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mirkwoodmunson · 2 years ago

Text

meltdown

eddie munson x gn!y/n

2k words

sometimes the bullying is too much. sometimes eddie needs you to step in.

contains: aaaangst but then a lil fluff at the end ig so it’s ok, jason carver, hurt!eddie, pre-s4 tw: cursing, physical/verbal bullying, violence, meltdown a/n: companion piece to bad day. eddie's turn to have a rough time! disc: i do not give permission to share my content outside of tumblr; please reblog and do not repost; my content (even sfw) is not meant for minors; i am not responsible for the media you consume online.

“Piss off and juggle some balls,” Eddie snarls out, before abruptly getting slammed back into the side of his van, one of Jason’s basketball goons grabbing him by the vest, fists twisted into the denim and digging into his shoulders as he’s held against the vehicle.

He lets out a wheeze and then growls, attempts lashing out like a cornered animal but it only makes the jock pull him forward to slam him back again — harder — eliciting another gasp from Eddie as the wind is knocked from him a second time.

“You really shouldn’t litter, y’know,” the goon drawls smugly, as Jason Carver himself collects from the ground the pages of campaign material Eddie had dropped after being shoved into this altercation without warning. Material he’d been working on for the past three months.

Eddie’s eyes grow wide and panicked as Jason shuffles through them, the jock’s eyebrows furrowed and nose wrinkled, face twisted into a sneer to say ‘what the fuck am I looking at, weirdo??’

Eddie’s stomach drops, movement ceasing as he watches carefully.

“H-hey c’mon man, c’mon just drop ‘em, alright? Carver!”

The blond boy snorts, meeting Eddie’s pleading gaze with a careless one of his own.

“Sure, freak. Sure I’ll drop ‘em,” he coos.

Jason smiles, flat and ice-cold, and tears a neat rip right down the middle of the pages, Eddie immediately crying out angrily and squirming, distraught shouts only growing louder with every slow rriiiiippp Jason draws out for his own amusement.

He does eventually drop the pages — the small little squares he’d made out of them — lets them out of his hands slowly to flutter away in the breeze.

It’s gut-wrenching, the way Jason just grins in delight as Eddie furiously tries to break free, tries to thrust himself after Jason, tries to defend himself — but all his efforts earn him is a swift punch to the gut from the goon holding him.

Eddie doubles over with a huff and blinks rapidly as his vision explodes with color, lungs sputtering and stinging as he tries to chase a deep breath of air that they can’t hold with their ache, arms wrapped around his middle as he starts to sink to the ground.

He can hear nimble, quick-paced footsteps, someone running towards the trio, but in his position he doesn’t see you come up right behind Jason with your arms thrown back, hears you but doesn’t see as you cry out in a blind rage and swing your book bag with full might into the side of Jason Carver’s head.

He misses getting to see Jason practically soar to the ground, but he does see him flounder on the pavement, eyes wide in his startled panic, holding his head and trying to place his attacker.

You keep screaming, wildly swinging your heavy bag, taking a defensive stance in front of Eddie who’s still holding his abdomen, curled into himself and coughing.

“FUCK OFF YOU ROTTING PIECES OF DOG-SHIT!! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!! GET — AWAY!! I’LL FUCKING SHOVE MY FOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS, JASON CARVER; SO FAR YOUR OWN MOTHER IS GONNA TASTE THE SOLE!!”

You get a few more good whacks in, making Jason and his goon stumble as the latter helps the former to his feet, trying to keep him steady as they gather themselves and attempt a hasty retreat.

“FUCKING FREAKS!” The goon throws over his shoulder before they both break into a run, Jason stumbling a bit and struggling with his footing.

As soon as they’re focused on high-tailing it out of there you drop your bag and sink to your knees in front of Eddie’s huddled figure, the boy still pulling in deep breaths that squeal with a wheeze in between his coughs.

“Eds?? Eddie baby, lookit me, look here,” you cup his cheeks and gently lift his head, pushing curls away from his face to give him room to breathe and checking for any other injuries; your stomach drops when he slowly looks up with your encouragement, his bottom lip quivering as he tries to keep the tears restrained but a few of them have already fallen down his rosy cheeks. He looks up, but avoids your intense, concerned gaze.

“Oh, Eddie… sweetie, come on, you gotta get up; I got you, c’mon…” you sigh gently and pull one of his arms around your shoulders, carefully lifting him with you. He leans into you and lets out a soft whine, his other arm tightly wrapped against his middle, letting you maneuver him.

“Keep doing those deep breaths, babe, you got it… it’s alright you got it… c’mon, m'gonna take you home, okay? It’s alright…”

Your voice keeps him docile, keeps him calm, keeps him focused and breathing and moving. He wants to hide, wants to be in the quiet dark, wants to crawl away with you so he lets you guide him to the passenger side of his van and into the seat. As soon as you close his door he leans his arms up on the dash and buries his head in them, shoulders heaving.

Your heart sinks to your feet and you breathe out slowly.

“I’m gonna fucking kill that piece of shit…” You spit under your breath, glancing back at the school. You take a few minutes to gather whatever scraps of Eddie's campaign you can find -- whatever hasn't already blown away -- tucking them into your bookbag as you scoop it up along with the rest of Eddie's things. You walk around to the driver's side of the van, hopping up into the seat.

Eddie tries to calm down when he hears you come in, looks away and lifts his shirt to swipe over his face, a quick successions of sniffles. You can see him tremble, errant hairs shivering, the way his hands moved almost frantically, body rigid and vibrating with adrenaline.

You set your bag in the back and then just sit silent for a bit. Letting Eddie have his time to quietly vent the steam while he tries to hide it from you — huddled away and trying to collect himself before you press for info or speak up again.

When he’s down to just heavy breaths, you reach over and slowly stroke his arm, testing the waters. They’re lukewarm and still, and Eddie just sits and lets you comfort him.

“Are you okay, Eds?" 'Silly question,' you think, 'of course he's not okay.'

"Do- …d’you wanna, talk about it?”

Eddie does a big shrug and huffs, looking into his lap while fiddling with his rings absently. He sniffles, swipes a sleeve against his nose, shaking his head a little.

“What’s there to talk about.” His voice is raspy and soft, stating it plainly; he still wheezes softly. You wince and withdraw your hand.

“Same shit as always. Bunch’a fuckin' little shits ganging up on someone bigger to feel tough.”

The quiet settles over you again.

And then you jump in your seat, when Eddie begins punching the dash in front of him, practically screaming,

“SAME FUCKING SHIT!! IT’S THE SAME — FUCKING — SHIT!! EVERY — FUCKING — DAY — OF MY LIIIFE!!”

He’s punching with each word, choking on a sob with every pained breath, and then he’s just shouting at the end, fists digging into his thighs as he strains with the force of his bellowing, face red and wet.

You just freeze and go quiet, eyes glued down onto your hands in your lap, flinching with the punches and closing your eyes when he yells.

He breaks off with a sob and rakes fingers into his tangled hair — you hear strands snap — tugging against the roots as he cries deep from his aching belly, rasping with each breath.

“It doesn’t stop!! It doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop it doesn’t—“

He stomps his foot, pulling his hair — he was so strained just sitting in place, groaning and crying and shifting irritably like he needed to do something, needed to move. Something angry and red and sad and tired was trying to break free, pushing at his seams, and it frustrated him that all he could do was just cry. He felt itchy and tight in his skin.

It wasn’t often, but you had seen him like this a few times before. When it got too be too much for him to hide with a grin and lame joke, too much to tuck away into the attic of his mind.

It was the ones that smiled the easiest, it seemed, that had the most they wanted to hide.

Grin and bear it.

It broke your heart every time. How could it not?

Eddie was such a strong person, his will unmatched and pride hung high — not proud, per se, but very aware of how bright he shone, and more than happy to shed that light. Happy to stand strong and be that person everyone saw him as — that you saw him as — untouchable, unwavering, mighty.

Eddie the Brave.

It broke your heart to see that light flicker and go out, even if only momentarily. Broke your heart to see Eddie — who was always the one to comfort and protect you — need comfort and protection himself.

But every light needs tending to stay lit. The flames may go out but they can be fanned into a roar once more.

Eddie would always help you pick up your pieces, you would always be there to help him pick up his.

He sits rigid in his seat with his palms cupped over his face, muffling the cries and sniffles, hiding the tears that fell freely — hid them till they were trickling down his wrists and dripping from his chin.

“Eddie…sweetheart…” Just the warmth, tenderness, of your voice makes his shoulders slump, quivering with the force of the next few sobs as his muscles struggle to keep taught.

“Baby c’mere,” you soothe, reaching to him and carefully sliding a hand around his wrist. You pull it away, and he lets you guide him towards you slowly. You lift his hand and bring it up and around your shoulder, and Eddie leans in with it and puts his other arm around you as well, now crying freely against your shoulder as he sinks into your awaiting arms and lets the meltdown run its course as you comfort him.

"I'm sick of it, y/n! I'm-I'm fuckin' sick of it!"

You tuck your face into brown curls, let your eyes slide closed as you murmur calming shushes, hand smoothing slow, deep circles into his back, gently grazing with your fingertips; other hand clutching tight to the scruff of his shirt, holding Eddie to you dearly.

"I know. I know, Eds..."

It's all you can say. Nothing would really make it any better right now, he just needed to let it out, just needed a moment to be comforted and told 'yes. you're right, Eddie. It does fucking suck. But you'll be okay.'

After a while he's more responsive -- quieted down -- rubbing your back as well and self-soothingly brushing his cheek against the shoulder of your soft, warm shirt, just under your collarbone. Listening to your heartbeat, letting that ground him.

You press nuzzled kisses into his hair, against his forehead and temple and the bridge of his nose, which makes him smile and crinkle it sweetly.

He leans up slowly in his seat while you keep a hand pressed to his back, watching him orient himself and rub his eyes, trying to physically wipe away the thoughts swarming over the incident. He smooths his palms into his thighs, over and over, a slow and soothing gesture. Breathes deep and exhales, still wheezing a little, still aching, but now mostly just tired.

"...can you, stay over tonight?" Eddie croaks just above a whisper, finally meeting your eye.

You smile and nod, holding up the hand you'd had on his back.

He smiles too, soft and weary, fishes the keys out of his pocket and drops them into your palm.

Your gaze shifts to the little keychain attached to them, a clear plastic heart that holds a tiny cutout picture of the two of you from a photo booth, giggly and excited after seeing The Return of the Living Dead.

“I can help you fix the campaign! You’ve been working so hard on it.”

You start up the van, Eddie squeezes your thigh -- a silent 'thank you,' and you head off towards Forest Hills.

#100th post lets gooo!!!!!!#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson angst #stranger things angst #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #eddie munson x gn!y/n #stranger things x you #eddie munson fic #mine #1k

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villain-sympathizer · 2 years ago

Note

If I may request a sort of prequel to Impromptu Interrogation; while ReDestro is getting strong armed by the LOV, reader is getting just as hard a time from Trumpet, Geten, and Skeptic in the room over?

oh my god this is honestly hilarious, absolutely i will write that!!

────── ･｡ﾟ: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ･ ──────

[Part one]

Re-Destro x Reader; but sans Re-Destro in this part LMAO; MLA being a big wacky family

[Content warnings: Mentions of spying/privacy invasion, curtesy of Skeptic; Geten being a lil mean, but what else is new]

Word count: 937

[[Note: I write all my xReaders in third person and non-descript, so that others can insert either themselves or their OCs if they want!]]

