#standing behind him twirling knives

[wannab-urs]

Make it Hurt

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant!f!reader

Summary: It’s difficult being the only mutant at Xavier’s school with regenerative powers. There’s no one you can spar with – fellow professors included – that is on your level. Not when you can kill them, but they can’t kill you. That is, until you meet Logan. 

OR 

You spar with Logan and end up fucking on the training room floor.

Warnings: Smut, pwp/plot what plot/porn without plot, pain kink, blood kink (?), idk y’all this one is kinda freaky, sparring, knife play… kind of, reader is a mutant with deadpoolesque powers and likes to play with knives, She also teaches at the school, Logan is probably taller than reader, everyone is super strong here, pet names (baby, one Good Girl), semi-public sex,  no use of y/n WC: 1.6k

A/N: First of all, I’d like to link @eupheme’s fic Tooth and Nail because the setting of that fic definitely inspired this one. I’d also like to thank @pedgito, @pr0ximamidnight, and @chaotic-mystery for feeding my delusions and encouraging me to write this pile of filth. 

Logan Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

It’s difficult being the only mutant at Xavier’s school with regenerative powers. There’s no one you can spar with – fellow professors included – that is on your level. Not when you can kill them, but they can’t kill you. 

When Logan showed up you had thought you finally found your match. The man could regenerate just as quickly as you, and while you were excellent with knives, he had claws. He showed no interest in sparring though, or training with anyone at all. He is many things, but a team player is not one of them. You’d begged him on more than one occasion to go to the mat with you, but he refused. 

Somehow, Charles managed to convince Logan to spar with you. You’ve been nervous all day and now you’re standing in the empty training room waiting for him to show up. Just as you start to worry he won’t, the door slides open. He steps through, closes, and locks the door behind him. 

He makes his way to the mat and you realize how tall he is, taking in the bulge of his biceps on display in his tight white tank top. Logan could do some serious damage to you – temporarily that is. You try not to show how excited you are, bouncing on the balls of your feet and twirling a knife in your hand.

“You really think this is a good idea?” Logan asks gruffly.

“You can’t hurt me, Logan. Not really.”

“We’ll see.”

He lunges for you and you easily step out of the way, slicing his arm with your knife. He groans, so low it's almost a snarl. You drop to the floor and swipe your leg out, knocking him off his feet. He rolls just in time, and your knife ends up buried in the mat instead of his chest. With a frustrated grunt, you yank the knife from the mat and square up with him again.

“C’mon baby, is that all you got? Make it hurt,” he taunts you.

You go flying at him, a blade in each hand now. His claws come out and he parries one knife away, but you manage to sink the other in between two of his ribs. You twist the knife and pull it out, causing him to growl deeply. 

“That’s more like it.” 

He bats away your next attack, sinking his claws deep into your thigh in the process. You groan and kick him hard in the chest with your other leg, sending him sprawling to his back. You throw a knife into his bicep and while he works to remove it, you straddle his waist, slamming your other knife into his throat. 

Logan roars and sinks his claws into your sides before throwing you halfway across the room. You roll to your feet, pulling out another knife. Logan stalks over to you, claws out, eyebrows lowered so that his face looks dark and menacing. You flick a knife in his direction, but he knocks it out of the air easily. You try to stay focused on the fight, but all you can think about is how fucking hot he looks coming toward you like a predator stalking its prey. 

He swipes his claws at your face, but you block them with your arm, using his own leverage against him to impale him on your knife. He keeps driving you backward until he has you pinned against the wall, the handle of your own knife jabbing into your ribs. You grip the handle and shove him back, reclaiming your weapon. He’s on you again in a second, grabbing you by your tattered training uniform and throwing you back onto the mat. 

You slide across the mat, unable to get your footing. He’s stronger than you, faster. It’s the first time you’ve felt like you have an even match, a worthy opponent. Your blood is racing through your veins, heart pumping so fast you can hear it. 

You scramble backward as he makes his way back to you, getting to your feet just as he arrives in front of you. He’s breathing heavily, sweat glistening off his chest and shoulders, but he’s clearly not done with you yet. 

He sinks his claws into your shoulder and uppercuts you with his fist. You fall again, landing hard on the mat, and he follows you. He lands heavy on your body, pinning you to the ground. He stabs two claws into the mat on either side of your neck, the middle one sheathed. You hope he can’t tell how turned on you are.

“Give up yet, bub?” 

You shake your head, causing one of the blades to nick your throat. He drops his head and licks the blood off your skin, the wound itself already healed. You moan and buck your hips into his, finding that he’s in the same state as you – mercilessly turned on. He growls at the contact with his aching cock and grinds back into you. 

He pulls his claws from the mat and cautiously traces the curve of your breast with one instead. He looks into your eyes, obviously searching for something. 

“You want this?”

You pull your last knife from its sheath and bury it in his thigh. He doesn’t even flinch and you watch his pupils dilate. No sooner do you nod your consent than he’s sliced through your training suit, baring your breasts to him. 

He sucks a nipple into his mouth, tongue laving it before he bites down – hard. You moan, grabbing his tank in both hands and pulling until it splits, baring his torso to you. He kisses his way up your throat, licking blood from your skin as he goes. He grinds his hard cock against your mound as he presses his lips to yours. You lick into his mouth, tasting your blood and sweat on his tongue. 

He sits up and unbuttons his jeans, sliding the zipper down. You tug the knife out of his thigh, forgotten until now, and drop it on the mat beside you. You undo the belt on your training suit and start stripping the pants off as quickly as you can. Logan gets frustrated and uses his claws to shred them the rest of the way off you. 

Finally bare for him, he spreads your legs, exposing your dripping cunt to his gaze. He drops his head down and licks up your slick, groaning deeply into your pussy. You whine and bury your hands in his hair, using the tufted sides like handles to grind his face into your cunt. Logan plunges his tongue in your hole, lapping up your slick like it’s water and he’s been stranded in the desert. You ride his face hard and fast, until that coil of pleasure in your belly is near snapping. 

“Please don’t stop. Fuck, Logan. Fuck,” you plead with him as your orgasm nears. He shakes his head as if to say he wouldn’t dream of it and it sends you over the edge, the pleasure in your stomach expanding out through all your limbs, making them shake. 

Logan sits back and shoves his jeans down far enough for his cock to spring out. He’s big, and your mouth waters at the sight. If you weren’t so desperate to have him inside you, you’d beg for a chance to lick the thick vein running down the underside. 

“You gonna let me fuck you right here?” 

“I’m gonna make you fuck me right here.” 

“Is that right, baby?” 

You reach for your knife again, but he pins your arm down. He lets out a low chuckle before lining his cock up with your entrance. He keeps you pinned as he slowly pushes into you, straight to the end of you. It hurts, but it feels so good, the stretch of your walls trying to accommodate him and failing. You clench hard and it pushes his cock back out of you. 

“Fuckin’ tight little thing aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for a response before ramming himself into you again. This time, your walls relax and let him in. 

“That’s it, baby. That’s a good girl. Taking me so well,” he mutters as he begins to rock his hips into you. 

You dig your fingernails into his back, gouging deep lines that heal as fast as you can make them. He groans and bites down on your shoulder until he draws blood. His tongue glides over the indents in your skin that last only seconds. 

His thrusts speed up as you adjust to him, fucking you so hard you scoot up the mat. He buries his claws in your sides, keeping you from sliding away and making you delirious with pain and pleasure. You come hard, clenching around his cock and gushing your slick all over him. He uses his claws to pull you down on his cock over and over until you feel his body tense up and then the hot splash of his spend inside you. 

He slowly retracts his claws, making you groan at the feeling of them leaving your body. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

“Never better, actually.” 

He rolls off you and lands on his back. You both lay there panting for a minute or two. 

“How the fuck are we supposed to get back to our rooms?” You ask, looking over your tattered clothing. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that just yet.”

“And why is that?” You flop your head to the side to look at him, broad chest heaving, still hard cock laying heavily on his belly.

“Not done with you yet.”

[ghouldtime]

Scare Actor! Ghost

No thoughts, head empty. Only full of Scare Actor! Ghost

Scare Actor! Ghost who:

Only thought of the idea after seeing an ad for one on the telly one day. He immediately thought back to his brother Tommy and their youth

Though he didn't have fond memories then of the skull masks Tommy used to wear to freak him out as he grew up, he'd long since adjusted to it and wore his usual mask at work in part as memory (as well as for anonymity and intimidation)

Wearing the mask also helped him separate 'Ghost' from 'Simon', but Simon still hung onto the masks in remembrance of his brother. Carrying that part of him, even if he had long since passed away, helped him stay connected to why he kept fighting for the world

Seeing the masks and actors trying to get a scare out of others brought him back to specific memories of his brother, nostalgia flowing through him in a bittersweet way

What better way than to keep his memory alive than to partake in such things? Though the difference is people at haunted houses were ones who WANTED to be scared, he's not there to create anything more than good memories

Luckily he has that large form and intimidating nature that make him a natural at it - it meant getting hired was a breeze and doing his job came naturally

Usually is cast as a butcher character. He did work as a butcher so he already knows the routine. And he fits the role. He's a big beefy dude who can work a knife. Hauling fake carcasses is easy work as is standing there, twirling fake knives

Has a variety of masks. He doesn't usually wear plain skull ones because it's too... basic most times for such an environment. He wants to keep that work separate and not chance anyone recognizing him.

He has a zombified face, a Frankenstein pig's head, and a boar's skull mask - he has them with him so he can switch if needed mid-job

Made the masks himself. He thought the ones offered in stores weren't to his vibe and felt too cheap and inauthentic. Not to mention, he already made his skull mask for his main job. Soap wasn't fully wrong when he joked about the mask making

Is skilled in a variety of crafting techniques that he's picked up over the years due to needing something to keep him busy in his down-time so he can feel productive and keep himself mentally there

Quickly becomes a fan favorite. Not only did he have the intimidation factor, but he had the mysterious, haunting vibe that drew people in

Is a natural at hiding in the shadows and moving silently. Stealth is his middle name which means he's getting the best jump scares there are

Can follow the group throughout the house for ages before they realize something is off. They only know when it's too late

Doesn't keep to a routine. He knows better than to stick to predictability. It keeps things refreshing and means if anyone dares to go through twice, they won't be experiencing the same thing

Usually isn't a chaser or one who runs after. Instead he's methodical and calculated as he tracks movement throughout the building, herding the crowd to the right area and picking them off one by one

Figures that cold, calculating steps as his 'victim' of the night is cornered with no way out is a whole lot scarier than just screaming and chasing them

Enlists the help of junior scare-rs, aka the kids going through. The little menaces who try to spook the scare actors or who put on a brave face as usually taken aside by him to help get at their parents or friends (it's always worth it to see the looks on their faces)

He's still a gentle giant. He might be playing the role of a cannibalistic butcher or a crazed serial killer, but if someone appears particularly distressed, he'll leave them be or will even take them aside and behind the scenes if they're clearly not enjoying it

Is well loved by any haunted house he works at. Due to his crafting skills, he's often helping out the props department. His strategic thinking means he can coordinate better scares among the actors too and adapt to everyone's strengths which creates a WAY better atmosphere where everyone can be in their element

Works with the makeup department, helping to correct their work to make sure it's the most realistic looking gore-y effects when possible. He never says how he knows why it would look like that, but sure enough, it always looks better when they listen to him

I love Scare actor! Ghost. I need to write for him for REAL and there's a reader insert on the way as a WIP cause I can't get it out of my head

(I'd love to write a haunted house actors AU for TF 141 and the other guys/gals too 😭)

[ohbo-ohno]

price x reader where reader is stranded at a cabin in the woods? 👀

1k game here - no more please!

first price drabble for this challenge without a single mom reader. i'll hold for applause

1.8k of hermit in the forest price x escaped convict reader (no smut!)

At first you don't think the cabin is real.

You see it after days of wandering through the forest - days of barely any sleep, terrified you'll wake up to a bear or a wolf or some other beast, stomach aching and feet bleeding, the picturesque cabin seems too good to be true.

It's straight out of a picture book. Right on the bank of a river, made of wood with a stone foundation, a nice porch, a working fireplace judging by the smoke coming out from the chimney...

There's just no way it's real.

You know there's someone home - either that or the house is burning from the inside - but the first sign of shelter in days blinds you from the dangers, and you stumble right up to the door.

It's unlocked.

You don't walk in at first. You're standing at the entrance, wood under your bare feet and palm, and it still doesn't feel real that a place this perfect appeared out of nowhere.

It's homey inside, an open concept so that even from the front door you can see the bedroom, the kitchen, and the living room. Just one big room with areas sectioned off - the kitchen on the left, the living room on the right, the bedroom at the back.

It's also empty. Which means it's far too good to be true.

Still, you can't turn your nose up at such a blessing right now. Hell, you'd sleep in a cave if it meant having even a scrap of cover. So you stumble into the cabin, blood and dirt leaving clear footprints on the floor. The door swings closed behind you, and you can't help but jump when it slams.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. You can't afford to be so jumpy when you'll have to face the cabin's owner before safely sleeping. There's no one in the main cabin, but you highly doubt the owner lit a fire before going out on a walk. If you had to bet, you'd say they're behind the closed door near the bed.

You've been running on adrenaline ever since you escaped, and it's what keeps you steady now. You try to be as silent as possible while digging through the kitchen, looking for.... bam.

A block of knives, and a dirty frying pan on the stove. The owner must've had scrambled eggs that morning, but the pan will still work.

You pick the biggest knife in the block and twirl it in your hand, heartbeat picking up. You hold the frying pan in your dominant hand since it's heavier, and the knife gets tucked into the front of your pants so you can grab it quickly.

You try to walk on your tiptoes as you make your way to the back of the cabin, then realize that it hurts far too much and hobble slowly instead. You settle yourself beside the bathroom door, holding the pan in the air while you wait.

It takes longer than you'd expected for the owner to come out. There's no clock in the cabin, and you're too strung-out to count, but you'd bet it's no less than five minutes before the door finally opens.

You jerk back to standing up straight from where you'd subconsciously fallen against the wall, and move before you're even really thinking. You swing the frying pan with both hands, ready to hit whoever's coming out of the room with full force.

