#she took em cannons

[scythiesscienceshoe]

Glacial Outpost - Battle at the Front Lines

[rs-hawk]

I don't think i can explain to you the near-boundless giddy excitement I got form seeing EJ on that creeptober list of yours. (If it's not obvious, he might just be my favourite, snort) Looking forward to all of em tho ~!!

He’s GREAT. I used to have so many head cannons about him since so little is actually known. This story is actually based off my hc about his origin. I hope you enjoy!

Creeptober: Day Three

Eyeless Jack’s Obsession

Yandere! Eyeless Jack x AFAB Reader

CW: horror themes, stalking, blood, pain, death (not of reader), hypnosis, breeding, etc

Eyeless Jack was once an ordinary spirit. He lived his afterlife the way most spirits do. Bored and alone. However, that all changed when you bought the mansion in which he resided.

You moved in without ever seeing the place in person, which you soon regretted. The entire place gave you a creepy vibe that made the pit of your stomach twist into knots. At all times it felt like something was watching you. Stalking you. Filling every room with its presence.

And he was. Jack was following you no matter where you went in the house. It was like you were a drug and he was an addict. Being around you made him feel almost alive again. And the more alive he felt, the more he could interact with the physical world.

Soon he was moving things. Taking things from you. You noticed but kept trying to brush it off. You hoped thought that you were going a little crazy. After all, you worked a remote job and lived in this big creepy house all by yourself. You were supposed to fix it up and sell it for your aunt, who hadn’t lived here in decades, but it was hard. Even with the money she gave you, you struggled to make up the remainder.

Eventually though, you did, and construction started. You still lived in the loft like area that was once an attic while the crews worked downstairs. Unfortunately for the construction workers you hired, Eyeless Jack wasn’t as enthused with the intrusion into your space as you were.

On the very first day, a ladder fell over, nearly killing one of the roofers. He was fine, but he refused to return as he said he was pushed. The next time a ladder fell, a few days later, someone did die.

You heard the screaming and the sound of a body hitting the concrete. It took you a few minutes to rush downstairs. Terror filling your body. Did someone really just die on your aunt’s property? Holy fuck. How would you be able to keep living here? That poor man and his family.

While you were panicked, Jack was ecstatic. He hoped now you would send all these other people away so it could just be the two of you again. All he wanted was to be able to have you all to himself again. As he watched you panic, and the other workers calling the cops or trying to scrape their dead friend’s body off the concrete, he realized that he had blood on his hands.

For a few moments, he just stared at it. Vague memories of being alive and kicking blood from a cut on his finger drifted through his mind, but nothing solid. It was too long ago. Too hard to remember. Yet, his tongue darted out to flick across his palm.

The blood in his mouth solidified some of the memories, and made him feel almost alive. In a frenzy, he licked the blood from both of his hands, the coppery and metallic taste filling his mouth. His eyes glazed over and all he could think of was getting more blood. How much could he touch then? Could he touch you?

The next few days were a blur for you as you worked with the company and your home owners insurance to work out the logistics of the worker’s accident. Everyone saw that he just fell. The ladder was properly secured. No one was messing with it. He was acting responsibly. He wasn’t impaired or intoxicated. It was a freak accident.

But you knew. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew. It was because of that disturbing presence in the house.

You decided that you wanted the renovations done as quickly as possible, so after getting some of your money back from the previous company, you hired another. And another. And another. Every time, someone died. It was horrifying. One man came to your house just to survey the land and came across a missing roofer. He looked like he had been ripped open with a man’s bear hands, and, to both your and the surveyer’s horror, all of his organs were missing.

That night you called your aunt and told her that you were done. In the morning, you were leaving. She didn’t even try to protest after you told her everything that had happened. Jack, having over heard your conversation, was furious. He couldn’t lose you.

Over the past few months, he had undergone a transformation. Every bit of human flesh he consumed made him more solidified. More tangible. More alive. However, his face has become mutated and disturbing. Where his eyes once were, were just empty chasms, dripping black blood. His skin turned to a disturbing shade of ashy gray. So, to prevent your terror as much as he could, he carved a mask out of a piece what used to be a blue shelf. Now there was no reason for you to rebuff his affection.

When he made his way up to your room, you were on your laptop. In seconds, he tossed it from your lap, and your phone was pushed off the bed. He was on his knees on the foot of the bed, leaning over you, caging you in with his arms.

A scream welled up in your throat as the black holes bore into your eyes, but a muttering voice soothed the fear away. Your brain turned fuzzy. It was like you couldn’t think for yourself. He tilted his head, which you mimicked.

“A pretty puppet,” he purred, stroking the side of your face with one of his hands.

You couldn’t think of anything. It was like his eyes had drawn every thought or ounce of individualism from your skull. When he told you to take off your clothes, you did. When he told you to lay down, you did. You couldn’t see his mouth, and his voice seemed to come from everywhere, but you knew that it was him talking.

“Make sure your pussy is good and wet for me,” he instructed, and you obliged.

You began to finger yourself, using your other hand to play with your clit. The soft whimpers and moans that escaped your lips had him gritting his teeth behind his mask. He wanted to take you so badly, but he also wanted it to be perfect for you. His little morsel. He wanted to be apart of you. For you to be apart of him. Forever.

Once your juices began to drip onto your sheets, he finally cooed at you to stop. You did. Despite the frustration and throbbing of your pussy. He was still caging you in with his arms, his form nearly engulfing you. After a moment of watching you squirm, your neglected cunt clenching around nothing, he eased back. Unzipping his pants, and pulling down his boxers, his hard and throbbing cock was shown to you.

Once his hypnotic gaze was broken, your mind began to flood back to you, and the sight of something so massive made you try to scamper back on the bed. However, your loving Eyeless Jack realized that his hold had been broken and grabbed your face, forcing your gazes to lock. Once again, anything in your mind seemed to melt away.

“Spread your legs,” he instructed. And you did.

He slowly slid inside of you, watching your face intensely as it contorted in pain and pleasure. He stretched you out to the point that you felt like you’d burst. Your walls were still throbbing with need, forcing you to clench around him. Clearly to his immense pleasure.

“There we go. Mine. So good for me,” he moaned as he finally sank his cock deep inside of you, his eyes flickering away from your face for just a moment to see how your stomach extended from his cock.

When his gaze returned to you, he saw tears in the corner of your eyes. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to me, won’t you?” he promised, cupping your cheek almost tenderly again. You nodded obediently.

He was only slow for a few thrusts before losing what little of his kind remained. It was clear he wanted to care about your pleasure, but the decades of death and isolation left him desperate for the comfort and warmth your pussy brought him. The tip of his cock slammed against your cervix repeatedly, making you wince. He muttered out apologies, but never stopped. Never slowed down.

His cock ripped you slightly, blood beading along your tender lips. He muttered out another apology about how he’d make it up to you, and all you could do was whisper out an “okay”. It took hours for him to finish, and when he did, he slammed himself deeply inside of you, his cum pumping directly into your womb.

“There we are. Now I’ll always be apart of you,” he smiled, pulling up his mask to press a kiss to your forehead before disappearing.

As your mind came back to you, you winced at the pain, but wondered with a twisted hunger if he would come back for you.

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[ilovehugslikealotalot]

Caught in Your Focus

sum: Emily Prentiss, one of the most famous photographers comes to Iverson University, home to the NCAA’s pride and joy, Y/n Y/l/n. What was supposed to be a 2 month long documentary turned into a scandalous affair.

(not proof read)

WARNING: jealous!emily, photographer!emily, D1 volleyball Player!reader, cheating, cannon!jemily, athlete injury, slight angst, age gap, a tad of smut (ik im feeding you guys finally)

The smack of volleyball’s hitting the court never got old, after hearing it for almost all of her life it felt like home. The court was her therapy, her escape from reality. Her whole life that’s all that she wanted to do, be a volleyball Player, and that’s what she got and more. She was considered one of the best Libero’s in the nation and still people expected more from her.

But, she couldn’t cared about that now, not when the best photographer in the world is infront of her. On her knees for that matter.

“Em, faster” y/n groaned, gripping onto the sink in the bathroom. Her knees seemed to buckle as Emily lapped at her like it was the last thing she’s taste. The photographer slapped her thigh, “what did I say, baby?” She half groaned, only burning her face deeper in y/n.

A knock was heard from the door and one of y/n’s teamates voices called out, “N/n? It’s almost game time, we have to warm up!” Nicole yelled, y/n could barely speak without moaning so she prayed that her voice wouldn’t betray her.

“I’ll- be right out!” She squeaked out, as she put her hands on Emily’s shoulder’s bringing her closer, chasing her high. “nuh-uh, sweet girl, you’ll get your reward later,” she smirked, rising to her feet and fluffing out her curls. Y/n whined, pulling up her sweat pants. She looked as if she’s already played the game.

“Fine..” she grumbled, hugging Emily from behind. “Y’know, if JJ finds out, we’ll both be in trouble” Y/n chuckled, looking at the sparkling rock on Emily’s finger. The guilt ate away at her, but she needed Emily so bad that at this point she didn’t care who got hurt. “Hey…she’s not gonna find out,” Emily cooed, turning around to hug the younger woman, “If she does then, we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, focus on your game.” She assured, pecking her forehead sweetly, and giving her a few more kisses on her face careful not to leave a stain. It would be quite the story to tell if y/n had a lipstick stain on the semi-final championship game. “Now go, before your team wonders where you are”

Y/n nodded, reluctantly leaving, she never loved anything more than her sport, but if she ever needed to she’d quit in a second to be with Emily. This woman had affected her life in so many ways that it made her head spin, what made the whole affair scandalous is that Emily was married, to Jennifer Jareau no less. Y’know, she’s only one of the biggest movie stars on earth.

Emily stood in her bathroom fixing her makeup and clothes, she held her letterman jacket close to her. It had the University colors on it with y/n’s last name and jersey number on the back. It looked good on her, she knew that her marriage had been in shambles so y/n had been her way out. She had no plans of falling back in love with someone but the bright woman had changed them. “Prentiss! The game is starting in 30, we need you!” One of her colleague’s, Tara Lewis, called from outside the door. “Coming!” She replied, opening the door with a smile, Tara had filled her in on what type of shots they’d be needing, and told her about the magazine spread that she needed to shoot with y/n. Emily mentally took notes as her and Tara’s team was already assembling equipment and trying hard not to get hit with rogue volleyballs.

————

The game was heated, with Iverson up by 5. If they managed to take another point they’d move into the next set. Y/n kept getting dig after dig and was beggining to get tired. It wasn’t until the Outside Hitter had hit the ball over. It was so fast that Diana, the Leftback DS couldn’t get to it in time and shanked it. Y/n ran as fast as she could, her lungs screaming for air. She manage to pass it in, which made the crowd burst into a rapturous applause. But that was cut short when, y/n slipped and fell over some tables, her ankle twisting.

She wanted to get back up, she really did. But the pain shot through her and she screamed in pain. Her teammates didn’t notice that she wasn’t back and made the point cheering in Victory until they realized why the audience had gotten to quiet.

They all gasped, seeing the medics rush over to Y/n, her hands on her face as she wished every camera and person would just go away. They propped up her ankle and people began to murmur and worriedly converse amoungst themselves.

“Hey, y/n, come on, breathe, you’ll be just fine” Coach Oaklyn said, consulting with the medics and worriedly asking if it’ll be fine if she continue playing.

Emily was in the crowd, she watched the whole thing happen and she couldn’t help but felt her heart drop, leaving JJ in the stands calling out to her, she raced down the stairs and onto the court pushing past the security. They yelled at her to freeze but she didn’t listen. The press is sure gonna have a field day, she didn’t even care that they were broadcasting live.

****

“It looks as if Y/n Y/l/n has been injured, medics are consulting with Coach Oaklyn to see if she’s still fit to play, we all are keeping her in our prayers.” One of the announcers, Tom, said into the microphone.

“Yes, everyone is wondering if the all-star athlete, y/n y/l/n is okay. Right now, we are all praying that she is safe.” The other announcer, Beca agreed, some commotion began to happen and people began cursing as someone ran through the Stadium. “Folks, we are sorry for the Fruity language, but it seems as though world renowned photographer, Emily Prentiss is running through the Stadium like her life depends on it.” Beca continued, looking at the scene, Tom tried to understand what was happening and it wasn’t until she pushed through security that they realized. “Oh, looks like we have a photographer gone rogue, Prentiss has just pushed through security and headed straight for…y/l/n!” He smiled, impressed with her determination.

“Tom, to me it kinda seems like they’re more than just friends, but she just pushed passes those muscular guys like it was nothing!”

****

“Hey, she’s fine!” Oaklyn screamed at the security, as Emily went beside y/n, “Are you okay?” Emily panicked, holding her face, “Em…it hurts, I- can’t-” she gasped, unable to catch her breath the loud voices and screaming seemed to Echo and get 10x louder than they were. She covered her ears and whined, “It’s okay, sweet girl, I’m here, you’ll be alright.” Emily comforted, holding her close, the medic informed all of them that y/n to make it to the bench for them to wrap it.

“No, no, please, I can’t- It’s too hard“ she begged, looking at her coach for support on it. But Emily refused to let her give up on herself. “Y/n, look at me, I know it hurts so bad, but you have to fight, there’s a reason they call you the best, are you really gonna let those stupid girls beat you at your game?” She stated sternly, y/n shook her head ‘no’. “That’s what I thought, c’mon, let’s get up” Emily gave her a hand and assisted her to the bench. She had a grade one sprain that was pretty bad but not so much where she had to sit out for too long. She would surely have quite a few bruises, and her arm was a little cut up from getting caught into table,

“Y/n, if you play this, you might not be able to play for the rest of the season” Oaklyn tried reasoning with y/n, only to be met with a hand. “Then let this be my last game”

She walked onto the court with a limp and got onto position, Oaklyn sighed, giving Emily a shrug of defeat, y/n could be really stubborn when she wanted to be.

———

The game ended with Iverson winning, rightfully so. Y/n collapse onto a seat and whimpered, her ankle killing her. The medics gave her another check up and said that not much more damage had been done and told her that around 5 weeks of rest.

Y/n sighed, it wasn’t that much time, plus the March tournament wasn’t for another 3 months due to Basketball. As they all left, y/n saw Emily and Jennifer talking they seemed happy. It made the younger woman a little jealous at the fact Jennifer could make Emily laugh like that, even if they were married. Emily was y/n’s.

“Hey, y/n, you okay?” Nicole asked, placing a hand on y/n’s thigh, it broke her out of all her thoughts and she shifted her focus. “Yeah, I’m just scared, y’know. There was so many things that could’ve gone wrong, Thank the Lord that it was only a small sprain” she chuckled, Nicole laughed with her, “Well, if you ever need anything you know I’m always here for you”

ahem.

Both women looked up to see Emily with her arms crossed, her face was clearly jealous. “Well, I need to take this one home now, have a good evening, Nicole” The older woman said hurriedly, grabbing her arm and helping her out. Once in the parking lot, y/n huffed, feeling the comfort of Emily’s jeep. The silence gave you peace, but Emily not so much. You knew her by now, and she was pissed for what ever reason.

”I saw you talking to JJ, you two seemed quite happy” Y/n said, no idea what she was trying to say. “Yeah, because we’re getting a divorce” she deadpanned, never once looking over at y/n. “Oh…I’m sorry” Y/n frowned, lowering her gaze to her lap.

Emily and JJ were once happy, but that isn’t the case anymore, not after Will LaMontagne entered her life. They’d been seeing eachother on the side for months, what was the point of marriage then?

“It’s okay, really, it was a mutual agreement.” She said, placing a hand in her thigh, “She found out, about you, I mean” Emily smiled, the car stopping slowly as she pulled into y/n’s drive way.

“Was she mad..?” Y/n murmured, looking up with a slight sniffle. “No, baby, she was happy, actually, she said that she always knew that from the moment she met you…I guess we weren’t so sneaky”

The silence wasn’t awkward, it was awfully comfortable, it scared the volleyball player. Her whole life the screeching and screaming on courts and audiences was the norm, she didn’t have too much silence in her life. It was her last year playing at the collegiate level, she didn’t know what to do after this, she was pursuing a Career in arts so maybe something like that. She’d never been on a path she was really sure on. Volleyball was her life and now that it was almost over, she was lost. “We’ll figure it out. together.”

——————

Anyways, this was in my drafts a for a long while 🥲

There was a part two but I’ll have to hunt for that

@mxmmyprentiss

[skelliko]

Tokyo revengers |°- random head cannons that I had stored

๑ Hanma ironically and out of nowhere 'sang' twist by Korn next to kisaki to get his reaction which caused kisaki to immediately whip his head over at the doofus with genuine fear in his eyes, he took a step backwards from Hanna, hands up and everything. but after a few seconds of staring at the 'possessed' specimen he just annoyingly does a "what the fuck is wrong with you..."

๑ ran doesn't crack his bones/knuckles often but if someone's around him that absolutely despises the sound of cracking bones he'd do it continuously without a care and finds major enjoyment in watching the person's face scrunch up in discomfort, sometimes he snickers too

๑ while chifuyu was in his 'major delinquent era, thinking he's better than everyone else' he was walking down the school stairs all cool and trying to be intimidating but then slipped on one of the stairs and fell on his butt. only one person saw but the amount of embarrassment he got from that when they made eye contact made him want to disappear from earth -this caused him to always be slow and actually look out for the steps so that it doesn't happen again.

๑ seishu finds it hilarious to fake a laugh at someone's awful joke for a second or two but then immediately go dead silent and just stare at the person with no seen emotion at all

๑ seishu is amazing at cooking, he's like a chef. but where'd he learn all this from? he doesn't answer, it's basically a mystery. but in his room he hides written down recipes that he copied out from books and other places

๑ when Baji was younger he decided to try and cook his own food for himself but accidently set a kitchen towel on fire by mistakingly setting it on top of the wrong oven circle -out of panic he got rid of it by quickly throwing it out the window in a panic making it land on someone's car windshield

๑ kazutora is actually quite close with Baji's mom. at some point he slipped up when calling out for her and accidentally called her 'mom' and sure enough he got embarrassed real quick and by a lot. ryoko took pride into that title tho, knowing that she mistakenly got called mom by someone else other than her own son made her feel oddly happy - although she mentioned that kazu is fine in calling her 'mom' he never did it again cause he still finds it embarrassing

๑ kazutora secretly takes photos of his friends crushes and sniggers about it while showing it to his friend. it's basically his little thing whenever he's told that someone has a crush, he doesn't do it to a big extent but just one of two pictures and it's usually just from the back or the side. he's been told multiple of times to quit and delete them but secretly they all knows he's doing them a favour cause when kazu sends them the photos they don't delete 'em

๑ peh holds grudges against people just for the sake of it, if he met someone and they had accidentally done something like step on peh's shoe then the next time they see eachother he would death stare them until they walk past and out of eye view, sometimes he just randomly feels like making enemies even despite being on 'silent and mutural' terms with someone.