────── ･｡ﾟ: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ･ ──────

»»—— Impromptu Interrogation Pt. 2 ——««

Nervous, shaking hands continuously fiddle with the various edges and buttons of their outfit, a clear sign of [Name]'s anxiety of the upcoming dinner with the CEO of Detnerat himself. They sit on a couch of the drawing room, accompanied by the other original members of the Meta Liberation Army. Chitose sat next to them, a blue hand resting gently on their shoulder, while the rest of the group is spread out around the room.

Koku stood next to one of the large windows, glass of whiskey in hand, gazing out of the pristinely clean glass like a brooding Victorian wife. Tomoyasu was hunched over his laptop, rapidly typing away on the couch opposite of them, and providing the only sound in the room besides the clinking of ice in Koku's glass. From one of the further corners of the room, Geten sat on a cushioned chair fiddling with a knick knack from one of the decor shelves.

"I assure you, dear, that it'll be totally fine," Chitose's sweet voice broke the semi-silence of the room, bringing [Name] out of their stupor. "Rikiya is such an forgiving man, even if things go bad, he'll understand."

A scoff comes from Tomoyasu, drawing the attention of the two in front of him. "Right, understanding. We'll go with that," he grumbles, not once pausing in his typing.

Chitose responds with a huff. "Y'know, you don't have to be here, right? None of you do, in fact," the purple-haired woman purses her lips in annoyance, eyes squinting at her coworkers.

"And miss the chance to see off [Name] to dinner with the boss?" Koku replies with a grin, pushing off from his spot leaning next to the window to make his way closer to the group. "It's like getting to see your own kid off on their first date! I've always wanted that feeling," he takes a seat in one of the armchairs near the couches, taking a sip from his glass.

Though none of them could see it, they absolutely felt Geten roll his eyes at the older man.

Koku continued with his little monologue once he swallowed the alcohol. "Besides, we all know Tomo's only here cause he's worried about the boss, since he's such as kiss-ass to Re-Destro."

"I am not worried, you asshat," Tomoyasu hisses back at him, finally pausing in his work to glare at the other through his long bangs.

Chitose snorts at Koku's small response of 'So you admit you're a kiss-ass?', breaking the tension between the two by speaking up. "Oh? Not worried at all?" A smile graces her lips as she reaches over and plucks a tiny, black device from within [Name]'s clothes. "Is that why you bugged them with this?" Her smile only grows when she sees the long-haired man grind his teeth from behind his lips, trying desperately to come up with an excuse. When her colleague failed to provide a response, Chitose gave a triumphant huff as she flicks the device back at Tomoyasu. "Weirdo."

"Maybe Re-Destro asked him to," calls a voice from the other end of the room, reminding everyone of Geten's presence. "This 'date' could just be for information, after all."

"Nonsense!" Both Chitose and Koku exclaim in unison, nearly jumping out of their seats in objection, startling both Tomoyasu and [Name].

Geten merely rolls his eyes, yet again, his hood down for once so that everyone could see his indifference to the situation. With arms crossed, he leans back in his seat, opting to observe the group again.

Tomoyasu grunts out a response, before slamming his laptop closed. "The boy has a point, you know."

"Oh shut up," Chitose is quick to snap back. "You just want an excuse for your weird spying habit," she responds, turning herself to once again address the main person in the topic, [Name]. "Now, don't listen to them. I assure you that this is indeed a real, genuine date," the blue woman replaces her hand on the other's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Hell, Rikiya even came to me and Koku for dating advice more times than we can count! He looked just as nervous as a lovesick school boy."

[Name], once they recovered from the sheer absurdity of the events that just occurred, took a deep breath and offered a grateful smile to the woman next to them. "Thank you, Chi, you've been a big help," they say just before Chitose pulls them into a sudden hug, squealing as she tugs them up off the couch.

"Of course! Now go, it's almost time, and it's a little bit of a walk to the room he's in," she explains, carefully nudging them towards the door.

Koku sets his drink down on the coffee table between the couches, making his way over to the duo. "Would you like me to walk with you there? It'll likely be easier on your nerves to have someone to chat with."

[Name] shakes their head, shooting the man a kind smile as they open the door. "No thanks, but I appreciate the offer. I'll probably be lost in my own thoughts, anyway," they reply. "Thank you guys, also. Or... well, just you and Chi, really," they give a lighthearted chuckle and a wave to the group, before finally disappearing through the doors.

Chitose waits for the doors to close completely before whirling around to face Tomoyasu and Geten. "What is wrong with you two?" There's a silent pause in the room, no one daring to speak, until Geten decides to pipe in with:

"Do you want the long or short answer to that?"

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #redestro x reader #rikiya yotsubashi x reader #redestro #skeptic #curious #trumpet #geten #dame writes

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everyothermouse · 3 years ago

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A lil group portrait of the time au adventuring gang!! Them <333

Basically tol fucked up as a kid and is now on the run from the law, but realized that since his life was so crazy he could live off of telling stories of his wacky adventures. When he met Jay he wanted him to come with him, and when he found out jay couldn't come cus he was virtually a demon/god/magic magnet he decided he NEEDED to bring him to capitalize on how it'd make more cool stories. And yeah it worked so since then he's been collecting wackos to aaa go crazy aaaa go stupid (and also bcus safety I numbers or whateva, pop and pip are also criminals and pastel and jay are crimes against god <3) more about each individual under the cut!

Doin them from left to right :)

Pastel: died when she was messing around with some friends and got stuck under a big rock and left to starve. But because of a fluke in the underworld her God decided to resurrect her, a right usually only belonging to saints. Because of this she's now poorly pretending that she totally did something to deserve being revived (she tells a different story every time someone asks, she thinks it's funny) to avoid being persecuted for suspected witchcraft. She met Jay when they were both drunk and they had fun fucking around in the city, and she spilled the beans to him that she was revived for no reason. She regretted it, but jay didn't kill her because even though he's religious he knew what it felt like to be magically cursed and have everyone be pissed at u for it. Also she's really funny with jay so tol begged her to come with them to add more Comedy(tm) to his memoirs

Pop: a time traveller and angel who is trying to hide both of those facts but only really succeeding at hiding the time travel thing. When they were a kid they traveled to this time with his friends Lustre and Cherrybomb, but when they were attacked by the vicious royal guard they weren't able to escape without leaving Lustre behind. Cherrybomb super repressed that memory, and while pop recovered from some minor injuries they vowed to never time travel again. Yeah they only kept that up until they were like 15, but they still couldn't bring themself to go back to when they left Lustre. But now they're 26 (well technically they're like 33 but in their time their supposed to be 26) living with their boyfriend cherrybomb and have years of time travel experience under their belt, and they're ready to go back. Except they can't go back because they created a travel block for themself by accident because of how upsetting the event was, so instead they traveled as close as they could, about 10 years in the future of the time. Now they search for any form of closure, all they need to know is what happened to their friend, and they will do whatever it takes to find this out. But angels aren't super welcome in the past, especially not with uncut wings, so it's not exactly easy for them to navigate this time period. But after a while of their search they met two lovely children (well young adults), a demon and a "cursed" (nowadays they call em spiritually gifted) and felt so bad for how much the world seemed to be against them they decided they could travel with them, just for a bit, to protect them. They tried not to get attached. They failed. They're in it for the long run now aren't they TwT also as they explore this time and learn more about the gods, they start to realize that they might... be the God of longevity???? Or at least an older version of them became them? Time travel is fucked man

Btw Lustre plays a big role in this plot, her hyper futuristic knowledge, 'blessed' white eyes, and strange God gifted clothing would all lead to him rising to a much different role than fugitive rather quickly, but they're not who this post is about ;) also I'm gonna go bottom to top for the 3 in the middle let's go

Lune: just a little guy :) lune is a young rancher/gardener who worships the God of the wood, who kind of goes missing sometimes and is lowkey the least loyal God but shhhh he loves them. Lune and tol were childhood friends (along with their pal cleo) but on one of their little excursions tol took something very important to a very powerful king, and refused to give it back. As retribution the king destroyed their entire town, and cleo put all the blame on tol, tol and lune both knew lune had to take the side against tol in order to not have the town turn on him. So yeah he moved with the town to bring up a brand new farm, long awaiting the day when tol would come home and say that things were OK and they could settle back in town together, hopefully with cleo too. That didn't happen, but tol did come back and peer pressure lune into part time adventuring with him! So yeah generally lune just runs his lil farm and prays, but when tol comes to pick him up he gets a chance to go be free to act batshit crazy, just like when he was a kid 🥰

Pipes: DEmon! One time lune and tol had a little squabble so lune was like 'im gonna get a new best friend and ur gonna regret this' and tol was like 'yeah right, u live with a bunch of criminals right now no one's gonna wanna be ur bestie dumbass' so lune just walked into a cave at night and dragged out this little nonverbal demon because demons who live alone in caves don't have high standards for friends. Even tho it was just a ploy to make tol jealous lune went super hard on it and now pipes is actually friends with the gang lmaoo

Tol: like I said with lunes, stole something important from a king as a kid, monarch got pissed, blew up the town, town got pissed at tol for it, and since then he's been on the run because he's too stubborn to give back the damn thing (they could have just attacked HIM for it, but since la queen decided to fuck with his town, his family, tol thinks he doesn't deserve to have it back.) He had to run from town to town and got into a lot of danger in his attempts at finding places to hide, but he lacks fear and tended to fight stuff off. As a kid he found that he could get enough pity to be welcomed into towns if he told people he had to fight a monster to get there, so he told stories at every town and camp he went to of his hardships. But as he got older, those he stayed with beckoned him to keep talking, and more and more people said they had heard of his adventures. And that's when when it clicked, his shining ticket to true freedom wasn't a place, it was his stories. They gave him food, shelter, fun, memories, a life. So he made it his mission to never settle down, to make his life as crazy as possible and to talk about it as much as possible, and if he ever ran out of energy to adventure, he'd spend the rest of his dying days writing and writing his entire life story. He thought this was a life he'd live alone, but one day he sought refuge in jays little lonely house because he thought it was abonded, luckily though Jay had just been praying for a second chance at life and decided that considering the timing, tol must be that second chance. So yeah jay patched him up, found out on his monthly supply route he was harboring someone very wanted, and took care of tol even harder because he didn't know or care why he was wanted, he just knew that anyone who had a drawing of them as a child on a wanted poster definitely didn't deserve it. So yeah they're besties now.

AAA I wrote out a really long description for jay but tumblr glitched and I lost it :'O ble here's a shorter rewrite cus I'm not writing out that whole thing again >:P

Jay: brought up in a church village,, he was born with the curse, which allows him to tap into magical properties very easily, and be very easily controlled, manipulated, and possessed by them. This allowed him to be very connected with his god (the god of longevity) but also meant he was often treated as a security risk and a monster by the adults of his town since he could let in evil spirits so easily. He spent most of his time praying and he became obsessed with acting on compulsions (repeated prayer, overscrubbing, scratching himself, touching religious things until he felt like he touched them "right") because he believed they were messages from God and would prevent him from becoming evil (look he was a teenager and everyone told him he was a monster his whole life leave him be.) He gets possessed twice, mage as a rep of the town is like "either have ur cursed removed or leave town forever" (uncursing is only hypothetically possible, it's hella dangerous) and he's scared itd sever his connection to his god so he leaves and he's upset bcus his entire life plan was built around his church, so now he's livin alone on a hill and leaving like once a month, he stays up there and sews and prays mostly, he sort of works on himself and becomes vaguely mentally stable, so he prays for a second chance at life since he lost his original path and needs a sign where to go, and then boom tol shows up and the rest is history. Now he has his own little family and things are going great :) other than the still getting possessed like once a week but shhhh

Pip: in between the entrance to hell and the religious central of the continent is a little town that sides with neither. They mostly fuck around and find out, and in this town lives a monster researcher and her less formal wife, pip! Pip is just a silly goofy little guy livin life, and when the crazy bunch shows up she feels like he's finally found her people :3 and for the first time the group gains a member who's begging to join them as opposed to the other way around

Ya and together they all go on wacky lil adventures with demons and monsters and monarchs and what not.