Your first miscalculation is immediately obvious - the person coming out of the bathroom is far taller than you. Instead of swinging towards his face of neck, you're about to hit him squarely in the chest. Much less likely to knock him out.

Your second miscalculation is the one that actually gets you into trouble - your victim stops you before you can hit him.

You see what happens almost like an out-of-body experience, everything moving too quickly for your stressed mind to keep up with. You know that he shoves you by the shoulder closest to him, sending you reeling and eventually falling before the pan can ever meet it's mark.

You squawk as you stumble to the floor, frying pan going flying and knife nearly stabbing you in the gut.

"What the fuck?" The cabin owner says, voice low and shocked.

You're about to dart up and away when a heavy foot lands on your chest, leaning down with just enough pressure to keep your exhausted body pinned to the floor. You trace the ankle up to the man, glaring at him.

He's- well, he's wearing nothing but his birthday suit. Dripping water and completely naked, you're taken off guard again by the figure above you. Past the nakedness, you notice he's big - probably at least a full head taller than you, with a large frame to boot. Standing above you like he is, he looks like a giant.

He's got thick brown hair that's cut close to the head, a far bushier beard that nearly covers his mouth. He's well-muscled but with a layer of fat on his torso, giving him a barrel-chested look. He's furry, too, varying amounts of hair covering every part of him you can see - which is nearly every part.

"What the fuck," he repeats, droplets of water falling onto your face when he leans over you. "Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing in my house?"

You scowl up at him, clawing at his ankles. Your nails don't do much since you've bitten them until they bled, but you try to dig them in anyway. "Get the off of me."

He blinks down at you for a moment, clearly bewildered. "No. I'll ask you again - why are you in my house?"

You try to use your feet as leverage, then when that fails you do your best to try and kick his legs out from under him. You snarl when you remain firmly pinned by just a foot.

His ankle shifts back a little to put more pressure on your stomach, and you're reminded of the knife. Of course.

Before he can try and ask anymore idiotic questions, you pull the knife out from your pants and try to stab him in the calf.

Again his reflexes save him and he flies off of you, leaving you free to scramble onto sore feet and bare your teeth, brandishing the knife in front of you.

"Aha!" You exclaim, somewhat delirious. "Not so brave now, huh tough guy?"

He wears the perfect mix of unamused and amused both, like he doesn't appreciate what you're doing but he is willing to laugh at you. The expression makes you snarl, draws your hackles up even more.

"Here's what's gonna happen," you start, shifting to what you hope is a more defensive stance. "You're going to give me all your non-perishable food, a pair of shoes, and a map, and nobody gets hurt."

There - that's a good list of demands right? It's regrettable that you won't be able to stay the night, but that was only ever going to be possible if you managed to kill the man, and it's very clear that you'll never pull that off in your current state. The best you can hope for is food and a way out of the damn forest.

He doesn't seem to think so, cocking an eyebrow. "That so?"

You scowl. "Yes. Or I'm going to stab you."

His mouth twitches. "You're gonna stab me? You?"

"What, are you deaf? You heard me the first time."

"Just checking." His tone is almost teasing, which only makes you angrier. The only thing keeping you on your feet at this point is anger and adrenaline, so you welcome the emotion with open arms.

You jerk forward suddenly, making like you'll stab him in the chest but not quite getting within arms reach of him. He doesn't flinch.

Your scowl deepens. "You stupid, then? I really will stab you, don't think I won't!"

He shifts his weight and you flinch, then scold yourself when his smile grows. "Oh, I believe you. But I'm not givin' you my food or my shoes, so I suppose you've got a decision to make."

Oh, there's no decision to be made. You don't even really think when you dart towards him, arm raised high to try and stab him in the heart.

The weapon is knocked out of your hand before you even get close, your body turned and forced chest-first into the wall as the knife clatters to the ground beside you.

The man is heavy at your back, leaning his naked chest against you and forcing your dominant arm behind your back. You fist your free hand against the wall, gritting your teeth against the pain.

"That all you got, kitten?"

You snarl, thrash desperately against his hold and bite back a whimper at the twinge in your shoulder when he doesn't even twitch. "What the fuck did you call me?"

"Kitten," he repeats, amusement audible in his tone. "'S what you're acting like, hissing and spitting. But you're harmless, aren't ya?"

No, you're not. You're an escaped convict who was locked up for first degree murder. You're the furthest thing from harmless in this whole goddamn forest.

"Not a fucking cat," you growl, craning your head over your shoulder to glare up at him. "I'm gonna kill you and rob you blind, old man, you have no idea what's comin'."

To your immense frustration, he almost looks excited, pressing closer to your body and leaning so you two are face-to-face. His hips push against the small of your back, and to your horror you feel that he's hard against you.

"Yeah?" He grins down at you, smile a little sharp. "Think this old man can't handle one little brat? Oh, sweetheart, I think you and I are gonna have plenty of fun together."

As you consider the merits of spitting in his face, you think to yourself that this man cannot possibly have the same definition of fun as you. He's got another thing coming if he thinks he's going to be able to keep you beneath his heel - you'll raze the old man's cabin to the ground with him in it if you have to.

He must see some of that fire in your eyes - either that or he sees the way you work your jaw to gather more spit - because he pulls away from your face, going back to hovering behind you.

His hold doesn't change, but his free hand shifts down and gives you a sharp tap on the ass. You hiss and squirm away, blushing indignantly.

He laughs again, then rests his chin on the crown of your head. "Oh, yes, I think you'll be quite amusing. It's been a while since I've had a pet project, kind of you to just drop yourself in my lap like this. I think you'll take quite a bit of work, won't you?"

You grit your jaw as you rest your forehead against the wall and make a silent promise to yourself that you'll make this man's life hell.

[welldonebeca]

Housewife Halloween (I)

Summary: Sam hates Halloween. When he catches his girlfriend dressed up and playing as his wife, he realises the day might not be so bad, after all. Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female!Reader WC: 1.3k words Warnings: Stanford times. Fluff. Teasing. Wife kink. 

Masterlist

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Sam scoffed as he walked past the Halloween decorations. The whole month, Stanford was just decorated up and down with skeletons, witches, ghosts and all that crap, and now... now it was officially Halloween.

And God, he hated it.

He didn't even get what the big deal was. It was like all of a sudden everyone was five again, and wanted to go crazy for the holiday.

Jess had been asking him non-stop to do some group costume and go bar hopping, but he had said no so many times she gave up after a few too many of them. Most of his friends called him a buzzkill after that, but he didn't mind. He had you, at home, a loving girlfriend who didn't judge him and respected his boundaries.

Sam just wanted to go home, cuddle you and pretend it was November or something. Watch something that wasn't scary at all, without even looking at any candy, and let Halloween pass by without noticing it.

When he unlocked the door of your shared place, he was surprised to find you standing in the living room, dressed like you'd come straight back from the fifties, with your hair curled and pinned and a very round dress.

"Honey, you're home!" you quipped.

He stood, frozen, on his feet, taking in your look as you walked over to him, standing on your tiptoes and kissing his cheek.

The two of you had been living together since he moved out of his old dorm - a bit over a month after the incident when he hurt his back.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here so early," you walked behind him, taking off his jacket before Sam could even think of what you were saying. "Take a seat, dinner is on its way."

He blinked, following you into the kitchen, sniffing around, surprised at the great smell.

"Did you order take out?" he asked. It smelt really good.

You just giggled.

"Of course not, silly," you grabbed an apron from your side, and he raised his eyebrows at how it was stained with red. "I cooked for us."

Alright, this was weird.

He looked at you and then the stove, and stood up, stopping you by grabbing your shoulders.

Either something very dangerous was going on or you were up to something.

"What is going on?" he asked, careful.

You rolled your eyes, laughing, and your shoulders relaxed.

"Alright, you got me," you rolled your eyes. "It's a costume. What do you think?"

He frowned, looking at your clothes.

"What are you supposed to be?" Sam asked.

You stepped back and twirled in front of him.

"A murderous housewife," you smiled.

He chuckled. Well, now the apron was explained.

"I found this dress and those petticoats in the thrift store, and they are actually vintage," you explained. "And I didn't want to ruin it with blood, so I just did that with the apron and borrowed one of your knives."

Sam lost his smile, glancing at the knife on the counter. It was one of the knives he kept for safety reasons.

"That is not a toy," he reminded you.

You pouted.

"But Sam," you whined.

"If you told me you wanted a knife for your costume, I could get you a toy one," he told you, emphatically. “But not that one.”

His former life as a hunter was something he had touched very little on. Yes, you knew he had some sketchy things in his childhood, but never pressed him on it or said anything when he made sure you and your home were protected.

Your pout grew more, and you flushed, looking guilty.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

Sam sighed. You looked so cute like that.

"You're forgiven," he assured you. "And why are you dressed up?"

Your lips curled in a shy smile.

"My Sorority is having a Halloween party," you explained. "It's gonna be at midnight."

Sam nodded along. You were part of one of the sororities there, and while you didn't live with them, you were always involved in their events - be it in presence or planning.

"I know you hate Halloween," you told him and bit your lower lip. "It is really quick.”

He watched your face, and his eyebrows knitted together in a frown when he realised you looked like you really wanted to say something.

“What?’ he asked.

“I was… you know… thinking you could come, maybe?” you asked, softly. “You don’t even have to dress up.”

His shoulders sagged and Sam had to stop himself from scoffing, knowing his face didn't look very happy.

"Baby..." he sighed.

"How about I serve us dinner?" you stepped away from him. "And if you don't want to go after that, we won't."

He sighed.

"Alright," you walked back to the table. "Do your best."

You giggled and Sam watched you go, stepping to the counters in the tiny kitchen of your home, puffy skirt swirling around and tight curls bouncing on your shoulders, causing his cock to swell the littlest bit.

He shouldn't get horny seeing you like that.

Sam was a feminist, for fuck's sake! Perhaps, it was the part of him who wanted the stable home he never had, or maybe you just looked too sexy in that dress, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking of the future, of living in a nice house in the suburbs where he would come home to see you making dinner or folding laundry, and welcoming him in that same voice, sweet as honey with your little 'welcome home, husband'.

It was such a caveman idea.

And yet, here he was, trying to will his cock into staying soft.

His thoughts were interrupted by the clanking of plates and looked down to see a meal of chicken and rice, along with steamed vegetables on the side.

"I hope you like it honey," you leant in his direction, kissing his forehead before moving back.

You sat by his side and he had to mask his surprise. Yes, he knew you had been trying to get better at cooking, but this was the first time you presented him with a full homemade meal, and it just looked delicious. It wasn't like the greasy diner food he was so used to getting, it was actually made at home and with love.

He ate it hungrily, unable to even pretend he wasn't used to it, trying to savour every bite.

Sam didn't even realise he had gotten carried away before he raised his eyes and found you staring at him, blushing deeply, completely flushed.

"Sorry," he said quickly, laughing nervously. "It's just... it's really good."

You smiled, very embarrassed.

"It's just chicken, Sam," you shrugged.

He shook his head.

"It's amazing," Sam insisted. "You made it really well. You are... such a good wife."

Your cheeks flushed even more at the little quip, and you lowered your gaze, looking just like you did anytime he praised or degraded you during sex, or even teased you about it.

Sam was glad to see your reaction. He had worried he might have scared you with such a declaration, but seeing you look a little meek, all flushed, was adorable.

You leant in your direction, rubbing his nose on yours, and smirked when your eyes drifted closed and your lips parted, waiting for a kiss that he didn't place on your lips, sucking in a breath when you reached for your neck, holding it gently and placing his lips on the other side of it.

"My good wife," he whispered. "My perfect little wife."

You whimpered, moving your face as Sam pulled back, reaching for his lips, but he just moved back.

"Sam," you whined. "Don't be mean."

"I'm the man of the house," he reminded you. 'I know what my wife needs."

You whimpered, and he pushed his chair back, spreading his legs, thinking of what he was going to do next.

"Put dinner in the fridge," he instructed you. "I'll be waiting for you in the living room."

…

“Housewife Halloween” was posted on Tumblr on May 2022. To read it fully now (and the prequel, “Plough Pose”), subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month and I post 6x a week!

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[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon "Ghost" Riley X

Medic!Reader (Part 7)

Word Count - 4.7K

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn. This chapter describes scenes that some people may find disturbing, such as war crimes, mutilation, and death.

A/N - This chapter is tuff ngl.

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3  ❤︎ Part 3.5  ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 6

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

“Better,” Ghost said from somewhere at your side, his attention divided by watching you practice your throwing knife skills and cleaning his rifle, “But stop flicking your wrist, it’s unnecessary.” 

Since you arrived here Ghost had dedicated a surprising amount of time to teaching you how to throw a knife. Your aim was still off and you had the occasional miss, but you were improving. He’s had you standing in front of the piece of wood for the last hour throwing the knives he’s so graciously let you borrow, picking them up and doing it all over again. He was a good teacher, but a tough one. Not even you could be spared from his hazing lectures of form and technique. And on more than one occasion you stomped off on him in frustration, only to sheepishly return after some time to restart after cooling off. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your expression bored, “Are you even watching?” 

“Yes. Now, throw,” he instructed, dark eyes flicking up to you, and when he saw that you were still looking at him he twirled his finger in a “turn” gesture. 

With a sigh, you turn back around and aim at the center of the target painted into a wooden board. You lined yourself up, your tongue instinctively sticking out, a habit you had since you were a child when in focus, and threw the blade. The handle banged off the board and clanged to the ground. 

“I just told you to stop flicking your wrist,” he commented as he slid ammo into one of his magazines. 

You spun on him, annoyance twinging your tone “You come over here and throw one.” 

He placed the magazine on the table beside him and strode towards you with a confidence you envied, plucked the blade right out of your hand and threw it. It embedded itself deep into the wood. Right in the middle. He held his hand out for another. Again, it landed in the middle with a satisfying thud. Impressively close to the first. He threw two more and only one of them wasn’t a bullseye instead it landed in the next ring. 

You clicked your tongue, “Alright,” you pushed him back towards his guns and ammo, “Go away.” 

