#starvation squad

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Small cruel headcanon for Killer I have because of him not eating. Killer would maintain most of his strength to stabilize himself until inevitably collapsing due to starvation. Consumed by his lack of energy, he'd eventually become deliriously unsteady, crashing down on the ground losing balance, on his knees before his face-planted flat against the ground, being in miserable agony and having the urge of vomiting up, yet he'll still try to make it seem like he's 'okay' not wanting to seem vulnerable Infront of others. I feel like if this would randomly happen in mid-battles, it would most definitely confuse or concern the opponent he's against. (perhaps leading him to become an easy target at this state which eventually has Nightmare scolding Killer for his 'lazy' actions) To make up for this I'd like to think Color would put those funny cat videos you'd probably see on yt as a small distraction for Killer to watch while Color spoon-feeds Killer. (Btw, if this has any grammar mistakes it's because I'm writing this exhausted.)

I feel like this is something that would likely happen at some point, especially in AUs where it’s just Killer and cruel Nightmare, no Horror, Murder or Cross. And possibly not even any Color. I’m sure there’s timelines where Kiler has died from starvation, which in a perfect world, would open Nightmare’s eyes to a mortal’s needs and hopefully he’ll choose to and be able to do better next time.

I’d like to imagine that it’s actually Color who opens Nightmare’s eyes to the needs of mortals in Bad Sanses AU. Either because of direct confrontation (which I’m sure is the result of something very bad happening), or because Nightmare learns by watching Color’s example.

Maybe he frequently coaxes Murder and Cross into eating, carefully navigates and works with or around Horror and Killer’s problems with food, and takes it upon himself to learn how to cook and teach those who don’t know how to do it. So they’ll be able to provide for themselves without relying on anyone else.

But I’d imagine theres many times where Color has had to spoon feed Killer and attempt to use ways to distract him and keep him calm, even when he keeps frequently getting lost in his head—going somewhere else, and Color has to try to gently remind him where he is and what’s happening—and of course the way Killer’s body is reacting to everything.

As if it’s on the verge of breaking down and collapsing. and im sure there’s been times where no matter how much Killer and Color tried, his body just cant seem to calm down enough to accept any food—either simply not allowing Killer to swallow anything, or not allowing him to keep anything down for long. especially depending on how long exactly hes gone without eating anything.

[valliesworld]

You Mean Something

masterlist

simon “ghost” riley x reader, mentions of other task force 141 members

genre: angst

warnings; she/her pronouns, mature content, standard call of duty violence, cursing, kidnapping, mentions of self harm and suicide, mentions of torture, starvation

synopsis; after a failed mission that left you in the hands of the enemy, you finally realise how much Ghost cares for you

Distractions came easy to you, even if you tried your hardest to stay focused, to stay alive and awake, your mind still thought of him while you were being subjected to such torture. You think about his eyes a lot, how in his eyes his his humanity was shown, the person he really was. There were times it got lost, when he would that mask and military vest, when he would become the man the army demanded of him. But you saw it in his eyes that day in the sunshine, waiting for the cadets to finish training. You saw the humour that burned there too, the sort that stays for an eternity. There was something in his spirit that danced when he trains, like a fire giving just the right amount of warmth. You have seen it die too, the flames almost extinguished, when he was under the gun of guilt, shame and fear after a particularly hard mission. You know that isn't him, not the real version, the person you’ve grown to love with everything that is yourself. That's why you had to see his eyes before you go, to see the real him before you decided to give up and let death win. You wanted him to see you too, the girl who messes up, but would do anything in her power to keep him and the squad safe, to keep him emotionally healthy, no matter how deep his scars go. So when you think of him, you see a cheeky man who made cadets run laps til they turned green and hope to god he thinks of the vulnerable version of you, the one beneath the soldier.

In moments of silence, when your captors would leave you be, you would remembered the last conversation you had with your family. She had wished you well with tears in her eyes, making you promise you’d come back to her. Your father had been busting himself with house work, refusing to acknowledge that his youngest child was off to another suicide mission, just like he always did before you left. You had kissed your mother on the cheek as a goodbye, not promising a thing but granting her a smile, just in case that was the last time she’d ever see you again. Death wasn’t scary for you, you had accepted that you would die young, in your line of work death was not something that could be prevented, no matter how hard you might try. What did scare you though, was your nieces and nephews growing up without you, only seeing you in photos, it was your mother and father having to bury their youngest, it was your older brother and sister living without you. Death didn’t scare you, but the impact of yours on your family did.

You didn't know how long you had been held captive for, it could have been weeks, months, even years, at that point. What you did know was that the starvation they subjected you to as one last punishment had began to take it's toll on your body, your weight had dropped rapidly, leaving those metal cuffs loose around your wrists and ankles. At first it had been small strands of hair falling out from stress, then slowly it became more and more til you were left with thin strands to cover your head. Your body was always shivering, cold to touch, and you didn't know whether it was because you were forced to sleep on freezing concrete or if hypothermia was beginning. to settle within your bones.

Makarov had captured you for one thing, he had seen potential in you, wanted you on his side, and the only way he believed he could do that was if he broke you down into nothing, just to rebuild you as the soldier he always desired. He had watched from afar as you had taken down men three times your size, as you cleared bases by yourself, and how you lived up to your callsign. He knew you were young, younger than the other task force members, and with being young came being naive and impressionable, Makarov wanted to use those attributes and swing them to his favour.

In some of your exhausted delusions, you dreamt of your team, of your family. You had dreamt of your first Christmas with the task force, how you had sat in your room with the computer screen on, talking and listening to your family on the other line, wishing to be back home and apart of their celebrations, that was, until Gaz barged into your room and dragging you out for a Christmas surprise with your chosen family. You had dreamt of the day you accepted death, how you leant up against that brick wall, the rain pouring from above and mixing with your blood; red water sweeping the street. You had accepted your fate that afternoon, dying alone, until you knight in a shining skull mask whisked you off your feet and to survival. You dreamt of the day your nephew was born, how his tiny hands wrapped around your finger, chosing you to be his favourite person in that moment. You dreamt of many things, but one always kept returning. The delusion that Ghost would save you one last time.

"Fear is part of being human, Redback, it's the precursor to bravery. We need it, it wakes us up to what needs to be done. So feel it, own it, let it ignite your thoughts," Gaz's words echo in your mind constantly, they were one of the first words he ever spoke to you, and they resonated with her throughout her short years with the task force. They kept you alive at that point, they told you no matter how inhuman you felt, you were still alive, still breathing, still ready to fight.

Your cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows. In there you could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there, and you were beginning to. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind.

You could hear the sound of feet slamming against concrete, though your eyes never opened, refusing to see what was coming to torment you that time. They had stripped you of everything, they took your weapons, and your dignity. They had left you to rot in the cell in cotton underwear and a white undershirt, though both items were caked in dirt, grim, and stained with your own blood.

The sound of keys jingling had caught your attention, and when you opened your eyes you kept your gaze away from the intruder. Instead, you found the bruises and dried blood on your ankles far more interesting. The person had unlocked your hands first, fumbling with the keys as if he were nervous, as if something had gone wrong, and that had been his first mistake. When your hands were greeted freedom, you finally looked over at the man, your knife, the one they had stolen from you, sat perched on his hip. They had stolen your gear just to use it against you, and that fact gave you more motivation than anything previously, you wanted your things back.

Without a second of hesitation, your hands wrapped around the knife, plucking it from his tactical belt, your tactical belt, and plunged it into his thigh. He cried out in pain, something you never gave them the satisfaction of hearing, as he doubled over from the fiery sensation in his leg you pulled the knife out again and plunged it into his neck, blood that was not yours finally coating your body again. As you let out all your frustration on the man, pulling the knife out just to slam it back in over and over again, you began to register the sound of gunfire, the sound of Russian shouting, and the feeling of panic the base you were trapped within was beginning to feel.

Once you were positive the man below you was dead, you began stripping him as they had once stripped you. You took the keys from his cold, dead hands, and unlocked your feet from the shackles, your ankles screaming in relief. You then took his clothing, albeit they were far too large for you, they were better than what you had been forced to stay in for your time as a prisoner. Tightening the pants around your waist with your belt, you felt somewhat okay, you didn't feel helpless or hopeless, you felt determined, determined to get out of there yourself, since there would be no rescue party for you.

Gripping onto the rifle, one that wasn't yours originally, you began your escape. As you made your way through the base, leaving a trail of bodies behind you, you felt like yourself again, you felt like the soldier once were. You had reminded yourself of things that were facts; you were one of the youngest ever recorded female members to join the SAS, you were an accomplished soldier, a sergeant before your twenty first birthday, you were a force to be reckoned with; those facts kept you motivated throughout your escape, you were all those things, and more, and you could get yourself out of any situation.

Sticking to the shadows, you took down over twenty soldiers, cornering them til they were alone, and that tactic had worked well enough, til your luck ran out. The corner you took was one of bad judgement, over fifteen men resided there, all on high alert for your whereabouts, and with no shadows to conceal yourself, you had no other option but to simply turn back around, though when you did so, you found yourself face with thirty other men, ready to pounce. Weighing your options, you knew that to surrender was your only choice, if you wanted to stay alive. Letting the rifle hang from your shoulder, you held your hands up, defeat running thick through your veins.

They didn't make a move though, not one soldier stood out of line, all of them waiting for you to make the first move, to do something unpredictable, until he sauntered out of the crowd. Makarov's second in charge, Yuri, grinned like a mad man as he gripped you roughly, pulling you in the direction of another room and dismissing the men on guard. You were no longer deemed as a threat as he led you into the room, far nicer than the cell you had grown accustomed to.

He stripped you of your weapons, though he was not thorough, leaving your bloodied knife within your waistband as he took the rifle and pistol from your body, turning the safety on and throwing them across the room.

"I thought we beat the need to escape out of you," he tsked, hands feeling your body in a way far less appropriate than simply looking for weapons. "But I now see that you have to be broken in a different way to get you to comply with our rules."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the five other men walked through the door, dragging their bodies with them. Three had a grip on Ghost's sluggish body, and two were struggling against Soap's protests. The men forced Ghost and Soap to their knees, Ghost having to steady himself by placing his hands in front of him to keep him from falling foreword. They had drugged him, most likely using the same one they had used to keep you compliant in the first weeks of your capture.

"Redback?" Ghost questioned softly as he looked towards you, confusion running through his mind.

"These two were found sneaking around our base," Yuri revealed, toying with a piece of your hair as he forced you to look at them. Soap held a look of distraught as he looked over at you, like he had just seen a real ghost, while Ghost's eyes held a look of resentment within them. You weren't sure who the resentment was pointed towards, but you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't directed at you. "And now you'll watch them die."

Yuri stepped foreword, his own pistol raised, pressing the barrel against Soap's head as he looked back at you. With a clenched jaw, you pulled the knife from your waistband and pressed it against your wrist. The sharpness of it caused a small speck of blood to dribble down your arm and drip to the floor, but despite the sting you kept it in place.

"Makarov wants me, you kill them and I'll die with them," You spoke clearly, despite your voice being hoarse from not speaking for days on end. "How would that look for you? Under your watch, his prized possession dies because you can't do your fucking job right."

Yuri let out a dry chuckle, "so loyal," he commented, looking towards the men knelt before him, "and where are your pleas? When she was taken from you, you left her. Maybe you two would rather her blood spill to cover your sins."

"Shut up," You hissed, their silence to his words were deafening, a heartbreaking scene as Ghost looked anywhere but at you.

"I want you to memorise this moment, they weren't here to rescue you," Yuri growled, "They were completing another mission, and you so happen to be here as well."

Ghost's eyes, despite hooded with the effects of the drug, widened slightly, struggling even harder against the three men that held him in place. Soap on the other hand, used the distraction as an ample time to escape. Taking the gun from Yuri, Soap pointed it towards the men holding him down and left off two shots, killing them quickly. You had taken this opportunity to throw the knife, watching with a sickening smile as it lodged itself into Yuri's chest. Ghost, regardless of being under the influence of a drug, took down two of the men holding him hostage while Soap let off another shot into the final man.

Ignoring the two men, you walked over towards Yuri, watching as he spluttered out in pain. Hovering over him, you crouched down, twisting the knife deeper into his chest. Pulling it out, you relished in the pool of blood that began to form.

"I want you to memorise this moment," You repeated his words to him as you dragged the bloodied knife down his cheek, smearing his own blood on his face, "that nobody is here to rescue you." and with that, you plunged the knife up through his bottom jaw.

Months had come and gone, and you had not spoken a word to anyone on Task Force 141 since you had been brought back to the. safety of your base. The wounds, the injuries to your flesh would heal long before you're able to heal your brain. You had gone through a lot, many scars now littered your body, your ankles and wrists having a permanent red line from the rubbing of your shackles, and your mind was in shambles. Laswell had told you that they hadn't looked for you once, that they assumed you were dead and had even informed your family of you being killed in action. You felt almost betrayed that they didn't even bother to look for you, that the mission was more important to them, to Ghost, than to see you still breathing.

The doctors had gotten you healthy again, gave you the fluids and sustenance you had been deprived on before setting you up with a physiotherapist. That man had retaught you how to do simple tasks, explaining to you that the only reason you were capable of such things during your escape was because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. It had taken you four months to get back to doing things on your own, and an additional three months before you were back to your usual abilities, and still within all that time, you refused to look at the men that had left you in the hands of the enemy. They had offered you leave, to go home and spend time with family, but if the mission was as important as leaving behind a team member, it only made sense to stay and complete it before gifting yourself with seeing your parents relieved faces.

The gym was quiet at three am, sleep no longer a need for you as it only plagued your mind with unwanted memories. The sound of your knuckles coming in contact with the rubber punching bag silenced your mind, created an inner peace within you as you assaulted the equipment. Nobody else resided inside as you continued to push your abilities, seeing just how long you could do this before getting tired. You used to be able to go for hours, but now, it seemed that you could only do half of that.

Your inner peace was quickly ruined by the sound of heavy footsteps, and before you could even register what was happening, his hands wrapped around your waist and pushed you against the closest wall. He turned you to face him, the hard skull plate from his mask was gone, his balaclava the only thing separating them from each other. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were hooded from lack of sleep, the black war paint he usually sported was not there, leaving his expressions easier to read.

"You never threaten to kill yourself to save me again," His voice was rough, reminding you of a hot long black in the early of the morning, bitter and abrasive, burning your tongue. "I'd rather get shot ten times over than ever see you do that again."

Scoffing, you looked at him with a frown, "A few months too late for this revelation, Lieutenant."

"I don't care," He huffed, grip on your waist loosening, "You don't get to do that shit, not anymore."

