#got extra brain damage from that hit

[janesjuicebox]

This took hours

Idk prolly gonna post this on tiktok,,

Either @_llqrsxx or @meandurmomsittininatree

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon making it clear that you are the only one he wants

“You alright, sweetheart?” Simon’s deep, gruff voice hit your ears, pulling your out of your thoughts. 

You nodded without a sound, subtly trying to divert your gaze so that he wouldn’t look into your eyes and see all the emotion swimming inside, but at this point you really didn’t need to answer the question. The way you sit across from him with your brow furrowed into two steep peaks and your shoulders slumped forward and tight as you idly picked at the skin around your fingernails was enough of a sign. Even though you tried to dismiss him with a few muttered “I’m fine” and “It’s nothing” phrases, the man knew; whatever it was had been eating away at you for some time. 

Turning his full attention to you he took your chin into his coarse grasp and tilted your head upward until your eyes met. “Then why can’t ya even look at me?” he posed his next question. 

You let out a sigh, nowhere to run now as Simon wasn’t gonna let you back out. “It’s just…silly...” 

An incident had been on your mind for a week now, something that should have been resolved already, but try as you might to let it go it just couldn’t be shaken. A new younger female recruit had got it into her head that she wanted a piece of the huge, mysterious Lieutenant and began to flaunt that young, supple body in his direction. Simon had not allowed it to continue for even a second after that initial encounter, making sure that you knew everything in detail, and immediately she was reprimanded and reassigned, but the damage had been done to your confidence.

Were you really right for him? Were you enough? You had never really thought of yourself as ugly, but when pitted up against some pretty thing that had the freshness of young beauty on her side, you weren’t so sure if you could really compare and that made your usual abundance of self-confidence drop to nearly zero. 

Amber eyes gazed back at you as Simon waited patiently for your reply. Taking a deep, calming breath you continued. “I guess I just can’t help but wonder if you made the right choice,” you said.

“And what choice is that, hmm?” he pushed, letting you use your words even though he was sure where this was headed.

“Choosing me,” you said so softly it was barely above a whisper.

Just as he suspected, it was still bothering you and he kicked himself for not doing more before now to show you that there was no one on base or even in the whole fucking world that could compare to what he had with you. There was no one up until now that had ever kept him so tightly wound as you did that he constantly felt like he couldn't get you out of his head, that he never could get enough of you; it was a constant struggle just to keep sane so that he could do his job when he knew what would be waiting for him when he got home.

That’s why it took nothing for him to know exactly what it was that he needed to do now.

Without a word the grip on your chin was released as Simon stood to his feet. He reached down and took a hold of your hand, giving it a good, solid tug. “Come on,” he beckoned with a nod of his head to stand with him and through a bit of stubborn reluctance, you followed.

As soon as you were on your feet he pulled you into his hard, warm chest, leaning his head in close until you could feel his breath against your lips. “Of all the fuckin' mistakes I've made in my life, ya ain't one of 'em. I think someone needs a bit of extra attention, and I was a fuckin' fool waitin' till now to give it to her,” he murmured, his voice lowering into that register that always sent shivers down your spine. “Let me take care of ya, let me turn that brain of yours off for a bit and show ya how sure I am that I made the right choice.”

Before you could answer, his lips had already connected with your own to steal the words right out of your mouth. If there was one thing that experienced military man was superior at it was making you come apart at the seams like it was his fucking job. And boy did he take pride in his work.

But right here and now he would be even more meticulous in his affections as it was clear you needed to be reminded that you and only you were the best goddamn thing to grace his miserable existence. All of his undivided attention would be yours tonight and he would not stop until every single worry had left that pretty little head.

Promises were breathed into your mouth by him. "I'm not stoppin' until ya know just how fuckin' much I don't want anyone else besides ya."

In a flurry of lips and tangled limbs, you found your way over to the bed. Like a surgeon performing a delicate operation, he carefully removed each article of your clothing one by one, making sure that the exposed skin was immediately caressed and attended to before he moved on to the next. Every inch of skin on you would feel the passion in his embrace. By the time you hit the mattress’ surface, your body was already a tingling mess of nerve ends bursting to life in ways that made your mind numb.

The lights had been turned down low, their soft incandescent glow warm and inviting as the breathy sounds of unspoken desires from a man consumed filled the air. It was hard to think of anything as the thick tension permeated the space while you lay there naked sprawled out across the sheets with Simon at your side. Adoration was what he was after tonight, needing you to be left as nothing more than a puddle of pure bliss in the middle of his bed.

Toughened fingers traced all of those subtle imperfections lining your body with such tenderness as if each scar and blemish and indention were incredibly precious to him; his lips followed not far behind as he whispered praises into your skin. Those gentle words that were only for your ears alone as he couldn’t have people thinking he was going soft…even though he absolutely had been since the moment he got with you.

“How could ya ever think I would want anythin’ other than this, other than ya?" he breathed the question into the skin of your torso. “You're all I could ever want, all I fuckin’ think about; the best goddamn thing to ever happen to me. My pretty girl.” 

His nose nuzzled against the crook of your neck and he caught that scent: the smell of your body’s natural musk that just one whiff of could make his head fuzzy and his body tingle in a way he could not describe. All those beautifully fragrant notes that combined together to create a profile that was distinct to you so that even if he couldn’t see you he knew you were near. Closing his eyes, he breathed you in deep.

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he purred into the warm skin of your shoulder before he was on the move, lips caressing over the swell of your breasts with nipples already stiff. “I just can’t ever get enough of ya. How could ya ever fuckin' think I'd give up all this for some young tart who'd get sick 'a me sooner rather than later? Fuck, you’re all I want, all I'll eva fuckin' need.”

Down, down, down he continued over the length of your stomach towards your thighs. It was like performing a sacred act, him giving you the full breadth of his overwhelming desire as he made his way from your lips to your legs, getting everything in between. He shot a hungry glance back up at you as he reached those pillowy creations that he loved so much.

He sighed. "Every inch of ya is like a goddamn dream."

Extra time he spent on your thighs as he embraced those voluptuous curves over and over again with his mouth, kissing and sucking, running his nose along them until you were whining and writhing beneath him. Shit, he had not even touched anywhere near your throbbing clit yet and still you could not stop the way your heart pounded out of your chest or your short, sticcatoed breathing that filled the silence. 

“Please,” the plea fell from your open mouth, but there was no need to beg. This was your night after all and he was not about to deny you of anything.

"Whatever my pretty girl wants she's gonna fuckin' get," he smiled. "Always."

Slowly Simon’s large hands spread you open just wide enough that he could lean his face into your mossy bank. More delicate kisses were dotted over your petals, his mouth embracing all around that tender slit before his tongue gently slipped inside the folds. All that doting on your body had done it’s job in stimulating so that he was met with a wetness on his tongue as he dived in. 

Shit were you sweet, like eating a peach except this one would not run out before he had gotten his fill. 

That masterful tongue drew short, concise circles around your clit, lips locking around the bud intermittently to suck, using the two techniques in tandem while his nails drug lightly over your thighs until your were bucking against his face. There was no rush in his movements; he was going to take his time in drawing out your pleasure. 

You couldn’t make a sound, your mind consumed completely with every flick of his tongue, every press of it firmly against you, every pass of his hands over your thighs; overstimulated doesn’t even begin to describe it. Eyes closed, mouth wide open, desperate music being moaned into the room was all you could muster as he brought you closer and closer to the precipice of your pleasure. 

Leisurely Simon lapped at your clit, no rush, no hurry, with measured strokes that eased you pleasantly into your orgasm instead of violently throwing you over. You came so effortlessly that you are able to ride out that wave of ecstasy for minutes as his pace stayed at that steady rhythm until there was no more left for you to give. Only then did he emerge like a man baptized anew. 

By the time he finally thrust inside you, you were a glorious mess of sweat and mewls and cum. He took you right on your back, needing to see that look in your eyes that made him feel like he was your whole world. No muscle-straining positions will he put you in tonight as all he wants is to gaze down at the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Do ya think I have any doubts now?” he asked with a muted smile. "Think I could do this with just anyone?"

Your cheeks, already warm and pink, flushed bright crimson. “No,” you shook your head.

“That's a good girl,” he praised as he adjusted your legs to be comfortable around his thick torso. “Then let’s finish this off right, yeah? You and me, sweetheart.”

Slow, even thrusts he pounded into you, stretching you and filling you full even at this angle, as he met your lips again to nearly choke you on all his passion. You could taste yourself on his breath as he claimed you body and soul. 

“Ya feel so fuckin’ good, just wanna stay buried in ya all the time,” he groaned between precise thrusts through your tight, moist core. Your body was paradise and he could not get enough. Pulling back he watched the connection of your bodies right at the point where he slipped inside of you. You were so full of him there was no distinction between where he ended and you began.

Simon was never a religious man, most of the time as far from it as humanly possible, but the closest he would ever come to faith was the moment he got his first feel of all that glory that first time you two went at it. It was then that your body became his church and from then on he was more than ready to give his life to worshiping at your alter with his fingers and tongue and cock; any and all instruments at his disposal to show you his unwavering devotion. 

That man had been starved for far longer than he would like to admit, but the first time he buried himself in you that was all it took to fill him up. It was only you that he craved: your softness and warmth and light and no one else would ever do. As much as you were his, he was yours.

His hands ran up the sides of your torso, leaving burning trails that made you shiver as he palmed both of your breasts in each one of his hands to massage the flesh. “I want ya to come for me again,” he said, more need in his voice. “Can ya do that for me pretty girl?”

Rapidly you nodded your head up and down as you focused on what was coming.

“That’s it; wanna be sure my girl gets everything she needs to stay satisfied with me.”

There was a feeling of safety and security that you got when you were with him; no matter how rough or passionate the sex got, Simon was always right there with you in the moment so that you never felt that it was one sided. Right now that feeling spread through you along with the gathering warmth in your abdomen to help you get out of your head and let go. All those worries, all those fears, they left completely as he thrust inside you a few more times and you spilled over the edge once more.

He kissed you hard on the mouth, holding your raw lips together once more as he followed right after you. His shoulder shook as his released himself and fell into that high that he would never tire of- not when it was with you. As he let go of your lips, he smiled back down at you; that glow of ecstasy causing his heart to skip a beat.

“Ya see, there’s no one in this whole fuckin’ world I want more than ya, sweetheart,” he whispered into your temple before placed a quick kiss. “And I am always willin’ to show ya that you are the only girl for me.”

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (I)

This is probably my longest running dysfunctional daydream scenario, so I thought I'd share it here.

