess, swiping your palms along the wall and floor, working on controlling your breathing. It’s becoming jagged, anxiety spilling out through your lungs with each step you take, fear moving through you like ice freezing in your veins, creeks and streams being lost to the winter’s chill, a disease slowly spreading towards your heart.

You use it to focus. You cannot see, but that doesn’t mean you've lost, and it doesn't make you weak. It makes all your senses stronger, your hearing, your ability to smell, your translation of touch into sight. The wall turns here, the floor dips there, does that feel like a ledge? You crawl in your crouch, lips sealed tight against soft whimpers that threaten to expose you over the little pieces of wood that get lodged in your palms.

Splinters. Unfinished lumber.

It confirms your theory. The mansion itself is old, stuck up on this plot land, nestled in the thick of the forest, abandoned, nearly completely forgotten about by all… save for one. One, who’s been building inside of it, one who’s been creating in its guts. Hollowing it out and remaking it into something new, a hellscape of hallways, a complicated vision executed by someone who’s running from the same demons, the same nightmares that you are.

Your heart sinks past your stomach, down into your knees. Continuing to run this rat race is foolish. He built it. He knows it. He pushed you here, urged you over the hill, across the stream, beneath the barbed wire. He dictated your path, forcing you into the light of the porch, herding you closer and closer because he knew. He knew you wouldn't be able to resist it, in the end. He knew you.

Find a different part of the house. Escape. Hide, until sunrise.

You keep going, carefully, creeping along the walls, navigating lefts and rights and forks in the labyrinth until your fingers tap silently across an empty door frame, nothing on the other side except the continuous black void of darkness.

Your feet slide forward, boots sliding until the floor disappears. A drop off? There’s more, a flush piece, a curved groove.

Stairs.

You blink, even though it will do you no good, it won’t clear your vision or make the lights in this decrepit place suddenly flicker on. Your hands are your sight, and you run your fingers along the curve of the top step, until you feel the next, and the next.

You take them half on your belly, half on your knees. It’s slow, achingly so, and puts you in a vulnerable position, but the fall, if there were to be one, would be much, much worse if you risked attempting them fully standing. It takes forever to get to the bottom, and you feel a small tug of relief when your palms rub across a cold concrete floor.

There’s a noise. It’s a banging, of sorts. Like a door swinging, and you jolt, reaction fueled by adrenaline, barreling forward into the dark, slamming into the wall with your hip. It stings, the slap of concrete zinging across your skin and you hiss instinctively, before clapping a hand over your face to muffle the sound.

You curse yourself. That was too loud.

A floorboard creaks above your head. The acid in your stomach rises.

You hold yourself as still as you can, palm still pressed over your mouth, body bent low. You keep contact with the wall as much as possible, shoulder, thigh, part of your back. Stay low. Stay small. It’s an advantage you have, your size versus his. Even if you aren’t particularly petite, you’re nimble, graceful and quick. Something you’ve been using for the past two days to stay one step ahead, something you used earlier to orchestrate your narrow escape in the woods. You use it now, to find a corner, a little nook of rough cement, and squeeze your body inside.

Heavy feet take the stairs slowly, step by step until you see the bright white beam of a flashlight sweeping across the floor methodically, back and forth, back and forth. It moves across the room, around the stairs, opposite of the corner you think you’ve tucked yourself into.

Just hold your breath. Stay quiet. You can still win. You can still make it.

The flashlight flicks off with a dramatic click. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip so hard it draws blood.

Maybe he didn’t see you. Maybe he doesn’t know you’re even here.

Seconds drag into minutes, and you think you hear heavy footfalls upstairs. Or possibly on the stairs. You can’t be too sure. It’s too dark, and the pitch is disorientating. It’s hard to tell right side up, up from down.

This could be heaven. It could be hell.

You stay burrowed in that corner against the cinderblock for what you believe must be at least fifteen minutes, if not longer. Your body aches from being pushed in on itself, and you blink in the dark, breathing slower than a corpse, listening. Waiting.

Your boot slides across the concrete. Seeking. Touching… bumping into solid mass. You realize it a second too late. Time freezes, and you with it, heart encased in ice. Your eyes slam shut, and a whimper builds in the back of your throat.

A hand wraps around your ankle, and you screech, curling forward with your fingers bent like talons, flying towards what you hope is his face, desperate to sink your nails into his skin and tear, rip him open so you can get away. He grabs your arm, stabilizing your contact, the strength in his grip that of more than two men, at least, and drags you across the floor, iron bar of his ulna holding you still and steady.

A piece of metal scratches against wood. A flick, a flicker, and then-

A wash of orange-yellow light. You’ve been in the dark for hours at this point, and your sight struggles to refract, pulling back behind half shut lids even though the light itself is not that bright.

You tilt your head back and look up.

String lights. He’s hung string lights up down here, little bulbs on black wire stapled to the rafters like you’re in some romantic comedy. Like there should be a two top table here with a pile of spaghetti and meatballs, carafe of wine and checkered tablecloth.

“Hung these just for you, dove. Knew you’d like ‘em.” His breath is burning hot against your face, and you twist, swinging your entire skull into his chest and trying to dig your heels into the ground for leverage. You catch a glimpse of his face, maskless, the twice-healed broken nose, cheek scar and sharp edged jaw unmistakable, even with your fogged vision.

“Get OFF me you FUCKING FREAK, I-“ His thigh presses against your knee and then you’re swooping, thrown off balance in a second thought with a scream, free hand ripping across into his hair and yanking with everything you have.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t flinch, wrestling you to the ground with ease. You don’t have much fight left in you, after two days of hiding, running, trying to be smarter, be faster, and you’re spent on all ends, this last little spat the end of everything you had. He knows it.

Still, when he fish hooks his thumb into between your lips, you bite down with all your might, sinking your incisors into his skin in hopes of drawing blood.

He laughs, and your mouth fills with the mineral-metallic liquid, his thumb swirling inside your teeth and across your gums.

You know you’re well and truly fucked.

The knife makes quick work of your shirt. Your tac pants, the good pair, go next, along with your boots. He lurks above for you a long moment before he cuts your bra away, your nipples tightening in reaction to the temperature, to everything that’s happening in this moment, in this basement.

“Gave me the slip in the woods earlier, little dove. Very clever.” He praises you, bending your arms behind your back and then working a rope around your wrists, knotting it securely, but not too tight. “Almost made it. Think you might’ve, if you hadn’t come in ‘ere.” Your underwear rips away without pretense, without hesitation and you swallow, mouth gaping wide, teeth trying to cut over the gag. “But I know why you did. I know you wanted to get caught.” You shake your heard furiously, and he clucks his tongue in mock sympathy, soothing a warm hand up and down the outside of your thigh. “Come on dove, let me see.” He pries your legs apart, baring you wide, where you drip for him, slick with arousal, with heat. He hums something to himself; two blunt fingers stroking down your seam and then back up around your swollen clit. You buzz with his touch, muscles reacting on their own, spine curving just a little, hips twitching. He stays there, on his knees between your thighs, an immovable force, keeping you from closing up around him or blocking his touch, and his thumb rubs your clit in a circle. “What a good girl. Gettin’ all wet for me.” You shake your head, and he tips his head back and laughs. “Don’t lie. Pretty little cunt here loved bein’ hunted, eh? Look at how soaked she is. Practically dripping.” He presses a finger inside, the depth of his reach enough to punch your lungs out, body seizing up around him as he strokes upwards, thumb slicking across your clit until you're writing underneath him. You’re going to cum, you’re going to cum on this dirty fucking floor like a- “Ah, ah. You know the rules.” He rasps next to your ear. “What do you need to do?”

“Nnrgh!” you spit through the cloth, and he sighs long and loud, like he’s emptying himself of all his breath with exasperation, fingers smearing your own fluids over your face as he pulls it free. “Please.” You gasp. It’s barely a plea, something more venomous, more spiteful, but it’s enough for him, and he nods, placing the fabric back into your mouth with a pop of his wrist. You don’t want to, you don’t want to give in, let him win, let him have this, make it so easy but he's playing your body so well, expertly, making you sing for him from behind the gag, and you cannot stop the tidal wave that swims over you, your orgasm breaking you apart, smug grin scrawled across his face with pleasure.

When he takes his cock out, dragging his briefs and pants beneath his hips, all while keeping a single hand pressed to your belly, your eyes widen. He’s huge, thick with a fat red tip, dribbles of pre cum leaking above where he’s got you splayed open. He’s going to tear your apart.

“You put up such a good fight, dove. Made me wait so long, hid so well.” The heat of his cock sears against your thigh, and you grunt, brows furrowed, mouth dry behind the gag. Your tongue pushes against it helplessly, fingers fisted tight in the binding beneath your lower back. It’s not particularly comfortable, but the position bares your breasts to him, and keeps you off balance enough that he can manipulate you as he sees fit. “But you still lost.” The gleam in his eye is wild, wicked enough to make your toes curl, hair on the back of your neck standing straight up. Is this a man? Or a monster? Or both?

He presses inside and you see stars, you see the whites of your own eyes, see the currents of electricity in the air. It hurts, a gnawing bite that spreads to your cervix, magma spilling forward and scorching along your walls. He doesn’t slow either, doesn’t stop, just thrusts all the way through, deeper and deeper, splitting you open on his cock just how he likes.

“Ffuumph-“ You moan, and a plate sized palm pats your face soothingly, your knees pinned back towards your ears, his chest against yours. He knows it hurts. Knows it stings, his hips stuttering with his strokes, tongue hot against your neck, mopping up the tears that leak from the corner of your eyes.

“I know, I know. Be good." He licks your cheek before taking it between his teeth, and you keen, clenching around him the heat of his cock without a thought. It’s wild, and violent, like you’re being ripped open raw, torn apart by the weight of the end of it all, the consequences of your loss, of getting caught. “Is this is what you needed? What you begged me for-“ You sputter a refusal, a wail of nonsense but there’s no denial of your body’s reaction, the way you tighten around him, the way your body goes gooey for him, cunt glossy with it.

He thumbs your clit, and you moan, half agonized, half delirious, stuffed full, neurons firing across your brain, cunt spasming in time with his thrusts. "So proud of you. Did so good, dove." Your back arches involuntarily, legs trying to snap closed, burn in your belly growing and growing to a precipice, a reckless edge that you know you’re going to be thrown over in a matter of seconds. He reads it, reads you, and plucks the gag free, swooping low to replace it with his mouth, holding your jaw steady, the kiss long and lingering. He gives you more and more, spearing you with his cock, dragging in and out of your pulsing cunt, cooing in your ear over the sound of your moans. "That's it, that's my girl. There you go, come- come on." Your muscles tense and you explode with an orgasm, body melting with a shudder. You turn to liquid, practically putty, all soft and malleable in his arms and he fucks you deep, frantically, chasing after his own release, dragging his nose into your hair with a groan of something unintelligible. You're still clenching around him, wired tight, little explosions of fireworks reverberating through your cunt as he takes his victory, notching himself to the very depth of your body and flooding you with come.

“Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it. The house.” His arms cradle your limp body, nose skimming up your jaw.

“It was a nice touch.” The words come out as a yawn, stretched out and spent, like your body. Like your mind. Just how you like it.

“You lost, dove.” He murmurs and you nod pathetically. “Want to try again?” He works his touch in the wet mess between your legs, flicking through his own come, your slick and you mewl in his palm.

“Yes."

“I think I should get more of a head start this time.” Simon raises an eyebrow, a shadow of greed, of hunger arcing across his irises before his arm is curling around your back and pulling you into his chest.

“Don’t I usually give you enough of a head start, love?”

“You do, but… Si. Come on. It’s hardly fair.”

“You’re faster than me.” Lips press tenderly against your temple. “Beat me every time in a foot race. Besides, I have something… for you. A gift.” Your head spins when you think about that word, gift. It frightens you. It electrifies you.

“I know but… I want to build it up a little more.” Still, you have to protest a little. You want a longer chase. Need it. Crave it.

“Alright.” He concedes, head tilting to the side, eyes half lidded. “And the prep-“

“Not too much.” You tip back your glass of wine, drop of red leaking from the corner of your lips, tannins blooming across your tongue as he laps it up. “I want it to hurt.” You murmur it into his mouth, rolling the rich liquid from behind your teeth until he’s working you open and it spills forward, drowning the two of you in red cherry and oak until you’re falling to the floor, and he’s kissing your breastbone with a whisper.

“Okay, dove. Not too much.”

#tw dark and twisty #tw dark themes #peaches writes #dove x simon #I really like these two #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost #cod x reader #mw2 #ghost cod

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anama-cara · 4 months

Text

Part 4. the journey

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Part 5

Summary: It's a long day- you go on a hike, learn how to shoot, and get felt up by Joel. Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, fingering (f receiving), age gap, guns, dubcon

a/n: I'm a sucker for the good old 'one sleeping bed' trope. Sorry not sorry. Reader's thoughts are in italics. Part 1. Raider! Joel Masterlist

You’ve been hiking for six miles now, tromping through the dry overgrown grass as you cross the valley. Joel thought you’d make it to the house by nightfall, that it’s easy to walk eight miles in one day. But it’s not when you’re carrying a sick child that has to make frequent stops to rest or vomit. Your travel is very slow going. As you reach a quiet wooded area you realize there’s no way you’ll make it before night fall. It’s just before dusk, but the trees block out some of the light from the sinking sun, making it even darker. You hear Joel curse in front of you. You’ve been following behind him for the whole hike, watching his back as you walk. You’re carrying your brother on your back with your pack slung across your chest. Joel stops in front of you and turns back.

“We ain’t makin’ it before nightfall. We’ll stop here and set up camp while we still have a little daylight.”

“Is that safe? To camp out here?”

“It’s better than goin’ through these woods in the dark. You’re likely to trip on a root and twist your ankle and I can’t carry both if ya’. We’ll start again at first light.” He drops his pack, discussion over.

You kneel and your brother slides from your back and sits on the forest floor. Taking off your pack you pull out his extra coat and dress him. You tug his arms through and zip it up. With your hands on his little shoulders you tell him, “stay put. I’m going to find some firewood and then we can warm you up, okay? Just stay right here and I’ll be right back.” You rummage an apple out of your pack and hand it to him, “try to eat a little, okay?” Then you stand and toss an apple at Joel. He catches it and looks at you in confusion.

“I’m going to look for some kindling while you set up camp.” You walk away into the trees without looking at him.

By the time you come back, bundle of sticks in your arms, Joel has cleared a little area and set camp, his rifle is propped against a nearby tree. You stop, startled by the sight in front of you. Joel is sitting cross legged on one sleeping bag with a piece of jerking hanging from his mouth. Your brother is sitting on the other sleeping bag, Joel’s jacket wrapped around his shoulders. He’s smiling up at Joel. It’s a sleepy, half smile, but still, he’s smiling, at Joel. You hear Joel say something again but you’re too far away to catch the words. As you walk closer the conversation stops and Joel watches you as you enter the clearing. He leans back on his hands. “That it?”

“Uh no I’ve got more wood, just couldn’t carry it all in one trip.”

“Good cause that won’t last through the night. Drop it here,” he nods to a spot between the sleeping bags. You silently drop the wood, looking at him quizzically. His face remains stoic as he begins arranging the sticks into a teepee. You aren’t sure what to say so you turn silently and go to collect the rest of your wood.

When you get back Joel has gotten the fire started and your brother has scooted to the foot of his sleeping bag to rest closer to the fire. “Good. That’ll be enough for a while.” Joel nods as you set the wood by your packs. The last of the golden rays filtering through the trees have disappeared and it’s dusk now. There’s just a faint grey glow emanating through the tall pine trees to the west.

“Welp. We got bout 15 minutes of light left.” He leans over the fire, feeding it another stick. Then he rubs his palms on his jeans and stands up, knees popping. He stretches, raising his arms and causing his flannel to rise up, revealing a slip of tanned skin. He yawns and motions to you. “Come ‘ere.”

You swallow as you approach him. He doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation. “We got some time to kill so I’m gonna teach you how to shoot.” He pulls a glock from the waistband at his back. You instinctively take a step backwards at the sight of the gun. An image of Joel standing over the body of the clicker with his gun drawn flashes through your mind. Joel is frowning at you.

“Ain’t got be scared sweetheart.” He mutters quietly and takes a step towards you, taking back the distance you put between the two of you. “You otta know how to shoot. Might save your life on day.” You nod. You know he’s right, of course. But you still don’t take your eyes off the gun in his hand.

“Ok. Here’s the basics.” He points out the safety, the magazine, the slide, and the sights. As he explains the anatomy of the gun he moves towards you till he’s right by your side, elbow almost brushing against you. “Got it?” You nod silently again.

Then he’s wrapping an arm around you with his chest pressed into your back. He leans over your right shoulder and you feel his warm breath on your neck. A shiver runs down your spine.

“So then you align your target through the sight here…” He keeps talking but you don’t notice what else he says. Your body is honed in to his touch. His hard chest is warm against your back and you lean into him slightly. Heat comes to your cheeks in embarrassment and you’re glad he doesn’t seem to notice. Suddenly he’s taking your hand and guiding it to wrap around the grip of the gun, he arranges your fingers over the trigger. He pulls your left hand up to wrap around your right, providing support and stabilizing the pistol. He leans further into you and brings his head down so his face is close to yours, your cheeks almost brushing. You feel a tingling of your skin as if there’s some invisible electric connection reaching out. “Aim for that tree over there, align your sights, steady hand, firm grip,” he wraps a hand around yours and gives a little squeeze in emphasis. “Then breathe out and pull the trigger.” He straightens out and lets go of your hands.

“Hang on.” He reaches up and unfolds your beanie, bringing the thick hat down over your ears. Then he brings his own hands up to cover his ears.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus. You ignore the lingering touch of his fingers on your hair as he arranged your hat. You ignore the tickle his facial hair left against your neck and the warmth emanating from him against your cold body. You find your target and pull the trigger. The kickback was more than you expected from such a small gun and you stumble back into Joel’s unyielding chest. You hear the bullet whizz past the tree flying deeper into the forest.

“Shoulda told ya to plant your feet.” He shakes his head. “Again.”

This time you widen your stance and brace yourself as you pull the trigger. There’s a crack of the gun and a small thud as your bullet hits the tree. You gasp and turn your head to look back at him, genuinely surprised to have hit your target. He’s looking down at you approvingly.

“Atta girl.”

Your brother is already asleep, tucked into a navy-blue sleeping bag with Joel’s jacket still wrapped around him. It’s completely dark as you go to get in bed. Only the warm orange light from the glow of the fire illuminates your camp. You make to climb in next to your brother, pulling the zipper down an inch before Joel stops you.

“Whatcha doin’?” He hisses from where he’s laying in his bag, propped up on his side facing you. The light from the fire dances across his face.

“Going to bed, what?” You whisper back.

“Na uh.” He pats his sleeping bag next to him.

“Are you insane why would I sleep next to you?”

He raises himself up on his elbow and gives you a glare. “Because, smart one, you shouldn’t be sharing a bed with someone who’s sick and contagious. Caring for him is one thing, but being snuggled up next to him in that bag, you’re asking for it. And if you get sick too, you’re of no use to him. Can’t care for him if you can’t care for yourself.” Shit he’s right. If it’s a respiratory illness or spread from droplets, then you can’t have your face so close to your brother’s, sharing a breath.

“Fine.” You snap.

He smirks at your anger and drops back down to his side, sliding the zipper down and opening the bag for you to climb in. Guess you won’t be sleeping back to back.

You slip into the bag and zip it back up, settling in on your side with your back to him. Joel presses against you and you stiffen. Your body is straight as a board against him, your muscles all tense.

“Relax sweetheart,” he murmurs into your ear. Goosebumps erupt across your skin. His hand snakes over your hip and his palm spreads over your stomach. He pulls you closer to him and your stiff body bends as he spoons you. His hand is warm and you can’t deny that it feels good against you. He releases a heavy breath into your hair. His hand slides down your stomach and creeps under the hem of shirt then glides back up, resting on your bare stomach.

“Jeez you’re cold sweetheart. Shoulda told me earlier, we coulda warmed you up.” His left hand skates over your neck and brushes the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. He folds his left arm under his head and scoots closer to you. You are cold, you’re fucking freezing actually, and his warm hands feel so good on your skin. He inhales deeply, face pressed into your hair. His hand on your stomach rubs in soothing circles.

Then he’s leaning forward and he nibbles at your earlobe. He pressed a kiss on your neck, then another, trailing down to your decolletage where his lips stop. He licks at you, then presses his mouth to your soft skin and sucks.

You don’t give him any response, not a sound or a movement. But you aren’t jumping from the sleeping bag or fighting him either. He continues to your shoulder, licking and marking you, leaving a trail of hickies. Joel glides his hand from your stomach up to your breast and cups it. He rolls his thumb over your nipple, already hard and sensitive from the cold.

A shiver runs through you and you shake against him. Your body’s response seems to encourage him and he continues. His thumb presses into your nipple hard then swirls around it. His hand traces across your chest and he grabs at your other tit, giving it attention too. You can’t help but let out a little groan, his warm hands thawing you out as they touch and grope your body. You feel his lips smile against your shoulder as he pauses his kisses.

“You like that?” He rubs your sensitive nipple between his thumb and finger and your breath hitches.

“Hmmm,” he moans into your hair, his warm breath soaking in to you. “Know ya do.”

You can feel heat beginning to pool in your core. Joel continues to feel you up from behind and you continue to feel your heat growing. He’s touching you and moaning softly in your ear and you feel yourself getting wetter. Joel seems to sense it somehow and you feel his hand move from your breast and slowly start to slide down your stomach, lower and lower till his fingers brush your waistband. He licks up the edge of ear and starts to slide his fingers into your pants.

