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gt-jar · 1 year ago

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Hide 'n' Sleep

Word count: 1,665

Ted placed two plates on the table. A normal-sized one for himself and a much, much smaller one, that belonged to the young borrower he shared his apartment with. It's been almost two months since he officially started to foster the seven-year-old. Becoming a legal caretaker had made a positive impact on his life. One of the many things that changed for the better was that he actually put in the effort to cook a decent meal at least once every day, now that he was responsible for the well-being of another person. He, by far, wasn't the best cook, but he was doing his best, and so far the kid had liked everything he had served him, so he counted that as a win. Though, that most likely didn't have much to do with his cooking skills. His old living circumstances, the fact that the boy used to live mostly from scraps and wasn't picky at all when it came to food, definitely played a major part in that matter as well. The man still liked to think that the kid genuinely liked his food.

Today he had made something simple, mashed potatoes and grilled chicken slices.

Ted opened the drawer and took out two sets of silverware and placed them next to their respective plates. He already dreaded having to clean the tiny fork and knife. He lost count of how many times he had to replace them, after accidentally dropping them down the drain. But well, that was a problem for after dinner.

He walked into the living room area, after calling out to the borrower to announce his presence, and went over to the sofa, where they had been watching TV together, before he had started to make dinner. But when he looked over the back of the sofa there was no borrower to be seen.

"Pip?" Ted called softly.

When the man didn't receive an answer, he carefully lifted up the cushions. Sometimes the kid liked to hide under them and fell asleep. But again the borrower wasn't there. Ted looked around, trying to spot the small boy. It wasn't really a surprise when he didn't. At his size the borrower could be hiding anywhere.

Luckily, his hiding spots were limited to the living room, since the kid hadn't told him that he wanted to leave the room. It was one of the few rules the borrower had to follow. If Pip wanted to enter or exit a room, he had to tell Ted, and vice versa. This way the borrower could move safely on his own, and the man didn't need to watch his steps all the time. Pip knew how important that rule was, especially for his own safety, he wouldn't break it without a good reason, so the chances for him still being in the same room were high.

Knowing Pip the kid was probably laughing at him from his hiding spot, like the little gremlin he was. He might as well just play along.

"Man, I knew that my cooking skills weren't the greatest, but I didn't think they were so bad that you needed to hide from them," Ted drawled with a smile on his face.

When he still didn't get a reply and couldn't hear the familiar sound of poorly muffled laughter, he was getting a little nervous. Usually the kid would have popped out of this hiding spot to "scare" him by now. His little schemes never lasted this long.

Ted stepped around the furniture, now very mindful of each step, and knelt down to look under the sofa and the coffee table, in case Pip fell asleep while waiting for him to finish cooking. When he wasn't there either the man began to check more possible hiding spots. The bookshelf, the dresser, behind the TV.

And every time.... nothing.

With each empty hiding place and unanswered call, the tension in his shoulders began to increase a bit more.

"C'mon bud, your food is getting cold. We can play later if you want."

Yet again, no answer.

He began to wonder. Did something happen? Did he say or do something wrong? Before he had started to cook Pip had been dozing on the back of the sofa, perfectly content. He was aware that sometimes borrowers that were in the room mate or the foster program choose to move back into the walls. Living with a human was the borrower's choice and theirs only, if they wanted to leave there really wasn't anything humans could do about it. But why would Pip want to leave? Ted had the impression that the boy liked living with him, even though he still sometimes wondered why. He wouldn't call himself great parent material and the wish to be one never really crossed his mind, until Pip came along and changed things.

Sure, they had a rocky start, but against all odds Pip had liked Ted from the very start and wanted to live him, even after being given the opportunity to move in with a family that was better suited for a kid his age. And yet the young borrower had wanted to hear none of it, and instead chose to stay with him, as if it was the most obvious choice in this world.

The possibility that he left just like that, without any hints, simply seemed too absurd.

Coming to this conclusion should have been at least somewhat reassuring, but all it did was bring up worse reasons for the borrower's sudden vanishing in his head. Images of Pip being hurt or unconscious and unable to call for help flashed across his mind.

Ted tried calling out again, fear causing his voice to raise, something he normally avoided given the borrowers' sensitive hearing.

"PIP?"

Ted held his breath and listened closely, trying to pick up even the tiniest sound in hope to somehow locate the borrower. At first he feared that only silence would answer him, but then he heard sleepy mumbling coming from somewhere behind him and just a moment later-

"Teddyyy why are y' shoutin'?" Pip grumbled, his voice slurred from sleep.

Ted turned his head to see where the voice was coming from, it sounded incredibly close, though he still couldn't spot the kid even after fully turning around.

He wasn't hearing voices, was he? He frantically looked around, still unable to spot the kid.

Ted almost feared that his mind was playing tricks on him, but then he felt light tugging on his hood and a moment later he could see the kid, rubbing his eyes with a fist, out of the corner of his eye. The man let out a sigh of relief and reached over his shoulder, wrapping the borrower in a loose fist.

"Oh Pip, there you are," Ted whispered as he pulled the boy close to his chest, relishing in the feeling of holding the kid safe in his hands again.

Meanwhile Pip happily snuggled closer to him and latched onto his shirt, always soaking up any kind of affection like a sponge. Yet, as he pressed his head against the man's chest, there was something keeping him from fully enjoying their cuddle session.

"Why is your heart beating so fast?" The boy asked with a frown.

God.... this kid.

If the man still had any hair to turn gray, this kid would be the reason for every single one.

"Why? I couldn't find you and you didn't answer me when I called, that's why."

Ted pulled the small boy away from his chest and held him on eye level. Pip wasn't too happy about their cuddle time being cut short, but didn't make much of a fuss and switched to hugging Ted's thumb instead. Ted met his eyes with a stern gaze, it made Pip avoid eye contact and his tail started to swish back and forth. It was a habit, Ted had noticed, something the borrower always did when he was embarrassed, nervous or anxious.

Good. The kid at least had the decency to feel guilty.

Ted didn't like being stern, but he needed Pip to know that couldn't do something like this again. Or else he would get a heart attack before reaching his 60's.

"I'm not mad, okay?", Ted patiently waited for Pip to meet his eyes again before continuing, "But I was worried about you. What were you doing in my hood anyway?"

"Well uhm... I was tired and... and your hood looked really comfy," Pip looked away again and his next words weren't more than a whisper, "and I wanted to be close to you."

And there went his lecture he had mentally prepared in his head already. Y'know? Like any good parent did.

Just like that. Gone. Poof.

He had always thought of himself as a tough guy, but this tiny kid never failed to make him utterly melt. The man had a hard time suppressing a coo, as he pulled the kid close again. This time he brought him to his face, so he could nuzzle the boy's chest with his nose, who in turn instinctively hugged it.

"How am I supposed to scold you for scaring me half to death, if you are being this adorable?" Ted said more to himself than anything else, Pip still mumbled a quiet 'sorry' back. Seriously, who gave that kid the right to be this precious?

"Just tell me the next time you decide to climb in my hood, 'kay?"

Pip, still being a bit dozy, just hummed. And that was good enough for Ted, who only truly cared about the kid being safe and sound.

A loud rumble coming from Pip's stomach reminded Ted of the reason why he had come to the living room. He had almost forgotten about dinner after all this fuss.

"Come on, let's see if I need to heat up our food again, sounds like someone is hungry," Ted laughed as he made his way to the kitchen, still cradling Pip in his hands.

And if Pip spent the next morning slouching in Ted's hood, while he was making breakfast, and many times after that, no one else needed to know.

#giant/tiny #g/t #g/t community #g/t writing #parental g/t #my-writing-jar #OC: Ted #OC: Pip

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4seasonsofart · 1 year ago

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What are the ship dynamics of Thorunte?

We are starting off with my newest and favorite one, which is t4t Thorfinn and Canute. Both of them being transmascs in the Viking Age just makes so much sense and is wonderful. I also love writing about queer characters, as there is not enough representation in the media. Canute is not cisgender. Let's just be honest with ourselves. I go more in depth about it in this post, if you would like to go read that.

We have Witch Thorfinn and Christian Canute. Canute being Christian is canon, and War Arc Thorfinn is enough of a little gremlin to be a witch. (Bjorn taught him all about witchcraft, by the way. He enchants his berserker mushrooms.) Canute is absolutely appalled at how Thorfinn ends up being a witch and is supposed to be protecting him. He always carries a cross necklace around his neck and holy water under his royal cape. He hides behind Ragnar anytime Thorfinn is near because he fears what may happen.

To be fair, Thorfinn has threatened to curse Canute a number of times, so it is a given at this point. Although he never would because Askeladd would never allow him a witch's duel to honor his father's passing into the beyond.

We have flirty Canute and flustered Thorfinn. This would be more along the lines of when they are in Season 2 because Season 1 Canute would not have the gall to flirt with S1 Thorfinn. (Thorfinn would probably punch him.) However, Season 2 Canute, with his new status as the king of two kingdoms, would definitely have the willingness to flirt with Thorfinn. Thorfinn is kind of clueless the entire time and is confused by the fluttering of his stomach and the pounding of his heart.

Early War Arc naive Canute and guardian Thorfinn will always be one of the most amusing to me. Canute just has to deal with this dude who hates him while simultaneously being attracted to him. Canute doesn't have the confidence to speak with him and is unable to protect himself. So Thorfinn always has to make sure he doesn't fall over himself and act like a fool. 'Anything for a duel with Askeladd' is just an excuse Thorfinn uses. It's more of 'anything to pretend that I'm not attracted to that stupid princess.'

Askeladd notices how Thorfinn is always around the prince, despite claiming his hatred for the young noble. 'Ah, young love, just like Bjorn and I.' Askeladd thinks.

Slave Arc, King Canute, and slave Thorfinn are when you see the tables flipped. Suddenly, Thorfinn is lost amidst the seas of his trauma. (In this au, we are just going to say that Canute is keeping Thorfinn as a slave. One of his servants.) Canute is torn, as he is unable to stand how defeated and sad Thorfinn looks. What happened to his fiery and angry kitty boy?

Eventually, Canute slips from his duties and tries to make amends with Thorfinn. It helps Thorfinn a little, as he is plagued with Asleladd's spirit and constantly tormented. He rolls around in his sleep and has blood-curdling nightmares. It's only when Canute sneaks into his chambers and speaks sweet nothings that Thorfinn is finally able to be lulled into a peaceful sleep.

It becomes normal for Canute to end up in Thorfinn's chambers just so he can sleep. Thorfinn is healed, and his warm spirit comes back to him. Canute declines any possible suitors, as he sees Thorfinn getting better. One day, that man will rule along with him and be his king.

In a modern high school, we have nerd Canute and Emo Thorfinn. (This one is separate from my other modern au. They aren't related, and Canute is whatever gender they want to be.) Canute is top of his class, class president, and neurodivergent. He does drag in his free time, and his father hates him in general. Oh yes, modern au Canute has worse daddy issues than canon Canute.

Thorfinn is someone who is more alternative than emo, but Askeladd just calls him 'emo bitch.' He is a guitarist and the main singer of his band, Vinland Rockers. He is working towards becoming a tattoo artist and illegally tattoos kids at the school as a side gig. He makes a ton of cash from it, and Askeladd (his adopted father) doesn't care as long as he doesn't get arrested.

Thorfinn ends up getting Canute into detention, and they have an entire enemies-to-lovers arc. Canute comes out of the closet and happily does their drag as Thorfinn gets tutored by Canute.

Thorfinn gives Canute their first tattoo.

Shout-out to: @kelolololol

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clayandstuff · 4 years ago

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Spacekru family dinner 🌱🌱🌱

#The 100 #Echo Kom Azgeda #Bellamy Blake #Emori #Raven Reyes #Monty Green #Harper McIntyre #green is good 💚#I can't believe this is one of the only group shots of Spacekru and Murphy isn't even in it!#just kidding he's definitely hiding under the table like a gremlin #the whole family is together #spacekru #my art

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llamagoddessofficial · 3 years ago

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FNAF security breach au, our favorite skeles have to protect and hide little MC until they can get her out safely.

you guys know me too well

Hit: The pizzeria security guard, searching up and down for this lost child, who is so unfortunately trapped inside after hours. Mc can’t explain why she’s so afraid of Hit but something about him terrifies her; when his crimson eyelights turn toward her and the corners of his smile lift, her instincts scream at her to run the other way. Everything about him seems fake.

But there’s nothing to be scared of! He’s an honest security guard. He’s just trying to help, promise. What could he have to hide? Her parents must be worried sick, right? come on out, sweetheart... you’re safe with me.

Sans: He’s the one Mc first runs to- in her bid to escape Hit she winds up in Sans’ room while he’s charging because he’s the least intimidating of the animatronics. She rushes inside in a blind panic, clearly close to tears, she begs Sans not to say anything and darts under a table... and running on instinct, Sans stands in front of the table to block her from view and lies to Hit when he asks about any potential sightings.

... She definitely attaches to him, since he was the first to help her. And he, instantly, becomes her stand-in dad... providing comfort and advice and encouragement whenever he believes she needs it (which is all the time). He’s going to do whatever it takes to get her out of here- to keep her safe, and sane. He doesn’t know why she doesn’t trust Hit but if she doesn’t, he doesn’t, and he’ll do his damnedest to take good care of her until 6am rolls around and there’s a safe way out.

‘Gameplay’ wise, being inside his chest cavity is the jack-of-all-trades way to move around the facility. He has a long charge and moves swiftly but he doesn’t have any special abilities to speak of.

Red: Sans is the responsible parent. The comforting one, the safe one...

... And Red is the one who gives her a laser gun.

Sans asked for his fellow animatronic’s help getting her out, and Red was more than happy to oblige (he never liked Hit anyway). He loves his lil’ gremlin and the last thing he wants is for her to be scared- he thinks that coddling her will only do half the job, she also needs to be able to feel secure in her own way. She’s gotta be able to stand her ground if they can’t intervene fast enough. If that means giving her a weapon that could seriously harm him... sure sweetie, just don’t point it in your eyes, mkay?

He’s actually a vital source of entertainment. The fact that she’s trapped and being hunted can get to Mc, and although Sans’ comforting definitely helps, Red’s jokes and stupid comments and easygoing demeanour and (successful) attempts to rile up Sans are often what actually cheers her out of her fear. What convinces her to keep trying.

Being inside his chest cavity means slightly less power, and you move a bit slower, but he has better vision than Sans and can scare away other robots with his loud voice box.

Skull: A scrapped animatronic. Once part of the main crew long ago, some glitch or malfunction lead to him being unceremoniously stripped of his exoskeleton and decommissioned, dropped alongside the other garbage into the trash-filled bowels of the pizzeria, left to mindlessly wander alongside all the other scrapped monsters that used to be the star of the show. The difference between Skull and the rest of them, though, is Skull is sentient... that same unknown malfunction has made him alive. He collects whatever exoskeleton pieces he finds in the trash, to try and look like how he once did. As you can imagine, he doesn’t look very... put together.

Anytime Mc is in the vents or sewers, or just outside of the regular pizzeria area, he’ll be listening and as nearby as he can be. He obviously took one look at her and went ‘oh! my kid’ but she has a nasty habit of running away from him- an unfortunate combination of both him looking fucking terrifying, and their first proper encounter being when he used his bare claws to tear apart an endo that was chasing her down.

He just... he just wants her to know he’s trying to help.

His chest cavity, if you dare to get in, is a tricky thing to navigate. Skull knows his body isn’t exactly the most child-friendly place and as SOON as he feels any glitches or irregularities, he’ll immediately eject Mc, unwilling to take any risks with the thing he treasures most. But... he’s the fastest of the three, the strongest, he can sprint and break down gates and walls, and has unlimited charge from years of salvaging himself under the facility. So maybe it’s worth the risk.

#llamagines #security breach au #fnaf security breach spoilers #hello and welcome to detroit become dad

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what-the-witch-stuff · 3 years ago

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Landings Through the Grapevine

Chapter 1: Introduction

Masterpost: here

Go to: Ch.1 | Ch.2 |

Pairing: Elliott x OC

_________________________

It was a quiet morning in Stardew Valley. Birds were singing faintly in the distance and a hazy mist hung in the air, transforming everything not directly close into blue-ish hues and indistinct shapes. The sun had just risen over the horizon, chasing after the last traces of pink in the otherwise clear, blue sky. Not one cloud was in sight.

This was indeed a pleasant surprise. The villagers had feared for the constant downpour, that has persisted for the last couple of days, to delay the annual spring festivities. But now, only the wet squelching sound under the farmer's boots disrupted the idyllic scenery, as she made her way around the forest clearing, where the annual Flower Dance would be taking place. Undeterred by the early hour, the preparations were going just as planned, though they were far from finished. Riley herself had only a few decorations left to hang up, but they were still waiting on a cart to bring a few chairs and parts of the sound equipment.

A loud continuous thumping echoed over the meadow as Robin was still busy with setting up Pierre's booth. The noise was shortly interrupted, as Robin readjusted the planks she was working on, before spotting the farmer.

“Good morning Riley! Oh, you cleaned up nicely.”, Robin greeted her cheerfully and looked her over. Though Robin had apologized for ever doubting Riley's ability to take over her grandfather's farm, it were comments like these that made conversing with the carpenter a bit difficult. As Riley still didn't know Robin too well, the double meaning of the statement was not lost on her. But today, the farmer wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, hoping that Robin was just a little aloof sometimes.

'Don't rock the boat now. Think about the barn upgrade' .

So, she forced herself to just smile and wave before turning back around and the noise of the hammer picked up again. For the occasion, Riley had indeed ditched her usual overall and stained-shirt combo, in favour of one of her nicer outfits she used to wear back in Zuzu City. The only thing left from her usual farming attire was her sword which, clearly visible on her left hip, marked her as a member of the Adventurer's Guild.

While she had been quite pleased with her decision at first, something about the outfit had triggered a weird feeling. It had taken some time for her to remember, that she had not worn these clothes since the fatal day, that she had quit her job at Joja Corporation. However, by the time Riley had come to that realization, it had been far too late to change into something else. The whole morning, she had tried to push the thought away, as today was supposed to be a good day, after all. The farmer was usually not the person to care much about traditions. Nevertheless, after walking around in clammy work clothes for the past week, even Riley was looking forward to the Flower Dance. It had been a little awkward during her first year, as she had been completely new to the community. And while most villagers had been rather welcoming towards her, it were customs such as the dance that still made her feel like an outsider.

'Well, what do I expect?' , Riley asked herself, while carefully climbing a ladder, to hang a couple of pastel-coloured, flower garlands into the lower branches of a tree. “This is my second year after all. Shane came to live with Marnie and Jas three years ago. Leah and Elliott moved here, roughly around the same time. They might be part of the town now, but otherwise, all of them are kind of outsiders too.” Even so, and the thought made her pause mid task with a snort, that was probably also due to their very individual personalities.

“Well, at least someone is having a good morning.”, remarked a deep voice from below. Speaking of the devil. Shane was looking up to her, an unreadable expression on his face and dressed in the traditional sky-blue uniform, all attending Bachelors would be wearing to the dance. In his hands was a bowl of pepper-poppers from which he ate one ever so often, while watching her work.

“Oh wow Shane, I would say you cleaned up nicely too but I might be lying”, Riley replied with a grin, to which Shane just rolled his eyes and kept chewing completely unfazed .

“Fuck you. I know I look just fine, so you can suck it!”, he grouchily mumbled, though it sounded more like he tried to convince himself rather than her. “You sure do, buddy”. Finally happy with her work, Riley descended the ladder to greet her friend properly. “And you would look even better, if you stopped stuffing your face like a pig!”.

“They're my favorite”, he protested childishly and provocatively grabbed another pepper.

“And I spend a lot of time making them all by myself.”

“I helped too”

“No, you flaked to play soccer with Jas and Vincent!”

Shane's expression bore a cheeky grin, probably anticipating to say something rude. But the pair was interrupted by Pierre, calling out for their help to unload the cart that had finally arrived….

Since Marnie was still in a not-so-secret- relationship with Mayor Lewis, she insisted on taking part in the preparations of any official festivity. Many of the dishes, decked onto a couple of large folding tables, had been prepared the previous day at Marnie's farm, with Riley chipping in her labour and even part of her harvest.

“What happened to breakfast, you greedy gremlin?”, asked Riley, saving the half empty bowl from Shane's grasp, to return it to the buffet. The gremlin in question trailed behind, pretending like he was not sulking over the loss of the food:

“As you like to remind me, microwaved pizza is no proper breakfast”. At that Riley raised both eyebrows in mock-astonishment:

“Oh, so now the good sir suddenly cares about what I have to say ?”

