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artficlly · 4 months ago

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smog & spirits: bloodties (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, comfort/angst, fluff, wound description, healing, cuddling, religious punishment mentioned, threats, cults, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, bucky barnes needs a hug, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: woo!! finally the second part to this section!! comfort and fluff as promised w a little bit of angst. you guys are not ready for what i have planned for future chapters woohoo!! sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

When the coal boy finally came around, you were going to strangle him.

Despite its tiny size, your flat seemed to be leaking heat by the second. The last of your coal had long burnt out, leaving you shivering and elbow-deep in a dirty, lukewarm water bucket. Bucky had faded in and out of consciousness as you tended to him. A poultice had been made and lathered across his marred back, bandages holding the paste in place.

The gangster had moaned and groaned, half-consumed by fever as you cleaned the filth from his skin and hair. A satisfied grumble escaped his swollen lips while you massaged soap into the dirty locks, your fingers carefully working from root to end. His eyes would flutter open, bruised and bloodshot, watching you work with silent awe.

With some effort, you had roused the man long enough to get him to clamber into your small, rickety bed. Sweat glistened along his bare chest, the fever leaving him restless as he writhed between your sheets. Between laying a cool cloth along his brow, you worked on getting his clothes cleaned and hung up to dry. You knew you had none spare that would fit the hulking size of the gangster, so he would have to survive in his undershorts until his clothes dried.

You fished his stained but clean shirt from the bucket, wringing out the fabric. In the dim light cast by your candles, you could make out your breath as the depth of the night fully descended upon you.

You were filthy, tired, and cold. With a sniff, you rubbed the back of your hand across your forehead. The work had kept you warm for a short time, but now your sweat and blood were running cold. Across the room, Bucky had settled for the moment. He lay on his belly, bandaged back exposed to the skies as his breath rose and fell raggedly.

A small flash of guilt churned in your stomach upon fully looking at the damage you had caused. It would take days for the burning sensation and agonising pains to pass. The skin would never be the same, molten and twisted in appearance.

Maybe you should have denied him. He could have never truly known what he was asking for when he came to you for help.

You cast aside the thoughts with a frown.

Your knees were stiff, the muscle and bone aching as you unlocked them from your kneeling position. Hands shaking and goosebumps raised across your skin, you quickly darted across the room. Your nightgown was filthy with gods knows what from helping the gangster.

You did not check if the man had roused as you pulled it from your head in one swift motion. You did not particularly care if he gazed upon your nakedness. The man had been inside of you, with his fingers, his cock—your nipples peaked, maybe not just from the cold.

You cast your gaze back once you had slipped on a new and clean nightgown. Your eyes followed along the curve of his bicep, the solid muscle along his shoulders that disappeared beneath the bandages. Most of all, you looked at his face, still oddly beautiful despite the cuts and bruising. He looked vulnerable, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him.

His eyes were closed, thick, dark lashes brushed across his cheeks. His brows were drawn slightly, the ghost of a wince crossing his features.

Maybe it was the lack of clothes that was the most jarring. Even while he was inside you, he had remained clothed, as if he always had a piece of armour upon him. As if even at the height of pleasure, a thought lingered, worrying about his safety. Always had eyes in the back of his head, always watching and waiting for an enemy to strike. Did his sleeping form before you mean he trusted you? Or was he simply too injured to fight the exhaustion that clung to his very soul?

Outside, a frigid wind howled as it tore through the winding streets of The Warrens. You took that as your cue to stop lingering, shivering, and feeling pathetic.

You clambered into the small bed beside him, curling up by his side. Heat radiated off him, his sticky, hot flesh pressing against your own cool skin.

Bucky’s fever would be enough to keep the both of you warm.

—

By the time you awoke, Bucky’s fever had broken.

The gangster still lay on his stomach, but his head now rested just below your sternum. His tousled hair spilled between the valley of your breasts, an arm lazily draped across your middle. Hesitantly, you tilted your head, raising your own arm to gently hook it around the back of his head. Your fingers wound through his strands of hair, nails carefully scratching along his scalp.

You leaned your head back, a short sigh escaping your nose as you stared at the ceiling. Bucky let out a low hum, still half-asleep and bleary, responding to your touch. The vocalization sent vibrations across your skin, deep into your bones.

In a moment of selfishness, you savoured the quiet and the sensation of his weight upon you. Your digits explored deeper, splaying down his neck as you gently massaged. He hummed beneath you again, a small moan tugging from his lips as your fingertips moved lower. You dared to work the rhythm across the tops of his shoulders, ghosting along the edges of the bandages where the skin was untouched.

“Bucky,” you whispered. The gangster jerked beneath you as if startled that your touch wasn’t a dream. His head tilted, and he inhaled a sharp breath, wincing as the movement tensed his back muscles.

His eyes cracked open, vivid blue against the bloodshot whites. As he looked up at you, his entire being seemed to grow rigid. You tried not to take it personally.

“How’s your back?” you questioned, reluctantly withdrawing your hand from his hair.

Bucky contemplated your words, tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. He winced as he reached the split, the tender flesh not quite scabbed over. He spoke up, voice croaky and strained. “Bad.”

“I’ll make you somethin’ for the pain.”

Bucky didn’t reply, only making a pained noise as you slid out from under him, prying yourself from his touch. His limbs were frozen in place, muscles rigid as if every small movement brought agony. You got the sense that he did not remember clambering into your bed, nor you joining him.

You shuddered from the cold, wrapping your arms around your waist. Your thin nightgown did little to ward off the chill, and you could see your breath with each exhale. You felt the gangster’s gaze follow your every movement as you tip-toed across the cold hardwood floors to your dresser. You quickly pulled out a pair of socks and an ugly, oversized knitted sweater to throw over your shivering frame.

“I'll need to go out soon and hunt down the coal boy,” you explained as you moved to your desk. “I’ll get word to Steve or Sam too.”

You gathered some fresh herbs from your woven basket, sorting through the leafy greens and selecting what would be most effective. You weren’t particularly knowledgeable about potions or botany, but you knew enough to understand what worked best for the task at hand.

“No,” Bucky’s gravelly voice spoke up from behind you. You paused your movements, casting your gaze back to meet his.

“No?” you questioned, rubbing your chilly hands together with a disapproving frown.

“I don’t need Steve or Sam comin’ here with their… pity,” he explained. It was the most words he had spoken since he awoke, slightly muffled due to his face being half-pressed into the sheets.

You stalked forward, lowering yourself to your knees next to the bed. Eye-to-eye with Bucky, you sighed slowly, running a hand through his hair once more. His eyes closed, satisfied like a purring cat. “It’ll take a few days for your back to heal proper. I can help you here… I just worry they’ll go huntin’ for you if they don’t know you’re fine.”

He contemplated your words for a beat, lids fluttering as he reluctantly met your gaze.

“They can’t come here. They can’t see me like this.”

A strange sadness clawed at your gut at his confession. A man so feared that he could not be vulnerable in front of even those closest to him. The weight of expectation was heavy, and the fear of mutiny was even heavier.

“They won’t be able to get past my wards,” you reassured him, your fingertips ghosting across one of the gashes on his face. “I’ll just tell them you’re here, and you don’t want to be disturbed.”

He huffed out a pained laugh. “They’re gonna think I’m fuckin’ you, doll.”

You tried to keep a straight face. “Well, they’re not far off, now are they?”

—

Now that Bucky’s fever was broken, the both of you were rather grateful for a roaring fire.

Your tasks outside the bubble of comfort that was your flat went smoothly and briskly. You had slipped the coal boy an extra coin to ensure your coal was delivered to your flat efficiently and had remained tight-lipped about your frustration with the lad. One look at his sickly, pale mother, and you realized your order had slipped his mind with good reason.

Locating a Smog boy had gone easier than the first task. You slipped one of Bucky’s boys a note, instructing that it be delivered to Steve or Sam. Bucky had managed to scribble out some nonsense, explaining where he was while keeping out the details of his near-death experience. He hadn’t gone into depth but indicated he was worried Steve and Sam might go after The Penance Boys themselves if enlightened. Bucky had rather sternly muttered that he couldn’t afford rash or stupid decisions in such situations.

From the glance, you managed to get at the note, it read like Bucky’s absence was due to him being lost between your legs rather than a brush with death. You could already hear the sneering voices of the gangsters the next time you saw them.

Returning home, you found Bucky continuing to slip in and out of consciousness. During the hours he was awake, you made sure to give him tonics for the pain and broth to fight off hunger.

Little words were exchanged between you. The gangster only blinked at you in surprise as you settled some spare blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace. As easy as it would be to clamber into bed next to Bucky, you no longer had the excuse of the cold. With him being more sentient than the night before, you suspected he would be more likely to call out such actions. You could already imagine the flush of embarrassment and the mocking words he would use.

As you arranged the makeshift bed, laying out the blankets and fluffing the pillows with meticulous care, Bucky's confused voice broke the silence, cutting through your thoughts. "What’re you doin’?"

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his bewildered gaze. His eyes, still heavy with pain and exhaustion, searched your face for answers. "I thought it might be better if I stayed by the fire tonight. Give you more space to rest," you explained, trying to sound nonchalant even as your heart pounded in your chest.

Bucky frowned, his brow furrowing deeply, lines of concern etched into his features. "You don’t need to do that," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, devoid of its usual harshness. "Come here."

His tone held no trace of mockery, only an earnest invitation. You hesitated, unsure of what to make of this sudden shift. The room seemed to hold its breath with you. Slowly, you moved towards the bed, and Bucky shifted, wincing as he rolled onto his tender back. You carefully climbed in beside him, your movements tentative.

Bucky settled his head in your lap, his body sinking into the mattress with a deep, relieved sigh. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, he looked almost peaceful. Your hand instinctively went to his hair. The strands were soft under your fingers, and you ran them through gently, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body.

The moment was fleeting, a mere whisper on the breeze. You pressed your back up against the wall, watching as his brows twitched, eyelids fluttering as the ghost of a scowl crossed his bruised face. You pressed your fingertips to his temples, wishing you could extract whatever thoughts plagued him.

In the quiet, you murmured, "I have my wards up once more. No one’ll disturb you."

Bucky’s eyes fluttered open again, and he met your gaze. There was a wary look in his eye, and with little hesitation, he spoke up. "You have strong wards. You keep everyone out. Don’t you have any visitors?"

You could only assume it was the tonics you were giving him for the pain. The gangster was loose-lipped, practically putty in your hand as you contemplated how best to reply. He sighed again, a sound of contentment, and you marvelled at the transformation. You let your hand travel from his hair to his stubbled jawline, tracing the rough edges tenderly. His skin was warm under your touch.

“No,” you replied simply, gaze cutting away as you looked across the room with a frown. “I don’t have family, ‘least none that I speak to. My parents are dead.”

There was a brief pause as your nails circled his adam’s apple, then dragged back up to his jawline once more. “My mother from sickness. My father… well, he drank himself to death.”

Bucky shuddered beneath your touch. “I take it your father was a cruel man?”

“Yes.”

“He was the one in your memories? At the brothel?” He questioned further, and your frown deepened.

“Yes,” you repeated, surprised he had cared enough to remember. Your mind cast back to his strained reaction to your memories, the way the muscle in his jaw ticked. You wondered if Bucky saw his own demons within you. “The only kind thing my father ever did was…”

You hesitated, sucking in a sharp breath. Your fingers entangled through his hair. Was this a story that needed to be told? You cleared your throat, locking your gaze on the fireplace as you spoke. “My mother was a priestess in a coven or a cult… however you view it. They were terrible people, obsessed with cruel ideas of worship. They believed in sadism and suffering. Sacrifice. They praised those who could withstand torture for hours, believed that when the rapture came those who suffered most would be saved.”

Bucky was silent as you continued your tale. “They believed a witch would be born into their ranks, a witch with unbelievable powers that could raze cities with a single look. She would bring upon this rapture, save them from this place. They were all blinded, of course. The only kind thing my father ever did was get my mother away from that place.”

There was a long pause between the both of you, only broken as you looked down to find him staring up at you with a frown. Your breath caught in your throat. Despite the fogginess in his eyes from the pain tonic, there was a strange clarity in the way he held his gaze.

“I take it your father was much the same, cruel and a drunk,” you dared to muse.

Bucky’s face contorted into a glower, eyes darting away. “I don’t like to speak of my father.”

You noticed how the gangster almost began to cower from your touch, shoulders and neck rigid against your thighs. “Tell me of the others in your family then.”

“Well, there is Becca, my sister. I don’t think you’ve met her.” His tone was surprised, wary even. Even if outwardly he was standoffish, you noticed how his muscles relaxed.

You persisted with your soothing touch. A small feeling of delight thrummed in your chest as you noticed how his eyes rolled back, obviously pleased by your fingertips massaging into his scalp. “No. You’ve mentioned her before. You said she's… sensitive to magic.”

“My mother has this theory that someone, somewhere down the line, was a witch.”

“Magic is known to skip generations. It can manifest in unexpected ways.”

“Yes… well,” He stumbled over his words, a small grunt slipping past his lips as you massaged a particular spot along the base of his skull. “Becca and my mother are very alike. Sometimes too alike. It’s infuriating to deal with them when they have both made up their minds.”

“But you love them regardless?” You asked, the ghost of a smirk playing across your lips.

“I don’t think I’m a man capable of love.” Bucky paused, as if hesitant to confess. “But yes, I do.”

—

In the days that followed, your bedtime ritual continued, leading to slow, comforting mornings where you woke up with your limbs entwined with Bucky's. Each day settled into a steady routine: you prepared food and tonics for the gangster, watching as he slowly regained his strength. You found a strange solace in the rhythm of those days, his presence a constant, grounding force in your otherwise solitary life.

The mornings were a blend of quiet intimacy and simple tasks. The sun’s early light would filter through the fog, casting a soft glow over the port. Bucky’s breathing, once ragged and laboured, had become steady and strong. You would gently untangle yourself from him, careful not to disturb his rest, and begin the morning routine.

Bucky’s recovery was gradual but noticeable. He moved with more ease each day, his strength returning as the bruises faded and the fever’s grip loosened. You found yourself engaging in more conversations, sharing stories over meals, and even exchanging the occasional joke. His laughter, though rare and often accompanied by a wince, was a sound you soon came to miss.

It was not entirely a surprise to wake up alone in your bed one morning. The hollow pit in your chest, however, was undeniable. Though you would not admit it, you clung to the hope that Bucky had merely gone downstairs to wait for you to wake, or perhaps stepped outside for some fresh air. But as you searched your tiny flat, it became painfully clear that he was gone. No words, no note, no messenger—just a cold, empty space where he had been.

You should have come to expect it, yet the absence of any farewell stung more than you cared to acknowledge.