As stereotypical as it gets, you've fallen into an old well and found yourself in feudal Japan. Almost immediately, you're attacked by a yokai that calls you by a name you don't recognize. He insists you possess the soul of an ancient priest that would capture demons under a binding contract. Something isn't right, however, so your life is spared until further clues come to light. With two men unwillingly bound to you, you begin to uncover this mess as more 'collection pieces' show up. They might prefer you to their previous owner.

TW: violence, monsters

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guidebook]

You vigorously cough out whatever grass you seemed to have bit into when you hit the ground. Was all this vegetation here just one moment ago? As you get up and dust your knees you're brought back into focus by the loud buzzing of insects. You look above and involuntarily squint your eyes. You didn't expect to see a full, bright sky.

"What the hell?" is all you can mutter.

You and your university friends had planned a quick trip to the neighboring Tokyo, just to visit some trending local cafes and shop around. You somehow wandered into the suburbs and found a very obvious path to a large shrine that was visible from the bottom of the stairs. Now, what's more stereotypical than finding a shrine, approaching it with shy steps, dangling the old rope of the bell and humbly clapping your hands together for a quick prayer that gives you a fake sense of meaningfulness? Then again, you love a good cliché. So you did just that, and then whipped out your phone to snap some artsy photos of the place. In your search for the perfect angle, you spotted a wooden structure among some pillars and zoomed in to realize it's an old well.

Here's where you awkwardly tiptoed away from your friends. You couldn't possibly confess to them that you're one of those anime nerds, and that you immediately thought of a certain classic title, and that this could make a very good impromptu cosplay shoot. You could smell the nostalgia as you carefully swayed your way behind the pillars and under the shade of the tiled roof. You bent over carefully (apparently not carefully enough) to asses how deep the well was. Just as you were about to exclaim its shallowness, you felt the gravity pull you inwards. Within seconds your head made contact with the moist soil and you briefly blacked out as the rest of your body arrived in proper position.

Unpleasant, but you've had migraines worse than this. Though now you're wondering whether you might've damaged some important brain parts, given the sudden change of scenery. Or has your dysfunctional daydreaming finally caught up to you?

You laugh silently and test the walls around you, feeling for some contact point that you can use to pull yourself back out. You finally crawl out, but freeze with your elbows around the frame of the well, looking ahead.

There's no building around, just tall grass and what seems to be the beginning of a forest. You remember to blink, and each time you close your eyes you hope to see the shrine once again, to no avail.

"I thought I'm past the risk age for schizophrenia", you mumble in a humorous attempt. The situation is so absurd that you need to share it with an imaginary audience.

You muster up the courage to step out and onto the ground, with extra caution as if it could vanish at any moment. After brief consideration, you slap a bunch of weeds in front of you to test their consistency. The hard stems hurt your wrist and you nod. This is a little too intense to be just a hallucination.

Alright, so you got trapped in some sort of feudal anime remake. What now? You glance around, almost hoping to see some white haired man sleeping against a tree with an arrow stuck into the chest. You check your phone. No signal, but thankfully it still works. You have a battery and its charger, but the latter is probably useless. Unless this remake comes with electricity. You chuckle at the thought. Who knows, maybe it's one of those isekai otome games instead and some timeline inconsistency or loophole will provide you with an outlet.

After trying the well one last time without success, you decide to at least find another human being. Then you can get some grasp of your whereabouts and situation. You notice a patch of grass that's been bent to the ground, probably from frequent stomping. That's a start. You follow the hints of bipedal movement and hope for the best.

The improvised path slithers downhill and around the mass of trees, and you question whether the fields ahead might have traces of houses on them. You pick up your pace in anticipation.

A sharp swish of an unknown object causes you to flinch and halt, and before you can process it, a thin blade lays inches from your nose. You follow its length and find the source: a tall, horned (???) man with silver hair.

Ironically enough, he seems to be more shocked than you. His facial expression flips from focused anger to unbelievable confusion within seconds. His eyebrows are raised and his lips part.

"Ah!" you yell as the gears begin to turn. "Christ, you almost made me question my sanity!

Now let me tell you, this is some great cosplay. I was about to beg for my life. Hah! How the hell did you pull the whole transition? Is the well a tunnel? I hope I didn't accidentally break into some event."

The man returns his sword into its sheath, still in deep disbelief.

"You're not him, are you? But then again..."

"Huh? Him? I'm sorry, were you expecting someone? If you show me the way out I'll disappear in a moment." you turn around, prepared to be led to the exit. "Who're you cosplaying, anyways? I'm a big fan of historical dramas, but I don't recognize the character design."

"I don't understand what you're saying." the man tilts his head in utter surprise.

"Alright, I get the point" you force a laugh, slightly irritated by the persistence. "You're deep in your acting, I get that. Focus and all the jazz. But my friends are around the corner and I don't have signal, can you please skip the theatre and show me the exit?"

"The exit to...where? You're outside."

You sigh, loudly, and click your tongue. "Enough of this, please. Where's the shrine?"

"Ah, I get it. You're trying to confuse me." he pulls his sword back out. "I've had enough of your tricks. You're in an early stage, aren't you? Not strong enough to fight back. I can sense it."

Oh God, it's one of those maniacs, you think to yourself. You raise your arms as a peace offering and hope you won't be featured in the 5pm news with multiple stab wounds.

"Listen man, I really don't know what you're talking about. I'll leave quietly and won't bother you again, I promise."

You gulp and await a response, but the man's mouth opens and the words are replaced by a foreign, disembodied shriek. There's a rapidly approaching heavy shuffle that sounds like the trample of many limbs. You feel your leg being hooked into something and the ground turns around at a dizzying speed.

Something just grabbed you.

Given the movements of the lips, you're assuming that the mysterious cosplaying maniac is yelling something, but your ears are ringing and throbbing as the adrenalin begins to pump. You're being thrown around by something and you can feel the skin holding your leg together creaking and tearing with every jolt.

You manage to land your eyes on the creature. The teeth are unnaturally sharp and it seems to have many arms and legs arranged in a scattered order along the scaly body. It trashes around in such a fluid, dynamic way, that you doubt it could be the result of any machine. It's a living thing and currently attacking you for whatever reason.

Once the bizarre reality settles in, panic floods your body and you scream for help. If not the maniac, then some godly intervention. You did offer a small donation at the shrine, it has to count for something.

The spectacle doesn't last long, since the silver haired man doesn't hesitate to behead the creature. You can see that he wasn't making empty threats with his sword skills. You'd prefer, however, if you weren't the next one to go under his guillotine. Your body rolls over the dirt, limp from the shock.

You tilt yourself upwards pathetically and let out a groan once you attempt to use your leg to stand. You turn around and notice the aftermath of your little air ballet. There's a deep wound and thick, red blood is oozing out, scrambling to form a protective crust.

"You... really can't fight at all, can you? You weren't lying."

The man is now standing in front of you, the same amount of disbelief he had at the beginning.

"How the hell would I have fought that...that..." you choke and can feel tears forming in your eyes. "I don't understand what's happening. I just want to go back home. I don't know what's happening." you start sobbing and angrily rub your eyes, hoping to trigger some sort of way to wake up. But your eyelids burn and you feel awake. This was never a dream.

Your sudden meltdown startles the man and he awkwardly hovers his hands over you, unsure of how to handle this.

"Sorry, if I had known, I would've stopped it earlier. I genuinely thought you're..." he sighs. "I'm really sorry. You got hurt because of me."

"Can you please tell me where I am? I feel like I'm going crazy. It's year 202X and I was out with my friends and fell into a well. I've never seen a creature like that in my life. I somehow ended up here and I can't go back. Where the hell is this?"

"I... I don't understand what's happening either. I came here because I sensed he's back. I didn't expect to see... well... you." 

You scan his face. His frown is sincere. Which, truth be told, is even less helpful. You're back to square 0, it's getting dark and your ankle is trashed. 

You just want to sleep.

You stare at the ceiling, hands locked together over your chest. The improvised hay mattress isn't exactly comfortable, but it's certainly better than nothing. You sheepishly glance at the horned man. He's sitting by the window, idly looking outside with hooded eyes. He seems to be tired, too. 

"Try to get some rest", he'd told you earlier. Easier said than done. After the monster attack, he carried you on his back until you found an abandoned hut. His way of apologizing for letting you get mauled. As you walked, he narrated his reasoning to you. 

His name is Kiritsubo. When he was a child, a human dressed like an onmyouji took him in for training. Said to be the successor of Abe no Seimei himself, the man was feared throughout the country for his supernatural powers. Most of his strength, however, came from the collection of yokai he'd gathered to work for him. None of them had agreed to it, but no one knew how to break the bond subduing them. Eventually, the old man succumbed into his eternal slumber, yet the yokai were still not freed from the contract.

Some of them suggested he wasn't truly gone. Merely reincarnated. And today, he felt it for the first time. That's how he stumbled upon you. You appear to have part of his soul within you, whether you realize it or not. But if you truly have no knowledge of it, he doesn't have the heart to slaughter an innocent. 

"What about the rest?" you blurt out, quietly.

Kiritsubo turns to you, mildly startled.

"What do you mean?"

"You said the man owned 12 legendary yokai. Are you the only one left?"

"No." He frowns. "They most likely know about you already. Let's try to send you back to your world tomorrow, because they will not be as forgiving."

A shiver runs across your spine. This one is scary enough already. You pray you'll be home before you can meet any other beast.

"This is where I found you, so the well shouldn't be far." 

The silver haired man surveys the horizon and you limp forward. 

"I'll check the area, since you can't walk much."

As soon as he says that, he vanishes. You're left with the heavy buzz of afternoon cicadas. You might as well do your own search. Keep yourself preoccupied. The idea of leaving this behind fills you with excitement and you find enough strength to push ahead. 

A few minutes later, you hear a shuffle behind you. Could it be that Kiritsubo already found the well? Enthusiasm fills your chest and a burning heat spreads out. Although it speedily pools in your left shoulder, and you notice in horror that it wasn't enthusiasm taking over your body. A blade is sticking out of your shoulder, avoiding anything vital as some sort of mockery rather than omission. 

"Found you."

The voice is deep and foreign. You barely manage to tilt your head and meet the glowing red eyes of a black haired man. Dark horns are twisting menacingly from his crown and his expression is that of pure wrath. As fresh blood drips down your chin, you wonder if this is the next yokai in line to seek his revenge.

How will you get out of this?

[millersfinest]

the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 8

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: The next few days pass by in a rush, but you've never been happier. That is until Scott reappears and decides to restart old drama. Word Count: 3264 TW: Kissing, Groping, Confrontation, Family Drama, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever and @green-socks for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Ending Edited to Be Appropriate for SFW Blog. Original Can Be Found on My 18+ NSFW Blog @a-reader-and-a-writer But Please Only Interact If Under 18

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

The next five days passed in a blur, yet they were some of the best of your life. Every morning, Tyler met you at your door with a smile and a kiss. Then you’d walk downstairs together and join the other Wranglers for breakfast. Afterward, you packed up and rode with Tyler and Boone as you chased after a few tornados. 

