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snaileer · 1 year ago

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Wrong Number? Wrong Answer.

It was the usual deal that the Justice League Dark dealt with… way too often honestly.

Initially, it had been just Wonder Woman, investigating a cult that had attempted to abduct her earlier in the month.

Diana had defeated them. Easily. Of course. But upon questioning them, their reasoning had concerned her.

They had attacked her for a ritual to open the ‘Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep’, a ritual which required ‘a blade blackened by the ichor of time.’

Once again, she was being targeted for her parentage. Did it ever end?

Of course, she questioned them further, what other ingredients did they need, what artifacts they would be hurting others to create.

A ring carved from the bone of an unfreed slave.

A crown made of lava untouched by human hands.

And sand directly from the pouch of Dream of the Endless themself.

It was an eclectic collection of items.

And yet, they had told her that only the blade remained to be created.

Again, it was concerning.

So Diana left the fools to be taken care of by men’s authorities, and focused on tracking down just what they were doing and if necessary, how to stop it.

After depleting her academic resources, and her connections within with nothing to show, Diana finally called in her friend through the league, Zatanna.

Zatanna had been frazzled by it, showing up in her living room before they’d even finished the call.

Together they tracked down the cult to Gotham… which was also a problem.

It was the reason why Diana was running through the caves beneath the crime ridden city with one of her closest friends in men’s world and a magician by her side.

All too quickly, they were surrounded by fanatics, each carrying sharp blades solely focused on her.

Working in sync with Batman and Zatanna throwing spells above them, Diana believed it would be a well-won battle.

Until a golden light flashed across the cave, blinding her for a precious second as she felt a sharp sting cut across her arm.

When her vision cleared, her arm was dripping blood and John Constantine stood in front of her.

“Sorry about that, love,” Constantine smirks, “No harm done?”

Diana’s teeth grind together as she turns away from him, fighting her way through more followers. The one who had injured her is nowhere to be seen, and the blade with them.

Even once the rest of the swarm is beaten, their numbers no longer being replenished, Diana does not feel content. The sense of danger lingers.

“Constantine.” Batman growls, “What are you doing in Gotham?”

The Brit rolls his eyes as he lights a new cigarette, “You know I don’t actually have to tell you every time I enter the city right? But besides, that’s news to me, portals are a tricky business, I’m tracking my own problem.”

Batman glares at him.

“Someone stole from me mate. And whatever they stole it for can’t be good, so I’m here ta get it back. Thought you’d be proud of something like that, Batsy, insteada leavin’ it for someone else?”

Batman’s eyes darken, “We’re tracking a group trying to open the Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep, is your artifact related to that?”

“Fucking shit it is yeah! Bollocks I didn’t think they’d be using the dream sand for something like that, what sort of mannies are these?!” Constantine exclaims, hastily grinding his cigarette beneath his shoe.

“Hn.”

Suddenly, there’s a rattling boom, the ground and walls shaking around them as dust rains down and they are all forced into stabilizing stances.

They barely share a glance before all three are running down the hall to the source, Constantine left scrambling to keep up.

The scene they come to is equal parts confusing as it is problematic.

The cultists are each in states of disrepair, crusting on the edges or yelling at their leader. The leader is the first to notice their arrival.

“You! You say you are a child of Zeus and yet your blood does not work! You lie of your ancestry!”

Diana steps forward, “I do not! I am the daughter of Queen Hippolyta and Zeus, grandchild of Kronos! The fault of your magic does not lie with me!”

The leaders face twists, mouth open to shout, but a flash of gold slams into him.

“Z, the book!” Constantine yells, arms outstretched as he flings more spells at the surrounding people, glowing ropes binding each.

“On it! Etativel em dna eht koob!” Zatanna shouts, lifting into the air as a book the leader had been holding flies into her hands.

Immediately she begins turning pages with desperation, “Wohs em eht stsitluc lleps!”

The book flips to a distinct page, and Zatanna’s face drains of color.

“Batman, we need to be careful, this spell looks legitimate, we might still have a risk on our hands.”

Batman hummed, looking at the chalk lines of the summoning circle drawn out before them, drawing Diana to do the same. Looking closely at the artifacts placed at each cardinal direction, including a short dagger with her blood nearly completely dry on the flat of the blade.

Batman moves towards the gathered and bound cultists as both magicians whisper over the spell.

Diana continues to look out on the evidence of the ritual, confusion warring in her.

She lays a hand on the lasso at her side. She knew she had not been lying about her heritage, so then why….

‘A blade blackened by the ichor of time.’

She looks at the bloodied dagger once more. It didn’t make sense, even if they had managed to harm a godly descendent, pure ichor would be gold; and even her blood was simply a humanly deep crimson red, not black; not until it-

Diana lunges towards the knife, fingertips brushing its hilt just as her blood dries a flaky black.

Her body slams into the cave walls in the next second, percussive force rippling through the air.

She crumples to the ground, struggling to lift her head.

White boots pass in front of her eyes.

She watches as they move towards her colleague, her friend, only to be surprised as they stop in front of the cultists instead.

As the air returns to her body, Diana lifts herself up, shaking arms supporting her as the weight of the atmosphere presses down.

She looks at the being, the sight almost making her collapse once more.

Mist curls around its form like a mountain peak, iridescent light glowing near its head, pitch black night covering its body, the pinprick of stars so small you can’t see them straight on, claws like a falcon’s beak: unhidden and meant to tear apart. And more importantly, wrapped around the leaders neck.

““̵̨̮̣̀͊̓Y̷͖̊̒o̸̤͈͍͌̈́͘u̶̗̭̲̍ ̵̬̤̞̀̑ā̴̟r̸̹̝̉e̴̞̦̮͑̍ ̴̣̩̖͑̓͛a̷̮̞͍͊͆͝ ̶͍̀̈́́f̷̖̄ò̸͈̓͝ǫ̷̅̀̔l̶̹̥̹̋͌͠.̴̤̲̈́͋̀”̶̛̫̺̈́”

The voice rattles her heart within her chest. She watches as Batman continues to try and stand.

The cultist struggles against the hand, mumbling screams behind Constantine’s bind. The creature tears it off with one claw.

“We summ-moned-… the king! Pa-pariah-!“

The creatures hand barely twitches, but the cultist breaks off in a scream. She is surprised to note the other cultists react exactly alike. As if linked.

“̵̻͝Ý̷͚o̶͈͝u̷̦̐ ̶̆͜d̶͈̄ǐ̸̢d̵̲̓ ̴͖̽n̴̘̅ȯ̸͍t̵̛̯ ̴̫̐ŝ̵̗u̴̹̇m̶̨͠m̴̡̽o̴̱̐n̵̘͝ ̴̪̈h̴̨̀i̶͝ͅm̸̰͗.̴͍͆”̸͔̔ The creature growls, “À̴̳n̸̛̜d̶͒ͅ ̴̤̃y̸̬͝ǫ̸̒u̵̫͗ ̶̘͛a̴̫̐r̷̠̈e̶͂ͅ ̶͔̋ḽ̶̔ủ̷͜c̷̥̍k̴̲͊ÿ̸̯́ ̶͓́f̷͇͝o̷͎͒ŕ̴͇ ̶͔͝t̶̞̀h̸̲̉ȧ̸̮t̷̩͝.̷͔̍ ̵͙͐I̸͎͌f̶͖͛ ̶̜̇y̵̜͗o̴̩̍ṵ̶͆ ̵̫̈́h̴͛ͅā̴̼d̸̤͆…̵͍̈́i̵͍̐t̸̡̉ ̴̭͂w̷̥̔o̷̟̅u̴̪͂l̸̞̏d̵͚̀ ̵͓̃b̴̢̽e̵̗͠ ̸͕̉m̸̠͆u̶̖͘c̷̯͘h̴̤̎ ̸̥́w̷͚͝o̸͐ͅr̶̦͐s̵̨̿e̸͕͆ ̸̙̑f̴̧̂o̶̱̓ȓ̷̟ ̴̠͗ÿ̸̥́ö̵͜ŭ̶̟.̵͎̉”̶͍̀

The man whimpers under the claws.

"I̴n̷s̵t̴e̷a̵d̸,̶ ̵y̸o̷u̵ ̴g̵o̷t̶ ̷m̸e̸,̴I̴ ̶g̵u̸a̷r̶d̴ ̶h̶i̷s̵ ̶p̸r̸i̵s̵o̵n̶ ̶b̶e̷c̴a̷u̴s̶e̸ ̵I w̴a̸s̴ ̵t̴h̸e̷ ̸o̴n̸e̴ ̷t̸o̶ ̶p̵u̴t̵ ̴h̸i̴m̶ ̵t̴h̷e̸r̶e̴ ̵o̶n̵c̸e̵ ̶m̶o̸r̸e̸.̵”̴ The creature leans into the cultist, arching ever higher, angles sharpening, body distorting, "“̸̝͋a̵̱͋n̶͓͛d̵̘́ ̵̡̍f̷̱͊o̵͚̓r̷̪̎ ̴̭̑a̷̬̓s̷͙̅ ̷͍͌ĺ̵̫o̸̻͆ņ̵̀g̶̚ͅ ̷̬͌a̶̮̿s̵̩͊ ̸̫̌t̸̲̕h̸̢̉e̷̖͗ ̴̰̋c̸̹̀ȍ̸͎s̷̡̃m̵̥̍o̷̜͋s̷̗͐ ̴̜͆e̷̛̙x̸͓̑i̶͉̿s̸̹̀t̵̛̺,̴̡͠Í̷̢ ̷̣̽w̵̠͋i̶̺͒l̴̠͐l̸̮̃ ̴͍͌k̴̰̑e̸̠͐e̷̟͋p̵̲̏ ̸̙̂h̷̘͋ị̸́m̸͕̚ ̶̳̋t̶̡̒h̷̩͆e̷̪͝r̷̒͜e̵̡̔.̵̭͗”̵̮̔

There’s a dull flash as light flashes beneath the cultists skin, beneath all of the cultist’s skin, before they drop to the ground unconscious.

All too quickly, air returns to the room, pressure lifting like a deep breath into the room.

The creature turns, eyes meeting Diana’s for just a second as he turns towards the chalked lines of the circle. Diana lifts herself to her feet, drawing closer to Batman as they both watch him, hesitant.

On the other side of the room, Constantine and Zatanna also struggle to their feet, eyes filled with fear and caution as they take in the scene.

As the creature moves, mist still rolling off him in waves, his features fall away with it, gradually smoothing to a more human visage. It looks… young. Boyish.

Those same white boots crush down on the formed crown, the cooled lava rock crumbling under one step. Next is the ring, held carefully in two hands the creature whispers over it, breathy wind carrying it away as it turns to dust. He holds the blade with one hand, flakes disintegrating off as he lifts it.

Diana’s arm tingles.

Then the creature is standing in front of the last point, holding the small brown pouch of sand with consideration.

Silence reigns in the room.

Constantine, of course, is the one to break it.

“I believe that’s mine, mate,” he cuts in, stance still laden with suspicion.

“Oh?” The creature smiles, almost mockingly as he turns to Constantine, “Is it? If I wasn’t mistaken, this ritual calls for Dream’s sand. Are you Dream of the Endless, little magician?”

Constantine visibly swallows, “I’m not.”

The creature huffs a laugh, fangs glinting in his smirk. He moves swiftly, pivoting on one foot to toss the pouch at Constantine, “Catch.”

Constantine lurches forward to try and catch it, only to find it vanish in the air before it reaches his fingers.

The creature cackles, floating backwards, “What did you do to get your hands on such an amount of Dream’s sand, magician? I’m curious.”

“It was a family present,” Constantine grinds out as he turns back to the gently levitating humanoid form, “You can drop the kid facade by the way, you’re not tricking anyone here looking like that.”

The creature shrugs, “And if I’m comfortable like this?”

Diana steps in to stop Constantine from snapping back, “Who are you, spirit, to be summoned by such a ritual?”

The creature watches her for a beat, “I am Phantom of the Dead City, Protector of infinite realms. They did not bring me here, but I knew who they wished to summon and came because of it.”

