#cannon typical view of death

[ohnonotthehorrors]

Goodbye

I’m in a Rancher’s mood so take this 600 word drabble.

TW death, TW strangulation, TW death idolization, (sort of, it’s a ‘cannon typical’ levity)

“No- no no no no no” Desperately, Jimmy scrambles back, the wood of his shield splintering. “You can’t- NO”

It’s his ‘Do Not Eat That’ voice that he uses on moody cows. Scolding and firm in a frustratingly endeared kind of way. But now it’s shriller, the end turned high pitched.

Because an Enderman isn’t a cow, it doesn’t stop.

Long jagged fingers tear through his shield, leaving him clutching at a handle, furious purple gashes torn down his forearm. Maw unhinged and gaping it leans toward him, endless void where it’s throat and mouth should be.

Desperately, he tries to force himself backward. Twigs and sticks tear at his clothes, his feet trip over holes in the hill side. With a sickening twist of dread he realizes he can’t back up further, can’t get out of it’s reach.

“Not like this-” It’s laughably easy for the giant hands to catch around his throat, slender fingers wrapped entirely around as they squeeze.

Tears well in his eyes instantly; hands scrambling at its hold as his feet lift off the ground, kicking wildly. Mouth flapping he tries desperately to drag air passed his collapsed throat.

There is nothing like suffocating to death.

You would think it’d be fire, or lava, that’s the worst way to die. You’d be wrong. Fire burns hot, an unimaginable pain that vanishes with your dying nerves as fast as it arrived. Nothing like getting struck by lightning; that kills you so fast all you’re left with is the ache of respawn.

Bleeding out isn’t… terrible, not good but not the worst. It feels a bit like being drained, falling asleep even, if you can ignore the slight sting along your skin. (Did you know your internal organs can’t sense pain like your skin? Entirely different nerves.)

Poison is bearable as long as you have the right batch. The wrong one… well at least it isn’t getting pricked to death. That’s just embarrassing.

Even drowning is better than being suffocated. Yes, your lungs burn but taking that final gasp full of water is almost… relieving.

(Jimmy’s personal favorite way to die is via kinetic energy. It nocks you out before you feel a thing)

With suffocating there’s nothing to lessen the helplessness. No point where you can breathe in and know ‘it’s over, it’s okay, you can give up.’ There’s just desperate adrenaline, wind pipe screaming under the pressure as your organs fail. Quivering and tingly, like a limb fallen asleep.

The last thing Jimmy sees is eyes. Streaky and hazy, black spots overtaking the fuzz that comes from peering through tears.

(They’re just the wrong shade of purple)

“Void. Tango, I’m so sor-”

Beneath his fingers the Endermen’s claws turn to scratchy bed sheets, mangled by his hands tearing across the cloth. Gasping, fights past the ringing in his ears.

“-ry.”

Slowly, the room stops spinning. It’s wooden, kinda dusty, carriage wheels and holsters hang on the walls. The wood is different from the Ranch- it’s the wrong color. And these blankets are the type Tango hates. He insisted they switch them for the more malleable ones months ago.

Where is he? Did he forget to set his spawn- did someone manage to build whatever… this is around the world spawn?

Swinging his legs around he struggles to sit up, nearly crashing face first into a side table leant against the bed. A side table with a cow boy hat and sheriff badge resting on it.

Right.

Nearly uncomprehending he stares at the badge, it’s innocent metal glimmering in the moonlight. Something like grief creeps up into his chest, squeezing his lungs. It’s vines spiny and thick.

Right.

He’s on Empires. In Tumble Town. Where he’s the sheriff. Because he died first. Again.

There’s a lot he could do, a lot he could think, with that. A lot he could get angry over, could yell and scream and seethe because that just wasn’t- It just wasn’t fair.

And he will. Later.

Now, all that’s running through his head is a single whispered thought:

“I didn’t get to say goodbye”

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

By Moonlight

Adar x Fem!Elf!Reader

Part One- Babes in the Woods

Summery: Reader finds Uruk children alone in the forest and returns them to their own meeting their "Adar".

Warnings: cannon typical violence

Only a little Adar in this first bit but this will be many parts of pining for Lord Father of the Uruks. So enjoy time with the babies for now!

Druadan Forest was the farthest west you'd ever been. The pine trees cast their needles to the uneven path, wind wiping them around your aching feet. You pulled your thin cloaks hood tighter to your face as a harsh gust sent them to your exposed skin. The last warmth of summer still clung in the air and you were thankful for that.

Avari elves were few and far between these days. After kin had been stolen by Morgoth many hid away farther South, deep in forests or caves. For you this was an impossible ask, to spend your millennia without a glimpse of starlight or another kindred soul to watch the ages pass with. Your wild flee into the moonlit night from everything you'd ever known had been the most terrifying moment of your long life. Though to this day you could not regret the action, not even as the hunger pains hit once more.

You stopped by a gnarly felled tree, tucking yourself and your knapsack low in the cover of its exposed roots. The ground was softer here, a patch of moss that you rested your weary legs on. Your water skin was nearing empty but you drank your fill regardless. There was a stream or river close enough you could hear its rubble from your resting spot. You let your eyes drift closed against the golden rays piercing through the canopy and tried to hold off from eating the last of your last catch a little while longer.

The sound that startled you from your rest was unlike anything you'd ever heard. Loud, piercing and in an extreme state of duress. Your body seemed to react to it of its own accord, slinging your bag to your back and leaping into a run in one swift motion.

A part of you feared it may be some kind of trap. You'd encountered enough slit throats and wolves to feed that concern. That you'd be sprinting headfirst into your own death here but the wail only seemed to get more pained the closer to the river you ran. You made your mind up when you finally recognised the sound. You'd been the youngest of your kin and had never actually beheld an infant before but you were certain that's what it was. A baby.

The forest thinned by the river, earth turning to stone but your feet were light and made not a sound as you caught sight of an over turned caravan. It seemed made of scrap material and brittle wood and now laid on its side with two more coming into view in much the same state behind it.

You stopped your approach on the edge of the trees as a jeering laugh broke out. The wailing had stopped a abruptly and in its absence you were able to focus on the group ahead. Three men around a large fire. There were body's already burning upon it, filling the air with its acrid, metallic smell.

They seemed to be celebrating, this their enemy's pyre and not one for their own. Still it hardly seemed the place for a baby to be and you set your keen eyes to the men themselves. Each had sheaved weapons, bows strung to their backs. A mousey blond swiped dark blood from a long dagger onto his sleeve as his broad companion tossed something to the fire.

Then you saw it, the little bundle hanging in its tattered blanket from the fist of the smallest man. He sneered wildly at his companions before bringing the child back to him and removing the blanket.

The screech pierced the world again, an excruciating wail as the low sun's orange rays beat against ashen skin. Again your body moved before your mind, short sword drawn and sliced through the man's wrist. You caught the babe rolling with it pressed to your chest before the severed hand hit the ground.

The small man brought his bleeding stump to his face, screaming and stumbling back into the pyre. His wails turned shrill as he fought the spreading flames. His kin turning to your hunched form and drawing swords.

It was at this moment a stone whipped past your hair and struck the blond on his temple. Using the distraction your surged forward, driving your blade under the larger man's leather armor and to his heart. You spun as you pulled your blade free spraying crimson across white stone.

The blond met your eyes, a hand over his eye were blood trickled down. He had his own blade in hand now, a broadsword that seemed too large for his frame. Still with unexpected strength he swung it one handed were you had been. The blade just catching against the hem of your dress and tearing the fabric. Not for the first time in your journey you'd cursed the thing.

The baby you held cried out again and you risked a glance down at it, eyes widening as you finally took in its form. Pale skin, paler even than you'd first seen, rendered reddish by the suns exposure. It's ears tucked in wisps of white hair were pointed like your own but turned slight downward. It was an orc child.

You didn't have time to take it all in as a nearby squeak altered you to the swords stroke coming down to your head. You just managed to lift your own to meet it, metal clashing and sparking as you used it's momentum. You slid with the force pushed atop you between the assailants legs, orc again pressed against you. Then with a cry of your own you raised up and stabbed through the blonds back.

The world seemed to hold its breath then with you. Silence ringing in your ears as you looked to the setting sun. You turned your back to it, letting your shadow cast over the infants form as you held it out from you again. The cries were nothing more than burbles now, residual pain from its burnt skin being forgotten as it blinked large amber eyes at your own. Tiny hands reached out to you as grumbling sounds of discontentment fell from the baby's lips. You brought it back to your chest, its long nails grasping the neck of your dress as it settled.

You stayed like that a moment, blood dripping from your sword against the pale stone before your ears twitched. You'd almost forgotten about the other. The one who threw the stone and called out to rescue you from that sword. There was a shuffling of feet, worn fabric soles shifting against stone and earth. Not just the one set either, it sounded like several sets from one of the over turned caravans.

As slow as you could you flicked the blood from your blade, not missing a sharp intake of breathes. They didn't exhale when you returned your blade to your belt. Carefully you moved your cloak from your shoulders draping the hood over the baby's head and making sure its little body remained covered. You stepped hard on the stone, ensuring your approach would echo out.

"Greetings?" You called out, cringing at your hoarse tone. You'd not spoken a word to anyone since you'd left home in spring save a little song when you were deep in the woods. Now with autumns turn you weren't sure how to make your watchers feel safe. There was no movement from the torn fabric door of the cart, no sounds of their flee either.

"They're alive." You spoke again, clearer this time but again you flushed at your failing words. Staring again into the dark where you could now hear breathing. "Your baby, they're... I'll just place them here then."

You knelt by the caravan as a gust of wind shifted what you now could see was animal skin from the darkness. There you were met with 3 pairs of yellow eyes staring wide out at you. Children. They were all children but all bared fanged teeth out at you.

"It's alright, be at ease." You tried, smoothing your voice the best you could. You moved to pull the baby from you to return them to their kin but tiny nails dug further into the linen of your dress. You looked to the infant brows knitting together at the situation.

"Please little one. To your own." You coaxed, pushing a finger to their palm to release their grip. They protested still grabbing more fabric in their firsts and gumming it in their mouth. You looked back desperately to the orc children.

In turn they'd moved closer to the edge of their sanctuary and now watched you with softer eyes, almost mirthful. The eldest it seemed, or at least the largest of them, moved past the other two. The trees provided more shade here and they pulled a worn hood over their ears. They reached forward with shaking arms and spoke to the infant in words you didn't understand.

It took a moment but they were able to pry the protesting baby from you and pass them back to the other two children. Though you suddenly felt the cold space the baby had been so sorely. It was then the eldest pulled a wicked knife from their layers and pointed it crudely out at you. They spoke but seeing your knit brow they started again.

"Leave us be or i'll gut you!" They demanded now in shaking westron. Close you could see this child was a young orc boy. He'd shed tears recently and the track marks through the grime on his face were stark even against his more mottled skin.

You cast your eyes over them again. Children. They were just children, now alone as their kin burned in the fading light. How could they possibly make it alone? With such a small one in tow as well? You weren't even sure they'd be able to carry the baby themselves not for far at least.

"Do you know what an oath is child." You said. His face scrunched in anger.

"Of course I do!" He huffed, still waving his blade at you. "You swear something, then... then there's blood and..." he seemed paused in thought as he wasn't sure what would come next.

Though the metal of his dagger was ragged it was a clean blade and it looked wickedly sharp. You took his hand despite his protestations and guided it to your palm. He stopped fighting you as you drew the blade across your own skin, biting your cheek against the sting. You held the hand up, palm to the others as you dropped your head.

"You have my word, on my life I mean you no harm. I will deliver you to your kin if that is what you wish." Your voice finally sounded your own again. Certain and strong.

The children seemed to contemplate it a moment in their own tongue before the eldest nodded to you. All at once the sun now hidden behind the horizon the orc-lings poured from out of their shelter. It was hard to tell on ones so young but you think the one with a shock of red fluff atop their head was a girl. The other younger boy had sparse black hair but eyes so deep in their colour they almost looked red in the firelight.

"Where can we find other orcs..." You began.

"Uruk." Three little voices grunted at you in unison.

"Uruk." You returned, testing the word. "Sorry, where can we find more Uruk then. Your kinsmen."

The children weren't much help on the matter, only voicing that they wanted to go to their "lord father". You set them a small fire further from the bodies and set about the caravan. There were no maps but there was food so you brought it to your young traveling companions. There were water skins, that you filled for them and a small cart that must have been dragged along with them. It didn't take too long to have it covered in the caravans skins.

The girl, Tûkâ, and eldest, Thrak, walked alongside you for a time, her small claws poking holes in your torn skirts as she held to them. The smaller boy who'd introduced himself with a flourish as Torz sat inside the cart, cradling the baby. It wasn't long after you'd crossed the river that the other two joined him, though Thrak held out until he'd stumbled into your side.

When light came you drew the skins tight around the cart, only peaking in when you were sure the shadow of the high trees would be enough cover. The baby stirred, crying out and causing you to halt the journey. In shade you stooped low, poking your head into the cart entirely. The baby cried harder still, reaching arms up to you. Thrak passed them up to you, still wrapped in your cloak. The cries continued as you bounced them gently, singing a soft lullaby you remembered your mother singing to you. It helped a little but their tiny face was still screwed up and they were restless in your arms.

"He's hungry." Torz offered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Will he not eat?" You ask, cooing as he took a finger into his mouth.

"...He's a baby." Thrak frowned, crossing his arms. "He's got no teeth."

You thought a moment before turning your knapsack round your body. You had cooked potatoes you'd taken from the caravan, if you mushed them up in a bowl maybe the baby could eat it then. Thrak watched displeased but his expression softened when you were able to spoon a bit into the babies mouth.

"We must move quickly, I fear for this little one." You sighed. The baby's hands seemed weaker in its grasp than before, loosely curling around your bloodied hand. The reddish skin where they'd been burned seemed to be pealing at the edges and weeping into your cloak. You pealed it back gently before tearing your chemise to make bandages. You hoped they'd help until your could get him to his own.

For the next two days you ran the cart as fast as you could, pushing it as smoothly as possible through the now rolling hills. The raw wound on your hand ached and bled against the rough wood but you had to keep moving. The sun lost its warmth and without your cloak the chill hit you hard. The little ones huddled under the covers of the cart, taking turns with the baby and singing your song to him.

The woods grew back up again, oaks and sycamore dropping a carpet of brilliant leaves matching the children's eyes. When night fell you had to stop, your lungs burning and your legs like lead. Thrak brought you water with and the others curled around your fast cooling body. Their warmth helped block out the icy chill of the night but you could not find rest. Your mind churning in anxieties as you held the baby between your bodies. He was so quiet and though he breathed his skin felt cold.

You set out again a few hours before dawn, Thrak insisting on pushing the cart with Torz after you and Tûkâ. Hope swelled in your breast as you spied the faintest glow over the next hill. When you were sure they'd see it as well you pointed it out to your companions. They seemed weary at first, the memories of men still fresh in mind but soon their ears flicked. You'd heard it too, the gruffer voices speaking in their language.

Without thought you hurried ahead, the boys abandoning the cart and rushing faster to your side. They called out to their Uruk elders in their own tongue as you reached to top of the hill. Bellow you could now see a great score in the earth. A trench leading as far back as the mountains and covered with cloth animal skins to keep the light out.

The Uruk's that approached drew weapons, arrows nocked and aimed at you. The children huddled to your skirts, Thrak moving ahead to shout something to the adults. They paid him no mind, brushing past him as they drew closer.

Fearing for them you passed the baby down to Tûkâ and raised your palms. You were brought to your knees by a jab to your leg, cold mud seeping through your dress. Thrak continued to protest on your behalf as your belt and sword were taken from you and iron shackles were snapped in place.

You were pushed down the hill towards the camps of Uruk by the one you assumed to be their captain. He was mottled skinned like Thrak but with none of the kindness in his eyes. You were pushed down into the trench, falling hard onto the turned over earth. A chorus of cruel laughter broke out as you scrambled back to your feet.

"Better take this one to Adar." The captain growled. He pushed your back with the tip of his blade, forcing you forward. Over your shoulder you spied the children being taken the other way, Thrak still fighting to get back to you.

...

Adar stood alone in a dug out room, running his gauntlet's spiked fingers over the map. By winter they'd reach the Southlands but it would take into Summer before their work would be done. He'd labored for centuries to give his children a home, what was a few more months.

"Lord father." One of his children broke the silence. Adar turned to him, darkening his face when he saw the Elleth. One of his children held her sword in his fist, whilst his scouts captain hit her on the side of the head with his. She groaned dropping to her knees in front of him, her head remaining low as Adar stalked forward.

"Found this one on the border with youngins' Lord Father." his child continued. She remained still on the ground as Adar appraised her. She hardly seemed like a scout herself. Her dress was almost formal though it had seen far better days, now caked in grime and blood. Though its style was all too familiar to him.

"Lembi... What brings an Avari so far from home." Adar rasped watching her stiffen at his words. Her hands clenched a moment before Adar watched her turn them, bloodied palm now resting on her knees. Her eyes turned to his and he was struck by the sight. Even with the mud on her face and on her knees, she looked fierce. A strength in her gaze like the rivers themselves.

"An oath." She said.

[clip-the-simp]

Not Much Else [Pt.1]

Ao3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2,956

Warnings: canon typical violence, swearing, mention of drugs and surgery, (I’m bad at warning tags so just let me know if I need/should to add some)

Tags: Mild Proofreading, reader had bat wings, Bounty Hunting, deviation from TV show, pre!show events(?), (Again I'm bad at tags so let me know)

Summary: You're a vault experiment that makes it to the surface. Quickly you learn the lay of the land and a few years later end up working the same bounty as The Ghoul. You convince him to let you take a long after having a feeling that you just had to follow him. Where will this story lead? Only time (and my motivation) will tell.

A/N: this is cringy as shit so please forgive me. I’m trying to get back into writing and my current hyperfixation is Fallout. I've been a fan for years but a new found love was sparked with the show's release.

Be forewarned that this is going to be incredibly inaccurate to cannon events and really unrealistic honestly. But listen. If Lucy can have her finger zapped back on and working properly anything can happen.