For the last two days, it’s done nothing but storm, and everyone has taken shelter in the warehouse where there was still a working heater. But now that the nightly meeting and dinner had been served, everyone was headed back for the bunks for the night. The emotions have been running high the last few days and the weather was making it even harder to get things done. Soap was trying his best to keep up morale, but even he grew weary of waiting. Price and Gaz had gone on recon today to check out the town and came back with the news that the military was pulling out. Laswell was less than thrilled to have the entire team invading her space while she tried to work. 

She, out of all of you, felt the pressure the most.  

Tonight it was your turn to take the night watch, and Ghost stayed behind until midnight to keep you company. He even went on the few patrols he was with you for, “You never talk about your family,” Ghost clutched at his rifle as he strolled beside you, purposefully shortening his stride so you could keep up.

“Well, I could say the same about you,” you knock your shoulder into him, trying to come off as playful but in truth the last thing you wanted to do was unpack the fuckery that was your family. 

“That’s because I’ve got skeletons in my closet,” he shrugged, seemingly nonchalant about it. You’ve become accustomed to his casual attitude; where normal people would become skittish with that type of admission, he wasn’t. 

You hummed, inching closer to him. Even in the rain his body heat radiating from him. 

“Well,” you started, chewing on the inside of your cheek as unease rippled through your gut, “My parents divorced when I was sixteen. My mother is the kindest woman I’ve ever met. She used to take me to the theatres every Sunday for the matinee.” 

“And your father?” He asked carefully, sensing your hesitation on the matter. His attention was on you but he made it less intense by looking off into the darkened shadows of the trees beyond the fences. 

“He’s…” your throat narrowed at the memory of him, of his hardened face and emotionless eyes, “He’s the worst man I’ve ever met. And I was his favourite,” you wrung your fingers, the tips of them going numb from the cold air, “He’s estranged now and I haven’t heard from since the divorce.” A lie. You knew exactly where and what he was doing. You also knew he kept a close eye on you and yours. “My mom has since remarried. To a guy she went to high school with, it’s quite adorable,” 

“Any siblings?” He asked as he opened the door to the warehouse for you. He didn’t push for more information, understanding that were some things better left unsaid.

“Two,” your heart skipped a beat, “Both significantly older. But one of them died when I was in high school. A car accident,” you didn’t give any more detail than that. Didn’t think you could handle dredging up old wounds. 

You silently thanked Simon for not giving you a half-hearted “I’m sorry” at the mention of your dead brother.

You told him about your childhood friends, and about the sports you played. You told him about how your brothers used to have epic fights in the backyard, and how one of them had ended with your father making them run laps at the track until one of them collapsed and the other threw up all over the grass. 

Ghost quietly listened, adding little comments here and there. He just liked hearing you talk and would sit here for hours completely content with doing just that. 

As soon as the clock struck twelve a yawn interrupted him mid-sentence and you sent him off to bed. 

“I’ll be fine. I’ll keep out of trouble. But you were up last night for your watch, you need to sleep,” you shooed him out the door. Before stepping out the door he turned to you, bending down to catch your lips with his. It was a quick, innocent gesture, and the boyish grin of his that accompanied it was even more so. 

The rest of the night was fairly tame, but your raincoat never seemed to dry and you were forever cold. Gaz had pulled out a space heater at some point but even that couldn’t seem to thaw your frozen bones and muscles. What you really wanted was a hot shower. Or even better, a bath. You’d grown weary of the cold showers. 

The silence and isolation of the night watch were welcomed. It gave you time to think and to work through your ever-flowing thoughts and emotions. You were beginning to wonder what comes after this. If you were labelled as deserters, would they just “let” you get back to your normal job once you exposed Spector? There were so many questions and you were too afraid to find out what the answers would be. Would anyone even believe you guys? 

You spent the rest of the night trying to distract yourself before you found yourself spiralling. You reorganized the makeshift kitchen area, sewed a rip in your jacket pocket, and read the first few chapters of a particularly boring book Gaz had brought with him. You had quickly become thankful for the hourly strolls outside.     

“What are you doing up?” You asked, setting your rifle down, having done a patrol. It was a little past 4 am when you returned to find Soap lounging on one of the chairs at the makeshift table. 

His cheery blue eyes found yours, “Thought I’d come and keep you company.” 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you took a seat across from him, fiddling with a propane lamp before lighting it. 

He yawned and stretched out his arms above him, “Have you been able to?”    

You shook your head. Truth is, you haven’t had a good sleep since you got blown up. You grabbed a deck of cards someone had left on the table for everyone to use, “You shuffle,” you said, handing it to him. With practiced hands, he shuffled and dealt out a hand of canasta. 

He won the first round, and he sighed, “One more game, I’m starting to feel bad for you.”  

“Laswell find anything?” you asked. Laswell had left to meet up with one of her contacts and wasn’t going to be coming back until tomorrow.

“Not really,” he scratched at the growing beard on his face, and exchanged a card from his hand, “She’s stressing. So is Price.” 

“I don’t blame them,” you murmured. If you were going to ask anyone and not fear that they’d think you a doormat, you were going to ask Soap, “Are we still going to have our jobs once we figure all this out?”  

He blinked at you, “Our job?” then his expression softened in realization. You’d been uncharacteristically recluse these last few days and everyone had noticed it. And Soap was just relieved to have finally understood why that was, “When we find that bastard Spectator and pull his pants down in front of the brasses we’ll be handed medals.” He leaned back in his chair and it creaked against his weight, “There are, of course, probably going to be some legal measures that will need to be addressed, but when are there not? A few years back we were being hunted down by every allied force for ‘espionage’.” He rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the idea. “We’ve got our hands tied behind our backs a few times, and yet they haven’t gotten rid of us.” 

The looming misery that had been breathing down your neck for the last few weeks backed off at his answer.     

“That makes this a little less stressful,” You wished there was more you could do, but none of this was your specialty. “You want tea?” the chill you developed from your patrols was becoming unbearable. You got up to heat up water in a pot on the propane stove before he could answer. 

“Absolutely,” he replied. 

You turned back towards him just in time to catch him trying to peek at your cards, “Are you joking?” you threw up your hands in disbelief. You’ve played a lot of cards with Soap in the last two weeks, and never once did you win against him. Now you know why. You tossed a tea bag at him.

He slid back into his seat with a sheepish grin. 

“I’m not making you tea anymore,” you glowered over at him, “You can make your own.”

You cracked open the door to take a peek outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the ground sodden with water. It smelt like fresh earth. An hour later Ghost joined the two of you, claiming that Price was snoring so loud that he woke up thinking someone was attacking him with a chainsaw. Soap asked if he cared for a game of cards to which he curtly replied with a very stern, very definitive “No, you little crook.” 

After a brief discussion, you and Ghost decided it would be as good a time as ever to check in on the town. He wanted to scope it out to see if the military had pulled out yet. You wanted to check in on the school. 

The drive into the town was silent, the pit of your stomach was turned inside out. Your intuition screamed at you that something was wrong. 

Thick fog clung to the trees and made the drive more unsettling.  

A strange pungent smell invaded the cab of the truck a few miles back from the town. It smelt like smoke and something else you couldn’t place a finger on. The smell got stronger and stronger the closer you got, to the point where you shoved your nose into the collar of your shirt. 

“Ugh,” your eyes began to water, “What is that?” 

A large dark form lay on the side of the road as you turned a corner and Ghost slowed the vehicle, his hand dropping to the pistol at his thigh.   

So he feels the unease too. 

That thought alone was alarming. 

As you rolled forward confusion clouded your thoughts. The corpse of a horse was left in the ditch. Its brown coat stained darker in some spots—with dried blood. From the looks of it, this happened days ago.

“They killed off all their livestock,” Ghost grumbled, his attention fixed on something ahead of us. You followed his gaze. The herd of cows he passed every day we drove into town was left to rot in one of the fields surrounding the town. Their bodies are already half-decomposed. In their state, it was obvious this occurred days ago. 

“Isn’t this a war crime?” 

He nodded, features hardening. 

You wondered why no one had tried to dispose of them. 

In fact, as you neared, there wasn’t anyone around. No passing cars or people walking their dogs. 

As the town came into view, and the fog fell away from the buildings to could better make out the shapes hanging from the sign. You squinted, leaning forward. Your blood ran cold, “Riley–”

“I see it,” he grunted.

Three bodies hung from the town's welcome sign. The faces were mottle shades of blue and grey. Hands tied behind their back and feet bound together. Two men and one woman. They had died long after the cattle. Their clothes and hair remained dry, despite the last few days of rainfall. 

Ghost nodded his head towards the woman, “That’s my informant's wife.”    

If you hadn’t known him as well as you did you would have thought him indifferent to the sight but guilt lined the edges of his words. 

You looked back to the women and your stomach rolled. Her neck bent at an unnatural angle, “Did–” you shook your head in disbelief, “Why would they do this?” It was hard to believe that the same army you fought for could do something like this. Something so animal. 

Beside you, he didn’t answer. His eyes scanned the empty streets, finding nothing and no one. 

“Take me to the school,” you breathed, worry piling up inside you. 

He opened his mouth to say something, probably to argue but thought better of it. 

He rolled to a stop just outside the school, his brows furrowing, “Are you sure you’ll be fine?” 

You nodded, but you couldn’t find it within you to smile at him.

“You just need to click twice on your radio and I’ll be right back,” he was going to go check in on his informant. If his wife was dead, the probability that he was too was high.  

He waited for you to enter the building before he pulled out and went on his way.   

The school was desolate, no single child milled about. No teachers lined the halls. It was a school day, you were sure about that, yet no one was around. 

You followed the now-familiar path to the classroom at the back of the school. Peaking into empty classrooms on the way there. 

Your hands shook as you reached the door to the classroom, and eerie silence on the other side. You knocked but the door wasn’t shut properly and creaked open. The lights were off, and no voice answered from within as the sound of your approach. You swallowed the lump in your throat before pushing the door completely open. 

The room was empty. Yesterday's date is still etched in chalk on the chalkboard. 

Along with the angry rushed words, “Your sympathizers will be killed.” 

You didn’t need to ask to know those words were meant for you. You looked around the room once more, searching for any sign of life. But the room was nearly spotless, there was no blood, no sign of a struggle. Textbooks and pencils still lay on the desks of the students, ready for their next lesson. 

You picked up one of the books, examining it. 

Something outside caught your attention, a flash of a silhouette as it rushed across the courtyard.

You peered out the window and into the courtyard in hopes of seeing who was out there.

The breath wooshed out of your lungs, and the textbook in your hand slipped from your grip. You didn’t even hear it fall. 

Outside, hand-tied above their head to a wooden post was what was left of a female body. There wasn’t much left of her but the chard-blackened flesh. Gone was her scent of rosemary and pepper. Gone was her soft voice and youthful face. 

A hand flew up to cover your mouth as bile rose up your throat. 

The door behind you creaked open and you spun, hand going for your gun. 

A small familiar figure appeared, her usually emotionless face tear-stained. When she caught sight of you her face contorted into one of distrust and hate. 

It was the girl you had been helping heal the wound on her arm. 

Then she was rushing at you, her slim fist slamming into your armoured chest, her voice cracking as she yelled up at you. She kicked her feet out at your shins and ankles. You couldn’t understand her but her face revealed what she was saying. There didn’t need to be a language barrier to know what she was calling you. What she was saying. 

“This is your fault. You killed her. You’re a monster. A killer.” 

There was no doubt that her screams would draw attention if anyone was still here. You covered her mouth, hushing her. She trashed against you, nails digging into the exposed skin on your wrists. Her feet stomped on yours. 

Voices echoed down the hall and the both of you froze. Wide eyes connecting in dread. She stopped breathing entirely. You lifted a finger to your lips, prying she’d remain silent. Slowly and as quietly as you could you brought her to the windows, opened one of them and signalled for her to slide out. Her brows furrowed with skepticism but she obeyed. 

I was the lesser of two evils in her eyes.     

“Run,” you whispered to her, palming a throwing knife into her hand and she climbed out the window. 

She didn’t turn back to look at you as she sprinted to the other side of the building. You watched as she hesitated before running past the brutalized body of her teacher. You watched her dip out of one of the many doors. 

You tore yourself from the window and the scene beyond it, wishing you could at least cut her down from the post. 

But there was someone else here. 

You crept back out into the hallway, following the same route to the main foyer, trying to avoid the direction the voices came from. 

Wrong. 

At the end of the hallway were two men, their attire and the patches on the side of their arms making it obvious that weren’t here to be friendly. You considered ducking back behind the corner but they had already seen you. Their concealed faces snap towards you. 

Your hand reached for this radio at your shoulder and clicked it twice.  

“What are you doing here?” one of them called out, his head tilted to the side trying to get a better look at you. There was no way in hell you were going to get away with pretending to be a local. You were decked out in a bulletproof vest. Instinctively, your hand dipped for the pistol at your thigh but stopped short. They weren’t the enemy, they were here following orders. 

You cleared your throat, “I was told to meet the lieutenant here,” you could only hope they didn’t ask for a name.

They shared a look, the postures stiffening, before turning back to you, “Lieutenant, Smithers left yesterday morning.”

Welp.

You pulled one of the knives Ghost had given you earlier this morning from its sheath, “I don’t want to have to hurt you,” you swore. 

But it was too late, and this was going to be a short-lived fight. You were outnumbered and outmuscled. You could only hope you would be able to hold them off until Ghost got here.  

The first one moved quickly, and you flung the blade in his direction. You were aiming for his throat but missed. It landed in his shoulder, which worked well in slowing him down but wasn’t going to put him out of this fight. The second one closed in on you, throwing a dangerous left hook that for sure would have knocked you out cold if you hadn’t sidestepped him, now behind him you kicked out at the back of his leg. His momentary loss of balance was enough for you to drive your knee up into his face. Bone cracked, and his nose immediately started spewing blood everywhere. 

The first guy was still recovering from your knife, but he was still more than capable of doing major harm once he regained his composure. 

Your fingers found the warm metal of the soldier dog tag and wrapped your fist around it, tugging at it until his gargled protest echoed. You grabbed for the second knife equipped at your chest. 

