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hqmillioncorn · 2 months ago

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Food for Thoughts

“Oh Mister Roriiiiiiiiiii!!!” Rori braced himself for the inevitable. The inescapable fate of Babycorn Corn running up to him ready to talk both his ears off with some nonsense topic that somehow always, somehow, popped up in her little head. It always seemed to be during work too. On the bright side she wasn’t asking him what Valentiones day was every time she walked by him. He didn’t even remember when the last time she asked about that was. Finally, Babycorn arrived. Sitting herself down on some empty crates that might as well have been placed there just for her. “Hiya Mister Rori!” Babycorn greeted him. Cherrypit waved at him from on top of Babycorn’s head. “Hiya.” Rori waved back. “Mister Rori? Do you know where snow comes from?” “The sky?” “Ooooooh!” Yeah that made sense. “How does the sky make it?!”

ffxiv write day 2: Horizon with @windupnamazu 's Butter and oleo and momoka and @windupiceheart 's rori at the start :)

babycorns always been good at taking care of plants but the truth is they just grow without her trying who can she ask for more plant facts to put in her little head.......

With one last pat-pat of the ground Babycorn smiled with satisfaction at the new little dahlia sprout she had managed to plant in the mansion’s garden without incident. “Wow! That went way better than last time!” Last time referred to the incident just last week when Babycorn managed to set fire to the entire garden by just trying to plant some peonies.

Thankfully there had been no one around at the time so she was able to use her conveniently fate bending Starsinger powers to make it so like it never happened! Hooray!

Sure doing that gave her a fever that lasted a whole week but it was worth it to not ruin her friend’s hard work.

Speaking of…

Babycorn turned her head to look behind herself. A lot more people had begun to hang around the yard since the last seven hours when she first started working in the garden. She was more glad than ever that she didn’t accidentally set the garden on fire again.

From her vantage point alone she could see Momoka sitting in her usual spot and looking around at everyone else. Just like she was doing! B’ig Nunh was talking about something with Vertical sitting underneath some shade. Whatever it was about–Babycorn couldn’t hear.

Both Pancake and Linnet were huddled over a huge piece of paper, giggling to themselves. An assortment of art supplies were thrown around them. It looked like Cinnamon was also helping them with whatever they were doing.

Babycorn also noticed Oleo leaning up against the fence and a pair of mysterious Butter-like ears poking out from behind a hydrangea bush. It was a little hard to see. No matter how much Babycorn leaned in one direction.

Oh well, she would go and say hi later.

Babycorn turned her attention to more flowery matters. “Okay little plant! Go ahead and grow up big and strong!!” She stood up and raised both her arms in the air, in her best attempt to motivate her newest tiny little plant. It was her first time growing something outside of a pot so there was a bit of apprehension about the whole thing. “...But I’m sure it’s gonna be fine!” She tried to assure herself.

“Fine! Fine!” Cherrypit took some time from digging a hole in the yard to assure his sister her worries were nothing to be worried about. “Bebes good at flowers!”

Cherrypit was telling the truth. Because for some inexplicable and unexplainable reason Babycorn was very talented at raising all sorts of different plants. No matter what sorts of horrors those things were subjected to, they all ended up blooming in the end.

At least, indoors they did. The day Babycorn finally attempted to grow something outside again for the first time in years it caused an acidic secretion to begin oozing out of the grounds of the Lavender Beds. The fire incident was actually her second attempt.

Needless to say, Babycorn had no idea what she was actually doing.

“Hmm…” Babycorn hummed to herself. “Hey Cherry?” She turned to look at her brother who was now successfully filling his new dug hole with hose water. “Myeah?” Cherrypit tilted his head curiously. He stared right at his sister as he grabbed a stick from the garden and threw it into the muddy water.

“Do you think I’m growing flowers the right way?”

“Myabbababa Gabaga!!” Cherrypit helpfully babbled. It probably meant something along the lines of, “If the flowers and vegetables you’re planting are actually growing then you’re probably doing it right!” Then he grabbed a handful of leaves and put them in his mouth. Dropping the few leaves still stuck on his hand into the mud along with the stick.

“Yeah! You’re probably right!” Her brother was so smart. She was so proud of him! But it didn’t take very long for a hint of doubt to crawl its way into Babycorn’s thoughts. “Well…I don’t think that people's plants usually start fires…Right?” Like Vertical’s plants! Babycorn had seen her planting new ones before and they never even so much as sizzled like her plants did!

Now that she really thought about it, there was a weird memory in her head about Vertical and a bunch of other people! Whenever Babycorn would catch someone in the garden they usually had something in their hands. The thing was a really strange shape!

It sort of reminded Babycorn of a teapot! Something that, by the way, she should not be drinking out of.

There were a lot of things that Babycorn knew she didn’t know. The names of certain things was one of them. If this was anything like those other billion things then this was probably something that everyone else in the world knew about except for her.

It didn’t bother her that much. Not unless it caught her on a bad day.

Babycorn pushed herself off the ground, her knees and hands were almost caked in mud. All thanks to a certain toddler’s playtime. As Babycorn shook herself clean of any dirt she had on her she could feel that today was anything but a bad day.

With a twinkle in her eyes she turned around to see if Vertical was still around so she could ask what was in her hands that day. Sadly both Vertical and B’ig were long gone. They must have left some time between when Babycorn saw them and now.

Trying her best to ignore the rising dread in her chest at not knowing where her friends were, Babycorn looked around for anyone else that could answer her question.

Unfortunately for her the twinkle in her eyes was giving away her intentions to everyone around her.

It was a very familiar look to everyone and everything that knew Babycorn by now. It was a look of curiosity. A sign that Babycorn was about to run over to you and seek your guidance about a certain something. Something that sounded very simple, yes.

Except there was a catch. Where there was one question, a couple of hundred always followed suit.

Not many had the endurance (mostly the time) to go through a round of Babycorn’s question gauntlet.

Momoka was the first to notice what was going on. Her eyes grew wide as she grabbed a convenient flower vase placed in the center of the table. She sneakily slid it in front of herself to cover her face in a successful attempt to take advantage of Babycorn’s lack of object permanence.

Babycorn gasped, “Woah! Where did Momoka go?!” It was like she was here one second and gone the next. How mysterious…

With Momoka out of the question Babycorn thought about asking Pancake and Linnet if they knew what she was thinking about. As she handed Cherrypit another stick for his little project she figured that both girls looked really busy. “I don’t wanna bother them…” Whatever it was they were doing it looked really important.

(Babycorn had no way of knowing but it was very important. Both girls were planning the eventual Butter and Babycorn wedding of the future.)

Babycorn’s eyes drifted over to Oleo and what she could see of Butter’s ears. As soon as she looked in their direction she noticed Oleo talking to someone next to him, hitting them with his elbow and pointing right at Babycorn.

Babycorn grinned, putting her hands together in excitement. “I’ll be right back, Cherry! Don’t go anywhere!” Cherrypit looked up from stirring his creation together. “Okay!” He lifted up the stick from the mud and waved it around happily.

Just as Babycorn began to step towards Oleo and the pair of ears–the front door to the mansion opened up. Grabbing Babycorn’s full attention.

“Sirius!!” Babycorn waved her arms up and down at the sight of her second self-proclaimed BFFFL. (best friend for life) Sirius closed the door behind and hurriedly walked his way past Babycorn without a word. He more than recognized that look in her eyes. “Hey! Wait a second I have a question!” Babycorn followed right after him even when he started to pick up the pace.

“Sorry, busy”

“Did Lunya ask ya to pick something up again?” Babycorn walked around him almost in a circle. It was almost a surprise she wasn’t tripping over her own two feet.

“It’s something like that.”

“Did she forget an ingredient in something and she’s asking you to go buy it before it’s too late?”

Sirius stopped walking to give Babycorn a break in trying to not fall flat on her face. Which ended up happening anyway because of his sudden stop. “Yeah, exactly like that.” Sirius helped Babycorn up from the ground and turned to keep going towards Gridania. He was starting to have his suspicions that the doll in the kitchen was doing more than just sitting there.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaait!!!” Babycorn yelled out at the top of her lungs even though Sirius hadn’t gone anywhere. “I had a question about the garden! It’s super duper ultra important!!”

Sirius stopped once again and noticed Oleo and Butter standing almost right next to where he and Babycorn were. “If it's a question about the garden you could ask someone who works in the garden and isn’t busy.” While Babycorn wondered where she could find such a specific person–Sirius walked closer to the bush and cleared away some of the leaves so Butter could be in Babycorn’s sight.

“Oh! Butts!” That was who those ears belonged to!!

“Exactly like him.” With the coast clear Sirius made his exit as fast as he could.

Butter straightened up and smiled at Babycorn. “H-Hi!” His whole escapade of hiding in the hydrangea bushes was mostly Oleo’s idea. Something about how Babycorn tended to hide in the same bushes.

Then when they bumped into each other in the same place Butter could hit Babycorn with a pick-up line Oleo gave him. “Psst-!” Oleo leaned in closer to Butter, “The line! Don’t forget the line-!” He whispered as loudly as he could.

“Right!” Butter looked at Babycorn and almost froze up again. Something about the lumps of wet mud in her hair were sending him into a tizzy. “Um. Uh. Do you come here off-often..??” he was finally able to spit out.

Oleo gave him a thumbs-up. As a certified lady woo-er he was more than sure this would be enough to win Babycorn’s heart.

Babycorn grinned. “Well yeah! Cause I live here! You live here too!” She turned to look at Oleo. “You don’t live here Oleo but I do know where you live so it’s okay!!”

“Thanks…?” Oleo had no idea what Babycorn meant by that.

Butter giggled to himself. “You’re sooo right! Ehehehe…” Babycorn started laughing right alongside him. Her laugh was so cute, too cute. Butter made a note to thank Oleo for his idea later, it had worked out after all.

The gears in Babycorn’s head began to turn again. “Oh right!” She grabbed Butter’s hand with her dirt caked one and began to drag him back to the garden with her. Just as Oleo thought he was in the clear, Babycorn rounded back and grabbed him by his arm. “Nooooo! Babycorn wait-!!” He couldn’t be walking around with mud caked all over his sweet jacket!!

Once all three of them were back in front of the garden Babycorn sat down in the mud and pointed at her plant. “Um-! Um! What’s that thing called that you hold over the plant? It like…Looks like a big teapot!!” Her arms were flying all over the place trying to make a shape she had no idea looked like.

Butter of course knew instantly what Babycorn was talking about. “Those are called watering cans!” The one he used was blue, like the color of his jacket. Pancake painted it herself so he would know which one was his.

“Cooooooool!” The easily impressed Babycorn was amazed to finally have her answer. As the prophecy foretold however, after one question another soon followed suit. “What’s a watering can for?” Sure now she knew what the name of one was, but why were people using it? Was it important?

“They’re for watering plants!” Butter did a little gesture like he was holding some sort of invisible watering can. Dropping some invisible water on Babycorn’s little sprout.

“Watering?” Babycorn blinked, “What’s that?”

This time Oleo was the one to answer. “That’s when you drop a bunch of water on a plant.” He paused to think. “You can’t give it too much cause then it uh, drowns. Or something like that.”

“A plant can drown?!?!”

“Kinda-! Yeah!” Butter didn’t want Babycorn to get scared of watering her plants. “Plants need water though! It’s just not a good thing to give them too much!”

“Yeah! Just like us!” Oleo helpfully added. “We need food and water. Just like plants do!”

“Woaaah….!!!” Babycorn eyes sparkled with excitement. There were so many things in the world she had no idea about! There was a desire in her to learn as much as she could. She was just so happy that she had so many friends around her that knew so much about all sorts of things. Maybe someday she could even teach them about something that she knew about.

Babycorn made a note to give Butter and Oleo a thank-you big hug later.

(a hug that oleo would successfully leave to his bro after excusing himself to go water his plants)

“Oh! And what do plants eat?! Do they like eating candy like me?! I’ve got lotsa candy!!”

“Not exactly!” Butter answered.

All three were so engrossed in their questions and answers that they didn’t even notice Momoka scooting in closer and closer. Just in case, she was still holding the flower vase in front of her face. Her attempt to get any closer was stopped when she felt something touch her leg.

In a panic she looked down to see a stain of mud on her boots. Not only that, there was a mud caked baby looking right up at her. With a smile on his face he held up a stick with a huge glob of mud hanging off the end. “Wan’ soup?” Cherrypit asked.

#ffxivwrite 2024 #Babycorn #Cherrypit #Butter #Oleo #Rori #Honorable mention #babycorn missed out on knowing so many things #she didnt know who the twelve were or any of the cities or anything she knew kinda who the garleans were but not really #every day she is learning :)#like youre not supposed to lick colorful frogs #or frogs in general #i think butter knows just a little more than her right idk #just a little bit. but theyre both doomed if they need to do laundry #babycorns the only one who tries cherrypits soup probably #....her and butter.#i think the reason plants just grew for babycorn is cause they liked her #babycorn bites sirius' arm cause she likes him thats what she ll do when he gets back

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noiizemaze · 4 months ago

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It's an old audio log. Old. Recorded on a forgotten datapad, toppled over by some force or another and- well, now playing. "Hello." Prowl's voice, littered with static. Hushed, and oddly gentle- you can hear the wry smile. "Test message. Recording a crime. Hah- a little one. Mesothulas is somewhere in the lab right now. Tinkering away. Something about electroplating, or grafting, or- well, anyways. He wouldn't like me moving tech around, but I'm doing it anyways, and here's my admittance log." "Mesothulas, if you're listening, yes, I moved the larger decanter centrifuge. You don't use it, and- alright, I might've broke a part off, and I'm doing this all to avoid taking responsibility. You got me. Or- you will, if you find this. I'll be hiding this somewhere exceptionally clever. You'll be impressed, I promise. Alright, message is getting long. Goodbye, my dear."

It was a bad day.

The sort of bad that results in damage; glass crunching and shattering, something oozing vicious red on the dented exam table, wailing and screaming damage.

Outside the broken window (she had flung a toolbox through it), the Noise Maze howls. Tarantulas howls with it, madness inside and out, until her voice is too raw and her chest too hollow to continue. Even then she sobs, crumbling down to the floor to roll onto her side and stare at a spilled storage crate that had been jammed under one of the storage racks when she’d first crawled back in here.

Things feel quieter, then, or at least numb. Catharsis comes with a high cost. She’ll have to repair everything. She’s been set back months of work, at least, all for the sake of a temper tantrum.

There’s an old datapad still intact, having apparently skidded out of the crate when it had gotten kicked, or shoved, or… whatever. A tarsal scrapes over it, then grasps at it to throw it before—

Prowl’s voice, degraded with static and age, filters into her awareness.

The decanter. Mesothulas had been downright beside himself thinking he’d somehow misplaced the damn thing that was a third of his size and took up a full unit of the power grid, as if he’d moved it in his sleep, somehow. Prowl had grumbled and scowled and claimed he didn’t know what he was talking about, and that it couldn’t be that important anyway, since nothing he was doing needed a centrifuge, and Meso had argued back that he might need it at some point and besides that, he’d put googly optic stickers on it because when the machine ran at moderate to high speeds the shiny mock-irises inside jiggled around cartoonishly…

Prowl had known what happened the whole time, the glitch.

Tarantulas shifts onto her back among the broken glass and puddling antifreeze, and holds the datapad to her chestplate, too tired to get up off the floor.

“Goodbye, Prowl.”

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the-faramir · 5 months ago

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Extinction Curse Session 2024/06/05 Part 2

The Siege of Willowside

Day 3 (Part 1)

The next morning, the adventurers ate their meager breakfast before starting the day. Lysander ate nothing and Midori only drank black coffee. As they finished, the mayor approached them.

“I hate to ask for more help when you just got back from looking into Fortune’s Hall, but since you’re trapped in town until we fight off these xulgaths, I imagine it’s in your best interest as well. We need your help dealing with the xulgaths, but first, we need the Banyan Boys back. There are these caves underneath the town that have been here since before the town was built, and there’s an entrance in the basement of the general store. Some old documents from the town’s founding indicate that those caves were important, but I’m not sure why. A lot of stuff from that time is gone. Local legend has it that the town’s founders might have left something special down there in case of emergencies. Well, if this doesn’t count as an emergency, nothing does. The Banyan Boys went down there, and they should have been back by now. I worry that something happened to them. Can you go look for them? They’re our town’s best protectors.”

"The Vengaboys?" Midori asked.

Zookdar put a hand on Midori's shoulder to gently stop her. "No, we're not doing that bit again." He looked at the mayor. "Yes. We'll go down into your dungeon and rescue your Banyan Boys."

"Dungeon?" Midori's expression grew worried, "There's not butter on the walls, is there?" Lysander sighed and shook his head at her.

One of the townsfolk led the group through the general store to the basement. They entered the storeroom that the owner frequently used, seeing several crates labeled "Cozurn's General Store" in neat lettering and a closed door on the opposite side. An open padlock with the key still in its keyhole hung on the door's handle.