"And you don't get too care, why do you even care? Huh?" You spluttered out, words dripping with venom, "You left me there to die, Laswell told me everything, told me how you all didn't even give me a second thought, told my fucking family I was dead."

"I watched you die," He growled out, "I watched as that bullet went through your chest, as you fell to the ground."

"And you didn't think to check? The mission that important to you that you can't go over to a wounded soldier and check if their heart is still beating?" You all but screamed at him, if you were anyone else, your yelling at a superior would go severly punished, "I was wearing a fucking chest plate, you saw me put it on, you checked I had it on before we started that fucking mission, and you still left me for dead."

"You don't think I don't remember that now?" He yelled back. at you, voice booming throughout the gym, "You don't think I wasn't awake every night wondering about you? Thinking of things I could have done differently? I completed that mission and went back for you, you were gone."

"Why do you care so much?" You hissed at him, "The first time we met you told me that I'd be another dead body at the edge of your boot because you didn't think I was good enough, why care now?"

"Because you mean something to me," He revealed, though his words were sweet his tone wasn't, it was like he resented the fact that you meant something to him, "you mean more to me every single day, that's why I care."

[seungkw1]

maestro — ljh // chapter 1

⛧ pairing: lee jihoon x afab!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns) ⛧ theme: fantasy, suggestive (18+ smut in future chapters) ⛧ chapter wc: 2.7k ⛧ warnings: minor knife violence ⛧ a/n: when i tell u that lee jihoon wrecked me sooooo bad this comeback !!!! the maestro mv was fully giving villain!woozi and my brain took that and absolutely ran with it. also, this is my first chapter fic!! much more to come, stay tuned <3

Your knowledge of the enemy is minimal, but what is known for certain is this: the Maestro is a dark and powerful sorcerer that is not to be trifled with - and you’ve just walked right into his trap.

You fucked up.

Your task was simple enough: sneak into the palace, steal the ring, and get the hell out. You’ve done countless jobs like this over the years - you're a professional for fuck’s sake. Sure, this gig was a bit more high-profile than usual, but nothing you couldn't handle. 

Yet somehow, they caught you. 

You rack your brain for a clue - something, anything, to indicate what went wrong. But you come up blank. Everything had gone according to plan (up until you found yourself surrounded by imperial guards with a knife at your throat, anyway), not a single detail overlooked. Something is off here, your instinct tells you. 

Here you are now, being forcefully escorted through the palace’s underlevels by a squad of imperial goons. The head goon hauls you through the dim hallways, his grip on your arm painfully tight, knife drawn and at the ready in case you were to try something foolish. A dark mask covers his lower face, so he's hard to get a read on, but you can tell he’s nothing more than a large, brainless oaf. You’ve single-handedly outwitted enemies like him in the past - but here, you are far too outnumbered. For the time being, you comply. 

You arrive at a large steel door, adorned only by a small barred window in its middle. With a rough shove the guard pushes you into the cell - you fall to the ground, your palms striking the cold stone floor. The hinges let out a horrid creaking sound before the door slams shut with a loud CLANG. You hear the clunking of a heavy chain, then the click of a padlock. Footsteps fade away as the imperial squad retreats - then, silence. You are all alone, trapped, imprisoned in this musty cell, somewhere in the depths of the Maestro’s palace. 

You sit on the hard ground, alone with your thoughts. The more you think about it, the only explanation is that this was a setup. But the Agency’s entire job is to sift through lies and misinformation; if this was a trap, there must be something larger at play - something elaborate, sinister. 

Unfortunately for you, you have nothing but time to try and piece together this puzzle. You lean your head against the stone wall, trying to figure out how the fuck you're gonna get yourself out of this mess. 

The absence of natural light leaves you with no way of telling time. The silence grows eerie. Your mind wanders, imagination soon running wild. You’ve heard of people who lose their minds within days of solitary confinement. Will that happen to me?, you can’t help but wonder. How long will I be here? Are they going to bring me food, or am I doomed to die of starvation? How did I even end up here? What are they planning to do with me? What if they forget about me? What if…

Your mind grows weary. You decide to lay down - no use in staying awake and overthinking. You rest your head on the gravelly floor - it’s uncomfortable, but your eyelids soon become heavy. You drift in and out of consciousness, strange visions and voices floating through your mind. Before long, you are asleep.

You’re running. You don’t know where to, but you are running through winding, endless corridors. Running from… something. You don’t know what. The sound of your racing heartbeat pounds in your ears, surpassed only by the heaving pants of your labored breathing. The neverending halls begin to expand around you - they grow larger and larger, disorienting your sense of perception. From behind, unsettling noises draw nearer and nearer: screeching echoes, thunderous crashes, wicked laughter. You run, but it’s not fast enough. The horrid sounds infiltrate your mind, reverberating through your skull so loudly you feel as if your head is about to explode. Suddenly, through blurred vision you see the hallway’s end; at it stands a cloaked figure, facing away from you. You can’t see anything else of the entity, but you sense the dark energy that surrounds it. Dread wells in the pit of your stomach, filling you with terror - but, for some reason, you are drawn to the malevolent being. Their presence is magnetic, alluring - frightening, but seductive. You press on - you don’t know why, but you must get to them. Your legs feel as if they’ve turned to lead - each footstep slowing you down further. You’re almost there, almost, almost… finally - the figure is within arm’s reach. In excruciating slow motion, you extend your hand toward them. Your fingertips graze the black cloak, its woven texture coarse against your skin. Your hand glides over the thick fabric - you close your grip around their shoulder, forcefully turning them around to face you. You lift your gaze to look at their face-

BANG.

You jolt awake in a panic. Disoriented, heart pounding, it takes you a moment to realize you’re still in the cold, dark prison cell. Faint light enters the room through the now-open doorway. Standing in it is a tall, thin man - you can barely make out his face, but his presence is unsettling. He peers down at you, his piercing eyes practically boring a hole into your head. 

“Come with me,” is all he says. 

You blink dully a few times, still not fully lucid. You try to process what all is happening, but your dream (nightmare?) weighs heavily at the forefront of your mind. The odious man quickly becomes irritated.

“GET UP!” he bellows at you.

You rise, stumbling to your feet. Two guards enter from behind him, swiftly seizing hold of your arms and yanking you out of the cell. They halt in front of the man. An unpleasant scowl seems permanently engraved on his face. He smirks at you.

“Well aren’t you pretty.”

You spit on the ground in front of his feet. The man glares at you with vitriol. He draws a short sword from the depths of his cloak, pointing it at your face. He traces the razor-sharp tip lightly across your cheek.

“Act like that again,” he sneers. With a quick flick of the wrist he delivers a small slash into your cheekbone. You barely flinch.

“And I’ll carve some very permanent scars into that pretty little face of yours.”

You stare at him, but say nothing. With a huff he turns, sauntering off into the hallway.

“Come along now. The Maestro wants to see you.”

—

The first thing you notice upon entering the chamber is the hundreds of candles set alight, illuminating the otherwise unlit space. The second is the hooded figure seated upon the throne at the room’s distant end, reclining arrogantly - watching you intensely. 

You hadn’t seen their face, but you know: it is the figure from your dream.

The guards stand you before the Maestro. You still can’t see their face. The thin man who summoned you steps forward, giving a small bow to his master.

“The thief, Your Majesty.”

The Maestro leans forward. Their face, previously shadowed, becomes illuminated in the candlelight: you see a man, much younger than anticipated - and strikingly beautiful. His eyes, adorned with dark makeup, peer up and down your body, studying you. He rises, nonchalantly descending the few steps before him; the clacking of his boots against the dark marble echoes through the otherwise silent chamber. He strolls toward you, maintaining eye contact, coming to a stop within mere inches of you. Slowly he removes his hood, revealing a head of long pale tresses. Up close, he is even more stunning. 

The man lifts his hand, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts your head, observing the cut on your cheek.

“I told you to bring me the prisoner unharmed,” he scolds his servant. His gaze doesn’t stray from your face.

The subordinate’s face drops. “Apologies, my liege,” he responds hesitantly. “I-”

“Leave.”

He says nothing else. The servant’s eyes darken with fear. “My liege-”

The man before you motions to the guards. “Take him away.”

The guards seize the man, dragging him from the chamber in silence. The door closes with a heavy thud. You are now alone with the enemy. 

Your existing knowledge of the mysterious individual known as the Maestro is minimal - you have a fairly high level of clearance within the Agency, but even there the details are sparse. Rumors abound, but what is known for certain is this: the Maestro is a dark and powerful sorcerer, and is not to be trifled with.

You watch the man before you intently as he turns on his heels, meandering casually across the room, hands behind his back. Undoubtedly, his presence is intimidating; but admittedly he does not seem to be nearly the loathsome monster you’ve been led to believe he is. Regardless, you will not be letting your guard down. 

“My apologies for the poor treatment you have received thus far,” the man starts as he resumes his seat upon the large, ornate chair. A bowl of deep-purple grapes sits on the table beside him; he reclines again, reaching for the supple fruits. He plucks a particularly round grape from its stem, drawing it to his lips - he places it upon his tongue, holding it there momentarily before biting down, its juicy flesh bursting within his mouth. He chews, his eyes fixated upon you. He swallows before continuing.

“I had to ensure you were who I thought you were, and not some irrelevant member of the Agency.”

You grimace, displeased to learn that your suspicions were correct. He did know about the mission, and presumably the Agency’s agenda too. If that’s the case, then how much else does he know…

You’re itching to ask him who exactly he thinks you are, but you hold your tongue. You know better than to engage with the enemy unless absolutely necessary.

“But now that I am certain, I assure you you will receive nothing but the finest accommodations.” 

You say nothing. He eats another grape. You’ve been staring for far too long when you realize his plush lips seem to have you in a trance; you quickly return to glaring at him.

A few moments of silence pass. The intense eye contact he sustains stirs up a sensation within you - not fear, not worry, but rather… intrigue. You know the man is dangerous, yet here you are - simply captivated by him. You silently curse yourself for allowing emotion to infiltrate your mind like this. You’re smarter than this. Get your shit together.

“Refusing to speak, I see. Very well then. But aren’t you curious?” He leans forward, taunting you. “You know I hold the answers you seek, y/n.”

Your stomach drops. He just called you by your real name. Members of the Agency are exclusively referred to by their code names - even amongst colleagues, true identities remain concealed. How does he…

Your face remains stoic, indifferent, but he smirks. He can read you like an open book, and he knows you know it. 

“Go on, question me. You must see there is no threat here - I am unarmed. You may speak freely.”

You know that’s an absolute crock of bullshit. A cunning sorcerer is never truly unarmed - god knows what he could conjure up in the blink of an eye. But, admittedly he does have a point. You very well may die here - might as well get some fucking answers first. 

“How did you know I was coming?” you ask coldly.

A sly grin appears on his face. “Ah, she speaks! Good girl.” You scowl at him; he continues. “It’s simple, really - it was me who allowed the Agency to ‘discover’ the location of the palace. I made sure their little reconnaissance efforts would lead them to send their most skilled operative to retrieve the ring.”

“You wanted the ring to be stolen.”

“No. I wanted the ring to be stolen by you.”

You pause at his unexpected words. What?

Every neuron in your brain is screaming at you to be silent, don’t play into his little games. But you open your mouth anyway.

“And why me?” 

“Oh, I’ve had my eyes on you for quite some time, darling.”

Your stomach jolts. He said it so nonchalantly, as if he was telling you the weather rather than admitting he’s been watching your every move for god knows how long.

You stare at him incredulously. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He simply shakes his head. “Patience - you will learn the whole story in due time. Guards!”

A new pair of imperials, much more polished and intelligent-looking than their brutish counterparts you’ve dealt with thus far, enter the room. 

“Please escort my guest to her bedchamber for the night. I must retire.”

The guards steer you toward the hallway. You follow without resistance. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” the man calls as you step through the doorway. You glimpse back: he is seated in the same position, watching you intensely. You catch a curious look in his eye, one you can’t quite read. He disappears as the heavy door shuts behind you.

—

As promised, your new accommodations are satisfactory - lavish, even. You’ve never seen a room with so many ornate embellishments, nor a bed with so many cushions and fine coverings. The washroom was equally fanciful, offering a large tub and luxurious-looking towels. Enticing, certainly, but at this point you are exhausted, and simply want to sleep anywhere that isn’t a cold stone floor. You lay upon the bed, not even bothering to retreat under the covers. Within seconds, you drift off to sleep.

You find yourself in the same hallway again - this time, not running, but merely standing behind the cloaked figure. You extend your hand, grabbing his shoulder and turning him round. You raise your eyes, meeting his gaze - but where his eyes should be, you only found blackness. You stare into the void of his sockets, hypnotized in fear, their darkness seeming to infiltrate your soul. He draws a dagger from his cloak, shoving you into the wall and placing it against your throat. You feel its pressure, but it does not break skin. He draws his face into yours, tenderly placing his lips upon your cheekbone - right atop your freshly-scarring cut. He kisses you - slowly, fervidly, his lips burning against your skin, but instead of pain you feel only pleasure. His free hand wraps around the small of your back, pulling your torso into his, holding you tightly against his blisteringly-hot form. The dagger remains perilously at your throat, a constant reminder of the power he holds over you. His lips parts from your cheek as he draws his head back, looking at you once again, the abysmal darkness of his stare penetrating through you. Slowly, he leans in, his lips converging on yours. Your mouth reaches for his, wanting for his kiss, yearning for his taste- 

Your eyes open. There are no windows in your room, but you get the sense that it is morning, midday perhaps. Dazed, you try to wake yourself up, but your mind keeps drifting back to your dream - to the man who has somehow infiltrated your subconscious. You raise your hand to your face, running your fingertips over your wound, but…

Quickly, you sit up, tossing your feet to the floor and heading toward the washroom. You approach the mirror, peering your face in close to the glass. Where there should have been a fresh scar: nothing. Not a mark on your skin. 

You frown. You don’t know what this means, but you suspect nothing good will come of it. 

A knock comes from the door. You hear the turn of the lock, followed by the creaking of the door swinging open. A young female servant enters, carrying a bundle of fabrics. A second follows, placing a tea set on the small table.

“You are expected at supper today,” the first woman informs you curtly. She places the fabrics upon your bed. “Wash up and dress in fresh clothes.” The two leave swiftly without another word.

You let out a sigh of annoyance. So this is how it’s going to be then. Fine - I’ll play along with his little games. You glance back at the mirror. A tired face looks back at you, grimacing.

Not like I have much of a choice anyway.