“So Riley, you're not dancing?”, Marlon asked in between sips of punch.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, and the cool morning had turned into a bright midday. Everything was set up and ready. Soft music played over lively conversation, as bit by bit all villagers arrived. Riley didn't really know what to do with herself, when she could no longer hide behind tasks and actually had to socialize. Seeing Marlon standing in a far corner of the meadow, one hand calmly resting on the hilt of his sword while overseeing the scenery, presented a great excuse to escape dreadful smalltalk. They were well acquainted by now and she had not seen him in a while, other than when she visited the Guild directly. It wasn't too weird, if she made use of that affiliation, right?

If Marlon felt disturbed through her presence he didn't let it show. He just nodded in acknowledgement and together they watched the Spring Maidens enter the clearing, garbed in white from head to toe, with lacy floral decorations sewn onto their dresses and flowers in their hair.

“I think, such ' spirits ' might have other things to worry about right now”.

Unfortunately for her, even Marlon seemed talkative today and Riley answered him reluctantly: “No. As far as I am concerned, the couples dancing stay mostly the same. Wouldn't want to disrupt that order, y'a know”, That was not entirely true, though. The other reason was that a certain someone would most likely turn her down if she'd ever asked him. And Riley was not willing to open THAT can of worms anytime soon. Marlon hummed in understanding: “I see. I just thought, since you're a farmer, you might want to participate.”

“What does being a farmer have to do with that?”

Marlon looked at her, the brow above his remaining eye slightly raised in surprise: ”The flower dance is an ancient fertility ceremony. Back when the village still believed in the spirits of this land, the dance was held to gain their favour for the upcoming harvest. Surely you wouldn't want the spirits that make things grow on your bad side, ey?”.

Riley was not sure what to make of this new piece of information, so the farmer and the monster hunter fell back into silence. Looking around, the meadow didn't really look like an old or magical place to her. It most definitely didn't feel like one either. Compared to the eerie solitude of the Community Center and the claustrophobic depths of the mines, the clearing seemed so very ordinary. On the other hand, it wouldn't be the first time that the Valley proved to be full of surprises. One year ago, Riley was some disillusioned worker's bee in a corporate nightmare. Now, she belonged to a world where magic was real, wizards lived in secluded towers, monsters hid in the depths of the wild and animals could talk. Or rather, Riley could suddenly talk to them (?). Overall, the land was full of entities and forces, Riley didn't plan to meddle with, let alone offend. For a moment she got worried enough, that she almost asked Marlon directly, if he thought the Junimos would truly be cross with her, for not attending the dance. But she decided against it, as someone might end up overhearing their conversation. Surely, Marlon was one of the few people in Pelican Town, who knew about the otherworldliness of the valley. He had probably seen more than Riley would ever experience in her lifetime. But this wasn't the time and place to talk about such things openly.

“And they better have their priorities straight. If they ever dare giving me shit, for not doing that stupid dance, I'm out. Have fun rebuilding the Community Center without me !”,

was what she did not say. “Besides, wouldn't it look silly to be wearing a sword with such a dress?”, she jokingly gestured in the direction of the Bachelorettes, but to no one in particular. Marlon, again, shortly averted his eyes from the crowd to look at her, in what one might consider to be amusement: “Silly? Kid, that sword is a badge of honour. Of course we wear it to any occasion, men and women alike. Back in the days, Old Linda wouldn't be caught dead not wearing her sword. Also made the lads keep their hands to themselves, if you know what I mean.”, at this he cackled quietly to himself and took another sip.

“What happened to them? Linda and the other women in the guild?”, Riley asked curiously since Marlon rarely was so chatty. “What do you think? This was way before your time. They're probably dead or very old. Some got married, moved to the city and forgot all about their old lives here. ….Your grandma was one of the last”.

Marlon's eyes were back on the gathering, but there was something harsh crossing his features. Riley didn't know what to say. So she just kept watching him in hopes he would elaborate on that. But he remained shrouded in silence. She knew that their conversation was over for good. And knowing Marlon, he wouldn't want to talk about it anytime soon either. So, she tried pushing her questions into the back of her mind and rather focused on the gathering at hand, where the female villagers were now the centre of attention.

The first Bachelorette she saw was the blue haired bar-maid who was hard not to overlook, thanks to her outgoing personality. Emily's dress was full of ruffles and detailed embroidery and made her look even more whimsical. Like a fairy, she was all smiles and joy, half-dancing half skipping over the grass barefoot, as her skirts flowed and billowed along her every movement. If Clint was trying not to stare at her directly, he unfortunately wasn't very good at it. And with concern, Riley noticed the disdain in his eyes when she hugged Shane and started chatting excitedly. Abigail was the polar opposite, in the way she acted all nonchalantly and kept her posture extremely casual. She smirked and rolled her eyes at anyone complimenting her dress, but soon settled into her usual group of friends and as far away from her parents, as physically possible. Haley posed a little to better show off her new dress and happily chatted with Jody and Caroline about the cut and some issues she had with shipping.

It was then that Riley caught a glimpse of auburn in the crowd and her heart skipped a beat, when she saw Elliott and Leah chatting with Marnie and Harvey. He looked handsome (but then Riley always thought he was) with his blue overcoat complimenting his fair skin tone, while contrasting his coppery hair. Leah, who didn't seem too interested in the conversation at hand, ended up catching her gaze and gave a small wave. Riley felt like she missed a step on a staircase and could hardly control the nervous flutter in her chest, when Elliott turned his head in her direction too. His noble features turned from confused to an amused smile as he spotted her. And just like the gentleman he was, he gave her a courteous nod. Riley could not help, but smile back warmly with butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

It was silly.

But a crush was a crush.

Ever since Elliott had invited her for drinks during a chance meeting at the saloon, Riley had been head over heels for the cocky and slightly eccentric writer. He was charming in his good old fashioned way. Not only did he look like the figurative embodiment of a Jane Austen character. He also played the part: always most polite and private in an outside setting and so very concerned about the impression he made on others. But once rather tipsy, Elliott had been much more forthcoming in what was actually going on in his mind. Riley fondly remembered how she couldn't stop laughing after unexpectedly hearing Elliott say ' shit ' for the first time.

It was nice. …

Just a shame, that his interest in her had not survived the night. While they had parted in good spirits, the next day, their interaction was back to pleasant conversation and occasional discussions on his drafts. Riley respected that. Of course she did. But that didn't stop her from developing quite a passion for fishing, in hopes to see him standing at the docks when battling his usual writer's block. For a moment Elliott looked as if he tried to excuse himself from his current company. He kept looking back at her with, what almost seemed like, impatience as he waited for Harvey to finish talking. But then, Mayor Lewis announced for the dance to begin and Elliot took Leah's hand, to gracefully lead her to the middle of the clearing, along with the other couples.

#stardew valley elliott #stardew elliott #stardew valley #elliott stardew valley #elliott x reader #sdv elliott #original female character #sdv fanfic #stardew valley farmer #sdv farmer #elliott sdv #stardew fanfic

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murder-raven13 · 4 years ago

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My Haikyuu Ships pt. 2

A/N: This is the continuation of my Haikyuu ships and the reason I ship them.

Warning(s): cursing, somehow these kind of turned into small relationship headcanons for some of them, not proofread, looooong

Word Count: 2,373

Part 1 Part 3

Yaku x Lev

Honestly, the height different is a big deal for me. So fucking cute, like...just what? Plus, Yaku is a grumpy smol and Lev is a happy toll and I just-

But Yaku is grumpy chaotic and Lev is puppy [and a little oblivious] chaotic and them together is just adorable chaotic. Lev irritates Yaku so much in the beginning [which, like, understandable; Lev’s a cocky idiot], but manages to learn how to deal with him. Develops an exasperated fondness for the giant. Lev learns how to control himself a little because of Yaku [this is partly because now Lev has a singular target for his mischief]. They’re just so cute and Yaku is so done [was highkey mad at himself when he caught feelings]. Lev was definitely to type to fall in love at first sight.

Suga x Oikawa

Okay, Okay, so like I don’t know how this one started for me. But I love them, okay? They don’t like each other at first because they’re rivals, not just because they’re on different teams but because they’re both setters. But then Oikawa also thinks Suga is unfairly pretty [who doesn’t?] and Suga returns the sentiment [the level of pretty in this relationship should be illegal; it has reached critical mass]. And then Oikawa finds that Suga is an instigating little gremlin who physically abuses people as a form of affection. And Suga finds that Oikawa is super dedicated and a literal perfect director when it comes to people [he can literally make anyone sing any tune he wants with his smile]. So, these two get along like a house on fire. Two manipulative meanies. They get into so much mischief together [Iwaizumi swears he’s going to kill them or himself]. But they also are just really soft. Like, Oikawa will burrow himself into Suga’s side no matter where there are or what position they’re in [clingy baby]. And Suga will bury his hands in Oikawa’s sweater whenever they’re cold [loves the way Oikawa will shriek if he touches his skin with his cold hands]. They leave sticky notes in each other’s bags or random places for the other to find [eventually] with little compliments or things on them. Just, they’re conniving, adorable bastards and I hate them.

Terushima x Daichi

This is another one where I don’t know where the fuck it came from. I’m not even sure I have a reason behind this other than Terushima being a smug asshole and Daichi having none of it. Terushima is a ball of reckless energy and he doesn’t take anything seriously despite being ridiculously intelligent [boy is in Class 7]. And Daichi, bless his soul, is a dad. All he does is take shit seriously and chorale reckless idiots onto the right path. So, when they get together, Terushima ensures that Daichi lets loose and doesn’t forget to take care of himself [by making sure he’s not too stressed or overworking himself]. And Daichi is, like, all of Terushima’s impulse control. Honestly the only reason Terushima doesn’t die. So, they keep each other on track and make sure that each is happy and doing their best. Just a very chill, well-balanced couple.

Ushijima x Tendou

These are both my babies and I cannot with them. Their cuteness hurts me. Ushijima is so stoic and so single-mindedly dedicated to the things that matter to him and the list of things that matter to him is short: volleyball, his family, and Tendou. That’s it. Man is legit just completely dedicated to Tendou, no questions asked, would help him bury a body. But he sucks at communication and showing his emotions. And that’s never been a problem with Tendou. Tendou never got tired of talking to him, never stopped trying to include him, was never bothered by how little Ushijima talked and Ushijima literally loves this man so much. And Tendou, my adorable little baby, was so lonely and so insecure. He expected everyone to judge him for his appearance or to leave him because he’s annoying or a freak. But Ushijima literally does not care about Tendou’s looks not being conventional; he thinks he’s attractive all the same and has no problem telling Tendou this. And Ushijima has made a sustained effort to interact with Tendou’s interests because he knows it makes Tendou happy [Tendou talks to him about his interests, so Ushijima makes sure he knows all of them so these conversations can happen]. Just, they’re so perfect, I can’t.

Tendou x Semi

Big, energetic Tendou with grumpy, stoic Semi. Gives me life. Semi acts irritated with Tendou’s antics, but he loves them, really. And Tendou knows it, too. Teasing little shit; Semi never gets a break. Tendou helps Semi whenever he’s feeling down because he’s not doing as well as he hoped [Semi wants to be the best but being the best is hard]. And Semi helps Tendou remember that opinions don’t matter; that he likes Tendou for all those weird, annoying qualities Tendou sometimes hates. They’re very sweet and, surprisingly, Semi is the one that initiates most serious physical contact [he initiates their first kiss, their first real hug, their first cuddle session, their first time, all of it] because Tendou wants to make sure that everything is going at Semi’s pace since Semi isn’t as comfortable with touch or intimacy. A very sweet, yet playful couple.

Shirabu x Goshiki

The small, itty-bitty amount of information I’ve been given about these boys is criminal. But I’ve seen enough to ship this. Goshiki is overzealous and a people pleaser; he just wants to be good enough to be great. One of the ones that wants to prove himself more than anything else. Praise is received extremely well. Shirabu, on the other hand, wants the opposite. He doesn’t want to be the best, he doesn’t want to be the one everyone relies on. He wants to be more of an invisible support beam, a minor cog in an overall grand and powerful machine. He’s not very forthcoming with his emotion, unless that emotion is annoyance or disdain. Goshiki tries to be cool, but can’t really keep his emotions in check very well. So, they, as a couple, play a kind of tug-of-war. Goshiki constantly pulls for more and Shirabu constantly pulls for less, which keeps the two of them balanced, putting out just enough that they’re constantly improving, just in subtle ways instead of grandiose ones. Shirabu tries to pretend he’s not a softie, but he is [only for Goshiki, though, who basks in the little moments Shirabu lets him have of uninhabited affection, whose rarity makes them worth the world to Goshiki].

Nishinoya x Tsukishima

This one came about because of the lowkey abusive relationship Noya has with Tsukishima. Noya is like 5′2 and Tsukki is like a whole foot taller. Yet Noya can and will stand up to Tsukki and let him know when he’s being an ass, physical methods used as necessary [most of this is limited to hitting his side or messing with his glasses if Tsukki’s face is within reach]. Noya will also mock Tsukki, playfully, and reminds him of his age, which is good for Tsukki because he’s chronically withering inside his little tsundre shell. Noya is also highkey really supportive. Whenever Tsukki does something good, no matter how subtle it is, Noya is there to give him recognition for it, which, again, reminds Tsukki that he can be nicer and that Noya can see him even when he’s trying to hide. And Noya has fun with Tsukki because he keeps him on his toes; they have a fun relationship built of just the right amount of trust and ‘lets remember to have fun’.

Daichi x Kuroo

My captain babes. Daichi and Kuroo both have very forthcoming personalities. But Kuroo is much better at remembering that it’s important he acts goofy and stupid sometimes because he’s a student, a kid, and carry a lot of stress. Daichi isn’t so good at this. He’s gotten so used to dealing with reckless children that need him to be a serious iron fist that he’s forgotten that he needs to let go sometimes and that that’s okay. Kuroo helps him remember this. And their relationship is built around understanding. When one needs help or a little space to deal with their serious stuff, the other is right there to be the pillar they need. If they need to goof around and forget a little, they’re there and prepped with hot chocolate and bad trivia games that Daichi sucks at. When they’re both stressed under piles of work, they never forget the other. They’ll sit next to each other at the table, on the bed, on the couch, the floor, with their legs or their shoulders or their feet lightly touching, just as a reminder that they’re there. If one falls asleep, the other will save their work and haul them to bed because sleeping slumped over isn’t any good. Out of my ships, this is definitely one of the best, in terms of matching and functionality as a serious couple.

Kuroo x Bokuto

They’re relationship isn’t as serious. Bokuto is a refugee for Kuroo, a place where he can unapologetically turn his brain off. He doesn’t have to be a captain or responsible or the top of his class. He can just be Kuroo and Bokuto has fun with him. They go on adventures and play volleyball together, experimenting with new moves or ideas all the time. Definitely the couple that would regularly go to the amusement park or the fair. Kuroo gives Bokuto his undivided attention whenever they’re together and spoils the hell out of him and Bokuto’s mood swings don’t bother him, he knows what to do. Boys are very committed to each other; they can’t imagine ever not being together because their relationship is just so fun and comfortable. It’s safe and loving, without a doubt, because they are, first and foremost, best friends.

Yaku x Kuroo

Hated each other at first because their middle school teams were rivals. And Yaku’s a grumpy little gremlin that can be a little too serious sometimes. But that’s just until he relaxes. Once he’s comfortable with people, he gets a lot less serious and just a little less grumpy [he’s an angry smol and my mind cannot be changed]. But he loves Kuroo. Can’t help snorting at Kuroo’s god awful chemistry pickup lines; they’re just that bad. He loves them, though. And he can throw them right back. They have chemistry and physics debates all the time, often while doing something completely non-serious, like Twister or that headband game. Kenma can’t stand being around them because they throw insults at each other like they’re compliments, loving voices and touches and all. Kuroo is always touching Yaku, will literally reach for him completely subconsciously, a fact Yaku mocks him ruthlessly for despite that fact that he always adjusts himself to fit the contact better [because he’s just as clingy as Kuroo, just not as openly]. Sickeningly cute behind closed doors, only mildly affectionate in public.

Oikawa x Kuroo

A couple that met later in life. I ship them as college students, to be honest. But they would be cute. Kuroo is goofy and a science nerd; Oikawa would alien talk him into a stupor. Iwaizumi is just glad he is no longer the sole participant in Oikawa’s space conversations. These two would casually come up with plans to demolish their opponent’s spirit and have fun doing it. Plot murder together on a regular Tuesday night. Would definitely be able to calm the other down when they began to take shit too far.

Ushijima x Oikawa

[Can y’all tell I’m a whore for the enemies to lovers trope?]

Ushijima is a huge ball of attractive stoic that doesn’t know how to properly act on his feelings. Has always admired Oikawa as a setter [legit has crushed on this boy since the first time they plated a game together in middle school and Oikawa vowed to beat him]. Ushijima has no problem telling Oikawa how much he admires his playing, his skill, and his determination to win no matter what. Oikawa had no idea in high school that Ushijima’s interactions with him were Ushijima’s way of showing he liked him. He saw it as antagonization because Ushijima thought he was better [Ushijima thought they would have been their best together]. His growing feelings for Ushijima forced Oikawa to face some of his own securities and grow as a person. Had to go through almost an entire identity crisis when he realized he was in love with Ushijima of all people. Iwaizumi wanted to throw his entire phone away Oikawa called him to whine so much. And Oikawa’s lack of understanding Ushijima’s advances forced Ushijima to become more adept at reading others and expressing his own feelings in a concise, clear way.

Kenma x Yamamoto

This is my favorite Kenma ship and one of my favorite overall ships. Let me tell you why. I did not ship them until season 4 because I didn’t know much about their relationship until then. But Tora and Kenma are another set that didn’t get along at first. Their personalities makes them natural antagonists to the other. Yamamoto is a try hard and always gives 120% in everything he does. Kenma is the type to give a very efficient 70%, meaning that he finds the best ways to get the same results 100% would have gotten, just without as much work put into it. And they have such a grudging respect for the other at first, once they begin to come to terms with the other. That respect grows and becomes the foundation for their relationship. They know that the other is going to do their job and they’re going to do it well. They have complete faith in the other and when they work together, their personalities become magnified. Kenma relies on Tora to be forthcoming and Tora expects Kenma to find the best way to do things. They just, they’re perfect, and I love them. Please, why is there so little content for this ship?

On that note, Imma end this. There will probably most definitely be a part 3 to this because I don’t have free time, but that’s never stopped me.

