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ask-de-writer · 1 year ago

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FIENDSHIP IS MAGIC

(Part 63 of ?)

18+ readers only (sex scenes)

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FIENDSHIP IS MAGIC

Making Fiends and Influencing Ponies

An Anthro *Tail* of the Mane Six

Part 63 of ? (Work in Progress)

De Writer

67461 words (story in progress)

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This story is age restricted to 18+

years or older!

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the start HERE

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The whole dance took on an entirely different appearance. The dancers were joined by others who emerged from the setting or danced their way down cunningly built stairways and platforms. The whole effect was nearly stunning!

By the time that the piece was about half way done, the dancers outfits had evolved to fans of plumes, headdresses demi cup bras and garter belts that all sparkled with jewels! And very little else!

One thing became clear at once! The dancers themselves were totally enjoying both the dance and the spectacle that they were making!

As a finale, the dancers formed a sort of semi circle centered on the opening to the Hall of the Shetland King in the set. Wearing a finely crafted and jeweled crown, Red, the Shetland Queen emerged, decked in royal robes! She was spotlighted in the center but smaller lights continued to pick out the “Shetland Court” as she began the process of artistically removing the Royal robes! Part way through, her wings emerged as if from nowhere! They made fans and swirls and sweeping curves as she peeled away the last of those robes! Her bra, made for this part, bared far more than it covered, which was nearly none of her bosom!

The other dancers now closed about their “Queen” with their wings matching and following the sweeps and flares of her wing work! The number ended with Red's wings forming a near perfect circle, framing and displaying her. The others, were surrounding her, but open towards the audience, one wing lifted and fanned towards the “Queen” and the other reaching towards the audience, laying almost flat in an inviting gesture!

The curtains swept down and across closing off the Hall of the Shetland Queen set and dancers.

A new feature dancer emerged to simply provide an audience entertainment while things were being readied backstage!

On each of the side stages the Saddle Arabian dancers seemed to simply appear, with a flash, out of pillar of smoke! Inside the audience area for their acts, the sweet wail of their music, accompanied by their clattering zills filled the air! The watching Princesses and the Gryphon Ambassador wandered from one music zone to the other, watching the different acts where they were taking place.

As they emerged from one of the sound isolated Saddle Arabian dance areas, the Ambassador shook his head in wonder, his crest lifting and spreading in amazement, “All of this is being done to aid us? I had no idea that this show would be so big!”

Pinkie had joined them and chuckled, “Oh, that was just the first of SIX mainstage pieces! We will rotate them one after the other until we stop getting ticket sales! The whole thing is all volunteers. The dancers, sets, stage hands, painters, costumes and choreography, even first aid is all donated. Every bit that we collect will go to your Empire's assistance.”

He did the Gryphon bow with spread wings as he replied, “This is most gracious and . . .”

A voice shouted from the doors, “This whole despicable act of Lewdness must stop at once! By the authority of Princess Luna, I command it!”

Luna did not even have to look back as her magic ensnared and toppled Impre Sario, capping his horn in a blue so strong and bright that it made him whimper.

She stepped out of the shadows into the light where he could see her. Shaking her head, she said mildly, “No, Impre. Your claim was outright perjury. This show must and will go on. However you got free of the jail, it legally counts as a jailbreak. That by itself is a MINIMUM five years sentence. I believe that serving it at hard labor in Royal Road Quarry # 4, producing granite cobbles will be about right.

“Before you are sent there, though, I have several things that I wish to investigate. That will require Kin being free of her Hospital duties. We do have a good team that she has trained, so I expect that we will be done in only a few days time.”

“You don't understand, Princess! I have already got the stage sets for the Singing Swan ballet here! The highest nobility have already paid for their tickets will be here to sign aid pledge forms during the intermission and some before and afterwards too! I confidently expect to raise as much as five or six thousand golden bits for Gryphon Aid!

“This travesty of amateurs cannot be allowed to interfere!”

Pinkie had strolled up while Impre was yapping. She chortled, “Only five or six thousand golden bits? We already have thirty eight thousand collected from local businesses. That is not counting Grumpy Goat's donation or the one from Ponyville Trust and Loan. Both of those are matching grants based on the total that we raise from other sources.

“We confidently expect a substantial gate too.”

Pinkie paused and then suggested, “Did you notice that he called our show an act of Lewdness? Just like the Dawnguard priesthood that was recently convicted of so many crimes? Might want to ask him about meeting Sargent Hayburner. You remember, the one who tried to steal a box of butterscotch Bismarks from you and said that Kin was not to be trusted near you? Said that both the Dawnguard priests and the Ponyville Medical Society called her a quack?”

Luna grinned, “Right on, Pinkie. Bridge of Dream just confirmed it. Impre was the leak. It appears that he has been tied up with the Dawnguard for some time now.”

Pinkie nodded dismissively, “Thought so. Big Wig with a Big Mouth. I have to get back to making sure that the show runs smoothly.”

Impre listened in drop jawed amazement! “Thirty eight thousand golden bits! From a worthless backwater place like Ponyville? Just watch! Those pledges will be repudiated wholesale!”

Twilight, looking back over her shoulder at side stage dancers and the current feature stripper, could not resist poping this hot air balloon! “Oh, those aren't pledges. Those are just the gold that we have already taken in! The current pledges should more than tripple that amount!”

They noticed Luna just putting away a magic net mirror. She snorted, “Had to attend to a bit of Railroad scheduling. Some utterly insane knucklehead tried to delay our Gryphon casualty trains for some passenger charter from Canterlot! I have had them put on a siding while our casualties get here.”

Impre snapped, “Not even YOU can do that! That charter is carrying the highest nobility of the land! They mustn't be inconvenienced for mere commoners!”

Luna's grin became a diabolical, fang filled, flame eyed snarl as he told him, “I, the High Commissioner of Equestria's Roads and Railroads, cannot make the schedules what I please? While I was at it, I did arrange for them to have an appropriate greeting party! Two brigades of Royal Marines are arriving by emergency T-jump to put them under arrest! I do thank you for making it so easy to round up that batch of traitors called the Ducal Council!”

She turned to face Captain Rainbow Dash, “Good Captain, would you be so good as to see about securing this criminal? Be sure that he cannot escape. If he is found outside his cell without my permission and Royal Seal he is to be executed at once!”

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS ~ NEXT==>

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#FIENDSHIP IS MAGIC #Part 63 of ?#age restricted 18+#MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer #WORK IN PROGRESS

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nailgunstigmata · 1 year ago

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Nobody asked but here it is anyways. I present, the gang as fatal five, written objectively and unbiased by yours truly. who will survive and who will not? find out now (this assumes u have watched the movie, but u can probably get by via context clues. or u can google it idk)

Trap 1:

Charlie is the one that panics and starts the timer. They all proceed to struggle and yell until they tire each other out, everybody insisting that they deserve to live and this is why. Eventually Mac brute forces his face to the first key just because he‘s the strongest, probably crying and apologising to Dennis and also to god. He frees himself and falls to his knees and after a few seconds of sobbing everyone starts yelling at him that he can just go help them now since he‘s free. Mac assumes this means tackling Dee to the ground so she can‘t take away any slack of the rope anymore. Charlie fights his way to the front with pure desperation fueling his small body, and immediately goes to help Frank once he‘s freed himself. With only two people left and one currently crushed under the weight of Mac‘s body, there is now enough slack on the rope for Dennis to just run to the front without much tugging, though he still needs Charlie to break the glass for him. Mac gets up, overjoyed he managed to save Dennis‘ life but in doing so Dee, without the extra wieght holding her down, is pulled directly into the blade and beheaded. Sorry queen, but we all knew this would happen.

Trap 2:

Mac and Charlie immediately start smashing the glass jars with metal rods, while Frank starts rummaging through the shards looking for a key like a feral raccoon and Dennis gingerly pushes shards aside with his the tips of his shoes. Frank finds a key and gets inside the safety tube thing, but because he‘s so small, he realizes Charlie can get in with him. A third person could fit too, but neither of them thinks of that until they’ve locked the door. Mac is still smashing jars, but Dennis has probably found the remaining two key by now. He briefly considers if he should just take them both and let Mac blow up, but decides against it. Mac says they should share a tube like Frank and Charlie and gets disappointed when Dennis refuses. Nobody blows up because both Frank and Charlie are short and love cramming themselves into tight spaces together.

Trap 3:

This one is easy. Charlie simply goes into the bathtub and gets electrecuted. He‘s totally fine. He does this every day as a janitor.

Trap 4:

Mac says he will donate all the blood by himself to save Dennis but then backtracks once Dennis takes him up on it. Frank explains how he needs his hands for masturbation. Mac says he needs his for lifting weights. Dennis just got a new manicure yesterday. Charlie is unable to give a solid reason, but starts hissing once anybody steps too close. They all make a deal to all put their hands in at the same time, to share the burden of giving blood equally, but every time theyre just about to do it everyone pulls their hands away again, all going for the classic bait and switch. This happens multiple times with everyone assuring that this time they will do it for real. Nobody ends up doing it.

That is, however, until Dennis accidentally puts his arms in too deep, getting cut by the blades and immediately starts freaking out.

Mac snaps into emergency mode and pushes Frank down into the saw blades, apologising for the murder not to Frank but to God. It turns out Dennis just got a small cut (he still whines about) and is totally fine, but since Franks arms are already pretty much chopped to bits by this point they decide to just let him be. They watch Frank bleed out while sitting in a corner and debating what they should have for dinner. Mac and Dennis fight about whether Dennis should go to a hospital. Charlie tells them that alcohol is a disinfectant. They decide they should go to a bar.

With a solid evening plan now set, Charlie goes over to the door and opens it, and Charlie Mac and Dennis head straight to the next bar.

Frank is actually not dead yet. He only lost about 3 pints of blood, not the required 5. It turns out Charlie simply picked the lock on the final door. Frank slowly bleeds out while imagining Charlie running across a field, laughing happily.

They never find out they were supposed to work together in the traps and Dennis dies 1 week later from blood poisoning because those razor blades were filthy. They forgot to disinfect it with their wiskey shots, but it probably wouldn‘t have worked anyways.

Mac is so upset by the loss he starts drunk driving, and is killed when he swerves off a cliff while trying to avoid hitting a deer on the road that he, in that very moment, is convinced is Dennis, here to take him to the afterlife so they can have gay sex as angels forever and ever.

Charlie is the sole survivor. Whether the deer is actually Dennis is undecided, but in the last few seconds before plummeting to his death, Mac looks into the animals light blue eyes and feels truly loved.

just spent an hour straight writing a rundown of the gang as the fatal five in saw 5 on my phones note app. its 5am now

#iasip #this is actually where i peaked i think #i do not accept criticism #sawnny #heh

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itllsetyoufree · 4 years ago

Note

“Does this help?” + kara being injured

All things considered, Lena’s Saturday has been startlingly unremarkable so far. The sun is shining, she’d had her usual cup of yogurt with sliced bananas for breakfast, she hasn’t gotten a single off-hours weekend call from work, and she’d even had time to read the Cooking section in the National City Tribune. The biggest thing on her calendar for the day is her weekly movie night with Kara, which she’d been quietly looking forward to since Kara had left her apartment after their movie night the week before.

There was a time in Lena’s life where the easy, almost leisurely flow of her day would have been alarmingly, disarmingly suspect. But with no attempts on her life and L-Corp running smoothly for the last year or so, Lena’s life has settled into something more… quiet.

And on any other day, it might have continued that way.

Because noxious gas-breathing, nine-legged alien dragons aren’t typically her problem.

She gets the notification on her phone, of course:

Emergency Alert: Rogue Alien Attacking National City Waterfront— alien is violent and unrestrained, exhales unidentified purple gas. Residents urged to remain indoors and to close all windows.

Lena sighs, rolling her neck to the side and grabbing her phone as she lifts herself off her couch to close her balcony door. Despite having a near-panoramic view of the water, Lena’s apartment is on the other side of town from the docks, but she winds her way around her apartment anyway and closes all of her windows just in case. She’s just shutting the last one when she fires off a text to Kara, telling her to stay inside and to not come over until the alien is taken care of, and don’t even think about going down to the docks to report on it, Kara, I know CatCo doesn’t have gas masks on hand.

She gets a single thumbs up in response, an unusually terse reply from Kara, who never sends one text message when three will do, but Lena doesn’t think much of it and just settles back down on the couch to flip on the news.

She watches live as the alien positively obliterates several of National City’s piers with three of its arms. The video feed shows people diving out of the way as wet, splintered wood flies in every direction. The esplanade is littered with debris as the alien rears up again, swinging its tail against the surface of the bay and spraying rolling waves of water onto the shore.

Lena blows out a heavy breath as she watches the destruction unfold before reaching out for her phone again. She’s just hitting send on an email to Jess, telling her to donate funds to the city to rebuild the docks, when the unmitigated panic on screen abruptly stops.

She sits up straight on the couch as she watches the dragon puff out a billowing cloud of purple smoke. It unfurls along the embankment and the remaining parts of the boardwalk, and slowly engulfs the small crowd of people fleeing the waterfront and the remaining stragglers on the shoreline.

Lena watches, mouth parting in shock, as they all stop running en masse and slow to a halt. The newsfeed goes silent as the crowd stops screaming, even the newscaster losing his breath as everyone stands still, lolling around on their feet as if held up by rubber and not muscle, before they all calmly sink down to the ground and lay down.

The sweeping shot of everyone resting on the ground seems to spur the news anchor back to life, and he resumes narrating wildly, jabbering and speculating like an auctioneer calling the Superbowl.

The dragon stops destroying more of the docks to huff out another cloud of smoke at a helicopter nearby. Lena sucks in a breath as the helicopter wobbles in the air over the people on the ground, but it just floats softly down, landing gentle as a feather on the nearest open patch of grass. Lena pinches her eyebrows together, bewildered, but before she can think too much on it, there’s a red and blue streak zooming into the frame.

Supergirl pulls up behind the dragon, and Lena only has a second to admire the sun glinting off her hair before Supergirl grabs the alien by one of its legs and flings it out toward the sea.

From there it’s a whirlwind. Supergirl and the alien lunge and splash and swing at each other at a dizzying speed, spinning in the air and dragging each other under the water. The camera holds steady on them for several minutes until one final breathtaking moment. Both Supergirl and the alien breach out of the water and whirl to face one another. Supergirl’s eyes glow for a split second before her heat vision activates and scorches across the dragon’s abdomen. It crashes back to the water with a roar, but just before it sinks beneath the surface, it huffs out one final breath of smoke.

It catches Supergirl visibly off-guard as she recovers from the fight, gasping for air just as it engulfs her. The newscaster goes silent once more, watching as Supergirl seems to go loose mid-air. She sways a little, drifting in the wind, a glassy, confused look on her face. Lena’s reaching for her phone, ready to call Alex to see if she can help, when Supergirl shakes her head and starts to fly, slowly and unsteadily, away from the scene.

The newscaster and Lena heave a simultaneous sigh of relief, and Lena lets her phone drop back down to the couch. The news switches back to coverage of the dazed, lethargic people on the shore who seem confused but otherwise unharmed. Lena’s just relaxing back into the cushions, half a mind to open her windows back up to let in the breeze, when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye.

She turns, watching as Supergirl floats shakily toward her balcony.

When Supergirl lands, it’s with none of the elegance or athleticism Lena’s come to associate with her. There’s no graceful descent, no landing delicately on one pointed foot or shooting down from the sky to stop on a dime just before she hits the ground. Supergirl drifts closer and closer to her building, one foot outstretched as she reaches Lena’s balcony, but her foot catches on the top of the railing, and she topples over it, hands splayed out to catch herself. She spills over the banister and lands on her chest, legs arching up behind her and feet still hooked over the railing. She looks up at Lena through the glass window, eyes half glazed over and unfocused as her cape slides up the slope of her back to pool at the back of her neck.

The sight of her, glassy and dazed and draped over her railing like a wet towel spurs Lena into action. She throws the balcony door open and rushes over, dropping to her knees and reaching out to run her hands down the length of Supergirl’s arms, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head to either side to look for bruises.

“Supergirl! Are you hurt? Can you stand? Come, let’s get you to the DEO.”

“Hi.”

Lena stills, pausing her frantic checking of Supergirl’s pulse to actually take stock of the situation.

Supergirl, seemingly unconcerned by her chin pressing into the concrete or being curled backwards over herself, blinks up at Lena. She looks untroubled, calm, her hair and suit still damp from the water but otherwise right as rain, but the expression on her face is… vacant. Her eyes are glossy, just slightly unfocused, mouth parted as she looks up at Lena. She looks open, unguarded, and completely unaware, and Lena recalibrates.

“Supergirl, do you know where you are?”

“Your balcony.”

“And do you know who I am?”

“Lena.”

“Does anything hurt?”

“No.”

“Can you untangle your feet so we can get you up?”

“Oh,” Supergirl remarks, like she hadn’t noticed her feet weren’t under her. She tries to twist around to look over her back at her feet, and she shuffles a little, unhooking the toes of her boots and falling fully onto the stone floor.

Lena tsks and instinctually reaches out again, grabbing hold of Supergirl’s shoulders and helping her move until she’s sitting upright, propped against the balcony railing. Supergirl leans back against it, blinking slowly and looking blankly around, and Lena finds herself itching for the phone she left in the living room but unwilling to leave the woman in front of her while she’s so vulnerable.

It isn’t like she hasn’t dealt with an incapacitated Supergirl before. Lena’s saved Supergirl from more than a handful of scrapes in the past couple years, but never like this, never while she was conscious, never while she seemed loopy and almost childlike. It’s easier to maintain her focus, Lena realizes, easier to put the worry aside and work on a fix when Supergirl is in grave danger, in desperate need of help.

This, with her awake and seemingly fine but so disoriented is throwing Lena off guard. Normal citizens shouldn’t see their city’s hero downed and unconscious, but they shouldn’t see her like this either, unfocused and confused, almost as if she’d been drugged. It’s unsettling, deeply uncomfortable in a way Lena can’t put her finger on, and she can’t help but feel both protective and out of her element at the same time.

“Okay,” Lena says, keeping her voice soft and caring. “How about we get you over to the DEO so they can check you out?”

“No, thanks,” comes the quiet reply. “I’ll stay here.”

It’s Lena’s turn to blink confusedly back at Supergirl, but the woman is looking elsewhere. The soft breeze that’s been blowing all day blows an errant leaf off of one of Lena’s plants and into Supergirl’s lap, and Lena watches, latent sense of panic beginning to grow in her stomach, as Supergirl picks up the leaf and twirls it between her fingers.

“I really think we should get you over to the DEO. You seem a little… off,” Lena says, careful to phrase it as gently as she can to not cause any alarm. “What if I just have Director Danvers come here by herself?” Lena asks, half unsure why she’s humoring Supergirl before she realizes that Supergirl has probably never gone anywhere she didn’t want to go— on account of being strong enough to lift a space station.

“No,” Supergirl responds again, simply, not rudely, “she’s not invited.”

Lena narrows her eyes at that, trying to sort out what kind of laughing gas this dragon has breathed out.

“I think I’m in charge of that,” Lena retorts, but she sighs, because Supergirl just looks up at her and smiles dopily.

“Okay,” Lena tries again. “Will you at least stand up and come inside? I can do some research on how to get these side effects to go away.”