The scientists of your vault had placed nearly 200 hundred people into cryo pods before the bombs had fallen. A few had been scientists, but most were test subjects. Those chosen to be experimented on were chosen from a vast array of different medical histories, genetic makeups, ages, and ethnicities which always resulted in different mutations. Only about one third of the subjects had volunteered, while the majority had been simply manipulated, kidnapped, and or drugged before being shoved into a cryopod.

You had been one of the majority that had been kidnapped. Before the bombs, you had been a star in HollyWood and went on to be in several films which included a western or two. You were still fairly young however, so when the threat of bombs falling had started to rise you had been cornered. A white cloth with chloroform was shoved into your face once you had gotten back to your film trailer after wrapping up the final scene for a movie you were co-starring in. You had only woken up for a brief moment after being kidnapped, which was right before they had shoved you into a pod and began the process to preserve your body for the next century or so.

When the scientist decided it was time to start experimenting, some wouldn’t survive the first round of injections but that never did stop the test. Even after death the bodies would continue to be used to determine different severities of treatments on human tissue.

However, those that didn’t have the fortune of passing within the first few rounds of chems being forced into their veins, they had far worse ahead of them. Which just so happened to be the group of unfortunate folks you wound up being.

It had been about 175 years after the bombs dropped before they dethawed you from your cryosleep and started on their process of testing and modifying your body. They had hoped, just like with all of their other experiments they had running, that you would be one of their best.

After the first initial round of chems they had started to cut into you and spliced your DNA with multiple different creatures. First it started with the removal and rewiring of your eyes. They had been replaced with those of a feline which had taken you months to recover from, but that didn’t stop the minor test they continued to perform.

The rewiring in your brain caused excruciating headaches for the first few months but soon you were able to view things from a new lens. Being able to see more than most at night was a great perk to have when the vaults tended to stay poorly lit. However this also caused you to have some sensitivities to bright lights, so in response to that the scientist designed specialized goggles to combat it but made them so they wouldn’t impair your ability to see at night with them still being on.

The next body modification came when a scorchbeast, a large mutated bat creature, had been killed and dragged into the vault. After careful consideration and candidate evaluation you had been chosen to be subjugated to the experiment. No one knew if your body would reject the new muscle and bones that had to be implanted, but your genes had the most likely success rate when looking at the data provided.

After a full year of recovery you had full mobility of the limbs, and with it having been a young scorchbeast, the wings hadn’t been to terribly large in comparison to your body. You had been due for more body installments but before the scientist had the opportunity to stick another knife in you all hell had broken loose.

One of the more aggressive test subjects had escaped from their enclosure and started wreaking havoc upon the vault. They had managed to set other people free while in a blind rage when they had broken into the control room. In doing so not only where you set free but so where all the others, including those in cryosleep.

However you hadn’t stuck around for long once everyone, mutated or not, had started attacking one another in a panic. Having seen map layouts of the vault in the halls on the way to your surgeries, you had been one of the first to make it to the surface and begin your trick through the waste land.

After a week you had managed to find your way to a town which was both a blessing and a curse. Outside the walls of the town there had been a dead man who still had his clothes on. Having realized you were still in your medical gown, you had stripped him of the garments, minus the underwear, and cut a large hole in the back of the shirt to accommodate for your wings. With pants and a shirt on you were now a little more confident when entering the settlement.

Even after getting more than a hospital gown on, people still had given you strange looks as you walked the streets. They snarled and ogled at the wings sprouting from your back, and even after tucking them under your arms while pulling them close to your sides, it didn’t stop the stairs. Your goggles had remained pulled over your eyes during the majority of your time on the surface, but you could tell people could still see the slits that were your pupils.

You had quickly learned the ways of the waste land. Caps controlled everything, violence was always the answer, and it was kill or be killed. So when a man suddenly cornered you in the alley way of that first town you were in, you quickly became a killer. Whether it was the animal genetics fused with your own or your will to survive, you had proceeded to rip that man's neck out with your teeth when he had gotten close enough.

In doing so you had gained a handful of caps, a slightly rusted knife, and a pistol that had enough ammo to mow down a small horde of ghouls. The only item of clothing you peeled from his body was a weathered trench coat made of leather. That had managed to cover your wings if you kept them tucked close enough, although a bet awkwardly.

With the handful of caps you had gathered you had managed to get some accentals and learned about bounty hunting. If you were going to survive in the world you had to adapt, and so you did.

Two years had passed since you first began living on the surface when you had encountered The Ghoul, face to face, for the first time. Both of you had been working the same job when the target in question got smart and hired a few armed guards. The two of you were knocked unconscious and tied up in a rotting building while the target and his goons ran off. You had come to when the splitting pain from being knocked out finally became too much for your body to suppress.

As you peeled your eyes open, you started to realize someone was tied to your back as you and the other person sat on the sand covered floor of the decaying house. Shuffling a bet you tried to grab the knife at your side but soon heard a groan from the person you were tied to. You hadn’t bothered before to try and see who it was, hoping to have gotten untied from one another before they had the chance to wake up and possibly kill you.

“Fucking hell.” You heard the man mumble as he tried to get his bearings as you had. Your heart made its way to your throat as you realized who it was. Although you had never met the man you recognized his voice from the rare occasion you had been in the same town together at the same time.

Fuck fuck fuck! You thought as you continued, more hastily this time, to try and get the knife at your side. You had never paid The Ghoul much attention, however you know of his reputation and that he was a gifted gun slinger. However, while you hadn't paid him much attention, he had been studying you. He had started to recognize you any time you just happened to be in the same town. It wasn't anything more than the fact you were exceedingly odd and always looked out of place from those shuffling around you. Although he was a ghoul and the farthest thing from normal looking, your wings would always take any and all attention from those around you. No matter how well hidden you tried to keep them.

“Stop fidgeting damn it.” Your body immediately froze as he spoke directly to you. A few shuffles of his own and he quickly had his hands on his own knife which sliced through the rope with relative ease. You fell forward slightly as the tension from the rope was released and you quickly stood to dust yourself off.

Turning around you saw The Ghoul doing the same thing as he stood. His duster was ripped to shreds but still served its purpose of covering him from the sun. The cowboy hat he held in his hands was quickly placed back on his head before he turned to glare at you. His spurs jingled a little as he faced you.

Everything in your body screamed at you to run before he could pull out his weapon, but his gaze had you pinned to your spot in the room. You swallowed hard before trying to move and look more relaxed then you really were. Crossing your arms you moved your eyes to meet his which started an immediate feeling of regret.

There was something about his eyes that held a feeling of familiarity but it was buried under the many years of being forced to live amongst the harsh conditions of the wasteland. The Ghoul’s eyes remained on your face for the longest time before traveling to the tips of your wings that peeked out from under your coat. You quickly tried to tuck them closer to hide them but that just led to him looking back to your face.

“Now how the hell you get those on your back?” The Ghoul pointed to where the wings had been showing just moments before. His question had brought you out of your frozen state as you tried justifying to yourself answering him truthfully. You didn’t figure it would hurt to be truthful, especially since it was only the two of you at that moment. Not to mention the odd feeling that you could rely on him to keep any information you needed to get off your chest.

“Vault experiments.” You answered plainly as you moved the extra appendages from under your coat and spread them a little farther out from your body as you stretched them. As you did this something shifted in his expression, almost a kin to pity. He looked back into your eyes as if trying to recognize you as you had done the same to him moments before. You had forgotten the fact your eyes were no longer human so whatever search he was on would be nearly impossible if he intended to find answers within them. Not to mention the fact that your goggles were currently tented from the light coming in from the setting sun.

“That’s unfortunate. Seems like those wings would be in the way of everything.” He stated while picking up some of his belongings that hadn’t been taken. You crossed your arms and leaned on one leg. Sure, the wings were annoying at first, but they had become useful as time went on. You always managed to travel farther than anyone else in the wasteland could in two days on foot.

“They’re actually quite helpful.” You stated as you began to check yourself for any belongings that might be missing. “People don’t expect an aerial assault nowadays. So ambushing people is quite the luxury when being a bounty hunter.” The Ghoul gave a low hum as he slung his bag back over his shoulder. Surprisingly enough they hadn’t stolen anything, but you assumed it was because they were more focused on getting out of there before the two of you woke up.

“Well sweetheart I must be on my way. That bounty is still out there and I don't need someone else getting my caps.” As he said this The Ghoul slung his leg over the wall of the decrepit house and began his trek to the target. Something in the back of your mind pricked at your thoughts as he walked away. The feeling that you needed to follow him into the wasteland grew stronger the farther he walked.

What was it about this guy that had you wanted to do nothing more than follow him like a lost puppy? You hadn’t meant to be working the same bounty but somehow it felt like it was meant to be. Kicking yourself mentally, you sprinted after him. He had only managed to get a few yards away before you abruptly sprinted up behind him.

Out of instinct The Ghoul pulled his gun on you and had it aimed directly at your head. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath from the short unexpected run you just had. The adrenaline pumping through your veins prevented you from freezing or seeing the gun held to your face as much of a threat at that moment. All your mind was trained on was convincing The Ghoul to take you with him on this job.

“Take me with you.” Was all you could blurt out. Your voice had been shaky which you hoped wouldn’t be too noticeable but The Ghoul definitely caught it. He lowered his gun to keep it aimed at your chest instead.

“Now why should I do that?” He asked as he raised a nonexistent eyebrow. The sun was getting low which caused a shadow to shroud most of The Ghoul’s face. A knot began to form in your stomach. You hadn’t thought this through at all but had to come up with an excuse fast.

“I can be of help. Like I stated before, aerial assault isn’t something most folks are prepared to fight against.” That was practically the only key advantage you had on most other people. You had other talents, sure, but that was back up information in case the main appeal didn’t go through.

The Ghoul lifted his gun to tip his hat out of his face to get direct eye contact with you. His gaze fell and rose as he examined your form. It made you partly embarrassed as you pulled your wings in closer. He stood there and contemplated for a while until you broke the silence.

You grabbed the goggles from your face and sat them on top of your head. Your vision quickly adjusted to the new light exposed to your eyes. As The Ghoul looked back to your face you saw a bet of shock appear on his face before it was quickly masked again.

“Listen,” You started as your hands quickly began to fidget with one another. “I don't know why but I feel as if I’m supposed to go with you. If I had an explanation of why I would tell you but I don’t except for saying it’s a gut feeling.” The Ghoul’s expression stayed the same which quickly diminished your hope of joining him. Your eyes fell to the ground as you continued to speak.

“I don’t require caps or any sort of compensation for joining since I’m doing this out of complete and utter selflessness.” You were about to continue rambling before The Ghoul let out an exasperated sigh. Your attention brought back to his form. The Ghoul was pinching between his eyebrows as he holstered his gun. A few mumbles left his lips before his gaze finally settled back upon you.

“If you slow me down-” He started to say. You quickly cut him off as the realization that he was actually taking you along settled in.

“I won’t! I promise.” You said cheerfully as your wings slightly lifted from your sides. Your demeanor was probably a bit too cheerful though with how his expression changed.

“We’ll see if you keep that promise.” The Ghoul grumbled as he looked at the setting sun. It had nearly disappeared over the horizon which had put the world in a deep shade of purplish pink. It wouldn't be long before the sun was completely gone to leave the two of you in complete darkness.

However, that didn’t stop the two of you from traveling a bet that night. Your night vision was impeccable and The Ghoul had a lamp to guide his way. You stayed silent as did The Ghoul which hadn’t surprised you much. It had been about four hours of traveling before he finally spoke to inform you that it was time to siddle for the night.

[enterpris]

Caught in Orbit, Chapter 1

Pairing: Reader x Gojo

Summary: Cursed energy has many expressions- inherited techniques, reversals and maximums. 

Occasionally, cursed energy of a sorcerer will react with another sorcerer’s cursed energy, or perhaps their soul. In these cases, a bond is formed that can tie families together, increase power, or spark love.

When your soulmate is discovered, you have to decide what the bond will mean

Warnings: cannon typical fighting, moderate injury, reader is a jujutsu sorcerer, soulmate au

Length: 3.9k

Ao3: PlaidSparrow

It’ll be a Grade one curse- easy in, easy out. 

You page through the assignment folder, as country roads pass in Ijitchi’s rear window, driving you to the remote town that’s housing the spirit. Beyond the estimated grade of the spirit, the notes in the folder are sparse and messy, with few details about the two incidents that have occurred so far. Near the back of the file there’s a graph depicting the level of cursed energy in the building over time though, and that catches your eye. 

“So there’s been activity here for months? Why are they just sending a sorcerer now?” 

“There’s been low level activity, yes, but a teller was killed last week. Cursed energy spiked, and there was another death yesterday.” He looks at you through the rear view mirror. “Since then, the levels of cursed energy have remained level, so we have reason to suspect there will be more casualties if this spirit is left unchecked.”

You hum assent and put the file down. “It’s better to exorcize it now, before things get any worse.”

It doesn’t appear that anything connects the two victims outside of the location of the attacks, it’s likely just an amalgamation of poor feelings over the years that finally coalesced. 

“Any further incidents may cause this branch to close down- there’s been posts made online connecting the two deaths, and we want to minimize fear for the people who live in the town. An incident of any higher magnitude would be a disaster for a small town.”

You nod and stare out the window, the vast green fields and craggy mountains would be quaint and idyllic in another circumstance. This far outside of the city there’s not much traffic, and you should arrive soon. As it is, you can’t help from evaluating yourself, cataloging your physical state and diverting your focus into mentally preparing. While you didn’t have enough time to fully rest and recharge after your last mission, sleep doesn’t often come easy anymore, the hot meal and couple hours of sleep had provided a much needed boost. 

The rest of the ride is quiet, Ijitchi pulls up to the bank and you hop out. He rolls down the driver’s window and gives you a once over. 

“I’ll be waiting just down the street. Text when you’re finished here I’ll come pick you up. Good luck.”

A terse nod is the only response you give, already attuning yourself to the waves of cursed energy radiating from the building. He nods back and peels away. A few moments later, a veil drops over you, casting the small bank in shadow.

Through the focus you’ve cultivated for the mission, you can’t help but be intrigued- you’ve never encountered a curse attached to a commercial building like this, and something pretty significant must have happened to infuse this place with enough negative energy to spawn a Grade 1 curse. The case notes didn’t include grisly details of a natural disaster or crime, though. After scanning the outside of the building and quickly stretching out your shoulders, still stiff from the ride, you step towards the entrance. The curse likely already knows you’ve arrived, the energy rolling off the building feels particularly strong. The front door opens without any fuss, and the stench of cursed energy is like a fetid tide within the building. The death of the two tellers hangs in the air as you walk through the small entrance hall.

It’s silent in the lobby save your soft steps across the laminate and the underlying buzz of electricity running to the tellers’ computers. Between the veil and the electric lights being turned off, the interior feels dingy and a little claustrophobic. Nothing really looks amiss, but there are cursed energy residuals drawn across the room like a web, no hint as to where the body of the curse might be.  You leap over the low divider to get to the area for bank employees. If two tellers were the casualties, it’s possible that the curse is lurking somewhere clients don’t have access to, or the attacks happened outside of normal business hours. You can’t recall whether any times were posted in the notes. 

Before you explore the back, you scan the lobby once more. You can imagine the small branch bustling on the weekend, business owners and families coming to make deposits or pull out money for a day trip. You brush your fingers over the black screen wistfully. Maybe in another life you would have helped customers in a bank. 

Or perhaps you would have gone on to college. When you enrolled in Jujutsu Tech as a high school student, you hadn’t thought much about your future, but you could have studied any number of subjects.

Something shifts unnaturally somewhere down the hall and your hackles rise, the distinct feeling of eyes on you. You spin to the back and allow your cursed energy to flow freely through your body- ready to be released.

Keeping your attention high, you creep towards the back of the building. The noise repeats itself, and you can hear more clearly now- a rhythmic clatter, not quite the scutter of an insect, but something similar, that's coming from the back rooms. The pattern of noise stops and starts again. 

Measured steps bring you closer to the belly of the bank, here there are low tables in a wide back room, with private rooms that branch away to speak privately with a banker. The furniture seems to be undisturbed, wherever you look there’s perfect order, still no indication of how the bank tellers were murdered. But the curse is making just enough noise to let you know it's lurking somewhere. It’s got some degree of intelligence, then, to taunt a sorcerer. You tilt your head, trying to determine where the noise is coming from.

You scan the floors, then the walls, steadily working your way back through the hallways to an area that’s only accessed by employees. There’s no more decorations here, only shadows cast by the meager light let through the veil, yellow-gray and sickly like a bruise. But the rustling noise has gotten progressively louder. As you approach the curse’s lair, the noise begins to sound louder and more distinct. You had to have walked through nearly the whole building now, save the vaults. Hopefully that’s not where the curse has taken up its roost. 

The vault is huge and silver, set into the wall of the building itself. The cursed spirit has got to be in here, and you’re ready for the fight. With a deep breath, you increase the output of cursed energy in your arms, letting the strength ground you, then turn the handle of the vault door. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears that are trying to listen for any drop of sound, any discernible shift.

But the door is firmly locked, the handle shifts only a fraction of a degree. You process where else the curse could be- your initial sweep had been fairly thorough, could the curse be small enough to slip into one of the crevasses you’d left unturned?

Cautiously turning, you step back down the hallway you’d come from. Something in the air changes in that instant, and you step to the right, pivoting back to the vault entrance. The cursed spirit materializes out of the wall, pursing a grossly oversized pair of lips and greedily grabbing with stumpy appendages. 

You intensify the cursed energy running through your arms, waiting for the cursed spirit to dart in and try to grab you, but it maintains its distance, instead spitting a noxious ball in your direction, but you pivot out of the way. You sprint towards the spirit, ready to swing, but it darts down one of the hallways, bringing you back towards the front of the building. 

The employee-only areas blur past until the curse turns back towards you in the open room right before the lobby. It puckers its lips again and spits a second glob of steaming cursed energy at your body. You dodge again, then rush the curse. 

But something feels wrong. After the second attack, the spirit makes no move to shoot again, or try to evade as your steps bring you closer to its disgusting body. While you analyze the curse’s behavior, its bulbous eyes flick towards the ceiling of the room. 