While you no longer had that initial anxiety like you did on your first chase, you never got tired of the breathtaking feeling as the storm hit the front of the truck and you passed through the heart of the funnel. That rush of adrenaline surging through you never lessened, and you understood why the Wranglers continued to do this after so long. 

After each chase, Boone and Lily reviewed the footage he captured, Dani inspected Tyler’s truck for any damage, and Dexter began checking for any more potential storms forming in the area. Meanwhile, you and Tyler would sneak off for some time alone together. Sometimes it would be in the bed of his truck, sometimes in the middle of an empty field, and, one time, even on the top of Dani and Dexter’s van. 

Most of the time, you kept things fairly PG—just some making out, snuggling against his chest while he held you, or him laying his head in your lap while you played with his hair. But occasionally, things would drift into a little more mature nature. You still had only known Tyler for less than a week and didn’t want to move too quickly, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself. A few times after an exceptionally exhilarating storm or when Tyler was being extra sweet, you found yourself straddling his lap, grinding against him as his hand cupped your breasts. 

These moments often ended with the two of you panting heavily next to each other while you gave Tyler a few minutes to calm down so he could walk back to the rest of the crew. Though you knew you weren’t fooling anyone about what you were getting up to, no one said anything. However, you did catch Boone, Dani, and Lily exchanging a few pointed glances and snickering. If Tyler noticed, he didn’t let on. He just wrapped his arm across your shoulders and walked towards his truck with a big ol’ grin on his face.

Then, later once everyone had settled into their new accommodations for the night, Tyler would walk you to your room and say good night. Every time it became harder and harder to watch him walk away. You wanted him so badly and not just on a physical level. Sure, he was the most attractive man you’d ever kissed, but the more you learned about him—the more you got to know his personality, humor, and intelligence— the more you needed him to fuck your brains out. 

But that was the old you talking. The new you was trying to restrain yourself and build a solid foundation before taking this steer for a ride, but damn if it wasn’t frustrating. To make matters worse, you had planned to spend this trip with your brother, potentially sharing a room, so you hadn’t packed anything that would help you work out those frustrations. So every night when Tyler left you alone—lightheaded, wet, and needy—all you had was the almost non-existent pressure from the motel shower head and your own hand for any relief. 

As much as you were trying to behave, all it was going to take was one small thing for your cracking resolve to crumble completely.

The Wranglers changed motels almost every night since the storms sometimes took them hours away from where they started their day. However, all the chasers tended to follow the same storm cells so they all ended up in roughly the same location each night. 

Since receiving Javi’s note, you had spotted Scott several times. Sometimes it was at a gas station or a dinner, but most often it was at the motel as everyone settled in for the night or prepared to roll out in the morning. In each instance, you tried your best to stay out of his sight or not draw attention to yourself. At this point, you honestly couldn’t care less about what Scott thought of you or your being here. All of your focus was now on Tyler and the Wranglers. However, you knew Scott was still angry you were hanging around so you figured it was just easier to avoid him than to continue to poke the very grumpy, gum-chewing bear. 

But apparently, he had other plans.

On your ninth day in Oklahoma, Tyler picked you up at your room like always, planting a kiss on your lips and sliding your backpack onto his shoulder as soon as you opened the door. However, it was only when you were both at the bottom of the stairs that you remembered you had left your toothbrush on the sink to dry. He offered to run back and get it for you, but you waved him off, insisting you could go while he loaded everything into the truck. You could see it went against every courteous bone in his body, but he reluctantly agreed though you could feel his eyes on you until you disappeared at the top of the stairs. 

Luckily, you hadn’t returned your key to the drop box yet so you could enter the room, grab your toothbrush (which was sitting smack in the middle of the counter clear a day), and hurry back to the stairs all in less than thirty seconds. 

Crossing the parking lot, you spotted Tyler storing your backpack in the back of the truck and were about to start jogging over when a voice from behind you said, “So, it’s been over a week. When are you going to call off this little charade of yours?”

Sighing, you stopped and turned to face your brother. “It’s not a charade. I like the Wranglers and I’m having fun. I’m sorry if you don’t like that, but I’ve tried to stay out of your way. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

Standing with his hands on his hips and his sunglasses tucked into his button-down’s front pocket, he snapped. “I want you to go home.”

“Scotty—”

“And stop calling me that!” Scott’s nostrils flared as his eyes burned beneath the bill of his hat. “I’m not ten anymore and this is still my place of work even if you treat it like a theme park. Some of us are trying to do a job while you play daredevil and make out with your latest boy toy.”

You knew he was pushing for a fight, but you physically bit your tongue to not take the bait. Ignoring his last outburst, you answered his previous question in a calm voice. “I’ll go home in a few days like I planned. Until then…Scott…” You dipped your head and resumed your walk. 

Looking ahead, you noticed Tyler had stopped packing and was leaning against the side of the truck, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes following your every step. You could tell by his rigid posture and stony expression that he heard what you and Scott said. You were about to give him a small wave to let him know everything was alright, but, before you could, Scott called after you.

“Hey! What is it that you want? An apology?” he shouted, his face turning slightly red. “You want me to say I’m sorry for getting angry that you showed up unannounced to where I work with the hope of just inserting yourself into the middle of a dangerous and highly complex situation? You want me to say I’ve learned my lesson after watching you throw yourself at Owens every chance you get? Hmm? That watching him jam his tongue down my little sister’s throat while broadcasting it to the entire fucking world showed me how wrong I was? Would that make you happy?”

Turning back around, you said, “I don’t want you to do anything unless you want to and you mean it. But, you know what—” you threw your arms into the air “—you were right.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed slightly as he examined you, searching for what kind of trick you were trying to pull now. “I was?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “I shouldn’t have just showed up without asking first but I knew if I had, you’d have told me no. Well, actually, you’d have told me ‘fuck no’. So I figured it would be better to ask for forgiveness than permission and I just showed up. I did fall back on that self-centered, ‘everything works out for me’ person I once was and I’m sorry. It was exactly that behavior I came here to show you I had outgrown.”

Taking a few steps closer to your brother, you added, “But, Scott, let's be real. You wouldn’t have actually answered my phone calls or texts if I had tried to ask. We barely ever talk and the only times I see you are at Christmas, Thanksgiving, and, occasionally, someone’s birthday. But I wanted to change that. I wanted to try to rebuild this relationship before it was too late. Before we drift so far apart that there’s no finding a way back. I still want my big brother in my life, but now I’m afraid all I did was push you even further away.”

You waited for him to say something, to assure you he still wanted that too or that you had screwed things up past the point of redemption. But when he just stared at the ground with his jaw clenched, you nodded, wiping a tear from your cheek. “So, I promise, I’m done playing games or trying to force a relationship between us. I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible while I’m here but I’m not ready to leave yet. I know that may not be fair to you and I’m sorry. I’ll see about staying at a different motel than Storm PAR from now on—one less place for you to have to see me.” You turned to leave, but paused to add, “The next time I’ll contact you is right before I leave. That way you’ll know when I’ll be out of your hair. Until then, you have my number if you change your mind and want to talk.” Wiping a few more tears off your face as you walked away.

It hurt, being so vulnerable and laying out how you felt only to get absolutely no response in return. You hadn’t expected Scott to wrap you in a tight hug and promise things would be sunshine and rainbows from here on out, but you had hoped he would at least acknowledge your feelings in some way. But then again, this was Scott you were talking about. You couldn’t remember the last time he had ever given you a hug or compliment that he wasn’t forced into giving you. Maybe it was time to just let him go and stop trying to force something that was never going to happen. Maybe both of you would be happier in the long run.

As you neared, Tyler pushed off the side of the truck and asked, “Everything okay or do I need to step in?”

“Nah, we’re good. But thank you for offering.” You wrapped your arms around Tyler’s waist, leaning your head on his shoulder as he returned the embrace. Smiling into his chest, you said, “And thank you for not just coming over and jumping in when you saw things starting to get heated. Most guys I know would have barged over the minute they saw us and it would have turned into a huge fight. Instead, I was able to say some things that needed to be said.”

“I knew you could handle yourself.” He squeezed you tighter. Then he muttered, “Besides, I’m not most guys.”

“I’ve noticed,” you grinned as you recalled a similar conversation the two of you had the first morning he had picked you up at your room. “And I’m so grateful for that.” 

He kissed the top of your head then released you. “So, we ready to go?”

You nodded and he opened the passenger door to his truck. As he helped you in, you looked up to see Scott watching you. Since you had last seen him, he had slipped his sunglasses on so you had trouble reading his expression. You gave him a nod with a small smile but he just turned and disappeared behind Scarecrow. You felt Tyler squeeze your hand and knew he noticed the exchange as well. Taking a deep breath, you finished climbing in and settled into your seat. But as Tyler drove his truck from the parking lot, you couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in your gut that that might have been the last time you saw your brother for a long time.

Looking out the window, you stared at the empty fields whooshing past. Everything here was so open and untouched. Normally, you viewed it as a nice change from the crowded, bustling city you came from, but today, it just made you feel so small and alone. 

As if sensing what you were feeling, Tyler reached over and took your hand as he drove. You gave it a quick squeeze of acknowledgment but your eyes remained gazing out the window. Boone had opted to ride with Lily until you reached a potential storm, so the only sound that filled the cab was the soft droning of country music turned down so low you couldn’t make out any of the lyrics. It was a far cry from the joyous laughter and deep conversations the two of you usually shared on these rides, but with your talk with Scott running through your head, you couldn’t focus on much else.

After about twenty minutes, Tyler finally broke the silence. “Hey, something you said to Scott got me thinking…”

“Hmm?” You ran your finger over a smudge of dust on the passenger’s window. “About what?”

“Why don’t you stay?”

Snapping out of your ruminations, your head whipped around to look at Tyler. “W-what?”

“I mean, you’re only supposed to be here for another five days, right?” He shrugged, “But what if you stayed longer?”

You blinked, suddenly realizing you and Tyler had never talked about your upcoming departure or what that would mean for the two of you. “I-I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. Do…do you want me to stay?”

Tyler chuckled, “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to. I realize eventually this’ll have to come to an end or something’ll have to change, but I’d like to spend as much time with you as I can before that happens.”

“Oh.” You felt the heat rushing to your face and a smile creeping across your lips. “In that case, I mean, I have classes starting soon that I’d have to be back for. But, yeah, since you want me to, I think I could manage a week or so longer than I originally planned. I’ll just have to call and move my flight.”

“I’d really like that,” Tyler said with a grin. “And let me know what it costs to change it. I’ll take care of it.”

