#Adventures of Bandana Man

[margindoodles2407]

Ye Olde Bad Batch Legos

Featuring Low Quality Photos (for comedic effect) and Witty Commentary (also for comedic effect)

Behold. Das Bruders

Hunter has seen enough

I mean look at this face. He's so tired.

I'm also cackling. Why does he have the same hair mold as Ezra Bridger

(he does have a knife but we left it at home so it wouldn't get lost)

YOU.

Y O U

I'm going to be honest I'm a little upset that this is Imperial-era Cross. I want to see his cool helmet not his boring Empire helmet

haha. bald

Also he and Hunter are making the SAME expression and I'm like. Yeah that tracks. Good job Lego

This NERD

Yeah that's technically actually part of his backpack BUT they didn't GIVE him a datapad so we have to improvise

LOSING my MIND over his alternate face print. Where are his goggles. He needs them to SEE

Also that expression is SO ridiculous and also the most Tech thing I've ever seen

(ignore the uh. gash. my second-youngest sister decided to BITE HIM for some reason)

Wrecker has a gun. What's he gonna do

Sunshine In Human Form I say

Also a huge fan of the pauldron piece molding. I love it when Lego does things like that

The Lad

In an exciting turn of events my brother has given him to me. He is now MY Lego Echo. He shall never be separated from his brother Lego Fives ever again (when we get back from our trip that is. Lego Fives is still at our house)

I love how shiny his armor is. Like this photo doesn't do it justice but his and Hunter's are almost holographic

Someday I'll modify him to give him an actual scomp. This hand simply will not fly

if Hunter is tired then poor Echo is absolutely exhausted. I mean look at him there is nothing behind those eyes.

Also Boy Where Is Your Melanin (the question we've all been asking since day one i know but it bears repeating)

Look at this proud dad and his son

gonky.

G O N. K Y.

alas for everyone there is no. omega ;-;

bro if you're gonna have IMPERIAL ERA CROSSHAIR then WHY is there no OMEGA. anyway i'm not bitter about this why do you ask (she said bitterly)

[batsycline69]

Hell Knows It's Got A Home For Folks Like Me

Summary: After losing your childhood sweetheart, you sought a life of adventure. Years down the line, when your gang is gunned down by the notorious outlaw 'Two Guns,' you find the life you've built for yourself turning upside down

Pairing: Cowboy!Jason Todd x Outlaw!reader

Words: 7.2k

Content/warnings: kidnapping, brief descriptions of scars and wounds, grief, longing, hidden identity shenanigans, real threats turning to playful threats, jason likes when you're mean to him, p in v sex, reader is not described, 18+ MDNI

You always thought ‘Two Guns’ was a bad nickname. Plenty of people had two guns; what made him so special he got a moniker for them?

The speed, you understood, was what made him so special. The precision of his shots, even on the back of his galloping horse. Even as he took out most of your crew mates, some part of you was stunned by the way he moved.

Black Mask rode off and didn’t look back, leaving anyone still alive for dead. Two Guns was happy to oblige, scattering bodies all along the pasture.

His accuracy is an assurance that you were intentionally left alive. Prairie grass tickles your nose as he pins you to the ground. You struggle like a wild animal against the weight of his knee as it presses into your back.

“Get off me!” you snarl, trying to wrench your arm from his iron grip.

He lets out a scoff as he ties you up with a casualness that warns you he’s done this before.

If he ever thought the Black Mask gang posed as a threat, that threat didn’t include you. The thought prickles at your nerves, makes you want to spit if you could only crane your neck enough.

“Not a chance,” is his only reply. A terse muffle beneath his red bandanna. The leather of his gloves brushes against your wrists as he ropes them together before moving down to your ankles.

“Mask isn’t gonna pay for me,” you say. “You’re wasting your time. Just let me go!”

He doesn’t say anything as he hoists you up onto the back of his horse, chuckling at every threat you make against him on the way back to his camp. Given your current situation—reduced to some spoil of war—you thought your ride would be rockier, yet Two Guns takes the ride easily with you dangling over the back of his horse.

His people seem surprisingly pleased to see him. Certainly far from the reception Mask gets, but you know most of your late crew mates weren’t in the gang for love. Most of them are dead now, their lives abandoned all from the service of a man who only saw them as bodies to shield him from men like the one currently hauling you from his horse.

Two Guns shoves you towards a little tent set up at the edge of camp. Only when he plops you down on a stool inside that you get a somewhat decent look at him. He’s no longer a blur of endless action. The bandana makes it difficult to tell his age. All you can make out is the sea of his eyes, something playful glinting within them.

“What do you want?” you ask, eyes narrowed in on him.

His dark, scarred brow quirks up. The small narrowing of his eyes suggests he’s smirking at you. Right now, you feel more irritation than fear. “Black Mask usually doesn’t keep such nice company,” he says as if that answers your question. Before you can demand an answer, he pulls out the sack you’d been carrying. He must have grabbed it after he’d tied you up.

You struggle against your restraints to no avail. “Stay out of there!”

Everything clamors together as he rifles through the bag carelessly, tossing its contents onto the bedroll on the ground as he goes. He ignores your small sack of money, the small folio of maps, even the little journal of jotted notes, only to pause at a stack of yellowed envelopes.

“You’ve got a lotta junk in there,” he says nonchalantly as he turns the bundle over in his hand.

The sight of your name scrawled across those envelopes in that familiar boyish handwriting makes something snap inside of you. “Put those back!” you snarl, a new ferocity burning in your voice.

You finally catch Two Guns’ attention. “What, these your important plans with Mask or something?” He takes a step closer to you.

You’ve got plenty of choice opinions on Two Guns from everything you’ve seen of him so far, but you know he’s not stupid. If he wanted your plans with Black Mask, he could have them, but he’s already tossed them aside in favor of old letters.

“They’re nothing to you,” you reply.

“Nothing, huh?” he challenges. He undoes the tight knot binding the stack together. Your eyes follow the red ribbon as it drifts to the ground.

You remember the boy who gave you a handpicked bouquet of prairie flowers wrapped with that ribbon.

“Stop it.”

He doesn’t. Paper rustles as Two Guns pulls the letter from its envelope. You can’t make out the expression in his eyes as they scan the page.

The silence is agonizing. The sounds of Two Guns’ crew moving about camp are the only thing filling the void. You stare at the worn page in a stranger’s hand. Pages rumpled from being held to your heart as you cry and remember the boy you’d lost.

“Aw, a beau at home, huh?” he asks, glancing up from the paper.

“Put it back.”

“You carry these around with you everywhere?”

Another fruitless jerk against the ropes around your wrists. “What do you want?” you demand, your patience with his games growing thin.

Two Guns slips the letter back in the envelope, his eyes fixed on you as he does. “I want to know what a nice thing like you is doing running around with Black Mask.”

A nasty glower grows on your face. “Tough luck.” You don’t want to lose your indignation, but thinking of the words in those letters makes your heart twist in your chest.

In the schoolyard, your life seemed so perfectly laid out. You loved a boy who promised you forever. A boy whose heart seemed as wild as your own. Someday, you’d leave town, just you and him. Run away to a place just for the two of you.

Just after he turned seventeen, a falling out between Jason and his adopted father had him off to search for his birth mother. He’d promised you he’d come back for you once he found her. That you both could finally make the lives you wanted for yourselves.

In place of him, a letter found you in town. Jason’s mother had traveled with a bad crowd, and he’d gotten caught up in the middle of it.

Your mourning stretched out endlessly because moving on from him felt so unfair. Somewhere in these meadows, your heart laid buried. The walls of the life you were supposed to build together crumbled around you, and you were the only one left to clean it up. So you left. Getting married off to someone who wasn’t Jason was no life you could live. And if you could no loner find adventure with him, you would find it on your own. You never chose Black Mask out of any respect or adoration; he had money, and you needed some of it.

Two Guns gives an unimpressed hum at your resistance before pulling out another letter, eyes skimming the page again. “Let me guess. It didn’t work out too well for loverboy? Didn’t get your happy ending, sweetheart?”

Fury roars in your chest. “You don’t get to talk about him.”

Those blue eyes study you thoroughly for a moment before he puts the letter back in its envelope. The pile of letters scatter across his bedroll as he tosses them down. If you mouthed off to Black Mask like this, he’d probably kill you. For a moment, you think Two Guns might be the same.

“They feed you in Mask’s camp?” he asks instead with an evenness that makes you see red. You always knew how Black Mask was feeling from his incessant yelling. But Two Guns is giving you next to nothing to work off of.

You watch him carefully, trying to put together what he’s really asking.

“Yes.”

His eyes pass over you again like he doesn’t believe you. You brace for more questions, but none come. Wordlessly, he slips from the tent, leaving you alone with your mind cobbling together a plan.

Maybe you can slip out the back of the tent. Steal a horse. Black Mask’s gang was heading to a job; you could try to catch up? The strategy has enough gaps you know you’re better off trying to level with Two Guns, but you can’t get the image of his hands all over your letters out of your head. He’d touched Jason’s letters. Read Jason’s words that were only ever meant for your eyes. All you have left of him.

For that, you hate Two Guns. For that, you don’t care if he feeds you or offers you safety. You never found out where Jason was buried, so leafing through his letters felt the same as desecrating his grave. You want Two Guns dead for that.

The wish is enough to drive you through the burn of rope against your raw skin as you wrestle with it. But before you can make any progress, he returns, a bowl of something in his large hand. You freeze, looking at him with your eyes burning with resentment.

“You gonna run if I cut the rope?” he asks, looking down at your bound ankles.

“No,” you lie. Two Guns chuckles like he knows, but he pulls a knife from his pocket regardless. Slowly, he approaches, crouching down without moving his eyes from yours. Those damn eyes that give you nothing to work off of.

The muscles of your legs stay tight, prepared to kick if he tries anything. His blade dips between your ankles, beneath the thick rope before sawing your legs free. He keeps staring up at you like he’s waiting for you to make your move.

You don’t.

He towers above you as he rises back to his full height, gaze never shifting. You feel certain he’s trying to intimidate you as he stalks behind you. The smooth leather of his glove holds your wrist in place. You feel the rope tugging against your raw skin as he cuts, and finally you’re free.

As quickly as you can, you try to pull your arms back in front of you, but Two Guns catches your wrist just above where they’re red before you can hide the evidence from him.

“No use trying to loosen those knots. You’re not the first person I’ve tied up, sweetheart,” he says. “As long as you don’t bolt, I’ll get you something for those burns.” He turns away from you—cocky bastard—and picks the bowl back up. “In the meantime, eat.”

You stare down at the chunks of something in a thick broth and look up at him skeptically. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s stew. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the five course meals you get over in Black Mask’s camp, but it’s food.” Sarcasm. No one ever said Two Guns was such a charmer.

After you hesitantly take your bowl of mystery stew, he disappears from the tent. Your back straightens once you’re alone, setting down the stew to carefully peer through the gap in the tent. Two Guns talks to one of his crew, the expanse of his back blocking most of your view.

They speak low. From where you are, you can’t make out a single word, and Two Guns walks away before you can try to put it together through context. When he turns to rummage through a small box, you move quick to collect all your belongings strewn about Two Guns’ bedroll.

Your fingers are steady as you take great care to bind Jason’s worn letters back together—can’t say working with Black Mask never taught you anything—before tucking the bundle gently into the pocket where they’re always kept.

Time isn’t on your side, but experience is. Black Mask always had you sneak around when furtiveness was required from a job. Usually, however, you were sneaking up on belligerent drunks and not a notorious outlaw in the confines of his own tent. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Two Guns may have swiped your gun when you brought you to his camp, but he famously has two. He doesn’t strike you as the sharing type, but you don’t let it deter you. You aren’t really the asking type, anyway.

You poise yourself, waiting for the moment his hand slips through the opening of the tent. As he emerges, you reach out as fast as you can for one of the holstered guns on his hip. Fingers curl around the cool metal and tug, turning the weapon onto him as soon as you retrieve it.

Two Guns is facing you before you have time to celebrate, one hand gripping your shoulder firmly. The other holds his remaining gun just below your chin.

“Don’t tell me the stew was that bad,” he says as he crowds you. When you don’t lower your weapon, he nudges your chin with his gun. “I’d like that back,” he says with a self-assured cock of his head.

“Or what?”

He laughs. “Or you’ll have to go out there and explain to the rest of my gang why their boss has a hole in his head.” He knows you’re in no position to follow through with your threat, but the idea of admitting defeat and giving him the gun back makes you livid.

You step back as he shepherds you back to your seat. With one hand still occupied by his gun, he fishes a roll of linen out of his pocket. “Now, if you don’t give me that back, I won’t be able to wrap your wrists, and I’d hate for you to get an infection.”

“I can take care of myself,” you refute. Two Guns seizes the moment the second it occurs, disarming you and sliding the gun back to its holster as soon as you’re even marginally distracted.

“Oh, I know that,” he says. You hear the smirk in his voice. And he’s passing you your bowl of stew again. Ripping strips of linen with practiced ease.

He’s lucky he got the gun when he did. You would have pulled the trigger the second you heard that arrogance.

One of his large hands stretches out for yours expectantly, the bandage dangling in his grip.

Irritation prickles up your spine. You stare at his hand as if you don’t understand what he wants from you. Take a long, petty slurp of your stew to fill the time, your eyes never leave his.

Two Guns keeps his eyes locked onto you, hand still held out for you. He knows our game, and he doesn’t seem keen on giving you the satisfaction of his annoyance. “May I see your wrist?” he asks evenly.

You consider tossing your bowl of stew onto him, but the lukewarm meal would only serve as a minor inconvenience. So you surrender with a sneer on your face, giving him one of your rope-burnt wrists.

“Thank you,” Two Guns replies, still speaking in that same even tone that’s been steadily growing on your nerves. He sinks a knee down into the earth. The leather of his glove warms your arm as he begins to wrap it up. You know he could hold you harder than he does.

He doesn’t see you as a threat. Another reason to hate him. You’ll find Mask, make sure he takes care of Two Guns once and for all. He just lost half his gang to him, and while you certainly have no true loyalties to Black Mask or his gang, you know he’s going to be hellbent on getting back at Two Guns. You just want to be there when it happens.

When one wrist is wrapped, he holds his hand out for the other. You give it to him, still trying to work out his plan here. Why not kill you? If he thinks you’re going to tell him anything about Black Mask, he’s got another thing coming. It wasn’t like he ever told you anything anyway. You were nothing but another body for his means to an end.

“There,” he says, when your tender skin is safe behind bandages. He drops your hand and rises to his feet. “Now, stay here, and I’ll get you sorted once I’m back from killing your boss.”