“Joel” You protest. He ignores you. His fingers slip under your underwear.

“Joel don’t-“ His left hand reaches out and he puts a finger to your lips, shushing you. You struggle against him. You don’t want him to see how wet you are for him. His hand moves from your lips and lightly wraps around your throat. He’s not pressing down, its there just to keep you still as his other hands sinks down to your core. He slides his hand across your hair there and grabs at you. With his palm on your mound, he reaches his four fingers down to swipe across your dripping pussy.

“Oh god.” He groans when he feels how wet and ready you are. Your clit twitches at the sound.

“Oh sweetheart, you shoulda told me you were waiting.” He places another kiss to your neck. You stop squirming. Your breathing is picking up. You know this is so wrong, but his hands feel so good on you.

“So fucking wet for me. Fuck.” He dips a finger inside you and pulls it out to slide up your seem and circle your clit, spreading your slick around. His finger rubs into your clit, playing with it, then sliding back down to draw a lazy circle around your hole before pushing back inside you. He curls his finger, gathering more slick and pulls back again. He repeats, then adds in another finger, going back and forth between your clit and your weeping hole. You are slowly becoming undone, you know you won’t last much longer.

“Joel” you whine.

He circles your clit lazily with his two fingers then sends three fingers prodding into you. He thrusts them in and out, your pussy sufficiently stretched and slick now. He begins fucking you faster with his fingers.

You moan loudly, too loudly, and his other hand moves from your neck to clamp down on your mouth, smothering your sounds. You grind against him. The only sounds are your muffled cries and the soft groaning behind you as he feels your walls start to clench around his fingers.

“ s’ okay sweetheart. Cum on daddy’s fingers.” Oh fuck.

Your hips thrust into his hand at his words and you come hard against his hand. Your walls flutter and cling to him. He groans at sensation of your orgasm around his fingers. You moan into the hand clamped on your mouth and your legs twitch and kick out.

“Fuck sweetheart. That’s it.” He continues to rub little circles over your clit as your come down from your high.

Your chest is heaving and he releases his hold so you can catch your breath. He gently caresses your cheek before moving his arm back to underneath his head. It’s a gentle touch that confuses you. You lay in silence, your breathing beginning to even out. His hand rests just under your waist band, warmth against warmth. He shifts and it’s clear he’s settling in for the night, content to stay like this as he falls asleep.

“Joel?” you whisper.

“Hmmmm,” he hums sleepily in response.

“What did you say to my brother earlier? How did you get him to smile?”

“Told him a dad joke.”

“A dad joke?” Not what you were expecting. You pause, then quietly whisper, “Are you a dad?”

“I was.”

You say nothing. You know what that means. You fall asleep in silence with Joel wrapped around you.

#raider!joel #raider!joel miller x fem!reader #raider!joelmiller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #raider joel miller #raider x f!reader #raider joel #joel tlou #tlou smut #post outbreak joel #joel x reader smut #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #dark!joel miller smut #dark!joel miller x reader #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

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Hi Flower! I hope you had a great new years! Wish you nothing but the best this year! I wanted to ask real quick if you took requests. Like

With a minotaur? Like I don’t see a lot of them on tumblr - or I can’t find them - but like it can me sfw or nsfw, whatever you want. I low key think that Minotaurs are so cute. Doesn’t have to be like super extravagant or anything, like something a little cutesy fluffy. I don’t know does that make sense? But like only if you want to 😂❤️

ANYWAYS I love your work and I hope you have a great day!

Thank you! I do take requests and I've actually been working on a couple of minotaur stories but I wasn't quite happy with any of them until I decided on this one. It's a little different with a reader with yandere qualities as well. I hope you have a wonderful new year with many delights <3

'Minotaur demigod (Solomon) x water nymph reader

Word Count: 2k

🌶️ NSFW MASTERPOST 🌶️

W: nsfw monster smut, some violence and minor character death, yandere vibes

You watched the golden bull warily as he lapped water from your spring. Next to him he’d arranged some fruits he’d found and nudged them to you.

“T-thanks,” you murmured, accepting the fruit, taking a bite and picking at it with your small claws.

Normally, you only ate the fish you caught in the nearby river, but fruit was a nice treat. As a water nymph you ate your meat raw as your ancestors had done for thousands of years.

Trapped in your spring, your territory ranged a few miles in any direction on the mountain where you lived, as far as you could walk in a day. When you were small, your mother had removed your still beating heart from your chest and nestled it at the base of this spring.

Now your magic made the water sweet and endless. The forest thrived around you and creatures big and small came to drink, but your heart bound you to the spot. You could never leave. When you died another nymph would plant her daughter and the process would start all over again.

This golden bull had been coming for a few days, bringing you fruit and sleeping next to your spring. You’d thought he’d take advantage of the water and then move on, but he seemed to be settling in, spending hours lounging in the sun next to you and bringing you gifts.

“You seem to be getting quite comfortable,” you commented as he grazed on the grass around your spring. He paused for a moment and winked at you before resuming his grazing.

Suddenly he was on high alert, his ears perked and his head lowered to charge.

You followed his eyes through the woods until you too saw a handful of elf rogues tromping through the underbrush.

“A spring! Finally!” one of them sighed.

Two of them were hauling a large chest, while the others carried packs with supplies. They looked like a rough bunch, some without teeth, one missing an eye and all of them in need of a bath.

“Well look what we have here!” their leader said, spitting and examining you, “a pretty spring nymph all alone out here.”

He crouched down close to the water, apparently not noticing the massive bull pacing in the shadows.

“Come here little girl,” he said, crooking his finger at you, “we just wanna have a bit of fun. If you're good we won't hurt you.”

You drifted to the center of your pond on the lilypad on which you were sitting and the foolish rogue followed you in thinking the water was shallow and he could overpower you. It was up to a point, but nymphs didn’t live successfully in the wild for thousands of years because you were helpless.

Focusing your magic you willed the water to tug his feet from under him, leaving him sputtering even in the shallows. Every time he tried to get up you sent a new wave to hold him down as his friends watched in horror. If you kept this up you would slowly drown him.

An arrow flew past you, nicking your shoulder and bringing your game to an end. An angry snort echoed through the clearing, distracting you from the trickle of blood making its way down your arm.

The bull barreled through the archer, impaling him on his horns and when you looked, he wasn’t exactly a bull anymore, but more human…a minotaur!

The other two elves, who weren’t being drowned or gored, turned to try to help their friend, pulling out swords, but you weren’t going to let the minotaur be taken unaware from behind.

You willed a large wave of water over the two poor elves, dragging them, choking into the frigid depths at the center of your spring. You held the three of them under until they stopped moving, letting their bodies drift to a dark corner where the eels would pick them apart.

They weren’t the only bones of hapless travelers who had thought to molest you that had collected at the base of your pool.

You squirted a more gentle stream of water at the minotaur, rinsing him of the blood dripping down his neck as he dragged the body over to your pool. Sweeping it up, you maneuvered it with the others to be eaten.

He laughed and shook his head, like a dog whisking the water away. He had fluffy blondish hair that fell in his eyes and long horns you quite liked. His nose was pierced with a gold ring as were his nipples. Around his waist was wrapped a cotton wrap secured with a gold belt that did nothing to hide his bulge.

“You do not need my protection, fair water nymph,” he chuckled, rifling through the odd weeds at the edge of the pond, “yet, I still wish to assist you.”

When he found a leaf he was happy with he chewed it up and spit it into his hand.

“Come here,” he said, crooking his fingers at you.

You drifted on your lilypad over to him, curious. You jumped as he leaned down to touch your arm, but his calloused, warm fingers on your damp skin was actually quite comforting.

“It’s okay,” he purred, “it’s just for the cut.”

He patted the leaf mush onto the wound on your arm and you realized it had stopped hurting, instead the sensation replaced by a cool tingle.

“You’ve been here for days,” you commented, “what is your name and why have you not spoken to me?”

He blushed.

“Solomon,” he said, “and as for why I did not reveal myself to you, I saw what you did with the last males who disturbed you and did not wish to end up at the bottom of your spring.”

You returned his blush with your own. It was true you did have a habit of drowning males who frightened you or got on your nerves or overstayed their welcome. You were all alone in the forest, there was no one to help you. It was best to be cautious and drown first, ask questions later.

“You are no normal minotaur,” you pointed out, “you have two forms.”

He smiled at you.

“I’m a demigod, the son of a minotaur and the goddess of spring.”

Around you flowers bloomed in the underbrush filling the air with a heady fragrance.

“Then I could never have harmed you,” you added.

He chuckled.

“I did not wish to be drowned endlessly while you figured that out,” he laughed, “I can still feel pain and fear. I’m strong but your water can easily overpower me.”

You preened at his compliments and smiled.

“Why are you hanging around here?” you probed, “don’t you have someplace better to be? We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s not a village for fifty miles.”

He grinned and peered at you from under his fluffy hair.

“I was hoping that would be obvious, water lily,” he said, plucking a flower that had bloomed beside the pond and handing it to you.

Your water churned around you, your spring flashing pink and purple as your heart fluttered with happiness, clutching the blossom to your chest. Without thinking your water scooped up the demigod and enveloped him in a bubble to draw him closer to your heart.

He was frightened at first, as you followed him down, swimming alongside the bubble. He soon realized you weren’t going to hurt him and relaxed, sitting down and putting his arms behind his head and his feet up.

“It’s pretty down here,” he said looking up at the sun filtering through the green pads of the lotuses floating on the surface. Colorful fish swam by and your happy heart made the water glow pleasing colors.

“Is that your heart?” he asked, examining the small sapphire crystal tucked in a clamshell near the bubble.

“Yes, I think it wanted you nearby,” you admitted, “I’m not sure I have complete control over it. I hope you don’t want me to let you go, I’m not confident that I can.”

He looked at you and reached through the bubble pulling you into his lap.

“I don’t mind as long as you plan on making an honest minotaur out of me, little water lily,” he chuckled, “promise not to break my heart.”

You blinked at him and turned pink.

“I-I p-promise,” you stuttered quietly, overwhelmed by his scent. He had a pleasant musk mixed with the smell of grass. Leaning down he brushed his lips against yours, nuzzling you with his broad nose. You twisted around until you were straddling his lap, pushing his hair out of his eyes and looking at him gently. He’d been an attractive bull, but he was much more handsome as a minotaur with rippling abs, that hard chest, and soulful brown eyes brushed by golden hair.

He kissed you softly, sure of what he wanted. He moaned and held you close to him, winding his thick fingers through your damp hair. Brushing your lips with his tongue he coaxed your mouth open, tasting you. Underneath you, you felt his cock hardening and to your embarrassment automatically ground your hips against it.

He didn’t seem at all put out by your needy display, pushing your hair off of your bare breast so he could knead it with his big hand. Kissing you deeper, he thrust up to show you what he had to offer. As a nymph you never wore clothes, so there was nothing between you and him but the cotton wrap around his waist. That gave you a very good idea of what he was working with as it pressed into your pussy.