Tears filled your eyes. You had the money, it was not an issue. But Tyler’s offer just solidified in your mind how much he actually wanted you to stay. He wasn’t just suggesting it to cheer you up after talking to Scott—he meant it. 

With a slight tremble in your voice, you said, “Ty, I—”

“Hope I’m not interrupting you lovebirds, but Dex just spotted a potential cell to the east forming fast.”

Dani’s voice cut through the cabin. You knew Tyler’s radio had been switched off so no one heard what you had been talking about, but you still sunk back in your seat. 

Tyler shot you an apologetic look then switched on his radio and responded. “We copy. Let’s pull off up here. Dexter can show us where we’re heading, Lily, we’ll need you to get Cairo ready to fly, and Boone, come join us up here once we park. Sound good?”

“All good, boss,” came the echoed reply. 

Tyler switched the radio back off and glanced at you. “Anything else you wanna say before things get crazy or you wanna pick up this conversation later?”

“We can talk later. Thank you, Tyler.”

He squeezed your hand before turning his focus back to the road as he looked for a place to pull off. You leaned your head against the window and stared back out at the field, the gears already turning in your head. 

You didn’t want to talk. If today had shown you anything, it was that you were ready to show Tyler how you felt. 

No one commented or asked questions when Tyler informed the crew that they would be staying at a motel a little farther away than originally planned. You had been nervous about asking him to go to a different motel than Storm PAR, but apparently, he heard your promise to Scott and remembered without you having to say a word. Taking his hand from where it rested on the center console, you kissed the back of it before resting your cheek against it. Tyler glanced over at you and smiled, acknowledging your silent ‘thank you’.

Usually, Tyler walked you to your room as soon as the vehicles were parked and your bag was unloaded. However, tonight you insisted on staying downstairs to help everyone with their nighttime routines. Tyler seemed a little surprised but was more than happy for your company. He showed you all the checks he, Boone, and Dani ran on the truck each night to ensure everything was still functioning correctly. Lily let you help her charge up Cairo and download all the footage she captured today. And Dexter asked you to prep the food for breakfast in the morning. You never realized how much the Wranglers had to do each night while you sat alone in your motel room. But you promised to help out from now on.

When everything was finally done, Tyler grinned widely at you—his dimples on full display—and grabbed your bag. The two of you didn’t talk as he walked you to your room, but you snuggled close to him, listening to his heart beating beneath your cheek. 

Far too soon, you reached your room. Just like every night, you unlocked the door and Tyler handed you your backpack. However, tonight instead of keeping ahold of the bag, you tossed it inside the room, not bothering to look where it landed. 

Turning back to Tyler, you fluttered your eyelashes and asked, “So, Mr. Owens, care to join me inside?”

Tyler's eyes grew wide as he swallowed, his Adam's apple leaping in his throat. Stepping closer until he towered over you, he whispered, “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

You nodded, just a soft dip of your head. “I think it’s time I invited this cowboy in.” And you stepped back to give him space to enter the room. 

You knew it wasn’t your smoothest pick-up line, but when all you could think about was how much you needed him, you were surprised you could string a coherent sentence together. However, Tyler didn’t seem to mind. He hesitated for a second then stepped over the threshold into your room. 

Part 9 coming 10/7!

[ddejavvu]

god that weird crossover episode with the beyond borders spinoff,,, when hotch is chasing that guy through the crowded markets can you imagine being an extra and having thomas gibson grab your arm to stable himself as he runs past you i'd pass away

sorry i know you weren't requesting this and of course this isn't about thomas it's a hotch blurb but i literally could not resist writing it so here you go lovey you are so right i'd have toppled over <3333

--

You think it's rather rude that the man rushing through the marketplace uses you to stabilize himself as he turns a sharp corner. His arm juts out quickly to push against your shoulder, giving himself your side to lean on, but it means that the bag of fruit you'd been gathering to pay for hits the side of the table as you sway into it, and the paper tears at the sharp intrusion. Your bag splits, and you watch defeatedly as all of the produce you'd gathered tumbles to the dirty ground.

You're nothing but astounded, well aware that the police chase should have you more on edge, but completely bewildered and shock-stricken. All you can do is lift your head to watch the man run off, and he notices the damage he'd caused as he turns to throw a haphazard 'sorry!' over his shoulder at you.

He's still running but he staggers a step, torn between the chase he's engaged in and helping you. The business side of his brain starts working first, and he dashes away with barely a second's hesitation, but you'd seen guilt in his eyes that almost made up for your fallen fruit.

The crowd is keen on dispersing as the chase continues beyond you, but you don't care. They're not coming back, it would be foolish of the criminal they're after to circle back, and you kneel to collect the produce you'd lost in the chaos.

You hear the roar of engines as you try collecting the mangoes you'd dropped, now bruised and grimy. A nearby fruit stand had collapsed, the next on your list to shop at, and it's difficult to tell what's what as the fruit rolls and mingles together.

The shopkeepers congregate to join your cause, but where you're gathering the fruit in the front of your skirt, they're scooping it back into crates that had tipped wayward. You've got shorts beneath your flowy skirt that mean you can use it as an apron instead, and before long you're nearly finished re-shopping through the mess on the ground.

"Here," A deep voice comes from above you, and you jerk your head to the side to find the man that had bumped into you only seconds before. Evidently, the chase was over, but you're not sure the outcome. He's panting, chest heaving hard from running as much as he did, but he's holding out a jacket towards you, one that he's tied into a makeshift satchel.

"I'm sorry," He pants, kneeling beside you on the concrete to help scoop produce into the jacket, "I didn't mean to ruin your bag. I had to catch that man, I'm sorry I couldn't stop to help."

"It's alright," You try to keep sourness out of your voice even if you are handling citrus fruits, begrudging towards the man for nearly knocking you down but grateful that he's stopped by to fix things, "I suppose police chases are always that chaotic.

"Yeah," He breathes, still exhaling heavily as he cracks a smile at you. His hairline is beaded with sweat, and it's really rather distracting, so you try averting your eyes lest your mind wander.

"I'll buy you a new bag," He helps you stand, hauling the fruit from his tied jacket onto the righted table and motioning at another stall across the way, "They sell them, I'll be right back. Color?"

"Oh, I-" You stammer, seizing up on the spot, "Um- anything's fine."

"Alright," He's rushing off to the stall while pulling his wallet out without further hesitation, and you wonder if he always moves this fast.

You ring up the produce you want to buy with the cashier, who's quick on her feet to recover from the shock of the chase. Other vendors aren't as lucky, but you're done with your shopping after this.

"Here," The man comes back, still panting slightly, as he extends a white tote bag made just across the way.

"It matches your skirt," He smiles kindly at you, and okay, you might forgive the guy.

"Thank you," You gush, taking the bag from him and nodding when the woman tells you your total. You focus on the fruit first, scooping it gently into your new bag, and the man takes it as an opportunity to pull out his wallet again.

"Here-" He starts, but you catch him before he can pay for your food.

"It's alright!"

"No, I insist," He succeeds in handing his cash to the woman, who doesn't really look like she cares how she gets paid, just that she does, "I almost tackled you, the least I can do is pay for the fruit I knocked all over the floor."

"Thank you," You grin at him when the transaction is complete, and the stall owner flocks to help another across the way. You're alone now, though still in the middle of the fairly crowded marketplace, and you admire the polo shirt that the man in front of you has stretched over his surprisingly toned chest.

"I'm sorry, again." He smiles bashfully, reaching out to cup the back of your bent arm as he gestures away from the black vans gathered at one end of the marketplace.

"You'll have to leave through there, but you should be careful. Do you need a ride?"

"No, I'm okay." You shake your head, "I rode my bike here, and it's parked over there anyways."

"Alright. Okay, uh- stay safe." He urges, his kind smile fading slightly as someone in black sunglasses barks information at him. He nods, squinting slightly because of the sun, "Goodbye. Enjoy your fruit, and I'm sorry again."

"It's alright," You laugh, finally over your temporary grudge, "Sir?"

"Yes?" His brows raise, and you think for a moment he might be expecting you to ask for a ride anyways.

"I'm going that way," You gesture towards the road you'll take home, and you relish the bashful beam that overtakes his face when he laughs at your words, "If you guys drive through there, try not to hit me again."

[gemharvest]

Okay hear me out (and I will forget I sent an ask in again 2 seconds later) RGB as crystal gems

PREFACING THIS ART WITH AN "I'm sorry I didn't lean more into the SU side of things" I am being so fr I don't wanna mess with trying to figure out more gem-like outfits for them so they're basically the same except with limited palettes and also gems. I don't think it's actually gonna matter to anyone but ANSJKNKDGJ if I don't open with that my brain will Explode. /lh

GO CRAZY GO STUPID AHHHHHH. GEMS. I'm going to have to put my bullet points under a read more just cuz I know I am about to fucking Go Off. grins

Girlfriend is a red diamond. Boyfriend is a peridot. Pico is a green spinel.

GIRLFRIEND:

Went with a diamond cuz of the status thing. I am almost worried it feels like too easy of a pull but I doonnn't care I think it'd be fun if she was a diamond. :) Red obviously because it's her color.

Playing off the status thing; ofc her parents would also be diamonds and so you can have the reasoning of "oh this isn't a high-rank gem" for them not liking Boyf. I mean if you need any reasoning aside from them just being unreasonable LOL but that's always there.

Placement on her chest because !! love !!!! That's also why it's a heart-shaped cut instead of a. Diamond shape.

My backup assignment for her would be a jasper because I think it'd suit her well to be any quartz, and with jasper you can get close to her reds !! The status thing is really what made me decide on a diamond tho.

As I type this I realize there are some vaaaguee similarities to Pink I could pull as extra reasoning but shruuuugs my brain is NOT in an analytical mood rn so I'll just let others chew on that for me.

This isn't really relevant to RGB but I wanna mention it: I think it'd be funny if the demon henchmen were rubies.

BOYFRIEND:

The biggest factor for me going peridot with him is the fact that a common headcanon for canon Peridot is that she's autistic and while I mostly work with ADHD Boyf myself (since that's the experience I can pull from personally)... I am a sucker for a good autistic/AuDHD read with him.

This man is short and Era 2 peridots are short. If I drew him SU style this guy would need limb enhancers. lol

Instead of a prohibition symbol his shirt has the outline of a star. I just find that neat. :)

He would sooooooo suck at a peridot's role but also iirc in canon he's a college drop out anyways so it cancels out. He's got that Greg Universe in him.

Honestly, I put his gem placement on the back of his hand bc I had no clue where else to put it. My secondary placement for it would be on his forehead bc it'd make me giggle with him being Dumb but canon Peridot already has the forehead placement so I didn't go ahead with that.