Supergirl acquiesces this time, or at least Lena thinks she does until Supergirl turns away from the open door to her living room.

“I’ll stay out here,” she says, words slurring a little as she points to one of Lena’s deck chairs. “Need a little sun.”

She sways on the spot, as if momentarily suspended by the breeze, before stumbling over to Lena’s deck chair and collapsing onto it. She trips on one of the legs and the chair breaks under her weight, but she doesn’t seem to notice, letting her eyes drift shut and tilting her chin up toward the sun. A small smile crosses her face as the sun warms her, and Lena finds herself unable to hold back a small smile of her own.

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” Lena says, already planning out her research on alien dragons and a call to Alex in her head. “Then I’m making the call.”

“Uh uh,” Supergirl hums, eyes still closed, and Lena raises both eyebrows. “Is’fine, Lena. Don’t call. Wanted to come here.”

The longer sentences are starting to ease Lena’s mind, but Supergirl’s response rattles around in her brain and she can’t help but ask.

“Supergirl?”

Supergirl just hums back at her again.

“Why’d you come here instead of going to the DEO?”

“Didn’t want to miss movie night,” she says, calmly while she exhales, like Lena had asked her what day it is and she’d said, ‘Saturday.’

Lena freezes. The pit of panic in her stomach drops out and her whole body clenches at the loss. She stands frozen, staring at the figure laying prone, sprawled out on her deck chair. Lena’s heart pounds. She feels the rapid thudding in her chest, hears it reverberate in her ears. She takes it in, the red boots and skirt, the blue suit, the cape, the blonde hair.

Her eyes map the features on Supergirl’s face, and she realizes with some modicum of horror how familiar those features are. The point of her chin, the slope of her cheekbones, the nick of the scar above her eyebrow, the slightly upturned, charming pull of her mouth. It’s all—

“Lena?” those eyebrows scrunch together and it comes out as a whine, and Lena is overcome.

The panic disappears, instantly replaced by a tidal wave of worry, of affection, of bewilderment, confusion, and a little hurt.

“I’m here,” is what she blurts out in response, dropping onto the adjacent chair and wrapping her hand around Supergirl’s— Kara’s?— wrist, gentle, caring. “Hey, hey, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mhmm” Supergirl hums again, twisting her wrist to take hold of Lena’s hand. “Better already. Just need a nap and then we can watch a movie, okay?” Her voice is light and airy, and the smile droops off her face as she begins to fall asleep, but Lena can’t let her go, can’t be left alone with her racing mind. She needs to know, needs to be sure, and with a pounding heart, she presses on.

“Have—” Lena starts. Her voice cracks and she clears her throat and tries again, wiping the hand not enclosed in Supergirl’s tiredly across her brow. “Have you thought about what movie you want to see?”

“Which Star Wars are we up to?” Supergirl mumbles, half-asleep, and Lena feels her whole body clench with the confirmation as she sweeps her eyes up and down the figure in front of her with renewed worry, checking for injuries she knows aren’t there, because it’s Kara, it’s Kara, it’s Kara.

“Episode Six,” she whispers, tightening her hand around Kara’s.

“That one. ‘S a good one.” Kara breathes back.

Kara shifts on the chair a little bit, and small as the movement is, Lena thinks it looks the tiniest more purposeful, the tiniest bit less loose and floppy, and Lena feels her shoulders relax with it. It shifts something in her, the worry beginning to melt into a tender form of annoyance and she decides to push a little more.

“Are you hungry?”

“Mm,” Kara hums, smiling again. Lena narrows her eyes at her.

“Do you want Big Belly Burger for dinner like last time?”

“Mhmm yeah,” Kara murmurs, “and those fries that I like.”

Lena smirks, raising an eyebrow, but Kara is completely unaware. Lena squeezes her hand and stands. “I’ll order the food, and you can nap until it gets here, okay?”

“Mhmm thanks, Lena.”

“You’re welcome, Kara,” she says pointedly, but Kara doesn’t notice. Lena watches her smile in her half-asleep doze, her hand twitching a little until the smile droops off her face and she falls asleep just like that. Lena stands there, gaping at her for a moment, then makes her way inside.

Twenty minutes later, after a text to Alex and enough time spent slowing her racing heart, enough time spent with the news to know that the gas wears off on its own, eventually, she hears a sigh and a creak from outside. Supergirl— Kara, god, it’s Kara— is stretching on the deck chair, which appears to be hanging on for dear life, and Lena lifts herself off the couch, grabbing the bag next to her and making her way back outside.

She sets a glass of water down on the drinks table next to Kara’s head, watching as she shifts in the sun but doesn’t open her eyes.

“How are you feeling, Supergirl?”

“Mhmm, good, sleepy,” Kara yawns.

“They pulled that dragon out of the bay,” Lena says casually, crossing her arms. “You did a great job. No one’s hurt. The effects of the gas seem to subside on their own.”

“Good,” Kara murmurs, tilting her head up into the sun again. “That’s good.”

“The food’s here too,” Lena informs her, unable to hold back a smirk. “I got us a couple shakes as well.”

“Thanks,” Kara sighs happily. You’re the best.”

“But Kara?”

“Mmph?”

“You have to change out of your suit first. Wouldn’t want to get any residual alien goop on my couch.”

It’s exactly as satisfying as she thought it would be. Kara’s loose, floppy posture stiffens as her spine snaps straight, her eyes flying open as the chair finally gives out from under her. Lena watches the wheels turn once Kara hits the ground, sees Kara’s eyes bug out when they make eye contact. Kara’s flick down to look at her suit, then back up to Lena.

Lena twists her wrist, letting the paper bag swing out toward Kara.

“Your fries?”

#when you haven't been able to write a word for months and are struck by this feral fever dream of a thing #and when you misremember the line in the prompt as being 'can i help you?'#and then don't include it anyway #OOPS #btc you're a hero as always <3 #fic tag #anonymous #ask box

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sky-berrie · 4 years ago

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Stitch - Damian

Summary: Another favorite trope - reader patches up a wound. Warning: mentions of blood.

The window opened behind you and you felt a cool summer night breeze brush against your neck. You didn’t bother to give the intruder any attention because you knew that Damian was the only person who could disarm the alarm and crack lock mechanism with ease. You thought the whole system was overkill but it pleased Damian to have it installed so you didn’t complain.

“Hey, Damian,” you greeted him robotically with your gaze still transfixed to your laptop screen and your back to the window. You were watching the events of the latest episode of your favorite show unfold.

You heard Damian land in your room with a grunt. He was usually quite graceful, however you guessed that his ribs and hip were still sore from the last sparing session he had with his brothers and sisters. That family took everything to a whole other level.

You heard Damian shut the window after himself. The sound of the latch being secured came next. Then you heard electronic beeps as he reactivated the alarm. “You –” he let out a sharp exhale. “You took home economics, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, nonchalantly with a mouthful of popcorn. You didn’t take your eyes off the screen, but you heard the sound of his heavy boots carry him across your room.

“Good,” he said. A shaky breath infiltrated his normally self-assured voice. “And you remember most of it?” The bed springs creaked under his weight.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Great,” he said. “What grade did you receive?” This wasn’t all that out of character for him. Damian was competitive in all aspects of his life. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to compare home economics grades just so he could vaunt his skills.

“I don’t know, Damian,” you said honestly. You turned up the volume, hoping that Damian would get the hint that you wanted to watch your show in peace and quiet. “I think it was a good mark.”

Damian let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Excellent.” His voice sounded less troubled than before.

“Jon did most of my assignments,” you admitted unapologetically.

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but you attended the classes, correct?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too focused on the climax of the episode. “Oh my goodness,” you muttered under your breath to yourself as the plot twist unveiled. “Um,” you said, remembering that Damian had asked you something. “Yeah, yeah, more or less.”

“Do you remember how to sew?”

“Sort of,” you told him. You had sewn on a button once. It didn’t look great, but it definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well enough,” he said. “I need you to suture a laceration.”

“What?” you choked out. He said it so nonchalantly that you weren’t sure if he was serious or not, because a sane person would not be so stoic. You whipped around to find Damian lying on your bed in his Robin uniform. It was soiled with a layer of black, like he had been charred. It was so dark that it masked the staining of his blood and you wouldn’t have known he was bleeding if it weren’t for the pool of red soaking through your white comforter. He was holding his side with his hands at an awkward angle.

You had seen him with cuts and bruises and even broken bones, but never with the life bleeding out of him. “Oh my goodness!” you shrieked as panic filled your lungs. Your face contorted into a horrified grimace as you tried to stifle an expression of disgust. The strong stench of metal made your stomach churn and your head woozy.

You immediately felt horrible for not paying attention to him sooner. “Damian, why didn’t you say something? Holy crap! What the hell happened? You need an ambulance!” You turned around to reach for your phone.

“No,” Damian choked out. “Secret… identity,” he said with his eyes squeezed shut.

“What about your brothers and sisters? Your dad? Alfred?”

“On their way. No time to wait. First aid kit,” he implored weakly.

You ran for the bathroom and tore into the cabinet to find the massive first aid kit that Damian insisted you store. You had opened it once or twice to grab a bandage for a paper cut but you never touched the majority of the contents. You didn’t even know what half of the kit was for. You guessed that you might find out today.

When you returned to your room, Damian was moving slowly to unbutton his uniform. You helped him with the rest, trying to do it quickly without jostling anything. You tried to ignore the squishy wetness of the uniform, but your hands came away covered in a layer of crimson blood. Beneath the outer coat, his white undershirt was seeping with blood. There was a large tear in the fabric and a bit of the raw wound peeked through.

You didn’t have a fear of blood, really. You had no qualms about donating blood or seeing it on TV. This, however, was completely different. You were more terrified than you had ever been in your entire life. You had no idea what to do - everything you knew about CPR and standard first aid had inexplicably disappeared from your brain. Silent tears began to spill from your eyes as your breaths tore in and out of your throat, ragged and shallow.

“Y/N,” said Damian, firmly. Through your blurry, wet vision, you could see him straining to make eye contact with you. “Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my instructions.”

Normally you trusted Damian, but this time his reassuring words didn’t have any kind of soothing effect on you. Your whole body was shaking now. You couldn’t find your voice. Instead, you shook your head.

“Yes, Y/N. It is going to be fine, but you must listen to me. Do you understand?”

You tried to take a deep breath, but an uncontrollable sob cut it short. If Damian could lie there halfway to death and still be composed, then you could at least pretend to be calm for his sake. You nodded your head this time, trying your best to even out your breathing. It was no use though. You couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Thank you. Cut it,” he said, motioning to his undershirt.

You did as he ordered and cut a line right down the centre of his shirt. It was warm and wet and clung to his skin, so you peeled it off to reveal the full extent of a nasty looking wound. Even through your distorted, teary vision, you saw enough to know it was not good.

You felt faint at the sight of his insides. Or maybe it was your hyperventilating making you dizzy.

“Breathe, Y/N. Breathe and then get the sterile solution to irrigate it.”

You returned with freshly washed hands, a pair of gloves and a jug of irrigation solution. Following his instructions, you squeezed the syringe and expelled the liquid over his wound. It ran down his side and carried even more blood into your comforter.

“Okay,” he breathed out. “There should be a small white packet with a curved need and thread and a pair of suture holders. They look like scissors but without the blades.”

Your trembling hands had a difficult time picking out the items. Once you collected the materials, you looked at Damian for further directions.

“It’s a bit deep so you’ll need to close the layer under the skin first. Can you see it?”

You shook your head. His side was a giant red mess. You couldn’t make out anything except for blood and jagged skin. It was nothing like the clean and clear-cut diagrams you’d seen in class. “This is crazy! I can’t do this,” you cried. People spent years studying and training to do procedures like this. Stitching up a body was not something that a person should wing, and definitely not on their best friend, lying in an unsterile room.

“You can,” he assured you. “Pretend like you’re sewing some fabric. Start with this layer here.” Damian pulled at his skin and pointed to the inside with a pair of suture forceps. You couldn’t help but turn away and shut your eyes as he prodded himself. “Y/N,” he called your attention back. “Make sure the needle goes in like this and comes out like this,” said Damian as he demonstrated.

You were shaking your head. “You are absolutely insane! Sewing fabric is nothing like sewing a wound! Can’t we just wait for your dad or someone?”

“No time,” he said.

“Please, Damian,” you begged. “Let me call EMS.”

“No,” he asserted with what little strength he had.

“Please! I…”

“No,” he repeated. You could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“I understand you have to protect your secret identity, but Damian, come on. There won’t be an identity to protect if you die.”

“Batman…Nightwing…” he said weakly.

“They’ll understand!” you argued with desperation.

“No,” he mumbled. He shook his head.

Without any thought, your next words came flooding out straight from your heart. “Damian, I love you and I don’t want you to die!” Oh. That came as a shock to you. You’d never said anything like that before. In fact, you’d never even had a thought like that, but you knew it was the truth. Your hands almost flew to cover your mouth in regret, but the blood dripping from your hands stopped you.

Damian didn’t seem to notice your confession, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Had you not been utterly distracted by the emergency before you, you might have run away with embarrassment from your sudden proclamation.

“Please try for me, okay?” His eyes were starting to close, but you could see him struggle to keep them open.

You searched his eyes, to see that his once vibrant green eyes had a dull, hazy colour to them. Seeming to find what you were looking for, you conceded. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Okay.”

It was the worst experience of your life. Damian walked you through the process, but nothing could prepare you for the nauseating feeling of piercing his skin and pulling the nylon thread through the thickness of the tissue. Seeing the inside of his body made you want to vomit but his life was at stake, and you had to be brave for him. Besides, he was the one who should be worried, not you. Your technique was obviously non-existent and you were certain that you were hurting him a hell of a lot more than he was letting on. He hissed and groaned and you apologized profusely but he insisted that you continue.

“Thank you,” said Damian after you tied the last knot. His eyes were heavy and lidded and you could tell he was barely hanging on to consciousness. “Knew you could do it.”

You had no response. Now that the worst part was over, the adrenaline had left your system and you were in shock. His hand lolled out in an attempt to offer you comfort, or maybe to seek comfort for himself. You weren’t certain which is was, but nevertheless, you instinctively clasped his hand in yours.

Then he said something that caught you off guard. His voice was so faint that you barely heard him. “For the record, I love you, as well.”

You weren’t sure if he really meant it. Maybe he was delirious. He did lose a lot of blood. You pondered it for a moment and wondered if you should feel mortally embarrassed when he was fully lucid, but just then, a gentle squeeze on your hand told you that you didn’t have to worry.

#Damian Wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #BatFam #batfam x reader #batfam x y/n #damian wayne imagine #batfam imagine #batboys #batboys x reader #batboys imagine #robinchicklets

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years ago

Text

For Us Sinners

Soulless Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~4130

Warnings: This is 100% pure smutty religion-themed filth. Sam is dressed as a priest. There’s sex in a confessional, severe perversion of the Hail Mary prayer, and a lot of blasphemy happening. Like. A lot. Orgasm denial. Squirting. Non-explicit mentions of Winchester threesomes, gun play, and knife play.

A/N: For @stusbunker‘s “Jam Basket” fic exchange! This is for the lovely @rockhoochie. I managed to squeeze a decent amount of her jams in here. Sarah, my dear, I hope this makes you even a little bit as happy as your friendship makes me.

Thanks to @cracksinthewalls @fangirlxwritesx67 and @fookinghelljensensthighs for lore, encouragement, and inspiration!

You’re frowning at the trunk arsenal, wondering if it’s possible to sharpen a machete too much, when movement catches your eye. Sam rounds the corner of the old warehouse, and you grab a knife and a whetstone just to have something to focus on that’s not him and his stupid smirky face or the way his shoulders look in that suit.

The whole priest thing is a really good look on him.

“Dean’s not back yet?” he asks, without preamble, sitting on the edge of the trunk next to you. You focus very intently on your knife.

“Nice to see you too, Sam,” you snark, to cover the way you’re blushing. “Why yes, I did have a super fun afternoon of doing fucking nothing! Waiting around for you two is exactly how I wanted to spend the last three hours, thanks for asking.”

He laughs. “Weren’t you just telling me that I should stop pretending to be normal polite Sam?”

“Whatever,” you mutter.

“Lemme see that,” he says abruptly, and plucks the knife from your grip before you can protest. He takes one look at it and laughs at you, twirling the blade in his fingers. “Working out some frustration, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What’s really going on? You’re only like this when you’re hungry or horny.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, but he’s totally fucking right. He’s way too perceptive these days.

You’ve been refusing to play poker with him ever since this whole soulless deal came to light. He’s like a walking polygraph test… a very attractive, muscled polygraph who’s really good in the sack.

He’s analyzing your expression with his head cocked. “The knife thing?”

“I don’t know what you’re — that’s not—”

He holds the tip of the blade to your throat, and you stop stammering immediately. You close your eyes and swallow hard.

“That’s not new, though,” he says thoughtfully.

When you open your eyes, ready to protest, he’s tucking the knife back in its sheath and twisting to set it in the trunk.

“How’d you know about that?” you ask reluctantly.

He just smirks, that godawful not-Sam not-smile, with his dimples popping and his eyes glittering.

“One of these days you’re going to realize that I’ll never judge you,” he says, low and sly. “C’mon. Tell me.” He puts on a prim, sanctimonious face, pointing at the collar, and says, “Confess your sins and all will be forgiven.”

He ruins the pious effect by licking his lips and aggressively eye-fucking you.

You try to laugh, but it comes out all squeaky. You’ve never been good at poker, and if Sam’s smirk is anything to go by, he can see exactly what’s written all over your face.

“Shut up,” you say preemptively. “Asshole.”

“This is totally doing it for you, isn’t it?” Sam asks.

“Shut up.”

His smile is gleeful. “Oh my god, it is!”

“That’s not — I’m not—”

You grit your teeth and stand up abruptly, and it’s not like you can go anywhere but you need to move; it’s impossible to think straight when he’s right there and he smells so good.

He gets up so quickly you barely have time to blink before he’s in your space. He backs you against the warm metal of the door, caging you in with one big hand planted on either side of your head, and you have to tilt your chin up to meet his wickedly sparkling eyes.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, soft and heated, lips curling up in a familiar dangerous smile. “Lying is a sin.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you huff, but you can’t stop staring at his mouth.

“Besides, I can always tell. Admit it.”

“You are so fucking—”

Without warning, he’s tugging at your zipper, yanking the button open, and shoving a hand roughly down the front of your jeans as he murmurs, “You are so fucking into this.”

Before you can protest (not that you’d really want to) he’s got two fingers sliding into you, curling sweet and easy where you’re ridiculously, undeniably, outrageously into this.

“Maybe a little bit,” you sigh.

He’s just smiling, watching you squirm, playing with you like a cat might play with a mouse, and as much as you’d like to be angry about it, he knows exactly how to use those clever fingers. Then —

“Dean’s back,” he says calmly, and before you can even process that, he’s sucking his fingers clean and walking around the car to greet his brother.

You have about three seconds to button your pants, thank your lucky stars that you were on this side of the car, and generally get your shit together before it’s back to business.

“It’s a goddamn garden statue,” Dean is saying. “Some crazy old bat donated it to the church and then just up and left town. First person disappeared the next day.”

“So we wait til dark, take it down, break the curse.” Sam shrugs. “Easy enough.”