Spring finally rolled around, but the cold persisted, mirroring the chill that had settled within you. On your occasional excursions to the market or to see clients outside your home, you remained bundled up against the lingering frost. The Smog Boys hardly spared you a glance, their eyes always scanning for other threats, and you never caught a glimpse of Bucky weaving through the fog and alleys. His disappearance was a gaping void, a reminder of your isolation.

A flicker of hope would spark each time you had a visitor at your door. Clients, workers, the coal boy… yet not a single Smog Boy. As quickly as you had come to despise the gangster and how he called for your services at any whim, you also found you quickly came to miss those late-night summons.

But the knock at your door this night, the face that greeted you as you swung open the door… it was a face that left a fit of dread in your stomach.

Rebecca Barnes.

You had never met the woman, but with one look you knew. You could recognise those features anywhere. She stood in the doorway with an unyielding, cool confidence. She was a striking figure, tall and lithe, with the same piercing blue eyes as Bucky. Her raven hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, a few rebellious strands framing her sharp features. Over her shoulders, she draped a dark, fur-lined coat, the fabric gleaming softly in the firelight. Much like her brother, it seemed she had appeared from the fog like a wraith, not a speck of ash to be seen across her clothing or hair.

She smiled. Wide. It unsettled you, the way the smile did not quite meet her eyes. “May I come in?”

The woman did not wait for a response, nor did it seem she intended to wait either. She brushed past you without a care, the fibres of her furs tickling your forearm as she passed.

“What’s happened?” You ask, unable to hide the worry in your tone. Becca didn’t involve herself in Smog Boys business, besides some surface showing of her face. Bucky had made sure his sister and mother would never be incriminated in any crimes, and that they were always to be protected.

Becca Barnes did not turn up at anyone's door, not without good reason.

Rebecca placed her purse on your dining table with a deliberate, almost ceremonial motion. Her eyes locked onto yours, unblinking and intense, the calculating gaze of someone who always knew more than they let on. Her lips curved into a thin, tight smile. “My brother.”

Your stomach dropped as if a trapdoor had been opened beneath you.

“Your brother?” you repeated cautiously. You took a hesitant step forward, your hand instinctively reaching to close the front door behind you, as if doing so could keep the impending storm contained within your tiny flat.

Rebecca's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing through the dim light of the room. She took a step closer, her movements fluid and predatory. “Do you care for him?”

“What?”

“I said,” Rebecca's voice was low, measured, each word enunciated with chilling precision, “Do you care for him?”

You paused, your body frozen in place. The silence stretched taut between you, a razor-thin wire ready to snap. Rebecca shook her head, a small, almost pitying smile playing on her lips. She let out a soft tut, a sound of mild disappointment.

“I’ll get to the point, shall I?” Her tone was clipped, businesslike, as she stepped forward. Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. “You’ll stay away from him. You hear me?”

Your brows furrowed, and you took an involuntary step back, confusion and defiance warring within you, trying to make sense of the sudden, stark command. Rebecca’s eyes flashed with impatience. She closed the distance between you, her posture rigid, her movements calculated. She loomed over you, her presence both intimidating and inescapable.

“This would’ve been simpler if you remained one of his whores,” she continued, her voice dripping with disdain. Her chin lifted. “You already fucked him, so I suppose that’s out of your system. But you’ll stay away from him, witch. There was enough grief with the last one, the traitorous bitch she was. I cannot afford to have another one of you messing’ with family business.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to explain, but the words caught in your throat. “I don’t know what you think has happened between us—”

“Oh, I know what has happened.” She interrupts, her voice brittle like breaking glass. “You’ve somehow infected his mind. It’s the only reason he would’ve come to you when he was injured, that he allowed himself to be a victim of your magic.”

“He asked me for help–” You begin to insist.

“Help?” She barked out a laugh, a harsh sound bubbling from her throat. “How do you call what you did to his back help? Those scars will never heal fully, you’ve ruined him.”

You felt a flush of anger rise in your chest. “He knew I’m not a healer–”

“I know what you did.”

Rebecca’s voice cut through the room, silencing you. The silence that fell between you was thick, suffocating.

“I know what you did to those coppers. I know how they beat Leofric’s son to death in front of you. So you blitzed them out of existence. There were no bodies to recover because you turned them to mist.”

The accusation hung in the air, a dark, undeniable truth. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms.

“You think that’s what I’ll do to Bucky?” you asked, your voice defiant.

“I don’t think, I know it.” Rebecca’s gaze was unwavering, her expression unreadable. “I know your breed, and I warn you that I’ll destroy you if you compromise what my brother has built. What my family has built.”

“Respectfully, you do not know me,” you replied, your voice steady.

“Maybe I don’t,” Rebecca conceded, her tone cold and detached, “but I know a threat when I see one.”

She clicked her tongue as she picked up her purse, the sound sharp and final. “Within the next few days, you’ll receive a message asking you to attend a family meeting. You’ll politely decline. You'll continue working for my family, but you’ll keep your distance.”

You could feel the anger flaring up your throat, hot and fierce. “And what’ll happen if I don’t? What if I tell him what you’ve said today?”

Rebecca’s smile was a chilling, sickly sweet curve of her lips.

“Then I’ll kill you,” she said simply, her voice a soft, deadly whisper. “When you least expect it, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. Bucky won’t be wise to any of it. Do you truly think he would believe a witch over his own sister?”

Becca turns, adjusting her coat with a practised flip of her wrist. The heels of her shoes clicked on the hardwood floors as she strutted to the front door. "I do like you, spirit-raiser. We could be friends if you remember your place."

As she walked out the front door, turning to close it behind her, she flashed one last smile. "Just remember, you’re nothing to us."

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1800titz · 7 months ago

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BIG ANNOUNCEMENT (TDIAG + PATREON)

Hi lovely friends!!

I am so excited to announce that I have LAUNCHED A PATREON! Woohoo!! I’m even more excited to announce that the debut is an early release for the long awaited chapter 11 of TDIAG! ((the chapter will be uploaded on to tumblr and wattpad two weeks after its patreon upload)).

It’s $5 a month, and alongside early access to TDIAG updates, my patreon will offer exclusive teasers, unannounced ficlets (some patreon exclusives, some early release) like Gladiator!Harry, TA!Harry, Angry ballet man, a gruff vampire x his familiar, TRIVIA MAN, and a possible patreon exclusive unfinished fic that stands at over 120K in word count! There will also be early access to the second part of Ride the Tiger (pornstar!au), to Glaze (second part of pottery man), and patreon exclusive extras for both TDIAG and Ride the Tiger! I will also be writing patreon exclusive blurbs unrelated to the aforementioned, and I am open to taking requests!

For now, I am aiming to post two pieces a week + exclusive teasers, polls, and check-ins. I am absolutely brand new to patreon, and have so much appreciation for your patience in this first trial month. I’m eager to hear your feedback, your requests, and ways that I can possibly improve my patreon to make it an awesome space for you guys!

I hope to see you there (✿◠‿◠)

#patreon #announcement #important

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yawntutsyip · 2 years ago

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“I gave a second chance to cupid”

masterlist | previous part

paring: Ao’nung x Reader (Modern AU + SMAU ish)

summary: On the way to class you receive a text from a random number, saying they knew about your big secret. You had a crush on the one and only Ao’nung. You have no clue who it is, and when asking they refused to tell who they were but promised to help you finally ask him out after admiring him from afar for so long. Who is it? When putting your love life in the hands of a stranger, will it be successful? Or just a big mistake…

authors note: omg ITS FINALLY OUT WOOHOO I’m so excited! I hope this series goes well 😭 and that you guys enjoy it 💗

word count: 2.4k

Cupid Got Me : Chapter One

‘Ring ring ring’

The sound of the school bell reaches your ears, letting everyone know that class is about to start. You take a deep breath in from your nose and let out a sigh as you open up your locker to put your stuff away and grab the necessary books for your first period. History, everyone’s favorite.

As you close your locker, you turn around and your eyes immediately land on the one and only, Ao’nung. He was captain of the basketball team , good looking, had everyone’s eyes on him, he was smart, always getting the top grade in the class. You didn’t realize you were staring for that long until a buzz in your phone caught your attention. You pull it out of your pocket and have a quick look but look back to give Ao’nung one last look but he is already gone.

Another buzz from your phone interrupts you once again, letting out another annoyed sigh. You enter your passcode and check whatever app caused it. ‘text messages?’ Who could be texting you right now? You didn’t really have any friends, your parents were at work, they would’ve called you if anything.

‘Well that’s just great’ you thought as you rubbed your forehead in frustration. You just prayed that whoever this random number was didn’t spread rumors and blackmail you. How did they even figure it out? ‘Were you being obvious?’ So many thoughts stirred in your head as you made your way to class, you entered the classroom and sat at your designated desk. The left corner of the room, last row, in front of the window.

As you sit down you look to the door and see once again, Ao’nung, who was finishing saying bye to a friend before walking inside the classroom. Your eyes follow him as he walks by, he turns his head and sends a friendly wave in your direction causing you to realize you had been staring too hard again. Your cheeks heat up as you send a wave back and quickly look down. A chuckle leaves Ao’nungs lips as he walks past your desk and sits down 3 desks up.

“Okay class, sorry I was a bit late. I got caught up in the teacher's lounge. Today we will be using the textbook so get those out and then go to page 190.” The teacher announced as he walked in, to the desk in front of the class. The sound of pages being flipped fills your ear with various groans and sighs. No one liked this class, history was the worst class ever.

You grab your book and set it on your desk before flipping it to the page and getting comfortable in your seat, the teacher was reading aloud and man did he read at the pace of a sloth. He took nearly 20 minutes to finish one page because he kept getting sidetracked and would start ranting about the most random stuff, at this point everyone already knows not to listen and read it themselves.

An hour goes by as you let out a yawn, the teacher was finally done talking and now everyone was just doing their own thing, some were talking with each other, some were doing homework or work for another class, some were on their phones, and some were reading the book. You were just mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, letting out a quiet laugh once in a while but it got boring quickly so you set your phone down and sat back in your chair observing.

And somehow every time, your eyes never fail to land on Ao’nung. It was as if your eyes were magnetic to him. He was chatting with a kid next to him while, what it looked like, doing some work for another class. How did you even develop a crush on him you may ask?

Well, on the first day of school, the sophomore year you had just transferred from Terra High, a public school to Pandora Academy, a private one. It was a big change. You knew no one there, had no friends, and the school was a lot bigger than your previous ones so you tend to get lost a lot, the school was like a maze.

One of the days you had gotten lost you ended up on the completely opposite side of campus, and in the wrong classroom.

You had walked into the classroom and sat down waiting for the teacher to arrive, and before you knew it, there was a tall, attractive-looking boy in front of you tapping the desk to get your attention. “Hey, this is actually my seat you're sitting in,” he says with an awkward smile that causes your face to explode with blush and you quickly stand up and gather all your things.

“Oh Eywa, I’m so sorry I didn’t know we had assigned seats.” You say embarrassed, you place all your books and pencils on the desk next to him and go to sit down. “Oh…that seat is also taken…say, are you new? I haven’t seen you around before” He speaks up and laughs as you bite your lip and once again gather your things. “Yeah…today is my first day I just moved…uhm where is an open desk?”

“The one behind me is open you can sit there haha, where did you transfer from?” Ao’nung says while setting his stuff down and taking a seat before turning back to look at you as you sit down as well. “I moved here from Terra High..” you muttered shyly as you brushed your hair out of your face and looked at the book on your desk.

“Oh wow, That’s across the whole town…what made you move here?! Also, public school huh- that must be weird being here huh” he smiles at you and begins to admire your face as you talk to him, not noticing his eyes running all over your face taking in every detail. “My father had gotten a job here actually, he’s the second coach for the basketball team. I guess the old coach retired and they had an opening so he took it” his eyes widened. “Oh, no kidding! I'm actually on the basketball team, I’m the captain. So I guess I’ll be seeing your dad later” Ao’nung laughs with you as you guys continue to make conversation.

Soon enough the teacher walks in causing everyone to stop talking and sit forward including Ao’nung. “Hello class, welcome back from break. How was everyone’s time?!” The teacher asked the students and everyone started blabbering our random things and what they did over the break. You could tell the students were close with their teachers here. “Alright. Let me take attendance and we can start our first lesson. Lucas?” “Here!” “Anna?” “Present!” “Luna?” “Yea, I’m here” The teacher continues to go down the list of names, listening for a response, every name except yours was called.

“Is there anyone’s name that I didn’t call?” He asks while lifting his eyes from the paper he's holding in his hand. “Uhm..me sir!” You called out to him quietly but it didn’t seem that he heard you. “Mr. Lopez, her name wasn’t called,” Ao’nung told the teacher loud enough this time to get his attention. “Oh? What is your name?” He asks and now everyone’s eyes were on you, that very moment made you want to shrivel up and disappear.

“(Y/N)….(L/N)” the teacher nods his head and double checks the list, muttering your name under his breath as he searches. “I’m sorry, I don’t see your name, my dear. Are you positive you're in the right class?” Your eyebrows furrowed and you grab the paper that had your schedule on it and look at the name of your first period. “This is English right?”

Laughter fills the classroom, the teacher laughs and smiles walking up to your desk before holding his hand out. “May I?” You nod your head and hand them the paper. “My dear, this is not English. This is AP pre-calculus…you have your directions mixed up. The English classrooms are on the other side of the campus.” You wanted to die. Your first day and you already embarrassed yourself and now you were gonna be late on top of that?!, Eywa what did you do to deserve this?

“Don’t worry, I’m sure your teacher will understand. This school is huge so it’s expected for new students to get lost here and there. Let me go write you a slip, Ao’nung since I know you're a good student would you mind taking Ms. (L/N) to her room? It’s class 8 in the V building.” The teacher says and walks back to his desk to write you a late pass and a note for your teacher letting them know what happened. “Yeah, of course, I’ll gladly do so.”

You stand up from your chair and gather your stuff quickly, shoving everything in your backpack not even caring at this point if your papers or books got crumpled. You just wanted to get out of there and fast. “This is so embarrassing…” you whispered under your breath as you swung your backpack’s strap over your shoulder and walked up to the front of the class to the teacher's desk, grabbing the paper with a thank you.

“It was nice to meet you Ms. (L/N). Welcome to our school. I hope you’ll enjoy your time. Maybe in the future, I’ll have you in my class.” You only nodded your head giving him a smile in return and turned around, heading toward the door where Ao’nung was standing, waiting. “Let’s get going!” He says and leads the way out. Both of you walk side by side, you keeping your head down looking at the floor still embarrassed.

“Hey, don't sweat about it. Lots of kids lose their way around here more often than you think so don't worry” Ao’nung says trying to comfort you. “I’m Ao’nung by the way. It's nice to meet you” you lift your head and look at him, seeing he had already been doing the same. “It’s nice to meet you Ao’nung, My name (is Y/N).” He nods his head.