His hot hands traveled over your breasts and your ass, getting to know your body.

“You are so lovely, my lily,” he cooed, dragging his kisses down your neck, “you smell like sweet water and lotus blossoms.”

His tongue found your pebbled nipples and he licked and nibbled them until you were whimpering in his arms, lustily rubbing yourself against him. Pushing you onto your back on the oddly squishy floor of the bubble, he dropped his kisses lower, sucking your clit past his lips.

You moaned his name as he licked and kissed your little nub, gasping when he split your pussy with two thick fingers.

“Solomon please!” you whined, trying to fuck yourself on his hand.

He held you steady with the other one.

“It’s like honey when you say my name,” he moaned into your pussy, so you screamed it as you came on his fingers.

That made him feral, ripping the wrap off of his waist and looming over you, his huge cock bobbing against his stomach. He had gold barbell piercings down the shaft making your eyes widen curiously. He didn’t have to ask as you tipped your hips up and spread your legs for him, spearing you with it as he kissed you passionately.

You cried into his mouth as he stretched you, tears slipping down your cheeks. You felt the piercings rubbing your G-spot making the invasion that much more intense as they pressed into it. He didn’t rush, pushing into you slowly, but firmly until he bottomed out inside you with a grunt.

He pushed your legs back behind your ears, enjoying the view of his cock splitting your tiny cunt. You loved the way he snorted and huffed as he held himself back from losing it on you, but you wanted his passion, begging for more. You could hardly move as he bent you in half, rocking his heavy body in and out of you. Memorizing his face, tense with concentration, you whined as his calloused finger circled your clit.

“Your pussy is heaven,” he groaned, the pace increasing as he slowly lost control of himself.

His hands moved from your clit to gripping one thigh and one ankle so hard he would probably leave bruises as he slammed into you, holding your ankles over your head a pounding down into you. The soft membrane of the bubble cushioned your back as he railed you.

“Mine,” he growled.

His voice was no longer gentle but gruff and animal. He grunted and growled as he took you, ruining you for any other male and you came to the sound of his feral noises. The water around you flashed colors as you orgasmed, squeezing his cock inside of you.

He roared, filling you with his load, mixing with your fluids and squirting out of your pussy. After a moment of panting next to your head and flattening you back out, he pulled you into his chest as the little spoon.

“I never asked you your name, water lily,” he murmured into your hair as you curled up safe and sound at the bottom of your spring with your new mate bent around you.

“(Y/N),” you whispered and you thought you heard him repeat it as you drifted to sleep.

#minotaur #monster smut #monster x reader #water nymph #x reader #yandere x reader #minotaur x reader #yandere smut #exophelia

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lesbienyu · 5 months

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more women should get into foraging. it's a lot of fun, and you can do it almost anywhere. you learn more about your environment (yes, even in dense urban areas!) and just. ugh, it's so fun. the nerd in me loves looking up different species, reading about them, learning about uses, lookalikes, related plants, etc. it's academic but not sanitized or removed from the subject. I love folding over leaves to look at the veins to identify it, or looking up a weird plant and finding out it makes delicious tea or has edible flowers or whatever. it's so physical. I love tromping around the woods and seeing nature's bounty. it can be a great workout, depending how you do it. sometimes I just wander around the ditches by gas stations; other times, I walk deep into the forest, spending hours harvesting whatever small things I find. and not just for food- I have paintings on birch bark, string made of plant fibers, clay I dug from the earth. great way to connect with nature, learn about the environment, and get exercise and sunlight

#foraging

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hp-hcs · 6 months

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IM THE ONE WHO REQUESTED THE THEODORE X MALE READER THING AND IT WAS AMAZING I LOVE IT SO MUCH OMG

i’m glad!! 😭😭 i was stressing out so much over that one cause there’s no real coherent plot but i pROMISE I KNOW WHERE THE STORY’S GOING

ends at kind of a weird spot cause idk how to end anything ever

ty to the person who said this could be a five part series. i appreciate your confidence in my attention span.

requests? please, sir, i want some more 🥺🤲

this fire ain’t the only thing that’s camp (Chapter Two of Splinched) — death eater! theodore nott x splinched! male! muggleborn! reader

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Theodore comes tromping back into the clearing with an armful of branches, twigs, pinecones, and duff. He clumsily dumps the load into the snow, wiping snow off of the log-turned-bench by the fire pit, and sitting down.

“Okay, now what?”

“Build the fire,” you instruct. “Make a pyramid shape.”

You bring your hands together so that your palms are far apart but your fingertips touch, making an ‘A’ sort of shape to illustrate your point.

“The pine needles and dead leaves and stuff, that’s all great tinder. It’ll burn the quickest, and help start the fire. Put that in the middle of your pyramid. Build your pyramid around that with the kindling; the twigs and thinnest branches.”

Theodore does as you say, making a rather shoddy pyramid that he seems quite proud of.

You pull your blanket tighter around yourself. You sit inside the entrance of the tent, the flap open and pinned back so you can still talk to Theodore.

You had caught a nasty fever the day after Theodore’s spell, leaving you incapacitated for days. To make matters worse, an unexpected snowstorm—nearly a month too early—froze the entire forest. The storm itself reeked of bad magic; everything about it seemed unnatural.

Merlin must’ve had a vendetta against you both, because additionally during that time, Theodore’s wand had begun to spark and malfunction. The Dark spell he’d cast must’ve done serious damage to the core. But his wand had fully given up that morning, shriveling up and blackening like a spent match.

You toss him your lighter and watch as he unskillfully manages to light the tinder, by the grace of God, and cheers with a loud whoop! that sends the birds in the nearby trees scattering into the air.

“Now just add the bigger branches as needed,” you advise, your teeth chattering.

Much to his chagrin, Theodore was quite relieved with your silly Muggle knowledge. He had no idea how to make or light a campfire without his wand, but you assured him that it wasn’t difficult to do the Muggle way.

Glancing over at you with a dumb, silly grin on his face, quite proud of his own achievement, he opens his mouth to mock-boast, only to have his breath stolen from him.

You still look quite sickly, rather weak and tired, but you really make quite a sight. Against the dull olive of the tent and the muted dark blue of the blanket you’re completely enveloped in, the red, sick flush of your face stands out quite a bit. White snowflakes dot your eyelashes, and your pretty eyes seem to track his every movement.

Stop it, Theodore. You have a job to do.

Clearing his throat, he makes his way back to the tent, ducking in and sitting next to you while occasionally glancing over to keep an eye on the fire.

Your face barely peeks out from the thick blanket as you peer out at him. You clearly are thinking of asking him something.

Please don’t ask why I did it, please, for the love of Merlin, don’t ask, don’t as-

“Why’d you help me?”

Fuck.

“Hm?” Theo hums, as if he hadn’t understood you, wrapping one of the spare blankets around himself.

“You could’ve just left me to bleed out. Or you could’ve said fuck it and Apparated anyway. Why’d you help me?”

“The Dark Lord doesn’t like his things damaged,” Theo says in a gruff voice, any friendliness in his demeanor completely vanishing and signaling the end of the conversation.

You just nod, retreating back into your blanket cocoon.

You both sit in silence.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Three

#harry potter #fuck jkr #hp #hp x male reader #x male reader #gay #x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott x male reader

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prolibytherium · 29 days

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This post is killing me. If you're in a quiet forest the thing that is ~very wrong~ is USUALLY that there's a large unusual predator tromping around in there (the predator is you)

#This is up there with 'deer don't stare at people'#Come to the north woods and get the liviing shit scared out of you it is SO quiet annd the deer will stare at you SO bad (which is normal)

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vilevenom · 1 month

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Do you think you could do (pre first movie setting) grey branch x poppy bonding with a jealous creek third wheeling and forced proximity ?

Thank you in advance if you decide to!!!!!

Hello, Anon! Thank you for your prompt! Despite my love for Groppy, this one ended up pretty short, sorry! I like to think most of their bonding was in short little bursts, since Branch was still pretty pissy at her by the beginning of the first movie. Enjoy!

Branch sighed for what felt like the twelfth time as he trudged along his usual stick collecting path, ear twitching in irritation as he could hear Poppy a few feet back being "quiet" as she excitedly prattled on at Creek about how "fun it was" to accompany Branch.

"Once again, Poppy," Branch half snarled as he turned on his heel to face the two behind him, a stout scowl on his face, "I did not invite you to come with me. Second, I asked you to be quiet. You are not being quiet."

"I'm whispering! That's quiet," Poppy protested, her hands on her hips as she returned Branch's scowl with a frown of her own.

"Not quiet /enough/. You're going to attract all sorts of critters to us with your yammering," Branch groused, gesturing towards the forest at large.

"Poppy," Creek cut in, stepping between Branch and the princess, his back to the grey troll, "Perhaps we ought to go back to the village, hmm? We're obviously not wanted here." He shot Branch a look over his shoulder, before turning back to Poppy. "I mean, Branch is obviously very busy with his, ah, stick collecting. We're probably hindering him more than anything."

Poppy scoffed, waving her hand at Creek as she stepped around him. "Nonsense! We're providing company and moral support," she stated brightly, trotting over to Branch with a smile. "Would it be more helpful if we also looked for sticks?"

Branch eyed her for a moment, before shrugging and turning back around to continue tromping down the trail. "Fine. But make sure they're dry, and straight! A wet stick isn't going to do me any good, and a warped shape will be hard to store."

"Aye aye, captain," Poppy chirped with a mock salute, skipping along after Branch down the trail. Creek looked less than enthused as he reluctantly followed along behind the two.

"What about this one?"

An hour or so had passed, and Branch had gathered a dozen sticks so far, while rejecting nearly every one that Poppy offered up. He glanced at the one she was currently holding out, scrunching his nose at it.

"No. It's too thin and brittle. It'll break too easily," Branch stated, shaking his head and turning away to root through some under brush,

"Well, what kind of stick would even make Branch happy?" Creek scoffed, having only picked up one single twig as they had trudged through the woods, which he was now using to draw in the dirt as he sat on a rock.

Poppy perked up and bounced over to Branch, bouncing on her toes. "Actually, yeah! You haven't actually said what you're specifically looking for, besides straight and dry. More details would be helpful," she hummed, grinning as Branch stood back up, leaves sticking haphazardly out of his hair.

"What?"

"More details!" Poppy reiterated, waving her rejected stick in Branch's face.

Branch screwed up his face and took a step back so he wouldn't get hit, glancing briefly between a scowling Creek and an overenthusiastic Poppy. "Uh, well," he started, watching Creek throw his arms in the air and fall backwards off the rock behind Poppy, "I'm looking for weaponizable sticks. Slightly thicker, easy to carve into a point."

"Weapons?! Branch, no," Poppy shook her head, her lower lip jutting out in a pout.