Tldr pastel is a funny lil dead guy, pop is a time traveller and the Adult of the team, lunes a lil farmer man, pipes a hobo demon they picked up off the side of the road, tols a little criminal demon adventurer, jays a religious weirdo who tol dragged out of his hermit hut, and pips an insane little guy

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dibschair · 5 years ago

Text

More Slashers with Jaded S/O's.

Pennywise

• "Dirty stinky clown man"

• That's what you refer to him as whenever he appears to you.

• Like the poor weirdo dosen't even get a word out and you're just insulting him

• Pennywise:

• He lowkey enjoys the fact you put him in his place?? But like he's definitely gonna be a brat and keep trying to scare you.

• Pennywise is a sub with a degradation kink. There I said it.

• Stinky Stinky twink. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Candyman

• Bees? BEES!!!!!

• Ahem. When Daniel first set his sights on you (I.E. doing all his weird cryptic shit) you uh...had a less than desirable response.

• He's being all weird and talking to you from just out if your line of sight

• And you're just like: God DAMN. Your voice is sEXy!!!

• Just full on flirting with him while he's trying to intimidate you.

• You get so used to him following you around you get reckless?? Like starting fights and shit bc you know Daniel isn't gonna let anything happen to you.

• Offer to draw him, but give him anime eyes.

Leslie Vernon

• This himbo is always trying to sneak up on you

• You've taken to carrying a squirt gun. So he sneaks up and your just like:

•

• "HEY!!! HEYY!! LESSSSLLIIEEE!!!!"

• "I swear to god (Y/N)...."

• "ARE YOU TURTLEY ENOUGH FOR THE TURTLE CLUB??!!"

• This poor fool is constantly stuck between considering killing you and finding you really really funny. Good luck.

Norman Bates

• *Rupaul voice* CALL ME MOTHER!!!

• Anywho, the first time Norman appeared to you dressed as his mother, you immediately started critiquing his outfit.

• You end up having to help him with hair and make up. He is but a soft boi who didn't realize he was doing drag. Ptay for him.

• He ends up appreciating your help so much, he gives you a job at the Motel.

• Day time: Seemingly normal couple who run a cute lil Motel. Beautiful. Fantastic. The stuff romance novels are written about.

• Night time: YOU BETTER WWOOORRKKK BIITTCCHHHH!!! YAASSSSSSS!!!!!!

• He's so gentle and shy, always blushing at your praise. Awwwwhhh soft boi.

●○●○●

A/N: HEY I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING!!!! COME GET YALLS JUICE!!!

Seriously tho, thanks to everyone who sent a request for a continuation of the Jaded reader post. Sorry that not all characters that were requested are included! If and when the meme lords possess me again, I might be able to get around to the characters I missed. Either way, thanks for yalls patience. I'm a dumpster fire.

#Pennywise x reader #candyman x reader #daniel robitaille x reader #leslie vernon x reader #Norman Bates x reader #slashers x reader

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shinebrite97 · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome Back to The Devildom - Part 2

Read part 1 here

The cell was in the Demon Lord’s castle. Yuri remembered it from the tour she and the other exchange students received during their retreat earlier in the school year. Barbatos unlocked the door, standing by and letting her enter, smiling apologetically as he locked it between them. Placing his hand up to the bar, he waited until she reciprocated.

“Don’t get this wrong, Yuri,” He said. “We are very happy to see you again...We just never imagined it would be like this.”

Yuri had a lot of time to reflect on her actions. With no knowledge of how long her case would take, and only the routine visit of a lil helper D who brought her food to keep time, She found herself keeping the hours in mind by pacing the length of her cell. Internalizing the choice she’d made, remembering each and every moment of the life she lived when she came to in the Human Realm. She’d been placed right where she’d been taken the first time. Halfway between home and work, where she’d been stopped by the handsome man asking her for directions. Her own naivete astounded her now. She had no problem offering to walk with the stranger to his destination, knowing it to be close to her job.

She felt like she’d just woken up from a long nap, feeling a bit dizzy and disoriented. The sun was too bright, and a big void in her memory made her feel like she was forgetting something huge, but with no idea what that was, she’d chosen to go back home and call in sick.

Her family didn’t know what to make of her. She’d been a missing persons case for a full year, after seven months without a trace, they accepted her death, holding a candle-light service for her and attempting to move on. It was bad enough that she was now back with no warning, but the fact she couldn’t tell them where she’d been or remember anything made things more dire.

The community hated her, thinking she’d run off with someone and things fell through so she came back home with her tail between her legs. The community hated her family, expecting them to repay all the support they’d received, and judging them when they didn’t.

No one knew how to act around her. No one recognized the version of her that returned.

And then the dreams started.

Glimpses of white hair, the smell of spicy sauce and dusty libraries and collagen face masks, the sound of someone’s laughter, the feel of cold buttons on stiff gray material, or the crushed velvet of a red shoulder cape. It never meant much to her, but she wrote down every detail she could. Trying in vain to remember something that was just out of her mind’s reach.

And then she started drawing pentagrams.

Her parents came to the conclusion that she’d been taken by a cult and brainwashed or tortured. They put her in therapy and took her to church, but none of their efforts stopped her.

It was the night her mother found her tome on demonology and threatened her with psychiatric lockdown that Yuri knew she had to leave.

She’d stolen a car, drove it to the border of town, and left it in favor of walking into the next one. Between busses and trains, she ended up in the next state, stealing money where she could to afford some room for rent close to a strip club, the easiest job a woman her age could get, and made a life for herself in three months.

In some cynical way, she was proud of herself. Once she came to terms with the truth that she had, quite literally, made it to hell and back, she did her best to make good on her promise to them. To commit enough sins to return a legend.

All she could do now was hope.

* * * * *

It was a lil D of Greed who brought her dinner after what she estimated to be three days, she smiled and asked about their day. Maintaining eye contact with the void of their face, and listening intently to the chilling rasp of their voice, a sound so inhuman that it still sent a warning through her mind, despite knowing that they were basically the same now.

“Milord has made a decision, Milady.” They said. “You will be released tonight.”

“Really?” They set the tray of food on the shelf of her cell and bowed their head.

“Enjoy…” They replied. Yuri was about to ask another question, when the Lil D snapped their spindly fingers and dissipated in a mass of murky smoke, filtering through the air vent at the top of the catacomb.

Yuri sat back against the stone wall behind her, taking a bit of the bread that went with the slice of shadow hog and the poison-marinated bat wings.

To think I used to eat hot dogs and fries for dinner.

Yuri stayed in the corner, taking the lil D at their word and basked in her last moments of solitude before she was released. She hummed, she sang, she thought, and she dozed following the rich meal. She wondered if Diavolo had dined on the same thing. She remembered how much he enjoyed Shadow hog, considering it wasn’t a very fancy cut of meat.

As her mind continued to wander, she wondered about the things that hadn’t come back. Any memories that hadn’t flooded in after the first batch.

It took her time to connect the dots. From the strange voices in her dreams, these strange, mostly featureless figures who seemed to know her, to the strange aromatics that wafted over her in the dream-world. Lavender, roses, cologne, and brimstone.

Then the names popped into her head.

While she was in church, she’d frequently hear the name Satan, and would immediately wonder if he’d read any good books recently. When she’d read the name Leviathan in a book or online, she’d immediately think of anime, and hear the bubbling throaty chuckle of someone who wasn’t used to making such a sound.

The old copy of Lord Of The Flies that she read in high school sat on her bookshelf collecting dust, and while she skimmed the back cover one evening, she suddenly felt ridiculously hungry.

And to top it all off, the incessant pecking of a crow’s beak on her window often disrupted her normal routine, but she never really minded.

All of these small things added up, and once the floodgates of memory opened, she cried. Saddened that she’d forgotten such an unforgettable year, with so many unforgettable people.

It wasn’t long after that she ran away.

In the three days she’d been in the Devildom, she’d have moments where she regretted her choices, wondering how her parents and brother were holding up now. Wondering if they understood why she did what she did. She felt sad, until she remembered the sound of her fathers voice blaming her for all their immediate problems. Rising medical and therapy bills, constant whispers from the neighbors and no more invitations to community events. No one wanted to be around Yuri the zombie, Yuri the cultist, Yuri the weirdo.

In moments like that she’d instead reflect on the good times she’d had here. Shopping after class with Asmo and Satan. Napping with Mammon or Belphie in her room after a long week. Hanging out during break periods with Solomon and his Angel housemates.

Maybe Hell won’t be so bad.

#CW: suicide mentioned #obey me! shall we date?#Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Mammon #Obey me! Leviathan #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! Asmodeus #Obey me! Beelzebub #Obey me! Belphegor #fanfic #Obey me!OC #Part 2

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littlebarchie07 · 4 years ago

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(and by surprise) you take me as I am

I have so many Barchie WIP but this one came out of nowhere. It’s complete AU. not even in the realm of Riverdale or the comics, I am just borrowing the characters because I love them.

Summary: Archie is a douchebag jock and makes a stupid bet at a house party involving little miss perfect girl next door.

The night starts out as most of their house parties do. It’s a Thursday. They are sitting in a circle, sipping lukewarm beer from red plastic cups that Fangs scored from his dad’s garage, and the rest of the alcohol is from Cheryl’s parents basement. Reggie and Moose are playing a dumb card game and Cheryl is texting Toni nonstop. Veronica is draped over his legs, and he doesn’t have the heart to shove her off, partly because she’s tracing her nails along the back of his neck and he really fucking loves that. Truth be told, he’s a little bored of her. She’s a good fuck, but she’s a little needy. Lately, there’s been something off about him as well and he can’t quite put his finger on it.

It started a few weeks ago. He’d been doing a few reps in his bedroom and when he stood up, his gaze drifted to the house next door as it often did, and like usual, they found Betty Cooper. She was sitting in the bay window, adjacent to his own. Her lips puckered and a confused frown etched into her brow. She looked pretty damn dorky but Archie couldn’t help but grin. She looked up and caught his eye and Archie like a dumbass just continued to stare at her. She fluttered her eyes at him and looked even more confused.

She gave him a tentative wave and Archie surprised himself, by waving back.

See him and Betty didn’t talk much anymore. They hadn’t since like 8th grade. He fell into the ‘cool’ crowd, with the people he now deemed his friends, the monkeys spread out around him laughing and joking at band geeks, nerds like Betty and weirdos like Jughead

It seemed so long ago that he, Betty and Jug would be climbing the treehouse in his backyard, playing stupid games with conkers and having sleepovers in his basement. It had only been four years, but it seemed like an eternity.

He missed those days and more so lately, he actually missed spending time with Betty. There was no judgement with her, no need to prove himself. He could simply just be Archie.

“Holy Fuck.” Reggie hollars which breaks Archie from his thoughts and catches his attention. He pushes Veronica’s legs aside and rolls his eyes as she huffs in disappointment.

He smacks Reggie. “What up Dawg?” He asks, eyes wandering the crowded scene in the direction Reggie is looking. There is a haze of smoke, roars of laughter but then his eyes settle on her. Blonde hair, ocean green eyes. If he had taken a sip of his beer, he’d definitely have choked on it. Standing metres away was none other than the perfect girl next door.

A slow lazy smirk grows on his face. “Oh hello.” Archie whispers, Reggie catches his eye.

“Nah man, I saw her first, dibs.”