๑ when akkun first had the thought of becoming a hairdresser he attempted in cutting his own hair and it actually turned out pretty good, cause of this he ended up cutting makotos hair however akkun had purposely cut his hair badly out of revenge for leaving 'filthy magazines' in akkuns room where his mom had found- making him to be unintentionally framed by makoto

๑ kisaki has a shit tone of books about manipulation and how to read people, how to carefully plot plans and use everything and anything to his own advantage even if things don't work out

๑ the reason why shion get frequent stomach aces is cause he has a bit of sweet tooth, he doesn't get hungry often so he forgets to actually eat a propper meal sometimes but when he sees something sweet and colourful he can't help but take more than a peck at it.

๑ at some point mitsuya accidentally knocked over a massive jar of beads over at the sowing club and took 2 hours collecting each one

๑ when taiju first started mending to his restaurant he had a bit of a high temper and would crack easily to his new employees if they spilled something or cut up a carrot with incorrect sizes, but after getting used to owning a business he somehow became the 'best boss' and grew to be pretty chill even if someone does a mistake - unless if it's a continuous mistake, then he'll get pissed

๑ taiju had a massive fixation with sharks and cool, colourful looking fish when he was younger. going to aquariums on a daily basis and as a kid he had collected little figurines of sharks, orcas and killer whales that he displayed. up till now he still have one of the shark toys displayed on a shelf since it was his all time favourite.

๑ yazuha hates bugs (cannon) and at some point she saw a weird looking incest in the bathroom and was begging hakkai to kill it or simply get it away for her but even he was disgusted by it so they kept on going back and forth about what to do about it before they both decided to team up and tackle it together. yazuha put a cup over it but while doing so the cup got knocked over from her shaky hands causing the both of them to scream as the bug started to move about but hakkai quickly put the cup back over it. they had to take a small breather and relax a little from the nerves before following through any more.

๑ Hina has a small collection of cute keychains, some of them are small plushies and a few are her favourite characters and others are random, small objects. she has some hanging on many different bags, her keys and a few hanging on thumb tacks that are stuck in a cork board on display

๑ Hina is really confrontational about anything that bothers her for other people's sake, in class most people try not to say anything rude about other people knowing that she'll over hear and they'll get their ear bitten off by her. cause of this she's kinda like the school hero against the bullies.

 ♡---

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Letters Unsung ~ Arthur Shelby x Fiancee!Reader

Summary: Since the very beginning of the First World War, Arthur’s Fiancee managed to get an unpaid job at UK’s radio station podcast so that she may daily speak a few encouraging words for the soldiers, and in turn, to her beloved Arthur Shelby.

“Must you really go, my darling?” Arthur heard the love of his life plead for him in such a sweet, mellow voice; If only he could, he would throw away his family, his country and everything to ever exist, just to find a safe place to hide with his darling Y/N. Alas, in a mondial war involving every country known to mankind, there was no place to hide. 

Fear and anxiety wasn’t a world in which he wanted Y/N to live in. She was too good for this dark, bleak world; Even as cannon fodder, if he could benefit the war and keep the country safe - Keep Y/N safe - he would gladly go.

“Mighty sorry, my love, but y’know better than I do that I gotta. Old enough to be in my damn prime - ‘Em muscles hadn’t built by ‘emselves, y’know? You always said I looked damn fine all naked - Well, Gov’s thinkin’ the same. Strong ‘nuff to carry a gun, strong ‘nuff to die for ‘em.” he rambled idly, lighting up a cigarette, puffing in the air, then squishing it in the ash tray. Y/N hated smoking. She always said she wouldn’t kiss him if his breath stank like tar. “Tommy ‘n’ John... They’re both so young. Can’t have ‘em go die without their old bro trying to protect ‘em.” he looked at his girl - She was trying so hard not to break down into sobs again. For the past days she’d been crying non-stop. She was unconsolable, and not even he could comfort her - Hell, he was terrified out of his mind, the thought of never seeing her again was killing him... “C’mon, doll, you’re too pretty to cry so much. Save ‘em tear for when i get back home, and you jump in my arms, and I twirl you around like the pretty angel you are.”

“B-But... Artie...” her words were stammered and hardly comprehensible; All she did was cuddle into his side and cry. If only she could water the plants with that wasted water, Polly said at some point, yet she was just as terrified for her children as Y/N was. John was barely 18, there was no way he’d make it through! “I can’t live without you. There is no life without you. I’ll die without you!” 

“Aww, darlin’...” she was so loving and genuine... What the hell was he supposed to do; He will be crying himself to sleep every night in the field, thinking that he left her all alone. “My sweet angel.” he held her tightly, stroking her hair and kissing her. “You’re my most precious treasure, Y/N. For you, I’ll do anything in my power to get back as fast as possible and wife you. We’ll have a pretty garden wedding - In Spring, with the pretty flowers - You always told me how you like ‘em pretty flowers. Heard there’s this place with a... A gazebo, next to this forest out of Birmingham; Ain’t no way Imma have you be a pretty bride in this grey shit hole of a city.”

“Promise you’ll come back to me?” Arthur gingerly took her hand and kissed her fingers.

“I promise on this ring that I gotchu that I’ll be back to keep my vows to you.”

The next morning, Y/N was robbed of a final goodbye, though it was more of a blessing in disguise than anything. Arthur spared her the despair she’d have had to endure, seeing him board that freaking train and leave the station, like lamb to the slaughter. By the time Y/N had woken up, Polly and Ada were around her. Polly had suggested the eldest Shelby brother that Y/N was too emotionally devastated and would be unable to go through that experience - Hence why she came up with the idea of placing a few sedatives in her sweet calming tea, which ensured a long and peaceful sleep.

Y/N was completely lost - Without Arthur, she had no idea what to do with her life; She couldn’t grieve and cry 24/7, that was unnatural, and her fiance wouldn’t want that of her, surely. She would have gladly enrolled as a nurse on the field, but not only did Arthur completely forbid her to do such a feat, she was also denied by the military - She was a certified doctress, she couldn’t be a combat doctor with no military training - Thus, she kept her work as a doctor in the Birmingham hospital.

Many months on end passed, and many more letters she sent, but received none. The radio was on, awaiting the war broadcast and praying that she wouldn’t hear the name of “Shelby” ever, until the war was over. Still, listening to the radio wasn’t enough. Anxiously awaiting for the police to come to her doorstep to tell her Arthur died, also, wasn’t good. Sure, she had Polly and Ada by her side, and she was always busy at work treating people, prepping for surgeries...

There had to be something she could do. Something that would benefit the people remaining in the country to defend the land... Something to sooth the soldiers facing the death door every second, awake and asleep.

And she had just the idea, the money, and the influence.

Y/N walked right through the doors of the radio station and explained to the chief her idea; Surely everyone knew how beneficial battlefield morale was for the troops - Hearing good words from home was sure to up their battle prowess tenfold. The old man himself had three sons send to France, of course he knew better than anyone how none of his wife’s letters reached them. Hell, he had no idea if either of them was still alive after four months out there.

And thus, the very first podcast was recorded, live, in the studio. Y/N’s voice was wavery and uncertain - She was awful at social interactions, hence why she clinged so much to Arthur and sought his comfort. Still, he was out there, bravely fighting to protect her - The least she could do was to speak a few words into a microphone.

“Good afternoon, brave soldiers. I am Y/N Shelby speaking, for the ‘Echoes of Hope’ broadcast.” what was she supposed to do now? The people were listening to her! “We have come up with this idea of creating a podcast to speak more directly to you - Only God knows if any of the thousands of letters sent have been received by you - So, a more direct approach had to be taken.” she took a deep breath to muster some strength. Think of Arthur and the soldiers. “I am speaking from the heart of Birmingham, sending warmth and courage across the airwaves, hoping it would reach at least one of you, brave men, fighting to protect your families and home.” she licked her lips, forcing herself to continue speaking. “Today, and tomorrow, and in every day that keeps us apart, as you brave the frontlines, know that we, back home, hold you in our thoughts and prayers.” a stray tear found itself caressing her soft cheek where one was held by Arthur’s rough hand. “And... To my beloved Artie... If you can hear me, know that each word I speak carries a piece of my heart. Stay strong, my love, for your strength is our beacon of hope in this colourless place.”

As she turned off the broadcast button, she took off the headset and stepped away from the microphone. The old man stepped in front of her and patted her hair, seeing the girl cry.

“Oh, I messed up big time! Forgive me, I completely ruined this thing... Oh, I am awful, awful at speaking to people! I-I thought that, without a person in front of me, it would be easier -- But I messed it up so badly!” the poor girl whined, though comforted by the man.

“I wouldn’t say you butchered it, love, I’d say the people out there fighting for our homeland just heard the voice of all of us, fighting our own battles yet staying strong to support and cheer on them also.” he patted her shoulders to straighten up. “Life is difficult with this poverty, yet we make meets end and figure things out so that we can welcome them back in a safe home that lack nothing. Lord knows, they will need all the comfort and support they can get, poor children... If only I wasn’t so old and a cripple, I would be out there to protect my boys.” the old man shed a tear. “Y/N, come back tomorrow at the same time and continue speaking to them. Only they know, your voice might just be their salvation.”

And thus became the routine of Y/N Shelby, every day in the evening after her hospital shift was over, she would pass by the radio station and begin speaking her heart out for the soldiers spread throughout Lord knows how many countries.

“Good evening once again to the brave men fighting for our home. It is Y/N Shelby again, and I bring you words of encouragement from the women of England.” this time, she was smiling; She looked at the old man next to her and felt enboldened to continue. “Each day we await your safe and hasteful return, and each night we whisper our hopes into the silence, hoping that our prays will protect you.” she really should write a script instead of free-styling it. “Arthur, my dearest, your courage inspires me. Remember, as you face the trials of war, that our love is your shield, and my voice is your guide back home. Please, never lose track of your path back into my arms.”

The old man smiled, moved by the girl’s words, and encouraged her to come the next day also; It was bound to create a routine for all the soldiers to listen to the prayers and words of courage and morale from the Angel of Birmingham.

“Hello, everyone - I assume you can recognise my voice by now.” she sounded much giddier than usual. “I am overjoyed to say that, after 11 months, I have finally received a letter from my beloved Artie!” she chimed, trying to keep composed. “He told me in the sweetest words how much he loves me - And how he wants us to have the prettiest wedding ever; In Spring, and filled with flowers, just how I love it.” she continued, overjoyed. “These words of love - All of Arthur’s feelings for me - I know each and every one of you feels the same for the loved ones waiting impatiently for you at home; So, for once, I will transmit your words to those waiting for you here, in Britain.” she cleared her throat. “For every mother, father, aunt and uncle, brother or sister... For grandparents, children, wives and husbands and friends also - For every living being here, in Britain, waiting for your beloved to return home, safe and sound - Just know that your letters have been received, and so have all of your love and good intentions. They are thinking of you, the very same way - So keep on hoping and praying, and know they are heard and working. Your loved ones need it.”

A whole year passed, and many more were going to follow; Emboldened by the fantastic idea of the podcast, more and more women, children and elderly decided to join the production, each of them passing along their message to those on the battlefield, read live by Y/N.

“As the war rages on, it becomes harder to find the right words. I have come to speak to you every day, for a year and a half - And I dearly hope none of you have gotten bored of my voice yet.” she chuckled softly. “I know that you, Arthur, and all the soldiers, need to hear that we believe in you. You are not forgotten, not for a moment.” she went on. “My dearest Arthur, hold on to our memories, for they are the thread that will guide you back to me. England’s women stand with you, every step of the way.” she took one letter in her hand. “But today it’s not only about you and how much I love you, Artie. From today on, I am going to read for you the letters that may have never been received by you.” she cleared her throat. “This letter is written by young Jimmy, a charming 5 year old lad who wants to write to his grandpa, Captain Andrew Brown. < Dear Grandpa Andy, mommy taught me how to write, and I wanted you to be the first to see me writing. I never met my daddy, but for me, you are my daddy. I hope you return home soon; I want to play horsie again - And you promised to teach me how to play football when I grow old. I’m a big boy now, I help mommy carry yucky veggies at home - And I eat everything from my plate. Mommy said you’ll come home faster if I study well and get good grades, so I’ll do my best! I love you, papi! > “

The old man was moved to tears; He was imagining his own grandson crying for him. A single mother, whose only support is an old man gone to war. Life truly was unfair.  In spite of that, the letters read on the podcast began rapidly to gain traction; Every person out there had something to say to someone on the battlefield.

“Today, the news brought a glimmer of hope. Arthur, your bravery has not gone unnoticed. I heard of your close call, and my heart ached with fear and relief. You  are my hero, and I send you all my love and strength. To all soldiers, know that each of you is a hero in someone’s heart. Hold fast, for victory is within sight.” she held a letter in her hand, ready to read it. “This time, we have a letter from Mr. Daniel Masters, wanting to share his wholesome words with his wife, Mrs. Angela Masters, who selflessly volunteered as a nurse on the battlefield, and was deployed in Verdun.” she began reading the letter. “ < My darling Angie, you are an angel on this earth. Not only did you volunteer to go out there, in the middle of the war, to save me, a useless cripple, from dying there, but you are saving other men with your fantastic knowledge and skills in medicine. I and my sister are working hard so that when you return, we can have the wedding of your dreams. And don’t worry about little Susie, she’s in perfect health and asking about her mommy every day. She started braiding her hair like you, saying she wants to be pretty like mommy - And what do you know, she found your stack of medicine books under the bed and began asking me to explain those long words - I have no idea what those words mean, I can’t even pronounce them. I hope you’ll come home soon, my angel. We miss you very much, and we love you endlessly. > “

Thus four years passed, day after day, with Y/N passing on the words of Britain, yearning for Her children to return home. At some point, even Ada sent a message for Freddy, reminding him of their childhood love - And Polly wanted to tell the brothers that they have to be strong and return back no matter what.

Finally, it was the fated day - The Government announced the soldiers of Birmingham arriving by train, at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. The station was a sea of anticipation and anxiety, filled to the brim, overcrowded by people of all kinds and ages. Y/N stood amidst the crowd, her heart pounding as she scanned the faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of Arthur. The air was filled with the sounds of families reuniting, joyful cries mingling with the tears of those who had waited so long for this moment.

Children clung to their mothers yelling a collective ‘Daddy’, elderly parents searched for their sons, and wives stood on tiptoes, straining to see over the throng of people. Y/N felt a mix of hope and fear, her eyes darting from one soldier to another, desperately searching for the one face she longed to see. The same uniforms everywhere, but no sign of her beloved.

As more soldiers stepped off the train, the crowd surged forward, and Y/N was jostled, her view obscured by the pressing bodies. Panic began to set in. What if Arthur wasn't on this train? What if something had happened in the final days? Her heart raced, and she felt a lump forming in her throat. She didn’t want the only keepsakes to be the letters he sent her during war; That makes for a most tragic memento.

"Artie!" she called out, her voice lost in the cacophony of the station. “Artie, angel, where are you?!” she continued shouting, but her soft voice was drowned out by the other people calling for their loved ones.

Minutes felt like hours as she stood there, her eyes scanning the thinning crowd. She felt lost, a wave of despair washing over her as the platform began to empty. Just as she was about to break down, fall on her knees and succumb to her grief, a figure appeared through the remaining haze of steam and people.

Arthur.

He was thinner than she remembered, his face gaunt and eyes hollowed by the horrors of war. His disheveled uniform hung loosely on his frame, and he moved with a weary slowness. But when his eyes met hers, a spark of recognition and relief lit up his face.

"Y/N." he breathed, his voice hoarse and tired.

At first, her mind blanked, and her legs became jelly, shaking like two flowers in the wind - It took Arthur smiling and calling her name again, to regain autonomy over her body. She ran to him, tears streaming down her face as she threw her arms around him. The world seemed to stop as they held each other, the pain of their long separation melting away in the warmth of their embrace. Arthur clung to her as if she were the lifeline that had pulled him through the darkest days - And just as promised, he twirled her around. Y/N, his angel, was back where she had to be - In his arms.

"You came back." she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “You really, really came back. You’re here, in the flesh, alive and breathing, and living -- I’m not dreaming, I’m not imagining - I’m not dead, am I?” she pulled back, cupping his face and looking him in those gorgeous doe-eyes of his. So gentle and so loving. “You are real, aren’t you? You came back to me.”

"I promised you, didn't I?" he replied, a faint smile touching his lips despite the exhaustion etched into his features. “I promised I’d come back and marry you. No man would be crazy enough not to return home to an angel like you.”

They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the noise and chaos of the station fading into the background. Arthur was home, and that was all that mattered. It wasn’t sure whether it was Y/N comforting Arthur after 4 years of horror experienced, or Arthur was pacifying his poor cry-baby darling; Yet one thing was sure - They were where they were supposed to be.

"I'm so proud of you." Y/N said softly, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes, before peppering him with kisses all over his face. "You made it through, Arthur. You're here. My hero. You are my hero, Artie. Our hero. You saved us."

He nodded, his gaze steady but shadowed by the memories of what he'd endured. "It's over now. No more about what happened - I don’t wanna hear about it anymore.” he shook his head, holding onto her tightly. “I am home."

As they walked away from the station, hand in hand, Y/N felt a sense of peace settling over her, yet she was still shaken - She was clinging onto her beloved like a baby koala, afraid of losing him, like an oasis mirage. They had both been through so much, but now they could face the future together. The road ahead would not be easy, but with Arthur by her side, she knew they could overcome anything.

The war had taken its toll on them, but their love had endured. The Shelby family was entirely reunited, and trying to heal from the festering wounds created by the four year massacre. Life will never be the same, but they had to learn how to live again, and adjust to a whole new world that was in constant development - A fast world that was waiting for no one, especially not for veterans and their grief.

Each member of the family was affected differently; John became rebellious, Ada was going through a desperate need for affection from Freddy, Polly became dissolute and cynical, Tommy was no longer the adventurous young man who was Y/N’s partner in crime, but a most apathetic and lethargic man, Arthur became aggressively violent and would lose his mind every time he heard a loud noise resembling guns or bombs, and Y/N had to learn how to stop her nightmares and live without worrying her husband would disappear and it would all just be a delusion.