“Like Mr. Lopez said earlier. I hope you like it here, our school is fairly decent with how the students are. The majority of them are quite nice so it’s easy to make friends. We also have many clubs to join as well. If you're into cheerleading, they just opened a couple of spots.”

Your smile turns into a disgusted frown as you shake your head. “Not your thing huh?” Ao’nung says and laughs at the expression you made. “Not at all, not that I have anything against cheer, it's just that I’m far too lazy and it’s too much attention, I get nervous.” You say awkwardly and scratch your cheek. “No no I understand, personally I wouldn't cheer either, not my style~” he jokes, causing you to snicker. “You don’t say huh”

After a little bit more walking you guys finally arrived at the class, Ao’nung holds the door open for you and gestures forward. “After you” you thank him and walk in, the teacher stops what he was reading and looks at the both of you. “Hello, may I help you two?” “I am the new student. I accidentally went to a different class.”

The teacher laughs and nods his head taking the paper you had handed out to him. “I understand don’t worry, your name is (Y/N) correct?” He asks while reading the note quickly before tossing it in the garbage. After he got the confirmation when you nodded your head he began to speak again. “Well welcome to our school. I am Mr. Yang. We were just in the middle of reading the first chapter of our new book we’re gonna be starting so here’s that” He says and hands you an extra copy of the book that was sitting on his desk, then he looks to the sea of desks.

“Hmm, you can sit in the back at that empty desk by Rotxo, Rotxo may you please raise your hand” You look at the back and see a boy with curly hair waving his hand with a big smile. “Hi, I’m right here!” Before sitting down you turn to Ao’nung who was still standing by the door. “Thank you for walking me to my class, I’m sorry for making you miss yours.”

“Oh don’t worry about it, it was no problem. If you need help finding your classes again don’t be afraid to ask. See you around!…also Rotxo is super nice I promise, he’s my best friend so I should know” Ao’nung says while waving to Rotxo who had called his name from the back, and finally takes his leave. You say bye and walk past the desks in the front to the back next to Rotxo and take your seat as the teacher begins reading where he left off. “Hi! I’m Rotxo! Welcome to our school!” After you get your notebooks and pencils out you go to the boy and smile “Hello, I’m (Y/N).”

From that day on. You never really saw Ao’nung that much sadly, unless he was walking in the halls. Both of you would exchange waves and smiles before going wherever. You were too shy to go up to him and talk so you just sat back and observed next thing you knew you were a senior, and still had yet to talk to him and managed to develop a crush. Pathetic.

“Alright, class! We have 15 minutes left, Please review the paper I handed out to you, and make sure you have answered all of the questions before turning them in” Your teacher speaks up causing you to snap out of your daydream. You feel something thrown against your head, it wasn’t hard but it was enough to get your attention. Your eyes furrow as you see a piece of paper land on your desk. ‘Who the hell?’ You look up and look at everyone, trying to figure out who threw it but you had no luck. You roll your eyes and turn around to look at the crumpled paper. You pick it up and unravel it, eyes widening as you read the words written in cursive.

“Your staring at him, it’s almost as if your trying to be obvious about it”

You freeze and feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Who the hell was this person, how do they know? You grumbled and crumpled the paper back up in annoyance. You were gonna figure out who this was, you don’t know how yet, but you were determined.

tag list: @gender3nvyy @eywas-heir @kenzi-woycehoski @ilovejakesullysdick @fanboyluvr @definitelynot-here @buckyb4rnes @jakesully-sbabygirl @iikatsukii @aerangi @itzjustm3 @fukingsad @purennn @youngpoetrychopshop @ash-mcj @azaleaniath @avatarlover21 @grierpilots @aonungmyaddiction @8resa @purplepursepaint @lagoonabluebabe @goldeneywa @seashelldom @urlocalkeemawearingartist @rotxo-shawty @renluv

—

#atwow x reader #avatar x reader #atwow #avatar the way of water #atwow imagine #aonung x reader #ao’nung x reader #ao’nung #aonung imagine #aonung #ao’nung imagine #avatar imagine #avatar #atwow ao'nung #atwow imagines

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sharks-n-bones · 9 months ago

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COOPER AND DARNELL ARE FINALLY DONE WOOHOO

Holy fuck guys I'm so sorry this took so long, I had major writers block with these two and I got sick recently and it's been a time BUT NOW THEY'RE FINISHED HUZZAH I HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY AND THANK YOU FOR STILL SUPPORTING ME EVEN THOUGH IT TOOK ME SO DAMN LONG TO WRITE FOR THEM

EDIT FORGOT TO SAY EARLIER BUT A HUGE THANK YOU TO @hauntedghostboo FOR HELPING ME OUT WITH THIS CHAPTER AND THE AU IT HELPED ME OUT SO MUCH

When the flood hit, the twins didn't really realize the severity of things until it reached the village. Prince D spent most of his life in a UFO and Cooper just thought it'd be like every other time the rivers flooded. Both thought that the water would go down in a few days time, and they thought that until the water reached the village. Darnel asked if it was normal for the water to reach the village. Cooper said no

Branch had instructed the village to pack what they could carry and start heading up the mountain, and given that he was the one with the most survival experience, they listened. They made their way up the mountain as quick as they could. The first few days they'd sometimes wake up to the water at their heels. They walked a bit faster those days

Cooper had switched out his “Everything's Good” hat for his “Destiny” hat. Darnell had asked why, and Cooper explained that everything was not good right now. They had to leave the place he'd called home for the majority of his life, the flood had completely washed over it and was still rising, they had to move and try and outrun the rising water, nothing was okay right now. The only thing that was okay was that everyone got out in time and he had Darnell with him

Darnell could understand that. Their world had turn up on its head, and they had to leave everything behind. Darnell hadn't even expa normal flood before, he lived in a UFO for star's sake! So for all of Pop Village to go underwater while he was visiting? He was freaking a little bit. But he'd smiled and told Cooper that they'd be okay as long as they had each other

A week or two of travelling and they were almost at the peak of the mountain, and that's when everyone started building rafts and boats. Cooper and Darnell helped Poppy, Branch and the rest of their friend group with building the ship. They'd brought their hover boards when they visited the village, so they used them to work on areas the others couldn't reach easily. Everyone sang and danced as they built, and honestly it helped take their minds off the fact that Pop Village, and probably the whole planet, was flooding

Singing and building took up most of their time during the day, but it was fun for the most part! Cooper chose to think of this as a new adventure, like when he'd gone to find more trolls like him and ended up finding his brother and parents! Their parents… he wondered how they were holding up during all of this, or is they'd even noticed the flood yet… would they ever see them again? He tried not to think about it

While the building and singing and dancing helped, Darnell still wasn't doing all that great. While building, he kept either looking at the sky, watching for his floating home, or in the direction of where the village used to be, wondering when the water would catch up to them. He'd quickly shake himself out of it though and focus back on the task at hand

It took another couple weeks, but soon enough, everyone's rafts and ships were built and the water was at their heels. They loaded the ship with everything they needed and could carry, the twins helping with bringing things aboard with their hover boards while the other's either gave them supplies to bring aboard or worked on storing things away. Then, once everything was loaded, they climbed aboard and waited for the water to whisk their ships away into the ever growing sea

Once they were actually on the water, Branch made sure everyone got a crash course on survival. For once, Cooper appreciated how prepared the formerly gray troll was for any given situation. Everyone had chores and jobs on the ship. When they came across islands, some would gather supplies like wood and metal if they could find it and other such things for repairs while others would forage for food and collect seeds for the garden aboard their ship. Cooper and Darnell usually helped with bringing everything back to the ship

It took a few months for everyone to get used to surviving at sea, but once they all started getting the swing of things, they had fun! It was obviously much different than the peaceful village life they were used to, and getting through storms was always a bit rough, but they got the hang of things pretty quick with Branch’s help. Whenever they reached an island, they'd gather anything they could before relaxing at the waterside or back on the ship, depending on the preference

Cooper and Darnell would usually splash around in the water or just generally good off if they weren't busy, Cooper a bit more-so than Darnell. However, they still had their moments where they missed the times before the flood. Sometimes, when it was late and night and neither could sleep for one reason or another, they'd sit together in one of their beds and talk until they grew tired, telling stories of things that happened before they were reunited, recounting memories, sharing their wishes, their fears… anything and everything

Cooper told stories of all the shenanigans he and the snack pack would get into in the village, and Darnell would tell of life inside the UFO and all the parties and celebrations. Cooper didn't mind life at sea, it was a lot of fun and getting to explore new islands all the time and enjoy the water whenever he wanted was awesome, but sometimes he'd admit to Darnell that he missed life in the village and how simple and carefree everything was. Darnell knew what he meant. Life on the ship was fun, but he missed his floating home

Everyone got a huge reality check when Tiny disappeared into the jaws of a fish. It'd just been a normal day. They'd finished gathering what they could from the island for the day and were taking a much needed break on the beach. Then Tiny screamed, Guy tried to save him and didn't get there in time, and then everything was silent save for Guy's sobs. It all happened so fast. Cooper and Darnell were horrified — they hadn't even thought of ocean predators being a possibility — but now, once again, the universe showed them through force that the world wasn't all sunshine and rainbows

Cooper didn't know what to do when Guy went gray, and Darnell didn't even know what was happening. He'd never seen a troll go gray before. When they'd all returned to the ship and the twins went Cooper's room, Darnell asked about it. Cooper told him what a troll going gray meant, how they lost their happiness and their music. He told him how everyone in the village had gone gray before after they were captured by the bergens, albeit for a very short time. Darnell was so shocked, he didn't know how to react

The next few weeks on the ship had a somber note to them. They all worked a bit harder and starting working on safety measures to make sure nothing like that would ever happen again. Cooper would try to cheer up Guy when he could, but nothing worked and Darnell told him to give Guy some space to breathe and mourn. Cooper settled for occasionally leaving cupcakes outside his door

They all still sang and danced as they worked, albeit maybe not as often or with as much vigor as usual, but it helped take their minds off things a bit. Everyone was a bit more hesitant to go into the water until Branch made the safety nets so no big fish could get through to eat them. Speaking of the water, Cooper and Darnell had started to notice somethings

- For one, they both loved swimming. Hell, everyone on the ship seemed to, even after the incident! Sure, Cooper and D were a bit more hesitant getting in, but they still loved it! And swimming came easy to them both, which was a bit shocking since D lived in a UFO most of his life

(Cooper wondered if they had pools in there. He'd gotten to explore the place a bit, but not all of it yet. He'd only found his family a month before the flood hit, after all)

The twins had also started noticing their hair changing slightly. Darnell had been the first to notice that it seemed to bounce more when they moved, and how it almost seemed squishy? Cooper had been amazed when Darnell pointed it out, and they both thought it was hilarious

Cooper noticed that their skin that wasn't covered in fur was a lot smoother, almost silky. He'd first noticed it when he and Darnell had gotten back onto the ship one time, both still soaked from swimming in the water, and both immediately slipped and ate shit on the deck!

They'd howled with laughter about it and D had joked that their skin was too smooth to walk on. Cooper had noticed he was actually right when he was showering later and almost couldn't keep his footing. He'd taken a close look at his arms and legs and noticed just how smooth they were. Almost jelly-like… Cooper had laughed at the thought of having jelly limbs and joked to Darnell about it before promptly forgetting about it

It was only after the techno trolls had visited their ship and told them of the magic in the water and the changes it would cause that the funk twins realized that they were actually changing. They had gaped at each other for a bit before breaking out into matching grins

The techno troll had said that, based on what they'd seen, they'd take on the traits and some appearances of actual sea creatures, and Cooper and Darnell immediately wanted to find out just what kind of siren they'd become

They started paying more attention to any changes they'd develop, and whenever they found one they'd run to tell the other. Darnell had discovered they were becoming more flexible when he'd slipped and done the splits without any pain, and Cooper had found that their hair was easier to control. It could act more like another limb than before

Almost 2 months later when they set anchor at another island, the bros we're trying to figure out what they we're turning into when a stranger's ship pulled up next to The Main Course. The funk bros stopped what they were doing, along with everyone else on the ship, to see what the newcomer was up to and if they could possibly befriend them

The troll on board had goggles over his eyes. He wore a vest made of leaves and had teal skin with matching hair that he used to swing himself onto their ship. He'd said he was looking for his brothers, pushing his goggles up on to his head as he did, and locked eyes with Branch. They heard Branch gasp, and the stranger's face broke out into a wide, toothy grin.

-“Baby Branch!!”

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xxbun-artxx · 2 years ago

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My fellow dareth enjoyers dareth won the water elemental master poll for my metal nya au. Now unlike my other post I don't have a set in stone lore or lore ideas, doesn't help I got sick woohoo. So I'll talk about the design.

Fun fact I originally started sketching this in brown so this gi started as a brown one, it looked neat so I saved it in case I wanted to make an actual brown ninja dareth in the future (if you would like to see that lmk). While designing this I decided to use the same gi design principle of nya and metal nya's gi-s but I changed the black parts to brown to make it feel more dareth-y, yes this does kinda make him the oddball but that kinda also intentional.

I gave dareth's gi pants that cowboy thing that dareth has in his og design.

I gave him this style of glove which I normally wouldn't do because they're the mark of....a special person (wink) for now for lore reasons dareth is allowed to have them by me.

I chose this blue because its the complamtary color of his brown, but also because its not close to my nya or jay design. I gave him heels because he ~💅, I put the pattern all over his gi unlike nya's.

I feel like dareth is alright with using his power but absolutely exhales when put in a stressful situation or when definding someone (which is cannon), he dumb, he will jump to action without thinking. I like to think his room is so aesthetic with a cowboy hat as a decoration. No reason. Just cowboy.

Interested in the drawings/designs mentioned or the metal nya au? <<Click here>> for my pined post about my aus and other

My two # for this au #ninjago metal nya #ninjago water dareth

For my other aus in the work #ninjago bun au

If you have any suggestions/questions/ request, my asks are open

Rember, you're a rockstar

Bun, out

#ninjago #ninjago fanart #ninjago art #ninjago bun designs #ninjago au #ninjago bun au #ninjago metal nya #ninjago water dareth #ninjago nya #ninjago jay #ninjago cole #ninjago zane #ninjago lloyd #ninjago kai #dareth ninjago #ninjago dareth

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slytherinshua · 9 months ago

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VELVET AND SILK

genre. assassin au. fluff. warnings. slightly graphic dialogue. use of guns and daggers. meaningless side character death. yongha being an entire cutie. pairing. husband!yongha x fem!reader. wc. 1k. request. no. a/n. first wei fic woohoo written for my favourite yongha obsessed soulmate @eternalgyu <3

“Take one more step and I shoot.” The threat echoed against the walls of the empty warehouse and you scrunched your eyes shut tightly, taking a breath and trying to reach the dagger you had on hand without anyone noticing. It was hard to do anything discreetly when you were being held so tightly against your target’s body, a gun barrel pressed up to your temple. You dared to open your eyes to catch another glance at what Yongha was doing.