An arm wrapped around your waist and you were being hauled up into the air and slammed into the wall behind you, knocking the wind out of you. You brought your elbow down in the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. Once. Twice. He let you go, driving his fist into your jaw. Your head snapped to the side and stars blossomed in the corners of your vision. 

You grappled at your assailant for purchase, but you were already being yanked into the other soldier's arms, your hand twisted painfully behind you.

“Bitch,” he missed in your ear.

Your vision was swimming but your eyes landed on the blade still jutting out of the first guy's shoulder. You leaned your weight back, lifting your feet to kick the blade in again. The man stumbled back, screaming. You dropped your weight as fast and hard as you can, bringing the last guy down with you. 

He was faster than you. Climbing on top of you, pressing into your back with a knee. His finger gripped at your scalp, bringing your head up only to smash it back into the ground. Again and again. 

There was a bang that cracked through the air. And you waited for the searing pain that usually accompanied a bullet. 

The heavy weight above you began to suffocate you, and you struggled for breath. A whimper escaped you. 

There was the sound of a struggle somewhere above you but you couldn’t find the strength to so much as look up. 

The weight was lifted off of you, and you came face to face with the unseeing, dead eyes of the soldier who was just bashing your face into the floor. Then you were being flipped and your eyes met familiar brown ones.  

Alarm flashed across his face, “Shit. Can you walk?”, his arm slipped under and around you. 

“Yes, I think,” You blinked up at him, your vision blurring. You wiped at your eyes, “I can’t see.”

“You’ve got blood everywhere,” Ghost hissed, shifting your weight onto him. The floor beneath your feet was slick and you fought to keep them under you. He nearly carried you to the truck before shoving you into the passenger seat. He was driving off before you could register where you were.  

“Was it just them?” He asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road but they kept snapping over to you. 

Your arms felt heavy and you slumped in your seat, “I didn’t see anyone else.” 

He drove fast back down the road and out of the town. If there were two soldiers still here there was bound to be more. And he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. 

He reached into the back to find something, anything for you to wipe the blood from your face. You weren’t sure which of it was yours and which of it was the now dead soldiers. 

He found a plain white cotton shirt from his pack.

“You’ll never get the blood stains out,” you half joked as you wiped at your face.  

“I’m not too attached,” he ground out but you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for jests right now. 

“Did you find your informant?” you strained as you wound a particular sore spot above your brow. A break in the skin that would surely scar. 

“He was dead.” 

Nausea gripped your stomach and you weren’t sure if it was the signs of a concussion or because of the aftermath of what you’d seen at the school. Most likely both, “Riley,” you struggled, fingers finding the door handle, “Pull over.”

“What?” 

Saliva flooded your mouth, “Pull over.” 

He turned into the ditch, tossing you a concerned glance before he moved to open his door.

“Stay in the truck,” you ordered, before slipping out your door. 

You were retching before your feet found the earth. You retched until you couldn’t anymore. Until your stomach was empty and your legs were useless.  

He didn’t say a word when you stepped back into the truck, but his knuckles turned white in the steering wheel. 

He handed you the bottled water from the cup holder and you rinsed your mouth out before speaking again, “We can’t involve any more civilians,” even to your ears you sounded defeated, “They will hunt them down. They did. They…called her a sympathizer,” you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. You told him of the school, and the message written on the chalkboard. You told him about the little girl and the teacher had to leave in the courtyard. “Did you informant know anything about the rest of us? Did he know I was at the school while you were with him?”

He stiffened, “No and yes. He wasn’t aware that anyone other than us two were on the run,”   

We drove for another few hours before he turned off the road once more. 

He was jumping out of the truck and reaching into the back seats before coming around to your side. His head was on a swivel, as he walked, looking for any signs that we had a tail. He opened your door, “We can’t go back to camp just yet,” he handed you your pack and placed his at his feet.

You had noticed that he was going in the complete opposite direction of the base a while back. Those soldiers knew we had been to that village, and they had been waiting for us to turn back up. There was still a chance they were following us, hoping we’d bring them back to everyone else. 

“Agreed,” 

“Dress in your civi’s,” he took out a fresh pair of jeans and a plain grey sweater, “The closest safe house isn’t as secure as the last,” He looked over your face and removed his vest, “I can stop on the way there and get you some ice for your face.” 

Then he was shirtless, then he was nearly naked. 

And too soon he was dressed again. His sweater pulled tights across his chest and shoulders. He looked even better in regular clothes than he did in his uniform. He moved to help you with your vest, the velcro a harsh sound in the silence. He helped you wiggle out of your shirt. You were sticky, cold, wet and with blood. He handed you a hoodie and waited for you to put it on before closing the door.

His Foresight - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎  @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx ❤︎@mymommmy ❤︎ @crunchlite ❤︎ @mychrysanthemums ❤︎  @xheera​  ❤︎ @lockleywife​ ❤︎ @ryethebrokengae ❤︎  @yellow-devil18 ❤︎ @tangledredstringsoffate ❤︎ @gingergirl06 ❤︎ @wwe1rdc0re

[andromedabooks]

Marauders in D&D

the beginnings of what could be a larger story. Their character builds are specified in an earlier post of mine. Enjoy!!

Their story would start, like all good ones do, in a tavern. A man standing on a table, dressed in shades of black and smiling at the world before him like it was an audience to his greatness. 

“Sirius get off the table please,” a man with sandy brown hair spoke from behind the bar, flicking his wrist to conjure a chair beneath the man which floated down to the ground with its ward sitting in it. 

“Remus you’re no fun,” Sirius pouted, crossing his arms in a childish pout. He had the look of a typical adventurer, long hair pulled back, belts of knives casually draped across his chest, and casual power radiating from him.

“I rather think Remus doesn’t want you kicked out of his fine establishment.” Another man joined the fray, a bespectacled one with both a demeanor and hair that dared you to try and tame it. He wore his power quite a bit less overtly than his friend, but the beautifully crafted sword strapped across his back was plenty enough to suggest it. 

“James, you will not get free ale for being nice to me.”

James shrugged. “Worth a shot.” 

Their conversation was cut short but the tavern door bursting open, letting in a few errant drops of the torrential downpour outside. Another man, dull blonde hair, portly build, and soot stained face, joined the fray. Panting as if he ran a very long way, he said, “I have news.” 

A room full of raised eyebrows turned on the artificer before Sirius spoke. “Well spit it out, Wormtail.” 

Still panting, Peter tripped over his words. “Rumor has it that there is a prize— the king of Hogwarts has set a prize for the adventuring party who can solve and complete a set of tasks first.”

For a beat, there was silence in the tavern. That was until the adventurers regained their wits and the room erupted in raucous discussion. The four young men in particular, seemed passionately discussing how they would execute this task that was obviously made for them. 

Obviously. 

But, from down the bar, a red haired woman watched all of this. Next to her, sat a woman with long braids twirling a knife between two fingers. “What'd you think, Lil? There’s a game afoot. You wanna play?” 

[hermesserpent-stuff]

spoilers for caged spade with henri and logan and creed and bella. and book.

@honey-minded-hivemind i have no idea what im doin.

Logan tenses as he spots Creed. The rain obscures the other feral’s scent, which explains why he did not know the other feral was nearby until he visually spotted him. He bares his teeth as he follows the man. Creed walks into a…

Why is Creed going into a books store?

Sabretooth never struck Logan as much of a reader. Logan decides not to strike and instead follows the man in and ducks out of sight, faking looking over book titles as he listens to the feral speak to the man at the counter.

“-ind Frankenstein? The… 1818 version? Apparently thats important?”

Creed asks. The man at the counter responds.

“Oh yes. There are different versions. Many people prefer one over the other. Is this a gift?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think that the person you are getting it for would be interested in a version with an appendix with the literary references listed or just the text?”

There is a beat of silence.

“One with references.”

Creed mutters out.

“Right this way.”

Logan makes sure to stay out of sight. Who the hell is Creed buying a book for? Who would bother to detail out what version of Frankenstein to buy to Creed? And who did Creed care enough to bother remembering those details for?

Creed buys the book and exits and Logan stalks after, careful not to be spotted or smelt. He needs to find out who is stupid enough to grow close with Creed and warn them. Or save them. 

As he follows a young man suddenly leaps out and slams feet-first into Creed’s chest. The kid flips and snaps out two electrified Escrima sticks and slams those into Creed’s arms.

“Bast*rd! Connard!! What you do with mon brother?!!”

The young man shrieks and Creed swipes him to the side. Before Creed can advance on the downed man, a girl leaps in and knocks out his legs. Creed snarls in anger as the girl snaps.

“Henri!! The hell! I told you to wait!!”

Logan cannot let the two idiotic humans fight Creed alone. So when Creed roars at them, Logan gives his own roar in return. Creed’s attention partially snaps to him and the feral makes a surprising move. He steps backwards, not immediately engaging any of the three that encircle him.

“Not your fight runt.”

Creed snaps at him. Logan goes to respond when he is interrupted by the young man.

“My questions not answered tataille!!! Where the hell you take mon petit frère!?! You kill him?”

There is so much burning rage as the man yells. Creed snarls and shifts away again, only for the girl to circle to his back and draw knives, making sure that the blades make a deadly sound as they escape their sheaths.

“What's a mutant doin’ with mutant hunters, eh?”

She hisses and Logan lets his claws spring out at this. They had been trying to discover the reason behind several missing person cases. Missing persons that were probably mutants. Is Creed involved? He growls low and guttural. 

“Remy’s safer than if he was on the streets. No one to marry where we’re holed up.”

Creed snaps, an ugly smile wrapping his features. Henri snarls.

“You messin’ with Guilds. Gonna rip out your eye for touchin’ Remy!”

The young man flies forwards, electricity crackling in the air. Creed swipes and the kid ducks and jabs. Creed snarls and bats at the kid again. Henri is fast. But not fast enough. He is hit and Logan leaps forward and slices into the opening created. He slashes and claws. Creed throws him away and howls. The girl twirls forwards and buries knives into his joints. Creed growls and snarls. She darts around him and knocks out his legs. She leaps to his chest and then stalls.

“Frankenstein??”

She holds up the book in its plastic wrapping that keeps it safe from the rain. Creed hisses.

“Yeah.”

“For… Rems?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah… Henri! Come on! Lets go.”

“What do you mean ‘lets go’, Bella?? The bastard is here!”

“And buyin’ a book. Frankenstein. Frankenstein cher!”

Henri pauses, swears colorfully in French and then shifts to stand between the now risen Logan and Creed.

She hops off of Creed and drops the book on his chest. As Creed rises she looks him in the eye.

“We comin’ for him. Dont doubt it. Mais, get his book to him. Go.”

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym Au Wip (Part 13)

“Never told you, so how should you know?” Sanji’s voice came from his left side.

Zoro walked in the direction. Rounding a corner he saw Sanji standing in front of a big kitchen island, slightly swinging a pan over fire with one hand and seasoning the content of another at the same time. Zoro’s gaze was fixed on his face the moment he looked at him.

Sanji had pulled his hair back in a little tail, freeing his face from the always-present fringe shielding his right eye. A beautiful green iris showed, which mesmerized Zoro tremendously.

“Cat got your tongue, Marimo?” Sanji asked still watching the food in front of him.

“Green,” came Zoro’s very intelligent answer.

“What?”

“Your eye…it’s green.”

“Oh…uh…yeah, it,” now Sanji looked up - a little unsure of what to expect from Zoro. “It’s called heterochromia. I…”

“It’s beautiful!” Zoro blurred out and finally came over to stand beside Sanji. “Why do you hide it?”

Too late, he realized his action and took a step back. Beautiful? It was! But why did he say that to Sanji?! And in such a outbreak of emotions…

“Sorry…”

“No, it's fine. Actually, it’s rather nice that someone is thinking like that about my most hated trait.”

“Why would you hate it?”

Sanji smiled sadly for a moment. But then he shook his head slightly.

“Maybe I tell you later.”

“Okay…”

Zoro scratched his neck and looked around the open kitchen. He spotted what looked like some mushrooms, fresh herbs and other ingredients sitting beside Sanji. In the pan he had two juicy-looking pieces of beef and in a pot was rice cooking slowly.

“What do you gonna make us?” Zoro wanted to know.

“On nothing too special. Just sukiyaki with beef.”

“It smells incredible!”

Sanji smiled at him, and Zoro felt his heartbeat fasten as if it wanted to break through his ribcage.

“So…Can I help you?”

“No need. Just sit down. Beer’s in the fridge if you want some.”

Zoro nodded, grabbed a bottle form the fridge and sat down on one of the bar chairs behind the kitchen - so he could watch Sanji cook. It was really fascinating! The precise movements of Sanji cutting the food and tossing it in the pans. The fact that he could do two tasks at once - if it doesn't involve cutting something. The way he held the knives, how natural it looked. And maybe Zoro was a little freak because this - Sanji handling his kitchen knives so well - turned him on a little.

“I really would like to see you fight with those,” Zoro mumbled as Sanji twirled a long knife in his hand to change the grip on it.

The knife almost fell out of the cook's hand by those words. He looked up and met Zoro’s gaze with a bit of shock.

“I wouldn't…” He swallowed drily. “I don't fight with either knives or my hands.”

Zoro, seeing that he made a mistake tried to save the conversation and the evening. He could imagine how fast this could go south and he really wanted to enjoy Sanji’s company.

“Sorry…I…I train and work at a Dojo; have been my whole life. You could say I’m a little sword and knife crazy,” he chuckled and rubbed the back of his head - Sanji’s frown turned into a neutral expression, but his lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. “ When I see someone working with knives so skilled like you do it. I can't stop but wonder how you’d handle a sword.”

“I don't know anything about swords, Zoro. I can't even fight with knives…”

Something tells me that’s a lie, Zoro thought but didn't say it.

He nursed his bottle of beer until the silence got a little uncomfortable. He glanced around as if a topic for a conversation would fall from the ceiling…he didn't think it would actually happen when he saw a black spot falling on the countertop between him and Sanji.

Prev/next

First Part

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight: You Send Me

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Note: when I started writing this story, I knew that Scully was going to have a memory of Mulder that would come to her in a dream, tipping her off to the fact that there was someone important she knew before her accident but couldn’t remember. I needed to be able to “see” this dream/memory, so it’s the first thing I wrote. I figure I may as well post it, so here is that memory you’ve seen glimpses of in full.