HE STOLE PICO'S GREEN SPOT. spritzing him with water like a naughty dog BAD BOYFRIEND.

PICO:

This is my little indulgent one I really. I really love canon Spinel. This is tangential but like I literally have 4 spinel OCs and then another 4 furry OCs with designs based on canon Spinel. The urge to make One Of Them a spinel was going to be there.

The juxtaposition of him being a gem with an entertainer role and also a hard-ass hitman makes me giggle. Idk I feel like if you already know canon Spinel then you can probably connect the dots as to why I'd imagine him as a spinel as well.

Heart cut because I find it cute and it matches GF. I think a spade shape could be fun too but idk I prefer just going with a heart. Placement on his upper back because. :) Because he can't easily shield it from damage that way. He has to be constantly aware of his surroundings, unless he wants to give someone the chance for an easy hit on him if they sneak up from behind. Little paranoia thing to fuck with him. I'm so nice to Pico !! :D

Bringing back the status thing with GF's parents; I can't help but giggle thinking abt them hiring him. Imagine you get recommended this really good hitman and you meet up and it's a fucking court jester. Fucking ego hit but DD needs the job done so he hires him anyways. AND THEN PICO DOESN'T EVEN CARRY OUT THE FUCKING HIT. Never hiring a clown off of Craigslist again. /JOKING

hits play on this and sits down with my head in my hands

OKAY BEFORE I'M DONE I WANNA MENTION: I made myself give them all gem assignments BUT I do think it would be fun if one of them was not a gem a la Greg and Rose. So I give you: regular canon demon GF and her two gem boyfriends. Takes a bow. (<- honestly might do something further with that for my own fun. teehee)

[thebluestbluewords]

Not Clickbait!! Real Life Witch Activates Ancient Curse!

Inspired by this post.

Evie coughs up a mouthful of emerald green smoke. It's always a bad idea to poke at magical objects in a dorm room, but they usually don't fill the whole room with majorly icky-feeling magical smoke when they explode. "...Mal? Babe? Are you okay?" 

"Storytime—” Mal starts, and then launches into her own coughing fit. There's a cloud of the thick, oily smoke around where she was poking at the amulet, and it's rolling around her body like it's a living thing. "I Learned My Lesson. Smoke Is No Joke!!" 

...huh. That's some strange phrasing coming from Mal, especially considering that it usually takes her at least five tries and just as many explosions to learn any lesson when it comes to not messing with magical objects, but Evie's not going to complain. The smoke feels thick and oily against her skin, and she's really not a fan of the sensation. It's like all the worst parts of fish skin rolled together with fog, and the sooner they stop producing it, the better. 

"I'm opening the window." Evie decides. She's got too much fabric stored in the room to risk damaging it with some magic smoke. "We can air this place out while we visit the boys, and then once we're clear, you can go back to poking the ancient cursed object that probably wants us dead." 

This is the place where Mal would usually protest. 

She coughs instead. "Life Hack Alert! Let This One Weird Trick Clean My Whole Room."

"Mal." 

More coughing. 

"I'm opening the window." 

"Caught By The Headmistress with WHAT in My Dorm Room?? Cursed Amulet Leads to X-TREME Punishment." 

"Okay." Evie plans her hands on her hips. "Right. This isn't funny anymore. I'm opening the window to air this place out, and then we're going down to the boys, and you can stop doing whatever you're doing and tell them how we fucked this one up." 

"Storytime: I Broke The Mysterious Amulet You Said Was Cursed." Mal spits. The smoke is clearing now, so at least Evie can see her face clearly. "Ancient Magical Object Wants Me Dead." 

Evie's stomach drops. "It doesn't actually want us dead. I didn't mean that." She laughs, even though it's not funny. Her mother encouraged her to act extra charming whenever things showed signs of going wrong, and Evie's stupid, malleable brain absorbed that information and decided that she should start giggling whenever shit hits the fan. "The ancient, cursed amulet we took from your mother's abandoned house totally doesn't want us dead. It probably likes you. This is just... just an extension of that! The smoke is just a sign that you're activating the totally not deadly magic that doesn't want us both dead for disturbing it." 

"Hysteria At The Dorm Room: My Girlfriend Said THIS!" Mal says. She's got a deadpan expression plastered on her face. The smoke is almost entirely gone, just a few whisps left around their feet. Unfortunately, Evie can see how uncomfortable she looks now. Their odds of this being a totally normal and reversible magical accident are dropping every second. "I Activated An Ancient Curse!" 

"It's going to be fine. We're going to fix this." Evie giggles again. She sounds borderline hysterical, but she can't put any energy towards stifling the giggles if she's going to figure out how to fix this mess. "It might be a symptom of the smoke inhalation, and once it gets out of your system, you'll go back to normal. That's a possibility." 

Mal rolls her eyes. 

"Okay, or it could be the curse." 

"My Apology Video (I F*cked up!) Should Have LIstened to My Girlfriend" Mal says, without moving her face. The enthusiasm dripping from her voice is creepy without any expression behind it. "Mysterious Amulet Explosion Causes CRAZY Problems." 

"Can you just-- stop talking?" 

Mal nods. 

"Well, that's something," Evie says, because she's going to have to talk for both of them. "We can just say that you have laryngitis. Totally normal, not at all magical laryngitis." 

"Class Presentation Gone Wrong! Will This Tank My Grade??" Mal mumbles. "Upcoming Storytime on TUESDAY!! Subscribe Now For Updates." 

Evie's stomach drops again. At this rate she's going to need to start digging the castle a second basement just to get the rest of her body on the same level as her guts. "Oh shit. You have to present our goodness project to Fairy Godmother on Tuesday. We can..." she waves a hand. "We can figure out something. We've got two whole days before the presentation. We can totally fix it by then." 

Mal holds up a hand. 

"Wait?" Evie guesses. Thank evil for hand gestures. They'd be in even worse shape if the curse forced Mal to speak every single time she wants to communicate. They'd be moving even slower if Mal had to say  Hold Up: My Inner Thoughts Revealed every time she wanted to think for a moment. 

Mal nods. 

Evie waits. 

And waits. 

The problem with growing up on the isle is that they're all a tiny bit too practiced at holding on to every scrap they get. It's not a problem on the Isle, because there's nothing for them to hoard in the first place, but it's growing to be a problem now. Evie's not sure what Mal's looking for in the piles of stuff under the bed, but she's positive that the solution to the curse isn't inside her empty nail polish bottles. 

"Uh, M--" 

wait. 

"I don't think the solution to a curse is under our bed," Evie says gently. "I can try some herbal remedies for breaking spells cast upon the user, but they're all small scale things, and this seems like a pretty big curse." 

Mal's eyebrows speak volumes. Evie's pretty sure that the tilt and glare she's getting right now is saying something along the lines of don't be stupid. With a side of duh. 

"It's not my fault you tried to break it open." Evie reminds her. "The next time we find an ancient locket that glows when you touch it, we could just leave it alone. Y'know, not disturb whatever curse your mom put on all her stuff, just let it keep being evil all alone and not bring ancient curses down on our heads!" 

She sucks in a deep breath. So she's maybe a little bit upset about this.  "I mean, I'm sorry that this happened to you. I really am. It just feels like sometimes you get so excited about magical objects that you ignore all the warning signs, and I feel terrible when you get hurt and I'm just stuck here watching. I'm supposed to be your healer, and I can't even break a simple hex, much less a fairy curse that's clearly tied to that locket. I'm useless, M." 

Mal scoots backwards out from under the bed. There's a dust bunny stuck in her bangs. "I F*cked up." 

That's-- 

Almost normal? 

"At least you're admitting it." Evie says, brushing the dust off her head. "But did you get what you were looking for?" 

Mal brandishes the shiny purple object clutched in her hand. "Lost Treasure Recovered! It's Been Gone for How Long??" 

"You--" Evie laughs, and drops her head onto Mal's shoulder. She's not even hysterical anymore. "You lost your phone under the bed." 

Mal nods. Opens the phone. 

I thought maybe I could type. 

"Clever. What does it feel like?" 

Weird. Mal types. Not bad. 

"Well, at least you're not being hurt. That's better than a lot of curses." 

We could always try the classic solution. 

"We're not dunking you in the lake, if that's what you're thinking. For one thing, we need to ask permission to leave campus, and we don't need the door monitor hearing all about your cursed amulet storytime." 

true love's kiss 

"Oh. I mean, you haven't used the L-word with Ben yet, have you?" 

I meant with you. 

"Oh." 

Her head is in all the wrong places today, apparently. "I suppose we could try. But you're with Ben now, and I really think your boyfriend is the more traditional person to try and break a curse with, not--" Evie swallows down a hysterical giggle. She's not that stupid. She's never going to be a prince in shining armor, and she's never going to be more than a side fling, not while Mal has an actual prince looking at her like she hung the moon and stars. "Not the girl you escaped the Isle with." 

Mal grips her hand. "I've Been Keeping Secrets From You: Meet My Girlfriend."

"Babe..." 

Mal's free hand comes up to cup her face. "Is This True Love?? I Found The Girl Of My Dreams In The Worst Place On Earth." 

"We can try," Evie whispers, tipping her head so that the words come out against Mal's lips .Chapped skin and dragon breath and all. "I love you." 

Mal nips at her lower lip. Evie's wearing lipstick, but Mal's mouth is warm and insistent and she can't resist pushing, pushing, pushing. 

"Mm." Evie hums. "mmhm." 

Mal slips her a little tongue. Evie's eyes slip closed. It's too good, the slick push-pull of their mouths against each other. Mal's mouth is hot, and her hand tips Evie's face up just right, and Evie melts into the motion. 

They pull apart. 

Evie's lipstick is all over Mal's mouth. 

"You taste like cherries," the wicked fairy in question says, lifting a hand to touch questioningly at her own lips. "I don't feel cursed anymore." 

"We'd better have one more kiss just to make sure," Evie murmurs. "Better safe than sorry." 

Mal grins, sharp and wicked. "I couldn't agree more." 

[moosh2727]

I FINALLY GOT ACCESS TO ISSUE 71 OMG

this took forever but finally i get to see him!! spoilers ahead :3

first of all, amazing cover. jet and the gang look amazing just in that one snippet

extreme gear dodgeball... thats interesting, reminds me of the multiplayer modes in riders zg that was not racing but fun!