⛧ chapter 2: coming soon ⛧

[thefirstknife]

My grimoire arrived and I'm in shambles. Partners in Light, aka a grimoire focused on Ghosts and Ghost lore. Ghost Stories is in here, and Lucent Tales. Luna's Lost as well, chosen lore tabs about Targe, Ophiuchus, Drifter's Ghost and Glint. There's a whole section about Sagira, which includes the entirety of Immolant and has destroyed me. Some stunning art from the book:

Ghost rezing us for the first time (this one was also recently posted by the artist)! Also yes, Thin Line lore tab is here as well. Next, from Ghost Stories, Cyrell the Ghost Hunter and YES, GHOST COMMUNITY THEATRE ART:

Eris and Brya (I'm in shambles), Zavala and Targe, Ikora and Ophiuchus:

Drifter and his Ghost (specifically the scene where he's dying of starvation, as you'll notice the scorpion by his feet, from here. Thank you for this emotional destruction):

The first Vanguard squad (portions of The Pigeon and the Phoenix are included), as I do believe the Hunter is supposed to be Tallulah, based on the fact that you can see The Bombardiers, her exotic pants (also I believe the bow on her back is Tyranny of Heaven, with lore of how she died):

Crow and Glint from the lore when he visits Venus:

I already posted the other Crow and Glint art because it was posted officially by the artist, I really can't wait for the rest to also be posted digitally because they're absolutely incredible. There's also more art in there, I only posted a few.

[hobiebrownismygod]

StreetKid!Hobie x Fem!Reader

I recommend you read Part 1 HERE so you understand the story better <3

I posted these earlier on wattpad, the link is in my pinned post

~4.5k words

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_____________________________________

Hobie's POV

_____________________________________

RINGGGGGGGGG

W H A C K

CRASH

Hobie opened one eye and groaned at the sight, his alarm clock shattered on the floor. 5th one this month. It wasn't his fault that he kept accidentally breaking them. The loud noises just always triggered his reflexes so this wasn't the first time he'd broken his clock on accident and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

He sat up, shaking his head and groaning, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes as he looked around, sight adjusting the bright light seeping in through the window. Well, it wasn't really a window. More of a large crack in the wall of the abandoned warehouse he was squatting in, but it functioned like a window.

He stood up right as the door opened, stretching his arms and back out before he greeted Riri Williams, his roommate and fellow superhero. "Mornin'"

She nodded at him in response, fidgeting with her watch in an attempt to show Hobie something. Suddenly, it made a beep noise and a small map appeared which she promptly shoved in Hobie's face. "Here's the route Karl said we should take."

"Huh?" Hobie looked at the map and then back at her, still half-asleep. "Wot route?"

Riri blinked. "The route? For the riot today?" Hobie blinked.

Silence.

"Oh! That riot! Yeah, sounds good Ri'" He said, smacking his forehead as he remembered what they'd planned yesterday. In his defense, he hadn't really been paying attention to what they'd been talking about. He'd been preoccupied thinking about other things. Thinking about her.

The girl he'd met exactly 9 years ago. He remembered the date perfectly. December 24rd, the day before Christmas morning. The streets had been full of people shopping and laughing, spreading Christmas spirit. At least, they spread Christmas spirit among themselves. Hobie definitely wasn't on the receiving end of this morale boost that day. Until of course, he met her.

The girl that'd given him her jacket and sent him towards F.E.A.S.T. shelter. The girl who looked like an angel and had a smile like one, with flowy hair and gorgeous eyes. The girl who helped him up, pointed him in the right direction and given him a kiss on the cheek on one of his darker days. He'd been on the brink of starvation and she'd saved his life without a second thought.

But he never saw her again.

"Dunce." Riri replied, zooming into the map. Her harsh words snapped him out of his trance and he rolled his eyes at her, peering at the watch's image. "Right then. Let's grab Karl and Kamala and figure this whole plan thing ou'"

___________________________________________

Two hours later - Hobie's Canal Boat/Headquarters

___________________________________________

"Alright gang, today is the day Osborne's right-hand-man, Captain Stacy, 's daughter comes back from her posh boarding school! They're having some sort of fancy ball in one of Osborne's mansions for it and that's where we strike!" Kamala Khan slammed down her mini figure onto the map Riri had printed out for them to use. "Sound good?" She asked, looking amongst the squad.

Karl nodded. "The rioters will start off in front of the house and after a little bit we'll let them in. Maybe even web up a couple of cops, eh Hobes?" Karl asked, nudging Hobie's side.

"Huh?" Hobie stuttered, standing up straight, his arms falling to his sides. "Uh. Yea, sure." He said quickly, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Man, what's going on with you? Something up?" Karl asked, leaning in towards him slightly, as if inspecting whether or not he was sick.

"No, no. Nothin's up."

"You gotta keep your head in the game, 'Bie." Riri shook her head at him before putting her own mini figure down onto the map. "I'll turn off the security cameras."

"I'll lead the crowd." Karl added, gently putting down his figurine.

Kamala put her elbow on top of Hobie's shoulder, which was fairly difficult considering how tall he was, and grinned at the group. "And the two of us'll deal with the insiders!"

Hobie looked down at the map and smiled, placing his own figurine down. "Kamala'll take care of the pigs doing security. I'll take care of the ones inside the ball"

"Wait." Karl looked at Kamala and Hobie curiously. "There's gonna be a lot of civilians. One of you is gonna have to take care of them too."

Kamala groaned, "All those civilians are fascists too. Besides, it's not like the riot is gonna turn violent."

"Unless Osborne gets violent first" Hobie added, a thoughtful look appearing on his face. "Y'know what? I'll take care of the civilians then. But I'm not gonna put m'whole focus on 'em, aye?"

The three nodded at him.

"So, Hobes..." Karl asked, his tone sounding slightly more somber. "You gonna be okay if those symbiotes are there?"

"Yeah..." Riri added, glancing at Hobie nervously. "I mean last time...you didn't really take them very well."

"I'll be fine." Hobie said quietly, giving them a glance that said I know what I'm doing. "Last time was a freak acciden'. Nothing more." During a riot only a few weeks ago, Hobie had been fighting Osborne's goons as per usual, when a new type of bad guy showed up. They called it a symbiote.

Hobie had known about Osborne finding some sort of weapon that he was planning on using for his military, but the gang had never expected it to be so...weird. It was like it had a mind of its own. The V.E.N.O.M., Oscorp's name for it, was a kind of gooey substance that would engulf its host, using and protecting their body while they fought.

These symbiotes were notoriously hard to kill. Hobie had run out of webs at some point during that riot and had been cornered by multiple of them, only barely escaping thanks to Kamala and her shapeshifting powers, which she'd used to pull Hobie out of the situation and shield him while he fixed his webshooters.

"Fine." Riri said, taking the map of the mansion off the table and folding it up. "Let's head out."

______________________________

Your POV

______________________________

"Harry!" You exclaimed as you practically collapsed in the young man's arms, pulling him into a hug. "Hi-" he gasped out, struggling to breathe as you squeezed him with all your might.

It'd been nearly two years since you'd seen Harry, your best friend, and four since you'd been back in London. In those couple years, you'd been at a boarding school situated in France, which many of the higher-class girls went in their teenage years in order to learn how to become 'proper ladies' as they called them.

At first, it'd felt like a waste of time to you, but over time you'd made many friends at that school and now that you were returning, you couldn't help but feel a little sad to leave. But this sadness was quickly eliminated by the sight of your best friend and the beautiful city.

Although beautiful was definitely an overstatement. In fact, the city looked to be getting progressively worse, with more and more giant consumerist signs and more and more smog filling the sky that had used to be a beautiful, clear blue. You wrinkled your nose at the smell, the air filled with smoke and dust.

"Its been a while" Harry said with a smile, looking down at you, his hands shoved in his pockets. "That it has. I'm so excited to be home!" You said with a grin, following him as he led you toward the cab, pulling your suitcases for you.

London wasn't what you remembered. Even if you disregarded the changing environment and the pollution, there was still something so different about the place. Maybe it was the abundance of crime that overtook the city after Osborne's presidency. But you couldn't say anything negative about him, especially considering the fact that Norman Osborne was your father's best friend. He'd practically raised you and when you were young, most of days of the week, he and Harry would come over for dinner to eat with you and your father.

Those were the days.

But there was something even more distinct that was different about London. You didn't realize what it was until you saw him swinging through the air in the distance, followed by a flurry of flashing cop lights. Spider-Man.

Or as the higher-ups called him, Spider-Punk. Even those in France knew about him and his strange powers and his even stranger suit. There were plenty of superheroes in London, like IronHeart, a young woman who wore a suit made out of metal, Captain Anarchy, a man with an unbreakable shield and Ms. Marvel, a girl with a very flashy suit who's limbs would elongate in a way no human's ever should.

But Spider-man was definitely a fan favorite.

With his snarky attitude, those quips he'd make around thugs, the way he fought, even his style were all very popular subjects among the inhabitants of Western Europe, his cries against the fascist dictatorship Osborne had implemented in the UK even more popular.

Most called him a hero. Some called him a vigilante.

But your family? A family full of cops and businessmen? A family built on consumerism and fascism? Spider-man was a villain.

But not to you.

No, to you, Spider-man was fascinating.

You hoped you'd get to meet him eventually.

____________________________________________________________________________

Later that evening

____________________________________________________________________________

_________________

Your POV

_________________

"Hold still, girl!"

You sucked in your breath as the maid tightened your gown even more, making it nearly impossible to breath. "I can't brea-" She began to tie up the silky lace quickly, ignoring your pleas for air. When she finished, she ran her fingers through your hair gently, moving it over your shoulders and turning you to face the mirror. "What do you think?" She asked kindly, smiling at you.

The gown was a beautiful baby blue, coming down to your ankles in a flowy manner. The neckline was shaped like a 'V' but wasn't too deep, with fluffy straps hanging onto your shoulders. "It's beautiful." You said with a smile, looking back at her before you looked at yourself in the mirror again.

Mr. Osborne had been insisting on throwing a celebration for your return to London, stating, "my son's best friend needs a proper welcome." After all, you'd been gone nearly four years and you were sure there would be plenty of people who'd want to meet you after all this time. Although it seemed Harry was more excited for this ball than you were. 

He'd always been such a rich boy, with absolutely no regard for anything that wasn't his. It wasn't his fault he was so materialistic though, it was his father's. Mr. Osborne wanted the best for his son and although you respected him for it, he would often go overboard. He never let Harry go to anything less than a well-respected private school and wouldn't even allow him to go near any middle-class neighborhoods in fear of him joining a gang or worse.

But then of course, there was plenty in London to be afraid of. If you didn't count the thugs and criminals constantly patrolling the streets, there were also villains like the Green Goblin who were out to get you. The Goblin was a particularly nasty villain who was known for his horrific bombs and grenades.

Mr. Osborne himself could be considered a villain by many. After all, he ruled London like a dictator, with an iron fist protected by his army of super-soldiers powered by organic compounds called V.E.N.O.M., designed to protect their hosts and grant them extreme levels of endurance and strength. The V.E.N.O.M. soldiers were supposed to protect the streets of London, but really they just made everything worse.

And then there were the cops. Your own father, Captain Stacy, was a cop himself but you couldn't help but dislike the force. They were all shoved into the palm Mr. Osborne's hand, eating money out of it like filthy pigs while the rest of the civilians lived in complete oblivion. Disaster after disaster struck the streets of London and the cops did nothing but add to it.

But it wasn't all bad. London had Spider-Man to protect them, right? With his gorgeous guitar, that spiky leather jacket, and that snarky attitude, he was a proper hero. 

"Harry's here!" your maid called out to you from outside your room. You grabbed your things and quickly left the room, fixing your hair in the process. Harry was standing waiting at the bottom of the steps for you while impatiently tapping his feet, wearing a sleek black suit. When he saw you, he smiled and gestured for you to come down.

"Long time no see" You said to him with a grin.

"I saw you a half hour ago." He rolled his eyes before reaching behind his back to hand you something. He pulled out a beautiful white rose, the thorns plucked off as to not prick you. You shook your head and smiled at him, taking the rose from him. "You shouldn't have."

"You're right. I should've given it to someone prettier." he quipped, giving you his hand. You took it with a scowl and the two of you walked outside towards the car waiting for you outside. You and Harry both sat in the back while the driver got ready to take you towards the function. 

"God, it's been forever since I've been to a ball."

"Oh, father's made sure to make it as grand as possible. Honestly I think he's put more time into this return than into my own birthday." He said with a groan, looking out the window as the car began to move.

You gave him a kind smile. "I'm sure thats not true."

Harry tended to get bitter whenever his father planned something for you. It was obvious that Mr. Osborne liked you more than his own son, always being willing to host your birthday parties, buy you things and just acting more like a father to you than he did to Harry. Harry hated it. He hated being put second to someone who wasn't even related to him. Although you tried your best to play it off, it became difficult at times.

"Yeah yeah." Harry said quietly, still not making eye contact with you as he looked down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap.

________________________

Hobie's POV

________________________

Hobie was standing on the glass top of the room where the ball would be happening, his clunky combat boots leaving marks on what had been crystal-clear before he'd arrived. This was one of Osborne's multiple mansions, each of which he used to throw different parties and get-togethers. These parties were very exclusive, only being offered to Osborne's closest friends and business partners, and Hobie knew that by having a riot here, they'd be able to hit Osborn where it hurt. Maybe even cost him a couple partners or friends. Hobie's eyes glinted slightly as he smiled to himself, thinking about just how badly he wanted Osborne broken. He was everything that was wrong with this city.

A small crackle noise came from the earpiece embedded onto his earlobe. "Y'all ready for this?" Riri's voice could be heard from the microphone. "Protestors are gathering." Karl replied.

"I'm almost there! Just give me another second" Kamala said, her voice slightly muffled. It seemed like she was running late. "Where were you?" Hobie asked, searching around for where she would come from. "Oh...nowhere." She said quickly, brushing it off. Hobie could just barely see her coming in from the distance. She enlarged her fist to help herself swing up onto the rooftop, landing with her arms out in a t-pose before giving Hobie a cocky salute. "Reporting for duty!"

Hobie snorted and rolled his eyes at her, putting his hands on his hips. "A'right soldier. Let's get this party started." He and Kamala both began their entrance, searching around the perimeter for any way to get in without being noticed. Kamala pointed to a large vent on the outside of the wall and Hobie swung toward it, pulling it open and climbing through with Kamala behind him, closing it before she followed.

The vent led them to what seemed to be an empty dressing room. Everyone else was already out at the party, enjoying themselves. Kamala bade him goodbye as she left to go take care of the cops on the outer perimeter while Hobie launched himself onto the ceiling and began to crawl towards the ball. As he left the kitchen, he tried his best to stay inconspicuous, staying above the partygoers.

There were so many people that he knew. Mainly people that he absolutely despised. He recognized Otto Octavius, a famous scientist who, although at first had been a good, kind man, had been morphed into another one of Osborne's goons after being introduced to riches that no one but Norman could offer. That was how Osborne made allies after all. He paid them.

He also recognized none other than Captain Stacy. A man who he hated with every part of his soul. The man who'd shot at him numerous times when he was doing nothing more than peacefully protesting. The man who'd killed tens of rioters and innocent civilians while preaching that he was 'London's Protector'. Pathetic.

Hobie began to pick off the many cops standing near the doorways one by one, webbing them to ceiling to shut them up while he moved on to the next one. He badly wanted to give Captain Stacy a taste of his webbing, but he was in the middle of the crowd and Hobie wouldn't have been able to grab him without getting caught. So he stuck to the smaller officers that were farther from the rest.

"I've gotten all the one's on the outer perimeter. I'm gonna go join Karl. Let us know when you're ready" Kamala's voice could be heard on the other end of the ear piece. "Yes ma'am", Hobie replied quietly, keeping his eyes on the last cop near the doorway. He shot a web towards him, quickly pulling him up and slamming him into the ceiling, webbing him up before he could say a word, or worse, fall. 

Thats when he noticed Osborne getting ready to go stand in front of the crowd, dressed in a black suit that was noticeably nicer than everyone else's. Hobie hung down from the ceiling, watching silently as Osborne walked towards the stairs and quickly walked up them, microphone in hand. "Hello everybody!" Cheers erupted from the half-drunk people at the bottom of the makeshift stage. "I hope everyone's been having a grand time!"

Hobie moved to a more discreet area in order to watch the rest of the speech. Once this was over, he'd be able to call the rest of the gang in with the rioters. "Now I'm hoping most of you know what this whole get-together was about. We're here to embrace the return of Captain George Stacy's lovely daughter from her long period of time spent in none other than the beautiful city of Paris. Everyone welcome back, Y/N Stacy!"

Y/N Stacy? Now who could that be? Hobie searched through the crowd, wondering who one of his rival's daughter could've been. And then he saw her. Long, flowy hair, her skin perfectly complimented by that beautiful dress...and those gorgeous eyes. How...? Hobie was awestruck. Could it be? That girl he'd met all those years ago. He felt his hand subconsciously go down to touch that patch on his vest where he'd sewn a piece of that jacket she'd given him all those years ago. It was her.

________________________

Your POV

________________________

"Thank you everybody!" You said with a smile, nodding as Mr. Osborne handed you a glass of red wine. "I'm so glad to be back! I've had a wondrous time in Paris, and I'm so excited to share it with you all!" After you gave a quick little speech and proposed a small toast, you returned to Harry who'd been waiting for you with a sly smile. 

"Did you even prepare for that?" he asked with a laugh, eyes looking over your face as you returned. "Of course not." you replied nonchalantly, taking a sip from your glass. "Load of tosh anyways, half these people are only here for the food. I don't think I recognize more than four or five faces in that crowd."

Harry chuckled. "Well at least you're paraded around. Father doesn't mind nobody knowing who I am."

"Lets not get all gloomy now, Harry." You said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "Enjoy the night!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna go grab more bread." He said with a shake of his head before he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you behind with your glass. You were in the process of mustering up the courage to go introduce yourself to everyone when you heard a noise from behind you.

Thwip.

You turned your head around and strained your ears to see if you could hear that noise again.

Thwip.

The box a couple feet in front of you was knocked over. You looked at it in shock for a moment before you slowly began to approach it to check what'd happened. Maybe it was an animal of some sort?

Thwip.

The noise came again, farther away this time. It was coming from the balcony a few yards away from you. Curious, you began to approach the balcony cautiously, eyes scanning over your surroundings in an attempt to see what could've been making that noise.

"Hello?" You called out quietly. The balcony was empty, as everyone else was busy talking with Mr. Osborne or eating something. As you stepped onto the balcony, you glanced over the edge for a moment. It was a calm night, the breeze just barely chilly and the stars gleaming down onto you, making your skin look like it sparkled. 

Thwip

Suddenly, it felt like something passed right by your head. What looked like a string of spiderweb had shot past your right ear and landed on the edge of the balcony, right above where your arm was leaning against. "What the-" you were cut off by another thwip noise.

This time the web was shot onto your mouth. "Mmm!" You exclaimed, trying to pull it off. Then more web was shot towards you, pinning your arms to the railing. You watched in horror as a masked figure approached you, unable to escape due to the strength of the web holding you down. 

"MmmMmMm!" You said, trying to convince him to let you out of this situation, although there was no way he'd be able to understand what you were saying.

"Calm down, darling. 'mnot gonna hurt you." His voice was deep, with a cockney accent to it. Very different from the posher accent you were used to hearing. As he stepped into the light, you felt a quiet gasp leave your mouth. Spider-man.

"mmMM?" You asked, leaning back slightly as he approached you. You flinched as he reached his hand out toward your face and you watched as he hesitated for a moment before he ripped the web off. "You-you-you" you stuttered, in shock at the man in front of you.

He stayed silent for a moment, as though he was in shock himself. "Hi. I'm Spider-man." 

"I-I know." you said your eyes locked onto the white of his mask.

He stared at you for a moment longer, obviously wanting to say something. But then he shook his head slightly and looked away, hands shoved into his vest pockets. "Are you going to kill me?" You asked, eyes wide.

"Wot?" He looked back at you, taken aback. "o'course not! I wouldn't kill a peng like you."

You looked down at your tied up hands, prompting him to do the same. "Sorry about the webs, but t'was the only way for m' to make sure you didn't run away"

You nodded, still scared out of your wits. "You don't remember me, do you? Well o'course you don't remember me, I have a bloody mask on" he said quickly, turning away from you again. "dumbass" he muttered under his breath.

"excuse me?" You asked, feeling yourself calm down a little bit. He definitely wasn't acting like he was going to kill you. "Not you!" He said quickly, putting his hands in front of him. "Just uh-hi."

You raised your eyebrow at him. He shook his head, "y'know what? Lets start over."

He made a beckoning motion with his hands and approached you again. "What do you want from me?" You asked, looking up at him. He was intimidatingly tall, probably over 6 feet tall, but he was skinny, as though he rarely ate.

"Nothing. I don't want nothing." He said, looking at you. Suddenly, you heard a small crackling noise come from his ear. He placed his palm over his ear and took a step back. "Yeah, yeah I'm ready for you. Just give me another second." He said under his breath.

"Look, listen to me, a'right? Get out of here. Before you get hurt." he told you, leaning in more. "What? Why? What's happening?" You asked, a scared feeling beginning to brew in your stomach. "It doesn't matter. Just trust me and get out of here."

The same crackling noise came from his earpiece. The eyes of his mask widened slightly and he put his hand near yours. He ripped off the web holding you against the railing and took a few steps back. "Just trust me."

You were about to ask him something when he suddenly pulled himself over the railing, leaping off towards the ground. "Wait-" You started to say, but he was already gone. 

Get out of here.

That couldn't be good. You walked back towards the crowd of people, unsure what to do. Should you warn everyone? Should you tell Mr. Osborne? Should you tell Harry?

"Hey, Y/N!" you heard a voice call your name. Harry. "Where were you? I've been searching all over for you-" You grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him closer. "Harry, we need to get out of here!"

"Woah-" he put his hand on top of yours, pulling you off of him gently. "What? What's going on?" he asked, looking down at you concernedly. "Somethings going to happen and I don't know what but I know we should leave-" you started to ramble, practically begging for him to believe you.

"Alright, alright" he said, putting his hands on your shoulders to calm you down. "I'll call up a cab. We can go."

"But everyone else-" you started to say.

The entrance doors opened abruptly. Standing in the entrance was a large group of what looked like protestors, holding signs and whatnot, slowly entering. They were led by a man in a red white and blue suit, not the Spider-man suit, but one that made him look more like a soldier. Captain Anarchy. 

It was a riot.

You were about to repeat yourself to Harry when you felt him grab your arm and start pulling you towards the exit. "We gotta get out of here" he said quickly, gently gripping your hand. As the rioters poured in, the few cops left began to try to deal with them, pulling out their guns and their batons. "Oh god I can't watch" You said under your breath, looking away as you and Harry joined the group of people scrambling towards the exit.

You caught a glimpse of Mr. Osborne, calling for backup. He looked livid.

As you were pulled along with the rest of the crowd, you could hear shouting and screaming coming from behind you. The rioters and the cops were fighting furiously, the protestors being accompanied by numerous 'superheroes' and the cops being joined by the backup Osborne had called for. V.E.N.O.M. soldiers.

When you left through the exit with Harry, the last thing you saw was one of those 'soldiers' being smacked in the face with a certain guitar, catching sight of that same flash of red and blue, that same leather vest, that same mask that had had you tied against the balcony railing before.

Your not-so-friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

Tags:

@s6onder @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @@vileviale @bubble787635 @hows-my-handwriting @puff-hugs

[myemotionalsupportcharacters]

Somebody I Used to Know

Abby Anderson X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: smut, trauma, implied PTSD

Friends to Enemies to Lovers Arc

A/n: did this turn out three times longer than I meant it to be? Yes. Is it edited? Barely. Enjoy!

It had been years now since Salt Lake, but some things hadn’t changed.

Abby still avoided you in the halls, had you assigned to patrols she didn’t want to go on, glared you down in the canteen as you made your way to their table. Having a sworn enemy is hard when you share the same friend group.

You had been thick as thieves growing up. Abby’s dad had become yours when you turned up at the hospital running from a group of bad guys that had managed to kill your parents before you slipped away. You had begun to show signs of starvation, bloody and bruised, clutching a large knife with both hands as soldiers had to subdue you to get you inside.

When you woke up, she was there: changing the wash cloth on your head, all but forcing a glass of water down you as they tried to break your fever. Inseparable since that moment, you did everything together. You found his body together.

She wouldn’t let you go when they dragged you out of the room and onto a truck. Sobbing, pounding her fists into your back as you helped them drag her away.

In the back of the truck, red rimmed eyes and a firm scowl, she looked up at you.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to make him pay.” Your throat constricted, chest burned, and all you could do was nod and clutch her tightly to your chest.

It was a few days later when she brought it up again. Laying in sleeping bags on a hard concrete floor, she rolled over to you.

“Y/N, you awake?” You rolled over to face her, barely illuminated by the moonlight breaking through the rotting roof panels. “I was serious. I’m going to track him down, and I’m going to kill him. You’ll come with me, right?”

“Abby, I miss him so much.” Tears filled your eyes, tipping over the edge and trailing at an awkward angle down your face. “I don’t know if I could do that. I don’t think he would want that for you…” she rolled over in her bag before you could finish, face hardened.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

She didn’t talk to you again, betrayed by her closest confidant. How could you not see that this was her only option? Her only way to heal, to honour him?

For the first year, you approached her in the halls, included her in conversation, and was always met with cold silence and a flat glare. She slipped even further away when she started dating Owen. You had always known they would end up together at some point, but you couldn’t have imagined how insufferable he would become when they did.

Every opportunity he had his hands on her, poking and teasing, whispering in her ear. You watched as she swooned and giggled like a little girl, turning away from the sight and doing your best to ignore them. The resentment grew. It wasn’t just him anymore, it was her too. She had replaced you, with him.

Then came the Bonfire Incident (as it was known in the group). You had been buzzing about it for a month. Isaac had finally given the go ahead for a small celebration for the patrol squads after the new territory was secured. You would christen the new ground with a good ol’ fashioned bonfire, complete with barbecue and bootleg liquor.

The best part, Lexi was going. You had a small crush on her, and had heard through a mutual friend that she thought you were pretty. You had high hopes. All hopes were confirmed when she dragged you off to a dark section of trees, toting a bottle of smuggled whiskey she found on patrol. You drank, flirted and eventually, she had you pinned against a tree, tongue in your mouth and a hand down your pants.

“Fuck, yes, there.” You panted, leaning your head back against the tree as she dug two fingers into just the right spot and ground the heel of her hand against your throbbing clit. “Shit, so close.” Her lips dragged across your collarbone, and up your neck. A rustle caught your attention, and you tipped your head to the side, catching Abby sneaking between the trees. She stopped, holding your eye contact, expression switching quickly from caught to determined. Her jaw tightened and twitched, thick arms folding across her chest as she watched the scene unfold.

You held her gaze, letting out one final moan as you contracted around Lexi’s fingers, cumming so hard it took your breath away and made your toes tingle. Abby never looked away. Lexi moaned into your neck.

“So fuckin tight, doll. Bet you taste as sweet as you sound.” You looked around as she gently pulled her fingers from you, leaving you empty and pulsing. She brought her fingers up to your mouth, and your jaw dropped open. She placed them gently on your tongue, and you lapped up your own juices. “You’re so fucking hot.” She pulled her fingers away and pressed a quick hot kiss to your lips.

“What do you say we finish this later?” You asked, pulling away.

“Whatever you say, hun. You coming?” She pulled the whiskey back up to her lips, taking a swig.

“Just gonna straighten myself out.” Lexi winked, walking away. Once she was far enough, you turned to face Abby still leaning against the tree.

Abby stepped back out from the tree she had taken cover behind.

“The fuck was that?”

“Aw, Abby, Owen not taking care of you?” Abby let out a mocking laugh.

“I meant your choice in partner. Seriously? Lexi?”

“What’s wrong with Lexi?” You defended, folding your own arms over your chest.

“Nothing, nothing.” Abby held her hands up. “Just thought you had better taste than that.”

“Since when did my taste in women have anything to do with you, Anderson? Especially considering your own clear lack of judgement.” Abby’s face hardened.

“Fuck you.”

“You wish you could, Anderson. I’m just not sure you could keep up.” You pushed off the tree, reaching down to zip up your pants as you stalked back to the fire, leaving her in the dark.

You only found out the next morning that Owen had broken things off three days prior.

You felt awful, but pushed it down. She had spent the past couple years treating you like shit, and the one time you returned the favour, you suddenly felt guilty?

You shook it off, and returned to the normal routine. Until today.

You headed to the armoury, opening your locker and pulling out a slightly battered sniper rifle, a 9mm, and restocking your pockets with ammo. Pulling on your pack, you headed out back and hopped onto your assigned truck. You pulled a small book out your sack, and waited as everyone got loaded on.

It was tradition by now, everyone had learned you didn’t partake in the pre-shit show banter and chatter. You read, you shot, and then you chilled.

“The fuck is this?” You didn’t look up when you heard her voice. “No, Manny she shouldn’t be here.” You heard shuffling as Manny pulled Abby aside and talked her down. A couple minutes later she hopped onto the back of the truck and sat as far down the bench as possible.