"Branch, yes," Branch hissed back, scowl instantly back on his face. "As much as you want to stick your head in the sand about it, the village needs protection. Even if I'm the only one who sees it, I'm going to at least make sure we have defense against critters."

Poppy's shoulders dropped sadly as Branch glared her down, only to jump as a hand landed on her shoulder. She turned a panicked look over her shoulder, sighing in relief as she realized it was only Creek. She had momentarily forgotten he's tagged along. He smiled warmly at her, giving her shoulder a little squeeze.

"Come on, Princess," Creek hummed, smiling benignly at Branch, "Let's leave him to it, yeah? We can head back to mine and bake some cupcakes? Bring some positivity into the world, instead of violence." His smile grew thin as Branch visibly bristled in front of them.

Poppy chewed on her lip for a moment, before shaking her head, and subsequently Creeks hand from her shoulder. "No, no. Branch is right. There are some nasty critters out here. Maybe a few defenses wouldn't be so bad."

Branch blinked in surprise at Poppy's acquiescence, his entire posture immediately relaxing. "Wait…really?"

Poppy perked up at Branch, a bright smile growing on her face. "Yeah! I mean, I would prefer more of a deterrent kind of defense or trap…could we do that, instead of something that hurts them?"

"I mean, that only works so well," Branch waved a hand in the air, noticing as Poppy's smile slowly dimmed, a nearly unnoticeable dark flush creeping across his cheeks as he waved a hand through the air, "Not that it couldn't work at all! Maybe we could do a mix of both. Deterrents at the forefront, and something more, uh, harsh for the more determined critters?"

Poppy clapped her hands together, bouncing on her toes as she nodded enthusiastically, thrilled to have Branch actually engaging with her. "Okay, yeah! Maybe we could do some nets? What do you need to make nets?"

The tiniest of smiles curled Branch's mouth as he nodded along while Poppy began to ramble about her ideas in regards to non-lethal traps. Meanwhile, Creek was left with a fierce scowl on his face, arms crossed over his chest as the other two began walking away down the trail, completely forgetting about his existence as they went. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and take a couple of calming breaths before storming after the two. He was not about to leave the village recluse alone with the princess.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #groppy #trolls branch #trolls poppy #trolls creek #broppy #things that i wrote

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salstray · 3 months

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Keegan P. Russ x fem!Reader - Guardian Angel - part 3 3rd person pov warnings: blood, guns, knife wounds 1.8k words

~The Meet Cute~

Part 1 = Part 2

No one was invincible.

Keegan was always careful to remember that. It didn’t matter how much training you had, how many years you’d been at it, and sometimes it didn’t even matter how careful you were. Sometimes it was just sheer luck that got you where you were.

In this case, it was bad luck.

It wasn’t life threatening. A knife wound on his thigh, a few inches off from his artery, but leaking blood like it didn’t matter. Like it wanted to kill him or, at the very least, leave a crystal clear trail of crimson in the snow. A perfect path for every Fed soldier combing the mountain side to use like birds following breadcrumbs.

It wasn’t life threatening. Not in the traditional sense at least, but he was alone out here. Alone, unlucky, and outnumbered.

He needed to move. To push himself away from the tree against his shoulder and head deeper into the frozen underbrush. Hide himself somewhere low and quiet where he could deal with his leg and wait for the all clear from Merrick, but it wouldn’t matter where he hid, how well he covered his boot tracks, if the blood was still dripping from his heel with every step.

The not so distant sounds of Spanish reached his ears and he resisted the urge to swear into the open. They were too close. Too damn close for him to do anything.

Keegan crouched low, wincing silently at the pull of flesh at the edges of his wound. The warm gush of his blood squeezing out of his veins made an unpleasant shudder roll up his spine, but he took a deep breath and raised his gun instead of dwelling on it. Getting hurt was never fun, yet it was still part of the job.

He put his scope up to his eye, slowly scanning it back and forth, spotting the shifting of his enemies and their snow-colored camo through the trunks of the surrounding pines. Keegan counted six men and pressed his lips together under his mask. They way they were spread out? He’d get two… maybe three before the others clocked his position and pinned him behind his meager cover. Even so, just because he counted six didn’t mean there weren’t more. Fuck knows there had been more in the convoy he’d been following-

Keegan almost jumped right out of his skin at the feeling of warm, soft fingertips barely brushing against the nape of his neck. The only sliver of flesh he showed besides the painted space around his eyes and the newly exposed tear in his own white and gray patterned cargo pants.

He whipped around, gun barrel at the ready, sweeping it from side to side into the empty air behind him, panting at the sudden rush of adrenaline and the surge of fear that pulsed through him.

Suddenly, something snapped. Loud and echoing, on the other side of the enemy, the opposite side of the forest from where he was hiding. Distant. Distracting. Sending them off shouting, weapons ready, crashing through the dormant shrubs and low hanging branches like hunting hounds after a fox. Keegan turned back to watch them, noting in his mind as his heart steadied again that he now counted eleven men tromping their way through the snow.

He was touched again, feather-light, warm against his frigid skin, and Keegan flinched.

“Easy,” that voice called, making him freeze all at once. “Let me help.”

The hand at his scruff gently slid to his shoulder, but before it could settle there, before the other hand could slide past him to rest on his thigh and heal the wound that was still dripping onto the snow, Keegan stood and turned.

His gun was up, the hot end pointed directly into a pair of shimmering eyes. Wide and worried, but not at all afraid and not even slightly surprised.

“Who the fuck are you?” Keegan growled, low and quiet, well aware of the fact that he was still in enemy territory. Still close to a lot of people that wanted him dead.

“Your leg-”

“Answer me or I will shoot you.”

It was a woman. Shorter than him, softer than him. Not even dressed for the weather… no vest, no radio, no flag to show her loyalty to one side or the other. Just… clothes. She wasn’t even shivering and the mountain was nearly below freezing at this time of year. His brow pinched ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed harshly as he took her in. Watched her stand there, her hands slightly raised in surrender, her flickering eyes dancing between his own and the place he’d been stabbed.

When she spoke to him again, it was a name. Her name. Then a small smile curled at her lips and Keegan’s heart did something… funny at the sight of it. Something he didn’t exactly like that it was doing.

“What are you doing out here?” He hissed, keeping his gun level with the tip of her nose. “Where did you come from?” Keegan’s eyes barely moved. Barely glanced at the fresh, unbothered snow behind her. It was pushed up around her shoes, bunched up at her ankles and near her calves, but there was no trail behind her that suggested she’d walked up to him. It looked more like she’d just… appeared where she stood.

“I want to help you.”

“How?”

Her eyes, still bright with emotion, fell back to his thigh. “You’re bleeding.”

“Not the first time,” he grunted.

She huffed, her smile twitching up on one side. “Not the last either, I’m sure, but I’ll be there for you then too. Like I was up in that sniper nest… remember? The house on the hill?” Keegan’s jaw shifted under his mask, the rough, aged fabric rubbing uncomfortably against the stubble that grew there.

It had been four months since that day. Since he’d been shot, nearly killed, yet got up and walked off like it had never happened. He dreamed about that night. Constantly. Vividly. A picture perfect reenactment his unconscious mind gave him to analyze over and over and over again. A situation that he’d still not come to terms with. Something he still couldn’t rationalize in any way that made sense.

“You…,” he muttered, voice barely more than a rough, ragged whisper. “...that was you.”

She beamed at him, her smile full and bright and… beautiful.

“Yeah. That was me.” She clasped her hands behind her back. Again, her gaze fell to his leg. “Will you let me do it again?”

“M’ not dying this time.”

“Don’t need to be dying for me to help,” she stated. “Just need to be hurt.” Then she looked right down the barrel of his rifle and Keegan, for some fucking reason, felt himself flush under all the paint. Slowly, he let it fall back down towards the ground, the butt of it sliding loose from the nest of his shoulder.

“Right.” Maybe it was stupid, maybe she was some Fed assassin that had come down from the trees or something, but he took his eyes off of her. Turned to look the way his known enemies had gone, making sure they were still running off after their red herring, then turned to face her again, nodding once.

He was tense when she took a trudging step forward. Had his fingers tight against the icy metal of his gun, all his muscles wound up and at the ready, should he need them.

She didn’t attack him, however. Didn’t pull out a knife and gut him where he stood. Just reached forward with one hand, splaying her fingers across the now ruby red fabric, her palm pressing into the gore with a silent squelch that made him press his lips together under the mask. His eyes flickered down to the contact, then back to her face and he decided all at once that he didn’t like the way blood looked on her skin, but he did like the look of concentration that twisted her features. It was… cute.

Keegan almost had to shake his head to dislodge the thought from his mind. Now was not the time.

He’d already felt the warmth of her hand through his layers. She wasn’t even touching him skin to skin, but he could feel it through everything. Feel the way it poured into his bones, into the twitching skin as it slowly sewed itself back together. The chill of drying blood vanished too and Keegan’s eyes widened a touch as it faded from his white camo. First a bright sort of vermilion, then a rapidly vanishing pink, then back to the broken pattern of gray, white, and black that hid him in the mountains and the forest.

When his eyes met hers she was smiling again and he felt the absolutely traitorous pull of a matching gesture at the right side of his lips.

He’d never been more thankful for the mask.

“There. All better.”

“What are you?” he breathed, blinking a few times as his thoughts caught up to him. As the reality of what had just happened was finally carved permanently into the wrinkles of his brain.

“Just someone that wants to keep you safe,” she answered simply. She took a step back, her feet planted back into her original prints and bent to the side to look past his arm, out towards the trees. “You shouldn’t stay here. The Federation is still too close.”

As if on queue, the low growl of Merrick’s voice filtered through the static of his radio and Keegan jolted as it sounded in his ear.

“Keegan! Time’s up, Hesh’ll be waitin’ for ya by the river mouth. Haul ass, Feds aren’t happy and they know we’re here!”

The motion he made to reach up and respond was second nature at this point. “Copy,” he rasped, eyes still locked on the strange, pretty thing in front of him. When his glove settled back on his weapon, he spoke again. To her. “When am I gonna see you again?”

She shrugged. “Depends on when you get hurt again.”

What if I wanna see you outside of that? He had so many questions he wanted to ask. So many things he didn’t understand about her and why she was even here. To help him, sure. She’d said that point blank, but why him? Why not any of the other Ghosts? Why not any other soldier out there, fighting to take back their home?

Keegan didn’t voice any of them, though. He simply grunted, adjusted his hold on his rifle, and glanced over his shoulder, back out over the snow.

And when he turned to give her some sort of goodbye, he found only fluttering snow and frosty wind in front of him. Along with two deep pits where she once stood. The only evidence that he hadn’t, in fact, lost his mind up on that hill, in that house.

So, instead of speaking, he sighed. Heavily.

Then turned and bent at the knee, gun barrel raised and eyes sharp.