Scully plunges her hands back under the hot, soapy water and sighs. Her belly is full of good food and good wine, her heart full of hope and the promise of something exciting and new. She runs a scrub brush around the perimeter of a pan and then lifts it out to rinse it with fresh water before setting it on the drying rack beside the sink.

She smiles to herself at the adolescent buzz in her bones, the expectant tightening in her stomach. She’d forgotten how it feels in the beginning: sickly sweet and terrifying, the best kind of fear. From that first tentative kiss it’s only gotten better with each passing day, and she’s found herself almost embarrassed by the way her belly tumbles when he catches her eye across his desk and holds it for just a beat longer than necessary.

Even the invitation for this evening, dinner at his apartment, felt loaded and thrilling. They’ve kissed dozens of times, made out until her chin burned from his stubble, and, most recently, his hand found its way under her shirt. Not since she was sixteen and still a virgin has a boy feeling her up over her bra been so incredibly arousing that she touched herself later just thinking about it. But it’s not a boy, it’s a man. Mulder. Her Mulder. Her partner, now something more.

He’s in the living room fighting with the CD player. The selection of decidedly romantic albums he’d pre-loaded into the eight-disc changer had been abruptly interrupted by the Beastie Boys during their meal, making him blush and her laugh, and he is now presumably ensuring that they don’t suffer any such interruption during whatever he has planned for the rest of the evening.

She feels a rush of heat to her pelvis at the thought.

She’s ready. More than ready, beyond ready. She’s wanted him for so long, she can’t quite decide if this feels more like an ending or a beginning. Perhaps that’s not his intention for the night at all—he seems to be set on taking things slow. But seven years is slow enough, in her mind, and if he doesn’t make the move to activities beyond necking like teenagers, she will.

She hears the CD player click and whir, and the slow wail of soul music floats into the kitchen.

Darling you send me. I know you send me. Darling you send me, honest you do.

She sways her hips gently to the music, running her hands over the bottom of the sink to find forks and knives. She doesn’t hear Mulder enter the kitchen, but suddenly he is standing right behind her, his hands resting on her hips. Her heart leaps, and she forces herself to lean into him rather than stiffen and pull away. Seven years of habits die hard. He moves with her, threading his arms around her waist. His body feels warm and firm against her back, solid as a rock. He is her rock, her safe place, her one reliable thing in a world that’s always changing before her very eyes.

Mulder removes his arms from her waist and wraps his hands around her forearms, sliding them down and under the water until his fingers are interlaced with hers. She lets go of the butter knife she’d been scrubbing and he lifts their joined hands out of the water, crossing both their arms around the front of her body as he walks them two steps back into the middle of the kitchen. Dishwater runs down her elbows, but it somehow feels romantic rather than obnoxious.

Letting go of one of her hands, he twirls her around to face him, then pulls her body flush to his. His free hand finds her waist, and hers his shoulder, and they begin a slow dance. She glances up at him, feeling both charmed and foolish, and sees him smiling down at her with that familiar impish one-sided quirk on his mouth. Her heart swells and she looks away, resting her cheek on his chest. She closes her eyes and breathes him in: the orange-vanilla musk of his deodorant, the warmth of his skin through his T-shirt. His heart pounds urgently against her ear and she smiles, relieved to know that he is also at least a little bit nervous.

He presses his lips to the crown of her head and then holds them there, singing along to the music as his voice vibrates in his chest and his breath tickles her scalp.

At first I thought it was infatuation, but ooooo it’s lasted so long. Now I find myself wanting to marry you and take you home.

A flash flood of every emotion shocks through her veins, heightening her senses. Fear, excitement, arousal, love. Of course she loves him, and she hopes he knows even though she’s never been brave enough to tell him. She hopes he can feel it, as intuitive as he is.

He drops her hand, touching her chin with his still-damp index finger until she looks up at him. His pupils are bottomless pits, his mouth slightly parted. This way he’s been looking at her, not bothering to hide his wanting, is as potent as a drug. She rises up, using posture and tiptoes to bring her mouth close enough to kiss. And he does, again and again. Sucking at her lower lip, cupping her bottom eagerly in his palms, arching his pelvis into her so she can feel him stiffening.

They walk clumsily to his bedroom, kissing all the way. She tugs at the hem of his shirt until he removes it, then touches the button on his jeans. He hums, deep and throaty, and she suddenly becomes aware of how wet she is. She can’t wait for him to discover her, to see just how much she wants this. She pulls off her own shirt, unclasps her bra, and his mouth is wrapped around her nipple by the time her bare back hits his bedsheets.

He takes off her pants, looking up at her as he tugs them off her hips, and she can feel her own heartbeat between her legs. His thorough inspection of her panties with his eyes, and then his hands, and then his lips, is agonizing and perfect. He’s so deliberate, so thorough, as he is with all things. She can’t bring herself to rush him, as much as she wants to, but when he drags her panties down her legs, bunching up the damp fabric in his hand and licking his lips as his eyes rake over her vulva, she sits up and reaches for him.

“I want you,” she confesses shyly, feeling his abdominal muscles twitch against her fingers as she pops the button on his jeans.

There is a flash of regret on his face, but it’s short lived—there will be time for that later. She pushes her hand under his boxers and squeezes him firmly, enamored with the way his entire body slackens in response.

He stands at the foot of the bed, she sitting on the edge with her open legs bracketing his, and pushes his jeans and boxers down to his knees. She leers at him, openly gawks as she runs her comparatively tiny hand over the thick length of him, and then looks up with a coy smile. He laughs nervously, running his fingers through her hair and cradling the base of her skull in his palm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says reverently, and now it is she who laughs.

“Right this second?” she asks, flashing her eyes to his stiff cock hovering inches below her chin.

“Always,” he says with a sigh. “Though I will admit that I’m partial to this view, yes.”

She blinks languidly, considering taking him in her mouth, but that wouldn’t be entirely fair.

“Lie down,” she directs him instead, and he does.

She drapes her body over his, their bare skin hot and electric as she wriggles up until his shaft is nestled in the valley of her thighs. She rocks her hips gently forward and back as he cranes his neck up to kiss her, humming and sighing. She’s so wet, and they’re so ready, he finds his way inside her without the use of their hands. She pauses to acclimate to the sweet, stinging stretch of him, taking minutes to kiss between each added inch until she sits fully impaled in his lap.

Mulder sits up, cradling her face in his hands and kissing her firmly, urgently, as her hips begin to flex.

“Fuck, Scully. I love you,” he groans, and she feels herself rise up to meet him.

“Mulder,” she whimpers against his mouth, a plea and a proclamation and a confession all at once.

She kisses him back, just as urgently, just as firmly. Her lips feel swollen and bruised, and her fingers dig into his neck as her hips snap, grinding her clit against him on each thrust. It’s frenzied, but still somehow feels so romantic she could cry. Because he loves her, and she wants this so, so much, and she never thought it was possible for them.

“I’m gonna come,” she whispers, and he places one of his hands on the bed for stability as she unravels around him, their open mouths held against one another.

He gasps and arches up into her, and she can feel him, hot and forceful. They continue to rock against one another until the height of intensity has passed, and then Mulder slowly reclines back onto the bed, taking her with him.

She rests her cheek on his sweat damp chest, her heart rate slowing steadily. She notices the music again, the same song that must be playing on repeat.

You thrill me. I know you, you, you thrill me. You thrill me, honest you do. At first I thought it was infatuation, but oooo it’s lasted so long. Now I find myself wanting to marry you and take you home.

She lifts her head, propping her chin on his sternum, and finds him looking at her. He smiles at her and she smiles back, then crawls up his body until he slips out of her. She kisses him once, twice, three times, then tucks her face into the crook of his neck.

“I love you too,” she says softly, her heart hammering again.

She feels his smile widen by the way his cheek presses into her nose. His hands rub wide circles on her back, and a wash of contentment overcomes her.

You send me. I know you send me. You send me, honest you do.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[wandering-imp-reads]

(Blush Blush) Cole x reader

Trying to get back in the swing of writing fic after seven years. Cole/reader seemed fitting.

Warnings: Cole being yandere, homeboy kills someone (not super descriptive but ask to tag). they/them used. There is misgendering (Ex continuously calls MC she, and a bitch). AFAB reader, but I tried to be GN for it.

MC is reader, second POV when MC is around. Third when Cole's. mostly from Cole's perspective.

“Who was that?” you’ve long since gotten used to the way Cole just appears sometimes. Same with the almost feral, borderline territorial, tone in his voice.

“Just…my ex,” you mutter. Mood dampened from having had contact with the man. Your ex, Dvid, had been…not exactly the best in the almost two years you were with him. Cole hums. His cold gray eyes never leave the figure of the taller, older man. Plans are already starting to form in his mind. Having only heard the bare minimum of your time with David, he knows there’s more to it. Still…he shifts his gaze over to you. He is able to tell how uneasy the encounter has made you. 

“The one you told me about?” there’s a subtle softness reserved for you, only for you, in his voice.

You sigh, tension leaving your body at the touch of Cole’s hand on your back. You lean into his touch. “Yeah. That’s the one. From a year ago, before we met.”

His eyes soften. He hums once more, shifting to stand directly behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rests against your shoulder. “Love, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.” A soft kiss is pressed to  the side of your neck. “I promise you I’ll always protect you.” The gentle rumblings of a purr emit from his throat, reverberating through you as well.

“Thank you, Cole.” 

He’s elated to see your smile again. 

“Come on, let’s head home.”

~

In a basement -lit only by a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling- in the center of the room, sits the same man from earlier in the day. Restrained to the chair that’s bolted to the floor. The wood is stained with…a suspiciously dark color in patchy splotches. Metal restraints wrap tightly around his forearms and shins, keeping him from any chance of escape.

Alive, at least.

“Oh good,” a voice from the shadows of the damp room starts, “you’re finally awake.” Cole creeps out into the illuminated area.  Knife in his hand. He twirls the blade in his fingers. 

“Who the hell are you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m no one.” Cole points the tip of the knife at his captured victim. “But you? You’re a very important person.” 

He steps closer.

“You’ve caused my precious darling so much trouble. Just as they start to finally move on and become happy again,” Cole the flat of the knife’s blade to tip David’s chin up, “You show up. 

David scoffs. “You mean that stupid bit-”

“Watch it.” His voice hardens, dropping dangerously low. “MC is the sweetest, the light of my life. If you keep talking badly about them, well… I’ll just have to make sure you won’t talk again.” 

“Oh, come on! She’s just using you for sex! Trust me. She pulled the same shit with me, she’ll do the same fucking thing to you!” David struggles against his restraints a bit. “Once that little bitch gets what she wants out of you she’ll drop your ass!”

With a growl, the knife gets plunged into the palm of the man’s hand, pinning the appendage to the wood of the chair’s arm. “They,” Cole emphasizes by twisting the knife ever so slightly, “are my darling.” Oh how he relishes in the pained scream of the man. If only you could be here to witness this. To witness just how far Cole will go just to prove his love to you. To prove how perfect he is for you. “Keep it up. See where it gets you.”

Cole backs away to a table. He shuffles through the different knives and other instruments he has on it. He hums whilst looking over his toys, enjoying the other man’s screams.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“Me? Nothing, unless loving my darling is wrong. Which it's not.”

“You’re a fucking freak.”

Cole huffs, eyeing the blade in his hands carefully. “Say, didn’t you stand MC up on that New Year’s Eve date you planned for them? The one that was all your idea, and that you constantly bugged them about until they agreed. Even after they made all the preparations and paid for everything on their own dime?”

David stutters through the pain, incoherent even if Cole was paying attention.

“They did all that for you, following your every command because they loved you.”

“No, something came up, and…and-”

“Lying to me isn’t going to help. Do you have any idea how heartbroken they were over you? How much they cried over you?”

“She cries all the damn time!” Any other words die on his tongue as a knife is thrown. The blade lodges into the wood just beside his neck.

“Shut up!” Cole stalks over to the man, predatory instincts kicking in. There’s an unhinged gleam in his eye. “You groomed them to be your prey! You manipulated their heart until they had no one else to turn to but you, and then you would toy with their emotions until you needed them for your own needs!”

He raises a hand, stabbing another knife into David’s other hand. The battered man screams out in agony again.

“You used them for sex! For your own disgusting game!”

“She’s just as guilty for stringing me along!”

“You’re nothing but a predator!” Finally cole grabs the man by his hair, tilting his head back --brandishing a fourth knife-- and then-

Silence.

You awake the next morning with the warm, comforting feeling of a familiar body entangled with yours. A soft purr drifting in the morning’s tranquility. Cole’s lips meet with the back of your shoulder, followed by the gentlest of nips to the flesh.

“Good morning, my love.” His voice is soft, laced with exhaustion.

You roll over to face him, a sleepy smile on your lips. “Good morning to you too, precious kitty.”

If his pupils could turn into literal hearts you’re certain they would’ve in this moment. He whines while bringing your palm to his face.

“Can we just stay in bed, together, forever?”

“I would love nothing more. You got home late last night,” you gently rub your thumb along his cheekbone. “Is everything okay?”

He nods. Cole nuzzles into your palm, placing a feather light kiss to it. “Everything is just fine now. I hope you’re feeling better after yesterday’s…encounter.”

“I am. Having you by my side, loving me as I am really helps. If we run into him again, I know you’ll be there for me.”

He hums, pulling you closer to himself to hide the same unhinged glint in his eye from the night before. “I will. Though, I doubt we’ll be seeing him anytime soon.”

[metalupyourazzzz]

Siren // Orm Marius

Orm Marius & my OC, Cora

Description: Cora is a young girl living off the coast of Amnesty Bay, Maine. She's known Arthur for years after he saved her when she washed ashore. After years of being tangled with the League of Assassins, Arthur comes knocking on her door, Orm in tow. He comes with news: David Kane is intent on destroying the world, and he needs her help to stop him.

Set during Aquaman 2

Status: Ongoing

Rating: Mature(some blood and gore, maybe some smut)

Can also be found on Wattpad: metalupyourazzz

Chapter 1: Take it Off

Years ago

A beach outside of Maine

Arthur stood on the white sand, panting.