Veronica scoffs. “You’re disgusting Reg. She's a class A nerd. No way would you even have a chance.” She pulls Archie to face her. “I’m going to get a refill, do you want anything Archiekins?” Her hand travels up his sleeve, clearly annoyed with the fact his focus is no longer on her. To be honest, it hadn’t been on her for awhile. He brushes her hand away, shaking his head and turning back to Reggie.

“You cannot call dibs. I wonder what the fuck she’s even doing here.” He muses to himself more than the group.

“I don’t care, I’m going to find out. I’d love to add Polly’s lil sister to my bed count.” Reggie smirks, downing his drink and attempting to stand. Archie grabs the back of his t-shirt, pulling him backwards a little more forcefully than intended. Something didn’t sit right with him at the way Reggie had said that.

The amount of alcohol Reggie had consumed, as well as the force of the pull caused him to stumble and topple over, the rest of the group roar with laughter as he seesaws backward. Archie’s eyes drift back over to the blonde who is now wide eyed and looking over at them. She’s still alone, but is now nursing one of Reggie’s cocktail punches. He wonders who she’s with.

He looks down to Reggie, and musters a fake enthused smile. “No you don’t mate. I got this one.”

Reggie groans, lying flat on his back. He blinks up at Archie. “Alright Andrews, but I wanna wager a bet here pal.”

Archie arches his brow. “A bet?”

Veronica hasn’t left her perch on the sofa yet, and Cheryl, Fangs and Moose are more involved in the conversation now. Moose oooh’s and Cheryl rubs her hands together.

“This sounds juicy.” She licks her ruby red lips.

“Yeah, I bet you $150 that you cannot get that square to kiss you tonight.” Reggie nods toward Betty, sitting up.

Archie lets out a laugh “Please. I bet you $250 I can get that girl to sleep with me.”

The minute the words are out of his mouth, Archie wants to take them back. He’s not this fucking guy. He doesn’t do this shit. So why on Earth had he said that?

Reggie wolf whistles. “Oh go on then, mate. You’ve got yourself a deal.” He holds his hand out, waiting for Archie to pull him up and shake on it.

Grabbing him, Archie hauls Reggie up and pats him on the back. A voice in the back of his mind screams at him to stop.

“Deal.”

When Archie turns back around, Betty is no longer standing by the table at the back of the room. His first challenge of the evening is to find her.

He makes his way to the punch table, scanning the crowd. He shoves a few chips into his mouth, still focused on finding where Betty would have scurried off to. He can just talk to her tonight. That’ll be enough to entertain the crowd. He ladles some of the fruit punch mixture into an empty red cup, and grabs an open bottle of vodka to top it up. Taking a sip, he lets his eyes roam around the room. He’s not entirely sure what the perfect girl next door is doing here, but he’s intrigued to find out.

“Where would you be, Little Miss Cooper?” Archie whispers, tapping his cup against his chin.

A light laugh catches his attention, and his eyes draw behind him. She’s sitting with her knees tightly pressed together, a black and white checkered skirt riding up her thighs. Archie’s eyes travel up her, and he wonders when her legs got so long. His eyes settle on her face; her eyes bright and a real smile is pulling against her cheeks. He brushes the warmth spreading through him off, and tugs at his shirt before his gaze shifts to her company, who is none other than Kevin Keller.

Archie low key rolls his eyes. Kevin is obviously here for Fangs. It’s clear those two are shagging. Archie wishes Fangs would just come out and admit it, rather than dragging this poor kid to these parties and having to pretend they’re not hooking up in the closet every 20 minutes. But tonight, Archie is grateful because Kevin has bought the most unlikely company.

Betty laughs again and the sound causes Archie’s stomach to knot. It’s a delicate sound and something Archie wouldn’t mind hearing again and again. He straightens up, pouring more vodka into his red cup before pushing himself through a few bodies. He flops down onto the couch, on the right side of Betty. She looks surprised and her face pales slightly as she shifts closer to Kevin.

“Sup?” He nods at Kevin before his eyes trail over Betty. He swears she flushes, and he watches her swallow nervously before looking wildly to Kevin who just smiles dumbly.

‘Oh fucking perfect.’ Archie thinks to himself as he spreads his legs a little and reaches his arm behind Betty on the back of the couch.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of these parties before, aye neighbour?” Archie smiles warmly, his eyes boring into her ocean green. She is absolutely not interested. “Hey Keller, Fangs was looking for you earlier.” Archie says, taking a quick glance towards Kev whose entire face lights up. Betty’s eyes widen and she shakes her head a bit at Kevin, silently warning him not to leave her.

“I’ll be right back Betty, Promise.” He gets up and leaves. Archie almost laughs as Betty shifts more to the left, her hands neatly folded in her lap.

“You know he’s shagging Fangs right?” Archie says, raising his plastic cup to his lips. He watches as her gaze traces the path of the drink to his lips. “You want some?”

Betty shakes her head. “No thanks.”

Archie nods. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Betty shrugs. Her hair is down for once, and it looks nice, she brushes it over one shoulder. “Kevin said it would be fun to mingle. I asked him to define the word fun, because this to me looks like a hoe fest.”

Archie laughs. “Ain’t that the truth.” He watches as a small smile tugs at her lips and a light pink flushes her cheeks. He shifts closer. “You look really pretty with your hair down, Betts.” He says slowly, his finger picking up one of the soft curls. The Betts slips out and he can’t help but smile as she swallows

“Um, thanks?” She whispers meekly. Archie drops the curl from his fingers and smiles again.

“Come on, let me get you a drink. These parties aren’t fun until you’ve had at least a few punches.”

He watches as her brow furrows, he can see her weighing up the pros and cons, and he’s just about ready to try his next tactic but she surprises him.

“Okay, just one.”

Of course, the one turns into a few, and Archie decides he likes Betty Cooper more with her guard down. She is no longer uptight, and is babbling a mile a minute, laughing at every single joke he tells her, and to make it better, she’s pretty fucking handsy. Not in the way that Veronica is, but she keeps touching his arm when she laughs, and nudging his shoulder, or playfully kicking him. It’s cute. Almost as cute as the way her eyes darken and her cheeks flush as his hand lingers on the top of her thigh as he whispers something in her ear.

She hiccups a giggle, and Archie finally catches up with the voice that has been screaming at him all evening. This is not a good idea. That stupid bet weighs heavy on his mind. Betty is so close to him, and he can smell her floral shampoo and the sweet perfume she’s wearing. If she twisted her face, it would be so easy for him to kiss her, but he can’t. He’s not one to take advantage of a girl who has had at least 3 cocktail punches.

Betty isn’t trashed by any means, he knows that, she’s just loosened up a bit, so he wouldn’t exactly feel bad about kissing her because she knows exactly what she’s doing and the chances are, she would probably push him away and storm out. But being this close to her, something inside him snaps. He’s not going to do this tonight. He’ll lose the $250. He isn’t the type of guy to make bets on who he can get to sleep with him. Betty would actually flip her lid if she knew.

He actually likes Betty, so much so that he doesn’t wanna drag her into this game with the boys.

With that, Archie pulls back, and watches as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You want me to walk you home?” Archie whispers, his hand still on her thigh.

She looks up at him with big saucer eyes, before she licks her lips, her eyes darkening again.

Fuck. She’s actually really hot. Archie’s mind engages and he pulls his hand away from her.

“Sure.” She nods, staring at him with a curious look on her face. She seems a little disappointed after he removed his hand from her.

She’s probably never been touched before. Archie’s mind wanders, as he stands up and holds out his hands to help her up. She grins, slapping her palms in his as he hauls her upward, but she slips and falls backwards and grabs onto his hands for support, and she ends up pulling him down too. She’s laughing and his head is buried in the crook of her neck so her breath is hot in his ear and good god this is what dreams are made of.

He pulls back, eyes wide as he stares at her. The laughter dies in her throat, and he just knows she is waiting for him to kiss her, but he can’t. He’s not doing that here, not now. Not like this.

But for the second time this evening, she surprises him because before he can pull himself upright, her hands are on either side of his face and she’s pulling him towards her. Her lips smack his in a bruising kiss.

Her lips are full and soft and warm and oh yeah she’s thrusting her tongue into his mouth and that’s all Archie can think about. Her hands are hot on his face, and she moves quickly, snaking her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It takes him a good few seconds to realise that he’s kissing Betty Cooper, good, clean, perfect girl next door, on a grubby coach in Fangs living room, in a room full of people.

He pulls back slightly, dazed and a little confused. The rush of blood pulsing in his ears is drowning out the music and the people around him.

“Erm.” He tries to speak, but no words come out.

She looks at him with a bright smile, her eyes shining. “Walk me home?” She takes her bottom lip between her teeth again and she looks nervous underneath him. He steadies himself, putting both hands beside her, staring at her intensely.

“Yeah.” He speaks, but it sounds hoarse. He clears his throat, standing upright as she leans forward, pulling her skirt down a little, she stands. She picks up her clutch from beside her.

He’s blaming it on that fruity punch, because as she starts to move forward, he finds himself reaching for her hand. She interlocks her fingers with his, and he lets her drag him through the crowd of people.

As she’s grabbing her coat from the front door, Archie stands idly, wondering what the fuck is going on. He spots Reggie whose hands are on Veronica’s hips, Veronica’s lips against his neck. Archie laughs.

“Are you sure you don’t mind walking me?” Betty’s voice floats around him, and Archie snaps back and focuses on her.

“Of course not. I’m over this party anyway.” He smiles as her eyelashes flutter. He opens the door for her, and the chill air of November hits them.

She takes a hesitant step out the door, and Archie’s hand slips into hers again. It’s so easy, so natural.

The walk home takes him back to when he and Betty used to home from school together, she’s talking as if no time has passed between them, as if they’ve always been friends. They haven’t spoken about the kiss, and something inside him turns sour, and he stops abruptly as they reach her door. She turns to him.

“Arch?” She breathes, and the nickname causes his heart to break.

He pulls her into him. “Betty, I’m such an asshole. I’m so sorry we stopped talking.”

She reaches out tentatively and brushes her fingers against his skin. “Oh Archie, it’s okay. We grew up, went in different directions.”

“That’s no excuse. Just because we’ve got different friends doesn’t mean WE can’t be friends.”

She laughs. “That is true.”

“About tonight…”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay Arch. I know what happened. I knew you wouldn’t do that bet.”

He looks taken aback. “Wait, you knew?”

She nods. “Yeah, Fangs warned Kevin. Kevin told me about it before you came over. But even though we’re not as close anymore Arch, I still trust you.”

Archie feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. She’s so forgiving, so quick to trust him.

“Okay now I feel like even more of an asshole.”

Betty rolls her eyes. “It’s fine, I kissed you didn’t I? Let’s move on. This doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“You wanna be friends with a dick who makes bets for fun?”

“No, I want to be friends with you, Archie. You’re not like that, I know that.”

He swallows, thinking about what she’s saying. She’s still in his arms and he wants to kiss her so bad but he knows that he’s not good for her. He doesn’t deserve her.

“I don’t think I want to be friends though.” He kicks himself as he watches the hurr flash across her face, it is quickly replaced with an angry stare.

He reels her back in trying to find the words. “No, wait, I mean, you kissed me.”

Her features soften a little and her anger quickly turns to embarrassment. “You kissed me back.” She says with defiance.

He lets out a chuckle. “Well yeah I fucking did. That was a damn good kiss.”

She flushes. “Yeah?”

Archie takes a step. “It caught me off guard though, and of course, I really want to do that again. But this time…” His breath fans against her cheeks and he smells like strawberry vodka. His warm hands cup her face and in slow motion, he dips his head. His lips touch hers, softly. It’s gentle and sweet, and he feels her smile into him. She pulls back, a flush to her cheeks.