“Apparently I’m covering your ass today.” Abby grunted, and you flipped to the next page. Tony chuffed, and looked over at Abby.

“She doesn’t talk before runs. Or during actually.”

“The fuck…” You tuned out Abby grumbling, zoning into your book until you felt Manny clap you on the shoulder.

“It’s time.” You nodded, stowing your book and standing. You followed him into the building, ignoring the gunshots that covered your entrance. You made your way to rooftop, Abby moving silently in your wake. Busting the door open, you quickly made your way to the edge, and began setting up the rifle. Abby stuck by the door, and you let out a chuff of your own.

“Heights.” You remembered. “Are you going to be able to do this?” You called to her.

“I’m fine. Worry about yourself.” Abby turns her back, focusing on the doorway.

Half an hour later and the street below was littered with corpses of runners and Scars alike. The Scars had come first, pushed out of hiding by the runners, all part of Isaac’s brilliant plan. The silencer on sniper mostly concealed your location, Abby had been stationed just incase any managed to slip through the building clearing or the first defence line. You had spent the whole time with your eye to the scope, all other sounds or distractions tuned out.

“All clear, fuck!” Manny came to a halt at the doorway. You hauled yourself up from the ground, disassembling the rifle, and packing it back up. You turned to see the pile of bodies Abby had left. Three scar, one much larger than the others, and five clickers. Abby was sat leaning against an air duct, rewrapping the bandages around her knuckles and wrist, a deep gouge oozing blood down the left side of her face.

“You’re welcome.” She grunts in your direction, standing and grabbing her rucksack.

“Thanks.” You returned, straight faced.

Abby stares at you for a moment, then laughs and stalks away. Manny looks between you, before following Abby.

The truck was silent on the ride back, two people lighter than on the way out. You sat, staring at the floor, ignoring Abby’s eyes on you. She had seen it when she got to the ground floor. The devastation you had left in your wake. At least four times the amount of her own kills. You had seen the way she looked at you as you got onto the truck. She hadn’t realised what living at WLF had turned you into, she hadn’t been paying attention. She’d never seen the look in your eyes after a run, hollow and empty. Hadn’t thought about why you didn’t want to talk about what went down on runs with the group, why everyone but your friend group tended to eye you as you walked down the halls. They’d fashioned you into a killer, and stollen the light that used to shine in your eyes. They’d done the same thing to her.

The showers were running hot that day, the fog they created obscuring her vision slightly as she watched you. You stood under the hot water, head tipped back, eyes shut as tears camouflaged with the water. Behind you eyes, a movie of your killing spree played out like pantomime. You saw each of them go down, saw their lives up until that point play out until the moment your bullet found them. Then you scrubbed it all away, and drifted back to your room with raw skin, and blurry eyes.

The knock came not long after.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk, but…please let me in.” You paused, hand over the handle, before you opened the door and walked away. You sat on the small couch and gestured to the coffee table. Abby sat, legs spread wide, leaning forward on her knees.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and you pulled your knees to your chest, suddenly feeling vulnerable in your pj shorts and sports bra. “I’m sorry for ignoring you, I’m sorry for leaving you alone, I’m sorry for putting you on the shit patrol runs. I’m sorry for everything, fuck, Y/N.” She runs her hands over her face, finally looking up to see your vacant eyes staring back. “I’m sorry for scaring all those girls off when they tried to talk to you. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. All of it, I fucked it all up… Somewhere in her rambling, your eyes hardened, became piercing. She watched you reassemble yourself, piece by piece, shut down and toughen into something else.

“You should go.” You cut her off. Her breath caught, noticed the way your fingers tightened around your calves, your breath became stilted. Suddenly you shot off the couch, moving towards the door. “Get out. Now!” You were on the edge, about to slip and the last thing you needed was Abby fucking Anderson witnessing you crumble. She stood, walking over to you. A breath wheezed in your chest, hands shaking, you recoiled away from her.

“Y/n…”

“Please. Leave.” The gasp that left you seemed to puncture the bubble around you, as your knees gave way and she caught you. She shoved the door closed, and pulled you into her lap, feeling you shake and gasp. Her arms coiled around your back, hands rubbing soothingly up and down your spine, letting you bury your head in her shoulder. “I hate you.” You whimpered into her, arms in a vice grip around her shoulders, nails digging into her shoulder blades.

“I know, I don’t blame you.” She sighs, pushing her head into your neck, rocking you back and forth. Slowly, your breathing returned to normal, body becoming limp. You pulled back, moving a hand to the side of her face as you looked down into big blue eyes almost as wet as your own.

“Don’t leave me again.”

“Never.” Abby sucked in a quick breath before pushing her lips to yours. It was gentle, tender as she waited to see how you reacted. She expected a slap, for you to crawl away, hurl the lamp at her. Instead you pressed yourself closer, hand moving to the back of her neck, tilting her head up and slanting so you fit together perfectly.

It got messy quickly, panted breaths and wet tongues. Somewhere between kisses her hands dropped to your hips, gripping and pulling. She groaned when she felt your hips roll against her, bucking up to press closer. The second time she did it, you let out a whimper that almost made her heart stop.

“Fuck, you make such pretty sounds.” She groaned, dropping her lips to your neck, down to your collar bone. You pulled back, tugging off the sports bra, and watching as she quickly wrapped her lips around a nipple. A hazy mix of tongue and teeth had your eyes rolling back.

“I want you so bad.”

“You’ve got me, I’m right here.” Abby shifted, laying you gently on the floor and trailing hot lips down your torso. She had your pjs and panties pulled down around your ankles before you could process the cold air that goose bumped your skin. She pushed your knees apart and up, latching to the soft skin of your inner thigh, teasing her tongue around the very edges of you. She teased until your hips were bucking up and your groans turned to whimpers before she ran her tongue over you.

“Fuck, you do taste sweet.” She groaned, delving back in to part your lips with her tongue before wrapping around your clit, licking and sucking until you were keening and begging for more. She teased a finger at your entrance, feeling the way you tried to suck her in, looking up to see watery eyes looking back at her. As your mouth parted to beg, she slipped a finger in gently, your head dropped back and hands shot to her head.

With hands full of her braid you pulled her closer, feeling her finger curl inside you, triggering a pulse so tight it rippled up through your abdomen. Her finger moved gently as she sucked your clit harshly into her mouth, flicking her tongue over the sensitive bud until your whimpers turned back into full out moans.

“So close, Abs.” You cried, hips wriggling as you tried to find the right spot to tip you over the edge. Abby slipped another finger inside, curling up again and speeding up slightly. She flattened her tongue, and the added pressure launched you over. “Fuck!” Your back arched almost painfully as your legs shook beside her head, she slowed, letting you ride out your high, hips jolting slightly.

Once she was sure you were done, she gently eased out and away from you, running her hands up your sides, and picking you up from the hard floor. She cradled you in her arms, placing a kiss on your forehead before settling you on your bed.

You were still floating as she tucked you under the covers, pulling her pants off and getting in beside you. She pulled you to her, and you nuzzled into her chest.

“I’m never leaving you again.” She placed another tender kiss onto your hairline, stoking your hair as you drifted off to sleep, a soft smile curling your lips.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

These prompts have snowballed into an ongoing series following the beloved Fem!medic!oc trope (written via 1st person reader with no real descriptors). They're in chronological order, and I've tried to make sure to mention if any earlier works in particular are referenced in each one.

If there is a trigger warning that you are concerned about but want to enjoy the story, please please please reach out! In many instances I can alter snip-its or tone things down, or at least highlight the sections in question so you can avoid them (I could do a vague summary for continuity).

Also, these stories are getting added to Ao3 via Monday updates. I'm not dumping them all at once, but you're welcome to pop on over if you prefer that format - just don't forget to drop a kudos/comment!

Touch Starved - Echo - The new medic catches Echo hiding a strained shoulder and gives him a much needed massage.

Warnings: Pretty mild – some cussing, a bit of angst, otherwise just a lot of comfort via a much needed massage

Round 2 with Echo! - just a soft second massage because I wanted to write it - Warnings: Body dysphmorphia from prosthetic limbs, angst, some anxiety/tension from a thigh massage

TS Ch 2 - Hunter - Doc convinces Hunter to let her help him through a tension headache.

Warnings: Tension headache, no real warnings - just another much needed massage

TS Ch 3 - Wrecker - An innocent request leads Doc to a horrifying discovery that she's quick to remedy.

Warnings: Reference to child neglect/ starvation, star wars cursing

TS Ch 4 – Tech - Left alone on the Marauder while the others retrieve a replacement part, Doc and Tech discuss the local culture while Tech works on mechanical upgrades. The unfortunate side effects of his poor posture prompt Doc to step in with a helping hand.

Warnings: Discussion of cultural/religious differences, joking reference to reverse harem, touch aversion, medical language

TS Ch5 – Crosshair - Fed up with Crosshair's dismissal of her help after a nearly disastrous escape, Doc finally snaps.

Warnings: Maybe light arachnophobia? Cursing, yelling, brief mention of injection

Flinching - OC&TBB - Doc has a dangerous near-encounter while away from the boys. They aren't pleased when they find out.

Warnings: Reference to attempted SA, reference to physical assault, some cursing, borderline panic attack.

F Ch 2 - OC&Echo - Echo patches Doc up after her attack.

Warnings: Reference to attempted SA, reference to physical assault, some cursing, wound care, energy crash from excessive bacta use, non-intimate undressing, some self-deprecating thoughts

F Ch 3 - OC&TBB - Doc tries to lighten the mood en route to speaking with her superior officers.

Warnings: Mostly fluff, but still some reference to attempted SA, reference to physical assault, reference to victim blaming

F Ch 4 - OC&TBB - After the grueling retelling, Doc has a brief talk with Cody regarding her place in the GAR before finally returning to learn that her squad has a surprise for her.

Warnings: Summarized attempted SA, reference to physical assault, reference to victim blaming. The first half is heavy, not gonna lie, but there's nothing explicit.

Muzzled - Crosshair - Crosshair is captured by Separatist forces. Though brief, his time imprisoned left him in need of help.

Warnings: Some light medical jargon and an injection, a bit of cussing, kinda muzzle/gag duo complete with saliva

M Ch 2 - Crosshair - Hiding an injury rarely ever ends well. Luckily, Doc notices something is still wrong.

Warnings: This one's gone some proper medical procedures - gore/blood/injections. Adult language. Good bit of guilt and angst.

TS Ch1.5.5 (because Cross needs more attention) - Crosshair - Nothing's easy with Crosshair, but after a joke goes too far, he and Doc manage to find a deeper trust in each other.

Warnings: More cursing, panic attack

Knife to Throat - OC&TBB - Doc is blindsided by a grief-maddened civilian.

Warnings: Blood and cursing. Kinda flirting with death a bit, and some light fluff that goes with it. Knife wound and subsequent medical procedures.

Soft Words - Hunter - A Separatist outpost sets a cruel trap for Hunter. The Doc tries to keep him sane until rescue comes.

Warnings: Went very heavy in the whump with this one – sound torture, imprisonment, mild language

Secrets Revealed – OC&TBB - An unexpected EMP forces Doc to reveal aspects of their past that could well turn the batch against them. (Censored version for those uncomfortable with heavy gore)

Warnings: Explicit details of severe injury – blood/gore, language, panic attacks, angst, PTSD flashbacks, self-depreciation, offhand reference to minor character death. This one hits a lot of potentially triggering topics pretty intensely and is fueled from a very dark place I was in with my own injury. Be kind to yourself. Healing is a nonlinear process.

Made to Watch - OC&TBB - Doc becomes the subject of torture in an attempt to force intel from Hunter.

Warnings: Get yuh whump here! Fresh, violent whump! Explicit details of torture and physical injuries, blood and minor gore, broken bones, near death, language.

Panic - Echo - A quiet discussion between Doc and Hunter is delayed when Echo has a nightmare. Doc tries to ease him through it, resulting in a fun bit of shared taunts with Crosshair the following morning.

Warnings: Nightmare-induced panic attack. Non-intimate bed sharing. Fictional curses (does that need a warning?), sexual innuendo

No Anesthesia (Extra per request) – OC&TBB – Wrecker’s overzealous efforts to destroy a building lead to Doc getting pinned in a dire situation.

Warnings: Very heavy whump in this one, with a couple moments of descriptive gore and medical procedures, impalement, difficulty breathing, near death, cursing. TW: claustrophobia

Found Footage - OC&TBB – A pleasant moment at 79s is shattered when someone tries to blackmail doc with footage of the crash on Agamar.

Warnings: Huge PTSD warning here. Flashbacks, disassociating, past injury description, blackmail, grief, angst, some alcohol use (social, not abuse), cursing

Difficulty Breathing – Medic OC&Wrecker- During a mission in a cave, Doc realizes she didn't come out of the rubble of that building with only physical scars, but is determined to push through.

Warnings: Big Claustrophobia warning. and Bats. Ptsd, panic attack. That's about it for this one!

DB Ch 2 - OC&Wrecker - Wrecker and Doc face additional challenges in their attempt to reach the surface.

Warnings: Heights, bats, mild gore, drowning, near death, hypothermia

DB Ch 3 - OC&TBB- When Hunter reveals what really prompted the cave beasts to attack, Doc is faced with an impossible decision.

Warnings: hypothermia recovery, thought of mortality (no character deaths), extreme guilt/angst/self doubt. Talked of wartime casualties. Dis one do be pretty tense, sooo prepare yourselves I guess

Fever – Tech - Tension are high after Doc's discussion with Commander Cody, but when Tech is exposed to a certain fungus, she doesn't hesitate to help.

Warnings: Angst, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores.

Fever - Tech Pt 2 - The effects of the spores quickly wear off, rending Tech into a severe withdrawal.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, sense of impeding doom, high fever, vomiting, delirium-induced violence, strangulation, cursing, needles/IV

Fever - Tech Pt 3 - Crosshair and Echo take a moment to remind Doc that she needs to take care of herself, too, as Tech continues fighting through the effects of withdrawal.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, needles/IV, seizures, light angst

Fever - Tech Pt 4 - Hunter and Wrecker each spend time helping Doc tend their brother.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, needles/IV, paranoia induced violence, blood, broken nose, vomiting, dry heaves, mild sexual tension

Fever - Tech Pt 5 - Things get worse before they get better.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, needles/IV, angst, fear of death/decommissioning

Fever - Tech Pt 6 - Finally through the worst of it, everyone is allotted a moment to breathe before returning to Kamino.

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, reference to vomiting, delirium induced violence, guilt

More then Skin Deep - Wrecker - Doc notices something about Wrecker while training and offers her help.