Either way, only one thing mattered for Y/N.

Arthur was home.

[lollipopliccer]

𝔄 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔰𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔢 ❦

❦ warning lollipop chaos ahead! proceed with caution… ❦ light angst , happy ending , ex getō suguru , tattoo artist suguru , set in a tattoo parlour , soft dom geto , praise , cunnilingus , masochism , light sadism & impact play , ig semi public and i guessss office sex

the descriptions of this tattoo experience is not accurate, i dunno shit abt tattoos (even tho i rlly wanna get one). so don't bite my fucking dick off with the technicalities! lets just b happy that i acc posted this hehehe

word count ; 5k ish

black fem reader (still all can read)

lollipopliccer’s love letter ❦ … hiiiii lollipops 🪷 i just wanted to say thank u sm for the love on my debut fic i rlly appreciated it. i’m rlly excited for y’all to read this new one EEEEE. this one was also long as helllll (¬_¬), shit has just been ridiculous in my life rn so sorry abt the delay, i don’t even know y it took me this long just to write 5k ugh anywayyy. i’m excited, cus i always eat up geto tattoo artist head-cannons, mmmm they’re just so mm mm mm tasty. anyway this is my first time writing some angst, i usually stay clear away from any typa angst, i’ve already got enough of that in my life plss haahaa, i don’t even know what possessed me to dip my toe in it, but don’t worry it’s very light. okayy enough of the babble, pls enjoy my fic, and i’d appreciate all ur interaction, reposts, comments, feedback blah blah… mwah mwah mwah ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡��♡‧₊˚

'i'm so excitteedddd' you squeal, as your best friend nobara parks her car, beside the tattoo parlor. you both had been planning your tattoos together for a few weeks now settling on the most beautiful matching heart design on both your bikini lines, whilst individually having unique patterns going through the (tatted) hearts.

"you better not fucking scream when you're actually under the gun" nobara chastises laughing.

"fuck you bitch, you already know i'm bad like that, not even gonna flinch" you taunt, as you both get out of her car.

you decided on wearing a fitted, short black dress, that accentuated your curves and hips but would also be easily manoeuvrable for your tattoo placement. shoko Ieiri your tattoo artist made sure you were comfortable with your design and placement.

underneath your dress, you wore bikini bottoms with side ties, for the same reasons as the dress - paired with some white trainers with pink embellishments. you complete your outfit with jewellery. including your pandora bracelet with silver and pink charms, a necklace, and stud earrings.

you both walk into the parlour, it's decorated all over its dark blue walls with a myriad of paintings, sketches, and different artworks. nobara leads you to the front desk as she had booked the appointment. you're greeted by a raven-haired girl with a short pixie cut.

"hey, are you guys here for your appointment?" she asks, as you notice her name tag- 'maki', and her tattoos and scars peeking through her top.

"yeah, um we had an appointment for 6:30 pm" nobara states, you can see her start to blush at maki.

"cool, yeah i'll check that out for you, umm..." maki responds

nobara so obviously interested in maki, decides to flirt, while you absent-mindedly look at the artwork placed across the shop. it's truly captivating, the deep dark hues and colours, so beautifully drawn, depicting what you could only describe as demons. they were more abstract than the stereotypical depiction, but these works somehow gave more meaning and conveyed more torment.

"so how long have you been working here, maki right?" nobara asks

"yeah, i started some months ago."

"that's cool, i love your tats”

“thank you, i um did some of em myself, nobara right?” maki responds getting nobara’s name from the booked appointment slot

“yeah…” nobara smiles shyly

“…are those your sketches up there? nobara asks, pointing to one of the sketches you've been staring at, there's a familiarity to the work displayed. but you can't put your finger on it.

"no um that's actually from another tattoo artist's, geto." maki answers.

you almost freeze, just from the mention of his name "who?!"

"uhh geto suguru, he owns the place, his artwork is all over these walls" maki responds to you.

a shiver runs up your spine "oh..."

"on that note, i'm sorry for the inconvenience girls, but shoko, your tattooist she had to take our other colleague gojo to the hospital- broke his arm doing some dumb shit. so she won't be able to actually give you your tattoo’s today, however we're able to swap her in for geto suguru, he just got back into town and is just as talented"

"shit" nobara turns to you, already knowing the issue from just his name alone, "yn i had no idea omg, i should've checked better, we can leave"

"nah there'll be no need for that, right yn?" you hear his voice. his silky deep voice, it always had that raspy quality that made your knees go weak. another shiver runs down your spine. you whip around.

"why tf are you here?" you sneer.

"uhh i work here…" he answers deadpan.

you turn back around, after giving him a lethal sneer, "hey um maki is there any other artist today?"

"no, i'm sorry, everyone else is booked." she apologises

"and anyway, it'll be a hassle for you guys if you were to reschedule," geto states

you simply stare at nobara refusing to even glance at him.

"come on yn" geto insists gently, leaning closer to you. your back to him. your name on his lips has you reeling, how softly he calls to you, like no other.

nobara waits for what you want to do, and if you're comfortable being tattooed by your ex in such an intimate area?

"let's get this done", you tell nobara, you turn around to face geto who has that enticing smirk.

as you follow him to his workspace, nobara hangs back reassured that you're comfortable being with your ex. you get the chance to truly take him in since last you saw him. his tattoo’s have grown, as he's painted a whole-sleeved dragon across his left arm, slithering out of his tight-fitted black t. your eyes roam all over his body, soaking in his confident stride, his height, taller than you remember. the way he ties part of his black, luscious hair in the bun is similar but different from the way you remember, leaving the rest of his hair to hang past his shoulders. but his right-hand tattoo is as you remember. a rose’s stem covered in thorns, wrapped around his hand, you can't help but still have your heart swell from that.

as he opens the door for you, you strut past him in silence, he of course responds with an eye roll to your petulance. his workspace is decorated with more of his works, some unfinished, yet so mesmerising you can't look away from them, they seem to depict a greater depth, too intimate for the outer world. the deep hues of dark royal blues, blacks, and green meld together, casting an otherworldly aura. the demons here have this eerie elegance, their features subtly tormenting, evoking such sorrows.

"if you're not comfortable with me tattooing you, we don't have to, i will let you reschedule free of charge-" "i know." you state, without hesitation. and with that, the silence returns as geto smiles slightly, he then grabs his equipment, lining them up, his needle gun, ink, etc.

"why did you insist on me not rescheduling then?" you taunt

"i wouldn't say i instisted" geto defends.

"mmm really? cus i'd even say you implored" you smirk. seeing you smile… he wonders how he could’ve forgotten how magnetic it is.

"i just wanted to see you…”

a pause.

"you broke up with me." you interrupt coldly, both of you are reminded of your separation...

… you begged him to stay. the pain you felt completely consumed you, leaving you empty…

geto holds your gaze. your eyes filled with anger, but also longing. you try to conceal your feelings by turning around.

"yn..." he calls out to you, but you ignore him, seemingly too entranced by a random splotch on the wall, while trying to hold it all in "...yn look at me", geto approached.

you turned around slowly. almost stubbornly, you made sure to look him in his eyes, those deep dark orbs that never failed to suck you into a world of intensity and sensitivity. you both hold each other's gaze, so much said between each other, longing, and regret.

"i am sorry yn, i-" in his attempt to express his apology, you immediately stride past to sit on the tattoo bed, too overwhelmed.

"-right so like from a scale of 1-10, 10 being i'm gonna need to b fucking sedated, how painful is this tat going to be" you ramble, trying to divert the conversation.

you ignore his sigh, as he walks to his chair. he then chooses to focus on preparing his equipment, sterilising them, all that shit. "the tattoo shouldn't be that painful, especially as you requested numbing cream."

"cool" you respond curtly, you follow his actions on focusing on the task at hand, and lift up the side of your dress, to expose the side you were getting tatted on.

when geto looks back he sees your pink bikini bottoms with string ties, he looks away trying to keep his composure "just want you to give me an idea where you want your heart and thorns”.

you clear your throat a little, to try and calm your nerves, “um just around here, i trust your um artistic inclinations. have some freedom with it, i know its kinda simple but i um- the thorns i want them to wrap around, please.”

“of course, yn”

geto trying his best to make this experience as comfortable as possible begins applying the numbing cream. he looks you in your eyes, to see if there were any remaining apprehensions, finding none, the gun comes to life.

“you tell me how you’re feeling throughout this process, if anything feels off with what i am doing, you tell me, do you understand?” geto instructs, his firmness, and apprehension to cause you any unnecessary harm stirs things in you. things you’ve tried repressing, tried to move on from, evidently unsuccessfully.

you nod in response adding a “yes”. and so begins the process, as geto brings needle to skin, his art begins to mark you. the initial twitch of pain you feel is subdued by the numbing cream generously applied. although you can’t help the slight yelp that falls from your lips, which geto catches onto and immediately soothes “shhh it’s okay, the cream will kick in soon won’t feel a thing hun”. his words soothe you, as they always used to, leading you to simply whimper in slight pain. you can’t help but look at him, at how he’s completely focused on your brown skin, that he marks by his hands.

…

as the hours go on, you slowly see geto’s work, his art come together, the red hues of the heart mixing together with slight pinks but also contrasted shades of black, to provide it with such depth, teasing the later depictions of darkness the thorns will add. you are in complete awe of this man, of his work, as you watch him work completely zoned in, despite any dull pain mumbling under the numbing cream.

as your focus lays on him- memories, old feelings of pain, sadness, and confusion begin to bubble again, and you blurt…

“why did you leave?”

a pause…

followed by silence… your demand for answers hanging over you both, while he still remains focused on your tattoo, you remain waiting. you know he heard you.

“i found myself in darkness again, yn, but that time it was even more challenging.. my hallucinations, my night terrors all came back, i was in it deep…” he pauses trying to find his words, and you give him that space “… i knew you were there for me, holding me when i woke up screaming. you stood by me…” he paused

“…however i couldn’t let you do that, i couldn’t bring you there with me. not when i couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world. i needed to find myself again, my purpose. and i know the way i left you, was cold, and confusing, and i am truly sorry, but i had to do it for myself.” as you listen attentively, watching him intently, he slowly gazes at you, pausing his work. your eyes meet with such intensity, such ache, and you start welling up, finally understanding everything, no longer being left with nothing but a cold departure.

“i’m sorry- m’so- ‘m so so sorry geto” tears cascade down your face, geto is quick to wipe them away, softly holding your precious face.

“sshh, ssh baby, don’t be silly mmm, you did nothing wrong, and i’ve been doing better. so much better. finding new channels to express how i feel, what i see.” referring to the intricate art that decorated his walls.

you sniffle, you feel so guilty and ashamed, for the resentment you harboured against him when he was out there trying to fight his way out of such a dark mental space. “they’re beautiful.” you sniffle

“not a day goes by that i don’t think about you, that i don’t regret the way i left. i would’ve come back but i thought you would move on...”

“i didn’t.” you respond

“neither did i.”

with your admissions to one another, a comforting silence fell, filling the room with sweet serenity, and you both found yourselves tethered together once again, holding each other’s gaze, filled with yearning.

you were the first to break, averting your gaze, feeling like it was the first time meeting, how your butterflies bloomed and fluttered, riddled with carnal hunger for him. the paradox of your feelings for him always consumed you, almost driving you mad, only geto could set you so ablaze.

the needle resumed its course, mechanically piercing your skin. both your attentions returned to their original positions.

the only difference being the shift in the atmosphere, the reignition of your feelings for one another, but this time at a tenfold from the time spent apart, wanting no other.

“ahh it’s getting a little sore geto” you whine in slight pain

“sorry yn, we’re moving onto the thorns now, we’ll soon be done, why don’t you take a look at it for me, tell if you don’t like anything?”

as he wipes over the completed heart, filled with colours and dimensions, so deep and beautiful, truly depicting more than you could imagine, it’s medium-sized maintaining a slight cuteness to the art, but still depicts chaos within, which geto clearly understood about you, and so was best to depict it.

“i love it.” you squeal, looking into his eyes, as he looks for reassurance from you. his vibrant smile brightens his face, you hadn’t seen it in so long, and it warmed you.

“good, we’re going to move to the thorns, wrapped down your thigh, why don’t you tell me about your choice of thrones?” geto asked so he could understand your thought process behind the tattoo.

you were apprehensive to reveal your thorns, largely from a place of embarrassment. you didn’t want to show how much he had affected you, and still did, but you did not want to lie to him especially after, he revealed himself so intimately to you.

the thorns, um, i got them from you…” geto halts at this, looking at you in slight confusion “they stemmed from me just wanting to have a piece of you still with me, something that i remembered, that reminded me of you… the thorns, the ones you have on your rose.” in explaining, you feel bold enough to touch the inked rose on his right hand, grazing your fingers over the thorns

suguru can hardly conceal his feelings. “i missed you.” geto states. his dark, sleek eyes told you how he burned for you.

“i missed you too suguru.” you whisper. your feelings flood your body, making you tingly- his intensity holds you in place. you’re both focussed on one another, suguru begins to smile feeling the warmth of your fingers touching him so delicately.

"lets continue your tattoo, i don't wanna fuck it up" suguru states, slowly bringing his hand away from your touch, even though he wanted nothing more than to let you touch him all over. to feel how those pretty acrylics, decorated in bows and charms along his skin, but he didn't want to mess this up, he wanted to tattoo you perfectly.

"okay" you respond, almost dissapointedly. wanting to feel him under your fingertips. you'd settle for now to feel his hands on your thighs, holding them to get his angles right, you were beginning to realise that you wanted more than just to stroke his hand. you want him to mark you all over, with more than just his needle gun.

"you've gotta try and stay still for me yn, i know it hurts, but it'll be over soon" suguru soothed, as his eyes narrowed around the curves of your thighs, the way they flexed and trembled slightly as you whimpered due to the numbed pain.

"okay... can i hold onto you?" you ask. he responds with a nod. you grip his arm, wanting to feel tethered- you don't remember him being so well-built, his biceps feel thick and powerful, almost hard to the touch as he flexes per his movements.

...

you're now a few hours into the tattoo, suguru’s taking his time, to add such beautiful details. the tension between the two of you is palpable, but the air is no longer filled with animosity, but rather intimacy. knowing you though, and how impatient you are suguru already sees it coming when you-

"sug i'm fucking borreeddd" the numbing cream obviously doing its job to reduce the pain to something dismissible, suguru chuckles finding your impatience so familial and adorable.

"it's barely been two hours" suguru forever sassy, remarks, rolling his eyes at ur moodiness. "now stay still, you're messin up my work." suguru states, you huff and bite your tongue, as you don’t want to fuck up his flow, you already know he works best when he’s zoned-in on a task.

you decide to catch up with him, your curiosity building, you've both missed so much from each other's lives. "i like your parlour. i would've bet money you'd turn your art into tattoos, you were too talented to let your art hide in your sketches"

suguru smiles again, "yeah? it was either this or burning down the town", he jokes and makes you both laugh, due to the absurdity. however, you both knew, there was some truth to it, which honestly added to your laughs

"right, of course committing arson, and potential mass murder is an obvious alternative." you sarcastically quip

"what you don't agree, i know you're not much better at keeping your chaos in check," he teases, his eyes locking onto yours.

you feel yourself flush, feeling seen- so you try staying on track to your original plan to catch up with him, "when did you open this place?"

"well actually gojo was the one who invested in my passion"

"that's so sweet"

"yeah, he's a fucking asshole, always all up in my business," he remarks, with a small smile, feigning annoyance. you can feel the fondness behind his words.

you notice how suguru smiles, how he teases, just like he used to, & still has that assertive and confident allure to him, that natural dominance and assuredness in himself, that he almost lost. your conversation with one another continued, bantering off one another. you make each other laugh and snicker and your heart can’t help but swell.

...

your feelings for him set aflame once again. this time with a ferocity you could barely contain. only heightened by the dull pain that he controlled with his needle, marking you so prettily. the assured control suguru had over your body was so seductive, it made places other than your tatted thigh, start to ache, start to ache so badly.

finally, geto lays the finishing touches on your tattoo, clearing up the intricate lines, adding shadings and highlights, and then wiping over the tattoo.

"okay, it's done. you can go check it in the mirror, let me know if you hate it." geto keeping his gaze low somewhat anxious to see your reaction.

as you approach the full-body mirror attached to the opposite wall, you couldn't possibly understand his apprehension because when you lay eyes on your tattoo, you are completely awestruck. you fall completely in love with his markings, the way the thorns pierce through the heart and sliver down your left hip, and thigh, wrapping them gorgeously.

you are lost for words, your lips part with a gasp, and when you bring your eyes up onto suguru through the mirror, you see how he watches you. following from your thighs decorated in his work, marking your body so seductively. then he focuses on how your dress is bunched up on those hips, those hips he’s held, and soothed over for hours today, but his mind wanders... reminiscing about all those times he used to handle and caress all over your plump thighs. how he would mould your body any way he pleased.

he watched as you held the undone ties of your pretty bikini bottoms, it made him salivate. his eyes cast over your dress- the way it hugged your body so exquisitely, propping up your boobs so prettily. the way your butt peaks out of the bunched-up dress, and how your breathing picked up, flustered from his heated gaze.

"i love it sug." you whisper softly.

"yeah?" he smirks. growing bolder, he walks up to you, and you don’t dare avert your eyes from his, through the mirror. you love the way his top hugs his thick muscular shoulders. his broad upper back being so beautifully emphasised, and how his sculpted chest has his nipple piercings teasing through his top. you salivate at his slim waist. ugh he's such a slut. you love the way his body is perfectly decorated in his art, marking his skin; and adorning his arms, and his neck, which is wrapped with a chain, you remember gifting him.

when he reaches you, he has to crouch down, flexing his strong thighs and calves hidden under his baggy bottoms, but you still have to look up at him to maintain eye contact, which he demands with his own. suguru holds the bottom of your thigh just under where the tattoo ends.

"how does it feel?" he whispers into your ear, his sharp gaze still honed on you

you whimper faintly because of the dull sting and ache from the tat

"a little sore sug, but it feels good, i really like it." you say softly while you lean into him, wanting to be wrapped in his body, his warmth.

he smiles at your admission "that's good yn, i'm going to wrap it up now, don't want it getting infected." you love the way he says your name, the way he purrs, your name rolls off his tongue so tenderly.

as he wraps the tattoo you wince, he immediately soothes you, "i've got you baby, it's okay." your body relaxes in response. your eyes never leave each other. as the tension shifts you feel enthralled, wanting him to touch you all over.