Batman steps forward, voice interrogating, “The Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep-“

“Remains sealed. The Tyrant King remains trapped and at rest, do not worry.”

Somehow Diana does not think that soothes Batman, even as a great a warrior as he is.

“Hn.”

“Now, about that spell book,” Phantom turns to Zatanna, waving a hand and the book flies to him. He hovers a hand over it, and Diana watches in fascination as the chalk on the floor begins to burn away, the drawing in the book following.

Phantom looks at her once more, eyes too wise and strong for the age of his face, and then from one moment to the next, he is gone.

The book drops to the floor with a slam, cover open to aged blank pages as the last of the sigil burns away.

Hesitantly, Constantine goes to it, the rest of them following. When Constantine lifts the book with careful hands, they watch another image fade into view on the paper.

A cool colored image of Phantom rising over a city skyline outlined in green against a deep violet sky. Even on paper, his visage shifts constantly between the boyish figure and the ethereal danger of the form he’d appeared in.

Beneath the city lays a large coffin covered in chains.

The lock glows a pulsing toxic green before fading to a steely gunmetal grey and going still.

“Well that was the best encounter I’ve had with a dangerous dimensional figure and I still lost the dream sand.”

Zatanna’s slap echoes in the cave.

#batman #danny phantom #batfam #dc #danny fenton #batman and robin #danny phantom crossover #young justice #bruce wayne #wonder woman #dpxdc #cryptid Danny fenton #John Constantine #Zatanna Zatara #dpdc #dp

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heavenbarnes · 7 months ago

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More weirdo older bf Simon 🙏

this is from the alternate universe!simon where he’s still older bf!simon but a weird old perv 🫶🏼 (implied ghoap at the end)

it’s cold, cold enough that older bf!simon can see his breath.

he can also hear johnny’s teeth rattling, mostly cold but there’s a hint of-

“fuckin’ boring- shite end of the stick”

boredom.

hold up in fuck knows where in the freezing cold with a rifle laid across his thighs listening to johnny whinge his fucking ear off.

“course gaz didnae have t’do this- pretty boy never has t’freeze his bollocks off”

simon gets how shit this is, believe him.

it’s shit that he and johnny have to sit frozen (figuratively and literally) and just wait for the target to appear.

it’s been three days, the fucker isn’t showing.

but what’s worse (because simon argues he has the worse end of that shitty stick) is that he had to up and leave you.

got the call while you were in the shower, he’d barged through the door you could’ve sworn you’d locked and once he got you to stop screaming he’d had to break the news.

“m’off”

“oh, ok- for how long?”

“not sure, a bit”

only hint of a silver lining was the “good luck, be safe” reach around you gave him when he peeled his kit off and joined you in the water.

he really felt like he was beginning to make progress with you.

yes, you still were a little uneasy with his staring problem and yes, he still needed to learn to ask “please” and not just put your hand in his pants.

but you hadn’t left yet.

and to simon? shit, that’s as good as a hand in marriage.

he didn’t even have the pleasure of sitting in silence and missing you- not with that little bastard in his ear.

“can’ye check again, L.t?”

fuck sakes.

reluctantly, simon takes his phone out one of the pockets on his vest because, as much as johnny was doing his nut it-

he just had to know.

he chooses the app that brings up the livestream of cameras around your shared home. does his obligatory check of the outside perimeter, makes sure nobody is taking liberties.

then he begins the hunt.

you’ll be around here somewhere.

room by room, he looks for the shape of you.

“here pretty, pretty”

johnny’s eyes flicker from the horizon to the device in simon’s hands, almost buzzing in excitement.

“come out, come out”

might’ve been the trip down memory lane but it’s more than likely the anticipation, simon was chubbing up in his trousers.

“found you”

johnny all but leapt from his post until he was at simon’s side, eyes drawn to the way you moved around the living room.

as you moved into the view of the other camera, simon’s heart nearly stopped.

you were in his shirt.

“the sight a’that, L.t.”

you were a sight, that’s for sure. perching yourself in the corner of the couch, the two men watched as you scrolled your phone absentmindedly.

one leg outstretched, the other pulled up at the knee.

a rustle of leaves had both men snapping their attention back to their surroundings, keeping a keen ear and eye out before they hurried back to you.

pretty old you.

doing nothing more than reading an article or watching a tiktok or doing- anything.

but you might as well have been stroking yourself right there.

they could’ve claimed it was your bare legs, the way they could imagine you might’ve had no underwear, the curve of your chest under simon’s shirt-

it was no use.

they both knew exactly what it was.

they liked to stare.

liked watching you while you were none the wiser, that at any moment you could start touching yourself and have no idea you had an audience.

the thrill of the chase or whatever they called it.

“cannae believe you’ve got tha’ waiting at home”

“neither can i, mate”

simon watched you sink lower into the couch, silently praying you were reading one of those dirty little stories you liked.

probably weren’t, obedient thing probably saving it all up till he got home to wring it out of you.

he’d have to make do with imagination.

“here, ‘old this”

johnny grumbled but took the phone nonetheless. his eyes stayed fixed on you as he heard the sounds of simon’s belt, rustle of trousers, spitting on hands.

“if i have t’hold this ye’ave to help me oot”

#cannot for the fkn life of me remember what i tagged these #older bf!simon #alternate universe!simon #alternate universe!johnny #actually cannot remember hahaha #anyway #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #johnny mactavish smut #johnny soap mactavish smut

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empress-simps · 9 months ago

Text

Line That Leads To You

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader AU: Soulmate AU CW: Language, Genre: Angst with a happy ending (don't worry guys) Summary: You make Sirius realize that having a soulmate isn’t all that bad— that he too, will have his happily ever after.

Note: One of my favorite tropes to write, soulmate AUs! Sirius just needs love and affirmation. I love writing for this! Enjoy! Picture is from pinterest, credits to the owner!

You know, Sirius never really believed in those pesky soulmates stuff. It irks him to no end, and makes his head hurt.

The topic makes him snappy, bitter, and it leaves him feeling angry. To whom? The world— the one who’s responsible for everything that has to do with soulmates. He thinks it is a bunch of bollocks. It’s a pathetic little concept that everyone seems to be too invested in.

Sirius would be very much happy to tell you it doesn’t really end with a happily-ever-after.

“I’m telling you, Prongs. It’s just a bunch of crap.” Sirius tells James one time at the drawing room in the Potter Manor. James shakes his head, disagreeing with his best mate.

“It isn’t always like Walburga and Orion, Pads.” James gently tells him, eyes swimming with empathy for Sirius. “Just look at me, Lily and I are together, finally.” Sirius can’t help but scoff, shaking his head in a disagreeing manner.

“That’s because you were already pathetically in love with her before you even knew she was the one, Prongs. Same thing for Lily, but she was quite stubborn trying to deny what she felt about you. You guys are actually made for each other.” James lets out a laugh, the memories resurfacing making a love-struck smile appear on his face (Sirius gave him a disgusted look)

“That’s what soulmates are, Pads. You’re supposed to complete each other, balance the other person out” He pursed his lips and sighed, there’s no way Prongs could understand his opinion on the matter.

Complete each other, huh?

Then can someone give him a reasonable excuse on why his parents broke each other? One descended into madness; the other doesn’t really seem to care as long as the noble house of Black lineage will continue.

Sirius bites his bottom lip, deep in thought as he stares at his pinky, willing the connection to be seen; a red string that was tied into a bow that leads to Merlin-knows-where. It serves as a connection; the string that he and only his soulmate can see whenever they want. He tugs on it curiously, awaiting any reaction with bated breath. He almost scrambled away when he felt the other end also tug it. Sirius was utterly terrified, a shiver crawled up to his system, it’s foreign feeling for the Black’s eldest son. It made everything feel too real. A fact that he desperately tries to deny.

That night, before they returned to Hogwarts as sixth year students was the last time he ever willed to see the annoying little string in his pinky, not caring if his supposed other half was finding him or already found him.

Maybe it had to do with his twisted upbringing. He saw how his father cut the string tying him to their mother, the purple string that bound them together turning gray and withering away.

He saw how Regulus flinched, no one should’ve seen a scene like that, but they did. Someone severing their connection to someone who should’ve been with them through better or for worse, the one that fate intended for them. Their life got worse just after that, forcing him to flee and leave his younger brother behind at the deranged hands of Walburga Black.

“You should eat more, Reggie.” You turned towards the quiet and reserved Slytherin, pushing his plate closer to him, which made him wince. “I am quite full.” You raised a brow “None sense, all you did was sip pumpkin juice so you better do as I say or I’ll tell Evan and Junior.”

“Do you know that you boss people around quite well?” He grumbles, shoving a few spoonsful of dinner in his mouth as you hummed in approval, cracking a small smile. “I was told.” Your eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, it seemed to gravitate you, pulling you in.

Looking down at your pinky, you willed the string to be visible to you. Seeing the red string attached to Sirius Black made your stomach churn; was it butterflies? Unease? You don’t particularly know, having mixed reactions to the string that leads to your other half.

You’ve known for over a year now, keeping it to yourself as you quickly figured out that he wants nothing to do with his soulmate.

“Reggie! Reggie!”

You exclaimed, slapping the poor boy’s arm as he was currently staying in the L/n Manor. He looked in your direction, quite annoyed, he was interrupted reading his book. “I’m reading, Y/n. You know, you should too. It’ll do you some good.” He sassed, trying to find which part he stopped reading. “My soulmate! They tugged the string!” You gushed, “They must be looking for me too, right?” You asked no one in particular, you can still feel the tingles you felt, how your heartbeat picked up, and how you felt like you were in could nine.

Quite the opposite from what Sirius felt, huh?

You never told him, never planned to. It was quite clear what his views are on the concept of soulmates when you saw him snogging different girls every week. It wrecked you; you swore you felt your heart stop beating every time you see him loving a girl other than you even just for a week. It sounds stupid and all, but you would give up everything just to know what it feels like; how he will look at you with love and adoration in his eyes, how his touch and kisses would linger on your body, and how his voice would sound like as his breath fans in your ear, whispering promises of love.

You looked at him from the Slytherin table; so close yet so far.

Regulus noticed, the all too familiar broken look in your face. His heart hurts for you, even if you do not tell him, he already knows. Seeing his brother’s indifference, Regulus’s gaze hardened. How could he have the guts to do this to his soulmate?

The memory of their mother's despair, the way she withered away after their father severed the bond, was etched into his mind. Regulus does not wish for anyone to feel that way, he does not wish upon it even in his worst enemies.

It was a pain no one should endure, a lesson that should have been learned.

Yet there sat his brother, laughing with his friends and willfully ignoring the pulls of his heart. The person who held the other end of this unseen tether, was beside Regulus. Your soul ached as you watched your soulmate. It was a betrayal of the heart's deepest connection, and it stirred a tempest of fury within Regulus that he struggled to contain.

“My brother is foolish. Eat.” He states, pushing your food and placing the cornbread on his plate to yours. She cracks a smile, chuckling. “Alright, Reggie. You’re lucky I love you.” You pat his curls, proceeding to eat the bread, smiling a little. Reggie never really shares his food with anyone, except for you. You’re the only exception.

“Padfoot.” Remus starts, looking out of the window as Sirius lays down lazily in his bed, looking at nothing.

“What, Moons?”

“If I say that I have an inkling on who your soulmate is, would you… look for them?” Remus asked cautiously. Peter and James perked up, eyes wide with shock. How could Remus possibly guess who his soulmate is? Unless… They’re also in Hogwarts?

“Don’t start with that crap, Moony.” Sirius sat up; a scowl displayed in his features as his grey eyes turned stormy.

“Don’t you even feel the slightest amount of guilt in your system as you snog other girls?” Remus frowned.

Sirius’s scowl deepened, his hands clenching into fists. “Guilt? For what, Moony? For not wanting to be chained down by some ancient magic?” His voice was a low growl, barely containing the emotions that surged within him. “I won’t be dictated by fate. I make my own choices, and I refuse to be bound by a bond I never asked for.”

Remus’s expression softened, the lines of concern etching deeper into his face. “It’s not about being chained, Pads. It’s about finding someone who complements you, who understands you in ways no one else can.” He paused, his gaze steady and piercing. “You’ve seen what happens when that bond is severed. You’ve seen the pain it causes. Is that what you want for yourself? For your soulmate who’s probably hurting somewhere?”

Sirius looks down, biting his lip and playing with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t plan on severing our bond, Moons- “

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Remus spat, Sirius flinched, looking at anything but them. He knew deep down that Remus was right. He can’t deny he also wants to look for his soulmate. The only thing that was holding him back is that he’s scared. What if your story would end similarly like how Walburga and Orion’s did? Dread fills his system as he reflects on how he slowly realized he’s becoming like his father. Peter and James exchanged a glance, the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon them.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of finding her… Scared of repeating the same mistakes.” He paused, his gaze lifting to meet Remus’s. “But you’re right. I can’t keep running from this. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to me.”

James offered a supportive smile, feeling happy for his friend. Sirius stood up, his posture straightening as if shedding the weight of his fears. “I’ll do it. I’ll find her,” he declared, his voice steady. “I owe it to both of us to at least try.”

“That’s our Padfoot.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief as Peter nods encouragingly at Sirius.

The next daylight soon came. Sirius gulps, looking around the great hall, feeling quite overwhelmed at the number of students entering for breakfast, eating, or chatting amongst themselves. For the first time in a long time, he willed the red string of fate to reappear within his vision.

Ah, there it was. The red string connected to someone from the Slytherin table. Sirius felt his heart drop, seeing the end of the string connected to your pinky. “Y/n?” The name left his lips in a hushed awe, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the string connected to your pinky. You, who laughed with such ease beside Regulus, were the missing piece.

Whether it was some brotherly instinct, Regulus looked at him, shooting him a warning stare as if to say: ‘If you hurt her, you’ll never see the light of day ever again.’

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, knowing eyes set on his friend. “Found her, Pads?”

“Yeah. Found her, Moony.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” James chimed in, a grin spreading across his face as Peter silently cheers him on. “Go on, before you lose your nerve.”

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of Regulus’s protective stare. It was a silent challenge, a vow to keep your heart safe from his brother. With a nod of acknowledgment, Sirius stepped forward, crossing the small distance between the Gryffindor table and Slytherin.

“Y/n,” he said, standing before you, the red string pulsing with a life of its own.

You stilled, slowly looking in his direction. Eyes wide with surprise, searched his for a moment before softening. “I was wondering when you’d come around,” you teared up, making Sirius’ heart ache.

Sirius extended his hand, the red string wrapping around both your destinies. “Let’s talk, yeah?”

And in that moment, as your fingers intertwined, Sirius knew that whatever the future held, he had made the right choice. For in finding you, he had found a new path that began to unravel, one filled with hope and courage. The buzz of Great Hall continued, but both of them felt time still, feeling the bond weave into their souls deeper.

Sirius’s and Y/n’s story had its flaws, but it was theirs, uniquely woven by the red strings of fate.

#sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #soulmate au #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #harry potter #angst with a happy ending #sirius orion black #regulus black

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mokulule · 11 months ago

Text

A Pinch of Salt - Part 4

First | Masterpost

The final part of the first installment of the Salt in the Bones series which is a project co-created with @clockwayswrites, you can see the other stuff written for it in the masterpost link above or go to the first part.

John looked at the kid, who just stepped inside the fucking binding circle. His mouth fell open in shock.

“What is wrong with you!?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was an exclamation, and John didn’t wait for any answer. “Of all the sodding, daft, goddamn tossers - what were you bloody thinking? No, you weren’t thinking. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fucking done that. You DO NOT go into the blasted circle!”

“Are you done?”

“Am I-“ John spluttered.

Are you done? He asked, as if John was the unreasonable one here! “Oh you’re right chuffed, aren’t you mate? Well, you cocked up, you’re about to be banished right alongside the storm, you little git!”

“Then stop the banishing or banish us both. It’s your choice.” Kid stood, back straight, jaw clenched stubbornly and a frown over those wide blue eyes. His hair and clothes whipped violently from the storm, but he didn’t care, just kept his eyes on John.

John raised his hands in frustration, words dying on his tongue. It would serve him right!

It would serve him right; he stepped into the bloody circle. It wasn’t John’s fault. Everything was going fine for once and maybe that should have been John’s warning. Whatever was up with the kid he apparently had a soft spot for ghosts - even after John had told him several times that the spirit was gone. It’d gone nova. No coming back. The end. It would continue it’s rampage until it burned out. It would hurt and destroy indiscriminately.

And yet he still-

It would serve him right to get sent to Hell alongside it. It wouldn’t even be the first time someone John worked with got sent to Hell for their trouble. John Constantine was bad luck for everyone around him. It happened.

But it was different when John held the reins of the spell that did it, when he had the choice to stop it.

Still John was at his wits end. If he stopped the banishing, the kid was still trapped in the circle with the spectral storm. If he broke the circle they were back at square one except they were in the center of the storm’s power and it was even angrier.

It was easier, safer, to just continue the banishing. Kid had made his stupid arse decision. John wasn’t a good person. He did what was necessary. Ends and means and all that.

But he was a bloody kid - a teenager - they were basically obligated to do stupid shit. Didn’t mean he deserved to get sent to Hell for it. John had seen and done a lot of shit, but when it came right down to it he didn’t want to add sending a kid to Hell.

John had seen enough dead kids to last him a lifetime.

“Oh bollocks.” John let his arms fall and cut the feed to the banishing spell, wincing slightly at the backlash. “You better have a plan kid.”

The kid had to have some sort of abilities with that aura, maybe all hope was not lost? The kid grimaced and John’s forced optimism crumbled like so much sand.

“I-“ the kid winced as something in the storm hit the back of his head. He rubbed the spot, and looked almost apologetic, “I figured I’d try talking to them.”

John stared.

And stared.

“Or-“ the kid backtracked, “just calm them down somehow?”

“You cannot ‘calm down’ a spectral storm!” John felt like a broken record on repeat. “It’s impossible.”

He threw up his hands and walked exactly three steps away counting his breaths all the while wracking his brain for a different solution. There weren’t any good ones. Heck it was a miracle the kid hadn’t already been torn to pieces being inside the circle.

“We’re dead,” he lamented dramatically.

“Half-dead.”

John’s head snapped around at the weird response.

“I mean,” the kid tried for a smile, “I’m the only one in the circle.”  John stared in despair. The kid’s sense of humor needed serious work.

“I’m not gonna leave you in the bloody circle, kid.”

Danny stood struck wide eyed at the admission. That was- He didn’t know how to deal with that. There was a pang in his chest. He felt too open, too vulnerable. He swallowed before finding his voice.

“Just let me try something, okay?”

Danny turned around to face the center of the storm, he instantly had to squeeze his eyes near shut, from all the dust. Instinctively he took a breath and coughed. Okay breathing not good. Too bad he was human right now.

He had to get closer, closer to that screaming grief. He might be human right now, but he was also a ghost and the anger from earlier was just a thin veneer on top of grief on top of a cry for help. He felt it in his core like scrabbling hands desperately looking for purchase.

He took a step forward, hands up to shield his face, pushing against the wind. Another step. Then another.

How was he gonna calm them down?

Danny didn’t know. He knew fighting. He’d even sometimes recently had luck with talking. But this? It was way beyond talking, until they were calm there would be no such thing. Danny didn’t know what to do. He could only press on and hope an idea came to him.

The grief was stronger the closer he got to the center, it tore into him. Tears trickled down his cheeks and turned into gunk from the dust. Something sharp cut into his bare arms. Danny frowned, kept his head down and pushed forward.

Another step and the grief sunk sharp claws into his core. He screamed clutching his chest and gasping for breath that would do nothing. But the claws were gone as soon as they’d come, retreated as if they’d touched fire.

“Are you alright kid?!”

Danny spared a quick glance back to Trenchcoat who stood all the way up to the edge of the circle, face white as if he’d seen a ghost. Danny couldn’t help smiling at that. Something that alarmed Trenchcoat even further.

“I’m breaking the circle.”

“Don’t,” Danny coughed clearing his throat.

Danny looked back up, squinting through the swirling dust. It may not be visible, but something had changed. There was still the anger and grief, but something else too. A sense of waiting. Waiting to see what Danny would do. They had tried tearing him, the trespasser, apart down to his core, but in doing so they had felt him. They had felt his intention to help and retreated.

Trenchcoat was wrong, there was still a sentience there. Danny found himself grinning in triumph.

But even better Danny had an idea. His core vibrated giddily in his chest. He was a bit sore, but otherwise none the worse for wear. He just needed to reach out and connect with the ghost, he felt sure he could calm them. He just he needed a distraction, he didn’t need Trenchcoat to realize he was the one doing anything ghostly. He wracked his brain, something that made noise, drew attention, was maybe a bit ridiculous, but didn’t take much of his attention from the real work-

That was it!

“Twinkle-“ his voice broke on the first word but gained strength as he continued- “twinkle little star,” Danny sang. He didn’t need to look back to see the incredulous look on Trenchcoat’s face.

He kept singing, he knew that song by heart. His mom used to sing it to him, back when she actually put him to bed. There was a stab of melancholy, but Danny clutched on to the positive aspect of the memory and reached out with his core, its hum getting stronger.

It’s okay, he told the ghost, help. Safe. Peace. Calm.

He took step by step further into the calming storm. And all the while he sung them a lullaby.

John stared.

Then he stared some more. He was doing a lot of staring today.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing.

The kid was was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm. And that wasn’t even the most baffling thing. No, the kid was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm and it was bloody working.

The storm gradually calmed until suddenly it was gone. The silence was loud in the sudden emotional void. John staggered from the sudden lack of pressure. All that malice gone in an instant. All that was left was a gently cupped ball of light in the kids hands.

“There you are,” the kid said softly in a slightly scratchy voice.

John couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. It was impossible and yet here they were.

There was a flash of light and suddenly they stood in a house. Built brick by brick by two pairs of hands. Children ran through the rooms. They grew up. They had kids of their own, who had kids of their own. They lived and they loved and they were protected.

Then they were gone.

The door shut for the last time. The house was empty.

A large metal ball slammed through the walls, spreading dust and splintering the doorframe that had measured the growth of generations. It was torn down.

It had stood here, right in what would be the plaza.

The translucent shade of an old women, bent and bony from a life of hard work, hovered in front of the kid. She warbled sadly at him. John couldn’t understand anything but the deep sadness, but it seemed the kid did.

“It’s okay,” he said embracing the spirit, somehow managing to do so despite her definitely not being solid. “You’ve done your best, nobody could ask more of you.”

He paused and his voice softened further, “it’s time to let go.”

The old lady looked over at John and gave him a stern look that had him frozen in place. She was the type of grandma that would wack his fingers if she caught him going for the cookie jar. He wasn’t entirely sure what the look he got meant. Only that it felt like an admonishment.

She looked back on the kid and her features softened, smoothed and in the next moment she turned to mist in his arms, dispersing in the waning light coming from the overhead windows.

John couldn’t entirely believe what he’d just witnessed. Calling a spirit back once they’d gone nova, it was impossible. Unheard of. Banishment was how you dealt with spirits like that. It was a tried and tested method. Yet-

John shivered.

Death magic. It was the only explanation.

The kid reeked of it, to the point John had thought he was the ghost he was here to deal with. He’d thought he was some kind of creature, but he was just a kid. A kid with a very specific magical affinity who’d just done the impossible. He was filled with a sense of awe and dread he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He felt shaken. Like he’d stood right next to a bell who’d been rung to herald change.

John was no prophet, at most he’d get vague premonitions and he far preferred to be in the moment rather then dwell on the future or the past. He most definitely did not want to even contemplate this kid’s future. He swallowed.

Magic, in John’s experience, always came with a cost.

The kid promptly sat down on his butt. John had broken the circle and was running over before he even realized.

“You okay, kid?” He asked breathlessly.

The kid looked up, eyes a bit dazed as he blinked at John. John couldn’t really tell if his complexion was grey or it was just the dust covering every inch of him. Several places, particularly his hands, the dust was dark from blood where he’d been cut in the storm. He looked unfocused.

“How many occult detectives are you seeing?” He asked unable to hide the note of worry.

“Too many,” Kid said tiredly with a shake of his head that had cement dust falling all over. Then he looked back up and elaborated with a smirk, “one.”

John huffed a laugh. If he could joke he couldn’t be that bad off.

“How does burgers and fries sound?”

The kid now dusted off to the point where you could almost tell his hair was black rather than grey sunk his teeth into the burger with a pleased hum. He chewed and swallowed.

“This is almost as good as Nasty Burger.”

John paused fry halfway to his mouth. “That sounds disgusting.”

Kid laughed. “I forget how it sounds to outsiders. It used to be Tasty Burger way back when they first opened, but someone vandalized the sign and it kinda stuck.”

John hummed thoughtfully, he could appreciate the joke. Kid’s use of the phrase outsiders made it sound like he came from an insular town. Probably best for him if he stayed there.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Instantly the blue eyes narrowed on him in suspicion.

“What’s yours, Trenchcoat?” He challenged.

John huffed at the nickname and reached a hand across the table. “John Constantine.”

The kid looked suspiciously at the offered hand, then reached out and took it. “Nightingale.”

John nodded and shook his hand before letting go. Smart of him to give him a codename, he wasn’t apparently completely without sense. “Because of the singing.”

For a moment the kid looked confused to the point where John actually thought maybe he’d given him his real name.

“Singing? Ah-“ He blushed looking down and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “No, that just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

John shook his head, fuck it if he didn’t like the kid. He picked up his milkshake and raised it. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“If it works…”

The kid, Nightingale, grinned ferally and raised his own shake to clink it against John’s.  “If it works.”

After filling up the near bottomless stomach of the teenager, they parted ways in an alley. John’s mind was already on his next case - people going missing in a forest in Germany that had a distinct this-is-not-just-a-GPS-dead-zone flavor to it - so he only absently noted the strange look on the kid’s face when he opened the portal. It was morning in Germany, he could start looking into things before calling the House for a proper sleep.

“Take care, kid.”

With those words he stepped into the portal and let it close behind him.

Danny was left looking at the portal. He shook his head, jaw tight. With real magic apparently portals were just easy. It didn’t do him any good to think about. He glanced around and when he found the alley just as empty as before he jumped into the air transforming as he went.

There were better things to think about, like the concept of an occult detective, he thought as he flew in the direction of Amity. It sounded like it could almost be an acceptable profession in his parents’ eyes.

And it probably didn’t require good high school grades either, he thought with a grimace as he remembered he had an essay due tomorrow.

Hope you enjoyed this story which explored how Danny and Constantine first met in this AU. Next step is letting it sit for a while, then do a thorough editing and putting it up on ao3 as a oneshot. (And then maybe talk to Clock about starting writing on the main story proper? We'll see). Comments are greatly appreciated :D

Another link to the masterpost if you wanna see the other bits of writing and/or subscribe to the series

#a pinch of salt #salt in the bones #danny and constantine #dysfunctional found family FTW #dp x dc

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on-a-lucky-tide · 2 months ago

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teehee its my birthday buuuuuut i am here clawing for nikprice on the ground like a chicken. anyway i wonder how would a nikprice drunk confession go. i just love that trope to death lol

It's your birthday? Happy birthday, mate! A small gift...

Price gets a medal and then gets drunk at the after party. Nik is surprised to hear what he has to say. No one else - and I mean, no one else - is.

cw: alcohol, drunken kiss.

"I hate these bloody things," Price mumbled into his scotch, staring bleary-eyed at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. His speech had been short, concise, and he had spent the majority of it talking about the bravery and dedication of his Task Force. The rest of 'em had prattled on for ages about themselves, preening their egos with the new metal on their chests.

"It is a party in your honour, captain. You did a brave thing. And," Nik leaned back to pluck a canapé from the tray of a passing waitress, "there is free food." He pulled the honey-soaked sausage off the cocktail stick and chucked it in the air, catching it in his open mouth, much to the consternation of a gaggle of RAF officers nearby.

None of them were brave enough to let Nikolai see or hear what they thought of him, because they had all heard enough whispers of his service record to steer well clear. Even top brass were scared enough of him to overlook his multiple active Interpol arrest warrants so that he could attend.

Price smiled as Nik chewed, clearly pleased with his feat of dexterity, and then proceeded to slosh his scotch all over himself as he leaned his elbow against the bar... but missed said bar by about an inch and a half. "Bollocks," he growled, as expensive alcohol soaked into the equally expensive wool of his number one uniform.

Nik chuckled, snatching up a handful of serviettes from the bar. "I am starting to think you are a lightweight," he said, swivelling around in his bar stool so that his knees bracketed Price's, a folded serviette pressed to Price's chest to soak out some of the scotch.

"'M not," Price... slurred, fuck, maybe he was. "You wearin' cologne?"

"Da, number one majesté impériale."

"Sounds posh," Price said, lifting his scotch for another swig.

"Hm, it is $215,000 a bottle."

Price choked on his drink, spluttering it back into the glass. "You spent nearly four times my salary on some cologne?" He wheezed.

"It is a special occasion."

"Bloody fucking christ, Nik. It's a medal ceremony, not a bloody coronation."

"It is more important to me," Nik said, "because it is you."

Price felt his cheeks and ears warm. It didn't help that Nik's big hands were still on his chest, careful to pluck away the stray fibres of serviette from where it clung to the damp wool. This close, Price couldn't help but stare.

Fuck, he was so... handsome.

Nik had made an effort to look, and smell, his best. In his expensive tailored three-piece, no tie, because... well, who would be brave enough to tell Nikolai to put on a fuckin' tie? The open top button gave Price a really good view of his chest hair peeking through at the top. Oh, fuckin'... Hot, it was hot in here. Damn uniform.

"Careful, captain, you will fall," Nik said softly, palm pressed to the centre of Price's chest. Price had been leaning forward. Leering. Oh, this was embarrassing. He cleared his throat, shuffled back, and beckoned the barman over for a refill.

Two more glasses, one of vodka and another of scotch, and Price chanced a glance over at Nik again. "Thanks... for, uh, coming to this. The boys like the schmoozin', Simon doesn't stay longer than the talks, don't blame him, but, I, uh..."

"You find it hard to navigate the politics because you are honest and they," Nik waved his hand vaguely around the room, "are not."

Price smiled faintly. "Yeah, guess so. Full of compliments today, Nik. Man might get the wrong idea."

"Or... the right idea."

Price froze with the glass halfway up to his mouth. Even through the drunken dog, he managed to parse the meaning behind that. In payment, however, his brain had decided to bury his entire knowledge of the English language, so all he could do was make a small noise in the back of his throat, which he smothered with a large mouthful of scotch.

Nik hadn't turned in his stool, his knees still spread wide either side of Price's, and Price wanted to shuffle a little closer. He wanted those hands back on his chest, and he wanted... Christ, he just wanted. He had wanted for a long fuckin' time.

"Here," Nik said, sliding a plate of sausages over to Price. "It will absorb some of the scotch."

"Urf, naw, can't stomach that shit..."

"Then we shall go elsewhere."

"Wot?"

"Come, captain. The sergeants left for the clubs ten minutes ago."

"They did? Bastards..."

"Da. I will get your coat."

The fresh evening air hit Price like a sledge hammer to the face, and he was pretty sure he would have fallen in the gutter without Nikolai to lean on. He was intimately aware of the strong arm around his waist, one of his hands clinging onto Nik's expensive wool coat as they staggered into the local Maccy D's for a Big Mac and chicken nugget share box.

Nik paid for it, flashing his most charming smile at the young girl behind the counter as he collected the highly decorated SAS captain from where he was clinging onto a nearby condiments bench for support, takeaway bag in hand.

They ended up sat on a bench by the Thames, dressed to the nines, Nik smelling of thousand dollar cologne as he wolfed down over-salted MacDonald's chips at Price's side, and Price couldn't stop staring at him.

Nik could be anywhere else. Anywhere. He could be partying with the wealthiest men and women in the world, walking among the elite, and yet here he was sitting in London eating shitty fast food with a drunk soldier. He chose Price every time. Every time. Price felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. "Nikolai..."

"Da, captain."

"I think I love you."

Nik grinned, huffing a soft chuckle. "Mmhm."

"No, no," Price swiped his beret off, which had somehow managed to cling onto his head while they had staggered through the mean streets of Westminster. "I... I'm serious. I... I love you. Have for, uh," he hiccuped, fucking hiccuped, tried to recover by puffing into his clenched fist, "...have for a while," he squeaked. Oh, fuck, was that indigestion?

Nik put his box of chicken nuggets aside and turned, arm draped over the back of the bench. He slid a gloved hand under Price's chin and turned his head up. Seconds later, they were kissing. Fucking... Nik's fucking lips were on Price's and, and...

Price hiccuped again.

Nik chuckled into his mouth, before drawing away to smooth his thumb through Price's beard. "This is not how I imagined it, but it is... somehow, right."

Price's face was bright red, he could feel it burning, and his eyes were wide. "You, uh... You..."

"For many, many years, solnyshko."

"We've... that's a... a long time." Price said softly.

"I am a patient man. And you are worth waiting for."

After that, Price didn't really recall much. The MacDonald's hit the deck and Price climbed Nikolai like a bloody tree. They ended up in his hotel room, with Nik's expensive suit and Price's (honestly, perhaps slightly less) expensive uniform on the floor. It might have gone further than boyish fumbling if Price hadn't fallen asleep face down in the pillows after saying he didn't want to take advantage of Nik in his current state. Nik had chuckled at that and laid down next to him, stroking his hair.

Price woke up in the morning with a sore head and a dry mouth, and found Nik sitting by the open window in a hotel dressing gown. "Nik, did I..."

"Nyet, captain. You were an absolute gentleman." Nik put the newspaper aside and took his glasses off, delivering the waiting pint of water and aspirin to Prices hands. "Do you... remember what you said?"

Price's cheeks reddened. "Yeah, look, I'll understand if--"

He didn't get to finish. Nik kissed him squarely on his stupid mouth, stroking a big palm through his hair. When he drew back, he hummed softly. "Drink that and then we will go to breakfast," he said, walking away. Price couldn't help but stare as the dressing gown slid down his broad back, revealing a full arse framed in black boxers. "And brush your teeth."

Price downed the water and staggered from beneath the duvet. He was ready to head down within ten minutes, desperate for a strong coffee and a greasy sarnie. Unfortunately, the rest of his task force, Los Vaqueros, Chimera, Laswell and a handful of her agents happened to be in the dining room already.

"Eyy, there he is!" Gaz called, toasting his mug of coffee.

Soap looked round, glanced at Nik and then back at Price. "Fuckin' finally."

Laswell rested her chin on her palm. "Bagged your man then, Nik. Well done."

Price blinked, squinting in the bright morning light. "So you all--"

Simon walked past, his plate heaped with bacon and eggs, and shoved a coffee into his captain's hand before patting his shoulder. "Yeah. Everyone did 'cept you."

Price looked at Nik for help, only to receive a shrug and a quirked eyebrow before Nik wandered off to the buffet.

"Bloody bastards," Price muttered, glancing at each triumphant face, thumbs up and smirk, before slumping into a nearby chair. Bloody. Bastards

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #cod #call of duty

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melefim · 5 months ago

Text

Swearing in Dead Boy Detectives: Charles Rowland

Overview:

46 curses total, 19 different words said in 8 episodes.

Episode 1: 1 Fuck, 1 Shit, 1 Bastard, 1 Piss

Episode 2: 1 Bloody, 1 Bloody Hell, 1 God, 1 Bollocks

Episode 3: 2 Fuck, 2 Ass, 1 Bloody, 1 God, 1 Cunt, 1 Bastard, 2 Sod, 2 Slag

Episode 4: 1 Fuck, 1 Shit, 1 Hell, 2 Bloody, 1 Bloody Hell, 1 Wanker, 1 Sod

Episode 5: 2 Shit, 1 Bloody, 1 Bloody Hell, 3 God, 1 Prick, 1 Knob, 1 Tosser

Episode 6: 1 Fuck, 1 Damn, 2 Bugger

Episode 7: 1 Shit, 1 Bloody, 1 Bloody Hell

Episode 8: 1 Bloody Hell

Curses Per Episode:

Episode 1: 4

Episode 2: 4

Episode 3: 12

Episode 4: 8

Episode 5: 10

Episode 6: 4

Episode 7: 3

Episode 8: 1

Uses Per Word:

Charles’ favorite curse word is Bloody, which he says 6 times! Fuck, Shit, Bloody Hell, and God are all tied for second, with 5 usages each.

Bloody: 6

Fuck: 5

Shit: 5

Bloody Hell: 5

God: 5

Sod: 3

Ass: 2

Bastard: 2

Bugger: 2

Slag: 2

Damn: 1

Hell: 1

Cunt: 1

Prick: 1

Knob: 1

Bollocks: 1

Wanker: 1

Tosser: 1

Piss: 1

Unique words:

Charles had the most unique curse words of any character, with 8 words that only he says: Cunt, Knob, Bollocks, Bastard, Wanker, Bugger, Sod, and Slag.

Edwin and Charles are the only characters who say Bloody Hell.

Charles and Crystal are the only characters who say Prick.

Charles and the Tabby Cat are the only characters who say Piss.

Charles and his ‘friend’ in the group of boys who kills him are the only characters who say Tosser.

Edwin, Charles, and the Night Nurse are the only characters who say Bloody.

Most of Charles’ unique words are British, so it makes sense he’d have so many that no one else says- he’s the British character who curses the most. It stands to reason that the primarily American cast of characters wouldn’t be using a lot of the same words as him!

Percent of Total:

Charles swears 46 times throughout the season, which is 14.2% of all cursing in the show.

Rankings:

Who Swears the Most: Charles is in 2nd place, with 46 times.

Most Curses in an Episode: Charles holds 2 spots on the top 10 ‘Curses per Character per Episode’ list: His 12 curses in episode 3 tie him in 8th place along with Crystal for episode 6. He also holds 10th place for swearing 10 times in episode 5.

Curse Word Variety: Charles has the best swearing variety of any character, with 19 different words throughout the show.

Unique Curse Words: Charles has 8 unique curse words that only he uses, the most of any character. (Cunt, Knob, Bollocks, Bastard, Wanker, Bugger, Sod, Slag)

Individual Words: He holds the top spots for usages of Bloody (6) and Bloody Hell (5). Combined with his 8 unique words, this means there are 10 different curse words that Charles says more than any other character.

Lines:

Episode 1: Edwin, hurry the fuck up! (Gas mask ghost fight)

Episode 1: Piss off, cat.

Episode 1: The little bastards are pretty clever, and their scratches sting like fire.

Episode 1: Look Edwin, you're the smart one, and I'm the one who does shit like this.

Episode 2: Oh my god, here we go.

Episode 2: Bloody Hell. Is this what's gonna happen to Niko?

Episode 2: I thought you said even Aramaic was easy with a bit of study. Bloody read it.

Episode 2: Bollocks! (After he breaks the vessel)

Episode 3: He was such a cunt.

Episode 3: So let's keep the bastard from ever getting his hands on it.

Episode 3: How do we break this bloody loop?

Episode 3: Edwin, don't slag her off just because it turns out you aren't the all-knowing expert on everything, yeah?

Episode 3: I'm just sick of watching this asshole kill his family a million times for no fucking reason. Tried it your way, and it did nothing. Sod it, let's try mine.

Episode 3: Mate, don't slag her off just because it turns out you aren't the all-knowing expert on all things, yeah?

Episode 3: I'm just sick of watching this asshole kill his family a million times for no fucking reason. Tried it your way, and it did nothing. Sod it. Let's try mine.

Episode 3: God, that must have been mental.

Episode 4: Sod it. Can't spy on people without a spyglass, can I?

Episode 4: Bloody cats. You all right, mate?

Episode 4: I've had enough of secrets about that wanker!

Episode 4: What the bloody hell is down there?

Episode 4: I'm also bloody angry.

Episode 4: Every day, I'm fucking smiling.

Episode 4: I sure as hell couldn't stop my dad from beating the shit out of me.

Episode 5: I'm also bloody angry.

Episode 5: With that prick demon and her missing memories, she isn't keen on starting anything.

Episode 5: Oh, bloody hell.

Episode 5: I've got some heavy shit that I need to sort out. I get it. Just… God, I really wanted them to be good guys

Episode 5: You tossers really hurt some people. You were cruel just for the shits.

Episode 5: God, you knobs really don't get it.

Episode 5: Oh god, I'm worried that maybe I'm like Brad and Hunter.

Episode 6: I mean, Monty's our mate and all, but Gladys could have buggered off.

Episode 6: Nasty bugger.

Episode 6: Don't listen to him Crystal, it's just some sort of a mindfuck, innit?

Episode 6: He's wrong you know? You're still pretty damn special.

Episode 7: What the bloody hell was that?

Episode 7: Bullshit. When did you go to school here for reals?

Episode 7: We're going as fast as we bloody can!

Episode 8: Oh, bloody hell. And you're always just popping up. Where do you even come from?

Notes:

Charles’ “I’m also bloody angry” at the start of episode 5 is the same clip from the fight with the Night Nurse at the end of episode 4, remembered as part of Crystal’s nightmare.

Fun Fact:

Charles has the last curse in the show- Bloody Hell at the end of episode 8. (Which bookends nicely with Edwin having the first- Bloody Hell at the start of episode 1)

Updates:

Updated % of total swearing chart to reflect an adjustment to the total.

Added in chart for most curses per episode

Adjusted placement in most curses per episode to reflect a missed god from Crystal in episode 2.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More Dead Boy Detectives Swearing Posts:

Masterlist

Swearing by Episode

Swearing by Character

Swearing by Word

All Swearing Posts

And if you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detectives ones here!

When Charles’ Shirt Colors Change

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Full soundtrack with timestamps

Moves, Incidents, and Cases Masterlist

First pass at finding where the songs in the score are used- full post with timestamps in progress

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #dbda #dead boy detective agency #dead boy detectives swearing #dbda swearing #swearing by character #compiled by me #Dbdshow

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engie-ivy · 5 months ago

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1055 words

Gilderoy is convinced grocery store guy was flirting with him, but the truth is, the guy didn't even really notice him. His date on the other hand...

What Bad Dates Can Be Good For

“This is so embarrassing,” Gilderoy smiles, more smug than embarrassed, as he brushes back one of his blond curls. “I'm so sorry. I wish I could say it's an incident, but the truth is, this happens to me all the time. Even while I'm on a date with someone, guys just come up to me and start flirting with me. It's so awkward, but the story of my life, I'm afraid.”

Sirius frowns. “I don't think he was flirting with you.”

Gilderoy smirks. “There's no need to feel threatened, Siri. So far, my attention is still on you.”

Sirius cringes at the nickname. “I'm honestly not threatened,” he assures Gilderoy, and it's true. Their date isn't even halfway yet, but Sirius is already quite certain Gilderoy doesn't do it for him, and if his attention were to be on anyone else, Sirius couldn't care less.

It had started already while planning their date, and Gilderoy had insisted they could go to one of the fanciest restaurants in town without making a reservation, because ‘they know who I am’, of course leading to them not being able to get a table at that restaurant, or any other restaurant anymore on a busy Friday night. Gilderoy had pretended he preferred cooking himself anyways, but of course he didn't have anything edible in his kitchen, so they had to go to the grocery store first. Gilderoy then proceeded to fill their basket with unnecessary and expensive products like pistachio milk, gluten-free protein powder, hand-roasted kale chips and whatnot, probably trying to seem interesting, but only annoying Sirius, and letting him pay for everything on top of that.

Now, having just stepped out of the grocery store, Gilderoy is convinced the employee there had been flirting with him.

“I just truly don't think he was flirting with you,” Sirius says.

Gilderoy rolls his eyes. “Then why did he come up to talk to me?”

“He wanted to restock the shelves, and you were in the way,” Sirius replies matter of factly.

Gilderoy lets out a deep sigh, like he can't believe how dumb Sirius is being. “He was clearly only using that as an excuse to talk to me.” He then smiles at Sirius in a way that feels belittling. “You don't have to be so jealous, you know.”

Sirius doesn't know how to make it any more clear. “Not threatened, not jealous, just disagreeing, Gilderoy.”

“Let's ask him then.”

Sirius blinks. “What?”

“Grocery store guy. Let's go back and ask him, so he can confirm that he was in fact flirting with me.” Gilderoy turns around and starts walking back towards the store.

“Oh, for the love of-” Sirius walks after him. “Gilderoy, let him be! I believe you, okay? He was totally flirting with you! Just leave the poor guy alone!”

“Oh, hello.” Grocery store guy is now standing behind the counter and smiles at Sirius as they enter the store, and Sirius can't help but notice the sight of the soft smile in combination with his freckles. Oh, he thinks as realization dawns. He's cute.

“Hi,” Gilderoy says, before Sirius can say anything. “Would you mind clearing something up for us, and tell my date you were just flirting with me?”

Sirius cringes, torn between trying to look as apologetic as possible and attempting to be as invisible as possible.

“I…” The guy blinks at Gilderoy. “Am sorry?”

Gilderoy lets out a laugh. “No need to be embarrassed. You're not the first and you won't be the last.”

The guy frowns as he stares at Gilderoy. “Am I supposed to know you?”

Gilderoy’s arrogant persona falters for a moment as he looks taken aback. “Well, not know me, but you've seen me.”

The guy shakes his head. “I really don't recall having ever seen you before.”

“You… What… How…” Gilderoy sputters, as Sirius has to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh.

“Sorry, mate.” The guy shrugs.

"Bollocks!" Gilderoy bristles, his face turning red. “You're trying to mess with me!”

The guy tilts his head, calmly studying Gilderoy. “There's just a lot of people coming in and out of the store all day. Hard to remember who I've seen.”

“I am not hard to remember!” Gilderoy bites at him.

The guy holds up his hands, but his expression betrays his amusement with Gilderoy’s reaction, whose face is now bright red. “No offense.”

“Whatever,” Gilderoy snaps. “Keep telling that to yourself.” He turns on his heels and stalks out of the store.

“I am so sorry about him,” Sirius says, feeling like he has to say something.

“I'm sorry for you,” the guy replies. “You're the one who's dating him.” He almost shudders at the thought.

“It's a first date,” Sirius quickly replies. “I've literally only met him two hours ago.” He doesn't know why he feels the need to clear that up (okay, maybe he does know, and it has something to do with big, amber eyes staring up at him).

“Is that so?” The guy says, leaning forward over the counter. “And what are his chances of getting a second date?”

Sirius huffs. “Let me say it like this, if he were the last single gay guy in town, I would start dating women, and I'm actually very, very gay.”

The guy chuckles. “Well, not to worry. I happen to know for a fact that he's not the last single gay guy in town,” he says, looking up at Sirius through his lashes.

“That's…” Sirius scrapes his throat. “That's good to know.” Then he can't help but ask. “Did you really not remember him? Or were you just messing with his too-big-head?”

“I honestly did not,” The guy says, and then he gives Sirius a meaningful smile. “After all, how could I've noticed anyone else when you were right there?”

Sirius can feel himself blush, but before he can scramble his brain together enough to come up with an of course very smooth and witty reply, Gilderoy appears in the door.

“Are you done here? I'm hungry.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” the guy says, in a suddenly professional voice. “Here's your receipt.”

Sirius takes the receipt, and since he did not buy anything, he's not entirely surprised, yet entirely pleased, to see a phone number scribbled down on the piece of paper.

#flirtatious remus lupin #wolfstar meet cute #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #gilderoy lockhart

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vertigoartgore · 1 year ago

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John Constantine (giving the middle finger after having being cured of his lung cancer) by Garth Ennis & Will Simpson from Hellblazer #45 (1991).

#hellblazer #john constantine #90s #1991 #garth ennis #will simpson #vertigo #hell #death #satan #devil #lung cancer #middle finger #bollocks mate #englishman

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bapple117 · 9 months ago

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Velvette Slang Masterlist: for the fandom

A gift from a humble Brit to anyone (not from the UK) wanting to write Velv convincingly ~

Hello you wayward sinner!

Are you looking to write Velvette into a fan fiction, comic, roleplay or something else? Would you like to make her sound legit but you have no idea about British (or indeed, South London) slang? FEAR NOT! I, Bapple, am here to hold your hand and guide you through the wonderful world of British slang so you can have fun making Velv sound legit. Let's proceed!

Not all of this will be limited to the UK, of course, and it's not an exhaustive list of ALL British slang either - it's just the kind of things Velv WOULD say as someone from South London.

Insults

For men: bastard, prick, wanker, knob, dickhead, wankstain, bellend, git, tosser, sod, cock, pillock, numpty, codger (means old man)

For women: bint, bitch, slag, wench, slut, tart, trollop, scrub

For anyone: arsehole, arse, twat, sket, muppet, minger (means ugly), bugger, gobshite, cretin

The absolute worst thing you can call someone else is cunt - this is very strong and isn't used in casual conversation, unless you are in VERY informal company, in which case it's thrown around like it's nothing at all. (Come here you cheeky cunt - playful)

Terms of Endearment

Babes, hun, luv, darlin', sweetheart, mate, sweetie, mucker, pal, blud, fam, dear, dearie, honey

Eg: "Alright babes? How's it going darlin?'"

British people often use insults affectionately, too, especially with close friends as a way to tease / banter. (You silly sod, you useless prick, you cheeky git, you daft muppet, etc)

Slang Words

Drunk: trollied, smashed, pissed, wasted, legless, hammered, sloshed, battered, bladdered, merry, shitfaced, arseholed, plastered, lashed

Good: banging, well good, mint, the dogs bollocks, ace, blinding, cracking, brill, fab, neat, beast, fresh, hench, jokes (that's jokes innit), lush, peng (good looking), sick, wicked, peak, wavy

Bad: grim, naff, shite, shit, crap, tat (useless old tat), minging, rank, dry, nasty, humming (means gross)

Pleased: chuffed, buzzing, tickled pink, sorted (I'm sorted mate)

Annoyed: gutted, miffed, pissed off, fucked off, fuming, raging, ticked off, well annoyed, bovvered (used more sarcastically eg: I aint bovvered), vexed

Curses

Bollocks, fucking hell, bloody hell, bugger, piss off, any of the insults used above

Other random words

Bare = a lot of (eg bare money)

Chirpsing, grafting = flirting

Garms = clothes

Lips = kiss (are you tryna lips me?)

Peng ting = good looking person / high quality thing

Standard = of course, yeah no duh (Yeah that's standard mate.)

Tight = cheapskate (Don't be so bloody tight!)

Yard = your house (Come over to my yard)

Banter = conversation that's funny, casual, playful (S'just banter innit)

Convo, chinwag, chat = conversation

Defo = short for definite (Oh he's defo up to something)

Other random phrases

Are you taking the mick? = are you mocking me?

Stop faffing around = be serious and stop messing about

That's mad = wow, I can't believe what you just said or that's amazing

Allow it = just leave it, it's no big deal (Whatever mate, allow it)

Other helpful pointers

When British people (who talk like Velv) swear angrily we do so many times in a whole sentence and add a lot of qualifiers, eg:

"Fuck off you fucking prick, you absolute fucking useless arsehole!"

"Don't piss me off babes or I'll fucking end your shitty little life!"

Making a crude observation about something nearly always a curse in-front of it, eg:

"That's fucking rank."

"It was fucking buzzing mate!"

The Magical Use of Innit:

Innit is a wonderful word that can be used everywhere, especially for someone from South London. It basically means "isn't it?" but it has MANY uses. It can be used to mean an agreement, like "I know right?"

"That was well good innit"

"He's a right twat" - response: "INNIT!"

"It's fuckin grim in here" - "Innit mate"

Adding "well" to words

That was well good - that was well bad - that was well grim

(You get the idea)

That's about it for now!

If I think of anything else I will edit this masterlist and if anyone has any questions please feel free to pop them in my inbox. Happy writing!

#velvette #hazbin hotel velvette #the vees #hazbin #hazbin hotel #tips for writers #tips for fanfiction #hazbin roleplay #hazbin velvette #fanfiction guides #writing guides #hazbin guide #bapple chats #bapple guides #masterlist #velvette masterlist #velvette x reader

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butchersboobs · 7 days ago

Text

Twist

A Billy Butcher pov fic.

Tissues at the ready...

NSFW below the cut - MDNI

Words: 1,771

PART TWO

Tags: @babyfri3dric3 @dumpy-little-nobody

_____

It's a bloody miracle - supermarket's dead, for once. No screamin' kids, no pensioners 'avin’ a barney over the last tin o'custard. Just me, me basket, and a list o'shite I can’t be arsed t'buy. Bread. Milk. Whiskey. The usual bollocks.

I’m by the biscuits, tossin’ up between 'obnobs and bourbons when I see ya. Strollin' down the aisle, clear as day, pushin’ a trolley like you just stepped out the life we 'ad together and into some domestic fuckin’ fantasy.

And you ain't alone. There’s a kid wiv yer. A boy, ‘bout three, maybe four. Dark 'air, big eyes, and I swear to Christ - he’s a bloody photocopy of me.

Me blood goes cold. Can’t move, can’t breathe - I just stand there like some prize twat, starin’.

You clock me. Yer face does this wide-eyed panic fing, like a fox cornered by a pack o'dogs. “Billy,” ya say, gobsmacked.

I nod atcha, casual-like, even though me 'eart’s bangin’ like a fuckin’ drum. I glance at the kid, then back at you. "Who's this little bloke, then?"

You 'esitate - a bit too long, if ya ask me - then put yer 'and on 'is shoulder, all protective. Like you’re expectin’ me t'kick off. "This is Oliver," you say. "Oliver - say hello to Mummy's... old friend."

Old friend, my arse.

I crouch down, meet the kid’s eyes. E’s lookin’ at me like he’s sizin' me up, and bugger me, it's like me own bloody face is starin’ back at me. "Alright, Oliver?" I say. "I’m Billy. Nice t'meet ya, mate."

The kid nods, all shy-like, and grabs 'old of yer leg. And before I can ask another bleedin’ question, yer mutterin’ some excuse about bein’ in an 'urry, and you 'n the kid bugger off sharpish

But it's too late to run now, love. I know full well that li'il lad is mine.

I fuckin' know.

-----

I coulda left it there. Shoulda, really. But you know me - can’t leave well enough alone, can I?

So I drop me basket right there, leave some poor sod to restock the 'obnobs, and I follow ya. I keep me distance, mind. Stay outta sight. Ain’t tryin’ to scare ya - just... I dunno. Just wanna know where you're takin’ 'im.

Ya lead me to this little 'ouse on the edge o'town. Curtains drawn, toys littered in the garden. You get the kid inside, shut the door, and that’s that.

I stand there for a bit, feelin’ like a right cunt. Should I knock? Walk away? What the fuck ya s'posed t'say to a woman who walked out on ya years ago wivout bovverin' to tell ya she was up the duff? Or that she'd dropped yer sprog?

-----

Didn’t sleep a bloody wink that night, did I. Nah. Tossin’, turnin’, replayin’ the 'ole fing in me 'ead.

Oliver’s face, your panic. That gut-punch of realisin’ I got a kid. My kid. Couldn’t shake it.

By the time the sun came up though, I’d made me decision.

I’m back at yer door before I’ve even 'ad me morning cuppa, knockin’ loud enough to wake the dead.

You answer in yer dressing gown, 'air a mess, lookin’ like ya just rolled outta bed. “Billy,” ya say, pissed off. “How the fuck did you find me?”

I shove me hands in me pockets, tryna look casual. “We need to talk.”

You sigh, step aside, and let me in. The 'ouse is nice enough - small, cosy. There’s toys everywhere: blocks, cars, some dinosaur wiv one leg missin'. But no sign of Oliver.

“Oliver’s mine, ain’t he?” I say - no point pissin' about, is there.

You stiffen. “Billy—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me. I seen 'im. E’s me all over. Ain’t no denying it.”

Yer shoulders sag, and ya look at the floor. “Yes,” you finally fuckin' admit. “He’s yours.”

The room tilts. I grab the back of the sofa to steady meself. “Bloody hell.”

I should be angry. Furious. But all I feel is this weird, 'eavy mix o'pride and terror. I’ve got a son. A son.

“Why didn’t ya fuckin' tell me?” I ask, me voice low.

“Because you’re you, Billy."

That stings, but I can’t argue. You ain't wrong. My life’s a fuckin' mess, and it’s no place for a kid. Told meself that a thousand times since I met 'im yesterday. But the need to see 'im again just won't fuck off.

“Look, I can't just walk away, alright - not wivout... I dunno. Seeing 'im. Properly, I mean.”

“Billy, I don’t—”

“I ain't asking for much,” I cut in “I just... I just wanna meet 'im properly. That’s all.”

Then a little voice pipes up.

“Mummy?”

We both turn. Oliver’s standin’ in the doorway in 'is pyjamas, rubbin’ 'is eyes.

You soften instantly. “It’s okay, baby. Go back to bed.”

But 'e don’t. 'E just stands there, lookin’ at me.

“'Ello again, Ollie,” I say, crouchin’ down to 'is level. “Sorry if we woke ya., mate”

He don’t say anyfin, just keeps starin’ at me wiv those big brown eyes.

You sigh, running yer 'and through yer hair. “Fine,” you whisper “You can see him. For a little while. But he doesn’t know who you are, Billy. He’s too young to understand.”

I nod. “Fair enough.”

-----

I never thought I’d be 'ere. Never thought I’d be playin’ bloody games wiv a kid. I mean, I’ve been in worse places, yeah, but this… this is summink else.

Oliver’s sittin’ on the floor, this scrappy little toy truck in his 'ands, lookin' up at me like I’m some sorta mystery he’s tryna solve. Me - Billy Butcher - the last fing a kid like 'im should be dealin' with.

“So, you like trucks, ay?” I ask, squattin' down beside 'im, tryna make me voice sound less like a bloody crook. Can’t be talkin’ all gruff and growlin' at the poor lad, can I?

Oliver looks up, eyes big as saucers, 'is little 'ands gripping the truck like it’s 'is best mate. “Yeah! It goes vroom vroom!” 'e says, 'is voice 'igh-pitched, full of excitement.

I blink at 'im, a bit taken aback. Kid's got more energy than a bloody power station.

I chuckle, leanin' back on me 'eels. "Yeah, I can see that. Goes fast, does it?" I’ve no idea why I’m askin'. I couldn’t care less about toy bloody trucks, but somethin’ about the way 'e says it, so eager, like it's the most important fing in the world—fuckin'ell, it almost makes me wanna play along.

“Yeah!” he nods so 'ard, I’m 'alf expectin’ 'is little 'ead to fall off. “And when it goes fast, it boom boom!” He slams the truck down on the ground, makin’ it bounce.

“Boom boom, ay?” I laugh, a proper one this time, catchin’ myself off guard. Ain't 'eard a sound like that in years. Can’t even remember the last time I genuinely laughed.

The kid grins, lookin’ up at me wiv that hopeful look, like 'e’s waitin’ for me to join in on the fun. I’ve never been good at playin’ games wiv kids, 'specially not after what 'appened with me own bloody family. But 'ere I am, messin' about with some toy truck, tryna figure out 'ow t'not screw this up.

"Alright then," I say, takin’ the truck from 'is 'ands. "Show me how it's done, mate."

Oliver giggles, 'is little face scrunched up in concentration as he starts tappin’ 'is 'ands on the floor, making engine noises. Vroom, vroom, boom boom!

I can't 'elp but smile. It’s awkward as fuck, but I’m damn well tryin'. Maybe I’m not so bad at this after all. Don’t matter that I don’t know the first fing about toys, or that I ain't got a clue what the 'ell I’m doin’. What matters is the look on the kid’s face, the way 'is eyes light up every time I play along.

"Oi, kid, I fink your truck’s got more power than mine," I tease, pushin’ the toy truck across the floor with a bit too much enthusiasm, makin' it slide all the way to the other side of the room.

Oliver looks at me with wide eyes, 'is mouth open in awe. “Really?”

I give'im a little smirk. "Yeah. Faster than a bloody Formula One car, that is. Your truck's a bit of a monster."

E’s noddin’, 'is mop of black hair bouncin’ wiv every movement. “It is! It's the fastest in the world!” 'is words tumble out like he’s tryna convince me. 'E really believes it. And that’s somethin’, innit? Kid’s got imagination, that’s for sure.

“Right, right,” I mutter, noddin’ along, but then I get a bloody idea. "Tell you what, Oliver. How ‘bout you race your truck against my truck? Let’s see oo’s faster."

I rummage through me pockets, pullin’ out me old lighter. It ain’t much, but it’s a novelty car one, wiv wheels, so I push it across the floor wiv a cheeky grin. "It’s not as flashy as yours, but I reckon it’s got a bit o'speed in it."

Oliver’s eyes go wide, and before I know it, 'e’s on his knees, eagerly makin’ little engine noises again. "Ready, set, go!"

We both push our 'trucks' across the floor, and I can’t 'elp but laugh as e’s all serious about it. Kid’s givin' it his all, makin’ these wild noises, and I’m just pushin’ a bloody lighter, tryna make 'im fink I’m into it as much as 'e is.

But then, just as we’re about to finish the race, 'e lets out a loud yell and scoops up both trucks, clutchin' 'em to 'is chest like 'e’s won the Grand bloody Prix. “I win! I win!”

I raise me 'ands in defeat, laughin' despite meself. "Yeah, yeah, you’re the fastest, kid. I give up. You beat me."

E beams up at me, so proud of 'imself that 'e can’t even sit still. “I’m the best racer ever!”

I can’t stop smilin’ at 'im, watchin' 'im prance about like a little king. For a second, just a second, I forget I'm me. Forget what a fuckin' mess me life is. I’m just… 'ere. Wiv 'im. Wiv Oliver. My boy.

“Yeah, mate, you are,” I say, me voice quieter than usual, a little softer. "You’re a bloody star, you are."

And that’s the fing, innit? There’s summink about this little lad that gets t'me, summink I can’t shake. I know I said I just wanted to meet 'im, but I’ll be damned if I can just let 'im go now.

That kid deserves a far better man than me for a dad.

But for 'im, I’ll bloody try to be that better man.

PART TWO

#billy butcher #billy butcher imagine #the boys #billy butcher x you #billy butcher fanfic #billy butcher the boys #the boys billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x ofc

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cas-backwards-tie · 8 months ago

Text

Wonderstruck

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Ex!Reader

Summary: Simon Riley finally takes it upon himself to check up on his childhood best friend and ex lover. He's been torturing himself reminiscing on your relationship and what went wrong for years now. Little does he know... you're in the same boat. Having seen someone today you swore was Simon on your way to work, you too, reflect on the past.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Stalking(?),

Mentions of: Drinking, Smoking, Motorcycle Riding

A/N: I don't know why but I constantly am getting inspired by certain songs, or am reminded of certain characters, and all the lyrics were just screaming childhood best friends to estranged lovers, right person wrong time Simon Riley. Nevertheless, if you'd love to listen to some versions of the song which inspired me, here we are! Line divider credit: @saradika-graphics and I'd also love to thank @penelopepine for helping me with the ending <3

He knew it was a bad idea as soon as it'd crossed his mind, yet somehow he couldn't rid himself of it time and time again. That's how he found himself here; watching you cross the street, he can't help but notice the vintage band t-shirt you have on, frayed at the edges with the little strings of the hem coming undone that you've refused to cut off. In you hands you clutch a new phone, no doubt an upgrade from the last one he'd seen you with- though it's been a while.

As you mindlessly tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he can't help the way his insides churn. You were always effortlessly beautiful; you never had to try for anything. Even now, the way you can walk across the busy cobblestone side streets of London in high heels without seemingly second-guessing yourself, body language still poised on guard and ready in case anyone tries anything, just like he'd taught you.

It's clear from your outfit and the lipstick you’re donning that you're attempting to sway the officials at work. Maybe trying for that promotion you’d always been talking about, but never had the gumption to make today the day. What’s different about today, he wonders. You'd always been a go-getter, and truthfully, it was something Simon admired about you. Even in the moments where he'd resented it the most, the constant pestering and prodding at him in an attempt to get him to move and drag him out of the holes his dug himself into...

Where would he be now if only he listened?

What if you knew better?

He couldn't deny that the thoughts kept him up at night while he was away. Though, admittedly, more often than not it was the string of random memories that he’d get glimpses of during the day. It’d always be at the worst times, too. Two weeks ago in Berlin he’d been clapping Kyle on the back, hoping he’ll get it together as he stumbled out the pub. While Soap had the camaraderie to slug half his mate’s weight over his broad shoulders, Simon found himself unable to help as his eyes were drawn in by a couple a few paces down the block.

“Bollocks!” He’d shouted out in frustration. Double-checking himself, he didn’t have a spare cap on him, and he knew he sure as hell didn’t bring an umbrella on your little last minute ‘trip’. Not that he’d really call walking down to the local Tesco for snacks late one summer evening a trip. ‘It’ll be an adventure! Just think of it like that.’ You’d persuaded him.

“What? Are you going to melt?” He hears you joke. As his brown eyes land on your face when you turn to meet his gaze, a few steps ahead of him down the road, he can’t help the smile that breaks out across his lips upon your laughter. Sure, you may both be a little drunk after spending the evening in and having a drink or two. But it doesn’t change the way he feels about you, if anything, it makes him even more keenly aware of the way you affect him.

“Maybe. Who knows?” He teases in responses, tugging his jacket up and over his head to shield himself from the cool summer rain. Despite the time, now he’ll most likely need a shower when you get home. As he jogs to catch up and bring you under his little makeshift cocoon, you do the unexpected.

It was you, of course… he should’ve known better, always testing him, pushing him. With a gentle drop of the plastic bag full of snacks upon the side of the road you’d been strolling down, he watches as you run into the empty street. The streetlights illuminate you in a hazy orangey-yellow light as you begin to spin and twirl, dancing in the street.

With a shake of his head, he’s left stunned once again by the vast difference of your personalities. Your jeans and t-shirt are starting to get damp and discolored, and there’s a taunting, displeased remark sitting on his tongue just waiting to be made. It’s the utter joyous smile on your face as you tip your head back and relinquish yourself to your fate that leaves him wonderstruck, he thinks.

“Come on, Simon!” You beckon, finally meeting his gaze once again with that familiar carefree, hopeful look behind your irises. With an outstretched hand, he knows he can’t deny you this… and really, there’s something inside him that tells him he doesn’t want to, either.

“It’s her, innit?” He hears his Captain’s voice call over his shoulder. Pulled from his memories, Simon dismisses Price with a nonchalant grunt. As the old man tries to place a hand on his shoulder he dodges it, realizing he’s been watching the couple for longer than he’d thought. With Soap and Gaz almost to the end of the block, Simon sighs before shrugging his shoulders to right his jacket and head off in their direction for backup.

That was a time when your playfulness been more easily taken and accepted without question. No fighting, no push back, resentments… maybe that was it: he’d stopped going with the flow. He’d stopped accepting the punches and started dodging and weaving your advances at fixing things and picking up where he left you. Because while it’s too late now, he’s finally realized it for what it is: he left you in the dark, he’s the one who pushed you away, closed himself off.

That night he’d curled up in the temporary bed he’d been assigned, more memories continued to consume him. The way you’d effortlessly ease his worries on nights he’d come home stressed, feathers ruffled from whatever petty drama went on during the day. Whether it was something the guys said that stuck with him, or something he couldn’t get out of his mind when he came back from deployment. Your kisses always seemed to be the cure, your love… or maybe it was just… you.

“You know furrowing your brows like that will cause wrinkles,” you inform him, reaching out to run gentle fingers over his bunched skin.

A grunt of acknowledgment leaves his lips. “More for me to worry about, hm?” While it’s all he says, his eyes are searching over your composure.

“No,” it leaves your lips without thought, “just something to think about, be mindful of. If you’re not upset, then why furrow them?” Voice quiet in the moonlit apartment, your fingers smooth out his brows gently as you admire him. “I read something the other day about how it’s possible our body informs our mental state. If you’re tensing all the time, it won’t help your stress, Si.”

He simply hums in response, doing nothing to stop you as you ghost your lips over his for a moment before planting a loving chaste kiss to his. While big and wide warm hands find the exposed bit of skin between the hem of your sleeping pants and the shirt you wear, it’s the unexpected cool sensation that elicits a muffled gasp. Your much smaller hands are sneaking up underneath his sweatshirt to explore his abdomen, caressing him like he were made of soft silk. Your lips meet again for a chaste kiss.

Then it’s turning into something more; you have to take it slow, your lips dancing against one another, his hand rubbing your back to let you know it’s alright. As you begin to run out of breath, it’s only when you pull away, lashes fluttering against his skin that you ask him. “You know I’d love you even with wrinkles, right?”

Taken aback, he can’t help but stare. Unsure how to respond or what to do, his lips part in search of words. “Is that so?” He finally questions, hand giving your side a soft squeeze.

“My favorite boy… I love you to the moon and back… scars and all. I always have, and I always will, Simon,” you whisper, ghosting his lips again before planting one on him, “I just hope you know that.”

And at the time, he swore he did. It’s odd, really, and he wouldn’t lie to himself about it either. Simon tried dating after you, he tried hooking up, he tried it all… but it never felt right. As many times as he replays the memory, he can never get past the feeling of home. With you, it felt like home. You never made him feel expendable, or worry of the abandonment he knew would inevitably come.

For years afterward he blamed you, he saw it as your fault that you left, you abandoned him… when, maybe, really it’s finally time he admits it was him. He made it a self-fulfilling prophecy, and there was nothing you could do.

It's on your way home from work that you see them; while waiting for the bus, there's a playground in the park a few meters away. Really, the idea that human nature is predictable is always laughable at first, but only after watching people and stepping back to become an observer you've noticed from time to time that... it's more than true. Even from a distance, the children in the park look happy... but that's not what catches your eye. There's a blonde boy, and a girl, much like yourself when you were younger, playing what you can only assume is something halfway between hide and seek and tag, considering the playground offers more space and obstacles than hiding spots.

Perhaps it's the joyous looks on their little faces, or the way they unabashedly play, carefree and unaware of the adult worries and burdens the world hangs above their heads, just waiting any day to drop upon their shoulders unexpectedly. However, you can't help but reminisce on the ways you'd spent your childhood playing games much like the one the children are playing in the distance with a boy, very similar to the one before you, loving life, content, happy, simply aspiring to be the best at finding your ultimate hiding spot.

The soft squeak of the wheels coming to a halt before you and the mechanical release of air as the doors open brings your attention back to the present. Before you know it, you're on the bus, unconsciously taking a seat along the windows, hoping, just maybe you'll catch a glimpse of them as the bus drives down the road down its route. Though as you pass, the sun is beginning to set in the distance, the children departing the playground their separate ways as dusk begins to take its toll and curfew sets in place. The whole time you'd been focused on yourself, it's entirely possible that your own boy wound up beating you at your own game, finding the best spot and hiding himself away from the rest of the world.

Maybe it's the fact that you could've sworn you'd seen someone that looked almost identical to Simon on your way to work this morning, but memories continue to plague your mind for the first time in months. All the weekends he'd spent over at your house doing aimlessly silly things to fill your time, from science projects, to playing 'warrior' outside, you never felt more alive than the time you two spent together.

"I'll keep ya safe, yeah? Nothin' to worry about," Simon insists, gently guiding you to the side of the vehicle. Despite going out with your friends to the city for dinner, you both were sober. It should be fine, it would be. You'd been with him a million times... how different could it be? He'd run it by you as many times as you'd asked.

You swear it's not a good idea, but you trust him to the ends of the Earth. With a look over your shoulder, his brown eyes are steady, not uncertain in his unwavering gaze as he nods in assurance. Swinging a leg over the seat, you're in front this time. Helmets in place, hands on the clutch and brakes, you make eye contact with Simon once more before he flicks both your visors down. "Ready?" You ask him.

"More than ready, Love," he quips. With a quick shove to the kickstand, balance (with Simon's help of course), and a rev of the engine, you start the motorcycle off slowly. Gloved hands around your waist, he gives you a gentle squeeze.

He was always pushing you out of your comfort zone, that one. It was the first time you'd driven his motorcycle, and while it'd been scary and daunting for the first fifteen minutes, you eventually got used to it and it blossomed into something freeing. You understood then why he likes it, and you'd never been more grateful for someone pushing you out of your bubble. While flashes of all the kisses, caresses, and intimate moments between the two of you start to effervesce, you force yourself to remember the last time you'd seen him.

With a lingering hug, you're hesitant to let him go. Even if you know it's necessary, it's still hard... it always has been. "You'll let me know when you get in, right?" You ask, searching his eyes. They stand out from the black warpaint, his uniform always made him look handsome, even if you couldn't imagine how intimidating seeing his actual attire would be in his enemies position.

A dismissive and irritated grunt meets your ears as he shrugs your hands off. He'd packed quickly, something he's been doing more recently; taking more and more jobs, you've begun worrying for his health, not that he'd talk about it, of course. "If I 'ave time."

While you weren't able to get all the details on this excursion, you did manage to get that it was essentially a 'clean-up' for him. He had to go in and make sure that the hostages they'd had a lead on were all rescued and no one was left behind, no assailants or informants lingering or hiding. You've known that his job is hard on him. Losing people can't be easy, especially when you feel like you could've done things differently and changed the ending to their stories. Yet, you also know that throwing yourself into work the way he's been doing without talking to anyone, simply managing to pass debrief counseling by whatever meter their measuring is... not working. Not anymore, at least.

"You're running from this! You won't even answ-" you shout, gesticulating as you do everything in your power to keep the anger and worry that's tightly wound wrapped up in your gut under control, not to let anymore of it seep out than already has.

"An' you're one to talk?! You don't get to interrogate me," he argues, rounding the couch to get closer. The dark circles under his eyes scream volumes, even if he's unwilling to acknowledge whatever's going on for him. "I deal with that enough in my line o' work. Don't-"

"Simon," you say, tone holding that familiar warning tone.

You'd gotten home safely and were able to change and make something to eat. The feelings haven't left the cavity of your chest, still lingering there, the way he always does. He may be 'Ghost' on the field, yet he still haunts your memories, always making you question whether or not you did the right thing. What if only you'd done more? What if you hadn't pushed him so much? It wasn't always in a bad way, either, in fact, most of the time you'd find yourself chuckling randomly at some inside joke only the two of you share, or something he'd find funny. The stolen sweaters and hoodies you know for a fact long ago washed away his scent. Even if you swear sometimes that you can smell the faint odor of cigarettes he used to smoke. In the city when you're out with the girls you'd find yourself fondly inhaling the smell whenever a stranger would be smoking one nearby.

You'd cursed him: Simon Riley. Yet, the aching inside you he left often made you feel like he there's some sense of closure he never fully gave you. The SAS would tell you that he'd get your letters, even if you stopped writing years ago a little while after the split. You never got a response, and you never really expected one. Simon never really was one for letter writing. It was the only way you felt like you could get that closure, that part of your life done with. Ultimately, it did help you move on in some way.

A sigh tumbles past your lips as you change the channel on the television, unsure what you really feel like watching. A reality comedy show is on, something of a local prank show. It wasn't the best show, really, but it's one you used to watch a lot as a kid, and thus, another reminder of him. This one makes you smile, nonetheless. It's a good memory; nostalgia envelopes you in the way that makes you crave times that felt easier. Just when you wrap yourself in your fuzzy blanket, there's a soft rapt at the door.

Heart accelerating, eyes widening slightly, you slowly rise from the couch. The television volume isn't on loud, and while there may be light coming from it to inform a stranger you're home, that isn't enough to say that you're alone. With slow and cautious steps, you approach the door, careful to check the window near the door from a vantage point you're unseen. It's a man in a black hoodie. Panic sets in and you turn to skillfully head back toward the couch in search of your phone with quiet and quick steps. That's when it strikes you.

With all pretenses abandoned, you rush to the door and fling it open, lips parted in shock and awe. "Simon?" Searching and attempting to scan the partially shielded face, you're able to see tufts of blonde hair lit from the porch light.

"I know you've no reason to-" he starts, hands removing themselves from his hoodie's pocket, "but please let me come in and explain."

"You came back," you whisper. It's more for yourself than him, and whether it's out of bewilderment, intuitive knowing, or a premonition; you were right.

As he takes a step forward and reaches out for you with shaky hands produced from the familiar black pocket of his hoodie, you don't retract. Slow and tentative movements on both ends, he grabs ahold of one hand, thumb consciously skirting back and forth repeatedly in a form of grounding and seeking comfort. "You were right," his deep voice rasps.

Your hand cautiously seeks his cheek beneath the shield of his hood. Fully expecting to meet the spandex material of his balaclava, you're surprised by the warmth of his skin underneath your gentle touch. Wrist pushing against the cotton hood, it gives way, revealing his face. Searching his deep brown eyes for any sign he's genuine... you're met with truth.

With a weak nod you turn, leaving the door to shut softly behind the two of you.

~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #my writing #song fic #taylor swift #cardigan #simon riley x reader angst #angst #angst with a happy ending #simon ghost riley x ex!reader #simon riley x ex!reader #simon riley x cbf!reader #simon ghost riley x cbf!reader #biker!simon riley #song fics

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year ago

Note

ooohh, alr,,! so can i pls request tan x crybaby and soft!reader. can it be abt how tan is always "mean" to everyone and then he is accidentally mean to the reader? (not wanting to ask too much but can the fic pls have some smut? i would love to see how tan would treat the reader) u can also do this w pietro if u want. Sorry that my request is long, luv ur work and baiii :)

- 😾

hii bby!! love love it! must admit I did kinda steer off course a little bit. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

MAKE TIME

tangerine x fem!reader

word count. 1089

warnings. 18+ only!! tiny bit of arguing, tan being a bit of a turd, but a total cutie after!! fingering, horny brainrot from writer. mdni

Tangerine is always coming and going with work, that his mind is often detached - thoughts spread out in more than one place at a time. Sometimes, it's hard for him to adjust to his surroundings, especially when he's constantly filtering between locations.

Though, when he's with you, he's home. Back in your shared house, he's finally settled.

But that doesn't stop him from bringing work home - he'd spend hours locked in his office, planning schedules and routes for upcoming missions, never once giving you an ounce of attention during his minimal time at home.

You knew what you signed up for, though you hated how insignificant you felt compared to his work. You didn't like how he'd be so blase when it came to failed, planned date nights, how he'd be casual about cancelling for the fourth time in a row. You knew work was important to him, but eventually, you were hoping his view would change - that he'd value you more than some silly little mission.

Tangerine had returned home from an assignment a mere hour ago, and all he had given you was seven measly words. You were planning on allowing him some time to adjust to being back home - to clean up, to clear his mind, but he never joined you back downstairs.

You weren't angry or upset about it - you just felt disappointed. You always gave Tangerine leeway, constantly allowing him the benefit of the doubt; maybe he was tired from travelling or that he saw something gruesome. You were always sure to see from his side, so you often felt wounded when you didn't get the same treatment.

You wait on the sofa, phone in hand, as you consider sending him a text. Sending him a slither of your frustrations, but you decide not to - not wanting things to escalate.

And just like that, you hear footsteps trickle down the stairs, Tangerine accompanying the sound.

"Hi," you call out from your spot on the sofa.

Your greeting goes unheard, your voice blocked out by his phone call.

"Mate, gimme a sec," he says into the receiver, pulling his phone away from his ear as he meets you.

"Oh, you got time for me now?" you quip.

"What's that now?" he asks, his tone alarmed. "Mhm?" he repeats, brows furrowing.

You hear his friend make a snidey comment through the phone - something that loosens a screw in Tan's head. You watch from a near distance, seeing the change on his face.

"Alright, mate. Yeah, that's enough. I got it," he angrily dismisses, ending the call.

"What was that about?" you ask, perching higher from your corner spot, showing interest.

"Why would'ya fuckin' say that?" he snaps at you, eyes narrowing. "Now, I got him in my ear giving me a fuckin' bollocking and you—" he cuts himself off, watching the way your bottom lip wobbled under his reprimand. "No, love. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that— he just got in my head, and I—" he rambles, quick footsteps carrying himself to you.

He sits at the edge of the coffee table, facing you, taking your hands in his. "Darlin', that weren't meant for you," he hushes, thumbing over the back of your hand. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," you shrug, wiping your eyes with your shoulder. "I know," you sniffle, blinking away a few tears.

"No, it ain't," he shakes his head and slips a hand from your grasp, swiping away the wet under your eyes. "Did you mean that a minute ago?" he asks, his tone hesitant.

"Mean what?"

"About me not having time for you," he asks, eyes following you when you divert from his gaze.

You shrug once more, closing your eyes before nodding.

"Is that what you think?" he quietly questions.

"Kind of," you whisper. "Sometimes I don't feel important to you," your words soften, speaking like you were reluctant to share.

"Love," he draws out, hushing you. "That's—" he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I never want you to feel like that... I guess I have been neglecting you lately," he admits. "The work is never-ending. My head is always frazzled, and I always try to get it done fast, so I have more time with you, but—"

"I know," you reassure, slipping your hand into his. "I understand."

"How about this..." he proposes, leaning in to give you a chaste kiss. "I take some time off. And I can take you away? Really show how much I love you."

Your smile widens, eyes practically lighting up. "Okay," you nod, leaning forward to kiss Tangerine's lips. "I'd love that."

"Yeah?" he grins, almost boyishly. "Good. I'll make some calls later."

He brings your face back towards his, cupping your cheeks and kissing your lips soft and sweet, guiding you backwards - pushing you against the couch so he can hover above. He rests a hand on the back of the sofa, using it as stability as he towers over you, caging you.

He parts from the kiss, both of you breathless from the sudden desperation it had turned into. His grip loosens from the side of your face, and his palm slowly travels downwards, slipping over your tits as he continues down. He runs his hand down your t-shirt-covered stomach, halting when he reaches the waistband of your lounge shorts.

"I have some time now," he offers, his tone teasing as his hand slides down the front of your underwear, fingers dancing over your slit. "Would that get me out the dog house?"

"Maybe," you reply, voice airy when you feel his thumb press over your clit, slowly circling it. "Possibly," you add, spreading your legs.

He hums, a soft, sultry coo against your skin, lips barely brushing yours. Dipping the pad of his middle finger between your folds, delving slowly into your cunt til the last knuckle. Long, thick finger wedged into you so nicely.

You keep him close to you, hands engulfing the sides of his face as you meet his lips, copying his slow, sloppy kisses. He begins pumping his finger inside you, hooking upwards as he rocks it into you, swallowing those pretty little sounds you make so well.

He slowly adds his ring finger, joining it with his other - spreading you ever so slightly, leisurely fucking you with his two skilled fingers.

"I'll let you cum if you forgive me," he teases, picking up pace, rubbing against that gummy spot. "Say you forgive me, darlin'."

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

tan taglist: (tagging bc it’s not a blurb/drabble) @tangerinesgf @kpopgirlbtssvt @earth-elemental18 @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @thewinterv @navs-bhat @ilovetangerinewithallmyheart @theredvelvetbitch @randomawesomeperson102 @lov3lypeaches7 @princess-pebbles-things @astermath @dynamitehacke @boldlyimportantface @charmedkim @fruitlovertangerine @psiiconic @bubblezuku @soradiccherryblossom @landryslove @daenerys-supremacy @dontknownameauthor @honestly-who-even-is-this @simplyreflected @apxtowiris

#request #😾#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x you #tangerine smut #tangerine x fem!reader

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