“Okay, that was nice.”

“Nice is how a first kiss should be, but you know what Cooper, you can ambush me with kisses like our first one, any time.”

She shakes her head, her hands coming up over her face. She lets out a squeal. “Shut up. It was the fruit punch.”

A light illuminates the path ahead of them, and Betty shifts on her feet as she realises the sensory light on the porch has been set off.

“I should go in before my mom comes out, she’ll have a fit if she knows I’ve been drinking, and I’m pretty sure it’s past my curfew.” She makes a face.

“Okay, but to be continued?” He asks, his fingers lingering against her side.

She nods, touching her lips. “Walk me to school tomorrow?”

“Yeah?”

Betty slips away from him, but presses her lips to his cheek. “Yeah, goodnight Arch.” She breathes, and then she’s inside, the porch light flickering off.

Archie waits on the sidewalk until he sees the light switch on in her bedroom. His lips still tingle, his cheek still warm, and as he turns to walk up to his own steps, it dawns on him that for the first time in a long time, he’s actually really excited for school the next day.

#barchie #betty x archie #AU fic #betty and archie #betty x archie fic #oneshot #bettyarchie #riverdaleau #OOC #betty cooper #archie andrews #dick!archie

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lilsherlockian1975 · 4 years ago

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The Nose Knows

A little soulmates AU, mostly fluff. Here’s part one. This is NOT beta’d, sorry for any mistakes. Huge thanks to @mel-loves-all for helping out with editing the images since I’m an ignorant goose penis when it comes to all that business. Blame me for the quality of the pics... it’s what I picked out for her. ~LiL~

-o-o-o-o-

He catches it on a breeze. It hits him like a physical blow and he instantly knows what he’s smelling, if not... who.

He and his cousin Daven are sitting on one of the few available benches on the Quad. Addam, his best friend since childhood, is talking about some girl he’d met at a sorority mixer the night before but as soon as the scent drifts his way, Jaime pretty much tunes out the sordid tale of sloppy, near-anonymous sex. It’s a gorgeous Spring day, not a cloud in the sky and no hint of rain for the first time in at least two weeks. This fact alone has driven most of the student population out of doors, making it almost impossible for him to quickly assign the scent to its owner.

Jaime is instantly ill at ease, which is unfortunate as moments ago he’d felt entirely in his element. He and his twin sister had celebrated their twenty-second name day the weekend before and prior to the scent, he’d been feeling at the very top of his game. Now he’s... confused and excited and anxious all at once.

Less than two months and he will be finished with this gods’ forsaken town and its massive university. He’s already been accepted at Crakehall School of Art & Design for his post-grad, which is, incidentally, where he originally had planned to study. His father’d had different ideas, forcing Jaime into the business programme at KLU. Thankfully, he had managed to slip a minor in Architecture into his degree by selling Tywin a load of shit about wanting to ‘propel Castlery Corp. into the modern era’. The minor had added a full year to Jaime’s studies and without a major in his chosen field, he will have to take supplementary classes at CSAD but he’s certain it will be worth it in the end.

None of that matters now. Tywin Lannister had died of a massive stroke seven months ago. Jaime supposes he should feel worse about that; should feel some kind of loss or sadness, and maybe he does, though not for the reasons most sons would for the death of a parent. But the old man was never a real father. He’d been indifferent toward Tyrion, dismissive toward Cersei - though he could occasionally be somewhat warmer to his only female child - and constantly demanding that Jaime ‘live up to the Lannister name’. Jaime can feel sympathy for their mother, of course, she did love the old bastard, but neither he nor his sister are overly damaged by the old man’s death. Oddly enough, their father’s death seems to be affecting his little brother the most.

The scent assails him again and this time he stands, walking towards it, leaving Addam sputtering objections and calling him names. Jaime doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is the originator of that smell.

He passes small groups of fellow students, all equally excited about the respite from the spring rains. The Quad is packed, of course, so it’s no easy task. Not to mention that he probably looks like some kind of weirdo, walking around, nose first and… sniffing. But he’s being driven by something entirely out of his control.

Though he’s never really given much thought to the idea of soulmates, he knows they exist - his Uncle Gerion and Aunt Briony are soulmates, for instance, but it’s rarely talked about within the family, almost as if it is some dirty secret. Actually, for some unknown reason, talking about soulmates seems to be taboo in ‘polite society’. Uncle Gerion - his favourite uncle - however, is quite outspoken against Lannister Family tradition and societal norms. The phenomenon, as far as he knows, is very rare these days and Jaime has never once even considered the possibility for himself.

Now… Now there's no doubt. He can smell her - them? - whoever! Jaime’s never been attracted to men, but somehow he knows that if the gods have seen it fit to match him with a man… so be it!

Shaking himself, he chuckles as he moves to another group of students. It won’t be a man, he thinks. Surely the gods would have given him some kind of inclination towards his own sex if… Suddenly, he’s engulfed with the scent. They’re close, they must be! He turns, following his nose like a damn toucan.

The crowd thins a bit; it’s the top of the hour and people are rushing off to class. Jaime’s eyes and, yes, his nose, zero in on his target. Shit! It is a dude! He’s taller than Jaime by maybe an inch or so with short, straw-like blond hair, broad shoulders and… He’s just about to resign himself to a future that he’d never even considered (okay, so he’s maybe had the odd thought here and there about other guys - everyone has, right?! Right?) when they turn around and…

“You’re a girl,” he says without thinking.

She (oh, thank the gods she’s a she!) narrows her eyes, straightens her spine and glares. “Yes, I am. And you’re not very original, I’m afraid,” she says coldly before stalking past him.

What?! No! She’s… she’s supposed to know. She’s supposed to smell him too. What in the seven hells is going on?! “Wait!” Jaime calls out but she doesn’t stop. He can’t give up, he just can’t. Sprinting to catch up, he reaches out for her, wanting to stop her, to talk to her. He doesn’t make it that far, though. Just before he touches her arm, she jerks back - maybe she saw him in her peripheral vision, maybe it’s some strange side effect of their connection, he doesn’t know - but when he sees the look in her unbelievably blue eyes, he’s the one flinching away.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she practically growls, “but you can’t just go around insulting people, chasing after them then touching them as if it’s your right!”

“But it is,” he replies lamely because... how doesn’t she know?

Her responding laugh is mocking and he can’t deny that it hurts him in a way he never imagined being hurt. Shaking her head, she sneers as she looks him up and down. “Guys like you are all the same…”

There are no guys like me, he thinks but luckily, this time he holds his tongue.

“I know I’m an easy target - hard to miss, low hanging fruit and whatnot - I’m just not in the mood for this nonsense today.”

Jaime knows he should give up, regroup and try again later, but patience has never been his strong suit. “I wasn’t… It wasn’t an insult. I was…” ‘Surprised’ sounds insulting and really, how does she still not know? His mind scrambles for a word to properly describe his condition. Finally, he settles on, “Confused?” though it unintentionally comes out as a question.

This seems to only further enrage the girl. She takes a step back, draws a deep breath and, once again, shakes her head. “Find someone else to help you figure out your sexuality!”

Okay, there’s a story there, Jaime’s sure of it but he doesn’t have time to ask. “No-no, you’re misunderstanding me. I know I’m not gay.” Although the fact that he considered it for thirty seconds or so is something he’ll deal with later! “I’m saying that…”

“I really don’t care what you’re saying.” Again, her eyes travel over him and Jaime has never felt so judged in his entire life. “It’s nothing new, it’s nothing I’ve not heard before. Do you really think you’re the first prick to want to screw with me? I’m guessing it’s another bet. Who put you up to this? Red? Bushy? If it was Hyle, I swear to the Seven...”

“None of them! I don’t even know who you’re talking about!” When he thinks about her words, an intense feeling of protectiveness overcomes him. “What bet? What did they do?”

Her pale, freckle-covered cheeks turn an interesting shade of pink as she hitches her messenger bag higher on her shoulder before crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing. Never mind. Just… Just leave me alone. Please.” The last word comes out softly, pleadingly and it just about breaks Jaime’s heart. Turning, she starts to go.

“I’m not a creep!” he calls out, managing to stop her escape. Looking around, he notices that, miraculously, the Quad has pretty much cleared out. If their fellow students hadn’t been in such a rush to return to class he and the angry girl would have surely drawn a crowd. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself before continuing, “And I’m not a prick. I am sort of an arsehole, but not - I think, not like those guys you mentioned. Whatever they did... hurt you enough to make you make that face…”

She whips around. “What about my face?”

With a sigh, he says, “It looks sad. Too sad. It’s not supposed to.” And what does that even mean? he wonders as the words leave his mouth.

She’s surprised for a split second, then all emotion seems to drain from her features. “I don’t know why you’re doing this but please just… leave me alone.”

So he does. For now.

-o-o-o-o-

There is a very good reason that Brienne doesn’t know ‘who’ Jaime is. This is just the first part, I’m working on the next bit. Please let me know what you think. Thanks ~Lil~

#jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #uni AU #modern AU #game of thrones

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askborrowermedic · 4 years ago

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Am I back?

Kind of. I’m thinking more and more of this lil guy but I have some thoughts and would like some in return.

When I started this blog in 2016 I was really excited to finally have a muse that was a combination of two things I really like and hyperfixate on. Plus drawing him is still a v big comfort for my anxiety during the rough parts of my young adult life. Not sure if I can fully open up but there was one part where I really was in a dark place for a bit. A long bit. I really loved the character I was developing and creating as a guy who’s just trying his best in the situation he was given with a cutesy aesthetic that had tf2′s dark/whacky edge. Or at least that’s how I felt about it (though it’s totes possible that wasn’t conveyed that well asdf) However as time passed a few problems came up not just in my personal life but also somethings with the blog that I wasn’t really satisfied with anymore. For one I noticed a trend of drawing the same thing constantly and Patches started to flanderaize a little bit. Had this whole story and events planned with hints I’ve dropped into the asks but well- I never got to it. :(

Second and more disturbing trend was people becoming actually *obsessed* with Patches. Note that i’m not saying all fans of this blog were weirdos- I really like most of ya’ll I swear. But when people started to dm me pretending I was patches, getting a ton of asks from the same people saying how cute he was to the point of infantilizing, having a vore fanfiction written with him without my consent and by golly I got so many bad vibes that I just slowly walked away from the blog. It also didn’t help that fellow ask blogs have basically nearly disappeared and tumblr literally nuking itself with the big ban. It’s just been hard to conjure inspiration but, oh man when I draw Patches sometimes it makes me miss coming home in the late evening to come up with gags, do fun stuff with asks, roleplay with my friends, and just being involved with a community.

With covid i’ve been busy working my butt off in my day job and getting ready to graduate college while writing my book and making a video and doing my art profilio and asdjkfhskhfkhKJHFJKHEF- Yeah. Alot. So with my vomiting my thoughts on a tumblr post- Should I try on this blog again and give it another shot? Was thinking either cont. where it was left off or rebooting. Or both. I’ll see.

Final thing; I think the thing that made me write this and consider having a come back was people telling me how they were inspired by my work and STILL reblog/like my content here because it’s something that makes them happy. It’s honestly made me cry because that’s kind of the thing that drives me in life you know? Idk. Nonetheless, thank you all for supporting me all these years and being a pleasure to rp with and filling my inbox. It really pulled me through a very uncertain time in my life. Honestly. Thank you. <3 Now I that I think about it I think we need a tiny medical professional to fight COVID19 stress and fears right about now. rip

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goatpaste · 5 years ago

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hey! i just feel i should say!!

i have a lot of followers, in the thousands, and thats cool

but i do try to check nearly every blog that follows me to make sure i dont got a nasty collection of people following me, but sometimes i miss some blogs due to the amount of people who have followed me or that some of yall arnt open right there on your main on your nasties

so heres just a fun lil list of shit i want everyone to know i dont want interacting with me!