Warnings: Light sexual tension, reference to past injury, disabilities and light prejudice from appearance - It's mostly just some softness fluff.

"Not Gonna Believe This" - Doc & Tbb - Chow time on Kamino dissolves into chaos in the wake of thoughtless words.

Warnings: Fighting, broken nose, blood, light medical procedures, mild guilt, bit of sexual tension, reference to bullying

Arrows (Special Request) - Doc - A brief moment of peace precedes a mission doomed to misfortune.

Warnings: Bone/joint injury, some PTSD, brief insect creature, mild sexual tension (when isn't there with these guys)

Arrows - Doc Pt 2 - Rapid medical care is given, but it offered little reprieve.

Warnings: Bone/joint injury, profanity, vomiting, heavy whump, medical procedures, needles

Arrows - Doc Pt 3 - Medication offers some relief before the team splits up to retrieve a cure.

Warnings: This one's pretty mild - descriptions of pain, some guilt... I think that's about it

Arrows - Doc Pt 4 - Doc continues to decline as the others race to get back with the cure.

Warnings: Near death, vague drowning (kinda?), reference to light medical procedures, some guilt and profanity

Breaking Point - Doc - Sent to Devaron under the guise of a med-leave, Doc and the boys get a chance to relax, and Doc learns a disturbing truth of Crosshair’s specialty.

Warnings: Vague, cryptic warnings, moral dilemma over assassination, mild tension

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 2 - The squad enjoys the remainder of that day on the lake before finally fulfilling the real reason they were sent there.

Warnings: Sexual tension galore, mild brotherly bullying, profanity, mild body dismorphia regarding prosthetics, assassination, minor character death, blood, guilt, angst, horrors of war

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 3 - Doc struggles with the aftermath of Crosshair's mission.

Warnings: Intense descriptions of grief and guilt. Heavy angst.

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 4 (Explicit) - Doc and Crosshair find an escape in each other. (Click Here for the Censored Version)

Warnings: Guys. It's smut (unless you opt for the censored version, then it's steamy kisses and implied sex). In fact, it's inappropriate use of sex to cope with grief. See tag for explicit version's detailed warnings, profanity, and dread/guilt

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 5 - Before she can deal with the ramifications of her actions, Doc seeks out Crosshair for answers.

Warnings: Non-explicit sex scene, profanity, and dread/guilt - might offer an explicit chapter later, but it wasn't important to the scene, so I didn't go into it this time

Breaking Point - Doc Pt 6 - Tensions are high about the squad as they struggle to accept changing dynamics.

Warnings: Vague reference to sex/ sexual innuendoes, profanity, and more dread/guilt

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 1 - Tensions are still high as the squad attempts to prepare for their next mission.

Warnings: Lots of heavy emotions in this one - angst, guilt, angry, blame, got some profanity in there, and reference to child soldiers kinda

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 2 - A brief distraction from Crosshair offers little comfort once the mission actually starts.

Warnings: Some sexual tension, mild making out, severe anxiety, profanity, war typical violence, and some gory killing

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 3 - Doc shows just how far she's willing to go to save her men.

Warnings: It dark. Ye be warned. Torture. Blood. Broken/dislocated bones. Disassociation. Stabbing. Big profanity warning. Murder.

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 4 - They escape the planet before Doc's actions finally catch up with her.

Warnings: Reference to bone trauma, blood, vomit, disassociation, medical procedures, guilt, angst, needles

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 5 - Doc has a couple conversations that have been held off for too long.

Warnings: Nightmares, guilt, reference to torture/gore, reference to murder/assassination, profanity

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Doc Pt 6 - Doc has the chance to reconnect with most of her squad before plans change.

Warnings: Mild PTSF, guilt, reference to torture/gore, profanity, heated kissing

You'll Have to Go Through Me - Xtra Scene - Crosshair and Echo have a chat.

Warnings: Just some standard guilt, angst, and regret, along with a little sprinkling of profanity.

Identity - Doc Pt 1 - Awkward goodbyes precede the beginning to Doc's secretive mission.

Warnings: Nothing serious - some cursing, a bit of sexual tension/heavy kissing, and some tension in general. Well, lots of tension in general

Identity - Doc Pt 2 - Doc reconnects with her old squad.

Warnings: Brotherly fighting, talk of hunting, nightmares with reference to gore/torture, heavy tension, profanity

Identity - Doc Pt 3 - After a final chat with the 104th, Doc enters the gala.

Warnings: Brotherly bullying, varying degrees of dread, unwanted advances (between two women, though I want to be clear: the 'unwanted' aspect is not due to gender), profanity, brief descriptions of gore and burns, needles, brief description of dead bodies

Identity - Doc Pt 4 - The gala starts of well enough...

Warnings: torture, waterboarding, drowning, interrogation, panic, panic attack, flashbacks, self-blame, giving up, longing for death, temporary insanity, arguably inappropriate use of sedation, guilt, profanity, intense whump

Identity - Doc Pt 5 - Her old squad struggles in the aftermath of the gala.

Warnings: Minor flashbacks/PTSD, reference to torture, loads of guilt and tension, otherwise mostly just fluff and angst

Identity - 99 & 104th Pt 6 - Crosshair demands answers from the remaining members of the 104th.

Warnings: Big emotions in this - rage, guilt, blame, and the like. There do be a bit of fighting, but it's not gory. Brief description of water torture. Profanity

Identity - Doc Pt 7 - The debrief with Cody doesn't go well.

Warnings: Flashbacks/PTSD, description of torture, loads of angst, reference to gore, profanity, self-deprecating thoughts

Identity - Doc Pt 8 - After composing herself, Doc finally returns to her squad.

Warnings: Honestly, aside from the standard guilt and regret, this chapter is mostly fluff

An Ode to Artists - Doc/Crosshair Pt 1 - The squad is sent on a mission with the sole intent of being granted a moment of peace.

Warnings: This arc will mostly be fluffy stuff, but there will be references to past torture here and there. This one has some flashbacks, profanity, and loads of emotions like guilt, fear, anger, and general angst, as well some brief mention of wanting to die (not SI - with relation to ending torture), and I supposed some dependency

An Ode to Artists - Doc/Crosshair Pt 2 - A soft morning precedes an important chat.

Warnings: Kissing in bed with some light sexual tension if you squint, then right back into the good ol' hard emotions: self blame, guilt, anxiety; reference to torture, Crosshair being Crosshair, I think there's some light profanity, too

An Ode to Artists - Doc/Crosshair Pt 3 - The squad lands on Alderaan.

Warnings: sexual tension, mild ptsd

An Ode to Artists - Doc/Crosshair Pt 4 (Explicit) - Doc and Crosshair finally enjoy some isolation. (Click here for the censored version)

Warnings: Um... so, it's over 8k of smut. Unprotected PiV, oral (m & f receiving), light teasing, profanity

An Ode to Artists - Doc/Crosshair Pt 5 - Wrecker is shown a moment of the kindness he deserves, and Echo and Doc have a chat

Warnings: reference to sex but nothing explicit. Profanity. Some of the usual, heavy emotions (guilt, dread, etc). This one's pretty calm

Fool's Errand - Hunter Pt 1 - Plans never survive first contact with the enemy.

Warnings: Back to some good, ol' whump here. Minor ptsd, blood, broken nose, needles, profanity

Fool's Errand - Hunter Pt 2 - Doc patches up Hunter while Echo tries to coordinate with Tech and Wrecker to escape.

Warnings: Medical procedures, broken nose, blood, needles, profanity

Fool's Errand - Hunter Pt 3 - Echo and Doc race to get Hunter out of the prison.

Warnings: Suspense, profanity, dread, mild PTSD, mention of blood, reference to medical procedures

Fool's Errand - TBB Pt 4 - Doc races to rescue her squadmates.

Warnings: decent bit of cursing, blood, needles, minor body horror, some ptsd/ minor flashbacks, dislocated knee

Fool's Errand - TBB Pt 5 - The worst injuries are tended to first.

Warnings: fair bit of medical procedures in this one: blood, needles, big needle, body horror, brief mention of child prisoner

Fool's Errand - TBB Pt 6 - The flight back is mostly quiet.

Warnings: reference to previous medical procedures (blood/ needles), wound cleaning, some, uh, tension, child trauma

Fool's Errand - TBB Pt 7 - Doc starts trying to fix things.

Warnings: impatience toward a child (kinda? I mean, yuh know... Crosshair), guilt, medical procedure/ gore, fantasy profanity (that warning always makes me giggle), sexual innuendo ish, gonna also add romantic tension because it's not really sexual tension, self-depreciating thoughts, body horror

Fool's Errand - TBB Pt 8 - Doc tends to Hunter.

Warnings: wound care, Doc's a bit thirsty in this one, so, some sexual tension, mutism, child with mutism, aftermath of torture, blood, medical procedure

Flowers - Doc x Crosshair - Fluffy prompt for Clone x Reader Bingo (set a couple arcs ahead of Breaking Point)

Warnings: none really - just has a fluffy kiss

I Missed You, Too - Doc x Crosshair - Another fluff fic for Clone x Reader Bingo (a couple arcs after You'll Have to Go Through Me)

Warnings: Crosshair being Crosshair, but he's really a softy. Snuggling in bed. Probably one of the least Warning-heavy things I've written

Doc's Tales with the 104th

Recommended reading Found Footage first though these will take place before Doc joins CF99.

First Impressions - The wolf pack get their first real meeting with Doc.

Warnings: vague bugs

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Tw child abuse (starvation)

.

I've seen the idea of what if Kenji was chosen to be transferred to the Port Mafia.

And honestly, I can see it.

Chuuya says they're looking for anyone with a handy ability. And everyone in the Port Mafia knows of Kenji's strength.

He's the Armed Detective Agency's brute force gifted for a reason. Kenji has defeated their elite squads without trying.

He routinely throws the Black Lizards out of windows when they fail to raid the Agency.

The only people who can stand up to Kenji's strength are Chuuya and the Hunting Dogs.

Kenji might be one of the kindest people in the show but we also know there's darkness within him. Kenji has a rage form and went along with the plan to kill Mori.

Not to mention everyone in Yokohama is terrified of angering Kenji.

He's someone the Port Mafia would be interested in.

And well, he's young he's someone they can easily exploit. Kenji would go willingly if it meant saving his friends.

Who's to say the Port Mafia aren't aware of the incident in his past. And wouldn't use it against him, to bring out the rage within him.

Really makes me worried about the whole hungry aspect of Kenji's ability, because they would straight up starve him.

They would use food as a way to control him, to control his ability.

Not like the Port Mafia would be against torturing or bringing children into their ranks.

Would be cool if Kenji ends up being trained by Chuuya. Given he's the only one who can match his strength.

And how he'd try and keep his optimism sunny attitude.

To be undefeated by the rain when you're drowning in it.

[skellymom]

"THE PLATFORM"

THE BAD BATCH CROSSHAIR FICLET

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

Word Count: 628

Background: The story we didn't get of Crosshair's trials and tribulations while being left on the Kamino platform. (This ficlet may eventually be included as a future installment to my long running TBB OC series "Vagabonds". To read it:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/738467105361494016/vagabonds?source=share

Warning: Swearing, fear, physical pain, starvation, dehydration, Star Wars Canon violence.

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

Crosshair opened his swollen, burning eyes to the intense Kamino sun.  The sea spanned for miles around the platform.  The ruins of his home poked out of ocean.  It had stopped smoldering days ago.   

There had been NO rain since his brothers and Omega left him behind. 

No fresh water to quench his thirst.  Only his urine.   

Did his brothers DISPISE him so much as to NOT leave at least a canteen of water and some rations??? 

An exhausted, deep HATE rose in Crosshair.  He should have shot Hunter square between the eyes when he had the chance...except the kid would have seen it... 

...and his squad would have killed him outright.   

I deserve it...I’M A FUCKING FAILURE.  My brothers are gone...forever... 

He’d cry...if he could produce tears... 

Crosshair’s hunger was only abated after shooting down the occasional sea bird, feasting upon the body and drinking its blood. 

Fishing was impossible...as he was constantly being watched... 

...by the Saber Jaw trolling around the platform in the waters below. 

It’s large eye, the only thing poking above the surface, keeping tabs on ole Crossy. 

He initially watched it swimming around the wreckage, looking for bodies left after the Empire bombed Kamino City. 

Now it was coming for him.  Crosshair closed his eyes and wished for a quick death soon.  Baking in the hot Kamino sun until he died of dehydration was excruciating. 

Hours later a distant hum had Cross open one dry eye.  It was difficult to see.  Everything was a blur. 

The sound, now louder, slowly become a roar. 

His eyes strained to look skyward, but the glare blinded. 

A shadow fell over him, as the craft descended onto the platform. 

About KRIFFING TIME the Empire showed up...   

Although Crosshair was unsure if it truly was a ship...or mirage. 

The platform shook slightly as the craft landed.  Then the engine died.  Sounds of a gangplank opening.  Footsteps... 

Please make it ANY other officer.  I can’t STAND Forcedamned Cockstain Rampart’s uppity-assed voice. 

An image flashed across Crosshair’s mind: mustering the last of his strength to blast Rampart to bits AND have the stormtroopers shoot him out of his misery...at the same time. 

Crosshair smiled and giggled dryly.  

The footsteps stopped. 

“Would give the WHOLE galaxy if that smile were for US” 

Crosshair’s eyes popped wide open.  He jerked up on one elbow swinging Firepuncher up to sniper’s position. 

He attempted to swallow nervously...but he had no saliva... 

...Hunter stood meters away, intensely staring at Crosshair.  The words didn’t match the action.  Instead, Hunter emanated anger and hurt. 

He’s FUCKING with ME!  Coming back to torment!!! 

Echo and Wrecker flanked each side of the Marauder’s gangplank.  Their weapons weren’t raised but they held them ready just in case. 

Cross could barely see Tech’s head inside the Marauder.  Everything far away was a blur.  

Hunter turned them against me!  All for that kid... 

...AND THERE SHE WAS! 

Omega had slipped out of the Marauder, following Hunter. 

Crosshair growled and ground his teeth in rage.   

“I TOLD YOU TO TAKER HER AWAY SOMEWHERE!” 

Hunter blinked at the sound, his teeth on edge. 

Omega stopped in her tracks; eyes wide. 

“AND YOU BROUGHT HER BACK HERE AGAIN!” 

Crosshair kept on spewing more anger, hurt, and delirious vitriol.  While Hunter was intensely hurt and angry at his brother, there was concern.  Cross’ high emotional stress, severe dehydration and starvation drove his eyes to roll back...causing a loss of bodily control. Crosshair fought unconsciousness... 

...causing his finger to pull the trigger. 