HOW DARE YOU MAKE MY BOY ANGRY wave helping jet focus is nice like in zero gravity 💚

the rouges being in shock is always so funny, im glad to see wave and storm join in on the fun 💚

WOAHHH LOL dang sonic's going hard!!

i now headcannon wave has a mindfullness youtube video she makes jet begrudgingly watch LOL 💚

i love seeing them using their gear more, it fuels my autism 💚💚💚

THIS IS SO FREAKING FUNNY I LOVE IT, AND HOW DARE SHE CRASH IN JETS GEAR!! anyway love him /p 💚

AMAZING I WANNA SEE HIM ANGRYYY, BEAT THEM UP JET!!! 💚100 gonna use this part for art ref because it looks so good

the silence is so loud in this picture i love it, i wonder what jets gonna do? 😊

oh my gosh this is so heartbreaking actually what the heck- ALSO WAVE TELLING JET TO RUN IS SO ON POINT

the story telling via art is on point, theres not much words needed to convey the emotions the characters are feeling

THEY HAVE A NEW ROOM, I REPEAT THEY HAVE A KITCHEEEEEEEEN, storm being the cook fits so well i love it.

the food (curry im guessing) fits their background and double points for looking extra yummy.

jet's first sentence fits him so well, im really glad they're doing good depiction with him and everything relating to them, considering the idw special where jewel broke her wing SUCKED because of idw ppl not thinking about where jet lives on the ship, so they made it SUPER inacurate.

it makes me happy to see storm contributing and not being a stupid fat joke like in free riders. we need to appreciate this silly guy who got brain damage from amy hitting him many times, and he still manages to fulfil jets orders.

storm doing this with his eyes is as good as his eyes in free riders, but way better than his weird blink in the zero gravity black hole cutscene

jet being ahead of the game and i love it!!! NEW MISSION LETS GOOO!!!!!! 💚💚💚💚

these riders designs are really helping me in the future with my own oc 🫶

OMG THE WIFE OF THE TRAIN CONDUCTOR FROM MURDER OF SONIC THE HEDGEHOG!!!

ouch my heart

oh gosh thats so sweet but sad ugh

jet has become more thoughtful! i just hope he doesn't lose his edge, but even if he does i'll love him anyway /p 💚

i love how much talented ppl are in this community, im so glad for more jet content via idw and fan creations. jet needs all the praise and love. 💚

Overall i loved this idw issue, i can always make the excuse " use more jet content!" but they did a really good job with expressing all the characters fairly. (still, i still want more jet tho :P)

i waited so long for this issue its crazy, idk why it took so long to come out digitally since i don't have the money to buy them in person.

knowing more rooms, might create an accurate layout of their blimp soon!

anyway, i got a gaming pc and not a stupid mac earlier this week, meaning that i can finally play free riders yayy!!!

[runabout-river]

Thoughts on JJK chapter 266 (Spoilers)

I nearly cried...

We start with Megumi reiterating that he doesn't want to be saved. The last time we saw him he was down on the ground completely crushed. Here, Yuji managed to talk with him inside his domain, giving Megumi the opportunity to fully express himself and his feelings.

The "enough now" also has different connotations depending on the specific phrasing used in Japanese. I read a Twitter thread once that talked about it and how Megumi basically told Yuji that he, Yuji, didn't need to expand any more energy towards him, Megumi. That he could stop saving him because it was all right.

It was said right in the beginning that Megumi sees Yuji and Tsumiki as the same type of person he wants to protect. That was why he selfishly asked Gojo to help Yuji after he swallowed Sukuna's finger.

Megumi's thoughts on the life he wanted to give his sister are so bittersweet. He isn't centered in them so it's natural that without Tsumiki he doesn't know where he could go on his own.

And let's not forget, Tsumiki was the only true family Megumi had left and for one and a half years he tried to save her from her curse only to fail twice. His teenage years were dedicated to her so his mental descend is understandable.

Maki lived through the same loss and compared with her we explicitly see the differences in them. Maki had always wanted to live her life on her own with her own strength which meant that she had to leave Mai behind. When Mai died Maki was mentally able to go on with living without problems but unlike with Megumi's and Tsumiki's situation, Maki and Mai also had a deep conversation and understanding with each other in the end. Maki got to hear Mai's last thoughts and her last wish to destroy them all.

Megumi doesn't have any last conversation with Tsumiki so Yuji has to step in on that front. And he does so with fully acknowledging Megumi's pain and outlook on his continued life.

Sukuna uses Hollow Wicker Basket to counter Yuji's sure-hit and be able to fight him. He compensates the weaker CE output of HWB by keeping his handsign with his extra arms.

I checked, that hand sign is basically the same as Megumi's DE hand sign but with the left thumb up. Its interesting to think about the implications of that.

Sukuna also says the he can't use Gojo's version of getting his CT back up again after a DE because other parts of his brain are still damaged by UV.

We get an extended fight scene next but truth be told I did NOT care about the fight at that moment. Only Sukuna showing how angry he got with Yuji's "pity" was interesting. Other than that I wanted to get back to Megumi.

Bringing back that absolutely iconic panel of Megumi and replacing Gojo with Yuji 😭

That was the part where I stared at my giant monitor and got misty eyed. Especially with Yuji being so honest about how much he would miss Megumi even though he understands and would support him with ending his life.

Its interesting again how Gege chose to leave Yuji's scars for his close up panel. It's probably to show how Mahito's trauma he inflicted on him and everything else he went through didn't measure into his deepest desire to get his friend back.

Until now we also didn't see Megumi's eyes. Even in this panel we get a small Megumi from a memory he had with someone else. But...

Megumi immediately uses his shadows, those we haven't seen since Sukuna got his original body back.

But I also wonder about the implication here: was Sukuna's 10ST rendered non-functional because... he was in his original body? Or because the death of Mahoraga automatically deactivates the technique?

If it's the latter, than that means that with Megumi using his shadows here, he has his own version of his technique, one with his own shikigami who haven't been killed in the fight against Gojo.

The last part of this fight is about how Sukuna went against what he just thought a few minutes ago. He does use Gojo's technique of restarting his CT again. His nose is bleeding because of it though.

Then comes another part of the good guy's long thought out plan to bring Sukuna down. His finger strung up in an unknown location, ready to do... what? We'll see when the Shinjuku Showdown actually finishes soon.

We'll definitely get the merger arc next but there'll most likely be a few chapters of talk and plot in between as well.

But wait!

What is going on with Yuji missing 2 fingers now? We know that one Sukuna finger is still missing and we know that Rika ate at least part of either Sukuna or Yuji to get Sukuna's CT.

But is this finger in the last panel a new finger maybe? One made with Yuji's ring finger?

We'll find out eventually but for now, this was such a deeply emotional chapter...

[dragonfirerogue-writes]

Hi can I request fem!reader and Quinn Fabray kissing in the rain after an argument please :D

Running in Circles

Quinn Fabray x Fem!reader

All you could hear was the sound of your heavy footfalls and labored breathing. You had snuck into the school football field to run the track. It was something you did whenever you had extra energy to drain and couldn't find another outlet. However, tonight kept you on the track. Frustrated energy threatened to overtake you, even with extra shadowboxing or roundhouse kicks. The fight with your girlfriend lingered in your brain and latched on like gum in hair.

Though it seems as though you couldn't call Quinn Fabray your girlfriend anymore.

The blonde had been hanging around Puck more often lately. You knew her plan to try and prove that she was a worthy parent for Beth and that obviously involved the baby's father. But you felt as though you were getting pushed into the sidelines. Quinn, focused on her child, had forgone dates and other plans. She brushed you aside to talk to Puckerman. Overall, she neglected the fact that you were even together.

You were sure that Quinn wasn't cheating on you. At least not outright. Having knowledge of her previous infidelity, you knew that she would be more secretive at the very least. It didn't stop the negative feelings from settling into your mind. Did she not want a girlfriend anymore? Did she feel like you couldn't be around her daughter since you were queer? It was enough that you had to confront Quinn about it and it didn't end well.

The cheerleader was almost immediately on the defensive. There was nothing you could say that could sway her from the destructive path she was on. Emotions eventually bubbled over and Quinn exploded with angry words. Hurtful words that stuck into your brain.

"Beth is the only good, perfect thing I have!"

"What about me? What about us?"

"What about us!?"

You couldn't help but leave at those words. If she didn't care about you as much as you did for her, you weren't going to hang around and break yourself. You broke yourself for partners before and you refuse to do it again. You would rather leave heartbroken. Of course, that decision wasn't going to happen until you could think clearly. Which running was suppose to help with. At least it usually helped.

Your mind was so out of sorts that you didn't even notice the rain until you lost your footing and tripped. The momentum caused you to skid and roll, tumbling over until you hit the track with your face.

Normally, physical pain wouldn't cause any fuss, but now it was the last straw. Sobs wrack your body as you get up from the ground. Tears mix with rain and thunder masks your cries. Emotional torment causes your body to hunch, but only for a moment. You force yourself to recover and get up to run again, but sudden hands on your face stop any further movement.

Quinn was kneeling in front of you. Hazel eyes scan your face as they assess the damage from your fall. With gentle strokes, she brushes your bangs from your face and you have a clearer look at her. You don't know whether she had been crying or not. You can see that her eyes are red, but the rain hides any tears she may have had. Tears from what? The argument you had?

The spell she has on you breaks and you try to move from her grasps.

"What are you doing here, Quinn?" You ask, now refusing to look at her. "It's pouring out. You're gonna get sick."

"I can say the same for you." The blonde holds tight and keeps you near. Before you could pull away again, she continues. "I'm sorry."

You pause.

"I'm so, so sorry. I just..." She chews on her thoughts a little. "I just got so hyper-focused on Beth that I just... didn't think on anything else." Her hands move from your face to your hands. She clings on, but you don't budge.

"I know there's not much I can say to make up for things, but... I love you. You have to know that." You can feel her thumb run across your knuckles.

"Beth is the one perfect thing I've done," she continues. "But you? You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I can't lose you. Especially not like this." Quinn tugs your hands and it brings your focus back to her. There's a desperate look in her eyes. There's a fear. You vaguely feel her hands tremble.

"Please... not like this."

The crack in her voice breaks through your stupor. Quinn could only barely register your hands tighten around her before your lips on on hers. She clings onto you like a lifeline as she refamiliarizes herself with you and your love. The rain may have well stopped since neither of you pay attention to the downpour. It's not until oxygen calls for you did you feel a shiver run down your spine.

"Let's get outta here." You say, helping Quinn up. "Seriously don't wanna get sick."

Quinn agrees with a nod and you walk over to an umbrella she had dropped on her way to you. Taking it in one hand, you take hers in your other, leaving the track and your tears behind. There's only a pause for one last thing.

"Not ever, Quinn. You won't lose me."

[hood-ex]

You’re like the Dick Grayson encyclopedia of tumblr to me, so here is a question (no need to answer if you don’t want to lol). I’ve been thinking a lot of Dick’s many TBIs due to one of my classes… anyways, do you know when Dick’s significant TBI’s happened? Like what comics specifically? (Also, this is just for anyone, but you can answer if you’d like: does DC every say what part of Dick’s brain got injured during his TBIs?)