#Call of Duty #Call of Duty: Ghosts #CoD Ghosts #Keegan P Russ #Keegan P Russ x Reader #Keegan CoD #Keegan x Reader #Fem!Reader #Keegan x Fem!Reader #Keegan P Russ x Fem!Reader #oh my god its part 3!#oh my god reader is finally SPOTTED

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snootlestheangel · 6 months

Text

3 Vets Get Lost Hunting Slenderman

Uploaded by: Gaz Falls Down

*A/N: I've never played this game, so if you have just ignore the inaccuracies, kay?*

The home screen for an old game fades into view. In the top left corner is a face cam focused on a young man, a navy headset resting comfortably on his head. The mouse on the screen circles around the haunting figure on the main screen; Slenderman.

"Watchu lookin' at, creepy ass?" The man says, his voice gentle and British, before letting out a few chuckles. His eyes quickly widen though as the sounds of someone obnoxiously clearing their throat cuts through the creepy ambience of the game.

"Bruh." A different voice, this one American, says in response and Gaz can't help but laugh.

"Gaz, start the fucking game!" A gruff Scottish voice yells at him, and he makes a mocking of the man's whining.

"Alex isn't in the lobby yet, relax."

"Yeah, relax, bitch." Alex, the American presumably, snaps back, the smile evident in his voice.

"I dinnae fookin' care. Start it without him." The Scot snaps again and Gaz comically frowns. He doesn't get a chance to respond as another player joins the lobby, the tag "MYLEG" breaking him into a fit of laughter.

"Alex! You can't do that..." Gaz laughs out as the screen zooms in on 'MYLEG has joined the game'.

"What? I couldn't think of anything else, okay?" Alex says defensively despite the slight laugh that accompanies. The screen is suddenly zoomed in on the bottom left where it shows 'SoapDish has disconnected'.

"Oh, I got disconnected." Soap mutters and Alex is quick to break up with laughter. Gaz leans forward and grabs his mic, pushing it closer to his face as he takes a deep breath.

"SOAP!" He shouts, and is quickly cut off by a loud beep and a static-filled screen. The static disappears to reveal Gaz's screen once more, where he's revealed to be stranded at the edge of a dark forest. Fog of questionable origins drifts around the base of the trees, obscuring a decent amount of the ground. Gaz turns sharply to his left, only to be face to face with another player's in-game character. The tag "SoapDish" rests above the character's head, although the character's bright orange beanie would be distinct enough for telling the difference between Gaz's friends.

"You look fucking stupid." Soap mutters rather creepily as his character steps even closer, only for Gaz to shake his head and back away.

"Get away from me." Gaz says as he tries not to laugh. The old-style rendering of their characters looked almost comical when up-close, and Soap kept inching his character closer, filling Gaz's screen.

"Who you calling stupid?!" Alex suddenly snaps as his character forces itself in between Gaz and Soap's.

"Your boyfriend." Soap mumbles again and the screen fills with Gaz's webcam as he makes a disgusted, almost scared face as he furiously shakes his head.

"Why are you talking like that?" He manages to force out as he watches Soap and Alex's characters push into each other.

"I got told to shut the fuck up." Soap replies just as quietly and with a small laugh. Gaz throws his head back with a loud laugh as Alex joins in with a chuckle.

"Aw, look at you, being a good boy." Alex says, and Gaz immediately quirks a brow and turns his eyes towards his camera. Soap lets out a weird chuckle as Alex's character looks up and down, making it appear as though he's patting Soap's head with his flashlight.

"Aye, yeh know it." Soap snickers and Gaz's eyes widen again, his face filling the screen once more as he looks to his camera in shock.

"Ayo?"

The video cuts to footage of Gaz tromping through the woods of the game, his flashlight barely illuminating the world around him.

"So, what is the goal? Collect pages?" Soap asks as his character suddenly runs in front of Gaz. Gaz cocks his head as he continues to watch Soap's character run back and forth in front of him. Eventually, he pans over to see Alex's character standing still as well, turning to him at the same slow speed. The two immediately break out into laughter, and continue on with their search.

"Yes, we're looking for pages. When your screen starts glitching, that's when he's near." Gaz answers as he presses on through the woods. Soap's character quickly darts away as the Scot says something about splitting up.

"Guess that means we're alone now." Alex whispers seductively as his character appears on Gaz's screen. Gaz lets out a small laugh, an obvious blush creeping onto his cheeks. He continues trying not to laugh as Alex's character pushes against his, and soon the screen is zoomed in on his face cam once again, accentuating the shy way Gaz keeps glancing away from his screen.

"I'm still in the discord." Soap suddenly snaps as Gaz's laughter refuses to be contained. Gaz tries to stifle his laughs again as Alex's character suddenly stops moving.

"What are you doing?" Gaz whispers as Alex's character slowly approaches again. Alex lets out a small kissing noise before his character runs off, Alex cackling maniacally as he does so.

"Oh my god..." Gaz whispers to himself as he has to duck his head, genuinely flattered by his boyfriend's antics. The three fall quiet again as they all search for the remaining pages, but it doesn't last long as Soap suddenly shrieks.

"I found him." Is all Soap says after a moment of awkward silence. Alex snorts into his mic before screaming as well.

"Don't do that!" Alex shouts and Soap cackles, leaving Gaz to raise his brow in questioning. The two begin to argue about Soap having scared Alex, and Gaz simply ignores them as he furrows his brow with focus, determined to find something other than trees.

"Oh shit." The faintest whisper leaves Gaz as he's suddenly fallen into a small hole in the game's map. His face goes through a flurry of emotions as he panics, his screen shaking with every flick of his mouse as he tries to remove himself from the hole. The sound of his keys clacking as he tries desperately to move becomes increasingly louder as he begins to laugh.

"Gaz?" Soap asks once Gaz starts to full on laugh.

"I fell in a hole." Gaz manages to get out, only for the other two to groan in response.

"Baby... Really?" Alex draws out his words, pretending to be annoyed by the situation. Gaz can only laugh as he realizes he's genuinely stuck. Soap begins to make fun of him for falling into a hole, and soon the brief flashes of two flashlights fill Gaz's screen.

"Babe, how?" Alex asks as his character approaches first, crouching to be closer to Gaz's level. The video zooms in once again to Gaz's face as he lets out a wheezing laugh and sinks into his chair.

"Oh no, he's wheezing." Alex mutters as Soap's character also approaches, shining his light directly into Gaz's view.

"Hmm, looks like we're gonna have teh cut yer leg off, Gaz." Soap says after his character can be seen lifting his head up and down, surveying Gaz and his current dilemma.

"Ah, yes. Good thing I'm an expert at that." Alex responds, only for Gaz to let out another loud, wheezing laugh.

They stand around for a good minute as they try to find ways to get Gaz out of the hole he glitched into, yet none of their attempts are successful. Just as Gaz is beginning to give up, his screen begins to flicker and a droning static drowns out the ambient music.

"We have to go! Bye Gaz, yer sacrifice is worth it!" Soap suddenly shouts as his character begins to run off. Alex's character is soon to follow, both of their lights flickering in and out.

"Oh wow, okay. Thanks, Alex, glad to know you love me." Gaz teases as he's suddenly jumpscared by the haunting entity from the title screen.

"I do, and because I love you, I'll find the last page and win!" Alex retorts while Soap laughs. Gaz is left spectating Alex's character as he runs around, frantically searching for the last page.

After several jumpscares caused by them running into each other, Soap and Alex become genuinely frustrated at the lack of a final paper.

"I'm gonna kill you in your sleep." Alex snaps as he runs into Soap once again. Soap only cackles and runs off.

"Alex, behind you!" Gaz shouts upon noticing the last page, thanks to his advantage as a spectator. Alex's character spins around, flashlight frantically scanning the area.

"Why would you say that?!" Alex snaps, and Gaz frowns in confusion.

"The fuck you mean?"

"He's not here!" Alex adds, still spinning wildly, almost as if the specter will appear at any moment.

"No, the fucking paper, love!" Gaz snaps and Alex stops spinning.

"Oh!" Alex finally manages to grab it, only for him to immediately scream.

"RUN!" He shouts as he quickly turns and bumps into Soap's character. Soap also lets out a high-pitched yelp as he lays eyes on the monster. Gaz watches as the two run through the woods, anxiously switching between the two in spectator mode.

"Oh thank fuck." Alex breathes as the two successfully escape.

"I don't think we're ever playing this again." Gaz says as he starts to laugh.

"Too embarrassed yeh got stuck in a fuckin' hole?" Soap snaps playfully, and Gaz sticks his tongue out despite knowing Soap can't see him.

"Fuck off."

"Hey, do the YouTube thing!" Alex suddenly interjects, and Gaz shakes his head.

"No, I'm not doing that."

"Like the video! Smash the subscribe button!" Soap growls with mock enthusiasm and Alex starts to laugh.

"Turn on notifications so you never miss a video!" Alex adds, only to finally break Gaz, making him laugh.

"I fucking hate you both." He says as he hides his head in his hands.

The screen changes to play a gif of someone, presumably himself, falling from a great height, a rope attached around his waist. In the bottom it credits the artist as Soap, and the refrain of a song heard in the background is credited as being Moth by HELLYEAH.

Taglist: (want added?) @4me2knowandyou2findout @stargatenovus @stuffireadandenjoy @midnight193

#youtubers au #cod youtubers au #gaz is a gamer #kyle gaz garrick #alex keller #alex keller mw2 #gazalex #alexgaz #gaz x alex #john soap mactavish #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod au #cod drabble

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augustjustice · 9 months

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steve making eddie kiss mr bear 👀👀👀

Thank you so much for the ask!!! I really appreciate it.

This fic is directly inspired by this thread on Twitter. It's a fluff fic with established Steddie, and is basically just Eddie coming to the full revelation that, in contrast to Steve's "Mr. Cool" reputation in high school, his boyfriend is a grade-A dork who flirts primarily by being a goofy little guy (and also realizing just how much he's into that lol).

Snippet below:

Both he and Robin were the self-admitted klutzes of the group (and wasn’t that still bizarre to acknowledge, even in his own head–he’s a member of the little monster-hunting gang, these were his people now). But between Robin’s inability to run like anything other than an awkward baby deer, and Eddie’s own penchant to trip over his feet like a cartoon character, on paper, they should easily take spot as the most clumsy duo.

Steve, on the other hand, Eddie has seen in action. He’s all athletic grace, right? Taking out interdimensional creatures like it’s nothing, tromping across spooky, Upside Down forests barefoot. As they fought their way across literal hell over Spring Break, his movements were brutal but efficient, his gait steady and sure of himself.

And look, as much as he liked to play it off…Eddie has pretty vivid memories of Steve from high school, prowling the halls of Hawkins High like he owned the place in his douchebag aviator sunglasses. Hate him as he might have (claimed) at the time, there was an undeniable aura of nonchalant cockiness that had seemed to hover around Steve.

Basically, Steve Harrington was like…the epitome of high school cool.

So, yeah. Steve was coordinated and suave and charming. Couldn’t be anything else, really.