“I won’t tell you where he’s going.” Two Guns must think you’re loyal to Mask, which is a laugh. Right now, your strongest loyalty is to making Two Guns’ life as impossible as possible.

“Don’t need you to,” he replies. He pulls a stack of envelopes out of his pocket, shoving them into your hands, but you don’t even spare them a glance. “Now, my guys are a lot less nice than I am, so if you’re wise, you’ll stay in here.”

He takes a step back towards the flaps of the tent. You wait for him to turn around, disappear from the tent, but he just stares back at you for a moment. Rage burns in your chest again. You want to throw whatever he passed you down into the dirt, show him how little you care about anything he has to say to you.

A gun emerges from one of his holsters, the barrel nudging up the brim of his hat like some kind of polite nod before slipping out. Without hesitation, you storm after him. What does he mean get you sorted? What’s he going to do after Black Mask is dead and gone? His step doesn’t falter even after you protest after him.

One of his men catches you by the shoulder the second the light of the sunset hits your skin. “Two Guns says you’re stayin’ here,” he says.

The outlaw mounts a hulking stallion as your stopped. In the dark corners of your mind, you understand he would need a large horse to accommodate for the sheer bulk of him. You try not to entertain the thought. Two Guns helps, making your mind go completely blank as his eyes meet yours one last time.

His gaze feels like a suckerpunch. Somehow, it’s worse when he looks away.

When he rides off and the rush of horse hooves grows faint, you’re pushed back into your captivity. Only then, do you process he handed you something.

You sit back down on the stool looking down at the envelopes in your hand for the first time.

The tent feels as if it could be at the bottom of the lake you and Jason would swim in during the sun-drenched days of youth with the way the air seems to disappear. The familiar writing makes your hand tremble like responding to a long-forgotten call. The slopes and curves of the way your name is written. You know them by heart because they’re the same ones you seek when you miss Jason so badly everything within your body aches.

These letters feel like a trick. Your optimism has long vanished. So you pull out your own savored letters to make sure Two Guns hadn’t just snatched some earlier just to pass them back. But the weight of your bundle is the same as always, all letters accounted for.

Your only next guess is that Two Guns knows something of Jason’s death. He was somehow privy to more details than you. You, who waited in town for him to come home, only to be met with a letter from one of the guys he’d been running with. The one letter you never kept.

When you realize these are letters you’ve never read—letters from Jason with your name scrawled out on the front—you immediately begin to tear through them.

The first letter is dated two months after you were told Jason died. But these are his words, his penmanship, assuring you he’s alive. A close call, but he survived the shootout that was claimed to have killed him. He had things to do before he could see you again, but he assured you soon he would.

He alludes to letters he’s never sent in the next few, and slowly, your heart drops as you make the realization that Jason chose never to mail these to you. He was alive, and he chose not to let you know.

There’s a few months gap between letters until Jason writes to you to say he’s a bad man. He does bad things because someone needs to. He’s a bad man because he never came home to you, and now he’s not sure if he’s good enough. You wonder if the things you’d done to survive would qualify you as bad too. You wonder what that changes between you, if anything.

His last letter was written yesterday.

‘Two Guns’ Todd rode to your childhood home in search of you, only to find you were no longer there waiting for him. The townsfolk told him you left town after your childhood sweetheart was killed.

Jason didn’t know where you were, but he promised he would find you.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a tear drops. The ink bleeds across the page, and you gasp like you’ve ruined something sacred. But those words are no longer the words of a dead man. They’re the words of the man who’d lived all these years without you.

You stare down at the letters long after it’s grown too dark to read them, your mind racing as you try to grapple with what this means. Everything you’ve thought for the past two years has been a lie. The boy you loved had gotten to grow into a man without you knowing.

You’d uprooted your life with the grief of losing Jason. Searching to fill the void, you decided to listen to the call of adventure. To do something unrecognizable from the life you and Jason had imagined in the field behind the schoolhouse.

Outside the tent, your guards have fallen into a drunken sleep. Their snores overpower the chirping of crickets and the whirring of cicadas. To hell what Jason wants, you decide.

You make a quick escape with one of the men’s guns, a horse, and a lantern, riding towards Black Mask’s hideout.

Jason may have most of his crew with him, but every part of you needs to be with him now, even if you are absolutely livid with him. But you can’t help but savor the thought of feeling something other than everlasting grief when you think of him. You can scream at him, shove him, tell him you hate him because he’s alive. That’s nothing you’re going to take lightly. Not when you’ve spent your days wishing to see him one last time.

You think of the way he held your wrist as he bandaged it as horse hooves thunder through the night. You think of sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees the first time you kissed him and ran away, face burning with embarrassment. You think of years later when he’d held your hand and promised you forever, eyes burning with a certainty that only comes with youth.

You find Mask’s hideout, the rest of Jason’s gang hooting and hollering of a job well done. Your eyes skim the darkness for Jason, not daring to get closer unless you know he’s there. You’re not about to risk an escort back to camp without seeing Jason first.

“I had a feeling those two wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

The voice startles you. You prepare to be bucked, but Jason is already soothing your stolen horse. And then you realize the horse was never as startled as you to begin with. Its rubbing against his outstretched hand like a friend.

“You—”

“I know,” Jason says.

“I thought you were dead.”

Jason looks at you like you’re history. Like the part of him that held you was still buried in the earth where you thought his body was. Those years feel so much longer ago than they once did now that you’re looking at him again.

“I know you did, sweetheart,” he says, a pinch in his voice.

You scoff. “Don’t sweetheart me.”

“Alright then. Darlin’?” There’s challenge in his tone. His amusement with himself gets under his skin. Nips at your nerves. All this time, and this is how he treats you now that you finally know?

You slide down from the horse. His sturdy body barely moves when you give him a shove. He waits a beat. Lets the silence settle between the two of you, the sounds of his crew seemingly drowned out amidst the tension. “I take that as a no.”

He encroaches on your space as he takes a step closer, his broad shoulders closing in on you. His eyes glimmer with the longing from your youth, only now clouded with the weight of years passed.

Memories linger like a tune stuck in your head. You’d promised him everything. You’d meant it, too. But those days have faded away, hardened by the realities of life. Jason’s boyish grin came to you only in dreams, the only real place you had left to cling to him. So you’d thought, at least, because here he is. A phantom of the time you spent mourning him. The ache you’d carried inside your chest because you couldn’t hold him.

You knew what you had. You’d known just as well what you’d lost. A boy with a wild heart. One with kindness in his bones. He stole kisses behind the school when the teacher wasn’t looking. When he was old enough, he pursued greater ambitions, promising you the life you deserved one day.

The years haven’t been kind to you, and you imagine the same can be said about the man in front of you. Jason Todd, your honeysweet boy, didn’t become ‘Two Guns’ Todd for no reason. Fear lingers in the back of your mind that you’ll never get back what you had. That this reunion will end in bitterness when you realize all your childhood dreams were bolstered by naive optimism.

Whoops and hollers of a job well done still linger behind you, though Two Guns no longer seems to be in the mood to celebrate.

“We should talk.” Nearby flames make shadows flicker across his face. Now that you know the truth, you can’t imagine how you didn’t know immediately this was Jason. How the truth has bent him back into a shape you recognize.

“You’re damn right.”

“There’s an inn in town,” he says, crossing over to his horse.

You grip the reins of the horse you stole a little tighter. “And?” you inquire, eyes narrowing.

He tugs down the worn red bandana covering the lower half of his face. That alone is enough to knock the air right out of your lungs. That’s your Jason. Yes, he looks different—a scar along his top lip, another through his cheek—but it’s him.

“And we can talk there,” he replies, turning back towards you.

“Sounds like you’re just buying time,” you reply curtly.

He gives you another look. Both of you know you’re right. He’s not happy you called him out on it. Not happy, after all this time, there are still some things you’ll always have a read on. The men following Two Guns know him as the mysterious figure none of them dare to push. But you know Jason Todd. The sweet boy from class who always got the answers right. Who got in trouble for punching another boy because he made fun of you. The one who has always—would always—have a soft spot for you no matter how hard he tried to outrun it.

As you stand before him for the first time in five years,it dawns on you he hadn’t gone after Black Mask expecting for you to be there. His last letter—his real last letter—told you he would find you. He promised, just like he’d promised he’d come home for you. But he’d made a big show of it, made sure you didn’t know who he was beneath the bandana, so the fear seemed real for his audience. His audience, of course, being the gang you ran to when you couldn’t run to him. But this is your Jason; he’d never had any malicious intent. You didn’t know who he was, but he certainly knew you.

“Then will you allow me a little time?” he asks with a terse air of formality.

You don’t want to, but you agree. The foreign look on his face haunts you enough to not want to kick up any dust. Jason doesn’t run; you’ve always known that. You read what the past five years have been like. It’s not something he can dole out in casual conversation.

Riding beside each other in the night offers you time to think, though you’re not sure you appreciate it. Your thoughts seem to go as far and wide as the prairie, racing as fast as your horses.What happens now? When you were kids, everything was so clear cut, but neither of you went in a conventional direction. When it comes to outlaws, what is the protocol for a future?

As if he knows you’re sinking too deep into your thoughts, Jason spares you a glance. His bandana is pulled back up, but you just barely see his eyebrow quirk up in the darkness. Before you can make his meaning, he begins to speed up. He’s testing you. He wants to see what you’ve picked up since he last saw you, curious by the unexpected turn your life had taken you on.

You give your horse a small kick, speeding up alongside him, shooting him a glare when he glances back your way. You’ll indulge him, but you aren’t going to play around with him.

Or so you think as he starts to speed up again.

The glow of town is so faint in the distance, and his gang is long behind you. It’s just you and him, and that has you feeling bold. So you speed up again, still looking stern as you race beside him. “You’re gonna wear these horses down,” you call over the rush of hooves.

Jason’s eyes are crinkled at the corners again. “Naw,” he replies. “Rochester loves to run.”

As you get closer to town, Jason starts to slow down and you follow his lead. You worry about being a known associate of Black Mask alongside ‘Two Guns’ Todd, an incredibly prominent outlaw, but if Jason is concerned, he doesn’t bat an eye. You’re not sure if it’s his confidence or his reputation that gets you a room in the inn, but it’s certainly not the scowl on your face plastered there to make sure no one thinks you’re there for sex.

He tosses his hat on the bed first. Slips the leather gloves off his long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember as much nimbler from childhood. Hands that had fewer scars when you knew them. Finally, he hurries with the knot of his bandana, freeing himself of the burdens of hiding who he really is.

And now, as he stands before you, and it fully registers for the first time that this is Jason. Not a ghost, nor a haunted nightmare of who he could have been had he gotten to grow up. He’s as real as you are, and your heart pounds with the ache of it.

“Why didn’t you send those letters?” The flame of your anger seems to have been snuffed, now leaving you with only the energy to breathe your question.

Jason looks at you, pinched between the brows. “You read ‘em. You think they make me look very favorable?”

“Favorable?” you scoff. “God dammit, Jason, I thought you were dead. Who gives a damn about favor?”

He laughs. “You sound like you’ve been riding with a gang all this time.”

The attempt to diffuse your mood only fans the flame. You shove him again, this time harder than before. He has to take a step back to catch himself. His eyebrow quirks up at you again, and you want to smack the expression off his face.

“You were alive, and you never told me.”

“Well, sounds like you didn’t stick around very long to wait for me.” He’s still trying to tease you.

You give him another shove. His eyes light up with something. “I would have gotten married off! I couldn’t stay there and wait for someone who wasn’t you.” You shake your head, taking a step back to try and calm yourself down. Jason is just so damn sturdy now. He’s gone against the worst of the worst out here and come out on top. He’s survived death. What are a few pushes for him after that?

Before you can step away, Jason catches your wrist, just above where he’d bandaged them earlier.

“You went to Black Mask of all people,” Jason replies. He smooths his thumb over the linen wrappings gently despite the accusation in his voice. He touches you like he’s reading the signs of what happened to you while he was gone.

“I must have missed the word that Two Guns was looking for crew,” you chide.

From downstairs, you can hear the lively chatter of the people at the bar. Next door, you hear a happy paying customer moaning through the paper thin walls. And between you and Jason is silence, your words hanging heavy in the air.

In a show of the boy you knew, Jason’s cheeks flush slightly as he stares down at the ground, no longer able to meet your eyes. Good, you think. Let him feel ashamed of himself.

And as you glance away as well, you realize his shame may be coming from not his actions but his reaction to your stern voice. A bulge grows in his pants, and for a moment, your brain seems to slip away from your anger. But you only allow yourself the moment.

You’re mad. You have every right to be. You’d mourned for him. You’d planned a life without him in it after the heartbreak of losing him. And he has the nerve to get hard while you’re trying to get an apology.

Except you realize how big he is now. No longer the small, underfed boy you’d shared apples with in the schoolyard. Now he’s all muscle and strength from all of his many activities these past few years. He’s a fierce outlaw, and yet he’s still pink on the ears because of you.

You’re still angry, you remind yourself as your desire seems to catch up with you. You knew what it was like to be held by those hands when they were smaller. But now you can’t help but imagine them smoothing down your skin. You think of running your fingertips over the skin lightened by scar tissue. While he still glances away from you, your eyes flicker over him, hungry to know the grown up Jason.

When you push him again, he falls back onto the bed behind him, eyes surprised up at you. All it takes is a glance, and he knows exactly where your mind is. The hard-on jerks in his pants.

“I wanted you dead for the way you touched those letters,” you say. Jason blushes, but his eyes drink you in as you push him back against the headboard. “When you started opening them, I was thinking of all of the ways I’d get back at you.”

A warm palm wraps around your hip, pulling you close to him, but moves it as soon as he has you on his lap. Like he needs to touch you but can only stomach it for so long at a time like touching a pot still too hot from a flame. The grief that ate you alive was the longing he carried to have you in his life yet again.

One of your hands runs up his firm chest before your fingers curl around his thick neck. You don’t squeeze, but you feel his cock jerk against your thigh nonetheless.

“Lotta people have tried to kill me over the years, sweetheart,” he says, staring up at you like you’ve said something romantic.

Warmth shoots up to your stomach as you drag yourself across his lap. Jason’s punched out air brushes against your collar as he stifles a groan. “Did you let all of them get this close to you?” you whisper.

Jason is far from vulnerable with his guns still strapped on, but you know your Jason; his eyes are always on the prize, always have been since you were kids. You can’t imagine he’d been climbing into many beds when there was work to be done.

There’s no suave answer. Just a quick shake of his head as you drag yourself across his bulge. You duck your head into his neck, pressing your lips against the warm skin of his neck. His hands land on your hips again, curling into the fabric of your clothes. His breath is hot against your cheek.