Firepuncher jumped in Crosshair’s grasp.  It jerked him back to consciousness. 

Hunter barely had time to duck.  The bolt flew past his temple, shearing free the bandana from his head...and a few locks of hair. 

Crosshair stared in horror at what he just did... 

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

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[fleurb1ue]

my few choptop hcs

He likes to sing (and has a good voice for it) but won’t admit it. If asked why, he’ll make up an excuse that he stopped having interest or says singing is too “girly”. However, the real reason he doesn’t sing anymore is because it reminds him of his mama. 

When they were younger, Bobby would sing lullabies or his favorite songs to Bubba to help him fall asleep. 

Chop Top was drafted to the war before his grandfather quit working at the slaughterhouse. During his tour in Vietnam, an incident occurred causing him to separate from his squad while in combat. Stranded and unsure when help will come, Bobby had to survive on his own for a few days. 

On the brink of starvation, he loses his sanity by resorting to cannibalism; karma strikes back at him with a machete to his skull. 

Chop secretly likes to cross-dress, sometimes he and Bubba will go all out by roleplaying as different family members at the dinner table.

Bobby would be the wine aunt, Bubba the grandmother, and Nubbins doesn’t mind being the husband (the unfortunate victim would be his wife). Drayton doesn’t join bc he thinks it’s stupid.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Hemant Mehta at Friendly Atheist:

Over the past few weeks, a couple of the children of Christian hate-preacher Steven Anderson have gone public about the physical abuse they suffered growing up. Given that Anderson routinely tells Christians to marry young and have as many kids as possible, the revelation that abuse may be rampant in his own home isn’t as much shocking as it is long overdue.

Who is Steven Anderson?

If you’re not familiar with Anderson, he’s someone with a long history of saying vile things. The Tempe, Arizona-based preacher celebrated the deaths of murdered LGBTQ people and called on the government to execute gay people with a firing squad. Anderson’s sermons have been so outrageously awful that 34 countries won’t allow him to step foot within their borders. His acolytes include Jonathan Shelley and Aaron Thompson, both of whom I spoke with this past summer. More than anything, he’s the de facto leader of a movement called the New Independent Fundamentalist Baptists. New IFB preachers are, on paper, all about following the word of God as written in the KJV translation. In reality, they spend their time gleefully trashing LGBTQ people, Jews, “effeminate” men, and everyone else they deem heretics.

[...]

The troubling posts from Isaac Anderson

About a year ago, we learned that one of his kids, Isaac Anderson, was somehow taking his father’s hate even further. The second oldest of 12 children, Isaac admitted to being a full-blown Nazi, complete with a tattoo of a Nazi War Eagle across his chest.

[...]

Isaac Anderson’s interview led to his brother speaking out

That interview had an interesting consequence, though. It spurred one of Isaac’s siblings to go public about his childhood. In early September, John Anderson (the third oldest son) reached out to Dead Domain because he wanted to share his own story and make the case for why his parents shouldn’t have any contact with his siblings (specifically the eight who still lived at home with the Andersons). John spoke even more bluntly about the abuse he suffered at the hands of Steven and Zsuzsanna Anderson. The allegations in the interview involved “closed fist beatings, whippings with electrical cords, insulting and belittling children as young as six, starvation as punishment, and exposure to the elements.”

[...]

Another Anderson child speaks out

And then, this past Thursday, Dead Domain posted an interview with a third Anderson child. This was Miriam Anderson, the oldest daughter in the family, and the one John brought up earlier because she had been “trying to get away.” Many of Miriam’s terrifying recollections echoed what her brothers said earlier about how abuse occurred at home, including mentions of specific pieces of equipment in their kitchen that were used against them. She talked how she had suicidal thoughts from the age of 11 onward because of everything she endured at home. Her brothers’ stories, she added, were “100% true.”

The takeaway… for now

In a way, these stories, as heartbreaking as they are, are also uplifting. Uplifting because at least two of these kids don’t share the worst characteristics of their father. They want the public to know what their lives have been like, bursting the bubble their father has kept around them for years. It turns out his version of Christianity has been the nightmare outsiders always suspected. His theology isn’t just awful to his ideological opponents but also to his own flesh and blood. If they can escape that environment—and they sure as hell are trying—perhaps there’s hope for others in similar situations. At the same time, it’s awful that they still have to play it cautiously because of Steven Anderson’s wrath. No one should have to fear harm from their own parents. But when their parents place their idea of God’s Word over common sense and decency, we can only hope they find solace and safety somewhere else.

Fundamentalist kook pastor Steven Anderson has at least two of his speaking out against the abuse they suffered at the hands of him and his wife Zsuzsanna.

[walldwellereater]

[I may have gotten the sudden urge to write the file for the wall dweller predator of of nowhere, so take this!]

Z-910

Codename: Shifters

Z-910 is the designation for a species of creatures with the ability to shape-shift their appearance. It should be noted that each Z-910 specimen has a different preferred form that is written into their DNA. Further studies have shown that the form of the Z-910 specimen does have impacts on the behavior of the specimen. The preferred form of the Z-910 specimen acts as a base for the changes caused by the shape shifting to add onto. While Z-910 specimens can change their form fully, it is believed to exhaust the specimen faster than shifting of from it's base. Z-910 specimens all have carnivorous diets, with a notable preference for Z-90, which they are believed to be the natural predator of.

The three Z-910 specimens that are in containment are (at the time of writing) being held at Site ⬛⬛⬛, due to the ongoing containment breach in the Hadal Blacksite.

Z-910 was first discovered on October 25th, 1973, but it's theorized to have existed in some form since the time of the ancient Greeks. The first Z-910 specimen was not caught until October 1st, 2025, designated Z-910-P, with two more specimens being captured on October 4th and October 13th, designated as Z-910-S and Z-910-A respectively.

Z-910-P's preferred form is that of a quadrupedal fanged reptilian that bears striking resemblance to Z-907, with the difference being that it has large teeth-like spines along it's legs. Z-910-P was captured while attempting to defend a group of multiple young Z-910 specimens from an armed mobile task force squadron led by Captain Franklin S. Ward, who were completing an unrelated mission. Upon further investigation, the Z-910 children were found to have died from starvation multiple weeks prior. It is unknown if Z-910-P was aware of this or not. Z-910-P is believed to have a 'caretaker' form, with the role of protecting the young of other Z-910 specimens from danger.

Z-910-S has the preferred form of a theater comedy mask that constantly produces a flesh-like substance from the back of the mask, known as Z-910-S-2. Z-910-S also has the strongest known regeneration of any creature that has been in containment in the entirety of Urbanshade's history, as well as highly acidic, tar-like blood. Z-910-S was captured following multiple reports of inhuman crying coming from an apartment room in the city of Daytona, Florida. When Captain Ward and his squad breached the door to the room, they found it to be filled with Z-910-S-2, which had fully covered up Z-910-S. The M.o.S.A cleanup protocol was followed to reach Z-910-S, which was found inside an open space building a humanoid body. It is unknown what Z-910-S would have done with the body, as well as what function Z-910-S would have served in a society of Z-910 specimens. Further testing is needed.

Z-910-A has the preferred form of a small, spider-like arachnid with an exoskeleton made of human bone. Z-910-A is a brain parasite which, once it infects someone, will cause them to lose their emotions, positive and negative, as well as their sense of touch, effectively removing any sense of self. After an unknown amount of time, the infected will become murderous, seeking to kill all creatures (outside of Z-910 specimens) in a ⬛⬛ by ⬛⬛ stud radius. They will henceforth be called Z-910-A-2. If successful, Z-910-A-2 will die. It is believed the corpse will be used to produce more Z-910 specimens, although it is untested as it's radius would extend into the rest of the site. Z-910-A (as well as Z-910-A-2) were discovered when Captain Ward and his squadron were responding to calls claiming the nearby abandoned Vannah hotel had the smell of rot coming from inside. As the squadron entered the hotel, they were locked in by Z-910-A-2, who killed all but 4 members directly (Excluding Captain Ward himself, Lieutenant Jackson Johnson, Lieutenant Thomas Pyne, and Private Ryan Winston) before being captured. It should be noted that Lieutenant Pyne was infected, but was able to be contained prior to becoming a Z-910-A-2 specimen. Like the other Z-910 specimens in containment, once infected, Z-910-A-2 will lose its ability to speak, instead communicating with other Z-910 specimens through growls. It is believed that Z-910-A is the reproducer of the Z-910 species, with the role of clearing out a safe space, creating young from the carcasses of successful Z-910-A-2, and having said young be protected by Z-910-P.

It should be noted that all Z-910 subjects have at least shown a disliking to letting other creatures near, with Z-910-P being outwardly hostile. This avoidance does not apply to the other Z-910 specimens, supporting the theory of Z-910 specimens being social creatures, including Z-910-S.

Note: There is currently one human test of the effects of Z-910 genes. However, Z-919 has proven unwilling to cooperate, attacking and killing the remaining members of Captain Ward's squadron, including the captain himself. Z-919 is currently being monitored through the functioning cameras inside of the Hadal Blacksite​. If encountered, bring him to the surface alive and notify HQ.

*"We'll be able to break him" is crudely written underneath*

If these documents are shown to any unauthorized personnel, you'll be put up for demotion, and any cover up fees will be sent to your relatives.

----------------

[I want to reiterate that I mostly wrote this in one afternoon.]

[If only I could have the same motivation to draw 919's ref]

@crawling-through-vents

[The Z-907 mentioned]

[mekachu04]

17. Sacrifice

Kidd - 18 | Killer - 22 | Heat - 23

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Food Issues coming up again

yeah, all these assholes had some kind of eating disorder at one point

vague references to starvation, overeating, and eating rotten food

Killer struggles to throw rotten food out

Kidd does too but actually manages to go through with it

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

Kidd had slept though breakfast - which was not unusual for him - and had wandered down to the galley to pilfer a snack as Pomp & UK cleaned up after the meal. And if Killer was not to busy prepping for lunch, to get the man to make him something personally.

And he planned it perfectly it seemed, because Killer was indeed standing causally at the kitchen counter. He had his notebook out; Killer had his own means of how his thought a kitchen should be run, but so far there's been no real complaints and everyone been well fed. Killer's seasoning work was hit or miss, seeing as he wanted to try every mix or herb or spice with very little experience to back it up.

But it had flavour, and the flavour wasn't penicillin.

At the moment, Killer was repeatedly tapping the pen against the counter in his right, studying something in his left.

"What's up?"

"Its gone bad..."

Kidd paused, looking at his first mate in confusion. He thought Killer was doing meal planning, or inventory or something. That 'gone bad' was a problem, but Killer's voice was distant and almost a little lost.

"How bad?"

Killer's head turned slightly, and he lifted his hand up enough for Kidd to see he was holding a jar of something. He was unreadable behind the mask for most, but Kidd could tell it was worse then the normal stoicism he like to pretend he had once it was on... This was a different quiet - like he was stuck.

Kidd came over to peer into the jar, Killer tilted it to him to see. It was a jar of fruit preserves, still about a third full. The jam itself looked fine, but the sides had begun to grow over with soft wispy mold.

"Do we have more?"

"Different fruit, but yeah."

"The other one still good?"

"Still sealed, so it should be fine."

Kidd made an executive decision then, and took the jar and table knife from Killer.

Killer handed both other with no hesitation.

Kidd left the galley.

Every part of him was trying to get him to turn back around - they could spoon out the bottom still, that was at least four more sandwiches at the bottom. Six if they were for some of the smaller members of the crew. And they had a big crew right now - nearly thirty strong and almost all of them having run with at least one of the four commanders back on the island.

Thirty mouths, at least three times a day. Figuring in the night squad, Killer was feeding a platoon of people four times a day, a meal of some kind on the table every 6 hours. UK had been stepping up and assisting him so the man didn't burn out, familiar enough with Killer to navigate his idiosyncrasies without stepping on any toes. And House, Mosh, Pomp, and Disc J had stepped up from the other gangs to form the Punks' mess hall squad. But it was still thirty people.

It didn't matter how well stocked they were, there was always that fear that the next time they turned around, the pantry would be empty. They'd all grown up with it, all of them living through days of not being sure where the next meal was coming from. Years of getting their hands on just enough food to make it to the next day but never enough to stop feeling hungry.

Kidd contemplated the jar again once he stepped out on deck, an uncertain shadow named Killer trailing behind him. They'd all made themselves to sick in those early days, dropping obscene amounts of money at taverns in those first few ports. They had no idea what shit was worth once off the island, nor had they cared, eating themselves well past the point of sick. It had taken them all the way to Reverse Mountain to finally start to get a handle on things and Heat had worked with Killer, the two making remarkable progress getting everyone on responsible eating habitats.

Still didn't mean there wasn't severe hang ups lurking under the surface.

Heat had been making his way the crow's nest for his shift, and paused to watch the two of them. Watched the jittery way Killer followed. Watched the jar in Captain's hand.

Kidd stood at the railing, touching the 'good' jam at the bottom with the table knife. Six people! his head was screaming, and he was surprised how hard to was to finally stir it up, loosening the jam and mold both, mixing them. Inseparable. Before he could think about it, he upended the glass, shaking it until the jam fell loose and into the sea.

He could feel Killer tensing up even without looking at him. He did met Heat's gaze though, the man doing his best to look nonchalant to hid his interest.

He continued to hold Heat's gaze as he handed the empty jar back to Killer. "We don't do that no more. As long as I'm Captain, we will never go back to that."

He looked at Killer then, "If in doubt, throw it out. You don't serve rotten food to my crew," His voice softened, "and you don't eat anything that's gone off ever again. You hear me?"

"Aye Captain." Killer murmured, taking the jar, shoulder's slumping as he lost tension; The responsibility of the choice taken from him.

[modern-inheritance]

The Modern Inheritance Whimsical Whumps of Winter

Pick a prompt and I'll do my best to whip up a short or story within 3 days! Can be sent via ask, reblog, or private message and I'll post it!

I'll be leaving the option for this open until January 31st! Once a fill is completed, I'll remove it from the open list and add it to the filled list at the bottom.

Have at it! Please.

Open

Flight

Childhood trauma (Fäolin)

Nightmares (Eragon)

Shadows

Shackled

Healed wrong

Stitches (Eragon)

Who said you could rest?

All I hear are screams (Glen)

Stronger (Eragon and Saphira)

Ice and Heat

Childhood trauma (Glenwing)

Reopening wounds

This is gonna suck

It's not your fault (Arya to Glen)

Hunger

Soft targets

Coughing up blood

Withdrawal (Moments)

Failure (Brom)

Blow to the head

Touch starved (Glen)

Nightmares (Arya)

Bleeding through bandages (Brom)

Safe and warm (Eragon and Saphira)

It's not your fault (Rhunon to Brom)

Bleeding through bandages (Glen)

Setback

Wound cleaning

Get it out

Monody (Arya and Fäolin)

What's my name?