Idk one of my classes has talked a lot about specific brain functions and what could happen if certain areas are injured, and I obviously thought of my head trauma king. Got me thinking about the consequences Dick could have or should have faced with his TBIs 🤔

Dick's been clobbered in the head with a variety of things an ungodly amount of times. I even once made a post about different times Dick got clobbered in the head with like a baseball bat, golf club, etc. And then other people piled on more examples so lol yeah, I suppose some of those would be considered... less significant TBI's.

His most recent significant TBI did show which area of his brain got injured:

Nightwing (Vol. 4) #50

According to Dick, he lost bone, blood, brain tissue, and cerebrospinal fluid, and he also suffered from severe vascular swelling. He talked about how one of the effects of this was having a jump in consciousness. Like he wouldn’t understand how he ended up somewhere. - Nightwing (Vol. 4) #50

Right after the incident, he also couldn’t talk or feed himself (which isn't the case in Nightwing Annual #2 but whatever). - Nightwing (Vol. 4) #54

Dick's been shot in the head another time in Batman and Robin (Vol. 1) #15. Dr. Hurt fractured the back of Dick's skull to cause a hematoma. The intended effect was to have blood absorbed in the cerebrospinal fluid which would give Dick permanent neurological damage. So, basically, he wanted to turn Dick into a vegetable. Here's the placement of the bullet in case you were curious:

Batman and Robin (Vol. 1) #15

From here on out, it depends on what you'd classify as a major TBI. I mean, he once got clobbered on the top of his head with an extremely heavy looking mallet. He ended up blacking out from it for an extended period of time, so I'd personally count this as something on the more extreme side.

Nightwing (Vol. 3) #16

And speaking of blacking out, Dick blacked out four times in the current Nightwing run because he kept getting hit in the head (this takes place after Dick gets shot in the head by KGBeast—except the flashback one—sooo... his brain is probably feeling extra soupy now 😌):

Nightwing (Vol. 4) #92

Nightwing (Vol. 4) #81

Nightwing (Vol. 4) #81

Nightwing (Vol. 4) #101

In Robin: Year One #2-3, Dick had bandages around his head and might have taken a shot to the head from Two-Face's bat (though, luckily, Two-Face didn't get to deliver the final blow to Dick's head that would have killed him instantly). It seems like other internal injuries were more prominent as well as the fact that Dick's throat started to swell so badly that Alfred had to intubate him. Nevertheless, Dick nearly died from the severe beating, and the head injury might have increased his chance of dying.

Robin: Year One #3

In Superman/Batman #55, Bruce got Superman’s powers and he ended up losing control of himself. He broke Dick’s jaw, knocked some of his teeth out, and caused other fractures to Dick’s body (it doesn't specify where the fractures are but Dick's head possibly might be fractured considering the bandages). Bruce warned Dick that one more hit would kill him (very RYO-esque, no 😌?).

Superman/Batman #55

And, again, we could probably go on and on with him getting hit in the head and blacking out over this and that, so I'll end it here.

[bam-stroker]

I don’t trust like that

Got hit with the potential for Pharma drama with @keferon's Mech AU

(I've got my writing organized on AO3 as well with content warnings)

writing below the cut ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

First Aid stares into the maw of his open locker. A single protein bar is nudged in the far off corner, with neatly folded replacement clothes taking up the majority of the limited space. The lockers were clearly intended for only a personal bag and some lunch at best, but these days it’s become his second closet. 

Of course, that wouldn’t be a problem if fucking Vortex would stop crushing pilots like he’s sponsored by a hellish gushers commercial. 

He half wonders if he was a gusher, what flavor would he be? Strawberry is a classic, but sour apple was always his favorite. He closes the locker door with a gentle click and makes his way towards the med bay. Keeping his eyes unfocused, he avoids the direct looks of fear or pity that coworkers send his way. Instead, he wonders if Vortex can taste, and if he can, would giving him something different to taste calm him down? Worth a shot. If anyone would know the Vortex lore, Cyclonus is the local dinosaur of the entire project. He’d be the best bet at remembering anything the dude did before the whole death in the mech thing happened.

It’s weird though.

Of course, with the invasion of terrifying space creatures, normal is hardly a luxury anyone gets to indulge in anymore, but the longer he’s spent time on this base… things just aren’t adding up. People are funneled through at a lightning speed, and listening to the gossip Tailgate prattles on about, many don’t make it out despite the rank jumping. Mechs are munching on pilots. Or pilots mysteriously die. There’s honestly more death happening within the base than outside of it. But the tin foil hats really come out when people say it’s not an accident—some people are saying all of it is on purpose. That something is going on where a human mind can be uploaded into a computer. First Aid hardly knows anything about computers, but he’s talked to some programmers who worked on quantum projects. They’d said the world worked in the quantum. Gravity, the universe, how the human brain even operates—it’s all quantum computing. 

He can’t help but wonder if the human mind is quantum, maybe there really is a way to transfer consciousness to a mech? It’s certainly getting harder and harder to scoff at the idea. Especially with his new symbiosis with whatever Vortex is. 

Stepping into the med bay, there’s no sign of Ambulon. In fact it’s downright calm, with not a single patient or medic in sight. First Aid makes his way over to the corkboard where his assignment sheet outlines the day. 

Huh. Ambulon doesn’t have one up… Maybe he’s sick? First Aid wonders. It looks like Pharma took over the extra shifts instead. In fact, Pharma’s daily says he’s in the morgue for a large portion of the day. A shiver rips through First Aid at the tactile memory of the room. Ambulon likes to call it the meat locker, it’s that cold in there. 

No one enjoys going to the meat locker. But First Aid has to report to Pharma before he can make his way to the mechs. 

With a tight sigh, First Aid writes his initials on the top of his sheet and makes his way through the corridor at the back of the med bay. This is the only part of the base that hasn’t been upgraded since it was built. It’s like a modern graveyard, which seems fitting, since there’s not much the dead have to offer. Here, there’s no one to avoid. It’s just him and the echoing even cadence of his steps. 

Well, him and Pharma. For whatever reason.

Pharma’s medical prowess had been one of the major draws of this base for First Aid. Early on in the mech project, pilots were getting severe lung damage left and right from broken fuel lines. Apparently the quintesson’s had found just the right spot to attack to cause the damage. Stuck out in the field, they’d been inhaling fumes the entire time they fought. Pharma was an absolute machine with lung transplants for the victims. Nobody could match him. The dude is a legend. It doesn’t matter if he’s an absolute asshat, the surgeon knows what he’s doing and is a key to the success of established pilots keeping humanity safe. 

The cold slithers up the nape of First Aid’s neck, as he stops in front of the massive steel door labeled with the room number DL-5 in crisp white lettering. 

The meat locker. 

As quick as he can, First Aid grabs the ice cold door handle to pry it open and jog inside. Holding his hands up to his face, he blows hot air where the bite of cold lingers along his palms. “Pharma?” He shouts, “I saw you’re on morgue duty all morning. I’m just reporting in before I go out to the mech deck for the day.” 

From deep in the heart of the morgue, he can just barely make out the cur-clunk of a body tray sliding back into a storage unit and the door being shut behind it. Through the tall steel rows of mortuary refrigerators, the familiar stern face of Pharma appears from 4 rows deep. Even with a mask on, First Aid can see the annoyed frown caused by his work being disturbed by the way Pharma glares. The man is much older then First Aid, but the ghostly hue of his skin speaks to how little time he spends out in the real world. If they have one thing in common, it’s that they’re both clocking over-time of their own volition. 

“Didn’t you put your initials?” He bites, which is practically a How’s your day going so far? As far as his usual attitude entails. If Pharma didn’t want to talk, he’d simply shout fine and let First Aid get the hell out of this place.

“Well, yeah, but like I said—I, uh, saw you were in here, so…I just wanted you to know I’m in. Ambulon isn’t in today, so it’s just us. Is he not feeling well?”

Towering over First Aid, the overhead lights cause an eerie shadow behind Pharma’s thin frame. It’s hard to get a read on his facial expression, as he replies, “No. He’s not. The stress seems to be… affecting him. I gave him the day off.”

Pharma? Giving someone a day off? Willingly?

“Really?” 

“Really.” Is the far too icy reply. 

Worry nags at the back of First Aid’s mind. With all of this Vortex stuff, he’s hardly had any time to talk to Ambulon. He’s been so focused on his own shit, he can hardly help out his friends. First there was Tailgate, and now this. Everyone is going through it, what makes his issues so special? He should know better. Try more. 

He breaks eye contact with Pharma. “That was nice. I hope he feels better soon.”

“As do I. Now, you said you’re going to the mech deck?”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, it looks like I’m on standby for a new pilot assigned to the ugh, problem mech.”

It must be the cold, or the worry for his friend, or maybe it’s the realization that he’ll have to clean up another body from a bloody mess, but First Aid gets the sudden and visceral feeling of being in danger. Like a rabbit perking it’s ears before a wolf gobbles it up. 

Pharma’s voice is much closer, as one of his chilly hands grasps First Aid’s shoulder like a hawk’s talons. With his voice low, there is an unsettling smile that rings in it as he says, “Well. I have a feeling we’ll meet again today then. Take care First Aid. I’ll see you once you’ve finished the cleanup.” And then, in a snap, he turns and disappears back into the row he’d come from. 

First Aid shivers, as he listens to the cur-klunk of a door opening and tray sliding back out. Silent as the artificial graves surrounding him, all First Aid can hear is his own pounding heartbeat in his ears. Unsure of what else to do, he wordlessly makes his way back to the exit. 

As his hand touches the handle, he can’t help but remember another fact that programmer had told him about quantum computers. In order for a computer to operate at that level, it requires temperatures as cold as space to fully operate. 

The meat locker isn’t space, but it’s damn near as cold as First Aid could ever handle. 

Pharma on the other hand… If anyone could take it, First Aid’s bet would be on him.

.......

^actual image of First Aid talking to Pharma SO NORMALLY Also I need y'all to know, I'm holding the head canon that cywhirlgate is happening in the background with Cyclonus as the pilot and Whirl as the haunted mech who bullies him into going after the cute janitor. And of course, they become the weirdest mech x human thrupple possible, which is what they deserve (✿◡‿◡)

[inkformyblood]

chance encounter (CWFKB2023) #2

Modern AU. Bloodsoaked kiss fill @codywanfirstkissbingo

There’s a man covered in blood sitting at the edge of Cody’s bar. 