“I got your gun earlier, didn’t I?” you ask, grinding against him yet again.

This time, he lets out a blissed sigh before he speaks. “Didn’t get you very far.” It’s subtle, but you catch the slight pitch in his voice.

You kiss along the muscles of his neck, feeling him jerk against your seam. Your hips roll into his again, trying to ease the aching between your legs. “I’ve got you distracted,” you murmur, grinding against him to prove a point.

The sound Jason makes is a mixture of a laugh and a groan. He bats his dark eyelashes open, looking at you like a long lost love. Your stomach flips with it. “You wouldn’t kill me now, would you?” he breathes.

You feel drunk on the sounds he makes. For the first time in who knows how long, you feel good. Genuinely. Your mind isn’t on a job or running for your life. Right now, the only thing you care about is the fact that Jason’s heart is still beating.

No. Never.

Instead of a response, you tug at his jacket, the scent of earth and leather lingering once you toss it off the bed. A fear seizes in your chest that this could all be a dream. That you’ll wake back up at Mask’s camp, Jason’s letters hiding away in a bag, and the warmth of his body fleeting with your wakefulness. This moment won’t pass you by without you digging your nails in.

Your lips crash into Jason’s, your hand moving up from his neck to hold onto his jaw.

He kisses like a man starved. Long gone are the timid brushes of lips, and sweaty palms reaching out for your fingertips. His hand stretches out on the back of your skull to hold you against him like he can’t afford to be without.

You feel the growing wetness of your drawers as you grind against him yet again, letting out a breathless sigh against his lips.

Jason’s head falls back, a low groan slipping from his kiss-flushed lips. His lids grow heavy over his eyes, fingers clinging onto your clothes. The sound seems to wipe everything from your mind except for Jason. He’s here. You’re in his lap, kissing him as if your lives depend on it. While you kiss him, there’s no history, and yet there’s all the history in the world. The first time you kissed him. The way his cheeks turned beet red every time you looked at him for a week after.

You kiss furiously as you both shed clothes, until your skin presses up against his. Until you’re sinking down on him, pussy fluttering at the feeling of being filled so deeply. A breathless curse slips through your lips as your head falls against Jason’s chest.

His arms wrap around you, holding you flush against him, another low moan rumbling in his chest. Your breath catches when you feel his heart pounding against your chest. You’re wrapped in Jason Todd’s arms, and everything is right with the world again.

Slowly, you raise your hips just to sink back down again. Jason’s hand catches your head as it tips back, pulling you into his lips again. You rest your hands on his shoulders, using him as leverage as you start to build up your pace, acclimating to the stretch of him.

You ride him, and Jason goes the extra mile to push you down even deeper on his cock each time you lower down, feeling him nudging at something blindingly brilliant. With Jason’s hands back on your waist, no longer holding you to his mouth, his moans fill the room. You could listen to him all night. Jason, who’s been through so much in his life—more than you even know—deserves this, even if he caused you sleepless nights and endless tears.

Your fingers drag through his thick, dark curls, gripping onto the strands at their base. His nails dig into the flesh of your hips as he lets out a whine. The noise drives something in you, burrowing into your brain until all you can think is how badly you need to hear it again. So you tug, and Jason’s lips break from yours to breathe another needy whimper.

With their newfound freedom, your lips move down to Jason’s jaw, nibbling, your breath hot on his skin. You feel warmth growing in the pit of your stomach along with the burning in your thighs, but you can’t even consider stopping now.

He promised you he’d find you. Jason Todd has always been true to his word.

You’re so full of relief and so full of him, you feel tears prickling at your eyes. You’re not sure if it’s more from the pleasure or the fact that you’re together again. As you pull back to look at Jason’s face, you see his eyes watering too, staring up at you like you’re something heavenly.

Both of you crying. You almost laugh, but it gets caught in your throat as Jason’s cock hits something blinding as he holds you down even deeper than ever. Your cry breaks through the room, eyes pinched shut as warmth washes over you. Everything seems to slip out beneath you, and for the first time in a very long time, you feel absolutely weightless.

Jason catches you when you lean back too far, guiding you so you still rock on him through the comedown of your orgasm. Your head clears just in time to catch Jason’s eyes as they roll shut. Even as your legs shake, you go back to work, the meat of your ass slapping against his lap.

He groans out your name, holds your hips down against him, and you feel him spilling into you. Lips parted as he groans, cock twitching against the walls of your pussy.

As he comes down, Jason just holds you against him. You savor his rapidly beating heart, the rising and fall of his chest, the smell of sweat and sex in the air because it’s him. You’re collapsed against your Jason, hand lazily draped against his chest as you still clench around him in the aftershock of your orgasm.

When you feel as if you’ve come to your body more, you look back up at him, wiping away the fallen tears from his cheeks with the pad of your thumbs. He does the same in suit, holding onto your cheek after he does.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he says. And you believe him.

a/n: huge shoutout to @janybabyy for beta reading as always 💛 if you enjoyed this, please consider giving it a reblog or sharing your thoughts

[littlejuicebox]

Mermaid whiskey.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: 2 weeks after BG3 final battle, Elfsong Tavern / Astarion has been ignoring you and spending too much time reading for your tastes, you aim to distract him. Rating/Warnings: M+ / Smut / Light BDSM / Soft Dom Astarion vibes / Some mild in game spoilers/allusions to events / Overstimulation, Teasing, Bondage, Blindfolding etc Word Count: 4.3K Notes: Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off x Whiskey Girl

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Two weeks after the final battle, Astarion is lounging by the crackling fireplace on the upper level of the Elfsong Tavern, a large goblet of red wine in one hand and a book in the other.

Everyone else spent time after the battle exploring the city or downstairs drinking and celebrating their victory as they all prepared to move onto new adventures. But Astarion had chosen nearly every opportunity over the past two weeks to hang back and enjoy some much-deserved alone time. Now that the constant worries about Cazador and the overall impending doom of Baldur’s Gate were all behind him, the rogue threw himself into finding bits of individual enjoyment whenever and wherever he could. He'd fixated himself on hobbies and leisure, and reading had seemed an obvious first choice. He'd easily idle hours away, sometimes reading an entire book cover to cover in one sitting.

Often, you would sit with the elf as he read, snuggled in a blanket or cuddled up against your love, but eventually you always got the urge to get up and do something else. You'd tried on more than one occasion to interest the rogue in another activity, but Astarion remained glued to the couch for those two weeks, barely stepping away to hunt, bathe, or trance. You'd noted, with a bit of concern, that he hadn't even asked to feed on you in more than a tenday.

Tonight, you’d tried more than once to pull him down to the tavern, but the elf quickly refused, barely lifting his eyes from the pages in front of him. Astarion seemed particularly obsessed with this book; you were almost convinced he’d already finished it and had started a second reading.

Several hours passed while you socialized down at the bar and Astarion's perfect nose stayed wedged in a book before a very tipsy Karlach decided to climb the stairs and speak to the vampire. “Oi! C’mon, Astarion! Close that dusty tome and join the fun. We’ll all only be together for a few more days. Me, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Tav are taking shots!”

The vampire’s ears perk up and he furrows his brow at the woman, snapping his book shut in the process. “Shots? Of what, exactly?”

“Mermaid Whiskey!”

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no! Karlach! Mermaid Whiskey practically makes Tav’s clothes fall off!”

Astarion is on his feet now, the book abandoned as he rushes past the Tiefling and down the flight of stairs into the tavern. He quickly spots the silky blue bandana you use to tie your hair up at camp strewn upon a forgotten bar stool. Knowing it’s possibly your most prized article of clothing, the elf tucks it into his back pocket. Scarlet eyes perform a hurried scan of the room and the vampire bristles when you’re nowhere to be found.

The others are still at the bar, where Lae’zel just challenged a bartender to an arm-wrestling competition. The women warriors are cheering Lae’zel on as she’s locked in a stalemate with the man.

“Shadowheart, have you seen Tav?”

Shadowheart barely acknowledges the vampire, too engrossed in the show. “What do you mean? She’s right—“ Her gaze flicks to the abandoned stool as Lae’zel successfully slams the worker’s hand onto the sticky bar, causing the campmates and some other patrons to erupt into cheers. “She was right there a moment ago.”

Astarion runs a stressed hand through his curled hair, inspecting the room for any sign of you. Soon enough, he spots a familiar pair of shoes and hurries to them, eyes already searching for the next clue. A discarded earring floating in a glass of half-drunk whiskey is sat on the bottom step of the stairs. That hadn’t been there when he descended down them, had it?

The vampire’s gaze trails up the stairwell and his suspicions are confirmed. Your navy-blue dress is draped across the back of an armchair he can barely see from his low vantage point.

‘She must’ve snuck around when I was talking to Shadowheart.’

The rogue dashes up the stairs to find you reclined on a chaise lounge, body flushed from the whiskey coursing through your veins. You are strewn suggestively across the chaise, clothed in only your laced undergarments and thigh high stockings. The alluring vision caused Astarion's heart to leap into his throat.

“Darling, what on earth do you think you’re you doing? You’re barely clothed in the middle of the tavern. This isn’t the wilds anymore.”

You’re lying on your side when Astarion finds you, and you pout in his direction as he scolds you, waving a dismissive hand. You roll onto your stomach, bending your knees and crossing your legs. You’re pleased to see the vampire's gaze drag down your body, pausing at the curve of your bottom, before flitting back to your face. Astarion licks his lips as he looks at you, the first sign that your little plan is working. You’ve finally gotten his attention after trying to steal him away from that damned book he was so enamored with all night.

“I know my love, but I’m just so unbelievably hot right now. You wouldn’t believe how hot I feel.”

Astarion quickly crosses the few feet between you two, placing a cool, concerned hand on your flushed cheek. “How many shots did you take?”

“Oh, just two. Maybe three? I kept losing the stupid ‘never have I ever game’ because everyone made all their questions about vampires.” You pout at your lover again before turning your head to press your lips against his thumb, lingering there intentionally, your wide eyes still focused on the rogue.

Astarion was no fool. With your mouth holding his thumb in that suggestive manner, he soon realized what you were doing. You adored the vampire with your entire heart, but on your drunken nights, you knew how to be a perfectly tempting, needy little brat. “And why, my sweet, did you keep playing the game if it was so clearly rigged against you?”

You groan, moving to a sitting position, while your hands toy with the laces of your bodice. “Because…” You sharply tug at the flouncy strings and Astarion’s hand catches yours in a tight grip, moments before you’re about to expose your breasts in the center of the lounge. “You’ve barely paid attention to me the past two weeks… and I was lonely and bored and wanted to have fun.”

“Darling, I know what you’re doing... I thought we agreed that tonight you’d go to the bar, and I would stay up here.” Astarion murmurs, nimble fingers toying with the strings of your bodice. He tries to resist the temptation to look down at your cleavage and fails; you see his eyes roll up in annoyance at himself and his inability to fight off his baser instincts in your presence. Inside you’re practically giddy that you’re winning the charade, but you keep the pout plastered to your face.

“We didn’t agree to anything, my Star. You didn't give me a choice.” You huff, pointedly brushing your hair away from your neck to reveal the little pinprick scars made by your lover. The rogue's eyes trail to the marks and he licks his lips again, suddenly quite aware of how long it’s been since he’s sunk his fangs into your flesh.

Gods you were frustrating. Astarion both loathed and loved that you could play him like a lyre; you knew him so well that you understood exactly what would make him tick. Every. Single. Time.

The vampire shakes his head, trying to rattle the fantasies out of his brain and not allow you the upper hand. You were being ridiculous; if you’d wanted attention, you should’ve just asked instead of acting out. Trying to turn the conversation, Astarion asks, “What is it you even like about whiskey? It’s vile.”

You sigh and roll your eyes before sliding off the chaise and sauntering away from the elf. For a moment you think he’s going to let you leave, but then he’s trailing after you like a lost puppy and you know you've got him hooked.

“Excuse me? You’re just going to walk away? Conversation over?”

You shrug and sigh again, stopping just in front of the door to your bedchamber. You turn to face the rogue, leaning back against the door and crossing your arms. Astarion’s eyes are narrowed as he stares at you with some level of frustration and incredulity at your antics.

“If you must know, I suppose I like a bit of edge… and a bit of pain with my pleasure.” Your voice is coy, eyebrow raised, and you're fully leaning into the innuendo of your statement. “And you like that I like it... don’t you?”

Astarion chuckles at this, a smirk ghosting his lips. “You are a wicked little thing, aren’t you? Using my own games and my own tactics against me now?”

You’re wearing a mischievous grin as the rouge saunters forward, closing the distance between your bodies. He firmly grasps your chin in his hand, scarlet eyes studying your face. Just as his lips brush against yours, and you're thinking you've won this little game, you murmur, “I guess the apprentice has become the master.”

Astarion pauses and draws back for a moment, the darkening of his gaze and his raised eyebrow causing you to shudder where you stand as he grips a bit tighter on your chin. “Oh darling. You’re cute. But now I think I have to teach you a lesson and remind you who the master truly is here.”

And then his lips are on yours, fangs clashing roughly into teeth. He feels for the knob behind you and turns it, forcing you both into the room before unceremoniously slamming the door closed. Your mouths are melded together as the vampire effortlessly guides you to the bed and shoves you into the mattress. Quick, pale hands tug at the strings of your bodice and your breasts are released from their confines, spilling out in front of the vampire’s eager gaze as he drags the undergarment off your arms and throws it aside.

Then Astarion grabs something from his back pocket — your blue bandana — and dangles it in front of you with a mock-condescending pout on his lips. All you can think about in that moment is how you want to take that pout into your own lips and bite.

“Darling, you left this downstairs and I had to retrieve it. I think I may need to teach you to take care of your belongings. You only have two of these, my love, and I know you would be so desperate to find them if they were permanently lost, wouldn’t you?”

You nod as you reach for your bandana, but Astarion is faster and pulls it away just in time, smirking at you all the while. “Come to think of it… where is your other bandana, my sweet?”

"It's in here." You murmur, lips already swollen from the rough kiss he'd pulled you into. You turn to the nightstand and withdraw your second bandana, an identical twin to the first. Astarion quickly takes it from your hand and grins mischievously, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as the silken fabric glides from your fingers.

“Good girl. Now, give me your hands.”

You oblige and the rogue deftly binds your wrists together with an expertly tied knot. He tugs at the bindings, testing their strength. Astarion lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of one before taking the second bandana and folding it into a long strip. Your eyes are fixated on his lithe fingers. Then he presses forward, face mere inches from yours. His eyes are dark and intense, but glimmering with adoration all the same, in a way that floods you with the overwhelming sensation of excitement and safety all in one.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, won't you, my love?”