“Like a chant ‘n’ smash,” you offer. Both the boys give you blank looks, and you try to pretend like your brain isn’t totally scrambled. “You know. Like a salt and burn. A good old-fashioned chant and smash… no? Okay, whatever.”

Sam is barely containing his laughter. Asshole.

“I could use a nap before we do that, I’m wiped,” Dean grumbles, taking off his clerical collar as he slides into the driver’s seat. Sam keeps his on.

As you’re all getting buckled, he says, “Why don’t you just let us handle this one, Dean? You should take the night off.”

“If you guys want some privacy to bone, you can just say so,” Dean grouches. “But get another motel room, don’t bring Baby into it.”

“Yeah, we know. We will,” Sam reassures him.

Dean does not seem reassured. He looks at Sam suspiciously. “So, what, you’re just being nice?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Sam says bluntly. “You look like shit and I don’t want you hunting with me when you’re this sleep-deprived.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, that I buy. Man, this whole soul-free honesty shit is gonna take some getting used to.”

“You and me both,” you sigh, and Sam gives you a wink in the rearview mirror.

* * *

“That is the creepiest-looking angel I’ve ever seen,” Sam comments, striking a match. “And l’m including Zachariah in that. Okay, here we go.”

He lights up the little bowl of herbs he’s concocted and says a few things in Latin, and then the smoke coming up from the bowl turns eerie green and seems to sink into the worn concrete.

“Is that it?” you ask dubiously. “How do we smash it?”

“That’s the fun part,” Sam says. He attaches a silencer and loads his gun, quick and practiced, and when you’re both out of shrapnel range he aims almost lazily while you try not to stare at his fingers. Bad enough that he’s still wearing the priest getup. Watching him shatter an angel with a few perfect shots shouldn’t be a turn-on, but…

“Shouldn’t” is one of those words that lost most of its meaning when you and Sam started fucking. In the last two weeks, he’s managed to discover kinks you’ve never even admitted to yourself.

Speaking of —

“C’mon,” he says, and when the gun is deposited safely back in the arsenal, he grabs your hand without waiting for an answer, leading you around to a side door. The door isn’t even locked. Sam’s smile is gleeful in the moonlight.

“What are we doing?” you ask, as he leads you inside.

It’s almost completely dark, just a faint glow from the emergency exit signs to light the sanctum, until Sam takes out his matches and lights a few of the tall pillar candles that are arranged in nooks around the altar. The golden glow flickers and dances on the walls.

Sam grabs you by the wrist, and you halfheartedly attempt to tug your hand away. He’s got that glint in his eye that can only mean trouble.

“We really shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, as he pulls you over to the confessional.

“What are they gonna do, condemn my soul to hell?” he says flatly, and you stifle a giggle. “We established a while ago that my immortal soul is fucked.”

“Mine isn’t,” you mutter.

He looks at you with another of those smirks and says, “That’s why you’re the one who needs to confess.”

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” you sigh, but instead of answering, he crowds in close, pressing you up against the smooth dark wood of the confessional, and kisses you, all teeth and tongue and liquefying heat, until your lips feel bruised and your entire body is tingling.

“Confess,” he whispers, and with one last grin, he points you toward one curtain and slips behind the other.

If you’ve learned anything about Sam over the years, soul or no, it’s that there’s no point arguing when he’s made up his mind about something.

Sam seems to have made up his mind.

You pull the curtain closed behind you and sit on the little bench, and you have to breathe through some long-buried memories before the words come to your lips.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you whisper. “It has been… a long time since my last confession.”

The flickering candlelight cuts through small gaps around the curtain, casting dancing shadows through the cramped space. Your cheeks are burning.

“Sam?” you ask tentatively. “This feels stupid.”

He lets out a low, cocky chuckle, and his voice is all sorts of promising when he replies, “Trust me, I’ll make it worth your while. Play along for me.”

Fine.

“Where do I start?” you mumble. “I drink, frequently. I have been dishonest. I gamble, and I do not dress modestly, and — I don’t know. What else?”

“Do you have impure thoughts?” You can hear the smile in Sam’s voice.

“Yes.”

“About what?”

You swallow hard, closing your eyes, thinking about the way he looks right now. No preacher has ever looked so good in that black suit. “About… about you.”

“Go on.”

“About the way you feel inside me. About the way you fuck me.”

“What did you think about last time you touched yourself?”

Your breath hitches. “I thought… I imagined that you —”

“Lying is a sin.”

Fuck.

That’s the thing about Sam; he won’t let you get away with politeness, or with half-truths, or with telling him what most guys would want to hear.

Fuck him and his creepy polygraph spidey senses.

“I imagined that it was Dean,” you whisper, cheeks burning.

“And how did that go, in your fantasy?” There’s no trace of surprise or hesitation in his voice.

“I was — he bent me over the hood of the car.”

“That’s not the first time you’ve thought about him, is it?”

“Sam, I don’t — this is weird,” you say, squirming slightly.

“Why?” he says, and you keep waiting for the jealousy or the disgust to color his words, but all you can hear is curiosity. “Do you think about him while I’m fucking you?”

You let out a long, measured exhale. “Yes.”

“Have you thought about him walking in? Listening to us?”

“Yes. Sam, I don’t—”

“Were you thinking about him a couple days ago, in the middle of the night? When you couldn’t seem to keep quiet?”

You shudder, pressing your thighs together. “Yes.”

“Tell me.” When you hesitate, he continues, “I wondered… felt the way you were squeezing around my cock every time it got too loud. You wanted him to hear.”

“I wanted him to — to imagine. I hoped he was awake, and that he was turned on, and—”

“You wanted him to join in,” Sam supplies, when you falter. His voice sounds husky, now. “You were imagining both of us, huh? What else?”

“Sitting in your lap, in the backseat, while he watches in the rearview,” you mumble, and now that you’ve started talking, it’s hard to stop: “I think about getting on my knees for both of you. Letting him have my mouth while you fuck me, or… one of you holding me down.”

“Have you imagined us handcuffing you? Taking turns with you?” he asks calmly.

“Well now I’m imagining it,” you huff, and your nervous giggle breaks the tension for a moment.

“I know you’re holding out on me,” Sam purrs, when the silence starts to stretch. “Leave my brother out of it, if you’re getting all hung up on that. What else?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

“Trust me. God isn’t judging you and neither am I. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You can’t bring yourself to spit it out, even like this. “That’s it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is silk and steel now. “Why don’t I take a guess?”

“Fine.”

“Knives,” he says bluntly, and your inhale is too sharp to be innocent. “You like the way a knife looks in my hands, the way it’d be dangerous if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Yes.”

“You want to know what it’d be like: cold metal on your skin. A knife at your throat, or... a gun to your temple.”

You’re shaking.

“How’d you know?” you whisper.

“I pay attention,” he says simply, voice ragged, and then there’s a long pause before he asks, “Is that the end of your confession?”

You’d almost forgotten where you are. You’re grateful the screen is still between you and Sam.

“Yes,” you say, and because old habits die hard, you add, “I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past lives.”

“As for penance…” You can hear the teasing note in it, and some of your self-consciousness dissipates. “You can begin by taking off your clothes.”

“Here?” you laugh. “Sam…”

“Here. Now.”

You let out a tiny, nervous whine of protest, but you’re too turned on to care, not when you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight.

Then you strip, taking off your clothes with shaking hands and setting them in a neat-ish pile in one corner of the tiny booth. It’s chilly, and you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling goosebumps run down your bare skin.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“Now... you can say ten Hail Marys,” Sam says, with that smirk in his voice again.

“I — really?” you ask.

Just as you’re thinking that’s all?, Sam is ducking through the curtain of the confessional, crowding you in and pushing on your shoulder until you sit back down on the narrow bench. Even in the barely-there flickers of light you can see the wicked smile on his face as he drops to his knees in front of you.

“And you may not come until you’re finished,” he orders coolly.

Then he’s hooking his arms under your knees, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you forward so that he can get that filthy smirking mouth on you. He licks a hot slick stripe up your center, swirling his tongue over your throbbing clit, and —

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, letting your head fall back against the wood with an echoing thunk, because whatever Sam’s doing with his lips is sending sweet fluttering waves of heat through your belly. “Oh my God, Sam, that’s—”

“If you keep taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he growls, nipping at your inner thigh, “I’ll double it.”

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” you start, and it’s been a while; Sam’s not the only reason you have to pause. “Fuck. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the — the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now—” Your voice breaks as you whimper, and you finish in one long rushed breath: “— and at the hour of our death, amen.”

“There you go,” Sam says, practically moaning the words against slick skin. You’re already having trouble thinking straight.

You start all over again, trying to rush through it as quickly as possible, but you stutter as Sam fucks you shallowly with his tongue.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sam says, curling two long fingers into you.

Except it’s bad. In the short time you’ve been doing this, Sam has learned your sweet spots like nobody’s ever learned them before, and he’s not touching them now. This is barely a tease, compared to what you know he can do to you. It’s bad, and it’s going to get so much worse.

You start to stammer through the third prayer. You’re so wet — from the thrill of the setting, as much as what he’s doing with his tongue — you can hear the slick thrust of his fingers inside you, dirty and distracting.

When you pause for breath between “Mary” and “mother of God,” Sam hums low against your cunt, and you know he enjoys this, you know he gets off on it, but he lets out these noises that never fail to make you feel feverish, and now is no exception. It doesn’t feel chilly any more. By “amen,” you’re burning up.

“Three down,” Sam murmurs.

On the fourth “grace,” he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, and you make a high, squeaky, mortifyingly desperate sound. Your voice keeps breaking as you stumble through the next lines, until you end on a long, relieved groan.

“Good girl,” he croons. “Six more.”

“I can’t,” you hiss.

“You can. And you will.”

On “full,” Sam twists his knuckles, and you gasp, arching your back, squirming. He fucks you in the same rhythm as your words, dragging friction across your g-spot with every syllable, and when you try to speed up, rushing through it, you can’t even get to “sinners” without breaking off in a moan. He stops completely as you pant for breath, and as you mumble through the last lines, painfully slow, you’re rolling your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, desperate for more.

“That’s five,” Sam says. “I’ll give you a second to catch your breath.”

With his free hand, he grabs one of your wrists, guiding your hand to the back of his head. His eyes flick up to you, watching hungrily, until you slide your fingers through the silky strands and tug lightly.

You sigh. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Hope not,” he says, smirking against the crease of your thigh. “I’m into some weird shit, but I like ‘em warm and breathing.”

“Ha fucking ha, Sam, that’s — fuck,” you choke, as he fits his mouth to your clit again, and this time he sucks lightly in time with the slow thrusts of his fingers. You forget what you’re saying, somewhere around “God,” and stumble to the end in bits and incoherent pieces.

“Six.” You realize you’ve got a death grip on his hair, all your muscles tensed-up and rigid with electricity that’s got nowhere else to go, but when you ease up, he pumps his fingers in deep and growls, “Harder.”

He adds a third finger, and it’s so fucking good, so fucking much, filling you with fizzing pressure, and it takes most of your willpower to stop yourself from going under.

You grit out, “HailMaryfullofgrace.” Lightning lances up your belly, and you squirm— “TheLordiswiththee.” — twist your fingers in Sam’s hair— “Blessedartthouamongwomen.” — muscles quaking, cunt clenching around perfectly curled fingers— “Blessedisthe. Fuck. Fruitofthywomb. Fuck — Jesus!” — tension surging and swelling — “Holy Mary, mother of God, prayforussinnersnow, fuck, Sam!” — you’re almost there, almost, and he stops, refusing to give you what you want as you gasp out, “And —at the— the hour of our death, amen.”

“Seven,” he says harshly, and you can feel him breathing hard, damp hot air teasing your slick swollen skin, and his mouth is so close to where you want it. He gives you a second and then: “Keep going.”

You babble out a few words at a time, and your voice is ragged and broken, but it must sound close enough to what he wants; he’s winding you up again, fingers crooking expertly against that sweet spot. The heel of his other hand digs into your lower belly, right over that point of white heat, and it’s so intense, suddenly, that everything goes sparkly and distant.

“Pray for us,” you groan, and he sucks, fast and hard. “Pray for us — us sinners —”

There’s this pressure, right there, right where his fingers are stoking a fire, and it’s blazing, and —

“Sam, I can’t. I can’t, I’m gonna—”

He’s not holding back, and you can’t either. You buck helplessly against the incredible suction of his mouth, holding him with both hands fisted in his hair as you bow up and cry out. All that pressure peaks, crashing down in wave after wave of relief, pulling you under like a rip tide as you come dripping-wet and messy.

It blinds you, for a moment. You’re out of your body for who knows how long, lit-up and paralyzed by the high-voltage shock of it.

When you come back to yourself, Sam is scooping you up and swapping places with you in one smooth movement, manhandling you so that you’re straddling him; he’s got his pants open just enough, can’t seem to wait any longer, and the breathless urgency is so unusual for him that your head spins.

You’re still clenching through the lingering quakes of your orgasm, trembling, boneless like a rag doll, and it’s not you sinking down on his cock so much as him pulling you, filling you up inch by inch as you squeeze and quiver around the thick length of him.

When he’s as deep as he can be, his arms wrapped around you and practically crushing you to his chest, you both pause and take a ragged gulp of air.

“What even was that?” you slur, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall and trying to adjust. He lets out a rough groan through gritted teeth.

“That is what I’ll be seeing every time I look at a confessional now,” he pants, starting to rock up into you. “Never gonna be able to walk into a church without getting hard.”

He wraps an arm around your ribs, and the heat of his splayed hand on your shoulder feels like it spans half your back. Your naked skin seems even more obscene as it brushes the stiff cloth of his suit, and you can feel your own wetness soaking the fabric in places. You shiver, roll your hips, and you can feel the way he reacts, shuddering under you.

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes this a little too much,” you say, breathless.

“Who said anything about too much? No such thing.” He barks out a laugh, bucking up in a way that makes you moan. “I’ve been to heaven, and trust me when I say, this right here—” He twists his hips viciously to emphasize the word. “— this is so much better.”

“God, this is so —” you whimper. He fists a hand in your hair and bites your neck, and you jerk helplessly against him.

“God doesn’t care,” he growls. “God wasn’t listening to you just now.”

“That’s not —” You’re pretty sure he’s missing the point, but with the way your cunt is throbbing at every perfect thrust, you can’t remember what that point is; you can’t remember anything.

“God’s not going to answer those prayers,” he says hoarsely. “I’m the one who’s going to handcuff you and bend you over the hood of the car and fuck you until your legs give out.”

“Holy shit, Sam.” Your brain is shorting out.

“I’m going to make sure Dean sees you when you’re all strung-out and begging for it,” he promises. He jerks up with a vicious twist of his hips, and you grind down to meet him, every inch of your skin singing. “I’m going to hold a gun to your head while you ride me. I’m going to give you anything you want.”

“Please.” Your moan sounds more like a sob, and you can’t see straight anymore; it’s all going distant, until the only thing that feels real is the aching, pulsing heat of him inside you.

Sam claws at your back, dragging his open mouth up the side of your neck until he can snarl against your ear: “God doesn’t answer prayers, but I do.”

He surges up to meet you one last time. Your vision flashes bright white as you come, one exquisite pulse after another rolling through you, and it feels like a purer sort of ecstasy than any religious experience you’ve had in a church.

This is worth a little hellfire.

There is now a follow-up drabble here!

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester smut #soulless sam #stus1kjamexchange

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toyama-division · 3 years ago

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ECO BooN Drama Track 2 - Word Games

Part 1

【 Toi Pharmaceuticals Company Building 】

In a laboratory, Kensaku Morimoto is seen cleaning up his work area and removing his protective gear. He hums cheerfully to himself, while across the room a few of his other associates continue their work.

Scientist 1: Ah, Mori-kun! Are you sneaking off again?

Kensaku: Mm? Heh, did you guys catch me? No, I have some business with my new team so I gotta leave early.

Scientist 1: Team?

Kensaku: Did I not tell you guys yet? I got into the D.R.B. for the Toyama division!

Scientist 2: The D.R.B.? Ya mean the government thing with those newfangled weapons of theirs?

Scientist 1: I believe they’re microphones… But weapons? Hey, can a bunch of wacky mics really be a weapon?

Scientist 2: Of course! They affect the user’s targets psychologically! Ya know how many poor folks get our painkillers to remedy the pains from that sort of thing?

Scientist 1: Wow, seriously? Mori-kun, you’re getting mixed up in that sort of thing?

Kensaku: Yup! Although [Scientist 2], you sound like a paranoid old person.

Scientist 2: Why shouldn’t we be paranoid? For some madman to create that sort of technology is something we have to be worried about. What’s the chance that someone will try and enhance those effects and do something worse!

Scientist 1: Hey now, calm down…

Kensaku: No, they’re right. We should be worried. Honestly, if something comes of this, you guys can use me as a guinea pig after all is done.

Scientist 2: Suit yourself. As long as you’re gonna represent us… Hey, if you win you should donate the money back to the company!

Scientist 1: Why the hell would he do that?! Mori-kun, just escape while you can.

Kensaku: Haha, we’ll think about it!

Scientist 1: Come on! We could use some extra research funds! Hey, don't try and cover my mouth!

Closing the door, footsteps echo down the dull white halls as Kensaku makes his way to the elevator. With a press of the button and a moment of waiting, the silver doors open up, and the scientist steps in and make his descent back to the ground floor.

Kensaku (mumbling): …Do something worse huh?

As the words settled in, something stirred within the man.

Kensaku: Ngh…!

Flinching in pain, an unfamiliar scene filled Kensaku’s head. An empty street filled with rain, followed by a heavily breathing Kensaku running somewhere before a group of voices chirp behind him.

████████████: Uh oh. Did you run out of places to run?

Kensaku: No! You get away…!

████████████: Hold still for us, will you?

The dizzying swirl of pain and sickeningly pink color spots began to dwindle down, before Kensaku could finally hear someone calling out to him from the open door of the elevator.

Medical Student: ...sensei? Morimoto sensei? Are you alright?

Finding himself hunched against the wall of the elevator, Kensaku finally stands straight. Becoming a bit flustered at being caught in such a vulnerable state, he could only nervously laugh at the med student who had caught him in the lift.

Kensaku: Y-Yeah, sorry. I had a really bad migraine. I think I just need to get home and lay down.

Medical Student: Really? You need to care for yourself more sir…

Kensaku: I’ll be fine. And come on, I told you to not be so stiff! You can drop the polite attitude around me!

Patting the student on the shoulder, Kensaku passes the student laughing cheerily as if he wasn’t in a really bad situation just mere minutes ago. However, as soon as Kensaku makes his way outside the building, an emergency cigarette is quickly lit to alleviate the remaining pains that faintly throbbed in his head. After taking a deep inhale of the nicotine, Kensaku could only sigh out dismissively.

Kensaku: I should be fine. Just another… Hallucination is all. Nothing to be worried about...

To be continued...

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic oc #hypnosis microphone oc #hypnosis mic oc #toyama division #eco boon #kensaku morimoto #drama track

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aries-writingblog · 3 years ago

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Whatever It Takes

Summary: When Sam gets injured on a mission, YN will do anything to fix her mistakes. While she worries about fixing Sam, Bucky picks up on her guilt. Picking up the pieces of herself she dropped in her frantic efforts.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2322

Warnings: panic/ anxiety, mentions of blood and character injury

AN: This was one requested by the lovely and wonderful @cherry-season who gave me so much inspiration to write! I hope I did it justice. Happy reading!! GIF is not my own, credit to original creator.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, threatening to break free of its skeletal cage. Anxious adrenaline flowed in her veins as she paced. Hand rubbing across the back of her neck, impatiently waiting for answers.