The curse must have hidden a projectile there before you brought it into the open. Your eyes snap to the roof of the building, but instead of a projectile you find the sinuous legs and writhing body of a second curse. Its long appendages twitch and undulate in a sickly wave that you now realize was the noise you heard earlier. You can’t even see how many arms there are. A wave of cursed energy stronger than the first curse rolls off of it now. Icy fear cuts through the adrenaline pumping through your body. The second curse is strong too, and clearly working with the first somehow. You’ll have to scramble for your life.

You have to make a split second decision, choose which curse to focus on first. If you can exorcize the spitting curse quickly then pivot to the second curse, you’ll probably have the best chance of coming out on top. The second spirit hasn’t moved from its roost above the fight yet, you have no idea what its abilities are or whether you’d be able to beat it first.

Clambering backward to avoid being caught directly under the second curse, you’re nearly backed against the wall. The furniture in this room is all low and sleek, nothing to use as a shield or small enough to use as an extra weapon. The booths and computers in the lobby may give you more to work with, but between you and the hallway there is the spitting curse. 

The second curse stretches its legs towards you, and it descends from the ceiling. Fuck. 

Without any more time to form a plan, you run towards the spitting curse and pass it on your way to the front of the building. The narrow hallways won’t give you any tactical advantage, and would make it easy for the two curses to gang up on you.

You look over your shoulder and see the first curse hurl a projectile, and you desperately push your body to the right. 

Not fast enough. 

The mass of cursed energy collides with your left shoulder, and your vision whites out for a moment. Warm blood seeps from the wound and soaks your shirt, now you’ll be vulnerable and slower than before. You grit your teeth and scowl at the mass of hateful energy. 

The second curse opens its mouth, grotesquely stretching the muscles until it could swallow you in a single gulp. Its twitching legs begin to move in sequence, crawling down the side of the wall in a trembling mess. 

The first curse floats along ahead of the second, and it looks like it could shoot another projectile at any moment. You duck and huff a few deep breaths from the outside of the lobby divider. Then, you infuse your arm with cursed energy and punch the spitting curse with the strength you’ve saved for this mission. 

The force of the hit wracks your body, and pain screams from your left shoulder. The spitting curse gets knocked to the ground coughing, but isn’t exorcized yet. You breathe through the piercing waves resonating from your shoulder and pull out a short knife to finish the job. 

Cursed energy flows again through your arm and into the blade, but the second curse flings its knobbly body down from the wall. Its sinewy legs tangle around you, and the small cutting edge can’t pierce deep enough to really do any damage. The legs sweep you towards the main body of the spirit, and you see the first curse rise back up from the corner of your eye. You shove at the countless appendages and slash where you can, fighting against the nebulous legs to reach a longer weapon. Once it’s in hand, you allow the built-up cursed energy to infuse the cells of your body with all of the strength and speed you can afford to spare. 

The boost (and the longer knife) allow you to hack through the second curse’s legs, and come face to face with the spitting curse. It puckers its lips once more and you hold your position a moment longer, then duck under the following projectile. Before the beast can make another, you stab the longer knife directly through its head. 

You’re pretty sure that finished it, but there’s no time to double check, as the second curse has recovered from the limbs you took from it, and ambles back towards you. Dodging its legs again, you leap towards the entry room of the bank. A quick spin puts you facing the curse once more. 

The legs skitter and twinge against each other, and there’s another noise too, a low drone coming out of the curse’s mouth. Whatever its muttering, you’re not interested in finding out. Now that it’s a fair fight, you’re feeling more confident about your odds of walking away from this bank. 

You raise your left arm to throw one of the knives as the curse, but the joint can’t extend all the way. Swearing, you switch the larger blade to your other hand and try to gauge what this curse’s MO is. So far, it’s mostly kept out of the way, using the legs to pull you towards its body. 

Now, those legs scuttle faster, it darts in towards you. You brandish the weapon and take a few quick steps back, but the curse keeps coming. You shove one of the doors open with your bad shoulder and turn to see if the curse will follow you outside. You’ve barely got time to pant in a few deep breaths. 

It catches the door nearly as it closes, pushing out and gnashing its horrible teeth. You can’t pass up the opening though- as the spirit maneuvers through the door, you dash forward, infuse your arm with cursed energy and fight through the legs, then sink the knife into one of the bottom of its body. 

The curse lets out a terrible wail and thrashes through the doorway, entangling you as it rampages out of the building. The smaller knife is still in your other hand, and you funnel cursed energy into it and slice shallowly into the nearest leg. The curse howls again and the legs holding you loosen but don’t release completely. 

You writhe and kick your legs against the curse until you can wiggle your arm free, then drop to deadweight. Your heart is beating fast as the curse drags you in towards the body. You can hear the muttering clearly now, kodoku, over and over.

You allow the curse to drag you closer, no more than an arm's breadth away, then you  pour every last ounce of cursed energy into the knife and bring it sharply down, impaling the spirit directly in its skull. 

The curse collapses, a moaning pile of open wounds before disintegrating into the tiled floor. Its stink pollutes the greenery and bright day. You pant and the adrenaline that had kept you afloat leaches out of your body. The world blurs in front of your eyes, and you’re sucked back into your body- exhausted, bleeding heavily, and abruptly feeling every bit of your injury. 

You lean against your knees, putting weight on your good shoulder. The energy you had expended to exorcize the first spirit held the pain at bay for a time, but the blood in your shirt is cooling, and you’ve run your body ragged by finishing the fight. 

It was technically a win, desperately fought and barely won. You may be barely standing, but that curse is exorcized. 

Staggering to the larger commercial entrance, you unwind the jacket and grasp the material near your bad shoulder. The blood has soaked through the thicker material, and you can feel a pulse of pain each time your heart beats. 

You pat down the pockets of your pants, not sure where your phone is. After locating it, you try to pull up your messages to alert Ijitchi. Your vision blurs again and you groan in frustration. This injury is clearly bad, and if you can’t contact Ijitchi, you’ll pass out soon. If that happens, who knows how long it will take for him to return and pick you up. 

After a few moments, you pour all of your focus into just calling him. With a shaking hand, you slowly click through the menu and hear the phone ring. 

He answers, and you could cry from relief. 

“Kodoku.”

It was a traditional magic, where small bugs or creatures fought to the death in an enclosed space. The fluids of the final survivor could be used to poison an individual. The spitting curse- it must have spit that liquid in its projectiles. You’re nearly delirious thinking about it. 

“What?”

“Things didn’t go well.” 

“I’m on the way. What’s wrong?” 

He sounds concerned. You must sound worse than you thought.

“More than one, I was hit.”

Before you can provide any more details, you see the unassuming black sedan pull back up the driveway. He drives over the grass to get closer to you, then hops out. 

You hobble towards the back of the car while he takes in your state. 

“It looks like you’ve lost a lot of blood. Is it a cursed wound? We should be able to make it back to Shoko within an hour if I speed…” he trails off, likely calculating the distance back to school on different routes. 

“Not cursed, just nasty. I’ve got pressure on it now, but I’ll probably ruin these seats.” You pant the words out, not totally sure that they’re true. The pain is radiating from your shoulder, it could be a cursed wound, but that wouldn’t get you back to campus any faster. 

In what feels like a blink, you’re back at Tokyo Jujutsu, Ijitchi supporting your weight on the walk down to Shoko’s medical bay. He helps to set you down on the low operating table and says something. It’s probably important, but the sound is drowned out by the pain singing in your veins. Absently you wonder if you’re going to pass out from blood loss. The hit was worse than you thought. 

Shoko technically had a medical degree, but because of her Curse Technique, most of her knowledge and skills were intrinsic. You’re not sure if getting her doctorate degree even helped her or if it was just part of the school’s cover. 

She’s standing in front of you, speaking lowly with Ijitchi. She pulls a pair of scissors from somewhere. The metal is cold where it touches the skin of your stomach, and Shoko shears the remains of your shirt away. She’s wearing gloves now. You’re not sure when she put them on. 

“Oh,” you hear her voice floating above you. 

Her voice blends with Ijitchi’s as they continue their conversation, the indistinguishable words blending with the hum of the air conditioner to lull you halfway to sleep. 

Since finishing school you had only been injured badly enough to need Shoko’s healing once or twice. The smell of antiseptic and the morgue closeby are enough motivation to avoid hurt at all costs. It’s cold in the medical bay. 

Sharp pain pulls you out of your thoughts as Shoko prods the wound, muttering about the internal damage. Her gloved hands circle the hole in your shoulder and you feel the eerie trickle of Reverse Cursed Energy seep into your body. Feeling another sorcerer’s technique never felt right, but something feels particularly wrong right now. She sits you up and you slump against her. She’s warm.

More muttering and your head feels a bit clearer. It's a strange sensation, to feel your body rebuild itself in real time. Shoko's hands are warm through the gloves and your stomach drops as the skin and muscle knit back together. 

Noise echoes down the steps to the medical center. Footsteps, you realize after a moment. Everything still sounds distorted and dreamlike.

“Hey Shoko” a voice calls, drawing out the last vowel of her name. “I wanted to know-” the voice chokes off. 

You feel her turn away from you and the sensation of her healing stops. The loss of support makes your head loll back, and you feel distinctly separate from the rest of your body. It’s not til Shoko shifts again that you remember that someone else is in the medical area. 

Your vision swims when you turn to see Gojo standing in the doorway of the stairwell, looking aghast at you. 

“Ah, on second thought, maybe I should come back later.”

“It’s fine, we’re almost-” Gojo cuts Shoko off.

“Nope, really, I’ll be back later! Not important!” His voice disappears as he zips back up the stairs where he came from. 

You furrow your brow. 

Even in your addled state, you know that Gojo is the most powerful sorcerer on the planet, he should hardly be squeamish, surely a little shoulder injury isn’t enough to send him running for the hills. The thought grounds you a bit, and you think vaguely that it should already be halfway healed anyway. You crane your neck to look at the wound behind you and your chin brushes the bare skin of your shoulder. 

With all the movement and almost passing out, you’d kind of forgotten that you’re not fully dressed. The wound has partially closed, but there’s still blood drying on skin around, dripping down your back. 

But he’d only seen your back, nothing scandalous, and surely he’s seen a woman in her bra before.

Shoko returns the pressure to your shoulder blade and you let your mind drift as the current of her cursed energy infuses you. Who knows what’s going on in Gojo’s mind. You’re lucky really, that he didn’t stay. Healing isn’t a pretty process and you aren’t interested in having an audience as your shoulder knits itself back together. Shoko’s reverse curse technique feels more like a strong current of energy now, the sense of wrongness has passed. 

More time slips by, and then she gently lays you back down on the table. Shoko's voice is soft above you, and you pick out a few words, “more hours,” and “rest.”

Perhaps it's easier when you're using your own cursed energy to heal yourself, but the few times you've been revived by Shoko, you're left more drained than when you were injured. It’s as if the flesh itself has mended, but the weight of the injury has been transferred to your head. You don’t particularly want to remember the last time you required her services now though.  

The details of the attack are dreamily-muddled now, like maybe it happened to someone else. When you try to recall any detail, it flees from your mind and dissipates into the background.

Exhaustion drags you under, and your thoughts are silenced.

[tobernaut]

Did you like the first chapter? I'm pretty intrigued so far, though I have to say Ratau's personality was quite surprising considering how he is in the game. I have a feeling that maybe he will be the one to betray the Lamb considering that change. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Spoilers for COTL comic chapter one below! I will be tagging "cotl comic spoilers" from now on. Please block this tag if you don't want to be spoiled!

Spoilers include plot/character talk and a singular image.

Did I like the first chapter???? Did I LIKE THE FIRST CHAPTER??? I've been going through it with a fine toothed comb and loving EVERY MINUTE OF IT!!!

Ahem.

So, I love this characterization of Ratau.

In the game we already saw hints that he maybe had a little bit of trouble letting go of the red crown. The fact he wears one made of paper is weird enough, but the fact he has the same paper crowns filling his house and on his shrine hints at this imo. I know game cannon ≠ comic cannon, but I had the idea Ratau may hold a little jealousy even before the comic because of this, so I was really excited to see the idea play out.

But if you look at it from his point of view, it kind of makes sense.

At least in the comic so far, it seems that Ratau is incredibly devoted to TOWW. He's offended that The Lamb is taking Narinder's mission so lightly, that they are seemingly attempting to ignore his orders in order to go on their own revenge quest.

This makes sense, because as a past vessel, Ratau is bound to know well the honor that that sort of job brings. Seemingly, he would be eager to take The Lamb's place, but knows he can not. He's managing someone doing his dream job, and they're just there for the paycheck. It's got to be infuriating!

Especially since he's seemingly older and wiser than the lamb (Though I don't think his or TOWW's use of the word "child" is literal. I think it's more in the same way The Mystic Seller calls The Lamb an infant god.) I can definitely see his frustration. I think that The Lamb is going to kind of "sober up" after Leshy's defeat and finally gain sight of the mission.

Speaking of The Lamb, I really like how they were characterized! A lot of us, including myself, were pretty sceptical of turning a silent protagonist into a fully fledged character, but in my opinion all is looking really very well so far!

I especially the love the sort of cognitive dissonance they have in the beginning. It sets them up to be this wimpy pushover. I know a lot of people may find it hard to believe that someone in those circumstances would be so calm, but as someone who's had a number of near death experiences I thought it was pretty realistic! A sort of humorous disassociation sprinkled with a confusing mix of denial and acceptance. (Though, please note it's been a few years since the last time I've nearly died. My data is a bit outdated.)

Regardless, I like how they are now. It makes a lot of sense, after all, to be a bit peeved at the circumstances. Their dialogue is super witty, though really sad if you think about it, and I have a feeling that when they stop focusing on revenge they're going to crash and feel a lot of things they've suppressed since their death.

But all in all I'm super excited to see where this little lamb goes!

Finally, can we get some Nana appreciation?? Sure she had a small role, but for a first non-game character, she made a really good first impression!

She seems fleshed out with her own little past, backstory, and personality. The traumatized sceptic in me is a bit worried she'll end up as a love interest, but I doubt it. If it does happen, I doubt it'll be in a typical way. This is a game where you're encouraged to marry with multiple people, after all. I don't think that's the case, though. I think I'm just used to old 80's comics where the first female introduced was the main love interest and nothing more 99.999% of the time.

Whatever is done with her, I'm eager for it. So far the writing seems really really good and she made a great first impression as a follower. She makes me EXCITED to see future follower interactions. If they're all written like her, then it's going to be a super enjoyable part of the comic. We love Nana here.

Finally I have some other random thoughts and things I noticed but can't really format in a way that works, so here's a bullet point list.

Apparently wool is very valuable. Now it's not said weather this is because of the lambs becoming less and less or if it was always valuable. Either way, it's and interesting little fact. I wonder if it'll be important later or if it's just trivia. I like to think things like that aren't added for no reason.

I like that they used the real term, 'Endling,' to describe the last of a soon to be extinct species. This knowledge, though, and the discussion with the cultist, implies this has happened many times before with other species. I wonder if they were always driven to extinction through genocide, or if natural factors ever play a role.

The Lamb was sold out for 30 gold coins. This is apparently a lot. It costs almost that much (converting coins to Dollars. Not perfect, I know.) to buy the ingredients for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich where I live in the US. Either there's not much inflation, or The Lamb was sold out for some PB and J.

I believe the thirty gold coins is a reference to the 30 silver coins Judas was given in exchange for selling out Jesus in Christian lore. If so, I like that detail! Very neat.

It's implied that the bishops are making life hell for EVERYONE while they drive off the lambs. This is interesting, and also a reflection of real life. Bonus points.

Does The Lamb really count as a non believer if they clearly believe in the bishops existence?? I mean they see them right there with no surprise.

Kallamar is shiny. Knew it. He also has tentacles.

It could just be the perspective, but Leshy seems taller than the other bishops.

BAAL AND AYM!

Let's all appreciate how well TOWW's chains and restraints were drawn. All those different perspectives must have been hell but it looks so good.

Chubby cheeks Narinder :)

Sharp teeth lamb! Possibly due to the crown??

So no head??

You. Me.

So no head?? x2

The lamb has guilt and second thoughts about the killing they must do to achieve their goals. Nice.

Cultist roles have hierarchy to them. Neat.

The Lamb's eyes water upon seeing light for the first time in who knows how long...sob.

Again, beautiful art.

There's lots of focus on The Lamb's fangs. Are they important or just stylistic, I wonder??

The crown seemingly has a mind of its own or is watching.

It's implied The Lamb has some sort of death powers already

So no head?? x3

CLAUNECK. MY BE FUCKING LOVED.

Needless to say I have so many THOUGHTS and can't wait for the next chapter. Happy reading, you guys!

[deke-rivers-1957]

Charro! Review

Before Elvis could start filming, numerous changes were made to the script. Everyone who has heard of this movie knows about a cut opening scene featuring female nudity as well as the director having other violent scenes cut. Elvis himself was disappointed that the script he accepted ended up changing by the time he got on set.

Fans however were disappointed for other reasons. They supposedly didn't like that Charro! only had one song. A soundtrack album couldn't even be made due to only 2 songs being recorded with one of them not even being used in the movie. Critics were also unhappy as they considered it to be a cheap attempt at a western and panned Elvis for his dull acting. But were those the real reasons why this movie is considered to be his least viewed? Did this movie genuinely fail to live up to the standards Western moves established before them, or was it judged too harshly for not living up to expectations of both Western fans and Elvis fans? Let's find out.

"Charro" is a quintessential Western intro song. The score as a whole is a hit and it wasn't a surprise at all to see Hugo Montenegro was the composer. He is after all famous for his "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" theme cover that reached the #2 spot in US charts June of 1968. I personally don't even mind that this is the only song in the movie that plays as Elvis rides a horse into town. It would've made the movie too hokey if it was stylized as a typical Elvis vehicle.

I love the town's aesthetic. The scenery throughout the whole movie is amazing and I'm so glad they filmed on location throughout Arizona and not simply use rear screen projection. Jess speaking in Spanish so the other patrons don't get hurt is a nice touch. Even though the situation was obvious, it was great to see a character moment where he didn't want to assume anything.

Billy Roy getting slapped adds a level of corny that's sprinkled throughout what's an otherwise serious film. It's very odd to have his line delivery sound the way it does then not even a minute later, Jess is being held at gunpoint to mount his horse. While it's true that even serious movies can have some comedic moments, the nature of this comedy here only feels out of place.

Jess' relationship with Vince is very odd. Vince claims that he's upset that Jess left because of Tracy but I personally don't think that's the only reason. Jess claims that he left because he felt that there was no future with Vince. I don't believe that either. There's a certain amount of complexity would give us a greater insight to their character motivations.

Vince reveals that he stole Emperor Maximilian's cannon. Now his reasoning for getting Jess Wade involved makes absolutely no sense. Vince says that one of their buddies got shot in the neck. So Jess would be framed, they put out his name and branded him so he'd have the matching scar. There are a lot of factors that would have to work in Vince's favor for this plan to work. You are more likely to die from a gunshot wound to the neck given the amount of blood vessels in that area and the lack of fat covering the area. To avoid death by blood loss, let alone infection since this is the late 1800s, you would need an act of God to help you.

Vince's plan only works because the writers says it does which leads to a lot of problems down the line. The biggest issue being that he expects everyone who sees the poster to immediately associate Jess' new scar with a gunshot wound. I know the scar is makeup and might not fully reflect the injury Jess is supposed to have, but if we're assuming what we see is what the characters see, I don't think they would see a branding scar and realistically think it's a gunshot wound. Again based on the setting, people should know what a gunshot wound would look like and how it would damage the surrounding skin. Even if they're not a doctor, they at least would have functional enough eyes to know the difference.

I love the scene of Jess taming the horse but man is it obvious at times that Elvis isn't actually riding it. However, him getting water from a muddy river is the scariest thing I've ever seen. Knowing that in real life, water like that would cause so many problems like cholera or dysentery, Jess probably is God for somehow not coming down with either of those illnesses. It's even worse when you notice that he wiped that same water on his wound. Granted a burn wound from a branding iron isn't exactly an open wound, but it still doesn't mean there's no chance of an infection. Unless the writers specifically wanted Jess to use dirty water to wipe his wounds, I would've changed how it was shot so the water didn't look obviously undrinkable.

Now what is absolutely amazing was the weather effects. Seeing Jess having to ride his horse while a dust storm is forming is incredible. I have no idea if they purposely created a dust storm or if the camera crew manage to capture the perfect moment. Either way it's nice to see that this was the real life middle of the desert as opposed to using a soundstage. Having that atmosphere really draws you into the movie. I almost wish it was filmed in that classic black in white film to really capture that old, gritty Western aesthetic.

I love Jess' relationship with Sheriff Ramsey. Even though we don't know the full details, you can tell there's some type of mentorship role involved. It's especially clear that the sheriff is meant to be a grounding figure in Jess' life given how they emphasize the numerous lectures he had to listen to. Even when the sheriff chews out Jess for getting involved with Vince again, he at least believes him when Jess said it wasn't his choice.

Now Jess' relationship with Tracy really falls flat for me. I don't even care that her nude scene is cut, they just have no chemistry. Tracy in general not trusting Jess despite kissing him makes no sense. Especially when she's going on about how Jess is worse than Vince when she doesn't even give him a chance to tell his side of things. It only makes her look flakey to have her chew Jess out and not trust him, only to give him a gun as a means of helping him. I know she's conflicted on what to believe, but it would be best to frame it as a conflict and not something she's so adamant about.

Billy Roy shows up at the saloon and I have no idea what to make of it. He acts all sinister with Marcie yet also acts like a complete ham with Jess. Everyone knows he's part of Vince's gang yet none of the men do anything about it. Tracy is the only one who outright confronts him about his presence being unwanted and Jess only gets involved when he's called out.

Sheriff Ramsey getting shot should've never happened. You mean to tell me there wasn't a single person in that saloon with a gun that could've done something? No one knows about Vince having the cannon so they should have no reason to be afraid. This is an example of an idiot plot where the plot only works because the writers purposely make everyone dumb or inactive. The men dragging Billy Roy to the jail shows just how easy it should be to deal with one person.

I have no idea why we're supposed to think Sheriff Ramsey's wounds are considered fatal. Perhaps it's because the visuals don't fully reflect the extent of his injuries since it's only makeup, but I don't think it was that bad. The "bullet wounds" to me doesn't indicate that he'll die from blood loss. If anything, he's more likely to die from the infections brought on by Opie trying to dig the bullets out.

Sheriff Ramsey swears Jess in as his deputy. The fact that there's multiple witnesses shows that this is official. Since Jess is now in charge what does he do? Actively passes out rifles to the business owners so they can protect their property. And to think most of the town doesn't trust him because he was part of Vince's gang. I can understand being wary of Jess, but once he's actively taking the time to ensure the town's safety, tensions should've gone down. Especially since literally anyone could verify with Sheriff Ramsey that he sworn Jess in himself.

It's now daybreak and we get an idea of how small Vince's gang really is. Unless there's a whole bunch of people offscreen, I can only count a total of less than 10 men including Vince and Billy Roy. Vince freaking out about his brother being gone and one of his guys saying "I didn't wanna wake youuuuu" is one of the funniest line deliveries in this movie. I can't take anything he does seriously because there's just a lot of mood whiplash between him slapping someone then immediately apologizing like nothing happened. Then again it's possible that Vince was purposely supposed to be this way as a way to showcase how scary he really is. That unlike Billy Roy, Vince is capable of having normal human emotions so showing that he's still willing to commit a significant amount of atrocities for money makes him even more dangerous.

Tracy sees Jess at the barber's shop and immediately scolds him for leaving Billy Roy unguarded and not having armed men on the roofs. I have no idea why Tracy genuinely thinks Jess is that stupid to leave Billy Roy alone and leave the rest of the town unarmed. I actually chuckled when she realized that she was wrong because it's hilarious how for someone who's supposed to love Jess, she has absolutely no faith in him.

Because this issue happens throughout the movie, I'm only going to mention it here to avoid repetition. Vince being allowed to ride freely in town is the most nonsensical thing I've ever seen. The townsfolk know that he's dangerous. There's a bunch of them and only one of him. Jess gave them guns for a reason so why aren't they using them? Unless Jess specifically gave them orders to not shoot unless fired at first, there shouldn't be anything stopping them.

The fact that he's even allowed to be in the jail shows just how unclear his status is in this town. His plan to turn that cannon onto the town if Billy Roy isn't set free only showcases that he shouldn't just be allowed to roam freely. So Jess makes the active decision to do absolutely nothing. Even if we're supposed to infer that he needs Vince alive, why couldn't he use his power as Deputy Sheriff to arrest him? He literally admitted in plain English that he's going to commit an act of terrorism against the town. I would think that is a big enough of a crime to put him in jail so he can't carry out that plan.

The Mexican Army arrives and Vince threatens to rat Jess out. Jess meanwhile, continues to do nothing but threaten him back into convincing them to leave. So Vince decides to lead the Mexican Army away from Jess by leading them right to a pass that results in them all getting blasted by a cannon fire. What's lost on me is that this whole scene was kept in despite being the most violent scene in the movie. I know that we needed to know why the Mexican Army just disappears but how can you claim to want a film that isn't very violent yet keep a scene that features a mass murder?

Meanwhile, absolutely nothing is being done to prepare for an evacuation. Sheriff Ramsey's the only one with sense by telling Jess to not be a coward and give into Vince's demands. It's funny how immediately after his wife is like "don't let my husband convince you to let him die because he can't be moved. Set Billy Roy free" as if that would solve everything. Vince turning the cannon onto the town already proved that he's someone who can't be reasoned with. There's absolutely no proof that simply letting his brother go would make him not attack the town. Evacuating the town is the easiest solution to have Jess not give in and let a potential terrorist get what he wants.

It's honestly incredible how Jess is the one who's blamed when Sheriff Ramsey is killed by falling debris, when Vince is right there in front of them. Vince is the one who can tell his men to not fire. Vince is the one who gave them the ultimatum to let Billy Roy go when his actions got the sheriff injured in the first place. But no it's all Jess' fault. If you're going to blame Jess for anything, blame him for not doing anything to stop Vince when he was well within his power as the Deputy Sheriff to do something.

Mrs. Ramsey bringing out the posters as if he's a liar the whole time is pointless. No one in the town except Sheriff Ramsey ever fully trusted him, so bringing out the poster doesn't change anything. If anything it should show how irrational she is from grief because she actually believes it to be true without questioning anything. Tracy even buys into this idea despite supposedly loving him that it makes me not care that she apologized. I feel nothing for their relationship because even though she kisses him, at the end of the day, she didn't have his back when he needed it.

Despite Jess being gone, Mrs. Ramsey still thinks he's a rat when the cannon still fires on the town. What makes it even worse is that, she herself says that Billy Roy being let go might result in the cannon fire ending. Meaning despite being so adamant that Jess should rot for not letting him go, even she isn't sure about it ending. And yet after all this cannon fire, no one leaves town. The amount inaction when there doesn't need to be is so baffling. Unless Vince somehow has invisible guards keeping everyone but Jess and Billy Roy in the town, there's no reason for them to still be there.

It's now night time and Jess has Billy Roy handcuffed around some tree branches. I love the amount of tension in this showdown. The look in Jess' eyes when he sees the cannon rolling down into Billy Roy is amazing acting. Even though the whole series of events that resulted in Billy Roy's death could've been executed better, it doesn't take away from the genuine look of helplessness on Jess' face. As soon as he took in what was happening, he knew there was nothing he can do to stop it. And he felt absolutely guilty about. It once again shows that just because Jess is this stoic character, he's not a man who is completely unable of expressing emotion.

As much as I understand people thinking it's weak for Vince to still be alive at the end of the movie, this was the best way to go. When you look at his relationship with his brother, you know that the worst thing you can do to him is to let him live. Forcing Vince to live with the guilt that his actions caused Billy Roy to die, would be an even better comeuppance than simply killing him. Plus Jess realistically still needs Vince alive so he can have his name cleared of all charges. Killing him wouldn't have helped him accomplish that. On the opposite side, I love how Vince curses out Jess Wade but when he sees the man right in front of him, he does nothing. It shows that Vince is so broken by this death, that killing Jess wouldn't have changed anything. It wouldn't have brought his brother back. So he gives up knowing he has nothing left to live for.

I don't like how the townsfolk all apologize because it feels forced. Mrs. Ramsey especially going as far as to kiss Jess leaves a bad taste in my mouth since she was the reason why everyone ganged up on Jess in the first place. Even Tracy's part feels forced because of how she didn't show a level of loyalty that would make a happy ending feel earned. At least Jess got to ride off into the proverbial sunset knowing his name will be cleared.

The sad thing about this movie is that it had a lot of chances to be good. The concept of a man having to clear his name over a crime he didn't commit is a classic story for a reason. The problem is that the path the writers chose to get there had more holes than the town Vince attacked. It's incredible how one little detail can result in so much chaos. I'm well aware that a novelization exists, but since it was released separately from the movie, I'm not including that in my opinion. To me, a novelization of a movie shouldn't have to make up for details that weren't included in the movie.

Despite all of my criticisms, I still give this movie an 8/10. Even though some of the acting is corny, Elvis' portrayal of Jess Wade is amazing. I know it's a common criticism that Elvis' acting was flat. That. Was. The. Point. Jess is meant to contrast the chaotic nature that is Vince and Billy Roy because he's a man that has done wrong in the past but now wants to better himself. So why do I think this movie failed compared to Elvis' more musical ones? It's because it's a victim of circumstances. Westerns have been done to death and Clint Eastwood was the biggest contemporary name in that genre since John Wayne. Even though Elvis did a great job, he just didn't stand a chance because the heart of what makes a good Western story was lost.

An: Thank you @xanatenshi for requesting this. I understand why he has a following since Elvis did a great job portraying him. If I didn't tag you and you left a note on my previous reviews, please let me know and I'll be sure to tag you for Jess Wade's rank and my next review announcement.

Tagging: @whositmcwhatsit, @hooked-on-elvis, @smokeymountainboy, @atleastpleasetelephone, @stitchlover0112,

@tupelomiss, @vintagepresley, @eapep, @almightybigbrain, @coltswael,

@cieloestrelladoluna, @huhhhhsthings, @arrolyn1114, @peaceloveelvis, @peskybedtime,

@mercsandmonsters, @tacozebra051, @valloos, @ilovequeen978, @elvisvideos,

@presleyhearted, @depressedfairie, @kawaiiwitchy, @swingdownsweetchariot, @ruggednessworld,

@southcarolinawoman, @atrophyingaphrodite, @jrbrandi13, @summer56, @elvismylove04,

@eptodaytommorowforever, @lookingforrainbows, @araiarts, @fharysa, @lett-them-eatt-cake,

@fryb0rg, @wanderlustingtomboy, @slayingjd, @wildhorseinkansas, @somethingaboutelvis,

@jhoneybees, @elvisbooty76, @iloveelvisss, @presleyheart, @anakinsvault,

@illtakeyouhomeagain, @callieselvisobsessed, @50sexyshadesfashionista, @memphisflash, @arianatheangel-girl,

@madslovesmaws, @lucy114505, @presleygarden, @earthbaby-angelboy and @nicferg068.

[writers-potion]

⚔️🗡️Fantasy Battle Scenes 101

Step 1: Understand The Purpose of War

The reason for war doesn't have to be political: morality, love, land, bad blood, resources, religion, theft, etc...

No one likes mindless violence for the sake of it. War has extremely high stakes for the characters (death), so they must have a damn good reason to risk it.

Think about people other than the main general/leader. Why would the men/common people support the war effort? Is the cause big enough for them, too?

Step 2: Establish the Norms and Rules

Know Your World

Research different kinds of tools and weapons used for your fantasy army. It can be tye typical sword/dagger/bow or more imaginative, like magical items.

If you're writing historical fiction, make sure that what you write lives up to the time period.

Rules of Engagement

Establish the level of military technology and any magical aspects. DO NOT have your characters spring up random abilities in the middle of battle that will make the worldbuilding confusing.

What counts as war crime?

Are there laws of war? Perhaps your army has different levels of engagement for varying levels of danger.

Open battle vs. Siege vs. Assualt:

Open battles are A LOT more costly. Often, the side that wins is the side that can afford to bare the losses of thousands of dead.injured men and resources spent on charging against the other continuosly.

The siege is more common. The outnumbered side will fall back to a stronghold, with the stronger army rolling up and preparing to besige the stronghold.

Assualts only happen with haste is needed (maybe winter is coming) or an exploitable weakness is found.

Step 3: Set the Scene

Think about terrain and weather. How does it impact the fighting?

Describe the two forces - size? Who is the aggressor? Establish teh scope and mood of the two armies.

Establish the noticeable landmarks that will allow your readers to place themselves better in the battlefield

Step 4: Build The Tension Beforehand

Show how your characters feel BEFORE the battle.

Nervous, fearful and wanting to run or boisterous, excultant, hungry for blood? Maybe they are fighting because they're desperate.

Instead of rushing into the maiming and beheading, spend some time describing the sound/smell/sight of the battle and how this affects your characters.

Make the readers feel the terror and oppressive weight of the struggle to come, gripping them with the ovewhelming horror, danger and anticipating.

Step 5: Clarity Among Chaos

Don't stay away from your main character for too long or too often. Readers must be able to understand the scope and direction of the battle.

Choose a few main locations/characters involved and stick to them. Brush too broadly (aka trying to describe EVERYTHING) will make the reader confused and disconnected from the plot.

Get CLOSE TO THE CHARACTERS. Show the cuts and bruises, hear cries of pain, the clanging of swords, roaring of the cannon and the smell of sweat and blood.

Show the emotions of individual characters. Show how they tire, suffer wounds, push themselves onto their feet and feel fear, excitement, disgust, pride and shame.

Provide concrete, tangible details (not a general bird's eye view of everything) to ground your reader.

Write Cohesively.

While your characters can feel confused and overwhelmed, you as a writer shouldn't be.

Set markers for yourself. Make a list of major battle points that needs to happen and keep this consistent between POVs, helping your readers follow important events as they unfold.

Step 6: A Meaningful End

As your battle progresses, keep raising the stakes.

Increase the personal danger to your hero as his side runs ourt of resources or his best commrads fall. Make them struggle more and more until that moment of breakthrough that leads to victory. Make that victory loook earned.

Provide the ending image - the consequences of battle. Show the destruction and carnage, the relief and sweet tang of victory on men's faces. Create a lasting image for the reader to carry forward.

+ Other Tips / Common Sense

Horsemen keep moving. They would rarely stand still and engage in melee unless cornered. A stationary horse and rider would be eary targets for missile infantry.

Fighting is either engaged by whole units or individually. Warrior oriented societies will value single fighting prowess and therefore battles devolve into a tangled brawl. Usually the more "civilized" societies will have a stricter unit cohesion where men group together.

Armor is heavy. Even weathered soldiers will be affected by the heat and rain, experiencing fatigue quickly in their heavy, not-well-ventilated armor.

Battle hardly last all day, let alone days. Think in minutes or 1-2 hours max. Up until gunpowder arose, medieval battles were short. Unless your battle is taking place over a mass expanse of land (and thus required quite a bit of travel along with actual clashes) or there are multiple armies, keep it short.

Momentum and morale are important factors of victory. When led by charismatic generals and men belive in their victory, the army has a higher chance of winning than ever.

Use multiple POV: If you need readers in multiple parts of the battlefield at once (especially if fighting takes place in many, disconnected locations), switch betwen characters'perspectives to create a complete picture.

Use sensory details

Use short sentences and paragraphs.

Use dialogue sparingly: try to focus on the action and description, since it will be hard to hear in the height of fighting.

Some recommendations for good battle scene examples:

- The Lord of the Rings by J R.R. Tolkien - Battle of Helm's Deep, Battle of the Pelennor Fields - A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin - Battle of the Blackwater, Battle of Winterfell - The Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan - Battle fo Falme, the Last Battle - The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson - Battle of the Tower, Battle of Thaylen Field

Questions for Further Thought

Is there an ulternative to this war scene? If yes, why is a war scene better than other forms of conflict?

How should war change the characters?

Does war have a lasting effect on the rest of the story? How much would the plot be impacted by the outcome?

