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ellecdc · 4 months ago

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A Man With a Plan.8

prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU

CW: Remus losing his ever loving mind, temporary(?) truce w/ Slytherins, truth is revealed, Peter is very nervous when the discussion turns to plotting murder [3.2k words]

✧A/N - please read ✧ this fic is still and will remain on hiatus until it's completion. I will not respond to asks about when the next update will be (feel free to gush and discuss, just please don't ask for updates). this fic, for whatever reason, is a sore spot for me & if I didn't have people who loved it so much, I'd have trashed it by now, so please take this into consideration. secondly, the taglist is closed and I will no longer be tagging anyone on future updates - kudos to all of the creators who take the time to offer tag lists because it is not easy and I will never be doing it for another fic again lol

Remus had been trying (and failing) to pay attention to the lesson, but apparently watching the odd bird fly past the window was far more entertaining than listening to Professor Binns’ sluggish lesson about the Goblin rebellions.

Yesterday’s conversation with you was still replaying at the forefront of his mind; most of Remus’ thoughts were already about you, mind you, but this had become an incessant point of worry for him. He found that he was particularly bothered by how bothered you appeared to be.

Remus was the first to admit his friends weren’t always the…easiest to be around. They were loud, abrasive, brash, somewhat aggressive, and always up to something.

He should have been more patient with you and your friends; as much as Moony called you his; you were your own first.

You always had to come first.

Moony huffed in response to that but seemed to relent when Remus insisted the utmost importance was your happiness and safety.

Even the werewolf couldn’t argue with that.

He could tell you were still bothered today; he could feel it, in the rise of your heart rate intermittently throughout the morning, or the white hot heat that would settle in his (your) chest before evening out just as quickly. He had learned by now that you were quite attuned with your own feelings, and seemed to control them very well. Remus found himself quite jealous of that trait. It was clear how deeply you were attuned to emotions, both yours and others, and the way that tended to influence your behaviours.

You seemed to be content right now, and Remus found himself wondering where on the castle grounds you might be right now.

Gods, he was such a freak.

Want. Mine? Where mine?

He fought the urge to groan at Moony as he returned his gaze to the front of the class.

It appeared that Remus wasn't the only one with a lack of interest in Binns’ wearisome lesson as most of his classmates were beyond even pretending to pay attention; a few even drooling on their textbooks and letting out the odd snore.

It didn’t appear to bother Binns much who continued drilling on about the role goblin metal played in the rebellions.

Remus wondered if the professor had ever put himself to sleep during one of his lectures. He let out a small snort at that.

Before he could be concerned about whether anyone heard him or not, Remus felt an abrupt tension wash through him. No, not him. You.

You were beyond tense, a tight kind of worry worming its way through your core.

Not good. Not good. Not good.

Though Remus didn’t find himself in a position to argue with Moony, he didn’t find the commentary particularly helpful. But for the first time since the soulbond came into effect, Moony quieted completely - almost as if he was allowing Remus to fully lock in on you.

Shock - horror? You’d been startled… a painful surprise. Why couldn’t Remus think of the bloody word for the way you were feeling?

It quickly moved to heartbreak; it was as if Remus could feel himself sinking to the ground along with your heart.

Where the hell were you right now?

The heavy, sinking pain settled in Remus’ stomach whilst the sounds of Professor Binns and the surrounding student’s snores fell away into a quiet hum; Remus simply ceased to exist in the physical world as his consciousness went looking for you.

Disappointment and guilt is what you seemed to settle on; a decisive determination forming in your mind.

Then your heart spiked.

Worry?

Pain?

Panic???

Remus had little time to acknowledge his realisation before an ice cold terror overtook you.

He could feel the violent rattle of your heart in your chest as your lungs started to burn; it was as if he could hear you screaming.

And Moony went feral.

NOW. NOW. NOWNOWNOWNOWNOWNOWNOW NOW.

Remus hardly even realised that he had shot up until the chair fell to the ground with a loud thunk, likely startling the many napping students out of their slumber but he found that he just didn’t care about the disturbance he made as he took off in a full sprint out of the History classroom.

He took the stairs two at a time in what felt like an arbitrary direction; he couldn’t tell you even if he tried where his feet were taking him, all his mind was concerned with was getting to you.

Remus had no idea where you were, but he'd find you.

If he didn’t know something was terribly wrong before, he certainly knew it now when your panic turned into a frantic desperation; cold, so cold was the terror that seeped down into your very soul. He was certain your magic was calling out to him, even as your core began to weaken.

I’m coming, dove. I’m coming. Remus chanted as Moony howled in agreement.

Remus’ own lungs burned nearly as badly as his legs did but he didn’t slow down, even when he shoved past a group of first years as he tore through the courtyard. He’d be sorry later; right now he had somewhere to get to, someone to get to.

Remus was just beginning to regret not taking up James’ offers to go for runs with him in the mornings when he felt a sharp relieved feeling - it was not relief, but a relieved moment - before shock and horror took over.

Your heart rate was a riot and you were distressed but Remus was sure he could feel you breathing and it was enough, it had to be enough until he got to you.

He had to get to you.

“Remus!” James shouted in a manner that told Remus it hadn’t been the first time he did so.

Remus simply turned to look at him over his shoulder without slowing down.

“Mate! What the hell?!”

“Something is wrong.” Remus shouted.

“Yeah, you’ve bloody lost the plot it seems - I’d say that’s very wrong!” James replied breathlessly.

Remus was going to tell him to sod off when relief came in the sight of you, though the relief was tentative when he noticed you soaking and hunched in on yourself in the sand.

“Y/N!” He shouted then; you didn’t react, which only resulted in him panicking more.

“Y/N!” He shouted again as he made it to you; sinking to his knees in the wet sand as his chest burned. “Dovey, hey. Hey, look at me. Are you okay? Baby please, look at me.”

He finally brought a hand to your chin and tilted your head up to him; your skin was horridly cold and eyes were wild as your own chest heaved like you, too, had just run all this way.

“What happened, dove? Are- are you okay? What happened?” He was practically begging at this point but he couldn’t bring himself to care, even as James made his way over to stand behind you.

“What’s going on?” James asked quietly; Remus could only shake his head at him.

“You’re soaked. Did you fall in?” He tried asking you; you simply looked towards the water in response.

James quickly shed his jumper and handed it to Remus who wrapped it around you before he shed his own cardigan to wrap that around you as well.

“Please baby, talk to me?” Remus begged. Your lip trembled and you pointed your gaze to your lap.

He felt completely helpless; he had this deep desire - no, need - to help you, to protect you. He wanted to know what happened so he could fix this; he wanted to fix this.

But this wasn’t about what Remus wanted, it was about what you needed… what you deserved.

“Prongs?” Remus said quietly as he simply settled into the wet sand beside you, pulling you into his lap and cocooning you with his body to provide you with some of his warmth. “Can you go get Junior? Please?”

James quickly looked between the two of you before nodding and running back towards the castle.

·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·。·

Remus had been unable to encourage any more from you than a few shuddering breaths and a squeeze of your hand that he was holding hostage in his.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let you go again.

Unfortunately, this appeared to be one more of his many plans destined for failure.

“Treasure!?” Barty called as he and James ran over. “Hey! Tres, you okay?” He breathed as he knelt in front of you and Remus, much like Remus had when he found you mere moments ago.

“Talk to me.” Barty whispered as he pushed your damp hair away from your face.

You let out a short breath that had you deflating significantly, as if you’d been sitting with every string in your body pulled taut until Barty had shown up.

It hurt, for a moment, knowing you weren’t Remus’ person - or rather, that he wasn’t yours - but he bit back the emotion flooding in his mouth because it still wasn’t about what Remus wanted, it was about what you needed.

And right now, you needed Barty.

Your chin dimpled as your bottom lip began to wobble and Remus watched as your eyes filled with tears.

“What happened?” Barty begged through a whisper, and that seemed to be the last of your resolve.

Remus was forced to relinquish his hold on you as you dissolved into tears and fell bodily into Barty’s embrace; he seemed to be expecting it though and caught you readily in a way Remus wondered if he’d ever be capable of.

Unable to explain your hurt to Barty, you simply sobbed and clung to him as he looked at Remus in horrified bemusement.

Remus could only shrug his shoulders and shake his head remorsefully.

“Okay, you’re alright Treasure. We’ll figure this out, yeah? We’ve always figured it out; you and me, okay?”

Remus immediately felt like he was encroaching on something entirely too private and stood; bitterness, grief, and worry twisting up an emotional cocktail that he knew would taste horrid on the way down.

“Lupin.” Barty called out, forcing Remus to pause as he made his way towards James. “Thank you, for fetching me.”

Remus simply nodded before turning back for the castle.

“I’ll-” Barty called again before pausing, waiting for Remus to turn around once more. “I’ll let you know how we make out.”

Remus nodded and let out a breath. “Thank you.”

The two boys shared a knowing look before Remus turned, joining James as they headed back towards the castle - no doubt facing a detention or two for causing a scene and abandoning class - in silence.

Remus learnt little else about what happened at the lake until dinner when Regulus approached them with the small amount of information Barty had managed to get from you.

“She said she fell in?” James asked quizzically then.

Regulus tilted his head side to side in a so-so. “It was less that she said it and more that she agreed with Barty that that’s what happened. Why?”

James shook his head as if jostling around the thoughts in his brain would make it make more sense. “She’s been going to that dock for months to feed the mermaids, I-”

“She wasn’t feeding them.” Remus interjected quickly. “She was bringing them gifts.”

Remus looked up from his novel to see his friends and Regulus staring at him incredulously.

“Right…” James continued after a beat. “So, she’s been going to that dock for months to bring gifts to the mermaids, and she’s never once had an issue. Why now?”

Regulus heaved a sigh as he shrugged his shoulders defeatedly. “We’ve not been able to get much more out of her; she just keeps saying she needs to ‘fix things’.”

“What things?” James asked then, causing the younger Black brother to sneer at him.

“I just said we haven’t been able to get more out of her, Potter. Merlin; tu t’entoures d’idiots, frère.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius moaned in exasperation. “Thank you, Reg.”

“Thank you.” Remus seconded, earning him a nod of understanding from the younger Black.

Remus returned to his novel, though he found himself unable to make sense of any of the words. James was right; something just didn’t make sense.

Just yesterday you had laughed at Remus for his concern for you on the dock

… Remus quickly stood and gently helped you stand and pulled you closer to the middle of the dock, away from the edge you’d been inhabiting.

You giggled at him; the first real spontaneous emotion he thinks he had ever heard from you, and it caused Remus’ heart rate to speed up double time.

“You needn’t worry, Remus.” You expressed solemnly. “I’m very careful.” …

And James seemed to know that to be true as well.

What weren’t you telling them? And what did you need to fix?

It wasn’t until later that evening that Remus came to realise what it was that you weren’t telling them.

“Remus! Is she okay!?” He heard Amelia call breathlessly as she approached him in the library.

Remus was momentarily confused; he hadn’t spoken to Amelia in what felt like weeks, and he couldn’t imagine who she was possibly referring to.

“Pardon?” He asked dumbly.

“Y/N.” Amelia answered quickly; a deep divot present between her brows. “I just heard what happened; I swear I had no idea what they were doing, Rem. I would have never allowed it!”

Remus quickly slammed his History tome closed and stood over her menacingly.

“Allowed what?” He sneered at her. “Who are ‘they’ and what exactly did ‘they’ do to her?”

Amelia seemed to baulk at the sudden severity of Remus, but she soldiered on. “I.. it was Silas, Shirley, and Coraline. They- I guess they figured, well-”

“Spit it out, Amelia.” Remus hissed at her.

“They think they were like, defending me, or something… by picking on her. I guess they tried to tell her to back off from you, and Silas said he shoved her in the Lake.”

Bad. Bad, bad, bad. Kill.

And while Remus knew, generally speaking, that he couldn’t kill a bunch of Hufflepuffs, he didn’t exactly disagree with the enraged and murderous Wolf howling inside of him.

“Is she okay?” Amelia asked again, quieter this time.

Remus felt bad when he noticed her cowering slightly beneath him; he felt bad about all of it.

Leading her on, playing with her feelings when he knew she liked him as more than a friend, and for ever getting you tangled up in this mess of his.

He planned to never let it happen again.

“I’m not sure, Amelia.” He admitted then, realising somewhat belatedly that he had been simply waiting on you to come to him instead of actively working to help you fix this. “But she will be; I’ll make sure of it.”

Amelia offered him a sad smile at that. “Okay…thank you, Remus.”

“I’m sorry, Amelia.” He blurted then, watching as her sad smile turned soft.

“Thank you, Remus. Tell Y/N I’m sorry, too, okay?”

And Remus watched Amelia walk away as he formulated a plan.

James was easy to find, seeing as he was currently hanging on to every word coming out of Lily Evan’s mouth as she practised her presentation for the upcoming Herbology assignment.

“Hey, Rem.” Lily greeted with a smile as she shuffled through her cue cards, causing James to turn comically in his place on the couch where he’d been sitting with his elbows on his knees and his chin on fists.

“‘Lo Moons!”

“Prongs, I’m sorry, but are you terribly busy right now?” Remus immediately felt bad for asking when James grimaced and turned to look at Lily. “It’s Y/N.” He clarified.

James immediately turned back towards him. “Is she okay?”

Remus shrugged his shoulders. “But I know what happened.”

James’ face turned solemn as he turned to give Lily an apologetic smile.

She quickly smiled tenderly at him and waved him off. “Go, Potter. Make sure she’s okay for me, yeah?”

James beamed at her before jumping up and planting a smacking kiss on the red-head’s cheek. “You were doing brilliantly, Lils! I’ll help you practise more later!”

“That seemed cosy.” Remus murmured as they stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind them.

“It certainly felt cosy.” James agreed readily.

With the map that James had on his person, finding Sirius was an easy feat - what was not an easy feat was opening the broom closet door to find him and a Ravenclaw in various states of undress with their tongues down each other’s throats.

“Sorry, sweets.” Sirius winked at the other student as he pulled up his fly. “Duty calls.”

They found Pete in Chess Club and pulled him away from the game he was currently “winning, you absolute sods!” by the collar of his uniform shirt.