It had been an hour since she and Sam returned from their mission. The mission that went completely and horrendously wrong. It started off fine- it started normal. Then it got twisted in a way YN couldn’t even comprehend.

She had been watching his back. She always watched her partner’s back. So what went wrong? What went so off rails- what did she do? How could she have let this happen?

“Miss LN?” YN’s head snapped to the source of the noise. A doctor- still in their surgery gear. She took a shaky inhale, her nerves were decimated. “Why don’t you take a seat- just… try to relax a bit.”

“How- how, where is Sam? Is he okay?” She demanded, moving a step toward the doctor. The woman eased her backwards, gently settling her into a chair. Latex covered fingers pried in between her own glove covered hands. Unclenching the tightly wound fists she had created.

The doctor gave a small, apologetic smile. It quickly fell, giving way to a pressed line of condolence. YN’s stomach plummeted, nausea crawling across her organs. Turning her stomach. Bile rising in her throat. She knew that look. It was the one she had to give to victims when they weren’t going to make it.

“There’s been a slight complication.” She reported quietly, her gaze soft as she studied the agent before her. She was unraveling and quickly. Hands shaking, goosebumps raising on her arms.

“I don’t understand,” YN swallowed, throat aching as her nose burned. Eyes watering from unshed tears. Blurring her eyesight. She blinked them back roughly. “You said you would fix him- what complication?”

“Both kidneys were compromised during the mission- he made it here just in time for us to stabilize him but he is going to need a rapid organ donation to survive.” The doctor informed steadily, keeping her voice even and low. YN’s fingers curled again, trapping her hands between her own. The doctor didn’t blink, unfazed by the strength in her grip. “It’s a difficult task but we have everyone we can working on finding at least one quickly. It’s more complicated due to his blood type- we haven’t been able to find anything available nearby.”

YN sniffled, her nose stuffing up as water slipped down her cheeks. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste coating her tongue.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It had been an easy mission- what did she screw up? Why did it have to be Sam? It should’ve been her, she should’ve-

Her eyes snapped up, meeting the doctor’s concerned features. She could still do something. It wasn’t too late. YN released her hold, wiping across her face. Erasing the remnants of her distress. Her bottom lip trembled but she forced the sentence out anyway.

“What’s the type?”

“He’s O positive.” The doctor didn’t hesitate in a response.

A heavy weight began to lift from her chest, she swallowed back the rough, scratchy feeling in her throat.

“I’m O negative- does that work, can that match? I’ll give whatever he needs.” Her words tripped over themselves, rushing out. Any way to compensate. She was the one who got Sam hurt, she was responsible. She should clean it up.

The doctor’s face brightened almost instantaneously, her eyebrows lifting. Eyes wide.

“It can-“ She cut herself off, pulling YN to her feet. “We need to run a tissue sample test to make sure that you’re compatible. While it’s running, fill out the paperwork just in case.”

YN rushed after the woman, hurrying through the hallways. She could save Sam. The guilt burned in her chest, sinking to meet the rising anxiety in her stomach. Creating a turbulent, vile mixture of self loathing. It had to match… this has to work. Otherwise… she would forever be known as the person who killed Sam Wilson.

~~~~~~

The first thing she became conscious of was a tense pressure on her hand. Then came a muted, muffled noise. It was familiar, albeit distorted and distant. A small groan fell from her lips. In response, the pressure became more intense. A firmer hold. Her eyes blinked open slowly, her head felt light, as if it was floating a thousand feet above her body.

“There she is.” YN turned her head as far as possible, which wasn’t much distance, eyes cutting the rest of the way. She tried to clear her vision, blinking to wear the groggy remnants of sleep away. “How you feelin’?”

“Like shit.” She groaned, throat scratchy and dry. Bucky released his hold, standing to pour a glass of water for her.

“Well, it’s to be expected.” He sighed, stepping closer to her bedside. He grasped her chin gently, angling the lip of the cup to her mouth. Tilting the glass slowly, allowing her time to swallow the water down greedily. “Unlike a major surgery cause, there’s no need to tell the people you love you’re having surgery. Especially not if it’s emergent.”

YN’s lips quirked at the corners. She hadn’t really been thinking of anyone but Sam in the moment. It all happened so fast, the whole day seemed to have been but a blur in her memory. She couldn’t recall details, her thoughts crashed against a hazy wall as she glimpsed back.

“Sorry… didn’t really know what was happening until it did.” She spoke slowly, words felt like molasses on her tongue. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, gently brushing her hair back before returning to his previous seat at her bedside. He pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

“I understand…” He told her, a soft smile playing on his features. There was a melancholy glimmer in his irises. They betrayed him, as usual. “I was just scared that you… left.”

All Bucky had received was a phone call from the medical wing. Just that he was written down as YN LN’s emergency medical contact and that she had been in surgery. Granted, it had mainly been his fault- he didn’t listen any further for more details. The phone dropped from his hand and he bolted from their shared apartment. Rushing frantically toward her. Panic sloshing, ripping into his chest. Shredding his last hopes of sanity as his thoughts raced.

YN moved her fingers up to his wrist, the bass of his heartbeat thumped prominently into her own body. In response, Bucky’s fingers curled over her wrist, searching for the same feeling. It was slightly weakened, her heartbeat, but it was there. She was alive. A gentle, sleepy smile appeared on her lips. Eyes almost closed again.

“I’m never leaving.” She promised, applying pressure to his wrist. Bucky returned the smile and the gesture, the knot of emotion in his throat unraveling in steady increments. Allowing him to breathe easier.

He reached over, tugging her blankets back up with his free hand. Over her torso in an attempt to contain some of the heat the flimsy hospital sheets provided. He sniffed, clearing his throat. Turning his face away from her view.

“Get some rest, daredevil.” Bucky instructed, sliding his chair closer. Head resting beside their entwined hands. His blue eyes twinkled with tears he had kept bottled away. All YN wanted was to reach over and brush them away but she felt unconsciousness creeping up from behind. Waiting to drag her back into the darkness. Her mouth wouldn’t open, tongue wouldn’t move. Her eyes drifted closed; her last picture was Bucky’s beautiful face resting beside her.

~~~~~~

Bucky sighed gently, curling closer into the warmth she provided. They couldn’t sleep like they used to. He was accustomed to wrapping around her like a vine, keeping her body close to him. The weight, the pressure and warmth, kept him present. Kept him calm. Even if he awoke in a panic, which had eased in the past few months, the feeling of YN’s figure pressed to his always seemed to relieve his frazzled, frayed nerves.

But now, after the surgery, he couldn’t hold her the way he wanted. He couldn’t provide the comfort he craved to give her. And she needed it. He wasn’t blind. Bucky knew exactly why she had rushed into that surgery. The blame that she had placed on herself was too vast. Much too heavy for her to bear alone.

So he tried to convey the comfort in other ways. Helping her to the bathroom and to the shower. Making her meals and sitting with her while she ate. Reading to her, going through as many pages as it took for her to fall asleep. Keeping her distracted from her bed rest. Bringing her presents, mostly just notes that Sam had written and asked Bucky to deliver.

Sam didn’t blame her. Especially not after she saved his life like she did. Bucky had visited when he woke up, explained the situation. How she felt, how it was eating away at her. And he couldn’t get out of bed yet- he was still being heavily monitored by the medical staff. So, for the past few weeks he had resorted to video calls and notes to her. An attempt to cheer her up. Bucky was relieved to see it was working.

“Buck?” YN’s voice was muffled by their shared comforter. He hummed in response, not fully committed to the idea of waking up. His senses were still slightly dull, lulled into submission by the warm body at his side. “Your arm is really heavy and I really have to pee.”

Bucky grunted, shuffling to slide his arm away from her hips where it had lain. YN shimmied over to the edge of the bed, groaning as she pushed her weight over the side. She stumbled, her hand pressed to the gauze padding on her abdomen. Bucky scrambled out of the bed, sheets tangling around his ankles.

“You’re not suppose to do it on your own.” He grumbled, his tone was sleep- laden. His eyes weren’t even fully open yet. YN scoffed, accepting his arm anyway. Together, they crept toward the bathroom slowly, most of her weight against his side. “You coulda asked, doll.”

“I can handle going to the bathroom by myself, Bucky.” YN insisted, her side glare was fatal. Eyes narrowed and full of frustrated fury. “You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot.”

“But I want to.” He replied simply, leaning against the doorframe, gazing into the bedroom to give her privacy. He didn’t need to, he had already been witness to every inch of her skin. Every mark on her skin, every freckle and scar. But he figured she would appreciate it none the less. Give her a controllable amount of autonomy. “I like doing it.”

It was the honest truth. Bucky reveled in the fact that every ounce of his attention was placed on her and her alone. He liked to care for her. He liked making her coffee and meals, helping her up and down. It was something he knew the old Bucky did often. The old Bucky took care of Steve when he was sick, and Steve’s mother when he could help. When his sisters were under the weather. It was something engraved in his bones: caring for those he loved. Providing comfort.

“It’s rotten work.” YN’s voice was quiet, the running water almost drowned the words out. But Bucky heard them. He turned slowly, giving her a hand towel to dry her hands. Her eyes were down, staring at the fabric between her fingers. Taking her time, hoping he would move past her sentence.

“Not to me,” Bucky responded. His fingertip brushed against her cheekbone, wisps of her hair passing through his fingers. He tucked them gently behind her ear before tilting her chin up. Persuading her watery eyes to meet his. He smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes portraying the overflowing kindness he couldn’t vocalize. “Not if it’s you.”

YN chuckled, a weak smile on her lips. Shaking her head, she carefully shuffled forward. Wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. Bucky’s response was instant. Instinctively holding her delicately to his body. Molded against the other. He inhaled deeply, the smell of her shampoo overwhelming his senses. YN pressed closer, the swell of his chest was achingly comforting. His t- shirt soft against her cheek.

“What do you say, I steal a wheelchair and we go up to Tony’s floor. We can bribe his chef to make some of those pancakes with the…” Bucky’s nose scrunched, brows furrowing. His fingertips that had been tracing shapes on her back stilled as he wracked his brain. Mouth twisting with frustration when he came up blank. “What’s the… those color things, again?”

“Sprinkles?” She suggested, pressing her chin to his chest. He glanced down, their noses almost pressed together. Bucky grinned, leaning forward to smack a kiss to her nose.

“Those. How bout we get some of those and we can meet Sam for breakfast?” He asked, squeezing her hips lightly. She nodded, successfully distracted from her thoughts that had been rampant in her head.

“Can he eat those yet? Isn’t he on, like, a hospital diet or something?” YN inquired, wrapping her arm around his waist.

Bucky hummed, helping her hobble out of the bathroom. He had tried carrying her places but she vehemently disagreed. Claiming she would never get better if she didn’t exercise. Eventually, as always, she would get tired and most of her weight would be on him anyways. He didn’t mind it.

“That sounds like a Sam problem.”

“You’re ridiculous, James Barnes.” He grinned at her laughter. His fingertips digging into her side teasingly.

“It’s all for you, sugar. All for you.”

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james barnes x female reader #james barnes x y/n #james barnes x you #james barnes x reader

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cheepcheepbitch · 3 years ago

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Hey there!

I’m Raven, Ray, or even Chxxp - however you may know me - and I need some help.

[TL;DR] Due to COVID lockdowns, I have had to move houses, and choose bills over emergencies, health, safety etc. It hasn't been enough. Other Donation Links include my Ko-Fi, PayPal, And I'll be opening up commissions over on @chxxpers as too!

Full Info:

In May, my family and I had to uproot and move out for an accumulation of reasons - one of the most detrimental being the fact the rental property we were in was literally collapsing around us. The walls were separated from the floorboards by at least two inches, the windowpane was falling out, and no matter how many times over the years it was “fixed”, the roof of my bedroom was always covered in mold, and the wooden walls were rotting. During our last rental inspection, the agent herself said the house would need to be entirely redone, but the landlord wouldn’t do it while we were there - essentially, we had to put up with it, because he wasn’t going to fix it. We had lived there for 14 years, and it wasn't enough for him to want to fix it.

From a leaking gas heater, holes in the pantry walls that connected directly to outside, and especially the pipe system in the bathroom so outdated the plumber we had come out to fix it said he couldn’t legally touch it without overhauling it. We went through a lot of shit with this house.

So we had to find the cheapest place that could support four family members, but we had to stay close to where my siblings go to school, work, etc. Turns out, that’s not exactly feasible, so I’m living in a garage! I quite like my garage, this isn't gonna be me complaining about having a roof over my head, for I am beyond grateful for that. But my garage is something that definitely lacks a little bit of security - the first thing being that I now live in a townhouse, so my garage is actually connected to other ones on the walls, and the garage door opens up to an alleyway where people loiter at all hours of the night. The door that makes the garage more a “room” is a very DIY project done by the previous renters - so the door itself just… does not shut properly. If the wind is too strong, it swings open, and if it’s raining, everything in my room gets wet.

Which is where the GoFundMe really comes in; Because of the move, we’re still paying off a heap of bills in relation to that; from the movers, the skip, to the bond, everything’s slowly getting paid off. But I’ve had to push aside any of the security we were going to do in my room, so a huge chunk of me needing help on here is the means to simply procure a lock for this door - literally a dollar store one - and a tarp to stop the leaking through the roof, because I can’t afford for water to ruin my graduation final again.

I have been unable to work, let alone find work, due to the lockdowns we are in. The government believes it’s feasible for me to live off of 200$ a fortnight, and because my occupation (despite the fact I WORK for the government) fits so many loopholes, I’m not eligible for anything they, or even community funds, may offer. Apparently, I don’t live or work enough in a hotspot for anything, even though the street I live on has literally been /the/ hotspot for weeks now. My sister and mom are both in and out of getting tested for COVID, so we’re losing money in that regard too, and that’s not even mentioning all the medical bills we have piling up; I have to cancel psychology appointments, psychiatry appointments, etc. I have even had to dismiss emergencies due to financial strife, (CW: Graphic) I dropped a heavy box on my finger during the move and peeled, if not degloved, the side of it. I couldn’t afford the risk of medical bills and had to care for it myself, which definitely… made it worse, but it’s fine now. Not to worry for the skin IS healed, but the nerves haven’t really come back. (CW End)

But alongside this, I’m trying to complete my final year of University, which has continued online so you can imagine the internet bills. I’m finishing up a Studio Arts Major, and cannot afford any of the supplies I’ve needed, so I’ve had to warp my entire project around my struggles - and pray that I can still pass with what I’ve got, but I’m still paying off some of the utensils I had to order very early on, before lockdown, and it’s been a hassle.

So essentially - this GoFundMe is more… if you have spare change, I would appreciate the support! Anything to be able to not have to prioritise bills over my health. I would appreciate it beyond anything I could say.

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anagentinwriting · 4 years ago

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Lifeline - Part 6

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: 2800+

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Language

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

A few days after your stroll with Steve, you finally had a day off of work, well, more like the next three days, which was a relief. Taking a stool at the kitchen island, you let the hot mug warm your hands. It was a long night with nightmare after nightmare resulting in little to no sleep. You would have slept in, but today is the day you were signing your lease. It was time to stop using your brother as a crutch and get back out into the world by yourself again. Now, all you had to do was tell Thor.

You blew the steam off your mug, hearing Thor come barreling into the kitchen, patting you on the shoulder before grabbing a mug from the cabinet. He has a huge smile on his face, pouring himself some coffee.

“YN, you will never believe what happened yesterday? It was marvelous.”

“You got laid?” you yawned, rubbing your eyes. How he never looked tired still bothered you. I mean, his energy was always way more than you could handle. It was like he was from a different planet sometimes.

“Yeah, well duh, but besides that?”

“What happened?”

“Steve, you know, Steve--” you nodded your head slowly, wondering where he was going with this “--He rescued a dog from a burning warehouse, and now he has adopted it and called it his own. Here look at the pretty boy.” Thor reached for his phone in his pocket and showed you a picture of the dog. It looked like a golden retriever mixed with something else, but you couldn’t place it. “Steve named him Cosmo.”

“Aww, he’s cute. How did this even happen?”

“He heard a dog barking, ran inside, rescued it, and then got his ass chewed by Danvers. It was hilarious,” he chuckled. “Steve was like the building isn’t clear and Danvers was like don’t you dare, but then he was like blegh and took off--” he smiled, shaking his head to himself. “--once Steve took off, Bucky went right in after him. I tell yeah, those two are like two peas in a pod.”

“The adrenaline makes you do crazy things sometimes.”

“Yeah, but still, crazy morons.” He shook his head. “How are you doing this morning? It sounded like you had a rough night, and not to be harsh, but you look kind of terrible.” He pointed his finger at you, waving it over you as your mouth dropped open.

“Thanks so much for that uplifting compliment, brother.” You rolled your eyes, unable to hide the annoyance in your voice. “It’s fine, a few nightmares here and there, but it’s a take it day by day kind of thing, right.” He nodded. “But there is something I wanted to talk to you about?”

“What’s that?” Thor asked, taking a sip of his mug. “Darryl, my good man, good morning.”

“Good morning to you both,” he nodded at each of you. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet, stepping over to the coffee maker, which Thor was still standing in front of.

“What did you want to tell me?” Thor asked, not even noticing Darryl trying to get some coffee.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Thor, move. Darryl wants coffee.”

“Sorry pal, I didn’t see you there.” He smiled, patting him on the shoulder, and moved out of the way.

Darryl nodded his head at you as if to say a silent thank you. He filled his mug and took the stool next to you. Thor watched him the whole time before his eyes connected with the clock. “Oh, shit, is that the time. I have to get to the station.”

“I’m moving out,” you blurted out, forcing Thor to stop dead in his tracks and face you.

“Ahhh...what?”

“I’m moving.”

“No, you’re not. I don’t want you to move out. Darryl--” he pointed at him “--Darryl doesn’t want you to move out.”

You turned around on your stool to look at him. “While Darryl has been sleeping and living on the couch for the last three months.”

“Darryl doesn’t mind. Do you, Darryl?”

“Well, actually…” Darryl started, but Thor cut him off.

“Darryl, please stop talking--” Thor held up his hand at him “-- I am trying to have a conversation with my sister.” He turned back towards you. “What if he finds you? Who is going to protect you?”

“I don’t need your constant protection. I can handle myself; besides, I started training with Val, and she has been teaching me a few things.”

“Really? Like you were protecting yourself when you were married to that guy for what...6 years. Yeah, real fine job you did protecting yourself there.” You glared at him, shaking your head. “And what about when you had your breakdown a couple of weeks ago, or how you just told me you’re having nightmares.” You bit your tongue, trying to hold back what you really wanted to say to him.

“Well, I am gonna leave you two to it,” Darryl started to stand up.

“No, Darryl, sit and stay,” Thor stated, forcing him to sit right back down. Darryl stared wide eyes at you and nodded to himself. This must have felt like torture to him, similar to when a friend is getting yelled at by their parents, and you’re like this is a nice wall.

“Darryl, it’s fine. Go and get ready for work.” He stood back up from his stool.