“Again.” Vulko commanded, hands laced behind his back, “You’ll never claim the throne if you do not have proper training.”

“This is bullshit,” Arthur cried out, “I just want to meet my mother, my brother. I just want to see Atlantis!”

He shifted his weight, twirling his trident gently, scraping the end in the sand.

“Patience, my young prince, everything good happens with time,” Vulko stated, pacing around, sand kicking up behind him.

Arthur began to speak, when the waves crashed, and something washed ashore.

Someone.

He ran over to the huddled lump and the first thing he saw was the bright green of her eyes. She wasn’t breathing, yet her gaze pierced through him like a knife.

“Vulko?” He whispered as the man stood grimly beside him.

She started coughing, salty water spewing from her mouth, and she rolled over. She had a large gash in her forehead, and she slowly stood to her feet.

“Where am I?” She asked hoarsely, blinking the salt from her eyelashes.

“Don’t worry,” Arthur cooed, “You’re safe.”

Today

09:00 hours

Amnesty Bay, Maine

Cora wasn’t sure what woke her up first, the sunlight peeking through the thin, filtered curtains or the loud knocking on the door. Grumbling slightly, she peeled back the heavy blankets on her bed, and sat up, rubbing her temples. She hoped it helped rid last night’s tequila before she answered the door. A soft yawn escaped her lips as she picked up her phone, groggily scrolling through the 16 missed calls and various texts, all from the same number.

“Arthur Curry, you’re the reason I drink,” she mumbled to herself as she pulled her long blue locks up into a ponytail, quickly combing her fingers through her unruly bangs.

Stepping out of bed, she grabbed the nearest shirt and threw it on, padding across the cold wooden floors to the door. Slowly opening it, she stood somewhat dumbfounded on who stood on the other side.

“Hey squirt!” The tall Hawaiian yelled, picking her up in a tight hug, spinning her before setting her down.

“Arthur, always good to see your face,” she said through a forced smile, his loud voice cutting knives into her head.

“The place looks good,” he remarked, doing a 360 around her dinky studio. He looked a lot different than she remembered. He was more muscular, his hair was longer and more blonde, and he had a ridiculous spandex suit on. His eyes weren’t their normal brown, they glowed a dark gold color, and he had rings and bracelets adorning his arms and fingers.

“Arthur, what are you doing here?” She asked, walking over to her kitchen, pouring a steaming cup of coffee, “Last time I saw you, you had less clothes, and you were less…all of that.”

She finished her sentence with a small motion to his attire and big smile, “You still with the JL?”

He shrugged her questions off, “We are here, because we need your help.”

“We?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur motioned to the door, and that’s when she noticed the other man standing there. He was shorter than Arthur, and from what she could tell, a lot different. He had no shirt on, tweed pants that hung low off his hips, and sandy hair that covered his face, alongside a rugged beard.

“Arthur why is Rob Zombie in my apartment?” She asked.

Arthur snorted, and she could’ve sworn she saw the other man roll his eyes.

“That’s my brother, Orm.” He whispered to her.

“Oh, the righteous douchebag that tried to kill humanity, gotcha.” She whispered back, before she turned to him, “C’mon sunshine let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Arthur if you haven’t forgotten we have better things to do.” The man said, “We have to meet my supplier.”

Cora raised her eyebrow, looking between the two. She shook her head, grabbing a chair and kitchen scissors, “Sit.”

Orm looked at her skeptically, “You’re surely not using those on me.”

“It’s either that or I shave you bald take your pick,” she snapped. He immediately sat down, and she draped a blanket over his chest.

“You still have suits here?” Arthur asked, thumbing through her record collection. He picked one up, and blew the dust off of it, setting it into the record player. Soon the hard melodies of ‘take it off’ by KISS started drifting through the room. The slow snipping of the scissors mixed with it as she worked on Orm’s unruly hair.

“Yeah, I’ve got supplies as well. The League brings me some every so often. I think it’s just an excuse for Talia to keep an eye on me.” She replied, letting out a small laugh. She gently pushed a lock of Orm’s hair out of his face as she worked on the front of his hair. His piercing blue eyes met hers, and she flicked her gaze back to what she was doing.

Soon enough, his hair was at a reasonable length, no longer covering his eyes. He was watching her as she moved, with a grim expression.

Filthy surface dweller, he thought to himself, touching me like I’m a peasant. Treating me like a peasant.

She moved quickly, shaving off his beard, leaving no trace of the torture of being locked in the Fisherman Kingdom. As she worked, she heard a small crash, and something tinkered across the floor, and Arthur picked it up.

“Cora?” Arthur asked, quietly. She looked over to see him holding a crown. One that brought her almost to tears. She dropped the scissors she was holding, and they skittered across the floor.

“A-Arthur, I can explain.”

She barely got her sentence out when he was standing in front of her. His once happy expression was turned to a grim one. His face contorted into an angry frown, as he put the crown almost against her. She trembled as she looked up into his eyes. The fire in them terrified her, it reminded her of the one wearing the crown. The day she never wanted to remember. The one that brought chills down her spine every second she thought of it.

“Cora.” Arthur whispered, voice shaking in anger, “Why the hell do you have my father’s crown?”

[anawrites3]

omg how did dick meet slade in ur dark bruce au????

Thank you for asking me about this au, I'm always happy to talk about it more so if you have any more questions feel free to ask!

The short answer is that Bruce needed help with a mission because he had an important meeting as Bruce Wayne that he couldn't reschedule and Dick wouldn't be able to kill their target alone so he hired Deathstroke to go in his place.

Slade got interested in Dick right away because why is there a child in this psycho's base and why is his first reaction trying to kill me. Dick in turn is intrigued by him because not only Slade isn't scared of Bruce, he also simply doesn't give a fuck

Here, have a snippet!!

--------

Dick was busy cleaning his gun when the man walked into the room. He didn't hear him coming, didn't hear even the slightest shuffle of his heavy boots – just one second Dick was alone and the next Deathstroke the Terminator was standing by the door in front of him.

Dick immediately jumped out of his chair, throwing one of his knives at him. Deathstroke moved away, a lazy little movement that caused the knife to dig into the wall behind him, but in that time Dick was already throwing himself across the table.

“A guardian dog?” The man drawled. “That's cute.”

Dick had three whole knives left and he was ready to bury at least one of them in Deathstroke's remaining eye.

“Stand down, Robin.”

Dick stopped mid-step, a knife still aimed at Deathstroke's throat. Master was standing right behind the mercenary, lips curled into an amused smile.

Deathstroke laughed, “Robin, huh? A guardian bird then, my bad.”

Dick ignored him. He didn't dare to ask his master what Deathstroke was doing in their base but secretly he hoped that Bruce would explain it to him either way. Introduce him properly, since it seemed that the man was on their side now, at least temporarily.

Not for the first time, Master didn't do what Dick wished for. Not sparing Dick another glance, he walked further into the room and at last Dick pocketed his knives and went back to cleaning his gun. Bruce didn’t need him right now and Dick had no intention of getting in his way.

Deathstroke, however, remained by the door, not tearing his eye away from Dick.

“Deathstroke.” Master called. His voice didn't sound any different to a normal ear but Dick knew he was annoyed that Deathstroke didn't follow him.

And not only Deathstroke didn’t follow Bruce, he also dared to ignore him.

“How old are you, kid?” He asked, leaning back against the wall as if he intended to stay in that place longer. There was a knife in his hands now – the one Dick threw at him earlier - and he used it to twirl around his fingers as if it was a pen and not a deadly weapon.

Dick didn't answer the question. He wasn't allowed to talk without permission and he knew Bruce wouldn't give it now, not to chat with a man like Deathstroke. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly down, on the gun, as if he was alone again.

“That is none of your concern.” Bruce answered for him, voice cold.

“It is, if you want me to fight that bastard alongside a teenager.” Deathstroke hummed, more amused than shocked or angry. “That's gonna cost you extra, you know.”

Dick didn't dare to look up but he knew that his master had his jaw clenched in anger, eyes narrowed behind the cowl.

He didn't know if Deathstroke did it on purpose or not but with this one sentence he explained to Dick what exactly he was here for. So, Master found the solution to the next mission's problem and that solution was hiring Deathstroke. It wasn't what Dick would ever expect, getting help from the mercenary but then again, he didn't have any say in what his master did. He had no right to question his decisions.

“Fine, I’ll write you a check.” Bruce spat out. “Now come on. I don't have time for your stupid games.”

“That's what you think it is?” Deathstroke mocked.

Once again, he didn't follow the order and instead of going after Bruce, he walked over to where Dick was sitting. He played with the knife for a few more seconds before he dug it into the table right in front of Dick.

Dick cursed the bastard in his mind . Deathstroke was disobeying Master in order to stay with him - Dick was the reason why Deathstroke was staying behind and he had no doubt that he would be punished for it later.

Deathstroke, of course, didn’t know that or maybe he simply did not care. Instead, he held out his hand to Dick.

“We're going to be working together.” He explained when he noticed how confused Dick became at the gesture. “We should get to know each other.”

“Deathstroke-” Bruce warned but the man just rolled his eye.

“You're the one that doesn't trust me enough to let me do the job alone.” He accused with a shrug. “I have the right to at least shake his hand.”

No. No, he did not have the right to do that. No one beside his master had the right to touch him.

“You want to tell me that you do this with your every client?” Bruce growled.

“I don't usually work in a team. I'm just doing what you want me to, Bats.”

Dick glanced up at Bruce and the man nodded – the slightest of the moves but it was enough for Dick to understand that his master was giving him permission. When he looked back at Deathstroke, the man was still holding his hand out and waiting. His face was covered by the mask but Dick had the impression that the man was smirking.

“A handshake can tell you a lot about a person.” He supplied helpfully.

“That's even more of a reason not to do it.” Dick said. He didn't look away from that single eye as he reached for the knife and pulled it out of the table with no effort, even with how deep it was stuck.

Deathstroke laughed.

“Smart.” He praised, putting his hand down. “Then I guess I'll see you later, Robin."

And with that, he turned and finally followed Bruce.

[welldonebeca]

the devil in the marble (6)

WC: 2.4k words Warnings: Fluff. Canon compliance.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and I promise you won’t regret it.

masterlist

Chapter 5

You twirled the white chrysanthemum in your hand as you sat on the bleachers. It was the last day of training before the school matches, which meant Cato was very focused, and you were trying to be a very good girlfriend and help him as much as you could - which really meant just staying out of his way so as not to break his concentration, but also watch, so he had someone to perform to.

It was a good thing you enjoyed watching him too.

You hadn't had an answer from the Capitol yet, but the due date you'd been given was still a few days away, and you were trying hard to be patient.

"Alright," Enobaria spoke, taking your attention to her, just as the group. "You've done your training. It's time to prove to us what you are capable of."

You stood up, approaching them to watch closer, all ten male fighters watching their mentor with their hands behind their backs and barely blinking as they looked at her.

The board by your side was detailing the fights. They were divided into five pairs, and would fight amongst themselves. Enobaria and Brutus' favourite would advance to the third round without having to join another fight, and the other four would fight amongst themselves. The two winners would then fight one another, and the winner of the said fight would fight the favourite. Whoever won would represent your school in a competition with the other schools, and everything would happen all over again until the male tribute was chosen.

Of course, that was if no dumb kid with no respect for the system didn't volunteer before him - something you had seen happening a couple of times in your years of Reaping.

Cato had chosen to fight on the third day of the matches, the only blended day, and would fight a boy from your math class, Adonis.

"You are all expected to be here at 8 am sharp on the day of your matches, regardless of its presumed time," Enobaria announced. "If you are late for no explainable and reasonable reason, you are out. Class dismissed."

She walked off without looking back at them, and you walked down to Cato's station as he cleaned it up.

"Careful with the knife," he told you when you picked one up. "It's actually sharp, no children's toys."

You turned it away from you, putting it back into his case, doing the same to the others, and you gasped when he suddenly wrapped his arms around your middle, kissing your cheek with a big smack sound.

"What a nice girlfriend I have, helping me clean up!" he tickled your side.

You giggled, unable to control yourself.

"Cato!" you swatted his hand. "You are all sweaty!"

He chuckled, kissing your neck and shoulder, and you shivered a bit.

"Do I stink too much for you?" he teased you.

"You do," you squirmed. "You really stink!"

Cato laughed a bit, stepping back from you.

"Alright, alright, alright," he picked up his knives, smirking as he looked at you. "I'll go shower and then we can change this into you saying I smell good."

You shook your head as he finished with his bag, and Cato rushed to the showers. He was the first to get inside as you saw down to wait for him, and the first to come out, stopping in front of you.

"So?" he raised his eyebrows, sounding very cocky. "Do I still stink?"

You squinted at him, standing up, and your boyfriend wrapped his arms around your waist, picking you up, and you put your face in his neck, sniffing him. You liked doing that, you really liked the way he smelled.

"Smell good?" he squeezed you.

You nodded, still holding onto him.

"Smell good," you mumbled into his skin.

Cato held you quietly as you stayed there, rubbing your back as you let yourself relax into his grasp.

"We still have a few days," he kissed your shoulder.

You sighed, not letting him go.

"I know," you mumbled.

Still, you weren't any calmer about it. It wasn't just not having your statue accepted, but the slowly creeping realisation that if it didn't, your life would be severely impacted by it. The marble you got was expensive, more expensive than a house, and you didn't have that many work skills. You'd have to find a job in days, and it would take ages to pay for it.

So yeah, you were scared shitless.

You let him go, at last, and he put you on the floor again and adjusted your coat.

"You'll get it," he assured you, very confident.

You nodded.

"I got it," you exhaled.

Cato smiled and kissed the tip of your nose.

"Come on."

He guided you out with his bag over his shoulder, not seeming to care much about the cold as his jacket was wide open. Maybe he wanted to look cool.

"Oh," he spoke as you walked through the main door. "You want to have something sweet? I think they'd finally started selling hot chocolate instead of ice cream in that... hm... street thing."

You giggled.