-terfs/truscum

-nazis

-’fiction isnt reality’ pedophiles!

-ddgl people, I SEE YALL!! STOP reblogging my fucking kids cartoon drawings! THEIR NOT FOR YOU!!!!

-all the dumbass ‘anti-anti’ and ‘pro shipper’ garbage

-under thing i am including you weirdos who ‘age up’ characters that shits still nasty

-tranphobic/homophobic people or whatever ofc but i hope yall are aware im a trans man

-i know i already said terfs but for real we respect trans lesbians on this fucking blog ill eat your ribs if terfs feel safe on my blog

-anti he/him lesbians and the works

-general bigotry, like i know saying ‘dont follow if you racist’ sound simple enough but youde be amazed the blogs who have followed me

im sure there more shit but this is like shit i see the most off the top of my head that follow my fucking blog

my art isnt for you!

also a recently influx of blogs dedicated around ha*bin hottle have followed me and i fucking hate that to!

#this is a somewhat full list just so people who follow me can maybe see and knOW #but im still gonna be continuing to try and block nasties who come through onto my blog

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charlyoddsox27 · 6 years ago

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its 6am, i havent slept, im bored, so im posting a list of the mercs in order of whom i like the most and reasons why, because thats something i should do i guess?

here goes

(spoilers for the comics down below but either way i think im the only person on earth who has never read them before now)

~~~

~~1. Medic~~

reasons for being my favourite:

• fucking. look. at. him. 👌

• 'mad german doctor' is one of my favourite tropes and he is a pretty bang-on satirical depiction of it

• cute-ass german accent

• he has pet pidgeons hE LOVES HIS PIDGEON PALS THEY KEEP HIM COMPANY

• healers are the most respectable class imo and since Medic pretty much started it he's automatically the best, thats how it works right?

• he sold some random persons soul to satan in exchange for a ***ballpoint pen*** and can i just say, fucking mood??? (he is literally the "i'd sell you to satan for one cornchip" meme)

• "yes, Archimedes...I couldn't agree more." *shudders* b oi .. .

• so many more reasons to love this gross old doctor so little room in Tumblrs posts.

~~2. Spy~~

reasons for being my second favourite:

• cranky, done with everyones shit, just wants to be left alone, fucking mood

• he's a spy i mean c'mon. look at the swanky-ass suit, look at the class radiating from this asshole.

• he may be a dick but he has a soft side he's just too jaded to show it most of the time (see: Scouts death in the comics?? real tears. honestly wish they'd panned that out more.)

• masks are hot tbFH--

• he enjoys a nice glass of whisky by the fireplace and so do i (fun fact: france is the biggest importer of scottish whisky in the world so its a nice touch)

• shapeshifting is fucking cool are you serious like he can just. do that. what a legend

• "i have a cyanide pill in one of my molars, if i break it then spit some in your mouth before i die, we can avoid being tortured." *'heavy' bursts in to save them* "PFFTHBTHF--"

• "SEDUCE ME."

• arrogant frenchman is one of my other favourite tropes and this is the most arrogant frenchman ive ever seen

• he's the only fully sane Merc, maybe apart from Engie.

• people love to hate him bc he's an asshole but...come on. after working with all those other weirdos for years, you'd be pretty jaded too.

• as a gross shipper, he's the easiest and the most fun (imo) to ship with Medic (rip me)

~~3. Pyro~~

reasons for being my third favourite:

• would have tied with Soldier if it werent for that one picture of them in the comics holding a puppy over their head with the most adoring expression on their mask??? good Pyro. goodest Pyro.

• doesn't do much in the comics but makes up for it in pure charm. look at that soulless face and tell me you dont love it.

• ambiguous gender ambiguous gender amBIGUOUS GENDER AMBIGUOUS GENDER. she/he/they? trans? nb? whatever you headcanon, it'll never be confirmed so its literally up to your own imagination. fucking ace, Valve 👌👌👌

• likes to burn things. god damnit. they like to burn things, guys. but they enjoy it so much, you just cant hate them, you can only feel a sympathetic joy that this precious lunatic is having fun in their own little world.

• canonically mentally ill (schizoprenia? it could be hallucinogenic drugs but i like to think its schizophrenia.)

• pretty sure they burned a pair of pedophiles in the comics. at least i think thats what those panels were insinuating. "lets open an orphanage and have an endless supply of kids to--" sounds pretty red-flaggy to me tbh. plus they were the villains so, eh?

• bludgeoned a bear to death until its skull was pulp because it insulted their special interest. you go, Pyro.

• for a few bits in the comics they have a really cute family dynamic going on with other Mercs, Soldier for example."Miss Pauling, Pyros on my side of the car." "Miss Pauling, Pyro cut off my hand." fuckin' cuties.

• when they start putting on like 50 shirts to keep warm in the Russian mountains. chubby.

• a gas mask that can function as both badass, and completely adorable.

• just. everything about them. how could you not love them. they're not in the wrong, you are. stay away from my misunderstood child and let them burn things god damnit.

~~4. Soldier~~

look I'm sorry, I love Soldier and he was gonna be tied with Pyro but that fucking puppy drawing sold me.

• absolute gold every second he speaks. he could sneeze and i'll laugh.

• such a dumbass you cant get annoyed at him for it. like. just agree with him and move on. no point reasoning with a boulder. "haha! silly Miss Pauling, thinking theres different types of blood." Medic: "haha yes! indeed, silly."

• HUTTAH *NECK SNAP*

• i'm not American and even i can see how blatantly his character mocks stereotypical Patriotic Americans™. but its so dumb and laughable, its adorable.

• EVERYTHING ABOUT HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH ZHANNA IS A BLESSING. EVERYTHING.

• the first "meet the Mercs" video i ever saw was "meet the Soldier" so he holds a special place in my heart

• (preaches about experiencing the horrors of war; has never actually been to war. shh dont tell anyone though--) *neck gets snapped*

~~5. Demoman~~

• I'm Scottish. even though his accent is absolute garbage (no offense to the VA), any representation is very nice.

• Black AND Scottish?? i mean has a character like that even existed before TF2??? amazing example of representation right there. there are barely even any black people in Scotland, how did this happen. I love it. more of this, please.

• he's a drunk guy who blows shit up for shits and giggles and god I wish I could too, sounds like a miracle stress-reliever.

• his sassy black scottish mother. combining the stereotypical black mother with the stereotypical scottish mother is literally the best thing that ever happened.

• the bit in the comic where Medic explains that Demo can't remember what happened to his eye bc he scooped out part of his brain, and the look on Demo's face. just. the look.

• again, he's scottish, he's stereotypical, and he's awesome.

~~6. Sniper~~

• underrated

• piss jars. piss jars everywhere.

• "no dad, im not a crazed murdering lunatic, I'm an assassin. ...well one's a job and the other's mental sickness!!"

• "meet the Sniper" has kickass music

• ruffled gross old man who isn't actually old, he's just seen some SHIT

• actually given development in the comics + some really good scenes with Spy.

• so suave...so...handsome. handsome ruffled bushman. me like.

• he dies first in the comics but gets brought back and gets a cool-ass scar. and then he's just walking around naked everywhere for the rest of the comic. Medic, where the fuck did you put his clothes.

• isn't actually Australian. thats like one of the biggest twists in the comic. "no wonder i was never inhumanly strong and my chest hair didn't grow into the shape of Australia!!" Classic.

• says "bugger" a lot and i love that word

• he needs a hug, let me hug him. and give him a bath.

~~7. Heavy~~

I'm gonna be crucified for putting the big lad so low but i promise i dont dislike any of the Mercs. he'd be higher up but...ive never really liked big huge tank-men tbh :/

• loveable as fuck

• will murder you if you bully his puny little Medic

• i looove Russian accents omfg

• he like big gun. i can respect that.

• when Medic was killed and he went APESHIT on Classic!Heavy and I lost my fuckin' mind over that shit

• he probably has a soft spot for small cute animals. i love imagining him being swarmed by Medics flock of doves and petting them like "good bird...so many good bird..."

• actually smarter than people give him credit for???

• i really really wish his character was a lil more fleshed out but. that's just me. i love him but he doesn't have the same appeal to me as Medic or Spy.

• his entire relationship with Medic...ugh. yes. best friends and/or boyfriends. all good to me 👌

• he named his gun Sasha and that's adorable

~~8. Engineer~~

• gOD, FUCK, I REALLY WISH HE DID MORE IN THE COMICS. i barely know anything about his character. i like him a lot but...god, he...he doesn't...do.....anything.......

• he built a cool robot arm for himself and AI turrets and teleporter machines and guns that fire magic healing powers and immortality machines, in the 1960s. what. some kind of wizard fuckery is this.

• smoothest voice in the west

• "y'all"

~~9. Scout~~

oh god i really am gonna be crucified. i dont hate him i just. like him the least.

• shitboy

• reminds me of a shitty ex but also kinda relateable in a way

• some genuinely funny bits in the shorts.

• gross horny hetero teen boy with a god complex and serious daddy issues. also, he can't read. the "sex bom" tattoo on his chest will be an eternal testament to that. nice job, Spy. you raised him good.

~~~

hoo boy there we go theres all the boys, all the beautiful boys (and Scout) in order of how much i love them. if i made any errors in my info about the canon, feel free to send me death threats 💙 (no seriously tell me though, being a newbie is embarrassing)

so uh. yeah. that took two hours to write. its now 8am. im still bored lol. bye i guess.

#long post #charlyspeaks #charlys cesspool of interests #team fortress 2 #team fortress #medic #pyro #heavy #engineer #scout #spy #demoman #sniper #soldier #zhenna #tf2 #drabble #my opinions #ooooo

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builder051 · 6 years ago

Note

Hey so like, if you’re willing (or you’ve got the time or whatever) could you write a lil fic with Steve as the sickie ? It’s my literal weakness. I just wanna see something where he gets home and doesn’t even get the chance to say hello to bucky before he’s fainting or throwing up or something. Also ? fever nightmares/deliciousness are my jam . Anyways I hope your week is going well & I hope you’re taking care of yourself ! 💛

I’ve already written a fic that (mostly) contains all these elements. It’s a concussion fic, so the deliriousness (deliciousness??) comes from head injury instead of fever, but I think this will fit the bill. It’s kind of long, so skim the mission fic part at the beginning if you’re only interested in the sick. I’m pasting it below for ya.

Thanks for the well wishes! I’m still not doing fantastic, but I’m getting right along.

_____

I get knocked down…but I get up again…you’re never gonna keep me down…

Steve’s flat on his back, and the words echo blankly in his head.

What the fuck?

It’s so dusty.

And he’s so…tired?

I get knocked down…

There’s…is that a hole in the ceiling? Dilapidated rafters and corrugated metal sheets are busted out of the way to allow a view of the blue sky and a shaft of warm sunlight to hit the floor.

A little unorthodox for a skylight.

“Cap?”

Steve’s almost sure he heard the sound with his ears, but he can’t be positive.

Why is he lying on his back?

Steve pushes over to his side, then uses his arms to hoist himself up to seated. Immediately the world shifts around him, and his hand slips against the dusty concrete. The floor seems to have become the wall, but he’s still stuck to it…

I get knocked down…

Why is that damn song stuck in his head?

Isn’t he supposed to be doing something?

“Cap? Steve?”

Yep, definitely supposed to be doing something.