“No, Darryl, sit back down.” He sat back down.

“No, go, Darryl, you have to get ready for work.” He stands up and swiftly walks out of the kitchen to the living room, grabbing his suit and rushing towards the bathroom.

“Darryl doesn’t even work today?”

“Yes, he does. If you would ask him a question now and then, instead of making him do your chores.”

“He likes doing them.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. It was like arguing with a child; once he sees something shiny, he changes the subject. You stood up and took a deep breath. “Thor, I’m moving. I found this cute little one-bedroom condo a few blocks from work in a great neighborhood. It sits in a nook with two other condos and has a top-notch security system. There’s even a neighborhood watch, and the price is too perfect to pass up.”

“But why move when you’re not ready to be out on your own again.”

“You’re the only one saying I’m not ready. Thor, I need to start living for myself again; instead of using you as a crutch that I constantly fall back on.” He shook his head. “It’s the next step, and I need to move forward.” You bit your lip, marching past him towards your room.

“I bet Loki would agree with me,” he yelled down the short hallway.

You stopped dead in your tracks and turned on your heels to face him. “That’s where you’re wrong, brother. He sided with me on this one--” you pointed to yourself “--he wants me to move on and get my own place. He wants me to FIND myself again, but you...you don’t. You don’t know what it was like living with someone you thought you could trust. Someone you thought loved you and then...then he--” your voice cracks “--forget it, you’re not even listening to me.”

“Sometimes, you’re just as stubborn as Loki.”

“Well, he is my favorite brother, and that shit is bound to rub off on me sooner or later.” You turned back on your heel and slammed your door closed.

“THEN, WHY DON’T YOU GO MOVE IN WITH HIM THEN,” Thor yelled, hearing it echo down the hall to your room.

You bit your lip and swung the door open. “MAYBE I WILL, OR BETTER YET, I'LL JUST GET MY OWN PLACE,” you replied, slamming the door again.

_______

“Steve, I need to tell you something,” Bucky grunted as he bench pressed with Steve spotting him.

“What’s that pal?”

“There is this girl, while more so a woman than a girl, but I’ve seen her on more than one occasion if you know what I mean.” Bucky put the barbell back on the rack and sat up on the bench to switch out. “And man, she’s something else. At first, when we hooked up, it was, I’m not gonna lie, it was hot. The best I’ve ever had. I won’t tell her that because she’ll get all cocky about it, but now I am starting to wonder if I’m the best she ever had, you know?”

“Buck. I don’t think you’ve ever talked about a woman like this before. It’s almost like you’re catching feelings for her.” Steve leaned down on the bench as Bucky started spotting him.

“No, I’m not; besides, what do you know, man?” Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Last I heard, you didn’t know a thing about women.”

“Yeah, well, they can be complicated, but you’re telling this to the guy who was married before,” he chuckled, getting fifteen reps in before sitting up.

“Why do you always use that line? It's not fair because I have no comeback to it.”

“That’s why I use it,” he chuckled as Bucky shook his head. “It shuts you right up.”

Steve glanced over when he heard a door slam from the locker room. Thor stomped out, wrapping his hands angrily for the punching bag. He grunted, cursing under his breath.

“Hey, you alright, Thor? You’re really taking it out on that punching bag?” Steve asked, looking over at Bucky, who had a smirk on his face from watching him. “Thor, what’s up?” Thor made a face at them and continued to beat up the bag when the alarm blared, forcing them to stop everything, suit up, and get into the truck.

“Alright, gentleman, it sounds like we have a lady stuck in a donation bin. We have word she has been in there for at least 3 hours, and on this hot day in Los Angeles, best guess it is well over 100 degrees in that metal container. We will have to work quickly to get her out, so here’s the plan…”

______

On-site, Steve got out of the truck and followed Thor to one of the gear hatches. A few news crews were already on the scene along with a crowd of people watching from the barriers the police set up. He sighed, rubbing the sweat off his forehead. It was a scorcher today, and the inside of the bin was only going to get hotter for the woman trapped inside.

“Steve, I’ve noticed you have a way with words,” Thor admitted, trying to find the saw.

“I have my moments,” he smirked with a half shrug.

“My sister wants to move out,” Thor confided, scratching his beard before grabbing the saw. “She found this condo.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yes and no,” he sighed, following behind Steve to the donation bin where Val was talking to the woman inside.

“Hey, boys. Her name is Maggie Lang, and she’s conscious, but she’s burning up. She’s sweating profusely and feels like she could pass out at any minute, and judging by the increasing heat index, it is not going to get any better, so let’s hurry this up.”

“Maggie, go to the other side of the bin as far as you can and cover up with this jacket," Steve advised, handing her his fireman's jacket. "This will protect you from any of the flying sparks while we cut the hinges off." Steve stepped away from the container, shooting Thor a quick nod.

“Ready,” Thor announced as he turned on the saw and started cutting the door hinges. Everyone backed away, and after he got the last one sawed off, the door creaked, falling to the ground. Maggie was holding onto an ugly rabbit stuffed animal, looking very flushed and dehydrated. Val and Sam ran over to check on her.

“Whoa, you went in there to save that ugly thing,” Sam asked, smiling down at the toy.

“It’s my daughter’s,” she breathed. “My ex-husband got it for her, and I accidentally threw it in the donation bin.”

_______

Steve started carrying equipment back to the truck when Thor came up next to him. “The thing is, since you’re new…newish, you might not know that YN was married.” Steve widened his eyes at him. “Technically, she still is married, but she left him and ended up on my doorstep.”

“I see,” Steve added, narrowing his eyes, stuffing the equipment into the hatch.

“It wasn’t a happy marriage. It was destructive and took an emotional toll on her, both mentally and physically.” He ran his hand through his short hair. “I don’t think she’s ready to be out on her own yet. I mean, how is she even going to protect herself if he comes around?”

“Think you’re underestimating her man?” Thor stopped what he was doing, furrowing his brows at him. “She got out. She left him. Leaving those toxic relationships is the hardest part. Besides, hasn’t it been three months? If he knows where she is, why hasn’t he come around.” Thor nodded. “You should be proud of her and encourage her. She is moving on and trying to make a new life for herself without her ex.”

“But my point is, she’s leaving again, and I don’t want us to lose touch like we have in the past. She’s always been close to Loki, so with me getting to know her again has been great.”

“It’s not like she is moving back across the country, Thor.”

“I know, but we had a fight recently, and she said she was going to either move out or go back to live with Loki.”

“She probably didn’t mean it; besides, if she moves into the condo, you can go visit her anytime you want. YN is building a new life for herself, and you should be proud of her.”

“You’re right, Steve.” He patted him on the shoulder, a huge grin hitting his features. “I am proud of her. I should talk to her after this.”

“Yeah, you should.”

“You sound like Bruce. He is really good at giving advice.”

“Bruce?”

“He is the one that popped my dispatcher cherry. I’ll tell you the story sometime.”

Steve chuckled. “Sounds great.”

_______

You sat on the couch with Darryl on the other end, flipping through the channels, hoping something good would show up. Earlier today, you went and signed the lease on the condo, and you could start moving in tomorrow. It was a big step for you, and you were going to take it whether or not Thor supported you. You needed to do this for yourself.

“YN,” Thor shouted, entering the house, making you jump a little on the couch.

“In Darryl’s room,” you yelled back to him. Thor came in and stepped in front of the television, so you couldn’t see the screen. “Excuse me? We were watching that.”

“Are you positive you want to move?” He stepped over the coffee table and sat on it.

“Yes. I signed the lease earlier today, and there's nothing you can do to change my mind.”

“Great, that’s fantastic,” he nodded, giving you a thumbs up. “I don’t want to change your mind. I want you to do it.”

“Really?” Your eyes widened, then narrowed with suspension. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I realized I was being childish,” Thor admitted, and you nodded in agreement. “I want you to be happy, and if this is what makes you happy, I’m with you, but are you going to be okay living by yourself?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, making him narrow his eyes at you. “But I have to try, right? I

mean, the only reason I do feel ready is because of you.”

“Me, why?”

“You convinced me to start over and make a new life here in LA. You took me in, kept me safe, and he still hasn’t come around. Sure, he called the one time, but that was it. I was scared when I left, but you helped me feel safe again. I still have a long way to go before I start to feel myself again, but I am getting there with your help and the friends I have made here. To be honest, I don’t think I will ever be fully ready to be out on my own, but the hardest step is taking that first step.”

His face broke out into a huge smile. “I’m proud of you, sister, and I’m sorry about earlier.”

You smiled at him and leaned over, pulling him in for a hug. “You’re forgiven, and thanks for everything, Thor.” You pulled back from him. “Oh, one more thing, I’m moving in tomorrow.”

“Great...yay...so soon,” Thor pulled you in for another hug, squeezing you tighter. From the quick glimpse you saw in his eyes, he wasn’t ready for you to go, but you loved how he was trying to support you.

“So, I can have my room back, now?” Darryl asked from the couch.

_____

AN: Thanks for reading Part 6! She is finally moving out!! And Darryl just might get his room back! When I was trying to figure out who Thor's roommate should be, I instantly thought of Darryl. I mean, he technically is Thor's Earth roommate, right! 😂�� So, Bruce popped Thor's dispatcher's cherry....kind of makes you wonder what went down, am I right? 😉🤔 And what about that teensy tiny little comment Steve made, any ideas what might have happened there?! Anyways likes, reblogs, and comments always welcome. Until next week...thanks again!

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headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne · 3 years ago

Text

Sekiro Chain 1

Original prompt: Kuro teaches Wolf how to play Shogi. Mun's note: I love how this chain turned out. Everyone did such an amazing job. Please show your apprecation for the characters by checking out their work and consider giving this chain a reblog.

@ghoulsteak

In Kuro’s tower, the summer air is warm and still. The sliding doors stand open to let what breeze there is pass through unimpeded. Sun streams in through the western door, painting a bright square across the tatami. Motes of dust spiral in the light.

Kuro can see Wolf from where he sits reading, a dim figure with only a foot caught in the sun, seated with his back to the opposite wall. It’s easy to forget he’s there, both because Wolf has been present in the corner of Kuro’s eye for a long time now and because being forgettable is a trait the shinobi has carefully cultivated.

He stands now and pads silently across the floor. Time for another inspection, Kuro supposes; another circuit around the tower’s perimeter (cliff side included), another quiet pass among the sun-streaked piles of books in the upper room. Wolf is always conscientious in his checking and rechecking, but today he seems to be wound even tighter than usual. On a day as beautiful as this one, that strikes Kuro as something of a shame.

As Wolf steps back inside from his patrol, Kuro sets down his book. “Wolf,” he calls. The shinobi’s head turns. “Would you like to play shogi with me?”

“I do not know how, my lord.”

“That’s no matter. I can teach you,” Kuro says.

Kuro himself learned from Owl. The old man taught him the game years ago while he lingered at the castle. He kept to himself whether was simply resting between outings or sniffing around amongst the servants and courtiers. Kuro has beaten him only once, and he suspects that the old man threw that game. He is as difficult for Kuro to read as his son is easy.

But still, he offers Wolf the same reason for learning as the Owl gave him. “They say shogi is good for the mind. It helps one practice strategy.” He knows Wolf struggles to justify doing things that don’t reap tangible results. The shinobi’s chief leisure activity, insofar as he can be said to have one, is sleeping. Wolf inclines his head in agreement.

Wolf seats himself across the table, and Kuro begins setting up the board. He explains the rules of the game to him; they’re a lot to take in, but he knows Wolf prides himself on only having to be told something once, and thus does not repeat himself. He listens in silence, nodding from time to time or interjecting with a murmured question, and they begin to play.

A minute and a half passes. Wolf loses.

“Hrm,” he says, brow furrowed. Kuro hides a smile with his sleeve.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to take it easy on you, Wolf,” he says.

A slight shake of the head. “Of course.”

“Again?”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Kuro offers him no advice. He doesn’t want to teach Wolf to play like him; even after three years’ worth of rainy days spent at the board, he suspects his own style is still too much like the Owl’s. He wants to see how Wolf plays shogi.

As they begin again, he watches the shinobi’s expression. Between turns, his gaze darts about the room, quicksilver eyes beneath a stone brow. His attention is divided a dozen different ways. This, rather than his inexperience, is why Kuro beats him again.

“Again?”

“Certainly.”

Perhaps, Kuro thinks, he should ask him to play next in a room with shuttered windows and a single, easily barred door. He can see the roots of Wolf’s technique, the shape of his quick, guarded mind beginning to describe itself upon the board, but he won’t let himself become immersed in the game. Wolf can’t let go of his awareness of the tower’s points of entry and escape, of the distance between the palm of his hand and the hilt of his sword.

Kuro begins to push Wolf’s slow offense back, intending to corner him on his own side of the board. Confident in his advance, he overreaches. Wolf capitalises on the chink revealed in his armour and cuts behind Kuro’s lines. As he finishes his move, he glances up at Kuro.

“Hah!” Kuro sits back in surprise, eyes alight. A hint of a smile runs along the furrows of Wolf’s face, and is gone just as quickly.

“I apologise, Wolf,” he says. “I underestimated you.”

Wolf inclines his head. “It is no matter.”

As the game continues to its close and the game after it begins, Kuro watches Wolf’s hold on his vigilance relax a little more. Perhaps there’s something comforting to him after all about a battle with no stakes, an enemy who wants nothing more than to pass a summer afternoon.

@dragonbasket

@fateoftheundead

“Are you ready, Wolf?”

Sekiro nodded and knelt before the low table across from the young lord, who busied himself shuffling a stack of papers. Kuro’s movements were not that of a studious priest, or a graceful shinobi, but guileless and clumsy like the youth he was.

“Why is this necessary for my mission?”

“Your sentiments are pure and honorable, but the pursuit of knowledge and understanding is just as pure, just as honorable.”

“As you insist. I do not know exactly what it is I do not know.”

***

The Wolf turned his head back and forth, flustered as he had ever been and rarely showed. “As I told the Heir, I do not know what it is I do not know. I… have heard that that is a good place to start. To start knowing.” A snort emerged from the background, amidst the wooden idols.

Emma, the mild doctor, approached, frowning in the direction of the snort. “That is true. Do not be so hard on yourself.” She took a seat. “Please continue.”

Sekiro handed the stack of Kuro’s scrolls to the man seated on the ground, who blinked with wide open eyes at the documents. Fujioka gave the smile of a man retreating from a tiger. “So whaddya need me for, anyway?”

“My letters are insufficient. You are the right choice, despite your grumbling.”

“Fine, fine, some compliment.” Spreading the papers out, he bent his head to the scroll he had selected. “So… I have heard it said, oh monks, that… hmm, I dunno that’s the best way to begin. You’ve got far more wisdom than you know, Wolf, but these doctrineses may be too big a breakfast. Tell me- what scriptures did you learn as a child?”

Sekiro sighed. “I remember very little from before I was orphaned, and once the Owl had adopted me I had very little time for scriptures or doctrines.”

Another scoffing laugh came, and this time it’s owner came closer. The Sculptor rose creakily and made his way over as well, though much less gracefully than the doctor.

“Ahh, these old bones need a stretch anyway. The Owl? Ukonzaemon Usui? One slip of the pen and he would have been a cloud-and-water man. Bah, you’re more a cloud-and-water man than the old fool ever could have been.” He bowed deeply to Fujioka, his wooden left arm almost scraping the floor. “Forgive me, scroll jumbler. Forgive me, Wolf. Please continue.”

“I suppose that I know as much as anyone. Gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā?”

Seeing the lost look on his face, the others in the room repeated the simple sutra. “You all know it. I’m gald I knew it as well. Perhaps this is not the correct interpretation, but it has always struck me... gone, gone, everyone gone... What does it mean to be shinobi? If we become one with the shadows, then do we exist at all?”

Fujioka beamed. “Oh, that’s wisdom alright, Wolf! As direct as the 6th Patriarch’s famous verse, and maybe as good.” He looked around sheepishly. “What? I know stuff.”

“Do you know who else had something to say about the Heart of Wisdom?” The Sculptor’s grimace was unreadable. Emma turned to him, but cut him only with the gaze of her eyes. “Master Hakuin! Do you know what he said about our beautiful Heart? Scripture scrolls dug from piles of garbage!”

“Garbage?” Emma’s face at last betrayed a hint of anger.

“Easy, sweet doctor. I mean no offense. We may pare our nails at the foot of a burning lamp, we may polish a brick into a mirror, but these base things are not bad. Simply a glimpse of truth. These,” he said, flinging a gnarled finger past the Heir’s donated stack of scrolls. “are wonderful in their own way, but for a man of my inclinations, I prefer the schematics our Wolf brings back. To build wondrous things!”

“Not from piles of garbage.” Sekiro’s face grew dark as he thought back to where he had found many such scrolls and the like that he’d found, in pockets and pouches, in dark corners used as hiding places, and he thought of the secrets he’d found as well, the deep crimson secrets that lay at the heart of men. And monsters.

“Of course, Wolf. Now, of all the treasures you bring back to our little ryokan... I prefer the sake best.”

“Sake!” Fujioka theatrically covered his face, mimicking the voice of a mortified grandmother. “In the midst of our scripture study! Would that not violate the Fifth Precept?”

“Indeed, indeed, sir, but there is one sin that the Tathagatha held more grave than any violation of the precepts.”

“What is this sin, Sculptor?” Emma’s face had lost all anger and she seemed genuinely curious.

“The disruption of the Sangha! Chaos amongst friends and disciples! Vituperation!” He grinned. “I am an old man. I get cranky when I do not get my sake. And when I get cranky...”

“The next time I find any sake, I will bring it right back. For the Sangha, that is.”

“Make sure you do. My friends, is anyone else cold? Without a little something to warm my belly, I feel every draft.” Without waiting for a response he walked over to the hearth where a few embers struggled to produce rarefied strands of flame. “We’re out of firewood.”

The others ignored him and Fujioka produced another scroll from the pile. “The Hekiganroku... some of these things the Heir sent us are quite advanced. Don’t get me wrong, I find a quality koan to be pleasing on its own merits, but the solution of these... beyond me.” The information broker squinted down at another scroll. “Oooh, ooh. The Heir left a little note in the margin. ‘Master Dogen’s commentary is superb.’ Aha! Dogen.” Fujioka became suddenly excited and turned his squint towards Emma. “Waittaminute...”

“I was indeed apprenticed to Dogen.” A faint smile. “Not the original Dogen. He was centuries ago. How old do you think I am?”

Before the broker could reply, Sekiro piped up. “Doctor, you don’t look a day over 200.” She rewarded him with a widening smile at the quip. She rubbed her hands together.

“It is cold. My Master Dogen would sometimes pretend to be a Zen master and jump out of corners to frighten me. He made a crude kesa out of bandages and covered his hair with a sack to seem bald.” She paused in thought. “I am not sure why.”

“Students must sometimes go along with their master’s teaching, I am sure.” Sekiro nodded.

Fujioka continued. “No offense, Wolf, but I got something here from the Hekiganroku that reminded me of you, and our dear ol’ sculptor. Case 54...” He recited the koan and put the scroll down.

“Yunmen Extends His Hands. I see. But I have only one hand.”

“Between the two of us we have two, Wolf,” called the Sculptor from the background, still puttering noisily among the idols. “Yunmen would slap us well if that were the case.”