And with the full moon a little bit more than 24 hours away, even Moony couldn’t deny the advantage they’d have with a little more help…

“It says he’s in the library.” Peter explained as he trailed behind the group with the map.

“Where’s my- where’s Y/N?” Remus quickly corrected himself.

Peter hummed as he searched the map whilst Sirius and James shared a knowing look behind Remus’ back. “Says she’s in Ravenclaw.”

Good, that was good.

You were fine. Safe.

And Remus knew that just had to be true, because Barty wouldn’t have agreed to leave your side otherwise.

Back where Remus had begun this search, they did indeed find Barty hunched over a large looking tome at a table as Regulus, Dorcas, and Evan conversed quietly beside him.

“Unless you’re here to learn the art of the Mermish language, bugger off.” Barty muttered without raising his head as Evan and Dorcas eyed the Marauders warily.

“Relax, Meadows.” Sirius taunted. “We’re not here to prank you lot.”

“Forgive me if I don’t particularly believe you.” She muttered in response, narrowing her eyes at the boy.

“To what do we owe this displeasure?” Evan drawled as he twirled his want in his hand.

“Play nice, Rosier.” Regulus muttered; obviously not particularly grateful for the Gryffindors’ company but clearly understanding there was a reason for it.

“What, did you just say you were learning Mermish?” James asked Barty then; never one to manage to stay on task.

Barty did look up at that only to look at James in bemusement. “Yes?”

“Why?” James continued, causing Barty to scoff.

“To thank them for saving Treasure, obviously. Do keep up, Potter.”

A disbelieving breath escaped Remus’ lips as he scrutinised your oldest friend. “That’s…actually really nice of you, Junior.” He admitted quietly, causing Barty’s bemused gaze to flit to him.

“Well yeah…I’m a real sweetie pie.” Barty muttered as if that had been really quite obvious and didn’t know why they were all talking about it, suddenly.

“Listen, I found out what happened to Y/N.” Remus announced then; every Slytherin quickly standing at attention for Remus to explain.

“They shoved her in?” Regulus confirmed slowly, earning him a nod in agreement from Remus.

“Well boys,” Barty started as he stood with a flourish, pausing at Dorcas’ pointed ‘ahem’ to amend “and Meadows, fuck’s sake”, “looks like we’ve got some Hufflepuff’s to kill!” He cheered gleefully, moving towards the library doors as if expecting everyone to follow him.

“We’re…we’re not going to actually kill them, right guys?” Peter asked nervously as the Slytherin’s rose from their respective seats, and the Gryffindor’s trailed after them.

“Right!?”

Tag list [NOW CLOSED] part 1:

@hanniejji , @y0urm0m12 , @c0nsc10usworld , @aphrcdites , @starsval , @anuncalledbridge , @klazina-couch-potato , @cancelledkaley , @ttulipwritezz , @boo8008 , @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @frostooo , @myriadmoons , @aremuslupinsimp , @simars3 , @stargurl99 , @dreamingofts18 , @agent-tempest , @xxrougefangxx , @serenadingtigers , @adhxmoony , @hufflepufffangirlqueen , @thebiggestnaturaldisaster , @urmomw4ntsme , @b4tm4nn , @jamieolivia27 , @stqrgirlies-blog , @loving-and-dreaming , @cultish-corner , @all-in-the-fandoms , @sadslasher13 , @enamoredwithbella

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dilemmars · 28 days ago

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ DIE WITH A SMILE. ”⠀⠀───⠀⠀arcane.

⠀⠀𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾.⠀( the base violence necessary for change , 9.3k words. )⠀by dilemmars.

1.⠀⠀ PAIRING⠀⠀:⠀⠀violet x f!reader.

2.⠀⠀GENRES⠀⠀:⠀⠀based on the storyline and universe of arcane ( league of legends tv show )⠀; first love trope, started dating recently, stablished relationship, exes to lovers. basically you and vi were dating before the start of the story, then got separated.

3.⠀⠀WARNINGS⠀⠀:⠀⠀i will add the warnings that the tv show has: slight presence of sex and nudity, foul language, alcohol, drugs and tobacco. moderate scenes of fear and terror. high content of violence and gore. in this third chapter, there's a lot going on. mentions of death, injuries, prostitution, blood, fights, and a brief suicidal thought at the end. please do not read if you're uncomfortable with it.

4.⠀⠀AUTHOR 'S NOTE⠀⠀:⠀⠀third chapter out! i'm so sorry thta it took me another full day to post a new chapter. i haven't even watched act 3 yet because i lit have no time, but i managed to finish this. it is very sad. i'm sorry about that too. but next chapter will be slightly more relaxed, with less drama, i promise. happy sunday 🤍

5.⠀⠀IMPORTANT⠀⠀:⠀⠀this is a work of fiction. i do not own arcane or any content produced or owned bychristian linke, alex yee, riot games or netflix. all rights belong to netflix and the writers of arcane. all plot events and character developments that are not related to the main character's story belong to the writers and creators of the series.

It's hard to know what your last breath will be, but sometimes you can feel the moment lurking, like a shadow looming over you, icy and heavy. Crouched on that rooftop, the air had a strange edge to it, as if each breath cut inside. The mist rising from the streets scratched at your throat, but it wasn't just mist. It was the weight of the inevitable.

You paused, frowning, as the usual swaying of the wooden sign of Benzo's caused your gaze to wander towards the entrance of the shop. And before you could comprehend what was happening, the scream came as a jolt, tearing through the silence of the night. It was as if the sound pierced your skin, sinking into your flesh, clinging to your bones. The kind of scream you can't help but hear, a gasp ripped from a throat. A hopeless, desperate voice that forces you to imagine the pain behind it. One last breath, and a body slumped to the ground.

And then, you caught a glimpse of him. A blurred figure, moving with a ferocity that seemed unnatural, unloading a punch on another uniformed officer, the glare of his gaze utterly animalistic. You cowered over the edge of the building, struggling not to look away, and flinched at the brutality of the pounding. The Enforcers all looked the same, with the metal mask and the blue cap, but the creature that had attacked them was familiar. It seemed less human with every movement, a mass of disfigured flesh and purplish meandering veins, but the curve of its chin, the soft wave of its hair... you had been so close to its face that you had come to memorise it.

Deckard. You recognised the sharp turn of his movements, accentuated in that state. You had felt his violence in your own skin, you knew it. Altered into a violent beast, he still retained some of that cruel strength, no doubt hindered by the way his body had grown and deformed. You saw him ignore the authoritative warning of a third Enforcer, and approach her at superhuman speed. In the blink of an eye, the police collapsed at his feet, like a drunk by a tavern door. Her blood spilled down the wall of the tent, sloshing everywhere, and you followed it with your eyes as it slid between the stones, thick, after Deckard had torn her flesh to the bone.

The force of his attack hit you like a shot in your chest, and you clutched at the concrete beneath your hands as if you could somehow anchor yourself to the past. There was silence in the weathered street. You could only hear your ragged breathing, quickening under your skin, and Deckard's silent footsteps as he disappeared. Night had fallen on Zaun like a blanket on your bed, and you felt it on your shoulders, suffocating you. You looked down again, where the rickety bodies of the agents lay like broken dolls on the pavement, their stiff fingers still gripping their pistols, and you could faintly distinguish the movement of someone approaching them in the shadows.

Measuring his pace, as if calculating every step he took, a fourth Enforcer approached the bodies of the fallen agents, his service gun in his hand, and he hesitated. For a moment you wanted to say something to him, to warn him perhaps, that there was a beast loose in the darkness, tell him to run away while he could, but a movement in the dusk stopped you. He was not alone. Behind him, shoulder to shoulder at the entrance to the shop, two frozen figures watched the scene. You felt a knot in your chest as you recognised them: Vander and Benzo. Their stances looked sharp, like a taut bow about to shoot an arrow, ready to defend themselves if necessary.

You leaned forward, caught between the urge to descend and the helplessness of knowing you could do nothing from up there, but something stopped you. You saw something dancing in the fog, the soft walk of a distorted silhouette slowly approaching from the other side of the street. You tried to suppress the shiver that ran down your spine, a shiver that was not only cold, but that also contained more than just that, the fear locked in your ribcage, rising up to feel it pulsing in your throat.

And then, the glow of embers in the night: a kaleidoscope of shadows and flames, pierced by a scar, so different from its twin that they looked like the eyes of two different people. The face, sharp, pale, and an imperturbable pace, so sure of himself that the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet.

‘Silco?’ Benzo, hesitant, confused at first, turned rabid as he brandished the old silver candlestick in the direction of the unknown man. ‘You animal,’ he said, coming closer, stumbling, ’go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of.’

You couldn't see the venomous smile that tugged at Silco's thin lips, but you did hear the desperate tone torn from Vander's throat as he raised his hands towards his friend, cuffed, useless, trying to prevent the inevitable, ‘Benzo, stay back!’

‘You never did know when to walk away,’ Silco's voice, velvety, echoed down the street, emptying the silence, and your heart stopped inside your chest as Benzo tried to pounce on him.

The motion was too fast for the human eye. One instant, Benzo had raged forward, steadfast, defying the impassive man of mist. The next, Deckard's raw strength had brought Benzo down in a bundle of violet swirls, the body of the one who had cared for you since you were a child lying lifeless on the ground. The creaking of his bones echoed wet and dry at the same time, like tree branches snapping under too much weight, the blood surging beneath his shoulders, as if fleeing from the veins it was ceasing to flow through.

From the rooftop, it all seemed painfully distant. You brought a trembling hand to your mouth, a scream dying in your throat, watching Deckard keep his hand on Benzo's neck. His crooked fingers seemed to tingle from feeling the violence of death again, waiting, hovering over Benzo to check that he was gone, and you heard Vander's torn whimper, his legs buckling under his weight, under the weight of loss.

‘Stubborn to the end,’ muttered Silco, relishing each word with reverence.

But then the Enforcer left standing dropped his arms, defeated, betrayed, half-face covered by the mask they wore so as not to breathe Zaun's toxic air, and questioned Silco angrily, ‘What the hell have you done? This wasn't the deal!’

The echo of his words expanded, vibrating inside your head as if searching for a place to linger, and you stood still, watching from the shadows as that chilling scene unfolded, kneeling on the edge of the building, utterly overwhelmed.

‘Deal's changed.’

Silco's words reverberated on the cobblestone floor of the poorly lit street, ringing in your ears, as you tried to clear your mind. You took a breath of air, which cut, cold, down your throat, and looked down. You could still hear his voice, ominously calm and low, and the clink of coins clattering on the floor. A deal. Between the topside and the underground. You frowned, realising that there were no fire stairs on that front, and accentuated your frown as you tried to understand why someone from Zaun would want to ally himself with an Enforcer, of all people.

Before you could even try to slide down the wall, however, leaping from window to window as you had done in the past, you heard Deckard's heavy footsteps on the cobblestone floor, and you raised your head. He was slowly approaching Vander, with no sign of a reaction from the owner of The Last Drop, letting out a low growl as the beast finally took up a position in front of him. His arm swung once like the pendulum of an old clock, and the punch blew against Vander's face with a low, muffled thud, causing him to stagger under its weight.

Your throat closed as you watched him anchor his legs to the ground to keep from falling. You saw him drop his shoulders, defeated, as if he had forgotten his own strength, and he stood just as still as you did whilst Deckard shoved his hand through Vander's hair, grabbing him violently and pulling him to the ground. You watched him, because you were unable to do anything else, as if fear had slid liquid across your skin until it solidified around your ankles, the monstrous creature dragging Vander across the ground.

It was the certainty. Vander, who had picked you up off the street at your weakest moment, who had taught you how to defend yourself, who had shown you the resilience that characterised him like a class while learning how to make Powder's favourite juice, had been reduced to a shadow of his former self by a punch. What could you have done to stop it? To stand between Vander and the one who had abused you as much as he had wanted? To face Deckard's vicious eyes once more, risking losing him all the same?

It wouldn't have helped.

You watched them walk, Silco's figure turning away from the chaos of shadows and death he left behind him, while Deckard followed close behind, gripping Vander's hair with a bruising strength. Your fingers itched. You had braided that hair many times, elaborate and funny designs as you grew up, but those hands were treating it cruelly, a monster freed of any kind of sentience. And it hurt. Watching them disappear into the fog, the Enforcer staggering down the street to the other side, it stung like an open wound. You bit your cheek, holding back the tears that threatened to slide down your skin, and felt the blood on your tongue like a foul aftertaste.

And then you heard it. The cry, choked and broken, that pierced your chest like a sharp knife. You stood up, waking the legs that had felt numb against the concrete edge of the rooftop, and moved on instinct, ignoring the insignificant discomfort of your ankle every time you leaned on it.

It was Vi. You slid across the roof, your feet seeking support on the nearest window ledge, hanging on to it to climb down to the next, and continued descending. You followed the heartbreaking sound of Vi's voice, drowning out her own sobs, and swallowed all the emotions you didn't want to feel, focused on finding your girlfriend. The polish of your nails peeled as you buried your fingers in joints between bricks, clinging to them to keep from falling to the ground, and you closed your eyes tightly before you took the last leap, placing most of your weight on your good foot as you landed on the ground.

You rose to your feet, a shiver running through your skin, as you heard the piercing cry of frustration, and turned to face it with a jolt. It had come from Benzo's shop. Had she been there all that time? You frowned, restless, and turned towards the massacre, clenching your jaw and staring straight ahead. You had to get Vi out of there. That was your priority. You couldn't afford to look at the ground, to collapse. Every breath you took, the air sounded slightly ragged, as if you were about to scream but held back, and you clenched your hands into fists as you dodged the bodies sprawled on the floor.

Your first step into Benzo's shop was hesitant, like an unconfident fawn's. You didn't want to think that it was the first time you would enter the place knowing that its owner would never come back to wait for you behind the counter, but the certainty came back to you again and again, as if brought by the tide. There was almost no light, the little oil lamps that were scattered around the shelves were off, as if they held a mourning you had not yet faced, and the darkness brought with it a feeling of coldness that dug into your bones.