“Y-yes.” You whisper, almost breathlessly and wholly impatient for what is coming next. Your body still burns with desire and Mermaid Whiskey. The last thing you see is Astarion’s eyes before the second bandana shrouds you in darkness.

Cool hands guide you to lay back onto the mattress and soon enough long, nimble fingers languidly trace their way down your body. You feel Astarion’s hands ghost over your arms, down your collarbone, and then trail circles around your breasts where he gives both nipples a gentle, teasing tug before moving on. His fingers brush your abdomen, around the curve of your hips, down the tops of your thighs, and finally to your calves. Then his lips press to your foot, and he works at pressing feather light kisses up your leg.

He continues kissing up your right leg for what seems like forever, fingers still moving tantalizingly along your calf and thigh. By the time the vampire makes his way back up to the top of your thigh, you are wiggling and keening in anticipation. He hovers over your still-clothed mound for a few beats before shifting slightly and returning to kissing down your left leg. You whine in disappointment, your bound hands straining against the fabric as you try to grip your lover. A dark chuckle is all you get in response as Astarion continues to kiss your opposing thigh, nibbling here and there, at a rate that seems somehow even slower than the first leg he worshipped.

By the time he’s placing a kiss to the top of your left foot, you’re writhing wholeheartedly, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to give yourself more stimulation. You don’t dare use your bound hands, knowing the punishment would be further binding and teasing. Astarion unhurriedly runs his hands up your legs once again, stopping to draw leisurely circles at the apex of your thighs before tracing one chilled finger along the waistband of your underwear.

“A-Astarion!” You choke out with another whine, just as the vampire runs that same finger down your still-clothed slit, feeling the wetness now soaking through the fabric from his torments.

Your lover chuckles in dark delight. “I’ve barely even touched you, my needy little love, and yet here you are, positively soaked. Your lesson is far from over, darling.”

There is a moment of silence apart from soft rustling; you cannot see anything, but your ears pick up the sound of Astarion’s buckle coming undone. And then you feel his weight on top of you. You can tell he’s still wearing his briefs as he presses his groin against your sex, legs straddling either side of your hips. Suddenly you feel a sharp pinch on both your nipples. Your back arches in response to the sensation while a pleading groan shoots from your mouth.

“Mm… I think you quite like that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes!” Is all you can reply as you feel Astarion's cold hands kneading the flesh of your breasts before he resumes pinching the swollen buds.

You try to buck your hips, but the bastard knows what he’s doing, and he’s got you pinned perfectly beneath him in a way that renders you all but helpless. Your bound hands search for Astarion’s body, and you barely graze against his abdominals before the vampire rips your hands away with a little tut, laying nearly all his body weight atop you as he raises your hands up over your head. You can feel his breath against your ear before he takes the lobe in his mouth and nibbles. Gods the torture was becoming unbearable. You buck again, another frustrated whine escaping your lips.

“Shhh now, darling. Shame we don’t have a third bandana or you would be gagged. We are quite impatient today, aren’t we?”

You whimper as he continues the abuse to your ear before trailing his tongue down to your neck. “My little whiskey girl…” His lips hover over that familiar little spot on your neck, his breath tickling your skin. Your pulse jumps to greet your lover. “May I?”

You barely nod, “Yes. Please.”

Astarion groans at your response, thrusting his hips forward to press his rock-hard bulge into your folds. You feel a sharp, icy sting in your neck before your body gives way to the delectable ripples of pleasure. The vampire laps from you lazily, rutting against your mound, the still-clothed underside of his cock sawing torturously between the folds of your still-clothed but now dripping slit. He continues suckling, not really drinking for sustenance but more for his own pleasure, his hardening member abusing your swollen clit. You’re keening again, and one of his hands moves to tease your nipple while the other gets lost in your hair, holding you in place as he takes his lazy laps.

“A-Astarion. Astarion! Please, I’m gonna—“

But before you can finish, you feel the wave of pleasure crashing over you and your legs are trembling as you find your release. The elf groans again as you orgasm, now suckling and rutting with more fervor as the taste of your ecstasy courses through your veins. When the crescendo wanes and you’re left panting, Astarion retracts his fangs from your neck with a pleased little hum.

Suddenly the bandana is pulled from your eyes, and you blink, adjusting to the light. The vampire is still straddling you, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face as he wipes the final rivet of blood from his mouth and licks it off his thumb. “Satisfied, darling? Have I paid enough attention to you now?”

You groan and buck your hips again, your drenched undergarments barely rubbing against the rogue’s stiff cock. “No!” You shriek as your bound hands pound back into the mattress.

Astarion’s lips are on yours anew, swallowing your protests as he delves his tongue into your eager mouth. You taste the iron of your own blood and groan, writhing against him and desperately pulling at your bindings. When the rogue pulls back he chuckles before easily delving two fingers inside your ruined undergarments, curling his fingers to barely strum against your swollen clit. You try to arch to meet his digits with a desperate, pleading moan, but the weight of him on your legs keeps you pinned, and you cry out.

“Please, please, please.” You whine in a soft chant coming from your lips, still using all of your strength to barely buck your hips. Your hands are twisting desperately in their bindings. “Please, please, please.”

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you, my love?” He coos, continuing to barely tease your throbbing clit with expert fingers. “What is it that you want?”

“You know what I want!” You hiss through gritted teeth, your frustration bubbling over as the rogue torments that sensitive nub between your legs.

“Hmm… perhaps I do. But you need to ask for the things that you want, my sweet. The parasite is gone and I’m no mind reader.”

“Please put your cock inside me! Please.”

“Hmm... there we are. That’s my good girl. Now, was that really so hard, little love?"

Before you can answer, Astarion’s mouth is enveloping yours as he works to quickly remove his own undergarments. The feeling of his barren member on your mound renews your desperation and you keen into your lover's mouth, causing him to smirk into the kiss. He quickly maneuvers his knee to the inside of your thigh, hitching his own leg up to spread you wide, granting him full access to your sex. Deft fingers slide the thin, arousal-soaked cloth of your underwear aside and then you feel the head of his cock pressed just against your entrance.

“Who do you belong to, my love?” The vampire asks when he pulls away from the kiss, scarlet eyes peering into yours. He’s rocking his hips just slightly, the tip of his member barely teasing in and out of your desperate pussy. He brings his hand to the side of your face, stroking his thumb along your cheek.

“You, Astarion.” You whisper, so entranced by the look in his eyes and the feeling of his cock pressing into you that you can barely think or breath. You try to thrust down to meet your lover's miniscule ministrations, but his other hand has your hip pinned in place.

“Give me your hands again.”

You oblige, and the rogue quickly undoes your fastenings, gently pressing his lips into the angry red marks around your wrists. He takes one of your hands and interlaces your fingers in his. Astarion pins one hand back above your head, but allows you the freedom of the other hand, which you bring to the side of his neck.

Then the vampire kisses you once more. As his lips press into yours, his cock slides into your eagerly awaiting cunt. Every ripple of Astarion's thick shaft makes your body sing in delight, and you're groaning into the elf's mouth as he begins to make fervent love to you, hips snapping with vigor as he sheaths and unsheathes himself in a steady rhythm.

“You are… entirely infuriating… and vexing, sometimes. Do you know that, little love?” He purrs between his lips enveloping yours, tongue exploring your mouth. The vampire plunges into you with steady determination, slowly picking up his tempo.

You’re breathless, rolling your hips to meet the rogue’s. Your eyes are shut as you smirk at his comment. “I know.. I just think you’re so sexy when you’re frustrated.” You respond between panting breaths, and that earns you a rough thrust that hits your cervix and knocks the air from your lungs as you moan in surprise.

Astarion’s hand that isn’t intertwined with yours comes under your chin and takes a firm hold, pressing just enough on your windpipe to create the delicious feeling of breathlessness without actually preventing you from breathing. Your eyes snap open from the sensation.

“You. Are. A. Naughty. Girl.” He hisses, eyes boring into your own, face mere inches from yours, and each word punctuated by another forceful snap of his hips. You moan at the feeling of his length slamming into your cervix. By this time, he’s panting and the flush on his ears is rising, and you know he’s close to his own release. One of Astarion's fingers is lingering dangerously close to your mouth as he clutches your neck; you take the digit between your lips and begin to suck.

As the vampire sees your tongue snake around his finger, he’s done for. All resolve is gone, and your lover fucks into you with reckless abandon as you moan around his hand. The grip on your neck tightens as he starts to emit his own cries of pleasure, and your hand wraps tightly onto his neck in response, nails digging into cold flesh.

“Do you see what you do to me?” He asks through gritted teeth as his thrusts become sloppy. You’re seeing stars, and the friction of his pelvis paired with the intense throbbing of your abused pussy is sending you towards a second climax. As your body reaches its crescendo, you release Astarion’s finger from between your lips and cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The rogue hears your beautiful cry and feels the pulsing of your sex, which finally pushes him over the edge as he spills into you, cock twitching with every new stream of seed.

His mouth is on yours before you finish your strangled cry of release, and Astarion’s works to kiss you down from your incredible high. The vampire releases your neck, and the passionate force of his lips slowly ebbs into a gentle, lazy kiss. Eventually, with both of your bodies fully spent, the rogue rolls onto his side, sliding himself from you and spilling the evidence of your love making across the silky sheets.

Astarion rolls from the bed, and you whine, but he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he promises he will be right back. He slips his trousers on and exits the room for a minute, only to return with the book he seemed obsessed with. Part of you is annoyed when the rogue settles back into bed, opening his arm so you can nestle yourself in the crook.

You give him a little pout. “Do you not love me more than you love these books? I’m beginning to worry I’ve coupled myself to another Gale. I was sure that tonight would distract you and I would have you all to myself.”

Astarion chuckles, shaking his head slightly before turning to kiss you on the forehead. “My sweet, surely you know the depths of my love for you far surpass the pages of a book. And you are always distracting... even when I am thinking of something else, I am also thinking of you.”

He shuts the book and taps his hand on the cover, lithe fingers moving to trace the embossed words of the title. “I apologize if I’ve been consumed and you’ve felt neglected, my darling. This book is just… intriguing.”

You turn your head and for the first time, read the title: ‘The Creation of Dhampirs: A Guide.”

Oh.

Your brow furrows as you turn to look at Astarion, and you see a wistful, faraway look in his eyes. This look was different from his unfortunately familiar one that he displayed during flashbacks and night terrors… this one contained hope.

“Are you imagining your future, Astarion?” You ask, sitting up just enough to place a kiss on your lover’s cheek and brush a few wayward curls back into place. “If you are, then I’d better be there by your side.”

The rogue snaps out of his reverie and turns to look at you again, his expression laced with love. He extends his long arm backwards, dropping the tome on the nightstand before placing his hand on your face. Astarion’s thumb strokes your cheek and he sighs happily before whispering, “Yes, you’d better be.”

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Knightmare In Toronto

Chapter 1: First Meetings

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Next Chapter

You awoke to a scream.

Having just laid down for a midday nap after an arduous night shift, one can imagine the irritation you felt as you shot up from your place on the couch, grumbling groggily like an old person.

"I swear to fucking- Who the fuck are you?!"

That is, until you caught sight of the screamer: a short, medievally-dressed man who looked like he had accidentally wandered in from the Renaissance Faire or escaped from the jousting pits of the Medieval Times restaurant. A large sword sheathed in a blue scabbard hung from his back, which was why you scrambled up, grabbed a pillow, and brandished it at this medieval home invader. "Answer me!"

To his credit, the man raised his hands and backed away, his expression shocked and apprehensive. Good. "I- Ma'am- Where am I?!"

"What does it look like?" You snarled. "This is my house, dipshit!"

"There's got to be some misunderstanding," as he stammered an explanation, you took inventory of his increasingly odd outfit. His shirt-... tunic(?) looked like he had taken four pieces of different colored fabric and sewn them together, then slapped some brown tights and jester boots on and called it a day. He was also really short, no more than five foot two if you were being generous. "The portal never drops us in houses, always clearings or streams, but that was only once-"

What the fuck?

"Are you on drugs?"

The man blinked, looking at you like you'd grown a second head. "I can assure you I'm not-"

"Then why are you in my house?" You asked cautiously, lowering your pillow just a smidge. He didn't seem the type to chop you up and bury your bones, but one could never be too careful.

"Well, there's this portal-"

"Drugs."

"-No. But it usually drops us off outside," you watched apprehensively as he ran a hand through his stick-straight blonde hair, which was long enough that the only thing holding it back was the thick green bandana around his head. "Would you be so kind as to tell me what region we're in?"

...Region? This guy really was weird, but at least he hadn't tried anything funny with that sword of his. "Uh... Toronto."

It was almost funny how quickly the guy's face changed from inquisitive to downright baffled. "Excuse me, but I don't think I heard you right?"

As weird as having an intellectual conversation about location with a home intruder in your living room was, you couldn't say you were surprised; trouble always seemed to find you one way or another. "We're in Toronto," nothing. You pressed further. "You know, Canada."

"...What?"

The silence spoke volumes as you stared each other down, though you eventaully broke it with an exhausted sigh. "Listen, man, I'm just trying to get some sleep. I'll get you a map and you don't steal my throw blankets, deal?"

Without waiting for a response, you hightailed it to the kitchen of your two-story rambler and retrieved a map from the far cupboard. Your on-and-off job at a tourist company came with many perks, some of which being: yearly adventure passes to the 12-and-under under-the-sea theme park, Royal Ontario Museum tickets during the busiest time in touring season, and a full crate of maps that would never see the light of day.

Until now, that is.

The strange man was still in your living room when you sauntered back in, though he had turned his attention to your television, a box of an appliance you pilfered from a garage sale a few years back. He was poking it with a distinct air of confusion, which only cemented your belief that he was on some type of drug--it was almost like he had teleported here from the fucking medieval era instead of breaking in through your-... well, you didn't actually know where or how he had broken in, but you sure as hell would find out after this conundrum. You held out the map. "Here," you watched as he unfurled the thing, looking no less baffled than he had a minute ago. "I assume you can read?"

The man nodded, all traces of his earlier panic gone. "Thank you for your help. I'm Four.

"(Y/n)," you responded, half-wondering who on earth would name their kid that.

"Say, you wouldn't be able to tell me where the hero of this land is?"

"The... hero?" You echoed. "You mean the prime minister-?"

You would have put more thought into the depths of this insanity, but there was a loud crash in the kitchen that overwrote all desire to discretely call an ambulance for the poor guy. Four was hot on your heels as you rushed to the kitchen, having drawn his sword. "Watch the fuck where you're putting that," you tried to say, but a new voice shocked you into silence.