It was a bit hard to see in the dark, but you could just make out a stealthy shadow travelling along the second floor of the warehouse; overseeing everything happening below from the railing. You were confident that even if you couldn’t get out of this yourself, Yongha wouldn’t let any other man even lay a finger on you. He was sort of possessive when he came to that. You were sure your husband was already fuming at just seeing you trapped in the arms of a man you both should have been able to have taken out by now.

You would have had the situation completely under control if your target hadn’t prepared backups. Taking down 1 man twice your size was one thing, but 3 all at once was a little more of a task for you. You were strong for a woman, sure, but men towering well above 6 feet still had an overwhelming physical advantage. That was why you didn’t even try to struggle in the hold of your captor. Staying calm and grabbing hold of your dagger was the best chance you had.

“If you have any sense of self-preservation left in you, you’ll let her go now before I blast your brains out.”

The response came twice as harsh as the original threat— right on brand for Yongha. You held back a scoff. Of course your husband would jump straight to that. Though, that was part of the reason you loved him, you supposed.

The next moments flashed by in the blink of an eye. You felt that arm around you loosen just slightly, most likely from a shiver running up the man’s spine at your husband’s chilling warning. This gave you just enough room to grab the dagger strapped to your leg and ram it into the man’s side. A gunshot fire was heard half a second later; Yongha’s excellent aim ensured the bullet seared right through the man’s skull.

You let out a relieved sigh. Even though your life might not have been in danger (you could always tell when your target would be too scared to actually pull a trigger), it was still nice to not have the scruffy arms of a man with a long history of illegal activity holding you in place. The only arms belonging to a man that you would willingly let yourself be held by were Yongha’s; and for the record, he smelled pleasantly of musk and freshly washed dress suits.

“Wanna go catch dinner? All that drama stirred up an appetite.” You heard your husband’s playful tone sound through the room as he jumped down from the banister. You smiled as you picked up your gun again and placed it back in its holster. You always found Yongha’s voice shifts from when he was threatening someone to when he was talking to you to be entertaining.

“Will you buy me a filet mignon? I’m in the mood for something fancy.” You replied back in the same playful tone he had offered.

“If you dress up nice.” He shrugged and flashed you a flirty grin.

“Deal.”

An hour later you were dressed in a velvet black evening dress, sipping expensive tasting wine across your husband. For missions he always wore his hair tied up, but for dinner dates, he let the long dark strands down, styled only slightly. You loved how perfectly his hair framed his face, contrasting nicely with the white silk suit he had adorned instead of his usual work attire.

He was trying his best to keep a straight face, but whenever your eyes met his, he couldn’t help how his lips quivered and eventually formed a cute smile. Given how soft he was with you and his friends, you wondered how it was even possible he was good at his job— he was acting like a smitten boy in love, and not as if a man had just died at his hands an hour ago (very deservingly).

“Are you drunk already? Your face is flushed.” You took the first opportunity you could to tease him. Seeing him get all shy and smitten never got old.

“No! The food hasn’t even gotten here, we barely started drinking.” He hushed you, his eyes darting around to the other tables of couples or groups of friends all dressed to the nines. And then with a hesitant whisper, he asked, “Are you sure we really fit in here?”

You giggled. In terms of looks alone, no one would question you or Yongha. You had both dressed appropriately for the 5-star restaurant, and either one of you had a stare that could kill. Yongha seemed to always be a little too precautionary when out in public.

“What? You want to leave before we get our steak?” You raised your eyebrow at him as you sipped more of the dark red wine. Your husband shook his head slightly, seeming to relax a little, but still be on edge. You could barely focus on anything other than how endearingly his cheeks were flushed.

“You wanted steak, so you will get steak.” He said simply with a smile, “From my wallet.” He added as an afterthought, making both of you break out into soft laughter.

You loved to relax like this with your husband after a mission, both of you lost in the other's eyes for a couple hours as you wound down from the high stress of your job. As long as you had each other, whether it was on a mission or sitting across the dinner table, you were content with life.

↳ wei taglist: @eternalgyu,, @weird-bookworm

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trainingdummyrabbit · 6 months ago

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OC ask game woohoo!!!

3, 20, 29, 30?

gooooodmorning!! back at it ^_^/

3. What inspired you to make a certain character?

honestly ? for th funy lc cast, itwas mostly just seeing other folks running around w their ocs :] iliked seeing peoples little beasts, so i wanted some little beasts to play too. thats how istarted making cocoa! she was supposed t just be a silly lil thang but uhhhhhhhhh . As One Does ^_^

20. Do any of your OCs have pets? What kind? NAME?

EXCUSE TO TALK ABOUT MY GUY heres yui again. he has a very totally normal rat named chestnut that was pawned off on given to him by a . fffriend ? yeah. 👍 ilu chestnut

29. Do any of your OCs have AU designs/stories?

a few, yeah!! aus are my favorite favorite thing t toss around in th whole world, so like uh uh well. They Keep Happening <33 like what if character lives? what if character makes a different decision? (though its kinda cheating bc i already cant decide what happens so everything is kinda quasi-canon till i get it together dfjgndk) theres one with rose and wolfe that is Killing Me To Death but i Still havent laid down the baseline so i CANT . SAY ANYTHING YET. orz though also theres one ive had in my pocket i hadnt found th chance to pull up yet, so ykno uh . ^_^ heehoo

Oops ! All Distortion. heres not!cocoa. nameless as of right now, partially bc i havent found something that fits, and partially because i think its funny (<- mean) anyway woe. tfw youre just trying t navigate being alive after experiencing ego death and everyone keeps trying to yank you in different directions and shape you into something else entirely when you can barely hold a shape on your own so you simply decide to become nothing at all. sad ! oh well, theres other uh. uhhhhh.. hm. this is kind of th Worst of what can come of cocoa and luci's whatever-the-hell. luci is completely convinced she understands cocoa's character and actively pushes the worst parts of them forward in the name of some sort of "self actualization," in response to their complete and total shutting off at. just about everything. unfortunately, she completely misreads what exactly that manifests As due to her preoccupation with her Own self actualization-- and instead of drawing forth any buried emotion or desire, all it really does is kinda... shut them down completely. their desire wasnt to lash out at anything, it was simply to get things to stop. and stop they did. theyre not much of anything anymore. nobody is happy with this.

30. Which OC has been the hardest to develop/design so far?

HIM.

hes really important to everything bc hes kind of. a catalyst, in a way, to The Bullshit. the issue is i know most of the What, its just the How and Why thats such an issue. also unfortunately, i started writing him before i started watching thru limbus, but once i did i realized hes kinda just like sinclair but to the left a little bit which. head in hands. Unfortunate; so its once again a balancing act of getting things together while tying threads and also Avoiding Making Character 2. which is Hard bc this is just!!!! what hes like!!! iknow i probably shouldnt worry abt it too much but this is like the fourth or fifth time ive accidentally just made Character But Again and i just. GRABS. SHAKES. UGH THE ISSUES.

#THIS TOOK . LONGER THAN I INTENDED; I HAD TO DIG THRU MY NOTES AGAIN.....#motioning frantically at my funy stringcorkboard u dont GET IT u dont GET !!! IT!!! (<- barely explains)#ILL GET TO IT.. ITS JUST HARD. theyre all up to Some Bullshit and i try my best to elaborate but im being kicked in th shins #<- Gets Sad About Characters So Easy #piktalk #pikocs #long post #juuuust incase...

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bluescreenvirus · 2 years ago

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So, in order to fix Zane in my Shattered Ice AU, the ninja have to gather all of these components, or fragments. These fragments are physically, and are made up of the glowing blue pieces of his core. When Zane was destroyed, each piece became similar to him, stuck in a weird plane of existence. Each fragment became tied to Zane's existence as well, but were spread very far apart. And the pieces must be completed in a mildly specific order. Or they will all be destroyed, erasing Zane from existing, ever.

That means no one would even remember who Zane is as he is eradicated and left in the void alone for the rest of eternity woohoo! So

- Stability : this is what causes all of the glitching on Zane's appearance, ruining what he looks like to others. It gets better and worse depending on the amount of Energy he has stored.

- Memory : This fragment is what caused a majority of people to forget who Zane was, other than the ninja and Pixal. This would restore the memory of Zane to everyone, likely one of the last before Form.

- Voice : This fragment causes Zane to be either completely inaudible, or for his speaking to make zero sense, rendering his attempts to communicate with the ninja absolutely useless. This would likely be the first to be recovered, which allows Zane to properly speak and communicate without being muted or glitched.

- Time : This would stop Zane's constant fragmented jumping through time, which is completely uncontrollable. This fragmented piece causes him to jump through time at any moment, at any place, at any point in time. He learned that sometimes these locations and times he was brought to have relevance, as its what lead to one or two of his fragments being discovered.

- Energy : Zane is between life and death, but he still has energy. His will to protect and live is part of what kept him from being erased entirely, it is his own power that is keeping him here. However, this energy is in short supply and has to be reservered. Though not clear to the others, due to his constant skipping in time, he often has to sleep for years, due to the energy he uses to simply exist. It becomes clear near the beginning when this energy is low, because it affects his stability.

- Existence : Even after recovering time, he is still constantly phasing in and out of existence. Cause him to become complete invisible, to only visible to those between life and death, and finally visible to anyone. Sometimes before this is recovered, he can target a certain person to see him, but it takes a lot of energy.

- Form : Form is what makes Zane physically, without it, he is always non existent. This would be the last, in which Zane would finally step out of limbo and be physical. However, trying to recover form before the other elements could be detrimental to him.

I think the order would be :

Voice, Stability, Energy, Time, Existence, Memory, and Form.

Now I have to piece together the events that transpire between each of these!

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago zane #zane ninjago #shattered ice au #lego ninjago au #ninjago au #zangst #ninjago season 3 #ninjago overlord #ninjago fanfiction

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the1weepinqguitar · 1 year ago

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tally hall sketches and other assorted doodles

Here ya go guys! I also have improvement pics from last year! Almost two years in the Tally Hall fandom! Woohoo! My Marvin's CD is gonna hate me even more after all of this

A Ross sketch! I'm super proud of how it turned out! Below is a close-up!

The aforementioned close-up, showing the shading on his face and the folds of his sleeve!

Zubin! I love the side profile, and I used his picture in the MMMM booklet as a reference! Close up below, so you can see some of the more fine details/shading

the close-up!

Here's Andrew! His hair is kinda hard to not fluff-ify, but I dealt with it anyways and tried my best to keep it close to reality. Obligatory close(r)-up below.

next will be some other random stuff, mostly tally hall, but some of it is oc art

drew this drawing of Ross last September. Not amazing but very stylized, which I love/hate. the tag on the bottom left reads, "he's rather disheveled but this is the best I could do back then"

wtf is he doing? He in an action movie or something? btw this was last-year's andrew. very stylized. i hate it.

decided not to include the other last-year Rob cause i hate it deeply. this one's much better. very fluffy. i dont like the collar tho

just me poking fun at my horrendous attempts at stylizing joe. im not gonna draw him as much as the others btw.

This is from an au created by @bonkdd, but i did rob and andrew's designs bc i never saw his designs for them. i also added a lot of lore and plot stuff because i really liked the concept. in simple terms the tallies are robots that were abandoned by Marvin after he passed away so now they're falling apart n stuff without him to care for them (that's why rob hides his face). Anyways, huge thanks to Bonk for the original idea! They're a great artist, you should go check them out!

Edith, drawn/sketched with a ballpoint pen.

Another one. I like this one better, but I spent two days on this one versus a half on hour on the other so i guess it makes sense

Adrian and Reuben (OCs), done in a college-ruled notebook bc i ran out of pages in my sketchbook. next is a close-up so you can see more shading.

probably my favorite gay couple i've ever written ngl

Ace again, but wearing Reuben's favorite sweater.

Looking mighty fine!

He's lookin' tough, he's got the stuff, he's got the spiffy shades... (/lyric)

pose practice

Boll weevil, why don't you get out of your home? (/lyric)

old art jumpscare - i actually kinda like this one, might redraw it. Below is the full thing

why is zubes staring like that??? its creepy

here's another. i don't know why it's sideways. andrew is scared of joe btw, this isn't the entire drawing

Did an embossing peice. It's the Mojo Chessmaster! I tried by best to make it as detailed as possible, and I think I did pretty alright. The neck was probably the worst part to do. Below are close-ups

the head of the guitar was a pain in the ass.

This part was also pretty tricky but it came out okay. the dials at the bottom are raised as much as I could get them to go, so I'm not worried about them. My issue here was the pickups.

I also added Flansburgh's little signature guy but i drew his hair because why not? Anyways this piece took me a good hour or so to finish, I think it'll fetch a good grade (it was for my metal design class).

I'll add a sketch I just did as a bonus:

it's from a tally hall fanfic/au i made back in may after my grandpa passed away. It was a great stress-reliever and I still really like how it turned out. It's about cryptids and monsters and shit. I'll post a summary on a different post because this one was mostly for the drawings. I might post a few installments of it on my ao3. It could be a weekly thing since i usually have time on fridays to write.

Once again, a close-up is available below.

I put literal hours of research on cryptids and of the area (ann harbor, MI) while writing this fic. It was fun though, and it helped me a lot. Feel free to ask me anything about the plot or world-building !

#ivan's art tag #tally hall fanart #oc art #random assorted sketches and stuff #buh-bye

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hanaasbananas · 1 year ago

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Tag 10 People You Want to Know Better

thanks for the tag @thesamestarlight!

relationship status: single

song stuck in my head: currently my brain is creating a remix of GO, from Coke Studio and Left Right by Ali Sethi. LR is just such a vibe- when I heard Shae Gill's verse in it for the first time I swear it made me ascend on the bus to work at 7am. and then my brain segues into the bridge of GO because that specific part is ETHEREAL its so so good. yk what, i'm gonna add a clip of it because more people need to hear this:

last song i listened to: Castles Crumbling (From the Vault). Currently OBSESSED with this song and it's giving me such a good fic idea that could potentially be on par with my ml 1920's enemies au but like. a LOT angstier hehe. AND I'll actually have time to write it w the summer holidays starting next week 😈

three favourite foods: hmmm lasagna, bhindi masala, and pakoras

dream trip: Italy! or Greece. I'd just love to go to Europe tbh because most of the holidays i've been on have just been back home in Pakistan, which is fun but I'd love to go somewhere else too. Now that I think ab it though, I'd love to go properly sightseeing in Pakistan. I found out a while ago that the first time I went to Pakistan when I was uh...5? My uncles took us all on a trip to Murree which is a BEAUTIFUL mountainous area of the country but guess who doesn't remember any of it :((( I didn't even believe we went until i saw a video of me there lmao

anything i want right now: burger burger burger. I want takeout so badly lmao but i'm too broke to justify buying anything and too tired to cook so i just had cereal for dinner and that was supremely unsatisfying rip

if you could be any animal, what and why: something that sleeps a lot and isn't bothered by anybody. so...a cat. work has been kicking my arse lately so I am constantly exhausted and would like to sleep for a week straight please. 6 more days until the summer holidays though, woohoo!!

tagging @queer-cosette @2manyfandoms2count @theladyfae @nomolosk @deinde-prandium and anyone else who wants to have a go! <3

#banana speaks 🍌#i always ramble loads in these lmaooo #but no joke that part of GO has been playing in my head all day #i just love the repetition of DIL JAANE NA JAANE KYA and how it builds up and gets louder hnnnng its fantastic #tag game

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heartbrake-hotel · 2 years ago

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Lordy honey yall makin me wanna write my own damn prompt. I got some more little tidbits for ya:

Elvis was turned during his first appearance at the International. But who turned him? I'm thinking there's some sort of deal going on between one the old vampires who invested in the building, maybe even the International's owner and Colonel Parker. They want Elvis to play there for as long as possible, and he isn't getting any younger--so they make it so he can't get any older, either.

At first Elvis is in a state of confusion, because fledglings (at least in my thoughts) are in a sort of fog when first turned. It helps them to adapt to feeding; cue Colonel Parker shoving cigarette girls into Elvis's suite, which he drains dry, much to his own horror when the initial feeding frenzy lifts.

And Colonel Parker isn't exactly picky with what he feeds Elvis: whoever is easy to get up into the suite, and high young girls are the easiest. Elvis tries, when he can afford it, to not feed--he doesn't know that if he drinks regularly then the frenzy won't come, but nobody has told him much of anything. His Sire isn't there, there wasn't any sort of ritual to his Turning as there normally is. No, this was just business.

aLRIGHT WOOHOO SMITTY MY LOVE LOOK AT US !!! im finally getting to this lmaoooo oOOPS 🙈 AND i have some mf THOUGHTS,,

(the orig hc post is here btw) ((idk if yall could tell but it Wrecked my Shit))

also it's been Sooooo long since we discussed this that u now have some Other relevant supernatural!au lore to pull from . so,, i hope u don't mind if i conflate the two universes a lil but ur worldbuilding in you ain't nothin' but a overtook my conscious mind weeks ago and has yet to relent 💝 oh nooooo.. whatever shall i dooooo.. 😏

far too many words under the cut. i, uh.. i may have lost control a lil 🤭🦇 ft. a frankly excessive use of pet names and an e who has been babygirlified maybe more than is appropriate within the confines of the plot (shocking, i'm sure).

right ok so !! vegas as a hub for at least some of the supernatural bc of its transient nature, high tourist volume, and seedy reputation. obvious check

for the most part, unaffiliated vamps stay out of vegas. like you said- it's too hard to monitor their blood concentrations when everyone and their dog is doing truckloads of party drugs well into the night.! but there are, of course, some Old Ones, who saw (or perhaps even built??) the city as their own personal playground btw this blends so seamlessly into the irl high-level mob ties its crazy lmao. marina's bringing up elvis is literally never not on my mind 🙏

if you're rich enough, or powerful enough (or have friends who are enough so), you don't have to fend for yourself the same way, so it's less of an issue. sucking out some rando party girl off the street is faaar beneath the pay grade of the handful of guys at the top, who have their meals carefully cultivated and hand-procured thru what is almost certainly a human trafficking ring

kirk kerkorian [or meyer kohn - u can pick ur universe, here] and the entire board of the international is of course among this group, exerting their power and influence (and perhaps Compulsion) to keep the flow of money running smoothly from the casinos below directly into their cash-lined pockets.

colonel tom parker [a demon again? or perhaps nobody in particular - either way he ends up hellspawn lmao whether literally or figuratively] is acutely aware of this when he first signs elvis on for the hotel's opening season - how could he not be? and of course everything goes perfectly smoothly for those first six weeks in 1969. **ik im twisting ur original idea just a tad but bear w me

but the longer the engagement goes, the more trouble colonel has reining elvis in. he had agreed heartily to those first fifty-eight appearances - purely to fund his upcoming world tour, you understand ("the snowman strikes again!"). but no matter how much colonel wheedles, he's not budging; elvis simply will not sign on for the next year.! he's finally holding his ground... and that's his undoing

coming off the back of his comeback special and last movie, e finally feels like he's got his mojo workin' - the king is back on top! after a looong decade stuffed fit to bursting with his botched movie career, he never thought he'd wrest any semblance of creative control away from the powers that be. but the last year or so has really made him see the value of his own opinion, AND the dangers of continued complacency. so with the backing of his family and extended entourage, he's heading halfway across the world just as soon as he gets off that stage for the last time.

colonel can't have that, not with the remainder of his hefty personal debt hanging in the balance. and with all the dough the hotel is raking in during the first dregs of their opening season, nobody up top wants their prize little cash cow flying away to london or japan or the rock of eternity or wherever he's fixin' to go - not if they have anything to say about it !

and so a plan is devised, swiftly, mercilessly, and without any pesky sense of remorse. after all, what do they have to feel bad about? they're just taking care of business

just after elvis' last performance, he's heading to his packed-up suite to shower and change for what he thinks will be the last time.. the boys are downstairs getting the last of the stuff in the cars and then they'll all head to the airport. he's got just a couple minutes to spare, and he assures them he'll be fine alone. just gonna run on up and change real quick, y'all don't needta worry about me none. [*evil colonel voice* wanna bet?]

he steps into his unusually empty suite, but before he can even shuck the towel from around his neck, his throat is being wrenched to the side in a vice grip as an unseen assailant steps from their hiding spot behind the door. he yelps, tries to throw them off, goes for the gun in his boot, but their grip is like steel, solid and unyielding, and before he can move much of anywhere there's a sharp prick in his neck and a sudden heaviness in his muscles he can't quite shake.

he assumes it's a syringe - he's not wholly unfamiliar with a needle, after all, and why would he suspect anything else? he guesses he's been drugged on account of... well, on account of bein' elvis presley. goddamn sonsabitches don't need any more reason than that. 'course, the sensation is a little different than he's used to - the gauge is unfamiliar, and he could swear he feels two distinct track marks - but by then his head is spinning too much to be certain of anything.

the last thing he feels is a rushing sense of complacency as his legs give out. his vision is swimming too much too see his attacker's face, but they let him go down, hard, and he crumples to an undignified heap on the floor helplessly as they turn to... leave? huh. not what he expected, but he supposes beggars can't be choosers

his sluggishly disjointed musings are broken only by the shadowy figure melting back into the shadows... his increasingly-addled mind knows he should be glad at their sudden departure, but all he can concentrate on is the inexplicable swing out of the vague sense of euphoria that had been the "drugs" kicking in, and a sudden accompanying feeling that he didn't like one bit. he could only describe it as a crawling fear, an absence, a kind of ripping deep in his soul... a pervasive sense of distance, of wrongness so festering he feared it was about to tear him apart from the inside out. he's suddenly certain he's not meant to be alone right now.

he gasps in the worst pain he's ever felt, and at the same moment, he's aware of a rush of footsteps in the hallway outside - he barely manages a wobbly gesture to the door and a slurred request to rip his goddamn tongue out b'the roots to the panicked faces of his boys crowding around his supine form before his vision finally goes dark.

when he wakes up, he's in an all-too-familiar bed. before running for the doctor and his daddy, a frazzled jerry sitting vigil at his side hurriedly explains that without him conscious enough to fill them in, all they knew is he wasn't fit to travel, so they'd unpacked his suite again while waiting for him to return to the land of the living. he's grateful, but assures him that as soon as he's feeling better they'll be heading out again.

he asks jerry to turn down the thermostat and flip off the light on his way out. the heavily-drawn drapes had already ensured it'd been near-pitch dark and freezing, just how he liked it, but he murmured it felt like he was burnin' up from the inside out, and his eyes were too sensitive for even the ambient glow of his bedside lamp. jerry does so and also fetches him a pair of big ol' sunglasses, without a word.

the doctors (who'd been summoned to the hotel; despite protests from the mafia, colonel had suggested that moving elvis to a hospital could be even more dangerous, what with this criminal still on the loose, and vernon had reluctantly agreed) hadn't been able to tell what he'd been dosed with - it'd metabolized too quickly to detect, apparently. all they can tell him after the last four days of monitoring his comatose form is that his vitals have been almost astonishingly strong. the only symptom he's had has been a high fever, but it breaks as soon as he's awake again- and actually, his body temp has overcorrected and is a little low now, is he feeling chilly?

they joke that whatever he'd been given seems to have actually helped him, and he's inclined to agree... despite the fact that they hadn't administered anything to him except an IV drip, in case it had any adverse interactions with whatever he'd been on, his chronic pain has mysteriously vanished. and since he's been awake and in recovery, he's only seemed to get more handsome and charming, no sign at all of being out of it and on fluids for so long. you sure wouldn't have known his recent predicament by looking at him !

he's got a host of baffling new symptoms as well, but nothing that seems dangerous or that points to any kind of diagnosis. he's growing increasingly thirsty, but the buckets of water he's drinking aren't quenching him. he seems to have lost his sense of taste (this one hits him the worst) - at first, the smell of food made him nauseous. now he can keep it down, but it feels like ash in his mouth. his light sensitivity lingers, though for the most part it's limited to natural light, and he takes to wearing the sunglasses often. he seems to have developed a sudden allergy to some of his jewelry - his silver rings and pendants now cause a burning rash. he has them remade in gold and doesn't give it a second thought.

he tells and retells his story to the cops, but they're left scratching their heads; it's widely assumed the panicked arrival of the mafia scared off the creep before they could pull off the rest of their plan. kill him, kidnap him for ransom... seemed like they'd never know for sure, but either way everyone agrees he narrowly escaped a much worse fate. colonel doesn't think it wise for him to be on the road, what with this continued threat hanging over his head, but jerry argues it doesn't seem any better to stay in vegas with this freak at large. and elvis points out that if the bastard follows him overseas, they have bigger fish to fry.

the boys seem confused that the attack doesn't appear to have played into his usual paranoia in any way; he doesn't know quite how to explain it, he tells them, but he feels stronger, somehow. more settled. like if it ever came to it again, he could handle himself. it might just be relieved cockiness, but what didn't kill him made it so he's at least not afraid again. he's been reflecting deeply on psalm 23, apparently.

and so the suite is once again packed up, despite colonel's protestations- this time with elvis under constant supervision, much to his good-natured amusement. it goes without incident, and they make it all the way to the runway before elvis is suddenly doubled over in pain in the back of the limo, sweating and shaking like a leaf.

he's groaning that it hurts, hurts s'bad, but can't say anything more than that, and within seconds the whole caravan has whipped around and is careening back to the relative safety of the hotel. by the time he's being ferried hurriedly up to his room, he's improving steadily, and by the time he's settled in bed and the doctors once more fetched, he's weak and badly shaken but seems no worse for wear.

the doctors can't explain this apparent relapse any more than the first, but tentatively give him a clean bill of health, and two days later they try it all again. this time he makes it within a couple miles of the airport, and it takes him four days to recover. the last time they try, he only makes it four blocks away from the Strip and is bedridden for a week. nobody has any sort of explanation, and the tour is put on hold indefinitely while they're seemingly stranded.

the colonel is the one who offers a possible solution. he'd been hovering around elvis' room the whole time (like a bad smell, sonny mutters when he's out of earshot), fluttering around with assurances that the hotel would gladly host them as long as they needed, maybe even sign them on for another season if elvis so wished...

when elvis finally roars that he just wants OUT of this place, goddammit in response to vernon's suggestion that he stop working himself up with leaving, colonel finally pounces.

he must put his foot down, he says. his boy is clearly in no condition to travel- no, no, not physically, he hastily amends, when elvis opens his mouth to remind him what the doctors said, but clearly mentally. something about the attack has left him emotionally unstable, it appears, and the idea of leaving, even though he's so sure he wants to, is clearly triggering some kind of psychosomatic attack. why doesn't he make up his mind to stay- not forever, just until his head is screwed on right. he can keep playing the international, and they can find him some head-shrinkers to fix him right up, eh? elvis doesn't see any choice but to glumly agree.

of course, unbeknownst to elvis, the real issue is that his Maker won't allow him to leave vegas city limits. he's been kept totally in the dark as to his situation and is thus totally suggestible, so when the vampire who Turned him (continually employed by the Ancients for just this kind of dirty work) uses their mental connection to Compel him to stay within a certain radius, elvis doesn't even know he's feeling it, much less that it's possible to fight it. his Bat simply obeys without question, to the confusion of his body and conscious mind.

if his Turning had been accompanied by proper ritual, if his Maker had explained any of his new life to him, if he'd received any guidance at all, he'd know he could override this instinct, break the Bond they shared (especially as ill-cultivated as it is), and be on his way. as it is, he's like a dog with a newly-installed invisible fence. a dog who's also growing steadily weaker since his Turning because of his lack of sustenance, mind you.

the colonel knows all this. he also knows that any doctors or psychiatrists that see elvis from this point on will be in the know, be provided by the hotel, and be payed handsomely to tell elvis exactly what the colonel wants him to hear. he send word to the Council that they've got him at last. they rejoice at the prospect of chaining elvis to their stage for an eternity, elvis begrudgingly signs the contract for another engagement, and this is where the real trouble starts...

it's been three weeks since he was inadvertently Turned, and elvis is feeling the affects of not having Fed, though he doesn't realize it. he's weak, he's thirsty, he's snappish, and can somebody turn off those godDAMNED lights !!! the mafia assume it's due to his mental slump and are at a loss except to wait it out, but the colonel thinks he has something to cheer him up. he winks and tells red that elvis will have a few, ehem.. lady visitors tonight, and surely they shouldn't be disturbed. the boys get the hint.

colonel sends up the ditziest cigarette girl he can find downstairs, a perky little blonde, so doped-up out of her mind she's wobbling in her heels. she gasped and flushed darkly when he told her that mr. presley was in need of her services; he hadn't even needed to slip her any cash to incentivize her troubles. he chomped on his cigar and grinned darkly as he watched her giggle her way to the elevator.

elvis, for his part, almost makes it. he'd answered the rhythmic little knock in his robe, loosely tied, and didn't miss the way the sweet young thing at his door gaped at the sight of all that chest on display. before he can even say anything, she's slipped under his arm and further into the room, and he raises an eyebrow and grins as he eases the door shut. he peruses her wares (the CIGARETTES !! im talking about the cigarettes..) more for show than anything else, and hands her a $20 in exchange for a pack he doesn't plan on smoking, telling her to keep the change.

she bends over far more than necessary while stacking boxes back in her tray, and flutters her lashes when she asks him if there's... anything else she can get him. flattered as he is, he tells her, he isn't sure he needs anything just now, but thank you kindly anyways, honey. truthfully, he's not sure he's feeling up for it, but she pouts so prettily as she swings her hips sadly over to the door, and turns back to ask if he's really really sure... the colonel had sent her up with express instructions to give him anything he wanted, she explains, sultry little whine in her voice, and he finds his resolve crumbling.

surely a little kissing wouldn't hurt, he reasons, might even make him feel a lil better, and her eyes light up in glee when he beckons her back over. but the minute she's in his arms, easing her way up to his lips as her eyes flutter shut, he isn't sure what comes over him. they're so close her heartbeat rushes in his ears, and without a thought he's effortlessly snapped her neck (with strength he didn't know he had) and is lapping frantically from her torn throat (pierced with the aid of sharp fangs he's never felt before). she never even saw it coming.

he moans as he sags to the ground, clutching her limp form and still slurping desperately as, for the first time since his attack, his thirst is quenched. he dimly realizes he's done something unforgivable, but his head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, everything around him distant and foggy. the sense of panic he knows he should be feeling is a far-off twinge, all but muted by the combined cocktail of ecstasy running through him: fresh blood, dope, and a brain fog he can't quite attribute to either.

when she's dry he's sated, the sense of woozy relief hits him so strong that he barely manages to stagger to his feet and stumble over to the couch, chin and hands still covered in blood, before he's passing out for ten hours of the emptiest sleep he's ever had. when he wakes up, all traces of what happened are gone, and with a mind that finally feels clearer than it has for weeks, he almost manages to convince himself it was an incredibly fucked-up dream, so potent that the sweet metallic tang is still blooming on his tongue...

...until of course, the next time it happens. it goes much the same way: the colonel has no trouble locating a girl who'll never be missed- this is vegas, after all- and sends her, high as a kite of her own volition, up to the penthouse to keep company with a disgruntled and starving elvis. he drains her dry before he can even blink, but stays awake this time to spend the next few hours totally blissed out in an uncomfortably drugged haze. the more he comes down, the more he hates not only what he's done but also the way it makes him feel.

thus starts a vicious cycle: elvis, terrified of feeding, swears off blood, until he's half-starved but fighting himself at every turn. the colonel intervenes, sending throngs of low-risk girls up to the suite, where e simply can't help himself anymore, and enters a violent blood-crazed frenzy. he spends the hours after staggering around half-lucid, waiting for the effects to fade so he can convince himself he'll never do it again.

the stronger he maintains his tenuous mental fortitude- the longer he goes between feeds- the more girls he needs in a night to fill him up, and the higher he gets afterwards. he doesn't ask where colonel finds them or what he does with the bodies. he thinks dully that he doesn't much want to know.. it's hard enough on his conscience already.

of course, yet another thing nobody's bothered to explain to poor frightened fledgling elvis is that every time he refuses to feed when he should, every time he feels the welling signs of that dark hunger within himself and shoves them down in distress, every time his instincts are forced to take over and quite literally make him feed, that it exacerbates the mental fog he's feeling.

vampiric lore (which of course he doesn't know) attributes it to a sort of easing-in countermeasure; it's only newly-turned vampires, not fully in touch with their desires, that attempt to starve themselves so, clearly suffering from a mental block regarding the morality of preying upon their former species. to smooth their transition into acceptance of their new form, every time they're forced to feed rather than do it willingly, a potent release of hormones and neurotransmitters floods their system, both to combat any lingering guilt and to make them crave the mental release of feeding just as much as the physical.

if he were to feed normally, if he were to provide his body with the nourishment it needed on a regular basis, his instincts wouldn't have to override his mind this way. he wouldn't be forced to feed so violently or so much, he'd be able to control himself such that he could select his own victims preferentially and even bring himself to stop before killing them, and he wouldn't feel so overwhelmed afterwards.

elvis thinks of his... condition as an affliction, a temptation he lacks the strength to overcome, but really, it's his body's desperate attempt to stay alive when his mind insists on thwarting his ongoing survival at every turn. the bloodlust isn't a punishment but a protective measure, and one he could prevent if he'd take consistent care of his new needs.

and on top of all that, the particular way his intake is chemically tainted only adds to this anguish, because now he's unknowingly also developing a dependency on the drugs- the painful withdrawal symptoms of which serve to strongarm him into feeding even more frequently.

things are only exacerbated by his performance engagement starting back up; of course, it's even easier to find girls- hordes of them batter the doors to the showroom after every show, desperate for just another glimpse of him- but it also means he's got a responsibility to be right there on that stage twice a night, able-minded or no, and he takes that very seriously.

he's got people to support, after all, so he gets very used to functioning while highly intoxicated, whether that means performing, schmoozing the high rollers in the casino at the behest of his hotel benefactors, or smiling through a never-ending stream of reporters and photographers during every interview and press conference.

this is where the reader steps in !!!

you're one of less than a handful of vamps, just two or three, really, who manage to stick around vegas (and consume healthy blood) without the influence of the Old Ones, a feat you manage by staying off the Strip almost entirely. you stick to the suburbs, both as a way to ensure you're not tripping out after every meal, and to (hopefully) stay out of sight and out of mind of the powerful Ancients who don't want anyone infringing on their territory. this is very fright night remake vibes btw if anyone remembers that

but there's very little to do in the dusty, sprawling desert neighborhoods that isn't centered around maintaining the tourism industry downtown, especially for an immortal with nothing but time (and the occasional meal) to kill. you're nowhere near as experienced as those you seek to avoid, but you've been around the block quite a few times yourself, and sometimes the neon glow of the city lights overrides the quiet boredom of your safely-maintained little perimeter.

tonight is one such night: elvis presley had been headlining the international hotel for what felt like ages, or maybe just a blink - it was hard to judge that pesky human time, when their lifespans were so much shorter than yours. either way, he'd been this era's answer to jesus for a few decades now, and you had to admit you were curious to see him in person at last.

you decide on the midnight show- maybe if you're lucky, you can scrounge up a snack on the way home. you don't bother with a ticket- though you have more than enough human money stored up over the years, you're sure it's no use for what promises to be a sold-out show. the bouncers aren't any deterrent, either- you simply Compel them into checking the list for your name another time, and they let you in without a murmur. the showroom is packed so full, you notice as you survey the area, that nobody could ever notice one more.

you slip into a vacant seat at the end of one of the long tables that line the stage, with a group of screaming fans who don't seem to notice that they don't know you. you can't tell if their distraction is borne more from excitement or alcohol, but either way, you're grateful for the cover. you order a bloody mary as your own personal joke and bide your time until the show starts, perusing the booths that line the floor behind you. you recognize a few familiar Old Ones, by face if not name- no surprise, considering who runs the casino just outside.

eventually, the lights fade and the orchestra bursts into an opening riff. you clap with the rest when elvis struts out on stage, looking resplendent in a white jumpsuit, grinning wide and boyishly and practically glowing under the stage lights. his rings flash as he waves to the audience, courteous and attentive even as he starts singing. when the song's over he introduces himself and some of the VIPs, including the owner of the hotel (now there's a vamp who's been getting himself a lot of press lately), and the heavyset man next to him, apparently elvis' own manager. the man gives a simpering smile and wave to the crowd as the spotlights illuminate the booth, and you wrinkle your nose as you turn back to the main stage. you haven't placed it yet, but something seems off about that one.

elvis puts on a good show, you'll give him that, but the longer you watch, the more puzzled you become. he's slurring just a bit when he jokes with the band in between numbers, and more clumsy than you'd expect for someone so flexible; you'd say it was just another hollywood star using and abusing drugs if he didn't look so... panicked every time. he's twitchy, too, keeps getting down toward the edge of the stage like he's about to move out into the crowd and start planting kisses on his clamoring fans, like you've heard he does, but he keeps jerking himself back at the last second. they seem to think he's teasing, screaming louder every time, and he plays it off with a slow grin, but it's almost like... like he's afraid he won't be able to control himself, like...

ah. there it is

you zero in on just the barest flash of fang in his smile, and immediately suss out what's going on. elvis presley, a fledgling vamp in what is indisputably the worst city in the world for fledgling vamps... strange things are happening every day, aren't they?

that leaves you with more questions than answers, however... questions like where's his Master? why isn't he feeding properly? who's keeping him half-starved and strung-out? and most importantly, does he even know what's going on?

you narrow your eyes contemplatively as you watch him fool with the microphone before prompting the band to start the next song. all it takes is seeing his hands tremble around the cord to make you nod decisively and shoot back the rest of your drink. you suppose you can stick around a little longer than originally planned... after all, it seemed like elvis might need a little help fixing this, whether he knew it or not.

you lingered just a little after the show ended, waiting until the throngs of frantic women had pushed their way back to the lobby before heading after them yourself. you glanced around surreptitiously, locating the nearest elevator bay... and near it, a familiar older man with a cane whispering furtively to a clearly-tipsy young woman, one you recognized from your table during the show. she had caught a silk scarf fluttering down in front of her from the man himself and hadn't stopped screaming until the lights came back on. bingo

you ran one hand through your hair haphazardly, tousling it slightly as you stumbled your way over to them. "oh, there you are! i was looking for you," you chirped. she gasps and waves excitedly in the earnest way only drunk girls do, but your mouth is open again before she can speak and do something incriminating, like ask your name. "who's y'r friend? s'he coming upstairs with us?" you giggle, leering at... what had his name been again? ah yes, colonel parker. you silently gave a sigh of thanks for your heightened senses- you might not have recognized him just from your brief glimpse during the show otherwise.

the colonel glanced you over dismissively, clearly writing you off as another inebriated fan - his mistake, but exactly what you wanted him to think all the same. he gave you a leering grin and tapped his cane as he said "ah, i was just asking your friend here to do a simple personal favor for me..." you hummed disinterestedly until he continued "...on behalf of mister presley, of course." you gasped exaggeratedly and willed your cheeks to flush- lucky you had fed recently.

he seems to buy it, from the way his eyebrow ticks upwards when he sees your reaction "perhaps you would like to... accompany her to his suite, no?" he teases. you nod raptly, artificial stars in your eyes, and he snorts as he pushes the call elevator button for you with the top of his cane. "top floor. you two enjoy yourselves," he chuckles. the two of you giggle as he saunters away, towards the casino entrance.

as soon as the doors slide shut behind you, you straighten up and tidy your hair in the chromatic reflection until you're once again presentable. you brush off your outfit, fiddling until you're satisfied, then take a deep breath. snapping once to get your lightly confused companion's attention, your turn her shoulders towards you so she's making woozy and bewildered eye contact with you.

"hi honey. having a good night? good. this is how the rest of it is gonna go, ok? now you listen to me-"

when the doors opened again at the thirtieth floor, the girl (tracy. she had told you absently her name was tracy) waved distractedly over her shoulder as she walked straight out of the elevator bay and into the nearby stairwell, head filled with what she believed to be an immutable truth about the elevator being out of service. she'd walk back to her room (on the off chance there was anyone downstairs monitoring the floor indicator dial), wake up perfectly safe in the morning, and think nothing of it.

meanwhile, you let yourself into elvis' suite with the key tracy had handed over, a parting gift from the colonel. you left the lights off, made yourself comfortable on the couch facing the door, and waited.

you didn't have to wait long- just minutes later, there was noise outside, multiple male voices speaking over each other as they all piled out of the elevator and headed for the door, elvis' the loudest. "yeah, yeah, i said i'd meet you down there, didn't i? doin' my damn head in... i'll tell ya what, y'all g'head and i'll call down there when i'm done. yes i swear, now git!" laughter and good-natured ribbing faded as the elevator doors presumably closed behind the crowd once again, punctuated with a sigh and the click of the door lock disengaging another time.

elvis didn't seem to notice you as he walked in, leaving the light off as well as he patted his face dry with the damp towel looped around his neck. he leaned against the wall with one hand to brace himself as he toed off his boots, then whipped his dark shades off onto a side table and gripped the bridge of his nose with another deep sigh.

"are you in any pain, mr. presley?" he yelped in undignified surprise and whipped around with a touch of vampiric speed, dropping the towel in his fright to discover the source of your voice. despite the pitch blackness of the room, his eyes locked onto yours immediately through the dark, without needing to scan the empty space around you- another sign of his transition. no mortal could see as perfectly well in this scenario as the two of you could.

"wh- who-" he stuttered some, regaining his bearings, as you cocked your head in evaluation. "i'm sorry to startle you, mr. presley," you say evenly, but pleasantly. "you can drop that shit straightaway, honey, that's my daddy. can jus' call me elvis." he murmurs absentmindedly, as if it hadn't been what he really intended to say but came out by habit. "and now that you know me, may i ask who you are? and better yet what the hell you're doing in my room?" he doesn't sound angry, per se, more resigned than anything, and you smile wryly in response as you introduce yourself. "real pretty, honey, but i'd like an answer to my other question, too." he raises his eyebrow, and you wonder if he's even aware of how much charismatic mental energy he's leaking right now. it was even more apparent to you now why humans throw themselves at him left and right.

"sorry, m- i mean, elvis. the colonel sent me up. i saw your show- you were fantastic, but i had a couple questions." "he did, did he? just wonderful," he almost growls, squeezing his eyes shut. "and some questions, you said? you a reporter?" his voice sounds hard-edged for the first time tonight, but he seems to relax again when you answer with a simple no. "just concerned, i guess." he hums tiredly at your response, vague though it is. "concerned about what, 'bout the show? i'll do my best to answer your questions, honey, but i really don't think there's all too much to be concerned about-"

"elvis, when was the last time you fed?" you can hear his breath catch from clear across the room. "i-i had lunch after rehearsals, but i ain't had dinner yet, if that's what you're askin'... pretty forward way to ask me on a date, but i-" you put a hand up to cut him off. "i think you know perfectly well that's not what i'm asking, elvis. when was the last time you fed properly? on blood?" "...ha! been watching a little too many dark shadows reruns, honey?" his words trip over themselves getting out, and eventually he gives up to just blink at you, speechless, owl-eyed, and afraid despite his frankly pathetic attempt at a cover. he looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar only this time the metaphorical cookie jar is a number of very literal human corpses lol

you bite back a sigh- perhaps you pushed too hard there. poor thing is wringing his hands like he thinks you're gonna put him in cuffs any minute. "maybe we should start over- i'm here to help, ok? i wanna make sure you're alright, cuz i think you might have a lot of questions nobody's explained to you yet. c'mere and sit next to me, baby, and we'll just talk" you pat the seat next to you, flipping his casual pet naming back on him effortlessly. to be fair, he is a baby to you- only, what, a couple months old? that's nothing compared to your few hundred years.

he eyes the spot next to you but shakes his head, still looking like a lost puppy. "n-no, i- m'fine over here," he manages. you furrow your brow; he's gonna need to start trusting you if he wants your help, and this is a bad way to begin. "i promise, i'm not gonna hurt you, elvis-" that sure does it. "i'm not worried about that!" he exclaims. "m'worried about me hurting you!"

you breathe out a surprised little oh, suddenly understanding. "is that what you're so worried about, sweetie? i'm not afraid of you." you try to placate him. "y-you should be afraid of me, honey. i am."

and that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? it breaks your heart a little to know that this is what he's been grappling with alone. it's not meant to be like this- with time and acceptance, he was meant to gain eternal companionship (your semi-loner status nonwithstanding). and whoever heard of a scared vampire?

but you put that aside to focus on elvis- and quickly realize there's one more... little thing you might've left out.

"you don't need to be anymore, ok? i'm gonna help you learn to control it." you beckon him over again, and this time he makes it halfway across the floor before you realize you're not sure if you're Compelling him or not. he'll need to learn what it feels like eventually, in order to both use it and combat it, but now's probably not the time. you break eye contact, just in case, and he falters slightly, but keeps coming, putting you at ease.

as he gets close enough to hear your heartbeat, though, his eyes suddenly turn frantic, and he backpedals, once again in the grip of that familiar terror. "you- you have to get out of here, i can't-" you shush him, not unkindly. "oh, sweetheart. that one's my bad, ok? i guess i haven't been very good at this so far," you grin apologetically. "but you couldn't hurt me, even if you tried"

you use your superspeed to whoosh over to his side and back, the only sign you'd moved at all the slight sway of your hair in the breeze it creates- and the golden ankh pendant now swinging from your upturned palm. elvis gapes, hands reaching up to feel the now-empty space around his neck where the necklace rested just moments ago. "how...?" listen i really can't be assed abt the fact he wasn't wearing necklaces this early ok. it was a cool move

"forgot to tell you - i'm souped up, too." you wink at him, flashing your pupils the deep red they turn when you're Feeding. "and also i think a little stronger than you, given what i saw on stage tonight." this is soo cliche im sorry but Spooky Eyes HAWT. i don't feel bad about it actually

the immediate sense of overwhelming relief on his face almost aches to see, and he's crossed the remaining stretch of floor to practically collapse in your arms sobbing before you can blink. it's... very surprising, you'll admit, but not unwelcome, either, and you're sure the uncertainty lingers in your voice as you gentle him softly, petting his hair and rubbing his back and trying not to overthink the fact that you've known elvis presley for all of ten minutes and now... this is happening. whatever this is.

"woah- woah, hey, what's happening? what's the matter, baby?" he's shaking like a leaf as you hold him, trying to work out in what universe this makes sense. "i-i-i ain't-" he manages through tears. "i haven't been able to touch any-anyone this whole time without b-being so goddamned afraid i'd hurt 'em... and i just- i..."

your worst fears for him, first materialized as you watched him onstage and puzzled about the identity of his Master, are confirmed. "baby... have you been alone this whole time?" you whisper. he just nods from his resting place, face buried in your shoulder. IS this a weird level of intimacy for 2 virtual strangers? totally yup. DO i still think its arguably valid considering how desperately lonely i have decided to make this bitch? uh huh :3

you suck in a breath through your teeth, suddenly filled with the fiery emotion you've been tamping down all night- rage. rage at whoever organized this hit, at whoever must be profiting off it while elvis suffers and innocent girls die, at the colonel who's been shepherding bodies in here endlessly and apparently without deigning to give elvis any proper help or training- yeah, don't think you forgot about him.

but before you can do anything about that, you have to do something with the king of rock 'n roll, who's finally quieting down in your lap. you shove the anger back down, the same way you do your bloodlust- the same way you'll teach elvis.

he sits back up, furiously wiping his tear-stained face. "sorry, honey- i don't know what came over me." he barks a laugh but his eyes tell you it's for show. you tut at him, standing up to fetch him a tissue and maybe a bottle of water, if you can find it- you're sure there must have been one waiting for him after the show. his eyes widen again, but before he has time for concern you cup his cheek to brush the last of his tears away with the pad of your thumb, accompanied by a gently chiding look that says i'm not going anywhere

he has enough time to look sheepish before you putter back over to him with your spoils, talking a mile a minute to distract him. "tch, enough of that! that's part of the change- everything you felt before is doubly strong now. it can be hard to separate your emotions sometimes, especially when you're not used to it. you'll feel everything differently now, and twice as hard."

he takes a moment to mull that over as he mops his face and chugs the water bottle, then nods as he meets your eyes again. "i didn't know that, but it sounds- it feels right. what else can ya tell me?" you chuckle darkly, stretching out on the couch. "oh, just bunches, baby. get comfortable, cuz i know you've got questions- and i've got your answers."

over the course of the night, you explain everything to elvis- how he was Turned, the changes his body's going through, all the symptoms and abilities he'll experience now, why he's feeling the way he is, his options for feeding, how his habits need to change if he intends to keep going like this... it's a laborious process, given how little he knows and how much he thinks he does- he's already got a lot of misconceptions to retrain.

"hey, maybe you're the one who's been watching too many dark shadows reruns lately!" you mean it as a joke, but he flushes. "well, s'not like there's a, a handbook or anythin'! i've been tryin' to study up!" you burst out laughing, and he laughs with you.

at one point he orders up dinner for the two of you, which provides the perfect opportunity for you to offer him a creature comfort- "food? yeah, you can eat food. it won't sustain you, but you're free to eat for pleasure." at his pained look, you give him a knowing smirk. "i bet it tastes nasty right now, doesn't it?" he nods glumly, eyeing your super-rare hamburger, and you chuckle, eyeing him as you take an exaggerated bite. he groans in annoyance, and you laugh as you lick your fingers clean. "don't worry- that'll pass. it's your instincts' way of telling you that you're malnourished- kind of a deterrent from stuff that won't actually keep you alive. you'll be back to your peanut butter and banana in no time, promise." he cheers, and orders up a bottle of champagne, just for that.

"that's another thing- we metabolize differently. your system can tell the difference between the liquid calories it needs and the solid calories you're feeding it just for fun. you won't derive any energy from human food, so you can't gain weight. no reason to store fat," you shrug. "but it also means-" you clink your champagne glass with his in a mock toast, "-you can't get drunk." he sputters, "well, why'd you even let me order the bubbly then?? this shit's expensive, so they tell me!" "i like the way it sparkles! it tickles my nose!"

the hours come and go, but the two of you barely notice, so wrapped up in your conversation. that's another thing you explain- how he'll need much less rest now, if he keeps himself healthy, but that until he's being nourished properly he'll be fatigued and need to sleep pretty much like before. he admits that he was practically nocturnal beforehand, anyway- he hadn't even noticed this one change among so many more pressing.

his drapes were heavy-duty, but you could see just the barest sliver of skyline out the window as the sun began to rise. "it's almost dawn," you whisper, conscious of the fact that the vampire before you is very young, and has had a very long night. a very long month, to be perfectly honest. he hums from where his head is resting on your thigh- you'd encouraged him to lie down an hour ago when he kept breaking off his sentences to yawn hugely. actually, you'd encouraged him to get some rest and you'd talk more later, but he'd refused to go to bed, assuring you he wasn't tired 't all, just sore from the show- he got muscle aches, you know, and he needed to stretch out. you hadn't been convinced then, and you were even less so now, keeping a fond eye on him (fond?? when had that happened) as he drowsed in your lap.

his end of the conversation had started lagging about the same time you started running your hand through his hair, until he was practically purring in contentment. you huffed in amusement. "more like a kitty cat than a bat, i think." he cocked an eyebrow and grinned salaciously, though he didn't open his eyes. "oh honey, i'll show you a cat... a pussycat, to be precis-" "HEY!" you swatted him teasingly and he snickered, settling down again. "keep it clean, presley." "yes, Master." you paused in your ministrations at that, just long enough for his brow to furrow. "you don't have to call me that." "yeah... but can i? i mean, would'ya mind if i-?" his voice was quiet, but sincere. "...ok. but only if you want to." he can hear the smile in your voice without looking, and it makes him smile, too.

"you do have a real one out there, y'know." "i know. but they ain't ever helped me none- all they've done for me is turn my life upside down and leave again. but you... hell, honey, i've only known you one night, and already things are starting to feel right side up again." you sit with that for just long enough to feel pleased before you reach down to tweak his nose. he giggles, and your bid to give the both of you a break from being so fucking earnest goes off without a hitch. the tension stays broken, but the tranquil mood remains.

"guess you're stuck with me again- i can't make it all the way home in that," you venture eventually, nodding at the lone streak of sun making its way past the blackout curtains to pool on the floor behind the piano. luckily far out of the way, or he might've had a particularly unpleasant awakening of his own, had he stumbled through the patch accidentally. he shifts minutely, well on his way to sleep by now. "mm, sounds jus' awful," he drawls, answer delayed only slightly by the fact that he's snoozing, his voice is so quiet that without your enhanced senses you'd have to strain to hear it. "can't imagine quite how i'll make it through if you've gotta stick around s'more." "even dead to the world, you maintain your sense of humor, huh, baby? and those lady-killer tendencies, i see" "yeah, well, i have killed quite a few lad-" "elvis!" you laugh, scandalized, as he huffs a laugh as well as he leverages himself up to sitting.

he rubs his eyes as he tries to get his bearings. "s'pose that's my way of asking real tactful... what happens next?" "well, first we've gotta detox you." "what, from the blood? i thought you said-" "nope, not from the blood. from the drugs in the blood." "from the w-" he gapes, looking shocked and hurt, and also a little appalled at himself. "i really am sorry to break it to you, sweetheart- there's a lot going on with you right now, and only some of it is due to... this," you reach up a hand to thumb at one of his fangs, which had slipped out as soon as you started talking about blood. "the rest of it is a combination of the vegas lights and whoever up top orchestrated the whole thing." he nods slowly, expression inscrutable. "we'll take it slow, i promise. ok?" "yeah," he nods more steadily now. "yeah, i trust you."

"well, then, mr. presley- are you ready?" he nods his head as if on instinct, then has the decency to look confused. "ready for what?" you smile, fangs out. "to start getting you fixed up... so we can take down those bastards responsible for this." he just stares at you a moment before a slow grin starts to take over his face, eyes darkening to match the quite literally bloodthirsty expression in yours.

"let's get to it."

#blurb #ask #goddamn will they EVER let each other finish a sentence.???#sorry dialogue is Not my forte 🙈 im a prose kinda girlie hardcore #also yahhhh i just kind of . totally abandoned the ending to cater to my h/c fantasies. sorry not sorry 😎#halfway thru the second block of bullets i realized the hc format was completely pointless and i had basically written a full fic #on the other hand im nothing if not a stubborn bitch so.. not changing the formatting now.!#if u think about this too hard u start to see a lot of plot holes #or at least further questions about the specificities of vamp lore in this au #to that i would recommend u pls ignore them 🥰#GODDD i started writing this directly in the ask. like a fucking FOOL #knowing FULL WELL how this stupid post editor not only eats ask drafts for breakfast and spits out their bones #but ALSO that the even STUPIDER copy/paste restrictions would hit #since theres a character block limit separate from the character POST limit 🙄#so ive had this tab open for almost a week and have just been walking on eggshells around my laptop praying to not lose it dfghj #MASSIVE SIGH OF RELIEF TO POST IT TBH #also smitty ive got a sidenote for u as well but its gonna go on main lmao. one sec #oh god............ just realized i did the ff.net thing with the in-text ANs 😳😳#pOST CANCELLED; EVERYBODY GO HOME

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chernayawidow · 1 year ago

Text

“Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career.” — Hell yeah! Honestly I also need that kind of clarity but it’s just so harddddd 😓

“And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.” — See THIS right here is what makes the situation even more painful, is the fact that she hopes to find her soulmate. While on the other hand, he knows about her in a way, and he had the chance to reach out to her, but he decided to let the connection fizzle out because of his revenge driven, neglectful father.

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.” — This bitch needs to get cut down to size 💀 listen I’m all for getting your hair done, but to put that above our baby girls OWN work load is a bitch move. I really hope she gets a reality check at some point…

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?” — I choose to believe that our girl proceeded to spit a big ol’ glob into that coffee!

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?” — Oh no, another shitty dad 🫣

“At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday.” — OH FUCK YES YES YESSSS!!!! I LOVE CAMARO’S!! Bobby for the win you amazing human being!! Also I immediately thought of Vampire Diaries.

“You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands.” — Justice for Bobby!!!

“Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.” — Good thing you’re a 24 year old woman babe, what you do is your choice, and he can’t stop you MWAHAHAHAHAH 😏

““He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.” — I love Bobby so much, and Rufus too 🥺💖

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.” — The Winchesters I bet… 😏

“You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.” — LMAOOO oh if only she knew who that flash of black belonged to 💀

“You were finally feeling your soulmate.” — DUN DUN DUNNN!! AND THUS IT BEGINS!!

“Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.” — I’ve always wondered the same thing. If Sam never went with Dean, and was home with Jess, then would she still have died?

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.” — Awh he’s so sweet and fatherly 🥹🫶

“Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”” — Nah just your soulmate who you avoided, no biggie at all 🤙

“You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.” — This is such an interesting version of a Soulmate AU! There’s so many different types and I’ve never seen this kind before, but I’m really enjoying it!

“You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.” — WOOHOO!!! CONTACT HATH BEEB MADE!! ITS HAPPENING!!!

“He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.” — Dean you sly motherfucker 🤣

“When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone.” — MAN FUCK JOHN! He really went and turned what should be a happy experience, into a terrifying one that Dean is now not wanting to commit to out of fear 😐 Stupid John! ITS ALWAYS THE JOHNS!!

So now the ball is really starting to get rolling! I just really hope that Dean disregards what John said and doesn’t up and leave her, because I don’t think my heart could handle that angst 🥺 and I can’t imagine how she would feel about that! Keen as to see how he handles this! Love your work as per usual! 🫶

Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary.

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?” Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

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#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester

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chatonyant · 4 years ago

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Some of my initial doodles for the Sannin! mostly Tsunade though cause i love her hhhh

Some of my notes on their interactions have changed, but the general idea remains the same: Jiraiya and Tsunade, though not wholly present due to different issues and circumstances, care for Kakashi and sometimes catch up with him when he’s on missions. Kakashi, though having a hard time really trusting and asking for help, turns to those two when things are really rough.

Orochimaru in this is a distant figure. I’ve got a couple of notes on him but the general idea is that although distant, he was still a part of baby Kakashi’s life and Orochimaru’s later betrayal and defection stung.

More notes below!

Keeping up with the timeline is a right pain in the ass, so I’m not really going to paying too much attention to that. The Sannin and Sakumo are good friends due to their high ranking and are seen chilling together a lot.

mm So the Sannin meet Kakashi as a wee baby before having to leave for Ame. Then the Sannin sans Jiraiya return, and Tsunade loses Dan soon after that. However, she does stay in Konoha for a bit before leaving with Shizune.

SO. Tsunade meets Kakashi when he’s still learning how to talk properly. The little genius can understand well, but speaking is a tad difficult. (i’m kinda hc that he has larger than average canines that he needs to grow into and made talking a tad difficult. He had a bit of lisp before he got used to it.) “Tsunade” is long, so babyKashi would call her Nade, which just stuck. As he grew and became more of the by the book shinobi he dropped it and began calling her “Tsunade-san”, which she laments. But later on in times of emotional or physical vulnerability, he resorts back to calling her ‘Nade. As he grew and became more comfortable with his life and who he is, the nickname came back as a more casual thing.

When she left, she asked Kakashi if he wanted to come along. But Kakashi, having lost his father and hating the idea of going against the rules, turned her down. He felt betrayed by Tsunade leaving, and for a while didn’t respond to letters she sent. Tsunade purposefully ran into Team Minato whenever they had a mission outside the walls, but Kakashi would avoid her. But just because he didn’t want to talk to her didn’t mean he threw away the letters. He saved them and read them whenever he had free time. Minato found out and gently nudged Kakashi to respond, though Kakashi didn’t really listen. After the loss of Obito, he ran into Tsunade again, but this time didn’t hide. They talked, Tsunade checked up on his eye, and when Kakashi returned to the village, he began responding to her letters. Tsunade always asked Kakashi if he wanted to join her, but he never did. The two had two different ways of coping and couldn’t bear to leave that behind.

When Tsunade returns to be Hokage, no one really knew the friendship and bond between the two. Team Seven found out first when Tsunade went to go watch her two kiddos, Naruto and Kakashi, and referred to them as such.

When Sakura became her apprentice, she got so much blackmail in the form of baby stories.

I like to think that Jiraiya built his spy system for a while and was on more solo undercover missions to establish and check up on them. After all, intel is gold in a war. So he wasn’t able to visit as much as Tsunade, but when he did, he was a loud, hardy figure who brought so many gifts. He also brought Minato over at times and they just chilled. Jiraiya was in a long term mission when Sakumo died, so he wasn’t there to help in the immediate aftermath. I think Jiraiya (and all the sannin, really) has a hard time properly processing grief and went on more and more missions to distract himself. It didn’t help that there was another war brewing and intel was once again something the village desperately needed. Instead of letters, Jiraiya sent Kakashi little souvenirs from different places he visited. Occasionally, when he was in the village, the two would go to get food and Jiraiya would tell stories to a quiet Kakashi, who was listening but pretended he wasn’t.

(I’m throwing the asshole sides of Jiraiya oUT the window. He’s not a creep, he can be respectful, and he’s a theatre nerd.)

Jiraiya chose a hard road when he decided to become a spymaster. Though he’s out the village most of the time, he is also under a lot of pressure to be out and about, collecting intel. He’s almost forced to be out the village at times, and he can’t quite be there for the people he cares about. When Tsunade left, he kept in touch with her and met up with her when he could.

Orochimaru was usually there because he was dragged along by Tsunade or Jiraiya or Sakumo ran into him in the markets or whatnot and dragged him along to catch up. He’s a generally apathetic and a bit detached? mmm I’m not sure how to put this into words but he’s like the ultimate Ravenclaw. Obsesses over knowledge and does anything to pursue it. So he spends his time in his labs and when he gets dragged along, he’s a bit irritated at the disruption. But he doesn’t hate it, and he just,,, he’s detached, he’s apathetic, and he doesn’t seek to further the bonds made by the other Sannin and Sakumo. But regardless there is a bit of a bond, and ultimately he feels betrayed when the others leave and Sakumo dies. And without the others, Orochimaru and Kakashi don’t have a reason to interact beyond the occasional nod of greeting as they pass each other by. In Orochimaru’s mind, Kakashi is “the annoying pup” while in Kakashi’s it’s “dad’s old friend”.

Orochimaru, in his pursuit of knowledge, continues on this path of questionable actions until he’s later busted by the Sandaime and escapes Konoha to create his own place where he could do questionable things in peace.

#naruto #hatake kakashi #senju tsunade #jiraiya #orochimaru #sannin #au #naruto fanart #nart au #alp art #there are inconsistencies within my ideas cause i've made these doodles all out of order before i changed an idea or fixed it after #reading more on it #me chanting as i do write and draw #self indulgence self indulgence self indulgence #at first the tsunade and kakashi doodles werent for the au #and then i went #why not #and now its part of the au woohoo

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vinturong · 2 years ago

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Boom!Sonic au edition Lore dump ⬇️

So the guy in the upper right probably caught ur attention first! For fun, I gave all my AU Sonics different looks and names, to make em seem like separate characters, but it’s still Sonic, just looks different. His name is King! Anyway, the AU is that Boom!Sonic is actually just the regular Sonic, who, through a freak chaos accident, ended up teleported to and stranded on Bygone Island.

He cannot leave the island through air, sea or earth, because the ancients, as a parting gift, surrounded the entire landmass and the waters around it with an impenetrable forcefield. In the past it meant to protect the island, but now imprisons poor Sonic and the rest of its inhabitants. No transmissions pass through it either, so he can’t even radio his friends.

The barrier also limits how much chaos energy is able to phase in, leaving the island with overall less energy than the surrounding area. You know how slow Sonic is in SB? That’s why. Chaos no longer adds to his speed, so he had to expand his arsenal with hand-to-hand combat to make up for the loss. He’s still able to use his powers, but only in bursts. The lack of chaos also leaves him chronically fatigued, which is why he may seem more subdued, and also why he got a little chubby. Just doesn’t have the energy to run as much as he used to. Homesickness and being trapped also caused him to develop depression woohoo Personality-wise, he’s just like Sonic from the show! Tho maybe a little less selfish, because god, how narcissistic he was at times.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic boom #sth #sonic au #sonic oc #vinturong #sa2ration #my art #drew this to prove to myself and everyone that i can still draw sonics #and i can! i think #gonna try to draw them alongside anthros #because theyre fun #and i miss them #if u have questions abt king/the au feel free to shoot!#i love him so much #also planning to make a comic w him #tho its gonna be with the anthro ver

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ichorai · 2 years ago

Text

shout me out ; bucky barnes.

track nine of DEAR SCIENCE.

pairing ; ex!bucky barnes x gn!reader

synopsis ; sometimes a simple ‘sorry’ is more than enough.

words ; 1.7k

themes ; angst, mild fluff, exes au

warnings / includes ; mentions of death/killing/losing a loved one, crying, mentions of a break up, set in a 50s style diner, bucky has a lumberjack beard woohoo, alpine brings bucky dead birds <3

main masterlist.

Love was the act of tattooing someone’s soul into your heart. Oftentimes it’d hurt, it’d sting, it’d bite. A poetic kind of pain one was willing to endure because love was universal—love was all consuming—love was what drew a line between surviving and living. But it was art, in the end, and the art would heal, just as a gash would eventually scab over.

At least, that was the point of love; an end goal of bliss, right?

Sometimes it didn’t feel like your heart’s tattoo of Bucky ever healed. Was it beyond repair? You weren’t entirely sure.

Bucky asked you to meet with him in the very diner you met him at.

It felt so long ago. You were just waiting tables at the time, barely making ends meet—and there he was, an Avenger in the flesh, all easy smiles and tender eyes.

Now here you were, nearly a year later from when he broke up with you, fiddling with the cuff of your sweater. You quit your old job a long time ago, having moved away from the small town to pursue a more promising career in the big city, and admittedly, because everything you looked at reminded you of something painful. Whether it be Bucky, or something that reminded you of your father that passed away a while back… it became too much. It was so strange being back—like returning to a place that seemed to remain stagnant in time while you moved on with life.

It was snowing heavily, frost rimming the diner’s windows. The flickering crimson glow from the large neon signs atop the diner seemed to taunt you with its brightness, as if to say: Stop! Don’t go in there!

But in there, you went.

The diner was empty, save for the young teenager manning the cash register, earbuds popped in as she picked at her nails. The checkered red-and-white floors beneath you injected a shot of raw nostalgia through your veins—you remembered the countless hours you spent mopping up these floors, the dozens of instances you averted your gaze to the square tiles so Bucky wouldn’t be able to meet your flustered eyes.

There was a dull sort of ache residing beneath your ribcage upon seeing him again after so long. He was in the process of sipping at his vanilla milkshake, staring at something on his phone with that familiar dip in his eyebrows you had grown so fond of.

The door jangled upon your entrance, and his head shot up. The teenager didn’t bother to look, blowing a small bubble of her gum.

You swallowed uneasily. He had a beard now, you noticed. He was always clean-shaven while dating you. For some strange reason, this seemed to make you even more saddened. It suddenly felt like the break up happened yesterday instead of a year ago.

When his eyes met yours, you had half the mind to turn right around and traipse back into your car. A part of you wondered if he was angry. Maybe he knew about that one shirt of his you kept—or the fact that you would mail small cat toys to his address from time to time because you missed Alpine. Maybe he wanted to tell you to stop hanging out with his friends that inevitably became your friends when you dated him. Maybe he wanted to tell you that he hated you—or that he still loved you.

You had to give yourself a small reprimanding at the last thought. Life wasn’t at all as dramatic as you made it out to be in your head.

He waved you over, and it took longer than you would’ve preferred for your muscles to kick in, legs sluggishly dragging along the checkered tiles.

It was hard to speak, so you remained silent the first few minutes. Bucky slid over the plate of curly fries in front of him closer to you, the secondary milkshake in tow.

“You remembered I like strawberry,” were the first words you said to your ex in over a year, voice hoarse from disuse.

A smile curled at the corner of his lips. “Of course I did. You only got it, like, every date we went on.”

Bucky seemed to have a sort of hypnotic effect on you. You felt yourself huffing out a laugh, feeling slightly light-headed.

He spoke up again. “Thanks for coming all the way here, by the way. Honestly, I didn't expect you to show up.”

“It’s nice to be back,” you admitted. “I miss it here. A lot of, uhm… a lot of memories tied to this place.”

His head bobbed once. “Well, I asked you here because I have something I need you to know. It’s the reason I broke up with you—I know I said it’s because I wasn’t ready, and that was true to an extent, but it wasn’t the whole truth. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me but just know that, from the bottom of my heart, I’m so incredibly sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. And I understand if you’d never want to see me ever again—I’ll be out of your life for good after this, I promise.”

“Bucky, you’re scaring me,” you said, hands curling into tight fists in your lap.

“I killed your dad.”

A beat of silence. The air seemed to grow colder. You straightened, spine stiffening to the brink of borderline pain. There was a sheen film of unshed tears over the trembling blue of his eyes, and you were entirely sure you were mirroring his exact expression.

Turbulent was your mind as you processed those four measly words. You wondered how you were supposed to react to such a situation. What would be deemed appropriate when the love of your life tells you that your dad was dead because of his past-brainwashed self?

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice was broken, tentative.

A hot tear traversed down your cheek. You sniffled, lips screwing up in thought.

And after another minute of struggling to maintain your composure, you wiped the tears away and scrutinized him with a soft gaze.

“That first time we met, right here in this diner… you wanted to tell me, didn’t you? But you couldn’t. You just… you looked at me and asked me if I was okay,” you finally said, choking on your own words. “Bucky, you’re not the villain here—you’re also a victim. Should you have told me before we started dating? Absolutely. Should you have left me for a year wondering what I did wrong? Yeah, no, that was a dick move. But do I blame you for my father’s death? No. Bucky, that wasn’t you. The Winter Soldier did that. You were brainwashed and robbed of your right to choose—your right to live. It’s not your fault.”

Bucky was crying now, too, sucking on the roof of his mouth while fighting off the sting behind his eyelids.

“I loved you so much,” he finally croaked out. “It felt like I couldn’t be with you—like I didn’t deserve to be with you. I kept it from you for so long and I’m so, so sorry for that.”

“Oh, Buck,” you mumbled, reaching across the table to intertwine your hand with his flesh on, nudging the plate of forgotten fries to the side with your elbow. “It’s going to take time for me to process this, I’m gonna be honest. But I… I don’t want you gone. I lo—care about you too much to lose you now.” You nearly slipped up, almost saying the dreaded L word.

Did you still love him?

The answer, plain and simple, much to your vehement objections, was yes. You would always love Bucky Barnes. He was sweet and loving and cared for animals, he loved tangerines and plums, he complained lightheartedly whenever it rained, he’d dance with you to slow forties music, he remembered the small things about you, and his favorite place to kiss you was the little spot beside your nose where he liked feeling the remnants of your smile.

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” he hiccuped, staving off a wracking sob. It withered away into a wet chuckle at his own absurdity. “I’m sorry, I really thought… I thought you’d react differently.”

“I had a long time to grieve my father,” you admitted, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles soothingly. “It was painful, but I’m healing. I don’t think you’ve had any time to grieve what you’ve lost, Bucky. Let yourself feel it—you’re not the bad guy here. Besides, I forgive you—you only had my best interests in mind, after all. Sometimes a simple sorry is more than enough.”

Bucky could only spare you half of a water smile. “I missed you so much, you have no idea. Everyone back at home does. Sam, Alpine, Natasha, Steve… everyone. You’re always…” He gestured vaguely, unsure of how to articulate all his complex emotions into words.

“I’m always yours.” The words came out a mere whisper of a thing, so quiet that Bucky barely picked it up. After a moment, you cleared your throat and gently relinquished your hold on him, averting your teary eyes to the plate of fries. “So, are we only having cold fries and shakes for dinner or did you order burgers, too?”

“I did—should be here any moment now. I got vegetarian for you,” he quipped, sipping at his milkshake after pulling a tissue from the red dispenser on the table to dab at his damp cheeks. “Extra sauce, just the way you like it.”

Gods, you loved Bucky Barnes.

“I like your beard,” you said, popping a curly fry into your mouth. “It’s like you’re a rugged lumberjack of some sorts. Certainly got the muscles for it.”

When Bucky laughed at your comment, all wind chimes and bells and rumbles of thunder, you could feel the tension between the two of you melt away almost instantaneously.

You briefly wondered if he still loved you the same as he would mumble into the skin of your neck, your lips, your stomach, your thighs, your body, an entire year ago—and if there was ever a possibility of rekindling what used to be there.

Maybe, you mused while listening to Bucky begin to describe Alpine’s new fascination with bringing dead birds into the house, your heart’s tattoo of Bucky wasn’t beyond repair.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky barnes drabbles #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes scenarios #bucky drabbles #bucky imagines #bucky scenarios #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes oneshot

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