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cursedcataclysm · 4 years ago

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I should be doing my APUSH work right now but if I have to read one more sentence about Columbus I will tear out my own eyeballs so-

Summer Camp AU

feat. Dream Team, BBH, Sleepy Bois, Tommy and Tubbo, Fundy and Eret

DREAM

One of the boy’s cabins counselors, helps out at the waterfront sometimes

Has this white snapback hat with a black smiley face embroidered on the front, refuses to take it off, somehow never gets dirty

Also this lime green sweatshirt, he wears it around his waist if it gets too hot though

Often paired with George as co-counselors, they’re absolutely chaotic together but surprisingly good at leading the campers, they’ve got the whole play-fighting dynamic going on and nobody is really sure if they’re dating or not, they wear each other’s clothes so often they just share a dresser at this point

Whenever there’s a spider or a bug in the cabin Dream is the designated one to kill it (or take it outside)

Actually really close friends with Techno but they have a whole fake rivalry going on at camp for the ✨ drama ✨ (not really, they just got in an argument once and it spread across the entire camp, now it’s basically just part of camp lore that they’re ‘enemies’)

They play it up a ton at camp events and team games, but they almost always sneak out to the docks at midnight after and talk for hours

Dream and Sapnap together almost always means trouble

They’ve been friends for as long as anyone can remember

The shenanigans they get up to usually ends with them both on kitchen duty

Loves climbing trees?? Can be found just chilling in trees sometimes

Known for being a really cool camp counselor though, intimidatingly tall and won’t hesitate to step in when breaking up a fight or disagreement, has a way with kids

GEORGE

Also a boy’s counselor

George has these awful white sunglasses he won from an arcade on a staff trip, nobody has ever seen him without them, he wears them on his face when he’s in a bad mood (only Dream can talk to him without being ignored when this happens)

George is known for being a stickler for the rules, but surprisingly he’s often the counselor who starts the annual prank war, he somehow managed to dye Dream’s hair bright green in his sleep once

A bit awkward with the campers, but he loosens up around Dream and Sapnap

Constantly steals Dream’s green sweatshirt

Makes Dream and Sapnap friendship bracelets once, is a flustered mess when he gives the bracelets to them, muttering excuses about them looking terrible because he’s colorblind, Dream and Sapnap wear them on their wrists at all times (even though the colors clash just a little bit)

SAPNAP

Also a boy’s counselor, hosts the game nights in the main lodge every week

Has a white bandana tied around his forehead, Dream yanks it down over his eyes sometimes and they end up chasing each other around the camp for hours (and then they end up on kitchen duty, obviously)

KING of the ropes course

Spends most of his time there, actually

Ends up in the infirmary more times than he probably should after trying to do obstacles blindfolded or without a harness

Can and will carry a grudge for months on end

References a meme or vine every other sentence

Unironically wears crocs

Starts water balloon fights with Dream every opportunity he gets

Yells ‘parkour’ every time he does something cool on the ropes course, even if it’s not actually parkour

Loves giving out hugs, very physically affectionate, will sling his arm around your shoulders or punch you gently on the arm

Wrestles with Dream

Which leads to kitchen duty

BBH

In charge of sports/archery/rifle range

One of the nicest counselors, always chides the other staff (and campers, sometimes,) for cursing, helps out in the infirmary whenever he can

Campers trust him with their secrets, he knows a little bit about almost everyone but he’d never let any of it slip, he’s well aware of how important it is to the campers to have someone they can absolutely trust

Helps sort out disagreements between campers, he’s probably the best one with kids

Scarily good with a gun, holds most of the top camp records

Constantly reminding people to wear sunscreen, carries around three different types in his bag

Also a bunch of individually wrapped muffins, he gives them to campers if they want a snack

Definitely the worst at telling ghost stories

Has a lot of survival skills, will teach campers how to tie ten different types of knots in his free time

Only one who consistently wears his staff t-shirt

WILBUR

Everyone’s favorite counselor, at least according to him

Often paired with Techno

Grey beanie for the aesthetic, but also because his hair is absolutely a mess and if he shoves a hat on it it immediately looks better

Carries his guitar with him most of the time

Went through the ropes course one time with his guitar on him because of a dare

Really good at telling scary stories, but usually plays campfire songs on his guitar instead (sometimes with a kazoo if he’s in the right mood)

Absolutely torches his marshmallows and insists it’s the only right way to eat them, once ate a flaming marshmallow whole (for fun, apparently)

Coffee addict

Pretty much spends the entirety of breakfast at the coffee table

When Wilbur was a CIT he gets this black bandana from Philza, he never wears it but keeps it tied around his bed frame every summer, until one staff campfire when Tommy is a CIT. They’re all sitting around a fire and singing and joking around and Tommy surprises Wilbur when he knows all of the lyrics to one of Wilbur’s songs, and Wilbur impulsively gives Tommy the bandana (Tommy makes a joke about how it’s ‘rather plain, innit?’, Wilbur rolls his eyes and punches him on the arm, they both know how much it means to Tommy though)

Kind of sarcastic, mean in a nice way

TECHNO

Technically a counselor but nobody knows where he is most of the time

Has pastel pink hair and will 100% help kids dye their hair too, but not before a long lecture about bleach damage and regret

Also a pink face mask (for fashion), only takes it off to eat or swim

The best at making friendship bracelets, it gives him something to do with his hands

Teaches the campers how to make friendship bracelets in the art cabin

Gives his closest friends a pink and black friendship bracelet (it’s not confirmed to be him, they just show up on your bed overnight, but everybody knows it’s Techno)

One legendary summer, Dream and Techno were paired as camp counselors for a cabin, the campers from that year all have matching pink and green bracelets, there’s still whispers about what went down then

A god at toasting his marshmallows to perfection, golden and crispy on all sides with just the right amount of melting

Gets the best care packages from home (so many cookies!!)

TOMMY

CIT with Tubbo

Only his second year at camp, but he hit it off really well with all the other staff and Philza so they offered him a position as CIT

(which he accepted, obviously)

Likes to claim it’s for all the free stuff and staff perks but secretly really wants to learn how to be a good counselor

Curses like a sailor though

BBH has to threaten to take away his access to the staff coffee table to get him to stop cursing as much around the campers

Chaotic gremlin, probably shouldn’t be put in charge of children

He’s actually very responsible when he needs to be though, likes to joke around a lot but looks out for the campers as much as possible

Self-proclaimed king of the gaga pit

Seriously, can hit the ball so hard he’s bruised some people a couple of times

Always covered in scratches and bruises and bandaids

A little too eager to throw a punch

Has a black bandana (from Wilbur) and wears it around his neck at all times, keeps it as clean as possible (even when he’s covered in dirt from various scuffles the bandana somehow stays clean)

Goes absolutely ham on a kazoo during sing alongs

Him and Tubbo sneak out one night and take a paddleboard out to the middle of the lake to look at the stars, the only reason they get caught is because Tommy falls off as they paddle back to shore, Philza yells at them for ten minutes straight but it’s worth it

Basically never wears his staff shirt

TUBBO

Also a CIT

Has been going to the camp for years

Brings his ukulele with him, sometimes he plays with Wilbur at campfires, loves sitting on the dock and playing random little tunes for the campers

Hangs out at the waterfront a lot

Volunteers for kitchen duty, surprisingly

He actually really likes cooking and hanging out with Fundy, whenever he and Bad are in the kitchen together they make muffins

Makes flower crowns!! Absolutely vibes while sitting in the fields, loves the bees, teaches campers how to weave flowers together

Lets Tommy drag him off into all of his shenanigans

Is definitely the type to laugh off insults

Very, very hard to anger but when he gets mad, he gets mad

He and Tommy have only had one disagreement ever at camp, it started with a screaming match for an hour at the waterfront, they ended up not talking for days. Wilbur’s never seen Tommy that quiet, and Eret watches Tubbo with concern when he just sits on the dock for hours, not moving. One night Tommy shows up at Wilbur’s cabin, covered in scrapes and blood in the pouring rain, he just starts crying and Wilbur carries him to the infirmary before finding Tubbo, the two finally talk for a couple of hours after BBH bandages up Tommy’s wounds, the next day they’re back to talking and laughing and causing chaos together like nothing ever happened

Tubbo still feels guilty about that

Loves hanging out with the campers, everyone is excited for when he’s an actual counselor

Wears his staff shirt most of the time, but it’s under his green flannel so you can’t really tell anyway

PHILZA

Camp director obviously

Basically a tired dad, wears a green and white bucket hat, has a fanny pack and will use it

Curses a lot but hides it from the campers

Constantly reminding everyone to wear their staff shirts even if nobody listens to him

Loves telling the campers embarrassing stories about Wilbur and Techno as often as he can

When giving Tommy a tour of the camp to prepare for being a CIT Tommy somehow manages to climb onto the roof of the dining hall, Philza has to hide his laughter while yelling at him to come down

Tommy just stands and yells “POGCHAMP” as loudly as he can, Wilbur records it on his phone and makes sure to send it to all the staff in the group chat

Refers to Wilbur and Techno as his ‘sons’

And eventually Tommy too

Also references vines and memes

ERET

Waterfront manager/lifeguard

Really chill vibes

Also makes pride friendship bracelets for the campers!! It’s kind of a tradition, if you come out to him you get a bracelet

You also can get a bracelet if you ask for one

Has a whistle, loves to sneak up on the other counselors and blow it as loud as he can

Brings a lawn flamingo to camp every year and stakes it outside of his cabin

Really close with Tubbo

Helps Bad in the infirmary sometimes

Also hangs out with Sapnap at the ropes course, loves climbing the rock wall and sitting on the top

One of the best counselors to go to for advice, along with BBH

BUDDY SYSTEM OR ELSE

You better have your buddy when he blows his whistle twice

Tubbo helps him organize the swim tests and give everyone the appropriate tag to hang on the buddy board

FUNDY

Fundy absolutely cannot be trusted as a counselor, so Philza sticks him in the kitchen as head of the kitchen crew

Fundy doesn’t actually mind, he doesn’t have to do much and he gets access to all of the snacks

Extremely chaotic when handing out snacks to the campers- sometimes he throws them, sometimes he just dumps them out into a pile on the ground, sometimes he hands them out individually, there’s no way to predict it

Needs at least 8 hours of sleep or several cups of coffee before he’s ready to interact with campers

Very sarcastic

Plays piano in the main hall sometimes

Bullies Tommy with Wilbur

A picture of him in a fox costume surfaced in the staff group chat and now everybody calls him a ‘furry’

He hates it

So much

Capture the flag games that go for days on end, Dream and George captaining a team against Wilbur and Techno, spies and sabotage and elaborate heists, Eret betraying his team during one of the games, water balloon skirmishes, color war but Intense Mode

Prank wars between the counselors and campers

Building epic pillow forts in the cabins and the counselors sneaking in snacks even though there’s not supposed to be food in the cabins

Just, so many possibilities

#mcyt #mcyt au #dream team #sleepy bois inc #au #summer camp au #absolutely add on ideas and hcs #I'd love to see em #this turned out so much longer than I expected sdfsdjfd #perfect way to procrastinate on apush tho

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highonchocolate · 4 years ago

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Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 10

First Previous Next: Nonexistent Ao3

Walking down the hallway, Jason felt his suspicion grow as he recalled the conversation he just had with Marinette. She had been fidgeting while answering his questions, repeated ‘homework’ several times, and given him way too much information when he had asked. All trademark signs of a liar. But why would she lie about having homework? As he mulled over the possibilities, he made his way down to the kitchen where Damian and Tim were (unsurprisingly) arguing. Alfred (surprisingly) was absent, probably doing something in another room.

Jason thanked whatever power was up there for the small mercy. He didn’t think he could deal with the Alfred Disappointed Stare No. 5 (Trademark and Patent pending) today.

“Hey Demon Brat, Timbers, how’d ya like to do some recon on Pixie?” He called out, enjoying how they both immediately stopped arguing to turn and fix him with incredulous (Tim) and disgusted (Damian) looks. “Have you finally lost your mind, Todd?” Damian asked, fixing him with a derisive stare.

“Yeah, why would we spy on Mari?” Tim agreed, a puzzled frown on his face.

“Because she lied to me about doing her homework so that she wouldn’t have to play video games with us.” He responded, regretting it immediately. Only after saying it out loud, did he realize exactly how immature and stupid that sounded.

“Aw, is poor little Jason sad because someone didn’t want to hang out with him?” Tim laughed, tilting his head to the side as if talking to a small child. Next to him, Damian snorted into his cereal, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

“I didn’t mean it like that you little shit, it’s just...suspicious.” He finished lamely, trying to justify his reasoning.

“Besides,” he continued, “if you don’t, I’ll tell Alfred about that time you mixed Mountain Dew and two energy drinks into a large coffee with five shots of espresso just so that you could stay awake long enough to spite B.”

“Drake you imbecile!” Damian shouted, turning to glare at Tim. “How could you be so vulnerable as to allow him to discover your secrets?!”

Tim just looked at him in horror, eyes wide in shock. “You wouldn’t.” He gasped.

“Try me fucker!” Jason shot back triumphantly, knowing he’d won.

“Fine.” He groaned, dropping his head onto the table with a thunk.

“As for you, Gremlin, if you don’t help I’ll show everyone the picture of you wearing your Nightwing pajamas and sleeping with that Batman plushie from three years ago.”

Damian turned his glare from Tim to Jason, the heat of a thousand hells burning in his furious gaze. “How dare you bring that up, Todd!” He snarled, seething with rage. “I will break your shins and use them to cut out your lying tongue!”

Jason simply rolled his eyes, too used to the threats to be bothered.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, brat. Can you just hurry the fuck up?”

Damian’s glare somehow managed to intensify, but he still got up off his stool and stomped reluctantly over to him. Tim took his time finishing the rest of his coffee before flipping him off out of spite, and then walking over to them as well.

“Alright, so how are we doing this?” He questioned, looking expectantly at Jason.

“I don’t know, Timbers, you’re the genius. You tell us what you think you should do.” He drawled.

Tim glared at him, but refused to respond, brain already whirring as it came up with solutions. “Well vents are definitely out of the question, but I think there might be some secret passages in the manor we can use. We’ll have to look at the blueprints.” He sighed. “Remind me why I'm doing this again?”

“Because, Drake, he has blackmail.” Damian scoffed, still scowling at Jason.

“Yeah well in case you haven’t noticed, I have dirt on you too, kid.” Jason responded, rolling his eyes.

“And anyway, Drake.” Damian continued, steadfastly ignoring his words. “Your idea is unreasonably complicated. We are dealing with a civilian, and she is incapacitated, so there is no need for you to devise such an intricate plan.”

“Damn, Demon, you’re making it sound like we’re planning on murdering her after we already tortured her and cut off a limb or some shit. She just has an ankle boot, calm the fuck down.”

“Damian, you do have a point. Her room has a balcony, so if one of us can distract her long enough the other can climb up there and plant a bug in her room. But we’ll have to take it out after we make sure she’s not doing anything suspicious. We can’t just invade her privacy like that.” Tim conceded, contemplating the merit of the younger’s suggestion.

“You say that like we haven’t already hacked her fucking phone and listened to her calls.” Jason snarked back. “But yeah, we should take it back after we check.”

“Alright let us begin, you fools. I have no desire to be under your power any longer than I have to, Todd.”

Tim went to his room to grab one of the listening devices he had stashed there, while Damian and Jason fought over who was going to be the bait.

“I can’t do it, I already fucking talked to her today, so it’d be suspicious!”

“Well me and Dupain-Cheng are merely acquaintances at best, and besides, I clearly have the more superior skill when it comes to stealth.”

“You little shit! I can totally be stealthy!”

“The volume at which you are shouting begs to differ.”

“Oh shut the fuck u-”

“Enough!” Tim shouted, having heard their raised voices even before he had rounded the corner. “I’ll be the distraction, Damian’s the ninja, Jason you just listen to the feed since you’re so suspicious of Marinette.”

“Fine.” Jason grumbled.

“That is an adequate arrangement, Drake.” Damian aquesied, looking as though it physically pained him to make such a statement.

“Whatever.” Tim rolled his eyes, already heading up to Marinette’s room. Damian slipped off in another direction, presumably to make the two-story climb to her balcony, and Jason sat down and opened up the laptop to connect to the live feed from Tim’s listening device.

---

Tim knocked on Marinette’s door and waited. He heard what sounded like a crash, a thud, and a muffled curse. “You can come in!” She called out, sounded flustered and out of breath.

He opened the door cautiously and stepped in. Her desk chair was lying on the floor and some notebooks were spread out on the ground nearby. It looked as though she had fallen out of her chair when she heard his knock. But why would she be so startled?

She was looking at him expectantly, and he remembered he was supposed to be distracting her.

“Oh hey Marinette, I remember you saying last month that you liked to design,” he began, flashing her a faux-hesitant smile.

“Um yeah, I do like designing. Why?” She questioned, looking at him strangely.

Time to tone up the acting.

“Well, I know it’s already the beginning of October, but I was wondering if you could help me make a couples Halloween costume?” He asked, giving her a sheepish look, and infusing the barest undertone of hope into his voice.

At the mention of costumes, she immediately perked up, looking a bit more invested in what he was saying.

“Sure! Who’s it for, though?”

Tim facepalmed mentally, forgetting that she had only been with them for two months, and hadn’t met Kon yet.

“Oh, it’s for me and my boyfriend, Conner.” He laughed, “I guess it never really came up, but yeah, I’m bisexual and cassgender.”

Marinette smiled blindingly up at him. “So what did you have in mind for your costume?”

At that, Tim stalled. It wouldn’t exactly hurt to have matching costumes for Halloween, would it? He did have a few ideas, but he didn’t know if Kon would like them.

He must’ve voiced his thoughts out loud, because Marinette just grinned and said “How about you talk to your boyfriend and see what he has to say about matching costumes, and then I can design something for you?”

Internally, Tim began panicking. Why was he becoming so invested in this bullshit excuse? It’s not like he was actually going to dress up for Halloween. His plans were to eat chocolate covered espresso beans, watch shitty movies with Kon, and then go on patrol until 3 AM and write reports until he passed out from eventual sleep deprivation. Fuck Jason and his stupid suspicions. Now I have to actually put effort into my appearance. Isn’t putting on a suit for meetings at WE enough in the dress up department? Ugh.

But all he said was a quick “Sure! I’ll ask him what he thinks, and let you know.” Before turning and walking back down the hallway. I hope Damian had enough time to put the bug in there. He thought as he plopped down next to Jason on the couch.

Less than a minute later, Damian was there, a triumphant smirk on his face as he settled in next to them to listen. There was a quiet crackle of static as the mic synched up, and then they were able to hear everything that was going on.

---

After Tim left, Marinette closed the door with a sigh. “Why me?” She sighed, looking over at her fallen desk chair and the scattered notes spread out across her floor. With a grunt, she picked it up and pushed it back over to her desk before bending down and collecting the scattered papers. Walk/hobbling back to her seat, she collapsed into her chair with a groan before turning back to the evil worksheet sitting innocently on her desk. “Fuck math. Who in the world decided we needed to study freaking triangles to pass highschool?!”

With another sigh, she picked up her pencil and went back to working.

Not even five minutes later, she slammed her palm down on the table and stood up, cursing creatively in Mandarin.

“Stupid fucking bitch ass piece of shit! Does it look like I care if sine squared plus cosine squared equals one?! Does it look like I need to leard this stupid shit to become a fashion designer?! Newsflash I don’t, so why the hell do I have to study this absolutely confusing stuff!”

She shouted, glaring furiously at the question she had just come across. “I really, really, really hate math sometimes.” She said, switching back to English.

Pulling out her phone, she clicked on something before raising it to her ear with an exhausted sob/groan.

“Hey Buginette, how’s Gotham?” The familiar voice of her best friend/brother greeted her.

“Adrieeeen.” She whined in French. “Help meeeee.”

“Is it Math again?” He laughed, sensing her problem.

“Stop laughing!” She pouted. “It's really hard and I can’t call Max because Max hates me, actually everyone hates me, and now I want to cry, but I don’t have time to cry properly, so can you please just help?” Her eyes began to burn, and she swallowed around the tightness in her chest. “Ignore that. Just...remind me how to do this again?”

“We are coming back to this,” Adrien informed her sternly, “But I’ll let it go for now. So what you want to do is…”

---

Tim shut the laptop lid and glared at Jason reproachfully. “You happy now, Jay? She wasn’t being suspicious, she was actually doing her homework. And now we heard her have a small breakdown over math, and then another one over how her friends hate her. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take that bug back, and go do my work.” And with that he stalked off.

“Tt. Your concerns were unfounded, Todd.” Damian scowled, also getting up. “I am going to feed BatCow.”

Before Jason could reply, he had left, disappearing to go play with his pets.

Slumping back on the couch cushions, Jason let out an aggravated sigh and ran a rough hand through his hair. There was something strange about Marinette, and whatever it was, he was going to figure it out.

---

@laurcad123, @liquid-luck-00, @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #luka couffaine #kagami tsurugi #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #lila rossi #alya cesaire #lila salt #class salt

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alouispo · 4 years ago

Text

Same as the first chapter, read the trigger warnings there. :D

Im a bit rust with my writing so sorry if its not that good

Still, don't say I didn't warn you.

=======

When Tommy Innit wakes up in the bed and in a house, he knew that he fucked up. What had he been thinking? He shouldn't have left. He should not even thought about leaving.

Panic starts to build up inside of his chest as he sits up and holds himself. He had no idea where he was, Which meant that dream could track him down. 'Actually,' he thought. 'He might be in Dream's base right now.' Dream was going to be pissed. He disobeyed his friend, and now he was going to suffer the consequences. Tears start to well in his eyes at the thought of punishment and his breath quickens. What will he do? He can't leave again. If he does he'll definitely be killed.

He starts crying, deciding that he was going to try to leave again. He couldn't stay and face the wrath of his only friend. Forgetting about his injured foot, Tommy falls off the bed with a loud thud. This only makes his sensitive state worse, causing him start breathing a lot faster to the point of hyperventilation. He shakes and tries to stand up again, stumbling back towards the wall as he hears footsteps coming up the ladder. His vision went blank as he pressed himself into the corner of the room, gripping at his chest wondering why he couldn't breathe. He stared at his knees and held his head with the other hand, trying and failing to hold back a choke to sob as who he assumed was Dream stood in front of him.

You were never allowed to cry in front of dream. If you did, you'd get punished.