"yn, do you want me to play with you?" suguru asks, having that condescending tone that never failed to make you falter. you almost shy away, but he holds your face, bringing his hand up under your chin, his fingers grip your cheeks slightly, making you look directly at him “i want to play with you, i want to help you forgive me baby...” he whispers into your ear. your breath becoming more uneven and flustered from his proximity, that you can practically taste his aroma, how he mixes his scents of minty, smoky notes and cinnamon, woody undertones - it intoxicates you.

“…do you want me to?”

geto waits for your response, not daring to touch you the way he wants, without knowing you’re aching for it. and you want nothing more than that, for him to take care of you how he once did, oh how you wanted to see if he still remembered how to make you cum so blissfully. you nod giving out a soft “please”.

suguru kisses the side of your head, sprinkling kisses down your face making you giggle and fawn, till he reaches your neck and you lose your breath. geto finds the sensitive parts on your neck, making you feel so tingly, it's almost ticklish. you almost forgot how much you loved when suguru kissed and licked across your neck, how he would bite and suckle, leaving you all marked up just how he liked. god he’d go fucking crazy for it too. to hear you whine and pant below him as he licked and sucked. it sent tingles all over your body, straight to your clit. you shuddered under him, leaning onto him- to give him better access to mark you. slowly he grips your hips grinding his bulge into you, he even bends you forward a little so that you can feel him, how hard he is for you- humping into you over your clothed body.

geto held you at an angle arched while both of you stood in front of the mirror so that he could have you grind right back onto his dick that was growing so achingly hard for you. the way he moved your bodies together was so disgustingly sensual, you had to look away moaning as you felt his clothed dick thrust into you, giving you that sensation you so craved. you were whining, you felt so depraved like you hadn’t been touched like this in so long- you just wanted him to rip you the fuck open.

“mmm nah baby look at yourself in the mirror…” he demanded, to which you stubbornly ignored, forcing suguru to grab your face so that you could look at how pathetically you had come undone for him, just from his dry humping. “… i said fucking look at yourself, mmm? you lost your manners baby?” he teases knowing exactly how to fix your attitude. he ends his command by giving your thigh (without the tattoo) a firm slap, making you cry out, you quickly try stifling it, remembering you’re still in his fucking workspace.

“you’re so mean” you whine and pout up at him, which makes him chuckle at you, his smirk unfurling so lewdly.

“i’m going to make it up to you mmm? you’ll let me make you feel good baby? gotta apologise for making my baby upset.” the way he talks to you feigning that concern, his fucking tone, makes you feel weak, and pliant for him. as you move your legs a little wider, and let go of your tied bikini bottoms so they hang down barely concealing a thing. geto watches how strings of your arousal are built up, clinging onto your pretty bottoms. showing him just how wet you are for him and you push your butt into him even more, nodding your head in invitation for him to remedy all the mess he’s made.

as suguru brings his rose-covered hand down to your aching pussy ready to soothe it. once he touches her, feeling your glistening folds, he hisses as his eyes glaze over, and lower so seductively. you see the way his hand flexes and his veins protrude. his long, adept fingers dip further, caressing and rubbing against your hard little clit. he can feel it pulse for him, making you whine as suguru increases the pressure of his fingers on your clit. circling around your throbbing bundle of nerves. his fingers collect the slick past your lips, down to your spasming, weeping hole, and brings them back to your needy nub.

his tight circles, pet your pretty clit so well, turning you into a mewling mess, you can’t help but move against and around his fingers, acting so bratty- but suguru couldn't give a shit, he'll mould you right where he needs you again holding you by your neck and continuing his strokes on that clit regardless of how you whine.

"sug- aaa-" such a petulant whine leaves your supple lips, begging for him to go further into your leaking hole, you needed him to be inside you, having your pussy drool on his pretty, tatted fingers.

"i know baby, you need it don't you? you need me to fuck you open mmm?" suguru whispers in your ear, kissing the outside of your earlobe so delicately, while saying such filthy things. you look at him through the mirror nodding your head so pathetically, and why would he deny you, his baby? nah never...

suguru brings his finger back down to your desperate hole. he eases around your pussy going around the edges of her, only dipping the tip of his finger. you can't take his teasing-

"sugu! stop teasin-" suguru immediately interrupts, plunging his fingers into you, making you gasp. he slipped into your soppy pussy giving off that mind-numbing squelching sound, having your pussy suck his fingers in so snuggly, has you moaning wantonly. the way suguru’s digits fill you, he’s able to add a finger, scissoring two fingers into your weeping cunt, the way he pushes in and curls his fingers to rub against your plush walls it has you mewling. as you feel him find and rub against that spot, that perfect spongey spot so easily, your eyes roll back. suguru was losing his mind, he rasped a soft moan right into your ear, he loved watching you buck on his fingers, the way you moaned and struggled to take him, it made him itch and drool to have you.

his fingers in your pussy stroking and pumping into your soft, wet pussy. his hand around your neck holding your face up to keep your eyes on everything he was doing. his deep, velvety voice right by your ear, whispering, and moaning sweet nothings. you were losing your fucking mind, you almost couldn't handle it.

"aaa- nngg, sug- sug!," you moaned shamelessly "f-ohfuck i can't-"

"sshh baby, tf you think you're doing mmm, whining like that in my office?" suguru whispers chastising you. your eyes look up at him, and the way you looked so doe-eyed, so pathetic- barely able to hold in your moans, gripped him.

"you struggling to take it for me baby, want me stop?" geto taunts, but you instantly shake your head needing him all over you.

“no please don’t stop sug”

"you can take what i give you princess?"

"i need you uhahh" you wanted him to have you however he pleased.

the way he moves has you humping and panting, you wine on him trying to get some friction against your slutty little cunt.

your moans grow louder and the pitch of your whines grow higher- you suck on your pretty fingers to try and get yourself quiet, your eyes glazing over as you watch suguru fuck you so good with his fingers and his hard bulge pushing up into you. the way he licks and bites all over your neck leaving a trail of his marks. suguru still never averts his dark eyes from yours. the purple glints in his eyes kind of sparkle in your head. all of it is bringing you right to the edge. your eyes roll back, your thighs shake, your knees buckle from the pleasure. so pliant and easy for him to manoeuvre you so he can hold you up and fuck you in just the right angles he needs, that he demands.

“fuckfuckfuc- aahh ohhhh sugie. daddy oh mmynghh” you whine and cry, your head lolling onto his shoulder.

right on the precipice of your orgasm, suguru watches how you get so close to cumming, he’s fucking salivating seeing how you become so undone, how you’ve gone fucking dumb on just his fingers, he can’t help but moan and groan right with you.

“mmm mmfuck, mine. mine.” he purrs, licking all up on you

but all too soon, it comes to a halt, and your orgasm gets snatched away from you. suguru wickedly decides to take his fingers out of you. you almost cry

“wha- no suguru fuck no don’t stop, mmmmnoo” you whine so pathetically gripping his arm, it’s fucking laughable trying to keep his fingers right where you needed them, gripping his sculpted arms so hard. your hands… the size difference makes him smile. no not smile, he’s fucking smirking. that little shit.

“fuck you, SUG HMPH!” you practically stomp your feet, pushing him away as you’re about to walk away, but of course suguru grips you against him, pulling you back so close, you are still as stubborn as ever refusing to look at him, while you’re face to face, which makes him snicker. he isn’t having any of that bullshit tho, he grabs your chin and cheeks squeezing as a warning. he pulls your face up to him again and kisses you on your forehead, the side of your head, and your cheek, and then he ghosts his plump, nude lips over your lips.

“if i decide you don’t get to cum on my fingers, you won’t. i don’t fucking care how close you are.” suguru states, locking his eyes with yours so intensely, while his lips and breath feel so close to your own, you almost feel faint. you want nothing more than for him to just kiss you, you want to feel his lips again, oh how you miss how soft they were, how you loved the taste of his mouth, the taste of the mint with his own unique feel.

suguru’s eyes flutter down to look at your lips so lushly plump and glossed he can’t help but lick his lips. he wants nothing more than to mess up your brown and pink lip combo. to bite, suck and lick all over you.

“tell me you understand.”

“i understand daddy, m’sorry i threw a tantrum, i just wanted to cum on your fingers so bad-”

suguru smiles feeling fucking delighted from your admission

“-can you please kiss me, i promise i’ll behave sugie” you whisper almost whining at the end, you rub your thighs together feeling how you made such a mess for him, as your slick trickles down your thighs.

suguru feeling so pleased with you, groans into your mouth, once your lips touch. he almost forgot how much he missed this. how much he missed you, your lips, those soft lips that melted against his. he loved the way you gasped and whined from your slow kiss, so sensual and intimate. but he knew you were such an impatient brat, his impatient princess.

demanding more, you lace your hands into his hair. you adored his long, luscious hair so much, (that you remember countless times joking about shaving it off at night and turning it into a wig. those playful moments would always have you both bickering and laughing together. it makes your heart swell remembering this).

you begged for more by stroking and tugging at the nape of his hair, making his body tingle, as suguru moaned into your kiss. he licked on your lips to get you to open up for him. he loves the way you whine and moan from frustration and neediness while running your fingers through his hair, it made him lose his fucking mind, so, of course, he had to express that by nipping at your bottom lip. his bite made you whimper and grind up against him but it wasn’t enough. you needed more. you wanted more. but suguru leads the kiss to hold that slow, deep and sensual pace, having your tongues dance together, lick against each other unhurried. which was mind-blowing but also so frustrating you wanted to just devour him, you couldn't get enough.

you moaned into his mouth as suguru sucked on your bottom lip, and then went back to your tongue, licking against each other. he spat in your mouth briefly separating your mouths from one another, and immediately resuming the kiss. at this, you snapped. whining wantonly, you gripped onto him and stubbornly clambered onto him so your legs wrapped around his waist. suguru was easily able to carry you. you were determined to make him fuck you.

“daddy” you whisper, opening your eyes to pout up at him.

“yes baby?” suguru answers, giving little kisses along your chin down to your neck. sucking onto your sensitive neck areas, he knew just the right spots to make you lose your fucking mind.

“i want you to fuck me…” you say grinding down onto the bulge you could feel through his sweats. you were sure you could feel a wet spot on them, but you weren’t quite sure of the culprit, as your wet pussy dragged and humped on his dick print leaking with pre-cum. you could feel his throbbing dick just aching to be inside you, pumping you full of his cum. suguru hissed from the feeling of your mess teasing his aching cock.

“… please baby, please fuck me again, i said i’d be good” you whined, moving closer to his ears so only he could hear how desperate you were for him. suguru moans, his voice breaks and rasps a little from you grinding on him and circling over his dick.

suguru fucking snaps, he closes his eyes while his mouth slightly hangs open, just taking in how your hips wined on him while he carried you.

he then cupped your face to him, “you’re such a fucking brat.” he moans, holding your face and caressing your throat, he watches how your breathing picks up, as you get so flustered. he brings you close, kissing you on your forearm, bringing his hand around your neck. then he carries you to his tattoo bed.

“i am not going to fuck you yn-.”

“-but su!” you begin to whine interrupting him

“be quiet.” suguru reprimands, gripping your neck just a little tighter after placing you to sit on the edge of the seat “i’m not gonna fuck you on my dick. when i have you like that, it’s gonna be on my bed, where i can have you screaming on it without any fucking interruptions. do whatever the fuck i wanna do without you getting all shy on me tryna muffle those pretty moans from me mmm, you understand baby?”

“yeah daddy” you answer feeling so giddy and light with him

“there’s my princess,” he smirks, “you’re really that fucking needy, want my dick here, right where my colleagues are downstairs mmm?” he says before kissing you again. “good girl” he praises while lifting off your dress and quickly bringing his lips back onto yours. slowly he brings you to lay back. he gets in between your thighs lifting one up over his shoulder while letting your tatted thigh rest over the edge of the bed. from this angle he could see your pretty glistening pussy, clenching around nothing.

“lay back baby.” he instructs, he sees how you wait in anticipation for him laying back on the bed.

he crouches down, kneeling in front of your exposed pussy, your slick brown lips he’s completely hypnotised by, they glisten from your wetness. you grow a little shy, you weren’t prepared to be eaten out today (૮꒰⸝⸝> <⸝⸝꒱ა). you bring down your hands to try and cover her up, feeling a little embarrassed.

suguru immediately dismissing your nonsense, and swats your hand away bringing them to instead hold your plush thighs “don’t piss me off today yn, it’s fucking mine.” you almost squeal in response to suguru, he gets so intense sometimes.

suguru is completely enchanted by your scent, the way your hole quivers and weeps for him he has to have a taste. keeping his eyes on you suguru takes the time to separate your folds with his fingers, he licks your swollen nub revelling in the way you gasp and twitch from the sensation, you feel so sensitive from the way his fingers had you shacking.

he then delves in, lapping and sucking on your bud making you writhe and moan from pleasure. the movement of his tongue has such an effect on your pussy, it's marvelling. he takes his time, really getting you sensitive, flattening his tongue on your clit and then straightening it to add pressure, circling perfectly around your bundle of nerves, it makes you gasp and arch your back so prettily

“fuck! sug-daddy aaaahhh” you release a raspy cry, gripping his hair and pulling him into you to, so you can grind on his face, which makes him moan into you, muffling a-

“fuck baby” into your wet pussy, he has to hold your hips down as you begin moving around too much for him to control, so he holds your thigh and places his other arm on your hip, pushing you down, so you stay fucking still for him to play with you properly. suguru brings his tongue down to your leaking hole, thrusting his pointed tongue into your pussy making you mewl and cover your mouth to stop yourself from squealing.

the way you’re panting and moaning, suguru can tell you're going dumb for him, aching to cum all over him. he takes his mouth off of you as your moans get higher. you whine from the absence of his tongue on your needy pussy but he makes up for it by spitting on her, letting his spit slide onto your sensitive cunt. the way his spit glistens and slides down your pussy, he pushes it back into your hole, thrusting his fingers and spit back into you. you react by clutching your thighs together from the sensitivity which makes suguru look at you sharply.

“open.”

you whine, separating your thighs, so he can dip his head back down onto your clit which makes you shudder, bucking your hips into his face. he continues thrusting his fingers into you while his tongue plays and toys with your sore little clit. you can feel everything, it's all so much, your eyes roll back as your mouth hangs open letting out a broken moan while you tug at suguru’s hair.

the way his fingers scissor your folds open, cunt drooling and sucking him in greedily, while he laps and lightly nips on your clit letting his spit drool on you, just for him to suck on your juices. he eats so sloppily it has your eyes watering.

“s’good sug—so fuckin’ good,” hips grinding into the movement of his lengthy fingers, chasing that ecstasy knotting in the pits of your stomach, you’re so close you start seeing white, suguru knows you’re about to cum from the way your fingers tangle and tug at his hair, struggling to either push him closer or away from you. his dark piercing gaze never leaves your face.

“daddy m’gonna cum! shit hah aa sug please lemme cum oh please” you sob, which makes suguru groan into your pussy. feeling the way your hole clenches around his fingers, leaking out so much wetness. the way your hard clit throbs for him, your juices covering, adorning his beautiful face, he looks so pussy drunk. the only thing on his mind is making you cum all over him.

“mmm baby, you gonna cum for me.. that’s my good fucking girl” he says pumping his fingers into you while moving his other hand to circle your clit in tight circles, so he can talk you through your orgasm.

“oh fuck daddy! oh my godnngh” your hands immediately grip suguru’s hands as you squeal and moan wantonly. your body arches and bucks as you dig your nails into him leaving little crescents on his skin. your vision dots, as your body tenses, lips parting into a silent scream as your release flies through you, wetting the tattoo bed. suguru watches your cream flow beneath you, all over his mouth. he pushes your juices back into your leaking hole, drooling at the way your hole squelches.

“there’s my good girl, oh you did so good baby mmmm” he praises lapping at your excess juices spilling down, you’re so fucking sensitive it hurts

“sug-ahh it hurts, fuckk” you whine, purring up at him as you watch suguru’s desire envelop you, you can tell he’s not done with you, but you doubt you could even take anymore.

suguru slithers up to you, kissing and licking up your boobs, making you squirm. when he reaches you he holds your face so gently, mere inches away from you.

“you forgive me baby?” suguru whispers gently stroking his nose against yours, almost purring against you like a cat “mmmm?” he purrs stroking the side of your face and caressing your limp exhausted body. you feel so warm against him, so lewd and yet so protected.

“i forgive you, you’re such an asshole” you giggle feeling a little shy again, only suguru was able to make you shy, and flush so easily. suguru whispers back a thank you and captures your lips into a searing kiss, melting you both together so passionately. you clutch onto the nape of his neck and run your fingers through his hair, earning you a moan, as suguru’s tongue dances with yours sensually. he grips your hips, pulling you against him. you can feel his bulge pulsing for you-

“suguru, aye we’re back! and u’ve got another appointment waiting!” you both hear from downstairs at the reception, shoko calling out to suguru followed by gojo following suit making a ruckus, throwing a tantrum about his arm

“dudeee, where tf r u? i coulda died!” gojo shouts out. you can hear him coming up the stairs to suguru’s office

“mmm fuck suguru, they’re coming up” you gasp up to suguru who still refuses to take notice of them. he smirks, choosing to still feel all up on you

“mmmm don’t care c’mere” suguru states, you roll your eyes

“suguruuu c’mon” you smirk, pushing against him

“ugghh for fucksake” suguru huffs moving off of you, taking your hand and pulling you up to him making you yelp with excitement. you both come to your senses though when you hear gojo’s footsteps up the stairs getting close, both of you scrambling to put your dress back on and get you both presentable.

suguru then holds your chin, so you both look at each other

“what?” you nervously laugh at his intense look

“let me take you out yn? i’ve missed you so much baby” suguru pleads while stroking the side of your cheek with his thumb

“mmmm i dunno sug, dependdss on where you’re gonna take me” you smirk up at him

“let me worry about that baby, i wanna treat you, try and make it up to you” suguru implores and then kisses your forehead just as gojo barges in-

“sUgUruUuu!!”