“Hey, what happened?” Footsteps echo toward him. Nat’s face materializes upside down over him. “You ok?”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve raises himself up to a sitting position again, and the floor-wall miraculously returns to its original position, though it leaves Steve with a wave of dizziness reverberating through his skull. Which hurts.

“Did you get hit?”

“Must have.” Steve’s voice sounds oddly echoey.

“Must have, as in, you’re not sure?” Nat asks, her eyebrows going up.

“It was a pretty hard hit,” Steve admits. Or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing, as he still doesn’t remember it. He picks himself up off the floor, automatically brushing dust from his deep blue suit and freshly polished shield.

“That’s what your helmet’s for, dumbass,” Nat teases him. But her eyes flick from his face to his hairline, searching for a visible wound.

Steve doesn’t think there is one, but he runs his gloved hands over his head to be sure.

“Really, why’d you take off your helmet?” Nat asks.

Steve knows the answer to this. He just can’t make it make any sense in his head because the context has evaporated. “Better to talk to civilians without it.”

“Oh. You found the hostages?”

Did he? Steve glances around as quickly as he can, trying to get his bearings back without upsetting the precarious balance of his head on his shoulders. The more he moves, the more it feels like a brass band it setting up shop in his skull.

The abandoned warehouse is starting to look more familiar now. That busted-up sheet metal half-wall thing, that’s concealing the posts where the hostages are chained up. Steve enunciates that to Nat as clearly as he can, then casually palpates the back of his head where it vaguely feels like he’s being smashed repeatedly with a hammer.

Now Nat’s saying something, and Steve’s missed the beginning of it. “…when they’re coming back, but we need to move them now.”

“Huh?”

“Are you ok?” Nat asks, looking concerned again.

“Yeah,” Steve assures her. “Just…still shaking it off.” Although Steve’s sure that if he shakes anything, especially his head, he’s going to fall over.

“Ok, well, finish shaking and cover me.” Nat draws a gun from the collection on her belt and starts across the warehouse.

Steve keeps pace with her jog, but clenches his teeth together as the motion jostles his stomach. It’s as if wire-fine neurons have re-woven themselves to as to directly connect his head and abdomen. One step equals one throb equals one swallowed wave of disgustingness.

The scruffy-looking group of coal miners chained up in the corner of the warehouse start whooping and cheering when they see Nat and Steve coming toward them.

“Shh, stop,” Nat commands them. “They might hear you and come back.”

Steve’s just grateful it’s quieter again. The sound had been wreaking havoc like drumbeats in his head.

“We saw you get slammed earlier, Cap,” one of the miners says with an Appalachian drawl. “Didn’t know if we’d be lucky enough to see you come rescue us.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Steve says, trying to convince himself that his words are true. “You’re all ok? They haven’t hurt you?”

“Not yet,” the miner replies. “Kept threatening that we’d be the fuel in their new clean energy rig, but, honestly, we’re used to hearing shit like that.”

“Well, they probably meant it,” Nat says, using a miniature pulsar beam on her wrist to start cutting through the chains around one man’s wrists. “HYDRA’s no joke. But what the hell they’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere…It is more like a tease than a threat.”

“Hey, this isn’t nowhere,” the miner pipes back up. “We live here.”

“Yeah, she didn’t…” Steve has to blink hard to ground himself and regain his train of thought. “…didn’t mean it.”

“You gonna help or stand there?” Nat barks in response.

“Oh. Help,” Steve replies. He uses the edge of his shield to bash the chains holding one the nearest miner’s feet to the thick concrete post. The resulting clang is enough to make Steve want to curl up with his hands over his ears.

“Yikes. Maybe I don’t want you to help,” Nat says, cringing herself at the loud noise. “Just stand watch and see if the creeps in the gas masks come back… oh shit.”

Steve follows Nat’s gaze and immediately lifts his shield in front of his chest. Two black-clad figures with bulky masks over their faces are sprinting for the cluster of hostages. They don’t immediately look harmful, but with the threat of alien tech and something akin to nuclear power, no chances can be taken.

Nat’s drawing another gun out of its holster, one that shoots paralyzing beams instead of bullets. “I’m on ‘em,” she says. “Keep working on the hostages.”

“Roger,” Steve replies.

The gun fires loudly, and as the sound reverberates through Steve’s head, his vision blurs. He takes out a good chunk of the concrete floor before he’s able to adjust the edge of his shield and bust through more of the chains.

The second gunshot sends Steve’s hands to his knees. He struggles to hold onto clarity as he swallows his stomach back down into its proper place.

I get knocked down…

Why is that stupid song still hanging around? He’s got much more important things to think about…like trying his damndest not to barf, and cutting chains, and covering Nat’s six…

“They didn’t unleash some weird bio-weapon on you, did they?” Nat’s at his shoulder, poking him back to standing upright.

“Don’t think so.”

“That’s good,” Nat says, going back to lighting up chains with her mini pulsar. “But you’re acting weird, you know?”

Steve shrugs. Through the fuzz in his head, he’s starting to suspect what might be wrong. He doesn’t want to think about it, though. He’d die of embarrassment if he had to go to a head injury safety lecture for forgetting to put on his goddamn helmet.

“Ok, that’s it, freeing up the last of them. Two operatives incapacitated, doesn’t look like there are any more,” Nat’s saying.

Steve’s confused at first. Then it dawns on him that she’s talking into her comm, probably with Fury on the other end. But Steve should be on the call too. He feels for it with clumsy fingers, but the little piece of metal and plastic that should be poised on the edge of his ear canal is gone. It probably fell out when he hit the ground earlier.

“Alright. We’re headed out,” Nat says. She turns toward the group of rescued miners and informs them that there’s a cadre of police cars outside the warehouse and a little ways down the hill. They should be safe now, and the regular police corps will take over from here, helping the miners and arresting the injured HYDRA agents.

“And we’re done. We’re leaving,” she adds to Steve. “Did you lose your comm, too? God, you’re a mess today.”

“Yeah,” Steve says absently. He tries to plug his brain back in against the throbbing backbeat. “That was it? Just those two guys?”

“Looks like it,” Nat says. “But with the lack of tech and stuff in their hideout, I’m wondering if they were just some weirdo sympathizers instead of actual HYDRA operatives.”

“Hm.” The glossy black Hummer that’d driven them out of DC and into Appalachia is waiting, burning fuel as it idles in a gravel driveway. Steve opens the door and flops gratefully onto the richly cushioned backseat. The air conditioning is blasting, and Steve positions his head so he’s in the direct path of the breeze. It dries the sheen of sickly sweat on his forehead, making him feel better for all of one moment.

The drive from rural Virginia back to the DC Metro area is set to take a couple hours. At first the prospect of lounging across the roomy backseat is appealing. All Steve wants to do is rest. But when the Hummer starts bumping down the hilly terrain toward the main road, Steve has to clamp his teeth together so his head doesn’t flop off and start rolling across the floor.

Nat’s tapping on an iPad, getting a head start on the mission report paperwork and playing Angry Birds. At least, that’s what Steve thinks she’s playing. The squawking sound effects seem somewhat familiar. Waves of sleepiness compete with nausea washing over Steve’s head and chest. He leans the side of his head against the cool glass of the window and lets his eyes drift shut.

“You alright?” Nat asks, jolting Steve back into painful awareness.

“Hm? Yeah,” Steve says, trying to swallow the vertigo that’s loping from his forehead down to his lap. “Just tired.”

“I didn’t think it was that strenuous.” She’s talking about the mission. “Did you not sleep last night or something? Bucky keeping you up?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, still trying to work out the shift in topic and decode what Nat just said.

“Good stuff or bad stuff?”

“Huh?”

“Were you guys boning or dealing with nightmares?”

“What the— geez, Nat, I don’t talk about that stuff.” How the hell did the conversation morph to include his sex life? He’s not firing on all cylinders. Something’s definitely wrong.

Steve’s had a concussion before. All this, the severe headache, the mental fog, the tiredness, the strong urge to puke, is dreadfully familiar. There’s nothing to be done except lie down and throw up and feel stupid while someone asks inane questions about the president and the date and things Steve still has trouble with even when he’s feeling fine. He just wants to go home.

Steve does his best to stay awake for the duration of the drive. The sound effects from Nat’s game and his own nausea do a good job of keeping him from drifting off, but the soft rumble of the Hummer’s engine is a difficult lullaby to resist. By the time they’re rumbling past the shops and neighborhoods of Falls Church, Steve’s barely holding onto his consciousness and his stomach.

He wants more than anything to be home, and it would be just too much to drive by the townhouse and go on to SHIELD. “Hey,” Steve says, swallowing down bile and raspiness. “Can we…can you drop me off at my house?”

The agent driving the Hummer turns his head to look at Steve, obviously perplexed by the unconventional request.

“Why? You have to debrief, see medical, finish up the mission paperwork,” Nat says.

“Yeah, I…I’ll come back in a little bit,” Steve forces out. “It’s just…Buck’s got an appointment. I forgot about it till now. He wanted me to go with him…” It’s a complete lie, but Steve’s desperate.

“You are so weird today,” Nat sighs, shaking her head.

The driver seems to take pity on him, though, and asks where to turn off. Steve directs him to the complex of townhomes, then lets out an exhale of relief when the huge, thundering car pauses at the end of his driveway.

“Thanks,” Steve says. “I’ll, uh, see you soon.” He had told Nat he’d come back, right? He doesn’t exactly remember…

“You better,” Nat replies. Then, somewhat softer, “I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, ok,” Steve mumbles. He grabs his shield and opens the car door, gripping it tightly as he steps onto the concrete of the driveway, which may or may not be moving under his boots.

Steve fumbles in his pocket for his keys and shakily unlocks the front door. The Hummer is speeding away down the road, and Steve’s relieved it’s going. His stomach is wedged so far up his throat he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it down for the next minute as he gets into the house.

Sweat beads up on what feels like every inch of his face and body. Steve feels the knob turn in his hand, and he nearly walks into the flat of the grey painted door because he can’t get it open fast enough.

“Hey,” he hears Bucky call from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.

Steve’s on the point of replying, but when he opens his mouth, a gag and a rush of undigested stomach contents beat down the words. He reaches for the wall and braces himself, doubled over, as he vomits all over the doormat.

“The fuck?” Bucky’s footsteps pound around the corner and into the entryway, and he’s quickly at Steve’s shoulder, supporting his trembling form. “What happened?”

“God, my head,” Steve exhales, trying to push his stomach back down to its normal location. He fails miserably and his throat goes into contraction again.

“Ok,” Bucky soothes, sidestepping the puddle of sick and peeling Steve away from the wall. “Do you wanna come into the bathroom, maybe?”

“No, I’m…I’m ok,” Steve breathes heavily and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he’s finished retching for the moment.

“Alright, well, at least come lie down,” Bucky says. “Do you think you can handle the stairs?”

“Probably,” Steve says, trying to give off more confidence than he actually feels.

“Ok, come on.” Bucky’s metal arm wraps securely around Steve’s waist, and they start slowly up the stairs. Steve grips the railing tightly, and he feels the whole thing shaking with the tremor in his body. Or maybe it’s just his unsteady brain playing tricks.

Once in the bedroom, Steve immediately flops onto the end of the bed, letting his body rest horizontally while his feet remain on the floor.

Bucky starts unlacing his boots, tugging gently and asking, “Alright. What happened? You were fine this morning.”

“I think I…got hit. In the head,” Steve whispers, drawing his hands up over his face.

“What? And medical released you, even though you’re barfing all over the place?”

Steve lets the words sink in. “Sorry,” he rasps. Then, “I…haven’t been yet.”