"Oww, Legend!" In the middle of your pristine floor was another blonde stranger, though he seemed no older than twelve or thirteen. A light blue tunic with gray sleeves hung down nearly to his knees, clothed in gaudy orange tights. Sky blue eyes turned to you and Four. "Where am I?"

Behind you, Four re-sheathed his sword. You breathed a sigh of relief, but it was for naught when the teenager practically sprung up to vigorously shake your hand. "Hi! I'm L- er, Wind! What's your name?"

You told him, feeling quite numb at his point.

"Cool name! You're so tall, I think you might be taller than Twilight and T..." you were already beginning to block him out, looking to Four for answers.

"I don't suppose you know anything about this?"

"I told you; portal," said Four, like that solved everything.

"I think I'm on drugs," you muttered, thinking back to that new Chinese restaurant you tried last night, at the same time Wind chimed in: "You told them?"

Four opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "Okay, I don't know who or why you are, but you need to leave. Now."

"Aww," Wind pouted. "But you haven't met everyone!"

Not that you'd say it to his face, but you didn't think you wanted to. "I'll be fine. And so will you. I gave your... friend a map."

"Oh, alright," said Wind, if not a bit dejected. One of your heartstrings twinged. "Thank you."

"Anytime," you turned to Four. "You'll be fine?"

"Should be," he sighed. "We've been in these kinds of situations before."

Okay, now you felt a bit bad. Sure, they had broken into your house and scared the living daylights out of you, but it wasn't like they had been rude. Despite the impossible circumstances, Four and Wind seemed like decent guys who ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Wait," two sets of eyes turned to you. "...It would be cruel to make you leave without a bite to eat."

Both Four and Wind grin, and it's almost uncanny how similar they look. You offer a small smile, snag a small paper bag from the counter, and make a b-line for the middle cupboard, where a few packs of trail mix can be found. You shove all five in the bag, then add a few protein bars and tangerines for good measure. "Y'all don't have any food allergies, right?"

"Nope," says Four, right as Wind chimes: "Nu-uh!"

Cute, you think before you can stop yourself. "Good, hope you like tangerines and a whole lot of peanuts."

The brown paper crinkles as you fold it down, using a teal paperclip to secure it for good measure. You proudly hand the bag to Wind, who smiles like he just got his dream birthday present. Four nods to you, smiling in a far calmer manner. "We'll be going now, thanks for everything."

"Stay safe," is what you said, or, rather, what you would have said if the air above you hadn't inexplicably reformed in the form of a heavy object dropping down on you, knocking you to the ground as Wind's screams rang out. As you lay, prone and aching, on the unwashed floor, your last thought before unconsciousness was that you really needed to get rid of those maps.

That's a wrap! I hope you all enjoyed reading this as I did writing it, so be sure to reboot or leave a comment if you liked it!

All LU characters belong to JoJo!

[busybeewriting]

With Hayden having Henrietta and Juniper having Dozy, what do you think is every love interest's ideal pet? I feel like a good amount of them would wind up being cat people to be honest lol

You are very right, I think everyone would be very ride or die with thier pets tbh. Like there is friendly debates at the Tavern over who is the best. They'd have a best in show every year. Head cannons below the cut!

Balor:

This man is a Cat lover through and through. There is no convincing me otherwise.

I could see him having the sweetest little black cat- ya know to add to they mystery vibees.

He would love to have the cat run around with him, and when he's out and about I can see it curling up around his shoulders.

THIS MAN SPOILS HIS BABY.

So much, this cat wants for absolutely nothing.

If he gets it after his D&D sessions- it have a silly name like Snickelfritz. For the vibes.

Reina:

She strikes me as a dog girlie honestly.

I think she'd like using her dog as an excuse to get out of the kitchen every now and again and just go on walks with them.

I think she'd have a chocolate lab- yes because of the name but I also can't see her having a little dog.

She would spoil the shit out of the dog too- this dog gets so many homemade treats.

Not to mention Hemlock would feed him table scraps. And Luc would love to take them out too for bug adventures.

I could also see her being the kinda dog owner to give them cute little bandana's and everything to wear.

They'd also probably have a food name tbh.

Celine:

I think she could go either way. I can definitely see her having both cats and dogs growing up.

But once she's moved out? I think she's got a bunny.

She'd LOVE taking them out to her garden and letting them roam.

She'd also love being able to give the bunny farm fresh foods!

I mean look at her and tell me that she doesn't look like she'd hold a bunny in her arms and walk around town.

She'd make it a little flower crown and everything too.

She'd get Ryis to help her make the best most lavish bunny cage there is too.

I think she'd give the bunny a cute name like Petal.

March:

Okay- hear me out. As a kid? I think he had a bearded dragon. He would have thought they were SO COOL. Alright?

But now, as like an adult? I think he wouldn't hate any animal. Mans a big softy under that hard exterior.

I think though- he'd prefer Dogs over cats.

MOSTLY because the dog would remind him of Olric

Also you've seen those arms. I think be a crime to not get him a dog so you can throw a stick to them.

He'd pretend not to care at all about the dog- but then he'd fight so hard to make it have a cool name. (He'd probably try for Copper.)

You know those dads that are like "Don't bring home any damn animals!" And then bonds with the said animal. That's him.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!! Let me know if you want me to do some of the other characters too!! And thank you for your request! :3 Requests are open!!

[sturns-mermaid]

INTRODUCING...

CASTAWAY 🏴‍☠️

special thanks and credit to @shadowthesim237 for letting me yap to you about this au! and also credit for pirate matt, she has an amazing pirate matt x siren reader au you guy's should definitely check out! :)

summary written with the help of ai, also thank you once again honey for helping me <3

masterlist here

In "Castaway," a gripping fantasy tale, a fierce pirate princess takes the helm in search of revenge. Her father’s mysterious death haunts her every thought. With her right-hand man, Matt, at her side, she believes she has allies. But appearances can be deceiving.

Matt, once loyal to her father, hides a dark secret. As she hunts down those she believes are responsible, she discovers an abandoned boat on a mysterious island. Here, fate intervenes when she finds a man washed ashore, a stranger with a connection to her father’s compass.

In a twist of fate, he becomes her hostage. Nicknamed Bird, he claims to remember nothing. As the princess grapples with trust and betrayal, her feelings for Bird grow, complicating her quest for justice. With Matt's impatience rising and secrets unraveling, the line between ally and enemy blurs. Will she uncover the truth before it’s too late?

pirate captain reader ☠

Pirate princess turned caption, seeking vengeance, soft smile sharp tongue, sword fighting skills learned from her father, only child, gold jewelry, adventurous, won’t let anyone get in her way, twirls her hair, “Princess”

crew mate matt! 🧭

Crewmate/first mate, right hand man, cracking his knuckles, big rings, always chewing on a toothpick, reckless, sweet talker, short temper, sleep deprived, persuasive, bandana, obsession, gold tooth, keeps the ship running to your liking, “Tooth”

washed at sea chris! 🌊

Washed at sea, amnesia, kind natured, well spoken, searching for something he’s lost, rambling, cautiousness, the boy with no name, carried away by the waves, brunette curls, “Bird”, fidgeting, found by a pirate ship

all dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

thank you so much for making them!

a/n: I'M SO EXCITED Y'ALL OMGGGG 🤓🤓 (almost done with the prologue)

tags: @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @brianna-grace12 @scorpio1205 @submattenthusiast @courta13 @mattsplaything @conspiracy-ash @anyaa2s @hazedsturns @eclipsturns @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @immaqulate @t0riiiis @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @hearts4werka @mattsbows @sweetshuga @leoslaboratory @pair-of-pantaloons @riasturns 

[corazondebeskar-reads]

dandelion sun - prelude

din djarin x f!reader

summary: you thought your life was over when your father signed you away to a lumber baron. you wish it was over when he hires a washed up old cowboy to drag you across the country to your betrothed. you know it's over when they start firing at your stagecoach.

aka hired gun bodyguard old west Din Djarin x mayor's daughter reader in an enemies to lovers adventure for @kedsandtubesocks A Wild Ride writing challenge

and YES this is a prelude because I didn't finish the whole thing yet. life said no but I still wanted to post part of it today at least.

words: 367

warnings: none for this part except a passing mention of menstruation. the whole fic will have more, including canon and era-typical violence, gun violence, blood, hurt/comfort, bondage, arranged marriage, p in v, oral, etc. also blanket warning for inaccuracies to the time period because my research was MINIMAL ok sorry. reader is able bodied, menstruates, and wears skirts/dresses. other physical attributes are undescribed. mando can pick you up but he's mando and i believe he can bench press a brick house. no use of y/n.

NOTE: Din's appearance in this fic was inspired by the Space Cowboy art from @pinkiemme. Check out some of the art:

pin-up style

smoking in a tank top 🥵

Marlboro-man style

on horseback

smoking gun (this one makes me so feral fr)

b o l o t i e

belt buckle

boots

long story short I'm OBSESSED with him. you don't have to picture him this way, but pls look at the art, it will change your life.

*title from "where have all the cowboys gone?" by paula cole

dividers by @saradika-graphics

They say Djarin is the most dangerous motherfucker this side of the Mississippi. A bounty hunter whose coal-black heart burned slow and smooth, embers flickering in his soul as if the Devil himself had lit the match.

They say his eyes are yellow like a pit viper. 

They say if you’re close enough to check, the only person you’ll be telling is God Almighty. 

If only they could see him now.

The legend himself is leaning against the hitching post, one foot up against it, arms crossed. The tip of his dark leather hat skews down, casting shadows over his face. A dusty bandana is tied over his nose and mouth. He heaves a heavy sigh, raised boot hitting the dirt with a thump. He stalks back over to the outhouse two paces to his left, and raps his gloved knuckles on the door. 

“You dead or something?” he says with all the social grace you’ve come to expect. And by the way, his eyes are brown. Boring. Just like the man himself. 

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you. “It’s incredibly rude to bother a lady while she’s freshening up,” you snap.

“I’m not bothering a lady. I’m bothering my pain-in-the-ass cargo. Hurry on up,” he retorts, stalking back to his post with a huff. His stallion nudges his shoulder with a matching huff, equally put out at your delay.

“You have a menses, and see how you like it,” you grumble though he’s out of range. 

You met the man two months prior, when you had come home from Miss Tilly’s with a basket of fresh bread on your elbow. The great oaf, as tall and broad as a wall, had stepped out of your father’s study just as you were headed to the kitchen. 

“Move,” he had barked.

“You move,” you had snapped.

And then the bastard picked you up by the waist, turned, and set you aside like a sack of flour. You sputtered, indignant, until your father emerged to find you furious in an empty corridor. 

If you had known his purpose in your home, you might have run like your head had a price on it.

(to be continued)

[procyonloser]

Pt 4

"Papa, I wanna go see animals again..." Charlie told him, poking around at the smiley face on her omelet. Lucifer paused from sipping his herbal tea, to look at her in excitement; sure, they'd just gone last weekend, but Lucifer was more than ready to go back to the aquarium again. More than ready to see someone again.

"Sure, sweetie, we can go to the aquarium." Lucifer beamed at her, holding up an orange slice off his plate to make a fake smile in front of his face. Charlie giggled, but she was already getting to that age where she was laughing because he was being silly, not because she found it actually funny.

"No, I want to go to the zoo!" Charlie said with a big grin, unaware that she made Lucifer's heart plunge slightly.

"Oh. Yeah, uh, of course! That'll be fun too." Lucifer answered, faking his enthusiasm. Maybe he shouldn't be this hard up for a guy he'd barely spoken to, especially since the man's job was to interact with aquarium goers. But, he felt like they had... you know, a little spark.

The local zoo was bigger than the aquarium, they lived in a big city, and it got a lot of traffic. Not a ton at 2pm on a Tuesday during the school year, but enough other people were around that they didn't feel alone. They wove through the zoo, until they reached an amphitheatre in the kid's area. It looked like a show was about to start, and Lucifer was getting tired after so much walking and pulling the wagon along with him.

"Hey, Charlie, let's watch the show! That'll be fun, won't it? They'll probably have animals come out!" Lucifer said, trying to encourage his daughter, who thought about it, before nodding and running down the steps at a speed that legitimately worried him that she could fall - then again, he'd seen Charlie jump on a trampoline, launch herself into the side of the house, then get back up laughing.

They found a seat up near the front with a few other parents and kids, including one peacefully sleeping baby in one woman's arms. Lucifer smiled at the infant, wistfully missing those days - just not the diaper duty.

Suddenly fog blasted out of the stage, and confetti cannons went off, promptly scaring the baby into a fit of screaming. Music began to play, and an announcers voice came flooding around them from large speakers.

"Hello, hello, hello and welcome to The Garden! We're going to introduce you to some totally awesome creatures, and some spooky ones too! So, I want every boy, girl, and squirrel, to pop on their adventurer hat and come with me on trip across the wild world!" A tall figure emerged from the fog, clearly wearing an Indiana Jones type hat. Charlie was slack jawed and mystified by what was going on, which was enough of a distraction that Lucifer didn't stop to think the man sounded familiar.

"My name is Captain Adam, and my partner here is Lieutenant Lute!"

Lucifer's head snapped back to the stage, stunned to see Adam, his Adam (his Adam?), walk out from the fog, and out onto the main stage. Their eyes met briefly, and Adam raised an amused eyebrow at him, but he clearly had other concerns - Adam had a full ass eagle on his arm. Then he noticed the pretty, yet very serious looking, girl walk out on stage beside Adam in khaki shorts and a bandana on her head. She was holding an owl, that was looking around curiously at the audience.

Charlie bounced in her seat, clearly recognizing Adam from the aquarium, and looking at Lucifer excitedly. "Look, look! Papa!"

"I see, sweetie." Lucifer said with a nervous laugh. God, Adam was going to think he was a stalker.

"For the beginning of our show, I'm going to need a volunteer from the audience." Adam said, a microphone clipped onto his khaki shirt. "How about you? The short blond man in the audience, who looks like he has a fondness for Clownfish. Come on up to the stage." Adam sent him a come hither motion, which did things to him emotionally.

Everyone turned to look at him, and Lucifer turned beet red.

What had he gotten himself into?

[rottencarrotttt]

OC INTRODUCTION

it was time to make a proper introduction post for my oc. here he is, my man in his full glory! I'll probably reblog this with his whole backstory after im done writing it.