♡ ༺｡° .ᘛ𓆩♡𓆪ᘚ. ° ｡༻

[conchiferrous]

franky the boat timeline

[ID: A One Piece fan comic featuring Nico Robin and Franky from the hypothetical bad timeline. Instead of dialogue, all text boxes contain lyrics to "Green Grass" by Tom Waits. In the first panel, Robin, who is now old and graying, stands alone in a cannon room inside of a ship. She is leaning against a support beam, right hand pressed against the beam while her left hangs down, holding a glass of rum and coke. Her white hair is messy and covering her eyes while she grimaces. The lyrics read: "Lay your head where my heart used to be. Hold the earth above me. Lay down in the green grass. Remember when you loved me." In the second panel, Robin somberly rests her chin on a ship's wheel, her left arm slung over the side of it. It's raining down on her, and her glass is now placed behind the wheel next to three of the ship's log pose compasses. The lyrics are: "Come closer, don't be shy. Stand beneath a rainy sky." The bottom half of the panel is divided by a stream of steam coming from the Puffing Tom as it runs along the ocean under a night sky. The lyrics are: "The moon is over the rise. Think of me as a train goes by." In the third panel, Robin is mopping the dirtied deck. The lyrics are: "Clear the thistles and brambles. Whistle 'Didn't he Ramble'". In the bottom right hand corner of the panel is a close up of the glass of rum and coke with the lyrics: "Now there's a bubble of me, and it's floating in thee." The fourth panel is a low shot of three steel cannons with a mast towering above it; painted on the sail is: "BF-70". The lyrics are: "Stand in the shade of me. Things are now made of me. The weather vane will say, it smells like rain today." The fifth panel show a flock of seagulls flying over head on the top of the panel, and on the bottom the seagulls have morphed into white flowers, with the seagulls in an abstract in between phase in the middle of the panel. The stars in the sky line the borders, but they too melt away into abstract lines the further down the panel. The lyrics are: "God took the stars, and he tossed 'em. Can't tell the birds from the blossoms. You'll never be free of me. He'll make a tree from me." The flowers funnel down into the sixth panel where they morph into stars inside of Robin's speech bubble. Her speech bubble is wordless, containing only a night sky. She's standing as close as possible to Franky's figurehead while on the deck, and looking towards him, looking somber. She's resting her left hand on the railing while holding the back of his figurehead with her right. The lyrics are: "Don't say goodbye to me, describe the sky to me. And if the sky falls, mark my words, we'll catch mocking birds." In the seventh panel Robin lays in a hammock in Franky's sleeping quarters with the lights still on. The hammock is close enough to a wall for Robin to reach out and place a hand on it. The lyrics are: "Lay your head where my heart used to me. Hold the earth above me. Lay down in the green grass." The last panel shows Franky as a ship sailing the ocean under a night sky. His figurehead resembling the general Franky's somewhat, and eyes that function as headlights. Multiple cannons line of the sides of him. Robin is hugging his figurehead from the back, and a textbox reads: "Remember when you loved me." /END ID]

[axeoverblade]

42 miles with a trini reader or any west Indian implications tbh?? 🩷🩷

Caribbean/ West Indian Reader Head Cannons

Earth 42! Miles x fem! Reader

Synopsis! Where you are in touch with your roots.

MASTERLIST

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none!

Word count: unavailable

Authors comment: short blurb of head cannons. I tried my best sorry if anything is innacurate please let me know so I can fix it <3

Do not copy! All rights reserved to ©axeoverblade

When Miles first met you, it was hard for him to understand your broken English. But you were so pretty he was going to make sure he learned how.

Even though you were born US, your parents moved to America making your accent super strong and often hard for him to decipher

But now that he’s known you and had been with you for some time, it was like second language when he heard you speak.

He would sometimes even catch himself speaking like you, making the people around him confused.

They would just have to get used to it like he did.

One thing you two bond over is your love of fruit

Give you two a good mango or plátano and it was over

His mom absolutely loves you no doubt.

Sees you as one of her own and is so happy when you come over

She had given both you and Miles a talk separately about not breaking the others heart

Promised to her you wouldn’t and vise versa

When you first met uncle Aaron he gave you a really hard time

But when you stood your ground over and over again he eventually accepted you, telling miles that you could “hold your own.”

Aaron ends up becoming super close to you and acts like he likes you more than his own nephew

…

He does

You had been invited to multiple functions before and honestly his whole fam loved when you were around tbh

Of course in every relationship there was conflict

You two butt heads often because how strongly opinionated you both were

Both of you were like super sassy and had attitudes so you would often have “heated debates” over the littlest things, even if it was just for jokes

Something that was really hard for Miles was learning to accept what you wore

Like you were mad comfy with your body and often wore clothes that he would deem as “inappropriate” but he knew you weren’t wearing them to be.

Ended up having to letting it go and now non verbally threatens anyone who stares at you for too long.

He was genuinely surprised with how much your family varied in color the first function of yours he went to

He thought his familia was the biggest, most diverse in New York, he was wrong.

Yours definitely took the cake

You made him try doubles, and at first he though they were going to be gross or just not his thing

He was 100% wrong. You ended up having to make another plate because he ate em all.

Your mom loved Miles, happy that you found someone who loved you just as much as you loved him.

But she makes him help clean up

First time Miles met your father he could’ve sworn your dad absolutely hated him

He did

Ended up accepting Miles after he defended you from a stranger in front of him

Started calling Miles son and would often ask about how he was when Miles was gone.

Safe to say Miles was going to be around for a while

©axeoverblade

[lorata]

Wait I just did the maths and Alec was 12 in Claudius’ arena. What was that like watching with his parents? Did Joseph use it as a teaching moment ‘this is what happens when you break the rules’ sort of deal

Anonymous asked: Just realised Alec would’ve been 12 and watching Claudius’ arena with Joseph and Adora, did they say anything? Did they comment? What did the trainers say?

OKAY WELL SIX MONTHS / 6,000 WORDS LATER HERE WE ARE

warnings for uhhhhh generational trauma and child abuse and the cycle of trauma / abuse / fear / fascism / all that good Seward soup

FIC BELOW:

-----

Creed left for Residential a week before the Reaping, and his absence stretched long and thin as the Games played out. One of their tributes died quick, a heavy blow to the head that took him out before he hit the ground. The other managed to drag herself into a tree with a seeping gut wound, blood oozing between her fingers and dripping down the branches, face upturned at the camera for a sponsor parachute that never came. No signs of life but the flutter of her lashes and the steady drip-drip-drip of blood until both stilled and the cannon fired.

“Bedtime,” Dad said, then almost as an afterthought, “You too, Selene.”

Alec dragged himself off the sofa, limbs heavy. Selene kept sitting, eyes fixed on the television with a now familiar glint. “Lene,” Alec said, sharper than he meant to.

Her gaze snapped to him, sharp with irritation, and he saw the Centre-reflex in the coil of muscle at her shoulder. Saw her wind up to hit him before the moment cleared and she was back in his living room, both their parents watching. “Whatever,” she said with sarcasm-shaded casualness. No points for subtlety, trainee, said the trainer in back of Alec’s head, but at least she followed.

No jockeying for space at the bathroom mirror now that Creed had gone. Alec missed it with a desperate ache, but elbowing Selene now wouldn’t bring back the easy playfulness of the early years. She brushed her teeth, spat, and marched into the bedroom without a word, leaving Alec to stand there with his mouth full of foam and his chest a gaping hole.

By the time Alec ventured into his room Selene had already vanished into the top bunk (Creed’s bunk). Alec stared at the lump of blankets in the reflected hallway light before giving up and crawling under the covers.

“I wouldn’t have tripped,” Selene said. The blankets rustled — the mattress creaked as she rolled over to face the wall — and soon her breathing evened out into sleep.

Alec tried, really he did. Except that eyes closed or open, squeezed tightly shut or held wide until they burned he still saw it: the red-black splatter of arterial blood onto wide jungle leaves.

-----

December: icy winds whistling from the mountains, blowing snow that stung his cheeks, endless promotions for the upcoming Victory Tour. Selene’s thirteenth birthday.

No party, like she predicted. Instead, Alec’s window slid open as he hunched over his desk, struggling with an essay about the Solstice, and Selene dropped through. Snowflakes scattered on her dark hair, slowly melting. “Yo,” she said. “Got the signature.”

Alec swallowed hard. “You going tonight?”

“Yeah. Uncle Joe’s going to drive me.” Not Uncle Paul. Not Aunt Julia. Selene rubbed one cheek with her shoulder, a short, jerky movement, avoiding Alec’s eyes as he gaped at her.

Selene barely spoke to her parents anymore, tension filling their house until it choked. But they weren’t the only ones; shared family dinners had stalled out since the fall. Selene’s parents didn’t want her going to Residential, everyone knew that. He didn’t know his parents had gone behind their backs.

“Oh,” he said. “Well — knock ‘em dead?”

“You know it.” She punched his arm. “Don’t wuss out without me.”

“Yeah, right. Like I’d stay here by myself where it’s sad and boring.” Alec shoved her back, and for a moment they could have been horsing around like old times, if not for the damp-edged sheaf of folded paper clutched to Selene’s chest. “Don’t break all the records before I get there.”

Selene didn’t wave as the car backed away down the narrow lane, but Alec watched the headlights bob through the trees anyway. “Are they mad?” he asked. The thought twisted his insides.

Mom held onto the question before she answered. He liked that she took him seriously, but hated that she had to think. “She would have walked,” she said at last. “Liking and accepting are different things.”

Not a no, Alec thought, but not ‘we are banned from the Valents’ house forever’ either. He didn’t like it, but he could accept it. One kill for Mom.

-----

Aunt Julia handed him his favourite mug, steaming and filling the kitchen with mint. Alec took it without paying attention, curling his palms around the sides instead of grasping the handle. He jerked back with a hiss, liquid sloshing over the rim onto his fingers. Only Centre-training kept him from flinging the mug away.

“Alec!” Julia darted forward. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” he said quickly, and hid his arms behind his back. His throat clenched. “No, I’m okay. Sorry. It’s fine.”

Julia studied him for several endless seconds. At the Centre Alec learned to take a punch to the face without flinching, but under Julia’s direct scrutiny he buckled and held out his hands. She curled her fingers around his wrists, turning him to face her so she could examine the angry weals slashed across both palms.

“I fell,” Alec said in a low voice. Julia caught his gaze and held it, but this time he squared his shoulders and stared back, steady. “I fell,” he repeated. “It was my fault.”

(Spring meant young, green branches, and Dad had been distracted. Usually he was precise: two short strokes each, but this time Mom had darted in to stop him. She’d ordered Alec to the Valents’ and pulled Dad aside, and as he edged out the door he’d caught the the sharp snap of her tone.)

Julia sighed, but only stood up to fetch the medicine kit. Alec watched her smear cream over the parallel cuts and tape his hands, and took a deep breath as she finished. “Is something … happening? Outside. Dad is really tense.”

Like Mom, Julia considered her words before answering. “I’m almost twelve,” Alec insisted. “I’m not a kid anymore, you can tell me.”

“You know Paul and your father can’t talk about work at home,” Julia warned. “But I do think the country is … uneasy. Seven had an unconventional win, and those are always unpredictable. I think everyone will be on edge until the Reaping.”

“We learned about that in Civics,” Alec said slowly. “Unrest happens in cycles. The districts get restless after the Tour but quiet down when the next Games start.”

She favoured him with a tight smile. “Exactly. A few more months and things should go back to normal.”

-----

“Elias Linden!”

Alec inhaled sharply through his nose. Reaching into his mind he yanked out half a dozen memories of the switch stinging his palm, Dad’s hand knocking his face to the side, the burn of his thighs as he counted down the minutes of his nightly wall-sits, so that when the camera drones swung past his row the image of his face that flickered across the enormous screens stared out calm and impassive.

(Alec, seven years old, desperate and terrified to start a fight so the Program will notice him.)

(A group of kids with Centre bracelets, tossing a ball back and forth in a circle.)

(A kid in the middle, wrist bare, face screwed up tight and lower lip wobbling.)

(“You’ve had your turn. Let someone else play.” “Last chance, kid. Go away.”)

(Alec in the office with a broken nose, split lip, a bag of frozen peas held to his face. Kid in the middle vanished as soon as the fists started flying.)

Elias Linden.

Out of all the twelve-year-olds in District 2. Alec must have fought the bullies over him a dozen times those next few months. Elias never said thank you — never looked him in the eye — and once the Centre called Alec stopped picking fights, too exhausted to think about the merchant boy with the hunched shoulders and hunted expression.

Elias didn’t look like a kid who’d learned to fight once his recess saviour forgot about him. The drones zoomed in on those same hunched shoulders, same clenched jaw, same stupid fancy clothes that made him a target for every pre-Residential tyrant in the central quarter. 

And now —

“I volunteer!”

Alec pressed his knees together against the automatic urge to buckle. He had actually forgotten. Year after year of summers in this square — Creed’s lifelong obsession — and still, for those 30 seconds it was real. The Arena had swooped down and curled its claws around Elias, around all of them, like everyone else in Panem.

But they weren’t the rest of Panem. They were Two, and Alec couldn’t breathe. For a handful of seconds he got it, got why Dad always used that reverent voice when he spoke about the Games, why Creed puffed himself up so big and important. Alec knew Elias and they’d called his name; it could have been Alec. But it wouldn’t be Elias, and it wouldn’t be Alec, not this year, not any year.

Because of the tall, blond teenager with long limbs and steely eyes who strode down the central aisle, mouth curved in a hard sneer. And one day, because of Creed.

Alec bit his tongue until he swallowed blood and cheered with the rest of the crowd, a hollow in the pit of his stomach.

-----

Without Creed, now without Selene, the afternoon yawned. A whole summer with no one else for company; even Alec’s usual trick of calling up an imaginary Selene to devise likely activities wouldn’t save him now. Maybe he could dam the creek and teach himself to swim in the shallows? That would take time, if nothing else.

“Alec.”

He never jumped on the outside anymore, even when all his insides clenched into knots. But Dad’s serious voice made Alec’s heart start running laps, and he turned around slowly, brain doing somersaults trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. Forgot to make his bed? Left his breakfast dishes on the table? Splashed water on the sink and didn’t wipe it?

“Come inside and see this,” Dad said. “It’s important.”

Most kids at school didn’t start watching until the Reaping, maybe the year before so they knew what standing in the square their first year meant, but even Alec only sat down with his parents for the evening recap. A low chord of foreboding plucked in his chest. Quicksand dragged his limbs but he forced himself into a Peacekeeper’s march to join his parents in the living room.

Tucked into a corner of the sofa, under cover of his knees, Alec twisted anxious fingers in the crocheted afghan as one after another, district after district, kids his age walked shakily to the stage. This year the Games would have a whole stage of Elias Lindens — or Alec’s entire class at school.

“What happened?” he asked, once the footage switched to commentary. The Games correspondents didn’t have any theories, or if they did, they weren’t telling. Dad pressed mute on a discussion over the ongoing trend of seersucker in the outer tributes’ Reaping shirts.

‘This,” Dad said, slow and heavy, and Alec’s brain filled in the rest of the sentence along with him as he had done thousands of times — only without the ghost of Selene’s imitation trying to make him giggle —

This is what happens when we break the rules.

“Aunt Julia said,” Alec said, needing to show he understood, needing desperately to be a grownup. “She said there was unrest in the districts. Like how we learned in school.” Dad said nothing, which meant he wasn’t wrong, and so he continued, one foot in front of the other. “So this is — a reminder? That the Games are not a joke. That — that obedience is not a joke. That … they think they’re smart enough to find a way around the rules, if they’re tricky, but they’re not. The Capitol is the boss no matter what.”

Mom nodded. “Yes.” Now the Reaping footage returned in split screen, the only Volunteers (One, Two, Four) waving at the roaring crowds. Her face pinched, eyebrows drawing close, one corner of her mouth turned down. “Their job will be to carry out the punishment.”

“Because we’re the sword,” Alec said, on surer ground now. Anyone who made it to Transition knew this one. District 2, the tool, the weapon, acting as the Capitol willed. Creed had that speech memorized since he was five years old. “We don’t write the message, but we send it.”

They sent him back outside after that, and Alec hauled himself up the willow tree in the hopes that wind in the branches and the solid bark beneath his back would settle the uneasy churning in his stomach. All those weeks of Dad working overtime, the growing tension, a whole nation under the thumb for disobeying. Alec squirmed when Selene sneaked an extra cookie in front of him, never mind widespread treason. And now, six tributes in charge of delivering the Capitol’s retribution. Alec didn’t envy them that task. What did you do with tools, after all, once they’d outlived their use? There would only be one Victor this year, same as any other.

He clenched his eyes shut and focused on the rustle of leaves overhead, the drone of insects and scream of a distant hawk.

-----

Nothing surprising about their girl this year. Strong, beautiful, definitely deadly, stalking the training room in ‘unreleased’ footage that fools nobody but they still do it every year. Dad liked her; Mom said she should smile more. Then they had a brief argument about double standards in tribute sponsorship — Dad: “No one ever asked Nero to smile” Mom: “I am well aware” — while Alec wedged himself in the sofa corner as usual, hoping they forgot about him.

The boy, though —

Right from the start Alec could tell that the male tribute from Two would be unconventional, a thought that chilled his spine. Alec watched, chest squeezed so tight his ribs creaked, as the rangy boy chatted up outlier tributes, postured with the other Careers, and looked up at his mentor with such raw need that Alec looked away, burning with second-hand humiliation. Not exactly the ruthless murder machine that the Reaping set up for him to be.

Once footage ‘leaked’ of a Two v. Four showdown in the training room, both boys bristling for a fight, bodies tense and pushed up in each other’s space, eyes locked, faces so close they breathed the same air. Alec’s face burned, his whole body flashing hot, and he had to fight the urge to fling the blanket over himself, horrified to be in the same room as his parents, even though nothing about that made sense.

“What is he playing at,” Dad groused. “Actually, no, what is his mentor playing at. That boy’s only doing what he’s told. She knows better. Our job — and the stakes — could not be more clear. This is not the year to get clever.”

Alec didn’t bother answering, having long learned to differentiate between Dad’s ‘vent’ and ‘require response’ modes, and so he tensed when Mom ignored the signs. “She wants her kid to survive. There’s no shame in that.”

“That is not what the Games are for,” Dad said sharply. “Not this year. Not any year. They’re bigger than the life of one tribute, one mentor. Lyme knows that — or at least, she should. If she’s forgotten, then that’s one more piece in why this year is necessary.”

Mom’s face tightened, and Alec expected the silence to stretch the way it sometimes did at the dinner table, awkward and awful, but she fired right back, fast enough he nearly flinched. “Of course they’re more than a single life, but that doesn’t make that life irrelevant. It doesn’t mean she shouldn’t try everything she can to bring him home. Or should she dig a grave as soon as the paperwork is signed?”