A street vendor usually sold very good ice cream in the town plaza, but in the peak of winter, it shifted to hot chocolate. It was very nice.

"Do you drink sweet things?" you asked, a bit surprised.

Cato ate a lot of things. Lots of meat and heavy vegetables, but rarely things like bread and sweets.

He shrugged.

"I can eat sweets," he told you. "Just not constantly. This isn't an all-the-time thing."

You hummed a positive answer. If he said so.

He guided you up to the town square, and stopped a bit before the street card.

"You know the one you like?" he asked. "I know you don't like talking to strangers."

You looked up at him, a bit surprised.

Was it that obvious? You could talk to strangers if you had to. You just... hated it.

"The salt caramel one," you told him. "It's not as sweet."

He nodded a bit, taking you by the hand, and bought it with his own money, and you two sat near the pretty fountain as you waited together.

"My dad's coming home," you told him. "He's going to spend the Winter Solstice with us."

Cato hummed a positive response.

"So that's when I have to ask him for your hand in girlfriendship?"

You felt your face hot, looking away from him.

"You make it sound silly," you mumbled.

He shrugged.

"Kind of is," he agreed.

Cato reached for you, raising your chin to make you look at his face.

"But it's fine," he assured you. "It's a sacrifice I am willing to make."

You looked down again, this time embarrassed in a different way.

How was he so silly and so sweet at the same time?

,"It'll be fun," he assured you as the woman came to give your drinks. "I'm sure your dad will like me."

You didn't answer, holding the warm cup in your hands. You had met Cato's father already, and Mr Hadley wasn't too much like your family. His wife had passed somewhere in the past - Cato didn't specify - and your boyfriend wasn't too close to his remaining parent, they just... co-existed while Cato succeeded in every little thing he seemed to try.

He had trophies and medals all around, most of them for first places and records he'd broken, all of them very impressive, but his father seemed to expect even more from him. Mr Hadley would only be satisfied once his son was a victor.

"Yeah," you sipped it. "We'll have to see it tomorrow."

You hoped things would go well. Cato could be quite short-fused, and your father was also short-fused, and it didn't feel safe to have those two in a high-stress situation together.

You two drank together, quiet, holding hands. The chocolate was rich and thick, exactly what you needed to warm up after a long afternoon of doing very little in a gymnasium that never really managed to stop the cool wind from breaking through the doors and disrupting the heat.

"It's getting late," he noted once your cups were empty, looking at the big clock in the square. "We should go, your mother might start worrying I kidnapped you."

You chuckled a bit, but took his hand, walking off, but he stopped.

"Wait, I need extra cardio," he realised. "Hop on my back, I'll carry you there."

You frowned, a little surprised, and he crouched in front of you.

At last, you complied, and he held you by your thighs as you held onto his neck, and your boyfriend just carried you on the way to your house without even seeming to break a sweat.

Your mother was right at the door when you arrived, and Cato helped you down when she caught sight of you.

"Y/N!" she gasped. "You're home."

You frowned, confused. Why was she so surprised? You were always supposed to return home.

Cato followed you as you walked to her, and you finally noticed the letter she had in her hand, marked with the Capitol's seal.

Your answer!

You all entered your house and Cato grabbed your hand, looking very happy as he held your hand.

"See, I told you you'd get it."

But you shook your head, your heart thundering in your chest and making every extremity of your body cold.

"It might be a refusal letter."

Your mother reached out for you, putting the letter in your hand.

"Open it," she told you.

You stared at it, the black envelope feeling too heavy.

"It's a refusal letter," you decided, nearly breathless. "It's a black envelope."

"All official envelopes are black," Cato corrected you.

You stared at it more and then gave it to him.

"I can't," you hissed. "You open it."

He didn't even hesitate!

Cato ripped the envelope open as you grabbed your mother's hand, staring down at it as he unfolded the paper.

Oh, you were so screwed. What if they had doubled your debt?

What if they were expecting to be paid in full? Your parents would have to sell their house!

"Subject: Evaluation of Sculpture 'Lover's Grief'," Cato read it aloud. "Dear Ms. Y/N Astoria Elletra- wait, your second name is Astoria?" he looked at you, surprised.

Yes. Yes, it was.

"It's my grandmother's name," your mother told him, not looking too patient. "Keep reading!"

"On behalf of the Capitol of Panem and the esteemed Art Committee, I am pleased to inform you that your sculpture submission has undergone a comprehensive evaluation process. We appreciate your dedication and talent as an artist and acknowledge the efforts you have put into creating this remarkable piece of art," he read it. "After careful consideration..."

You held your breath, squeezing your mother's fingers. That was it, the last words before your destiny was determined.

"The Art Committee has decided to grant forgiveness for the debt you incurred to acquire the marble used in your sculpture!" Cato's voice sounded louder, happier. "We recognize the significance of your artistic endeavour and believe that it contributes to the cultural fabric of Panem. This forgiveness is a testament to our commitment to supporting talented individuals like yourself, fostering an environment that encourages artistic expression across all districts!"

You covered your mouth with your hand, knees buckling a little as your body was washed with relief.

"I knew it," Mum squeezed your hand. "I knew it."

She wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you as you let yourself breathe.

"Furthermore," Cato continued, not done with the letter yet. "In recognition of your artistic merits and the countless hours you have invested in your creation, we are pleased to inform you that you will receive a small compensation for your work. This compensation serves as both a token of our appreciation for your dedication and an acknowledgement of the value your art brings to our society."

You turned to him, shocked.

Compensation?!

"There's more!" he looked at you, grinning openly now. "Additionally, we are delighted to announce that your sculpture has been selected to participate in an upcoming exhibit, where it will be displayed to potential sponsors!"

You could have screamed. Your mother grabbed your hands as all you two could do was jump up and down, and when she let your hands go, you shook your hands and arms, unable to keep your energy in your body.

Cato walked to you quickly, putting the letter in your hands, and you could only hear your heart thundering in your ears as he held you from behind, reading the letter from over your shoulder.

"Read it!" your mother begged you.

"This exhibition," you tried not to stutter. "Provides a unique opportunity for your art to be exposed to influential individuals who may be interested in supporting your future artistic endeavours. While no contract has been finalized at this stage, it is our hope that this exposure will lead to potential sponsorship opportunities for you!"

You could barely hold yourself standing now, relying almost entirely on Cato's strong grip.

"Should your sculpture be chosen by one of the sponsors, you will receive a separate letter outlining the details of the contract, including the terms, conditions, and mutual obligations. We advise you to carefully review and consider the terms presented, as they will represent a significant step forward in your artistic career. Once again, we extend our heartfelt congratulations on the recognition of your talent and the progress you have made as an artist. We believe that your sculpture exemplifies the creativity and ingenuity that we strive to promote within Panem. Your dedication to your craft is an inspiration to others and reinforces the importance of artistic expression across our nation."

You had done it. You had actually done it!

"We encourage you to continue pursuing your artistic endeavours and wish you the utmost success in the upcoming exhibit," you continued to read it. "Should you require any further assistance or have any questions regarding the evaluation process, compensation, or the upcoming exhibition, please do not hesitate to contact our office. Yours sincerely, Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem!"

Mum took the letter from your hand, reading it in a rush to reread it, to make sure it was real, and Cato turned you around.

You didn't even hesitate before jumping on him, wrapping your limbs around his body as he squeezed you close, spinning with you in his arms. 

"I knew you would get in!" he exclaimed. "I knew it!"

And he did! At no moment, no brief second, Cato ever doubted you!

You moved your head back, and he kissed your lips in joy, resting your forehead on yours when you pulled away to breathe.

“Thank you,” you panted, holding him. “Thank you so much,”

Chapter 7

. . .

"the devil in the marble" was posted on my Patreon in June 2023! To read the available chapters and read the last arc of the story as it gets published, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and I promise you won't regret it.

. . .

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[tamelee]

Hi tamelee ❤️ can you do an analysis/review of Kishimoto's recent popularity poll art? I saw a hashimada shipper comment on how Kishimoto drew Madara and Hashirama on exact opposite sides of each other + his love for symmetry and I was wondering if you noticed anything interesting in the illustration (just general observations, doesn't have to be about shipping 😊)

Hi Nonee, sure 🧡!

Long post - Image heavy:

Well, first my eye was drawn to the brightest part of the drawing. Promptly in the middle, big, foreshortening technique used on Minato's arm leading you to his face secondly where the colors gradually get darker and more saturated. As are the colors surrounding the NinJutsu to make it stand out more. Every line on this drawing illustrates Kishimoto's experience, talent and hard work regarding his knowledge on composition.

Then..

Sakura is holding the same type of axe-weapon she was also holding in an illustration for Chapter 15.

Naruto has a slightly different one on Volume Cover 33 too. (I'm obsessed tbh- LOOK AT THE KURAMA-TEETH ON THE SCROLL)

As you pointed out Madara and Hashirama are on opposites of the illustration, almost as if they're battling each other! But also look at how Kurama's tails embrace them, how that enhances the movement and expression of their battle-intent + the Rasengan twirls!! 😱 AND the weaponry that both come from behind their heads at the same spot. (Omg I love Kishimoto so much.)

(Of course on these sides too!)

Naruto and Sasuke are paralleled on either side of the illustration too! (And so are Kurama and Shukaku 🤭..)

Speaking of Shukaku, Gaara is holding what looks like the "Tea Kettle" he was sealed in. The former Jinchuuriki 'Bunpuku' and the beast were inspired by a Japanese folktale 'Bunbuku Chagama' where the creature in the tale is a raccoon dog, like Shukaku.

I think that's a really nice addition. (Especially since I saw this legendary creature used as a toy by this mini-Hinata look-a-like gremlin in 'Boruto'.. what's up with that anyway..)

I think Kakashi's weapon is kind of like the Kamui Shuriken he used when they fought Kaguya?

Furthermore:

I'm glad Kakashi and Sakumo are together on this.. also, Obito's goggles have made a comeback ;-;🥹! It's funny to me that Kishimoto started to draw Naruto with goggles (a way to cover himself and hide as he did in Chapter 1)

..but then said in a later interview that it was too much work. (I tried a few panels drawing them and I totally get it...) Anyway I digress-

We can also see Shisui wielding a sword/drill that looks like it was designed with his supposed(?) Susanoo in mind. This was seen in Ninja Storm the game.

NOW I'M NOT SURE ABOUT ITACHI'S SWORD... BUT:

It loooooooooks like a masamune sword, but I'm not sure.

I'm no expert on weapons. If anyone recognizes it...

Long-ass Indra's arrow-bow.. in physical form.. legendary!!! So fine 🤌 I also love how Kurama's tail frames him in the background. Orange looks good on you Sasuke.

The way the Rasengan swirl pulls your attention on him (and the characters in general) + the Chakra/energy sparks are all placed so nicely *-*! It really communicates more movement and liveliness into the illustration.

Neji is holding what looks like Chakram/Chalikar weaponry? These are throwing knives used for.. well throwing AND close combat. At least that's what I thought at first but then I was thinking about it more and the Hyuuga's "gentle fist" is based on "Baguazhang". This is a martial art style which uses a lot of rotation style techniques. (Hence.. "eight trigram palm" is real because that's what it literally means.)

There are special Baguazhang Crescent Moon knives/Deer horn knives that look like this:

I think that's what these are, which are perfect for rotation-based combat.

In the same category, Baguazhang in practice used a double-edged sword called 'Jian'. It was known as the "gentleman of weapons" in Chinese Folklore. Early Japanese swords known as 'Ken' or 'Tsurugi' are often based on 'Jian'.

It does seem a bit unusual since most of them don't have a guard like that, but they exist as Changjian, or longsword.

What she has could be a Tsurugi though not sure.

Regardless, it seems pretty heavy for her 😁?

Naruto and Jiraiya both stand very wide, using an open, boisterous body-language that Kishimoto often uses for the both of them in many of his previous art. This over-the-top, theatrical design and visual representation is based on 'Kabuki' which is a traditional form of Japanese theatre, dramatic performance/dance. The umbrella is called a 'wagasa', often used in these plays/ceremonies.

I'm happy these two made it!:

A sword made from the tail of Sasori's puppet, Hiruko? That goes so hard!! It kinda reminds me of Renji's (character from Bleach) sword. I always thought that design was so cool, but this one also has that poison..

Not sure how those clay mask bombs work wrapped around a string, but you gotta admit, they're pretty artful! Perhaps it's like wire binding infused with Chakra.. Or what if, once he has put them on you, your head explodes or something..

Additionally:

I love how Kishimoto just added Guy (and Kurama) because he wanted to but also because having Lee and Guy together on the illustration just seems right.

Shikamaru with Asuma's Chakra blades of course~ (He uses them for his Shadows Imitation Shuriken techniques... but I read he gave them away to Mirai?)

I might be missing many things but..

The more I look at it, the more nods to earlier work I see, tbh I could go on and on. I really appreciate it.

Oh and.. no there is no shipping-intent and hints/clue's at all that's also not what this is made for.

Don't let anyone fool you. Naruto is looking up to the banner he's holding lol. It's a shame that the first thing people look for is things like that and then discard the entire thing when it is made with passion, love and hard work..

Anyway thankyou for this ask, this was so fun 🥰

[zelphin124]

SeasonTale - Chapter 5

TW: Abuse Oh boy... the plot thickens. Some could argue, this is where the real story starts. Winter POV, let's go.

Masterpost

~o0o~

The horror in their eyes struck his heart. 

He had the targets pinned against an alleyway wall. They cowered in fear under his knives. Their eyes were shaking, and the younger monster started to cry. 

Winter glanced down at the two creatures whose lives were in his hands. Despite his younger age, they still were at his mercy. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

W!Gaster’s voice rang in his ears. They are traitors, they had to die, they deserved to die… 

But why? 

None of it made any sense. They didn’t do anything wrong… they just disagreed with W!Gaster, nothing more. Why did they have to pay with their lives for having an opinion? 

Winter felt the tears that escaped his eyes freeze on his face as the harsh wind beat against his skull. He lowered his knives and stepped away from the two monsters. “Go,” he squeaked. “Go before he kills you himself.” 

The two monsters thanked him and bolted away. 