Techno thought he had heard the sobbing before he heard the thud. He didn't mind when he heard a crying a bit, but he did mind when he heard the thud of something hitting the floor and then loud sobbing. Worry filling his chest, Technoblade walked up the ladder slowly, hoping not to disturb Tommy too much. By the time he had gone up the ladder and fully stepped on to the fourth floor of his bass, The former vice president was sitting in the corner, hugging himself with his face hidden as he had a panic attack.

Not exactly sure what to do in these types of situations, the emperors kneeled in front of Tommy and put his hand on his shoulders. He didn't pushed the thought of how worrying the sight of Tommy flinching when the pig put his hands on his shoulders to the back of his mind and spoke softly.

"Tommy," he said in a low voice. "Tommy I need you to calm down, alright? Everything is okay, you're safe," Techno rubbed the younger ones shoulder and coo'd, just like he would hear Philza do so when Wilbur would have one of these. His actions seemed to help the child calm down a bit. Starting slowly, Technoblade asked the teenager to copy him breathing. With a bit of exaggeration, the emperor started breathing slowly, counting to ten in his head. Surely enough, Tommy followed suit with a bit of encouragement, helping him to calm down a bit more.

After repeating this for nearly thirty minutes, Blade had managed to help Tommy calm down to the point where all you could hear were small whimpers and sobs. The pig hugged the fugitive as gentle as he could, still rubbing his shoulders and back for reassurance that he was going to be alright. During this period he had some time to think about what just happened.

Tommy woke up, started crying, fell off the bed, himself into the corner of the room, proceeded to have a severe panic attack, and is now crying in his arms while hugging him weakly. This was unnatural. No matter how many times Tommy had been beaten down, Techno didn't think that anyone had seen Tommy Innit cry. He feels the only exception to that rule would be Tubbo, but then still he wasn't sure. Innit also barely gave out hugs or admitted that he wanted one - unless there was Philza or Tubbo - for he was too prideful. Tommy also had never had a panic attack before, and that was something he knew for sure. The kid didn't seem like he was the type of person to even know what those were.

The self-proclaimed anarchist knew that something was wrong. That something had happened between the last time he saw the Gremlin child and now. While he held Innit in his arms, he examined his body, something that he couldn't do last night.

Tommy's clothes were tattered and worn for wear; they were covered in missing patches, dirt blotches, scrapes, faded out color, and ripped hems. The only two things that seemed to be still intact, where the hat that he held on his head - which seemed to be suspiciously hiding something- and neckerchief that he wore. The bandages that were around his forearms and his right shin were also very worrying to Technoblade. He noticed that Innit was wearing a pair of fingerless gloves with pads on the palms, something that he rememebered a certain dead man liked to wear. Another worrisome thing that his attentive eyes noticed were the amount of bruises and cuts all over the former's body.

The thought of what happened to the child still loomed over his head as he put the younger back into the bed and under the covers. Tell me was on the verge of falling asleep again, but it didn't seem like he would. Hoping for the best anyways, Technoblade looked at Tommy with a softened face and said quietly, "Do you want to eat something?"

He was surprised that Tommy nodded, mainly because the child looked dead inside and outside.

Techno wasn't sure if he should let Tommy sit at a table or something to eat but Tommy insisted that he would be fine very timidly. Shakily, Innit sat up under the covers to receive his plate, which he held close to himself very possessively. Techno sat at the front of the bed, holding his own plate while watching Tommy closely. The way Tommy tried to eat was very… odd, as he tried his best to put it lightly.

It seems like he had forgotten how to eat. Tommy would stare at his plate and pick at his food with the fork before dropping the fork and making a pitiful attempt to pick it back up. When you finally did manage to pick up the fork, he would stare at his food again before trying to take a bite. Then he would flinch like he realized he was doing something wrong and put his food down.

As he put the plate down he didn't make any contact with his older brother. He hadn't said a word since he had insisted that he would be okay to eat. "Is something wrong?" The emperor asked, pushing down his own plate to his lap. Tommy seemed to flinch at the question, but didn't respond as he hugged himself. "I'm not hungry," he said quietly, barely loud enough for Techno to hear.

"Why not? You seemed pretty eager to eat a few minutes ago," Techno commented with a bit of a louder tone. When Tommy didn't answer, the pig put his plate down and put his hand on Tommy's lap. "Innit, I need you to answer me alright?" He said with a gentle tone. From the teenager's reaction to that, Technoblade assumed that Tommy assumed the question was going to be bad.

"Tommy," a flinch. "What were you doing in the snow without anything on you? Nonetheless with a bunch of monsters all around while you were by yourself in the middle of the night?" He got straight to the point, wanting an answer. Tell me wasn't the type of person to go wandering off on his own, even less of the type of person to go without any of his stuff.

"I was running away," Tommy answered quietly again, starting to become nervous as he fidgeted.

"What were you running away from?" Techno questioned, cocking his head to the side slightly.

"I was running from… exile," Techno could sense that that wasn't the complete truth, but he didn't push any further on that.

"Why did you start running away from exile until now? Did something happen?" Tommy tensed at the question, obviously debating on whether or not to tell Techno.

"P-please… don't be mad, okay? He's my friend and he cares about me," Innit sounded shaky as he spoke, almost sounding like he was begging. Like he's done it before.

"Who's your friend? Why would I be mad?"

"D-Dream…" Technoblade can sense some confliction in the younger voice.

"What about him?"

"I disobeyed what Dream said, he- he got mad at me for hiding something from him, and he destroyed everything," Tommy spoke with caution, which only added to the nervousness that Technoblade was feeling. "So I built this… I- I ran away, because I was sad."

Abruptly, Tommy stood up, or at least attempted to before saying, "but I- I- I need to go now, s-so I should leave." As he said this, Tommy stopped right before the ladder.

"I can't go back," He heard the child mumble.

"What was I thinking? I can't go back now. He knows by now that I'm gone. Oh, Dreams's going to be furious with me. He's going to kill me for good this time," The fear and Tommy's voice continued to unnerve Techno, making him wonder further what happened to Innit.

"T-Technob-blade?" Tommy asked timidly. "C-Can I please stay here?"

#sleepy bois inc fanfiction #dsmp fanfiction #tommyinnit #exile arc #exile innit

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tklpilled · 4 years ago

Note

do you have any sbi hcs :0?

YES I DO THEY’RE MY FAVOURITES YES

phil:

-he’s a switch. kinda

-he doesn’t get real lee moods. sometimes he’ll think “yknow. i wouldn’t mind” but they’re never actual lee moods

-he does end up being a lee pretty often though, because his kids want revenge

-his laugh is mostly just hiccup-y giggles

-he doesn’t squirm too much unless it’s a really bad spot, he’s not shy about the fact that he likes it

-i feel like his worst spots would be his wings and sides

-when he’s ler though,,,

-you better watch out you better wATCH OUT YOU B

-he can and will absolutely wreck your shit

-he’s probably caused half of techno’s lee moods

-somehow immediately knows exactly what teases get to someone the most

-just. mean ler

techno:

-ler

-very much a ler

-he’d be a switch actually but like,, 95% ler

-he loves chasing the lee just so that he can catch them and hold them from behind and whisper teases in their ear

-the only person who has successfully beaten phil in a tickle fight without help

-they’re both big lers so whenever they have tickle fights it’s. fun

-like phil, he actually likes being tickled, he just prefers to be a ler

-unlike phil, though, he does get lee moods

-sometimes he wakes up in a lee mood and immediately goes back to sleep because he does Not want to deal with it

-his lee moods don’t happen very often but when they do. they’re b a d

-literally cannot ask for tickles. you can sometimes (rarely) get a soft “can you,,, do the thing” from him though

-he can hide his reactions unless you get him to break first, so a lot of people think he’s not ticklish

wilbur:

-i’d say he’s a perfect 50/50 switch

-although he’d probably be lee-leaning if he didn’t grow up with tommy

-the other two are lers and then boom. lee gremlin child

-very teasy

-if he’s in a ler mood then no one is safe

-he sneaks up behind the first person he sees and pokes their side. they instantly know they’re fucked

-you can’t tell me he doesn’t love pretending to be a tickle monster

-raspberries

-it’s really easy to make him lee though

-cannot say the word tickle if he’s lee

-every tease that he uses works just as well on him

-being pinned is very flustering for him because he can’t hide his face. he doesn’t mind it though

-if you pin him you need to be strong though because he squirms a lot

-he blushes very easily and if you tease him about it he’ll blush even more

tommy:

-definitely lee-leaning switch

-i’ve already given up all of my lee tommy hcs so. ler tommy hcs!

-he’s surprisingly a very gentle ler at first. he constantly asks “is this okay?” and he stops whenever the lee shows signs of it being too much

-HOWEVER. after the first couple of times or so, once he’s learned what the lee is okay with, he’s fucking ruthless

-he’ll go immediately for your worst spot without hesitation

-he and tubbo get into tickle fights pretty much daily

-sometimes at Important Presidential Meetings™ he’ll squeeze tubbo’s knee or poke his side under the table just to be a bitch

-he’s an annoying little sibling (/lh) so he will absolutely go up to the other three and poke at them while they’re working

#ask #anonymous #dsmp

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zims-left-shoe · 4 years ago

Text

Agent Mothman (Dib x Male Reader)

Like most of my other fics, characters are aged up to high school. Plus, a friendly reminder that my request box is open!!

The silence was overwhelming. The pressure of everyone's collective held breath was almost palpable, your chest reactively tightening for no good reason. As you looked around you, eyes were wide, jaws were set and clenched in preparation to cringe. The only two who stuck out from the crowd were Zim and Dib, when did they not? Zim looked lost in thought, mind seemingly several thousand galaxies away, hands folded together neatly in front of his face, his chin resting on them. Dib, on the other hand, appeared to be over the whole ordeal. His posture was slouched as he stared ahead at the board through half-lidded eyes. As the quiet persisted, an anxious energy settled over your classmates (besides the two previously mentioned, of course). Eyes twitched, fingernails scraped the tables, feet began to tap restlessly on the floor.

"Y/n." The teacher finally spoke, bringing the whole class to sigh in relief, the building pressure suddenly released all at once. Many students leaned back in their chairs, high fiving each other. "Y/n, you will be partnered with Dib." You shrugged your shoulders as many looked to you in pity, some even whispering their sympathies. You had never aligned yourself with any group in particular throughout your school year. Granted, you were only a few months in, but you had switched schools so much you had learned to play the field. You avoided Dib considering his stigma, enabling you to be tolerated by the majority, however you were never mean to him. In fact, you rather liked him. You only chose to silently observe him rather than act upon your curiosity.

"But wait, who's going to be paired with Zim?" You heard a student groan, everyone's breath being held once more. You let your gaze drift over to your partner. He seemed relieved, a slight smile settling on his lips. This was probably the best case scenario for everyone. No one else had to work with Dib, and you were the only one who never picked on him for being just a bit different.

Once your teacher had finished reading names, you were all asked to sit with your partners. Without an ounce of reluctance, you sauntered over to Dib's otherwise empty table, taking one of the many available seats surrounding him. You needed to figure out a plan quickly, considering you only had one night to do the project. The project wasn't super taxing, in fact it seemed almost like busy work that would promote socialization at the same time, but it wasn't like your time frame was ideal.

"Dib, right?" You held up your hand in a slight wave. "I don't think I've officially introduced myself. I'm Y/n."

"I know. The new kid who has no real friends yet is somehow still deemed acceptable by the popular kids? An anomaly for sure." Red painted his face, his eyes widening as he realized how his words may have came off as. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound rude. Or creepy. You know what? I'll just stop talking." An awkward chuckle escaped your lips as his eyes fell to his sneakers. After a slight pause, Dib spoke again, his tone much more reserved than before. "I can just do the whole project and you can put your name on it if you want. It's not that hard." He was giving you an out, not wanting to piss you off. Reaching an arm out, you slugged his shoulder lightly.

"Nah, come on. I don't roll that way. Besides, I want to hang out with you a little."

"You...want to hang out...with me?" Dib pointed a finger to himself, eyes wide behind his large glasses. An incredulous expression was etched into every single feature of his face, as if he couldn't believe those words left your mouth.

"Yeah." After that syllable, the bell rang, dismissing you from school. You stood up, gathering your things. "Anyway, I'll be at your place after dinner. Just text me your address or whatever." You quickly scribbled your digits down on a scrap piece of paper that was laying around, passing it to him. "See ya!" You dashed away, sneaking one last glance back to see Dib still sitting in his chair, as still as a statue, not believing that this was even happening.

Your stomach felt as if it was full of butterflies, and you couldn't shake the grin that had spread across your face as you began your walk home.

God...he was even cuter than I thought... You were embarrassed by your own thoughts, pinching yourself on the arm. Truth was, you may or may not have been stalking him a little. He lived in your neighborhood, and you just couldn't help it. You had always been a hopeless romantic of sorts, and all it took was one look at him in class giving a presentation on the gremlin in his backyard and you were in love. You didn't even need his address, you knew where he lived, but you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable, so you asked for it anyway. Plus, it was a way to sneak him your number. And it wasn't as if you were actively trying to find out where he lived. It was pretty much impossible to ignore him and Zim screaming at each other as they ran back and forth between their houses all day.

"This is going to be a long night." You sighed out, foot striking out to kick a rock, the satisfying skittering sounds it made calming your nerves a small amount.

You drew in a deep breath as you brought your fist to the door, rapping on it a few times. Rocking back on your heels, you clutched your notebook and other supplies tightly to your chest, internally cringing at yourself. Everyone at school thought you were incredibly cool, but on the inside, you were just a lovesick gay who was overflowing with big dumb energy. The door swung open, bringing you to jump and be pulled from your motivational speech that was being given inside your head.

"Come on in. I'm surprised you showed up." Dib stepped aside to let you in, gesturing past the living room to the kitchen where a purple-haired girl sat at a table, picking at the remaining food on her plate. A floating monitor hovered near the table as well. "We're just finishing dinner, but you can follow me if you want." Nodding, you padded behind the social outcast wordlessly, taking a seat next to him at the table. "Gaz, this is Y/n, my partner for my project. Y/n, this is my sister Gaz."

"Hey." You waved to the girl. Her expression remained squinty as she continued to pick at her food, eyes dancing between her plate and a Game Slave which was charging on the counter.

"Whatever." She grumbled, never even directly acknowledging your existence once. You began to wonder if Dib was actually the most normal out of his entire family, which was saying something. Dib awkwardly cleared his throat as he pointed to the floating monitor, which displayed a man in a lab coat and goggles furiously working on something.

"Oh, and this is my dad. He's at work right now, like usual. When he can't be with us for dinner, he either videocalls us from his lab or plays a pre-recorded video reminding us of chores and dinner instructions." Despite how sad the things he had just said sounded, not an ounce of bitterness was up for display on his face. Instead, his eyes shone with pride, happy to have a dad who was making a difference in the world, even if he could never really be a conventional father. "Anyway, just let me clean up and then we can get to work." Dib stood up, bringing his own plate over to the sink and running it under water, placing it in in its respective place in the dishwasher afterwards. Waving for you to follow him, he led you down the hall to a room that was clearly his. The door was covered in posters and stickers of aliens and other supernatural creatures, a good sized "Keep Out" sign the centerpiece. You wondered what would be inside, becoming excited. You figured you were the first person besides his own family to be seeing his room. He twisted the knob, casually pushing the door open, allowing you to step inside.

"Wow..." You trailed off as you glanced around. There was so much to look at. Your eyes darted from one thing to the next, barely able to take it all in. There were several computer monitors surrounding a desk that was littered in papers and catalogues for supernatural hunting items, a few prototypes of possibly his dad's inventions scattered there as well. His room was lined with posters of aliens and other entities, an important looking briefcase thrown haphazardly onto his bed. The one thing that held your gaze the longest was a ginormous cork board. Several photos, drawings, diagrams, and hurried scribbles of notes were tacked up there, filling it to the max. Each paper was connected with color coded strings, things circled in colored pen seemingly at random, although you knew better. It was the definition of organized chaos. In large, bold, red letters, one word was scrawled on a paper at the top of the board: ZIM.

"I'm sorry, I tried to clean it as best I could. It's still kind of a mess." Dib hurriedly stacked papers together on his desk, trying to make it look presentable.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. You should see my room. Half of my shit isn't even out of boxes yet, and we moved in months ago." You laughed, sitting down on his floor. "So, alien invasion, huh? Isn't Zim that kid with the skin condition?" You asked, gesturing to his cork board. His shoulders tensed as he unplugged his computer and brought it down to the ground, taking a seat beside you.

"Could we just get to work? Please?" He seemed to want to sweep that subject under the rug, and you decided that you would let him.

"Okay...so anyway, this research poster. You got a topic in mind?" Your prompt drew him out of his unsociable shell, albeit hesitantly.

"Personally, I was thinking Area 51, but if you wanted to do something else..." He genuinely appeared to not want to upset you, despite usually not caring about how he came off to others.

"That sounds great, Dib. Interesting too. You think they're really hiding aliens there?" Laying down on your stomach, you rested your face in the palms of your hands, gearing up for a long talk. A smile crept onto your face as immediately his eyes lit up.

"I'm glad you asked."

"I think we have the essentials. Now we just need to get them onto the poster, which is probably the most time consuming part." Dib stretched his arms towards the ceiling while you yawned and cracked your back. You didn't know how long you had been sitting on the floor for, but a glance to the clock by his bed told you it was 8:01 pm. The two of you had spent the last couple of hours researching, organizing notes, and mainly just talking about yourselves. You had no idea why everyone constantly was ragging on him. You found him to be incredibly interesting and entertaining, hanging onto every single word he spoke. You weren't really sure if you believed in all of these supernatural creatures, but you also didn't think that they couldn't exist.

"I think so too. You ready to start on the poster now?" Reaching out, you gathered the posterboard and construction paper Dib had brought in from his garage together.

"Yeah, in a minute. I have to use the bathroom and then see what Gaz is up to, I'll be back in a few." You hummed a response, Dib standing up and exiting, closing the door softly behind him. Deciding to take a closer look at the Zim conspiracy board, you pushed yourself to your feet, leaning close to try and decipher the grainy images. One in particular caught your eye. It wasn't in color, and everything seemed fairly blurry. Zim, or what was supposedly Zim, was hunched over something that looked to be a robot. Except, as you looked even closer, Zim seemed to have these buggish eyes and long, skinny antennae in place of his hair. Rubbing your eyes, you flopped down onto Dib's bed.

"God, I must be seeing things." You had managed to convince yourself that you had been staring at computer screens and papers for far too long, and that your eyes were playing tricks on you, showing you what Dib wanted you to see. Closing your eyes for a minute, the rise and fall of your chest turned slow and steady, and you could feel your grip on reality loosening.

A ringtone of sorts snapped you back from your almost-doze, and at first you thought it was your phone, but after waking up a bit more, you realized it was coming from one of Dib's monitors. It appeared he was getting a call. The monitor showed nothing besides a logo of some sort of eye, as well as an option to accept the call or decline. Filled with curiosity, your feet took you to his desk where his monitor sat. You barely felt in control of your body as your finger swiped at the screen in the direction to accept the call.

"Agent Mothman-" The voice coming through the monitor was distorted, but you got the impression that it was on purpose. The image displayed was a dark silhouette of what seemed to be a man. "You're not Mothman."

"You mean that cryptid from West Virginia? No. I'm not." You took a seat in Dib's desk chair, which was very comfy. You assumed he spent a lot of time in it when he wasn't hanging out with Zim.

"Who are you and what do you know?" The voice was menacing, and you vaguely wondered if Dib was involved in something more serious than you thought. Quirking an eyebrow, you tried to not let any miniscule amount of fear you were feeling show.

"I'm, we'll just say Agent, uh...Nessie." Feeling uncreative, your mind drifted to the Loch Ness Monster.

"You're not Nessie either."

"You got one of those too? Ugh, fine. What about Agent Chupacabra?"

"Well, no, but...you're not any agent we know of."

"But I could be! Agent Chupacabra reporting for duty!" You brought your hand up to your head stiffly in a mock salute.

"But you're not a member of the Swollen Eyeball! What are you doing on Mothman's computer?"

"The Swollen what now?" You were smiling stupidly, only because you couldn't really grasp what the current situation was.

"Hey, sorry, Gaz decided to hound me over drinking the last soda, so I took a little longer than I thought-" Dib opened the door to reveal you sitting in his desk chair, trying to look all spooky for the guy in the monitor. You thought he'd laugh at your stupidity, but he was not in the least bit amused. "OH MY GOD AGENT DARK BOOTY!" Slamming his room door, he darted over to where you were sitting, almost tripping and falling on his face. He made a strangled noise as he noticed the disappointed expression that rested on the silhouette's face.