The adventurers opened the door and moved forward into the next storage room, looking as if it had not been used in decades. The boxes, crates, and scattered barstools all sat covered in a thick layer of dust. Zookdar, having darkvision, took the lead. Midori followed, and Lysander and Buffy brought up the rear, closing the door behind them.

To the north was a broken door. To the west was a stairway leading down. Zookdar saw footprints in the dust leading down the stairs, but one set of footprints heading toward the room to the north and back. He remarked that the footprints leading downward appeared to have been hurried. "I wonder why they took off in such a rush?"

Suddenly, a slick, oily slithering sound came from the room to the north. Four waxy blob-like oozes, pale yellow and smelling of old beef tallow, approached the party in a line.

"We've got company!" Zookdar warned the party. He raised his shield, rushed the attackers with a battle cry, and attacked with his gnome flickmace. His target began to ooze a greasy seepage and he had to check himself to maintain his balance in the slippery pool.

"Greasy seepage?" Midori exclaimed. "What are these, Olestra monsters?" She prepared an impromptu song to inspire courage:

🎶🎶🎶 Greasy Seepage, slipping through the cracks, Ooze and slide, no turning back. Gleaming slick and slithery, It’s a trick, it’s a mystery! 🎶🎶🎶

She followed up by launching a telekinetic projectile at the lead ooze, hitting it.

Lysander cast a spell to slow the oozes and fired at one with his hex blaster gun.

One of the oozes lashed out at Zookdar with a pseudopod, hitting him and making him slicker with oily slime. He grumbled in disgust.

Midori shouted out to Zookdar, "Hey, I thought you liked bein' covered with grease!"

Zookdar called out for help, "Cleanse me of my grease, Buffy!" But Buffy had no spells to help with the cleansing. Instead, she cast a rallying banner to take the place of Midori's inspirational songs, freeing her up for more useful actions.

Another ooze moved up and attacked Midori. A third attacked Zookdar.

Midori yelled to Zookdar, "With all o' this greasy seepage, watch out for loose stools!"

Zookdar shot back, "Don't be disgusting, Midori! This is serious!"

"I am being serious," she replied. "Those barstools are all over the place. Don't trip!" Midori followed up with a rapier strike on her closest opponent, not damaging it at all. "Uh-oh. Stabby-stabbing won't hurt 'em! Watch your attacks, everyone!" She hit her target with a telekinetic projectile. "Bludgeoning. Maybe fire? Anyone got a fireball? Or should I have Orbison release a poison cloud?"

Lysander shouted at Midori, "Enclosed space! Bad idea!"

She snapped back, "You know I'm just kiddin'!"

Another ooze rose up to engulf Zookdar, covering him in more oily residue. "I am more grease than gnome at this point!" he lamented.

The battle stretched on for much longer than the heroes would have liked. Fortunately, the oozes were not difficult to hit, only difficult to damage. Eventually, Buffy finished off the last of the foes with a telekinetic projectile.

Searching the area, Zookdar found a battered greave etched with a powerful greater resilient rune, some empty silver vials, and a platinum charm depicting a lizard with three tails.

Asking first to make sure nobody else needed the rune more urgently, Midori detached the rune from the greave and added it to her own armor. "Hoo, boy, did I need that boost!"

Midori took the time to patch up everybody's wounds. The heroes cleaned themselves up from any remaining oily residue.

Once everyone had finished, Zookdar looked down the stairwell and remarked, "The stairway looks clear. Shall we, then?"

(Text in blue belongs to Paizo.)

#pathfinder #pf2e #extinction curse #gaming session

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hinacu-arts · 2 years ago

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Actually typing on my computer for once so I'm able to use the read more lol. I need you guys to tell me if you want this in

BBC - The Fic

which would either be as its own chapter or Casey reading it. Theres also the option of it becoming a short little companion story/fic, and im also considering writing a final battle deal but I'm not sure I want both in BBC. Here's the first part of it, I cant really write more until the actual fic is written unless I got more technical on the How Do We Solve This Problem line of convo.

Reminder that this is a group chat on all of 2012's phones, that's why their names are there. Debating on whether or not to change that. The first section is copy and pasted from the section that was in Chp 2. I tried to space it out like actual texting, but tumblr was fighting me so thats why there are random "."s in there

Key Donnie = in 1987 (the first TV show) Mikey = in 1990 (the first live action movies from 90,91, and 93) April = in 2003 (the second TV show) Leo = in 2007 (the CGI animated movie) Raph = in 2014 (the second live action movies from 2014 and 2016) Casey = in 2018 (rottmnt)

LEO: anyone copy?

APRIL: copy

RAPH: hallelujah. Get me out of this hell

LEO: not yet. Donnie says he needs a response by everyone before he can track your locations

LEO: hi other versions of us -Mikey

DONNIE: the tech i have to work with here is ancient i hate it. No computer needs to be this chunky

MIKEY: mikey is asleep but his phone is receiving -Donnie

CASEY: fucking finally. Do you know how many frequencies i had to try to get these messages to come in. not to mention how i had to pry the phone out of Leo's hands so i could take it apart

CASEY: anyways happy to report we haven't gotten him killed yet

CASEY: for the record he came to us bruised that was not our fault

APRIL: great. We can start narrowing down locations now -Don

CASEY: spoke too soon Casey found out about your Casey and she's demanding a fight to the death. Casey might be coming home in pieces

RAPH: wtf

CASEY: do you want him in a box or can i send him in a crate?

RAPH: wtf -Donnie

CASEY: youre right, if he's bleeding the blood will ooze out

MIKEY: wtf -everyone here

LEO: wtf -Donnie

DONNIE: i dont know to respond to this -both Donnies

RAPH: damn. put him in a cooler, those are water tight -April

RAPH: please do not listen to her and please dont let any maiming occur -Donnie

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RAPH: by any chance has anyone done the calculations for their own universe? I did ours a couple years ago and its Universe 2-0-1-4 -Donnie

DONNIE: Donnie says this universe is 1-9-8-7. Our home universe is 2-0-1-2

ARPIL: Don says this one is 2003

LEO: Donnie says this is Earth 2,007

RAPH: great. We just cut down a lot of time trying to figure that out. Now we just need to track and calculate your Mikey and Casey’s locations

APRIL: their Dons have probably already done the work themselves. @Mikey @Casey -Don

DONNIE: they aren’t answering. Either they can’t get to the computer or they’re sleeping. Lets just begin the math ourselves. Me and Donnie will get started on Mikey. Who wants to track Casey?

LEO: I’ve been collecting data the whole time, I’ll take Casey. The universe he landed in sounds hardcore, if that Donnie wasn’t exaggerating. Casey’s hardcore but we should get him out of there as soon as possible -Donnie

LEO: I think he’s somewhere between 2010 and 2030. Mikey might be in the 1990s -Donnie

RAPH: I don’t know about you guys, but interdimensional travel is not a norm here -Donnie

LEO: Same. Its happened before but I wasn’t prepared to collect data -Donnie

CASEY: @Leo close. We’re Universe 2-0-1-8. And inta-dimensional travel and inter-dimensional travel is a norm here, but not inter-universe travel

MIKEY: Donnie says this is universe 19 90

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CASEY: lmao look at this touch starved fool [5 attachments: couchcuddling.png]

CASEY: I didn’t know humans could turn that red -Mike

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CASEY: WHATS UP BITCHES NEON LEON IS HERE

CASEY: forgive my brother he is easily excitable -D

CASEY: SO I HEARD YOU NEED PORTAL HELP -L

CASEY: Leo I swear to pizza supreme I will take away your caps feature -D

CASEY: boo no fun. You know we could be in the same room and not have to confuse everyone with two people talking from the same server -L

CASEY: I knew giving you access would be a mistake -D

CASEY: Just send that update video you and Mikey put together for their Casey’s friends -D

CASEY: [attachment: weekoneupdate.mp4] thought you all might like proof of life since Donnie is a horrible texter. Don’t worry about that last part I took care of it. -L

APRIL: the video quality is all corrupted and the only sound I hear is the words “it’s a hard knock life for us” on repeat -Don

RAPH: why is Casey on fire?

CASEY: I told you I took care of it -L

CASEY: he was trying to show off -D

MIKEY: the file won’t download

CASEY: rip -L

CASEY: I will boot you -D

CASEY: but I want to say hi -Mike

CASEY: and Raph wants everyone to know that he’s trying his best to keep Casey alive but that Casey is giving him gray scales -Mike LEO: Can we agree to keep this chat for getting you all back home data and planning only? -Donnie

LEO: how on earth did you get Casey to agree to a spa day?

CASEY: we have girls night once every two weeks. He either had to join or vacate the premises -D

CASEY: he really enjoyed himself! -Mike

CASEY: anyways I agree lets keep this /emergency chat/ open for data and updates only. Hey Leo -D

CASEY: Yes? -L

CASEY: Adios bitch -D

-------- CASEY HAS BEEN BLOCKED FOR 24 HOURS --------

MIKEY: you can block people!?!?!

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CASEY: [attachment: lakeprank.mp4]

RAPH: Donnie’s mad that wasn’t a emergency “im dying” video because he nearly had a heart attack when the whole lair alerted us but the rest of us are laughing so hard. Your April has a great reporter voice. RIP Casey Jones, for his dignity died today. -April

RAPH: also Donnie thinks its fascinating you all look so different/are different turtles. -April

LEO: I want to be mad because that also gave me a heart attack but that was funny af. Even through all the grainy quality -Donnie

DONNIE: well both us Donnies are pissed because the video can’t display on these ancient computers and we thought someone died since this is a /emergency/ chat

DONNIE: Leo when did you have the time to teach him 2010s text slang?

LEO: he’s standing next to me rn and telling me what to say -Donnie

CASEY: You are all the same turtle species? man your Draxums must be boring. At least ours has some class. Some finesse. Appreciates the art of presentation. What did yours do? Go to the pet store and buy the first four turtles he saw for his experiments? -L

APRIL: we don’t have a Draxum and April says her universe doesn’t either -Don

MIKEY: Never heard of the guy -Donnie

LEO: No draxum and we were never apart of any experiments.

CASEY: so you guys WERENT created through genetic engineering for the sole purpose of being a bioweapon/supersoliders meant to lead armies to wipe out humanity? -L

MIKEY: We were mutated on accident

RAPH: wtf

APRIL: I don’t know how to respond to this, but no we were not -Don

LEO: I told you their world was hardcore -Donnie

CASEY: really? Case Man says its pretty chill compared to his. Like he doesn’t have Run Of The Mill but he does have evil aliens so -L

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#bbc the fic #hinacu wip

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ssweetart42 · 1 year ago

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A Double Edged Sword

Word count: 3,300

angst, serious injury, fluff, psychic healing.

Chapter 5: What? Do You Want a Cookie?

Din was actively trying to resist what was boring into his brain.

Grogu was connecting with Din deep in his mind. He was taking Din back a couple of weeks when all three of you existed in the astral plane together. This was when Din saw that dark corner that held the secret of your involvement in the search for Grogu. Din was trying to shake this off but Grogu wouldn’t let him look away.

He held his gaze on Din and pushed deeper. He knew he couldn’t stop until he made Din understand. He wanted Din to feel what happened in you. To your mind. He showed Din that you never deceived him. That this memory was just as much a mystery to you as it had been to Din.

Then he made Din aware of the pain that this had caused. The confusion, the uncertainty. He further allowed Din to see that Greef not only had knowledge of what really happened but that he had set this whole event in motion.

Din could no longer rest as it had become apparent to him that he needed to get to the bottom of this. He was like a man on fire. He didn’t even go after the bail jumper. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

He raced back to Navarro and pushed his way into the Magistrates office. Greef turned to see Din stomp into his office. He asked if Din had gotten the bounties. Din just tossed the one tracking fob onto Greef’s desk. “Only one?” Greef was surprised.

“I have a personal matter that takes precedence right now.” He loomed large over Karga’s desk and added “I get the feeling you have something to tell me.” He said the words through gritted teeth.

Greef knew that it was time for him to come clean and tell Din everything he knew. “Now remember, this happened a long time ago. I was different then. I was not a good guy.” As he breathed a heavy sigh he almost appears to deflate. “ I didn’t know how to tell you Din.” He looked up at Din and his eyes were pleading for forgiveness.

“Just tell me the truth.” Din growled.

Hanging his head Greef tells Din about the Hiraeth that the Client brought in to conduct a psychic search for Grogu. He reminded Din that this was before Grogu had healed him and it was when you had just settled there. All he knew of you had psychic abilities and that you had an experience with Grogu when his mind reached out for yours in town.

Din didn’t want to hear any excuses and urged Greef to continue. He explained that this Hiraeth guy asked specifically for someone that had a connection to Grogu. “I told him about the things she could do and I pointed him to her cottage. He used her to locate Grogu and then wiped her memory of the whole thing.”

He then felt the need to tell Din that since he had come to know you, he was sure that you would never have done this knowingly.

“He messed with her mind Din.” Regret oozed out of him.

“You better hope it’s not too late.” Din slammed his fist down in the middle of Greefs desk, leaving a dent. An impression of Din’s anger. Din then stormed out of the office.

His pace never slowed all the way back to the Crest. They were still unloading the frozen bounty when he got to the ramp and he snapped at them to get out of his way. Setting his sites back to Farweh. He was a man on a mission.

+-------------------─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───--------------------+

Progress was slow going but lets face it you were starting from scratch on Farweh. The days were a little shorter here but you just adjusted your circadian rhythm and it seemed fine. You had planted seeds to sprout in succession so each day you had enough sprouts to eat to nourish your body.

You also found that foraging here often yielded a more than enough to supplement your diet. The spring provides fresh ice cold water all the time. You’ve managed to use a few cargo crates to make a decent lean to against a large rock.

The rock not only serves as one or the walls of you shelter but it also absorbs heat during the day and radiates it back out all night giving you a fairly constant comfortable temperature.

This also created a micro climate close to the rock so vines that you planted at the base would also have the benefit of the radiant heat. Your vines were growing quickly in the row that you planted there.

You have just abandoned shoes altogether. The ground here is soft with grass and moss and you’ve always liked the feeling of you feet on the ground. With no need to stay shrouded you have no need of heavy coverings.

You wrapped some material around your torso leaving your shoulders and arms to collect the rays or the sun. another piece is loosely draped around your waist giving you freedom of movement and sun on your thighs as well.

On your head you wore a wide brimmed hat you had woven out of long strands of grass.

The large rock that was one of your walls had small indentations in it that were big enough for your small bare feet to get good hold of to climb the rock with ease.

It only took you up about 15 feet but it gave you a pleasant view of the valley that stretched before your humble abode. It’s amazing the difference 15 feet can make.

Sometimes you would climb up to the top and spread out a blanket and bake in the sun for a while. You were starting to get as brown as a berry.

All of this feels pretty ideal. It’s been a couple of weeks since Din stormed off with no explanation so every time it crosses your mind you bite it back. You remind yourself how well you are doing and tell yourself that it couldn’t have gone any other way. I mean….What did you expect anyway.

The evenings were the hardest. In the short time that you spent on the Crest, the routine had been to practice astral projection after a little sustenance and before bed.

You did feel someone trying to break through. It felt like Grogu.

But you weren’t allowing yourself to go down that familiar path now for fear that you’d run into someone else you knew.

When you slept at night you were the most vulnerable. It’s difficult to guard yourself from someone who desperately wants in when you are already in a non-corporeal form. It’s almost as if you are made of smoke and you are trying to prevent other smoke mixing with you. Good luck with that.

Something has you on edge this night. You felt something was coming and then everything goes black. :”That’s unsettling.” You’re glad the nights are shorter here. The daylight allows you to focus on the work at hand. The darkness leaves you a victim of your own thoughts.

The morning comes and ripening berries have given you a task. You grab your basket and your pruning shears and head out toward the back of your shelter toward the tree line. This never took you too far from home and it would be the perfect breakfast.

You only get halfway there when there was a familiar looking craft approaching your valley. “DAMN IT! It’s the Crest.”, “What the smeg is he doing here?”

This is not how you wanted to start your day. You stomp back toward the Crest ready for a fight. Din walks to the bottom of the ramp and just stands there looking at you. “If you’re waiting for an invitation you really are dim.”

As Din stands there looking at you he is struck by how native you’ve become. No shoes, carrying a basket wearing a hat made of grass. He almost chuckled. But he can’t help but notice that you barely have any fabric covering your body.

Even though he feels like such a low down dog for how he had left you, he can’t help but admire all you’ve done, but mostly he’s admiring all that skin. He’s never seen you displaying this much skin.

He takes a step off the ramp toward you. Did I say you could disembark?”

“No, but I need to talk to you. I just learned what actually happened back when you first moved to Navarro, I made an assumption that was dead wrong.”

“So you came here to tell me you were wrong?” He nods in response. “What, do you want a cookie?” you snap in your most snide voice. “Did you actually think you could come back here and say “Whoops, and everything would be Ok again?….Let me tell you something about trust. It’s like a precious hand crafted bowl. If you break it, no apology can fix it, it’s still broken, and it can’t hold anything… anymore.”