Except…

Just last week, after Eddie had agreed to a movie at his place Friday night–as though he even had to ask, like Eddie wasn’t already a sure thing–Steve had winked at him, shooting a pair of finger guns in his direction…before he promptly backed into the first row of shelves in Family Video's horror section. His exclamation of oopsie daisy! as he just barely managed to keep three copies of Halloween from hitting the floor haunted Eddie’s dreams.

The worst part was, Eddie couldn't help replaying the moment over and over again in his mind, thinking about how undeniably...cute, Steve had looked, trying to recover the moment by shoving the VHS tapes back into place and shooting Eddie a sheepish, lopsided grin.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #wip game

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adrift-in-thyme · 1 year

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I don’t really have anything super specific but would you be willing to write some Four and Wild bonding? 👀

Ooh Four and Wild. I haven’t gotten a chance to write much for them! Thanks for the prompt!! <33

This kinda became emotional hurt/comfort cause I couldn’t resist lol. I hope you enjoy!

(Fic is under the cut)

——————

Sometimes it gets a bit too loud.

One would think with so many memories gone, that it would be quiet in Wild’s brain, maybe even empty. But there’s never a dull moment in there. The absence of memories, the gaping spots where there’s only darkness, compete with the broken shards of what he believes once was his life.

Then there are the short-term recollections of the present, snippets of conversations or arguments, images flashing by at the speed of light. And sometimes in the dark of night when sleep won’t come and the hoots of owls and howls of wolves are the only thing keeping him company, it all becomes too much.

All his thoughts press down on him—memories, regrets, spots of gaping nothingness that should be filled, and the fear comes with it. Its cold fingers wrap around his heart and squeeze until he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything except for icy, debilitating dread.

Dread of what he isn’t certain. Of his memories returning? Of them never coming back? He can never really figure it out.

So, tonight, just as he has on all the other nights, he lies there on his back, listening to the even breathing of his brothers. And trying desperately not to lose it.

In the past, Twilight has often awoken, sensing his discomfort. He’ll transform and curl up beside him, quiet as can be, and Wild will run his fingers through his fur, finding comfort in its softness and warmth. But he knows that won’t happen tonight. It’s been mere days since the rancher’s near-death experience and he’s still spent from it. All of them are, to be honest, which is why Wild really wishes his exhaustion would win out and he could drift off.

But he couldn’t be that lucky.

Finally, after what feels like hours of lying there feeling miserable, he shoves himself to his feet and tiptoes out of the inn.

The town outside is quiet, but not quite enough. Civilization never really is.

The forest beckons and he turns toward it.

The walk isn’t too long, certainly not as long as he felt it was when he last made the journey. He had been running then, racing to escape the guilt and the pain, the hopelessness and death, but it had seemed an eternity before he could get away from the crowded streets.

He had needed to get away so desperately. The urgency he feels now is not quite the same (and by Hylia he’s ever so grateful that it’s not), yet even still it suffocates him. The closer he grows to the tree line, the faster he walks.

He has just reached it when a voice pulls him to a stop.

“Champion?”

Four walks out from the shadows of the trees, brows pulled together in a frown. He clutches a broken sword in his hand—the one Wild had thrown at his feet. Wild glances at it, a different sort of discomfort joining the first kind.

“What’re you doing away from the others?” The smithy asks.

He comes to a stop a short way away and Wild drags his gaze up to his. There’s a split second in which Four’s eyes are a multitude of colors, his usual blue swirling with red and purple, dark blue and green. Then, it’s gone, so fast Wild wonders if he even saw it at all.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he manages. It comes out sounding strangled despite his efforts. “It’s kinda late for a walk…or blacksmithing.”

Four looks at him and it feels like he’s seeing right through to his very soul. “It’s a bit late for a tromp through the forest as well.”

Wild swallows. It’s a misdirection of a misdirection, and he understands it, really he does. He doesn’t want anyone to know why he’s out tonight either. Least of all the smithy. Things are still too tense between them, too awkward.

Still, he hates it. He didn’t come out here to have a verbal spar, or to let someone to study him, discover the tumult within his mind. He wants to make peace with Four, not make things worse, and right now, worse is the only direction things can possibly go.

The sooner he can be on his way, the better.

“What can I say?” He shrugs, plastering a sheepish grin on his face. “The forest is nice in the dark. It’s quiet.”

Four glances over his shoulder at where he came from. Wild can’t see his expression but there’s something different now about the way he holds himself. It’s almost as though he’s struggling to keep his shoulders from slouching, fighting to keep his posture straight, his body upright. Wild knows the feeling well—the desperate want to curl up and block out the world, the battle to continue functioning instead.

He cocks his head, curiosity sparking to life within him. The smithy is always so self-contained, so controlled. Could he really experience that same yearning?

There’s a pause, long and drawn out, a bit awkward. Then, “Yeah,” the smithy says, voice low, “it’s peaceful.”

He turns to Wild and his gaze has gone soft. There’s a little red in his irises, now, Wild is sure of it.

“Sometimes, when it’s all a bit much, it’s a nice place to be.”

It’s quiet for a long moment. Wild shifts, clenching and unclenching his hands. He can’t tell if this is an effort to empathize with him, or perhaps even to extend an olive branch. Or if maybe, just maybe, Four is opening up, letting him in.

And if that’s the case then…well, maybe it’s a sign that he’s safe to open up a bit too.

“Do you…” He looks down at his feet, unable to meet Four’s eyes any longer. “Does it become too much? In your head, I mean.”

“It can.” Four walks over to a small rock and lowers himself onto it. Wild sees now how tired he looks, how small and vulnerable. “If there’s any kind of disunity within me, it gets…”

He glares into the distance, looking for the words.

“Loud,” he finally settles on saying. “It gets really, really loud.”

Wild steps closer. “And is it loud right now?”

Four doesn’t reply. He merely stares down at the remnant of a sword laid across his legs, hair shielding his expression.

Somewhere far away a wolf howls and an owl screeches. As the silence grows, the sounds of the night swoop in to fill it.

At last, he speaks, sounding very, very small.

“Yes.”

Wild plops down beside him. It’s strange but being still suddenly no longer feels like a death sentence. Not now with Four looking the way he does, the way Wild feels inside.

“I’m sorry,” he says, setting a hand on Four’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize anyone else got that way. I thought maybe it was just—” He gestures, vaguely. “You know, the whole memory thing.”

The smithy gives him a small smile. “I always thought mine was a byproduct of using the Four Sword. It amplifies my emotions even when I’m not split, so it only seemed natural that they would become overwhelming.”

“Never feels natural though.”

“No.” Four clasps his hands together, one thumb rubbing absently against the other. “No, it never does.”

They lapse into silence again, simply sitting side by side, watching clouds float over the moon. Wild closes his eyes and lets himself feel the breeze ruffling through his hair, the damp night air caressing his face. It takes him a moment to realize that he can breathe again.

Well, what do you know? He guesses Twilight’s right about the whole talking-about-it thing.

“Look at us,” he murmurs, a small grin tugging at his lips, “having a little heart-to-heart after everything. I never would’ve thought.”

“Yeah…”

When he opens his eyes, Four is gazing at the sword again.

“I want to fix what’s broken,” he says, suddenly. He turns to Wild with an expression so open and sincere it’s shocking. “And I want to start with this.”

He holds up the shattered weapon and Wild stares at it.

“You don’t have–”

“Yes, I do…and I will.”

There’s a pause. Then, Wild shrugs. It’s a nice gesture (plus, he’s in desperate need of a sword at this point). Besides, if there’s anything he knows about the smithy, it’s that he’s just as stubborn as the rest of them.

You know one Link, you know them all, after all.

“Okay.” A slow grin spreads across his face. “But lemme do something for you in return.” He holds up a shield. “Ever been shield surfing?”

A short time later the two of them fly down a hill, neck and neck, the sounds of their laughter and shouts echoing across the plains. And as they race forward, Wild can’t help but think maybe it isn’t so bad having the smithy around after all.

No, not so bad at all.

#trin writes #lu wild #lu four #linkeduniverse #emotional hurt/comfort #the-sleepydetective

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edupunkn00b · 9 days

Text

Progression, Chapter 6: Eyes Closed

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The Muse finds someone who needs his help. Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, Day 6: Body Swap WC: 1303 - CW: a child in peril, minor character deaths (unnamed characters, not the child) A little mind-bendy (that's a bit of a given with Remus' Illusion powers, though.)

The Muse ran.

Broken bits of brick from the latest building lost to ivy battered bare feet and the tangled underbrush threatened to drag him to the ground. He stumbled, feet wetted with crushed moss and blood slipping on the forest floor.

“I see you!” A deep voice sing-songed and echoed against the trees, laughter coming from everywhere at once. "You can't hide from us!"

His lungs burned and he’d lost count of the scratches and bruises on his shins, his arms, his face. They’d first spotted him at dusk down by the creek and he’d been on the run ever since. Every time he thought he’d escaped, every time he thought he’d hidden well enough and long enough, they’d see him trying to sneak away and once again, they’d pick up their hunt through the dark woods.

He dodged to the left, crashing blindly into the thicket and hoping it might slow his much larger pursuers. Thorns grabbed at his skirt, tearing at his skin but he kept running.

His skirt?

The Muse forced his eyes open and stared up at the bright ceiling lights in his room. No, not his skirt… there was someone else. Someone close. Someone hurt.

But they were getting further away and it was getting harder to fight through the buzzing shield around his room. The Muse rolled onto his stomach. His hands and knees were scraped raw, muscles screaming under the strain of movement. When he closed his eyes, he saw the forest, tasted the moss and dirt. And blood.

Inch by inch, he dragged himself to his door. Using first the handle, then the frame, he pulled himself to his feet and palmed the control. His own weight pushed the door open and he fell past the shield and out into the hallway.

Color and light and ice and fire consumed him and filled him to bursting. The world crackled through his nerves, through every cell. A tiny child laughing, clapping her hands when her doll sang. A couple yelling horrible things to each other, unbreakable dishes crashing against the wall and bouncing off back at them. The rush of air as a man fell. Fingers torn and bleeding and…

The Muse shook his head, searching for the girl in the woods. Her sweater had been itchy, sticky with sweat but it protected her arms so she kept it on. Feet numb, knees bleeding, she shivered now, tucked between gnarled tree roots, a crook filled with mold and petrified rat droppings. She pressed both hands to her mouth, muffling her pants as large men—Powereds, too, too large to be Traditionals—tromped over her hiding place.

-”Jannie…”- he pushed past the sharp static of Jannie’s usual shield. He wasn’t supposed to, he knew he wasn't supposed to, that it hurt them both when he did, but this was important. Cold ice slashed at his mind as the static broke. -”Jannie! Jannie, help us…”- His eyes fell shut again as the vision took him.

“Love?” Luc’s voice was so very far away. “Love… wake up!” Orange light bled through Janus’s eyelids and he burrowed deeper under the covers, hiding from the soft hand shaking his shoulder, the insistent voices in his head. “Jan!”