(For this reference sheet, I took inspiration from @mew-ya )

infos and trivia under the cut v

Basic information:

Name: Rory

Epithet: The Raven

Sexuality: bisexual, poly

Bday and Zodiac: 18/07, Cancer

Race: Skypiean

Height: 2.37

Body: muscolar arms, legs, and back, slight fat belly, hairy, white wings

Distinguishing marks: mole under his right eye, a little scar over his lips, aquiline nose, crooked grin, has a tongue piercing

Hair: shabby, white, reach his middle back, often tied in a high ponytail or a bun, accompanied with a bandana when cooking

Eyes: turquoise, blind left eye

Devil fruit: tori-tori no mi, model raven, zoan type

General Trivia:

He's both captain and cook of his crew;

He and his crew are part of the Whitebeard's fleet;

He was part of Whitebeard's 4th division since he was 12yo;

He is allied with the Kid's Pirates, respects Eustass Kid, and wishes to see him become King of Pirates;

Has a crush on Kid;

Is in an open relationship with his navigator;

Izou was his bi-awakening;

He prioritise adventure and treasure in his journeys;

To throw some adjectives for him: curious, intelligent, confident, can be caring and kind, sly, sarcastic, mistrustful, cocky, arrogant, stubborn, brutally honest, thoughtful, reliable, energetic, can be intense, a bit dramatic, strong willed;

Literally destroyed his life with his own hands as a child, yet he doesn't regret it;

Hates the Blackbeard pirates with all his being.

Was in Marineford;

He joined in the payback war against Blackbeard. He survived, losing an eye and remaining scarred; His main goal is to revenge Whitebeard, Ace, Tatch, and whoever lost their live during the payback war by defeating Blackbeard;

[sunny6677]

Epic: The Musical, but Odysseus is an asshole.

Summary:

Odysseus, the King of Ithaca, is determined to get back home alive, for both his wife, and.. well.. son—I guess. But in his long, disastrous adventure with many encounters of monsters and God's alike—the many strange characters Odysseus meet all have to deal with one thing while facing him: He's an asshole.

CHAPTER 2: The Horse and The Infant. (Part 2)

TW FOR SLIGHT GORE DURING THE FIGHTING PART.

————

"What shall we do if this fight doesn't end with a success on our part?"

"..I—suppose we'll keep fighting. I'll doubt we'll lose though. Things usually go better when Odysseus is in charge."

"..yeah. When he's actually trying."

"Do.. you think we'll see our families again? I don't want any of this to be for nothing—"

The chattering between both the soft-spoken Menelaus and Agammemnon ceased, as sudden—sharp, almost manic laughter from Odysseus erupted. It was loud amongst the quieted murmuring of the soldiers—causing most of them to turn their heads as Odysseus stood with his back turned before the nearly opened entrance.

As if to cut into his own laughter with an interruption, Odysseus snapped his head to look at them, and sharply uttered—his lips curling from a sarcastic grin to a low snarl: "Shut up!"

Menelaus furrowed his brows in quiet irritation—while Agammenon glared, furious at the interruption, and hissed in return.

"You're the only one who's talking—!"

"Agammemnon, brother—he'll only talk more if you respond to him. Just let him be." Menelaus whispered, exasperated as he set a hand on Agammemnon's shoulder, though the look in Menelaus' eyes of deep brown had a hardened feel inside—the darkness masking his anger. "Engaging with him isn't worth it."

Odysseus knew how furious he made the men around him. And in all honesty, he couldn't give less than two shits. He didn't ask to be in this war. He wanted to be back at Ithaca, laying in the wedding bed rooted into the ground by the olive tree where they first met. He wanted to be fed by his servants, and to be addressed as if he were above everyone else (which he was—at least, compared to the fools he was forced to be of service to in this war). He wanted to feel the warm embrace of her—his dearest wife, Penelope.

As Odysseus turned, ignoring the murmuring of the two men behind him with a soft stare off into the space of light barely emitting from the entrance—her face came into his mind. Pale-skinned, ebony hair tied into a high bun, long-lashed lids with onyx eyes. The sound of her sweet, soft voice. Just imagining her face was enough to make him soften.

He huffed gently as he thought of her. "Penelope.."

No matter what it'd take, he'd get back to her.

"..don't worry, captain."

A soft voice that he preferred to hear more among the fools within this army spoke from behind him. Odysseus flickered his eyes, though they became less soft than before. A smiling face with light brown skin, black curly hair tied with a red bandana, and dark brown eyes hidden behind the lenses of glasses greeted him.

The face—or rather, the man who greeted him in the darkness, held up a hand—lifting a thumb as if to encourage him.

"You've gotten us far throughout this. I'm sure you'll see your wife and son again."

"..uh.. yeah, sure—" Odysseus blinked. "My wife, and my.. son."

He paused again.

"Is something wrong, Captain?"

Odysseus turned his head again, and let out a sigh.

"No, Politics. I'm fine. It's—it's nothing. I didn't forget I had a son, or.. anything." Odysseus repressed another sigh from coming out of his mouth the more he thought of the young infant he had with his wife back at home. He had honestly forgotten he even had a son, with how occupied he'd been with this damn war.

He was barely able to recall the infants face. Or even his name. Tel.. tele.. television? Telemarket? What was his name?

Meeting the slightly puzzled gaze of Polites, who seemed to be arching a brow for whatever reason—he spoke.

"What was his name?"

"..who?"

"The—the child. That kid I had with Penelope."

Polites paused, and thought for a moment, his eyes slightly widening as if baffled by the question. After a moment of thought, he answered—"Telemachus..? Didn't you name him yourself, Captain?"

"..uh.. yeah. I think so." Odysseus shrugged. "Doesn't matter though. We have a war to fight, Poleets."

"..Pole—Captain, my name is Polites—why do you keep calling me—"

Before Polites could finish, or before Odysseus could hear whatever else he had said, Odysseus bent down and leg his hand seep onto the upper edge of the entrance on the floor. With a quick movement of his hand, he pulled his arm back, and a gust of humid breeze went through the dampness of the interior as light greeted them finally from the outside.

Odysseus looked upon the cobblestone floor, lit by moonlight. He could hear the faint snoring of the Trojan people, laying near or sitting near different tables or spots after a long celebration of 'winning the war'. Too bad they wouldn't be celebrating for long. Well, maybe not too bad. He could celebrate in the exact same fashion as they did out of spite when he got home, since if anything, there was more of a chance he was going to win against them in this battle.

..perhaps Prince Hector would enjoy a statue of his brothers being killed by Neo. That could be a good suggestion to his servants the moment he got back to Ithaca. It would be a fitting reminder of the glory Greece had held over Troy.

After a moment of thinking, Odysseus turned to every soldier behind him, who either wore looks of silent horror, or nervousness. He tried to smirk, though it quickly faded as his exhausted voice filled the room.

"Alright.. let's go fight, you bastards."

————

The walls of Troy had gone from being filled with complete and utter silence, to the sound of a cacophony of endless screaming.

Soldiers ran along the floor, clashing their swords with the opposing men as women and children ran to hide with horrified faces. There were so many regular people among all the soldiers that Odysseus had to have nearly shoved at least 5 or 6 women to the side while running amongst everyone.

Odysseus leapt, gripping the handle of his sword—he whipped up his sword, and clashed it with another soldier. The soldier grunted in rage, waving his sword around with all his might. As he swung it up for a moment, Odysseus ceased an opportunity he held, and lowered his sword—lunging it foward and letting the sharp end lash forth.

He felt the sword impale something soft as he twisted it, and the soldier grunted. With a smirk, Odysseus lifted his head, pulling the sword out, and then lifting his foot. As the soldier stared up with a gape of his mouth, he had no time to react as Odysseus launched his foot foward and kicked him to the ground. The soldier landed with a thud, and Odysseus stood over him with a smug expression.

The soldier twitched, his eyes wide. Odysseus tilted his head. He would have finished the job, but.. this man was very persistent and had been quite strong. He'd been fighting him for about a few minutes at this point, and already he'd been drained.

"Argh.. urgh—" The man grunted.

Odysseus rolled his eyes. "Ugh—sorry, dude," He lifted his foot, "but you're kind of annoying."

He slammed his foot down. The second he lifted it, the man seemed to have shut his eyes. Good. He was unconscious. Odysseus didn't have to deal with him anymore.

Odysseus turned, and ran amongst the crowds of men. He rejoined the fights of other men. He shoved at soldiers, he pushed them down, he had purposefully pushed Agammenon into a group of Trojan Soldiers at some point. Come to think of it, there was one little joy he had gotten out of this: Getting an excuse to release his annoyance through battle. Though, he would count the irritated and terrified looks of some of his comrades as he would sometimes abandon them to fight on their own as another little joy too.

Throughout the battle, as he ran after bashing a Trojan soldiers head against a wall, he let himself stare at some of the men in his own army.

He saw Diomedes, beating the heads of Trojan Soldiers in—seeing as that was sort of all he was good for. Muscle. At least he listened to what Odysseus had said and acted useful for once.

He saw Agammemnon struggling against a nearby wall, lashing his sword onto soldiers who had him cornered. He was being a bit of a handful, but at least he wasn't bothering Odysseus for a change.

He saw Menelaus, still on the ground—being kicked at and beaten by soldiers. Hey—if Odysseus came up and stabbed them from behind, they wouldn't notice since they were too busy beating Menelaus' head in. At least Menelaus was being useful bait within this battle.

Odysseus saw Teucer—nervously standing in the corner with his bow. Off to the side, somehow unnoticed. Of course, if things went wrong, he could grab Teucer by the arm and throw him in front of a few Trojan soldiers. But that didn't need to happen right now.

Little Ajax was.. nowhere to be seen. Which was good. He basically did nothing in battle anyway.

As for Nestor, he was likely retrieving Helen, and.. Neo was probably screaming in rage and killing the brothers of Hector right now, despite Odysseus only giving him vague permission to do whatever he wanted, and not specifically that. Then again, Neo likely wanted it, so that could count. He practically seemed to vibrate with rage anytime the brothers of Hector were brought up anyway, so it was about time the man got himself some form of closure.

Odysseus looked around—no one seemed to notice him or came running toward him. At the same time, he noticed a ladder nearby.

..perhaps, he had a way to sneak out after all. He had to be sure though.

Moving quietly among the men, Odysseus rushed forth, and stopped before the steps. He lifted his hands, and grasped the steps in his palms—lifting himself from the lower part, to the higher half. He heard the faint sounds of grunting grow more quiet as he slowly reached the top, and finally pushed himself upward.

Odysseus spun as he rolled onto the higher ledge, finding himself now laying upon the walls of Troy. He laid there for a moment, before shaking his head, and quickly standing up. Glancing around, he saw only darkness, which likely meant he had a chance to escape without being seen. After all, no one appeared to be up here.

..perfect.

Odysseus smirked, spotting the fence that kept those among the walls from plunging to their deaths. He began to eagerly pace toward it, when—

A shadowed figure lunged before him as he approached, seeming to form from nowhere. He tried to look up, or to see the figures face, but before he could—he felt a lash against his chest. A searing, cold, pain of a lash that felt as if he had been split into two.

Odysseus grunted. As if on time with his pain, thunder growled within the clouds as he gasped, and pressed his hands to his chest. Despite the pain, he felt no injury. No blood. No scar. It was as if the pain hadn't happened at all.

His wide eyes blinked, not noticing the growing darkness, and the rising gray puffs of clouds from on high in the pitch-dark sky. Odysseus cursed.

"Gods.. what.. what the—what the fuck—?! What was that?!"

He winced again. He was about to curse again, ready to yell or fight if he had to. After all, he wouldn't let some shadow bastard prevent him from leaving, no matter if they ascended from Olympus itself or not.

As Odysseus raised his head though—a rumbling voice echoed—speaking only his name, but being tinged with the sharpness of lightning, and the roughess of an old king.

"Odysseus."

Odysseus glanced around. He heard a piercing cry, like an eagle calling out. As lightning flashed within the sky, he swore he saw.. eyes, and the muscular figure of a looming man with long hair staring back at him. An elder hidden in the storm. A king.

A God. Who.. he.. did not seem to recall the name of at the moment.

Odysseus furrowed his brows, looking up in slight alarm. He hadn't known if he had been seeing things, or if truly, this had been a God, but he had one response for this situation.

In an exasperated, baffled tone—he spoke with wide eyes:

"..what the hell?.."

[midsummer-semantics]

the hint of a spark

Written for day 3 of @steddieangstyaugust.

Prompt: "The sunset looks lovely, doesn't it?"

Rating: G | WC: 2k | S4 Canon Compliant

Title from "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" by Death Cab For Cutie

divider from @steddiecameraroll-graphics

The calm before the storm is always Steve’s least favorite part. The idle waiting they all have to do before a plan can be set in motion. It’s worse now, somehow, than it was in ‘83 or ‘84 (he doesn’t think about ‘85, when most of the waiting was done tied to a chair under the heavy influence of Russian drugs). Now, half of their group is AWOL and there’s a new person that shouldn’t have been involved in the first place.

It’s still early, their plan not beginning until after the sun goes down, but Steve is restless. He wants to finish this. Finally. Three years of his life tied to the bullshit that this Vecna guy has pulled and for what? What’s the goddamn point?

“Brooding all by yourself, handsome?” a voice comes, startling Steve out of his… okay, he was brooding. He looks over to find Eddie climbing the ladder that leads to the top of the caravan, which Steve had retreated to with a flimsy excuse of ‘keeping watch’ while the others tried to get some rest, charge up for the night ahead of them.

He waits until Eddie takes a seat next to him, offering a crooked smile before responding. “Got an image to maintain.”

Eddie snorts as he settles, one leg extended so his foot hangs off the side of the RV, the other bent so he can rest his elbow on his knee. “Even in the face of impending doom, you’re still the formidable King Steve,” he quips, but it lacks the bitterness that Steve’s used to hearing when that nickname comes up.

Steve bumps his shoulder to Eddie’s, a silent acknowledgment of the joke.

It’s quiet this far away from downtown. Not the suffocating quiet of his house or the droning quiet of Family Video on a slow day. A peaceful quiet. The kind of quiet that Steve hasn’t experienced in a while. The kind that lets him delude himself into thinking that the world is a quiet place, where the leaves rustle on the trees and crickets chirp to give the temperature and there’s no alternate dimension ready to rise up and raze the town. 

It’s a shame it’s March, he thinks. If it was summer, the fireflies would be beginning their nightly dance, one turning to two turning to a hundred as the sun sets over the open field. There’d be the smell of impending rain as another summer storm rolls in and a fox or two running to find a burrow.

Steve’s always been a big fan of summers: the sunshine and the adventure, the possibilities, the liminal space between school terms that allows him to just exist without thought for what came before or what comes after.

He still likes summer, even if the beginning of July is likely to be less exciting after last year. A lot of things have been ruined thanks to the crap they’re going to face later.

“How do you do it?” Eddie asks, once again breaking through Steve’s contemplative silence.

“Huh?”

Eddie flicks open his zippo, which is the only thing that survived the dive into the Upside Down since his cigarettes didn’t. Steve watches him spark a flame, snuff it out, open, spark, snuff, repeat.

“All of—” Eddie waves his free hand over them then the RV they’re sitting on, “—this. The battles. The interdimensional plot twists. The fucking….” He sighs, shaking his head, his hair swiveling around under the bandana he’s already tied over it. “Everything.”

Steve takes a moment to look, really look, at the man sitting beside him. Eddie’s eyes are huge, pleading, but beyond that they glisten in the fading daylight. They contain the horrors that he’s faced in the last few days, but they also contain galaxies, the beginning and end of worlds as they sparkle and shine.

He’s a little pale, sure, like he hasn’t seen daylight in two years, but the color rising to his cheeks as Steve studies him gives heat to the simmering in Steve’s stomach that started since Eddie held a broken bottle to his throat. 

Since before that, probably. The first time sophomore-Steve saw Eddie Munson stand on top of a lunch table and wax poetic about the system and forced conformity. 

The first time Steve really thought ‘I want to be like that.’

He doesn’t mean loud or angry or volatile, he has plenty of that hidden between the bricks of his carefully crafted walls. He knows what attention feels like, knows that, at one point, people looked to him like he brings some sort of message only they can get from him. No. He means unapologetic, open, himself.

He hasn’t really felt any of that since November ‘83. He’s made an active effort to feel nothing at all, because feeling means hurt and pain, and nothing means…

“You get used to it,” Steve states, tone light despite the tempest swirling in his being.

Eddie stares at him for several beats, enough time to have the younger man almost turning away. “That’s pretty fucked up, Steve.”

Steve scoffs, mostly because Eddie’s right and he knows that, but also because it’s second nature. Scoff at the drama, the trauma, the ridiculous things. 

Old habits die hard.

“No, but really,” Eddie continues. “You’ve been through a lot. Way more than you’ve told me, I know for sure. So…”

Steve shrugs, brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, normally we have—”

“The girl with super powers, yeah, I get it,” Eddie snaps. “But that doesn’t explain how you get through it all. Because if I’m honest, man, I’m about three seconds from running at every moment and you just…” He inhales and exhales heavily. “You just keep going. How?”

Steve sighs, turning back to watch the sky begin its change from blue to orange. 

“I dunno, man. I haven’t really gotten a chance to stop and think about it since it all started.”

That’s not entirely true. There’s been lulls between events before, time when Steve probably should have processed everything he’s been through. But again, it’s easier to just ignore it. Count his lucky stars that he survived another fight and then move on in the hopes he doesn’t have to do it again.

Eddie continues to fiddle with his lighter, occasionally spinning it between his forefinger and thumb before going through the motions once more. Open, spark, snuff, again.

“I guess that’s part of what I don’t get. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since it happened.”

Steve doesn’t ask him to clarify, he doesn’t need to. Not when he gets it completely.

“Barbra Holland died in my pool,” he says, once again looking out over the field. The sun has dipped below the treeline now, the sky darkening.

Eddie’s movements stop altogether. “What?”

“Yep,” Steve says, popping the P. “The night Will Byers went missing. The demogorgon that took him also killed her.”

He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him as the metalhead speaks. “And… where were you?”

Upstairs. Taking Nancy Wheeler’s virginity.

“Inside with some friends. It happened so fast, no one even heard it.”

“Shit, dude. So you’ve really been in this since the very beginning.”

Steve nods absently. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He doesn’t really think of it like that. Or, he hadn’t until now, he supposes. Mostly, he just blames himself, even though realistically he knows there’s nothing he could have done at the time even if they’d all been outside with Barb. It likely would have resulted in all of their deaths instead. There was no nail bat or firearms at that point. Just four stupid kids and an innocent girl who didn’t deserve to die.

“Billy didn’t die in the mall fire either,” he redirects.

“Oh jeez,” Eddie groans. “Don’t tell me, another demogorgon attack?”

Steve chuckles, can’t help it. “I wish. No, Mind Flayer that time.”

“It’s really uncomfortable the way all of these monsters are named after D&D characters.”

Steve laughs again, fiddling with the zipper tab on his vest. He wishes Eddie still had his cigarettes.

“Yeah, a bunch of people went missing and it turned out they were all melting into goo to create this 50-foot monster thing,” he explains, glancing over at Eddie’s horrified look. Honestly, it sounds unbelievable, like something entirely made up, so it’s a little sad to see in real-time that Eddie believes him. “Billy was working for it, I guess. I don’t really understand the connection even now. Anyway, we tried to take it out with fireworks—”

“Fireworks?” Eddie guffaws. 

Steve snorts. “Yeah well, it was all we had available. Well, that, and Nancy had a pistol, but there’s no way it would have stood a chance against this thing. But yeah, Billy tried to fight it, it was going to kill El, er, Supergirl, and Billy… I don’t know. Had a change of heart?” He shakes his head. “It was too strong, though. And he… he didn’t…”

Steve trails off, memories of that night flashing through his mind. It’s still, even now thanks to the drugs that had been in his system, but the crunching of bones and the piercing scream Max let out still ring in his ears if he listens close enough.

“So yeah,” he says after a moment. “I just try not to think about it.”

Eddie still looks scandalized when Steve looks at him again, his brows furrowed and his eyes shining in the dying daylight. He’s thinking, Steve can tell by the way his jaw flexes and his eyes dart over Steve’s face. Finally, the metalhead brings a hand up, resting it on Steve’s shoulder.

“And here you are, about to run head-first into battle again. You’re pretty amazing, Steve.”

Steve’s heart thumps hard at Eddie’s words, the touch to his shoulder that he can’t really feel through the tactical layers, but the weight of Eddie’s hand is enough.

“Thanks, man,” he replies, hesitating only for a moment before bringing his own hand up and resting it on Eddie’s bent knee. He can feel Eddie’s skin under his palm through the rip in the denim, and he absently drags his thumb across it. “So are you.”

It’s probably too forward. They barely know each other, and Steve might be overly familiar with what a crush feels like, but this doesn’t seem like the ideal time to explore that feeling. Although, if they’re going to die tonight, then he might as well let it ripple out in the open while he can.

Eddie drags his gaze away from Steve’s face to look down at his hand on his knee, this breathing a little shallower. Steve doesn’t stop touching him, won’t unless Eddie tells him to. But Eddie doesn’t, he swallows harshly and looks back up at Steve with a question in his eyes that Steve gives a nod and small smile to. They don’t need to talk about it. Either they survive tonight and can talk about it after, when the dust settles, or they don’t and talking wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

Instead, they sit in the quiet calm before the storm, Eddie only moving to brush the hand on Steve’s shoulder across his back to the other side, scooting a little closer to lay his head on the now free shoulder. Steve keeps his hand on Eddie’s knee, moving it just enough to cup the inside of it, holding him a little tighter.

“The sunset is lovely, don’t ya think?” Eddie asks, hushed, like it would shred the little blanket of night that’s folded over them.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, resting his chin on the top of Eddie’s bandana-covered head, wishing it wasn’t there so he could press his lips to Eddie’s hair, feel the curls against his skin, take in his scent if it’s the only chance he’ll get to do so. “It is.”

[rorylovesmatt]

As of late I’ve been watching all of the sturniolo’s old videos, and I got this idea what if Y/N and the triplets were born 2 days apart (both of their families are close friends) and have been best friends ever since. And every time y/n would make an appearance in their videos all of their fans thought something was going on between y/n and Matt because of how close they would get and the side eyes they would give each other. So when y/n decided to do a Q & A on her YouTube channel years later with the triplets a fan asked if she remembered the very first video she did with the triplets about how one of her biggest dream was to rent out an entire zoo which gives the guys an idea to surprise y/n with them buying out the entire zoo, so when the triplets decide to make the video ’we bought a zoo’. And they ask y/n if she wants to be in one of their new videos and she decides that she will do it with them, but she didn’t know what the video was about, and when they get there y/n was so excited that when she hugged Nick and Chris she forgot to just hug Matt that she ended up kissing him, and she asked Nick not to cut that part out that it was time to tell the fans that Matt and y/n have been together since freshman year of high school.

Surprise - Matt sturniolo

summary: Y/N and the triplets have been friends since forever. One day the triplets decided to surprise her with something she’s been wanting for forever

warnings: i don’t think there’s any

word count: 815

a/n: sorry for ghosting you guys i’ve just been feeling really unmotivated!!

Y/N had been friends with the triplets for as long as she could remember. Their bond was unbreakable, formed over countless shared memories, inside jokes, and a deep understanding of one another. Growing up in the same neighborhood they had been through thick and thin together, supporting each other through every challenge life threw their way.

One sunny Saturday morning, the triplets had an idea for a surprise for Y/N. Knowing her love for animals they decided to rent out a zoo for the day and film the entire adventure. They kept their plan a secret, excited to see the look on her face when they revealed the surprise.

The day began like any other. Y/N received a text from Nick asking her to meet them at their house. On the drive there she felt curious about their plan for the day but expecting another typical hangout. When she arrived the triplets were bubbling with excitement, barely able to contain their secret.

"Y/N we have a surprise for you" Chris announced, his eyes sparkling.

"Yeah you're going to love it" Nick added with a grin

"Close your eyes" Matt instructed, gently covering her eyes with Chris’s yellow bandana

She giggled feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity. They led her outside and helped her into their car. The drive was filled with music and small hints, heightening her anticipation. After what felt like forever they finally arrived at their destination.

"Okay someone take the blindfold off of her" Nick said getting the camera prepared.

Y/N opened her eyes to find herself standing in front of a zoo. Her jaw dropped in disbelief.

"No way! You guys rented out a zoo?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with amazement.

"We sure did" Matt said proudly. "All for you."

They spent the day exploring the zoo, feeding the animals, and capturing every moment on camera. Y/N was in awe, her heart swelling with gratitude for her incredible friends. They laughed, played, and created memories that would 100% last a lifetime.

As the day was coming to an end, they found themselves in front of the lion enclosure. Nick and the camera man suggested they film a closing segment for their video before they went to bed.

"Y/N stand in the middle. Matt, you stand next to her. Chris, you're on the other side." Nick said while pointing to the direction he was talking about.

Y/N and Matt exchanged a glance, their hearts pounding. Unbeknownst to their friends Y/N and Matt had developed feelings for each other over the past few months. They had kept it a secret unsure of how to tell Nick and Chris. The moment felt surreal, standing there with Matt knowing their secret was about to be revealed.

As Nick started recording Y/N felt a surge of courage. She turned to Matt and without giving it a second thought, leaned in and kissed him. It was a soft and tender kiss filled with all the unspoken emotions they had kept hidden for so long.

Nick and Chris froze, their eyes widening in shock. Y/N pulled back, her cheeks flushed.

"Uh, Y/N?" Nick said, his voice tinged with surprise.

Y/N took a deep shaky breath, her heart racing. "Nick, Chris, there's something we need to tell you."

Matt took her hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We've been seeing each other for a while now" he admitted, his eyes locked on his brothers.

Chris was the first to break the silence. "Wow, I did not see that coming."

Nick, recovering from his initial shock grinned. "Well this is definitely going in the video."

"Nick!" Y/N protested, her face turning even redder.

"No really!" Nick insisted, a mischievous glint in his eye. "This is golden. Everyone will love it."

Y/N looked at Matt, who shrugged with a smile. "What do you think?" he asked her.

She sighed, a smile tugging at her lips. "Fine keep it in the video. But only if you promise to edit it nicely."

"Deal" Nick said shaking her hand playfully.

The rest of the day was filled with laughter and teasing as they wrapped up their zoo adventure. Y/N felt a sense of relief knowing that her relationship with Matt was out in the open and accepted by their closest friends.

The video turned out to be a perfect blend of fun, surprise and heartfelt moments. Capturing the essence of their unbreakable friendship and the new chapter in Y/N and Matt's relationship.

As they uploaded the video and shared it with their fans, Y/N couldn't help but feel grateful for the triplets. They had always been there for her, and now, with Matt by her side in a new way, she knew their bond was stronger than ever.

[metamelonisle]

what becomes of every kirby character long after the series concludes

kirby - continues being an altruistic heroic drifter. married to both prince fluff and ribbon and wears the wedding rings on his horns. visits her friends often. basically nothing concrete really changes in their lifestyle aside from becoming older and wiser and more experienced

king dedede: passes down kingship of dream land to bandana waddle dee and retires to traveling the universe with his friend to enjoy delicious food and fun fights as merely "dedede"

meta knight: passes down his mask, identity, and galaxia to their chosen successor, and travels the universe with his friend to enjoy delicious food and fun fights under the name "galacta"

bandana dee: after growing significantly as a leader and warrior, king dedede names him as his successor, and bandee becomes the new king of dream land

gooey: much like kirby, nothing solidly changes for gooey. he gets older and wiser, but he still basically just chills out on dream land and hangs out with his friends and enjoys a peaceful idyllic lifestyle

dl2 animal friends: rick inherits his family farm and marries pick, everyone else kinda just continues with their lives because they were already adults with lives they were living to begin with

marx: dies in a bovine insemination factory explosion at age 19

adeleine: returns to her homeworld and becomes a famous artist

ribbon: rises up the ranks to become the captain of the ripple star royal guard. marries kirby and prince fluff and is considered princess-consort of patch land. gets a really cool gun

dmk: after a long time he finally starts to healthily move on from dark mind's death in amazing mirror and makes friends and becomes shadow dedede's partner but aside from that he largely keeps his existing lifestyle of chilling in his ruins home unless called out

parallel susie: follows in her father's footsteps of becoming a celebrated inventor and enjoys making weird science with her friend magolor. becomes partners with flamberge and a frequent patron of her restaurant

dark taranza: pranks people with nia. just like his old man 8')

shadow dedede: retires from his role as the king of the mirror world to tutor its new king, shadow kirby

shadow kirby: becomes the primary protector of the mirror world. unlike kirby, shadow kirby is not as much of an adventurer and wishes to protect and rule over the mirror world, and shadow dedede mentors him

daroach: continues being a phantom thief well into his middle age. gets a little greyer and a little heavier. what he didn't expect was that middle-adged playboy phantom thieves are in hot hot demand and now has a fanbase of people who want him so so so bad. it is absolutely nothing like he was used to as a young man in the main series

magolor: continues making theme parks, goofing off with his friends, and making weird science with parallel susie

taranza: has taken a step down from ruling floralia in sectonia's absence to train her successor. he lowkey wants to retire already

susie: has long decided that popstar is her home and has largely mellowed out enough that she no longer wants to take over the world and is content to just kind of be popstar's resident tech-themed wizard. marries a nun

francisca/frankiss: fumbles every woman in popstar looking for a girlfriend and tries to forcefem everyone else with varying degrees of success but always ends up rejected in the end anyways

flamberge: opens a really really good barbecue place on hotbeat. becomes partners with patrya.

zan partizanne: struggles with finding purpose after realizing she doesn't want to become like hyness or become the next head priest of the jamba religion. she marries susie and wanders around popstar in search of something that will bring her peace

astral: bested the greatest warrior in the galaxy and earned the mask, sword, identity, and blessing of meta knight and now leads the new generation of meta-knights

elfilin: hes spongebob now

[hyruleanhistorian]

Hylia's Hero

It seemed the tidal wave of war that had been brewing for decades was about to crash upon Hyrule’s shores. But no hero had appeared. Zelda knew the tales, those of the legendary heroes who appeared when Hyrule needed them most. Heroes of Sky, of Time, of Wind. Heroes who rescued princesses from prison, from sleep. A hero who was a princess. Yet, out of the uncountable people Zelda had met, none of them had felt right.