He’s pretty enough that the blood doesn’t detract from it, somehow enhancing the bright flash of his eyes as he twists to stare at the door he’s just trudged in from. Cody follows his gaze, settling his elbow on the door to peer down at the trail of footprints that the man’s left in his wake — Cody could line up his footsteps with a ruler, each perfectly placed to try and minimise the damage , and he’s seen habitual drunks who’d run for a bar with less efficacy than this man has — and he catches the man’s eye as he straightens up. 

“I’ll pay extra for the cleaning,” the man says. His mouth twists like he wants to say more and he’s found it tastes bitter, hitting his palate like a pick-axe. “But am I able to order?”

“You hurt?” Cody asks instead, gesturing to the man’s, well, everything. It’s impossible to distinguish his natural hair colour beneath the blood, and every blink on one side grows longer with the sticky slide over the previous finger-smudged space to try and clear it. His clothes haven’t fared much better, a simple button-up destined for a long soak in some peroxide if not an immediate sentencing to the bin and a tight pair of jeans that will make Cody’s brain light up in all the wrong places if he thinks about them too long, blood splatter and all. 

The slow grin that dawns over the man’s face could only be described as wicked, enough to convince a priest to tear off his collar and renounce his crusade if only for a second glance, and Cody isn’t particularly adept at denying himself small pleasures anymore. Nearly dying would do that to a man. The stranger peels his hand off of the bar, his fingerprints embossed in the wood in deep red marks, and Cody’s starting to reach for a rag before what he’s seeing catches up to him. The man’s teeth are pointed, his tongue a flash of pink amongst deep red as he licks over the expanse of his palm, culminating the motion by removing the prosthetic fangs with a wet slick. He sets them next to the soak of his fingerprints. “All entirely fake. A prank I interrupted I believe or it may have been intended for me all along. But now I am soaked to the bone, already sticky and that is only going to get worse, and I’m in desperate need of a drink.”

“We’ve got a small bathroom round the back.” Cody’s mouth moves without his brain’s input, cogs that had already stuck on the intensity of the man’s gaze as he had licked over his palm — that hadn’t been a fascination Cody thought he had possessed but now he can think of nothing else — grinding to a further halt at the thought of the man undressed in the cramped confines of a shower, soap clinging to his shoulders, the soft plane of his belly, lower. “You could wash up there.” 

”You won’t get in trouble?” The man asks softly, leaning closer to Cody like they’re in a confessional, his voice so gentle that Cody flushes from the dichotomy of it all. “No trade secrets I should stay away from, overbearing bosses, jealous exes?”

“Why would my exes be jealous?” Cody asks before he can stop himself, rocking back on his heels to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to force his headache with nothing more than the pressure and a fervent prayer.

The man chuckles, ducking his head to make an attempt at hiding his grin behind the back of his hand. The pale swipe over his palm is briefly visible and Cody’s stomach twists, his head swimming with how much he’s craving something he’s only just learned is possible.

“They’d be jealous because I’m getting to talk to you and they’re not.”

Cody grumbles something unintelligible at the man, refusing to look at him directly. He hadn’t had much of a religious lean in his childhood, the house packed too full for anything else to seep in through the cracks. But he had dutifully sat through the parade of speakers from every faith while he’d been at school and sang the hymns like he was supposed to but it hadn’t meant anything special, it just was; the same way got the second pick of the chairs around the tv and he always chose the low armchair that would tip over if he leant back too far, the same way he got third pick of the sweets whenever his family all piled into the car for a trip and sixth choice of where they got takeaway from on the rare nights they could order. It had always been there, braided into his swearing and the way he structured his breaks around the holidays just like he would for the school breaks. But he must have done something right, somewhere, somehow, because this man, blood-stained and smiling like there’s never been anything wrong with the world, is in his bar. 

He holds out the rag, a clean one, uncurling it from his fingers as he does so. There’s an indented line cut into the hollow of his knuckles, thanks to his own actions, and the man murmurs out his thanks as he stands, taking the rag from Cody. He roughly scrubs it over his eyes, revealing patchy pale skin littered with freckles and glitter in equal measures. The glitter is red, clinging to the natural hollows of the man’s face, the furrow of his brow and the corners of his eyes. 

“Bathroom’s just through the door marked ‘Staff Only’, take a left and it’s the second door on your right. Ignore the skeleton in the closet. His name is Lewis.”

“And your name, my most beloved bartender?” 

“Cody.”

“Cody,” the man repeats, lingering over the scant few syllables like he’s savouring them, swirling wine round in a glass as if that would make it taste any better. Closer now, he smells sweet, the fake blood beginning to dry tacky and stick around his joints, a rusting puppet too stubborn to lie down and let the world spin to nothing around him. “That is a lovely name. I’m Obi-Wan.”

He holds out his hand — blank line on his palm, a gold ring on his thumb, and Cody was already halfway in love without Obi-Wan ever saying a word — and Cody takes it. Obi-Wan tugs Cody forward, the edge of the bar catching on the rough curve of his hip, and kisses his cheek, sweet and sticky and smelling of artifical strawberries. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Cody manages, smoke spiralling from his ears as his overworked brain kicks up another gear, dust torn free from pathways he hasn’t touched in years. “You can have that drink when you’re back out.”

“You’re a treasure, Cody, truly. What would I do without you?”

“You’d be sticky and thirsty in someone else’s bar.” Cody squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand before he lets him go. “Now, go. I’m not going anywhere.” 

[demisexual-dryad]

I’ve had,,, an idea,,, like a beautiful, beautiful idea for a fantasy creature Au for ace attorney.

I’ve had oread* miles edgeworth and fire spirit phoenix wright FUCKING INVADING MY BRAIN. Here’s some of my brain rot. And the reference pose I used just in case someone was looking for it (thank you og pose posters of the art world you are gifts of gods I swear it, I used number three but I altered the shit out of it AND THOSE HANDS TURNED OUT SO DAMN NICE) and I have ideas for who is what if yall wanna hear me out. (Please say you do I’m begging I wanna theory dump so bad)

So some tidbits. Yes Phoenix has little fire wings and he can (kind of anyway, it’s more like floating) fly. It is important to note; he’s not a true Phoenix, just an elemental being made of fire. He can change his form (he’s literally an essence of fire itself contained in an elemental core.) They flare when he gets happy, excited, jealous, worried, or angry. They tend to recede or die out when he’s sardonic or in any other depressive mood. He also flutters them a little when he’s really stoked or happy.

He can control how hot his external flames burn, same with his wing size (when he thinks about it).

If his internal flame goes out he dies. If it dims due to illness or lowered body temp, he does get really sick (like a flame getting weaker- yes he was really not ok after the bridge incident, and the taser gave him fever chills for two days after because it was too close to his heart. Glass had to be removed from his stomach after Dahlia because he can’t fucking digest glass and it melted into a huge wad in his stomach causing a large blockage. The poison dahlia used had a side effect of lowering body temp, so Phoenix still got sick from being stupid.)

Also. This motherfucker has to eat. A LOT he literally has to consume a fuel source (food, coal, wood, anything that can burn) so he doesn’t yknow. Stop burning.

He does glow! From the inside out! Lantern boi.

Miles is an Oread. Oreads are Greek rock, valley, mountain, and grotto spirits.

He’s made of limestone. Looks intimidating, but crumbles apart easy.

Yes. He does grow garnet crystals out of his horns.

He can mold and shape rocks at will, which is useful because when he pushes himself too hard or is stressed he can’t hide it. His body parts just start crumbling off. (Dw, they snap back into place like nothing happened but it’s definitely unsettling. Think: “Your arm’s off!” “It’s but a fleshwound.”)

I gave him a tail and more animal like legs to be more of a representation of animals that live in his life source area (there’s a sacred grotto he’s bound to, same one as his father, he visits to check in every once in awhile.)

Because his life essence is linked to the grotto, he can only get sick or die if his source area is sick or dying/destroyed- or if his heart is damaged or destroyed (it’s like a little physical link to their source area, can’t function without it.)

Earthquakes are still big scary. They’re extremely painful, like if all your growing pains hit at once. Miles experienced his first one when trapped in that elevator, which freaked him out so bad on top of the fighting that… well, we know how it ended. Even though he doesn’t need to breathe (made of rock) he still had a panic attack from stress and went unconscious from it. Not fun.

Also!! If he blushes too hard, he can melt!! His ear!! It’s melty!!

Big teefs for eatin rock. He does have to consume extra mineral rocks or he can be a little brittle.

He can shift into a more “human” form without a tail and with regular legs, but it’s not as comfortable as his standard form. Bratworth definitely spent more time than he should’ve trying to look more human to fit in with the Von Karmas.

He wiggles his lil ears when he’s content or happy. Because that’s cute and it makes me happy.

I’ve been thinking up theories for like most of the cast. Vote in the poll if you wanna hear more!

[bon-is-gone]

Who is your favourite slasher? Can you write a few hcs of them? (Can be band au)

(I'm writing this at like 3 am so ey, grammar mistakes on the way probs)

Og Michael was extremely close

(if we're talking dbd then it's ghostie no questions asked)

BUT JESSE ON GOD 🙏🏻

What can I say, I'm a sucker for horror villains with a cool design and who's movie is flops at good ratings. Also especially in the band au. Also Also because he's confirmed to be mute since not sure if Vincent can't actually talk or just has damaged vocals so he sounds like shit (which now you'll see by a headcanons which I will throw in here haha) or Michael who if I'm not wrong does have a healthy voice but is mute voluntarily.

Anyways.

Headcanons with Bon

Jesse takes takes care of his head VERY seriously. He polishs it and sprays stuff on it to make it shiny. It was once so shiny infact, in one of his concerts with Asa, the lights from the stage made it look like he was ascending. (He was actually not, just his head was polished so good it hit the lights so well.)

Vincent is actually able to talk, but due to his damaged vocal cords he sounds a bit rough. Which is perfect for when he's growling for songs! Makes them extra authentic. (Atleast that's what Lester says. We love a supportive sibling. 😌)

Bo LOVES playing the piano since he was a kid, once even played it at a concert. But his skills are a bit, how do i say this in the most respectable of ways, dogshit. A lot of people thought it was funny bit, and all the fan girls ofcourse were cheering him on! Complimenting how beautiful his playing is, that it's from GOD, that they DIE to hear it everyday and some even wishing they WERE THE PIANO. Safe to say, Bo's ego rose even more from that day.

Billy likes to copy Brahms British accent. Who doesn't like trying to put on a British accent? He does it A LOT on interviews, especially if he has to say water.

Asa likes commenting on people's pictures of their pet bugs. Once he got in an argument with another guy online about if spiders can have wings or not. Asa thought that such spiders don't exist. He was correct since then it was found out that the picture with the spider with wings was a hoax. (BTW real occurrence that happened) (The spider picture I mean not the goofy ass argument.)

This is going to be all for today since my brain is very VERY tired. Gonna make more content soon.

Bon signing out