Is this battle necessary? Or is it just a "shock factor" so that you can write some gore?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

References:

https://mythicscribes.com/writing-techniques/writing-warfare/

https://www.osswriting.com/post/writing-epic-battle-scenes

https://www.stevensmithauthor.com/blog/to-war-how-to-write-a-fantasy-battle-scene

[finnickfan8]

Sad Girl

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort (I love these)

Warnings: Suicide attempt, Cannon Typical Violence, alcohol use

You clutched the purple berries in one shaky hand. It was just you and Finnick. You and your best friend, Finnick. Your thoughts were fixated on the memory of the two of you on your happiest day.

The two of you had just bought some treats from the local bakery. The day before the reaping was your annual beach picnic with Finnick. The two of you would save up on allowance and lunch money for months to afford the finest delicacies that District 4 had to offer. With your assortment of meats, baked goods, and sweets, the two of you would walk hand and hand to the salty shores of Panem.

“To the 65th Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.” Finnick toasted with a chocolate chip cookie. He was mocking your escort. Both of you dug in, leaving nothing but crumbs as evidence of your feast. Finnick being a fourteen year old boy had eaten most of it but you were satiated so it never perturbed you much.

“If I ever got chosen for the games, I’d definitely win by playing dumb.” You proclaimed. Finnick laughed at your antics. You knew the severity of the Hunger Games but never really felt that you would be the one picked.

“Well, I think they’d take one good look at my dashing face and declare me the winner.” You grinned at his cocky statement. He wasn’t wrong, he was probably the most handsome boy in Panem. If not, the world. “And of course when I would win, you’d be at my side throughout my Victory Tour. Together forever?”

“Together forever.” You repeated, leaning your head on his muscular shoulder.

“Even after death?” He held out his pinky for your signature pinky promise.

You locked your pinky with his outstretched one. “Even after death.” You never broke a pinky promise.

Now here you were, about to leave your childhood crush so he could live in luxury for the rest of his many days. You wouldn’t really be breaking your promise because you would be with him just not physically, you thought.

You took a deep breath. You felt your breath skid over the surface of your anxiety. Resulting in a shaky breath to slip past your quivering lips. Your now quaking hand raised the Nightlock to your trepidatious lips. You set an image of Finnick in your hazy mind to remember why you’re doing this.

Before the purple fruit could pass the wall of your lips a tanned hand slapped them away. You opened your eyes to stand face to face with Finnick Odair. The way his sea green eyes locked with yours was evocative of home and your life before.

“You tried to break our promise?” A deluge of melancholy tainted his typically mellifluous voice. Tears moistened your despondent eyes. You wrapped your arms around him as if he was your last hope. It was just you and him in the arena, just as it felt to be only you two in the world at that moment.

“I need you to win.” The river of tears broke the barricades of your face in a violent crestfallen storm. “I’d die a million agonizing deaths for you.” Finnick cupped your cheek with one hand. He pressed his velveteen lips to your dehydrated ones.

The alarms signifying a winner blared at the two of you. What you hadn’t known was that the Capitol audience had threatened to refuse viewing the next games if their favorites died. Snow eventually gave in to their effervescent demands.

Now you were on your 5th yearly victory tour with Finnick. You had found sollis in pretending to be sick so you could sneak away to drink and smoke. Your relationship with Finnick had prospered since the games and you were more in love than ever with the coastal boy. That didn’t mean the trauma didn’t stab itself in to your mind, carefully weaving itself in to your every thought.

You were now cradling your vodka bottle, sipping as if it was water from an oasis in a sweltering desert. You knew Finnick had been through more than you in the past three years and he wasn’t drinking. You were supposed to be his rock but you were more of a mess than your beloved.

Finnick was birdwatching with Mags, something Mags loved. Mags would point out different birds and have Finnick name them. When she was still able to speak, she’d taught Finnick the names of the birds. The memory of the names now eludes her. Mags gestures towards the direction you shuffled towards after feigning illness.

“Don’t worry, i’ll go check on her.” Finnick patted Mags reassuringly on the back. Mags just nodded in response. Showing that she approved of his actions. Mags cared for you in every way she could. One of those ways was Finnick.

He got up from the cushioned windowsill that he was sat upon. His shoes moved silently against the carpet floor that covered the train. His fingers traced the mahogany doorframe before twisting the metal doorknob.

When he entered the room, your face dropped. All you could do was hide the bottle behind you like a child who just got caught disobeying their parent. You knew he’d see your partially emptied bottle of vodka and your chest dropped in despair. You were to be there for him and here you were; drunk out of your mind.

“Honey,” he stepped in to the dim lamplight of the bedroom. “what are you doing?” You saw how disappointed he was with you and it was like his eyes had pierced your chest. His words drug the knife down, splitting you open. While your own guilt gutted you from the inside out.

“I’m” was all you could manage to spit out before crying in shame. “I’m sorry.” He took another step towards your vulnerable body. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” You screamed, rocking back and forth. You felt like you were in the games again. You just constantly held Finnick back. You snapped back when your shoulders were grabbed.

“Look at me, Honey.” You followed his order. “I’m going to get you some water and a snack. Once you’re sober, we are going to talk about this. Okay?” You only nodded pathetically at his response. He hurriedly fetched you water and some crackers. He set them down to the left of you before plopping down next to your goodies.

“Kiss.” You demanded in a drunken slur. You puckered your lips at him and leaned in to his side before he deflected your declaration of love. He had turned his head and your lips made contact with his ear. You picked your saggy head up just enough to pout at him.

“I’ll give you a kiss between every time you take a sip of this water.” He shook the bottle at you for emphasis. “And eat this cracker.” You snatched the cracker that he was dangling in front of you out of his hand. Before shoving it in your mouth barbarically. You wash it down with a gulp of water.

“Kiss.” You demanded yet again, but this time it was more agitated. Finnick smirked at you before giving in and pressing his lips to yours for a second. “Seriously? A Peck?” You pouted. In defiance you shoveled the entire pack of crackers in to your mouth, chomping aggressively at them. You then chugged the entire bottle of water. “A real kiss Bitch.” You glared at him menacingly. Or so you thought.

His soft hands collect your face as this time he pulls you in for a real kiss. He didn’t mind that you cussed at him or glared at him. He actually found your attempt at vitriol rather endearing. After many “I love you Finnick”s, several “You’re so pretty”s, and a lot of cuddling, you sobered up.

“Welcome back My Love.” You begrudgingly groaned in response. You had been force fed (lovingly encouraged) water and various foods. You snuggled up against him. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

You were numb at this point to your fears. You knew Finnick would protect you. “I can’t deal with the nightmares.” You admit. “The screams of the District 2 girl I stabbed after I called her my ally ring throughout my head. And her blood feels like it’s permanently splattered on my hands no matter how good I wash. She’s there, she’s haunting me.”

“She probably understands, Love. What the Capitol does is vial. They bloviate about their cushy life while we starve. Then we have to fight to death in the arena and die inside to be physically alive? She would know that you had to.” Finnick always eased your usually sullen mood. You wished he’d let you in when he felt like this but he would rather be there for you. You needed him to be there for you even if it made you feel like the weight of the world was with you.

Finnick was your haven. Finnick was your person and you were his. He protected you now just as he did in that arena. His Love, his Baby, his Sugar, his Honey, his Shell, his Y/N. He’d loved you for what felt like forever now and he’d love you always. In every universe you’re his soulmate. If in any universe you’re not, he’s bound and determined to change that.

Finnick gets flashbacks too. Except, the only comfort he needs is to see your shining face when he gets home. He loves his girl.

You love your Finnick

[weixuldo]

Allow me// ch 4

Vader x Reader

a/n: Hello hello!! sorry for the wait! I will say that were entering more of the “x reader” content that I know most of you are looking forward to heh, but who doesnt love a good slow burn?? hah ty for reading :)

Your boss is not happy about your absence yesterday

warnings: Cannon typical violence, force choking, real choking (and not in the fun way lol), Death, implied death, cursing, anxiety

_____________________

“You never arrived at your posted station yesterday officer y/n, so where in the galaxy were you?!” your red faced manager shouted at you as he dabbed at the sweat forming above his bushy brow. 

“I was pulled aside to complete-” 

“I don’t give a fuck about who asked for your assistance, you report to me. And unfortunately your task was not completed yesterday so who do you think got chewed out? Me!” he huffed, not allowing you to finish your sentence. This was causing a bit of a scene in the semi-public hallway.  

If he weren't always like this, a passerby might think he was going to go into cardiac arrest. 

“Sir, I am truly sorry, but when Darth Vader himself asks for your assistance, you can't really deny him,” you tried to explain calmly.

The winded man in front of you let out a gargantuan laugh, “You're tellin’ me… Darth Vader? The most revered Sith lord in the galaxy… asked for your help?! Hah! You gotta be outta your mind little girl”.

“It is true sir, I didn’t get a chance to tell you after I finished because It was late and our wing was closed”.

“Oh yea, I'm sure you did get back pretty late” he laughed.

“Pardon?”

“We all hear what the troopers say about you little miss, surprised you didn’t take your knee pads yesterday, well with all that dick you’ve been sucking”

Wow, this puny man was really proud of himself, wasn't he. It was honestly disgusting.

“I do not think that is appropriate workplace behavior, sir” you tried to remain as cordial as possible; with basically the whole executor aiming for the target on your back, you felt like you had to be on your very best behavior all the time. 

“Yea, well in my department, I make the rules and since you carelessly neglected your duties yesterday, I’m giving you the highly acclaimed task of cleaning the restrooms in the communal sector, and once you're done with that I think I’ll give you a task all the way in the bridge” the man smiled a toothy grin before insisting time was “of the essence”.

The cool bathroom floor made you shiver as your knees hit the tile, you went through so much schooling and apprenticeships to do ….this. 

Wonderful.

To make it even better you had to keep the door open because the cleaning chemicals needed to be aired out or else they would be too strong; that gave your whole department the lovely view of your ass bent over the toilets, scrubbing away the grime.

It was humiliating, but what were you going to do? Defy your manager and possibly lose your job? No.

It was bad enough that everyone here seemed to hate you, why would you lose a decent paying job too?

You sighed as you heard some of your co-workers snickering;

“I bet that tile is uncomfortable”

“I wouldn't worry about it, she’s probably used to being on her knees hah!”

Finally, you reached the last stall and you were getting high off of the fumes of the cleaning materials. You felt gross and you were getting a headache, your boss didn’t even give you the health regulated mask to use as you worked with the chemicals. 

You were gathering up the cleaning bottles and rags when you heard the bustling of your office grow silent. That wasn’t normal, usually there were at least a few yappy voices gossiping about some dumb drama within the department. 

You were inclined to peek around the doorway of the bathroom, but you decided not to do anything that could get you yelled at…again.

Suddenly you heard a hushed voice, “He’s coming”.

At that, your senses heightened. Could it be?

Him. 

You had no reason to be excited for his arrival, after all it's not like you were in a fantasy story where he would whisk you away and make you his-

The familiar sound of the steel door sliding to the side filled the bay and in came those heavy boot steps, patterned breathing, and demanding aura. 

Darth Vader was here. 

“My Lord, how may I be of assistance” your boss bowed at the dark figure before him; his face finally cooled down from the bright red it was when he yelled at you earlier.

“I need to speak with one of your mechanics” the Sith spoke, surveying the room. 

“Yes, of course! We can get you someone right awa-’

“You misunderstand, General. I need one specific mechanic” Vader corrected.

“Oh! My apologies, who may you be in search of?” Your boss recovered his mistake, though you could see the redness creeping up the back of his neck again.

“F/N L/N.”

Did you mess up your details yesterday? 

You felt less worried for your safety then you once did because you had shared a few one-on-one moments with the dark lord.

But

His sudden appearance in your wing did confuse you. 

You peeked around the bathroom door’s opening and saw your boss nervously glancing at the bathroom door.

“Ohh, um, of course My lord…. Though might I add, if some repair was done incorrectly I apologize on behalf of the mechanic’s branch… she tends to do faulty work– and we will deal with her accordingl-”

“Quite the contrary, general.”

The-now- red faced man blinked in surprise at the Sith’s words. 

“M-My Lord?” 

He stole another glance back to where you were. 

“What is in the bathroom that is so interesting that you cannot focus on our conversation?” The cloaked figure demanded as he made his way over to where you were. 

Quickly you scurried away from the entrance and went back to cleaning on the other end of the facility; You'd rather not be caught actively eavesdropping.

The Sith stomped into the bathroom with a determination that gave you butterflies. His helmet turned towards you before he commanded you to rise.

Oh… maybe he was frustrated with you.

Your excitement turned into uncertainty as you followed the man out of the restroom.

“Leave the bucket” he added, talking about the pail with all of the cleaning supplies and rags. 

You stepped out of the chemical filled bathroom and inhaled a deep breath of clean air; as you followed the flowing cape of the man in front of you, everyone’s eyes were on you. 

Vader suddenly stopped, causing you to almost run straight into his broad shoulders. 

“Would you care to explain why a mechanic of the empire was wasting time sanitizing the restroom facilities and not a cleaning droid?”

“Well, My Lord, she had not arrived at her posted work station yesterday, so we thought it best to punish her accordingly” Your boss replied with a nervous toothy grin. 

“Who approved that method, General?”

“Well- Umm” the shorter man stammered.

“Because I see no advantages to this situation. More work is delayed and the cleaning is less efficient”

Damn, he really just implied you didn’t know how to clean a toilet.

“Yes, Of course My Lord, My apologies… it will not happen again” Your boss profusely apologized.

“Very well. I am not pleased when workers take their own liberties when abridging protocol on MY ship” The Sith proclaimed irritably. 

The sleazy man cowered and stepped aside, allowing the cloaked Sith passage.

“Y/N, you are to come with me” Vader spoke, without turning to look at you.

Your whole body felt tingly as you walked behind him (and not in the fun tingly way…. More like dread). You weren’t used to him taking a demanding tone with you. 

You followed him out and his squadron followed closely behind you; the hallway was silent except for the shuffle of the trooper’s boots and the man’s breathing. What had you gotten yourself into?

Only around halfway down the hallway the man in front of you suddenly stopped, prompting you to halt abruptly behind him. You were so close that his cape brushed the tip of your nose before you took a few steps back. 

Vader slowly turned his head to the side as if he were sensing something. Was he feeling your fear?

The profile of his mask seemed more and more ominous with every second. 

You were about to ask him what was the matter, but before you could he walked past you back towards where you both just were. 

Were you supposed to follow him? 

He had already entered the room when you caught up with him. You weren't sure what he was doing, but you sure didn’t expect to see him choking your boss in the middle of the room.

The smaller man had no chance as the dark giant held him firmly in his gloved hand. It was almost sad how much your boss was struggling; he kicked his feet and clawed at Vader’s iron fist. 

“Would you care to repeat what you just said, general?” Vader questioned.

All the man could muster was broken chokes and gasps as his face turned bluer by the second.

“First you think you can change protocol and then you have the audacity to insinuate my business with one of your mechanics” he scoffed before dropping the man from his grasp. 

He fell hard with a thud and gasped for air.

Vader straightened his form and took a look around the room at all of the terrified workers.

“Do not be so ignorant as to think I do not hear your childish gossip on my own ship.”

Suddenly you realized what this was all about…

the rumors. 

Of course a mighty sith lord wouldn’t want to be talked about behind their back, especially if people were insinuating they were getting their rocks off, but there was a certain double standard among the men of the galaxy. It was seen as something to be proud of when a man would bed many women or have “sex slaves” (for lack of better terms). 

You really didn’t understand why he was so heated… was it because it was you?

A sudden wave of nausea washed over you; was he only disgusted because they were pairing him with you? Did he think you were that embarrassing to be associated with? 

Vader turned his attention back to the man on the ground.

“Pathetic” he huffed before turning back to the gallery of shocked workers.

“Let him be an example for you all” 

In a swift motion he turned his clench fist and the man’s neck snapped with a sickening crack.

Your eyes widened and you heard others gasp; you had only ever heard of the Sith’s capability, never seen it.

Vader turned on his heel and promptly left the room, strutting down the hall quicker than he was before; you were frozen for a moment, but then you hurried after the Sith. Hopefully what he needed you for would be something less… deadly. 

___________________________

The room was freezing and the fabric of your uniform was not doing much to help with the cold.

After the ordeal at your workplace, Vader brought you to a room that you had not previously seen. In keeping with the rest of the ship, the room was the rich obsidian that you grew accustomed to. There was a large seat in front of the window that beautifully displayed the vast view of space. 

Currently you were seated on a couch that was in front of the chair; much to your surprise it was a pretty comfy one.

None of the troopers entered the room with you and the Sith, so you worried this was it. You were going to die. 

He asked you to take a seat but then disappeared into another connecting room.

In his absence, you recalled all of your interactions with him, trying to figure out what grounds he had to kill you? Nothing you had done was out of line, it was more the mistakes of those around you… but what were you going to do, protest the Sith’s plans? 

You became sad when you reminisced on your feelings for the man… What a fool you were. You really thought that the cold and stoic man liked you. You thought you were connecting with him- and he even allowed you to drop formalities around him-

What went wrong?

You were too naiive, that’s what was wrong. 

Your nerves began to settle a bit when he hadn’t returned, it had been around two hours by now. Whether he wanted to play a cruel waiting game or not was becoming more and more irrelevant to you. 

You were sure your fate was sealed, so what was a few more hours? Plus you had a very emotionally taxing day and your lack of sleep was catching up with you. 

This couch was feeling more and more appealing and your eyelids were getting heavier and heavier…

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt, you would just make sure to set an alarm on your watch for you to wake up. 

yeah… just a quick-

***

a/n: alrightyyy thank you for reading and if you guys have any questions about the pacing of this story or enigma, dont hesitate to shoot me an ask! Love you all :)

taglist: @vadersassistant @sxoulohvn @khaleesihavilliard @kashasenpai @darling-murdock @beautifulbearpolice @salvatoresister1 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @blueninjablade3 @jujuba096 @missmannequin @jellydodger @mirastark @wyvernthekriger @duckyhowls @monada43 @lauriidoesstuff @vienettacream @ray-rook @itswhatever06

[sleepingdeath-light]

autistic male s/o hcs ; otis

requested by ; thatboymikey (09/10/23)

fandom(s) ; house of 1000 corpses / slashers

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; otis b. driftwood

outline ; “Hello :) can I request some Otis driftwood head cannons with a male reader? And the reader is autistic and sometimes goes non verbal at times if you’re fine with that, that would be amazing thank you so much.”

warning(s) ; brief references to canon typical violence, but mostly fluff!

otis is an asshole — a murderer, a kidnapper, someone who will torture anyone and everyone who he comes across with a smile on his face — but he does actually care about his family and about you as his boyfriend (even if he denies having a soft spot with everything he’s got)

after being with you for long enough he’s able to pick up on when you’re going to go non verbal and, having an adopted brother that is also non verbal, he’s more than able to communicate with you at times like that — he’s a murderer, sure, but he’s a murderer with a strong sense of community who practises sign language in his free time (he’s not the best… like, at all, but he knows just enough to scrape by during conversation with you)

he’s absolutely targeted people for being homophobic or ableist towards you — hell, he’s killed for far less so that shouldn’t be a shock — but he never uses them for his art because they don’t deserve to be preserved, so he just dumps them in the mass grave with the rest of the clan (he also makes their deaths much more intense and painful, but that’s par for the course with a partner like him)

alternates between calling you his ‘boyfriend’ and his ‘husband’ — he doesn’t give a shit about marriage as a concept, nor about anything else that’s legally binding, but he likes the possessive undertones of the title and will use it every now and then when someone just isn’t getting the hint (or if he knows you like it when he calls you that)

very physically affectionate in a sexual way, especially when you have ‘guests’ and one of them is looking at you in a way he doesn’t like, and that includes everything that you could think of: wet messy kisses to your temple, making out in full view of everyone, groping your body, pulling you down onto his lap, grinding his hips against your ass, turning your head to face him before kissing you very roughly, etc.

in short, it’s impossible for any visitors to not realise that you’re otis’ boyfriend (his man, his boy toy, his life partner, his husband in every sense except legally, not that either of you cared) and they’d have to be especially dense (or especially masochistic) to try and flirt with you after all of that

he doesn’t really get autism as a concept but he tries to understand with your help — even if a lot of his questions (usually asked when he’s high on several substances and when you’re cuddled up together in bed after a wild day or night) can be a bit blunt or strangely phrased

[edbloves]

https://www.tumblr.com/edbloves/754938770487476224/consumed-by-thoughts-of-post-war-bucky-and-buck

Is there any chance we can have more of this 🥹🥹

Hi Anon!!

You absolutely can, let's see if I can cook something up for you, darling! These have been the head cannons bouncing around in my head the last few days so here you go:

After doing a little bit of math, I've decided that John's daughter would be around three (for pregnancy, stalag and post-war timing reasons)

John honestly doesn't remember her mother, and feels horribly guilty for it. He has vague memories of a drunken night in the Bristish bars with a Red Cross girl where both of them were mutually using the other to try to forget the war, but he knows nothing about her and barely remembers what she looks like. And to be honest, there were numerous instances of those, with numerous women

John, being the more charismatic of the two, relates better to her, though he is petrified that he's going to mess up and screw up her life (i.e. he's very aware that he drinks too much and smokes too much)

Gale is more nervous around her, never grew up with siblings and never knew anyone with kids her age and is terrified he's going to disappoint her or unknowingly start acting like his father. But once she starts to get more comfortable with them, he realizes that she's just a mini John and he falls even more in love with her

She LOVES Meatball (whom Demarco gave to Buck because Florida is not the place for a husky) and Meatball loves her back, they spend evenings with Meatball curled around her small frame and her tiny hands scrunched in his fur. Honestly, he's kind of like a therapy dog/emotional support animal for her after her mother's death and transition into John and Gale's life

All three of them get nightmares, John and Gale's about the war and her's about her mother dying, and later, about Buck and Bucky dying so it isn't uncommon for them to be up in the middle of the night all together

On that note, Gale keeps the fridge stocked with each other their favourite ice cream flavours (vanilla for him, chocolate for her and Bucky) and on warm nights where the nightmares wake them up, they'll all pile into the truck in their pyjamas and head out where there are views of the whole city and they'll curl up in the bed of the truck wrapped up and snuggled in blankets with Buck pointing out constellations and Bucky explaining that the sky is where he and Buck used fly

When she calls Bucky Daddy for the first time, he's calm about it with her but he completely loses it afterwards to Gale, emotionally overwhelmed and touched by her trust and love

On her second night with them, Gale is awake in the middle of the night thinking and spiralling and trying make mental tallies of all the things he has to do and learn and help her with and holy shit he's so unprepared and what are they going to do with a child, let alone a girl?? So he climbs out of bed and unthinking of the late hour, phones Marge and asks her how she does her hair. And lovely Marge is like WTF Gale? So Gale explains, says Bucky has a kid so I guess I have a kid now, too.

She has them instantaneously wrapped around her finger and they literally struggle so hard to say no to her ("You tell her she can't do that, John." "Why me? You tell her!" "I don't want her to be upset with me!" "You think I do?!") Good cop, bad cop is literally impossible to do with them, and Gale can't stomach it anyways, not with how his father was

They overload her with toys and clothes and sweets, particularly Gale, trying to come out from underneath the shadow of his own father and frets constantly that she doesn't know they love her

John is the one typically taking her out to do lots of activities, he signs her up for ballet and teaches her baseball as she grows up, puts her on the horses and on a bike probably too-early but Gale can't find it in himself to complain when John's smile is plastered all over her little face

Gale takes her with him EVERYWHERE, and not in the way his Dad took him (like it was a forced thing, like he was a nuisance he had to look after) but because Gale literally just wants to spend time with her all the time. He enjoys talking to her and getting her books to read as she learns her ABCs and hearing her three-year-old (sometimes strange) opinions on things, and having her accompany him to the grocery store and the post-office

Marge begs to babysit and she has to be damn convincing to get them to give her their daughter for a night

That's all I got for now! Hope you enjoy :) We'll see if I come up with more, then I might make it into a multi chapter fic if enough people are interested!

[prophecyofwinter]

Nemophilist

;One who is fond of forests or forest scenery

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: You are the childhood best friend of Aemond Targaryen. As children, the two of you made a promise that you two would Wed, no matter the cost. But would a war, a dance perhaps, cause issue with that promise?

Warnings: 18+, Death, Trauma, Toxic Sibling Dynamics, Cannon typical violence. More tags will be added as we go on

Notes: This is my first fan-fiction piece ever, I’m excited to finally be posting one! Chapters will start to get longer starting chapter 3!

Chapter 1: A Meeting in Brown

“Aemond!- Aemond!” You yell as you rush into the young silver-haired prince almost knocking him off his feet. You hadn’t seen him for a year by now, not by choice of course. Your father, Rickon Stark, hadn’t allowed you to visit King’s Landing due to a certain event at Driftmark. Sensing the rising tensions and not wanting his children involved. Your father hadn’t told you about a visit from the King to Winterfell especially did not inform you of your young prince tagging along. Finding yourself all but stealing him to get the boy alone.

“Y/N please” Aemond says, pushing you at arm's length away from him, head turned to the side only allowing you to view the right side of his face. Your face scrunched up in confusion trying to move out of his grip to catch his gaze. “Aemond, Look at me.. Aemond!” You raised your voice at his name, slowly growing more and more frustrated by his tough grip and his avoidant gaze.

Aemond snaps, gripping you tighter and forcing you closer to meet his one eyed gaze yelling with growing volume “Look at me then! Look how that bastard maimed me!” A soft gasp had left your lips by force of the sight, was this what had happened at driftmark? One of his nephews had stolen his eye?

All you felt you could do in the moment is attempt to reach up to his face, his grip only allowing you to reach to his jaw. The words you wanted to say to somehow comfort him were caught in your throat, what could you even say to comfort him?

He flicks his head out of your grasp “See? I’m hideous, even you don't look at me the same” he abruptly releases you and turns to leave you. You feel yourself reaching out for him “Wait! That’s not true! I just-“

“You just what! I can’t shoot a bow, I have to relearn how to swing a sword for gods sake! I’ll never even marry now, Lords won't even look at me let alone allow their daughters around me-“

“I’ll marry you then!”

The hall fell still for what felt like hours but was truly only a few moments, your eyes never left Aemonds and his to yours. Aemonds body relaxed, not out of relief but out of something else. “That’s not possible Y/N”

Frustration began to return to claw at your throat, “Why not! You just said that-“

“Your father said no already” Aemond admitted quietly but loud enough to stop you in your tracks he continues “Why do you think I came here? Your father said no and that's all that matters now!” Your noses are centimeters away from touching, there was no need to speak any louder than a whisper to each other.

“Wait for me then” Now having the opportunity to really reach to his face, lightly caressing the scar on his cheek below his eyepatch. “As much as I hate to think about it, My father won’t be around much longer. With Cregan as Lord, I’ll be as free as I can be to marry who I want.” You pause for a moment closing the gap closer between the two of you.

“Come back to Winterfell when that time comes, and ask for me then yourself, as a man” Your lips briefly kiss his cheek coming back to reconnect eye contact.

“As you wish my lady”

“Can I trust you with this Aemond?” Alicent says to her middle son within the confines of her chamber with the sound of the fire eating at wood filling the spaces of silence.

“Borros Baratheon will be more than happy to wed one of his daughters to Daeron, I have no doubts you will be able to secure their support.” Alicent stands from her chair to be more level with Aemond. “However the Starks, They stand true to their words even if they aren’t the one who had said them. I understand you and the Young Lady Stark, Y/N, have an affinity for each other, there’s no doubt of that. But you will also have to convince Lord Cregan that he is making the right choice.”

“You can put your faith in me mother, I will leave for Storm’s End on the marrow then make my way North to Winterfell. I shall not return empty handed.” Aemond puts it simply.

Aemond certainly will not return empty handed, he will bring you back to King's Landing regardless of the Lord of Winterfell's decision. All that would change is if he got a good rest beforehand. You had waited for each other long enough, he had waited too long and couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow a war to get in the way of his desires any longer. “I won’t let any bastard get in my way, Mother” is the last thing he says before turning to leave.

Aemond made haste to his own personal chambers all but slamming his door, readying to prepare his travel necessities. Soon, soon he will get to hold you and have you as his wife. He was denied more than once for your hand but now he will have it no matter what. Having your brother's support certainly would help the Greens win the war, though he would have no problem taking you from Winterfell himself if push came to shove.

“Y/N please, you’re acting like a child.” Cregan let out a long sigh, patience breaking into threads with every passing moment in your tantrum. “Me? A child? You’re trying to sell me off like a common whore!” You yelled back at your brother, tears streaming down your face and hair sticking to the tears, there was no doubt that multiple guards and maids have heard you by now even in the empty throne room. “You are a Lady! Like it or not, marriage is your duty to not only Winterfell but to-!” Cregan stopped his sentence short to dodge a golden chalice you had attempted to chuck at his head. Silence draped over the room with the last ringing of metal hitting the floor. You and your brother only made eye contact, no words to be exchanged. Your words were caught in your throat to the point where you could do nothing but flee the throne room, wiping your eyes with your hands in an attempt to retain some dignity.

Your heels clicked on the stone floors as you sped walked through the halls to get as far away from anything and everyone. Not knowing where else you could go but the Godswood, everywhere else had too many maids and guards to ask questions and silently judge you. The woods had always brought you peace, no one to accompany your every move, no elder brothers to tell you how to lead your life, nothing. Continuing your walk into the forest pulling your thick fur coat tighter around you, the sun was setting so it was beginning to get colder. You had memorized the walk to the Weirwood far too long ago to the point it was a walk you made without thinking.

As a child you were scared of the face in the tree clinging to your brother as you trembled, laughing to yourself at the memory of taking a seat on one of the roots. Laughter slowly turned back into slow tears remembering what brought you here in the first place. What should you even do, what can you even do? Do you pray to the Old Gods for you to be saved like a fairy tale princess, for Prince Aemond Targaryen to swoop down on Vhagar and whisk you away? You sinfully wonder if the Gods even listen to the prayers of silly girls who didn’t wish to be married away. Maybe they only listen to silly boys who wish for honor and power. You remember watching Cregan pray to the old gods before rising up against your uncle to reclaim his title as Lord of Winterfell. If you prayed as hard as he did that day would you receive glory?

In your frustrations you hadn't realized that you fell asleep on the tree, exhausted from crying and racing thoughts. You had no dreams while you rested, maybe that was a blessing for times to come.

You were jolted awake from the splitting sound of a dragon's wail. This could mean Aemond came after all couldn’t it? Wasting no time you jumped onto your feet and started running to get out of the woods. You felt light, maybe that’s how you were able to run so fast.

Slipping past maids and guards in an attempt to not knock them over as you ran to meet Aemond at the front gates if he hadn’t already made his way to your brother.

Luckily you had made it to the front gates just in time to meet- Aemond?

As the guards opened the doors to allow the young prince passage into the gates of Winterfell you found yourself needing to move your gaze lower, instead of straight silver strands you were met with slightly unkempt brown hair, and no striking violet eyes just ones that were the same color as his hair. This wasn’t Aemond? But he still had a dragon?

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER FORTY TWO → BREAK THROUGHS AND BREAK INS

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 5.4k || masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

a/n: things are unravelinggggg 😎

previous chapter ← → next chapter

The backroom of Scoop Ahoy was perpetually cold and the metal chairs they were given to sit in during their breaks dug uncomfortably into Tamera’s thighs. She sat with her feet kicked up on the table, adding another tick to the number of health code violations she and her co-workers committed. Tamera was trying to focus on reading her book and eating the shared order of French fries with the girl across the table. 

Tamera probably should have been annoyed that Danielle Torres spent a lot of time at Scoops, but Danielle stayed out of their way while they worked, often brought them lunch or desserts from her mom, and kept Harrington occupied. That, and Danielle wasn’t bad company. 

However, a part of Tamera felt weird being alone with her because her name was tapped up on Calum’s bedroom wall and was surrounded by several facts on sticky notes. 

Last fall, Tamera was determined to shut down Calum’s pursuit of looking for his dad and tying Danielle and Will Byers disappearances to whatever happened to his dad. But, when they discovered the government file in their possession and a series of odd facts that were too close to one another to be a coincidence, Tamera stopped trying to get her friend to let it go and began helping him figure out what it all meant. Did she think they actually solved their web of mysteries? Not exactly, but she had come to like playing detective in her free time. Hawkins had gone from the bane of her existence to hiding something within. Tamera wanted to know just what business Calum’s dad had with Hawkins National Laboratory, and if it really was connected to just about everything. 

The place stuck with her, day in and day out. She swore she had heard something about it before, but as soon as she thought she had jogged her memory, it slipped out of her grasp. Calum had suggested they break into the Lab, but Tamera killed that idea right away. They didn’t need to get themselves arrested, not when they were so close to graduation and getting the hell out of their hometown. And if the build once held any sensitive information, it was probably removed before the place was shut down and locked up tight. 

“Did we get any deliveries yet, Mara?” Robin asked as she poked her head into the backroom through the window. Tamera shook herself out of her thoughts and met Robin’s eye. Somehow, Robin made their stupid uniforms look good, accessorized with a series of chain-linked necklaces, cherry-red Convers, and dazzlingly blue eyes. It was unfair, but Tamera wasn’t complaining about the view. 

“Uh, no, not till later this week, I think,” Tamera replied. 

Robin dramatically sighed and hung half her upper body through the window. “Well, if we run out of sprinkles and I’m mauled by sticky-fingered children, I’m suing the mall.” 

“I think you’ll have a solid case there, sailor,” Tamera laughed. 

“Hey, if I die, you have to avenge me. But write something cooler than ‘Death by Sprinkles’ on my headstone, m’kay?” 

“Sout’s honor.” Tamera gave Robin a mock salute. 

Robin ignored the annoyed look Steve threw from the front counter, where a line had formed, and eyed Tamera with raised brows. “Were you a Girl Scout?” she asked, curiously. 

Tamera closed her book, giving Robin her full attention, and discarded it on top of the table. She missed the way Danielle’s eyes darted between her and Robin curiously. “Oh, God no. My mom tried to make me join, just for the cookies, but Calum was a Boy Scout and I somehow managed to annoy his troop leader enough that he let me into their little boy’s club.” 

A smile stretched across Robin’s face, causing her eyes to crinkle and sparkle. “You are something else,” she said before she pulled her head back from the window and closed it to resume slinging ice cream with Steve. She went to resume her book, but she felt a pair of eyes on her and looked up to see Danielle staring at her. 

“What?” Tamera asked, clearing her throat as a nervous knot formed somewhere deep inside her stomach. That wasn’t a new feeling, but one she got often whenever someone aside from her best friend, Calum, caught her staring a little too long at a girl with a pretty smile and bright eyes. Their stares made her feel like an open, exposed wound. But, there was no look of malice or disgust on Danielle’s face, only a soft smile as she shook her head. 

Tamera sunk back into her seat and thought they’d fall into silence until Steve was done with his shift and offered to drive Danielle home. But Danielle had a different idea in mind. 

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked and worry instantly flooded Tamera. She hated that one, specific question that lingered in the air surrounding her in whispers. There were so many rumors built on her shoulders, and she knew it was only a matter of time before Danielle heard them. She didn’t attend Hawkins High with Tamera, not like Robin and Steve who she was sure already knew all the rumors about her but avoided bringing them up to maintain a civil work environment. 

However, the question Danielle raised was not what Tamera had expected. “Your friend, Calum, he’s been looking for his dad, right?” 

Surprised, Tamera replied, “Uh, yeah, he has been. Why?” 

Danielle spun a pencil around between her fingers as she said, “Has he found his dad yet?” Her tone was sincere like she genuinely wanted to know, but Tamera couldn’t shake the tension that slowly rose around them. 

“No, he hasn’t.” 

“Oh,” Danielle frowned. “I know how hard it is to lose someone like that-”

“His dad isn’t dead,” Tamera cut her off, a bit too defensively. She felt like Calum trying to reason his dad’s disappearance. “He’s missing, but he’s out there somewhere. We just haven’t found him yet.” In all honesty, she didn’t care that much about finding him for the sake of finding him, she just wanted Calum to stop blaming himself for the man’s vanishing. She wanted Calum to return to his old self. And she wanted to know what kind of shady business his dad had been dealing in. 

