#gImmIE THe kNiFe!!!!!!!

[kellm4n]

once again on my "i love headcanons that add nothing to the narrative but expand the character" bullshit.

[leafatlaw]

I’m like in the top ten ghost knife enjoyers but what REALLY messes me up about them is the fact that the whole “I see you” line thing, isn’t really them. It’s like, Dakota told Vyncent to say that right? It’s not even a ghostknife moment

[hl-obsessed]

.

[semperamans]

goin' on a picnic with benny :'( it's one of those rare summer days when it's not sweltering outside so he rouses you from the bed, presses a kiss to your cheek and a swat to your ass as he tells you to get ready; he's takin' you somewhere. n'so you pretty yourself up in the bathroom, curl your lashes and coat your lips and rouge your cheeks and when you finish you follow the familiar bass of benny's singing to the kitchen :( he's got his back turned to you, head titled back to hit the high note and that's when he sees you and smiles and licks the knife free of peanut butter and moseys over to collect you in his arms :( "there's m'girl. y'ready?" and you say yes but then benny is worried, doesn't want your pretty blue dress to be all mussed from the bike, so he calls johnny, asks to borrow his car, and he says, and i quote, "anythin' for you two." such a sweet man, he is, and you tell him so as you press your lips to his cheek in thanks before sliding into the front seat. "treat our girl good, y'hear?" he tells benny and benny nods, smile on his face, ball cap pulled low over his brow :( you coast down familiar roads until you slowly begin to lose your bearings and then you're giggling like a mad woman because benny is going 60. 70. 80. 90 down old country backways, kicking up rocks and dirt and he's laughing - oh benny's laugh tangles into the twirl of the wind and caresses the sides of your face and seeps into the deepest pits of your soul and grows such beautiful things. the radio couldn't be any louder and you couldn't be any happier until you are because he tells you that "johnny'n i found this spot." he's parked beneath a massive oak tree with leaves that shiver at the sounds of his voice. "s'just a little meadow, but, i dunno - feels like somethin' you'd read in a storybook." and he's right. trees encircle this slice of paradise; this hidden oasis of lush green and flowering bulbs. benny grabs the basket from the backseat, a blanket, his jacket, and your hand leading you away away away through the wavering grasses. you get distracted, dashing off to pull dandelions so you can weave them into a crown and benny just watches, amazed that he's got a girl like you, so sweet and cute and his heart melts when you bring him a bundle of wildflowers as he situates the blanket on the ground. you spend the day immersed in one another; popping berries into one another's mouths and talking about the future and playing footsie and "why are you lookin' at me like that?" you ask, raising your brow at the boy who lays on his back before you. both hands fold behind his head, propping him up just so. "jus' think that god spent a little more time on you. had to. such a perfect girl." he leans up, taking one of your hands, tugging you softly because he knows you're gonna shy away. "gimmie some love. c'mere." and you do before the birds and the bees with no one as your witness but the racing overhead clouds.

[ornii]

Killer queen anon here.

I meant more of a quiet reader who is really good at psychological evaluations to the point of him just looking at someone and knowing them, so Enid just points them out to Wenesday and tells them that they can help and then they just kinda do. Maybe romance. Maybe not. Who knows. But the serial killer thing is cool too. Maybe the Hyde injures their cat and then they just go out and beat the crap out of it and that is the exact moment Wednesday appears. Who knows.

/\__/\

(=^·^=)

(") (")__/

Cat.

Ah okay, I appreciate the clarification.

A Peaceful Life

Wednesday Addams X Male Kira Reader

To live a normal life, wasn’t in your deck of cards unfortunately

I am so sorry it took this long to finish this! But we’re here!

Wednesday had been in a bit of a slump, not sure on how to continue her investigation into the Gates, the school itself or anything of that nature. It seems that the mystery has finally eluded her. Wednesday was in the quad sitting by herself looking though book after book of any sort of information to assist her with the Gates, but nothing came to mind, it was Enid to instructed her to one person; Mr Kira.

(Y/n) Kira, Better known as “Kira.”, was a student in Nevermore just like Wednesday. Quiet, Kind, and a bit of a Shut in, your classic personality. Wednesday took note of his schedule and decided to pay him a visit as he exited the Cafe in Jericho, Kira stepped out, and looked around as he felt a bit of unease. It was rectified by a meow. Looking down he spotted a beautiful charcoal Bengal Cat.

“Well, how are you?” He said with a smile, the cat putters off and he follows, following the beautiful, whimsical animal. Turning into an alley he followed, unbeknownst to him, Wednesday was as well. As she watched, she saw him kneel down to look at the cat, and unfortunately he let his guard down. The ruffle of trash bags alerted him, turning quickly he caught a hard punch to the face. The impact and him to the ground and in a daze for a moment.

Opening his eyes to the sound of shuffling he looked to his side his backpack was emptied, full into the trash and muddy water, sadly ruining his biology project. A disgusting old man was shuffling though his things and sees the boy wake up. Kira stood up, feeling blood trickle out his nose, his mercy was wore thin. The creep drew a makeshift knife, he looked dazed, out of it.

“Just gimmie your wallet kid.” He wheezed, but still had this unnerving smell. Kira calmly reached into his pocket and grabbed a coin, and flipped it over to the old man. He caught it. “This can’t be! Gimmie the fuckin rest!” He said with a straight face. (Y/n) wipes the blood from his nose, and spoke in a very.. calm tone for a boy who was just punched.

“That’s a dollar coin, they’re rare… that’s your incentive to leave, I recommend you take it.” He says, but the man grips the coin and prepared to stab the young man, and Kira began to.. speak.

“My Name is (Y/n) Kira, I’m currently 17, I reside like most students in Nevermores Boys Dorm. As per usual I’ve yet to marry and am single. I attend my classes with zero punctuation on being late or tardy, no write ups, no suspension. I am very peculiar about my grades and lifestyle, after a long day of class I spend most of it by myself, ready or watching the local cats of our school. I always in bed by 8 PM to get the maximum hours of sleep, before I rest I drink a class of warm milk and stretch to decompress after school.”

“Why.. why are you telling me this?” The man’s hand was shaking, fear entering his voice, but (Y/n) was as calm as ever. But a dark, sinister aura began to emulate from his body, something Wednesday saw. It was as if pure evil had manifested from his body, given form.

“I’ve done everything in my power to live a calm and simple life, everything I do I plan meticulously to avoid an unexpected change. This may be a foreign concept, but I could truly care less about the concepts of winning and losing, rather enjoy my life to what I am capable of. That is how I cope with my life, is what brings me happiness.. it if I ever were to engage in something like this.. I would win with little effort..” (y/n) monologues, and that sinister aura transforms into a being that resembles A monstrous cat, with power beyond what this man could comprehend.

“You sir, have made me lose my biology homework, I simply cannot allow that to continue, and it seems you won’t take my offering of peace willingly.. so it seems there’s only truly one discourse left.. I will eradicate you, no one will remember you, nobody will find your body.. this, is Killer Queen.” (Y/n) holds up his hand, like a detonator for a bomb. With one smash of his thumb, Wednesday watches in a mix of delight and surprise as the man explode in a scream of gutteral pain and fear, and as if he never existed, nothing was left. (Y/n), after murdering someone, calmly picks up his belongings and went back to school, Wednesday quickly hides behind a bush to avoid detection. She seems to have caught a break in her case, or found the final nail in her coffin. Serial killers attempt to kill away from the public, the only way to get his cooperation is to force him in a public setting. And Wednesday waited for her opportunity which came the next day.