‘Vi,’ you whispered, your choked voice faintly spilling across the room. ‘Vi!’ you repeated, louder.

You heard your name, low, dazed, almost vanishing into thin air, and tried to follow it. It was the storage room. She had been locked in the storeroom.

‘Wait!’ you said, rushing to the counter, ‘I'll get you out!’

You tried to piece together what had happened, your hand searching in the gloom for the spare key Benzo always kept in the wooden drawers. It was in Vi's nature to have tried to fix everything herself. It was inherent in her, to carry as much of the burden as possible so that her siblings —and even you, if you got into trouble— wouldn't have to suffer the consequences. You didn't know how she could have warned the Enforcers, but you knew they had come to Benzo's shop for her. You knew it as clearly as you knew you would have done the same for her if it had happened.

But if Vander had shown up, it was also because he had discovered her. And if he had been wearing the handcuffs, it had been him who had locked her in the storeroom. To stop her from doing another stupid thing. Maybe Vander wasn't her biological father, but a strained smile tugged at your lips at the thought that they were more alike than they allowed themselves to think they were.

When your fingertips brushed against the metal frame of the key, you grabbed onto it, running the few meters between the countertop and the door behind which Vi stood. Your hands trembled as you slid it into its lock, holding your breath as you tried a second time, and you turned it on its axis twice, as you had done so many times in the past, pulling the heavy door off its hinges so that you could wrap your arms around Vi's body.

She clung to you tightly, choking her sobs in the crook of your neck, and the silence grew heavy around you, empty of hope. You felt Vi's hands squeeze your shirt, squeezing your body against hers, her warm tears sliding down your skin. You looked up at the ceiling, letting out a shaky sigh between your lips, and ran your hand up her back until it was tangled in her hair. Her shoulders shook under your touch to the rhythm of her own sobs, and you stayed still beside her for as long as she needed, allowing her to collapse.

‘Did you see what happened?’ you finally murmured against her hair, as her breathing slowly regulated.

‘Not much,’ she replied, her voice broken by tears, pulling away from you to rub her hands across her face. ‘Did you?’

‘It was Benzo...’ you began, and you hated the way you faltered before continuing. ‘They killed Benzo. And the Enforcers, some of them...’

‘And Vander?’

‘He's alive,’ you said, sliding your hand down his arm. ‘They took him.’

And your breath hitched as you realised.

He was alive. They had taken him, but he was still alive. Your mind was scrambling, trying to plan an impulse that came to you like a tug at your heart, watching the tears glisten on Vi's freckled cheeks. You couldn't let her lose someone else. Piltover had taken enough from her. Vander was still alive, you told yourself. He was still breathing, his chest was rising and falling, even if he hadn't had the strength to rise and confront them. He was alive, and you still had a chance to fight for him.

Your face took on a more worried tinge, ‘We need to find out where they've taken him.’

Vi looked up at you, her unfocused eyes darting across your face, but she nodded.

‘I know where,’ muttered a voice behind you. You turned abruptly, brow furrowed in distrust, and felt the pain wither against your ribcage. Ekko.

Little Ekko, never as small as he looked at that moment, his shoulders slumped forward and his crystallised gaze fixed on you. You took a step forward, ready to take him in your arms, but it was he who crossed the distance between you, taking refuge in your embrace. The pained expression on his face melted into tears as you snaked your hands around his back, and your own lump in your throat threatened to unravel as you felt him cry against your chest.

‘They killed him,’ he murmured, over and over against your skin, choking back his own tears.

‘I know, kid,’ you replied, unable to understand what you were supposed to do at that moment. You felt the warmth of unshed drops in your own eyes, and fought against them, burying your face in his hair as you felt one slide down your cheek. ‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry.’

‘We'll get them, Ekko,’ Vi promised, resting one hand on your back, stroking you comfortingly, and another on the boy's shoulder.

He parted slowly, rubbing his hand over his cheeks as Vi had done a few minutes before, and looked at the two of you, trying to gather the energy to speak. You couldn't stop to think what it must have felt like, watching Benzo die like that and still finding the strength to follow the perpetrators, the murderers, just so you could have a glimmer of hope of getting Vander back. He had been very brave.

‘It should be quick,’ you said, cradling his face in your hand, the pain shining in your gaze. ‘An hour and a half, maybe, tops two hours.’ You slid your gaze slightly to Vi, who was watching you with her brows furrowed in a helpless gesture, and added, ‘If we're not back then, please, go to my Mom's, yeah?’

Your mother would know what to do. She always did. She would take care of Ekko.

‘But...,’ he stammered, and you decided to ignore the way his chin began to tremble again, new tears gathering in his almond-shaped dark eyes.

‘No buts, Ekko,’ you replied, interrupting him gently. You took a breath of air, tangling your fingers in his short pale hair, pulling him to your body, and held him tightly in your arms. ‘I need you to be safe, please,’ you implored.

‘I don't want to lose you,’ he murmured against the fabric of your shirt, and you felt every movement of his lips, your own face struggling not to cry.

You looked up, blinking back tears, sighing the lump in your throat, ‘You won't,’ you told him, stroking his white curls, ‘you have my word. I'll come back in one piece.’

You forced yourself to pull away from him, your hands on his shoulders, and slid your thumb over his cheeks to wipe away the strands of tears that had leaked from his eyes, trying to muster the courage to flash a crooked smile. It wasn't easy, but you couldn't afford to look weak. Not in front of him, not when he needed you more than ever.

‘Besides,’ you whispered, unbuttoning your waistcoat, holding the pocket watch between your fingers, resting it against his chest in a graceful motion, ‘who's going to look after my watch while I'm gone?’

‘Are you going to let me keep it?’ he asked, cupping it in his two hands as if it were a treasure. He slid his fingertips over the silver curve of its circumference, over the twelve chipped numbers you had drawn above it - all Roman numerals - and looked up at you.

‘Forever,’ you promised, nodding solemnly.

He pounced on you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and you melted into his embrace with closed eyes, memorising every detail. Vi joined in a sigh, wrapping her strong arms around you, and for a moment you remained buried under your own skin, wishing that it was all a nightmare and that when you opened your eyes, the rapid breathing, tears and screams were just part of yet another of your childish games.

Reality was far crueler than a kid's imagination.

You felt Vi's hand intertwined with yours like a shackle pulling you back to consciousness, the faint discomfort of your ankle keeping you sane as she led you to The Last Drop. You hadn't exchanged a word since you had left Ekko in the same room of broken glass you had fled from that morning, hidden in the rafters of the ceiling, and both of remained trapped in your minds, thoughts running at too much speed.

It was difficult to face such a situation. As inhabitants of Zaun, loss was part of your DNA. You came into the world crying for the loss of your future, a future that had been taken from you at the founding of the city, and you mourned the violence that you would inevitably encounter, ever-present in the streets of the underground. Vi had endured the death of her biological parents, as had Powder and the rest of the Vander children, and you had been born without knowing who your father was, growing up surrounded by brutality.

You didn't know what your girlfriend was thinking, but you tried to remember if you'd ever spent enough time in the docks to have been able to investigate the large building that loomed over the water, as if it were floating. Ekko had claimed to see the man of mist and Deckard disappear within its tall brick walls, but had refused to come any closer. You had left a soft kiss on his forehead as a farewell, and in a glance you and Vi had known what to do.

Vander had trained you for such a moment. He had spent years teaching you how to defend yourselves, practising boxing with you, training you to take care of your own. You had always assumed it would be complicated, any fight was. But as much as Vander had been a proponent of using violence, in his past, you had also learned peace. It was clear that Silco would not accept a dialogue, a bargain of any kind. He had negotiated with that Enforcer for Vander. Vander had been his target.

The importance of acting was to do it right. And if you sneaked in and out, as you'd done so many times before to get some food, you'd all sleep on the top floor of The Last Drop that night, listening to Vander's snoring, the sheets moving every time Powder rolled over in her bed, and Vi's body warm against yours.

The bar was dead silent when you slipped in through the back door, and you assumed Vander would have closed up before he went to find Vi. You waited a few moments for her as she went inside to fetch the gauntlets Vander always kept hanging over the counter, and slipped down the stairs to the small room in the basement of the building when she returned with a shake of her head. Someone had taken them.

‘Vi?’ uttered Claggor, turning to you as she opened the door. He added your name, avoiding the hint of a question. You tried to force a smile as you realised that they had always assumed that if one of you was there, the other would appear shortly after.

Vi came down the stairs two at a time, ignoring the two boys, and slid her eyes around the room, searching for the gauntlets, ‘Where are the...?’

You sat on one of the steps, listening to the soft thump of Powder's body as she pounced on her older sister, and pulled your trousers up to your knee, untying your laces at full speed. Whenever Vi was set on something, she acted on instinct and with great speed. You didn't know if she would look for something more —except perhaps other weapons— but you delegated finding them to her. You had little time to slow down the way your ankle was going to worsen its condition irremediably in the remainder of the night.

Nor did you have much more strength than she did to explain what had happened.

You pulled off the bandages you carried in your pocket, resting them on the old wood of the stairs, as you heard Vi's quickened breathing echo through the room, pulling your injured foot up a step to remove your boot. You looked up when you heard Mylo protest, ‘Hey, those are Vander's,’ he said, grabbing Vi by the wrist. ‘Slow down. What is going on?’

‘Benzo's dead,’ she muttered, and you closed your eyes for a moment, before continuing to untie the tight knot in your shoes.

‘Dead?’ Claggor repeated, and you wondered if you were better off waiting outside. You removed your sock, shook your head, took a breath of air, and picked up the bandages, placing your foot on the knee of your other leg.

‘They took Vander.’

‘Who took Vander?’ added Claggor, as you began to wrap the bandage around your ankle, taut, inflexible on your skin, tense enough so that when you came back your joints wouldn't resent it. You did it angrily, trying to bury all the emotions you had managed to control so far.

‘I don't know,’ you heard Vi reply, and her voice sounded slightly closer as she turned to include you in the conversation, ’we're gonna help him.’

‘We're going with you,’ Mylo replied, almost as if he was hurt that it hadn't occurred to you earlier.

You put your sock back on when the bandages felt like a second skin over your foot, and tied your boots tightly. A bloody sprain wasn't going to stop you from rescuing Vander. It wasn't going to stop you from bringing him back, safely, home. You weren't going to let it. You looked up, sighing, and tried to intervene.

‘Whatever killed Benzo...’ you said, and your breath caught in your throat.

‘It was nothing like I've ever seen,’ Vi continued, and her voice trembled as much as yours. ‘It tore him apart.’

You saw the way her shoulders tensed before even the first sob slipped from her mouth, but you didn't have a chance to approach her before her brothers, who embraced her warmly, all united by stubbornness and impotence. Vi put her hands to her face, covering the obstinate tears she did not want to let fall down her cheeks, and you knew she had come to the same conclusion as you. They were both going to want to go with you, and you were going to need their help, no matter how much Vi wanted to keep them safe.

‘You're not doing this alone,’ Claggor stated, determined.

‘He's our father too,’ Mylo added, his hand tracing circles on Vi's back. ’Do we know where they took him?’

‘Ekko followed them,’ you interjected, clearing your throat as Vi stowed what her brothers had left on the table in one of the backpacks you always left lying around. ‘The old cannery next to the docks. He said...’

You looked up from the backpack, calming yourself once you realised it had been the boys who had taken the gauntlets, but the muscles in your back tensed again as you noticed Powder standing in front of you, a look of determination on her face, and a suitcase in her hands. Of course she wanted to go with you too.

Vi turned to you as she heard you hesitate, and exhaled an exhausted sigh at the sight of her sister.

‘I need you to sit this one out, Powder,’ she asked, approaching her.

‘What?’ her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and your heart crumpled in your chest. Ekko had been easier to convince because he had seen what had happened. He was shocked, willing to wait for you to return. But Powder had always followed his sister's example, longing for a chance to show her worth and to stop being treated like a child.

‘You're not coming,’ and Powder's expression was worse than if she'd received a slap in the face.

‘I'm not afraid,’ she replied, desperate within the quietness of her response.

You couldn't intervene on this occasion. Nor were Mylo and Claggor going to. It went beyond their sense of responsibility, this was a blood sister fight to see which of the two would get their way. And the older one always had the upper hand.

‘It's too dangerous,’ Vi added, and you didn't have to see the gleam in her eye to know that she needed Powder to listen to her, to understand why she was asking so much of her.

‘But families stick together,’ Powder continued, accentuating his frown, ’you said it yourself.’

‘I know what I said...’

‘I want to fight,’ she announced, and the freckles creased on her cheeks as she looked up, raging, at Vi. ‘I can help.’

‘You're not ready,’ Vi replied, and her sharp tone cut over Powder's determination, shattering what hope remained. You saw how Vi held her breath for a moment, regretting her choice of words, and tried to correct them in a whisper. ‘You're all I have left,’ she said, resting the palm of her hand against Powder's cheek. ‘I can't lose you.’

‘Here,’ you uttered, in a soft, conciliatory tone, approaching them with one of the flares you had in a box under the stairs. It was a blue smoke one, a symbol you had talked about more than once with Powder, making jokes about the colour of her hair.

Vi took it gently from your hands, handing it to her little sister, ‘If they come for you, take this and run,’ she whispered, her gaze locked on Powder's pale pink eyes. ‘Wherever you are, light it up and I'll find you.’

Eyes shining, you almost couldn't hear the last words, a gentle ‘I promise’ murmured against Powder's face as she leaned down to rest her forehead against her sister's, memorising the warmth of her body before parting. You turned, beckoning Mylo and Claggor up the stairs, and you followed, leaving the sisters a few more seconds together.

The mood seemed somewhat subdued, Mylo's mouth closed in an altogether uncharacteristic muteness, and you peeled back your lips to make some comment to cheer them. The words died in your throat when you reached the landing, suddenly surrounded by Claggor's arms, and you held your breath in surprise.

‘I'm sorry,’ he said, and Mylo repeated it, both of them hugging you.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of weakness, and let out a choked sob against Claggor's shoulder, still feeling the lump in your throat.

‘It's not your fault,’ you murmured back, ’it's not.’