“Oh, n-no. I didn’t mean it like that. I just know what it’s like to not know, you know?” Tamera blinked in confusion. 

There were many odd things about Danielle, aside from her obvious magical reappearance in Hawkins after vanishing for ten years. Tamera didn’t know much about the effects of being kidnapped, so she wrote off most of Danielle’s behavior as that, but she couldn’t pin everything on that. She didn’t know why Danielle was so close to the police chief’s children, who no one in town knew anything about nor had ever even heard of them until less than a year ago. There was a closeness that Steve and Danielle shared that seemed to go deeper than their obvious crushes on each other or a reunited friendship; they always seemed to know what the other was thinking. And then there was the gaggle of children who were very close to Danielle and were odd friends with Steve. She didn’t know how all of them fit together; she was sure none of them were related. The only connection Tamera made was that Steve dated Nancy and Danielle was friends with Nancy, who had a little brother, Mike. The kids were all Mike’s friends, but that didn’t exactly explain everyone’s closeness or the way they all acted like estranged siblings to the younger kids.

Tamera didn’t know what to make of it. 

“I hope he finds him,” Danielle said after a beat, looking genuine. 

“Yeah,” Tamera said. “Me too.” For Calum’s sake. 

The door swung open, ending their conversation, and Steve waltzed in with something dangling off his fingers and the same stupid smile that he always wore whenever he was around Danielle. 

“Hey Sunshine, you dropped this.” He tossed a colorful bracelet that resembled one Tamera remembered making at summer camp and Danielle caught it with a sweet ‘thank you.’ He grabbed a couple of tubs of ice cream from the freezer and returned to the front counter. 

Tamera was about to resume her reading and soaking up the last couple minutes of her lunch break, but Danielle tried to tie the bracelet back on her wrist and was struggling. 

“Here, let me do it,” Tamera offered. 

Danielle hesitated but extended her hand across the table before handing Tamera the bracelet. Taking the red and pink strings, Tamera pulled them around Danielle’s bony wrist and started to tie it in the same fashion she had at camp a couple of years ago. Danielle always wore a lot of bracelets on her right wrist, and as Tamera began to wonder herself why, her eyes caught sight of something hidden underneath the beads and strings. Something was printed on her wrist, numbers to be exact. Three numbers in black ink.

007.

Tamera’s fingers worked in memory to secure the knot as her mind was thrown miles away. When she dropped her hand, Danielle pulled her arm back and smiled at her collection of bracelets, clueless. She said something along the lines of ‘thank you’ but it fell silent on Tamera’s ears. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she stood up so abruptly, nearly knocking her chair over. 

007. The same set of numbers sprinkled throughout the file in Calum’s bedroom were on Danielle’s wrist. 

Holy fucking shit. 

Danielle glanced up, startled at Tamera’s sudden movement. She tried to act as casually as possible, clearing her throat and forcing a tight-lipped smile. “I-I forgot that I promised to call my mom. Be right back.” Without waiting for a response, Tamera shot through the door and rushed out Scoops, not sparing a glance at Steve or Robin. 

Tamera weaved between the mass of people at the mall, trying not to trip over her feet until she reached the escalator. People stood stationary on the moving stairs, leisurely chatting with their friends, but Tamera had no time for that. She pushed her way up the stairs, earning dirty looks and scoffs, but she paid them no mind; the only thing she was focused on was reaching the payphone that sat in the far corner of the second story, away from the main strip of shops and crowds. 

She fed her change and picked up the phone. Her fingers shook as she dialed Calum, wired with a cocktail of feelings she couldn’t make sense of. The phone rang twice before it was picked up, and Tamera wasted no time on pleasantries or greetings.

“What is the first year recorded in the file, again?” she asked, believing she already knew the answer, but she needed Calum to say it aloud to confirm the insane but possibly true theories swimming inside her head. 

“What? Why?” 

“Just tell me!” 

“Okay! Geez! You know, you can’t just call me up in the middle of the day to yell at me.” 

Tamera tapped her fingers against the top of the pay phone, mentally trying to envision Calum’s insane board on his bedroom wall, connecting strings and places to events and information inside the file. 

“1973,” he replied. 

“You’re positive?” 

He huffed into the phone. “I’m looking at it right now; yes, I’m sure. And shouldn’t you know that? We’ve read over this thing a million times by now. I’m surprised you don’t have it memorized; I practically do.” 

“There’s a month too, right?” 

“Yeah. June. June 1973.” 

“The same month and year Danielle went missing,” Tamera said in a hushed voice, nearly flushed against the payphone to mimic some kind of privacy. 

There was a beat of silence that she read as confusion. “Yeah, we’ve been over this, Mara. You said yourself it’s a coincidence because there’s nothing else to connect the file to her.” 

A mix of nausea and disbelief filled her stomach as she clutched the phone tighter in her. “I think I found our connection.” 

“What’re you talking about?” 

“I was wrong, I think. I-I’m pretty sure I was wrong. The, uh, ‘subject’ mentioned in the file was referred to as zero-zero-seven, right?” Calum hummed in agreement. “Guess who has a tattoo of that number on their wrist?” 

“Who?” 

“Danielle.” Silence followed Tamera’s revelation. She could picture him standing in front of his wall, rubbing his chin and mulling it over. It made the most sense and no sense at all at the same time. Why would someone like Danielle have a file on her or at least be mentioned in one but not by her name, rather by a number? Secrecy, maybe? But she was only six when she went missing, why would a six-year-old be in a position to have a file and a numbered code on her wrist? And why would Calum’s father have it? How connected were the two of them? 

“Are you sure?” Calum asked. 

“Positive. I saw it myself. A coincidence is she goes missing around the same time as the file starts, weird but not enough proof to pin it to her. What’s not a coincidence is that number being tattooed on her wrist. I don’t know how she could have anything to do with Project Solar, but I don’t see a lot of people walking around with 007 tattooed on their bodies, do you?” 

“No,” Calum replied. “But 007 was referred to as a ‘subject’ as in a test subject. Danielle was only six when she disappeared. Why would a six-year-old be identified as a test subject?”

Tamera chewed down on her lip, unsettled. “The height and weight in the file would fit a six-year-old. But I don’t understand how, if it’s her, she got to Hawkins National Laboratory in the first place. Her parents and the police chief himself said that she was kidnapped. But if she wasn’t?” 

Could it be possible that everyone was lying about Danielle’s whereabouts for ten whole years? Even if that was the case, that didn’t explain everything. Hell, it hardly explained anything. It felt like the more answers they discovered, the more confusing everything got. 

“What? You think some six-year-olds volunteered themselves for a government project? That doesn’t make any sense. And if it does have something to do with Danielle…this file came from Hawkins National Laboratory. That would mean she never left Hawkins. There’s no way.” He paused, making more sense than he had in a while, but for the first time besides when Tamera suggested they open the file instead of giving it back, she was the one with the outrageous theories. Calum continued, “But if she was there, for some reason, that would confirm her connection to my dad. That would mean I was right from the start. And I don’t know of any other reason why she has those numbers tattooed on her.” 

Calum’s dad worked at Hawkins National Laboratory, fact. Danielle was missing for ten years, another fact. Could Calum have been right the entire time? Could his father’s disappearance be linked to Danielle? 

There were too many questions still unanswered, but everything seemed to come back to the laboratory. She had heard of the place before she knew that Calum’s dad worked there; the memory was somewhere inside her brain. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought hard about where she had heard that place come up before. 

Then it hit her. “Oh, my God,” she gasped. “Do you remember Mr. G’s freshman year study hall?” 

“We are in the middle of something here-”

“Just shut up and listen to me!” she snapped, letting her forgotten memory unravel in real-time. “Mr. G was a loon, we all knew it. He would spend most of the study hall going off on rants about everything, but there was one of his rants that he always came back to and blamed for almost everything bad happening here in town. Droughts, rigged mayor elections, and even that dad who murdered his family in that creep house a couple blocks from you. He blamed everything on that lab!” 

“He hated the government, and that lab is government-owned. Old people will blame anything they can on the government. I don’t know if he’s a great source,” Calum said, but Tamera wasn’t sure. Sure, the old man was a little bonkers, but the more she thought about his rant in relation to the file and the weird things that happened in Hawkins, maybe he wasn’t entirely off. The Lab did kill Barbara Holland, not intentionally but via a chemical leak. Who was to say they didn’t have more secrets? 

“Besides,” Calum continued, “he was paranoid. Don’t you remember how he said he doesn’t use his landline because he thought his conversations were being tapped? He was let go for a reason.” 

Tamara held the phone away from her face for a second, examining it like Mr. G probably had done. She doubted that was true, Hawkins had its share of weird and unexplained things occurring, but it probably took more than that for the government or anyone to wiretap an entire town. The old man was probably paranoid, but maybe he had a right to be. 

“Just because was a little crazy doesn’t mean he was wrong,” Tamera countered. “He said that place was opened in the sixties, and they were doing some kind of…study, I think. I don’t remember everything that he said, but I do remember that he talked about his wife and how she volunteered for something there. I think had something to do with psychedelics. Like a medical study. He blamed them for his wife’s death.” It wasn’t a question in the man’s mind or a theory, he was sure someone in that Lab had killed his wife. “What if they still were doing studies like that up until they were shut down last fall?” 

“You think they either kidnapped Danielle or her parents gave her up to the government at six to give her psychedelics and see what would happen?” 

Tamera groaned loudly. No, that was insane. She was starting to sound like Mr. G. “Probably not,” she sighed. “But it’s something we could try to look into. Regardless, Danielle has to be connected to the file and that file is connected to your dad. Now we have almost full confirmation on that. We’re one step closer to figuring all of this out.” Maybe. 

“Maybe,” Calum voiced her thoughts. “Maybe he stole the file for a good reason, like you said. Maybe whatever was happening was bad, bad enough to kill Barbara and make them try to cover it up. And maybe my dad wanted to give the file to Danielle’s parents or hand it over to someone who he thought could help. If she was kidnapped, maybe he was trying to help her?” Tamara had never been a fan of Calum’s dad, but she didn’t think he was a bad person, so maybe he was on to something. The good guys almost never win in a situation like this, and maybe that was why his dad went missing. 

“Danielle came home after ten years and after everyone believed she was long dead. Do you think your dad had something to do with that?” she asked. 

“I’m not ruling it out. Maybe that sunk him into even deeper shit and he had to go on the run until the heat died down.” 

Goosebumps rose on Tamera’s arm, and she felt like someone was watching her. She snapped her head around, but there was no one lingering around, only a couple of scattered shoppers moving to and fro. The mall was probably not the best place for that kind of conversation, but there was no way she would have been able to sit on what she discovered until after work. 

She checked her watch and groaned when she realized her break had ended three minutes ago. Steve was not going to let her forget it. “I have to go, but after you are out of work tonight, let’s take another stab at the file with what we know now. I think we may actually get somewhere and then we can figure out what to do next.” 

“Okay.” They hung up after a brief goodbye and Tamera took a second to collect herself. She did not expect her shift to turn out like that. She was relieved that they were getting somewhere in their stale investigation, but she was still worried about them getting in trouble. 

Trouble seemed to follow everyone in and outside of Hawkins; they couldn’t run from it, and no one knew that better than Calum’s father. Ryan Miller did not account for the nosiness of his son or the brains of his best friend. He never anticipated the scale of what he had done or it all goes south so quickly. But Ryan was in far too deep to turn back; there were debts he owed and scores to settle. 

And in Hawkins, as Tamera hung up the phone and Calum left his home for his shift at the arcade, sights were set on the little house at the end of Cherry Street. The home of the Miller’s was entered with a little fight given by Calum’s mom, but that wasn’t the only thing happening on Cherry Street that afternoon. 

…

Calum had gotten off early from his shift at the arcade. The place had been dead since the mall opened and summer began so he managed to get out after only a couple hours of working the front counter. Tamera had to run home after work, much to her dismay but promised to meet at Calum’s house as soon as she could to further unravel their investigation with the new evidence she had come across. 

The revelation the file could have been about Danielle opened up an entire, confusing, world of possibilities and questions. Calum wanted to see the tattoo for himself, not that he doubted Tamera, but the whole idea seemed too crazy. He knew that she and possibly Will Byers had some kind of connection to the disappearance of his dad, solely based on the timeline of events that had occurred, but he didn’t account for some secret government project to be thrown into the mix of things. He felt like he had to reevaluate everything. 

Upon entering his house, Calum peaked into the living room and expected to see his mom in her usual daze in front of the television after her shift at the hair salon, but she wasn’t there. 

The floorboards creaked somewhere in the kitchen. “Mom?” he called out. 

His mom stepped out of the kitchen and Calum couldn’t mask his surprise. Ever since his dad went missing, his mom had been on a steady decline. She stayed put in front of the couch with a different bottle of wine every night, her hair had been unkept, and dark circles hung under her eyes. She only ventured to work half of the time and spent the other half locked inside their house. She didn’t speak too much to Calum, only small talk here and there that he didn’t think she paid attention to. Calum thought the only way to bring his mom back to her old self was to find his dad. But, as she stood in front of him, she looked like her old self again. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a slicked-back ponytail and her face was made up. She wore nice clothes, ironed and everything, and even put on the little cross necklace that she had abandoned on her nightstand for ages. Instead of a bottle of wine in her hands, she held onto a cup of coffee. 

Calum stared at her for a long moment, before she broke the silence with a warm smile. “How was work, sweetheart?” 

“Uh, it was fine…” he replied, trailing off as he kicked off his shoes and tried to figure out exactly what was going on. “What is…you-” 

“We need to talk,” she said, cutting him off and gesturing toward the couch. 

Calum felt his stomach drop; he knew it was about his dad, it had to be. Maybe she was cleaned up and back to normal because they had found him, and he was coming home.

His mom sighed and sat beside him on the couch. Her slim fingers wrapped around the steaming mug. He noticed her finger was absent from her wedding ring. “I know what you’ve been doing. I know that you’ve been trying to track down your dad.”

“Oh,” he swallowed thickly. “I know that you think he just left but I-” 

“I know,” she said, quickly with a shake of her head. “I know I said that he just walked out on us, but I think you figured out enough by now to know that’s not the full story.”

Calum never believed he’d get a real answer from his mom, but for a moment, hope bloomed inside his chest. He waited for her to elaborate, but then she paused, and her eyes drifted down the hall toward their bedrooms. 

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again, your father, he was a good man, once. Was. But he…he met someone he considered a friend. They become partners at work and that man,” she let out a dry laugh, void of humor. “That man led your father astray.” 

Calum’s eyes widened. “Partner? Who? Who did he work with? What did they do?” His dad had never spoken of his work outside of answering questions like ‘How was your day?’ He never mentioned anyone who he worked with. 

His mom shook her head. “That’s not what we’re talking about now.” She tightened her grip on her mug, turning her knuckles white before she shifted her gaze from the hall onto him. “You have to stop looking for him. You have to stop digging around where you don’t belong, not only for your sake but mine too, and Tamera's. You guys are done. And I am done with your father, with his business, all of it. I am done with this place. We’re leaving.” 

Every word out of his mom’s mouth hit Calum like a punch in the face. He shot up, nearly stumbling off the coffee table in shock. By the glint in her eyes, she clearly knew more about what happened to his dad than she wanted to tell him. They couldn’t leave; he wasn’t done with Hawkins, yet. Sure, he hated their little small town, but it was all he knew. He hated the summer heat and the blistery cold winters, but everything he knew was in Hawkins, including his best friend. And he felt like they were so close to the truth of the file and his dad. He couldn’t just pack up and leave it all behind. 

“What are you talking about? We aren’t done with anything! Dad is still out there somewhere I have to find him. And I can’t leave Tamera. I-I still have school. I have one more year here!”

His mom shook her head. “Your father is not coming back! He’s gone and we’re better off because of it. And, God,” she sighed, wiping a shaky hand over her mouth. “This place. This damn place is the last town on Earth I want to spend the rest of my life in.” She stood up and began to pace across the living room, spending Calum spiraling deeper and deeper with each venomous word she spat about his dad. “I waited and stayed put. I didn’t even ask any questions like I should have. I tried to forget what I knew about your father and his work but it didn’t work. I want to…no, we have to be done with this. All of it.” 

“Done with what?” he pleaded, begging for the answers he had been searching for years now. “Mom, what did dad do for a living?” He was flushed with a horrible sense of dread and curiosity. But she only shook her head once more. 

“We’re done. And you and Tamera are done digging around in his business. After the holiday, we’re going to stay with my friend in Indy until I can get us a place.” Calum opened his mouth to argue, but she silenced him with a glare he had never seen her wear before. “It’s not up for debate.”

Calum was drenched in utter disbelief. Yesterday, his mom was basically comatose in front of the television, and now she was ready to drag them out of Hawkins by the end of the week. He couldn’t swallow it all, not when it mixed with the information Tamera had spilled to him over the phone a couple of hours before. 

Without uttering another word, he took off down the hall toward his room. His door was cracked, and he felt panic rise steadily in his throat, burning like he had just down cheap whisky. Ever since he found the file, he had started locking his door from the outside with a key he hid above the doorframe. 

He shoved his door the rest of the way open. It took everything inside of him not to fall to his knees. The wall that had held everything they had gathered over the last six months was gone. Nothing was left besides sticky residue on his wall and the strings that once connected things to each other were discarded on the floor. 

The next place he checked was to his bedside where he kept the file hidden under his mattress. When he reached under, there was nothing left. Calum staggered backward and bit back the urge to scream. All of their work was gone. The file was gone. Everything was gone. Gone, gone gone.

“Cal?” a voice came from somewhere inside the house before footsteps echoed down the hall. A short gasp sounded behind him. 

“Holy shit…” Tamera’s mouth hung open as she stood in his doorframe. 

“It’s gone,” Calum whispered. “Everything. M-My dad…” 

“This is for the best,” his mom said, appearing behind Tamera with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and a far-off look in her eyes. Tamera quickly rushed to Calum’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You two are done with this.”

Anger ravaged Calum, suddenly. “Who did this? Why?” 

“I told you, we’re not getting involved in the same business that ruined your father,” she said, still not providing any information on what he did or why they weren’t to get involved. “Start packing.” She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Calum and Tamera to the ruins of their investigation.