“Why? You need medical attention.” Bucky finishes removing Steve’s boots and starts looking for the zipper to release him from his suit.

“They’re not gonna do anything for a concussion…” Steve mutters, tossing his arm over his eyes to block out the light. “Just need to…be sick for a couple hours. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re concussed?” Bucky says, concern melding with surprise.

“I think so,” Steve replies. He massages between his eyes, but it only succeeds in bringing the underlying current of nausea up to the surface. “Buck, I’m gonna throw up again.”

“Hold on a sec,” Bucky says. He sprints away into the ensuite and returns with the small trash can. The world tips maddeningly as Steve heaves himself back to sitting and retches into the white plastic bin.

“God, I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes on a hitching breath. He feels like a collection of parts strung together in the most illogical way. The sweat dripping down his forehead makes his shoulder cramp, which brings an ache to his low back, and then forces another wave of stomach acid up his throat.

“It’s ok,” Bucky soothes, adjusting the trash can in Steve’s limp grip. “But, are you sure you don’t want to go to medical? I mean, I can take care of you and all, but…” He trails off, patting Steve on the back.

“It’ll…heal itself up in a few hours. I’ll be fine by tomorrow morning.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Hey.” Bucky softly swats Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t do that. I’ll get you something to clean up with.”

“Ok.” Steve releases the trash can to the floor and watches it settle between his feet.

The washcloth is cool on his face and neck. The breeze of the air conditioning bites into his clammy skin when Bucky helps him out of his suit. The bed pillows are soft under his head, but there must be a rock or something right below them. Perhaps it’s under the mattress, or pressing up through the foundation of the house…

“Hey, wake up for a second,” Bucky says. He lightly massages Steve’s shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“Nauseous.”

“Do you want to throw up, or try to answer some questions?”

“God. Neither.” Steve tries to turn onto his side, but his stomach threatens mutiny, and he stays stationary on his back.

“Let’s try for a couple questions,” Bucky encourages. “Who’s the president of the United States?”

“Do you know who’s the president of the United States?” Steve hoarsely mumbles back.

“Yeah, I do, but I’m asking you,” Bucky laughs quietly.

“Uh…Truman. I mean, Obama. But, no, um…Donald…?” Steve shuts his eyes and scrubs his palm over them.

“What year is it?” Bucky asks.

The bed is a raft, floating on an angrily choppy ocean. “I think…” Steve swallows thickly. “I’d rather throw up.”

The next thing Steve knows, the phone is ringing.

“Hey, it’s Nat, do you want to talk to her for a sec?” Bucky’s asking him.

“No.” Steve wants to go back to sleep. Maybe take some Excedrin. Or go to town on a bowl of peppermint ice cream. His mouth tastes terrible.

“Naw, he’s ok. Kind of sick and a little confused, but he’s already pulling himself back together.”

Steve blinks. Or, at least he thinks he does. The bedroom is much darker than it was, and the cool glow of moonlight sifts in through the curtained window.

Bucky’s lying on his stomach, his arm tucked around Steve’s chest and his chin resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder. The strong scent of pine-sol hangs in the air. “Hey,” he whispers when he sees Steve’s eyelids flutter. “You were talking in your sleep a little bit.”

“Huh?” Steve grunts. “What about?”

“I get knocked down or something like that.”

“Oh.” Steve can’t fight the smile that’s spreading across his face. He presses his palm over his forehead, cooling the lingering headache and attempting to force his thoughts into an intelligible order. “That song. It’s been stuck in my head.”

“That’s funny,” Bucky chuckles. “Only you’d be enough of a punk to get a concussion and start singing about it.”

“Shut up.” Steve weakly shoves Bucky’s metal shoulder.

“You feel better?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies. “Not completely great, but I don’t think my head’s going to fall off now.”

“Well, I guess that’s an improvement.” Bucky laughs again. “How’s your stomach?”

Steve considers for a moment. The slightly seasick feeling that accompanies any bad headache remains pressing slightly into his temples. But it’s such an upgrade from the gale force of sickly vertigo from earlier that it hardly rates. “Pretty good, I think,” Steve says. Then, “Sorry you had to clean up so much.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky says. “I’m just relieved you’re back in your right mind. You had me a little worried there.”

“I’m ok.”

“Yeah. Good thing, too,” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head up from Steve’s shoulder. “Now, you wanna come downstairs and get something to eat, or are you gonna demand bedside service?”

“Well, you’re pretty good at the whole bedside service thing, but then you’d leave me up here…” Steve ruffles his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“I know you still don’t feel good,” Bucky says. “You’re clingy.”

“Is that really a bad thing, though?”

“No,” Bucky smiles. “Not at all.”

#marvel #mcu #captain america #old fic reblog

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mizbabygirl · 7 years ago

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Blackhawks Player Nicknames (according to Second City Hockey.com) [03\23\2017]

Andrew Desjardins #11 (currently free agent) Desi, Dijon, Colonel Mustard. Not Ben Smith, but was traded for him. Depth forward.

Artem Anisimov #15 Arty, Arty Party, Ani. Our long-awaited 2C. Friend of Annette Frontpresence.

Artemi Panarin #72 (now with Columbus Blue Jackets) Pan, Bread Man, Panera Bread, Snake. No one is quite sure how to spell his first name. Undrafted, caused much salt among fans of other teams when he won the Calder Trophy for best NHL rookie at the age of 24.

Brent Seabrook #7 Seabs, Biscuit (a reference to Seabiscuit), The Captain Whisperer (after he stepped into the box to comfort Toews after his third crappy penalty in the process of losing to Detroit in Game 4 in the 2013 playoffs). Nacho Seabre (admitted weakness for nachos and pizza). Affectionately known as "(my) Seabsie boy" to his teammates. If he looks slow on the ice it's probably because he ate too many nachos. Gave his son Carter the middle name of "Seven,” but alleges it was his wife's idea.

Brian Campbell #51 (now retired) Soupy (like Campbell's soup, generic nickname for anyone with this last name), Soup Dogg, Ginger (the hair), 51 Phantom.

Corey Crawford #50 Crow, Watcher (the Watcher on the Wall from Game of Thrones), Crawful (generally used sarcastically), Crawsome. As this is Chicago, the victim of a perpetual goalie controversy despite performing as an elite NHL starter for the last four seasons. His glove hand/blocker/five-hole sucks and we'll never win anything with him in net. He's a fucking beauty (quote from his Cup parade speech where he was totally non-sober and dropped two f-bombs).

Dennis Rasmussen #70 (now with Anaheim Ducks) Moose, Raz. Swedish defensive forward.

Duncan Keith #2 Duncs, Jigsaw (reference to character from Saw, because his teammates claim he's kind of psycho scary and methodical), Teeth, in reference to his heroism in the 2010 WCF, losing 7 teeth in Game 4 and only missing a few shifts, Bambi because of how fast he skates (he has crazy good conditioning and routinely has the highest TOI of the team). Inspired the phrase 'Chicago Runs on Duncan'.

John Hayden #40 Hayds, Hayder.

Johnny Oduya #27 Odie, Oh do ya? eg, "I think his last name has a lot of pun-potential." "Oh, do ya?" Jeremy Roenick is jealous now because Oduya's wearing his old number, but Roenick thinks it should be retired.

Jonathan Toews #19 Jonny, Tazer, Captain, Best Captain, Captain Marvel (he wears the C and he's the best/marvelous, obviously), Captain Serious (because he is one serious motherfucker, although glimpses of him off-guard on camera suggest his off-ice personality has a large component of goofy weirdo), Captain Lardass (from an angry Twitter comment), Captain Seriously [Adjective]. Draws comparisons to Grumpy Cat (Kaner's feline equivalent is Lil Bub) and to a hockeybot who does not understand human emotions, due to his hilariously incongruous facial expressions in any given situation (see also Toewsface)

Jordin Tootoo #22 Toots, Two two and other such puns. Depth forward, here for the grit.

Marcus Kruger #16 (now with Carolina Hurricanes) Krugs, Frogger (because he likes to play in traffic, gets crunched a lot, yet has many lives), Freddy (his team nickname, from Nightmare on Elm Street), The Plan All Along (according to Stan Bowman, his call-up from Europe in late 2011 was "all part of the plan"). "Kruger is mashed, gets away with the puck" - commentary from Foley, and the story of his life. As Tracey Myers once put it, his tombstone will read, "Kruger took a hit to make a play.”

Marian Hossa #81 Hoss, Panda (originally sad panda, a name acquired during the playoffs while he playing for Detroit, shortened to Panda when he joined the Hawks), Gossamer (from autocorrect), HE IS MARIAN HOSSA AND YOU ARE NOT, because few can do what he does. Likes KitKats, as they are "good for you!"

He is a hockey demigod, a fact acknowledged by everyone including the official twitter. His name may be substituted for "God" in common phrases, eg "Oh my Hossa!"

Michal Kempny #6 Lemony, via autocorrect. Third pair dman.

Michal Rozsival #32 Rozi, Rozsi. Elderly depth dman, looks like an elf. Will still be signing 1-year deals with the Hawks when Toews and Kane have retired.

Nick Schmaltz #8 KFC (Schmaltz means chicken fat), Biggy Schmaltz. Playmaking center drafted from UND (this worked out well last time they tried it), snatched from under the noses of the St Louis Blues when Stan traded up in the draft. Brother Jordan is a Blues prospect. Chicago Mission alum.

Niklas Hjalmarsson #4 (now with Arizona Coyotes) Hjammer, Hammer, Meatball (because he was the original Swede Hawk), Jelly (his AHL nickname), Super Nintendo Chalmers (Simpsons reference), Jarbles (the LA announcers clearly mislaid the Swedish names cheatsheet in the WCF and called him Jarbleson), Swedish Viking (description by Jonny Oduya). His leg bones have been upgraded to titanium, judging by the number of shots he blocks.

Patrick Kane #88 Kaner, Lazy, Showtime, wee blond ninja, Black Magic for what he does with the puck, from a quote by former SCHer gmh - "...but the devil lives inside this kid, I swear it. It rises out of him in a mist, this baby-faced defiant wrathful version of Pat Kane, escapes his bodily confines to perform satanic miracles all over the offensive zone. The only thing more fearsome than that assist was the keep-in preceding it. The only thing more unholy than his face is his black magic."

Richard Panik #14 Visa (due to visa issues when joining the team), Panik at the UC!, or Disco for obvious reasons. His name is actually pronounced PAH-neek but hockey never lets a bad pun go to waste.

Ryan Hartman #38 Hartzy. Giving Seabrook a run for his money for "Best Hair" on the team. Another Illinois native/Chicago Mission kid.

Scott Darling #33 (now with Carolina Hurricanes) Oh My, Clem - from the song "Oh my darling Clementine.” A native of Lemont (or maybe Aurora according to one confused commentator), is very tall.

Tanner Kero #67 Depth center.

Tomas Jurco #13 Part of Stan's secret plan to collect all the Slovaks in the NHL in case any of them grow up into Hossas.

Trevor van Riemsdyk #57 (now with Carolina Hurricanes) TVR, Smiley van Smiley due to his happy demeanor in interviews. Brother of James/JVR.

Prospects/IceHogs

Tyler Motte #64 (now with Columbus Blue Jackets) Apple Sauce, Motter.

Vinnie Hinostroza #48 Cousin Vinnie. Bartlett native and ex-Chicago Mission kid.

Brandon Mashinter #53 Mash, Manshitter Here to maintain the quota of players called Brandon and occasionally punch things.

To see the rest of the article, go to: https://www.secondcityhockey.com/2017/3/23/13762402/guide-nicknames-jargon-slang-blackhawks-fans

#chicago blackhawks #blackhawks nicknames

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