"Who is your little friend, Agent Mothman?" The distorted voice was cold, and you could feel Dib almost shrink next to you.

"Listen, I can explain-"

"I thought we stressed secrecy, and the fact that you are not allowed to have outsiders sit in on our important meetings."

"Meeting?" All of a sudden, several of the other monitors sparked to life, various other silhouettes coming into view. Just in one glance, you could see that Dib wanted nothing more than to fade away into a cloud of space dust in that moment. You stayed silent, knowing that Dib was in some serious trouble because of you.

"We had a meeting at 8:30 pm sharp, Mothman. You knew this. And you had a friend over?" Dib's face, already pale, turned even more so. Any lighter, and you thought for sure he'd become a ghost on the spot.

"I am so sorry, I had a school project, and he's my partner, I lost track of time." He looked absolutely helpless, and without a word, you stood up and gathered the poster supplies. Snapping back to his senses, he turned to you and began shoving you out of his room and herding you to the front door.

"Dib, I-"

"You really need to go!" There were no other words said between the two of you as he quite literally slammed the door in your face. A sigh slipped past your lips as you clutched your project items in your arms, dragging your feet across the pavement on your walk home. You lazily stumbled through your front door, mumbling a greeting to your parent(s) as you headed to your room, gearing yourself up to finish the project before morning.

"Thank you to Y/n and Dib for their, erm, informative...presentation on Area 51. That was your last one, so enjoy your last five or so minutes of class." Your teacher went back to their desk as you and Dib retreated to your own table. You hadn't talked much since the incident last night, and quite frankly, you were tired from spending hours of your night creating the visual portion of your project. Dib's lips were tightly pressed together in a thin line, and you guessed there was something he wanted to get off his chest.

"Look, Dib. If there's something you want to say to me, just do it. I'm sorry for answering your call, that was not a good move on my part, and I also apologize for getting you in trouble with your, uh...society." Running a hand through his dark hair, Dib shook his head.

"No, that was my bad. I forgot I had a meeting. I'm also really sorry for kicking you out and then forcing you to finish the project on your own." Your expression softened, unable to resist forgiving him.

"Yeah, that was kind of a dick move." You elbowed him jokingly, hoping he would loosen up now that bygones were bygones.

"No, seriously. How can I make it up to you?" He looked as if he wouldn't be taking no for an answer. He had gotten a taste of what having someone who genuinely enjoyed being around him was like, and he wasn't willing to let that go. A sly grin tugged at your lips, and almost immediately an idea came to mind.

"Consider yourself forgiven if you take me ghost hunting, or whatever it is you do." His shoulders tensed, but relaxed when he realized you weren't making fun of him.

"Well, you're in luck. I just received a case file investigation last night on a bigfoot lead. I'll pick you up at eight, if that works?" His words were cautious, almost as if he still believed you were phishing.

"It's a date!" You cheered happily, already excited about getting to spend more time with him. A faint blush dusted his cheeks at your wordage.

"Of-Of course." He stammered out, grateful for the bell that rang not even a second after.

"See you tonight, Dib!" You waved as you made your way home, wanting eight to come as fast as possible.

"He knows the project is over, right?" Torque Smacky raised an eyebrow, questioning Dib and wondering why someone as cool as you would be hanging around with a guy like Dib by choice.

The doorbell rang, and you sprang up from where you sat on the couch, overjoyed to head out. Practically throwing open the door revealed Dib in all of his trench coat glory, albeit a bit nervous looking and sweaty.

"Alright Mr. Mothman, where are we going?" You grabbed onto his arm, eventually linking it with your own. He cringed at the nickname, but resisted nothing else.

"To the park. Apparently, some woman saw bigfoot there the other night. Also, fun fact, I saw bigfoot in my garage one time. He was using the belt sander." Your eyes widened, and you immediately realized why everyone called him crazy. You took it upon yourself to believe him. He obviously believed in himself, so why shouldn't you?

"Interesting. You see any other spooks in your time here?" He shrugged as you walked.

"I mean, I think a few ghosts and, well, aliens of course, but we've been over that. Also, I have vague memories of being abducted by aliens as a kid. I think they were trying to experiment on me to create some sort of genius super baby or something." You couldn't help the laughter that tumbled from your mouth. It wasn't necessarily laughing at him, more so that you weren't sure how else to respond. You didn't want to put him down, but at the same time, his story was very out there. And although you weren't 100% on board with the whole supernatural thing, you believed in him and his words. If that was his truth, you would stand by it. "You ever see anything supernatural?" You pointed a finger to yourself, as if to ask, 'me?'.

"Well, I mean...I did live in West Virginia for a while when I was younger...a lot younger. And then we moved around a lot." Your eyes instinctively narrowed as you tried to recall those times with you and your neighborhood friends. "And, you know, Mothman was like the local legend. He's basically a celebrity down there."

"No way! Did you actually, like, see him?" If you didn't already have it, you sure had his full attention now.

"No. I believed in him for a while, but we never saw him, and as I got older and distanced myself from there, I just kind of figured it was bullshit. My friends and I, we would go out at night trying to hunt for him with flashlights and stuff. Sometimes we'd bring lamps onto the porch and plug them in, building little 'Welcome, Mothman' forts to sleep in." You chuckled, remembering how much you had believed in all the spookies and specters as a child.

"That's adorable." Dib's lips were parted in a smile as he continued to lead you deeper into the park. You weren't sure when you had actually gotten there, but you weren't really paying much attention.

"Well, maybe we could do that together some time. I know Mothman isn't really big in this part of the country, but who knows. Maybe he'll come." Softly bumping Dib in the side, you were pleased to see his smile only grow.

"I'd like that." The nice moment was interrupted by rustling of the trees, and Dib turned on his flashlight, pointing it to the treetops. "There!"

"I thought bigfoot was more on the ground!" You called as you raced after him. You both came to a grinding halt, your feet skidding in the grass to try and avoid ramming straight into Dib's back. The boy you were with aggressively pointed his flashlight into the tree, resulting in a loud hiss from whatever was up there. "Maybe it's just a cat, Dib!" You tried to pull him away, not really liking how riled up he was at the moment.

"Zim! What are you doing here?! What evil things are you planning?"

"Zim?" You looked upwards, following the beam of the flashlight. Sure enough, there was a green body hunched in a tree branch, a robot of some sort next to him.

"None of your business, Dib-stink!" Zim spat, turning to face your friend. It was then you got a good look at his face. It wasn't the slightly abnormal one you were used to seeing every day. His eyes were red and buglike, sleek, black antennae sprouting from his head.

"Holy shit, Dib. You're not crazy." You flicked your flashlight on as well, aiming it at who you thought was your classmate. "He really is an alien!" A strangled cry came from the alien sitting atop the tree branch.

"GIR! Do something!"

"Yes, master!" The once cheerful-looking robot suddenly turned much more serious, dropping down from the branch to where the two of you were standing. You yelped, unsure of what this thing was capable of.

"Relax, his robot is pretty much usele-" Dib began, but his sentence came to an abrupt end when several missals and other weapons emerged from his head.

"How do you like GIR's new adjustments, Dib? I finally got his behavioral chip fixed to where he's responsive, but not too serious." Zim smirked, and with the point of one of his clawed fingers, his robot was on the two of you.

Simultaneously, both of you let out a scream, reaching desperately for each other's hands as you ran for your lives back to Dib's place. Your feet pounded the pavement, lungs feeling as if someone was raking knives down your throat and organs, yet despite all that, you both refused to look back. Only when you were on his porch did you feel comfortable sneaking a glace behind you, only to find an empty street lit up by streetlights. Breathing heavily, the two of you leaned on each other for support. Dib looked very worse for wear. He didn't seem to be too athletically inclined.

"I think...we lost him..." You spoke between gasps for air, grinning all the while. He nodded vigorously, still wheezing. After the two of you had regained your breath, you both managed to catch each other's gaze. You felt every portion of your brain that was in charge of thinking shut down as you leaned in closer to him. You were barely even aware of what you were doing as you pressed your lips to his. His eyes looked as if they were about to burst from his skull, but after a moment, they eased shut as he relaxed into the kiss. You pulled away, feeling heat rush to your cheeks, almost as if your face was on fire. Your stomach was tied in too many knots to even look at Dib, but if you had, you would have seen that he wasn't fairing much better. In fact, he was probably in worse condition. "Thanks for the night of fun, Agent Mothman."

"Uh-huh." He mumbled out, and his brain looked miles away. You decided just to go home before you did or said anything else that could be classified as stupid. As you power-walked away, Dib's hand found its way to his lips, where the feeling and warmth of your own still lingered.

#invader zim #fanfic #fanfiction #dib membrane #dib x reader #invader zim x reader #invader zim fic #invader zim fanfiction #oneshot #one shot #invader zim oneshot #invader zim one shot

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trashmenofmarvel · 5 years ago

Text

Let’s Hear It For Captain America!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: For Halloween, you thought it would be hilarious to dress up as a salacious version of his best friend. Bucky was not amused.

You dress up as Sexy Captain America and Bucky ruins your costume.

(For @sherrybaby14 Fall Into You Challenge! Thank you, this was so fun!)

Prompt: “The only scary thing here is you.”

Chapter Warnings: Rough sex with a rough Bucky

Word Count: 6.2k

AO3

You trekked carefully down the metal staircase, mindful of your shaky ankles. The knee-high red boots were probably not the best idea, but you didn’t have far to go.

Plus, there was no way in hell you were getting rid of the boots. The look didn’t work without the boots.

Reaching the next landing, you checked over one shoulder to make sure your companion hadn’t fallen behind. One grumpy super soldier, a James Buchanan Barnes, followed you in sullen silence, his blue eyes narrowed into thin slivers of ice.

“Come on,” you needled him plaintively. “It’s one night. One party. It won’t kill you to make nice with the neighbors.”

He made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. You rolled your eyes and turned away, knowing the lecture you would receive later.

I’m being actively hunted by the U.S. Government, which puts you in direct danger.

The point of hiding is to stay hidden.

HYDRA could still be out there.

Blah, blah, blah.

“We’re spending Halloween in Romania,” you pointed out for probably the tenth time. “I’m not missing this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Bucky remained silent, probably grateful that you’d given up trying to get him to wear a costume. He hadn’t thought dressing up in a store-bought version of the Winter Soldier had been very funny. You understood his reluctance, but you also wondered if he had left his sense of humor in 1945. Your costume shouldn’t have brought up any negative emotions for him—quite the opposite—but he seemed to hate it even more than the commercialized Winter Soldier getup.

It didn’t matter. Bucky could protest all he wanted; he couldn’t stop you from wearing it.

You only had a couple floors to go and soon you arrived at the actual party. You found it to be a nice little break from the monotonous space of your tiny apartment you shared, but you knew Bucky wouldn’t feel the same.

It was part of the reason you were trying to pull him out of that granite, impregnable shell. You had tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to show him that there were perks to living under a false identity. You got to make up who you were. No one knew about your past and you could start fresh.

Bucky didn’t seem to see it that way, and he remained as sullen as the first time you met him.

The entire building seemed to be alive around you now, everyone’s doors opens as little kids and teenagers ran from apartment to apartment.

Already anticipating that the quick movements would set him on edge, you reached back and took Bucky’s right hand in your left. It was warm and solid underneath the gloves he always wore. As you predicted, his fingers were tense and rigid, but as you kept walking they gradually relaxed and slowly hooked around yours.

It wasn’t unusual for you to give him a light touch; for you to maintain your cover as a married couple, some physical closeness was necessary in public. He never initiated contact, however, leaving the awkwardness of that to you. Just another way the guy didn’t make your life easier.

When you arrived at the party, it was already in full swing. Most of the adults were in costume, though many weren’t, only there to keep track of the younger kids. Tiny Hulks and miniscule Iron Men and even a few small Captain Americas were spotted running around the party. You were simultaneously disappointed and relieved there were no little Winter Soldiers terrorizing the place, but you knew the costumes were definitely out there. Ever since S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files had been released to the public, everyone knew about the tragic story of Captain America’s best friend-slash-turned unwilling enemy. It had captured the public’s imagination, and Bucky insisted he couldn’t understand why people were so enthralled by it.

It made you wonder if he had a romantic bone in his body. Being with him on the run for a year-and-a-half, you had little evidence to the contrary. The only time he showed you any kind of affection was to convince the neighbors you were married, and even then, his affections were stilted and clearly made him uncomfortable.

You sighed and leaned against the wall as you overlooked the party, which by now was spilling over onto the balcony and the stairwell. You had lost track of Bucky a minute ago and half-believed he had run off back to the sanctuary of your apartment.

Left alone, it didn’t take long for the other building tenants to wander over and start chatting, or rather start flirting, with you. You weren’t sure why this was something that happened to you ever since you’d lived in Bucharest. When you’d been single and available, no one would look at you twice.

And now that you were supposedly a married woman, men seemed to flock around you. At first it had been flattering; now you wanted to punch out all their teeth.

You managed to disentangle yourself from not one, but two of them, until Kyle managed to corner you. You sighed, trying to appear not completely put-off as he leaned against the wall and began talking despite your body language telling him very clearly you weren’t interested.

This wasn’t the first time Kyle had started flirting with you, and you doubted it would be the last. Even with the fictitious wedding ring on your finger, and the fact Bucky glared murderously at him whenever he was in sight, Kyle didn’t seem to take the hint.

You tried to do your best to brush him off and scanned the room for signs of Bucky. It shouldn’t have been difficulty with his height and broad shoulders, but he had the uncanny ability to blend into any crowd, even a colorful one at a Halloween party—

A hand was on your bare thigh, sudden and invasive. Without thinking, you punched Kyle in the side of his ribs so fast it almost looked like a playful gesture. He bent over and held his side as he gave a wheezing cough.

“I think he’s had too much to drink,” you said to Evangeline when she looked over at the two of you. She made a sympathetic face and walked over, grabbing one of his arms.

“Come on,” she told him wearily. No doubt she’d had to deal with a drunk-Kyle before. Kyle looked up at you with a shocked expression, but the smile you returned was as sweet as the pumpkin cupcakes next to him on the table.

“Fucker,” you muttered under your breath once he was out of sight. Your smile began to fade only to return, genuine this time, at the sight of Bucky returning with two cups of what looked like fruit punch. His jaw was tense and his eyes were a little too watchful under the brim of his black baseball cap. Even now, in the midst of a family Halloween party, he refused to drop his guard.

In a way, his constant vigilance made you feel safe. Not that you would ever dream of telling him that.

“I thought a tiny Black Widow had chased you off,” you joked as you took the cup he handed you. You surveyed the room and tilted your chin towards a corner where a group of baby Avengers had assembled. “They are scary little things, aren’t they?”

You tipped the cup towards your mouth. Bucky’s lips were suddenly against your ear as he said in a low voice, “The only scary thing here is you.”

You choked and sputtered on the sweet drink. Bucky put a concerned hand on your shoulder as you coughed up the liquid that had gone down the wrong pipe.

“I am not! Scary!” you protested between coughs, your cheeks heating as you glared up at him. You hoped he took your blushing as a reaction to nearly choking, not by the strange thrill that had filled your gut at the sensation of Bucky’s voice right in your ear. “This costume was a stroke of genius and you almost made me spill punch on it.”

“Mmm, shame,” he replied evenly. But you noticed the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and knew he was in the vicinity of a smile. “But that wasn’t what I was referring to. Your form is getting better.”

You wiped at your mouth and tried not to blush at his praise. It was getting to the point in your pining where he could read combat techniques from a drill manual and you would still find it sexy. Sad, really sad, but this was your life. All you had was the fantasy, never the real thing, and it didn’t help that lately he had been doing things like stripping off his shirt before going into the bathroom to shower. Or you’d wake up and he’d be making breakfast while shirtless.

In fact, a lot of your fantasies had started to revolve around him starting off shirtless, exposing his sculpted muscles shamelessly. If you hadn’t known him better, and considering how long you’d been living together you thought you knew him as well as any one person could, you would have thought he was doing it on purpose. Bucky Barnes the strip-tease. God only knew the talking down you would have gotten if he had any idea the gremlin thoughts running through your little head.

Ah, well. At least he wasn’t reprimanding you for punching one of your neighbors.

You reluctantly pulled your eyes away from the object of your longing and looked down at yourself to make sure none of the pink liquid had gotten on your uniform.

The uniform in question had not only been brilliant, it had also been a move of desperation. Nearly all of the costumes at the store had been sold out, expect for one Sexy Captain America that was just your size.

It wasn’t so much a Cap “uniform” as it was a red, white, and blue showgirl dress with a white star emblazoned on the chest. Your favorite part was the ridiculous felt helmet, complete with a pair of little wings on the side of your head.

You thought it would be hilarious to dress up as a salacious version of his best friend.

Bucky had not been amused.

You downed the rest of your punch, disappointed it wasn’t spiked, and sighed through your nostrils. “I think I’ve had enough fun. You?”

He made a noise of affirmation, and you expected him to make a fast bee-line toward the door. Instead, he placed a hand at the small of your back and guided you out in a gesture that was perfectly normal for couples but felt especially intimate tonight. Knowing the fingers were metal underneath the glove did nothing to quell the sudden heat curling in your lower belly.

You were really glad to be leaving now. At least back in the apartment you could distract yourself with a cold shower.

The sound of the party receded behind you, and sighed in audible relief once you were back in the safe quietness of your living space. It was a small studio, barely big enough for one person let alone two, but you made it work. At first, because you had to, but now you genuinely liked living with the quiet, albeit sometimes surly, super soldier.

It was too bad with all of his sharp-eyed observation he continually failed to notice you as more than just a co-habitant.

You pulled off the cheap cloth helmet and shook out your hair. Bucky was watching you out of the corner of his eye, no doubt silently judging you yet again for your choice in clothing. You looked down at your uniform one last time, reluctant to put it away. Who knew if you would be here next Halloween, and the realization filled you with surprising sadness.

And then you noticed it. The glaring pink stain on one arm of the white star.

“Oh, come on.” Not worried about Bucky’s judgement now, you rushed into the kitchenette and pulled off one of the washcloths hanging on the oven door, wetting it under the faucet. “If it doesn’t come out, you’re buying me a new one,” you muttered as you rubbed at the stubborn stain. It wasn’t coming out. You scrubbed harder, grumbling under your breath.

Bucky didn’t answer, but you were too busy fussing over the fabric to care. You made an annoyed noise when the water dripped down the front of your uniform and onto the floor. You leaned over the edge of the sink so you wouldn’t make such a mess.

Something warm and solid bumped against you.

“What—“

It pinned you against the counter. Your surprise was quickly replaced with shock when Bucky’s hands reached around you to grip the edge of the sink.

He was bodily pressed against your entire back. Your heart raced in your chest as your mind shuddered to a halt.

“You wanted to wear the damned thing,” he rumbled into your ear. “Not my fault you can’t keep it clean.”

“Uh…”

You couldn’t form any words. Not with the way his hips were pressed against you and his hard chest on your back. You couldn’t react when he took the cloth from you and began to slowly and deliberately clean the star right between your breasts.

“Um…” you repeated, completely gobsmacked.

“Yes?” he asked, so casually, as if what he was doing was completely normal. As if his breath wasn’t hot on your neck. As if his hands weren’t practically on your breasts. As if the erection you definitely felt straining against his jeans wasn’t pressed into your ass.

What the hell had gotten into him? You felt like a deer trapped in the headlights. Or one frozen in fear as a predator prepared to lunge and sink his teeth into her neck.

“This is…” Your voice trailed off, sounding semi-breathless to your own ears.

“…what you get when you strut around, teasing me with your bare thighs and glimpses of those black panties?”

Heat flushed through you like an electric jolt down a wire.

“I wasn’t strutting,” you snapped in a voice too high for your normal vocal range. “And I wasn’t… teasing you, either.”

“No?” he murmured against your ear. You felt the bare fingertips of his right hand trace up the outside of your thigh, making you jump. “Then I guess you’re not wearing black panties, either.”

Before you could stop him, he slid his hand up your poofy skirt, hooked a finger in the side of your underwear, and pulled on them far enough so he could see that they were, indeed, black.

Then he released them and the elastic snapped against your hip, making you give an indignant, “Hey!”

Bucky spun you around and pressed your back against the counter as he stared down at you, eyes dark and heated.

“What?” he prodded in a tone edged like a blade. “If I noticed, you can bet those men you were talking to did too. And to think.” He lowered his face closer to yours, his bright blue eyes drifting down to your lips. “You’re supposed to be a married woman.”