Pressing his palms into his eyes, Calum took in a shaky breath as Tamera shut his door. “What happened to your mom? What is she talking about? What kind of business? And why do you need to pack?” The question flew from her lips in rapid fire.

“I don’t know,” he replied. He did his best to explain the conversation they had just had, from his dad’s partner to them moving to Indy.

Why did it seem like the entire world didn’t want him to find his dad? 

“Whoa! Wait, you can’t leave,” Tamera objected. “We just had a breakthrough! We’re finally getting somewhere and now it’s just gone? We’re just supposed to drop it without any kind of answer?” 

Calum sat on the edge of his bed, quietly for a long moment as he mulled over their next move. His eyes darted to his discarded backpack on the bed and grabbed it. Inside was a notebook, the one he started jotting things down inside since ‘83. Whoever stole the file back didn’t search his room very thoroughly. 

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “We’re still gonna figure this out. But we’re going straight to the source this time. You said, for a fact, Danielle had the 007 tattoo, right?” Tamera nodded. “Okay. Then we’re gonna put all of our eggs in that basket and hope to God that she knows more than we do.” 

He reached down and picked up a single string pulled from his wall. He thought of his dad and how, even if the man had done something wrong, he still owed Calum an explanation of where he had been and what happened. He was going to get answers one way or another. Clearly his mom wasn’t going to be any help, so Danielle was their best bet.

They had until the Fourth of July to get to the bottom of everything. 

Tagged. @sattlersquarry , @leptitlu , @drunkengodsofslaughter

[the-wisteria-house]

The Arrangement (Rengoku x reader) - Chapter 1

Arranged marriage series

Today is the day that determines the rest of your life. Today is the day you'll meet your fiancé. You're terrified- to say the least.

Warnings: mentions of Alcoholism,verbal abuse, arranged marriage, awkwardness,and cannon typical violence.

As you stood on your porch, the sun rose in the background, though you couldn't focus on the pictureqsk view before you, too focued on trying to calm the stress that racked your nerves.

You'd been fidgeting with the collar of your kimono trying to cool down for the past few minutes, but it did little to help, 'Gods, was the heat this hellish a moment ago?'

If only your mother hadn't pushed you out of the house at the first sign of light. Maybe you'd be able to cool your nerves with a cup of tea? Alas, it seems it wasn't meant to be. As you thought of the events of this morning, you couldn't help but be hurt at the way she pushed you out as if you were the worst scum of the earth.

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

Moments before

"Mother, wait a moment, let me at least use the restroom!" You pleaded with the woman as she had a death grip on your wrist. She'd hardly given you enough time to get ready. Hell, the sun was hardly up, and she was dragging you out the door already. Whoever was coming to collect you wouldn't be there for at least another half hour. Your pleas for her to loosen her iron grip fell on death ears as she pushed you out the front door.

"Mothe-"before you could spit the last syllable, she slammed the door in your face. You stood there for a moment as anger corsed through you as you held your sore wrist.

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

Present

As you tried to shake the memories from head, you didn't notice a man approaching you. "Hello, Miss! Is this the (l/n) residence?" His booming voice caught you off guard. The man had long blone hair that faded into a firey red, broad muscular shoulders, but his eyes were what caught your attention the most...

'Thoses eyes, i know thoses eyes." You swore you knew this man, but you couldn't pinpoint from where.

In your concentration, you realized you may have been staring for too long. This realization made a light blush dust your cheaks.

You quickly shook yourself out of your mortafactain and responded, "Ah, yes, it is." You then continued wanting to satify your curiosity, "Do I know you, sir? I swear I recognize you from somewhere. Have we met?"

"I admit you also look familiar as well, but sadly, I can not place why." He paused in thought before bowing and speaking, "I'm Kyojuro Rengoku, and you are?"

'Rengoku sama offered me a pretty penny when he heard I had a daughter perfect for his son.' Your mothers words rung out as you realised who you were speaking to.

This was your fiancée... You didn't let this realization faze you as you stealed your nerves and bowed before speaking.

"(Y/n) (L/N), I'm guessing you're here for me?" You knew you had to make a good impression, so you kept the distain out of your voice despite the difficulty. You knew he probably wasn't a willing participant either. He didn't deserve your rage, but this didn't make the situation easier on you.

" I see, I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long?" He asked in the same booming voice from earlier. This time, you were only slightly caught off guard.

"No, no, you didn't. I wanted to catch some fresh air as I waited."You reasured, hoping he wouldn't question you further. You couldn't tell him your mother practically threw you out the door. What type of first impression is that? You also would have come out for air a little early anyway to calm your nerves and to avoid the impossible woman... So it wasn't a total lie. You just came out sooner than you wanted, or at least that's what you told yourself.

"Well, that's a relief to hear. Would you like to say your goodbyes before we depart?" He offers politely. You knew you couldn't say fare well to your mother even if you wanted to. The door was locked, and she'd taken your key the night prior. There was no way in... a part of you was relieved at this fact, but another part of you was saddened as well as thought about everything, 'I couldn't even walk around one last time...' Then a voice broke you out of your thoughts.

"Miss (L/n)?" It was Rengoku. You'd almost forgotten he was here.

"There's no need, I said goodbye a long time ago..." Glancing at your home for the last time, you turned and walked in the direction that you'd seen Rengoku come from. He paused to look at the old house before following soon after. He couldn't help but wonder what your words truly meant.

You were around an hour into your journey, and you still had much longer to go. Kyojuro was trying to figure out how to start a conversation with you. Usually, he wouldn't have had such a hard time with this type of thing, but he couldn't read you. Did you want him to leave you alone? He wouldn't blame you if that was the case. He wasn't exactly thrilled about the unfortunate circumstances of your meeting, but he hoped you wouldn't hold it against him...

"How long till we reach the next town?" Your question broke him out of his thoughts, "Oh! We'll be coming up on it soon, we can rest for a bit if you'd like?" He was starting to grow thirsty anyway, so you could stop at a stall to grab refreshments while you were in the town. Hopefully, you'd strike up a conversation in the process. He didn't want to stay in this awkwardness forever.

A few minutes later, as you were approaching the town, you'd spotted a cool beverage stand and decided to purchase nurisments from said stand. After purchasing your beverages, you found a nearby bench to rest on, as the minutes ticked on the awkward silence, was growing suffocating. You were trying to look at anything, but Kyojuro, when you spotted a baked sweet potato vendor.

"Say, Ms. (l/n),How do you feel about sweet potatoes?" Kyojuro followed your gaze to the cart.

"That's hardly a question -" You look at him face full of disbelief. He grew confused and quickly responded, "Well, if you don't like them, we can -" You cut him off, realizing he'd misunderstood your response, "No, no! I love sweet potatoes! They're actually like my favorite." You then realized you'd cut him off, embarrassing yourself further. "This is going great." You sighed under your breath, cursing yourself eternally.

"How do you like to make your sweet potatoes?" His question caught you off guard. He wasn't mad that you'd cut him off?

"Uh, i like cutting mine in slices and tossing them with seasioning before baking them or frying them in a pan, but I'll eat them in any form. How about you?" You looked at him with interest. This was the first real conversation you were having with the man. He looked up in thought before replying, "It's so hard to choose just one! Sweet potatoes are tasty in any form, but I'd have to say I'm in agreement with you. Fried sweet potatoes are by far the TASTIEST way to make sweet potatoes!" His voice boomed. You couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. What he did next surprised you, though.

He quickly stood before speaking, "I've suddenly been hit with a craving for sweet potatoes Miss.(l/n), I'm going to go buy some for us! Wait here, please. "

"Wait! Mr. Rengoku, you don't need to waste any of your money... on....me...." He was already ordering before you could finish your sentence.

'How the hell did he get over there in less than a second!?!? He was just right here!' You watched the cashier give him his change and two baked sweet potatoes along with it. How was he so fast? You stared in disbelief as he approached you, sweet potatoes in hand.

"Thank you, Mr.Rengoku, but you didn't need to waste your money on me." You say as you take the sweet potato before continuing, "Not that I'm complaining, of course." Kyojuro couldn't help but laugh, "It's no waste! It's not every day you find someone who enjoys sweet potatoes as much as I do! So I had to celebrate!"

'That was actually....kind of nice and unexpected.' You were confused by his kindness toward you, though it wasn't unwelcome.

"That is true, but still, thank you." You smile before taking a bite. It'd been too long since you last had a sweet potato, so you were revoling in the flavors. You then look at Kyojuro,wanting to see what he thought of his potato, "TASTY!" He yelled out with great vigor. You were inclined to agree with his statement that the food was infact very delicious.

"TASTY"

'What the-' You were beyond confused.

"TASTY!"

'Why is he-'

"TASTY!" His voice didn't lose an ounce of passion. You noticed the looks of passersbys and couldn't help but blush. They were staring at not only him but you as well. You then looked at him, wanting to tell him to shut up, but when you saw the joy on his face, you didn't have the heart to do it. The child, like joy in his eyes, softened soming in you. You signed interternally. You could deal with the embarrassment if i meant not hurting his feelings or dampening the joy in his eyes. Plus, the passersbys should mind their own business! You reminded yourself.

'He's been nothing but kind to me despite theses less than ideal circumstances, so what if he's a little weird?' You reasoned internally.

"TASTY." He shouted once more.

'Okay-really weird,but still!' Despite how weird this situation was deep down, you couldn't lie and say you didn't find his passion slightly admirable.

You left the town soon after you both finished your sweet potatoes and continued heading along the trail for the next few hours. While you both mainly remained silent, it wasn't as tense as it had been previously. The atmosphere you shared was actually peaceful, but like all good things, this came to an end. Why hadn't any pedestrians passed you within the last half hour? This road was meant to be busy, right?

"Mr.Rengoku, is it me, or has no one passed us in quite some while?" You were hoping you were wrong, but you swore something wasn't right. Worry and confusion filled you as he hummed in agreement.

"You're right, but the question is who or what is causing people to not come down this trail?" His voice was different than it had been earlier in the day. It was more calculated, and abstant was the cheery tone you were just starting to grow use to. His eyebrows were furrowed in a deep concentration as he looked straight ahead.

"We'll never know if we keep standing here. " You respond calmly before taking a step forward into the shaded forest. If you weren't so on edge, you'd probably comment on the beauty the forest held. It was amazing how tall and large the trees were, along with how dense the thick green canopy was.

As you both continued down the trail, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of your footsteps. It was quite... unnaturally quiet. You and rengoku shared a look. 'Good, he's on the same page.' You thought before suddenly the your hair on the back of your neck stood up.

You look at Rengoku before subtly whispering, "Rengoku, we're being -" Your voice was cut off by the sound of a twig snaping behind you.

"Just keep walking." He wispered lowly," They don't know we know they're here." You follow his instructions, trusting his judgment, praying you wouldn't regret it later.

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

Moments later

What Kyojuro believes to be a demon has been tailing you for the past few minutes. He knew better than to tell you of his thoughts. If you weren't aware of the existence of demons, of them this way, as you could have a bad reaction that would give the demon a perfect opportunity to strike. Usually, Kyojuro would have already taken care of the demon, but he didn't know if there were more demons following. If there were, he couldn't fight and protect you at the same time, so he was stuck waiting for the right time or for the demon to make the first move.

'Why hadn't I sensed the demon the first time i came through?' Kyojuro felt shame fill him, but one thing confused him. Why would the demon wait till midday to strike instead of early in the morning while it was dark? Surely, they realize suspicion would arise if people kept going missing mid day.

As he looked around, the realization hit him, 'If they kill midday, it would go under the corpses' radar.' He then then continued his thought as he noticed the thick canopy above you,'The forest is the perfect hunting ground, dark enough were they can mostly move comfortably and it has enough traffic so they can feed regularly.' He found himself almost impressed with their ingenious plan, but it seems their hubris will be their downfall.

He looked over to you, expecting to see fear or at least uneasiness on your face, but you had a straight face, one void of negative emotion. There was no hint that anything was out of the ordinary. You turned to look at him. In that moment, he realized the statement, 'The eyes are a window to the soul.' Had some truth to it. Your face may have been completely relaxed and void of emotion, but he could see the fear in your eyes. A scorching hot rage filled his being as he searched your eyes. Not toward you, but towards the thing that caused that fear within you.

At that moment, he made a silent promise to you, 'Don't worry, Ms.(l/n). I'll protect you from this demon if it's the last thing I do. There's no need to be afraid.'

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

Hey, guys! I hope you enjoyed reading this. I had a hard time writing some parts of this chapter. I ended up going back through and editing a lot of parts. Though I still, I feel as if I didn't capture Kyojuro's true character. What do you guys think? Let me know below. Thank you to @tengensimppp for being my beta reader, I appreciate your help and feedback! Thank you everyone for reading!

Last part: Prolog

Next part: Chapter 2

[d3lta-200x]

The Shelby Brothers with an S/O who uses a walking stick / cane.

TW: cannon typical violence :D

NO GENDER SPECIFIED

B/T = body type

F/C = favourite colour

H/C= hair colour

A/N: my requests are open and you should be able to send asks anonymously, anyway I hope you enjoy.

*Thomas Shelby*

This man is protective as it is because of what he does, and now he is even more protective and he is worried about you constantly I mean again he would be anyway with the things he dose.

Constantly ask if you are ok and if you are carrying something if you need a hand even if it's just a book.

If you do go to the Garrison and he isn't there with you then he would ask his brothers to keep an eye on you to make sure you are not hurt or get hurt.

Polly has to tell Tommy to relax because he is getting to worried about you and how you are strong enough and how if you weren't you wouldn't have survived this long.

If anyone said anything about you and using a walking stick / cane he would first give them a death stare then kindly ask them to leave the area before any violence ensues.

If you are self-conscious of it he would be the type of person to hold you or your hand and tell you how amazing and great you are and hold you untill you feel better about yourself. Do be warned that if something important comes up then he will excuse himself to sort it out so don't expect him to stay with you comforting you forever.

*Arthur Shelby*

Not as overprotective as Tommy but is still slightly worried about you and will rush to you if it looks like you are struggling and help you. He asks if you are ok if it's a long distance to walk and how he would happily carry you no matter your B/T.

If someone is being rude or harsh on you he would start shouting at them which would then normally lead to a fight, so you might want to calm him down before it escalates.

Sometimes he might get a little too ruff with you and Tommy or Polly has to tell him to not be as ruff with you.

If you are self-conscious about it then he could be either the one to sit and cry with you and you both talk about your insucuritys until you both feel better or he snuggles up against you and smuthers your face and neck in kisses saying how beautiful you are and how he's lucky to have you as a partner.

*John Shelby*

This man would act an absolute guff ball and cause most of you injuries. He would get told of alot by both Tommy and Polly for being so boysterus and causing you to get hurt. He would definitely still help you if you are in trouble and would freaten to beat anyone up and how would do it if he had too like if someone said something rude about you or if someone is tryna beat you up or make you feel uncomfortable.

John doesn't care if you use a walking stick he still thinks that you are hot and attractive.

If you are going through problems with self worth and how you view your self he would sit in the pub and drink with you until you are ever found out or you are that drunk you have gone giddy. Alcohol and walking problems don't go very well togever you most likely ended up falling over a lot or passing out from the amount you have drank.

[trashfandomwriting]

Hi! Could you write poly romantic relationship headcanons for Garmantuous, Nipulon, and Douglas with a fem!human S/O please? Thank you!

Hey, thanks so much for the request! I hope this is okay! :o) -MJ

warnings: cannon typical violence/mention of weapons and death, drugs, slight possessive behavior (not yandere), fem reader intended but its vague, you/your used for reader.

-all three of them are interesting and pretty complex on their own, so all three of them with a Human? you've got yourself into a tough situation.

-given the fact that humans are generally regarded as a product and not as living things with non-monetary value, they most likely had a hard time dealing with their feelings for you but once you're with them, they will keep you safe from anyone that might view you like that.

-that doesn't mean that they stop their business of course, just that they normally keep you far away from the rougher parts of it. they all use and are in the business of selling humans as drugs.

-Douglas is the one who's generally okay with the fact that you're human. there was definitely a learning curve but compared to the other two, he had the easiest time with it. the other two took longer to come around to the concept.

-none of them fully understand humans so it's up to you to remind them that you're not like them. though you are more physically fragile than them, you have certain abilities that they don't. besides being more temperature resistant then a lot of other folks in space, things that are poison to any other species are fine for you, the first time you had human liquor around them it was like the world was ending. (I HC that alien liquor is different depending on the species/planet, but they generally view our alcohol the same way we view rubbing alcohol)

-human foods are also a mystery to them, our spices and cooking techniques are different than theirs. you could make instant ramen and they'd be enthralled.

-since you're the only human they like, they are fascinated by almost everything you do, it's a bit odd but somehow endearing. in their eyes you're soft and cute, even if you're not by human standards.

-speaking of soft, they are very protective! you are always with one of them.

-your time with Nipulon is usually spent in his office, you sit on one of the couches while he works. you both do your own thing, or you talk to him while he does paperwork. he enjoys the background noise even if he doesn't know what a 'stormtrooper' is or why the grunts remind you of them. sometimes you sit in his lap and lean your head on his shoulder so you can watch him work, sometimes you fall asleep like that, and he refuses to move. like when a cat lays on you and you legally can't move.

-Douglas on the other hand is a bit of a toss-up. sometimes you go with him when he's training recruits, he uses it to show off to you though that tends to backfire when half the trainees end up dying in the most ridiculous ways. other times he might be out of his suit (normally while high) and just hangs on to you while you go about your day, occasionally commenting on what you're doing.

-Garmantuous doesn't have a lot of time off but sometimes he'll pull you along on missions, you end up following him to different planets. since he's been so many places, he knows what places are the most fun (at least in his eyes) and which ones would be safe for you to wander in.

-though you somehow managed to be with all of them, that doesn't change how jealous they are. Nipulon in games is said to be very jealous and aggressive towards anyone that gets close to Garmantuous, though this doesn't mean that he's jealous of you (since you're his Aswell) it does mean that he doesn't like anyone going near you or Garmantuous. he already doesn't like Douglas and he hates how close he is to you, but you're happy and he knows you'd be devastated if he killed him, so he just keeps his distance from Douglas and stands closer to you. but luckily you tend to spend time with them individually rather than all together so there usually isn't any conflict.