He heaved a great sigh. What a relief. It brought him peace to spare the lives of the innocent. He hadn’t done that before… but he knew from how he felt that it was the right thing to do. 

That peace quickly faded when he realized what punishment he would receive for committing such an act. Would W!Gaster throw him out to fend for himself in the storm again? Would he hurt him?

Would his father kill him? 

Winter didn’t want to think about it. He broke the crystalized tears off his face as he felt the books in his cloak get heavier. He shoved down his emotions and refused to feel them. There was always a looming reminder that his emotions were a weakness anyway. 

Stepping out of the alleyway, Winter!Sans removed the cloak from his face and walked quietly into town. He hoped that he could time his visit to the librarian just right that his father wouldn’t expect anything. 

Twenty minutes…

* * *

“I’m glad you enjoyed the books, Winter.” Winter!Toriel placed the books on the shelf before turning towards the child. “I’m even more grateful that you could read them.” 

Winter nodded silently as he sat in a chair away from the windows. The library was warm and extensive. There was a small desk that he sat in front of next to the hallway that revealed thousands of books on massive shelves. Winter wished to read all the books within the library but felt he couldn’t. An impending doom of getting caught grew heavier each time he came. Winter believed W!Gaster was catching onto his distant behavior, and he didn’t know how to mask it well enough. 

“Would you like some new books? I had a new collection come in…” Winter!Toriel paused, glancing back over at Winter!Sans. She tilted her head in concern as she observed him twirling his thumbs and staring at the floor. “Are you okay?” She asked gently, approaching him and leaning in front of him. 

Winter desperately tried to hold back his tears. “I couldn’t-” he gasped. “I couldn’t kill them this time…” 

“Oh, honey…” W!Toriel extended her arms and wrapped them around Winter. “That’s nothing to be upset about; you did the right thing.” 

Her embrace was so foreign to him. What is she doing? Was she going to attack him from behind? Why was she not moving? Winter didn’t know how to react. In fact, he just cried… the tears ran down his skull as he tugged on her cape. He didn’t want her to let go… her embrace was comforting, something he had never felt. 

“You are very touch-deprived, dear.” To Winter’s dismay, she let go and looked him in the eyes. “You feel better about not hurting them, right?” “Yes, ma’am,” Winter nodded. 

“That’s good, that’s how you should feel,” The librarian nodded slowly before standing up. She sighed with great worry before looking at Winter once more. “Winter, It’s… It’s not good for you or anyone else to stay with your father… I… I believe you need to leave.” 

Winter glanced up at her, his tears drying up. What did she mean? Why would he leave his father? He couldn’t go out in the snow again and expected him to return to the mansion promptly. “But I need to go home in ten minutes, or he’ll be mad.” 

“Honey, you wouldn’t return to him, ever,” W!Toriel explained. “You would run and start a new life, free from him and his evil plans.” 

… I can be free? 

The librarian kneeled in front of Winter, her voice hushed. “Listen to me closely, Winter. I can help you,” she glanced at the door before continuing. “The rebellion against the gasters wish to save you. They would help raise you in a much better environment than you are now.” 

Winter didn’t understand much of what she was saying. However, he knew what the rebellion was. It was the highest form of treason against the gasters to be a part of it. Winter gave slow and painful deaths to those accused of it and watched others suffer in W!Gaster’s grasp. The fact W!Toriel was even mentioning it means that Winter would have to kill her. 

Winter drew his knives, causing Winter!Toriel to back up. “I… I have to kill you. The rebellion is what my dad has ordered me against.” 

“But they can free you,” She insisted. “They will give you a much better life than you have now.” 

Winter’s hands were shaking with the knife in them. Everything in him told him not to attack the librarian, especially after all she’d done for him. However, he was told the rebellion was dangerous, and orders were orders. “The rebellion is bad-” 

“Is that what they call us now, the bad guys?” 

Winter and W!Toriel stared at the monster standing in front of the hallway. The boy’s jaw dropped. It’s the goat from the photo in my room… 

She looked similar to Toriel; the same species. However, she was much shorter and her horns were curved. Instead of wearing a blue gown patted with snow, her clothing was pure starlight and shined white like the snow on the ground. Her gaze penetrated with an uneasy amount of determination and power, but there was also understanding and care. It was a look Winter never understood. 

“Put the knife down young boy,” the starry goat demanded. “It is not your destiny.” 

“W-Who are you?” Winter’s voice quivered as he obeyed, laying the knife on the floor. Although he recgonized them from the painting, and had a good idea of who she was, he wasn’t sure. 

“I am Season!Toriel, co-leader of the rebellion against the gasters and the rightful queen of SeasonTale.” Season held her head high, looking down at the boy. “And I am here to rescue you.” 

“Well, I was going to introduce you to her, but it looks like introductions have already been made,” Winter!Toriel scratched her head, chuckling nervously. “I said you could live a better and happier life, Winter. If you go with Season, she will ensure of that.” 

Winter’s entire body was shaking now. There she was, the former ruler of SeasonTale, standing right before him—the ultimate target of W!Gaster, and the main threat to his throne. Winter had only read about her rule and power. Although she was a good and caring leader, his unfortunate circumstances have ruled him against her. He was only a boy, and he feared his death would come upon him any moment now. 

Season oversaw Winter, her eyes softening. With eloquent grace, she knelt on the ground to make herself smaller. She extended her hands towards Winter. “You don’t have to follow your father's footsteps,” she whispered. “You can rise above that and become a good and caring leader one day. Let me help you. Let me rescue you from Winter!Gaster.” 

Winter stared at her paws before looking at Season and then at Winter!Toriel. She nodded in agreement. Winter fought back tears. He wanted freedom; he wanted to escape. This was his opportunity. This might be his only chance. 

“I can’t.” 

* * *

Each step back to the castle got more painful. His teeth gritted against one another. He had given up his only chance to escape. 

He couldn’t even figure out why himself. Was it because he wanted his dad to be proud of him? Maybe there was some hope in turning his father around… Maybe, just maybe, he could find another way. 

But he couldn’t join the rebellion. 

There was no way… After all that he had done? Sure, they are fighting for justice; they are the good guys. Winter knew they would have treated him better. 

But would they have? 

Winter had killed so many rebellion members. His entire life, despite it not being that long, he fought against them. He was a threat to them… a target. 

He was a bad guy. 

He didn’t want to be, but he didn’t see how he could change. Although there was a slim hope he held out for his father, that same hope wasn’t measured to himself. 

And it swallowed him whole. 

“You’re two minutes and three seconds late,” W!Gaster’s voice boomed as he closed a pocket watch in his hands. 

Winter sighed, closing the door behind him, and took his coat off. It took him a bit to stomp off all the snow before answering. “I apologize. I had a bit of a delay with the bodies.” 

“Right, because you didn’t kill them.” 

It was as if the boy had been shot. He froze in place, fear taking control of his mind. Panic swirled within him. How did he know? How did he find out? Was he watching the whole time? 

W!Gaster let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Those traitors were spotted crossing the Summer Kingdom this evening. Thankfully, I had them taken care of-” he whipped around, his hand raised. “UNLIKE YOUR PATHETIC FAILURE TO DO THE JOB!” 

Winter collided with the ground from the punch that rolled across his skull. His vision immediately blacked out. No, no, no, no… 

He didn’t see the remaining hits that were laid upon him. “You had ONE JOB! ONE HELL OF A JOB! You failed, as always! You worthless piece of-”

The rest of the insults were muffled as his hearing rang. He curled up in a ball as he embraced hit after hit. His breath was shaking, and it was almost impossible not to cry. 

He had enough. 

Winter could make out the sound of a gaster blaster charging up. He braced for impact, but when it fired, he felt nothing. 

The beating had stopped. 

Winter sat up, his vision still blurred. He couldn’t make much out except for the new hole in the wall and W!Gaster’s boots hanging from it. When he turned around, he saw that the blaster was his own. 

His eyes widened with fear. What have I done? 

The next few seconds were the most rash seconds of his life. Winter didn’t waste any time before he grabbed a different coat and bolted out the door. He couldn’t stay… he was going to die if he did. His little feet carried him to the edge of the hill. He quickly looked around for something to get him down, as the stairs were too slow. 

He heard W!Gaster’s enraged roar from the mansion. With no time to think, Winter grabbed a giant icicle from the cliff and slid down the hill on it. Although it was slippery, and he fell off it at the end, it gave him the head start that he needed before teleporting into the town. 

His heart was beating faster than he ever thought it would. His feet were aching, but that didn’t stop him as he burst through the library door, his vision blurred once more. 

Winter!Toriel glanced up in surprise before rushing over to him. “Oh my gosh, what happened to you?” 

“Help,” Winter grasped onto her arms. “He’s after me. I have to go.” 

Before W!Toriel could call for her, Season was already by her side. She glanced at his face before kneeling, offering her hand quickly. 

He didn’t hesitate to accept her offer this time, squeezing her hand as the fear of his father gripped him like a python. “Please, help me.” 

She smiled softly. “I will. Let’s go.”

[bestfrozenskittles]

Mission 3: Alone

A Crows Ghost

———————————————————————————————

Ghost was unforgiving with his attacks, his fists were heavy on my arms as I blocked his punches. Both our firearms were somewhere in the dark mud, neither of us being able to take our eyes off of eachother. I put up my arm to block his leg from bashing into the side of my head and moved back, but he was determined. 

“Ghost-” I couldn’t begin a conversation as I dodge his knife. The sound of shadows carefully going down the hill to find us caught my attention, I made the mistake of getting distracted and Ghost took the chance to bash his fist into the side of my head. I grunted and jumped back, I was dizzy as I tried to get back to a defensive position. 

“Workin’ for Shepherd, spyin’ on us, I should’ve known, can’t believe I got blind sighted” He mumbled, the shadows were getting closer. I took a deep breath and dropped down, he jumped back but not before I snatched the extra knife he had attached to his thigh belt. 

“Ghost, we need to go” I whispered-yelled at him as I spotted flashlights. He ignored me and threw a punch at me, I huffed and suddenly he pounced at me. I fell backwards with the huge man on top of me, reeling his fist back. I opened the knife as a distraction and he took it. He turned his head to stop the knife and gave me an opening to kick him off me. 

“Please” I begged “I’ll explain everything as soon as I can, but they’re coming” He looked up at me. I closed the knife before tossing it back to him, he stared at me, both of us panting heavily. My head was still slightly spinning from his punch and my arms were sore from blocking. 

He caught the knife and slid it back into his thigh belt as he stood up. “You stay in front of me, any suspicious movement and I’ll kill you” I nodded, the shadows were a few feet away from us, Ghost grabbed my arm and pushed me towards Las Almas. We walked into a building quietly, I moved slowly to not make him suspect that I was going to do anything. 

When we got into an abandoned building he stopped me. “You’re a prisoner now, Crow” He explained, I looked down and nodded. He walked closer to me and ripped off my radio, I stepped back in surprise as he smashed it “No callin’ your shadow friends” Ghost grumbled. 

“It’s not like that, I didn’t know they were planning this Ghost” I tried to explain but he shook his head. “You took the job, you lied to us and pretended to be some weak little girl” He growled, neither of us broke eye contact. Eventually, the sound of shadows getting closer made us turn away from each other. 

“Let’s move” he ordered, I hopped out of a window and led our way into another building. A shadow suddenly walked into the building, he looked over every corner with his flashlight. Ghost pulled my shoulder back “Not one of them? Take him out” He whisper was barely audible as he pressed one of his closed knives into my palm. 

I took the knife and opened it, I stared down at the knife and suddenly got deja vu from his words, I clenched my teeth before moving behind the man and crouch walking up behind him. I twirled the knife before standing to my full height and reeled my arm back before plunging the knife into the gap of his helmet and shoulder pad. 

I slowly laid him down on the ground and yanked the knife out of his neck. “Nice work, Crow” Ghost mocked as he stood up, I nodded and watched as he took the AR-15 from the dead man. “Look for an oil filter, come back as soon as you find it” Ghost ordered, I nodded and walked out of the building. 

I walked through the back streets looking for any kind of vehicle. I stopped when I saw Graves with a group of shadows. “You know your mission shadows, find me those brits, Crow is being held hostage by Ghost, bring her back alive” I frowned, I waited until they left before continuing my search. 

I found a motorcycle and took its oil filter before going back to Ghost. “Wow, you really came back” He said sarcastically as he took it “Graves thinks you’re holding me hostage” “I am” He stared down at me. “I left with you willingly” I corrected, I started me down for a few minutes before walking out of the building with me behind him. 

“Where are we going?” I whispered to him, he didn’t respond and kept walking. I stared at the back of his head, I felt guilty, I lied to them and almost betrayed them too. I was only doing my job though, I willingly left with Ghost so the real people I betrayed were Shepherd and Graves. 

I shouldn’t be feeling bad or worried about these men, I was just supposed to spy on them. “The church, that’s where we’re going” Ghost finally answered. I stayed close behind him as we walked down the back streets, and suddenly Ghost stopped making me bump into his back. 

“Take them out” he ordered, I peeked from behind him and saw two shadows talking not too far away from us. I nodded and crouch walked behind them, when I was closer to them I kicked one of their legs from under them, making him slam onto the ground face first and stabbed the other ones thoat, letting him drop onto his knees. I turned to the other one and stabbed him too before turning to Ghost. 

He walked up to me and nodded, we dragged the two dead men farther into the alleyway and kept going. Eventually we made it to the church, Ghost lifted me up into a window so I could open the locked door from inside. He sighed and put his backpack down before taking a seat himself. 

I sat down a little far beside him, crossing my legs and looking down at my blood covered hands. We sat in silence for what seemed like forever, my mind wandering to Soap and if he was ok, hopefully he’s strong enough to survive that bleeding wound. Ghost was staring at me, most likely expecting me to attack him or something along those lines. 

“I checked Alejandro’s phone after you made the call to your parents, there was no outgoing call history, why?” He broke the silence. I looked up towards him “No parents to call” I answered, he hummed “Are you really 17?” I nodded “Why are you a mercenary at 17” I paused, Ghost continued to stare at me as I searched for an answer. 

“I didn’t really have a choice” I mumbled, he tilted his head “Mind tellin’ me why?”