Sitting in the Quad center, Kira penciled notes down to remember for Biology, he felt a presence darken his mood and looked up, Wednesday Addams, in the living, or dead.

“Hello, you must be.. Wednesday correct?” He asked, she kept that unnerved demeanor.

“Yes, (Y/n) Kira. May I sit?” She asked, Kira shrugged and nodded, his eyes noting her, pale hands. As Wednesday sat across from him, he kept writing, ignoring her presence for the most part.

“I’m doing a thesis on, serial killers.” Wednesday began, “And I wanted to hear your thoughts on my findings.” She explained, (Y/n) looked up.

“I.. suppose.” He placed his pencil down and sat attentively, Wednesday reveals a notebook and things she’s written down.

“Something ive noticed about Killers all of them have some unique qualities, be it their victims, killing style, or or method. What I find most interesting is their, blending.”

“Blending?” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.. you see in order to remain under the eye, Killers tend to blend in with their environment, to seem normal. Or to seem normal in the place they’re in, like a high schooler in a boarding school. He’d present himself as a normal student, wouldn’t stand out too much to avoid being seen in a, Light.”

(Y/n)’s smile slowly faded, it was silent in the quad between them, and Wednesday continued.

“If you were a serial killer, I think you’d do your best to not stand out, keep your head down, and be meticulous about everything to avoid you being noticed, but if some drugged man were to attack you in an alley, you could defend yourself.. couldn’t you?”

(Y/n) and Wednesday stared at each other, his murderous glare compared to her stalwart gleam. (Y/n) looked ready to take the pencil and stab her, but saw the students around and took a less lethal approach.

“You saw that? That’s unfortunate… I’m not a serial killer, that was my first and hopefully only, he didn’t give me much of an option to run or escape. Although I suppose that doesn’t matter.. there’s no trace of him, no evidence that I even did anything.” (Y/n) replied, and looked at Wednesday hands.

“But.. I have a question, why does it pertain to you? I doubt you knew him, unless you want to seek out some social justice.”

“No.. Enid recommended you.” Wednesday replies.

“For what?”

“I need help with.. an issue that you could assist me in.”

“.. You want me to make someone disappear?” He asked calmly, she shook her head. “No, not yet.. but that could be useful in the future. You’re smarter than most here and I need your killer instincts to help me with this mystery.. about me, and it seems there’s another killer among us.”

“Was that a joke? You do have a sense of humor.” (Y/n) smiles, but Wednesday keeps her calm Demeanor.

“Okay.. I’ll help, I suppose I’m exchange you won’t ruin my peaceful life.”

“That’s the deal.” She said, (Y/n) nods reluctantly.

“Then I suppose we must shake on it.” (Y/n) sighs and offers his hand, Wednesday shakes it and she attempts to stand up.

“I suppose as partners we should know each others strength and Weaknesses.” He said, and smiled. “Mine, is that I can make anything I touch into a bomb, like your hand I just shook.” He said with a hushed smile, Wednesday slowly looks at her hand and back to him. The boy laughs and stands up.

“But.. I don’t wanna do that to you, you’re.. actually pretty cool. So I will help you, because if there’s someone else killing, the peace I seek won’t end until they are.. I’ll be seeing you turn Miss Addams.” He said, Wednesday reluctantly stood up and walked away, (Y/n) gently tilted his head to the side.

“Man… what a Killer Queen..”

[aquietwritingcorner]

Unexpected Patient

For @tmnt-write-fight for @dandylovesturtles

Title: Unexpected Patient Prompt: Outsider POV of anyone getting rescued by the turtles  Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 2855  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters: OC (Samantha Craik, Peter Craik), Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Casey Jones Warning: NA Summary: Samantha Craik did not expect for a stop at a corner store on her way home from her shift at the hospital to put her in life-threatening danger, but it did. She also didn’t expect for the life-threatening danger to put a new patient in her lap, but, well, it was, apparently, a night of unexpected things. Notes: Sam is a character I’ve had around in some form since I was 13, and Peter since my early 20s. I have fun sticking her in fics here and there. This isn’t their first appearance in TMNT fics, as I lent the both of them out to some friends in the late 2000s for their Fast Forward fics. Unfortunately, those are long lost, which is a shame, really. Back up your favorite fics, y’all! ff.net || AO3

___________________________________-

Unexpected Patient

Samantha Craik cursed in her head. She’d have cursed out loud, except she was positive that saying anything out loud right now was not a good idea. Normally this wouldn’t have stopped the fiery red-head, but there were children in this store and the last thing she wanted was for anyone to get hurt on account of her temper. Her blood boiled as these punks pushed through the store, demanding money from people and stealing from the shelves. Stars, Peter was gonna kill her. She should have just gone on to the subway station after her shift at the hospital ended and made do with whatever food they had there instead of stopping for a quick snack.

One of the gang members brandished a knife at her. “Hey—gimmie your money.”

Sam glared at him, but reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. He swiped it from her, opening it, and then frowning. “This is it?” he said.

“If you think I had money, do you think I’d be working at this hospital?” she shot back at him jabbing a finger towards the hospital’s crest that was on her lab coat. “I’m barely out of residency! I’ve still got loans to pay off!”

“Tch.” The punk looked at her disdainfully. “I’ll make more money hocking this wallet then what you have in it.”

“Well pardon me for being poor!”

The punk gestured with his knife. “Get over there with the others!”

Sam made her way over to the other customers, one of the punks taking a moment to look at her. Sam narrowed her eyes at him. Yeah, she recognized him. He was a Purple Dragon, and he’d been in and out of her ER a few times. Several of these guys had. And yet, here they were, doing the same crap that got them in her ER to begin with.

“Hey—you got that money yet?” the guy called out, clearly their leader.

“Yeah. Getting the last of it now,” a green-haired punk called out.

The leader nodded and turned back to look at them. There weren’t many people in the store. Sam hadn’t expected there to be, not this late. There was the cashier, a teenager who looked far too stoned to properly see the danger everyone was in; a man who appeared to be in his late sixties, leaning heavily on a cane in a way that told Sam he probably was going to need a knee replacement soon; a young immigrant woman and her two children, none of which seemed to understand much English, but clearly understood the gestures with the guns and knives; and her, a thirty-year-old doctor, straight off of what was supposed to be a twelve hour shift that had turned into a fifteen hour one instead, because sometimes that’s just how it was.

Maybe her mother was right, and she should see about transferring to one of the hospitals in the richer areas of the city.

“Hey!” a punk from outside came running in the door. “The nut with the hockey mask is coming! And you know what that means.”

The leader cursed, and Sam found herself really hoping that the kids didn’t understand English.

“I was hoping not to deal with any green freaks tonight. Alright—bag up what we’ve got and let’s get out of here.” He looked at the group. “And just for good measure—”

He leveled the gun at the old man, and Sam realized just what he was about to do. She moved, shoving his arm up. Was it the smartest thing she could have done? No. Was it what she did anyway? Yeah.

“Leave him alone, you fracking jerk!”

The shot missed, pinging on the light fixture instead, and the man growled and tried to shake her off. In for a penny, in for a pound, she figured. Sam threw herself into fighting him, something that she wasn’t completely useless in. But she was no fighter, and it didn’t take long for the punks to have her pinned to the ground, the gun on her.