His hands were on your arms now, one warm and calloused while the other cool and unyielding. You tried to ignore the contradictory sensation and regain your wits to try and figure out what the fuck was going on with him. Was Bucky actually pissed or was he just messing with you? You didn’t know, but either one was very unlike him.

Besides, you were the one who would tease and flirt with him, all harmless in an attempt to get him to crack. His stoic façade had never shattered once, so his abrupt turnaround was a complete mystery to you.

“Well, I’m not a married woman,” you responded with a defiant lift of your chin. If he thought you were falling for his bluff, he was going to be disappointed. “So mind your business what I do with other men.”

Without warning, he thrust his thigh between your legs, forcing them apart. You gave a startled noise as he pressed his entire body against yours so the top of his thigh met your clit through your panties.

You gave a startled moan and immediately bit your lip, but it was too late. He’d heard it too. He raised his eyebrows in a mock question, a very faint smirk on his lips.

You sputtered and tried to recover your dignity.

“Bucky, what the fuck. What are you—“

“Shhh,” he hushed you as he rubbed his thigh against you. You gave a small whimper, and pressed your legs together harder. It made the pressure even more intense, which was precisely what you didn’t want.

He pulled his leg away from your pelvis and you sighed in relief. The sigh turned into a small cry when he reached forward and shoved his right hand down your panties, his fingers sliding between your folds.

“Hmm, yeah. Just as I thought,” he practically purred. His metal hand was at the back of your neck, curling his fingers into your hair.

“Soaked.”

Before you could protest, he spun you around again back to your original position, this time with his hand down your panties. He lightly gripped you around the neck with his metal hand, an unspoken warning to hold still. You were too overwhelmed to move, his warm fingers against your clit rendering you basically helpless.

You dug your fingertips into his arm but didn’t shove him away. If anything you were using him as an anchor as your knees began to wobble.

“Bucky,” you tried one more time. Pleading for something you couldn’t identify.

He hushed you again, sounding more like himself for a moment. Your grumpy, quiet, gentle Bucky.

“I’ve got you.”

His lips were on the side of your neck, and you were too far gone to care what he did to you.

You moaned and tilted your head to the side, lulling your head against his shoulder as he began to fuck you with his fingers. All the tension and unrequited attraction came to a head, and it wasn’t long before the pressure between your thighs began to build.

“Bucky,” you whined again, more urgently this time.

“You wanna play at being Captain America? Super soldiers have more control than that.” He lightly nipped at your earlobe and dropped his voice. “We also have an inhuman amount of stamina.”

You couldn’t even begin to process that statement before he was speaking in your ear again, low and rough.

“You’re so close, I can feel it.”

You never thought you would hear that voice talk dirty to you, and it was going to ruin you for every other man in existence, without a doubt.

“Do you want to come on my fingers?”

You could hear the teasing smirk in his voice, but you didn’t care. Whatever front you had tried to put up had vanished into thin air, probably around the time he had put his hand down your underwear.

“Yes,” you croaked, needy to your own ears. “God, yes.”

“Ask me nicely,” he drawled. It was cruel, the way he weaponized his voice against you, and he must have known exactly what he was doing. You felt him prod the shell of your ear with his tongue and you whined pathetically.

“Please, Bucky. God, please, I need you.”

His fingers paused for a moment. You thought you were in trouble. You hadn’t meant to expose yourself like that.

But then Bucky slid his hand down and prodded at your entrance before pushing inside with two fingers, his thumb on your clit as he curled his fingers against the sensitive flesh inside.

You cried out a curse, bending your head back. Bucky released your neck and pushed down the top of the dress, exposing your breasts. He took one nipple in his metal fingers and delicately rubbed it between them. It sent a jolt down your spine and through your gut, causing you to clench around his fingers as the dam finally broke and you voiced a wordless cry.

He held you through your release, his arm around your waist practically the only thing holding you up.

“My turn.”

You didn’t have the wits or the time to contemplate that ominous statement. Bucky released you, grabbed the back of your neck in his metal fingers, and bent you forward over the edge of the sink.

“Buck—aah!”

Your protest turned into an indignant squawk when he tore off what was left of your ruined panties, and he didn’t stop there, rucking up the skirt around your hips as he caressed his calloused hand over your skin. He explored down the curve of your ass, and without warning, slipped two fingers into your soaking folds.

You squirmed and bit off a moan, but his metal hand on your nape kept you in place.

“Now,” he said, far too casually for someone holding you down and slowly finger-fucking you against the sink, “do you want it like this, bent over because you can’t wait another second for someone to fuck you? Or…”

He added a third finger and you hit your knee against the counter as your body jolted. You clenched your jaw to keep from crying out; the walls were thin, and you really didn’t want your neighbors to hear what they should have heard long before now if you’d actually been spouses.

You felt a warm weight across your back as he leaned over you.

“…do you want me to put you on the counter and fuck you right there? Make it so you can never make another meal again without thinking of me between your legs?”

“Oh, God,” you stuttered out, unable to pull forth a full sentence.

“Choose.” He slid his fingers out of you, tortuously slow, his breath hot on your cheek. “Or I’ll choose for you.”

“Bucky,” you whined breathlessly. It wasn’t fair, you could barely function, barely think, and he was demanding the impossible.

“Counter? Or sink?”

You moaned pitifully, shivering as your thighs tightened and your walls lightly pulsed around his fingers. If he kept this up, you were going to come again, and he must have sensed that because he pulled out almost immediately. You gave a pathetic noise at the sudden emptiness.

“Looks like it’s dealer’s choice.”

He released the back of your neck and grabbed your hip, metal fingers gripping your flesh as you felt the head of his cock slip between your folds and push against your entrance. You were shivering by this point, perfectly still otherwise, and you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he said, “Breathe.”

You exhaled shakily, your hands gripping the edge of the sink in a desperate grip.

As you breathed out, Bucky began to push. You shut your eyes tight and he said, “Relax,” and loosened his hold on your hip. He rubbed the flesh he had been gripping a moment ago, and you relaxed automatically.

“That’s my girl,” he said soothingly, the edge of humor back on his voice. “You just need a gentle touch to get all soft and pliable. A few seconds with me and you’ve got no more hard edges. That’s what those boys out there don’t understand. They’re all fumbling hands and no skill.”

If his sinful tone hadn’t made you melt, the feel of him pushing his cock inside you sure as hell would have. He was slow and careful, but with how slick you were it wasn’t too difficult for him to fill you the rest of the way. Still, the stretch was a lot to get used to, and you bent your head forward and groaned at the sweet burn of it.

When his hips were flush against you and his cock was firmly embedded inside, you shuddered hard and gave a muffled whimper.

He cursed under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening again. “You really don’t know how to relax, do you? You say I’m a tight-ass, but it’s nothing compared to your actual tight-ass.”

You tried to laugh, because honestly what else could you do in this insane situation, but it came out as a choking groan. He wasn’t kidding; either you were really tight or he was just too much. You could feel every inch of him straining at your walls, and you were almost afraid to move.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, the touch of his hands on your hips a light stroke as if you were his pet. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

As if he didn’t already fucking well know. Bastard knew exactly how to get under your skin even as he was balls deep in you.

“Asshole,” you hissed between clench teeth.

“I was planning on working up to that,” he said with a laugh just on the edge of his words. “But I mean, if you want to I’m more than willing—“

“Bucky!”

This time he did laugh, and the jostle of his hips was enough to send a tremor through your walls.

It was little wonder you finally snapped, spouting your words like fire.

“Goddammit, Bucky, just fucking fuck me already before I die here impaled on your dick like some kind of human shish kebab—“

He pulled his hips back until his cock was halfway out of you, and slammed forward.

The cry that left your mouth was both nonsensical and far too loud. You bit down on your hand just as he did it again, pulling even further out this time before thrusting back into you. The sound of flesh impacting flesh was obscene in the small space of the apartment, but you wouldn’t have made him stop no matter if the entire building heard.

Bucky took your hand from your mouth, tsked at the teeth marks imprinted in your flesh, and pulled your arm behind your back. Bucky did the same with the other hand, effectively pinning both of your wrists with his flesh hand as he continued to grip your hip with the metal one.

“None of that,” he said in a low, almost soothing tone. “Let them hear how much you’re enjoying it. In fact, I prefer it.”

You groaned in protest, or maybe in overwhelming need, it was really hard to tell with the friction building inside you.

He continued to roll his hips but picked up the pace, and the uncomfortable tension of your arms behind your back forced your spine to arch and your hips to angle upward, allowing him to reach deeper. The ache in your shoulders was completely muted by the growing electric pressure in your core.

You choked out his name, a plea to keep going, to never stop, and he rammed into you harder but with shorter strokes. The constant motion against the sensitive spot inside you kept building and building until tears leaked from under your lids and you thought you might combust.

He murmured encouragement; he had to have known you were close from the way you were squeezing around his cock. Without warning, you crested over the ridge, sparks exploding before your eyes as your body went taut. You cried out his name, breathy but unmistakable. Bucky released your wrists and you gripped the sink, hanging your head forward as you tried to catch your breath.

He pulled out suddenly and you would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed you around the waist and turned you around, lifting you up onto the counter. You stared at him, nearly eyelevel now, dazed and shivering from the aftershocks.

You had never seen an expression like this on his face before, the ring of blue bright and intense as the black of his pupils expanded. There was color high on his cheeks and a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead, and his lips were pink and recently bitten.

You wanted nothing more than to taste those lips, but before you could even try, he leaned forward and pressed against you, using his hand at the base of his cock to aim, dragging the head against your entrance. The shaft was glistening with your slick, and you could see now why you had been so stretched before.

“Come on, Cap. You gonna stare all day or are you gonna give me my orders?” His lips curling into a wicked grin. “You’re the commanding officer here.”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, seeing the silent laughter there.

“Huh?” You sounded exactly as dazed as you felt.

“Captains are officers, sergeants are enlistment. So, what are my orders, sir?” As he spoke, he continued to tease and prod at you. It was unfair how much control he had over himself when you had shaken apart twice now.

Super soldier stamina, indeed.

“I… I want you to…” You didn’t know why you felt so shy all of a sudden; Bucky was literally dragging his cock across your pussy while baiting you to order him to fuck you. Maybe it was the way his blue eyes shot straight through you, but you felt overheated and frozen simultaneously.

“Don’t be shy now, sweetheart,” he teased, slipping back into that heated New York accent had had heard hints of before. In this situation, it should have been illegal. “Everyone heard you squealin’ just a moment ago.”

“Bucky!” you scolded him even though you were in literally the last position to have any dignity intact. “That’s not… we shouldn’t have… we shouldn’t be…”

His face was already close, but he moved in even closer, his mouth tantalizingly near as he breathed against your lips.

“Little too late for that, but we can stop if you really—,” he ran the head of his cock right across your clit, slow and firm, “—want to. Just give the order.”

You shut your eyes, both to cut yourself off from his piercing gaze and to give yourself time to think, and also to fully enjoy the tingling heat that fluttered throughout your core. You wanted to hurl at him every curse you knew, both in English and Romanian, but that’s not at all what you ended up doing, because honestly, whose fault was it that you were in this predicament? All because you insisted on teasing him with that stupid sexy Captain America costume.

Well, you know what they say. If you can’t beat ‘em…

You opened your eyes and fixed him with a hard stare. He raised his eyebrows in curiosity, but when you tilted your chin back and parted your thighs further, his eyes widened.

“Then stop teasing and take care of your superior officer, soldier.”

With a quick but obscene movement of his tongue swiping across his bottom lip, he grabbed your leg in his metal hand and hoisted it around his waist while at the same time pressing himself against your entrance. You moaned sharply and would have grabbed onto his shoulders for support as he pushed inside you but he immediately pushed you back flat against the countertop.

The only warning you got was Bucky positioning your other leg around his hip. He shoved his hips against you before you were entirely ready, and a shudder ran through you as heat and electricity shot up your spine. Bucky pulled out halfway and did it again, not as forcefully but still enough to arch your spine and force you to fight to breathe properly.

Bucky kept a merciless pace, your walls tightening against the ruthless friction, and your fingers curled around the edge of the counter to keep from behind fucked right off the countertop. The sound his cock plunging in and out of you was lewd and filled the small apartment, and the fact you were both almost completely clothed made it even more indecent.

Both of his hands were on your hips now, though not with the same pressure. His metal hand held you firmly but with reservation, while the fingertips of his right dug into your skin, trembling in a way that betrayed his veneer of control. It felt as if he was holding back, and with her super soldier strength he most likely was, taking care not to hurt you. God, he could break you like a dry twig if he lost control, and that fact made you want him that much more.

You tried to be quiet, pressing your lips together so hard they stung, but your efforts crumbled as you felt a pulsing in your core. You gasped Bucky’s name over and over, not sure what you were asking, nonsensical and soon squirming as you felt the steep peak approaching.

He must have been close because he didn’t speak, only made the occasional breathy moan or muffled grunt, but he reached down and press his thumb to your clit without warning. You whimpered sharply and arched your back, an electrical current tightening every muscle of your body as you hung on the edge of the proverbial knife.

When you tipped to the other side, your orgasm slammed into you so hard you couldn’t breathe, a harsh whine in the back of your throat as your walls throbbed around him and brightly-colored sparks exploded behind your closed eyelids.

He cursed and his rhythm went off, but he fucked you through your climax and continued to rub you until you were so sensitive you started squirming and would have batted his hand away if you hadn’t been clinging onto the counter for dear life.

Bucky pulled out suddenly and removed his hand from your clit but held on tightly to your hip with his metal digits. You could even feel them tighten as he cursed again, his voice hoarse and out of breath, and a moment later you felt something warm hit your chest.

It took you a few seconds to be cognizant enough to open your eyes let alone lift your head, but you did, and looked down to find… ribbons of cum covering the white star on your chest.

Your costume might have survived the punch stain, but Bucky had made sure it was beyond saving now.

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or yell at him, and you ended up doing neither, your body trembling and covered in sweat as it recovered from the third orgasm wrenched from it. You hadn’t been so thoroughly fucked in your life, and lying on the kitchen counter, covered in Bucky’s cum, was the last way you would have expected Halloween to end.

Bucky seemed very pleased with himself as he smirked down at you, but you felt very pleased with yourself from the way he couldn’t seem to catch his breath and the ruffled state of his hair, the flush on his cheeks, and the overall look of his flustered appearance.

He leaned forward and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you. His mouth hovered over yours, lips slightly parted with a wicked look in those blue depths. You held your breath as he traced his metal fingers down the curve of your bare though.

“That’s for torturing me for the past eighteen months,” he mumbled against your lips. He pulled away, tucked himself back into his jeans, and left you there, blinking and breathing hard on the counter top, struck dumb.

You’d been doing what for how long?

“I… did not!” you squeaked in protested as you pulled yourself down onto unsteady feet. Your body felt like it was made out of jelly and cooked noodles, and your skin was oversensitive and raw. It was no wonder, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had multiple orgasms forced out of you so… vigorously.

Still, that didn’t absolve him of his wrong statement, and you were going to correct him on it.

“You’re the one who’s been tormenting me for the entirety of our—“

You turned toward the living room and shut your mouth with a small pop. Bucky had pulled his shirt up over his head and was in the process of stripping off his boots. He pulled his jeans over his incredible ass and muscular thighs, and continued along this fashion until he was completely naked.

All you could do was stare, and holy shit there was so much to stare at. He turned his head to look at you and quirked up his lips into something far too devious for the grumpy potato you had always believed him to be. After tonight, you had some serious reassessing to do.

“Gonna take a shower.” He raised an eyebrow. “You coming or not?”

Even now without a stitch of clothing, his heated gaze made you feel as if you were the one exposed.

“Captain.”

He blinked owlishly as you unzipped the back of your costume and let the red, white, and blue dress fall to the floor. “I’m still your captain, Sergeant, and you will refer to me as such.”

He managed to pull his face into a serious line even with the laughter in his eyes, and he snapped you a crisp salute.

#sherrys fall into you challenge #Halloween #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #reader fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #captain america civil war #captain america costume #i had too much fun with this #and as you can see from the title i have no shame

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writingesgaypism · 5 years ago

Text

This is! Literally just two people playing a stupidly simple game! That’s it. There’s no plot other than that. Anyway, go play @lureofthegallowsgame‘s game. Erin’s a delight, Leo is the light of my life, and you get to play as a seer which is cool asf. And Jude is just a gremlin.

---

“Okay,” Leo says, fry in hand but holding off on eating it just yet. “Anchorage.”

There’s a song playing, just audible over the low murmur of the other diners at Saint’s, but Jude is very much not listening to it. They keep their straw clenched between their teeth for a little longer, momentarily distracted by the playful tilt to Leo’s head. Blinking, they release the straw.

“Boston.”

“Columbus.”

“Uh, Dayton.”

“’Uh’ doesn’t start with D,” Leo teases.

“’Dumbass’ does,” Jude mutters, grabbing a fry for the express purpose of tossing it at them. “It’s your turn.”

“…El Paso.”

Jude ducks their head a little to hide their smirk. “Had to think on that one, didn’t you?”

“E’s hard! Can you think of a city off the top of your head that starts with E?”

“I don’t have to, we’re on F now.”

Leo narrows their eyes, but if they were going for stern they fail miserably. They’ve still got that dumb, pleased smile on their face, and the force of it scrunches up their nose just a little. Jude would be able to read the same thing in their dumb, pretty eyes if they could get themself to look for longer than a second, but that’s too big of a risk to take in public. Or in private.

“Well, go on, then,” Leo says. “You’re up.”

“Fresno…? That’s a city, right?”

“Yes?”

Jude takes a quick sip of their milkshake. “It sounds fake when I say it out loud. It’s G now.”

“Gary — Don’t give me that look; it’s a city in Indiana!”

“New rule,” Jude says, swiping a fry and sticking in in their shake. “No cities that are also people names.”

“You can’t change the rules mid-game,” Leo protests.

“I can and I did. Houston.”

“You did, but you shouldn’t,” they say. “Indianapolis.”

At that moment, their waitress swings by, one pen perched behind her ear and another in her hand for reasons Jude doesn’t quite understand. She smiles, asks if everything’s all right, and will they be needing anything else? Jude lets Leo handle her because they’ve always been better with people, but they do manage to thank her before she leaves.

They both reach for another fry at the same time and Jude pulls their hand back before they collide, trying to keep their smile from seeming awkward. “What were we on?”

Leo puts their fry in their mouth and finishes chewing first, obviously in no rush, watching Jude the whole time. Jude, in turn, refuses to make eye contact, instead focusing on the line of their jaw until they realize that’s… not better. Their gaze darts to the side and they put their straw back between their teeth. Very casual. Smooth, even.

“We were on J,” Leo says, and, dammit, they can hear the smile in their voice even without looking. “Also, it was your turn.”

“Jackson…ville.”

Leo snorts, nudging their leg under the table. “Skirting your own rules?”

“Take your turn before I die of old age, Leo.”

They laugh. “It hasn’t even been, like, a second, but fine. Knoxville.”

“Lansing,” Jude says, absently licking french fry salt off their thumb.

“You know, the further in we get, the more I’m starting to wonder if there actually are cities that start with every letter of the alphabet.”

“Why wouldn’t there be?” Jude asks.

“I don’t know,” Leo concedes with a grin. “I was stalling because I almost said Michigan. Memphis.”

Jude scoffs and stirs their shake. “Really? M isn’t even one of the hard ones. How is it that you, the honor roll kid, couldn’t instantly think of a city that starts with M?”

“First of all, just because I was on honor roll doesn’t mean I automatically know every city name. Second, I got… distracted.”

“Idiot. Nashville.”

“Omaha,” Leo says, then leans forward. “So you’re admitting that the honor roll thing was a non sequitur? Since you’re not arguing against my point.”

“Oh, that’s the part you’re concerned about me not following up on? Phoenix.”

Their smile tugs up higher on one side, mischievous and fond simultaneously. “Why, do you want me to tell you why I was distracted?”

“I —” Jude risks a quick look at Leo’s eyes, catches something between nerves and an affection so deep it almost pulls them under, and swiftly redirects their gaze to the diner’s checkered floor. “No. I want you to take your stupid turn.”

Leo fidgets, then tries to cover it by reaching for a fry. “Uh. Quincy.”

“’Uh’ doesn’t start with Q,” Jude says, in a poor imitation of Leo’s voice. “Reno.”

“Play fair, Jude. Sacramento.”

“I am?”

Leo hums, resting their chin on their fist. “Your turn.”

“Tallahassee. I’m playing fair!”

“You did change the rules part of the way through,” they point out, smile turning slightly conciliatory. “And… Union.? Yeah, Union.”