-”Jannie…”- The desperation in The Muse’s voice finally pulled him from his dream—nightmare? No, not a dream. -”Jannie, help us!”-

“The Muse is out,” Janus mumbled, shivering under the warmth of their comforter.

“I know, love,” Luc nodded, hands warm at his shoulder, his cheek. Janus finally opened his eyes and noticed the bright glow of Luc’s. “You were…”

Janus became aware of the tears streaming down his face, his neck. The pillow was soaked. His throat was raw and his palms bleeding from tiny half-moon impressions.

Luc’s eyes dimmed and he brushed gentle fingers over Janus’ cheekbone. “You were…inconsolable without…” His voice shook and he let his hand fall away. Janus’ heart thudded in his chest at the lost contact, a bird fighting its way out of its cage.

“It’s okay…” He swallowed back a sob, the temporary easement of Luc’s powers letting through the full force of everything The Muse shared. He nodded, chasing his hand. “It—than—thank you. He—”

Luc touched him again and Janus smiled, accepting his power. He sucked in a breath and met Luc’s bright orange eyes. “He needs me,” he whispered, already pushing away the covers.

“I know.”

-“Muse… Muse, can you hear me?”- Golden light flickered through the leaves and The Muse reached out from his hiding place, fingers scraping against lichen-covered bark.

“Jannie?” he called, high pitched and broken. And not nearly quiet enough.

“I found her!” Rough hands grabbed at him, pulling his hair and yanking him out from beneath the fallen tree. “Got you, you little—“

The man’s hands grazed bare skin and The Muse saw through his eyes now. A girl shivered before him, dress torn, hair matted with blood and dirt, rivers of tears marking her face. He released her and she dropped to the forest floor, curled in a ball.

Rage and pride coursed through his veins. Filthy lust. But Jannie was there, too, and strong, steady hands circled the faint strains of the man's guilt. Strangling it. Strengthening it.

The Muse pushed back against the foul thoughts in the man’s head and shared with him the girl’s fear, the sting and burn of her cuts, the fire in an ankle that surely must be broken.

The man staggered under the weight of it. “No, please,” he muttered. “Stop!” To The Muse or to Jannie. Or maybe to himself.

They didn’t stop. The Muse pressed both hands to the man’s head and pushed in everything he'd seen. The fighting couple. The child who’d touched a stove. The man who’d fallen—jumped?—from the factory ladder. Another man, hungry and cold, sifting through the bins outside the same factory.

Everything.

He pushed it all into the pursuer’s head. With a strangled cry, he dropped to the forest floor. His friends ran to his body and The Muse touched each of them in turn, adding the memories of the one who fell before him until the bodies of a half dozen Powered rogues lay in a heap around the little girl.

-”Go home,”- he said to her as gently as he could.

Crying, she stumbled away from the men's bodies. The Muse stayed with her until she reached the edge of town and the world around him faded to black.

The floor was cool against The Muse’s back and a soft blanket had been draped over his chest. Fresh stitches itched his hands and his legs. He opened his eyes just in time to see Papa Bear slip through the door, leaving him alone with Jannie.

Jannie’s hand—his bare hand! He’d taken off his gloves and just touched him—his hand was so warm and curved perfectly over his cheek. The Muse melted into the touch, the warmth. Jannie brushed away the tears leaking from his eyes. “I got ‘em, Jannie,” he whispered. “I got ‘em all.” It was important he say it. The words made it real, made the vision real. It was all real. He'd made it real and he’d done something good this time.

“I know,” Jannie said aloud, voice breaking. “Ro and Virge found the girl and brought her to her parents.”

The Muse smiled, wincing at the tug of stitches he hadn’t noticed along his jaw. -“We did it”-

“We did,” Jannie said, so quiet The Muse had to strain to hear. “Rest now, Muse. Rest…” His eyes were half-closed when Jannie slowly pushed up to his feet and shuffled to the door.

As the door sighed closed, the last thing The Muse saw was Jannie falling into Lucas’ arms, the hallway lit in the bright orange glow of his eyes.

#Progression #ts remus #ts janus #ts lucas #Meus ex Machina #The Mad Lads Universe #dukeceit #demus #platonic dukeceit #superpowers #janus sanders #remus sanders #lucas sanders #examines fingernails through gloves‚ what do you mean‚ of course this chapter is on time

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just-a-carrot · 1 month

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So it's my birthday today, and my mom got some balloons. By pure coincidence, they ended up matching the OW cast's colors!

The Gidget balloon is actually more pink IRL, but the lighting makes it look purple, so I still consider it a win. :3

OHHHHHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! 🤩

why does it feel like so many people have their birthdays within this small like 2 week period around the game launch HELP

but sob i love thaaaaaat ahhhhhhhh A WIN INDEED. AN OW-THEMED BIRTHDAY 😆 just don't go tromping about in the forest at night LOL and thank you for sharing this lkjadfa

AND AND I HOPE YOU'LL HAVE A WONDERFUL BIRTHDAAAAAY!! 🥳🥳🥳

#ask: ow

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cloudninetonine · 1 year

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You panted, letting out shaky breaths as you fled through the dark woods.

You were tired, and cold, and oh so lost and scared. You had not but an hour ago gotten away from the villainous versions of your boys, Warriors’ clone aiding you with a sick grin. Now you were running aimlessly through the greenery, doing everything in your power to get as far away as possible whilst covering your tracks.

“Okay- okay, it’s fine, we’re all good.” You muttered frantically to yourself, trying to calm your flaring nerves.

“Ugh! Of course it’s not fine!” You yelled into the night, digging into your hair. “I’ll never find the others! I don’t even recognize this forest!”

Your back hit a boulder, sliding down its smooth edge as you crumpled to the ground, drawing your arms around your legs.

“I’ll never get back now…” You mumbled into your knees, letting the rivers run down your cheeks.

“(Name)?!” You shot up, fear coursing through your veins. Had those demons found you?

“(Name)?! Was that you just now? Where are you?!” That… none of the backwards ‘heroes’ had ever used your name to refer to you, they only ever called you ‘guide’ or something creepy like ‘prisoner’.

Was this…?

You decided to take a shot in the dark, “Y-yes?” You called out, straining your ears over the chirping crickets.

“(Name)! It is you! Stay there, keep talking!” The hero screeched back, his familiar voice as hopeful as it was panicked.

“I’m over here!” You felt yourself come undone from your turtle shell. This definitely wasn’t one of those fakes, this was real. Whichever Link this was- you unable to identify the voice’s owner due to the loud, fearful buzz still in your ears- was the real deal.

You could hear someone crashing through the undergrowth, branches and leaves alike succumbing to their tromping.

Finally, a silhouette shone darkly through the trees, and out popped the person you expected the least.

Legend.

He was breathing like mad, face red with sweat beading down his face despite the chill of the night air. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates once he locked onto you, pupils dilating.

“(Name),” He breathed, almost in rosy disbelief, “(Name) what- what are you doing here? Hylia, she- you left, we were too much and-“ Tears welled up in his eyes, his hands raising to scrub them away, only for him to look down at his palms with frustration as his efforts proved futile to the waterfalls now streaming down his cheeks.

You were rightfully confused. Legend was acting like he- like he cared about you! And everything else he was saying was absolute nonsense! None of it computed in your mind, leaving you a lost lamb in the dark. The crying in particular left you flabbergasted; Legend didn’t seem like the type to easily bare his emotions, yet here he was, openly weeping.

You went to stand, pushing your concerns to the side because it was him, someone from the original group, and that was better than anything, but a sudden rumble sent you tumbling backwards with a shrill yelp.

Beneath you the boulder and rocks beside it began to conjoin, moving up and up. You felt your shoulders and joints hit up against rock and stone alike, earning a scream of pain out of you as you felt scarlet blood start to spurt after a sharp edge cut down your leg.

You took one final roll before finally grappling something, a large, glimmering geode. With a startled gasp you realized that the rock you had rested against was actually a slumbering stone talus, and you were on top of it.

“LEGEND!” You cried, trying and failing to stand on your shaking legs, the bloodied one already beginning to throb with burning pain.

The talus trotted around the clearing, before throwing a rocky arm right at the veteran, who barely dodged the attack. You realized that Legend probably didn’t know how to beat this thing, so you forced yourself to take in a mighty breath despite your choked lungs.

“ITS ARMS! DESTROY ITS ARMS!” You shrieked, howling your terror as the beast leaned down to gather more earth for its lost appendage.

Within a split second, an explosion sounded off, knocking the behemoth off balance. It fell with a mighty crash, causing you to swing off its geode and land in the grass. You were swept up quickly by Legend, who darted away with the speed his pegasus boots gave him.

“That black stone,” you coughed, “that’s its weak spot.”

Without a word Legend whipped out a long, red staff. With only a slight buzz as a warning, the staff shot out a stream of burning flames, completely engulfing the geode on the talus’s back. Within seconds the stone melted from the intense heat, causing the monster to hunch over before imploding into a mass of rock shards.

You let out a pathetic “Yay” at the sight, feeling woozy.

You were carefully placed onto the ground, Legend hovering over you with an devastatingly haunted expression, looking like he had seen a ghost.

“Oh Din- I don’t have any potions on me because my stupid ass stormed out of camp! Fuck fuck- dammit!” He swore, pressing his blue cap to your bleeding leg. His eyes had a wild, almost desperate look to them, his whole body shaking.

“S’alright Ledge, I’m great a’ bouncin’ back.” You slurred your words, head full of fog.

“It’s been a long few days, I know you hate my guts an’ all-“ his gaze locked onto you at your words, concern doubling, “-but if you ‘ould haul me back to zeh others, that’s be fan-fucking-tastic. I’ll be fine until we’s gets der.”

“Hate you? Okay, you’re definitely delusional- fuck. But you’re also right, I’ve got to pull myself together.” He breathed in deeply before scooping you up as gingerly as possible, brushing a strand of loose hair from your face.

“Ah gee, you’s a softy now?” You giggled, causing the hair strand to fall back over your nose.

He smiled, “You know I’m only soft for you.” He whispered, beginning a fast pace back the way he came. “You’ll be fine, it’s fine, you’re back and safe now.” He muttered quickly to you, or was it to himself? You thought he sounded more like he was reassuring himself.

You found that it was too hard to think on, not with the creeping black cascading down your brain.

You slept, unaware of the terrible fate you had incurred upon yourself.

—

So like- what if after they ran from the villain chain, the first yan they encounter is Legend, who is like, the most suspicious because of he and his OG counterpart’s differences in behavior? But Player doesn’t get time to question it? Because there is a convenient boss battle below them? And they get all wobbly in the brain cells?

Just a thought, just a thought…

BB I FUCKING LOVE THIS SO MUCH OIUFGIFUGEFE OUR BOY LEGEND DOESN'T GET ENOUGH LOVE NOWADAYS

I really love your stuff for the Mess au it generally makes me so happy each time I see it

#cloud answers #bloodybloob #BB

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