“Let go of me you fricking punk!” she snarled, still fighting.

“Since you’re so eager,” the leader said, and she could see him aiming the gun at her out of the corner of her eye, “then you can be the example.”

Oh yeah. If she made it through this, her husband was definitely going to kill her.

Still, she growled and struggled, not willing to just give up and give in.

And then the door slammed open, and something burst in.

“It’s the freaks!” someone shouted, and the gun was suddenly off of her and fixated on something else, going off as a fight broke out.

Sam wasn’t a stupid woman, and she knew an opportunity when she saw it. Despite the grip the man that was still holding her had on her long hair, Sam twisted in his grasp, kicked him right in his junk, and then twisted her head to bite the hand that still had her shoulder. The man let out a gasp, and Sam rolled, not getting to her feet, but scrambling back and away from things.

The woman with her children were cowering, and Sam looked them over, trying to find any sort of cultural distinguisher on them. She knew a few words in different languages, and she hoped she guessed the right one.

“Go!” she said, her accent terrible, and pointed towards the storeroom door. The woman’s eyes lit up in understanding, and she grabbed her kids’ hands, speaking rapidly to them and tugging them with her. They all moved like they had escaped violent situations before, but Sam didn’t have time to spare more than an observation about that.

The stoned teenager must have had more sense than she thought, because he was gone, and the old man, seeing where the woman had gone, was already following along. Good. Then it was just her.

And then, suddenly she found herself being yanked backwards by her hair, a strong hand pulling her by her long braid. She had the presence of mind to try to twist around, her hair long enough to give her that freedom, but it didn’t work, and she realized that the leader of the punks had her as he pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her neck. She struggled, insults pouring from her lips as she did, but she stopped when the gun was put to her head once more.

“No one move, or the lady doctor here gets it,” he said.

Sam twitched in his arms and growled. “Glad to know me saving your scummy life means something. Next time I’ll give it the attention it’s worth!”

“You,” he said, “don’t say nothing either.”

Sam growled again but switched her attention to looking at who else the punk was addressing. Her eyes widened as she took in who—or what—was in front of her. Four green figures, turtles, all wielding some sort of weapons, and a tall, dark-haired man in a hockey mask with a hockey stick in his hands.

Somehow, he looked the most out of place out of all of them.

Sam had heard rumors of the turtle men before. She’d not put much stock into the stories at first. All sorts of crazies came into the ER, especially at night, and some strung out druggie or beat up punk talking about karate turtles just made her double check their toxicology report. You never knew when there was a bad batch on the street.

But the stories persisted, and she heard them from other places as well. She still hadn’t quite put her faith in those stories. It all seemed like some sort of gimmick to her. But now that the proof was in front of her, well, she couldn’t help but conclude that maybe she should have paid a bit more attention to those rumors.

“Let her go,” the one with the blue mask said. “She’s an innocent.”

“If she hadn’t of interfered, we’d have been gone before you four freaks got—wait, why are there only three of you,” the leader snarled.

And that was when everything went even more wrong than it had so far.

The Dragon went to move his gun from her head to point at one of the turtle men. Sam took the opportunity to jerk her head forward to bite the arm that held her in place and reached back to grab him in a very personal way and twist. At the same time, something came flying out of the air and embedded itself in the Dragon’s hand. A turtle-man leapt forward and tackled her down and out of the way. And at the same time, the gun went off.

The Dragon howled in pain, there was a shout of pain from the opposite direction, and someone screaming “Donnie!” A thud came from the direction of the Dragon, a clack from the direction of the turtle men, and the turtle man that had tackled her out of the way and had somehow kept from squishing her, came up on his feet, setting her on hers before he rushed over towards the turtle Sam could now see being supported by the man, his red mask tails streaking out behind him.

“What the he—” Sam said, mostly to herself as she took in the scenes in front of her.

The turtle with the blue mask stood over the downed Dragon. The man was clearly bleeding out, and Sam was more than a little certain that there was nothing do to save him. A turtle man with an orange mask was hurrying from the direction of the counter towards the other two turtles and the man. The man was lowering a purple-masked turtle to the ground, clearly supporting him.

Well, it seemed pretty clear what she needed to do.

Shaking off her shock and falling back into her professional mindset, Sam hurried forward.

“Move,” she said bluntly, watching as they settled the purple-masked one—Donnie, she presumed—on the ground, the orange-masked one using his lap as a pillow for the other. She could hear the blue-masked one’s footsteps behind her.

The red-masked one whirled on her, clearly upset, his strange, pronged weapons held in his hands. “Look, sister—” he started.

Sam was having none of it. “I said, move!” she snapped at him. “I’m a doctor, I can help! Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

“Let her see Don, Raph,” Leo said. “She might can help him where we can’t.”

Raph seemed to want to resist for a moment, but he stepped back and Sam moved next to the injured turtle.

“It’s not too bad,” Donnie was saying through grit teeth. His hands were already at his thigh, trying to tie a tourniquet around it.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, reaching into her scrub pockets and pulling out a pair of gloves. She pushed her long braid behind her shoulders, pulled the gloves on, and got to work.

“Donnie, right?” said as she worked.

“Y-yeah.”

“Alright. And the rest of you?”

“I’m Mikey,” the orange-masked one said.

“Leo,” the blue-masked one offered.

“Raph,” the one with the red mask said.

“Casey,” the only other human said.

“Alright. I’m Dr. Samantha Craik. I work in the hospital down the road,” she said. She looked up at Donnie. “I’m going to take good care of you, alright? But I’m gonna need some information. I’m not familiar with turtles, much less whatever you are.”

Don chuckled a little, but then stopped when it hurt. “I’ll see what I can do, Doc,” he said, clearly trying to breathe through the pain.

Sam just nodded. “I’m assuming you don’t want to go to the hospital?” she said.

“No.” The answer came quick and sure from Leo, and Sam nodded.

“Alright. In that case, here’s what I need.”

The store had the most of the things she needed and Donnie’s bag helpfully provided the rest. Donnie had gotten lucky. The bullet hadn’t hit anything important, and it was fairly clean in-and-out wound. Ideally, she’s have hopped him up on painkillers, taken some scans, put him on a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and gotten him some blood, but none of that was possible at the moment.

Instead, she snapped out orders to the other turtle-men, sterilized things as best she could, and got to work, cursing the Purple Dragons with every spare breath she had.

“Idiotic low-life—hold his leg still—punks who can’t figure out that—keep that pressure!—that all they’re gonna have is a short and—this is gonna hurt, Donnie—violent life where no one will ever want to remember them—you’re doing good—and they’ll either—almost done with this side—die young or rot in prison—”

“I kinda like you,” Raph said to her.

“I’ll add that to my resume,” she shot back immediately, not even thinking about it. Mikey laughed, but it seemed to ease the turtles and their human friend a bit.

Finally, she sat back, putting things away and stripping off her gloves. “There,” she said. She looked over at Leo, as he seemed the most responsible of the bunch. “He needs to stay off of it. I don’t know if you have access to antibiotics, but those can’t hurt. Keep it clean and wrapped. Those stitches will have to be taken out, so—”

“We can handle that,” Leo said. “We’ve done it before.”

“Although it’s usually Donnie doing this kind of stuff,” Mikey said.