“Alec,” Dad said, without looking at him, “Outside.”

Alec scrambled off the couch and out the door so fast he bashed his knee, hip and shoulder against various corners on the way out. He did not slow down until he hit the woods. 

-----

Next morning, creeping downstairs to grab breakfast and duck outside before his parents woke, Alec ran into his father on the way up, squarely-folded blanket and pillow tucked under his arm. “Um,” Alec said, burning with a sense of shared embarrassment he couldn’t articulate.

“Alec,” Dad said, like any morning, except he fixed his gaze to the left of Alec’s head. Alec scrambled to the side, pressing his back against the wall to let him pass.

-----

“And with that, we’ll be right back to hear from our electrifying tributes from District 3!”

The camera wiped from Caesar Flickerman’s glinting smile to a panel of forecasters as Mom soundlessly muted the television. Alec’s knees dug into his chin and he held himself small, willing himself to shrink, dissolve back into the fabric of the couch, disappear entirely. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t even blink. Don’t do anything to draw attention. A mouse in the shadow of a hawk, waiting.

Dad’s moods had always filled the house — Creed never believed him but Alec could sense them with his eyes closed — and now it seeped into the living room, thick and unstoppable, like the low roll of thunder before a storm or gush of oil from an overflowing bucket. “Joseph,” Mom said, warningly, but then she stopped, looked at him, and her tone shifted, turning almost gentle. “Joe. It’s all right.”

“What about that is all right,” Dad gritted out. “The instructions this year could not have been more clear. One knows. Our girl knows. They’re playing along, they’re following the rules. The boy is not following the rules. He’s not following the rules, Dora —”

“I know,” Mom said, soothing. Alec had to breathe, finally, and drew air in through his nose as slowly as he could stand. “I know. But they know this as well as you do, they know the cost. They wouldn’t play this game for no reason. There must be a plan.”

“Oh?” Dad spun to glare at her, eyes wild. Don’t move, hissed Alec’s brain, don’t move. “What about all that about mentors and tributes and digging graves and lives not being irrelevant? Throwing our son in my face? Maybe she’s done the math and decided that it’s worth it, like you said. Maybe she doesn’t care who pays the price as long as one boy comes home. They don’t know.” His breath came ragged now. “They don’t know. They don’t know what happens when you break —”

Mom crossed the room in two sharp strides and knelt in front of Dad’s chair, holding his wrists. “Alec,” she said without looking away from Dad, “Go find Paul and Julia. Fast as you can.”

Frozen, Alec couldn’t move until Mom’s slap-sharp “Now, Alec!” tore him from his spot.

-----

Aunt Julia and Uncle Paul were washing the dinner dishes, television on mute in the other room, when Alec slammed his way in the front door. Julia jumped and dropped a drinking glass, which dropped into the sink with a wet plorp. “It’s Dad,” Alec said, chest squeezing. “The District 2 boy said something in the interviews and I don’t get it but it made him — he’s not — Mom said I should come get you —”

Julia and Paul exchanged a look. “Should I,” Julia murmured, and Paul shook his head. “I’ve got it,” he said, and he kissed the top of her head, folded the dish towel on the counter, and headed out. He squeezed Alec’s shoulder on the way past, his hand warm and solid.

“I don’t know what happened,” Alec said. He felt very small and very stupid and he missed Selene so much it hurt.

Julia sighed. “Let’s finish up the dishes first.”

Alec opened his mouth to protest, but Julia held out the towel and he stepped forward to take it from her automatically. And once he had the towel she handed him a glass and the rest sort of followed, and the rhythmic motions of drying the dishes didn’t make the earlier events disappear but they did help quiet the jangling in his brain, at least a little. Finally, Alec placed the last plate on the shelf and hung the towel up to dry, and Julia gestured him over to the table.

“I don’t know what happened either,” Aunt Julia began, and fair enough, they didn’t even watch the interviews. Until Alec came bolting in they wouldn’t have known there was anything to worry about. “But Paul and your mother will sort him out. Peacekeepers, you know. They understand things we can’t, sometimes.”

The urge to tear at the skin by his nails, to pick and pull until his fingers bled, bubbled up strong, and Alec exhaled hard and pressed his hands flat to the tabletop. Pushed down hard until his knuckles ached and his joints shook. “Do you think he’ll ever tell me?”

Aunt Julia frowned. “About tonight? Or something else?”

How even to explain the spectre that stalked his house, haunting the hallways and hanging over Alec’s shoulder any time he considered the kind of playful rule-bending that Selene took for granted as a childhood rite of passage. Alec stared at the table, following a grain of wood from the edge until it disappeared from view. “I don’t know how to — I feel like there’s something big I don’t know. Like he’s always not telling me something.”

Julia laughed.

A snort, not a fully belly laugh, and stifled by her hand once the sound caught up with her, but even so Alec bristled. “It’s not like that,” Julia said. “I only mean, Joseph always has something on his mind. But it has nothing to do with you — or anyone else, really.”

“But —” Alec clicked his tongue in frustration. “Shouldn’t I know? It seems like if I just, if I knew, I’d understand and it would all — make sense. Him. Me. All of it.”

She studied him, eyes dark and serious. “Alec,” Julia said finally. “It’s not your job to manage your father.”

Several summers ago, Selene pushed him out of the willow tree in the backyard. He’d landed on his side, shocked and winded, the breath driven from his lungs, one arm caught under him, wrist bone snapped in two. It came back to him now — not the blow or the pain or the fear, but that moment when he slipped from the branch before he hit the ground, when time elongated and he’d been weightless, floating.

“What,” he said finally, stupidly. “I’m not.”

“Hm,” Julia said. “I’ll make cocoa.”

-----

After the cocoa, Julia sent Alec upstairs to get ready for bed. “You’re welcome to stay here until things settle down,” she said. “I’ll make up the room for you.”

Despite absolutely nothing being different — Selene hadn’t even taken any belongings with her — the yawning cavern of her absence echoed so loudly that Alec actually stole one of her favourite shirts to sleep in out of spite, in the hopes that she would appear in the window to fight him for it, or something. Obviously she didn’t, because that was stupid, which meant that when Julia came back in to say goodnight she found Alec with ‘CAREFUL, I BITE’ emblazoned across his chest.

“Do you think we’ll get punished for what the Twos are doing?” Alec asked. “Dad’s worried, I know that much.”

Julia sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his curls back. “Your dad’s worried because his job takes him closer to things than most. I think if anyone knows their duty, it’s Two. Any mentor worth two stones knows how to keep their tribute and the district safe. Now sleep.”

She poked a finger between his eyebrows, then bent to kiss his forehead. Alec closed his eyes and let himself believe her.

-----

Tree shadows criss-crossed the ceiling as Alec tried to will himself to sleep. Two Boy had aimed the target back at the districts, blaming the families of the tributes for not volunteering. Except that — the outer tributes were usually scrawny, and starving, and had never seen a weapon in their lives. They hadn’t trained in a secret academy for years, had they? Mom and Dad and the trainers always said the Centre was a privilege. It wouldn’t be a privilege if everybody was allowed.

So what, then.

He could hear Selene’s dismissal already: not our problem. Even Creed would argue that training or no, it was the older sibling’s duty to protect the younger, and they would have to live with the guilt of that failure. But Alec had stood in that Reaping square, had watched Elias Linden take that first shaky step forward, and if no one else had taken his place? What if Alec had been thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and never held a sword? Would he have done it? 

Alec didn’t even want to go to Residential. He’d never volunteer to die.

Okay. If it wasn’t the Careers, and it wasn’t the districts, then whose fault was it?

Alec jumped out of bed, sheets tangled around his feet so he nearly tripped and slammed into the floor face-first. He pushed Selene’s desk chair out of the way into the middle of the room, pressed his back against the wall and bent his legs until his thighs burned and his brain gasped in relief.

He counted to five hundred, then dragged himself, twitching and trembling, back to bed.

-----

Normality attempted to reassert itself with breakfast: scrambled egg and toast with a generous tablespoon of homemade rhubarb jam from the neighbours down the road. As always Alec hesitated at the jam — a definite indulgence, and he hadn’t done push-ups or anything this morning — but Julia had already spread it on the bread and asking for a plain slice would be rude. Julia and Paul shared another glance as he sat down, and Alec tensed.

“Your dad and Uncle Paul are going back to the office today,” Aunt Julia said, carefully. “We’ll all watch the recaps in the evening.”

Alec let out a breath. Aunt Julia was on-call for emergencies at the hospital and Mom’s school was out for summer vacation. Senior staff at Eagle Pass, meanwhile, had a work-from-home rotation for Games month, and it wasn’t Dad or Uncle Paul’s turn to be on site. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s an unconventional year already,” said Uncle Paul. “Safe to say the Arena will be a stressful one. We agreed it’s better if we’re not glued to the screen all day.”

Not exactly a lie — Paul and Julia only ever watched the recaps — but Alec knew the sound of an intervention when he heard one. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I guess I’ll … go hang out in the woods?”

Julia poured him a glass of juice. “You can take the fishing gear if you like. I’ll pack you a lunch.”  

-----

He left the fishing gear at home, haunted by the memory of gulping mouths and pleading eyes on the last trip Dad tried to take him on, which left his original dam-the-river plan as the only option that sprang to mind. Alec trudged home at dinner time soaking wet, covered in mud, having heard absolutely no stupid jokes or threats or feats of illogic all day. The only time he fell into the creek, he’d tripped on his own.

Hanging out by himself sucked.

-----

Twelve-year-olds died every year. Alec had even seen them. But even compared to the hulking gods of the Careers they’d still been older than Alec and somehow more mature, even if they sobbed their way from Reaping to unceremonious death.

Now they were his age. His classmates.

The recap didn’t linger too long on their deaths, screaming and running and fighting to scale the forcefield walls. Two Boy took out one in the first few seconds — first kill of the game — without even looking. Dad grunted under his breath, a noise Alec recognized as now you’re playing ball. Unfortunately they saved most of the bloodbath time for the Career drama, Two versus Four and the shouts of betrayal between them. Dad was bracketed on the couch between Mom and Uncle Paul, and Alec tried not to look at him.

Two Girl gave it her best shot, but even she couldn’t take down four Careers on her own. “He left her there,” Alec said in a small voice. Sure, it was the Games, and alliances were only temporary, but — still.

“He made his choice,” Dad said, flat and grim.

He’d made everyone else’s choices for them too, apparently. After killing Two Girl the Pack stared at each other, then split. Everyone for themselves from day one. Alec swallowed the sour taste in his mouth. At least his parents paid for the raw feed so he didn’t have to listen to a commentary track on top of everything else.

And so it went, day after day. An ugly Arena for an ugly year, full of traps and tricks to create excitement before a bunch of kids Alec’s age could die slowly on their own. “It is a punishment for the districts,” Alec said once, watching the girl from Twelve dissolve in acid rain, screaming until her lungs filled with blood. “But not —” Not one carried out by the Careers, he’d begun to say — not with their tributes struggling to survive alongside the outliers, hardly the glorious tools of the Capitol’s vengeance the Reaping promised them to be. The sense of exception granted by the Volunteers had levelled.

He froze as soon as he registered he’d spoken aloud, but Dad only sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have a narrative,” he said, reluctant. “We’ll see how it plays out.”

Two Boy started this, and so almost against his will Alec started to pay attention. While the Ones and Fours faced mutts, Two alone dragged himself out of the collapsing ground for hours and hours. Alec imagined the trainers asking, why? Why perseverance rather than combat? Humility over glory? Perhaps humiliation for the one who’d broken the rules? Bringing him low while the ones who’d played along got to earn their survival with honour and prestige.

Boring, Selene would say, for sure. Who wants to watch this dude crawl out of a hole for eight hours. Let’s go back to the fights.

-----

Two killed Seven after sharing a meal and talking about home, and Alec swallowed nausea. How could he do that, how could he — chat about family and little sisters and share chocolate and names and then slit his throat like that, like it didn’t even matter, pick up the dead boy’s token and take his snacks like it didn’t bother him. Alec thought of Selene sitting in Residential with the thirteens, watching, taking notes, of Creed, and the air around him had gone thin and thick all at once, pressing close around him and squeezing, squeezing, but none of it sliding into his lungs no matter how he gasped —

“Bed,” Mom said firmly, her hands on either side of his face. She snapped her fingertips against his cheek and he could breathe again. “Come on, Alec.”

He let her drag him into bed and tuck him in as she hadn’t done in years, physically lifting his legs over the edge of the bed and rearranging him bodily like a toddler. “I don’t want it,” Alec whispered, choked. “I don’t want Creed in there.”

“Creed,” Mom said firmly, “will not be like that.”

Alec pressed his arm over his eyes, breath shuddering. “He’ll still have to kill them. The ones my age.”

“He won’t have picnics with them,” Mom said. “He won’t make a game of it. And he won’t antagonize the President and the Gamemakers, either. You know that.”

He didn’t look at her. Pushed his arm down harder until coloured lights spun behind his lids. “Do you want him in there? Really?”

The bed creaked as Mom drew back, mattress bouncing with the sudden removal of her weight. “Good night, Alec,” she said, sharp and repressive, and it wasn’t fair and he shouldn’t have asked when she couldn’t possibly give an answer that would make him happy but her tone left no room for an apology.

Jeremy, Two Boy had said. Like my old man. He’d actually named his father on television. A father who — according to his interview — turned him out into the streets and left him homeless. Alec curled into a ball and tried to ignore the churning deep within.

-----

I hope the popcorn tastes good, said Two Boy, saluting over Nine Boy’s corpse with his blood-stained dagger. Try using thyme.

Dad stiffened. And there it was again, that little jolt in Alec’s spine, that sense of wrongness, the turn of his ankle on the stairs, the give beneath his foot that spoke of a sinkhole in the yard.

Two Boy hadn’t mentioned brothers. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he really did mean it to shame the district families, except. Except. If it were Creed he’d be sick with anger and guilt and fury, no one in the districts was eating popcorn — even in Two that was gauche, as Dad would say, so where — then who —

Alec met Dad’s eyes without meaning to, both of them fingers clenched on knees, breathing through their noses. This is what happens, Dad always said, when he ordered Alec to the wall, or sent him to his room without dinner, or cut a switch from the dogwood coppice in the backyard. This, and this, and this.

I get it, Alec wanted to say, desperate and terrified, but his voice died in his throat. I get it. He’s going to get us all in trouble.

Dad’s mouth thinned. He nodded, once, and turned back to the television without a word.

-----

Two Boy dragged himself across the frozen grass to the hovercraft as his vitals plunged downward at the bottom of the screen, but at the last possible moment he made it. The Gamemakers bestowed their favour, bringing out the sun to grant him that last burst of strength to get him to the ramp.

The Capitol assented. He had struggled enough, been humbled enough. A satisfactory narrative could be fashioned. District 2’s little traitor could come home.

Alec glanced at Dad, but phones were ringing off the hook all over the neighbourhood as soon as the trumpets blared. They all watched the recap knowing who would win. “Well,” Dad said finally, “this will be a fun cleanup.”

-----

No more of the districts-at-fault in the post-interview. No more inflammatory political commentary. They dressed Two in a too-big suit like a little boy wearing daddy’s clothes, had him blubber all over his mentor and cry about only ever wanting a family. Alec would never have believed it as a Two interview if he hadn’t watched the Games from start to finish.

Boring, said the Selene in his head again, absolutely disgusted, but the iron grip of terror around Alec’s chest loosened, maybe, a little. Obvious, sure, but maybe that was the point. Maybe playing poor-little-helpless-boy would be enough to forget this was one of the most dangerous Victors Alec had ever seen.

-----

After the closing ceremony, Dad called Alec outside. They stood together on the porch, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the front walk as fireflies flitted in and out over the lawn. “Alec,” Dad said slowly. “These past — I’ve — I wanted to —”

Alec’s palms itched. The cuts from the switch had healed, pale pink stripes along his life line, nearly invisible. “It’s okay,” he blurted out. After everything that happened, everything he’d seen and heard, an apology from his father for showing emotion might actually explode his brain. “I get it. Now things can be normal again. Right?”

“I hope so,” Dad said, with feeling. He paused, and for a long moment no sound but the wind rustling the leaves and the call of two horned owls in adjacent trees. At last he let out a long breath and rested a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “I know it isn’t easy, but you’ve always tried to do what I ask of you. I know that.”

The sun had long set, only a thin, bright strip of light at the very base of the horizon above the buildings of town. Alec blinked away the stinging in his eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”

They stood there a moment longer, then Dad clapped his shoulder and stepped back. “Come on, then, let’s head in before the mosquitoes eat us alive.”

[emnicholedavis]

Until Dawn: How they met head cannons pt. 1 - Middle School

Okay so we know how Josh and Chris met (3rd grade), but I also head canon that Emily and Jess knew each other from a young age because their moms were friends; potentially the oldest friendship in the group besides Climbing Class.

Chris met Ashley in 6th grade when he went to the library to grab a new Manga the library just received. Ash volunteered at the library. When Chris didn’t see the Manga section where it usually is, he asked the girl at the counter where it is. Ash told him that they were revamping the Manga section since it was seeing more traction and that in the meantime they kept the books behind the counter. They bonded over the new Manga and Chris started to visit the library more just to talk to Ash (they realized that they have a lot of classes together and started sitting together at lunch).

Sam and Emily met in 7th grade when Sam moved to California with her mom and little brother. They were both taking the same advanced math class and eager to make new friends, Sam introduced herself to the first person she saw in that class, Emily Davis.

Matt and Mike also met in 7th grade at football practice. They became friends but Mike realized he didn’t want to play sports and told everyone he wanted to be president one day. He still went to all of Matt’s games (especially since he got free tickets and got to hang in the locker room).

Sam and Emily met Mike in 8th grade when they were all in National Honor Society. Mike was president and offered the vice president position to Sam (he took a liking to her) but Sam offered for Emily to be his vice president because she knew Em liked him.

Part 2: High School

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 5 - Impasse

Battle couple firefight inside the Pale Heart: go!

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

"Go through the Impasse, he said." Two gunshots. "It's faster, he said." Two more gunshots. "There's hardly anything in there but a few Taken, he said." Three shots. "This is the last time I'm taking directions from that Awoken sneak." Three more shots. "New Vanguard, my ass." Two more shots.