Back from the dead

Awake

Survivors Guilt (Spin the wheel of fucked up MIC guilt webs!)

It's not your fault (Saphira to Eragon)

Slurred words

Bruises

Fire (OG Elf Squad)

Muffled screams

When you really can't get up

Oh, that's not good

It's not your fault (Saphira to Arya)

Bedside vigil

Again!

Lost Time (Brom and Eragon)

Withdrawal (Islanzadi)

No, I can't feel anything

Kindred spirits, in some weird, fucked up way

Solitary

Make the Guilt Web a reality

It's not your fault (Eragon to Brom)

I hate goodbyes

Starvation

It's not your fault (Arya to Glen)

Let us treat him, please

Unhealthy coping mechanisms

Stitches (Arya)

Rage (Brom)

Amends

Denial (Islanzadi, Oromis and Glaedr)

It's not your fault (Brom to Islanzadi)

Passing out from pain

Move the goalposts

I'll wait for you (Glen and Arya)

Our Song (Islanzadí and Evandar)

Abandoned

Touch starved (Arya)

To the limit

Nightmares (Brom)

Withdrawal (Eragon and Saphira)

Lost Time

It's not your fault (Glen to Arya)

Bleeding through bandages (Eragon)

It's not your fault (Glen to Arya)

Hanging

It's not your fault (Arya to Islanzadi)

It's not your fault (Saphira to Glen)

Rope burned wrists

Rest now

I've always been a little cracked

Being monitored

Stop please

Waking up restrained

Flare up

Sensory overload

Nightmares (Glen)

Just breathe

Muffled screams (Eragon)

Childhood trauma (Eragon)

Phantom pain

Fine and Alright are two very different things around here

Failure (war timeline)

It's not your fault (Arya to Eragon)

Bleeding through bandages (Saphira's Observations of them all)

Before you (Eragon and Arya)

Panic attack

Painful hug

Coat

You're still alive in my head

Stitches (Brom)

Touch starved (Eragon)

I can't think straight

It's us or them

Tattoos

Another Me

Rage (Saphira)

Some days, everything hurts, and you just can't do anything about it

Phantom itch

Fever (Eragon)

Childhood trauma (Arya)

Stitches (Glen giving)

Hallucinations

Delirium

It's not your fault (Arya to Rhunon)

Stitches (Glen receiving)

Falling from the sky

I've got you

No more

Hunting gear

All I hear are screams (Brom)

It's not your fault (Saphira to Brom)

Failure (pre-Eragon)

Unconventional weapon

Choose

Fire

Mirror box

Burnout

Not realized they're injured

Fever

Left for dead

Bleeding through bandages (Arya)

Sorry that was instinct

Necrosis

Just a little more

When the sun goes out

It's not your fault (Brom to Eragon)

Withdrawal (Oromis and Glaedr) *

Wristwatch

Flatline

It's not your fault (Islanzadi to Arya)

Fatigue

Chronic pain

Muzzled

Unfortunate encounter

Secrets beneath the streets (Arya and Firnen, on hold till I finish Murtagh)

Freefall

Uneasy (Any of the Chaos Trio of Dragon Riders and their partners

First flight (Arya and Firnen)

Nightmares (Murtagh)

Because if you die, then EVERYTHING will have been for NOTHING

In the Works

Nightmares (Murtagh) Because if you die, then EVERYTHING will have been for NOTHING

Filled

Nightmares (Eragon)/"It's not your fault." (Arya to Eragon)

[ghostedgrim]

The Avina Mission- 001

Prolouge

Warnings - stranded, stranded in space, death, fear, malnutrition, dehydration, starvation, muscle atrophy fear of asphyxiation, sickness, attempted murder, mentions of self-harm, mentions of attempted suicide

~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~

"The chances I'd get thrusted across space weren't high, but people were still convinced that this would happen to my crew and I. I mean, really, what are the chances I'd get thrusted into a galaxy far, far away? Absolutely 0%!"

~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~

CAUTION...CAUTION...CAUTION... Fuel is at, 29%...CAUTION...coming out of hyperspeed...pod 004 has shut down...pod 003 has shut down...pod 005 has shut down...

I feel like a puddle as I float out of my pod, my body just doesn't want to move. I look at pod 002, where Siobhan drifts out, and pod 006, where Francis floats out as well. We don't dare touch the other pods, the red line across the front is enough to tell us they're dead. Pod 010 is empty.

"Where's Aden?" My heart feels like it's in my throat. What the Hell happened. The last I remember was strapping into my seat in the cockpit, expecting to arrive at Jupiter in a matter of seconds. But when 20 minutes passed, we realized something was wrong and went into our pods to wait out the ride. "Someone go check the..." focus, focus focusfocus! You've trained for this, you've trained for every situation. It's just another drill, a very real drill, but a drill. "Siobhan, go check our supplies..." focus, "Francis I need an assessment on our engines, and our systems. I'll be in the cockpit."

My boot connects with my pod, and i kick myself forward. With practiced ease, I maneuver through the ship until I can pull myself up into the cockpit. A hand suddenly wraps itself around my ankle, and I'm pulled down to the cockpit floor. "SHIT fuck!!- Aden!? Holy shit I was wondering where you were at." Aden hovers above the floor. He's the same as the last time I saw him, curly brown hair, brown eyes, and freckled cheeks, but then my gaze reaches his jaw. "You grew a beard," it was hardly a beard, mostly a shadow of hair, but my brain is too frazzled to pick the right word.

"My pod was broken, I didn't want to risk death, so I stayed up here watching the systems," his voice is rougher than I remember.

"What happened," I ask. I pull myself into the pilot seat, looking out at the strange and unfamiliar constellations around us. It was utterly unsettling.

He sighs and takes a moment to collect himself. "Well, when the twenty-minute mark hit, I came up here to monitor what I could while everyone else settled into their pods. Only a handful of minutes later, we hit some extreme turbulence. When everything settled, I attempted to climb into my pod only to find its systems were broken. I'm sure you're already aware of the other broken pods, I honestly tried to fix them, but I'm not experienced with the field of work. For some, the pods pumped too much of the freezing fluid into their bodies, others, it sucked out the oxygen, and along with other pod related causes of death." Aden leans back, running his hand through his hair. The bags under his eyes are heavy and almost look painful. "I've been watching over the ship for the past three weeks... no four? Three?" he looks at some timer he set on the dashboard, "Five... five weeks. Waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for us to leave hyperspeed and another three days for you guys to wake up."

I rest my hand on his shoulder as I try to think of something to say. He watched 6 of our squad mates die and was forced into isolation for 5 weeks straight. I can't even wrap my head around the fact that we were in hyperspeed for 5 weeks, and have been drifting for 3 days in a galaxy so far away from home that I can't even begin to comprehend the distance. "Sweet fucking shit..." Tears threaten to form in my eyes. I keep my jaw tight and keep my gaze locked on the window. I can't cry, not now, not when I need to take care of everyone else and the ship first.

"Francis and Siobhan are awake as well. Siobhan is checking on our supplies, and Francis is looking over our systems. I'll tell them to meet us up here. Have you sent out a distress signal yet?" Aden shakes his head. We sit in silence as we wait for Siobhan and Francis.

~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~

Siobhan is hovering on the floor beside Aden, she is braiding her long ginger hair. Her green eyes are focused on her hands, trying to avoid looking at the haunting image beyond the window. Francis is in the chair beside me, working through our systems, determining what to turn off and what to keep on, he keeps adjusting his glasses and running a hand through his cropped brown hair, even his normal rich brown complexion has turned ashy. We're all scared, and looking out the window makes me want to vomit.

WARNING!...FUEL AT 20%...

"Shit!"

"Francis, turn off all lights. We have plenty of glowsticks and flashlights." Despite the order, I still flinch when we're plunged into total darkness. Eventually, my eyes adjust to the faint illumination of the buttons across the cockpit. I wish I could say the ability to see significantly more stars outside is comforting or fascinating, but really, it just scares me even more. We're in the middle of nowhere, presumably galaxies away from home, no planet in sight. "Siobhan, give me your ideas on how we'll ration food and water."

Siobhan lets go of her braid and faces me, "Fortunately the plants we brought with us to test if they could survive hyperspeed survived. As long as we can keep the plants alive, we might be able to have food in the long run. We-."

"That won't work," Aden interrupts, "The plants will require too much water, too much light, and will take far too long to grow."

"Fine..." Siobhan bites her lip, deep in thought. "We still have plenty of rations that we were supposed to deliver to the lab floating in orbit of Jupiter. Those will last us... maybe a four weeks, water will last us relatively two weeks. Francis, how are our oxygen levels?"

Francis looks through the small guages on the wall panel to his right. "Considering it's just the four of us I would say," he pulls out a white marker and calculates the math on the window, "three weeks."

"If we recycle waste, we can have more drinking water. Since the plants are useless along with a few other systems, I can fix the filtration system. I'll make it non-electrical, meaning we'll have to physically make the machine filter. It'll help slow our muscle atrophy and help keep our bones dense," Siobhan butts in. The idea is gross, but it's necessary.

"You two get everything settled. Aden, come with me, I need to check your physical health." We hold hands so we can't lose each other in the dark. Francis tosses me a lit glowstick, allowing me to carefully navigate the pool of never-ending darkness before us. Eventually, we stopped in a small private nook. "Please strip down to your underwear, Aden." I turn around so he can have some privacy. Once he gave me the all-clear, I turned on my flashlight and turned to face him.

I release the flashlight, letting it float aimlessly while I assess Aden. His muscle mass was still good, implying he's been working out 2 ½ hours each day. He shows signs of slight malnourishment. What scared me was how sickly he looked, somewhat sweaty, flushed skin, pasty complexion. After my assessment, I quickly helped him back into his suit before the freezing cold can bite his skin too harshly. "Stay here, I need to grab a thermometer."

With only the illumination of the glowstick Francis gave me earlier, I spend what feels like forever scouring through storage to find a thermometer. After finding one, I fly through the air to Aden and test his temperature.

This is bad. His fever is bad, and we don't have medicine to give him, and we don't have enough energy to turn the heaters on.

~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~

It's been three weeks... food is low, and water is limited to one cup a day. Aden's fever has gotten worse, and Siobhan is showing signs of a fever, too. The stress is slowly killing us. We ran out of fuel last week. All I can hope is that we're not alone in this galaxy, that maybe some alien finds us. I don't even care if the aliens harm us, I just want off this ship.

It's our fourth week, I try to update my captain diary at least once each day. We're out of food. I gave the last of our water to Siobhan and Aden. I haven't allowed Francis near them. He hates me for it, saying that Aden will die any moment, and I won't allow him to say goodbye or how i should let him put Siobhan and Aden out of their mysery. I'm confident my hair has turned grey. It feels like every hour, I'm stopping myself or others from harming ourselves. Just a few minutes ago I had to stop Francis from jabing a screwdriver through his neck. Only after our fight did I realize how bad my muscles have atrophied and that I haven't worked out since week one.

I don't know how long it's been, I don't know if Siobhan or Aden are alive, Francis isn't responding to me either. Fortunately I managed to bring everyone here into the cockpit. If these are our final moments, I don't want us to be alone. I can't help but to wonder, will my hunger kill me? Maybe dehydration? Or perhaps I'll run out of oxygen first? I'm so tired, why do I even fight to keep my eyes open, I'll suffocate anyway...

There's a bright flash outside, as my vision fades I think I saw a giant grey thing...

~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~

I don't understand the sounds around me, everything feels so heavy...

Somehow I opened my eyes, only long enough to see lights, something with glowing eyes. I feel like I'm crushed beneath a concrete slab. I fade out of consciousness again.

"Keep the suit on, we don't know what it is. It could be sick, or it may need it to survive."

"Put it in quarantine."

Suddenly everything is blinding bright. I demand my eyes to open, for my body to move, but nothing is responding. The weight is still there.

"It's... human?"

~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~☆☆☆~~

Thank you so much for reading. I gotta do some research on how gravity effects the average astronaut after long periods of 0 gravity. I don't wanna end up saying something that sounds stupid lol. I promise Clone Force 99 will arrive, it'll just be a few more chapters till them. 😘 bye bye

[rydiathesummoner]

My take on Koana's birth parents

Koana mostly comes off as a socailly awkward tech bro, but he does drop one interesting tidbit on his past: his nomadic Native American coded tribe left him behind on one of their migrations and he has no idea why.

This is obviously a tragic experience, and not out of place in an expansion full of less-than-present parents like Zoraal Ja and Cauhciua. But I'd like to head-canon a new theory: his parents weren't awful. He was not left behind in a nomadic migration, he was left behind in a forced displacement.

For non-USA readers, take a second and read about one of the USA's ugliest acts in history: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trail_of_Tears

Basically, any time someone found something profitable, the "settlers" were all like "OOOH OOOH MINE GIMME" and the US government was like "sure ok cool suck it natives, GTFO." The natives were then forced to walk from their homelands to hundreds or even 1000 miles away. Those who could not keep up for whatever reason were abandoned to the elements.

With the blue mage quests, and briefly brought up in Shaaloani I expected more of a plot point about ceruleum. I'd like to theorize that Koana's people lived as a nomadic tribe in an area that was discovered to have a lot of ceruleum. Some greedy rich person was like "OOOOH I REALLY NEED THIS FOR MORE MONEY PLEASE UNDERSTAND" and somehow Koana's people were forced to relocate. Koana, being very young may not have understood that this wasn't following the animal migrations and was a forced move. His parents may have even pretended they were just following the rroneek so he wasn't scared.

How was he left behind? Could have been several things. Children suffered extra hard on the Trail of Tears. Maybe his little legs just couldn't keep up. Or maybe his parents found a way to sneak him out, thinking leaving him to the wilds might be better than dying of starvation and disease.

Being close to this topic IRL I would love to see this dark part of our history in the game. Native displacement is a huge part of our history, whether we like it or not. But I understand why Yoshi P and squad might shy away. The internet would do it's usual shitshow thing of "YoShi P bAdLy HaNdLeD tHiS tOpIc" or "kEeP PoLiTiCs oUt oF mY gAmE" (even though the relocation is history, not politics). They could hire a team of native people and the internet would STILL be like "you don't know what you're talking about, I watched a video once on youtube so I know all about Native Americans and you got this one feather color wrong so everything you wrote is wrong and bad so now I'm going to make 12 youtube videos with me making an O face for a thumbnail about how Yoshi P is racist."

Yeah, I don't blame the team one bit for noping out. It's a fun headcanon though.