‘It's not yours either,’ Vi uttered, and you turned your face towards her, who had just appeared through the door.

You tried to curl your lips into a grateful smile, your eyelids quivering to keep from shedding a tear, ‘I know.’

But it wasn't true, because you could never find out what would have happened if you had come down from that rooftop before Silco appeared, if you had warned the Enforcers of Deckard's presence. It was already in the past, you had lost your opportunity. Maybe, if you had confronted them while Vander and Benzo were still conscious, everything would be fine. Maybe your presence would had led them to fight back. And that was something Vi didn't know either.

You trailed behind, but kept pace as Vi led you through the crooked streets of Zaun, turning corners and ignoring drunken men, towards the city borders. The docks were not a highly desirable place, though one to which Madam sent many prostitutes on the days of disembarkation. Most traders transacted goods with the topside, and its bright and shiny harbours, but those who dealt in coal and alcohol had to make a stop at the Lanes, and the black market in its streets.

That building, however, looked even darker in the moonlight, the mist rising from the water creating a cloak of eerie mystery around it. You walked around its perimeter in a couple of minutes, trying to figure out which entrance was the most secluded but best accessible, and it was your keen eye that located an open window on the first floor. You climbed onto Claggor's shoulders, a rope at your shoulder, and clung tightly to one of the pipes, checking with a smirk that it would be able to support your weight.

Of the four of you, you were the best at climbing. You were elusive, small and slender for your age, even more so than the children of Zaun, no doubt a consequence of the fact that on many days your mother had been unable to offer you food to put in your mouth. The need to hide had made you learn to duck between the rooftops of the city, and though Vi was better at leaping from building to building, you were certainly the sneakiest of the bunch.

You even seemed to glide along the facades, you'd been told, clawing at bricks and picking out which spots on the wall were best to rest your limbs on, as you were doing at the moment. You panted as you managed to get your arm over the window sill, sliding your leg over so that you could slide into the building, and held your breath as you glanced down the dark corridor. No one seemed to be there. You grabbed the coiled rope you had slung over your shoulder and began to drag it down the window, waiting for Vi's two tugs before you crouched on the floor and braced your feet against the wall.

You held on, with the rope wrapped around your waist and tugging at it while the others climbed, and left it hidden under the window once everyone had climbed up. In case any guards found it, they wouldn't know where to start looking, and you doubted you would need it to escape. Vander was too heavy and too weakened to get out the way you had come in.

You scanned the corridors of the warehouse, rusty platforms stacked in a narrow space, and hurried to take up position behind Claggor, the four of you forming a line with Vi in front and Mylo last, slouching forward under the riveted iron pipe railings. Vi signalled to you when she realised that there was a poorly lit room on the upper floor, and you all hurried up the stairs, still crouching.

When you reached the other side of the corridor, Vi leaned forward, peering quickly, and turned to you with a triumphant smile, voicelessly pronouncing that Vander was there. You rested a hand on Claggor's shoulder as you felt Mylo's on your waist, and you advanced at a rapid pace until you reached the room, where Vander sat, defeated, in a big iron chair, all his limbs imprisoned by metal straps, fastened by padlocks.

You saw him spit blood, his broad chest straining to breathe out a hoarse cough, and he whispered a soft ‘Vi,’ his unfocused eyes closing as he felt his eldest daughter's arms slipping around his shoulders in a hug. His tone became more urgent as he realised you were really there, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We're breaking you out,’ Vi explained, as you picked up the backpack she had left on the ground.

You opened it, kneeling on the ground, and pulled out the lock-picking device you had built for Mylo. It didn't always work, but it was the best you had. ‘Mylo,’ you called, and tossed the gadget to him.

‘On it!’

You turned towards the door, rising to your feet to check that no one was coming in, your fingers tingling to check the time on a watch you no longer had, but you froze when you heard Vander's husky voice.

‘How... how did you get in?’ he said, stuttering hurriedly over the words that were building up in his mouth. ‘There's guards everywhere.’

Oh God. Of course it had been a trap.

‘It was easy,’ you heard Vi reply, her tone losing its strength as the realisation dawned on her. ‘We found an open window and...’

You rushed over to the backpack, hastily pulling out the weapons that Claggor and Mylo had gathered, as you saw Claggor's figure hurrying to grab his favourite dagger, trying to release one of Vander's wrists from its prison. The man made eye contact with you, Vi stepping behind you to watch the door, and you held back a sob as you heard Vander again, ‘You have to get out. Now.’

No. You weren't going to leave him again. You weren't going to fail at the same task twice. There had to be time, you could do it. Silco's men probably hadn't even realised you were in yet, you had a chance, you could....

But you heard a clap reverberate through the warehouse, soft and dangerous, and your breath caught in your throat.

Silco.

‘Welcome,’ he murmured, his voice flowing like a river down its course, the sound of his rhythmic clapping coming hopelessly closer to you, ‘you have my congratulations,’ you tried to ignore it, to keep the memory of his tone from bringing back the vision of Benzo's body falling to the ground, but it came to you with the force of a storm, leaving you breathless, ‘but i'm afraid this will be a very short reunion.’

You refused to turn toward him, your hands instinctively gripping Vander's gauntlets, and Vi positioned herself at your side, shooting a defiant glare at the man of mist as she held out her arms for you to place Vander's weapons on her.

‘Have you heard the rumours?’ he added, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, ‘Vander the coward fled town with his children. And they were never seen again.’

You finished knotting the second gauntlet to your girlfriend's wrist, the straps stiff but comfortable on her pale skin, and exchanged a glance with her. You were going to make it. You rested your hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly, and she gave you a fragile but sincere smile, real, just for you. Vi was the best at boxing. You took a quick glance back, your gaze hardening as you saw that Silco was surrounded by his followers, a bunch of buff men and women, all of them ready to fight. You sighed, determined. If there was anyone who could take on a man two heads taller, and visibly stronger, it was her.

You moved your hand up to the nape of her neck, stroking the lower part of her hair, and closed your eyes as you rested your forehead on his. It was a good-luck caress, a wish to go home, a temporary goodbye. She took a breath of air, parting from you reluctantly, as she always did, and positioned herself at your back. You saw the way Claggor's dagger broke from too much pressure, and heard Vi's first step toward the door.

‘Claggor, see if you can find another way out of here,’ you ordered him, rotating your shoulders. You saw him nod, watching out of the corner of your eye as Mylo wrestled with the device in the lock on Vander's right leg. Claggor nodded. Vander looked at you, concerned.

‘You don't have to do this,’ he said, but you knew he was talking to Vi.

‘Yes I do,’ she replied, determined, resolved.

Your priority was to get Vander out of there, to get everyone home safely. You ignored Vander's strangled gasp as Vi's quickened footsteps echoed over the metal lattice floor of the corridor, and you brought your hands to your head, grabbing the two long metal bobby pins you wore in your hair, both sharp and U-shaped. You crouched down next to Vander's other leg, and picked up the padlock. Inventions were your thing, you had to figure out how to open it.

You looked over your shoulder when you heard a thud behind you, momentarily startled, but smiled as you saw Vi, exultant in the middle of the bridge, and in the floor the body of the giant tattooed man you had seen when you turned around. That was your girl. You inserted one of the hairpins into the lock hole, noticing how Vander relaxed minimally against the seat as he saw that his daughter was perfectly capable, and then turned the other, recreating the teeth of a key. You imagined the mechanism under the padlock's metal cover, turning its gears to loosen.

Everything was going to be all right.

‘Mylo,’ you heard Vander, and saw out of the corner of your eye that Mylo had slipped the device to the floor. ‘You can do this.’

You looked over at Claggor, your fingers struggling against the lock, and saw that he had found a crack in the wall. There were enough tools in the backpack for him to open a hole. Perfect. You took a breath of air, forcing your wrist to turn the downward facing bobby pin all the way around, and the locking bow opened with a soft snap. You removed the hairpins, withdrawing the lock, and Vander rested his leg on the ground.

‘We're gonna get you out,’ you murmured, crouching down next to Mylo. ‘Hey, Myls,’ you said, laying your hands on top of his, helping him move them nimbly, ‘big breath.’

You felt him inhaling briefly, closing his eyes to feel the gears of the device against his palm, and you exchanged a glance as the smooth sound was repeated, releasing Vander's other leg.

‘We got this,’ he whispered, more encouraged.

‘Of course we do,’ you replied, placing a hand on Vander's knee to pull yourself to your feet.

Vi's soft panting continued to echo off the walls of the warehouse, to the rhythm of the punches of her gauntlet-covered fists as they impacted against the bodies of Silco's minions, and you looked back once more. Vi was rising against a bare-chested man, her shoulders tense, turned so that she could deliver another blow.

You focused on the lock on Vander's wrist as Mylo did the same on the other side of the chair, holding your hairpins tightly, moving your hands as fast as you could. You listened to your heart pounding in your ears, for a moment drowning out all sound from outside, like every time you secluded yourself in your studio, until you heard the first howl.

It reverberated in your mind, emptying it of all thought, like a shadow stretching over you. Deckard. You turned, eyes widening in horror, the mass of flesh that was the boy who had once abused you looming over Vi, and for a moment your heart stopped in your chest. In the darkness, you were only able to make out the fluorescent violet color of his veins, Vi's light pink hair, facing each other. You had seen what Deckard was capable of. You weren't going to let Vi end up like Benzo and those Enforcers.

‘Mylo, hurry,’ Vander pleaded, as you twisted the hairpins urgently, releasing the lock as soon as it gave way.

You turned toward the backpack, watching in horror as Vi leapt toward Deckard, and grabbed the first thing you saw. A piece of pipe, thin and hard against your hand, long enough that you could strike without getting too close. It wasn't a sword, but it would have to do. You looked up, checking that Claggor had already begun removing bricks from the wall, and advanced toward the deck, ignoring the way Deckard had grabbed Vi by the neck.

‘Silco, let her go!’ shouted Vander, slamming his free hand on the armrest of his chair. ‘This is between you and me!’

‘You had your chance,’ Silco replied, not even flinching.

Vi coughed, a choked, desperate sound, followed by a scraped gasp in her throat, seeking oxygen, and you slid onto the metal walkway. Deckard was barely aware that you had moved behind him, too focused on snatching every last breath of air from your girlfriend's lungs, and he dropped her against the ground as you jumped, unloading the pipe against his skull with all the force you had.

Deckard grumbled, an anguished scream spilling from his mouth, and you let go of the pipe, running to Vi. You slung one of her arms over your shoulders, one of yours around her waist, and carried her back to the room where Vander was, panting, the pain in your ankle beginning to awaken. You gritted your teeth, leaving Vi on the floor, leaning against the wall, and charged over to the sliding iron door, doing your best to close it. When you felt the door slam as it hit the wall, blocking Deckard's access, you pushed past the latch, collapsing against the floor, your shoulder pressed up to the door, just in case.

“You did good,” Vander whispered, looking at you, at Vi, his gaze clouded with admiration.

You merely nodded, exhausted, as Claggor continued to throw bricks, opening a large hole in the wall. You felt light, despite your tiredness, and leaned your head against the door. Mylo was struggling with the last lock, but you knew he was going to make it. You allowed yourself to close your eyes for a heartbeat, sighing, a moment of quiet before the first bang came. It echoed through the room, metallic and dry, and you felt it coursing through your body. Deckard was trying to reach you all.

You watched as Vi sat up, the one fist that still retained a gauntlet resting on the ground to stand, and tried to crawl to sit beside you, her chest rising and falling at full speed. There was only waiting, you knew. A slow, agonizing wait, until the boys were done with their part of the mission. You felt Vi lean her head on your shoulder, your bodies moving in time to Deckard's pounding, straining against the door to try and hold on as long as it took, and you clenched your jaw.

You were going to make it. A knock, a furtive glance at Mylo, and you heard the soft sound of the lock being released. You were going to make it. One punch, your shoulders tensed, and Vander was finally free. You. Were. Going. To. Make. It. One punch. A gentle squeeze on Vi's free hand. And Claggor finished tore a hole in the wall. You stood up, advancing forward, and then, just silence.

Suddenly, an explosion. You stopped, alert, your eyes wide, and turned to Vi. She had the same terrified expression on her face, one hand resting on the door to pull herself to her feet. You listened carefully over your ragged breathing, your ankle throbbing, your throat dry. Another explosion, closer this time. You turned to Vander, frowning, looking at him as if he could have some kind of answer. He extended his hand toward you, gesturing for Vi to hurry towards them.

A third explosion, and the world around you ceased to exist.

The crackling of the fire, soft and malleable in your ears, was what greeted you when you woke up. Your mouth felt dry, ragged, as if you had swallowed dust, but you opened it anyway, taking in a big breath of air. The oxygen burned your tongue, your eyes still closed, and you tried to move your hands, but you were unable to. You were caught.

The weight of certainty hovered over your ribcage, imprisoning it against the ground, and you moved your head on the cement beneath you, the ground warm against your forehead. You breathed in a second time, your respiration becoming more erratic, and then it hit you. Ashes. There were ashes everywhere, flames eating up the space in the room as if to make you disappear.

You opened your eyes, hearing a faint cough somewhere, and tried to focus your gaze on some point, but you saw only shadows and fire, dancing over you, coming closer, taunting you, and then going away again. You turned your head, looking for some familiar figure, Vander's comforting gaze in the darkness, Vi's soothing touch on your skin, but you were alone. You clenched your jaw, trying to fight against the stone that held you prisoner on the ground, but you found it impossible.

And then, a cry. In a déjà vu, you stirred again under your stone prison, turning toward the desperate sound of Vi's voice. You couldn't see her, but you knew she was there. Your chest was beginning to ache under the weight of the stone, each time managing to breathe less and less air, but you gritted your teeth, struggling, and managed to get a hand out. You mumbled your girlfriend's name, calling her name amidst the chaos, and sobbed when you got no response.

It seemed like the end. You felt dirty, drenched in sweat, stiff under the night of Zaun, and you were unable to perceive your legs, dumb under the stone. They were bricks, probably. Or the roof, perhaps. Snippets of the explosion came back to your memory, the dull sound against your ears, the brutality of the shockwave, and you looked straight ahead again. Vi was there, somewhere, and you had to get to her.

You fought against the cement block above you, trying to move it with your hips, with your arms, doing everything you could to get out of there, until you heard your name. In a wail, low and desperate, to your right. You turned, ignoring the laceration from the edge of the stone on your torso, and saw her. Her clear, frightened gaze, calling for you, the desperate gesture of her body. She was trapped under the metal door.

A growl, a large, dark silhouette in the smoke, and pounding. But you ignored them. You tried to turn a little more, struggling to reach Vi, your fingernails clawing at the ground and the ashes under your hand, dragging you towards her. Then the floor began to shake under your fingers, the ringing in your ears intensifying. The door imprisoning Vi flew off, and she crawled over to you, her hand outstretched in search of yours.

You stretched out your arm to reach for her, flinching as you heard a pained shout from Vander, extending your fingers, reaching out as far as you could for her, but before you could finally touch her fingers, a monstrous figure loomed over both of you, snarling, and grabbed Vi's body, leaping out of the building.

Your hand fell to the ground, defeated, and the walls that were left standing shook with the force of another explosion. You closed your eyes, stubborn, and shook yourself. You had to get to Vi. You had to find her, and Vander, and together you would search for Mylo and Claggor. You would return home. Nothing would have been in vain.

The flames crackled louder around you, almost warning you that getting up was a bad idea, but you ignored them. You weren't going to listen to them. You rested one hand on the ground, the other pulling the stone above you. You weren't strong enough to be able to lift it, but maybe you could wriggle out from under it. You were good at crawling, you could do it. You heard a cry of pain, distant but sharp against your chest, wholly yours. Your shoulder began to burn.

The first drop landed on your cheek. For a moment you thought it was blood, thick and dark against your skin, but then another fell on your chest, light and cool, and a next, and a next. Rain. It was raining. Water, cold and clear, that made the fire sizzle around you. You breathed a sigh of relief as you rested your shoulder on the ground, the dust and rain soothing the burns that threatened to sear your flesh, and leaned forward again. One arm in front of the other, ignoring the pain, pulling yourself back up as you fell to the ground, slowly and achingly moving forward.

Your legs wobbled as you tried to stand up. The bandages on your ankle were soaked in blood, which slid down from your thigh, staining everything in its path. Your torso was bruised, throbbing against your hand, and your ears were ringing. You leaned against the stone that had been above you, towering over it, and blinked, sliding your gaze around the room.

And then you saw them, Mylo and Claggor. Buried under the pieces of ceiling that had collapsed on top of you, motionless, drained of blood. Your breath caught in your throat, and you took a step toward them, a sob piercing your throat. There was nothing to be done, you knew. Still you knelt beside them, stroking Claggor's face, running your mangled fingers through Mylo's hair. You couldn't leave them. They were your family, you had to take care of them.

Powder's desperate scream echoed across the starry sky of Zaun, and your heart pulled forward in your ribs, your head turning toward the giant gap in the wall. Powder. She was supposed to be safe, in The Last Drop. She wasn't supposed to see any of this. She was supposed to wait for you to come back, in a couple of hours, and hold each other, perhaps commenting on it all as a successful anecdote. Mourning Benzo, honoring his memory.

Powder wasn't supposed to be there.

You rose to your feet once more, brow furrowed in concentration, gritting your teeth as you braced your injured leg on the floor, crawling, leaning against the walls to get out of there. You walked the metal corridors of the deserted building, of the cemetery of concrete and fire, descending the stairs one at a time, holding back the screams of pain that threatened to spill out of your mouth. You had to get to her, protect her, look for Vi, find Vander. Together you'd be okay. You always had been. You could make it through, with Ekko, with your mother's help. You would make it. You could fix it.

The night air greeted you like a slap in the face, the empty street echoing your footsteps. No one was there. You had heard Powder, you were sure. But she wasn't there. In a haze of light and shadow, you saw a body on the ground. Everything was gone, but there was another corpse right in front of you. You approached slowly, limping, gasping for breath, until you were able to recognize his face.

It was not Deckard, as you had wished. It was Vander's bruised and deformed face, turned into a monstrous beast, the violet blood spilled under his body. You put a hand to your mouth, falling to your knees beside him, collapsing. And the lump in your throat finally burst, a scream leaving your mouth, resting your forehead on his chest. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

You looked up, the loneliness caressing an uneasy shiver across your skin, and stared before you, seeing nothing.

Sometimes your last breath doesn't belong to you. It is stolen, ripped away by others with firm and merciless hands. One second, one heartbeat, one desperate look. One second, one heartbeat, and life leaves your eyes. Other times you hold your breath, the emptiness opening in your chest, deepening as you try to contain it. You tell yourself it's the end, that you need it to be. But it isn't. You end up breathing. You let the oxygen invade you again, even though it feels like a weight on your chest. You keep breathing, even though you wish you weren't.

⠀⠀𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍.⠀( send an ask or comment under the series to be part of it , just if you're going to interact with it ━reblogging with feedback. )⠀@im-just-a-simp-le-whore , @celestialzdiviner , @corpsebridenightamare , @louissst28 , @astr1dblogs , @notsolarry , @starlostastronaut , @yoonkinii , @padsfirewhisky , @luvrluvrr , @ssqra , @darkmoonchic , @urlocalsabito , @spicetouched , @astrxwitch , @deadlynightshadebylana , @bachirastoe , @pickmmeup , @your-scarlett-world

ㅤㅤ© dilemmars ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

#writings 🐚 ˚. ᵎᵎ #arcane #arcane fanfics #arcane x reader #arcane imagines #arcane scenarios #vi #league of legends #vi x reader #arcane vi #arcane vi x reader #vi scenarios #vi imagines #vi fanfic #vi fanfics #arcane vi scenarios #arcane vi imagines

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inthelittlewood · 1 year ago

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Hey Martyn. Just now I was watching another content creator who said "most people who enjoy stuff enjoy it silently, and those who hate it, hate it loud." and so I just wanted to say you're easily my favourite minecraft youtuber, and most likely top 3 in content creation. I go back all the way to Kingdom of the Saplings, Jet Set Radio and the early jingle jam streams (before they were even called jingle jam); but as uni, early worklife and life in general became a thing I just lost track of the whole content creator scene at about the end of the Christmas ADVENTure. Then when my life got back on track I accidentally rediscovered you when you and Mumbo teamed up in Last Life and it's been a blast rediscovering the content you do; I'm hooked on the Life SMP (congrats on your Limited Life Win btw!), I was grinning at your first MC Championship win (Orange Ocelots!) and while my schedule means catching streams is difficult for me these days, I've been finding Pirates SMP an absolute hilarious blast. But it wasn't until that quote that I realised I never let you know how much fun it's been watching your content, so I genuinely want to let you know that you've been doing great and I hope you're proud of the work you do.

Feel free to cringe at being complimented if you want. I'm British too, I know how it feels.

They're absolutely right, it's not lost on any creator that lurkers make up the majority. It always feels more apparent when you stream, as there's never hundreds of people speaking at the same time, just a handful.

Thanks so much for the kind words, it's awesome to hear I can still make that enjoyment / connection with people a decade in!

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luvfy0dor · 8 months ago

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Heyy, I was thinking about a concept with Fyodor (or whoever from BSD) having a streamer bf, but like, one of -those- streamers where every word they say can be quite questionable (in a “good” way/ironically). For some reason it amuses me to imagine it with Fyodor and Reader occasionally teasing him, calling him their ‘discord kitten’ or streaming for 5 hours (or more lol) saying nonsenses or playing video games instead of paying attention to Fyodor. What do you think?

“Get Off The Game ♡⁠˖” BSD x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Fyodor Dostoevsky, Dazai Osamu

Warnings;

Description; BSD men with a streamer!reader

A/n; these are in headcannon form, I hope that's alright!!! I think Dazai or Nikolai would be a better person to have this occupation w so I also did headcannons for one of them

Fyodor Dostoevsky ★

• Fyodor thinks it's stupid at first, but when he realized you made money from it he learned to tolerate it. He wasn't too fond of the noise, though.

• I don't think he was too fond of the nickname 'discord kitten', always raising an eyebrow when he's called that, he also strongly dislikes brainrot cause what do you mean you're so sigma? No you're not, you're y/n. That's unrelated, but I thought I'd add that in there.

• "A discord what? Kitten? What even is that? I am nothing of the such."

• Catch him dead before he makes an appearance on camera, he much prefers to keep his business private. He doesn't mind you talking about him though, he loves that. He loves that people know you're already taken by him and that all those losers in your chat don't have a chance with you.

• Sometimes he'll watch your streams from a different room in attempt to understand your work and the art of gaming. He enjoys when you play horror games, especially the ones that get you thinking. He sometimes finds your facial expressions when you get jumpscared funnier than anything else in the stream.

• When it comes to the duration of your streams, Fyodor can entertain himself for as long as you need him to, but he can't help but feel like he'd rather be spending that time with you every now and again.

• He usually just takes the time to work on his DOA stuff, and occasionally he'll get so lost in it that he doesn't even realized you've finished with your stream and whenever that happens, you make some tea and go to fetch him to spend some quality time together, whether it's you laying in his lap while you both read a book or having a conversation about whatever comes to mind

Dazai Osamu ★

• Dazai is your #1 supporter since day one. There's a conversation going on about content creators? He's immediately bringing you up. You need new items for your set up? He's manifesting that said items go on sale ASAP!

• Oh my god, and he LOVES it when you get recognized in public. He's very prideful of you and likes that it's only him and a select group of people that get to see the real you outside of the camera frame.

• He, unlike Fyodor, does have an issue with the long hours, so he busies himself with the ADA and otherwise to keep himself from walking in and talking your ear off while you play your games for umpteen thousand people.

• He doesn't despise being called a discord kitten, but it does confuse him a little bit. But whatever, as long as you have 'my' in front of any name he doesn't care.

• Dazai watches your old streams when he's bored and can't help but giggle at the out of pocket or questionable things you say. He likes to watch the compilations of you on YouTube, too.

• Sometimes he'll quote you out of the blue.

• He doesn't like people trying to flirt with you or talk to you on the Internet as any partner wouldn't, so he is in the comment section of every post reading through individual comments. Type guy to see '❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥' comments on your posts and reply '🧯🧯🧯'

• All in all, Dazai is well received by your fanbase, especially the ones who don't try to romance you and are normal. They think he's funny and a good match for you.

A/n; I hope it wasn't to short!!! I thought it was a cutsey idea, I think Nikolai would be pretty similar to Dazai in this scemario.

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 1 year ago

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You don't need to worry about the ATSV fandom dying. As someone whose been in the Marvel fandom over ten years - I can assure you this is natural.

The ATSV Fandom Isn't Dead: A brief look into the science of fandoms.

[me standing beside Hobie beaming my thoughts of love and adoration into his head like I'm professor x]

A lot of people are afraid of the ATSV dying - and I don't blame them.

In the era of shows releasing all in one day, or movies coming to streaming almost immediately - it's not hard to say we're in an era were content is consumed at ridiculously rapid rates.

I mean, this time last year Wednesday was breaking records on Netflix. Where's the hype now?

I know you see it too, there's less posts everyday in the Hobie tag, less screenshot breakdowns, etc etc etc.

But I'm here to tell you - The ATSV fandom is doing just fine. Better than fine. All of this is meant to happen.

Let me put it into perspective.

ATSV released on June 2nd - it's November.

ATSV released a little over six months ago.

For reference: The Avengers (2012) was released on May 4th.

The Avengers DVD wasn't available for purchase until SEPTEMBER 25th - almost SIX months later.

The time that the Hobie fandom has formed and existed - is the same amount of time people had to wait just to see The Avengers again.

Large periods of time where tags only get three posts a day TOPS was nothing to fear. xReaders and fanfics held the fandom over until the next trailer, the next sneak peek or leak.

Prior to the release of streaming, only a little more than ten years ago - it was NATURAL for a fandom to wait six months before even seeing the movie for a second time.

And mind you - streaming didn't exist. If you wanted to see The Avengers again, you had to go out and BUY it. $26.99.

If you wanted to order it online - you'd have to get it shipped to you. Before Disney plus, we watched on BlueRay Discs.

And the fandom was fine and healthy.

If a fandom that doesn't even have a DVD release can keep up content for six months, I think we'll be fine.

But I'll admit - there's still the question:

If the ATSV fandom is 'doing fine' then where is everyone going? Why are the tags getting slower?

The answer is simple:

FANDOM BIOLOGY

I LOVE social sciences and the systems people create and how they work - even unintentionally.

And I have a theory - one about the natural evolution and regeneration of fandom. Hear me out -

When it comes to ATSV:

We are leaving the Analysation Phase, the phase in which content creation is centered around deciphering and breaking down the most recent installment in the fandom.

During this phase usually see art of newer characters, new ships, meta breakdowns, easter egg point-outs.

We were in that phase.

Once the Analysation Phase dies down, usually main content creators may remain. The intermediate or liminal period.

The intermediate is usually when you'll see more x-reader art pop-up, the levels of fanart evening out as artists return to their favorite characters - usually incorporating any new ones they gained from the last installment.

Shitposts usually also become popular around this time, as the shock and weight of the story wear off, and we're more able to joke about the storyline a lot more light-heartedly.

That's why the intermediate point is often see as the passion 'dying out'.

When in fact, it is the fandom getting comfortable. Resting for the next phase.

And after a few months, the next phase comes:

The Speculation Phase:

The Speculation Phase cannot come until the Analysation Phase is over.

During the Analysation Phase the fandom begins to breakdown and digest the writers intentions. They integrate the new character into the story, and the fandom.

As the audience and fandom talk amongst each other, we get more solid ideas of who the characters are, what their motivations might be, and most important of all-

What they might do.

In the Speculation Phase we turn from the last installment - and start looking towards the future.

Let's take Hobie for example.

Looking at the timeline of the Hobie fandom, we can see a progression.

Originally taken as a punk-rockstar and little more, throughout the months the fandom began posting things about punk culture, the 70's, Hobie's motivation in the comics, and how that all correlates to him.

As the fandom analyzed, the collective zeitgeist and understanding of Hobie grew into something a lot more sound, and telling.

We looked at the parellels he provides in the story, and what kind of person he is.

And because if that we have seen a marked improvement in people's contextual understanding of Hobie - as a punk and a hero.

And now that we can understand him - we can predict him.

The same goes for Miguel - over the months, a lot of us have began to question if we know him as well as we think we do , if we really know the kinda person he is -

And if we really know what he's doing to do.

That's where the Speculation Phase comes in.

The Speculation Phase in fandom is when we see some of the most passion - and instead of tapering off overtime, it builds. More and more until the next release.

The Speculation Phase is when the fandom takes the analysis' and from there, they begin to theorize.

Now that we understand, we can begin to predict.

And this is arguably one of the most interesting parts in a fandoms natural ecosystem.

During the Speculation Phase, we can see a number of diverse opinions appear.

As more and more creators begin to gather their understanding, tips from the writers, new released news, and past comic book arcs, we start to see dozens of triguing paths the writers can take us on.

As more news releases, the more hype people get. I mean - imagine how you'll feel when they release the first new poster of Hobie, or Miles? Or when we get to see Miles.G in the trailer?

And with each new poster, or trailer, we're given clues. The theorizes develop more. And the plot thickens.

It's all natural.

So I can understand the fear. Only getting one or two new posts when you visit the Hobie tag can be a bummer. But it's natural and it's GOOD.

Y'all, we need to conserve our energy. We are in the liminal phase. And they never last long.

With the news of the voice actors back in the studio, and a cliff-hanger like we have - I can assure you, it's only a matter of time before we begin to see the theories, the trailer breakdowns, the people guessing what Miguel might do, or exactly how much tech Hobie is hiding.

And when that time comes we need to be READY. I can already feel it on the horizon.

I really wonder what they'll do with all that left over Hobie concept art.

Plus with explosion of Hobie approval, I wonder if they'll add him in even more. Hobie fan-service anyone?

Hmmm...

But chill y'all, we're on the right track -

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

If you read this far, as always THANK YOU SO MUCH!! And as a token of my appreciation, I hand you this Hobie. Hold him gently please

Bye 💗

#no proofread ever ever EVER #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #Miles morales #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #peter parker

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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WYD 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: A fan makes an offer your can't refuse.

(based on suggestion he's been overworking himself for weeks if not months. He knows he needs a break but his work is too important. Maybe what he needs is someone to take care of him so he can focus more on work. from @thezombieprostitute)

Characters: Bucky Barnes

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You can’t help but grin as you scroll through the comments. There aren’t many but those that are there give you that rush of adrenaline. More so, the interaction is great for your wallet.

As a faceless creator, your interaction is limited. You prefer the smaller community. Your might not be the most lucrative account on OnlyFans but it pays your rent, just about.

It’s the only secret you’ve ever had in your life and it’s a big one. You don’t think anyone would believe it. Not you. Not the librarian’s assistant on part-time salary in her corduroys and stuffy oversized cardigans.

It wasn't exactly an opportunity you were fond of, more of a last resort. You don’t fantasize about the men on the other side of the screen, as flattering as they can be. They have a similar sort of desperation, but the crux of it is somewhat more pitiful.

It’s the private message waiting for you that surprises you. That alone is behind a paywall, a feature many users forego when they’re only there for the quick wank. You shudder at the thought, often avoiding that reality of your side hustle.

You’re nervous to check but alone in the stacks, with not much else to do, your curiosity gets the best of you. You tap the icon and bring up the chat from BB. No profile pic, no info, just a message.

‘Are you interested in a private arrangement? 5k/week guaranteed.’

Great, a scam. You roll your eyes and close the app. Stupid. But why would someone pay for content just to try to con you. It’s a pretty big gamble.

You tuck away your phone and sigh, pacing up and down the aisle. The soft flutter of pages and stagnant silence. It’s so dull, you’d rather deal with anything else for the minimum wage and uncertain hours. Still, the freedom lets you tend to your other business.

A few minutes later, out of habit, you bring out your phone again. You linger in the blindspot of the cameras and unlock it. The app pops up as you left it. Another message.

‘Don’t leave me on read.’

The demand startles you. You should just block but you know that it’s money in your pocket. You’re not gullible, more greedy.

‘5k? Okay, sure.’

You press send and hide your phone behind your back and wander on. Your insides squirm. You’re not stupid enough to believe it. You look again at the end of the next shelf.

‘If you want more, we can negotiate. We’d have to meet to do that.’

You scoff aloud and quickly look around. There’s no one there to be disturbed. You evasively sit at one of the desk and hide behind the wooden cubicle that encloses it.

‘I’m not stupid’, you reply.

‘No, but you’re gorgeous. Pick the place. Let’s talk.’

‘Good luck finding whatever you’re looking for but it’s not with me,’ you type, skin razed and speckly.

‘I mean it.’

‘You’re not real. Your 5k is less real. Save your money and stop messaging.’

You wait, watching the screen. Your ears prick as you listen to the lull of the forgotten library. You can hear a cart rolling a few aisles back. You can’t get caught on your phone again.

A new notification blips up in the app before you can black the screen. ‘BB sent a tip’. You click it without thinking and bring up the tip; $1,000. A thousand? A message pops down and you quickly flick the chat back over the screen.

‘Believe me now?’ He challenges.

You take a breath and lock your phone, tucking it up your sleeve as you stand and turn down an aisle, passing the approaching cart as you refuse to look at the employee behind it. You go to the catalogue computer and pretend to tidy the little paper slips and pencils. You wait until the wheels squeak onward.

You slide your phone out and press your fingertip against the censor. The screen opens and the next message taunts you.

‘Give me a place and time’.

You hesitate and peek around, paranoid that others could read your mind just by looking at you.

‘Send a pic. Then I’ll meet,’ you counter.

‘You first, doll. Face for a face.’

You don’t like this and yet, you’re messaging.

‘After you,’ you insist.

No answer. You shake your head and put your phone back under your cuff. You carry on and head up the stairs to the next level. When you look at your phone again, there’s a response waiting for you.

A man with bright blue eyes and a sculpted jawline. Handsome, almost breathtakingly so. Your surprise is undergirded by your insecurity. Well, might as well send your own and let him change his mind. You scroll through your miniscule collection of selfies that don’t make you cringe and send one off.

You can’t look away as you wait. You know what’s coming. Rejection. Finally…

‘Place, time. Make sure to buy yourself something nice.”

You stare at his answer, dumbfounded. Are you really going to do this?

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #of!reader #WYD #marvel #mcu #drabble #series #au #winter soldier #captain america

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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year ago

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Love For You / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: I just found your ao3 account a few days ago and your writing style is excellent! Legitimately some of the most visual and evocative writing I've seen on that website, and I've been devouring your izzy hands fics since I caught up on season two! Can I request another izzy x reader post-amputation and just the reader caring for him while he's pining hard? Maybe the reader has some medical experience so they've been able to help him a little better than the rest of the crew, making sure he's taking time to heal in a difficult moment (physically as well as emotionally, god knows he needs that.) Letting him know he's loved and him realizing he hasn't...heard someone say that to him or treat him this gently in a long time

Thank you so much that's so kind of you to say, it's so lovely people finding me from AO3!! Honestly one of the best feelings, and goodness knows Izzy needs this :)

Okay so I haven't been able to watch the new season so all my knowledge is coming from Tumblr gifs and posts, so I really hope this isn't too ooc my lovely!! Anyway let's get this man some comfort!

I spent all day writing this, so all comments are much appreciated! Thank you! :)

Warning: mentions of blood/injury, mentions of physical abuse, mention of smoking, kissing and some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Something monstrous seemed to be creeping up the shuddering walls.

No, it wasn't the stifling silence that had seemed to envelop those of Blackbeard's crew still left, hiding their heads between their legs and closing their eyes as they felt the quicksand drain out through the fingers. Nor was it the creaking organ snore of Wee John thrumming up the timber; the rest of your usually upbeat crew grew despondent as they wracked their brains together and came up with a way to save you all from imminent demise, having flopped onto their sides and fallen into fitful sleeps just before sunset. Sadly it wasn't even the feel of Lucius' finger stroking yours through the cold grates of your jail, his smile lost and forlorn as he thumped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as well, feeling even more entrapped in himself than you did.

It was, in fact, the hard glare Izzy Hands was shooting into the side of your face. He hadn't spoken a word since Stede had left, choosing instead to let out the odd sniffle from his corner bucket and busy himself by watching you like a man possessed: like something wild, something smothering itself in the shadows to stop its howling heart from devouring the light around itself. From tearing his dagger out of his scabbard and devouring his heart himself with clawed hooks. He looked ghastly, and he looked gargantuan as the life seemed to convulse within him, leeching out and darting its tongue around the creaking wood until it filled up the room and began to fill your heart up with a hope you thought had been lost weeks ago.

He looked beautiful and proud and defeated and assured in spite of it all, and you were finally beginning to understand why Zheng Yi Sao had locked him away in this cage.

And in a way, it terrified you that this cataclysmic, lucent shadow was creeping its merry way straight for you.

The tenebrosity was quickly broken by Izzy's shining eyes gliding across the bridge of your nose to land instead on your top lip. He wasn't entirely sure why exactly he was feeling so timid. It wasn't as if Frenchie was still awake, as he was too busy hugging his free arm around the remaining muscle of Izzy's thigh and burying his head into the muscle with a soft murmur of contentment. Yet the idea of being caught leering at you like a dopey boy was enough to make him judder with embarrassment, and enough to send Frenchie's head keeling sideways so his lips were rammed up against his trousers.

Thankfully, it was exactly Frenchie's floppy head that gave away the fact that he was fast asleep, and allowed you to steal Izzy away for yourself. With a gentle lift, you were quick to replace your friend's cheek with your own hand, giving the side of Izzy's thigh a reassuring squeeze.

'You look like you're bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders', you sighed as you took in Izzy's harrowing form. It wasn't his paleness that worried you, or the redness that cracked and splintered around his irises. It was the way he was watching you, eyes trained steadily on your face for the last hour and a half, as if he were doing his best to memorise everything he could before he ran out of time. As if he would never have the chance to look at you again.

The edges of his lips curled up, and he thumped his head back against the wall. 'Me? I'm feeling fucking fantastic. Never been better. Why do you ask?'

'Well', you began as softly as you could, straining to reach the vials in your hip knapsack to retrieve some salve for the scarring that had begun to pucker around his skin. 'We are about to be executed. I guess I just wanted you to know this is a safe space to let it all out before we are. A confessional of sorts, if a little makeshift.'

He wet his bottom lip as his eyes darted down to you, confused.

You pointedly looked him in the eyes, before unscrewing the vial and dipping your pointer finger in. Making sure he didn't seem too uncomfortable, you leant forwards as innocuously as you could, trying not to startle him anymore than he already had been. With a swipe, you began to rub the herb mixture around the sore looking welts left around his cut leg, making a point to run your fingertips soothingly over the goose-bumps that began to rise at the feel of you against him.

'I wanted you to know- to know that you're always safe around your crew.' You did your best not to let your voice tremble, no matter how much your throat tried to choke you. You turned your head back down to his leg, trying to hide the fact that your mouth was crumpling in on itself.

He winced as your hand brushed against a tender point, and you ran the back of your knuckles over his skin in apology. He felt like he was burning alive: a fire blazing so furiously in the pit of his stomach he was sure it was gushing out, swinging around the room and warning everyone of his impending falter as he fell upon the crags of your fingers below. He had no idea how, in all the seas, you couldn't possibly see how ecstatically devastated he was to be sitting here with you.

He didn't mind dying. He wasn't scared of it. As long as you were there to enhalo his misty light in the end. As long as you were there to love him until his last breath. As long as, no matter what form he took, you were still enclosed around his heart.

'Who says I have anything to confess?', he glanced at you with heavy eyelashes, eyes bleary but sharp as he started straight into your soul. I don't have to confess it, he thought, it's so fucking painfully obvious.

How could he confess something so inexplicable? Something that wrapped around all of his bones, that wormed its way into parts of himself he thought long numb: long lost. How could someone ever articulate the feeling of life itself? It was insurmountable, far too transcendent, too impetuous for mortals to to unsnarl into words.

'Oh Izzy', you said, mouth falling into a frown at the way his hips reflexively bucked up at the feel of a new cream being slathered around his leg to try and numb the pain. He moaned, trying to mask the sound by clenching his fist into his mouth and biting desperately into his knuckles. One more touch, and he was about to fall apart. 'Your eyes are drowning in so many regrets I can barely see the stars in them anymore.'

He huffed out a laugh, looking at you with incredulous, wild eyes. He willed his hand to stop shaking as he let it rest, still clenched, by his quivering chin. 'Not in my eyes. You never could. That's not possible. Not me.'

'I could.' You were quick to reply. 'I always could. You're our guiding light, Israel Hands.'

Oh boy, if he wasn't devastated before he sure was now. His face fell immediately, and for a moment you felt your heart ache with a sore regret at the silvery tears that began to cloud in the crinkles of his eyes. But then he does something that surprised even you.

The way he opened his legs up was almost miniscule: too small for anyone who didn't know this man's quirks and intricacies and giveaways to notice, but a well aimed shot that sent a rush of heat prickling up your cheeks. Before he changed his mind and retreated into himself again, you were quick to scoot your backside over and come to rest far too intimately between the tightening leather of his inner thighs.

'You can't be surprised that we care about you', he started after a moment of comfortable silence, leaning the side of your head to rest gingerly on his intact leg. 'That the whole crew has always cared about you. Look, someone even got you a mop-', you gestured to his side, trying to make him laugh before the sun rises, and thankfully you succeeded.

He shook his head out as if trying to refocus himself as his chuckle died out in his chest. He didn't want to laugh right now. He wanted to focus on the weight on his leg: on the feel of your nose brushing on the length of seam running up to his groin. He blinked back heavy tears that spread along his lashes, sniffling coarsely. He probably should laugh, he thought. He should be fucking howling, spitting, going rabid at the irony that the one thing he had been yearning his whole life was lying right there on his lap, and he only had a few hours left in his pathetic life to savour it.

'How are you doing, by the way? Seriously', you jolt your head up to watch him quizzically. He did his best not to meet your eye, choosing instead to stare at the black grains above Jim's slumped head. 'After, you know, everything that happened with Ed-'

'You don't need to worry about me', he sniffed, but his hand twitched as he lifted it up to rest on his thigh, just above the top of your head. 'It's my job to worry about all of you. Not the other way round.'

'When are you going to get it through your thick skull that we want to worry about you. This isn't some kind of weird mandate or self-preservation tactic on our part Izzy. You may be a fucking idiot, but you're our fucking idiot. Let us take care of you too, like you've been looking out for us.'

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head beginning to shake furiously enough to send his stray silver locks clambering over his eyes. He was glad for their cover, so he wouldn't have to see the way you had lurched forward: the way you were pleading with him with your eyes, as you rose onto your knees and pressed your hands firmly around his waist, just where the joint of his legs met the soft squish of his tummy.

'Don't you shake your head at me. We all know you've been trying to direct Blackbeard's anger your way. We do!' You cocked your head, trying to follow his face as he squirmed in your grasp. Losing your patience, you gripped his jaw with your thumb and pointer finger, directing Izzy's widening eyes back your way. 'We do, Izzy. We know what you've been doing for us. What you've been sacrificing. And I'm sorry - I'm sorry that none of this is fair. I'm sorry that any of this happened at all.'

One. Two. You tapped your finger a third time, your fingernail swirling over the fine nuances of the holster running over his sawed leg.

It had always been your little secret: a shared confidence, between you and Izzy. One tap. Two. Three on each other's arms after battles, three taps there on your shoulder before you went down to your bunk, three fleeting touches burning at the back of his spine to let him know that you were alright: to let him know that he was alright.

You only stopped when you heard a brisk inhale: a sharp whistle that broke through your indulgent repose and made Roach roll over. Thankfully, a moment later, the cook's arm was splayed out across the floor again, and his leg kicked out backwards with a swift jolt up poor Button's behind. Izzy, though. Izzy, despite the surprising tenderness of the moment, was almost smouldering. The muscle by the side of his femur began to writhe underneath just the point of your fingertip, the feeling of just your warmth making him feel too feeble. Too needy to even control the rest of his body; he desperately tried to reach out a hand to shove your shoulder back and push you away, but his mind was too busy swimming with the concentration of trying to remember how to inhale.

The sharp breaths he dragged in painfully were starting to worry you, as were the wracks of his spine as he seemed to writhe backwards and forwards, back arching off the wall before collapsing back down on itself painfully again.

He felt your hand clench around his back, guiding him to sit still again. You were close, far too close - your noses almost touching, as you took a risk and used your free hand to slowly.... god, so fucking slowly he felt like he was going to split in half. He looked like a wounded animal: something terrified of being hurt as his eyes stayed trained on your approaching fingers, face wary until your fingertips touched his hair and tucked it behind his ear.

And then he felt that warmth. That warmth against the shell of his ear. He bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood, and for once, he was glad for the taste. It was comforting. Familiar. Deserved. He wasn't one for the fucking heartache of tenderness. And god, how his heart ached.

'Come on,' you nestled yourself between his legs again and perched your elbow up on his left leg. 'People must have cared about you before. Might as well get it all out in the open. Be honest with each other now.'

He paused, before the stubbornness wormed its way in again. 'No, they haven't-'

'Well, what about your parents? Your parents must have been kind. Besides, the crew obviously cares about you. I obviously care about you. Stop being so pig-headed.''

He startled you with a laugh: he seemed to choke on it, his teeth baring as he barked it out, yet he still couldn't seem to look at you quite yet. That's alright. You had an eternity left in these few hours.

Kindness?

He couldn't remember a time before joining Stede's crew that he had ever felt such a thing, let alone let it fester in the crevices of his ribcage until he felt the dreaded thing was going to claw its way out. Perhaps, if he let himself fester in the silence for a moment, an image of his mother would squirm its way out of his long repressed memories. Clawing and scratching and digging her pointed nails to dig her way out. No, his mother had never offered him a jot of comfort. She could stay buried in that coffin he had stuffed her down into, instead of rotting inside of him. He had enough barnacles to scrape off his body as it was.

It wasn't as if he had any surprisingly sweet memories of his life before. His mother had never been one for grace: her words always bit at his brain like a frenzied tempest, his actions never good enough. Once, when he was six years old, he had tottered up before the sun rose and followed his older brother down to the docks, trying to please his mother. Even so young, he had spent most of his years yearning to be seen as anything but the 'nuisance' or 'pest' his mother used to spit at his feet, and yearned to return with a line full of fish to please her. To help her with the chores that she always yammered his father had left her to rot with. Had left him. That he rotted away her youth. When he came slinking into the doorway, a nervous smile twitching at his ruddy cheeks, his mother had taken one look at the muddy, damp fringes of his trousers and had slapped him clean across the face for his troubles.

Another part of him remembered her warmth. The same that radiated off your palm as you spread your fingers across his knee; the way she would sometimes scutter into his bed at night, and he could smell the harsh sting of alcohol on her breath as she curled up and hugged him close against her chest. Of the way she would sometimes let him sit on her knee once the three of them had returned home after service, and she would brush back his growing hair and he would curl himself up to chase the stray ray of sunlight that glowed against her neck.

It had left him a Gordian mess of a man. Simultaneously spending his life seeking any kind of validation, any kind of affection, while his stubborn self-preservation did its best to push everyone away.And yet here you came, watching him with those sweet, sad eyes. Swinging the sword to undo him.

'I don't remember much about them', he replied curtly, but not unkindly. 'My father left us when I was young. I was... mainly left to my own devices.'

You nod slowly, letting his words thinking in. Letting the misery drenching every seething heave of his tongue wash over your head. 'Well', you began to rub your thumb in circles against his trousers, 'at least you have us here now. One good thing to add to the pile.'

There we go. The knot's slowly being undone.

You tried to smile, but the intensity of his gaze falling on you again unsettled you.

'You're right.' His voice was far too earnest for his own good. 'I have had one good thing in my life. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

You nearly jolted when you felt his hand smack down on top of yours. He had closed his eyes to try and hide himself from his discomfort, but his gloved fingers still slid between yours and squeezed despite himself. Once he was assured they were firmly intertwined: his own grasping tight enough to bust the leather at the stitching, he dared himself to finish his train of thought before he lost his nerve.

'I do... I do care about the crew. None of this was their fault, and they shouldn't have been fucking blamed for it. But I- I, I care about someone else far more than all of this twatty lot put together.'

It's a whisper into the darkness. A despairing yell of defiance against the solitude. A smothered light, long lingering and far longer forgotten. A spark of hope against the threat of ruination. It was a silver tear, glinting like starlight against his iris and falling with a content plop onto the back of your hand.

'I-I-', he stuttered out, clenching his teeth as he wills himself not to cry. 'I-'

The words refused to unlatch from his throat. Luckily, you were adept enough to notice the longing that drew a sad ache across his face.

'Izzy, I-'

'Let me finish', he stumbled out, his whole face now contorting as he struggled with the weight of it all. His bottom lip began to wobble against his will, face falling in on itself.

'I have-I have... love. For you. 'What I'm trying to say is'-, he shakes his head, chiding himself.

'Izzy, I know, it's alright. I know. I understand.' You grabbed tighter onto the back of your hand, enveloping it with your free one until his stopped shaking, begging him to realise you could see him.

'No-. No. If I don't say it now, I'm worried I never will.'

'Take your time, take your time. We have all the time in the world'. A sob finally gasped out from Izzy, chest heaving as he felt you draw his hands up towards your mouth. Still safe. Still warm. Still firmly cupped between your own, but the feel of your lips brushing against his knuckles was enough to send him reeling. The gentle peck that followed, though, was enough to finally let him break free.

A tentative finger reached out, checking for any signs of repulsion before landing awkwardly to point into the blade of your shoulder. He seemed to freeze: immobile marble frozen in fear as he seemed unaware as to what to next. After a few wary blinks, he clumsily spent a few seconds trying to manoeuvre the rest of his arm to cross across your back, before tugging your torso to lean closer towards him.

For a moment, it finally seems as if the world has skittered upright on his axis again. It felt normal. It felt right, feeling him grow comfortable with affection again as he melted, for the second time that week, into your hug. For his sake, as he burrowed his head into the pulse point of your neck until his stubble began to tickle your collar bone, you pretended not to hear the maimed whimpers that struggled past his closed lips.

The only time he moved was to raise his head up towards your nose, bumping it playfully against the tip of your own. Then another graze. A rub, and then another one, his eyes the whole time languidly drawn down to stare at your cupid's bow, until he slowly brought himself down to breathe unsteadily against your mouth. After a final moment of contemplation, he blinked placidly before closing his eyes and tilting his head to close the miniscule distance between the two of you.

His jaw was tense as you ran your finger down it, so busy trying to commit to his memory the pressure of your lips against his bottom one that he was forgetting to breath. But he didn't pull away. In fact, his hand clamped around your neck, digging almost painfully into your back as he stumblingly latched onto you, forcing himself further against your opening mouth. His hand found solace by cupping the back of your skull, chest squeezed against your breasts as he opened his lips and almost devoured you whole.

A loud 'awww!' erupted from your side, making the two of you jolt apart. The only problem was, Izzy's bottom lip had been rather firmly attached to yours. This meant that as you drew back, Izzy, in his stubborn unwillingness to let you go, let his bottom lip drag down along your inner mouth until a line of saliva connected your bottom lips, which only made the person the other side of the brig giggle even louder.

'You guys are cute', Black Pete yawned with a wakening stretch.

'Yes!', Roach chimed in as he teddy bear rolled his lanky legs round in front of him. 'I swear!', he continues, ostentatiously wiping his finger underneath his eye, 'I must be crying! I'm two seconds away from going up there and commencing our escape myself.'

With a tilt of your head that hit Izzy's chin, you looked at the cook incredulously. Izzy only gazed down at you past the crook of his nose, wonderstruck as the he let the words wash over his head.

'You. You really think you can take on all those very competent pirates up there.'

'Of course!'

'You cried for twenty minutes earlier about soup!'

Roach waved his hand unconvincingly in front of his face. 'Broth, it was broth! But I'm great with knives, remember! I have one hidden in my underwear right now!'

'Why... why is it in your underwear?', Oluwande piped in as he rested his head on the side of a barrel.

'Yeah, you weren't captured', Archie added, shuffling her own head off Jim's shoulder to look out past the bars. 'Why isn't it, I don't know, in your pocket or something.'

Even though Roach has opened his mouth to answer, his train of thought is broken by the tired grumble of another one of your friends. 'I hate to admit it, but that was actually very sweet', Lucius chimed in, twisting his lips into a shit-eating grin as he eyed the both of you up, another cigarette now firmly tucked in and freshly lit between his fingers as he took a drag.

'Is everyone on this fucking boat awake?!', Izzy cried, wrapping a hand protectively around your shoulder joint.

You snorted, burying your head protectively against the soft skin of his bellybutton. The sound of the crew beginning to argue with an increasingly impatient Izzy was like music to your ears; the monster was beginning to retreat.

No longer did it hang and shake and pierce the walls with its talons until it bled umbras. It retreated: chased away by the comely love of your crew. Of your family. Of the man who held you protectively against him, blinding you with his tender love.

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shima-draws · 1 year ago

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Tell us about the AU! I know you want to!!

WAUGHHH. AGHHH. OKAY. OKAY SO. I've been watching one of my favorite content creators play through the DLC. Early on in the playthrough he was tossing around theories and said "Maybe KIERAN is Ogerpon??" and that gave me a BRILLIANT THOUGHT.

Ogerpon Kieran AU.......

I've already thought of a very long and complex backstory for this LOL but to simplify it. Before the ogre and its human companion came to Kitakami, said companion was actually living a very happy life with his child. However, they were caught up in the midst of a great war that ended up taking the child's life. The man was so overcome with grief that it summoned a great being (I'm thinking Xerneas), who blessed his dead child with new life. And that child was reborn as Ogerpon!! So kinda like how children who get lost in the woods and die are reborn as Phantump.

Fast forward to many many years later. A long chain of events leads to Carmine's grandfather's...father (so, her great-grandpa?) meeting Ogerpon and vowing to make it a new mask, a mystical and powerful mask that could grant wishes. Sadly, Carmine's great-grandpa wasn't able to complete the mask before he died. This project was eventually picked up by Carmine's father (and I have a whole other thing about him but I'm not gonna get into it right now lol). Carmine's father forms a very close bond with Ogerpon as he continues to gather materials to finish the wish mask. He expresses his desire for Ogerpon to finally be able to walk among the villagers with its name cleared, and for Ogerpon to meet his only daughter. He leaves for a journey to find the last material for the mask...and never returns 😔

Carmine's grandfather has a whole complex about the wish mask, but after seeing both his father and his son dedicate so much time and care into completing it, he takes the last material, imbued with the hopes and dreams of his family, and finally finishes the mask. When he presents it to Ogerpon, Ogerpon dons the mask and its wish is granted...it becomes human :") So it becomes Kieran, basically!! Kieran's wish was to be able to say thank you to all of the generations of mask makers that had helped him, and. To be part of their family 🥺 What he doesn't know is that his wish to be human stems from the fact that he already was human, once. But he doesn't remember his life before he was reborn as a Pokemon.

So, Carmine's grandfather happily accepts Kieran and his desire, and takes him home to live with him and Carmine. Note that Kieran is probably around 5-6 at the time, so he's BABY. And Carmine is only about a year or two older. She isn't sure what to think about suddenly getting a new brother, but she's happy to have someone to boss around lmao.

And once a year, during the festival of masks, Kieran lets his facade fall and wanders around as Ogerpon again. Just to keep in touch with his roots haha

So obviously with Kieran being Ogerpon the events of the DLC will play out differently than canon. Kieran slyly compliments the ogre in front of the player and mentions that maybe it's just misunderstood. He's been trying for a while to change the villagers' minds about what happened to him and the Loyal Three all those years ago, but it hasn't been going...too well lol. So when the player shows up, and things start to shift, Kieran gets really excited bc he realizes he finally might be able to clear his name :")

Is this AU silly and dumb as hell? Yes. Does it not really make sense with canon and is full of plot holes? Yes. Am I brainrotting over it anyway? Also yes.

Take a little edit I did of Kieran's official art to fit what I had in mind for the AU ;) I wanted to draw it but I'm at work rn lmao RIP

ALSO LITTLE DOODLE OF THE BOY

ALSO bc of Ogerpon's original gender Kieran probably goes by he/they pronouns in the AU

#Listen I know this AU is stupid as hell but it means SO much to me #Shima answers questions #Pokemon #The Teal Mask #Pokemon Kieran #Pokemon Carmine #Ogerpon #Kieranpon AU #Shima's AUs #I'm brainrotting SO hard. HELP #Long post

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spennsrs · 1 year ago

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𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ the only exception.

↳ TYPE OF WRITING: drabble ↳ CONTENT CREATOR: damien haas from smosh, mentioned shayne topp, spencer agnew, trevor evarts, and courtney miller ↳ SONG REC: the only exception by paramore

"we did some great work today! get some rest, dames. tell [y/n] i said howdy!" shayne's voice was muffled slightly through the phone, but nonetheless damien cheeses the possibly biggest smile known to man.

"will do, man. don't party too hard without me. although, i'm expecting some sort of text from courtney at some ungodly hour saying how you and spence drank too much."

"hey!" the faint voice of spencer almost makes damien jump, but at least he knew now he was on speaker phone, shaking his head with a chuckle.

"love you lot, but i am home now. drink water!" damien parents his friends before hanging up on shayne, sparring him from having to hear any protests. with a sigh, he puts his car in park and turns the car off before deciding to take a moment to just... breath.

he was super excited to be home with his partner, [y/n]. well... unofficial partner... cuddle buddy? situationship even, as he had heard trevor mentioned the other day. damien didn't care for a label. labels were pressed onto society way too much. two people could live together, cuddle, sometimes kiss, and not be a couple. simple as that. [y/n] seemed to enjoy it just as much as damien, and his cats finally had another parent to love on and beg for food. no matter what really happened between him and [y/n], as long as he could still come home to them, he didn't quite care.

ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ

as damien opened the door to the apartment, it wasn't a surprise only freyja padded to the door to greet her father. zelda always did prefer [y/n]. "hey, sweet girl." he mutters, setting his bag by the door and crouching down to gently scritch behind the cat's ears. he picks up the grey and white feline and quietly follow the noise of what he presumed to be his partner's favorite show. his suspicions were confirmed when he peeked his head into his room to see his sweet black and white cat curled up on [y/n]'s lap, sound asleep.

he couldn't help how his heart swelled at the sight. the form curled up on his bed was covered by the sheets of the bed, tired eyes slowly trailing to where damien stood. the tired eyes shone, and damien swore he could see every star in them. "hey, love." he says lowly, slowly approaching the bed to set freyja down to let the cat join her sister.

"hi, damien."

the sleepy voice made a soft pink blush creep up on his cheeks, sitting on the edge of the bed. his hand reaches out, gently carding his fingers through their hair. [y/n], much akin to a cat, leaned into the touch with a soft smile. they reach for the remote, pausing the show. there was a comfortable silence that fell between them, damien could tell the other was emotionally exhausted. as much as he wanted to whisk them into his arms and shower them in kisses and compliments, to downright worship them and let his emotions spill like a leaky faucet.

but he had to be okay with keeping himself at a distance, to admire form afar.

[y/n] angled their head to look up at damien, simply admiring his features. he was deep in thought, and it made them pout a bit. "what's on your mind, dames?" they say softly, scooting over as their hands slip around his bicep, pulling him to lay down. "you've had a long day. wanna watch something?" the soothing voice of [y/n] made damien blink, before letting a yawn escape his lips, stretching out.

"i was gonna shower... but now that i'm laying here, exhaustion is finally catching up with me." he mumbles, slinging an arm around [y/n]'s middle, pulling them close. the sound of their giggle makes damien angle his head to comfortably look at the other. "you're so breathtaking..." he mutters, and he knows [y/n] hears due to the deep red blush that paints itself over their cheeks.

with a squeal, they hide their face in damien's chest, and damien could stay like this forever. "no, 'm not..." they mutter softly, snuggling closer.

moments like these were damien's favorites. it was selfish, but in damien's perfect dream world, he might have been [y/n]'s only exception to their avoidance of love.

little did he know, he was their only exception.

#damien haas #damien haas x reader #marnie's writings #smosh #smosh x reader #smosh games #smosh pit #i love these sillies sm #shayne topp #smosh shayne #smosh damien

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moons-and-mobility-aids · 1 month ago

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Content Warnings: Adult content, mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator (hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy.

The morning dawns with the usual mundane rhythms of life for James, Sirius, and Remus. But beneath the surface, there's a tension that wasn't there before, an undercurrent of anticipation sparked by their interaction with you last night. Although none of them would dare to admit it, your presence has left a mark.

James stretches languidly as he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. His fingers hover over the screen, still warmed by the memory of your messages from the previous night. He hesitates, then checks his messages, half-hoping to see your name pop up.

The truth is, he's been intrigued—obsessed might be a better word—by your content for months now, ever since he and Sirius stumbled upon one of your videos on a porn site. Your voice, your style, the way you command attention without demanding it—it was all so different from what they were used to seeing. And it hooked them instantly.

Remus was more reserved at first, or at least he tried to be. But James knows Remus well enough to see past the stoic facade, to recognize the telltale signs of desire. The slight widening of his eyes when your name is mentioned, the faint tightening of his jaw when he watches your videos. And though Remus rarely suggests joining in on their viewing sessions, when he does, it's always with an eagerness that belies his cool exterior.

Sirius, on the other hand, has never been one for subtlety. He was the first to suggest subscribing to your channel, practically begging James to do it because—as he so eloquently put it—"If I don’t, I’ll die without seeing more of her."

It didn't take much to convince them.

The corners of James's mouth curl into a smile, the memory of yesterday's success warming him from within. He remembers how they'd tipped you, and in return, you'd sent them a private thank-you video that had arrived like an unexpected gift. They'd huddled together on the wide leather couch to watch it, the screen casting a soft glow on their faces. Each word, each gesture—it all felt so personal.

His thumb hesitates above the message thread, the image of you on his screen making his heart flip. Suddenly, the usual confidence that carries James through his days wavers. He's not used to this feeling—this fluttering uncertainty that comes with each tap of his fingers on the screen. But there's something exciting about it too, a thrill that has nothing to do with danger or daring and everything to do with you.

ProngsPlayground_free: Hey again! Just wanted to say we really enjoyed the video you sent last night. I think we watched it more than once... or maybe that was just me. 😉 We’re excited to check out the rest of your content—I feel like we’ve only just started, and I’m already hooked. Hope you don’t mind a little healthy obsession. 😏

James smiles as he sends the message, already imagining how you might react to his words. He knows you likely receive countless messages like this, that his is one among many. But there’s something about the way you engage with your subscribers, the personal touch in your replies, the thoughtfulness of your content, that makes him feel seen.

He sets his phone down, a grin playing on his lips, and heads towards the kitchen where Sirius is already seated at the table, a cup of coffee in hand. His dark hair is tousled from sleep, eyes brightening as James enters the room.

"Did you message her?" Sirius's voice cuts through the quiet, his eyes glinting with interest as he raises an eyebrow.

James grins, leaning against the kitchen counter with a nonchalance that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course I did," he says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Told her we liked the video."

"Liked?" Sirius leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he scoffs lightly. There's a seriousness to his tone that belies the casual tilt of his head. "That porn was bloody brilliant, Prongs. Don't undersell it."

James shrugs, but there's a spark in his eyes—a recognition of the truth in Sirius's words. "Yeah, well, 'brilliant' seemed a bit too..."

"Too what? Accurate?" Sirius interrupts, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "You watched it three times last night, and not because it wasn't effective." His eyes hold a knowing gleam. "Remus and I did the same. Hell, Remus had me suck him off while he watched, but that's beside the point," Sirius continues, his expression sobering despite the laughter still dancing in his eyes. "Just listening to her moans was enough for me. If anyone could make us reconsider our rule against collabs, it's her."

James laughs, a sound that echoes around the room, but there's a hesitation in it—a crack in the foundation of their rules that lets in a sliver of possibility. "Yeah, yeah. You're just saying that because she's got you all worked up. We have our rules for a reason, Pads."

"But don't you feel it too?" Sirius insists, leaning forward in his chair, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the tabletop. "There's something different about her. The way she moves, the way she talks in those videos—it's like she's right there with us." He pauses, searching for the right words. "She's got... presence, Prongs. It’s like she’s in the room with us.”

Remus walks in, pausing to take in the scene before making a beeline for the coffee machine. "You're talking about her again, aren't you?"

James chuckles, not denying it. "Guilty."

"Obviously," Sirius agrees, raising his mug in a mock toast. "Come on, Moony, don't pretend you're not into her. You've watched her videos just as much as we have."

Remus doesn't respond immediately, instead pouring himself a cup of coffee and settling into a chair at the table. He's quiet for a moment, thoughtful in a way that makes James and Sirius exchange a glance across the room. Remus isn't one to wear his emotions on his sleeve—he tends to keep his thoughts close to his chest, especially when it comes to matters like this. But they've known each other for too long not to pick up on the subtle signs.

"I'll admit," Remus starts, cradling the warm mug between his hands, "there's something captivating about her videos. The way she handles the camera, the way she speaks—it feels... authentic."

"Exactly," James echoes, settling back against the couch cushions beside him. "It's like she's speaking directly to us, even when she isn't."

Sirius leans forward, his voice low and conspiratorial. "So... when are we watching more? Because if you two are planning to watch her porn without me, I'll be really put out."

Remus's eyebrow arches upwards, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "We'll watch together, Pads. Don't worry."

James's hand drifts back to his phone; excitement thrums beneath his skin, an unusual sensation when it comes to pornographic content. It's rare for all three of them to agree on anything of this nature. Their tastes vary widely, despite how seamlessly they function together in the bedroom, enjoying the films they create but often disagreeing on the appeal of others found online.

But this—this is different. There's something about you, about the authenticity you exude, that has captured their collective attention. And James isn't about to let that go unexplored.

"Look," James points out, his eyes trained on the screen he checks his messages. "She's online now. We might be able to get a response soon."

Sirius grins and stretches, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. "Excellent. I can't wait to see what she thinks."

The morning wears on, punctuated by the hum of casual conversation and the clinking of cutlery against plates. Every so often, one of them will glance at James's phone, willing it to light up with your reply.

And then, just as they're starting to lose hope, the device vibrates, drawing their gazes like magnets. James is the first to react, snatching up the phone and unlocking it with trembling fingers. His breath catches in his throat as he sees your username, the familiar sight sending a jolt of anticipation through him.

You: I'm glad you all enjoyed the video! And don't worry, I don't mind a bit of healthy obsession 😘 Prepare to deep dive into my content—I have lots more to share.

James' eyes skim the response before he reads it aloud for Sirius and Remus. The words hang in the air between them, a promise of more to come.

"Merlin's beard," Sirius breathes, leaning back in his chair with a low whistle. "She's really laying it on thick, isn't she?"

Remus chuckles, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "It’s her job, but I can't say I mind. She knows how to keep an audience interested."

"More than interested," James mutters, already typing out a reply. His fingers hover over the keyboard as he crafts the perfect response—flirtatious but not too forward. It's a delicate dance, especially when interacting with other creators on OnlyFans, but James has always had a knack for reading the room. And if your response is any indication, you're just as invested in this game of cat and mouse as they are.

ProngsPlayground_free: Ready? We've been ready since we subscribed. 😏 Can't wait to see what else you have in store for us. Looks like you've gained three new dedicated fans.

James leans back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as the message sends. He's always been the bold one, unafraid to take the lead, especially when it involves someone who's piqued his interest—you.

Sirius glances over his shoulder, reads the message, and grins. "Smooth move, Prongs."

"Someone's got to do it," James replies, shrugging nonchalantly though the anticipation thrums beneath his casual exterior.

Remus remains quiet, nursing his coffee, but there's a spark in his eyes that James recognises all too well. Remus may be the most reserved of them, but when something—or rather, someone—catches his attention, he's every bit as intense as the rest of them, perhaps even more so.

Hours stretch into the evening, the usual routine unfolding around them, yet their minds are elsewhere—on you, on your next words or posts that might appear. By nightfall, they find themselves huddled in front of the computer screen again, this time delving deeper into your page.

Sirius's gaze is locked onto the screen, his grey eyes wide as he watches one of your more intimate videos unfold. James and Remus flank him on either side, their attention equally riveted. It's hard not to be when you're so effortlessly engaging. On the video, you're showering, seated on a stool for comfort, and while they've seen plenty of films featuring girls in showers, none have felt quite like this—real, raw, and somehow infinitely more captivating.

"Fuck me," Sirius breathes, leaning closer as if drawn by some invisible force. "She's... she's something else."

James nods, unable to tear his gaze away. You're different from anyone they've watched before, and that uniqueness keeps them coming back for more. Now that they're subscribed, there's a thrill in knowing they have access to everything—every video, every post, every tantalising hint of what's to come.

Remus shifts beside them, his eyes never leaving the screen. "That she is..." His voice trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished but the sentiment hanging in the air. There's an electricity in the room now, a charge that wasn't there before.

A grin splits Sirius's face as he elbows Remus. "See? Even you're getting into it."

Laughter bubbles up from James, a sound that rings with truth because they all know there's something to Sirius's jest. They're drawn in, each for their own reasons—curiosity, admiration, shared passion—and it's impossible to deny anymore.

"Alright, alright," Remus concedes, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "Just one more video. But then it's back to work."

The promise of discovery thrills them all, even if the idea is daunting. Each click brings them closer to something they can't yet define, a connection that transcends distance and time. And for now, that's enough. Let the mystery unravel slowly, let anticipation build with every shared glance and whispered theory.

Because who knows what tomorrow may bring? Perhaps, just perhaps, it'll be the day they finally solve the enigma that is you.

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