“Please Hylia,” she prayed, “send us your hero, for the sake of your people.”

Hylia listened to her daughter’s plea, and she looked out upon her people, considering who she should bestow a hero’s spirit upon. Alas, no one was quite right; and her people did not have time to wait for a baby to grow.

So, Hylia set to work creating a hero. Blond hair, blue eyes, slim build. An average hero, created from elements of past ones. A knack for fighting, an aptitude for puzzles, a love for adventure.

And Hylia took her hero, dressed in plain clothes, the both of them, a hood covering her own face, and brought him to the enlistment officer for the Hyrulean Army.

She filled in his forms, for though he knew how to read and write, he was still gaining his bearings.

His name was Link, no last name. They’d give him one, most likely, with how populated this city was. He was fifteen, today, the minimum age for enlistment with parental permission. She gave a signature for the parental sign-off but left the place of residence and contact form empty.

“Couldn’t wait to get rid of him, aye?” The officer commented as he reviewed the forms.

With everything in order, Link was given a set of clothing and a toiletry kit, and, after brushing her hand through his hair, Hylia took her leave.

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

According to Link’s commanding officer, the prevailing theory amongst the higher-ups was that Link’s amnesia and inability to speak was a result of a deal gone poorly between his mother and a spirit, and his mother had abandoned him possibly out of shame, or out of worry that Link would become vengeful. Though Link had overheard that some thought his mother would have signed him up the moment she could regardless.

Link’s amnesia involved all his memories before being enlisted. Sometimes, though, he had glimpses and inklings that he supposed must have come from his life before the army. But they often seemed contradictory.

He had a sister – He was an only child – He was the youngest of many – He was a triplet? Quadruplet? Quintuplet?

He loved the water – The water terrified him – He was an excellent swimmer – he had no idea how.

He used to live in Castle Town – A forest – A farming community – An island – Nowhere.

He was left-handed. But sometimes he reached with his right.

He stood at the edge of a cliff and reached to adjust a cape – to grab a sailcloth – he had nothing.

The Smith, a young man came to deliver a sword. Why did Link expect him to be grey, with a ponytail and green bandana?

He’d never met the king, but he was kind, dismissive, understanding, stern, soft, loving, mean.

He saw rabbits, and wondered why none were pink, or purple. (And why did he feel the urge to catch them all?)

A goat got loose on market day – Link caught the goat and flipped it over before he’d fully registered what was happening.

And when the war started?

Having Fi and Midna beside him felt so right. Like a hole in his chest had been filled that he hadn’t known existed.

The song Marin sang felt so familiar. And filled him with a sadness he couldn’t describe.

And all the different places they visited, despite there being no way of him having been there before – felt like home.

@stqrmyskies

[lostfirefly]

Please don't say you're gone forever, 'cause I can't hurt no more (Ch.1)

This idea came from the dream. Again :)) Sorry not sorry :)

Buggy and F!Reader.

Description: You're the flower shop owner who has a long-standing relationship with Buggy. You haven't seen each other much in the last few months. He finally arrives to see you, but he's overtaken by fit of jealousy during the dinner.

Warnings: Buggy The Jealous For No Reason Jerk Clown, established relationship, arguing.

Words: 1637

The title is taken from "Gone Forever" by Wearing Scars.

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @gingernut1314

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter 2

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You were sorting out a new delivery of flowers when the bell on the door of your store rang loudly. “Just a minute, please, I’ll just put the flowers in the vase and come out to you!” you shouted from the back room. 

“Miss, I can’t wait a whole minute. I would like to buy a bouquet of beautiful roses, but I’m in a hurry!” An insistent male voice said from the next room. 

A shiver ran through your body. You quickly placed a fresh bouquet of roses in a large ceramic vase and headed into the hall. You opened the door and couldn't help but smile. 

"Hello!" you said as you exhaled. 

"Hey, my sweet cookie!" He stood near the cash register, leaning on the table. 

Your blue-haired man with a big red nose and his famous makeup. Your favorite pirate. Your favorite clown. Your beloved Captain Buggy.

"Finally!!" You ran to him and wrapped your arms around his neck tightly. "What are you.. How are..? Why are..?" You started kissing him on the lips, cheeks, temples, avoiding his nose. “I missed you so much!”

"Answering all your questions at once. We needed to resupply, and I said to dock our ship at your island. I really wanted to see my cookie." He smiled widely and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

You felt the warmth of his touch even through his white gloves. 

"For how long?" You asked quietly, running your hands over his forearms. 

"Two or three days."

“Well, it's better this time." You laughed. “But I need to finish up some work tasks at the store. Can you wait? I’ll close it early today.”

“I’ve come such a long way to you, and you still ask? My sweet cookie, you hurt me.” He shook his head and chuckled.

You smiled, kissed him on the lips again and quickly ran to finish your work. Buggy was wandering from corner to corner, periodically visiting you in the back room to distract you. 

After finishing your work, you closed the store, took Buggy’s hand and led him to your home. On the way you asked him about his adventures, about the sea, other pirates and where he would go next.

“Come in. I’ll make us tea.” You led him into your house and closed the door. 

"Tea? I thought we'd do something else." He said with a slight croak in his voice. 

“We have three more days for something else. Tea first. Are you hungry? I can cook something.”

Buggy shrugged. 

You suggested him to help make a meal together. You opened the bottle of rum just to make the cooking process funnier. When the dish was ready, you sat the plates with food down at the table. 

You sat on his lap, constantly looked at him, smiled and blushed every time he said that this was the most delicious dish in the world. You cannot stop running your hand over his red and white bandana and didn’t know how to stop smiling.

Buggy kissed your hands, your cheeks, your lips and you blushed the whole time.

While you were talking about everything and nothing, there was a knock on the door. 

"Are you waiting for someone?" Buggy asked in surprise. 

“No. I don’t know who it is. Please wait, I’ll be right back.” You kissed him on the cheek and ran to open the door. 

"Tom, what are you doing here?" Your old friend was standing on the threshold. Tall, pumped-up brunette with brown eyes. 

“I thought you were sitting alone. Me, Billy and Drew are going to a bar and I thought I should invite you to join us.” He leaned on the door frame and crossed his arms. "So. Get ready, darling, let's go and have some fun!" 

"Sorry, I can't, I'm busy."

“Come on, pretty girl, we had so much fun last time!" 

“Tom, I’m sorry. I’m busy, I have guests. We’ll talk later. Bye-bye!” You quickly pushed him out of the doorway and closed the door. 

You walked back to the kitchen.

“Sorry!” You hugged Buggy's neck from behind and kissed his cheek. He turned around. 

"What happened?" You asked, carefully removing your hands from his neck.

"Who was that?" He asked dryly and turned his gaze to you.

“Where? Ah! This is Tom. I told you about him, remember? The guy we lived next door to when we were kids, our parents were friends. Well, somehow we became friends too.”

“Just friends?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, why?" You asked, sitting down on the chair.

“Well, I don’t know. He comes to you almost in the middle of the night to invite you somewhere, calls you a pretty girl. Maybe you have more than just fun spending time with him.”

“What? What are you talking about? I didn’t think about anything bad. He’s cute, of course, but we’re just friends and that’s all.” You took his hand. Buggy looked displeased and pulled his hand out of your hands. 

“Of course he’s cute.” He mumbled. “Did you just go to the bar?” Buggy didn’t take his eyes off you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean. You said he's cute." 

"Oh my god, are you serious? Why are you clinging to words?"

"I'm not!" He rose his voice.

"I'm not making a complaint to you. I could make a claim against you with the same zeal. You generally disappear at sea for months. And taking into account the fact that you have pretty girls in your crew..." You took a sip of rum from the glass. 

"I had nothing like that in my mind, but thanks for the hint." He crossed his arms and leaned on the back of his chair.

"Buggy, are you okay today? Why are you acting like this? I told you he's just a friend. I wanted to spend time with the person I love. Oh, by the way, where is he?" You angrily put an empty glass on the table. 

Buggy was silent for a second. “You started it yourself...” 

“I didn’t start anything.” You took the fork, twirled it in your hands and threw it on the table. “You're the one who got mad for no reason!” 

“So why the hell does he come to you here? He also talks in such a tone. No one has the right to come here at all!” He continued to glare at you.

You looked at him and didn’t know whether to cry or get angry. "Nothing works." You said in a whisper. 

"Nothing works?" Buggy asked in surprise. 

"Our relationship. Nothing works." 

“Sorry, what?" 

“Can't you hear me? Our relationship. It doesn't work like that, Buggy. Relationships are built on trust. I can't do that. You disappear for months, I don't hear anything from you. I don't know if you're alive or dead. Will you come? Or you won't come. Maybe you've already forgotten about me and exchanged me for the first girl you meet in every port. You come when it's convenient only for you, but I don't torment you every time with scenes of jealousy."

"I've asked you a million times to join my crew and stay on the ship with me." He spoke dryly and through clenched teeth.

“And I told you a million times that I can’t stay with you on your ship. At least for now. I have a job, a store, old parents, and friends here.” 

“You’ll see your parents and friends, just less often. What’s the big deal?” He shrugged.

“What's the big deal? I can’t give up everything just because a little grown-up boy wants it so much!” You raised your voice.

"What do you mean?" 

“I can't leave my parents. They are old. Do you understand? They need me. Just because no one cared about you before doesn’t mean my family is like that. We care about each other. They care about me and love me.” You felt your head starting to hurt. “I can't. I just can't. I’m going to sleep." 

Buggy looked at you, not a single muscle moved on his face. “I offered you to live with me. I offered you freedom and the ocean. But apparently, you don't really want to leave with the captain freak. And if you don't want it now, then you'll never want it. It will be better for you to stay with this Tom, am I right?”

“I told you, I don’t want to go on the ship right now. But I wanted to be in a relationship with you. The relationship with you was important to me. But last time I see you once every three to four months and then if I’m lucky. But for some reason, even in this case, you don’t trust me.”

"Wanted? Was important? In the past tense?" He asked in surprised tone.

“I don’t know. Have you noticed that in our last meetings we often quarrel? I’m tired. From scandals. From everything. I thought we would sit and talk. I've been missing you all this time. And now I don't wanna t... I don't know what I want. I wanna sleep.” 

“You suggest that we go to bed or that I should leave your house altogether with the phrase “I’m tired of everything” and “was important? Maybe you'll just say that you're tired of me? Just say you want to leave me. Just like he once left me. Just like everyone always did, everyone abandoned me."

“Oh, no, not again. Have you tried at least once in your life not to blame this Shanks for everything?" You grabbed your head and put your elbows on the table.

Buggy abruptly stood up from the table. 

"You're starting to behave like that again. You know, i think I need.. no.. we need a short rest from each other." 

"Rest? You mean break up?" 

"Rest is rest, Buggy. It's not a breakup.”

The last thing you heard was him slamming the front door.

“Fuck!” You thought. 

[linkedspirit-fanartfunart]

[Image Description: A colored line-up of various Legend of Zelda characters for the Linked Spirit AU. The characters read left-to-right: "Marin, she/her, pre-Hyule Warriors" is a young redhead girl with a purple cloak and maroon and white dress. She has her hands politely held in front of her. "Groose, he/him, Skyward Sword" is a redheaded man with his hands on his hips, wearing a blue tunic and a green caplet. "Greg Moblin, he/him, LoZ 1" is a large gold bulldog like moblin holding a flower in his hands. He wears a red shirt and pants, with a green poncho. "Purah, she/her, Breath of the Wild" a young teenager wearing a black poofy skirt and a tan shirt and coat with red accents. She has a red streak in her white hair, posing with her hand next to her face. "Tulin, he/him, Breath of the Wild" is a pullet age white Rito with one arm as a wing and the other arm ends with a Wind Waker style hand and wing 'sleeve' "Aror, he/him, Twilight Princess, Crossbow Training" is a child Twili oc with red hair and wears a green over the shoulder wrap over a white tunic. "Midna, she/her, Twilight Princess" is a older Twili, with long fluffy ears wearing a black and teal collared cape, She wears a dark purple skirt with a grey fur trim and a wolf head belt clip on the side of her hip. "Medli, she/her, Wind Waker" is a teenaged white Rito, her red hair in a ponytail. She holds a hand to her chest. "Aryll, she/her, Wind Waker" is a young teen with her hand raised excitedly. She wears a purple skirt with a skull pattern, and a blue shirt with flower patterns. She has the Wind Waker's starter sail wrapped around her waist. "Ol' Niko, he/him, Wind Waker, Spirit Tracks" is an elderly man, smiling with his hands on his cane. He wears a red and white stripped shirt with a blue vest. "Gulley, he/him, A Link Between Worlds" is a blond child wearing Link's Cap and a matching green vest over his yellow tunic. He has his hands on his hips. "Ravio, he/him, A Link to the Past, A Link Between Worlds" is a teenager with dark hair that fades into light blue. He waves, winking, wearing a floor length purple robe and dark purple blue. "Grandpa Smith, he/him, Minish Cap, Four Swords Adventures" is a greying beared man, drying his hands on a cloth. He wears a long leather apron over his green tunic, and wears a green bandana. "Skull Kid, he/him, Ocarina of Time, Majora's Mask" is a Skull Kid wearing a orange hat and tunic, with green shorts, collar, and gloves. He has a v like mark on his forehead. He holds up a horned skull mask in front of him. "Lady Alma, she/her, Wand of Gamelon" is a young woman with short red hair and a tiara. She raises a hand to her chin dantily, wearing a teal shirt and darker teal skirt. End ID]

A few "NPCs"

I can't say ALL of them will make an appearance in the comic, actually, but these are NPCs that are important to the Links, in one way or another, while also having a few significant design differences from canon (thus why no Linebeck or spryte lol.)