“Well… I didn’t try to disqualify you for it, so. Venice.”

“Which one?”

They pause in the middle of drinking, brows furrowing. They take a moment to swallow, then, “What?”

“Which Venice?” Leo says.

“Does it… matter?”

“I suppose not,” they reply, “but so far we’ve really only been doing American cities. Venice, Italy would’ve been an odd outlier, don’t you think?”

“I try not to,” Jude says dryly.

They reach over to ruffle Jude’s hair, laughing at any attempts to swat them away. “Aw, don’t sell yourself short. You think. Usually.”

“Not around you,” they snap, then make an odd, strangled sound. “Because. You lower my IQ with your presence! It’s — Take your turn.”

Angrily, they start in on their shake again, tapping their foot under the table. There’s a brief silence from the opposite booth, but Jude absolutely refuses to look up until the conversation moves on.

“Waterloo,” Leo says finally, something dangerously soft in their voice.

“I don’t — Is there even a city that starts with X?”

“Hmm, what was it you said to me when I was wondering about the feasibility of this little game?” They tap a finger against their lips and Jude very definitively does not notice in the slightest. “Something about… Why wouldn’t there be?”

Jude takes a breath to recenter themself, and reaches into their pocket. “I’m phoning a friend.”

“Oh, so that’s a rule now, too?”

They pointedly ignore Leo, sending a quick message to Warren and hoping he responds quickly. Or maybe it would be better if he was just a little slow. To give them more time to recover — No, there’s his reply. They tap out a string of heart emojis and set their phone on the table triumphantly.

“Xenia,” they announce. “It’s in Ohio.”

Leo leans back in the booth, taking a fry almost as an afterthought. They don’t look too closely at Warren’s answer. “All right, all right. Yukon.”

“How did I get stuck with X and Z?” they grumble.

“I don’t know,” Leo says, “but since you get to make rules, I’m making the rule that you can’t use the same get out of jail free card twice. You’re on your own with this one.”

Jude sticks out their tongue and Leo’s shoulders lose a tension that Jude hadn’t quite realized was there until it was gone. Their phone screen has already gone dark on its own, but they slide it slightly off to the side anyway.

“Oh, we’re so close, there has to be — Oh! Um! Zion?” They look to Leo for confirmation, beginning to smile at the amusement they find on their friend’s face before they catch themself and pretend to examine their poor, chewed upon straw.

Leo laughs easily, their own eyes never straying from Jude. “Zion it is.”

#the lure of the gallows #tlotg #fanfic #my shit #jude #me: i'll start off with this fun little game and then it'll turn into something actually substantial--#also me: okay but what if literally all they did was list cities alphabetically and refuse to acknowledge their feelings

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mandadoration · 5 years ago

Text

settle the debt

summary: You’re the mechanic of several crime syndicates, gangs, and faithful citizens alike, running a tight ship (pun intended) out of your humble little shop, accepting payments under the table and making a name for yourself all over the galaxy. Although, your skills and patience are put to the test when the Mandalorian comes to you with his wreck of a ship. But you’ve dealt with people like him before. The child is an unexpected thing, though.

word count: 3, 966

pairing: mandalorian x reader

warnings: canon-divergence, swearing, canon-typical violence

a/n: In terms of timeline, this is after Ch. 3 and before Ch. 4. This was going to be a series, but I decided against it because as I was working it, I really didn’t like how it was going.

Read this on AO3

You considered yourself a good mechanic. The best in the parsec, if you felt particularly confident that day. You could fix up any ship, speeder, cruiser, fighter-- you name it, you can fix it. People from all over the system came to you to upgrade their vehicles, and you weren’t going to say no to a few credits slipped under the table for the good stuff. You’re pretty sure you could pull favors from the biggest crime syndicates if you really wanted, you supposed, with how many dangerous and definitely illegal methods you’ve used with little complaint. You don’t know how much the word of some of the most wanted criminals would hold up, but you like to think they’d be indebted to someone like you and magic you could pull off.

But the ship you were looking at now? Pre-Imperial and made with such a variety of materials that you’re not even sure it’s the same ship anymore?

You were starting to doubt your skills.

“What did you say the time constraints were?” you asked the Mandalorian faintly. You wonder if you’ve done something to anger whatever higher power was out there to give you this. Maybe they were telling you to give up now while you still had the chance, sell your things, and hide out comfortably for the rest of your life in some moisture farm or something.

“The sooner the better,” he answers firmly. You let out a deep sigh and run a hand over your face, surely smearing grease all over it, but the pressing issue was the ship. “I will pay you, you have my word,” he reassures, as if that was the biggest issue here, but you’re too busy going through an inventory list in your head to see if you even had the parts to cover the basics. “And no droids,” he tacks on, and you give him a sideways glance.

“Do you see any droids?” you ask him dryly, motioning around your shop. Sure enough, even as he peers though the organized chaos and scattered parts, there are no droids in sight. You didn’t trust them. They did what they were programmed to, calculations and the like, but you trusted yourself far more than you could trust another droid to do it. There was a certain intuition that droids could never replicate. Besides, more lucrative, underground customers were willing to go to you because of the secrecy you maintained. Having droids meant evidence.

The console connected to the ship beeps, and you go over to it to see exactly what the damage is. As you skim over it, you wince. “Do you have an estimate?” he asks you, standing next to you and reading the report.

“The cost or the time?”

“Both.”

For the second time that day, you rub a hand over your face and sigh. “Frankly? A lot. Your ship is old and so severely damaged that I’ll need to go out and buy or scavenge parts. As for the time…” You gnaw your bottom lip as you consider. Realistically, it would take you days to make sure the ship was in full working order, and that’s with you rushing it. But you aren’t one to lie to your clients, so you huff as you face him with a set face. “Five days,” you admit, and he makes a noise of displeasure. “You have so many internal problems that I need to work from the inside out, and accounting for the time I need to find the needed parts, it’s gonna take a while.”

“Is there any way you can speed it up?” he asks. You shake your head despite the small pang of fear that goes through you. Maker, the Mandalorian intimidated you in a way your previous clients never could. You keep up your facade of professionalism.

“I don’t have droids, and even if I did, you wouldn’t let me use them,” you say. “I’ll need at least half up front.” Mando stiffens.

“I don’t have the money now,” he confesses, and you bristle. “But,” he says, before you can say anything, “I promise you, I will pay you.” You furrow your brows.

“I don’t take IOUs, Mandalorian,” you say, crossing your arms. He sighs.

“I know,” he says with frustration, and you can tell he’s at the end of his rope, “but it’s just that--” A cooing interrupts him as you feel something tugging at the leg of your jumpsuit. You jump, and look down to see a small green alien thing, with big ears and eyes that take up nearly half of its face. It must be a child, from how it raises its arms and gurgles at you.

“What in the world?” you mutter, and bend down to pick it up, ignoring how the Mandalorian tenses and watches you with a closed eye. “Where’d you come from little guy?” you ask in a soft voice, bouncing the child on your hip. “Is he, um, if it even is a he… Is he yours?” you ask, nodding at the Mandalorian.

“Yes?” he answers, but he sounds equally confused and you shield it away from him. He didn’t sound so sure.

“You’re not a slaver or an exotic pets dealer, are you?” you ask suspiciously. Sure, you had dealt with all sorts of unsavory people, but you had always refused to serve those kinds of folks. They rubbed off you the wrong way, especially the ones that eyed you up like you could join their collection at any time. Mando looks offended as he could be behind a helmet.

“What? No, he’s--” A sigh. “He was a bounty. I… rescued him,” he explains, and you relax, but keep your hold on him. You don’t mind how the child is pulling at the tendrils of hair that had escaped your bun.

“And I guess that’s why you’re so eager to get your ship back in working order,” you guess. He nods. As you stare in the impossibly big eyes of the child you were holding so tenderly, a smile spreads across your face. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” you say gently. It coos in response and blinks up at you.

“There are a lot of people looking for him,” Mando says. He holds out a finger for the kid to take, and it grasps it eagerly. “Dangerous people. I need to get as far away from here as I can.” The child eventually leans and reaches for Mando, who takes him from your arms and holds him protectively. “That’s why I need the ship to be fixed as fast as possible.” You rub your temples, and steel your shoulders as you stare at the baby in his arms. It babbles at you happily.

“Two days, Mando,” you sigh. “That’s the fastest I can fix your ship by.” Mando nods.

“You have my thanks,” he says, but you turn away and start jotting down notes in your data pad before he can truly express his undying gratitude.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you grumble.

In a few hours, you’ve fixed what you could, pulling parts from the dustiest corners of your shop and pulling a few things you didn’t even know you had. You had fixed a stray leak or two for his fuel line, nearly burning your hand off in the process, and recalibrated his hyperdrive calculator. His navigation was pretty much fried, so you would have to get orders in for that, and when you were faced with a banged up calcinator in the left turbine, you had kicked it as hard as you could with your boot, and it had actually fixed it. The same couldn’t be said for the deflector shield generators. For that, you had to practically stick the entire upper half of your body to reach the innermost parts to rewire everything and fix the insulation. You’re not sure if you even want to look at the ion flux stabilizers, judging on how the cooling system was nearly scalds you every time you test it out. But eventually you tug on the thickest gloves you have and put on your goggles and patch it up.

You had made a quick trip on your dingy little speederbike to the market, not bothering to haggle the price as you dart from stall to stall and junkyard to junkyard looking for the parts you needed. At least you’ve been here long enough so that the locals didn’t ask questions as to why you were so frantic. Still, you were efficient, and as soon as you had off-loaded all the parts, you had plopped yourself down on a chair and started express ordering the parts you couldn’t get before.

As you’re sipping a cup of caf and planning what problems you could address before the off-world parts would come, Mando takes a seat in front of you.

“I need you to do something for me,” he says without preface. You arch an eyebrow.

“Really? Something else besides fixing that dumpster fire of a ship in less than three days?” you ask him wryly, but you set down your data pad and cross your arms, setting your face in a neutral expression. He was still your customer, and Maker knows what he could do to you. “What is it?”

“I need you to watch the kid,” he says. You really want to slam your head on the table. Maybe you could knock yourself out and that’ll be the rest you can get before you really had to start the hard work. Better yet, you would sustain such a bad head injury you would die. “I’ll compensate you for it.” Yeah, like that makes it any better.

He must see the look you have on your face because he quickly follows it up. “I found a job, but I’ll need to be gone for that, and I can’t risk taking the kid with me,” he explains. As much as you want to say to him that he needs to find another babysitter out there for the adorable little gremlin, Mando is going to get your next paycheck, so you sigh in resignation. Besides, you can hear how much the Mandalorian didn’t want to leave it alone.

“You owe me,” you say teasingly, and wag a finger in his face. “Your debt is increasing with every word you speak. I might have to add interest at this point.” He huffs out a laugh, warm and rich, and pushes your hand down and away from his face.

“Yeah? Give me the full list of grievances and charges when I get back,” he says. “Thank you.” He gets up and goes back to the ship while you scavenge your shop for something that can hold the child while you work.

By the time he comes back with his equipment and the kid is in his arms, you’ve found an old cart that you no longer used, and you had stuffed rags in there until it was padded enough and put a folded sheet on top. It’s… ugly. Mando must think so too because he stares at it for a little bit before looking at you. “I’m a mechanic, not a nanny droid,” you grumble, and take the child from his arms.

“I didn’t say anything,” Mando says. He easily gives up the child.

“You didn’t have to,” you retort as you try and soothe it. It’s fussing, and you think it knows Mando is leaving. You fix a hard stare at the chrome helmet. “If you’re not back by the time I fix your damn ship, I’m going to fucking lose it,” you threaten.

“I’ll be back,” he reassures. You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the kid. “You have my word.” You snort.

“I don’t need your word when you have a debt to pay,” you say, but quirk a smile and turn away. “Now, shoo. I have work to do.”

After Mando had gone, you had dived right back in to fix the remaining wiring, peeking out every now and then to check on the kid. It was entertaining himself with the junk around your shop, giggling as it threw things around, you only had to stop it from sticking things in its mouth twice. So far, so good. Maybe you could get into the nanny business.

A sudden rumble in your stomach interrupts your thoughts. Ah, that’s right, the only sustenance you’ve had all day was several cups of caf. You wipe your hands on the rag you tucked into your belt as you think about what you had in your conservator when you stop.

Shit, what did the kid eat?

You scoop him up as you head to your meager kitchen, opening the conservator as you him. “You eat meat?” you ask him, and it stares up at you. Did it know Basic? You awkwardly hold him out to the shelves. “Um, choose whatever you like,” you ask it, and after what you think is careful consideration, it reaches for a packet of dried burrafish. You bring him back to you, propping him up against your hip, and you reach for the packet, grabbing some soypro for your own meal, and shut the door. “I’ll reheat this for you, okay? Stay here.” You put him back in the makeshift pram you leave it in the little sitting area. You can still see him from here, and you tear open the package as you heat up the stove.

He sits patiently, watching you as you move around the kitchen, pulling out two bowls as you open the nanowave and toss in the fish and a small rehydration packet at the same time. A few minutes should do. Reaching under a cabinet, you pull out a pan, humming a nonsensical tune to yourself. You wash your hands real quick and start heating the pan before turning to the container of soypro to open it. It’s been a while since you’ve prepared this brand, so you carefully read the label so that you don’t accidentally explode the kitchen. Your ears perk up as you hear a blaster cocking.

“Where is it?” a low, raspy voice rumbles. You freeze.

“Where’s what?” you ask him. Your eyes dart around for anything you can use, but your blaster is on your work table several feet away from you, and your only knife is in the sink from your breakfast. You slowly turn around, hands up. You can’t tell who or what it is since they’re masked and have goggles on, but Basic must not be what their vocal cords are made for because it sounds like they’re trying to gulp water in at the same time.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says. He holds up a tracking fob, and you aren’t that idiotic that you can’t recognize what it is. It’s beeping steadily as the red light blinks rapidly. “The asset. You have him; where is it?” You sigh dramatically.

“Sir,” you say, “I deal with a lot of criminals. Daily, in fact, in case you didn’t know. You need to be more specific.” The bounty hunter tilts his head.

“The asset,” he repeats. “I’ll give you another warning- don’t play dumb. I saw the Mandalorian’s ship out there,” he says, nodding his head in the direction of the Razor Crest. “And I know he’s not here. Tell me where it is, and I’ll consider letting you live.” You furrow your brows, but eventually point at the pram where it hovers in the sitting area.

“You saw the ship but you couldn’t see the kid that’s right in front of you?” you ask dryly. The hunter turns around to look, and you use this time to slap the blaster out of his hand, turning around to grab the now-hot pan and wacking it across his face, shattering his goggles at the same time. He howls as the heat makes his mask smoulder and whatever shards that didn’t fly out get in his eye. Before you can fully comprehend that holy shit this is out of whatever pay grade that Mando was going to give you, the hunter whirls around his fist catches you on your brow bone, splitting the skin as you get knocked down. You kick his knee in from where you are, and it bends backwards from the force with a sickening crunch, and he goes toppling down, too. You scramble up as fast as you can, hitting him in the face with your pan again, and snatch the knife from your sink before stabbing him in the chest. The hunter screams, turning into a high-pitched shriek as you use the pan to hammer the handle of the blade, nailing it deeper into his chest. His screaming turns into gurgles, and you step over him to pick up the blaster and shoot him in the head to silence him. You’re huffing as you watch his purple blood leak all over your kitchen floor. Your pan is ruined.

The nanowave dings as your fish finishes heating up.

You wipe away the blood that was trickling into your eye and put the blaster on the counter. The child is just watching you with those big eyes, cooing in amusement. “You had fun?” you ask him. “Thanks for the warning, kid.”

It takes a good thirty minutes for you to haul the limp body of the bounty hunter of your kitchen and into the garage, where you prop it up against the wall. You didn’t have time to properly deal with him. You pat the body down, pulling out the stray credit here and there, and check for any trackers or comms. You crush the tracking fob under your boot and smash the commlink onto the floor. After that, you go around all the doors and windows, making sure they were locked and secure. Now that was dealt with, you start unzipping your blood-stained jumpsuit and head into the refresher. You frown at your reflection. The cut above your brow is still bleeding, and your cheek bone was starting to bruise. “Your dad better be loaded when he comes back!” you call out to the child. You strip and throw the jumpsuit into your basket. Hopefully the blood will come out after a couple washes.

You take out a medkit and pull out a bacta wipe, wiping the blood off of your face and over your cut, sweeping over your cheek bone to help with the bruising. The cut starts to slowly knit itself back together, but seeing as your bruise was underneath the skin, the wipe couldn’t do much. When you put the bacta pack back into the medkit, you spy two little syringes of blue liquid next to the gauze. A stim shot, and after the day you’ve already had, you’re gonna need it.

You had to work through the night if you had any chance of finishing the ship in time.

You’re crashing from the second stim by the time Mando comes back.

“It’s done,” you say, and your words are slurred. You have been non-stop working for two days, and the sun is starting to rise for the third. You have to squint to focus your sight on him unless you wanted to see double. You motion to the console that shows that the ship is in as good of a condition as it could be, and your hands are shaking something awful. You drop it by your side and rub your eyes. “And the kid is sleeping,” you add on before he can ask. “He was fed two hours ago, and sleeping for at least one. Parts were, uh, some amount of credits, I’m sure,” you think, and wave your hand. “Service is, uh, shit, where’s my data pad?” you mumble and whirl around to try and find it, but you have to steady yourself on the console. Kriff, you had forgotten how bad it felt to come down. “You know what? I’ll just send the details to you,” you say. You slide down and take a seat in the dirt. “I think I’m gonna take a nap.” Mando tosses a bag of credits to you, and you feel yourself perk up a little when the bag is heavy.

“Is this enough?” he asks. You rifle through it, making quick calculations in your head, basing it on estimates, really, but you frown. “Is it… is it not? Do I owe you more?” Mando asks, and he sounds a little nervous. Unsure. You shake your head and take out a few credits.

“Too much,” you say, and hold the rest up for him to take. “This is too much.” Mando scoffs, but it’s in good humor.

“You fixed a ship that would take normally five days in two,” he starts, “bought or scavenged parts that are surely no longer manufactured, and took care of the kid on top of that.” He presses the credits back to you. “I’m indebted to you. Please, accept it.” You sigh, and pull yourself up, and you’re proud to say you only slip a little bit.

“Mandalorian, you have a kid,” you say tiredly. “A kid that is wanted by many dangerous people. I had to learn that the hard way,” you continue. Oops. You didn’t mean to say that, but you just accept it and motion to the body that you had stuffed into the corner and haphazardly covered with a tarp. Mando’s head snaps to it taking in the purple blood smears you had failed to properly scrub out, and you take this moment to push the remaining credits into his hand. “You don’t owe me anything else. Just take it and leave.” You turn to leave, intent on flopping onto your bed and sleeping for a millennia and a half, but he grabs your wrist before you can, the heat of his skin burning through his gloves. Maker, he’s warm. “I hope you’re not asking another thing of me--”

“Come with me,” he says. You slowly blink at him. Perhaps you heard him wrong.

“What?”

“Come with me,” he repeats, and puts the credits into your hand, and honestly at this point you’re too tired to fight back. “I could use someone of your skill. You would be paid handsomely.” He motions to the bag in your hands. “That’s just from one job,” he says, “and you would get a cut from every one after that if you work for me. Fixing my ship, checkups, the like.” You stare at him with empty eyes as you process the words, and eventually Mando gets uncomfortable from your staring, and shifts where he stands.

You’ve been working in your shop for years, meticulously building up your reputation and making a name for yourself all over the galaxy. Hell, you’re sure you’ve even served some distant cousin of Jabba the Hutt at some point. Going with Mando would make you associates. Your name would be attached to the kid as well. Leaving a reliable source of income to travel with some ex-bounty hunter who’s taking care of a kid, on top of that, mind you, and trying to outrun other hunters? They could’ve been past customers as well. That would be an awkward conversation. But that would also mean you get to travel. You never got to do that. The most off-world interactions you get are shipments that are handled by droids. While you loved your shop, it was also keeping you grounded here. Mando did make good money…

You look at Mando where you assume his eyes are and pinch the bridge of your nose and let out the deepest sigh you have in the past year.

“Do I have to take care of the kid, too?”

a/n: Yes, Reader fed baby yoda and had her own meal. Yeah so this was the series I was working on, but I just... really hated it? So I scrapped it, but the first chapter is salvageable.