You turn to walk away as you wave him off. He follows. “You have to let me explain?” He pleads.

You glance over your shoulder. “I don’t have to do Jack.” And you just keep walking. It’s becoming clear that he’s going to keep following you. You have to go where he can’t follow. You’re sure that the small footholds in the rock that is half of your house won’t accommodate his boots.

You scurry around the stakes at the base of the rock and with your bare feet you make it to the top in no time. The other plus is that this rock is large enough that you can just make yourself comfortable and he won’t even be able to see you from the ground.

As you suspect he seems at a loss for a way to follow you. You can hear him circling and you holler down “Be careful of those vines you clumsy oaf.”

“What are these grapes?” He asks.

“Well Technically they’re legumes, but.….Really,….You want to talk horticulture now? Look,…Just leave me alone.” You are determined to stay up there till he goes.

“I’m not leaving till you let me explain.” You hear him attempting to scramble ups the side of the rock but as you suspected he can’t get a foot hold. But then he takes his gloves off and you peek over the side to see he’s actually making progress using his hands alone “Dank Ferrick” you curse.

“It’s not gonna do you any good to come up here.” Suddenly you hear a scraping sound as Din loses his grip with one of his hands. He grunts but is unable to to keep his grip with the other hand as his body swings to the side. You are surprised to hear a scream escape from your mouth as you hear a thump and a painful cry.

You look over the side to see that Din has fallen onto one of your plant stakes and has skewered his thigh. He grunts as he tries to right himself. You scurry down the rock and you are at his side in a few seconds. He’s grabbing at the stake. “STOP” you yell at him. Let me.

You see it already bleeding profusely . You unstrap his thigh plate and you lay your hands over the holes that are on either side of his thigh. “You came down on the stake sideways. It went right through your thigh.” He tries to tell you “It’s Ok, it’s just my leg.”

“No you don’t understand.” You have sensed the wound is much more serious that he knows. “You have punctured your femoral artery. I have to fix this now.” You run to your basket and bring back your pruning shears. You go to cut a slit in his flight suit and he tries to stop you. “Don’t you get it? This will kill you.” You cut his pant leg from his knee to his hip so that you can reach in with both hands to cover both sides of the wound.

He remembers you telling him that the only way you can heal is to take the wound on yourself. He grabs at your hands to try to stop you but he’s losing blood and getting weak.

“Look" you say to him, "I can’t fly that thing.” As you gesture toward the Crest. “If you die here, I might have the coolest scarecrow on the planet but I’d be stuck here with that huge hunk of metal in my yard.”

You’ve clipped one end of the stake with you pruning shears and you pull it through the other side out of his thigh. That was the final insult to his body. It shot searing pain through him and caused the blood loss to increase to a gush.

He’s barely conscious at this point. You take several deep breaths as you press your hands to both sides of his thigh. You grimace as the pain begins to flow through you. You can see in your mind that the punctured artery closes itself as you accelerate his healing.

Din begins too stir as he starts to feel your healing effects, the pain is far decreased and the bleeding has stopped.

He looks at you to see that you are biting your lower lip to the point that it’s bleeding. You throw your head back as you emit this weird drawn out groan.

He’s coherent enough to pull himself up and he pulls your hands off of his wounds but it’s too late. He sees the puncture wounds are now on your thigh and you slump to the ground unconscious.

“No” he yells in a plaintiff cry. He snatches you up and runs to the Crest. He lays you down just as soon as he is at the top of the ramp.

He tries desperately to get a pulse. He can't feel anything on your wrist or even on you neck.

He leans down to listen to your heart but is frustrated by his helmet. He yanks it off and sends it clattering to the floor. He presses his ear to your heart and he hears it. It’s faint and it’s weak but it’s there.

He throws his head back in a primal scream as it hits him that he needs to get help. He knows Grogu can heal and though he’s not here. He does have a connection with him. He’s already reaching out with his mind for help when he grabs his medical kit. He places 2 Bacta pads to the wounds. He then binds them tightly to stem the flow of blood.

Then with you cradled in his arms he breathes deep and pushes beyond himself, beyond this world, all the way to Grogu.

Grogu knows what has happened the moment he joins with Din. His spirit is there with both of you in just the time it takes for Din to see him in his mind. He places a hand on you and Din and imparts some kind of wisdom or power to Din.

Din places his forehead to yours and with all the focus he can muster he wills the wounds to constrict and for the pain to subside. It is enough to help stabilize you. Grogu shows Din how to calm your spirit and slow your heart. This way you can stay still and unconscious. It should keep the wounds from reopening.

As soon as Din is satisfied that you are stable he rushes to the cockpit to set a course for Navarro. Once he has the Crest in the air he goes back down to check on you. He curses himself that he brought this on you.

He does what Grogu showed him to calm you. He hovers his hand a few inches above your body and took several deep breaths he could see you visibly descend into a lower and slower state. Something akin to hibernation. Your heart rate slowed. Your body temperature lowered. This should keep you from bleeding out and allow you to survive the trip to Navarro.

It helps to calm Din too. Because of it he feels you have a chance to make it.

+-------------------─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───--------------------+

You don’t know where you are. It’s Dark and foggy. You feel strange.

You remember healing Din. You know that the injury was life threatening. You even ask yourself if this is death. “Boy what a disappointment.”

You attempt to explore this place you find yourself in but you find it difficult to do anything. To say that you felt sluggish would be an understatement. You have an awareness of someone near you. Maybe another recently dead soul? You can’t hear or see but you can feel…something.

You become aware of someone reaching a hand behind your shoulders and tilting your head back. You feel a small dribble of water being poured into your mouth. You are able to swallow it before more is introduced passed your lips. It was actually delicious. That seems odd. Delicious water? I must be dead. Well anyway, it sure felt good going down.

+-------------------─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───--------------------+

Din was beside himself with worry and he checked on you often. He kept listening for your heartbeat It was slow but it was steady. He made sure to keep you hydrated. He carefully slide an arm behind your back and pulled you upright a bit and tipped your head back. He was able to pour small amounts of water into your mouth.

He removed his armor pulled himself in behind you and let you lean back against him. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed the side of his face to yours. He took in all of the shared feelings that he that existed between you. He could feel your level of consciousness. He knew that you had to stay in this low, slow level to still your body.

To see you actively swallow the water gave him hope. You body was doing normal things. Besides he found himself comforted by just looking at your face so closely. To carefully brush a drop of water off of your lower lip with his thumb. He felt guilty for finding so sensuous. He wondered if you would ever forgive him.

He was back and forth for the next couple of days making sure the Crest was still on course and making sure your heart was still beating.

The closest he came to sleep were the times that he cradled you in his arms. Carefully pouring small amounts of water into your mouth. He had to bring your awareness up just enough for you to be able to swallow the water. To be sure he didn’t get any into your lungs.

While he hydrated you he was able to see your eyes moving under your eyelids. But over the last couple of days he had become obsessed with your lips. Maybe it was because he was always wetting them. But each time he found himself hopelessly lost as he watched you swallow your water . Press your lips together and sometimes on a good day, even lick your lips.

Until he couldn’t help himself any longer. He leaned closer and held your face and softly brushed his nose against yours. He turned he’s head just enough to bring his lips to yours. He made an effort to keep it as soft as a feather brushing against your lips.

He felt you take in a slow deep breath and a small, sweet hum escaped you as you exhaled. A sound like you were tasting something yummy. He looked to examine your face and he saw a slight smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He felt overcome with emotion as his eyes began to grown wet.

Your eyelids began to flutter and the opened only slightly but he could see you focus on his face. You reach up to touch his face and you are seized with pain. You press your eyes shut again and you feel your forehead constrict. Your upper lip curls with the pain.

You find yourself slowly taken back to that dark and fuzzy place where everything is slow and you can’t even lift your arms. You hear in the distance. “You can rest here. This is where you need to be right now.”

#the mandalorian x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #din dijarin fanfiction #Din Djarin & Grogu #psychic healing #Astral Travel

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darckcarnival · 2 years ago

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@valour-bound

Working together with Chris wasn't uncommon, it happened from time to time, especially with how Darck tended to check in more often as the years ticked on. She already went out of her way to go out on her own to follow leads and outbreaks, having been just as invested as others, personally involved as she was. The two worked quite well together, even so very many years ago before lives had been changed forever. And maybe that had been part of the reason why, for this particular event, he'd outright called her for the assist. After all, the woman had already been in the area near by. Was also incredibly durable, knew how to survive.

It meant that Redfield didn't need to bring anyone with him, she knew how much Chris hated putting others in danger. The less team he had to take, the less potential casualties. Especially with how little information that was had on this place. Between them, there had been nothing but monsters, infected, and left behind corpses. Blood everywhere, the scent nearly over whelming with the vampiric senses, tickling at the hunger daring to bubble up. Someone had gotten their hands on T-Veronica, whatever was left of it... Hadn't ended well. Other than the red alert and SOS, it had been silent.

Now? The result was the desperate attempt for survival in the half blown apart bunker at a far corner of the facility, fire licking up the remaining walls as it ate away at storage, spilled contents of who knows what. Bullets ripping through flesh and sinew of a mangled Tyrant, jaws unhinged and exposed teeth, greyed out eyes. Pulsating veins bulged across the scalp, down the spine. Arms discolored and burnt from it's own attacks to lead into this damned room, one large hand now nothing but bone like blades, dripping blood over steel flooring after having freshly mutated the limb to impale and throw the shorter woman, who long ran out of ammo, forced into close quarter combat. It had been treating the two combatants as if they were merely rag dolls to be thrown around or tore into. Gurgling low in it's throat, bullet holes oozing disgusting viscera across it's form.

She had crashed straight through a flaming wooden crate, and into a smoke filled corner. Coughing and huffing for breath, hearing the muffled voice of Chris shouting something in the much safer side of the room. Eyes lifted and scanning, squinting, desperate to catch glimpses. Gun fire sounded a million miles away. But she was bleeding out, pulsing in her ears while instincts clawed up the back of her skull, hair standing on end while smoke clogged the lungs.

Hungry... Fire, smoke- burning. Slows down healing. Danger here. Family here!

No, no. Darck couldn't loose it now. Keep control, while slowly forcing herself on shaking limbs to get on her hands and knees, but could barely move. Her mind practically shouting to get back up, use all that supernatural strength ever so relied upon to be used as a meat shield, to fight back, be someone who can take it. She had to take it...! GET UP, MOVE! The woman was getting so frustrated, angry, and desperation was setting in, making her instincts even worse.

Eyes caught the shape of the Tyrant once more, watching while it slowly turned and began towards Chris instead. Step by slow ominous step did the damn thing chance course. Shouting was still impossible to understand between the thundering within muffled ears, heat biting at every nerve. Seeing how their enemy had changed targets, getting ready to run for Chris- it snapped the final shred of control, sending her into a downward spiral.

Survival instinct kicked in. Nails grew longer, teeth elongated to full size, nerves pulled tight. Once hazel eyes behind purple lenses shifted, over taken by hellfire red bleeding in.

An unnatural roar echoed in the room, followed by the woman suddenly flinging herself through the fire wall separating the two sections- as if it no longer meant anything. Survive, protect, kill. That smaller body moving not unlike some unhinged monster straight out of a horror film. Jaws wide as steam exhaled.

Only for the smaller form to reach the target, leaping onto it's back, digging nails in deep. Like a raging wild beast, climbing her way up much to the surprised frustration of the Tyrant. Clawing at it's own arm when it tried to reach back at her. Once up high enough to perch at the shoulder however? The jaws opened wide, and dug into it's jugular deep and hard. Blood spurting openly once the flesh was ripped away, her head jerking back to take the chunk clean off. Spat aside as Darck's figure scrambled back off the shoulder, landing low on the floor.

Her landing spot?

Smack between Chris Redfield and Veronica Tyrant. Rising up into standing, albeit hunched. Moving in eerily smooth motions. Much more like a predator than a person. And the human behind her, was part of the pack.

#Creeper Gonna Creep :: Darck In Character #valour bound #Ever The Soldier :: valour bound #(( god I am slowly going to be better at these its been ages #(( so rare do we get monster darck ))#(( pure instinct monster is just as dangerous as calculating aware darck ))#(( I hope this is okay for you ;-; i tried to combine them. ))#(( and use what i remembered of your headcanons and how you've talked about chris. ))#(( feel free to tell me to change anything ))

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normallyxstranger · 2 years ago

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Fictober22 (@fictober-event) Day 30 — "I know what this looks like."

featuring Ree — a character from The New Ashton Chronicles, written & role-played by F.R. Southerland (@normallyxstranger | @frsoutherlandauthor | www.frsoutherland.com) © November 2022

original fiction

general warnings: violence

The street was empty. After all, it was late at night—or early morning, depending on how one looked at it. Just after three o’ clock, when this part of the world should be asleep. Quiet. No one was around to witness what she had to do.

Normally, Ree wouldn’t particularly care. After all, she’d never given much thought to what others thought of her—but Earth was far different than Scintil. Humans here, or most of them anyway, weren’t so open to magic or receptive to those with powers. Even though there was proof all around them, they seemed blind to it, or scared, unable to accept it. It was like that with so many other things in this world, too. And that made her cautious and hyper-aware that as a magical outsider, she didn’t want that sort of attention drawn to her. Best to stay out of the spotlight when she could.

But it was difficult to hunt demons while hiding your Divine-given powers. Best to do it in secret, in late nights or early mornings.

She’d tracked the demon to this alley, where it seemingly vanished on her. It hadn’t. There hadn’t really been anywhere for it to go and it couldn’t just vanish. That’s not what a lower demon like this would do. Hiding was more like it. Camouflaging itself was another option.

As she stood in the dark, dank-smelling alley, Ree peered around. Where was it hiding? She considered her options before she took in a deep breath and activated her sensing power. The familiar sensation of calm washed over her. Though she couldn’t see it, she knew the hidden tattoo on her forehead blazed to life in a faint blue glow.

And then she could sense.

There wasn’t much to it. It was probably the most innate of all her talents, the easiest to conjure though the most difficult to decipher. It was never precise. Often, it led her to where she needed to be, but without much clarity beyond that. This time, though, as she searched the alley, she knew she wouldn’t need much effort to find the demon. There weren’t many places to hide, and if it did have some chameleon-esque power—

She felt it! The sensing had her turning, eyeing the dumpster. There!

…Of course there. The stinking literal trash heap. The smell was already awful. How much worse would it be inside?

But she had to do it. She couldn’t have tracked it all this way without finishing it off.

Exhaling, she closed off her sensing power, her tattoo fading back to invisibility. Well, it looked like she was going dumpster diving for demons. Quickly, Ree pulled back her braid, twisting and securing it atop her head. From her lined coat, she chose her favorite knife—the stiletto blade with the slightly curved hilt—before she took off the long garment and draped it over a stack of fruit crates.

It was now or never.

She grasped the edge of the dumpster, the lid already opened. That should’ve been a clue to the demon’s whereabouts, but no time for hindsight. Holding her breath, Ree took a leap, and into the dumpster she went.

Yep, definitely worse.

Ree did her best not to breathe as she tossed aside garbage bags, digging around—then she froze. A sound. Claws on metal. Scraping. From the right.

She struck out, knife flying out of her hand. There was a squeal and a squawk and then silence. When Ree turned her head, she saw the creature pinned to the metal, bile and blood oozing from its torso. She waited a moment, to make sure it was as lifeless as it looked, before she moved over and withdrew the blade.

Thank the Divines that it was over. Now she could get on with hunting other demons. Worse demons. And then maybe—no, definitely—a shower.

She climbed out of the dumpster, thinking of forgetting to hunt tonight and heading back to her motel for that hot shower and a hot meal—when a gasp and an ‘oh my God!’ brought her out of her thoughts. A woman stood just a few feet away, plastic shopping bags weighing down her arms. Her eyes were wide in surprise, and probably fear. She was, after all, still holding a bloody knife.

Ree’s surprise faded away as quickly as it had come, replaced with a vague embarrassment and an overwhelming need to get out of there post haste. She wiped the dagger on her jeans then reached for her discarded jacket. She had it one in a second, the dagger carefully returned to its sheath out of sight.

“I know what this looks like. And it’s not like that.” From the incredulous look on the woman’s face, she didn’t believe a word of it. Ree couldn’t help that, so she gave her a sheepish smile, ducked her head, and walked quickly away.

Well, so much for keeping out of the spotlight.

#fictober22 #short fiction #urban fantasy #The New Ashton Chronicles #TNAC #long post; short fiction #long post #long post tw #long post //#short fiction; Ree #.Ree.#reblogs allowed & encouraged

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cavefilllingcorporation · 4 months ago

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The Scrolls, the sheep, and a new situation

It was the start of another workday, and Jannet had headed over to her station. She was… well, she wouldn’t call herself excited, but she was semi-eager to get to her post. After all, with technology like this, who wouldn’t be excited!

You see, today she was processing the doomsday scrolls. The process of processing these was fascinating, and the work was stimulating too, at least more so than carrying gold ingots to a conveyor belt.

Each scroll was brought in a crate at a time, least that an accidental detonation would destroy the rest of the merchandise. (The crew was paid handsomely to watch over this dangerous cargo.) Then the machines would break apart the scroll remotely, safely removing the magic inside, which manifested itself as a sandy/wooly residue. This took the form of some sheep demon being summoned, before the entity started spinning uncontrollably, unraveling itself into sand and wool. The leftovers would then be blown away and sorted automatically, probably using filters and/or suctions. Jannet and the others would then remotely use robotic arms to pick away at the new sand piles to find shining particles of explosive potential. These particles apparently were very special, with a single gram having the explosive power of a nuclear bomb. It would sell for a lot she knew, though she hoped that the Corporation had the care to sell them to reasonable people. Wasn’t her problem though.

The sand leftovers were still useful, even though they had nowhere near the explosive potential as the glowing orbs. Most of the explosive power clumped together, leaving the sand to be mostly inert and safe to handle. This was good, as it allowed for the forging of what was being called: “explosive glass.” When given a major impact, the glass would violently shatter. She wasn’t quite sure what use this had, but it had to have a use somehow. Finally, the new wool was basically steel wool on steroids. It was a perfect fuse, fast lighter, and more.

She was still unnerved by the fact that this came from some sort of demon sheep though… she had to wonder about that.

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When the bell sounded for lunch, she walked back, just to see Johan heading towards the direction of the bathroom. He clearly needed one, as he was coated in what she could only assume was coal dust.

“So, you got coal duty huh?”

Johan sighed. “Yep. I guess life is like that sometimes. I get to drive the big machine last time while you carry gold, and you get to mess with robot arms while I shovel coal.”

“By the way, where’s Crok?”

“In the infirmary again. There was a mix-up with who was qualified to work with the magical gear and not, and some people who weren’t qualified were assigned to deal with the ranged weapons.”

“Oh no! Did anybody get- ok, somebody got hurt obviously, but was it bad?”

“No deaths thankfully, though they got banged up quite badly. I’m sure some higher up is going to face a demotion.”

“Well, if anybody is going to patch them up, its Crok. Still though, it’s a shame that he’s not here. Anybody would be excited to see their work pay off. At least I know I would.”

“Not so sure about that. He was muttering to himself about stuff, and didn’t really look very happy. I also think he said something about something not being right with the warping eyes, though he wouldn’t elaborate.”

Right, those. The work was less involved than dealing with the doomsday scrolls, that was for sure. Instead of maintaining their warping properties, they seemed to use their magic to multiply into crystal balls, some form of purple magic ooze, and radioactive dust. The dust was sucked and condensed into rods, the ooze was drained and collected, and the orbs were collected, cleaned, and sold to whatever wizard or fortune teller would want them. Maybe they had magical properties? She wouldn’t know.

“Hmm… well, I guess we’ll just have to ask him when he gets out. In the meantime, I’m going to go get some food. You go ahead and get cleaned up.”

With that, the two parted ways, ready to refresh and get back to work.

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The Lieutenant of Arms was frustrated. She looked at the recent catalog of the items that were able to be absenced, and then looked at her computer containing the catalog of the items they had when they left the Solar Isles. Not good. After confirming what she suspected and hoped wasn’t the case, she then picked up the phone.

“Hello? Yes, get me in contact with the board. We may have a problem on our hands.”

#evil fiction corporation #fiction #short story #short fiction #heroes leauge

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casspurrjoybell-29 · 11 months ago

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Forging Ties - Chapter 37 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Hamish had gone to help out with construction of what he had already begun calling Magic Town The Second and had soon found himself trailed by a small group of mages who barely knew which end of a hammer to hold but who were very eager to please.

These were some of the first freed mages who had been sent to them.

When he finally managed to get one of them to speak more than a few words, she told him that they had been factory workers.

They'd barely even been outside before.

They didn't end up getting much work done even though the mages tried their best but it was time well spent anyway.

There was something truly magical about watching a group of people admire a butterfly for the first time.

To them, it was no less magnificent than the many pixies who inhabited the nearby trees.

Hamish had absolutely no regrets about the adventure he'd gone on but now that they were back, he wasn't itching to go on another.

There was so much to discover and appreciate right here.

Maybe that would change over months or years but for now, Hamish was content.

As the sun began to set and work finished up for the day, Hamish wandered down to where a big pot of stew was being cooked up for all of them and gathered up the food scraps into a bucket.

He had another friend to pay a visit to.

On the way back onto the ship, he passed Perry coming off, pushing his belongings on a cart with the help of the robot.

"Oh, hello," Perry said when he saw Hamish.

"Have you come to see Cookie? I think she's the only one still on board right now. I saw her in the corner of the store room when I was getting the last of my things together."

"That's the plan," Hamish said.

"Somehow I knew she would still be here, so either I'm arrogant and coincidentally correct or Kit's up for a conversation. Are you staying at The Spire, then?"

"I am," Perry's bony face didn't translate into a smile all that well but Hamish could hear it in his voice.

"I talked to Yore and he helped get me an audience with Libby and she's offered me a job in the Spire library preserving and making copies of books. There's even a room up there that I can stay in. Libby says it isn't much more than a closet with a bed on the floor but what else do I need, really?"

"You'll have to come down and visit us sometimes. We're still mostly living in tents but there are plenty of nice spots to sit and have a chat."

"I'll be sure to," Perry said.

"I'd still like to make my own records and writings. In a place like this, I'll never run out of interesting people to talk to. I hope Skye will still be willing to share his story with me. It's only become more interesting with Nim's involvement."

"He's a bit distracted with riding bears and being a courier but he seems to like you. I'm sure he'll find some time for you once he settles in."

"Hopefully," Perry said.

"Anyway, I best get these things over to The Spire. Everett's leant me his robot to help get everything up to the library but I don't want to take up too much of its time. It has a lot of duties to attend to on the ship."

"Good luck. I hope you don't have too many stairs to walk up."

Perry laughed.

"I suppose I'll find out."

Hamish picked his bucket up and headed below deck.

When he entered the storeroom, it took him a moment to spot Cookie.

She was laying on top of a large, wooden crate, tucked snuggly into a dark corner.

Hamish placed the bucket on the ground and Cookie oozed herself off the crate.

She bumbled over to the bucket, shoved one hand deep into it and pulled out a fistful of slop which she fed into her mouth.

Hamish made a face.

"Is this why you're always sticky?"

"No," Kit said as they appeared out of nowhere.

"Cookie's very clean."

"I'm not sure I believe that."

Kit shrugged.

"Believe what you want."

"So, are you planning on staying with the ship, then?"

"For now. It's an easy way to get to places that are normally difficult to get to."

"And we want to make sure the ship gets past the sea monster again even without Skye here," another voice cut in without warning, making Hamish jump.

A teenager girl with long, straight black hair and dark, almond shaped eyes sat on the edge of the crate, swinging her legs.

"Izzy, I assume?" Hamish asked.

She nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Nice to finally meet you."

Izzy's smile broadened.

"What, you don't count me sitting on a bed with you in panther form in a dream as meeting? Tch. It's all the same to me."

"If you say so," Hamish said.

"So, should I expect you back or is this just goodbye forever?"

"You think we plan that far ahead?" Kit asked.

"Maybe you'll see us next week or five years from now or never again. Who knows. We go where the wind blows."

"More literally than usual in this case, what with the sails on the ship and all," Izzy commented.

"But Kit's right. Who knows?"

"Well, I hope I see you again soon," Hamish said.

"I liked having you along on our adventure."

"Hmm, well, the feeling's not mutual," Kit commented.

"We read the thoughts of everyone around us all of the time, see through their eyes. We see some shit and we're used to that but fucking hell, Hamish. You're a visual thinker and I hate it."

Hamish stifled a laugh.

"Ah. Sorry about that."

"No you're fucking not."

"You're right, I'm not," Hamish admitted.

"Well, I hope I see you again but if I don't, it's been good. I know we have our banter but I appreciate you. Both of you and Cookie and just... everything you are."

"Ugh, sentimentality."

"We appreciate you too, Hamish," Izzy said.

Kit shot her a look.

"Look at us becoming two different people with wildly different opinions again. Good, bad, I don't know but it's something I now have to deal with like an individual. Very annoying."

"We don't have to. Nobody's making us."

Kit took a long, slow breath in and then heaved out a sigh.

"You stopped shifting once we were at the cabin. You didn't want to be a person anymore. Afterwards, when we became this hideous lump of flesh, at least we were together. You couldn't fucking leave me then, huh?"

"It was never about leaving you."

"Obviously I know that. I even knew it back then. But it's still what happened."

"I know. And I know how you feel about it. How you felt."

"Maybe that's the problem. There's not a single thing we don't know about one another anymore but that doesn't really feel like a resolution, so then we end up having an argument in front of this weirdo pervert."

Hamish held his hands out.

"What does me being a weirdo pervert have to do with any of this?" Kit shrugged.

"Nothing but you are one."

"That's fair, I guess," Hamish said.

"It seems like you two have a lot to talk about, anyway. I should probably get back to the others."

"Yeah, this is honestly an extremely energy inefficient way to work out our issues and also we could be anywhere we can imagine and I can imagine way better places than the storeroom of a ship," Izzy said.

"We'll see you around, Hamish."

"I hope so," Hamish said as Kit and Izzy blinked out of existence.

Cookie had her head stuck in the slop bucket and was wandering around, walking into walls.

Hamish almost tried to help her get it off but then he remembered that she didn't have eyes for a bucket to blind and did have hands of her own, so everything that she was doing was a choice.

An odd one but a choice all the same.

When Hamish made his way back up from the dock, he found that people had begun to gather around the bonfire in preparation for the evening meal.

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 11: Blast from the Past (Siblings)

AO3

Swinging side by side with her father was an amazing experience. Marinette tried hard to stifle her laughter, figuring Batman wouldn’t appreciate it if word got around that the newest vigilante was a giggler. He swings to the next roof and pauses, Marinette frowning as he listens to something on his comm.

“Alright. All hands on deck. Robin, you’ll stay on the roof with Ladybird.” He instructs, Marinette frowns. Was he really sticking her younger brother on babysitting duty? And why couldn’t she go wherever it is he’s going?

“What’s happening?” She asks, crossing her arms.

“There are several crates of weapons and a few dozen armed men in a warehouse a mile out from here. You and Robin are going to stay on the roof to make sure no one leaves before the police arrive.” He instructs before turning and grappling away. Marinette frowns, but follows behind him. Does he really not think that she can handle herself? And she knows this is going to cause problems with Damian. He already doesn’t like her and now he has to stay with her. She watches as he swoops down into the warehouse and she lands silently on the roof.

“I do not appreciate this.” Robin says, stepping out of the shadows with crossed arms. Although she can’t see his eyes behind his mask, Marinette knows he’s glaring at her. She just rolls her eyes.

“I don’t either. I don’t need someone watching me 24/7. I can take care of myself.” She says, and with a sudden jolt, she realizes this is the first time he’s willingly speaking to her. The first time they’re talking and it’s to argue. Lovely.

“If you had simply stayed away, then I would have been allowed to follow Father. Instead, I am being punished for your insolence.” He adds. Is he going to lecture her the entire time Batman and the others are fighting in the warehouse, she thinks, raising an eyebrow. She starts to snark back, but a shadow moving behind him pulls her attention instead. Narrowing her eyes, she watches as a figure steps out of the shadow, a gun raised at her.

“Well well well. What do we have here?” The man asks, a smirk on his face. Marinette glances at Robin, trying to see if he recognizes the voice. She doesn’t see any recognition, so she immediately catalogues the man as an unknown threat. Chances were that he was involved with the group currently fighting in the warehouse and not an actual Batman level villain. But he still had a gun, so she wouldn’t underestimate him. Robin turns to face the man and he immediately takes the gun off Marinette, pointing it instead at Robin’s head. Marinette narrows her eyes. She may not know him very well, but he was still her little brother. And she wasn’t about to let some stupid goon threaten him. Flicking her wrist, she aims her yoyo at the man’s gun, smirking as she manages to yank it from his grasp. She catches the gun as it flies back with her yoyo, holding it carefully and trying to ignore the internal panic. She’d never held a gun before, never wanted to or had a reason to. And she really didn’t want to hold it now, but she didn’t want the man to know that she was scared of the gun, because that would give him an advantage. She just grins at the dumbfounded look on the man’s face, his shock enough so that Robin was able to knock him down without a fight. He pulls a zip tie out of his utility belt and ties the man’s hands together.

“Well that was disappointing. I was hoping for more of a fight.” Marinette teases, hoping that the tension between her and Robin would break. She watches as his lips purse slightly, not sure what the expression meant.

“I hardly think one buffoon with a gun would be much of a fight for either of us.” He finally says, and her eyes light up. Success!

“But if it was the right foe, they could surely take you down.” A new voice says, and this time Marinette can practically feel the tension rolling off of Robin.

“Slade.” He says, obviously tensing for a fight.

“Damian. I wasn’t aware you were in possession of a Miraculous.” The man, Slade, says, turning towards her. Marinette stiffens, uncomfortable by both his words and the fact that she can’t see the man’s face because of his costume.

“I’m not in possession of anything.” He says, his jaw clenched. Marinette shifts into a defensive position, desperately wishing that she had a comm. Surely the rest of the family had heard this man’s intrusion through Robin. But she wished she could hear them. Whether it was giving information about the man or reassurance that the rest of them would be there soon, she wanted to hear them.

“Tell me, little girl, how did you stumble upon one of the most powerful pieces of magic in the universe? And why haven’t I met you before?” He asks, stepping towards them. Glaring at the man, Marinette steps forward so that she’s standing in line with Robin, unwilling to cower behind her brother.

“I don’t think we run in the same circles. And I assure you, I didn’t stumble across anything. I was chosen to wield this Miraculous.” She says, shoving false confidence in her tone when all she wanted was to grab Robin and run. Slade oozed a sense of wrongness and danger. Not a combination she wanted anywhere near her or her family.

“Mmm. Perhaps not. But we’ll never know, will we. I’m going to have to ask you for that Miraculous now, dear.” He says, her eyes narrow.

“I’m not sure if that’s worked for you in the past, but it’s not going to work today. You’re not the first creep in a mask asking for my Miraculous.” She snarks, hand twitching as she analyzes him and tries to come up with a plan. Without any warning, he lunges towards them, a sword suddenly in his grasp. Marinette jumps back, going on the defense as Robin lunges forward with his own katana. Marinette flits around both of them, throwing her yoyo at Slade every time he got too close to Robin. It was obvious the man was well trained, and it was also obvious that he had little patience for the two.

“You’ve improved, but you’re still not good enough.” He hisses, lunging towards Robin, his sword aimed at the boy’s chest. Marinette lunges towards them, shoving Robin out of the way. She shrieks in pain as Slade slides his sword into her shoulder. She can’t see the man’s face, but she can just imagine his smirk. He puts his other hand on his sword, and she just knows he’s going to twist. She can’t let that happen. So instead, she jerks back, screaming as she pulls herself off the sword. Robin launches himself at Slade once again, furiously slashing at the man. Slade lifts his sword up and Marinette flicks out her yoyo, grunting in pain as she irritates her shoulder. But she’s able to wrap her yoyo around the man’s wrist. Smirking, she tugs roughly, pulling the man off balance enough so that Robin can disarm him. Just as she lets her shoulders relax, Slade yanks his arm, tugging her to him. She yelps in pain as he wraps her into a chokehold. Staring at Robin, she tries not to panic. They’re gonna come for them, right? The rest of her family? Surely they’ve beaten those goons by now. They definitely heard the problem on the roof through Robin’s comm, right?

“Unhand her.” Robin says, shifting his position now that he has two swords.

“I don’t think I will. Not for free, anyway. You want her alive for some reason.” Slade says, tightening his hold. Marinette lets out a choked breath, desperately trying to pull in enough oxygen.

“What do you want?” Robin asks, Marinette tries to shake her head, already guessing what the man wants. She’d rather die than give some psycho the power of Tikki. Not only could he destroy the world, but Paris would also be lost without the Miraculous Cure.

“Her earrings. Let me take them, and I’ll let her live….this time.” He says.

“No….don’t...not..worth it.” Marinette manages to say, just barely able to shake her head. She gags as Slade tightens his grip again, black spots dotting her vision.

“Ladybird-” Robin says, and Marinette is certain she’s hallucinating now. Because he almost sounds pained.

“Don’t.” She begs, fighting to stay conscious. As she watches him, she sees a smirk make its way onto his face. That’s good. Good. Smirking brother means….what does it mean? She’s not sure. All she knows is that suddenly, the pressure on her neck is gone. She falls to her knees, gasping for breath and wincing at the burning in her shoulder. Too much. Too much all at once. A hand on her good shoulder shakes her from her thoughts and she weakly hits at it.

“Ladybird, it’s me.” A voice says. She blinks, opening her eyes, wincing at the pain enveloping her. Looking closer at the figure, she sighs in relief, letting herself slump down. She’s safe. Arms pick her up gently and she smiles softly, tiredness hitting her as the adrenaline finally fades. Curling in closer, she mumbles into Batman’s chest.

“Thanks dad.”

---

Bruce Wayne was pissed. And the only person who could piss him off so much was himself. He’d left Damian and Marinette on the roof alone because he thought they’d be safer. He didn’t think the two would be able to get into any trouble up there. Of course he would be wrong. Of course Slade Wilson would choose tonight to come after Damian. And of course the man just had to know about the Miraculous.

Hearing his daughter’s pained screams over his son’s comm would haunt his nightmares. It’d likely become the unholy symphony over the images of Jason’s broken body and Damian’s limp form. Images that’d haunted him for years and would continue to do so until he dies. When he was young, his nightmares were just of his parents. But he had seen things much worse since becoming a father. And now he’d heard much worse. Shaking his head, he tries hard to hold onto the one bright part of the evening.

Marinette had called him dad.

It was the first time she’d called him anything other than ‘Mr. Wayne’. His heart warmed at the thought, but everything came crashing down again when he remembered. Slade Wilson was gone. He’d managed to get away while his focus was on Marinette’s wellbeing. Which means his daughter was now in even more danger. Damian had informed him of the man’s obsession with the Miraculous. It was something they’d need to talk about, but not tonight. After she passed out in his arms, he brought her back to the manor. Alfred stitched her shoulder, and Bruce brought her to her room. It wasn’t decorated yet, but he’d made sure to pick out a room for her after finding out about her. Even if she didn’t want anything to do with them after this, she’d always have a room here.

Sighing, Bruce sticks his head into Marinette’s room, just to reassure himself that she was there. That she was safe. It was something he did with each of his kids, every time they were injured. Every time he was afraid that he would lose them. The sight in front of him makes him pause and pull out his phone to take a picture. They might be mad at him for it later, but he’d curse himself forever if he let this moment slip away. All of his children were piled in Marinette’s room. The girl herself was on the bed, curled into a ball despite her injured shoulder. At the foot of her bed was Damian, his face peaceful for once. Jason, Dick and Tim were all in a pile on the floor, pillows and blankets scattered both beneath them and on top of them. They were an impossibly tangled pile of limbs, guarding their youngest sister. He smiles softly, eyes finally falling on Cass curled up in an armchair that she must’ve pulled next to Marinette’s bed. Satisfied that all were well, Bruce shuts the door gently, not wanting to risk waking any of them.

His children were together, and safe. For now.

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @imarivers8

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dashielldeveron · 4 years ago

Text

and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo

hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.

summary: “You’re suffering from amnesia,” says Hawks to you, in your hospital bed.

No, you are not.

“We’re engaged to be married.”

No, you are not.

After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?

fluff/trickery??? completely avoidable angst, bc reader is a little shit. hawks is a scumbag bully at first. reader is honestly kind of violent. dealing with acne in a scene.

When the first things you saw after groggily blinking your eyes open were multiple IVs in the back of your hand, you flipped over and snuggled farther into your hospital bed to deal with it later, but against your will you were forced to lie flat on your back to stare into the hospital fluorescents.

When the nurse fiddling with your IVs came into focus, he said, “You need to lie on your back. You have deep gashes on your lower abdomen, and tossing about too much could open the stitches.”

That sounded like bullshit, but you were too out of it to care. “Yeah, okay,” you said through a croak, “Oh, fuck.” You wrestled a hand to your throat, massaging it. “Am I waking up from a coma? Don’t let anyone see me until I’ve done my eyebrows.”

The nurse laughed through his nose. “No, don’t worry. You’ve barely been—” He cut himself off and frowned. “The news should probably be broken to you when you have emotional support. I’ll be back soon.”

He left.

Emotional support? Wouldn’t that fucking gash on your stomach be—ooh, ouch, don’t move.

Where’s your phone? Where’s your goddamn phone; where’s any of your personal belongings? If they got crushed, you’re killing Hawks on sight.

Hawks, oh, my God. Where is he? He’s dead. If he still has the audacity to bully you professionally—fuck.

He’d cornered you on patrol earlier—whenever that was—and cut into you in that casually, negging-type way that wasn’t enough to report but enough to make you stay up late and freak out about being good enough. It hurt your chest whenever you thought about it.

But this was the first time he’d gotten seriously physical.

He’d alit on the top of the warehouse next to you, landing what would have been haphazardly for anyone else (the arch of his feet against the edge, his toes barely touching roof) and had crouched next to you, his scarlet wings completely blowing your cover as they stretched and shuddered.

“What’s a little girl like you doing in this part of town?” Hawks had propped his chin on both his fists. “Thought shoplifters were more your calibre.”

“Hawks, this is actually really important to me, so please, please leave,” you’d said, keeping your eyes on the group you could barely make out through the skylight. They’d already been partially concealed by crates, so they were hard to see.

“Someone else give you a tip for their location?” He’d tapped your opposite shoulder with the end of his wing, but you hadn’t even flinched.

“Bruh, you know I’ve been on this for weeks,” you’d said, shifting away from him, “I even shared intel at your last briefing.”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Hawks had scratched his chin. “I zoned out. Usually the little cases female heroes present aren’t in my circle, and I like to unwind when brain power isn’t needed.”

You’d planned to rip his wings out feather by feather while you’d gritted your teeth. “You can’t talk to me like that, Hawks.”

He’d laughed, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “C’mon, babygirl, have a slice of chill, won’t you? I thought you were one of the cool girls. Relax. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Leave me alone, Hawks. You’re not gonna bully me into joining your agency. You’re not gonna bully me into quitting being a hero,” you’d said, inwardly screaming, “I’d tell you to go talk to someone who’d fall for your shit, but then, she’d have to suffer, too. So, fuck off into a sewer, jackass.”

“Oof,” Hawks had said, placing a hand over his heart and shaking his head, “You don’t have to be such a bitch, sweetheart. I’m only looking for my better half. Didn’t think it could be you, but I’d thought I’d give you a chance to prove me wrong. Don’t take yourself too seriously; just be along for the ride like the rest of us.”

“Huh,” you had said, and you’d stood and strode to the edge of the warehouse to your harness and rope, and you rappelled down the side of it as stealthily as you came up.

“I’ve been watching you all these years, sweetness, and I know you by now; I know how you really feel,” Hawks had said a bit too loudly while he flew downwards at your speed (braggart). “Strip away all of your busy work, your so-called hero trappings, and we’d mesh together just fine. We may be rough around the edges, but we clean up really nicely, don’t we?”

You’d unclipped your carabiner and stepped out of your harness, stashing it in your pack. “Fuck off.”

You’d moved towards the back entrance, but Hawks had slammed a hand against the concrete wall in front of you. You’d ducked under it and carried on, and he’d grabbed the back of your shirt.

“C’mon, if we didn’t know each other, and our eyes met from across the room at some hero gala, you’d be all over me, wouldn’t you?”

You had swiped his hand away. “I’d be putting a lid on my drink.”

His arms behind his back, Hawks had followed you through the door and behind the exposed pipes and closer to your targets. “Saw you coming onto Todoroki at the last one. You looked fine in his colours, but you would’ve looked better in mine.”

Don’t grace him with an answer; don’t grace him with an ans— “I wasn’t coming onto Shoto,” you’d said, pulling yourself up a couple of pipes for a better view—and you’d hit him when he flapped his wings to hover the few feet you’d ascended, because the noise might alert them.

“Yeah, you just simp for him, right? Then you didn’t step outside your comfortable ice queen act?” Hawks had gripped onto a pipe just underneath your ass. “You’re too much of a natural tease for that.”

How can you report him when he’s the head of his own agency? You guess the commission might listen, but what can they do besides slap his wrist? There’s really no one who can stop him, is there?

You hadn’t replied but instead crawled onto the iron catwalk. If you could position yourself about three-quarters of the way across, you’d be able to effectively activate your quirk and get this over with—wait, why would you think like that? You’d been waiting for this for ages.

A hand spreading across the small of your back had reminded you.

You’d flipped over with fire in your eyes and kicked him away as quietly as you could, but all he’d done was sit back on his knees to grin down at you, army-crawling your way through a dirty warehouse.

Would he take credit for your work again?

You’d shaken yourself. Eat my entire ass, Hawks. And with that, you’d continued inching towards your targets. When you’d gotten into position to watch them, Hawks had merely watched you.

You had scowled. “I’m gonna tear you a—”

“You had a hard childhood, didn’t you?”

A chill had unfurled up your spine, simple as that. Hawks now not only had the annoying air of an arrogant pick-up artist but also gave you an intense sense of danger. You’d moved away from him, regrettably away from your target, but Hawks had followed you, getting closer until his body heat had seeped into yours, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his dumb face.

“I could take suuuuch good care of you, little girl,” he’d said under his breath, “if only you’d let me. No one else is crazy enough to call me out or want more than the bare minimum.” His wings had folded in on his back, making themselves as small as possible to get closer to you. “If you give in, tell me yes, say please, you wouldn’t have to let any worries cross your pretty little mind. All you have to do is let me in.”

“Yikes,” you had said, sucking in through your teeth, “God, you’re a creep.”

Hawks had slammed you down onto the catwalk, iron reverberating through the warehouse as it struck your head, and your targets had looked up by the time the catwalk hinges had loosened and had come crashing down in the midst of their meeting.

You’re really not supposed to shoot guns inside. Don’t they know that’ll ruin their ears? No matter, really. You had fought them anyway, amidst crates splintering open from whatever they were shooting at you—fuck, that was a big hole. What’s oozing out of that? Gross, don’t step in it.

One with a normal revolver—his arm had given a woody crack when you’d bent it backwards—God, that was nice. Good sounds. If you could sample them into a rap track, you would.

You’d been planning a collab with a popular rapper while you’d hurled yourself at another villain, sawdust flying—just to keep your mind busy, really, but fucking—fucking Hawks had bested whoever he’d half-assed to the ground and had shouted your way.

“C’mere, you little shit—”

He’d scooped you up while you’d been taking care of it by yourself, and he had pinned you down behind a stack of crates that reached the remains of the catwalk, straddling you but keeping most of his weight off, his wings outstretched yet still hidden from the cloud of sawdust rising with deep gurgling on the far side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he’d said over the chaos, spit flying, “You can’t handle this; you’re gonna get fucking killed. I can’t babysit you all the time.”

“Get fucked; I’m the number fourteen hero,” you’d said, deadly still, but twitching in fury, “I can handle anyth—”

“Aww, fourteen. And one day babygirl might reach the single digits.” Hawks had sneered in your face. “If she manages to fuck her way through them.”

Your jaw had dropped, and you pretended to cough on sawdust and kicked him off in the confusion. Hawks had grabbed a hold of your calf, grappling for your thigh, while you’d scrambled to climb over crates to the gurgling mess on the other side; you could handle it, and you would.

You’d slapped his hands away, wrestled out of his grasp again and again, and you’d launched yourself into the dust—

Yeah.

While the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, you picked at a hangnail. You hadn’t braced yourself for the explosion, so, you guessed you deserved whatever was wrong with you now. Big-ass gashes on your stomach. Probably broken ribs. Something felt off in your left leg, besides—oh, ho, what had the doctors thought when they’d seen Hawks’s scratches?

What an idiot.

When the door creaked open, the nurse returned with a mug of water for you, but—what? Who’s that bitch following him?

You blinked, twice. With his hands in his pockets and his nasty little wings tucked in behind him, Hawks meandered to your bedside, his gaze on your throat as you swallowed down water.

God, you’re too tired to deal with him. Let’s get this over with.

The nurse glanced over his clipboard. “I’ve already told your partner this, but I thought you would want him here.”

Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.

“You were very brave today,” said the nurse, “Your work as a hero is greatly appreciated. You’re on temporary leave to heal, though. Like I said, you’ve got three, major gashes on your stomach, and your leg’s broken—the fibula split, if you want to know. You’ll be on crutches for a while. You have four broken ribs, and—” The nurse bit his lip and softened his voice. “You hit your head pretty hard. Nothing’s broken, but you should have amnesia, with the trauma you’ve endured.”

Should have? They don’t know? You sure as hell don’t fucking have amnesia. It barely happens in real life, and it definitely hasn’t happened to you. You remembered every fucking infuriating thing Hawks did to ruin your mission, and if he doesn’t square up—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” said Hawks, grabbing your hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, and then he took his glove off to hold you skin-to-skin. “You remember who I am?”

You just stared at him.

“Your fiancé’s been a real presence in the waiting room,” said the nurse, “He hardly stopped pacing the entire time you were in surgery. He wouldn’t even talk to fans.”

Oh, my God.

Holy fucking shit.

“Oops, sorry,” said the nurse, covering his mouth, “I know you were keeping it a secret. Don’t blame him, please; he only told me to be able to see you immediately.”

Shutting your eyes, you took a deep, deep breath. You have been handed a golden opportunity on a fucking Hawks-shaped platter, holy fuck, and by God are you going to take advantage of it. Imagine how much you can fucking humiliate him, how far you can take it. How much you can make him pay for how he treated you, and now, if he says he’s your fiancé, then he’s gonna fucking worship you. You’re going to mould him into your little bitch, and he’s going to thank you for it. And you’ll get endless dirt on him just by seeing his place.

Don’t fuck this up.

Exhaling, you opened your eyes, blinking a bit. You curled your lips into your mouth, biting the lower one. “I remember you’re Hawks,” you said in a nervous voice, “and I remember, uh.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” Hawks squeezed your hand, his tone kind. “It’ll come back in time.”

You clutched Hawks’s hand while the nurse rattled off instructions and gave you your crutches, and Hawks squeezed your hand back, softly smiling at you.

When the nurse left, you turned to Hawks and said, “I’m so, so sorry, but I—I feel like there’s something big missing that I can’t remember.” You scratched your forehead with your free hand, dragging the IVs with you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawks tilted his head, still gazing decidedly down at you.

“Oh, God,” you said, “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. Um.” Take it back. Take it way back. That way he’ll dig himself into a deeper hole. The more lies he has to create, the funnier it’ll be. “Let’s see, I, hm.” You already weren’t speaking like yourself, but you looked upward as you faked combing through memories. “I don’t know how things work chronologically, but the most recent memory I have of you is—it’s after a press conference, and I’ve never been in the building before,” you said slowly, “And I can’t find the bathroom, but some press keeps following me, and I—I faceplant in between your shoulder blades, right between your wings. You—” You lowered your voice, shrinking a little in the hospital bed, “You got rid of them so easily, with just a gesture, and you put your arm around me. You were—” You shook your head, staring at both of your hands. “—so warm.”

Was that too thick? That was too thick, wasn’t it?

His free hand shot to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle. “But sweetheart, that’s,” said Hawks, his eyes watering, “That’s only around the third time we met.”

You know.

“Shit,” you said, widening your eyes, “How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” Hawks squeezed your hand and kept the pressure longer than was necessary. “Three fucking years. You don’t remember anything past that?”

You pretended to be scared to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, you don’t have to be,” said Hawks, and he leant towards you to lift your chin, rubbing his thumb against it, “It’s not your fault.”

You had to hand it to him: Hawks was a good actor.

But so were you.

***

Hawks disappeared for a while after that, but he manifested the day you were loosed from the hospital, more than giddy to carry all of your shit all the way to your flat. He was probably getting some sick pleasure from watching you hobble on your crutches.

“I can help you, if you lean on me,” said Hawks, giving you an easy grin, “I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you have to.”

“This is something I should do myself,” you said in what was hopefully a tough-it-out voice, “I’d like to be able to walk without depending on anyone.”

“I honestly think you ought to be in a wheelchair.” His wings bristled. “But what do I know? I could fly us to your place, if you like.”

“I don’t like. I’ve gotta concentrate on limping. Stop talking, Hawks.”

You got to your flat, and Hawks had guessed which key opened the door on the first try. Drat! He was already doing a good job of acting like he’d been here before, like he’s not surprised that the number fourteen hero lives in a pretty shitty apartment (you started living here as a student and got too damn comfortable for your own good—plus, you didn’t want your cat to endure the trauma of moving).

Hawks plopped your keys in the bowl by the door with a clatter, and he shut the front door behind you, flipping one of the locks.

He set your stuff neatly on the kitchen table—your purse, your tactical pack, your ropes—and lay your dry-cleaned hero suit over the back of a kitchen chair, and his hands were on you the next moment to guide you to your tacky, sunflower couch. Removing one crutch, he put your arm over his shoulder instead, one hand planted on your lower back above your bandages, and he eased you down onto the cushions.

Hawks then stepped over your legs to sit on your opposite side, and he brought your legs to rest in his lap, his hand gripping your non-casted leg. “Gotta keep it elevated, chickadee.”

You let yourself giggle. Time to get this shitshow started. “Thank you so much for helping me, Hawks; I know I’ve been a real hassle these past few days, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of stress. You’re already under so much. I don’t understand how the commission would let you date anyone, let alone propose.”

“Oh, I know,” said Hawks, spreading himself out on the couch. He shifted himself to face you in addition to accommodate his wings—he was now positioned so that they’d drape over the arm of the couch instead of being squished against the back cushions. That bitch, he probably wasn’t used to couches that weren’t custom made to his special body requirements. Spoiled fuck.

“The commission was really pissed when they found out. Do you remember how, sweetness? Right, I’ll tell you,” said Hawks, running an ungloved hand through his hair before shaking it loose. “You remember up to the press conference with the faceplant. Short version is that you hated me for a good year before something clicked. You started acting awkward whenever I was around, avoiding me, and stuff. Sometimes getting red. I thought it was cute.”

You ducked your head. Flustered. He probably likes easily flustered women.

Wait. That’s not who you are. And he’d like you for who you are, if you’re engaged.

But at the same time, if you’re (gag) in love with him, wouldn’t you be flustered by some of the things he says?

Easy, baby. Take it as it comes. Pick your battles. Go with your gut.

And gut says make Hawks eat shit.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I know you’re cute.”

You’re going to stuff his own feathers down his throat.

“We got together at that dinner Endeavor’s agency sponsored. Do you remember that at all? That place with the purple lights. You’d gotten nervous from the crowd and had gone to take some of your anxiety meds. I caught you in the hall back from the bathroom and talked you down before going back out there.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d like to say I’m the one who kissed you, but you took initiative before I had the guts.”

Funny. Hilarious, in fact. That was the night Hawks had solidified himself as the Biggest Dick in the World, because yeah, he’d caught you in the purple-lit hallway, but he’d caught you on the way to take your meds, not on the way back. You were talking yourself down from a panic attack and couldn’t argue him away, so he’d followed you into the bathroom, running his mouth and acting like it was an accident when the tip of his wing had knocked your two capsules down the sink.

He’d told you that if you’re a big girl, you’d be able to handle the rest of the night. Or you could leave at any time with him, and he’d make excuses that everyone would have to accept.

Honestly, you’d love to let his fake memory be true, because then, you’d be able to wear purple again without feeling queasy.

Cocking your head, you smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

Hawks let out a light laugh, craning his neck to rest his head on the back of the sofa. “That’s what you said that night, too. About how it felt out of character.”

“Was I good?”

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at you: probably the first genuine emotion he’s shown you the whole time he’s been here. “Hm?”

“When I kissed you. Was it good,” you asked flatly.

“Oh,” Hawks said, his wings puffing out just barely, “Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Groundbreaking. Show-stopping.” His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he shifted underneath your legs, leaning slightly towards you but holding eye contact before carrying on.

You shook your head. “I don’t have the energy to give you the makeout session you deserve,” you said, envisioning drowning him in the bathtub, “I’m exhausted. Forgive me.”

“Always,” said Hawks, “Want me to keep going?”

“You can hardly eat me out when we haven’t kissed yet.”

“I meant,” said Hawks, pausing to visibly swallow (was it real?), “about our relationship, but if you wanna eat—”

“Nah, keep going. So, I started the relationship? I must be crazy. Neither of us have fucking time to sleep, let alone be in a relationship.”

Hawks never shut up about how he was taking time out of his endlessly packed days to spend time with you, how time was precious to him, and if he’s spending time with you, why, then, you’d better pay up, bitch (always accompanied with his hands on his belt, subtly pointing his thumbs towards his cock).

Hawks shrugged with his wings instead of his shoulders. Interesting. Has he ever done that before? “The commission said that, but after I insisted we’d make time, they relented. Eventually,” said Hawks, jerking his head to the side, “Our quirks don’t exactly fit well, so we haven’t worked with each other professionally too often, and, of course, we’ve had to hide our relationship so that we can’t be a public weak spot to each other. Plus, we’re more marketable as eligible, young heroes.”

“Fuck the market,” you said, slumping into the pillows.

“There’s my girl,” said Hawks, grinning with his tongue caught between his teeth, “There’s her spark. I know, baby. I feel the same way, but being made into libidinous body pillows pays the bills, y’know?”

Nodding, you brought one of the couch pillows around for you to hug, and you smushed your chin into it. “Hawks,” you said, so quietly you almost couldn’t be heard over the A/C kicking on, “How long have we been engaged?”

“Four months,” he said, his grin unconsciously fading until he was essentially baring his teeth, “Since the twentieth.”

Taking a moment, you said, “I can’t remember anything at all.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”

“No, I can’t—” You slid your hands through your hair, pulling at it, and you heaved a sigh. “Goddammit, Hawks. I wish I could—fuck. I’m missing something huge. I know I am.” Make him nervous. Make him lie awake at night. “I’m sorry, Hawks. It’s probably something really important, and I—”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, it’s all right,” said Hawks, and he stood to lean over you, his hands rising to cup your face, and holy shit, his hands cover so much of your skin; is that legal? He’s got hands. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve had a big day. Turn your brain off. I’ll take care of you.”

Red flag! Big, red flag! Creep! He’s a creep!

Your gaze fell to his jacket pockets. Does he carry date rape drugs on his person?

“Hawks, I don’t wanna inconvenience you any more than I have.”

“I’m your fiancé,” said Hawks, actually looking you straight in the eyes and not breaking, “I want to take care of you.”

“Sure, in the way the mob takes care of people.”

Hawks’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed.

Cover it up. “I’m not sorry. I don’t trust your cooking. You’ll poison my spaghetti!” You made a dumb gesture, pinching your fingers together. “Have you seen The Godfather? There’s actually a pretty legit spaghetti recipe in it; it’s not too bad, but it’s kind of watery—”

Hawks brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and let his lips linger. “Watch it with me?”

You shook your head. “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you.”

“No,” you said, “My bed’s not made with your wings in mind.” Fuck off to your own little sex next, Hawks. Get out of here. “If they got hurt, it’d be my fault. Go sleep in your own bed, all right?” Go home. Get mugged on the way.

Hawks sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “If you insist. But you’ve gotta reach out to me for anything you have trouble with, yeah? Memories, opening jars, orgasms, you know.”

“I’m leaving,” you said, reaching for your crutches, “Ten minutes ago.”

***

“You didn’t tell me how you proposed.”

Hawks froze mid-bite of his ramen, but after a quick beat, he slurped the rest of the noodle up. “I was hoping you’d recall that on your own, baby. Get your own feelings about it, instead of me telling you how to feel.”

If you weren’t faking amnesia, you’d fucking break his nose for that. Bastard.

“I imagine once you tell me, the feelings will rush in,” you said, clicking your chopsticks twice for emphasis, “I want to remember everything, and if I don’t, well, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Hawks’s gaze glazed over for an infinitesimal moment. Score.

“It’ll sound goofy once I describe it.” With his wings cramped against the back of the booth, Hawks scratched the back of his neck—a classic move for pretending to be embarrassed. “I’m not exactly known for being romantic.”

Yeah, he’s known for fooling around with anyone who’s glittery, like a goddamn crow. If you’re paying attention.

“Aw, but Hawks, you’ve been nothing but so effortlessly romantic to me since I’ve been convalescing,” you said, rolling up the paper wrapper of your straw and soaking it in the ring your cup left on the table.

“Right, well. I flew us out to the countryside, to this overlook halfway up a mountain. You liked going rappelling there a lot. To practise for missions.” Hawks had some of your habits down, at least. Bet he gets the location wrong, though. “We watched the sunrise. We shared a thermos of tea. I asked you once the sun had risen, but you didn’t say yes right away,” said Hawks, “You jumped off the overlook without your gear, and I caught you. You were furious about it—you didn’t want me to see you overwhelmed. But you said yes.”

Ugh. That sounded about right. That sounded pretty realistic. Hawks was a fucking stalker.

“Fuck,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “That’s cute.” You stretched the skin of your cheeks before releasing, and you returned to your ramen. “Question: did we put the ring into storage, or something? I don’t have the little indent on my ring finger from wearing a ring too long, and I haven’t found anything at home.” Make him sweat. Make him stumble. Where’s the ring, Hawks?

With a flash of his eyebrows, Hawks maneuvered his straw to his mouth using only his lips, looking quite stupid, in your opinion. “Figured you’d ask that at some point. I’m so overjoyed to see you every time that I forget to bring it up. The ring’s been sent off to a high-level, government-backed, support company. I’ve pulled in a favour from the higher-ups. I wanted to turn your ring into something a little more personal and incorporate one of my feathers into it,” said Hawks, taking a moment to slurp his drink noisily, “Depending on how well it goes, I’d be able to help you if we’re separated and know where you are. At the very least—” Hawks ducked his head to give the illusion of staring up at you with wide eyes, his blond eyelashes light against his skin. “—I’d be able to feel your heartbeat. It would bring me great comfort.”

Great, so he’d have a GPS on you at all times, knowing whether or not you went somewhere he didn’t want you to. He’d be able to tell if you went somewhere your non-amnesia self would know about. Great. Phenomenal.

“Hawks, that’s very sweet,” you said, fiddling with the remnants of your straw wrapper, now fizzled out of its snake shape, “Wouldn’t the process hurt you, though? Since you can feel it.”

“Nothing more than a twinge, sweetheart,” said Hawks, holding up his hands, “And I’d bear any amount of pain for your sake.”

You fantasised about beating his head in with the back end of a rifle.

***

When you were told Hawks was waiting for you outside of the recording booth, you told the messenger that Hawks could wait until you were finished with five more takes. You could picture Hawks’s little pout at the news, his feathers bristling despite the closed space, and resigning himself to sit in one of those clangy, metal chairs out front, having to hunch forward so that he didn’t crush his wings.

The idol group adored the ingenuity of bone-crunching as percussion in a song, and along with that and some other combat foley, you were singing the bridge with the rapper of the group (the dance captain would sing your part for live shows). It’d be a good promo for the girl group and for you, and the song, “Spine,” was going to be released as a single as soon as it was polished.

Hawks perked up the moment you stepped through the secondary door to the booth, his eyes brightening and wings spreading to take up more space. “I didn’t think I’d catch you,” said Hawks, standing to take your hands (the cold leather gloves sucked the heat out of your hands), “I’ve got to fly, soon, but I wanted to tell you personally.”

“You’re not pregnant,” you said, fighting the urge to break his goggles/visor/hat thing.

His lopsided grin widened. “Not yet, baby. There’s gonna be a heroes’ gala held at the end of the month, and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing everything in my power to make it a positive experience for you. Here, I’ve got this woman’s phone number,” he said, fishing a slip of paper out of his jacket, “She’ll help accommodate the venue for your leg.”

Stupid fucking bastard man. He probably wanted to pick out your clothes himself, infantilise you and dress you up like a goddamn doll. Deny you your personhood. “I’ll be out of the cast by then.” You slid the paper into your back pocket.

“I know,” Hawks said in a way that was a fucking lie, “I just don’t want there to be any accidents. I can’t have my babygirl any more hurt than she is.” Hawks placed his cold, gloved hand against your cheek, and you, shutting your eyes, made yourself lean into it. “But contact her. She’ll make it the safest place it can be for you, even when I have to leave your side.”

God, galas were great. Big events for villains to ruin. You licked your lips thinking about using a new move you’ve learnt to take a villain down (involving clamping your legs around the villain’s neck to choke him as he crumpled to the floor—your combat coach had banned you from the move after you made her pass out). “Are we announcing our engagement, then? If we’re going together?”

“I’d love to,” said Hawks, “but only if you want to. The ring could be ready by then, if I ask them to rush it—”

“Let’s do it.” If you plunged the ring into icy water, would he start to shiver? Ooh, your ring’s going to act as a fucking bay leaf in your soups for a while.

“Oh,” said Hawks, sighing lightly with his eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his forehead to yours and rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetheart. You are so dear to me, and I want everyone to know it. The best damn thing in my life. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, placing your hand on his face to push him away, “Don’t you have work to do, screw boy?”

***

“Did we have a date?” you asked from the edge of the bathtub.

Hawks dipped the razor in the water, washing off the hair and shaving cream. “We’ve gone on so many, darling; you’ll have to specify.”

“No, I meant for the wedding.” Let’s once again play: Can Hawks Cover His Own Ass?

Hawks dragged the razor down your freshly exfoliated, freshly-un-casted, freshly not-broken leg, starting at your knee. “Nope!”

“No explanation?”

“You wanna get married tomorrow? A six-month engagement is rather short, don’t you think?” His nose twitched. He’d said the scent of your shaving cream irritated his nose. Good.

“I don’t. Why didn’t we have a date for the wedding?” You eyed the actual and literal pile of your dead skin on the towel. Maybe you should make Hawks snort it.

“We were too busy working; you’d said you didn’t mind having a long engagement, so long as I was yours. Then, uh, you know. The accident,” Hawks said with a shrug—with his shoulders this time, because if he moved his wings while he was crouched in your bathtub, he’d soak them, and they were a bitch to dry, apparently. Suffer, you rat bastard.

“The commission isn’t involved in that decision?”

“I thought that was implied,” said Hawks, gripping your ankle to turn your calf to the side, “They don’t want it to be a huge spectacle, so even I don’t know how much of a wedding wedding they’d let us have.”

He’s too damn good at this. If he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d fit right along in a theatre troupe.

You’re going to wring his neck.

You caught him staring at the crotch of your underwear (bone-dry, you might add) while he shaved your thighs, and he spent more time rubbing lotion into your inner thighs than anywhere else. He tossed your dead skin before you could make him eat it, and he scooped you up against your protestations about your weight and capability, humming while he carried you to your bed.

The fucker tucked you in and rounded up your cat to place in your arms (your cat disagreed with him and promptly leapt off the bed).

“Let me stay with you,” said Hawks, kissing each of your fingertips. It’s an order.

Yet you shook your head.

***

“The doctors said you shouldn’t drink,” Hawks said under his breath, taking the champagne flute gently from your grasp.

“But I want to,” you said, sticking out your lower lip, “I’m wearing goddamn heels and a fucking dress. I’ve got on makeup, for Christ’s sake. I’ve done my time; let me drink.”

“Baby, you’ve got to stay safe,” he said, and he set the glass next to some 40s-level hero’s place at the long, white tablecloth. “There’s already press paying more attention to us than usual. You wanna make a fool of yourself?”

“Yes,” you said, lifting another champagne flute from a passing gala waiter, “Who gives a shit about the press.”

Hawks laughed too loudly to be natural before lowering his voice. “Baby, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

***

When “Spine” was released on a cool, spring morning to an excitable audience, you were lurking in alleyways by the docks, searching for a fight. When the music video dropped, you were smashing some guy’s face into a concrete wall. While more and more citizens recognised you and your talent, your work for the community, your connections, your popularity—with your rank steadily rising—you were rappelling down a port sewer to pummel a slime villain into dust.

You wiped his blood off on your pants, hands devoid of anything that could taint. You’d left the ring at home.

***

“You tricked me,” you said, scowling as Hawks pushed you forward, “This isn’t the rock climbing park.”

Once you deliberately smashed your face into the glass door and crossed your arms, Hawks held the door open for you. “Would you have dressed up so nicely for rock climbing?”

“A meta-game challenge,” you said, “to rock-climb in a long skirt.”

You glowered about the restaurant while you and Hawks stood in the lobby, his hand low on your back, suspiciously respectfully. You made no effort to hide your distaste: it was the place with the purple lights.

Over there at the absurdly long bar, Endeavor had drunk flat whisky without so much of a growl at anyone, despite it being his event. Hexagonal tables with lilac tablecloths dotted the floor—you’d hidden in one of the few booths, up against the exposed brick wall—but your hiding place had been ruined once a violet disco ball had emerged from the ceiling. Shiny, wooden floor that had reflected your post-panic attack face right back at you and let every shoe strike it with a clatter. No silence allowed.

The whole restaurant had lavender LED lights running around the walls, swathing the place in a distorted sort of purple haze, and any candles lit on the centre tables had indigo flames—you’d focused on how those might have been made in the process of coming down from your panic attack.

God. You’re going to throw up.

The hostess escorted you and Hawks to a farther back room, this one with booths separated by small, brick walls that didn’t reach the ceiling yet concealed the booths’ occupants from each other—unless you were passing directly in front of one.

Hawks made you sit in the booth first, trapping you in as he settled. He had to be on the edge, anyway, he told you, because of his wings. You’re going to rip them off and boil them in the soup.

The two of you ordered. You don’t remember what. You can only channel so much of your nerves into jostling your leg. This is not cool. This place is not cool. You need to get out.

“Hey, let me through,” you said, nudging Hawks, “Bathroom.”

Once there, you lightly slapped your cheeks a couple of times, trying to ground yourself through physical sensation. No use. Can’t they fucking use normal lights in this place?