Sekiro stood momentarily from where he’d crouched across from Fujioka and stretched his back before sitting again. “I recall some dharma if you forgive my rough understanding.”

“Of course!” The broker smiled in anticipation despite himself.

“Yunmen’s koan reminded me of another great master fond of hitting his disciples. Rinzai! What a fearsome teacher. There are tales that I have heard of his striking pupils to teach a lesson, but his most impressive act was worthy of a shinobi. In the meditation hall, during the most serene meditation, he would appear out of nowhere beside any monks whose minds were wandering, and beat them with a stick!”

“That stick is called the kyosaku and the monks must raise their hands and ask to be struck. It is an efficacious remedy for a sluggish mind.” Emma nodded to Sekiro as she rose as well. “I think I prefer your version, though.” “Aha! A fine Buddha indeed.” The Sculptor appeared with one of his wooden idols, one of surpassing craftsmanship. Without any hesitation he flung the idol onto the fire. The others reacted with a combination of horror and disbelief that led into a general clamor. Sekiro himself adopted a blank expression, as there was certainly a finer point to this act that he did not understand. “Protest all you like, it’s only a statue.”

“Of the Tathagatha. Such shame you bring with your recklessness,” seethed Emma. The sculptor scoffed.

Having recovered from his initial shock, Fujioka looked into the Sculptor’s eyes. “This is something I heard about once. That old pervert Ikkyu once did the same. But...”

“A common error, sir. Not Ikkyu, but Tanka.” He turned to Emma. “Do you mean to say that I burned the Buddha himself? Some relic of the Shaka Nyorai?”

“No, it is simply a wooden statue, but-”

“Simply wood,” he interrupted. “Then you do not mind if I burn another as the night grows colder?”

No one spoke for a long moment.

Fujioka broke the silence. “Ya think maybe we studied enough for the young master? I’d like to know for next time... I mean, if there is a next time... who are the masters you’d wanna hear more from?”

“Let us decide which sage would win in a battle, then!” The Sculptor’s face creased with amusement. “Wolf, who do you think?”

“Rinzai, of course. His stealth and fearsome strikes would take the day.” He turned to Emma. “What would you say, doctor?”

“Eno, the patriarch. His touch could make even the most ephemeral things as immovable as mountains. They say in a distant temple he sits mummified, unmoving but still meditating. True strength.”

“I dunno if the Heir thinks this is appropriate. Says here the Buddha himself specified that this subject is not suitable for the path to enlightenment.” He leaned forward with a sly whisper. “I would be like Dorin. Simple, happy teachings, and could spring through the trees like a monkey. Or a shinobi.”

“My turn,” said the Sculptor. “I am sure of my preference for the toughest master. Eka, Damo’s disciple. A great general before that, a fearsome warrior. To prove his devotion to becoming a student of Damo, he cut off his own arm and presented it to the patriarch, and became a great teacher in his own right. Invincible.”

Sekiro’s intuition prickled at him. He tensed, sensing something akin to danger, but...

The sculptor removed his wooden arm and held it aloft. “Wolf, I’ve seen how well you adapted to my previous arm. Such clever uses of the humble mechanisms I installed. But this thing? What use is it? I carved one arm with the other arm. Eka did not even replace his. So perhaps...” He shivered. “Is it cold in here?”

The sculptor tossed his wooden arm onto the fire.

There was no outcry from the others. Only a shocked silence. The sculptor rubbed the bare spot where his shoulder terminated. “Now, Wolf, about that sake...”

A slight smile. “For the Sangha?”

“For the Sangha.” Another uncomfortable pause, then the Sculptor let loose with a cackle.

In the warmth and light of the fire, the others joined him in laughter as the arm lit the room with its flames. @thefatladysang

@poisonhemloc

The old route to Senpou Temple started in the silvergrass field. Genichiro had never been to the temple, but there was a first time for everything. He needed the Mortal Blade, now, that was held there. The crimson one. The black one was further but much easier to get to, and relatively unguarded- but he didn’t want to risk the black one, the one that would kill Grandfather if he used it too much. Grandfather staying alive was the only reason the Interior Ministry hadn’t fully attacked Ashina. And he didn’t dare hasten the illness’s work before he had the Dragon’s Heritage, true immortality, not the Sediment’s poor version. With the Dragon’s Heritage he could stand up to the Interior Ministry, and win.

Grandfather had obviously thought the Sediment was making him unstable, when he stopped to tell him where he was going. A little part of Genichiro still wondered why he had even taken the time to do that. And wondered why he had come out here, where he had lost against the shinobi for the first time by a hair’s breadth, when the more reliable route to Senpou now ran through the dungeons. He turned to leave-

-and a strange depression in the grass caught his eye.

There was an arm. There was the shinobi’s arm, laying here unrotting. It had been a month, something should have at least tried chewing on it, but it looked as though he had just cut it off.

Some part of him knew why. He waited for the knowledge to work its way to the front of his mind through hazes of red.

The Dragon’s Heritage. The same as Tomoe. And Genichiro remembered a spar between Grandfather and Tomoe, when he was younger, before Takeru had died and Kuro had been born.

Neither of them were trying to be careful, but Isshin was always better at swordplay than Tomoe; xe had shined with archery instead, and taught Genichiro. And Isshin had cut off Tomoe’s right arm, with the same lunge Genichiro had used for the shinobi. And had given Genichiro a look, as Tomoe collapsed, and held the arm next to the stump, and when Tomoe revived it had reattached. And it had been like Isshin had never cut it off.

It must have been due to the Dragon’s Heritage. And now…

The prosthetic Dogen had spent days, months, working on, had been given to the shinobi. Every shinobi trick conceivable could fit in it. It would be better, smarter, to leave this somewhere the man would find it, and have him reattach it and lose the prosthetic and the advantage it gave.

But the rational train of thought was being drowned out by the louder, much more insistent voice that had listened to Orangutan complain, sometimes loudly, every time he was at the castle, about the arm he had lost continuing to hurt. And several soldiers, and samurai, who had also lost limbs and complained about the same thing. He shouldn’t delay any longer though, he needed to be moving. Genichiro grabbed the arm and left for the dungeons.

There was a brazier not far from the entrance, next to the cave Doujun had been reduced to using. Genichiro knocked it over and dropped the arm on top of the coals, watched it smoulder, and then catch when he dumped fabric- Doujun probably brought it over to tend to the stab wounds but they were fine, the Sediment was healing everything- and watched as the arm caught and blazed. He had a lot of things he needed to do but… he could wait, for a few minutes, ignoring Doujun grumbling as he retreated to the little cave and watch the armor distort and melt and the arm reduce to blackened bones before he turned and left for Senpou.

Isshin watched the shinobi nod politely, and stand. He would be after the Crimson Mortal Blade, now, like Genichiro was. He half turned- and tensed up, and grimaced, just for a second, but Isshin saw it. The prosthetic definitely twitched, and his good arm looked like he was going to grab at it for a moment, before he went back to the blank face he always wore.

“Something wrong, Sekiro?” Another little hint of emotion, he did not like that Isshin had seen that and commented on it. Now, would he lie, or admit to it? And which would make that shadow in his eyes worse?

“...Just for a second, my… injury, hurt. More than it has. I… believe I need to talk to Lady Emma.”

“Go then! Emma knows what to do with severed limbs.” Isshin watched him leave, not using the prosthetic’s grappling hook like he had to get here. Not using the prosthetic at all, actually. He would have to ask Emma what had happened. He had not painstakingly arranged for this man to get to Kuro and helped him hone his talent for killing just for his arm to twinge a little and have him give everything up.

Wolf had opened the library window Kuro hadn’t been able to budge as soon as he was back, and talked to Kuro, and now was approaching Emma. He looked tenser than he had, had Isshin given him bad news? And he hesitated for a moment, before seemingly resigning himself.

“Something… happened, to the injury.” Emma fought to keep the shock off her face, Wolf was asking for medical help beyond the gourd? When she went to check in with Isshin would she find him cured, talking to a normal, sane Genichiro?

“Okay. We need to take the prosthetic off anyway, I need to check the bandages. What happened?” Wolf had been keeping his voice quiet; Kuro hopefully was too engrossed in reading to notice, and Emma stayed quiet as well.

“It felt like I touched metal held in a fire, with the cut part of my arm.” Emma frowned, helping him remove the prosthetic and the remainder of the kote, not touching the scarf he was overly protective of. Pain from the missing limb, that happened a lot, and he had said it felt like burning. And pain in the remaining limb, from being cut. Burning in the remaining limb was not normal.

Wolf tensed up when she started unwrapping bandages, too, but that was normal for him. There were clean bandages up here, at least, Emma didn’t want to reuse what she was unwrapping. She should have changed everything when he woke up, but there was no way he would have trusted her enough to let her. Nevermind that she had bandaged the arm in the first place and been changing it while he’d been unconscious, and worried that it never looked like it was healing, just not bleeding as much.

Now it did, it looked… like he had said, like someone had cauterized it. Which was normally what Emma would have done anyway, except the Dragon’s Heritage should have healed it completely.

“You were just talking with Isshin?”

“Yes.”

“...Well, it cauterized itself. I don’t know why. It’s still going to hurt- it might hurt more, for a while. I need you to stay here for a few hours, at least, in case something else happens.”

“I cannot. I have Lord Kuro’s orders to fulfil.” Like he hadn’t asked Emma to check his arm. “I will-”

“Not leave until tomorrow at earliest.” Loud enough Kuro heard, hopefully. “Give your arm some chance to heal, since it’s finally started to.” She ignored the dirty look that flashed across his face for a moment as she placed new bandages and helped replace the remains of the left kote that the prosthetic tied onto.

Kuro walked to the front of the library as Wolf pushed Emma’s hands away and finished tying on the prosthetic himself.

“Wolf, please, if you are in pain the ingredients can wait.” Kuro was frowning, one of his hands was fidgeting with the book he still held. “And you did just duel Genichiro. Everything can wait til tomorrow morning, Wolf.” Kuro was probably too far away to hear a bitten back sigh.

“Of course, my lord.”

Emma had her own quarters at night, and Kuro had blankets in this room and had insisted on giving Wolf one of them; he had insisted on giving Wolf several of them, actually, and it had taken a few minutes of careful discussion before Wolf convinced him not to, but he wouldn’t be budged on Wolf having at least one and continuing to refuse was inviting him to order Wolf to accept more. How much Kuro seemed to care for Wolf- Wolf, who had failed at Hirata, who had spent too long trying to find Kuro and get to Ashina, and then failed again immediately- was. Strange. It must have been because Wolf was the only person left from Hirata, this was not how masters treated their servants. At least Wolf would stay awake if he was here, stay on guard.

And he failed at that, too, jerking awake in the middle of the night, biting his tongue to stop a yell like he had with Isshin, feeling like his missing arm had been crushed. It was still gone. The pain persisted for a few minutes, before fading back to the burning pain he had been trying to tune out. Emma was not being told about this, if she came before he left in the morning; Wolf had a duty to his lord, and he did not want to be delayed again because she thought he couldn’t work through pain.

Genichiro, angrier already than he had been, stomped back down the passageway, snapping at the soldiers he had ordered to keep watch down here to pay attention. Senpou was a waste. The monks were easy enough to kill, not one of them could block a swing from him, but every bridge to the monastery was broken. What was he supposed to do, scale Mt Kongo itself just to get to the main hall?

So the black blade would have to do. Open Gate. The weaker of the blades, sure, but it was enough. It was closer too, easier to get to; why had he even bothered with Senpou Temple? He should have gone straight for it. Yes, Grandfather thought it was tied to his life, but no one really knew, just some shrine maiden twenty years ago wrote a lot of stuff on a scroll to justify keeping the sword. It was all speculation. And it was just in a shrine halfway to Hirata and north. And Dragon’s Heritage or not, it would kill the shinobi for good and Kuro wouldn’t have a choice, and with enough of the generals sharing immortality they would drive off the Interior Ministry.

...Here was the remains of the fire where he’d burned the arm. The bones looked blackened, but still recognizable. Genichiro stamped on them as he passed, splintering them into pieces, and continued out of the dungeons, back out of the castle, before it was light.

#sekiro shadows die twice #fanfiction #fanart #sekiro chain 1

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years ago

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Eighteen ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 4719

Warnings: None

A/n Happy Monday! Oh, and if you like Bucky Barnes, I just posted a one-shot for him! You can find it here. Now, on to the story you came here for!

Late in August, three months after arriving in this new world, plans are made to travel to Lothlórien.

Lavandil’s tearful sniffles in the back of her shop clued me in before someone had officially told me, and my heart goes out to her.

“It gets harder every time,” she had muttered, staring at the ground. “Every time we are separated, a piece of me goes with him.”

Her words have not left my mind since.

They are not even bonded, yet the way not being with him pains her…it breaks my heart in a way that is almost too personal.

Our company is set to leave in five days. In my time here, I have amassed only a small number of belongings, so packing will be easy. I am prepared to go long before the others, who have somehow become busier in these last few days. Even Rumil, who has basically become my best friend these past few months, declines my offer to go riding, citing that he and his brothers have much to do in their remaining time here.

So, with no one to help me occupy my time, I end up in the gardens. I pass the afternoon away wandering through the endless labyrinth, discovering more blossoms that make me sneeze and some that don’t. I pick a few — Elrond said it was alright — to press in one of the journals I’ve acquired — a gift from Lavandil. The journal and the flowers will be keepsakes, tangible memories of my time here in Imladris.

A time I desperately do not want to forget.

In the back of my mind, lurking on the edge of my thoughts is a constant fear — the fear that, at any moment, the work with Elrond will prove fruitful and my memories will come rushing back — at the cost of my memories from my time here in Arda.

A bright, bluish-purple burst under the hedges distracts me from that anxious thought.

A cornflower, fallen to the ground and blown far from its bush by the wind.

I crouch, reaching under the green shrubbery.

“Lady Cosima?”

Flower in hand, I straighten, turning at the sound of the voice.

“Glorfindel!” I’m mildly shocked. Since his argument with Haldir, I’ve seen little of him. Seeming uncertain, he walks to meet me, bowing when he plants his feet.

I curtsey, though I can’t help but chuckle lightly at his formality. “You can just call me Cosima, you know. I’m not anyone important.”

Glorfindel shakes his head slowly, the edges of a smile playing at his lips. “I would be inclined to disagree with your statement, my dear Lady. It seems you have not only captured the attention of two worlds, but of my elven friends.” Before I can ask exactly what he means by that, Glorfindel furrows his eyebrows, gesturing to our surroundings. “I am surprised to find you here this evening. I would have thought you would be preparing for your departure.”

I twirl the cornflower between my fingers. “There’s nothing much for me to prepare. And it doesn’t seem I can be of much help to the others, either.”

A twinkle enters his eye, reminiscent of the playfulness he had the last time I interacted with him. “So you are trying to soak up all that Lord Elrond’s gardens have to offer?”

I smile, taking a look around. “It’s not a bad way to pass the time. I don’t know if Lothlórien will have all these flowers, so I’m taking a couple with me.” Unnecessarily, I hold up the growing bouquet in my hands. “But enough about me, why are you here at this time of day? Don’t you have a million things to do?”

Glorfindel grins, now fully the man I met upon first arriving here. “Ah, you’ve caught me. I am shirking my duties, but!” He holds up a hand to stop my nonexistent chiding. “I will pay for it tonight. Your Marchwarden and I have plans after dinner to surprise one of the border stations. We are going to creep through the area unannounced and see how long it takes for them to discover us. Surely we will be gone until morning.”

I gulp. My Marchwarden? I try to cover up how much that phrase affects me. “So, are you two back to being friends? Or are you still at odds?”

Thankfully, Glorfindel doesn’t get upset by the words I spoke without thought. “Yes, yes, we have been reconciled for weeks now. It is not uncommon for such strong personalities to disagree. All is well — I would have thought he told you.”

I shrug, trying to make the motion look natural even though I suddenly feel like every eye in Imladris is scrutinizing the movement. “We haven’t had the chance to talk much.”

Glorfindel smirks. “Ah, yes, I wondered why my friend had been even more stern than usual as of late.”

I freeze, and the question escapes my mouth before I can stop it. “What do you mean?”

No, Cosima, I chide. Do not engage!

But Glorfindel has already broadened his grin, evidently happy to indulge my pointless question. “He’s increased drills and border patrols, added requirements for promotions, re-worked the training schedule at least five times — he’s even taken his frustrations out on the guard — I worry more when they fight him than if they were facing a pack of orcs!” He laughs, but, after a moment, his expression softens into one of understanding. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

My eyes drop to the flowers in my hand. I twirl the cornflower again, scrutinizing its color.

It is the wrong shade of blue.

“No, nothing happened,” I respond, still not able to meet Glorfindel’s gaze. His questions and the lack of judgement in his voice lead me to share more than I should. “I…I think we both realized we were headed for something dangerous and it’s better to stop while we can.”

“I see,” he mutters, taking in a deep breath. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I force a smile, not wanting to dwell on something that already keeps me up at night. Time to change the subject. “I don’t know about you, but I’m quite hungry. Would you like to join me for dinner? Lavandil and Orophin will be there as well.”

His face breaks into an easy smile, though there’s something off in his eyes. He sweeps his hand forward, indicating his agreement. “Lead the way, my dear Lady.”

{***}

I stare at the clothes laid out on my bed, relying on the meager candlelight to tell me what each item of fabric is.

Lord Elrond said I was welcome to take home any of the pieces I wanted, but the space in my bag will only allow for a few of them. Turns out, the choice is harder than I thought it would be. I have no desire to wear the same outfit the whole time like I had to on the journey to Imladris. That means I should pack more tunic and legging sets. But there are so many pretty gowns I want to take — it doesn’t help that, as part of the payment for helping in her store, Lavandil took me shopping a couple of times. I look over my dresses, all equally loved.

I purse my lips. I know Rumil has three bags…perhaps he would be willing to donate one of them to a good cause. Lavandil hasn’t taken him shopping, so surely he has room to spare.

I creep out of my room, mindful to keep quiet at this late hour. Rumil’s likely to be awake — that ellon is a night owl if I’ve ever met one. I reach his door and knock softly.

But when the door opens, it’s not Rumil on the other side.

It’s Haldir.

I stop breathing. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

He steps back somewhat robotically, making space for me to enter the room. “Cosima.”

I freeze, unable to connect my brain to my feet to tell them to move. I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “You’re supposed to be gone.”

Haldir opens and closes his mouth, likely figuring out how to respond to something that sounded very much like an accusation. “I—ah, I apologize? Do you want me to—”

“No, I uh—” I look to the ground, trying to gather my hopelessly scattered thoughts. Being near him again takes me right back to the state I’ve tried desperately to avoid. “Sorry, no, I only meant that I ran into Glorfindel a few hours ago and he said the two of you would be gone tonight. I came looking for Rumil.”

“Oh.” Haldir furrows his eyebrows, though it looks like the initial shock has faded. “I am sorry — I sent him out tonight in my place. I planned on using this time to write out instructions for training after I am gone.”

I can’t keep myself from smiling. So dutiful. “That’s nice of you.”

Haldir shrugs, looking thrown by the compliment. “It’s my job.”

I blink, realizing that, both mercifully and sadly, I no longer have an excuse to stay here. I should go.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” I take a step back.

“Cosima, wait.”

I halt my exit, but remind myself of my resolve.

Haldir shifts on his feet before rolling back his shoulders, holding the door open with one hand. “I need a break from writing. Would you like to go for a walk?”

Your resolve, Cosima.

I search for any excuse, anything to give me a reason to say no when I so badly want to say yes. “I don’t have my cloak.”

The edges of Haldir’s lips twitch. “Now that, I may have a solution for. Wait here.”

I should go.

Just wait to see what this ‘solution’ is, I rationalize.

Haldir turns and nearly jogs to the wardrobe, burying his upper half inside until he emerges with a sage green bundle. He returns, presenting the neatly folded fabric to me. “This is for you.”

I blink in surprise, taking the bundle from his outstretched hand. Slowly, I unfurl it, and it falls into a sturdy, finely woven cloak. I look up at Haldir and then back to the garment, unsure of why he’s just handed me this, but nonetheless, pleased.

“You cannot wear your red one while we travel,” he explains. “This will blend in much better with our surroundings. Lavandil advised on the measurements, but if it’s too long, there’s still time to get it hemmed before we leave.”

I smile, running my fingers over the soft interior and the slicker outside. “What’s it made of?”

“Wool, but I asked the seamstress to assist in making it as waterproof as possible.” I look up at him sharply, surprised that he would think to include this. “I worry we will encounter rain again and I would hate to have you shivering like last time.”

I run my fingers over the fabric with a new fondness. I’m grateful and more touched than I would like to admit. “Thank you Haldir, really. This is so thoughtful. And practical.” I can’t help but laugh, looking up at him with a sudden onslaught of nerves. “Just like you.”

He smiles almost bashfully, dipping his head in acknowledgement of my words. “I’m glad you like it.”

I swing the cloak around my shoulders, pulling my hair through the back so it lays against the outside of the fabric. Haldir grabs the bag that rests on the hook by the door and retrieves another one of those beautiful leaf-shaped clips. He steps forward and slowly reaches his hands to where my cloak rests along my collarbones. He gathers the fabric and weaves it through the clip, securing the ends. He rests his hands there for just a moment and then steps back, nodding to himself.

“Perfect,” he breathes.

I blink. I have a cloak now. There’s no reason to say no. “Let’s go for that walk.”

Smiling in a soft, hesitant way, he grabs his own cloak and clip from their place near the door and we step outside of his room. In silence, mindful of the late hour, he leads me down a spiral staircase tucked into a corner I’ve never noticed before. As we descend, the sound of water crashing gets louder and the peace of the estate fades.

I halt and, a few stairs below me, Haldir stops too.

“Are we going below the city?”

He looks up at me — I can barely see his face in the dark. “It is perfectly safe — there are no heights to be conscious of.”

It feels wrong to make sound in the darkness, so when I speak, it’s barely more than a whisper. “Okay. I believe you.”

In the dim light, Haldir’s hand reaches up to me. I stare at it, feeling my jaw fall slightly.

“I think you will like where we’re going.” The darkness, the sound of his voice, just being with him after so much time apart — it’s too much.

I exhale a shallow breath.

I place my hand in his.

Tingles shoot up my arm.

We reach the bottom of the staircase, and he doesn’t let go.

It’s dark here, too, and I find myself drawing nearer to him. My arm brushes his and I suck in a breath, both of us laughing nervously. Haldir seems to know the way. His path is confident and sure as he leads us underneath the stone and earth of the city. Then, in a burst of clear blue light, we break from the darkness and arrive on soft grass.

I can see Haldir better now. Everything about him seems to almost glow in the moonlight. He smiles softly, tugging on my hand to encourage me to follow him closer to the water that lies ahead of us. I glance between us to where our hands meet, wrapped around each other.

It feels natural. It feels right.

I should let go.

I grip his hand tighter.

The stone holding up the city gives way to taller grass and trees whose low, swinging branches brush over us as we pass. Ahead lies a rippling lake — across it, waterfalls crash down, their thunderous roar diminished by the distance. Haldir takes us almost to the edge of the shore, then surprises me by pulling me to the left. We duck under a particularly low branch, Haldir almost having to double over completely. I laugh, bending down next to him, and he looks up at me with a carefree grin. We pass under the branch and emerge in a small clearing — an alcove, really. Behind us and to our left are tall, leafy trees, to our right is the stone of the mountain, and ahead, surely for miles and miles, lies the lake. Moonlight dances atop it, glinting in a way that makes it sparkle. And above it, in an endless stretch of sky—stars, a million of them, at least.

Haldir turns to face me.

I suck in a breath.

His eyes — I’ve always admired them, even when they held nothing more than indifference to me — seem to shine in a way I’ve never seen before. They gleam like living starlight, depthless and enchanting. The colors of the night drape him in a glow of soft blue, highlighting the strong edges of his jaw. He looks powerful, beautiful, otherworldly.

This is the first time I’ve truly understood the etherial beauty of an elf.

He smiles down at me expectantly. “Was I right?”

I exhale somewhat shakily, nodding my head. “Yes. Yes, you were right. This place is stunning.”

His smile broadens and he releases my hand to unclasp his cloak.

I miss the warmth of his hand encasing mine.

But I do get my wish from earlier today. Just as he did all those months ago, he lays his cloak on the ground, gesturing for me to sit. I do, folding my legs to the side to allow him room next to me. Before he can say anything, the nerves get the best of me, and I blurt out the first, most basic question that comes to mind. “How was your day?”

He smiles, stretching his legs out on the cloak. “My day went well, thank you. Glorfindel and I spent this morning debating the merits of extending Elrond’s borders by twenty or so miles — it would mean the guards have more land to protect, yes, but it would also provide a larger distance for any intruders to cross, should they break through the barrier. That could give the guard precious extra time to organize and combat the threat.”

I tilt my head. “So what did you decide?”

Haldir raises his shoulders then lets them fall, the action hinting at underlying stress. “It is not our decision, we were merely debating. The choice lies with Lord Elrond, and I cannot say what he will do.”

I chuckle, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re always steps ahead of everyone else. Come on, what do you think he’ll do?”

He sighs. “I think he will not expand the borders. Elrond cares about the security of his people, yes, but he still believes there is potential to stop this evil before his people will have to confront it.”

Tension gathers in the small of my back. Are we really that close to a fight? “And you disagree?”

“I did not mean to scare you.” He avoids answering my question directly.

I shake my head slowly, thinking over his words. Wary, yes, but scared? “I have gotten tougher, you know.”

Haldir smiles and lets out a soft laugh. "Now, that, I would have to agree with." He rolls his sleeve up to his bicep and holds out his arm. I squint in the moonlight, trying to make out whatever he's attempting to show me. "See this?" I shake my head, and Haldir laughs more freely now. "It is almost a bruise from where you hit me two days ago."

Now, I join him in his laughter, remembering my attempt to break free from his grasp during training. “You better watch out," I joke. "Soon I'll be able to put you on the ground."

Haldir schools his laughter but the edges of his lips stay quirked. "I'm sure."

I snort. “No, I actually believe that someday soon I’ll be able to beat you. Or, at the very least, catch you off your guard.”

I don’t actually believe that, of course, but it’s worth the exaggeration to see Haldir’s terrible attempt at pretending to agree with me.

“Ah, perhaps, yes. I would not entirely rule the possibility out.”

“Liar.” I roll my eyes and grin good-naturedly.

He merely holds my gaze with a smile of his own and raises an eyebrow.

I shudder out a breath. I wish he wouldn’t look at me that way. It makes me want things I absolutely can’t act on.

I force my eyes to return to the water, searching for a way to expel the tension that has somehow gathered in the air. “What made you want to come here?”

He shrugs, leaning back on one hand in a way that is almost arrestingly casual, because I do not feel casual. “It’s peaceful, it’s away from the bustle of the city…and it reminds me of home.” He smiles, craning his head back to view the moon and the stars. My eyes follow the length of his neck before correcting themselves to also look at the stars. “In Caras Galadon we live in talans built high in the branches. Common spaces and guest lodgings take up entire trees, wrapping around trunks and connecting with bridges. But my home is smaller, and all the way at the top of one of the oldest and tallest trees in the city…I can look up and I see the stars. It’s like I walk among them, I am so close. And here, though we are quite low on the ground…” His eyes drop to mine. I listen intently, captivated by the love he feels for his home so clearly expressed in his voice. “This feels somehow similar, like it is just you, me, the forest, and the sky.”

The words, ill-thought and reckless, rush from my mouth. “I like it being just us.”

His head dips closer to mine. “Me too.”

Our noses brush against each other. We are so close, so close to losing ourselves in something we cannot control.

I will bring nothing but pain to him.

I pull back just enough to see his eyes, hating the spark of hurt that runs through them. But I ground myself in that, use it as a warning of what is to come if I don’t stop this now.

But stopping hurts me, too. Because I want him. I want to be with him, to be his forever, more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life. Memories or not, this, I’m sure of.

And I can’t have it.

Tears prick at my eyes.

Haldir’s hurt turns to concern and he trails a finger tenderly over my cheek, soothing and catching a tear that has managed to fall. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow, trying to force away the painful lump that has grown there. I can manage little more than a whisper. “You don’t want to do this with me.”

He shakes his head and brings a hand to my lower back. He presses gently, keeping me in place as if he knows I’m trying to find a way out, to talk us both out of doing this. He lowers his head to look directly into my eyes. “Yes, I do.”

I turn my gaze to the waterfall, not able to bear looking him in the eye. “Haldir, I’m temporary. To your lifespan, I…I’m nothing. Don’t waste your love on me.” And something I can’t say, something I’m too weak to admit out loud — don’t waste your life on me.

He brings a hand to my chin, pulling me to meet his eyes. What I see there takes me aback — a fierceness akin to how he looked during the attack. “It’s not a waste, it’s a choice. And I’ve chosen, Cosima. I want this, I want you.”

I shake my head, the tears falling freely now. I bring a hand to grip his wrist, trying to break his hold of my face. He follows my request but immediately takes both of my hands in his, refusing to let me go completely.

He speaks in a low, urgent voice. “Cosima, believe me, I tried. I’ve stayed away from you, I’ve tried to convince myself that there are others, that there could ever be someone else for me. I’ve distracted myself with training and planning and patrols but nothing works. Every day, I wake up and I ache for you.”

I close my eyes, all at once elated to hear those words and grieving his choice. Because loving him is the most selfish thing I’ll ever do.

“I wish I didn’t want this,” he continues. “I know what it means for me. Every instinct for self-preservation is screaming at me to stop, to run away, to fight this—”

“Then do,” I beg, trying to convince both him and myself. “Save yourself while you still can.”

Slowly, deliberately, he pulls his hands from mine and rests them on either side of my neck, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. Despite my efforts, I suck in a breath, my heart beginning to race.

He’s so close, so honest, so…loving. He looks at me with the same reverence he reserves for the stars. He lets out a breath, eyes trailing down my face before meeting mine once more. “It is too late,” he murmurs, lips parting slightly. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

And my resolve breaks.

I push myself forward to close the minuscule space between us, pressing my lips against his. He responds immediately, kissing me with a passion that sends tingles down my spine. His hold on me feels like fire, starting where his hands caress my neck, where his lips meet mine, and running through my entire body. My hands gather in the fabric of his tunic, pulling him impossibly closer. My mind fights between short-circuiting due to the feel of his lips on mine and shouting for joy. Never in my life have I felt so right, so secure, so…electric. Gone are the days of holding myself back, of distancing myself, torturing myself, staying away from the one I truly want to be with.

The one I love.

My back makes contact with the cloak covering the ground. Did I fall and pull him along, or did he push me? All efforts of solving that mystery disappear the moment he takes my lower lip between his teeth, biting down gently. I gasp, my grip on his tunic tightening. The hand that rests on the ground near my side, supporting his weight, curls into a fist.

His kisses slow.

He presses his lips to mine again, this time, as gentle as a breeze. I sigh into the kiss, my hand trailing slowly down his chest. For the first time in all my memory, I know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

And I am with who I am meant to be with.

Haldir’s lips leave mine. He balances his weight on one arm and his knees, bringing his free hand to my face to softly brush his fingers over my cheek. Slowly, I open my eyes.

Above me is perhaps the best and most beautiful sight I will ever see. A blanket of stars, brilliant and expansive, floats across the night sky. And in front of them, mere inches from my face, is Haldir, looking at me with a wide, adoring smile. I raise my head to bump my nose against his, earning myself a rumbling chuckle.

He shakes his head slowly. “The relief I feel, finally being able to tell you that I love you, to kiss you…”

I breathe out a weak laugh, knowing exactly what he’s describing. “I wouldn’t call what I feel relief.”

He grins and dips his head to mine, stopping just before our lips touch. “Yes, it is certainly not a peaceful relief. But I much prefer whatever this is to peace.”

“I agree,” I sigh into his mouth as his lips move against mine once more. But then I remember something, and push against his shoulders. He’s said his piece, now I get to say mine. “Hey, for the record, I love you too.”

He laughs indulgently, shaking his head, but I can see real joy lighting his eyes. “And yet you kept me in such suspense.”

I roll my eyes and grip his tunic, pulling him down again.

When we break apart, he falls onto his back next to me. I’m struck once again with the memory of us stargazing in Elrond’s gardens so many months ago. Then, I spent the whole night fighting the urge to cuddle against his side.

Now, it seems, that door is not closed to me.

Experimentally, I scoot closer to him. When he smiles rather than questions it, I pick up the arm nearest to me, moving it so I can lay against his side. He tenses, then sputters out a laugh, but doesn’t push me away. Instead, he cranes his head so he can see me and I grin up at him, happy to see that he wears a matching expression.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is this what the humans do?”

“Yes,” I smile up at him, pleased that being this close to him feels even better than I could have imagined. “It’s called cuddling.” I rest my head on his chest. In the silence of the night, I can hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

After a moment, his hand comes to the back of my head, running his fingers gently over my hair and down my back. “Surprisingly, I like the human way.”

I smile, tucking my head further into his chest.

I stare at the sky.

And try not to think about what I’ve just done.

A/n YAYYYYYYYYY

|next chapter - to be posted|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist @that-cute-stranger

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff @sleepyamygdala @thranduilseyebrows

**Strikethroughs means Tumblr won’t let me tag you :(**

#haldir #haldir x ofc #haldir x oc #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years ago

Text

You Gotta Fend for Yourself

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Bruce is Tim's emergency contact. He gets a call to meet Tim at the ER.

“I’m looking for a patient.” The woman behind the ER desk looks bored as she eyes Bruce, takes in the pressed suit and diamond cufflinks. The way he fidgets, drumming his fingers on the desk and trying very hard not to look as anxious as he feels. It’s easier to reign in his worry when he’s wearing the cowl. “Name?” “Tim Drake.” “Give me a minute.” She types his name into the computer, and Bruce can’t help but wonder how she manages to type with such long fingernails. “Your son is in bed eight. It’s over there, against the far wall.” She points him in the general direction. Bruce considers correcting her on the fact that Tim is certainly not his son, but he doesn’t need to tell this complete stranger that. Let her think what she wants. He thanks her and goes where directed. His chest loosens when he finds Tim sitting on a medical cot, neither bleeding out from a gaping wound nor missing any limbs. Instead he’s playing some sort of racing game on his phone, indifferent to the bustling emergency room around him. An oxygen mask sits beside him, forgotten. He and Bruce should really have a conversation about the importance of listening to medical professionals. “Hey, kiddo.”

Tim looks up and his eyes go wide. “Bruce. You...actually came?” His voice is hoarse, like he’s been gargling sand. “Of course I did. I am your emergency contact, after all.” Tim blushes. “I told them not to call you. You really don’t need to be here if you’re busy, I can get a cab home. And I’m sure I can talk the doctors into letting me check myself out without an adult, so—” “It’s okay, Tim. Really. You actually saved me from a board meeting.” Tim doesn’t look at all reassured. Bruce sits on the side of the cot beside Tim, who moves over a few inches. “Your teacher told me you went into anaphylactic shock in the middle of geometry.” Tim rolls his eyes. “I got a candy bar from the vending machine and the wrapper forgot to mention there were walnuts in it. It’s not that big a deal.” “Oh, sure, not that big a deal. You just stopped breathing for two minutes. Totally normal.” “I’m breathing now, aren’t I?” Tim takes an exaggerated breath. “See? I’m fine. And, for the record, it was the teacher’s fault. I had my hand raised for a whole minute trying to tell her that I couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t even look at me. Eventually I just passed out.” Bruce blinks. “You raised your hand? While your life was in danger?” “I didn’t want to be rude.” Lord, beer me patience. “I’ll get you an EpiPen to carry with you from now on.” “I usually have one, but I used it up a couple months ago and kept forgetting to ask my dad for another one.” A shrug. “Don’t you keep one in your utility belt?” “That’s for civilians.” Bruce’s eyebrows crease. “It’s for keeping people safe, not just civilians. You’re a person, so I want you to use whatever you need to keep yourself from dying in the middle of class. Got it?” Tim nods, a little sheepishly. “Yes, sir.” “Good. Now, how are you feeling?” Tim flicks the IV tube. “Cortisone and a shot of epinephrine earlier. I’ll be fine.” Even so, Bruce can’t stop himself from checking Tim over anyway, just to be sure. He needs to see that Tim is okay with his own eyes. He feels Tim’s throat for any residual swelling, checks his pulse. “Can you breathe okay?” “Yep.” “What about your mouth, does it feel numb or tingly? Any swelling?” “No and no.” “Are you dizzy at all, nauseous?” “You do realize we’re in a hospital, right? Surrounded by actual doctors?” “Yes, and I don’t trust a single one of them unless their name is Leslie Thompkins, Alfred Pennyworth, or Bruce Wayne.” “You’re insane.” “Good. Maybe then you’ll stay alive long enough to see the new year.” Bruce takes out his cell phone and drafts the beginning of an email in his notes app. “I should call the school and give them hell for not looking after you. Or at least for not being more aware of their vending machine snacks.” He knew Tim never should have been allowed in a public school. That’s like locking the most perfect, innocent kitten in the world in a cage with rabid coyotes. Completely irresponsible. “You’re overreacting, B.” “You could have died.” Tim scoffs. “Stop being so dramatic. This isn’t even the worst allergic reaction I’ve had. My parents were terrible at remembering to tell the nannies about my walnut energy, so there were a lot of close calls.” Bruce should be more surprised at that information. After he sues the school for the wrongful almost-death of a student, he should sue Drake Industries just for the hell of it. “Where are your parents? Are they on their way?” Jack Drake is as disagreeable a man as disagreeable men get, but he’s always revving for conflict. Bruce will definitely be able to sway him to his side of this matter. They can bring it up to the board of education, draw up new regulations for the school’s allergy protocols. Tim scratches absently at the rash on his neck. Bruce swats his hand away. “Dad brought Dana on a business trip to Philadelphia. It was only supposed to last the weekend, but they decided to stay a few extra days.” “A few?” “Eleven, to be exact.” Yikes. Big yikes. “You at least called them, right? They’ll want to know you’re safe.” “I called Dad when I first got here, but he didn’t pick up so I left him a message. I’m pretty sure he got it, because Dana keeps texting me to make sure I’m okay and asking if they should come home early. Dad still hasn’t said anything, but I’m sure he’s worried too.” Even as Tim says the words, it’s clear he doesn’t believe them. Never mind, fuck Jack Drake. Bruce can find another parent to start an alliance with—one who actually cares about their kid. Maybe Crystal Brown is free tonight… Bruce flags down a passing nurse. “Can I get some discharge papers for my son, here?” Might as well throw that in, give himself some extra authority. Whatever gets them out of here quicker. “Thank god,” Tim says. He plucks out the IV and swings his legs off the bed. “I’m sick of this place. You can just drop me off at home and I’ll be all set?” “Drop you off? You’re coming home with me, Tim.” Was that part not clear? “It’s cool, really. I’ll be fine after some rest. You don’t have to look after me.” “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” Bruce thanks the nurse who brings over the discharge papers in record time. People really don’t appreciate nurses enough; he should donate a few million to boost their salaries. He pushes the clipboard into Tim’s hands. “Here, fill these out and we can get going. I’ll call ahead and have Alfred make supper.” “And then I can go home?” Bruce shrugs, eyes fixed on his phone screen as his thumbs fly. “You already have a room made up at the manor, so I don’t see why you can’t stay over tonight. Besides, I’d like to keep an eye on you, just in case.” Anaphylaxis can be a tricky thing. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a mother hen?” “Once or twice.” “Well, they’re right.” Bruce snorts. He works more on his email draft to the school, making a mental note to censor out the swear words during revision. He’s getting flashbacks to years ago when Jason had a close call with some shrimp at a party for a museum opening. Bruce nearly decimated the catering company for not putting out warnings for potential allergens. “Tim?” “Hm?” “How come I’m your emergency contact?” Tim freezes. He doesn’t look at Bruce and twiddles the pen, quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know who else to put? I figured it would never actually be needed, so it wasn’t like you’d ever find out about it anyway. But don’t worry, I’ll change it tomorrow so you don’t need to do this again.” “No,” Bruce says, a little too quickly. “Keep it. It’s...more logical for it to be me. And I really don’t mind.” “You sure? You don’t have to.” “I want to. Partners look out for each other, right?” Tim’s cheeks are flushed under the allergy-induced redness, but he nods. “Right.”

#whumptober 2020 #no.29 #emergency room #batfamily #batfam #tim drake #red robin #robin #idiot duckboy #bruce wayne #batman #batdad #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic

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fandomcares · 5 years ago

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The Project Black Lives Matter Silent Auction IS CLOSED!!

@fandomcares is a support blog run by dedicated members of the Teen Wolf and Sterek community. Our goal is to help fans within the community who may be going through financial, emergency, or other hardships, be it through fundraising, providing resources, or just giving them a safe space to talk.

The silent auction will start NOW and will go until 12:00 am PST (-5) on Tuesday, June 9th.

Fandom is full of creators that wanted a way to support the Black Community. This auction will be multi fandom and a percentage of the proceeds will be split between several charities suggested by our participants. Check out this post for more information:

https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620061910413557760/coming-tomorrow-the-project-black-lives-matter

(Also keep in mind this is a living document, changes are made constantly so if something is incorrect or missing please message us and let us know!)

Our amazing fandom artists, authors, and creators have donated commissions for you to bid on! If you see a post that catches your eye, please fill out the BID FORM. The amounts on this post will be updated periodically so keep a close eye on the post you bid on!

Feel free to rebid and bid on multiple posts. Check out ALL of the entries! We have some AMAZING CREATORS who are waiting to fill your commissions.

NOTES:

Fill out the form and during the day I will update the bid amounts. Keep an eye out to see if you’re still in the running!

This whole thing was done with the help of @originfire and @auriette. Please let me know if there are any mistakes!!

Questions? Hit up our ASK BOX, or you can message @stickykeys633 for additional information.

Please signal boost and reblog!

Enjoy and HAPPY BIDDING!

(Sometimes Keep Reading is wonky on mobile so here is the full link: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620135038600806400/the-project-black-lives-matter-silent-auction-is)

#1 >5k word fic: DiscontentedWinter - Opening Bid: $20

Current Bid: $30Current Bid: $50Current Bid: $100Current Bid: $110Current Bid: $150 Current Bid: $175 Current Bid: 200

Current Bid: 500

Fandom: Teen Wolf - Sterek, Steter // Offering: 1 -

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620114718125932544/discontented-winter

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#2 >5k word fic: BunnyWest- Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $30 Current Bid: $75 Current Bid: $100

Current Bid: $150

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf - Steter, Stargent, Stetopher, Dargent, Steter Senior // Writing (fics over 5k words) // Likes: fluff, HEA, domestic fic, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, nothing too dark // Dislikes: scat, watersports, incest, non-con.

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620062358022291456/bunnywest

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#3 Digital Art/Traditional: RubyRedHoodling- Opening Bid: $20 Current Bid: $25 Current Bid: $35 Current Bid: $45

Current Bid: $50

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf - Sterek, Steo, Cordia, Allydia, Allira, Berica, StoydHaikyuu!!, My Hero Academia (BNHA), Fruits Basket, Ace of Diamond (Daiya no A), Demon Slayer, FF7R (Final Fantasy 7), FE3H (Fire Emblem 3 Houses), DnD, Critical Role, Animal Crossing and more // Offering: Digital Art, a single full body chibi character (fanart or Dnd/ Animal Crossing OC), a chibi couple

https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620116177017061376/ruby

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#4 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $15 Current Bid: $50

Current Bid: $100

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf - Sterek, Steter // Likes: darkfic, angst, fluff, AU or canon, anything // Dislikes: none // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under)

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620062418906890240/cookie

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#5 Opening Bid: $5 Current Bid: #10

Current Bid: #15

Current Bid: $25

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf - Sterek, Berica, 911 - Buddie // Likes: fluff, angst, mystical/fantasy (with sterek) // Dislikes: non-con, graphic violence, self harm, suicide mentions // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under)

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620118576220733440/mila

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#6 Opening Bid: $15

Current Bid: $25

Fandom(s): please visit Artemisa's showcase at https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620119057099866112/artemisa // Likes: To explore the dynamics between character dynamics that stand on opposite sides just as hunter/werewolf, imperial/rebel, pureblood/muggleborn, mutant politics in general…), Kid fics and mpreg // Dislikes: Smut, Time Travel AU or full crossovers, but open to discuss AU where characters live in a different universes (please talk to the author about specifics) Bad Peter Hale or Bad Hale Family. // Offering: Moodboards

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620119057099866112/artemisa

Bid on Me!

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#7 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $15 Current Bid: $20 Current Bid: $50

Current Bid: $60

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf, Supernatural // Likes: Sterek, Destiel, open for other pairings, happy endings, fluff, smut, crack and angst as well or a little bit of everything // Dislikes: Peter, Theo, and Crowley MCD where character stays dead, and some kinks (please contact the author for a list) // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under), Writing (fics over 5k words), Depends on story idea/prompt for length

https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620119265775894528/swlfangirl

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#8 Opening Bid: $5

Current Bid: $5

Current Bid: $25

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf - Steter, Sterek, Stoyd, Voiles, Stalion, Stargent, Steopher // Likes: fluff, angst //Dislikes: Non-con, dub-con, drug use, graphic violence, infidelity // Offering: Writing fics around 1k and lower

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620119682067922944/bxdcubes

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#9 Opening Bid: $10 Current Bid: $20 Current Bid: $30

Current Bid: $40

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf - Sterek// Likes: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, crack fics // Dislikes: non-con, incest, abuse // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under), Writing (fics over 5k words)

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620117416667643904/rachel

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#10 Digital Art: Paws - Opening Bid: $20

Current Bid: $30 Current Bid: $50 Current Bid: $75 Current Bid: $80 Current Bid: $95 Current Bid: $125 Current Bid: 130 Current Bid: 135 Current Bid: 150

Current Bid: 160

Fandom(s): Any Fandom // Likes: Portraits, figures, soft romance // Dislikes: non-con, underage, sexually explicit // Offering: Digital Art

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620119907407921153/paws

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#11 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $25 Current Bid: $30Current Bid: $50Current Bid: $51

Current Bid: $60

Fandom(s): Check, Please! - Zimbits // Likes: Fluff, domestic fluff, meet cute, AUs, Zimbits fluff, Zimbits AUs, flirty meet cutes // Dislikes: Infidelity, Kent Parson anything, non-con, A/B/O // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under)

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620119997898981376/wrathofthestag

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#12 Opening Bid: $5

Current Bid: $10 Current Bid: $15

Current Bid: $25

Fandom(s): Marvel (MCU) - Steve/Bucky, Captive Prince - Damen/Laurent // Likes: angst, fluff, smut, getting-together, first kiss, mutual pining, UST // Dislikes: non-con, A/B/O, hardcore BDSM // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under)

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620122054562398208/disraeligears

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#13 Digital Art: happyzimm - Opening Bid: $15

Current Bid: $25 Current Bid: $30 Current Bid: $40 Current Bid: $41 Current Bid: $45 Current Bid: $46 Current Bid: $50 Current Bid: $55

Current Bid: $57

Fandom(s): Check Please (zimbits) // Likes: portraits (no background, digital illustrations/drawings // Dislikes: nsfw, violence // Offering: Digital Art

https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620062669146374144/happyzimm

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#14 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $10

Current Bid: $15

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf: gen or Sterek, Supernatural: gen or Wincest, Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Spuffy, Spillow, Spangel, or no pairing // Likes: gen, fluffy, dark, angsty, Sterek, Winchest, Spuffy, Spangel, Spillow // Dislikes: cheating // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under)

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620062661373296640/astus Bid on Me!

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#15 Digital Art: Poetry-Protest-Pornography - Opening Bid:

$15 Current Bid: $25 Current Bid: $30 Current Bid: $35

Current Bid: $40

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf (Sterek, other ships can be discussed), OMG Check Please! (Pretty much any ship that doesn’t involve Parse), The Witcher // Likes: Sterek and Zimbits // Dislikes: non-con, graphic violence/gore, bestiality // Additional Info: Poetry-Protest-Pornography is open for other fandoms as well as OC’s. // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under), Digital Art

https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620062775276961792/poetry-protest-pornography

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#16 Digital Art: BEERWOLVES - Opening Bid: $20

Current Bid: $30 Current Bid: $50 Current Bid: $65 Current Bid: $75 Current Bid: $80

Current Bid: $100

Fandom(s): Sterek (Teen Wolf) // Likes: Fluff or anything SFW // Dislikes: Non-Con or anything NSFW // Offering: Digital Art/Sketches

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620062720027459584/beerwolves

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#17 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $15

Current Bid: $50

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf - Stiles/Derek, Stiles/Peter, Stiles/Derek/Peter // Likes: romantic, fluffy, angst // Dislikes: non-con, humiliation, major character death // Additional Info: Devilscut is definitely into ‘happy ever afters’ or at the very least into hopeful, positive endings. // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under)

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620120197360156672/devilscut

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#18 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $20

Current Bid: $35

Fandom(s): please visit LadyMerlin's showcase https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620061333557280768/ladymerlin // Likes: fluff and angst but fine with any genres, happy to do smut too // Dislikes: graphic violence, non-con // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under)

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620061333557280768/ladymerlin Bid on Me!

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#19 GIFs and/or GIF sets: Klam - Opening Bid: $15

Current Bid: $20

Fandom(s):Teen Wolf (any and all characters prior to season 4)// Offering: 1 - GIF or GIF Set // Likes: Dark fics, fluff, angst // Dislikes: Non-sterek, super sweet fics

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620120341660991488/klam Bid on Me!

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#20 >5 word fic: Halehathnofury : Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $15 Current Bid: $20 Current Bid: $30

Current Bid: $50

Fandom(s): Sterek, Stucky, Hannigram, any Sterek side ships especially Berica, Clintasha // Offering: 1 - > 5k word fic // Likes: Anything goes // Dislikes: Non-con, female Stiles, self insert, oc insert with main ship

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620120820925235200/halehathnofury Bid on Me!

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#21 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $20

Fandom(s): Check Please, Star Trek, Teen Wolf, Harry Potter, Leverage (Please check the creators ost for more information) // Offering: 1 -

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620120526501920768/thereoncewasagirl Bid on Me!

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#22 Digital Art/Traditional Art- Gwen- Opening Bid: $15

Current Bid: $25

Fandom(s): Hetalia (Fruk; Gerita; Spamano; Prumano; AusHun; PruHun; Ameviet; open to discuss other ships; open to general fics and brotp) // Offering: 1 -

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620121138941558784/gwen Bid on Me!

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#23 Opening Bid: $ 10

Current Bid: $15 Current Bid: $25

Current Bid: $50

Fandom(s): Sterek, Stony // Offering: 1 -

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620121321217605632/yoda Bid on Me!

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#24 >5k word fic: HolyCatsAndRabbits - Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $20 Current Bid: $35 Current Bid: $55 Current Bid: $70 Current Bid: $85 Current Bid: $150

Current Bid: $200

Fandom(s): Good Omens (please check the creators post for more information) or Original Characters// Offering: 1 - >5k word fic // Likes: low-fantasy romance, erotica, pining, fluff, adventures & misadventures, SFW and NSFW, with characters in a variety of gender identities and sexual orientations, including aro/ace. // Dislikes: No horror, graphic violence, torture, non-con, dub-con, underage, & other really dark stuff. For the erotica, kinks are negotiable: most common kinks are fine, and I will do light consensual non-consent with safe words and after care.

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620121431708172288/holycatsandrabbits Bid on Me!

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#25 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $15

Current Bid: $25

Fandom(s): Yuri on Ice (Viktuuri, Salami, EmiMike, Leoji, Seung chuchu), The Magnus Archives (Jonmartin, What the Girlfriends), Fullmetal Alchemist(/Brotherhood) (canon ships, Royhughes), Sherlock Holmes (Holmes/Watson) // Offering: 7 - >5k word fics // Likes: shippy fluff, domestic moments or slice-of-life, or single-character introspective pieces // Dislikes: Noncon/dubcon, underage, heavy angst/angst without a happy ending

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620121795702472704/the-walrus Bid on Me!

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# 26 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $30

Fandom(s): YuGiOh DM & GX (not Abridged or dub), Hetalia, Babylon 5, Mo Dao Zu Shi / The Untamed, Persona 4 // Offering: 1 - >5k word fic // Likes: Fluff, h/c, unusual AUs, crossovers (if both fandoms are known), dark or mature themes, rare pairs // Dislikes: Explicit NSFW, ABO. Dark themes discretionary to be discussed

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620060934002655232/sixy Bid on Me!

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#27 >5k word fic: Gia (outtoshatter) - Opening Bid: $10 Current Bid: $15

Current Bid: $25

Fandom(s): Sterek, Teen Wolf // Offering: 3 - >5k word fics // Likes: AUs, fluff, action, adventure, romance, plot driven, world building // Dislikes: non con, graphic sex, incest, drug use

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620060976948117504/gia Bid on Me!

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#28 Digital Art: hillnerd- Opening Bid: $15

Current Bid: $40 Current Bid: $55

Current Bid: $60

Fandom(s): Harry potter "I prefer canon pairings but am willing to do almost any", marvel, dc, broadway shows, jane austen, anne of green gables, avatar tla "Really any fandom I'm happy to draw- as long as I don't have to do mechs/furries." // Offering: 2 - Digital Paintings // Likes: "I'm best at cute fluffy moments- sweet romantic ones, character moments- check out my art and see for yourself :)"// Dislikes: non-con, gore, anything like pedo/chan works.

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620017264783196160/hillnerd Bid on Me!

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#29 >5k word fics: Neche - Opening Bid: $10 Current Bid $15

Current Bid: $30

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf (Sterek)Marvel MCU (Stucky) // Offering: 2 - >5k word fic // Likes: fluff, one shots, get together, canon compliant // Dislikes: rape, no main character deaths, no drug use, no incest (this includes adoptive & step siblings), no paedophilia

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620061125051072512/neche Bid on Me!

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#30 $15

Current Bid: $20

Current Bid: $50

Fandom(s): TW, Sterek, Supernatural, Harry Potter, Buzzfeed Unsolved, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, MCU, crossovers, Rare Pairs (please check their creators post for more information) // Offering: 1 -

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620060896844234753/stormlyht Bid on Me!

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#31 >5 word fic: cleo - Opening Bid: $10 Current Bid: $20

Current Bid: $45

Fandom(s): Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) (please check the creators post for more information) // Offering: 1 - >5k word fic // Likes: smut, dark, au, fluff, crack // Dislikes: Hard DNWs: Foreplay and sex involving food scat, watersports, emetophiliaUnrealistically happy endingsHigh School AUA/B/OCalling a partner Mommy or Daddy (or variations) during sexAnimal abuse/animals in peril

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620061570378153984/cleo Bid on Me!

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#32 >5k word fic: deathsweetqueen - Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $15

Fandom(s): Marvel - anything with Tony (please check the creators post for more information) // Offering: 1 - >5k word fic // Likes: Racebends Tony as Indian, Tony or fem!Tony centric, poly relationships, soulmate AUs, canon AUs, canon divergences, genderswaps, horror movie AUs, Skrulls, pirate AUs, daemon AUs, time travel, historical AUs, A/B/O AU, supernatural bonds // Dislikes: Non-human (except supernatural) sex, tentacles, scat, urine, age play, mpreg, Zombie AU, Hogwarts AU, Coffee Shop AUs, bodyswaps, Steampunk/Cyberpunk AUs, apocalypses, fake dating, incestuous pairings

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620061517301366785/deathsweetqueen Bid on Me!

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#33 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: 10

Current Bid: 15

Fandom(s): Steve/Tony, MCU // Offering: 1 -

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620061270009380864/neb Bid on Me!

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#34 Traditional Art: Alby ( artgroves) - Opening Bid: $15

Current Bid: $50 Current Bid: $75 Current Bid: $80 Current Bid: $100 Current Bid: $200

Current Bid: $215

Fandom(s): Merlin, Marvel (any fandom), X-Men, The Eagle, TW (Sterek) // Offering: 1 - Pencil sketch or paste painting // Likes: "Happy to draw any rating, including fluff, angst, porn and romance, would prefer something shippy" // Dislikes: character death, violence, complex armour, mecha or furries

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620122286012399617/alby Bid on Me!

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#35 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $10

Current Bid: $15

Fandom(s): Marvel - Bucky/Tony, Loki/Tony, Stephen Strange/Tony, Gen // Offering: 1 -

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620016483950592000/calmena Bid on Me!

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#36 Opening Bid: $10

Current Bid: $25

Current Bid: $50

Fandom(s): Teen Wolf - Steter, Stetopher, Stargent, Chris/Lydia, Derek/Lydia, Corydia (Cora/Lydia), Lucifer, Tidelands - something Cal-focussed; preference is Cal/Corey/Dylan, but Cal/Corey, Cal/Dylan, and dark Cal/Adrielle is also on the table. Also willing to do Lucifer/TW crossover pairings // Likes & Dislikes: please visit Twist's showcase at https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620116913977180160/queerfictionwriter // Additional Info: Twist is disabled, so there’s a good chance they won’t be fast in completing your prompt. They also do not, as a general rule, take prompts, so if you’ve ever wanted them to write something for you, this is your chance! // Offering: Writing (fics 5k words and under)

Creator Profile: https://fandomcares.tumblr.com/post/620116913977180160/queerfictionwriter Bid on Me!

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#bid form #fandomcares #signal boost #multifandom #project:black lives matter

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