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes

#mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin reader #din djarin x reader #my writing #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian imagine #settle the debt

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junkyardlynx · 4 years ago

Text

As the wind stroked his boyish face, Gran found himself smiling softly. Not one of previously unrealized joy, nor the fragile countenance of someone on the edge of sorrow. No, it was a smile of resignation. Not over anything huge, really, but more a persistent fact of his strange life.

He would always be underestimated.

The breeze’s affection turned fickle and slipped away, leaving only stillness and birdsong to fill the tree he was perched in. The light armor he wore fit him well - a black ensemble, decorated with geometrical splashes of red and trimmed in gold. The plates were near-weightless, but they were tough enough to take all manner of punishment; the master artisan six islands back claimed the whole set was forged from adamantite. The matching gauntlets fit him like a second skin, responsive and pliable and even as he leaned forward on the spindly branch, the greaves gave not a creak or a groan.

By all accounts, the armor was fit for a majestic king, or perhaps a revered general. Not a boy who barely looked sixteen summers. So, who then? One would be forgiven if they mistook him for a prince, or perhaps an up-and-coming knight-commander. His features were handsome, if boyish, and people always told him that he had a “very dashing” air to him. As if that actually meant anything.

No, Gran was none of those things. By birth, he was a nobody from the edge of the known sky, left with his friend that was definitely not a lizard. By trade, he was a skyfarer captain. By destiny, one who shared his life with the Girl in Blue. And by effort? Well, that was the one he was most happy to share. Not that anyone ever believed him at first.

By effort, he could be summed up in four words.

Conqueror of the Eternals.

A boy of sixteen, now going on twenty-two, was the one who bested all ten Eternals in single combat? Even to himself, it sounded like a nice story and nothing more. Even though he lived every moment of it. The more spectacular details, like the defeat of the Erste Empire and his rejection of the True King’s offer were public knowledge. Though, well, it was true that they tended to draw his likeness a bit taller, and his face a bit more rugged. Artists paint what they feel, even if they don’t know it, even if they try and hide it. The bias creeps in. Surely whoever performed these fantastic deeds couldn’t be a sixteen year old kid. It was probably a part of the tale added later to spice it up and make it marketable for local papers.

Well, they were sort of right. When he rejected the “True King” and his poisoned wish, Gran was just about to turn twenty-two. Four months later, he now found himself intervening in a messy war between two kingdoms with his friend and crewmate Altair.

Six years. Six years had passed. Six years that showed nowhere on his face, his countenance. Nowhere save his eyes.

It started six years ago. He’d died protecting a terrified girl. A girl he didn’t even know. Even now, if Gran was left to his own devices, he could taste that choking pain -- not the way his lungs seared from the hydra’s flame, nor the gash in his side from the hydra’s claws. No, it was the pain of being powerless. The pain of not being able to reach his hand up to the sky and ask his father in hated grief if he was proud. Proud that unlike his old man, Gran didn’t abandon a child in their time of need.

So when that girl in blue did something impossible, he made two little promises inside of his weak heart.

One, never let anyone hurt her again.

Two, never feel that way again.

Six years and four months showed only in the tone of his muscles and the strength of his gait. The softness of his steps, the way he would round a corner like a prowling lion due to the endless combat he found himself engaged in. How long was it until he figured out the peculiarities of his resurrected body? His hair and nails grew, he still had to eat and sleep and still smelled awful when covered in silverslime after a successful hunt. Open wounds bled and illness forced him to bed.

But he didn’t age.

He probably realized it after teasing Rackam about his patchwork scruff one day. Rackam had lost his razor and was pilfering through the kitchen for a spare, muttering about the “damn gremlins” who “sneak aboard even though people are on watch duty.”

The exchange wasn’t noteworthy, really. Rackam had laughed and jabbed his index finger into the captain’s cheek, wondering when his peach fuzz would finally pack its bags and leave for more hairy locales.

Rackam’s voice echoed in his head.

“C’mon cap, aren’t you eighteen now? You gotta have more than this in ya!”

---

Weird how such a statement could open a can of worms. Last he checked, he wasn’t in the worm business, either. Well, unless Altair’s little solo mission for me involves worms somehow.

Gran hadn’t honestly asked for details since Altair didn’t seem to think they were important. The gist of his part in the greater plan amounted to “stop the western advance.” Simple and concise, really. The field he was scouting below the tree was still and peaceful, seemingly unaware of both the passage of time and the rumblings of war. The breeze kicked up again, carving gentle waves through the grass, and memory pulled him back under.

---

After that, it was impossible for Gran not to notice everything strange thing going on with his body. Despite nearing the age of nineteen, not a single hair managed to grace his face. Meanwhile, he could still tan (and burn) under the blazing sun and if he chose, he could grow the hair on his head as long as he liked. As an experiment, he’d left one toenail to grow as long as it could, just to see what happened. Other than a supremely stubbed toe one early morning followed by a string of swears angry enough to make Eugen blush, nothing came of his experiment.

If was as if nobody has given his body the blueprints for life after sixteen, as if the existence of “Gran as a person” was tied to his current general appearance, as if something altogether removed from natural biology had decided that “this” was Gran. Whatever was supposed to come after simply...didn’t. Naturally, Gran lost his mind a bit. Only a bit, though. He had the good sense to seek out the famous alchemist and self-proclaimed cutest girl in the world, Cagliostro. She’d joined the crew a while ago and had a keen intellect when it came to matters of the body and it’s intricate workings. After all, she’d made one for herself, probably countless times. Her verdict?

She was stumped.

Apparently, senescence - the process of cells deteriorating after copying themselves over long amounts of time, leading to aging - had stopped in Gran. Sort of. The truth was much stranger. She’d been having him report to her little workshop on the Grancypher twice a week, taking blood and tissue samples much to his immediate and mildly painful dismay. This process continued on for three months before her exasperation and wonder lead her to discuss her findings with “cute, baffling little Gran.”

“Basically, captain! You’re aging just right for the first eight samples. The only way to tell is to be able to “find” the itty bitty little bit of info that goes missing from the blueprint of “you” every time your cells divide. I imagine the Astrals put it in as a sort of safety fe-errrrr, moving on! So! Being the inimitable genius I am, I noticed something about the ninth set of samples. They’re alllllmost the same as the first. Way too close. You don’t just get that bit back for no reason, and you really don’t get THAT much back for any reason.”

Gran nodded slowly, already onto what she was talking about. However, knowing that Cagilostro loved a.) having a captive audience and b.) herself, he let her continue.

“I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure, and positing a hypothesis that early on when I might have just mixed up the samples would be irresponsible. So I waited until that Saturday when I got to stab and slice you again, triple-checking that alllll the samples were out of my workshop. Same result! They looked just like the second sample, even fresh farm-to-table.”

She turned an adorably calculated and seemingly malicious smile to Gran as her explanation ended. Though it wasn’t exactly news, her words were still unnerving. After all, his cells were basically rolling back the clock of aging every four weeks. You know, normal things.

“You know how much I’d give to figure out your secret? Even ignoring the fact that it certainly has to do with whatever Lyria did to you three years ago, this is a discovery so amazing you’d think I’d invented it. Your body is pretty much just removed from time! It’s almost envious enough to make me cry. I can’t believe you, making a genius cry. It’s honestly ridiculous. You can obviously still put on muscle mass and your brain isn’t fried like one of those Golden Friday SHRIMP.”

For a bit there after that, Gran lost a...well, a bit more of his mind. If he had to be honest. Three days locked up in his room, not letting anyone in, not even Vyrn. He poured over alchemical texts, medical documents, arcane and state secrets, anything the Grandcypher had that might be pertinent. After three days of intense study, stopping only for the necessities of life, Gran came to an answer. Well, his answer.

Did it matter?

Had his sword arm stayed the same over those three years? No. Was his cut not deadlier, his stab not sharper, his fist not faster? Had his body not taken on the tone and muscle of someone who fought primals -- and prevailed? The difference between the weak Gran of three years ago and the Gran of today was immeasurable. The young man who had once fallen to a single tortured hydra now found himself battling ancient primal beasts of war and guile on a monthly basis.

He may not ever have a thick Draph-sized mustache and his cheeks might permanently retain their tender charm no matter his age, but his body was fit to fight. To protect. To chase his absent father until the end of the sky. That’s what mattered. Though he was quite sure Cagilostro would tease him endlessly for his answer.

With newfound determination, Gran threw himself into what the rest of the crew considered hellish training simply because he knew he could endure it. It was a way to prove himself - even after death, even after abandonment, he was worth something. He had value and merit and talent, but also the drive and yearning to turn it into something. In the wake of this new regiment for himself and his little visit to a certain alchemist on board, rumors crept up. Slow and steady at first, they soon burned like wildfire through the decks of the Grandcypher, spreading out of context and control. He finally became privy to a good chunk of the downright goofy rumors via his afternoon footwork training on the vast open deck.

His footwork training was simple. He would empty his mind and fill it with visions of attackers, then repel those attackers as they came at him from all sides and angles. Though it didn’t hold up to real battles, it offered a sort of vision training and group combat scenario that duels never quite could and best of all, it could be performed anywhere with ample space as the only thing required was himself.

Being simple in those relative terms, it provides opportunities for a capable multitasker to easvesdrop things they shouldn’t, like the hottest Grandcypher gossip. On one such afternoon, in the early days of summer, things came to a head as crewmates found themselves unable to contain the rumor mill around their captain any longer.

“I heard the captain’s immortal!”

Not entirely inaccurate. His nonexistent blade swung a tight arc, lopping off the head of something never there. With his arm extended, he challenged the thin atmosphere between the islands. Nothing came.

“Yeah, I heard he was like a six thousand year old primal beast?”

Missed the mark a bit there, he quipped internally. It seemed both directed at the conversation and himself as he danced between the attacks of no ones and nothings. His sweeping kick, though near-flawless in form, barely grazed the torso of his last imagined attacker in that scenario. With a click of his tongue, he noted to himself that an actual attacker couldn’t simply stop on a dime like the one he imagined did. Even in his mind, he was tough on himself, as no one else seemed to want the responsibility. With a little consternation, he ended up giving himself the point for his made up little game. The points didn’t matter, but they made him feel better.

“We have a few of those in the crew, so it makes sense.”

It would, but that’s not the case. Gran’s feet shuffled to and fro, dancing softly across the wooden deck of the Grancypher. To the casual observer, it almost appeared as if he was simply rehearsing one of the dances Anthuria had choreographed with him. He ducked under an imaginary bullet, fist rising from below to smash the jaw of the illusory gunman.

The nothings and nobodies fell to his invisible sword strikes, his matchless kicks and punches, to the spells he snap-conjured between the thrust of a lance and the flight of an arrow. Finally, panting hard with exhilaration and the flow of combat, Gran slew the final “attacker” with a quick reversal and stab to the gut, ending the dream with its own weapon. Nothing and no one fell, other than comfortable silence, but he still felt a measure of success as he picked up the warmed vacuum flask that had his lunch in it.

“No, no, he’s only thirty-six and he’s the son of that one legendary adventurer. It’s his hero’s blood. I hear his dad bathed in the entrails of the primal beast he slew, though, so maybe that’s what caused it in the end?” Why would a hero be forced to stop aging before he could legally drink? The snort of his barely contained laughter sent soup up his nose, straight from his vacuum flask. Hot soup. Hot, spicy soup.

“That makes a lot of sense.”

More than the six thousand year old primal beast bit, yes.

“He’s still our captain, so who cares? That’s good enough for me.” Oh. Ah. I...

That last overheard comment had humbled him, but the clear ring of all the affirmations that followed from crewmates in it’s wake shook him to his core. Somehow, he’d gained the loyalty and friendship of some of the most accepting people under the great blue sky. His training, already considered to be a form of self-punishment by the rest of the crew, grew in scope and desire. If there was a mountain in his way, he would cut it. If there was a river in his way, he would part it. If even the great ocean of stars spanned the distance, it would be crossed.

For all the things he could still protect.

For the dreams he had thought beyond him.

For the sake of surpassing the absent father that had abandoned him long ago, leaving only a note.

When still a boy in a backwater nothing, Gran wielded a simple short sword and fancied himself a sort of knight as he grew up. Wearing a slightly ragged blue tunic with a hood, a few pieces of spare platemail strapped to his right arm, and holding a sword containing more rust than blade. Training with Vyrn in the forest every day, the boy dreamed of something bigger. A fighter, a protector, a guardian of what he loved and treasured, not a bandit that cut and run from his family. That’s what he wanted to be... That dream was, for lack of a better term, driven from his chest. By a hydra. Just so we’re clear.

He abandoned defensive posture after that, seeking to end fights as quickly as possible. An axe found it’s way into his hands and for a time, he was satisfied by the devastation it wrought. Teenage postmortem angst seemed to be quelled by a felling cleave to an enemy’s collarbone, and chunky plate scraps held together with red leather and white fur served him well enough as protection from the elements and the enemies he faced.

Nothing so simple satisfied for long, though. Gran took to himself in a sort of hermitage for a while, studying magic under the occasional tutelage of his talented crewmates. There was a certain ripple of insecurity in his scouting party’s mood when he’d shown up late one day, his usual armor stripped down to basic protection and his axe nowhere to be found. They tossed light jeers at his green cloak and the staff he carried, even as they set off for their destination - a bandit camp they had been hired to uproot. Peace talks were attempted by the bandit’s leader and an Erune comrade of Gran’s, one better suited for diplomacy than the boy-faced captain.

Things deteriorated quickly. Gran had quietly stepped forward once the leader made it clear he had no intention of retreating peacefully. With the green hood still covering half his disappointed face, Gran slashed the tip of the staff in a dismissive motion to the right, as if telling them their time here was over. Before they could protest or retaliate, wild magic burst into life around them, sealing off all escape and action. Concentric rings of frost and fire cradled in the stony embrace of the earth, carved into being with the fierce wind tore at everything inside the bandit’s camp. With the oxygen burnt out, the earth lashed and the encampment in shambles, the dazed and injured bandits were easy prisoners.

No one jeered after that.

As his prowess grew and the crew took on more work, that cloak had weathered with time. It faded to an almost dull grey, and with this Gran had added a black half-mask to the ensemble. Admittedly, it was mostly to hide his youthful features and force enemies to take him somewhat seriously for once, as the sting of his blessed curse grew more apparent as he approached his twentieth year.

For combat, a middle ground was found. He embraced not pure swordsmanship, nor did he place his trust only in magic. Instead, he channeled his power into debilitating his opponent’s often unworldly vigor and vitality, then coaxed those weaknesses open with his unmatched swordplay. Victory after victory piled up at the crew’s feet, and the legend of the “boy captain” grew.

It also provided the fodder for what Gran considered a highly embarrassing piece of “art.” Somebody had caught him resting his right hand on his jaw, leg crossed over the other almost lazily as he read a scrap of paper in his left. It was a failed betting ticket, so close to winning millions of rupees, save for the upset victory in the sixth match. An enterprising somebody, who’s name begins with L and ends with -unalu, had committed this terrible and dreadful sight to memory. She then committed that memory to paper with her talent.

Only, well.

She’d used her license of artistic interpretation to replace the slip of paper held in contempt with a comically oversized sword. Stabbed unceremoniously in the ground. The barstool? That was now a throne carved of stone. The title of the piece, an unknowing and fortunate soul might ask?

“Chaos Ruler.”

The print she made was reproduced and sold to more than a handful of people on and off the Grandcypher. Copies of it hung from stray support beams and walls on the ship, as if to lovingly taunt him and people switched their mode of address from “captain” to things like “my liege” or “ruler” or “chaos kid” for the better part of a month. Gran said nothing, choosing to keep what little of his dignity he felt he had left.

Nobody saw Gran wear that outfit again.

In hindsight, he had to agree that the metal half-mask was a little much. But, ah, Ejaeli and Predator had convinced him it was cool. They made masks look cool, after all. The palpable disappointment from them almost made him walk back on that decision. Almost.

From then on, he’d taken to wearing a simple outfit when on duty, reminiscent of his teenage years. Having turned twenty some time ago, he decided to make a simple blue hooded tunic the mainstay of his combat attire. On top went a basic but functional steel breastplate, covering his heart and ribs. His arms were covered in gauntlets of the same make, and steel greaves offered his feet and shins ample protection as they went on over a pair of loose beige pants. What it lacked in flair it made up for in comfort and capability. A sensible choice. It gave nothing about his combat style away either, other than the obvious caveat that he might engage in it at some point.

---

Funny to say teenage years, he supposed, looking down at the peaceful field. Fires were beginning to rise and march in the distance, headed this way. An army. For now, though, he had time, and the world seemed to move so perilously slow. Memory reeled him in once more, as if the grass and the trees of this island made him long for another time and another place.

---

Thinking seriously on it, the reason his legend had spread as that of the “boy captain” probably had to do with two things. One, the Grandcypher traveled an awful lot between three different skydoms, and two? The crew of the Grandcypher loved events.

It probably had to do with a third thing, too.

His crew really, really loved to tease him about his age.

Every birthday, it’d be “Happy sixteenth, Cap!” They reused the same banner six times now, adding a tally mark just above “sixteenth” every single time. It was as endearing as it was maddening. Eugen and Rackam pulled the same thing at every new bar, ordering three beers and then pretending to flip out at Gran when he took his. It caused its fair share of problems for Gran, so sometimes Gran would flip the script before they got the chance and get angry at his “dad” and “brother” for getting drunk while “mom” was at home alone.

Some of the Grandcypher ladies would tease him with lines about “when he was older” and what an “earnest young man he was” if they saw him during the more romantic holidays, much to his chagrin. He learned to reverse that too, going on the offensive by playing the straight man to their act. He paid them straightforward compliments with toothy grins and presented them with chocolates during White Day as a form of playful revenge.

A few times every year, the crew would be called to an ancient island where a sort of...war game took place between skyfaring crews. An Astral experiment run amok meant that otherworldly and ferocious beasts overwhelmed the singular island now and then, and their presence courted the attention of primal beasts. As the people of the skydoms always sought to turn misery into growth, they established a way to turn it into a competition. Extremely rare treasure was brought in from all across the skyrealms and the monster problem on the island was handily taken care of in what they called Guild Wars.

Ten times, the Grancypher emerged victorious. Each time, for his troubles, the Captain would receive an ancient weapon of unparalleled power, power that courted disaster - and inevitably the attention of those that would protect the sky from unparalleled threats.

The Eternals.

Ten times over the years, Gran wore his convictions on his sleeve and fought the strongest people in the sky, all to prove that he would remain himself in the face of that dread power. In truth, Gran didn’t plan to use those relics of war. He simply reveled in the chance to face those brilliant, blazing souls in single combat.

It was a way to prove himself. Both to those who he had grown to admire after hearing their legends, and to his eternally absent father. Surely, even his father would have to notice if he conquered the ten strongest people in the sky--

He didn’t, but it didn’t matter.

In the end, the people he met and bonded with mattered.

After an incident involving the mafia bearing down on Stardust Town, the Eternals got together and presented Gran with a suit of armor and his own cloak, signifying his status as the eleventh Eternal, an irreplaceable part of their group. While Siete was still the de-facto leader and Uno was the first of the Eternals, Gran - given the new title of Jedenáct - was the end-all-be-all when it came to pure combat strength. As they had joined the Grancypher’s crew, they wanted him to join the crew of the Eternals and share in that camaraderie.

He might have felt sixteen behind those misty eyes when they draped the white jacket over his shoulders and popped the celebratory drinks open, but he’d never admit it. Openly. Nio knew, because of course she did. His heart’s plaintive melody was clear to her ear from the moment they’d met. He’d been seeking a place to belong, a place that respected him since the day he understood that his father had abandoned him. Between the Grancypher and the Eternals, he’d finally felt like part of a family.

A family more real than the blood that spawned and abandoned him, all the while burdening him with purpose.

This is where I belong.

---

Of course, it was just after this heartfelt moment that Altair had been roped into this awful and brutal war. As a member of the Grancypher family, Altair’s problems were Gran’s problems. And now, that advancing army was coming into ambush distance. Concentrating his mana for a second, Gran summoned forth an ethereal bow, shaped like the one Song used but made of pure, blue light. Standing up on the branch of the tree, he took aim at the ground some twenty metres in front of the enemy general’s advance. Luhua was said to be a fearsome combatant, and Gran secretly hoped for a chance to resolve things with a non-fatal, honorable, one-on-one duel. The best kind of fight.

Of course, he would always be underestimated. There was a chance that no such duel would be found, and it might turn into a bloody melee.

Either way?

Time to keep the sky’s sweet peace.

#granblue fantasy #gbf #gran #fanfiction #writing #my writing #self-indulgent bullshit

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