You didn’t have your panic meds, because you’ve never needed them rock climbing. You can do it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

You took your time meandering back to the booth, coming to a halt at the end of the narrow hallway and ducking behind the corner.

Endeavor stood by your booth, his arms crossed over a flaming chest. You caught your breath at the sight of his orange fire, a comforting contrast to all the damn purple, but still—Endeavor. Talking to your (gag) fiancé.

Without the courage to interact with Endeavor, you listened at the corner for his departure.

“Nah, she can handle her bladder just fine. It’s her nerves,” Hawks was saying, hidden by the bricks, “She likes hiding. She doesn’t necessarily like being in the spotlight.”

“Yet she hasn’t completely withdrawn as Eraserhead has. You’ve picked a strange one to marry.”

From the angle Endeavor glared at him, Hawks must be slumping in his seat. “But that’s what so great about her. And it’s hard to process, y’know, like, she’s finally mine. You follow?”

“Regrettably,” said Endeavor, “Regardless, I offer my congratulations that your courtship finally worked out in your favour. You should have told me sooner.”

Courtship. That’s a funny way to pronounce bullying.

“Eh, I’ve gotta have some secrets, don’t I? Can’t betray my otherwise cool exterior.” Hawks laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been allowed such happiness. The woman I’ve loved for years is gonna be waking up to me every day soon, y’know?”

Hawks has got to know you can hear him, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying those things. Endeavor must be in on Hawks’s ruse, since Endeavor is Hawks’s closest—actually, Endeavor isn’t the type to revel in romantic shit. Endeavor straight-up isn’t the type to revel. To the best of your knowledge, Endeavor doesn’t genuinely like Hawks as so much as tolerates him; when did they get so close? It must have taken a long time—

Time.

You could feel your IQ dropping as you actually considered: had you been in a legitimate coma? Had you (fuck) genuinely had amnesia?

No, no. You don’t live in Crazytown. Your eyebrows hadn’t been overgrown when you’d woken up in the hospital. You’d only been there a day.

Of course, Hawks is a vain piece of shit and does his own eyebrows, so he might have considered that yours were a piece of pride/insecurity for you and may have done them while you were—did Hawks do his own eyebrows? That spoiled fuck probably had someone else to do them for him. If they were naturally like that, you were going to throttle his ass.

You didn’t fucking have amnesia. Hawks is and always has been a stupid, clammy birdbrain. He’s always been cruel to you. He didn’t fucking like you.

He sure as hell wasn’t in fucking love with you.

Oh, my fuck, what if your memories of Hawks have been fabricated by a coma-addled mind and that—

“Hey, there,” said—said someone, some pale-ass, sleep-deprived freak who startled you out of your head, “Are you all right? You look—I mean, do you need some water? A chair?”

You blinked, yet he wouldn’t come into focus—you were taking in details about him, ones that didn’t fucking matter (chain on his wallet, three rings all on the left hand, a button-down missing the last button, a cloud of axe body spray), but he didn’t register as a human person. He couldn’t; you hadn’t grounded yourself yet. You yourself still had a frazzled, cartoon scribble buzzing inside of your chest, and until you vomited it up, a panic attack may yet still happen.

You can’t deal with anyone new right now.

A spark of recognition crossed the new guy’s face, and he, through a smirk, asked if you were your hero name.

Oh god oh fuck not now

“Sweetheart,” came Hawks’s melodious drawl (registering first his voice, then bodily warmth, then the wingtip covering your ass), “You were taking so long that I came to check on you.” He pulled you by the waist towards him, blocking the guy from seeing your face by pressing it into his chest. “Who’s this?”

Who cares. All you could focus on (sharp and overwhelming, nothing else but) was how fucking incredible Hawks smelled, and at this point, you’d use anything to bring yourself back down to earth. A small voice in the back of your head told you that freaking out to this degree in this particular situation was leaning towards pathetic, since basically nothing happened, besides being in an uncomfortable environment and being accosted by a fan at the wrong time, but you? You did not control the rate at which your brain panicked.

And really, no rhyme or reason played into why your grabby little hands itched for human contact once safe in the booth again, why Hawks’s scent lay on your tongue more heavily than your soup, why the overwhelming sensation of being so fucking spaced out of it threw its entire weight upon your shoulders—you couldn’t find yourself. You were lost.

And in this horrible, purple place, the only thing that’s familiar was Hawks.

When you scooted as closely as you could to him in the booth, keeping your glare towards your lap while you looped your arm under his to snuggle into it, Hawks cleared his throat to say, “What’s this?”

You scowled into his jacket, both hands gripping his forearm.

He set his chopsticks down. “How can I help, darling?”

Growling, you bonked your forehead against his shoulder, dragging your hands down to his.

“Hey,” said Hawks, and he guided your face towards his and stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Did that guy bother you too much before I got there?”

Turning your mouth towards the hand cupping your cheek, you kissed his palm, bit the leather, and kissed it again before burying yourself in his shoulder again.

He rested his hand on the crown of your head. “What’s the matter? Can you tell me?”

“Not sure I can put it into words,” you said, “I think I wanna go home.” You bit the fabric of his jacket and gnashed it between your teeth.

“I can handle that,” said Hawks, “Gimme a moment to get takeaway boxes, yeah? Then we’ll leave, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, you were still clutching onto his arm by the time he unlocked his darkened penthouse (because you’re not gonna hold his hand. God), but you slapped his hand away from the light switches.

“Turning them on would be too much stimulation,” you said, “Please don’t.”

Hawks hummed against the top of your head, placing keys and both of your phones on the kitchen counter. “Bed or couch?”

“Window,” you said.

“Window?”

“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”

“I do,” said Hawks, guiding you through his dark apartment, probably past scarily expensive, posh shit. He led you to what was most likely his living room, with the cool, dim light of the night sky through a vast, single-frame, wall-to-floor window illuminating furniture custom built for his wings, but he eased you down onto the carpet, tugging your shirt upwards so that the window would be touching your bare skin on the small of your back.

Hawks yanked his boots off, late, instead of at the door, and he tossed them over his shoulder. He took yours off, too, and once he’d set them aside, he sat next to you against the window, a hand on your thigh.

“Better?”

“Probably,” you said, staring at the triangle of light beige carpet between your crossed legs.

“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”

“Not right now.”

Hawks was a dumbass. He’s such a fucking dumbass. But he’s a dumbass who’s here right now, and he’s interested (?) in you, interested in helping you. And good golly, you have to be touched. Hawks’s offering warmth, freely, potentially lovingly, and all you had to do was reach out to take it, even if you didn’t reciprocate whatever sentiment was motivating him yourself.

Do you really want to take what you have no feelings for?

Hawks lies a lot to Endeavor. To everyone. He might not have been lying earlier. What reason had he to lie?

Guess it didn’t matter, because you were lying.

But good God, you haven’t been kissed in a long time. Haven’t felt safe or loved. You could…you could indulge for a few hours in order to calm down. You could pretend.

The last ten months had proved that.

“Hey,” you said idly, reaching out to grab the inner fleece lining of his jacket to rub it between your fingers, “Hawks, I’m gonna—I’m gonna put my mouth on your mouth. Okay?”

Hawks’s wings ruffled and constricted themselves so that he could move closer to you, and his hand has migrated from your thigh to grip your hip—how could anyone’s hands encompass that much of you? Your fucking hands couldn’t, not in the way his does.

(Bird man big and safe.)

([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])

(BIRD MAN SAFE—)

Shoved is how you’d describe the first few seconds of the kiss, followed closely by wet and you’d think his teeth would be sharper. Your lips didn’t line up with his completely until he adjusted your chin with two of his fingers, guiding it open just barely, as well, so that his tongue could graze your teeth—it took you a moment of processing before parting them, with a final don’t think! shouted to your neocortex.

Birds have a higher body temperature than other animals, on average having a body temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40 degrees Celsius). The colour of their feathers, of course, affects how much light and heat they absorb, with the lighter coloured feathers—say, red—reflecting more, rejecting outside heat sources.

Yet Hawks gripped you like he’d fucking freeze if he weren’t clutching you, if he weren’t straddling your legs, one palm flat against the cool of the window by your head. The other snaked around you, his forearm lying almost vertically up your back to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you as near to his chest (he probably didn’t realise it, but his fingers ran across the curve of your shoulder blades where his wings were on his own body.

For some reason, the thought crossed your mind that you weren’t enough for him, because you were too dissimilar.)

Don’t think!

When he massaged your tongue with his, applying pressure sporadically, you returned the action—have you ever seen a bird tongue up close? They’re fucking nasty little things, looking more like a grub than anything else. Thank God Hawks had a normal, human tongue that performed particularly delightful, normal things, like drag across the roof of your mouth and aid in sucking phenomenal hickeys onto your jawline, licking over where he’s bitten and kissed.

Stop thinking about bird anatomy. Hawks has no discernible bird traits except for his fucking wings. He’s not a fucking bird man. He’s just some dude with wings. And not all birds have functional wings; for example, the ostrich and the penguin do not have wings to be used in flight—

Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.

Your stomach lurched. That had been something Hawks had told you too often, back before your accident.

It’s what he wants.

Hawks fucking whimpered when you pulled the shorter hairs at the back of his neck, prying him away from your skin with great difficulty—he kept trying to touch you with his mouth and tongue in the process.

“Let me have more,” he said, panting, his breath heavy and just below your ear, “Please.” He pressed his lips to the spot in front of your ear in a weak kiss, having spent himself for the most part. “I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me for so long.”

“I don’t—” You fake-stuttered, but it turned out you needed the time to put your thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m back yet. I’m,” you said, taking as deep a breath as you could with Hawks smushed against your chest, “Something’s missing. Something big.” That’s right. Steer it back in his direction. Make the bird man sweat. “I don’t—something doesn’t feel right.”

It took a moment, but Hawks nodded fervently, shutting his eyes. “Of course. Yeah. Yeah, I get it, sweetheart. Can’t do anything when your heart’s not in it.”

Your heart’s not the problem. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hawks,” you said, untangling yourself from underneath him, “Would you just, uh, hold me for a while?”

His wings wrapped around the both of you on his enormous bed, still fluttering with each slow breath he took. Hawks almost looked genuine while he slept, and probably for the best—at least he was getting rest; at least his guard might be down.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.

***

“Rank speculation is out,” you said, scrubbing the pumice stone over a patch of dry skin on Hawks’s back and scrolling through the twitter with your other hand, “Take a look.”

He opened the link you sent once he’d safely removed a dead feather that had been lodged in an odd spot in a wing. “Huh. Think I could truly take on Endeavor?”

“Well, he’s got that abusive-to-his-family thing, while you’re rocking the preparing-for-my-wedding look, and he can’t network non-aggressively to save his life.”

“Nor can you.” Hawks shot you a smirk over his shoulder.

“Zoom in on my speculated nine, baby,” you said, flicking away some dead skin with a satisfied/disgusted sneer, “And I didn’t have to sleep my way there.”

“Ah, ha, ha,” said Hawks, “Knew you could do it. Whoever’s told you that is gonna have to deal with my foot up their ass. You’re more than capable of getting there on your own.”

“Which I did. I have.” Wait. Hawks told you that. No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a commonly said, misogynistic comment towards women heroes. Hawks isn’t special. “But having your foot up someone’s ass wouldn’t be good for PR, unless you wanted to advertise that you’re a kinky son of a bitch who’s cheating on his fiancée.”

“I would never,” said Hawks, and, contorting his arm, he grabbed your hand with the pumice stone to kiss the back of it, “But my PR is solid, regardless.”

“If the public knew how much time you had to spend preening these fucking wings, they’d probably appreciate you more. Or call you conceited.”

Hawks hummed. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said, returning to his wingtip to search for dead feathers. “Thank you for helping.”

“No problem. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to see how—Hawks, holy fuck. Do you feel that?” You ran a finger near the base of a wing.

“It’s your finger?”

“No, this,” you said, tapping the spot.

“No?”

“My God. It’s a dilated pore of a winer,” you said, already reaching for the tweezers, “Right at the base of your wing. It’s basically an enormous fucking blackhead. I’m popping it. Oh, my God. I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“You’re popping it?”

“You didn’t have a problem with my getting the ones where your costume sits.”

“No,” said Hawks, rolling back his shoulders, his wings spreading with them, “Gotcha. Get on with it.”

“Can I film it?”

“What? No,” said Hawks, “No one can see me preening, let alone dealing with acne.”

“There’s sure to be another hero out there with a wing quirk, right? I don’t know how you can’t feel it.”

“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly, “Since my feathers can feel—I suppose where the wings merge with my skin is pretty numb. I haven’t ever had to think about it.” He licked his lips. “Funny.”

He continued to scroll through his feed and tend to his feathers while you worked at his back. “Bad news: the tabloids got a hold of our grocery list from the last time we went to the shops. I must have dropped it at some point in the store.”

“Oh, so do they know what kind of ice cream we prefer? The horror.”

“No, but they’ve brought in some hack handwriting analyst. Talking about our annotations for each other on the list. Something about how you’re logical and I’m a romantic. The writer of the article is practically swooning.” Hawks pulled out a clot of feathers with his teeth and spat them aside. “With good reason, though. The trashy pictures they snapped of us are hot.”

“Describe them to me.”

“I can show you—”

“No,” you said, concentrating on your work, “I don’t want the image imprinted on my brain. Describe them in your own words.”

“All right,” said Hawks, crossing his legs and placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him, “To start, the flash is on.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that distantly surprised look going on. It looks like we’re near the eggs and cheese. You’re not looking at the camera, but I believe it’s in the moment I caught it.” Hawks flicked away a feather and let it fall to the carpet. “My hand’s on your waist. The other’s on the cart. You’ve scrunched your face up in concentration; it’s really cute.”

“Aw, we should get it framed,” you said, wiping away the gunk with a tissue and wadding it up so that no one will ever have to see or touch it ever again.

“Never,” said Hawks, “The first picture of us I wanna get framed should be on our wedding day.”

“It’s coming along quickly,” you said, setting aside the tweezers, “Bit more quickly than I’d thought it would.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” said Hawks with a light laugh, and you ducked to rest your head against his shoulder, straining your neck to reach him over his wing.

Hawks clicked his non-nasty, non-bird tongue. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Sighing, you said, “Turn your head this way.”

He did you one better, since he anticipated your plan. He twisted around, keeping his legs crossed as he pulled you into his lap. His wings initially bristled but wrapped around you when his arms did, and Hawks kissed your cheek, once, twice, until he arrived at your mouth, where he barely grazed your lips, rather letting his hot breath spread over your face—and he grinned up at you with half-lidded eyes (he’d left off his eyeliner today, but the natural marks below his waterline kept his eyes sharp, anyway).

“Kiss me, you fucking idiot,” you said, overriding whatever he was about to do by kissing him yourself, hard and open-mouthed, almost violent in its fervent. Yet Hawks held you lightly, delicately, but still close enough to freeze.

You ran your cold, cold hands over his bare abdomen, pressing your thumb down with considerable force to trace his muscles (he grunted at that, and that’s it; that’s right—make him squirm; make him sweat; make him yours). His finger only toyed with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, as if waiting for you, which didn’t line up with what you had garnered about Hawks at all, but c’mon, man, come on; didn’t you want this all those months ago? Almost a year, now? Years, if what he said to Endeavor is true? But when he flinched away with a shaky breath once your cold fingers circled his nipple, you knew this was where you were supposed to be: right here, in Hawks’s lap, completely destroying him with hardly anything at all. Nothing but light touches and a strategic flick of your tongue. Idiot man. He must really like you if this is doing it for him.

You slowed and opened your eyes at that thought, frowning, and you pulled away. With the back of his hand, Hawks wiped saliva off of both of your mouths, yours first.

He waited for you.

“If you can’t take all of me, then what’s the point?”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”

“I’m missing something.”

“I know.”

“I want to find it before we get married.” You laid your palm flat on his chest, and he grinned at the cold.

“You can find it,” he said, “I know you can.”

“I don’t know what I’m blocking out,” you said, lying—or maybe you weren’t? Fuck it. “Whatever I’m repressing is really fucking with me.”

“Take your time,” said Hawks, running his tongue over his lower lip. “I’m here for—”

“Hawks,” you said, faking the light of realisation in your eyes, accompanied with a sharp inhale, “I can’t remember your name.”

Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.

“You told me once. I know you did,” you said, moving to cup his cheek after tapping the mark underneath his eye, “but the memory—there’s a blur where you spoke. I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “That, that might be it. I don’t know. Everything else about the scene is in perfect detail. I remember what fucking socks I was wearing, for Christ’s sake. But you. What you said. Maybe it’s something so personal, so intimate, that I’ve repressed it. Maybe it was too much for me to handle.” You cupped his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at you. If you hadn’t been scrutinising him for some evidence of breaking character, you wouldn’t’ve seen the minute quivering of his upper lip. Hardly there, but it was there. “It’s a part of you that I want. Even if I couldn’t handle it before, I want to try now.”

Hawks averted his gaze, even though he couldn’t move his head. And bang, you’ve got him. Hawks’s name was still strictly secret, hidden by the commission, but if he’s genuinely in this dumbass situation for the long haul, if he’s truly in it for you, then he would have told you. Even if he wanted you to continue to call him Hawks, your own fiancé would have told you his damn name.

So, this is it. The way out.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out you’ve been faking all this time. Good. Let each feather burn.

“Keigo,” he said, staring into your eyes with a newfound determination, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Oh, shit—you clapped a hand over your heart, your eyes widening. Maybe you could play this off as memory recovery instead of absolute shock? But you hadn’t any memories to recover, probably. Holy fuck.

Where do you go from here?

You tried to say his name but ended up simply mouthing it, and after clearing your throat and coughing a bit, you managed to say it aloud. “Keigo,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, “Keigo, I fucking love you.”

You’d only been kissing him for a few moments before his wings shuddered in a muscle spasm and flung you off to the side.

***

Only a commission higher-up witnessed your wedding. She stood silently to the side the entire ceremony in the courthouse and only shook Hawks’s hand afterwards.

You and your cat essentially moved into his penthouse and adjusted. Your mostly empty apartment stayed leased under your name.

Sometimes, you’d note that you turned your brain off and instantly be hit with a lightning strike of self-loathing—but you didn’t have to consciously decide to be affectionate with Hawks. Being with him came naturally and easily. Probably for the best, since if you had to think about it, you’d screw it up.

You stayed together. Supported each other. Sneaked out to see the other on patrol. Took care, listened to each other. Defended each other. Worked it out.

And now, you stared up at the ceiling fan whirling in your darkened bedroom, Keigo lying on his stomach next to you in the bed as he slept. Your cat catloafed between his wings and nestled into them, rising and falling with each breath he took. Hawks was perfect, always saving the day, working up a routine to mesh with your fighting style and quirk, always charming and easygoing with the people he rescued, indulging you in your ferocity, and Keigo, Keigo whispered sweet and dirty things into your ear when he spotted you in public, made you laugh, worked wonders with his cock, helped you clean up before he even thought of preening himself, held you, and made you feel held. He’s got it bad.

And maybe you do, too.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out.

#bnha #mha #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #hawks x reader #hawks/reader #hawks imagine #hawks fic #hawks headcanons #hawks fanfic #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo/reader #takami keigo imagine #takami keigo fic #takami keigo headcanons #takami keigo fanfiction #takami keigo fanfic

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clonesupport · 3 years ago

Note

I love your stuff for Vicar Max! It's *chef's kiss*

Prompt: Max has come back from a mission injured so its time for some gentle, tender loving to get him back to full health.

Again, thank you so much for what you do. You're keeping this thirsty gal well hydrated ;)

it's been a hot minute, i've been visiting my parents but i've found the time and energy to write again so here we go🤩ugh yeeessss tlc soft sex with max😩😩😩😮‍💨😮‍💨 this man is my weakness, thank you so much for the prompt🤧💖 had another prompt for some injured max and captain comforting him so i'd say this hits two birds with one stone. i pictured this somewhere on monarch but honestly this could be anywhere tbh

Nothing a Little TLC Can't Fix

vicar max x f!reader

word count: +3k

warnings: 18+, NSFW, p in v sex, unprotected sex, soft tender sex🤧 some nice tlc riding (the best kind of medicine), mentions of sustained injury, blood and stitches from gunshot wound, marking (hickeys and biting), pre-established relationship, creampie, porn without plot, smut under the cut

You help Max behind some crates for cover as you blind fire your rifle behind you towards the marauders that were shooting at the two of you. Max's arm was slung around your shoulder as you hauled him around the corner, setting him down making him groan in response of the harsh movement. "Fuck, I'm sorry." You quickly rambled worriedly before peeking around the corner with your gun. Aiming your weapon at the marauder nearest to you, you shoot the last one to the ground before turning back to Max.

He had his hand clutched onto his side, blood slowly seeping through his clothes and his fingers. Your eyes widened in horror the moment you saw the blood trickling down his hand, his face in grimace as he gritted his teeth from the pain. You quickly made your way next to him, falling to your knees as you threw your gun to the side. Eyeing his wound, your hands come up hesitantly to his, "How bad is it?" You asked, your hands hover over his side, unsure of how to help.

"It sure hurts like a son of a bitch, I think a bullet went through my side." His brows a furrowed as he attempts to push himself more upright only to elicit another hiss of pain. You press your hand over his, applying more pressure to his wound.

"Hey woah, woah, don't move. We gotta get you patched up and get you back to the ship." Your free hand falls to his shoulder, settling him as you watched him, wincing at the pain you weren't even feeling. "Ellie! Gonna need you over here!" You shout, seeing her jog over to the two of you.

"Well shit Max, did a canid give you a little love bite?" She jokes as she nears you though her grin falters upon seeing the blood oozing from both your hands. Your worry written face was enough to tell her this was serious. "Shit, alright let's see what you did to yourself." She kneels next to you between you and Max, her hand moving yours out of the way to attempt to inspect the wound. She slowly eases Max's hand away from his wound, enough to see how grave it is. "Bullet's stuck in there all right, I've got something to keep you patched for a bit but I'll need to take care of this properly on the ship. Hey, Captain, can you help get him to his feet? We're going to have to drag him back."

Luckily you weren't too far from the walls of the nearest town, you quickly call your ship to dock before you helped Max onto the Unreliable. Once on the ship, Ellie instructs you to bring him to the cot in the cargo bay, "Lay him down here, I'll get my kit, keep the pressure on it." She says before hurrying to her bunk to grab her things. You sit Max down on the cot, carefully laying him down and watching him wince from the movement. You cringe with every groan Max makes through gritted teeth.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," your hand stays on his wound, "I should have made sure to kill that marauder first. He was closest, Law I don't know what I was thinking, now you're hurt and it's all because I didn't bother to pay more attention-" Your rambling is cut short when Max places his free hand on your arm.

"This is not your fault y/n." His voice is oddly calm, reassuring you in hopes of easing your panic over him. You chuckle, smiling to yourself at the thought, here he was injured and he was the one reassuring you. Max looks at you with a questioning look upon seeing you laugh.

"I'm sorry," you couldn't help but find this particular situation amusing, "it's just funny how, you're the one that was shot and here you are reassuring me instead." Max attempts a light chuckle in return only to wince at his wound. "Oh stars, please don't move I can't stand watching you be in pain. Law, where's Ellie already." As if summoned, Ellie comes pacing into the cargo bay, med kit in hand and a determined expression on her face.

"Alright Captain, should we go morphine or do you want to hold him down?" Her question seemed halfheartedly sarcastic yet her face read a serious expression you couldn't tell if it was a real question.

"Uh, let's do the morphine." You confirm, you've seen the man in enough pain, you thought he deserved some ease.

"Thank the Law." Max exhaled hearing your choice making Ellie smirk slyly.

"Of course you'd pick the morphine." She smiles before pulling it out of her kit, "Alright, let's get this bullet out of you, preacher."

You stay by Max's side through the entire operation. Ellie managed to get the bullet out no problem and you couldn't be more thankful for recruiting a licensed sawbones. You figured resting in his bed would be more comfortable than this rickety spare cot in the cargo bay so you called for some help, easing Max to a seated position. With Max somewhat delirious from his extra dose of morphine Ellie had given him post operation, you and Nyoka helped him up the steps of the Unreliable to his room.

You propped some spare pillows at the head of his bed, making sure he could rest comfortably as to not irritate his stitches. Max was knocked out the moment his head hit the pillows, you pulled his chair up next to his bed, sticking by his side until he'd wake up. You watched him rest, amused in how quickly he fell asleep from his heavy dose of narcotics. He seemed so peaceful in his sleep, watching him made you realize just how exhausted you were yourself. You move to the ground, leaning yourself over the side of the bed as you rested your head in your arms, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Max's eyes slowly open, still a bit groggy from the procedure he takes a moment to rub his eyes with his hands only for him to realize something weighing his right one down. His eyes pan over to his side, noticing you laying half over the side of the bed and half on the floor, hand holding his and you breathed steadily in your sleep. He must have been out for some time as the ship was quiet while you slept by his side. A small smile crept to his lips as he watched you, gently pulling his hand out from yours and brushing fallen strands of hair out of your face. In doing so you stir awake, your eyes lighting up instantly the moment you notice he's come to.

You push yourself up, the smile on your face instantly turning concerned, eyes scanning his bandages. "How are you feeling? Does it hurt? Do I need Ellie to give you another dose of Adreno?" You were already on your feet, quick to turn and fetch Ellie for some medicine before Max grabs a hold of your hand.

"I'm alright," his smile is reassuring and calm in hopes of rendering you assurance to take it easy, "a bit sore but I'll live." He says, his free hand smoothing over his bandages gently to prove his words. "Nothing hurts I promise." He adds brushing his thumb over your knuckles. You purse your lips in an attempt to cap your concerned babbling. Max found your worrisome pampering rather endearing, it was sweet how much you cared for him even if you were an anxious mess.

"For now." You mutter, looking down as your hands as you take a seat close to him on the side of his bed. You look down to where he'd been hit, almost cringing again at the sight of his bandages. You knew he was alright, he even said as much, though that didn't stop you from feeling bad. Now only the bandages covered any part of his torso as Ellie had to cut his shirt off in order to access his wound. That's when you come to realize that Max was indeed shirtless. You'd been too anxious to worry about his gunshot wound that the fact that he was half nude never even crossed your mind.

Max notices your gaze rake over his bare chest, a faint smug grin stretch across his lips as he watches your cheeks flush a light shade of pink. His hand on your wrist moves up to brush your cheek, cupping your jaw as he brought your attention back to him. Your flustered state washes over with a sorrowful look, "I'm sorry, I should have been better. You got hurt because I didn't do my job, I could have prevented this." Your eyes dropped to his wound, hand hovering just above the surface of his skin as your brows furrow as you examine it.

"This wasn't your fault y/n." Max's hold on your cheek, reassuring you as he speaks. "It was a an accident no one could have prevented, perhaps me if I'd had paid more attention to myself rather than you." He mumbles the last bit sheepishly, giving you a crooked smile as he continues, "But what's done is done. I'd have to thank Ellie for the good patch up or else I'd be worse off than I really am." His hand smooth down to your neck, brushing your hair to the back before replacing his hold on you, bringing your face closer to his.

You lean in to rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes momentarily to breathe deeply, your hand coming up to hold his forearm. "Well, I'm glad you're alright." You smile through your words, Max's thumb still stroking your cheekbone lovingly.

Max watched you through lidded eyes, bringing you in by his hold for a sweet and tender kiss. You lean into him gently, moaning softly into his kiss as you placed your hands on his neck almost like an attempt to keep him close, safe. The kiss grows hungry, yearning, your lips pressed against his like your fear of losing him had finally caught up to you. Max's free hand comes to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he deepens the kiss. Gently, you move against him, swinging your leg over his waist, doing your best to make sure you don't hurt him.

His hands slide to the back of your things, pulling you impossibly nearer, hands moving to squeeze the plush flesh of your ass. Max groans into the kiss, his tongue melding with yours as you slowly moved against him savouring every touch he offered. Your hips rocked softly against him, feeling his slowly hardening cock under you. A smirk graces your lips, rolling your clothed cunt against him only to earn a gracious low moan from Max in return.

Max is quick to slide his hand under your shirt, feeling up your bare torso as he brings your shirt up and over your head. Your nipples perk from the cool air, Max's hands coming to knead your breasts, bringing his lips down to your collar. Whimpers leave you quietly as he toys with your nipples, sending soft jolts of pleasure to course to your cunt. You fingers fumbled with his pants, unbuttoning them and slipping your hand between the two of you to pull out his erection. Max worked on your own pants, pulling away from your neck to see what he's doing as he attempts to undo them as much as he could with your position.

Giggling you push yourself back between his spread legs, pulling your legs together to slide off your constrictive garments before throwing them aside, coming back to crash your lips to his. The kiss becomes feverish, a mess of lips, tongue, and teeth. Your legs replace themselves over his thighs, straddling him as you positioned yourself over his cock. Your folds teased his tip as you slid him back and forth against you to collect your slick making Max whimper impatiently. You sit slowly onto his length, his head breaching your tight hole deliciously stretching you agape as you slide down his cock. You moan as you feel him reach deeper and deeper, Max's hands gripping your hips as you sheath him inside you, his own moan following yours.

His tip prods your cervix, the feeling sending your mind reeling as you swivel your hips in small circles, desperate to feel that push inside you some more. Your hands find their place on his chest, one sliding up to hold his shoulder for stability as you begin to bounce soft shallow strokes. His cock hits your cervix with every pump, your cunt twitching and clenching around him as you set a pace. Your tits bounce in time as you ride him, cock sliding perfectly into you with every stroke. Your brows furrow up in pleasure, gaze meeting Max', glossy and lust filled as you continue to bounce on his cock.

You lean down meeting your lips to his in a poor attempt to lock your tongues together messily. You wanted to taste him, his tongue against yours granted so. You sucked onto his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth making Max groan as you did so. His hands slide back to your ass, using you as leverage to help push and pull you on his cock, guiding your bounces and your speed. He does a buck of his hips without thinking, desperate to fuck into you harder but winces from his agitated fresh stitches in his side. A hissed groan of discomfort escapes his him, his grip instinctively tightening on your behind as the discomfort disrupts him. Your hands come to soothe down his abdomen, comforting him while avoiding his wound. "Easy, if you want it harder just say so." A smug grin grows on your lips as you quicken your movements.

Max moans, throwing his head back as you quicken your pace, "Law, yes." He moans breathily, your hips coming down faster and harder to appease his needs. His mouth falls open while you ride him, cock throbbing inside you as you clenched around him, wet cunt squelching lewdly with every bounce.

"That's it." You purr, your fingernails graze up his chest sending tingles through Max's senses alongside his pleasure. "Take it easy, old man.” You tease, rocking your hips into his. He shoots you a glare before it’s quickly overridden with a cry of pleasure as you bring yourself down onto his aching cock harshly.

Your rhythm is relentless, your thighs burn though the pleasure prevents you from faltering any time soon. Max leans back against the pillows, his legs quivering every other pump of his cock inside your cunt. His hands roamed your sides, squeezing all over your ass, waist, and thighs, feeling as much of you as he could while your bounces edged him with pleasure. His toes curl at the sensation, your warm, wet pussy swallowing his desperate cock like your life depended on it. Your head comes down to kiss his neck, sucking his skin as his moans reverberate in his throat. You nibble his flesh, marking up his jaw and placing a gentle kiss to his cheek. The sweet exchange such a contrast to the obscene way you're riding him mercilessly.

The pressure builds in your abdomen, you were desperate to feel relief, desperate to feel Max unravel beneath you. You worked the two of you quickly, bouncing and stimulating endlessly as your moans were pulled from your lips. The feeling of Max filling you with his cock left you more satisfied than you could imagine, the way his hands held you for dear life even more so. The grips on your body caused by his hands assure you he really was there. The warm sting of squeezed flesh left behind by his hold grounds you, turning your skin flushed. You look down at him with glossy eyes, the maroon marks you've left on his neck littered his perfect skin. His body was dewy with a bare sheen of sweat, his hair dishevelled, his lips plump and red. He looked incredible ravished under you.

You were beginning to lose your rhythm, too eager to reach your inevitable release yet too impatient to keep going. Max held your ass, aiding you in your slowly tiring ministrations. His cock throbbed restlessly inside you, so close to his orgasm you could feel it in every way he touched you. You neared yours just as quickly, your hand coming down to knead quick circles on your clit, whimpers escaping your lips as your pleasure doubles and the burn in your thighs increasing. Max could feel every way your cunt fluttered around him as you neared your orgasm, only egging him towards his own faster.

Max worked twice as hard with his arms to push you harder on his cock, pulling you off quickly enough just to do it again. His orgasm tugged on his nerves, pushing him over faster than he'd expected. Your bounces never cease, milking his cock of his cum as Max moans your name through every wave of his crushing orgasm. The feeling of his twitching cock against your a-spot sent you to your release with a quick snap of your hips. His warm cum spurting into your cunt while you pumped your pussy on his cock, riding out your rippling climax as your walls convulse around him.

You fall into him, your cries muffled against his skin as you leaned down to bite his shoulder. You still your movements with the last waves of your orgasm, feeling every soft throb of Max's cock deep within you as you regained your senses, your own cunt pulsing around him. Coming down from your overload of pleasure, you feel Max's hands gently rubbing your sides, cock still inside you as you rested your head against his shoulder. You pull back to see the bite mark you've left behind, his flesh slowly growing a darkened shade of red. "Sorry." You mumble sheepishly, a guilty grin on your face as your thumb gently passes over the mark.

Max is smiling lovingly back at you as he leans in to kiss your lips. "I can assure you it hurt much less than the bullet wound." He says upon pulling away, you chuckle before pulling him in for another tender kiss.

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