The Drifter crouched so Eris could shoot what was behind him while he reloaded his hand cannon. Hers barked loud above him, taking out a Taken Captain in one headshot that would have taken him two. Her beads and charms tinkled lightly along the barrel with a pleasing sound.

"There is no way he could have known there would be two Subjugators. Never mind the combination of an Omen and a Harbinger," she said.

"They even fuckin' bowed to each other like they was about to dance when they showed up."

They ran forward together and both crouched behind a rusted car with a rounded roof, the seat cushions inside long since eaten away to dust. The other side of the vehicle clanged loudly as it was repeatedly impacted by a slap rifle.

"And yeah, there is a way he could have known! He's a Hunter! By definition he's supposed to be a good scout."

The Drifter ducked around the side of the rusted car, picked off two more hostiles with head shots and returned to crouching beside Eris.

"As am I." Two Grim flew up behind them. Eris shot them out of the air with clean precision before they could unleash their shouting attack.

"Yeah well you found 'em and he didn't. I guess that makes you the better Hunter now, doesn't i-"

The Drifter stopped talking as both he and Eris heard the sounds of something on the other side of the husk of the car they were crouching behind.

He touched her arm and, when she looked over at him, jerked his head to the side while holding up three fingers. She nodded.

The Drifter tossed a glacier grenade and the two of them tumbled and slid. The ground near them was puckered with small explosions as bullets missed them and they took cover behind the Stasis crystals springing up from the grenade.

"In his defence," Eris continued. "I have several centuries more experience."

"Then why aren't you in charge?"

A Psion-shaped Weaver wearing green armour landed behind them. Eris decapitated it with one swipe of her sword before it could shoot. The Drifter took out its partner by tossing one of his coins. It bounced off the Weaver with a loud 'Ding' just before it was immolated in a fireball. The Drifter caught the coin on the rebound.

"Over?" he asked, pointing.

"Over," she confirmed.

They both hopped the guard rails along what had once been the median of a highway and crouched behind a different vehicle. This one was on its side, its rusted undercarriage exposed.

"No Hunter wants to be in charge." Eris continued. "That's why it's a consequence of losing a dare." She peeked around a twisted bumper and took two more shots. Both landed, removing two more Taken Goblins. "I have my own niche, and I would find the bulk of the work insufferable and ill suited to my skills."

"You kiddin' me? Ain't never met a Hunter that didn't need fuckin' therapy."

The Harbinger to the left and ahead of them began shouting something in its guttural Dread tongue. Without looking, the Drifter flicked a coin off of his thumb up and over the vehicle. It made another loud 'Ding' and another fireball. The Harbinger yelled in what the Drifter assumed was either frustration or pain. The Drifter smiled.

Incandescent with Solar energy, the Harbinger stepped around the corner with its long legs and pointed its spear at both the Drifter and Eris Morn. Instinctually, they rolled to opposite sides, avoiding the Strand attack and following up with attacks of their own. The Drifter put several bullets into it while Eris dealt it a vicious uppercut with her sword. It crackled, briefly stunned by the Arc energy from the blade and she followed through with three more sword attacks as the Drifter pumped it full of precision shots, each one hitting something vital.

The Harbinger shouted angrily as it dissolved into a knotwork of orange-brown resonance-energy roots. An echoing yell from the Omen across the highway made it clear their position was now exposed. The Drifter jerked his head toward a different location behind a different car. Eris nodded from her crouched position and followed him as he ran.

"The need for therapy could be said of any guardian," Eris said as she rolled and ended up next to him, both their backs against a rusted car door. "We all experience great volumes of trauma. And I am easily found for those who need me, Hunters and otherwise. They need only come to the Moon."

The Drifter finished reloading his gun and then leaned across her, taking two shots and causing two more Taken Goblins to fall down twitching.

"The Moon. Which is full of nightmares, yeah. Great place. Very soothing."

"It can be soothing when it is quiet." Eris took out two more Taken with her hand cannon and took cover next to him again.

"If you mean five minutes after a battle when everything is dead, sure."

"If Luna has taught me anything," Eris leaned over to deliver her reply directly into his ear. "It is that the dead are not silent."

They heard more guttural shouting in the Dread language nearby.

The Drifter had no idea what the Omen was saying in Dread, but he was thankful it was doing them the favour of letting them determine where it was based on sound. He knew Eris would feel the same way since her sense of direction from sound was even better than his.

Stasis crystals burst around them as they burst from their hiding spot. Both returned fire with their own Stasis attacks. Eris managed to freeze it with Silence and Squall. The Drifter got in a well-placed coldsnap grenade with a nice wide area, refreezing anything that started breaking loose from Eris' freezing whirlwind. Then he began firing his machine gun from the hip, tearing up everything in the area as Eris emptied her hand cannon into the Psion-shaped, blue-armoured Omen, each shot landing.

Moments later the Stasis wielding Harbinger, along with all of its nearby Attendants, shattered. The rogue Lightbearer and the three-eyed witch were left in a faintly blue-glowing circle which crackled slightly as the large amount of lingering Stasis began to dissipate. The shards of what had once been their enemies crunched like ice chips under their boots.

The Drifter scanned the field for nearby enemies before licking his lips and winking at Eris with a small smile.

Eris smirked at him, performing her own visual examination of their surroundings.

"That building there," she pointed.

"You wanna go there?"

"Yes."

"That is nowhere where we're supposed to go. It is not even remotely in the same direction."

"Agreed. However, it will provide considerable cover and looks easily defensible. If you can guard the door, that may be all I require."

"All you require for what?" He slid his butt along the hood of a car, kicking both feet up and over to land on the other side as he followed her.

"A portal to the Ascendant plane."

"Oh, hell yeah. Then we can just walk right on by all this bullshit. Avoid the whole thing."

"Ideally, yes, although there may be Taken." Eris crouched behind another vehicle as she moved toward the building.

"I can handle Taken." The Drifter proceeded to shoot down three Taken Thralls near them in demonstration. "It's these new ones that are causin' all the problems. Blue ones freezing us is bad enough, but the green ones tossin' me around like a fuckin' yoyo is-"

Eris put her arm out just as the Drifter was about to step into a large hole next to her. Gravel skittered from his boots down. It fell a long way.

"The holes too," he continued. "And I thought the Tangled Shore was full of holes. This has more holes than that Gambit map I retired."

"Which one?" Eris asked as she hopped lightly with both feet up onto the roof of a rusted car and then down to the other side.

"The one they called the Piss map."

An involuntary chuckle escaped Eris' lips. The Drifter's eyes immediately lit up with glee at having made her laugh, then they reverted to snake-cold as a slap rifle bullet impacted the car next to him and he flattened himself to the broken pavement. More bullets impacted the busted concrete as he rolled to the side. Eris' hand cannon barked twice over the hood of a different rusted car and the shots raining down on the Drifter stopped.

He crouched, leaped, ran across a gap, and slid down next to her with a scowl on his face.

"I should bring that map back," he continued. "They been gettin' all whiny about 'Ooo! Lucent Hive is so much worse than Scorn! Ooo! Shadow Legion have too many turrets. Ooo! Ooo!'" The Drifter raised one hand empty and wiggled his fingers in the air every time he said 'Ooo!'.

Eris gave him a small smile as she leaned out and checked for snipers.

"Back to the Piss map, ya whiny babies," he concluded.

"You really are in a terrible mood today."

"Yeah, well, I don't like being dragged around on a green string and bashed against rocks, thank you very much." They ran together across another open stretch. Nothing shot at them this time.

"And I especially do not like them doing that to you. And, in particular, so close to a giant fucking pit, all right?" He tumbled through the doorway of the building Eris had pointed out and came to his feet, Trust out and ready to blow away anything inside. Seeing nothing he reached out a hand and motioned for her to join him inside.

"This was supposed to be super quick and easy," he said to her. "I did not bring enough weapons for this bullshit." He crouched near the door watching through it while Eris pulled out a sharp stone and began inscribing runes into an inner side wall, well away from the doorway. The runes glowed softly with green Soulfire.

"And our guns don't even do nothin' against the pink ones," the Drifter added, grumbling as he watched through the sight on his gun. "And you and I can't go pink like that hero. We should not have come here."

"You did not have to come with me," Eris said quietly as she worked, scratching malachite-wisps of magic into flakes of rusted metal. "I could have just done this myself."

"Oh, hell no."

Eris tilted her head to the side, still watching the edge of her stone as she completed the outer circle and the runes flared bright. "I'm confused as to how you would stop me."

He looked over at her sharply, fear in his eyes. "Moondust, I can't stop you doin' nothin'. You know that, but…"

Eris heard the strain in his voice. She looked over her shoulder at the Drifter's face and her lips parted with a quick intake of breath. "I have upset you."

She crouched down next to him, placing her hand on his arm. He tensed at her touch and then immediately relaxed a small amount. She kept her hand there, gripping him gently but firmly until he sighed, blinking as he looked out over the rocks and rusted vehicles, still watching for assailants.

"When I told you I'd miss the moonlight… I meant it." His voice was quiet. Sad.

Eris squeezed his arm.

"I'm here for you." He emphasised the word 'you' as he spoke. "Only thing that matters is… you," he said softly, looking back at her briefly with worried eyes before looking back out at the wreckage in the Impasse.

Eris leaned forward and kissed his temple.

He leaned his head against her lips, prolonging the contact.

"Do not be afraid," she said, watching as he internalised her words, drawing strength from them, breathing deeper, not fully relaxing, but less anxious.

And then his hand cannon shifted position and barked three times.

An explosion engulfed a nearby pile of rocks in flames.

Several Taken Thralls began running toward them from another direction.

Eris flicked her fingers. Her frozen Ahamkara bone whipped out and smacked into each one of them, back and forth like a pinball bouncing around one of the old physics gaming machines the Drifter had on his ship. It hit six of them, freezing them solid before speeding back toward her hand.

The Drifter shot the closest one and they all shattered.

"Yeah." He smiled and looked up at her as she caught her frozen ball. "We'll probably be alright."

A mechanical warbling chirrup ending in a loud metallic sproing echoed through the air. The Drifter's eyes went wide.

It was unmistakable. They both instantly recognized the sound of a Tormentor materialising somewhere nearby.

"You're fucking kidding me." the Drifter whispered in disbelief.

"Ascendent plane?" Eris asked, standing beside him, her back against the wall, holding out her hand.

"Hell yeah. Don't have to tell me twice. Let's go."

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[tgrailwar-zero]

Your ship moved in closer, MUSASHI's bullets scattering across the water. Some of them struck the whale- but it was still too far to get a dead shot with them. They were distracting, but not damaging. Not unless they hit something softer than the massive program's tough hide.

ADMIRAL: "Right- the cannons should be more accurate at this range."

MUSASHI: "I'd have to go out and swim in order to get close enough to use my Noble Phantasm. Still, I'm a pretty quick Servant, I can close the distance by jumping if I need to!"

MUSASHI: "We'll have to be smart about this. But if I use my Noble Phantasm and it survives…"

If it survives, the odds of it taking an attack like that again so easily are lowered drastically. DURYODHANA said that it was an adaptable enemy program- tricks only worked once, which meant that they'd have to be good ones, and well-timed.

An adaptable Attack Program, it must also have an understanding the ADMIRAL's capabilities… That must also be why it's not getting closer to the ship--

ADMIRAL: "Incoming!"

A massive form breached the water, dark and covered with wounds. Glowing blue sigils lined it's body, as it crashed back into the ocean, sending a massive wave towards you.

You remembered.

The information slammed into your heads like a migraine as you processed what you were looking at, as the massive shadow emerged.

'MOBY DICK'.

One of the great Attack Programs designed to traverse the Chimeric Lunar Sea. The War was a Free-for-All, Masters and Servants all fighting for the sake of victory in whatever way they saw fit, but certain Attack Programs were designed for the sake of keeping the match 'fair'. This was one of them. There hadn't seemed to be anything special about it during the Lunar Holy Grail War… it was just big and had strong defenses. Certainly, not ideal to fight under any circumstance. However, the nature this specific Attack Program was meant to have was more docile. If you avoided it, it wouldn't chase after you unless you had gotten too close, and even then 'pursuit' was minimal.

However-- when the Lunar Holy Grail War had begun to fall into chaos, even an Enemy Program like this began to lose aspects of it's programming. In other words, this was a 'defective Enemy Program', who had become more hostile and more adaptable. It had grown in it's 'artificial intelligence', but at the same time, had lost a fundamental part of it's programming.

If such a defective entity were to breach the Solar Cell and return to the Moon Cell, it would most likely be deleted outright. Therefore, the aspects of it's programming set for 'survival', which meant staying within the Solar Cell and not allowing itself to be put in any compromised position in which it could be removed from said Solar Cell.

With those 'survival programs' running, that had increased it's capabilities from 'able to compete with a Servant' to 'willing to surpass a Servant at any cost'.

Which is also why JAGUAR MAN warned you 'not to die'. This creature had no concept of the rules, it simply had the drive to 'not lose', which meant doing whatever it took to survive.

Like a lion set loose upon a gladiator in a coliseum, the thread between you and death was slim.

MUSASHI: "Ha--ah!"

She sliced through the air, her blades cutting through the water and splitting the massive incoming wave in two. It struck the boat, but with less harm than it would have if the ship took the wave face-on. As expected of a sword saint.

The crew held on tightly to the rails, grimacing as the ship rocked violently back and forth.

ADMIRAL: "Hold… hold…!"

The ADMIRAL grinned, though there was an uneasiness in her eyes. No, an excitement. A lust for the inherent 'danger' that this beast presented, and the glory that would come after weathering such a storm.

ADMIRAL: "He's feisty this time around! C'mon you rascals, don't let a little seawater soak your spirits! Up and at 'em!"

You were at a mid-ranged distance from MOBY DICK at this point.

See this post to choose SABER's actions!

SHIP STATS

The ship took some damage from the wave that was reduced by SABER!

SHIP'S HULL: [ X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / X / ]

MAGICAL ENERGY: [ X ] [ X ] [ X ] [ X ] [ X ]

'LUCKY SHOT': [ X ]

[mykneeshurt]

Loose Cannon - Keegan x F!OC

That’s me in the gif 😮‍💨 there’s not enough Keegan smut. At all. First of many I’m afraid. Smut ahead. 18+ plz. Just horny thoughts of him.

For @sashadiurnal my fellow Keegan stan and @iamnotyourmusebitch who gave the idea about Reaper licking the blade. Which lives in my head rent free.

‘Reaper you’ll be pairing up with Keegan for this mission. Federation soldiers have been seen in that area, I want em gone.’ Merrick didn’t even look up from his papers before Keegan piped up. ‘She’s a loose cannon, sir. Where’s Logan?’ You giggled behind him, playing with the tip of your blade as it pushed into the pad of your finger.

‘Don’t worry Russ, I’ll look after you.’ Keegan glanced at you in the corner of his eye, his icy cold stare burnt through you. ‘You two are my best, so get it done. Dismissed.’ You jumped up, giddy with excitement. Keegan turned to look at you, ‘don’t fuck this up.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it sir.’

—

You found yourselves in an old mall, fending off the Federation left, right and centre. There were more than Merrick originally thought. Keegan offered you cover from the top of the escalators as you made your way through some abandoned shops.

You managed to sneak up behind one of the Federation who was trying to take a shot at Keegan. You drove the blade into his neck. It sliced through his skin like butter, smooth and clean. ‘Wrap it up, Reaper. Need to fall back, too many of em.’ Keegan’s voice chimed through your earpiece. Crouching behind an old counter you giggled a reply ‘aw Keegan, Im just getting warmed up.’

You circled round the counter to your next victim, taking out his knees he fell backwards. You slid over his hips straddling him, driving your blade into his carotid artery. ‘Shhhhh’ you cooed as you withdrew the blade, driving it in again, and again. ‘Reaper! Now!’ He barked through the radio.

Rolling your eyes you pulled the blade out slowly, ‘it’s been fun’ you whispered to the Federation solider beneath you.

Raising up to your feet you scanned the area, Keegan’s fire had their attention for now. You scurried back to the escalators taking two steps at a time. As you approached the top you saw a stray Federation solider taking shots at Keegan. You threw one of the blades which hit him in the back of his neck. He stumbled to the floor but not before you launched yourself at him, landing on his back. Stabbing him multiple times, to make sure.

Keegan looked down at you as you withdrew the blade and ran it along your tongue. You looked up and met his icy blue eyes, his breath hitched in his throat. Blade still resting on your tongue you smiled up at him, your tongue piercing coming into view. Biting your lip you slid the blade back into its holster.

Stifling a laugh at your shocked Sergeant you ran towards him grabbing his wrist ‘come on!’ The two of you ran through the empty aisles of the mall, the Federation hot on your tails. Bullets skimmed past you as you desperately tried to find somewhere to hide. ‘Over there!’ You pulled Keegan towards an old cleaning cupboard. ‘Get in’ you ordered.

You both fell into the cupboard, gasping for breath. Keegan pulled you close to him, wrapping his hand over your mouth to muffle your breathing. ‘Shhhh’ he growled into your ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin on your neck. Your breaths fell in sync with each other as the soldiers ran past the cupboard. Instinctively you took a step back, closing the already minute gap between you both. Your ass bucked into him, causing him to hiss through gritted teeth.

He felt you grin into his gloved hand, ‘don’t’ he warned. You rolled your hips into him, causing him to grip your face tighter. Muffled noises could be heard outside, only fuelling you further. You rolled your hips again, this time moaning into his hand. You felt his cock growing beneath you, ‘fuck’ he breathed into his mask.

As the muffled noises of the Federation all but faded into the distance Keegan spun you round, slamming you into the wall. Your back hit the surface with a dull thud. ‘Fuck are you playin at?’ He growled, his face mere inches away from yours. ‘Merely going after what I want’ you smiled, staring up at him through your lashes. ‘And I always get what I want.’

‘And what is it you want?’ His lips were dangerously close to yours. His breath skimmed the sensitive skin of your mouth.

‘You.’

As soon as the word fell from your mouth his lips were on yours. Pulling him closer by his tactical vest he groaned into your mouth. The kiss was dizzying, you swiped your tongue against his bottom lip. Obliging he inhaled your kiss, tongues fighting for dominance against one another. He weaved his hand into your hair, gripping at the root.

You pulled him closer still, your hand feverishly grasping at the back of his neck. You broke the kiss first, desperately trying to catch your breath. ‘Touch me’ you gasped. He wasted no time in popping open your trousers, slipping in a hand to feel your underwear already soaking. He moaned in disbelief against your lips, teasing you once again with the lack of contact. Pushing your underwear to the side his finger skimmed your slit. Gathering your arousal.