“I’ll… be able to do it… by then…” Donnie said, his face still pinched in pain.

Sam nodded. “Fine.” She hesitated. “If you need anything, come find me. Something tells me you don’t have a lot of medical access.” She looked around and picked up a discarded piece of cardboard and pulled a pen out of her pocket. “Here. That’s my number. Call me. Or come to the hospital and ask for me, or Peter Craik—my husband,” she said at Leo’s look.

He took the number and tucked it into his belt, even as Raph was kneeling in front of Donnie, shell to him as Mikey and Casey helped Don sit up. In the distance sirens sounded.

“We will,” he said. “Thank you, Dr. Craik. But for now, we have to go. Raph?”

“Good to go,” Raph said, standing up with Donnie clinging to his shell.

“See ya, doc!” Mikey said with a wave.

The four of them headed out the back, but Casey hesitated for a moment. “Ya good, Doc?”

Sam sighed. “Well, someone has to stay behind and explain this—and something tells me that you shouldn’t be here anymore than them.”

“Heh. Maybe,” Casey said. “Seriously, though, thanks Doc.” He headed out the back as well, following behind, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the store with a dead Purple Dragon and several that were tied up—although she had no idea when that had happened.

She sighed and sat down on the floor as the sirens got closer. This was going to be a mess.

Sam was right. It was a mess. She had to explain over and over again that some vigilantes had come in and saved them, that one had gotten wounded, and that she had done her best to treat him, as per her oath, but that, no, she didn’t know what they looked like under their masks and that, no, she had no idea who they were or where they had gone. By the time it was all over with and the police accepted her statement, the sun was up, and her husband was waiting on her.

“Sam!” he said, rushing towards her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m tired, my hair is a mess, I had my life threatened, I had to do field medicine, and I’ve not slept in nearly twenty-four hours,” she snapped. “What do you think?”

Peter just grinned at her. “I think that, if you’re snapping like that at me, that you’re probably alright. Let’s get out of here.”

The two left the police station, and headed home, Peter holding Sam’s hand. They were quiet for a moment, and then, softly, Peter murmured to her.

“So, are you going to tell me what really happened?”

Sam didn’t answer for a moment. “…when we get home,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell the police?” he asked, not condemning, but clearly curious.

“Because sometimes, ‘do no harm’ is more than just the patient’s body,” Sam said irritably.

Peter laughed. “And that’s why I love you,” he said.

“Because I take my oath seriously?” Sam demanded, shooting him a look.

Peter grinned at her. “Because when you’ve decided something’s your duty, nothing can stop you—especially if it’s for the good of your patients.”

Sam harumphed, but he wasn’t wrong, she reflected. And as they walked down the street and down into the subway station she should have entered into last night, Sam wondered if she’d ever see those particular patients again.

After all, a good doctor always followed up.

[mullet-stanley]

ey chump! wh-no no eyes down here

you see a racoon threatening you with a knife

gimmie ya food scraps! cough em up

( @wendell-the-knife-racoon )

Nope! Shoo shoo, get outta here! Ive committed 3rd degree llamacide, I’m not afraid to throw hands with a raccoon!

…this is a ridiculous situation.

[pepsimansthickjuicymeatyschlong]

describe you weapon in the comments/tags/reblogs

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Snatanhi Akwey

Summary: Quaritch is defeated and alone. With no way to contact for support how will he survive on Pandora.

Na'vi in italics

Chapter one

No team, no weapons, no coms and worst of all no Spider. Miles Quaritch was left with not but the clothes on his back and his banshee. He now struggled to stay on its back as he flew towards the canopy, black spots accumulating in the corners of his vision. Had he not given the boy all he could? He'd been patient and listened and respected him far more than his father ever did for him. Maybe that's why he'd at least done him the kindness of not leaving him for dead. More than he'd have done for his own dad.

He bid the creature land as night began to fall. The dense forest provided plenty of places to hide and ol 'cupcake' would watch over him. He disconnected the neural whip falling off when his legs wouldn't take his weight.

Grumbling he half crawled half dragged himself to a hollowed tree root. His vision drew in and out of focus, tree swaying and doubling. The grass in the hollow was flattened and it seemed something had nested here before. It didn't matter now, he had no strength left in him and collapsed in a heap.

When he came to the sun light blinded him, streams of it cutting through in bands of brilliant yellows. There was someone in there with him. Hissing he twisted to them only to pull on his wounds causing him to cry out before collapsing back down. Perfect, just perfect! He was gonna die to some savage and he wouldn't even keep his dignity and go out fighting.

There was no movement however, no sharp blade or hands round his throat. He pealed his eyes back open. His would be killer was plastered to the back of the hollow, his own body between them and the exit. Their chest rose and fell quickly as their eyes stayed fixed on his. In their right hand they held his knife, pinned to the wall and in their left his dog tags dangled.

"Gimmie that!" He reached out, the na'vi squeaking at him and screwing their own eyes closed. He snatched the knife, pondering it a second before returning it to his holster. The motion sent more pain through his body, looking to the injury he was surprised. All his wounds seemed covered now, bandaged up or lightly smeared in some paste.

He looked to the stranger now, their 3 fingered hands clasped around his tags which they now held to their chest. They were tinged in the same colour as the paste. Their eyes passed between him and the tags before their hand shot out, offering them back. Miles took them, more gently now.

"This your work?" He gestured. Their face scrunched a moment.

"I'm sorry I don't understand?" They spoke, their accent a little different from the na'vi he'd heard before. Miles pulled his body up to sit, their gentle hands fluttering around his chest in protest as he did.

"Quit fussin'! I'm fine." He hoped Spider's lessons would have paid off. Their ears perked twitching towards him. Their stance seemed to relax, sinking down to sit on their feet next to him.

"Must have been quite the battle! You are a warrior?" Miles focused on their appearance now. Their skin a slightly purpler shade of blue, finer more intricate stripes, honey eyes. They wore sturdier leather like clothing, though still as scantily clad as the other clans. Most curiously was all the straps and belts. Lots hung from them, trinkets, tools and more. Oddly they only seemed to have one small blade as far as weapons went, strapped onto their thigh. He met their eyes again, realizing in that moment both how pretty they were and how long it'd been since they'd spoke.

"uh yeah" He fumbled. Their features broke into a brilliant smile as they bounced excitedly. Whoever this was they were not familiar enough with humans to know an avatar or recom when they saw them. Considering the state he'd gotten himself in a short lived ally would be good.

"I knew it! You're built for little else! and your ikran oh he is just beautiful and powerful looking wings, I've never flown before but I figure you guessed that..." They continued on, Quaritch finding it harder to keep up with what they were actually saying. Their hands waving and flapping as they spoke. He made to try get up when their hands met his chest again.

"oh please be still! You'll need another nights rest before you should be moving around. Please I can get you water, food..." They fretted hands moving to check the worst of his wounds.

"I've gotta..." Miles paused a moment. There was no way he could fly in his condition and no way help could find him here. His best bet oddly enough was to let this stranger help him.

"Okay I'll rest." They grinned at him, shifting carefully around him to the opening in the tree.

"Stay. I will return soon." They nodded to him before disappearing from view. Miles grumbled, this situation wasn't ideal. He had no idea the intentions of this stranger. What if their tribe was close and weren't so ignorant. He'd have to question them when they came back. He'd wished he'd gotten their name at least, maybe screaming it when their friends came to kill him might buy him a moment.

He rested a while. Sleeping lightly, waking at any rustle around him. The day stretched on. It'd been late morning, almost midday when he'd woke and the sun was dipping low now. He heard 'cupcake' shuffling around before taking flight. He must be sleeping higher up, maybe there was ground predators at night.

With little else to do Miles decided to take inventory. He'd still had his combat knife strapped to his thigh, now back in that holster. His coms were completely shot, water logged and cracked. He still had his tactical vest and belt. No pack, or previsions and an empty canteen. The pockets of his vest only yielded useless amo for a gun he no longer had and salt sodden bandages.

The light glinted off something on the far wall. He reached, tugging painfully as he did, and picked up a woven pack from the floor. It had a long strap and draw strings. The front was detailed in sewn on beetle shells and colourful rocks. The na'vi had left it there with him. The thought oddly touched him, that they were trusting him? Though he soured, he didn't seem like a threat obviously no need to protect their things from him.

He pulled it open. Little containers clinked together inside. Opening one revealed a foul smelling jellied substance. He gagged tightening the lid before rummaging some more. He opened another this time filled with small iridescent sea shells. Further into the bag there were some beaded jewellery items wrapped in cloths and clothing. He didn't know what he'd hoped to find and moved to return the bag to its position when something else caught his eye.

Taking it out it shone in the light. Cool in his palm was a chunk of metal, with a rounded smooth glass side. LEDs blinked to life in his hands and it beeped. He wasn't too sure what it was but it was human made for sure. Even had a little RDA logo printed onto it. Then it screamed.

"FUCK, shit shit!" He scrambled, turning the thing in his palms looking for some kind of switch or button. The alarm blared on, painfully loud. His ears pinned back as he lifted the thing into the air. Surely smashing it would shut it up.

"NO STOP! Off!" The sound ceased. His stranger had returned and stayed crouched at the entrance, head cocked to the side. Miles realized, eyeing them as they gently climbed over his legs to sit inside.

"You do speak English!" What ever this was it took a voice command as they'd clearly said 'off' in English. To his confusion they furrowed their brow. They swung another bag off their shoulder, pulling out a fabric pouch.

"No no, not much. Some things I say back it'll do things." They took the machine from his hands carefully, placing the pouch of liquid in his. "Look see" They cleared their throat, sitting up straight, and looking to him expectantly.

"Music." The box played a tone before a mechanical voice spoke back.

"What genre?" The na'vi clapped delighted then placed it on the ground, content. They looked to Quaritch now smiling proudly. Quaritch quirked a brow back to them.

"Country." He spoke. The box chimed again before a tinny version of a John Denvers song played. The stranger scrambled to his side, gripping his shoulder and jostling him a bit.

"OW quit it!" They stilled, realizing they'd hurt him.

"I'm sorry! How'd you do that? It's singing!" Quaritch guessed the last word, feeling a little smug at how impressed his companion was. Maybe keeping their favour til he was healed would be easy.

"It asked what you wanted to hear. I told it." Miles took the water skin to his mouth, taking a swig. The strangers eyes sparkled with wonder, hands clasped together as the song played on.

"Oh! I forget." They shifted to the bag, pulling out a variety of fruits. They placed them gently on Quiritch as he drank more. None looked familiar, though he'd eaten foraged from Spider before. Guessing he took a mango shaped on and brought it to his lips.

"Oh no! It's..." Their hand held his pulling the fruit away. He let them take it from him. They slid the blade from their leg, Miles hand readied at his own. But they just turned it up, hitting the side of the fruit with the hilt. It cracked, revealing it'd been a shell containing smaller shiny balls. They passed it back to him now, looking expectantly.

Quaritch held it now, suddenly unsure how to continue. Were these seeds? Or were they the fruit? Which part was he supposed to eat? Slender fingers slipped into the fruit, the stranger took a ball. They brought it to their lips placing it whole in their mouth before chewing and swallowing it.

"See! It's safe, friend" They smiled gently taking another of the fruits and nodding to him. Quaritch took one, following their guidance and closed his mouth around it. They looked back to their machine smiling at its song. He was glad they'd misunderstood, that they'd taken his pause as distrust. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his only life line.

He bit down, mouth suddenly full of liquid as the ball burst. He spluttered, some having found its way up his nose. Coughing and hacking, he groaned. Fresh pain coursed through him as his outburst pulled wounds. It passed, all the while his companion fretted, checking wounds and urging him to drink more water.

"Maybe just rest now, Off." They picked up the now silent machine, placing it back in their pack. Turning back they tucked strands of hair back behind their ears. Miles lent against the roots. Now was as good a time as any to get some intel on his new 'friend'.

"We never were introduced, I'm Miles." He stuck his hand out, deciding to leave out his last name just in case. There was a possibility his name might be know amongst the na'vi, he was responsible for the destruction of the locals ancestral home.

They paused, looking from his outstretched hand to his face. They swung their own arm up, holding it straight past his own. Hand stretched out mirroring him.

"Y/n!" They smiled. Quartich laughed, this whole situation was absurd. Everything in his life was flipped upside down and now he was stuck in a tree with this fool. He smiled down at them, their face scrunched in frustration, not understanding why he'd laughed.

He smiled more warmly, better to keep himself in his meal tickets good graces.

"Like this." He took their hand in his, giving them a firm handshake. They went ridged a moment, huge eyes staring back into his own. He worried a moment, they'd not seemed shy about touching him. Maybe it was a cultural line crossed? They flexed their four digited hand before reaching for his again.

Now it was his turn to be stunned. They'd taken his hand back tracing down each finger lost in some fascination. It clicked, they'd noticed his hands had one more finger than theirs. He prepared for a violent reaction, maybe some hissing, calls of demon, maybe they'd just run.

They didn't instead just looking into his eyes, still holding his pinky, fascination written across their face.

"Where'd you come from?" He took his hand out from theirs. The sky had darkened more now, twinkling stars appearing. Between the roots he spied a familiar constellation. Earth was barely a spec but the Milky Way was visible. He had no excuse for his difference and foolish or not they'd figure him out before he could fly again. So he had a new plan, charm.

"Right there." He pointed up, they leaned in to follow his arm up. Miles turned his face, they were almost flush against his side, their own face so close.

"Snatanhi Akwey" They whispered breathlessly. Shifting away but still sitting so near. Miles didn't know what they said but the awe in their face seemed a good sign.

The night continued this way. He'd kept a causal tone as best he could while asking Y/n his questions. They seemed confused sometimes by his accent or pronunciation but he'd gotten what he needed.

Y/n was part of a tribe of nomads. A group in constant migration around this area of Pandora. They were alone right now, completing the last trial before they were considered a full adult by their people. They were to wander alone for a time, Miles couldn't figure out how long as he didn't understand their units of measurement. It only mattered that for now they were alone, no tribe would appear to kill him.

It now seemed they wished to know more about him. Their form nudging closer in the already tight space, face alive with anticipation. Miles felt unsure what to say. What could he tell without giving away who he truly was.

"I was fighting a battle. My enemy was far stronger than I'd imagined, I lost everyone. I should have died but my son saved me but he left with my enemy. I must get back to my own people." He struggled through his explanation. Though his stress vanished when he caught y/n's face. Tears welling in their eyes at his story, it shocked him.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I will help you back to your people Miles." They spoke quietly by his side, hand resting gently on his. He felt his heart in his throat, suddenly feeling bashful under their gaze. He shook his head freeing himself from those thoughts. It was all his plan, he'd charmed them and now they were going to hand deliver him back to base.

[daddyygh0stface]

Sorry but I rlly need a sub rn.

All thats running through my mind rn is a fantasy.

Me breaking into your house (I do it to my friends- it’s hilarious how I just end up on their couch smtimes and they wake up like wtf)— ANYWAYS- Me breaking into your house find you in bed, having a wet dream. Oh seeing you dry hump your pillow in your sleep and seeing you all hot and bothered, poor puppy can’t get yourself off in your dream.

I watch you and can’t help the heat growing in my legs. I just enjoy hearing your pathetic whimpers. But you wake up, and go to take a shower to get the sweat and precum off but you have no fucking luck getting yourself off in the shower, all you can think about is your dream, so when you get out and lay back in bed I’m hiding watching you jerk yourself off.

God you look so fucking pathetic but I’m basically dripping wet and done. So I take off my belt and my knife (its for protection usually ofc) sneak up beside you then pounce on you- putting my blade to your jugular~ Oooo- how it makes me sooo wet to see you squirm.

Just be a good boy while I help you get out of your heat, baby. After that I’ll be on my way.

Then my hand slips down into your sheets and into your sweats (or whatever u wear) and take you firmly in my hand. Your hard member hot and heavy in my hand, hugged up against your stomach. I use your precum to stroke you lube you up and get you ready. When you’re whining and getting worked up on being needy I can’t help but give your lip a little nick with my knife.

Then gather the blood in my mouth before shoving my tongue into your mouth, taste so good (may have bit my own tongue to taste blood to give the fantasy some flavor). But alas I know how much you need it, and I’m right with you so I kick off my jeans and pull my panties aside and sink on you. No warning, no words just hearing your moans wail out as I sink down on you and take all you have to offer right inside. Trust me, when I get wet, I get wet so I’m confident you’ll slip right in~

First I wanna drag you out, slow and steady movements, keep whimpering please baby bc it just gets me sooooo rialed up and I love it. I keep it slow until you basically thrust in me in desperation. That was the wrong choice though. I hold down your hips with my hands and sink down to the base and keep myself planted there. Don’t move or I’ll drag it out again.

Now lets take it from the top- as in I pull all the way to the tip then sink slowly…. Again and again and again and again until you’re a begging whimpering mess. Please please gimmie those puppy eyes bc my corrupt kink only has so many bar until I can’t help but go feral.

So I start bouncing, getting faster and faster but if you cum in the first few strokes I’ll slit your fucking throat and leave your corpse to rot not before I get myself off tho ofc. But if you’re a good little pet I’ll keep going, coming up and slamming back down over and over. Just hold it a little more baby~ Don’t cum yet.

Just a few more strokes until you’re body is losing it and you’re begging for me to let you cum and I finally let you and run you through overstim until I finally cum all over you. Gosh, you felt so good.

I slow down and catch my breath. Such a good boy. I give you sweet little kisses all over your trembling body and then leave kiss your bleeding lip (Thats my signature btw). Gather my stuff and take my leave while you’re past out.

Such a cute little sub, wish I could really make you beg and whimper.

-🫀

Idk how to even reply to this but this was so good and so well written <3

[expectsomechange]

Help i need Oc ideas I want one that gets along well with absolutely everyone but deep down is basically suffering like I need more than one tho I already have like 40 ocs so uh gimmie like 10 more ideas (make sure they're ones that fit me like if you give me a knife or a gun I'm not gonna use it) I also wish to have like some minor characters kinda like the small pink elephant or Star leeches you seem good at coming up with them. If you give me ones I have don't take it offensively if I ask for more its just it feels like Pokemon if I make more characters that are like recolored or smth. I also don't want them to be Like hard to imagine without them looking like a Bfdi character like needle or something. You probably aren't gonna read all of this and that's fine but I'm turning into the definition of art block and the image down below is how I feel RN

drew this out because I love the starsona (FAN CHARACTER THING FOR AN AWSOME IDL OF MINE AKA @cinnamon-stixs your so awesome sauce AND YOUR ART IS SO AMAZING🗣️🗣️)

and I had no clue what pink elephant meant

[bobmckenzie]

Let Me Help ⇢ selfshipvember day 3

word count: ~2000 (I swear this was supposed to be like 1k max idk how this happened LOL) blurb: Bob hurts himself getting a snack, and Caitie helps patch him up when she learns about his dizziness around blood. tw: blood/scar/general wound talk, (almost) fainting

Hockey just wasn’t the same without a snack, but the McKenzie house was low on anything good. The crackers Bob’d been eating were stale and boring, and needed something—he hated to leave his spot on the couch next to Caitie, but remembered there was a block of cheese in the fridge that might still be good and headed off to the kitchen to slice some, hoping he wouldn’t miss any goals.

He should’ve waited for a commercial break, since he was still trying to poke his head around the corner and catch a glimpse of the TV as he worked—Bob winced when the blade caught his thumb, a little groan of pain escaping him as the knife in his left hand clattered to the floor, gaze shooting to his other hand as he mentally scolded himself. He was preparing what was probably the world's simplest snack, and yet he’d managed to screw it up.

Beads of blood were already blooming on the wound, and Bob’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. He could handle pain well enough, but blood…

He tore his gaze away, turning to reach for the nearby roll of paper towels, but his vision was getting fuzzy, darkness looming around the edges. The roll slipped out of his grasp, knocking a mug into the sink, dishes clanging.

Doug called out sarcastically from the living room, though he sounded much farther away. “Who knew someone could be so loud getting cheese, eh?” 

In the other room, Caitie smiled but rolled her eyes at Doug’s remark and stood up from the couch to see what Bob was up to, or if maybe he needed some help. Truthfully, she was there more to hang out with him than to watch hockey—and maybe was hoping to stay late enough that he’d nod off and fall asleep on her shoulder like he had just last week.

She was so into the thought that she barely noticed as Doug said something about a commercial break and stood up to rush to the bathroom. But the hopeful little daydream she was having was cut short as soon as she stepped into the kitchen—Bob was leaning against the counter, white as paper as blood trailed down from his thumb to his palm. 

“Oh my god–!” She started heading to grab a chair from the little table by the window so he could sit, but saw him sway and rushed over to put her arms around him instead. She wasn’t strong enough to hold him up when his body was dead weight like this, but her support helped lead him down to the floor a little more gently.

“Bob?” She asked, eyes scanning from his injury to his face, which she quickly took in her hands, trying to get those glazed eyes to look at her. The cut didn’t seem too bad—she could tell the bleeding was slowing to a stop already. Everything else was worrying her far more, her heart pounding at the sight of him, and not for the usual reasons. “Doug!” she called, but got no response.

“‘Mm'okay…” Bob mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. He meant it, too—something about his arm slinged over her shoulder, and her hands on his face, was making everything come back into focus. “Jus’... gimmie a minute…”

“Can you look at me?” She was pretty sure that was one of the things you were supposed to ask in a situation like this. In her fainting spells in the past, anyway, once she closed her eyes it was usually lights out. “Maybe you should lie down.”

“No, really, I’m okay.” He blinked his eyes open, looking at her like she asked—hey, if he had to look anywhere, he liked this view most of all. And it wasn’t every day he had an excuse to be this close to her. “It’s just… bleedin’ makes me kinda…” He shrugged, heat crawling up his neck at the admission. “I never been good with it, s’all.”

She gave him a soft smile, glad to see some of his color returning. “I think it’s stopping, if that makes you feel any better. Let me help you get it clean and everything—Do you have a first-aid kit?”

He snorted a little, shrugging, trying to play it off like it was a silly question—the truth was with her looking at him all doe-eyed, holding him that gently, he just couldn’t think straight enough to be sure if there was one in the house or not. “I don’t think so, eh.”

She laughed a little, relieved to see him acting more and more like himself. “I have some band-aids in my bag—lemee grab a couple, and then I’ll clean it.” 

His smile faltered, brow furrowing a little, stomach twisting with guilt—she was being too nice to him, and he was ruining her night because he was a klutz who couldn’t handle the sight of blood. “Caitie, y’know, you don’t gotta do all that. I’ll be fine—”

“I’m getting the band-aids.” She took his face a little more firmly in her hands, looking at him pleadingly. “Don’t try to get up yet, okay? Please?” 

He was too tired to come up with some sort of quip, though he wished he could think of something to stop her from taking her hands off his face, to have her sit there with him just a little longer. “Okay.”

She gave him a gentle little pat on the cheek before picking his arm up off her shoulders and standing up, heading back to the living room. He kept his eyes trained on the table at the other end of the room, not wanting to risk another glance at his thumb. He didn’t want her to have to worry about him again if she came back and found him all woozy, or worse, out cold.

She was back in just a few seconds, two individually wrapped plasters in her hand. Hosehead trailed in behind her, pausing for a second to look at Bob before heading over to his foodbowl, clearly not too concerned.

“How’re you feeling now? Less faint?” Caitie asked as she tucked the bandages into her pocket, standing beside him to use the sink.

He squirmed a little at the questions, her voice so genuine and caring. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had fussed over him like this. He nodded, looking up to see her washing her hands. “Lots better, eh.”

“I’m not sure how to… Oh! I have an idea.” Reaching for one of the cabinets, she pulled out a bowl. The next thing he knew she was handing the pull-out faucet from the sink down to him. “Hold this for me?”

He took it, understanding dawning on him as she reached for the soap and finally sat next to him again, setting everything on the floor beside them—she didn’t want him standing yet, so she was bringing the sink to him to wash the cut. 

“Can I take your hand?” She met his eyes, continuing as he nodded, “It might sting a little.”

“‘S’okay.” If there was anyone he trusted to be gentle, it was her. For good reason, obviously—she took his hand softly in both of hers, her touch careful and slow. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, butterflies blooming in his stomach at the sensation. “Guess you must think I’m like, a total wuss now, eh?” he joked to distract himself from how tender she was being with him, how close she was, the softness of her skin and the fact that he could smell the scent of her perfume—she was wearing the one that always reminded him of apples.

She smiled, briefly meeting his eyes over the frames of her glasses before her attention returned to his hand. “I know you better than that.” She rolled up the sleeve of his flannel so it wasn’t in the way. “And lots of people get unsteady around blood.”

“S’usually just when it’s me who’s bleedin’,” he explained, feeling her gently spread soap over the wound. “I do okay when like, the other guys on the team get a nosebleed or somethin’. But when it’s me, and it happens out of the blue like that…” He shrugged, flushing again, wondering why he was even saying any of this when it sounded so lame. “I dunno. It started when I was a kid—Doug and I was fightin’ one day in the living room, and I ended up fallin’ on the coffee table. I had this big gash on my shoulder and had t’go get stitches, but Doug was still mad at me and kept tellin’ me all these lies on the ride to the hospital about how much blood there was, and that he could like, see my bones coming out—‘cause I couldn’t really see back there, y’know?”

“Sounds like Doug.” Her tone was light, though the story made her heart clench a little. She shook her head, understanding perfectly well why that might’ve messed with his head. “He’s lucky I don’t go and barricade him in the bathroom.”

Bob laughed, still not looking at his thumb even as she took the faucet from his other hand to rinse the soap off over the bowl. He kept his gaze on her face, finding distractions in the way she looked so focused, so careful. “He said he was sorry, so.” He shrugged a shoulder. “‘S’not his fault it freaked me out so bad. Or that I was too stupid to know he was lyin’.”

He was so forgiving, she thought, gently drying the wound with a paper towel. And way too hard on himself. “You were a kid.”

“Hmm.” Bob hummed noncommittally. He stayed quiet as she took out the band-aids and finished up, overlapping them in a crisscross that made them feel extra secure on his finger. Finally he looked down, wiggling his thumb a little, all traces of blood gone. “Good as new, eh? Thanks, Caitie.”  The word didn’t seem like enough, but was all he could think to say. If he tried to say something else, something more, he’d probably just make an even bigger hose of himself.

“No problem—it feels okay and everything?” When he nodded, she bumped her knee against his. “You never finished your story—was your shoulder okay?”

His face lit up, eyebrows raising. “See for yourself, eh,” he said, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his flannel so he could push the collar down far enough to show his shoulder. 

It was silly, she knew, but she couldn't stop herself from blushing at the sight of the exposed skin, the hair on his chest and a few little freckles on his upper arm she'd never gotten the chance to notice before. He turned so she could see the three inch scar right above his shoulder blade, raised and pale from time. 

“Looks like it hurt.” Her hand moved, wanting to touch, to run her fingertips over the skin, but she pulled it back before she could fall victim to the whim. “Did the stitches hurt? I’ve never had any.”

“Well…” He smiled as he adjusted his shirt back onto his shoulder, but it was a sheepish, embarrassed smile that almost looked more like a grimace. “I don’t really know. Turns out that sorta thing makes me pass out too. Thought maybe I grew out of that one, but…” He hesitated, but lifted a hand to brush his hair back from his forehead with an embarrassed chuckle, exposing the little scar at his hairline. “Got this one during a game two seasons ago and found out pretty fast that I didn’t. I was all stitched up ‘fore I even came to.”

“Well, you handle band-aids pretty well,” she joked.

He laughed, moving to stand. “C’mon. Let's go before we miss the whole game, eh.”

“Oh—” She stood up, quickly wrapping an arm around him. “Not too fast.”

“Caitie—” He was about to tell her it wasn’t necessary, that he wasn’t feeling lightheaded at all anymore—then wondered why on earth he’d do that when she was up against his side again, holding onto him and letting him rest his head against her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

He smiled up at her. “Thanks.”

[shinyshade8026]

Knife

GIMMIE KNIFE /SILLY

[bullet-prooflove]

Requesting Detective Cyrus Lupo again please and thank you... cuz it's Lupo.

"Hey! HEY! Relax, Lupo! Look at me! I need you to stay alive today alright?!?"

I need this like I need air. Gimmie all ya got!

"Hey! HEY! Relax, Lupo! Look at me! I need you to stay alive today alright?!?" You mutter as you wrap the overshirt you were wearing around the hilt of the knife in order to stifle the bleeding.

His breathing is laboured, you can hear the raggedness in your ears as you press down.

“It’s bad isn’t it?” He hisses through his teeth as his head tips towards you.

You don’t answer him, instead you concentrate on the blood pool that’s slowly starting to spread across the carpet underneath him.

“I know you’ve been in worse positions than this right?” You say, trying to divert his attention. “Back in Morrocco, Iraq or wherever the hell you were?”

“Once.” He grimaces. “I got shot once.”

“That’s surprising.” You tell him.

“Because I’m annoying right?” He laughs and it comes out like a raw wheeze that expels from his chest. He reaches for you, his crimson stained fingertips brushing over your forearm.

You tilt your head towards him, eyes meeting as his thumb traces over the hollow if your wrist.

“I love you, you know.” He tells you and you feel your eyes burn because you know, you’ve known from the moment he took your hand in the back of that ambulance.

“I know Cyrus.” You assure him as the sound of sirens chime in the distance. “I know."

[tobias-hankel]

Heeeeeyy Daddy~ Love of my life. Sweetie pie. Cutie patootie with a knife— wait put that down. Maze!

Ahem, anyways— I want some Alpha Hotch protecting his Omega pls UwU idk how or what or if it’s spicy or just him being overly protective (maybe another Alpha is making eyes at HIS mate? 👀). Just gimmie the feels pls!

And not the knife!

I'm taking Hotchreid drabble requests in honor of the Hotchreid Zine release.

For more information about our Hotchreid Zine, make sure to check out Tumblr - all proceeds go to SharedHope, a charity to combat sex trafficking.

--

Cw Omegaverse, unwanted scenting, unwanted sexual advances

Spencer being an omega wasn’t a secret, but it also wasn’t something the team talked about. With a mix of suppressants and being scented by his mate, Hotch, people often thought he was a beta or a low-ranking alpha, but every now and then an officer or fellow agent would find out Spencer was an omega – the only omega in the FBI at that – and decide to harass him because of it.

Spencer insisted he could handle himself though. He didn’t want to be coddled, even if sometimes he needed it.

Like now.

The team was currently on a case. Everything was going well until one of the officers looked Spencer up and found a news article about Spencer being an omega in the FBI. Now he wouldn’t leave Spencer alone.

Spencer did his best to ignore his snide remarks and sexual advances but when the rest of the team had to leave to different assignments for the case, he found himself wishing he had his alpha to protect him.

“Hey little omega, all alone?” The officer said as he walked into the conference room Spencer was in, shutting the door behind him. Spencer didn’t answer the man and just kept staring at the board he was looking at. “Why don’t you come with me, huh?” The man got closer, placing a hand on Spencer’s hip.

Spencer backed away sharply. “I’m working, please leave me alone.”

“It can wait, baby,” the officer said as he took a step closer while smirking. It only took a second for Spencer to register what the officer was doing as his senses started to cloud with the scent of alpha. It was illegal to purposely scent someone else without their consent. While it did sometimes happen on accident, it was clear by the look on the alpha’s face that he was trying to overpower Spencer.

“I—I already have an alpha. You n-need to leave,” Spencer said, taking slow breaths and trying to think around the overwhelming scent. No matter how strong an omega was, there was only so much they could do when it came to an alpha scenting them. The scent spoke to their most basic needs of an omega – to find an alpha and breed.

“Shhh,” the officer placed his hand back on Spencer’s hip. “Come on, omega. So sweet for me,” the officer grabbed Spencer’s chin and leaned only inches away from Spencer’s face so that his scent would be even stronger. “Just let go and come with me.”

Spencer could feel his eyes water as his mind started to blur. All he could think of was alpha, alpha, alpha – but not this alpha. He didn’t want this man; he wanted his alpha. “…Aaron… Alpha…” Spencer started to mumble. He had no idea that Hotch was walking through the doors of the police station at that same moment. Once Hotch got inside, he felt something wrong with his omega and raced towards him.

Spencer didn’t even hear the door slam open as Hotch ran in, smelled what the alpha was doing, saw his crying omega, and punched the officer in the face without a single word. The punch made the officer pull his scent back and Spencer gasped as he could finally breathe again.

“Alpha!” Spencer cried, reaching out for Hotch. Spencer never called Hotch alpha in public, so he knew he was shaken up. He quickly wrapped him in his arms and scented him gently – not enough that he couldn’t think, just enough to calm the omega down.

Emily and Morgan came into the room next, quickly figuring out what happened and feeling a flame light under them with the knowledge of someone messing with Spencer.

“Arrest him for omega abuse,” Hotch said to Emily and Morgan before he guided Spencer to the sofa that was in the corner of the room.

Once they sat down, Spencer said, “I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to stop him… I only want you, Alpha…”

“I know, sweetheart. You are safe now,” Hotch said before pressing a kiss onto Spencer’s head.

[laalaaisqueen]

My Single survivor AUs always end up in Guardian suffering.

Po: Stabs man with a knife *he doesnt die dw* before he can even finish explaining and runs away because she ain't talking to no dirty stranger with a broken camera and if they do travel together, Po doesn't yell at him but she calls him weird and gross because its rude for a mortal to spy on two gods. *I prob have never mentioned Po's god complex but she also genuinely believes Tinky is godlike* Its just a bunch of Po being the worst. Stalking is wrong but it's more wrong to talk to people as if they're below you.

Guardian: *being told his whole life the test subjects are just talking animals* Po: Sorry that you didn't know but I'm a god and above you :)

I imagine Po just demands stuff of him and Guardian is just like "What, you can't talk to me like that, I'm The Guardian and I-"

"Bro, I'm basically a god, gimmie your night vision camera before I make you drop to your knees before me."

Laa-Laa: Punches him in the face as he gets too close *and snatches Dipsy's hat back because that's not yours you weirdo* calls him a list of insults, creep, pervert, stalker, ect. Guardian does not understand what any of these words mean. *But he has a feeling they are mean insults* Him just not understanding her anger just eventually makes her go, "You know what, let's just drop this for now, but I'm taking this rock with me so no funny business buddy"

Guardian: ... Laa-Laa: What are you staring at me for? Guardian: You said mean untrue things about me Laa-Laa: I wouldn't call them all untrue but so what? Guardian: Laa-Laa: If you're expecting an apology, you're not getting one Guardian: But you said mean things! Laa-Laa: What are you, 4? Guardian: I'm 21 Laa-Laa: That's somewhat reassuring, I was afraid you might have been older that it would have been more creepy. Guardian: How old did you think I was? Laa-Laa: I don't know, maybe mid 40s? You look so filthy I can't even tell you are young. Guardian: 40?!

Tinky Winky: The bag is coming out and whacking out one of Guardian's teeth. He is seething, he is enraged. He is gonna swear. Angry tears. Gets even more mad at Guardian for practically ruining his makeup. Spends his pretty time redoing his makeup. Also snatches Dipsy's hat but stuffs it into his bag.

Guardian: :( Tinky Winky, who is the same age: BoY don't give me the frowny face, you think you can just walk in here, order me to listen to your excuses just because you're 'The Guardian'? I got news for you dirty little man, it's rude to speak to me as if I'm lesser than you, and it's rude to steal stuff and never return it! And it's weird to watch us without our- Guardian: But I- Tinky Winky: DO NOT interrupt! That's also rude!

Dipsy: Man is gonna punch this dirty man. I'm taking back my hat now thank you very much. This situation is really weird but I suppose I could go to the station with you, I don't have anything better to do anyway.

Dipsy: I should probably move from this place anyway before Laa-Laa shows up to kick my ass for leaving her behind Guardian: But I saw her dead body Dipsy: You're a really bad stalker if you think death will stop Laa-Laa from kicking my ass