He brought his finger to your lips, where you eagerly sucked your juices off him. You moaned as you took his finger into your mouth, the vibrations permeating through him. As he withdrew his finger he placed his lips back on yours, the kiss was firm, hungry. He pushed his finger into you, before adding another, the palm of his hand massaging your swollen clit.

Swallowing your moans he curled his fingers, picking up the pace. Breaking the kiss you arched yourself into him, eyes closed, panting. He burning himself in your neck, whispering praises into your skin. He felt you beginning to clench, nearing your release.

‘Fuck me Keegan, please’ you panted. He smiled into your neck ‘as you wish.’ He quickly pulled out, making you feel empty. ‘Face the wall’ he ordered, his voice heavy with desire. Turning round he pulled your trousers down and kicked your ankles out as far as he could. There you were spread in front of him, your cunt glistening, all for him.

Undoing his own trousers he pumped his cock in his hand as the sight of you. He lined himself up and coated the top of his cock with your arousal. You hissed at the contact, he felt big. Slowly he pushed into you, the stretch taking you by surprise. Both of you letting out breath filled moans.

He started of slow, methodical, feeling every inch of your cunt around him. You felt so good. He’d thought about this moment too many times than he’d care to admit. ‘Yes yes yes yes’ you moaned into your hand. He gripped onto your hips steadying himself, as he picked up the pace. He watched as your ass rippled with every thrust, the sound of your wet cunt filled the cupboard.

He snaked an arm around your hip, resting his fingers on your clit. Applying just enough pressure for the pleasure to grow. You arched your back, a flurry of nonsensical phrases leaving you. ‘Fuck, good girl’ he praised ‘that’s it.’ Wrapping his hand in your plait he pulled you onto him, your back arched even further, changing the depth.

He placed his hand around your throat and jaw forcing you to look at him. You met him with a filthy grin, eyes blown out with pleasure and need. ‘Cum in me Keegan, please’ you begged. He let out a moan of disbelief, how were you real? His finger still working your clit you felt the tension rising. ‘Fuck don’t stop’ you whimpered. As the coil snapped he muffled your noises with his hand, smothering your face. The lack of oxygen only increased the intensity of your orgasm.

Coming down from your high he pushed you back against the wall, his thrusts becoming harder. ‘Goddamn’ he moaned, struggling to find breath. As he came he gripped your hips, placing his forehead on your back. He slurred words of adoration against your shirt.

Pulling out he watched as his cum fell from your abused cunt. He inserted a finger, pushing it back into you. You moaned from the overstimulation, your eyes rolling. He helped you rearrange yourself before kissing you again.

‘You can thank me later’ you winked.

‘For what?’ He asked doing up his trousers. ‘Saving your ass earlier, I’ll show you how much of a loose cannon I really am’ you smiled, before skipping out of the cupboard.

[thebrickinbrick]

The Artillery-Men Compel People To Take Them Seriously

They flocked round Gavroche. But he had no time to tell anything. Marius drew him aside with a shudder.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hullo!” said the child, “what are you doing here yourself?”

And he stared at Marius intently with his epic effrontery. His eyes grew larger with the proud light within them.

It was with an accent of severity that Marius continued:

“Who told you to come back? Did you deliver my letter at the address?”

Gavroche was not without some compunctions in the matter of that letter. In his haste to return to the barricade, he had got rid of it rather than delivered it. He was forced to acknowledge to himself that he had confided it rather lightly to that stranger whose face he had not been able to make out. It is true that the man was bareheaded, but that was not sufficient. In short, he had been administering to himself little inward remonstrances and he feared Marius’ reproaches. In order to extricate himself from the predicament, he took the simplest course; he lied abominably.

“Citizen, I delivered the letter to the porter. The lady was asleep. She will have the letter when she wakes up.”

Marius had had two objects in sending that letter: to bid farewell to Cosette and to save Gavroche. He was obliged to content himself with the half of his desire.

The despatch of his letter and the presence of M. Fauchelevent in the barricade, was a coincidence which occurred to him. He pointed out M. Fauchelevent to Gavroche.

“Do you know that man?”

“No,” said Gavroche.

Gavroche had, in fact, as we have just mentioned, seen Jean Valjean only at night.

The troubled and unhealthy conjectures which had outlined themselves in Marius’ mind were dissipated. Did he know M. Fauchelevent’s opinions? Perhaps M. Fauchelevent was a republican. Hence his very natural presence in this combat.

In the meanwhile, Gavroche was shouting, at the other end of the barricade: “My gun!”

Courfeyrac had it returned to him.

Gavroche warned “his comrades” as he called them, that the barricade was blocked. He had had great difficulty in reaching it. A battalion of the line whose arms were piled in the Rue de la Petite Truanderie was on the watch on the side of the Rue du Cygne; on the opposite side, the municipal guard occupied the Rue des Prêcheurs. The bulk of the army was facing them in front.

This information given, Gavroche added:

“I authorize you to hit ’em a tremendous whack.”

Meanwhile, Enjolras was straining his ears and watching at his embrasure.

The assailants, dissatisfied, no doubt, with their shot, had not repeated it.

A company of infantry of the line had come up and occupied the end of the street behind the piece of ordnance. The soldiers were tearing up the pavement and constructing with the stones a small, low wall, a sort of side-work not more than eighteen inches high, and facing the barricade. In the angle at the left of this epaulement, there was visible the head of the column of a battalion from the suburbs massed in the Rue Saint-Denis.

Enjolras, on the watch, thought he distinguished the peculiar sound which is produced when the shells of grape-shot are drawn from the caissons, and he saw the commander of the piece change the elevation and incline the mouth of the cannon slightly to the left. Then the cannoneers began to load the piece. The chief seized the lint-stock himself and lowered it to the vent.

“Down with your heads, hug the wall!” shouted Enjolras, “and all on your knees along the barricade!”

The insurgents who were straggling in front of the wine-shop, and who had quitted their posts of combat on Gavroche’s arrival, rushed pell-mell towards the barricade; but before Enjolras’ order could be executed, the discharge took place with the terrifying rattle of a round of grape-shot. This is what it was, in fact.

The charge had been aimed at the cut in the redoubt, and had there rebounded from the wall; and this terrible rebound had produced two dead and three wounded.

If this were continued, the barricade was no longer tenable. The grape-shot made its way in.

A murmur of consternation arose.

“Let us prevent the second discharge,” said Enjolras.

And, lowering his rifle, he took aim at the captain of the gun, who, at that moment, was bearing down on the breach of his gun and rectifying and definitely fixing its pointing.

The captain of the piece was a handsome sergeant of artillery, very young, blond, with a very gentle face, and the intelligent air peculiar to that predestined and redoubtable weapon which, by dint of perfecting itself in horror, must end in killing war.

Combeferre, who was standing beside Enjolras, scrutinized this young man.

“What a pity!” said Combeferre. “What hideous things these butcheries are! Come, when there are no more kings, there will be no more war. Enjolras, you are taking aim at that sergeant, you are not looking at him. Fancy, he is a charming young man; he is intrepid; it is evident that he is thoughtful; those young artillery-men are very well educated; he has a father, a mother, a family; he is probably in love; he is not more than five and twenty at the most; he might be your brother.”

“He is,” said Enjolras.

“Yes,” replied Combeferre, “he is mine too. Well, let us not kill him.”

“Let me alone. It must be done.”

And a tear trickled slowly down Enjolras’ marble cheek.

At the same moment, he pressed the trigger of his rifle. The flame leaped forth. The artillery-man turned round twice, his arms extended in front of him, his head uplifted, as though for breath, then he fell with his side on the gun, and lay there motionless. They could see his back, from the centre of which there flowed directly a stream of blood. The ball had traversed his breast from side to side. He was dead.

He had to be carried away and replaced by another. Several minutes were thus gained, in fact.

[magicamicitia]

Volume 3, Chapter 4 - PART TWO

“I guess I’ll find out.”

The overwhelming roar of thousands of legs skittering through the walls raged behind her, but Sunset didn’t dare look back. It’s not like she could afford to - if she stopped for even a second, she knew it would have been over. Still, there really wasn’t anywhere to go. Twilight and her brother were trapped inside the cocoons, and Sunset didn’t know how to exit a labyrinth by herself.

“If only that stupid cat was here…”

Lo and behold, Kyubey appeared as soon as the thought popped into her mind.

“You know, going into a witch’s labyrinth all by yourself is practically suicide. Sometimes you need to recognize the difference between bravery and stupidity, Sunset Shimmer.”

“Buzz off, Kyubey! I don’t need your help!”

She really did, though.

“Oh? And how do you plan to defeat a witch like that all on your own? Even Twilight, a magical girl, couldn’t do it. But if you wished for it, I’m sure I-“

“Thank you, dearest, but we’ve got it under control.”

A familiar voice suddenly emerged from the rooftops of the chapel. Rarity, Applejack and Pinkie Pie stood ready for combat.

“Remember the plan, y’all. We only got one shot at this!” The country girl shouted.

With a framing motion of her fingers, Rarity stared at the familiars intensely for a second, before adding. “Hmph. I can’t figure out the witch’s nature from just these creatures. Pinkie, You’re on. The two of us will try to get a closer look.”

Pinkie Pie jumped down and swiftly picked up Sunset in her arms.

“Roger that!”

“Whoa, Where are we goi- NOT DOWN THEEEEERE!!”

Shimmer’s protests were futile as the pink-haired girl happily jumped down to the lower floor, where a horde of angry bug-guests awaited. She closed her eyes, preparing for impact, until she felt herself arrive safely to the ground.

“Huh…?”

The familiars stood in place, shaking their wings violently as a buzzing sound echoed through the halls, but none even attempted an attack against them.

“Wait, what’s happening?”

“Sunset, look over there!”

The cocoon. It was left unguarded now that the familiars were docile and the witch was after the others. This was their chance. Her chance.

“Twilight!”

Before she could reach the altar, Pinkie’s hand stopped her.

“Woah, step back, silly! How’re you gonna pop that thing open without…” An enourmous hand cannon appeared seemingly out of thin air. “…A weapon?”

“How did- Wait, are you gonna explode it?!”

The Boom sound and blinding lights that came after quickly answered that question. But to Sunset’s surprise, it worked pretty well, aside from the fact that Twilight regained counsciousness in a very confusing state.

“Cough, cough.. What… Where am I?”

“Twilight! Are you alright?” Sunset hurried over to her friend’s aid. “Oh! Your brother- Pinkie, Where is…”

“He’s fine, don’t worry about it! Just a little passed out.”

“A little passed out?!”

The sound of a merciless roar shook the ground below their feet.

“Looks like Rarity and Applejack are having some trouble against that witch, Huh?” Pinkie laughed and reached a hand out to Twilight. “Should we help?”

Twilight, still confused and covered in bug sludge, quickly accepted Pinkie’s help getting up.

“Did I… get captured? I don’t remember… I was home, and then…”

“Don’t sweat the details!” The other magical girl cut her off. “Right now, we need to focus on defeating the witch and getting our friends outta here! But we need your help, Twilight!”

After a moment of confusion, she nodded hesitantly and took out her soul gem. With a ray of pink light, Twilight Sparkle had transformed and was ready for battle.

“Rarity!!!” Pinkie shouted. “Send ‘em down!!!”

“Of course, darling!”

Trapped in a web of silk, the bug bride crashed down the aisle.

“What’s the status report?!” Pinkie took out her cannon.

“There’s another human trapped near the witch’s chest area- And they’re injured! Be careful!”

“Another human…?” Sunset whispered. “Could it be…?”

Twilight’s eyes widened.

“Cadance!!!!”

“That darn thing’s using ‘er as some sorta hostage!” Applejack spat out a mouthful of blood.

“Of course it is.” Rarity rolled her eyes. “This witch has an Envious nature, it won’t fight us alone. As long as we can contain its familiars, all we have to do is steer clear of its chest!”

“Contain the familiars…” Sunset began to understand her situation a little better.

“Alrighty!” Applejack swiftly interrupted her train of thought. “Pinkie, Twilight, I need you two on the defense! I’ll weaken this bastard with some warnin’ shots! Rarity, you’re our only safe option of attack today, So I hope ya don’t mind gettin’ dirty!”

“Oh, please.” Rarity scoffed. “Nobody likes to be covered in gross insect ooze, but if it’s for a good cause, I’m willing to make a few… sacrifices.” She muttered the last words with a tone of disgust.

“Sounds good to me!” The cowgirl declared, summoning an army of muskets.

With their eyes on the witch, the three more experienced magical girls declared in sync, as Twilight clumsily ty followed their chant; “In the name of harmony, your story ends here!”

There were loud explosions of sound and light, and although it was hard to see anything clearly, Rarity’s figure danced gracefully in the shadows as she took down the bride and caught Ms. Cadance as she fell from the skies.

Not long after the witch had vanished, the familiars too were wiped out by Pinkie’s cannon, until all that was left was a normal home, seven people and a Grief Seed.

“Nice job, team! We really nailed the fight this time, even though we were missin’ some members.” Applejack wiped off a drop of sweat from her forehead, still trying to catch her breath.

“O-Oh, that’s right…” Twilight realized. “Where’s Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy?”

“Fluttershy wasn’t answering our calls.” Rarity mourned. “We figured she must still be upset, and Rainbow Dash volunteered to talk her out of it. Besides, I doubt she would have wanted to join us on this mission anyway…”

The girls fell into an awkward silence. Sunset quickly decided to intervene;

“Um… I was meaning to ask, but… How did you know the witch’s weakness?”

Oh, right!” Pinkie exclaimed. “Did we never tell you this? Sometimes, magical girls get special powers depending on the wish they make. Rarity can use her Super Fashion Sense to find out how we can beat up a witch!”

“Is that how you paralyzed the familiars?”

Pinkie Pie giggled. “Well, I wouldn’t say paralyzed! You see, my power is to make people smile! But witches and familiars don’t know how to smile, so they just sit there like a bunch of confused dorks!”

“I see…” Twilight pondered. “That is quite the useful ability to have in battle. if only I had something like that…”

Applejack pat the other girl’s shoulder in consolation.

“Don’t sweat it, sugar. Not all of us get stuff like Pinkie’s. My ability, for example, is to draw in good luck. Sometimes, your magical powers can show up in the darnest of things! You’ll find out when the time is right.”

“Yeah, you’re right…” Twilight hid the pain in her eyes. “I guess I’ll find out, huh?”

“What Applejack said is true.” Kyubey finally broke its silence. “But you four really came in close today. You used up a lot of magic, too. I doubt that grief seed will be enough to go around. Fighting in groups like this will only-“

Applejack raised her hand.

“That’s enough, Kyubey. You three can have the grief seed. I’ll pass.”

“But, Applejack…” Twilight protested.

“Hey, it’s alright. Y’all did most of the work, anyway. I won’t go hungry cuz of a little magic.”

“I-If you say so…”

A feeling of gloom poisoned the air around them, until Pinkie stood up to say;

“Hey, you know what?! Now that we beat the bad guy, Let’s call Rainbow and Fluttershy for a PARTY!!!”

“That’s all y’ever think about, huh, Pinkie?” Applejack chuckled, and things were finally back to normal.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Shell 4.5 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

In silence, we caught the bus at the ferry and got off at the Trainyard, the part of the Docks that sat opposite to the Boardwalk.

There is just something so deliciously absurd about the mental image of supervillains, even teenage ones, just... riding the bus. Granted, they're (presumably) not doing it in costume, but still.

slanted just enough that people wouldn’t be able to comfortably walk or sleep on top of them.

Ah yes, gotta love hostile architecture.

“If you asked me five hours ago, I would’ve said no,” Regent replied.  “I would have told you, sure, she’s a loose cannon, she’s reckless, crazy, she’s easily pissed off and she’ll hospitalize those people who do piss her off… but I’d have said she’s loyal, that even if she doesn’t necessarily like us-”

I mean, trust but verify and all that. No Rachel, no money, it's a safe assumption.

A soft clapping answered her.  It was slow, unenthusiastic to the point of being sarcastic. “Brilliantly deduced,” the same person that had been clapping spoke out.  As Tattletale whipped her head around, I took a few steps back from the storage locker, to get a better look at the two people who stood on the roof.

It's cliche, but I always like the 'character watching the protagonists figure it out and then do the sarcastic clap' trope.

They were standing with one leg higher than the other, to keep from sliding off the angled roof, and both were wearing identical costumes.  The costumes sported blue man-leotards with broad belts cinched around their waists, skintight white sleeve and leggings.  Their hoods were elastic, clinging to their heads so they left only a window for the face, and each sported a single white antenna.  Of all colors, their gloves, boots and the balls at the top of their antennae were bubblegum pink.  Their faces were obscured by oversize goggles with dark lenses.

Which... which video game is this?

“Rest assured, Tattletale, you do,” Über proclaimed.  He was the sort of person who proclaimed, announced, broadcasted and declared.  Just like Grue’s power altered his voice to make him sound haunting and inhuman, Über’s power made him sound like the guy who narrated trailers for action movies or late night commercials.  Overdramatic, intense about everything he said, no matter how mundane.  Like someone overacting the role of a gallant knight in a kid’s movie.

Evocative. I do think Wildbow's willingness to do descriptions like this (helped by using 1st person narrative, which I do think facilitates this sort of thing) whereas a lot of conventional writing wisdom would say to not do this, is a big part of Worm's success, honestly.

Leet frowned and turned to the camera, “Is that really necessary?” “You fucked with us,” I replied, “I fuck with your subscriber base.”

Hit 'em where it hurts.

He didn’t get to finish.  Regent swung his arm out to one side, and Über lost his footing.  I joined the others in stepping back out of the way as he fell face first onto the pavement at the base of the locker.

Regent's abilities would probably let him do well at slapstick improv shows or something. I mean, you don't need to fake a trip and fall with him around. :rofl:

Grue spoke in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to the pair of villains, “They did something to Bitch, they’ve got the money.  If we don’t get a decisive victory here, our reputation is fucked.”

Villain fight!

I wonder if, during her career as a villain, Taylor fights other villains more than heroes. From what I know of Worm, I wouldn't be surprised. But how much more, pound for pound? :thinking_face:

This was the sort of thing I had put on a costume to do.  Sure, the context wasn’t what I would have chosen, but going up against bad guys?

As far as some of Taylor's various rationalization's go, this isn't even a particularly dangerous or slipper one. :thinking_face: