#tag I’m gonna use for any more extraction stuff!

[fallow-foot]

“Post Master at your service, what can I get for you?”

Thinking about the fact Post master Pearl is an npc in Extraction so I drew her!

In game screenshot of her under cut

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

I’ve got so many more snake and snake related questions and so I’m just gonna give them in a big list:

I thought that your “animal bones” tag said “snake bones” and now I’m fascinated by that idea as a tag and generally snake skeleton stuff. This isn’t a question I suppose.

Is the number of vertebra of a snake (minus the tail vertebra) comparable in amount to human vertebra?

Are snake scales and snake skin made out of the same stuff human skin and nails and hair are made of (keratin and collagen and the like)?

Are any snakes physically capable of chewing or generally eating something not-whole? Do any of them chew?

To your knowledge, was the creation of syringe needles inspired in any way by snake fangs?

How do scientists milk venom, physically? How much can you take from a snake in one go without harming it? How often?

What are your “smartest” and “dumbest” snakes, if such a thing can be quantified?

Thank you for the snake fact answers. I could just look it up but SEO is a bitch and I like asking people questions about things they’re passionate about.

Great questions!!

Snake bones are so cool. I love looking at viper skeletons especially.

2. Nope! People have like 24 vertebrae, with snakes it depends on species length but snakes have between 100-600. Snake tails are actually pretty short when compared to their torsos (look at the skeleton image below, the tail starts where the ribs end); tails have as few as 10 and as many as a couple hundred vertebrae. Those numbers sound very variable, and that's because snakes just vary so wildly in size and shape!

3. Yes! The same materials make up snake skin and scales as make up human skin and nails. Same stuff, different blueprint! :)

4. Snakes are built very specifically to swallow whole prey, and there are no real exceptions to this. No snake can chew. Some snakes, like snail-eaters, have specialized teeth and jaws designed to "scoop" snails out of their shells so sometimes they don't get it all in one go, but even they are built to try and get as much out at once as possible.

5. Not to my knowledge, I think it's a matter of convergent evolution! :) Hollow needles are just really good at getting stuff into other stuff.

6. When we do venom extractions from snakes, we usually just have them bite a funnel and what they give us is what they give us. If a certain venom is in very high demand, then sometimes we'll express the venom glands while the snake is biting down. That involves gently squeezing the glands to ensure a good amount of venom is released in the bite. It looks rough but I promise it's not, the hold is as gentle as possible and the snakes are not hurt in the process! You gently hold the snake's neck to keep them restrained and keep everyone safe (if you lightly squeeze your wrist just hard enough to manually tilt your hand, it's about that much pressure) and you use your fingers on the opposite hand to express the glands.

We might get 1/10 a teaspoon from each snake per extraction, it's genuinely just a few drops. It takes multiple snakes to get enough to do anything with. At my lab we extract from each snake about once every other week; they need time to relax in between! Venom isn't necessary to remain healthy for lab snakes, but we don't want to stress them.

7. In general, elapids (cobras and their relatives) are the smartest snakes I've ever worked with! King cobras absolutely take the award here, they're so intelligent and curious and just a treat to interact with. Our old boy at my lab, Puppy, can put himself in his handling tube and is always such a show-off for tours. One of my favorite snakes at the lab is an Egyptian cobra named Seth, he's so much fun and loves figuring out the food puzzles and mazes I set up for him!

As for dumbest...I've said it before and I'll say it again, but hognoses are just absolutely zero thoughts animals.

[thebestofoneshots]

Weekly fic snippet!

Thanks for the tag sweetheart @starchaser-lily

Extract from Gilded Constellations Chapter 14

“All you want,” you replied with a smile “if he tries to kiss you, though, don’t blame me for it.” You both laughed, and a comfortable silence followed, then you remembered you still had books inside your bag and pulled them out, setting them on the bed beside him. He grabbed the one at the top, when you noticed which book it was, you pulled it from his hands. “You can’t read that one.”

“I can’t read… A Wizard's Handy Handbook of Spells?” He asked as he read the cover name from your hands.

“It’s not that,” you added holding it tightly between your arms. “It’s… not actually A Wizard's Handy Handbook of Spells, I charmed the cover.” He rose an eyebrow and tried to take it from your grasp, you pulled back but it was too late, he had it on his hands again. Remus had an awful lot of energy for someone who had been badly hurt just a couple of hours ago. “Remus, give me that!”

“I wanna know why you charmed the cover first,” he said while dangling the book in the air.

You looked at him with a frown and jumped forward to try and grasp the book from his hands, but he pulled it back, to the side of the bed. “Remus!”

“Am I gonna have to read it?”

You stood up, and extended your hands over him, to try and get the book that was on the other side of the bed, but your feet got trapped with your backpack strap and you ended up falling over Remus. He groaned as your body crashed over a particularly nasty bruise. Your scent filling his nostrils from the closeness, Sirius was right, you smelled awfully nice, a little like him too.

“Shit Rem, I’m sorry,” you said standing up as soon as possible “I didn’t mean to–“ the brusque movements had caused his shirt to rise up slightly and you actually saw the nasty bruise your body had crashed against, you looked at it with a concerned frown and then back at your friend “Remus…”

He adverted your gaze, he did not like being pitted “I’m fine.” He said once he turned back to you, using his free hand to pull down his shirt again “I’m strong, remember?”

“Yeah, someone falling over a bruise hurts, no matter how strong…”

He shrugged, he’d definitely had worse than you falling over him “you’re light, didn’t hurt much.” You looked at him, sighing “and you smell nice, no wonder Sirius wants to have you on his lap all the time.” Finally, you laughed, shaking your head as you stared at your friend. Remus realized you had a really nice laugh as you did, he shook hi head from the trance of staring, he wasn’t sure he’d ever found a girl as pretty as you. “Will you tell me what kind of book you were trying to hide from me, or will I have to figure it out myself?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a spicy romance novel,” you said avoiding his gaze, he smiled diverted. The more you know, he thought. “It was recommended!” You added.

“Yeah, sure.”

“It was!” You insisted “by your little Ravenclaw girlfriend, actually”

“Nina Blythe?!” he asked in desbelif.

You nodded “Are you sure you don’t want to date her? She’s clearly into the good stuff.” He gave you a look and you laughed, Nina was beautiful, but she definitely still had a baby face, like Remus had said when you told him she had a crush on him.

“She’s not really my type.”

“Which is…?”

“None of your business, of course.” He replied sassily, and then changed the subject “How spicy?” He asked, curiosity taking the best of him.

You shrugged “I’ll tell you when I get to the spicy part,” you told him with a shrug, taking the book from his hands, he let you do it without any fuzz this time “but um…” you pointed at one of the other books on the bed “this one’s good, you’d like it.”

“Is it also spicy?” He teased.

“Remus!” You complained “not every single book I read is spicy!”

He shrugged “Wouldn’t shame you if you did.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a breathy laugh “It’s not spicy, but it is really good.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said taking the book and opening on the first page. Soon enough the two of you were comfortably reading. You were so engrossed in your book you’d totally forgotten the initial reason you’d gone there. But as you continued flipping pages, it was like the string you had been trying to reach earlier was finally there, shining brightly for you to take it, and tie all the mysterious facts into one sole explanation. As your eyes moved through the words in the book, the description of the male lead started to resonate with you…

Remus was strong. Remus had a lot of scars and bruises all over his body, and they were definitely not caused by Grindyllows, he always carried around a calming draught, and had other rather strong pain killer potions on his room as well, he tended to stay away from you when you wore your silver ring, literally jumping from your grasp when you touched him with it on one time, and was also visibly mad at Sirius when he brushed over his fingers with it on, as if they both knew something you didn’t –electric shock, my ass.

…

Series Masterlist

I don't know if I should tag you guys on this one, since it's just a snippet but I'll do it, hope you enjoy this tinny lil teaser of what's to come...

TAGLIST: @rayrlupin @callmelovergirl @warcelia @ireneop @endversewinchester @moonyunebi @smuttysluttybitch @mazzymoons @sofiacblair @vmpir3lvr @remuslupinisbae @rabluver @willgrahamisalesbi4n @thatobsessedreader @orkwardx0  @itskailey24 @hell0-kittie @belovedmoony @blacksgarden @loving-and-dreaming @cassie-love20 @starchaser-lily @zucchini-queenie @springflwer07 @sseleniaa @cometsghost @orkwardx0 @imdoingbetternow @sbrewer21

[omorinintendoswitchedition]

DMC Questions Anon here!

Before you read this next question:

I was informed that it would be a good idea for my questions to be answered with a specific tag so if people wish to block it they could. Please tag your answers to any question I send you with "dmc questions anon" and I think that should work.

If you wish to be taken off the list, ask. If somebody wishes to be placed on the list, ask. If your anon asks are off and you wish to participate, just make a post answering the question you see going around.

Remember you do not have to answer every question, so please don't feel pressured to do so.

Please also remember to take as long as you need! Do not rush yourself, this is supposed to be a fun activity and I don't want anyone to feel stressed out by trying to rush to answer questions.

Now onto the actual question:

How would you rank the 5 games in the Devil May Cry series? (By story)

Separately, if you want, how would you rank extended material? (The DMC1 Novel, The DMC3 Mangas, The Anime, The DMC2 Novel, Deadly Fortune, Before the Nightmare, and Visions of V, all of which can be found (along with other stuff) here: https://originaldmc.github.io/DivinityStatue/Downloads.html)

If you wish, how would you rank all of it together in one big list?

Omg hiii anon!!!!

I’m gonna be honest and say I haven’t made my way through all the dmc side content yet, I’ve only managed to read Visions of V so I guess I have to rank that number one. Ive also watched some of the anime, but not enough to really give it a firm rank. I’ve been kinda busy lately so I just haven’t had the time to finish reading all the novels

And onto the games!!!!!!

Number 5:Dead last

Devil May Cry 2. Okay yeah this should not be a surprise. DMC2 failed in pretty much every category when it comes to games. The story is just mind numbingly boring. Let’s move on

Number 4:Pretty Eh but doesn’t really hold up well with the later entries

Devil May Cry 1. Someone on Reddit said this the best but when you compare it to later entries DMC1 kinda feels like filler. I am all for a DMC1 remake of it means giving Mundus a much more satisfying ass whooping (and more screen time for Trish!!!! She deadass isn’t there for half the game!!!! I literally forgot she existed in that game halfway through!!!!)

Number 3:Concepts were great but man they missed some potential

Devil May Cry 4. The concepts of a religious cult ruling and island and creating angels from the power of demons rules. And putting us in a position where Dante was the “bad guy” was actually really cool. But half of the game is just backtracking as Dante which puts the story on hold. The scrapped concepts for DMC4 were so cool and so should’ve been included man :((

Number 2:Overcoming your daddy issues

Devil May Cry 3. Dante and Lady both had amazing arcs throughout this game. With Dante accepting his repressed past and demon side and proudly claiming himself as son of Sparda who harbours his soul. It’s enough to make a grown man cry. And Lady’s arc of learning that not all demons are evil, and finally being able to extract revenge on her father. And who can forget that famous “even a devil May cry when he looses someone he loves” line. And I ain’t gonna pretend Vergil wasn’t a banger part of this game’s story cause he was a banger part of this game’s story. A man who seeks power to the point of self-destruction. Who is just as fucked up as Dante but refuses to let himself feel those emotions, and instead filling the blanks with raw strength. And the post credits scene with Mundus…..biting and chewing and killing……ough the post credits scene with Mundus…..

Number 1:That’s intergenerational trauma babyyyy

Devil May Cry 5. As much as I mald and seethe about how dirty Lady and Trish were done in DMC5 I truly do fucking love DMC5. Watching Vergil finally gain the capability to express his emotions and be able to reconcile with his past and his trauma and work for a better future got me wailing and weeping. Watching Nero be able to prove that yes, he is powerful and capable as a devil hunter got me weeping and wailing. Seeing Dante and Vergil finally being able to reconstruct their sibling bond after so many years and keep their sibling rivalry on less violent terms got me weeping and wailing. Everything about V got me wailing and weeping. Nico was such a good addition to this franchise with her personality and how she bounces off the others with her snarky little remarks and was a good source of comedy relief during rough times. The passing of the torch moment was honestly so powerful and I’m actually really looking forward to seeing how Nero can carry on that torch through the series. And the references to the DMC anime in the forms of Patty and Morrison were really neat too.

[roublardise]

J'ai publié 12 604 fois en 2022

366 billets créés (3%)

12 238 billets reblogués (97%)

Les blogs que j'ai le plus reblogués :

@knifelesbianjo

@nicomrade

@xofemeraldstars

@roublardise

J'ai étiqueté 10 168 billets en 2022

Seulement 19% de mes billets ne comportaient pas de tag

#spn - 6 075 billets

#spn art - 844 billets

#sapphicnatural - 812 billets

#dean winchester - 663 billets

#castiel - 290 billets

#art - 251 billets

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#reputation by taylor swift obvsly / chromatica by lady gaga / en cas de tempête ce jardin sera fermé by coeur de pirate / mozart l'opéra roc

Mes billets vedette en 2022 :

n°5

Dean Winchester - Killing Boys

“Since he died..” Dean starts hesitantly, “I’ve been having nightmares, as you heard. But also these.. these kinds of flashes and memories coming back. Stuff I had no idea about but stuff which fucked me up, you know?” The words are still getting stuck in his throat and he has to force them out to keep going. “It’s not just some daddy issues about growing up hunting and seeking revenge, and learning how to build a gun before you know how to count. There’s.. more. And Sam can’t get it. And it’s okay, I’m not gonna tell him - who knows if he’ll even believe me. But there’s a distance between us now. I want a distance to be there. Because I can’t keep up, I can’t breathe if he’s too close to me.” “So you’re hunting… him ?” “Yeh.” “To breathe?” “To be free.”

extract from my fic You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect

95 notes - publié le 24 janvier 2022

n°4

click for quality!

true form Anna/Ruby anyone? for @spnprideweek - day 4 - wlw/joy

TO THE GARDENS OF LOVE

she tells me: our deadbeat fathers - gods or lucifers when they thread their so-called destiny made us creatures of greed and feathers - not worth mortality

she learned poetry from trees and beating hearts a fruit from a soil which would nurture nothing in Heaven alas, she sighs, a few allegories never killed anyone let alone an angel

it's a tragedy alike those of the Greeks we only move and forget, never forgive and repeat one can not be alive in the infinite

I tell her: devoted hustlers - gods or reapers crushed me into black ashes one could only hold through a stolen skin, a slough that would never stick

those roots that you crave, they threw me away with their trash from a soul to empty bones to cut on a rack seeds for an Eden of apathy labeled some demon witch something - never someone

it's a romance, don't your Greeks have these? we may live and forget, I won't pack any regret I've only been alive with you to cherish

I plead: can't you see? we're creatures of lust and fire! free from faithless submission!

what could Thanatos give that we can't create in the space between the stars and the salt of the seas flowing into your grace I found humanity and we got enough love to spend eternity

95 notes - publié le 26 juin 2022

n°3

do you guys know about dean and castiel like they're for real best friends and they're in love-

114 notes - publié le 2 décembre 2022

n°2

why would anyone think cas is the only man dean is attracted to have you watched the show.

122 notes - publié le 5 mars 2022

Mon billet n°1 en 2022

you don't understand the roadhouse episode is about dean starting to flirt with jo but it's not really succeeding not bc of being turned down but BC he's not feeling it, he can't keep faking. literally starts and can't go through. he's tired. and yeh it could be simple legit "he's not feeling it bc he's grieving" BUT THEN you have Ash.

it's an episode about dean not wanting, turning down, a woman. all while actually flirting with a man. his dad is dead and his posture is falling down. he's going for it he digs the haircut. they drink from the same bottle.

it's about dean rejecting jo and his comphet and embracing openly/in front of sam his homosexuality in this essay i will-

184 notes - publié le 14 janvier 2022

Obtenez votre année 2022 en revue sur Tumblr →

[brambletakato]

Well looks like text posts are in the lead! Since the poll ends very soon (and I doubt that the video option is gonna suddenly win), I’ll get more in depth as to what I’ll be doing;

I’ll be making an introductory post that tags Professor Layton, but for any post regarding decryption/extraction/etc afterwards will be in their own tag to avoid flooding the main tag with irrelevant stuff. #Bramblextracts has been the one I’ve used for this kind of stuff, so if you’d like to learn about extracting, decrypting, or etc regarding level-5 stuff then feel free to check there!

If you made any discoveries on your own (or perhaps would like to make your own tutorial), you are totally free to use the tag as well, I’m not gonna be an asshole and gatekeep it lmao

While I don’t know when I’ll start posting the tutorials exactly, I know I’ll be giving it a shot either by the end of this month or during the next month, depending on how my moving process goes.

And yes, when it’s time to explore and extract stuff from NWOS, I’ll make a tutorial on that as well if I figure it out and if nobody has done it yet.

The tutorials will focus heavily on the Professor Layton entries, specifically Azran Legacy and Miracle Mask, though I’ll try and avoid spoilers. I’d love to experiment with other 3ds games from Level-5 when I have the opportunity to! I also heavily encourage for you to try out and discover things for yourself!

Genuinely considering making a tutorial on how to extract, decrypt and modify stuff from the 3ds Layton titles (including models and whatnot!)

when I get my pc back…

*Each phase of the process = Each post will specify in a certain field. One post would be how to obtain the files, another would be model extraction, another would be audio extraction, etc

Also note that I don’t know everything but I’ll try my best to teach what I know 👍

[imagine-darksiders]

I hope you feel better soon! When you're feeling better would you be able to write something about jealous Strife? That ask made me curious

“Do you really have to go?”

From your seat at the vanity, you heave an exasperated sigh and set down your lipstick, swivelling around in the chair to face the Horseman who stands sulking at your bedroom door.

“Strife,” you begin patiently, “I'm afraid my answer still hasn't changed since you asked me ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I know. It's just -” Averting his gaze, he crosses his arms and grumbles, “I thought we were gonna hang out tonight.”

“And I told you two weeks ago that I wouldn't be around tonight.”

You can't see his expression, hidden as it is behind the silver helm he wears, but you're fairly confident in guessing that there's a pout on his lips.

“And besides,” you add, “We hang out all the time. You practically live here. Hell, you've already turned my spare bedroom into your own personal den.”

'Den' is an understatement. Your spare room is now less of a bedroom more of an Earth museum, filled from floor to ceiling with all of the things that Strife has picked up simply because they took his fancy. For the most part, it's all junk. There's an obsolete gaming console that no longer works, a skateboard, a horse figurine made of glass, no less than three Nerf guns and not a foam dart between them...

Honestly, you're loathe to tell him to get rid of any of it, though you fear you might have to soon if you don't want the mess spilling out into the rest of your house.

Giving your head an exasperated shake, you check the time on your phone and stand up, throwing your bag over a shoulder. “Listen, it's just one evening with an old friend who I haven't seen since before the apocalypse. We can hang out tomorrow, I promise. But now, I really need to dash, he'll be here to pick me up any minute.”

Pausing to stuff your phone into the pocket of your trousers, you head towards the door, hardly noticing that the Horseman is still standing in front of it with his arms folded neatly across a broad, armoured chest. It's only because you glance up right at the last second that you manage to avoid a painful collision. “Um...Strife?” you ask, halting in your tracks, “... Move?”

In response, he simply leans back against your door and begins to inspect the claws on one of his gauntlets. “Nah... I'd rather hear about this friend of yours. You've never mentioned him.” Pausing, he shoots you a sly smirk that you can sense more than see, his golden eyes flashing, “You guys close?”

With a roll of your eyes, you mimic his posture, crossing your arms and giving him a glare that would make Death proud. “Strife, what's gotten into you? I just said I'm going to be late for my friend.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he returns coolly, “Just wanna know that my friend isn't walking into a trap.”

“Oh wow – a trap? Really? Of all the-” You cut yourself off and raise a hand, massaging at your temple. “Okay. Now you're just being ridiculous. It's not a trap.”

“Why don't you let me come with you, just in case?”

“Because!” you cry, throwing your arms up, “It'll be awkward! You remember what I taught you about third-wheeling?”

He remembers it well, in fact. Just like he remembers everything you teach him, committing the moments to memories that he'll carry with him until the day he snuffs it. He only has you for less than a hundred years, after all, and he's determined to remember every last bit of it. The Universe must have thought itself pretty hilarious when it placed you in his life. Of all the creatures in all the realms, the one he ends up caring about most just so happens to be the one with the shortest lifespan. It makes him want to hunt down the Creator and shoot a hole where a heart might be.

Shoving down his contempt for the omnipotent bastard, Strife returns his attention to you and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I don't mind tagging along. You know, just in case I have to watch your back.”

Your response hits him harder than a crack from Fury's whip. “I don't need you to watch my back every second of every day! Stop being so paranoid.”

The Horseman is too proud and obstinate to ever let the stab of hurt show in his eyes, but he can't ignore its presence in his chest.

He is not being paranoid... He's being a good friend - watching your back, looking out for you, all the things a friend is supposed to do. Not that he's had much experience being friends with a human. Or anyone, for that matter, who isn't a horse or his siblings. It's been a learning curve for both of you, though more-so for him, and so far, the most prominent challenge he's faced is balancing the line between being a friend and being an overprotective nuisance.

It perhaps hasn't helped that, ever since humanity was resurrected, the pair of you have been nigh inseparable. He's grown used to your presence – is dependant upon in, according to Death; a fact that Strife had vehemently tried to deny, at least until he learned that you'd made plans. Plans with someone else. Plans that didn't involve him.

It was only once he'd taken some time to reflect and found that he had indeed been glued to your side for months, that he realised the awful truth.

His older brother was right, after all. The smug ass.

A shudder rolls over the Horseman's body and he blinks, realising that in the few seconds he's been lost in thought, you've managed to reach around him to push open your bedroom door.

“Hey!” he complains as you all but shove past, and he – being the soft-touch that he is – simply allows himself to be moved aside. Grumbling, he follows you across the landing and down your sweeping staircase until you reach the front door and stop beside it.

From outside, the thunderous roar of an approaching, automobile's engine thrums in his ears.

“That's him!” you chirp, and Strife hates the way your face lights up at the mention of whoever 'he' is.

Throwing open your door, you head outside and try to pull it shut behind you, yet find your efforts abruptly halted by the Horseman sticking close to your heels. He ducks through the low doorframe and moves to stand beside you, his viciously keen gaze raking over the vehicle that idles at the end of your driveway.

By his own admission, Strife has always had a weakness for those 'motor bikes' the humans like to ride, with their shiny gaskets and noisy engines. But this one – the one upon whom sits a tall, lanky human – Strife does not care for.

“Anton!” you call out, flying down the driveway, splaying your arms out wide in anticipation of a hug.

'Anton' laughs brightly and kicks down the bike's stand as he leaps from the seat, his own arms only just opening in time to receive you when you crash into him with a whoop of delight.

As soon as those long, stringy arms wrap around your shoulders, the Horseman's hackles raise like a feral beast's and the sudden presence of Anarchy begins to claw at the confines of his ribcage. For a few moments, he wrestles with himself, weighing the pros and cons of letting his most primal form take over for a while, but after envisioning the disapproving frown that's sure to adorn your face should he pull such a stunt, he bitterly shoves a reluctant Anarchy back down and settles upon prowling down the gravel drive after you, glaring hard at the stranger the entire way. Admittedly, he is a little surprised at himself for the animosity. On the whole, he's always maintained a good rapport with other humans. He likes the species, a lot. So to suddenly be filled with such a strong disliking for this particular human strikes him as odd and out of character.

Then, Anton's hands slide down to your lower back and another bout of indignant fury flares up in the Horseman's belly. After what he thinks is, quite frankly, an obscene amount of time, the stranger releases you, holding onto your shoulders and leaning back to get a better look at your face.

“God, it's good to see you, Y/n,” he drawls, eyeing you from head to toe in a way that makes the Horseman's skin crawl, “I can't believe it! You've changed so much!”

Grinning shyly up at him, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and reply, “Hopefully for the better?”

His own smile widens. “You were always at your best, even before the apocalypse. Still, being Humanity's Hero seems to be really suiting you, huh?”

At once, your expression falls and you pull a face, extracting yourself from his grasp. “Oh god, don't call me that. I've told the media till I'm blue in the face - the Horsemen are the ones who deserve to be called heroes. Oh, speaking of whom...” You turn to face the looming presence at your side and gesture up to Strife. “I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine.”

Anton's gaze leaves you long enough to flick over towards the Horseman and you watch as he does a very comical double-take, his eyes bulging for a moment before he manages to compose himself again and lifts his hand in greeting. “Hey! You must be one of those Horseman guys. Death, right?”

Noticing that the Nephilim's hands curl suddenly into tight fists, you interject, “Uh, actually, this is Strife, Tones.”

“Tones?” He really does try to keep the disdain from his voice when he switches his burning, golden glare between you and the other human. “I thought you said his name was Anton?”

How many other friends do you have?

“It's a nickname, Strife,” you reassure him quickly, “This is Anton.”

A nickname... Of course. The Horseman's stomach twists itself into a knot and he can't stop himself from blurting out, “How come you've never given me a nickname?”

The human concept surrounding abbreviated names was a fairly easy one for him to grasp when he first learned of them. They're terms of endearment, meant to signify familiarity and friendship.

He's your friend. He's familiar. Why doesn't he have a nickname too?

"Ugh, I'm sorry. We'll brainstorm nicknames when I get back," you huff, "But the restaurant will give our table away if we don't hurry. So -"

Turning to usher Anton onto the bike, you hardly manage to take one step before a large, metal hand is sliding around your forearm and tugging you gently to a halt. Biting back a groan, you glance over your shoulder, ready to scold him, but one look at his slouched stance and averted gaze stops you in your tracks.

"Uh. Hey, Tones?" you call, never taking your eyes off the Horseman's mask, "Can you give us a sec?"

The human behind you is careful to check that Strife isn't looking when he rolls his eyes and grunts in acknowledgement before he turns and saunters over to his bike, leaning up against it and pulling out his phone.

Once Anton has turned his attention elsewhere, you raise a brow at the Horseman and wait, patient, expectant. After working his jaw for a moment or two, he finally looks at you properly and tightens his grip on your arm, not until it's painful, but enough that you understand what he's trying to convey in the gesture.

He really doesn't want you to go.

"Strife?" you prod.

Reluctantly, he lets out a rough exhale.

Although he's far better at it than his siblings, watching Strife try to openly express emotion isn't unlike watching someone pull their own teeth out with a pair of pliers. The process is slow, and it's best to sit back and listen to him rather than try to encourage him to speak. So, that's what you do, and eventually, your patience is rewarded when after another few seconds of silence, he offers a strained chuckle and says, "This guy isn't my replacement, is he? I know the bike is cool, and all, but..."

"Your replacement?" you laugh, incredulous, "Strife. I don't know how it worked with Nephilim, but for humans, having another friend doesn't cancel out any existing ones."

He knows that. He's not some whelp who never learned how to share. Frustrated with himself, the Horseman huffs and turns his head to the side, glaring hard at nothing in particular.

"Hey..." An old habit kicks in, and before you can stop yourself, you reach up to trace your fingertips along the underside of Strife's helm, tipping it back towards you and smiling at the bewildered look in his yellow eyes. Confident that he's paying proper attention, you pull your hand away again and state, "I could search the whole universe from top to bottom for the next hundred, thousand years, and I'd never find a friend who could replace you, okay? So stop worrying. Your ranking as 'my best friend' is not under threat."

"M'not worrying," he grumbles, but inside, his heart is aglow with the warmth of your words. At the back of his mind, Anarchy rumbles happily. You said best!... He's your best friend? He tries to recall you ever calling him that before. Then he realises that, no, you can't have done. He wouldn't forget a moment like that. Not in a million years. Just like he won't forget how he feels right now after hearing those two words.

Oblivious to the fate you've just sealed for yourself, you clap your hands together, bringing the conversation to what you hope is an easy conclusion. "Good. In that case, will you please let me go with Anton now?"

The Horseman's mood sours almost immediately, but at least he peels his fingers off your arm.

"Hey, kid?" he address Anton, packing his voice with all the menace and threat that he can muster, "If I find out she gets hurt on your watch, I'll introduce you to a couple'a friends of mine..." His hands fall less-than subtly to his holsters, where the silver handles of Mercy and Redemption glint in the sunlight.

Anton's face pales upon seeing the Horseman's legendary pistols.

"Stop that," you scold him, smacking the back of your hand against the armoured chest plate before turning to your other friend and calling, "Come on, Tones, let's go."

Anton all but throws himself onto his bike, kicking the stand back and jamming his keys into the ignition whilst you climb on behind him, albeit far more gracefully. The man tosses you a helmet and you shove it onto your head.

Strife's eyes remain settled upon your hands that wrap snugly around Anton's waist and it takes everything in him not to grab you, haul you off the bike, drag you back to your home and lock you inside.

“I'll be back late tonight,” you call over the roar of the engine as you begin to pull away, “There's food in the fridge if you want to eat! And my Netflix is still logged in! I'll see you later, okay!?”

Strife doesn't respond, not because he can't think of what to say, but because there would be no point. Anton has already peeled away and pushed the bike to a reckless speed. All the Horseman can do is stand there at the end of your driveway, his shoulders drooping dejectedly.

After you're nothing more than a dot on the far horizon, he tears his eyes off you and lets them fall to the tarmac near his boots.

He never notices you looking back.

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

im really glad I celebrated last weekend being good because oh man was last week so very NOT good, and I’m already anxious over the fact this week probably won’t be much better 😂

most of last week’s issues were low level garbage (work stuff, weather, coworkers being mad at me/cold shouldering me for no reason? who fucking cares) but the biggest one is the fact that tim needs fucking dental surgery and is getting it the last day of this month.

so on top of me going to be anxious about it until it happens (because I’m scared of leaving him alone in a strange place and him thinking im abandoning him/the potential of issues with anesthesia/what the fuck damian’s going to think with both me and tim gone all day and he’s as anxious as me on a normal basis etc etc etc) its going to be fucking EXPENSIVE. and like. i hate using my savings but ive always said I will spend every dime i have on the cats before myself if i have to. so, however much it’s gonna cost I know I can afford it. i will afford it. it’s just gonna make everything tight for the next few months.

so, it’s not dire. I’m more worried about the medical side than the monetary. but I’ll make my schpiel again. sorry I’m so annoying about it.

but if you want to help, patreon or commissions will get you something in return, and then I also have a kofi if thats more your speed. id be forever grateful.

I’ve never had a pet go through any kind of surgery before, so I don’t know what the timeline of after will look like either. I know along with cleaning his other teeth, he’s for sure getting a root extracted (of a rotted tooth that I found fallen out last sunday - that’s what started this) and potentially other teeth removed that the vet already tagged as inflamed, so that’ll be up to the surgeon. so I imagine he’ll be on pain meds and a bit loopy afterwards and I’ll be busy stressing and worrying over him so...I probably won’t be here much for a while. again. sighhhh.  

[kingofkingdom-archive]

Recovery [Ezra (Prospect) x Fem!Reader]

A/N: Hello all! This is my first Pedro Pascal work and the first to be posted here to this blog. If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to send them my way! As always, please read the tags/warnings, you are responsible for the media you choose to consume. Also posted to AO3 under the same username (kingofkingdom). I did not use “y/n” or anything similar in this story.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You were taken from your younger sister, Cee, ten years ago. When you answered a distress call from the Green, you didn’t expect to be reunited with her, and you certainly didn’t expect to meet a man like Ezra. 

Warnings: mention of past violence/death, discussion of medical procedure, discussion of disability (amputation/loss of limb), family dynamics, abstract discussion of philosophy, small SW universe cameo :)

Tags: considerable amounts of fluff, size kink, daddy kink, hint of dd/lg, copious use of various pet names, p-in-v sex, some breast play/worship, some dom!ezra & sub!reader

Word count: 9552

You hadn't seen Cee since your mother died. 

Her father had taken her and left you in the care of your aunt, a woman you didn't know, a woman who jumped at the chance to send you off to boarding school on the Ephrate the moment you were old enough. Most of your memories consisted of your host family there, with a younger "sister" who reminded you all too much of the one you had lost. In your mind, Cee was still a toddler, all wispy blonde hair and big blue eyes.

Cee's father had never liked you. You were the evidence of his wife's life before him, and you looked too much like your own deceased father for him to have any affection toward you. It didn't surprise you that he left you behind after your mother died, but at ten that didn't make it hurt any less. 

Since then, ten years had passed. Now, your aunt was gone, and your studies on the Ephrate completed. You'd taken to a rather nomadic lifestyle, catching rides from planet to station to planet and picking up odd jobs here and there. It wasn't much, but you'd become a strong woman in your time on your own, and thoughts of your half-sister plagued you only some nights now.

Jobs you took ranged from helping the lone-wolf prospector on an excavation to ship repairs at major stations across the system. In one of your darker moments, you'd even carried out a hit against some low-level merc who'd pissed off the wrong people. Those people paid well, enough to fill your stomach for a few days and cover a ride far away from that moon. The right circles knew you could hold your own, and that's what mattered.

This particular station was on the outskirts of the system, a rough-and-tumble place frequented only by prospectors and the people that paid them. You'd taken a shift at the bar here a few weeks ago, and knew the locals pretty well. In a spot like this, people could often get more information at your humble establishment than they could from the officials. You were lying low, and you itched to get moving again, like the nomad you were.

Hence why you kept the radio channels on all the time during your shifts, quiet and unobtrusive where you stood at the bar.

You were thankful, looking back, that it had been a quiet afternoon, and that you'd been so vigilant in keeping track of job openings.

"This is Kilo-Romeo 12, calling from Green sector 608. In need of assistance pronto, rapid extraction A.S.A.P."

The voice is faint, but frantic - a masculine growl laced with an edge of panic. Your radio isn't the best, and you don't recognize the prospector's callsign, but you know he must be in deep shit. A call like this from the Green is a death sentence if someone doesn't act quickly.

As with most of your decisions, you act entirely on impulse. As you hit the button to close up the bar's doors, the radio is already in your hands.

"This is Juno B-390, responding to Kilo-Romeo 12. Do you copy?"

You're down the hall by now, rushing to your quarters to collect your meager belongings. Everything fits in a single pack, and you're just pulling your helmet onto your head when the radio crackles to life again.

"I copy, Juno B-390," the relief is evident in his voice, even through the static. "We need extraction and medical care."

Well, that wasn't in the initial signal. "We? How many are with you? And what kind of medical care are we talkin' here?"

"Just me and one other. Deep trauma to the abdomen, I'm afraid."

You swear under your breath. Nothing you can't handle, but this guy's timer's really running out. You grab the necessary supplies and dash to your small pod racer, which is just big enough with its three seats.

"Hang on, Kilo-Romeo. I'll be there as soon as I'm able. You'll need to direct me to your exact location, is that clear?"

There's a moment of silence before his voice echoes through your racer one last time.

"Clear."

-

You descend upon the Green as fast as the forces of physics and gravity allow you to. Sector 608, as it says on your map, is a stretch of deep woods and rolling terrain, nearly unexplored save for the last rush. You slow up as you approach, and call out to the prospector over the radio once again.

"Kilo-Romeo 12, this is Juno B-390. I am approaching your location. Do you copy?"

It's quiet. Much too quiet. You slow the racer even more, as your heart begins to race. Just as you begin to worry that you're too late, the radio awakens.

It's not the man, however, whose voice you hear.

"This is Ez-- I mean, this is Kilo-Romeo's... uh... companion. He's gotten worse."

It's a girl. A young teen, from the sound of it. Your heart clenches, thinking of how scared she must be out there.

"Okay, hey there. It's gonna be okay. Can you tell me what landmarks you see? Help me find you."

"Um, yeah. We're in a clearing, there's another ship right nearby. It's not operational, which is wh-- uh, yeah. Clearing, big ship. Also sort of a gulley nearby."

You're about to respond when she speaks again.

"Please, hurry."

"I will, kid. Just keep him alive."

It takes you longer than you would've liked to find this clearing, but once you do you see a scene that brings more questions than answers. Dead bodies litter the field and a half-blown excavation site sits in ruins. Discretion's always been a virtue of yours, though, so you file the information away in your brain and swiftly land your craft. As soon as you exit, you hear the girl's voice not too far away.

"Here! We're over here!"

You grab the field kit and run over to where she stands over a slumped figure. The man you'd spoken to is now unconscious, and not only does he have a nasty looking wound in his chest, he's missing an arm. You look up at the girl. Her brows are furrowed, eyes like steel. You like her already.

"Go to the racer and grab the stretcher that's behind the passenger seat. We'll have to move him onto that and carry him over."

She nods and runs off. Immediately, you turn to the man and take stock of his injuries. The arm has been gone for at least a little while, so that's not of immediate concern. You set to treating the chest wound, making sure to purge it and his suit of dust. Nasty stuff, that which floats around this planet. His filter is as good as gone, so you quickly connect your own.

You drain the wound with the juice the locals here produce, which is generally in stock in the station's field kits. It smells rank, but it works, and the man below you groans. Good, he's still vocal, at least. It doesn't sound like a lung's been punctured. You set up a highly temporary pocket over his wound and torn suit through which you can patch the injury. You take some foaming antiseptic and apply it to the wound before adhering a sticky bio-bandage over the top of it. 

It'll do for now. He'll need further treatment at the station, but this should keep him alive, at least. 

The girl returns with the stretcher then, and places it next to the man. You glance up at her, and see momentarily a young version of yourself. Eager to help. Eager to make things right. 

You shake your head, collecting your thoughts. "Okay, so I'm going to tilt his body towards me, and you slide the stretcher as far as you can under him. Then we'll let him down on top of it and secure him for travel. Can you do that?"

She nods, and you give her a small smile. You hook one arm around the man's waist, the other supporting his neck and shoulder. 

"On three, okay? One... two... three!"

Quickly, you roll him up onto his remaining arm as she slides the stretcher under him. As gently as possible, you let him back down, and just like that he's mostly on the stretcher. You set to arranging him properly and tying straps down. 

The girl fidgets, and you look up to her.

"Do you know how to stow the back seat in a racer like that?" you ask, and she nods.

"Good, go do it."

She runs off, and is back by the time you've gotten the man secured to the stretcher.

"You take the handles at his feet and I'll take his head. We have to be careful not to tilt him too much, to keep the weight on the stretcher even. Did he suffer any head trauma?"

The girl shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

You probably should have asked that before moving him onto the stretcher, but then again no one's ever known you for your excellence in trauma care. Your knowledge of first aid comes only from what you've picked up in the field, so sometimes the order of operations gets a bit jumbled. 

Whatever. He'll be okay. You can't let yourself think otherwise.

The girl stoops to grab hold of the handles at his feet. You do the same at his head, and again you count backwards from three.

"Up!"

Together you stand, and twin groans echo from both of you. The girl huffs, clearly struggling a bit under the weight.

"Okay, let's go. Slowly, remember."

You walk backwards, feet taking cautious steps so as to keep the same pace as the young girl. Her face is screwed up in focus and concentration, hands in a vice grip on the handles. 

"You're doing good, kid. Just a bit further."

Before you know it, you've reached the ship. Carefully, you set the stretcher in the racer, and then the two of you slide it in. There's just barely enough room for it. You quickly secure it, and then close the hatch.

The girl is looking at you, eyes wide and chest heaving. You reach out a gloved hand and set it on her shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. 

"He'll be okay. I promise. Now go get in the passenger seat and I'll get us back up to the station."

She nods, and seems to relax a bit at that. You can't help but wonder what she's been through, out here in this rough, unforgiving environment. "Thank you."

You smile, and sincerely hope that this young girl finds a way to leave this life of prospecting behind. You don't know how she got here, but it's no place for someone so young. You know that all too well.

"Let's go, kid."

-

The trip was pretty quiet save for a single groan from the man in back. The girl glanced back to him when she heard that, and then looked at you, concerned.

"It's okay. He'll be in and out of consciousness until we get to the station. I'll pull up to the emergency med-bay so the doctors can start treating him properly right away."

You look over to her, and she nods.

"Does he have anyone they can contact? Any family?" you ask. "The doctors will need to know."

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure. I don't think so."

You sigh. "Okay. Well, we'll deal with that when we get there."

It's not long after that you arrive at the med-bay. It's a whirlwind of nurses and questions and forms, most of which you have to leave blank, since you don't know the guy and the girl seems not to know much more. She does, however, give you a name.

"His name's Ezra," she offers, when she sees you pause at the line on the top of the screen.

You look over at her. "Ezra? Spelled E-Z-R-A?"

She nods. "Never told me a last name though."

"That's alright. A first name's enough."

She sits next to you and helps where she can as you fill out the form. Once you're done, you go up to hand the tablet back to the receptionist. You then sit back down next to her, crossing your arms over your flight suit. The girl's fiddling with her fingers, bag tucked between her feet.

"Do you think we'll be able to see him when they're done?" she asks, clearly trying not to sound as worried as she is.

You shrug. "Probably. It might be a while, though. Do you want something to eat while we wait?"

She nods, and when you look over at her, she's smiling. 

As it turns out, it does take a pretty long time for them to complete the operation. It feels like hours that you two are sitting there. You watch the people come and go from the waiting room while the girl writes in some notebook, headphones secure over her ears, absently eating a chocolate bar.

She can't be more than 13 or 14. You think back to when you were that age - in the middle of your time at the Ephrate, moody and angsty like all young teens. It makes you think of Cee. She'd be about that age by now. You look over to the girl sitting next to you, wondering what ever became of your sister. Maybe she's at the Ephrate by now, or perhaps her father has taken her to some peaceful planet with beaches and a nice home, a few pets running around. 

Hopefully a better life than the one you've led. Somewhere far from thrower blasts and gemstones.

This girl seems nice enough, and you're sure she's seen her fair share of shit. It's clear this guy's not only not her father, but that they haven't known each other long at all. You can't help but wonder how they ended up traveling together. 

Images of the clearing littered with bodies flashes in your mind. Something went down there, and it clearly got ugly fast. It's amazing that the girl emerged relatively unscathed. You've seen a fair share of shootouts and fights, and never did you escape completely uninjured. It takes cleverness and a strong sense of self-preservation, the latter of which you don't often have.

You're ruminating on the mystery sitting next to you when the doors to the operating rooms swing open. A nurse steps out and looks at both of you. You stand, and she follows suit.

"He's awake, and asking for you," the nurse says. You nudge the girl slightly with your elbow.

"Go on, go see hi--"

The nurse cuts in. "He's asking for both of you."

Oh. You're surprised. He doesn't even know you, so there's no reason he should be asking to see you. Despite your confusion, you follow behind the girl as she follows the nurse to his room.

The hallways are sterile and white, cleaner than anything you've seen in months. The doorway is the last on the right, and inside is a single bed, with a small window looking out to the stars.

The young girl enters first as the nurse stands to the side, and you hover in the doorway to watch, still not quite feeling entirely welcome. You can just see the man's - Ezra's - hair behind the girl, with an unusual shock of blonde in otherwise dark brown curls.

"I was wondering where you went, birdie. One minute I was on the ground and next thing I know I'm sitting here like a babe in a bassinet, right as rain," he says, voice melodic with an accent you can't quite place.

"Do you feel better, Ezra?" the girl asks, voice wavering just slightly.

"I do. Are you faring alright yourself?"

She nods, and crosses her arms. Silence fills the room for a moment, then Ezra speaks again.

"Who was so kind as to bring us here, birdie?" he asks. The girl turns to you and steps aside so Ezra can see you.

"She did," she replies, a soft look on her face.

You step forward and look at Ezra properly for the first time. You hadn't really paid much attention to his facial features back on the Green, so concerned as you were with getting him out of there.

His dark brown eyes are kind, and his lips tease at a smile. He's got stubble growing on his chin and a mustache on his lip. There's a thin white line in the shape of a crescent underneath his left eye, the silvery remnant of a deep cut sustained long ago. He's older than you, maybe 40 or so. For some reason, you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach, but you're quick to snuff those out best you can. Mirroring the girl, you cross your arms, and flip your braid over your shoulder.

"Yeah, that would be me," you say, as nonchalantly as you can manage.

"I recognize that voice from the radio," he notes, looking at you intently. "I can't hardly give you enough thanks for getting the two of us out of that... sticky situation. You really are somethin' else, sugar."

You shrug, unused to such praise, such immediate kindness. You feel your face heat up with a blush, and you clear your throat.

"Well, it sure sounded like you were in need of some help. I'm happy to see you're doing better."

Your voice is softer than you intend. Spending even three minutes with this guy seems to have thrown you off balance. You haven't met anyone that talks like him since you were in school, and it's like a breath of fresh air.

His face turns serious at your words. Ezra's gaze is as intense as it is gentle, burning into your own.

"Oh, much better," he assures you, giving you a look you can't quite decipher. A smile quickly returns to his features. "It's a shame they couldn't get my arm to grow back."

You laugh a little at that, happy to see that he's in good spirits. The nurse steps forward then, tablet in hand. The three of you turn to her.

"Ezra will likely be discharged tomorrow morning, given how much progress he's made just today. He will need somewhere to rest, however, for the next week or so. We can help to make boarding arrangeme--"

"No," you interrupt, surprising even yourself. "No, he can stay with me. I have quarters in the 4th wing." You turn to the girl. "You can stay with me too, if you'd like." You don't know what's come over yourself, but you find yourself drawn to this unlikely pair.

The girl nods once, just as Ezra speaks up. "You're too kind, sugar. Your hospitality and generosity are appreciated beyond measure. Do let us know if there's any way at all we can show our gratitude."

You shake your head immediately, waving a hand as if to wave away the notion.

"No need for that. Consider it a celebratory gift for parting with the Green."

Everyone laughs at that - even the nurse, who hides her grin behind her tablet.

-

The next morning, you and the girl - whose name you still don't know, and who still does not know yours - visit the med-bay first thing after breakfast. Your quarters are small, enough to fit two comfortably and three at most. The girl has decided to take the sofa, since Ezra will need to rest, and a bed is most ideal for that. It seems you both tend to rise early, so you gave her some oatmeal and a cup of coffee. She took both without hesitation, and it warmed your heart to see her eat after however long she and Ezra had been out there.

When you two arrive, Ezra is waiting in his room, dressed in clean loungewear with a bag on his lap. He is seated in a wheelchair. You and the girl greet him, happy to see that he is rested and ready to leave.

"I told the kind folks that I am more than able to walk unaided," he comments when you begin to push the chair from behind. "They insisted, however, and I am not one to ignore the advice and orders of my physicians."

You see the girl try to hide a smile. It seems as though he's grown on her, and she struggles to admit that to herself. Before you can think better of it, you give Ezra a pat on the right shoulder, a small attempt at reassurance.

"You'll be walking in no time, I'm sure," you reply.

You feel his left hand cover your own, and you nearly stumble as you push him along through the hallway. His palm is rough and callused, a signature trait of most prospectors. It's large, too, covering your own entirely. Its warmth soaks through the back of your hand and into your stomach.

"With kindness as bright as yours to guide me, that will certainly be the case."

You don't know what to say to that, so you give his shoulder a squeeze and retract your hand.

The 4th wing is not too far from the med-bay; the station itself is smaller than most, so the distance is blessedly short. Ezra does most of the talking while the three of you walk.

"It would suit me just perfectly to never see that god-forsaken moon again so long as I live," he comments just as you reach the door to your quarters. You scan your ID card and the panel slides open, revealing a small but comfortable dwelling. "Forget the gems, forget the money. Prospecting is surely the most foolish endeavor of them all."

"The lust for wealth is stronger than the fear of death," you reply, almost without thinking.

Ezra looks up at you, smiling, a curious look on his face. "Asmolea. Ruminations, chapter seven. Color me impressed, sugar."

You look back, equally surprised. "You recognize that quote?"

"Why, yes, in fact, I do," he responds, and you notice the girl watching the two of you out of the corner of your eye. "I was an admirer of the great thinkers, long ago. When I was younger, and more -- well, more curious about such things, I suppose."

You wheel him into the small sitting area, arranged around a holo-screen. The walls are bare, lack of personality belying a short-lived residence here. You engage the wheelchair's brakes and take a seat yourself, across from him on an armchair. The girl sits on the sofa, where she slept last night.

"Philosophy is the sustenance of the mind," he continues, kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table. He winces slightly at the motion, but keeps speaking nevertheless. "Without it, we decay. We risk succumbing to trivial errors of man. It is the sharpening stone to the blade of our intellect."

"What about literature?" the girl asks, her eyes firey and brow set. "I think that's much more valuable than what some ancient guy thought about a world we don't even know anymore."

You smile, pleased at this contribution. "I think great literature can convey philosophical ideas in the form of a modern narrative. You just have to keep an eye out for it, and understand its relevance to the story."

Ezra nods along. "I agree. Where did you read Asmolea, sugar?"

"At the Ephrate," you reply, and you see the girl perk up. You smile at her, hoping the two of you will have a chance to discuss that later. She seems entirely intrigued by you now. "I studied there for seven years, until I was eighteen."

"Why did you leave?" the girl asks.

You sigh, and bring your foot up to rest on the chair, so your thigh is pressed against your front. "Life there didn't suit me. I'm much happier on my own, not surrounded by stuffy academics and pretentious businessmen. The only ones I could stand there were the monks."

Ezra laughs at that. "The Neo-Carthusians?"

You nod, grinning. "Yeah. Considered joining, for about a month or so. I admire their lives of solitude and contemplation, but I couldn't imagine staying in one place for so long."

The conversation flows between the three of you so naturally you hardly notice the time flying by. They ask questions about you, and you return the favor by inquiring about their lives. The girl is quiet when it comes to her past, but you find out her father died on the Green. Both she and Ezra are hesitant to talk about it, which tells you all that you need to know.

Night falls quickly, or at least night according to standard time - on the station, there is no night or day, just a constant darkness visible out the windows interrupted by pinpricks of light. Everyone follows the standard clock, which runs according to time on the Ephrate. 

You show Ezra to his room after the three of you have eaten dinner. It's a small space, just enough for a bed and a dresser. Carefully, he stands from the wheelchair, tosses his bag on the bed, and turns to look at you.

He's much taller than you are. The butterflies return as you look up at him, and a warm feeling radiates through the area below your stomach.

"Thank you again for the hospitality, sugar," he murmurs, voice low and deep. He moves the wheelchair out from between you, so there's nothing but air separating the two of you. "As I said, don't hesitate to ask if there is anything I can do to repay you. Anything at all."

You nod, at a loss for words. His hand comes up and gently brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. You positively melt. This man is going to be the death of you.

"I'm just glad to see you safe, Ezra," you reply, and your eyes flutter at the way his fingers linger over the apple of your cheek. His lips look so soft, his eyes full of promises he intends to keep. You can feel yourself falling, as if in a dream.

You blink and lean back, away from him. This is a bad idea. For what reason, you can't say, but you dart to your room as soon as you begin to doubt yourself.

You shut the door and lean against it. There's no way, your mind whispers to you. He feels indebted. That's the only reason. You're too young, he just sees you as a kid.

In your haste, you didn't see the look in his eyes as you left so suddenly, or the way he stared at the door long after you shut it.

-

In the night, you dream of him. Dark eyes above you, heavenly, filthy moans filling the air around you, something thick and perfect filling the empty space inside you. His musical voice murmurs sweet words in your ear, and you hear the sound of your passion just as much as you feel it. Your hands grip his hair as he thrusts, your body trembling underneath him.

Your peak startles you awake, and you find your bedsheets soaked with the evidence of your fantasy.

Your bedside clock tells you it is the early hours of the morning. With a sigh, you toss back the blankets and emerge from your room quietly. 

After a quick shower in the refresher, you step out and wrap a towel around yourself. You stare into the mirror, thinking about him.

You've never felt such an instant attraction to anyone before in your life. Sure, his looks contribute quite a bit, but it's much more than that. You and he seem to have a similar intellect, his passion and aptitude for prose matching your own knowledge and understanding of philosophy and the humanities. The girl is also equally respected by him as she is by you, and you both share a common want to see her thrive. You've known them both barely a day and a half, but they already feel more like family than anyone you've ever known.

You wonder if you're imagining his affections toward you. That could just be him, his way of communicating. You desperately hope it's more than that, but you also can't get your hopes up because of a silly dream.

A silly, beautiful dream.

Water drips from your hair, down your chest, and into the towel. As you begin to shiver, you decide to return to bed and try again for some uninterrupted sleep. You'll have to change the sheets, unfortunately, but that shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

You open the door and tiptoe back out into the hallway, quiet as a mouse. Just as you're about to sneak back into your room, towel clutched tightly in your fingers, you're startled by the door opposite your own sliding open.

And there he is. Dressed in little more than a pair of grey shorts, hair tousled and eyes weary with sleep.

He blinks a few times, and then his eyes widen, suddenly much more awake. You see him glance down, and his mouth parts ever so slightly before his gaze returns to your face.

You are frozen in place. Somewhere in your mind, you will your feet to dart away again, but the remnants of your dream still echo in your muscles, preventing you from leaving. Your hands tighten on your towel and despite yourself, you make note of his chest, his abdomen - the wound, which is an angry red line, held together with clear stitching, and which makes your heart clench at the thought of what would've happened had you not arrived - and finally, a rapid glance at his shorts, his thighs, before you find your sense and look back up at his face.

There's that intensity again, with considerably less gentleness. You inhale sharply, and spare a glance towards the sitting area, where the girl sleeps.

"She's quite the light sleeper, I'm afraid. I'd be mightily surprised if she didn't already hear --"

His voice is low, nearly inaudible to your ears as you look back at him. The tone of it causes the insides of your thighs to tremble, and your chest to heave with silent breaths. Ezra cuts himself off, clearly not having meant to say as much as he did.

Maybe it's the early hour that makes the words escape your lips with ease. Maybe it's the dream, the visions of which you can still see in your mind's eye as you look at him. Perhaps there's just something about Ezra that makes you bold, standing there with nothing more than thin terrycloth protecting your modesty.

"Hear what, Ezra?" you whisper, and set your jaw when his eyes widen ever so slightly.

Ezra reaches out, and his hand comes up to grip the back of your neck. His thumb strokes your jawline, behind your ear, and he steps forward. He's so close that you can feel the heat from his body on your own.

His lips press softly against your forehead, a surprisingly intimate gesture that makes you shiver. The hand that isn't clutching your towel moves to rest on his waist, golden skin warm under your cold fingers.

"Hear this, sweet thing," he murmurs against your skin, lips still pressed against you. "How strongly I feel for you. How deeply I know that it was divine providence that brought you to me. The ways I want to repay you for saving my life.”

His words are like molten gold, shimmering and hot as they slip over your skin and into your heart. You shiver, and your fingers curl gently into his side.

”I don’t - I don’t want you to feel obligated to... to do anything. With me. For me,” you whisper back, eyes closed, basking in the feeling of this quiet moment. 

Ezra hums in dissent against your worries. “No... no...” he says, as his fingers slowly thread their way into your hair. “It isn't like that —“

He’s interrupted by a shuffling sound from the sitting room. You both freeze, wide-eyed, and look toward the room where the girl sleeps.

A moment passes, and then two. Enough that you know she is still asleep and there isn’t any risk of her finding you two like this.

It‘s like ice water thrown over you, the reminder of where and who you are. You look back up to Ezra, whose eyes are soft and knowing as they stare at you. His hand gently caresses the back of your neck, and then he brings it back to rest at his side.

"Go to bed, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then steps around you. He enters the refresher without another word.

You do as he says, but you find yourself struggling to fall back asleep once you return to clean, cool sheets. You watch the stars inch past outside your window as your mind races at the memory of his lips.

-

The next morning, you wake to sounds of movement coming from outside your door. For a moment you panic, before you remember your two visitors. And then you remember your encounter with one of those visitors last night, and the hushed words exchanged between you and him.

Beside you, the clock reads barely past 06:00, which is usually the time you wake up anyway. Today you have another shift at the bar, assuming you still have a job there after you ditched it the other day. With a groan, you pull yourself out from under the warm, soft covers and dress yourself. 

The noise becomes more decipherable as you make your way down the hallway. Ezra and the girl are making small talk while something sizzles. You turn the corner and see Ezra standing at the stove with the girl sitting at the counter, the pleasing aromatic smell of pork bacon wafting through the air. You lean against the wall and watch the pair with a small smile, happy to see someone making use of a space normally reserved for microwave rations and alcohol snuck from the bar.

No one's ever accused you of being a particularly good bartender, that's for sure.

Ezra turns to look at you when he hears your footsteps, a bright smile lighting up his face. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he teases, and pushes the bacon around with a spatula. "I cannot emphasize enough how divine it was to wake up with a soft cushion beneath me rather than dirt. I could much too easily let myself get used to this, and I think Cee here agrees with me on that account. Don't you, birdie?"

The girl nods, but you don't notice it. The color has drained from your face and you feel a frantic, sinking feeling in your chest.

"What did you say?" you ask, pushing yourself off the wall and looking at Ezra with wide eyes.

He looks back, brow furrowed, confused. "I believe I said that I could get used to this...?"

You turn away from him and look at the girl. She's looking at you too, now, concern evident in her eyes.

"What did he say your name is?"

She blinks. "My name's Cee."

Your hand flies up to your mouth, and you feel tears gather at the corners of your eyes. It can't be. But she's the right age, and her hair's the same, and...

"What was your father's name?"

She looks even more confused now. "Um, it was Damon."

Oh my god. "Oh my god. You're Cee."

The two of them stare at you like you've grown a second head. You laugh, realizing how foolish you look.

And then you give her your name.

Cee's eyes light up like nothing you've ever seen before, and she nearly launches herself off of the counter stool to wrap you in the tightest hug you've ever been given. You laugh again, a loud and boisterous thing, as happy tears spring unbidden and flow onto your cheeks. Her hands grip the back of your shirt as you hold her head to your chest with both hands.

"I never thought I'd see you again," you mutter through the tears, pressing your nose against her hair. It's her. It's really her. Suddenly you think Ezra was right about divine providence, that the three of you were meant to find each other, the event arranged by some mighty cosmic force.

"Dad told me you were dead," she cries, as the two of you collapse to the floor. Propriety suddenly no longer concerns you, not now that you're cradling your long-lost little sister.

"I'm so sorry, Cee. I'm so sorry."

You can't say much more than that. There are simultaneously too many and not enough things to say to the last family you have left in the universe, to this girl who was so much like you even in the first moments of knowing one another. 

Above you, Ezra clears his throat.

"While this is clearly an unexpected but happy reunion that I hate to interrupt, I do have to ask how you girls know one another, so that I might not be kept in the dark about your relation?"

You look up at him as you move backwards to rest your shoulders against the wall. His dark eyes look down at you from above, and though you've never felt so small, you've also never felt happier in your life.

"She's my sister," you answer with a smile. "Same mother, different father. We were separated when our mother died. She was hardly more than a baby."

Ezra's eyes grow soft at that, and he nods. You begin to think that maybe now you both have something to thank the other for. You may have saved his life, but his radio transmission brought you Cee.

You tighten your arms around her, and place a kiss on the crown of her head. You aren't sure how long you sit there - long enough to have surely lost your job when you don't show up for your shift, but you can't find it within yourself to care. This is all that matters to you right now.

-

The day passes with you and Cee doing most of the talking, for once. Ezra seems content to just sit and listen, though you catch him a few times looking at you like he did in the darkened hallway last night.

After lunch, he makes a point to sit next to you on the couch, arm draped across the cushions behind you.

If Cee notices, she doesn't say anything. You still aren't sure where your relationship with Ezra stands, but in the midst of sharing stories with Cee and learning about her life, you don't find time to sort that out.

Dinner comes and goes again, and the topic of the future comes up.

"When do you think you'll be healed enough to travel again, Ezra?" you ask, as the three of you work on cleaning the dishes.

He shrugs. "I'm fit to travel right now," he answers, and you give him a look. No, he isn't. He chuckles. "Alright, sugar. Maybe another day or so. The serum they gave me to apply daily has been working wonders, I must admit."

You nod, and look over at Cee. "Where do you want to go? The Ephrate? I have no doubt you could get into the school there."

She perks up at that. "You think so? Would you bring me?"

"Why not? I'm a traveler anyway, and I think it's high time I got out of this station. Ezra?" You look over to him, but he's already looking at you.

You feel his hand ghost over the small of your back. "I would be most honored to accompany you both to the Ephrate, if you'll have me."

"Yes, of course," you reply, leaning into his touch, and you turn back to the task at hand.

Later on, when Cee is in bed listening to her music, and Ezra's in his room, you sit on your bed thinking about what's to come. In order to apply to the school, Cee will need a guardian contact, and a record of education. You hope she can pass the entrance exam and submit a writing sample, and that that will be enough. Maybe you can talk some of your former professors into considering her.

It’s a pretty long trip from the station to the Ephrate, even with a ship that can travel at hyper speed. You can’t help but wonder what will become of Ezra after you get Cee set up in school. 

The man captivates you, to put it plainly. His poetic manner of speaking and the gentle fire of his passion, when directed at you, gives you a feeling unlike any other you’ve experienced before. You’ve met plenty of men in your life. None have ever made you feel such a way. 

Before you can think better of it, while the desire to see his sleep-ruffled hair still sits at the forefront of your mind, you get out of bed and leave your room. Quietly, so as to not disturb Cee, you knock on his door.

”Come in!” he calls out from somewhere within.

You slide the door open, slip inside, and close the door behind you. Ezra is sitting up in bed, looking at you.

”To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing such a beautiful woman enter my chamber in the night?” The question is teasing, good-natured, but the compliment still makes your stomach swoop.

You smile, and walk to where he lies in bed, leaning against the dresses. “I wanted to thank you, Ezra. You brought my sister back to me, which is something I’ll never be able to repay you for. Can we call it even?” 

He laughs at that. “Sure we can, sweet thing. You know, when I first saw you in that recovery room, I thought I recognized you from somewhere, and that my brain had done me the disservice of erasing all memory of you. I now realize it was because you and Cee are so much alike. I haven’t known her for much longer than I’ve known you, and it remains a miracle that she has given me even a modicum of trust, but I see the relation between you clear as a bell now.”

You have to smile at that. It warms your heart to know you didn’t imagine it, that someone else noticed it too.

Ezra reaches out then, in the dim light, and you step forward. Thinking he's reaching for your hand, you extend yours - but he bypasses it completely and wraps his hand around the back of your upper thigh, thumb brushing against your sleep shorts. A giggle escapes your lips as he pulls you in even closer to him. Ezra leans forward and presses his face against your midsection, nose just next to your belly button.

Confused, but certainly pleasantly surprised, you place your hands on his head and thread your fingers through his dark curls. Gently you massage his scalp, not quite understanding this sudden show of affection. It's different than last night, though you can't exactly express how. 

You decide you're really enjoying seeing these different sides of Ezra when the two of you are alone.

When you happen to massage a certain spot right behind his ear, Ezra groans, a low sound that ripples through your bones. His grip tightens, and you feel his next words more than you hear them.

"Come here, little one," he murmurs into your stomach, nosing at the hem of your shirt. The pet name makes you clench, desire flooding through your center. 

He pulls you closer, shifting his face away so he can guide you down onto the bed. You swing one leg over his waist just as he slides his hand up to grip your ass, turning you further so you're on your back next to him. He's on his side, propped up by his elbow, leaning over you.

You're breathless, staring up into those infinite brown eyes.

"You have consumed my every waking thought since the moment I first saw you" he says softly, his voice a low purr that awakens some unknown part of yourself. You turn into him, resting a hand on his side, and he presses his nose against your cheek.

"I must have been a saint in a previous life to have earned this sweet embrace," he continues, breath warm against your face. "I want to learn you, to study you with the same vigor the ancients studied and examined the mind. I want to know you, sweet girl, in every way possible.

"But I must be truthful with you, because I could no longer live with myself if I were not. I am not a good man. I have lived a long life of violence and amorality, and death and deceit seem to follow me hand-in-hand. You are so young, little one, full of life and vitality, future bright ahead of you. I do not deserve you, and you certainly deserve better than me."

His words are like needles piercing your heart. You slide your hand up his chest to cup his face, tenderly stroking his cheekbone. You draw him away ever so slightly so you can look him in the eye.

"You and I are not so different, Ezra," you hum, making sure that he keeps the eye contact. "I have been on that same path, of death and violence, for years. I've lived for none but myself."

You slide your thumb across his lower lip, soft and pink and tempting.

"Let me live for you." 

You punctuate your whispered plea by drawing him back down and pressing your lips to his. He gasps into the kiss before returning it with passion amplified twofold. His leg slides over your midsection to stabilize himself, knees pushing in between your own so your thighs stretch open around his.

Ezra deepens the kiss almost immediately. You surrender to his lips, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other tangles again in his hair. His mouth is hot, tasting faintly of mint but mostly a sweet flavor you attribute only to him. You let out a soft moan at the feeling building in your cunt, wet and warm and yearning for him, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Ezra licks at your teeth, seemingly in an attempt to map out every part of you that he can.

All you're able to do is moan, melting into him like a candle to a flame.

You feel Ezra shift a little, followed by profanity muttered softly against your lips. He draws away, and you open your eyes to see him clenching his jaw.

"'M still not fully adjusted to not having a kriffing arm," he grumbles, frustration evident in his eyes. You hum, hurting for him, wanting to take his pain away.

"What do you need, Ezra?" you ask. "What can I do?"

He presses his forehead against yours and sighs. "I want to see you, sweet thing. I want to touch you."

You flush, understanding the meaning of his words and feeling your panties grow wetter at the implication. 

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes." You push at his shoulders, urging him to sit back. He does so, sitting back. You rearrange your legs so that yours rest outside of his, and sit up. Your thighs are tucked against his hips in a position that feels much closer than before - you can just barely feel the heat of his groin against your own. A breath stumbles its way out of your lungs, chest heaving.

Before you can think any further on your insecurities, you grasp the hem of your shirt and draw it up and over your head. Ezra's eyes light up, glance at your face, darken considerably as he looks down again, and then he's on you once more.

His arm wraps around you tightly, hand pressing firmly into your ribs, and it's then that you really take in the size difference between you and him. As his head dips to press his lips against your breasts and nipples, you can't help but shudder at the way his body curls over your own. You feel distinctly small, in a way that would usually frighten you but instead makes you shiver.

This position is clearly more comfortable for Ezra, because he becomes more vocal as he lavishes your tits with attention.

"Gods, little one," he murmurs against the top of one of your breasts, tongue darting out to taste your peaked bud, "your body is divine, the sweetest fruit in the universe." He pauses to suck at your nipple, drawing it into his mouth, and the sight of it forces a whine from your throat. Something about it is so perfect, so perverse, for a man who's always been so sweet, that you can't help but press your clothed cunt down on his cock, the shape of which you can feel burning and hard like an iron through your clothes.

Ezra lets out a choked growl at that, a deep rumbling sound that you immediately commit to memory, in case of the unfortunate event that you're not blessed to ever hear it again. He releases your teat, now spit-soaked and throbbing, and looks at you with eyes so dark you hardly recognize them. His brows are drawn together, teeth bared like a feral animal.

"That's what you do to me," he growls, moving his hand down to cup your ass, squeezing harshly. You gasp, and press into him, bare chest to bare chest. "Feel my dick against your little pussy, baby? Think it can fit?"

You nod frantically, knowing your shorts are soaked through, as his filthy words send your mind reeling. You're not capable of thoughts beyond him and this any longer.

Ezra uses his grip on your ass to press your cunt against him once more, and he rolls his hips up into you in a mimicry of what he'd like to do you. You moan, completely unashamed, and drop your head to tuck your face against his shoulder.

"Please," you whine, nearly unaware of the words coming out of your mouth. It's quiet, hushed, this next utterance, and it's passed through your lips before you can think twice about it.

"Please fuck me, daddy."

Ezra freezes. It takes you a moment too long to realize what you've said.

"What did you say?" Ezra asks, the words rumbling from somewhere in his chest.

You get a frantic feeling in your limbs, panic crawling up your throat. Great, you think, I've messed it all up. He probably thinks I'm some freak, screwed up in the head.

You're broken from your spiraling thoughts by the feeling of his lips on your neck, teeth digging into the space beneath your jawline.

"I asked you a question, sweet girl."

You tremble in his grasp. He's not going to let it go. "Daddy..." you whimper, and he groans.

"You really are a perfect little girl for me," he mutters as his hand slides around from your ass to the front of your shorts. You tighten your grip on the back of his neck and lean forward, thinking he intends to pull your remaining clothes down your legs.

Instead, he clenches his fist and tears them, both your shorts and your panties, from your pussy. You yelp as he does so, and watch as the fabric goes flying somewhere off to the side.

"There you are, sweet thing," he murmurs, leaning back to look at you, hand back in position on your bare ass. "Look at you. Filthy and perfect for daddy, aren't you? A fantasy come to life, placed in my lap by the gods themselves."

You moan once more, pressing your bare cunt against the outline of his cock in his thin sleep pants. He reaches down to pull it free, and as you keep your balance against him, you look down and see perhaps the biggest dick you've ever laid eyes on. Ezra chuckles, watching your reaction.

"You ready, baby? Want me to fill you up, fuck you like you need?"

You nod, and lean in to press your face against the crook of his neck again. "Please," you whine. "I need your big cock in my pussy."

The words are completely unlike you - something about Ezra has awoken a completely submissive, unfiltered side of yourself you didn't know existed before. Sure, you knew you wanted him, and weren't a stranger to sex, but this is an entirely new personality, focused entirely on being his. It's almost like a dream, and for a moment you feel as though you're floating, with how relaxed you are in anticipation for --

Oh.

He's guided the head of his cock to your entrance, and is using his leverage on your ass to guide you slowly, slowly down. You gasp - he's certainly the biggest you've ever had, and the stretch is delicious. Ezra's restraining himself, going slow so he doesn't hurt you, but you have no such qualms.

You drop down in one fell swoop, and the way he fills you makes your eyes roll back in your head. His hand moves from your ass to around your waist, nearly encircling it entirely. He groans, loudly and deeply.

"You'll kill me like this, little one. You're just wrapped around my cock, aren't you? Desperate for it?"

You nod frantically. "Yes, daddy. Yes!"

Ezra moans at that. His hand grips your waist, teeth biting and sucking at your neck, as you push up on your thighs to lift off of him. The drag of his dick against the walls of your cunt is incredible, the head of it catching and pushing on hidden, sensitive ridges within you.

You drop down again, and begin to fuck yourself on Ezra's cock.

His hips piston up as you do so, finding and matching your rhythm with ease. His melodic voice mutters the dirtiest things you've ever heard as he slams his hips up into you.

"...That's it, sweet thing. You were made to fit on my cock, weren't you?..."

"...Wanted to do this that night in the hallway, take you right up against the wall..."

"...My strong, sweet girl, bouncing like a whore on daddy’s cock -- gods, look at your tits..."

You feel your climax building, rising like a fire about to consume you from the inside out. Ezra is close, too, from the way his hips stutter and his breathing becomes ragged.

"Sweet thing..." he groans, slowing his thrusts. "I can't... inside you..."

You shake your head. You know he's clean, since he was tested at the med-bay when he went in for the operation. And besides...

"I've got the implant, daddy. Come in me, please."

Ezra finishes with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard, and you come nearly at the same moment. It's an ethereal, heavenly experience, like the two of you have ascended and joined the gods who so graciously brought you together.

You fall asleep tucked into his chest, warm under his blanket, with the smell of him and you and both of you lulling you into the most peaceful sleep you've had in your life.

-

A month later, you and Ezra and Cee sit at a mahogany wood table, filling out a holo-tablet with the form for Cee's entrance into your alma mater on the Ephrate. Your sister is already taken with the place, and you couldn't be happier for her. 

"Now it wants me to put in a parent or guardian's name," she says, stylus hovering over that section. The cursor blinks as it waits.

You're about to tell her to skip it, but Ezra speaks up before you can.

"Put my name down," he offers, and she looks over at him. "Is that okay with you?"

Cee nods, a genuine smile brightening her features. She turns back to the screen with haste.

"Ezra Stallard," he adds simply.

You look over to him, pleased with this revelation. 

As you watch Cee enter Ezra's full name into the blank and select Guardian, you get a chill up your spine. Despite yourself, you think back to that night, and you know Ezra's thinking the same when his hand moves over to rest on your thigh.

You can't wait to have your ship to yourselves; the joy of seeing your sister thrive in a new setting is followed only by the anticipation of what is to come. You and Ezra have made no plans for the future yet - all you know is that he will be with you, and that's the only guarantee you need.

For the first time in a very long time, your heart sings.

[babybluebex]

it takes two [peter parker]

➽ pairing: peter parker x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 3.0k ➽ summary: an accidental discovery leads peter and you to discuss poly-nylons, tony stark, and aunt may’s burnt meatloaf.   ➽ warnings: awkward teenage feels, fluff, all that good stuff ➽ a/n: nerdy little peter melts my heart uwu. enjoy!

“Hey, Y/N. Y/N!”

I turned to see Peter fumbling with his books, and I extended my arms to catch them. “Hey, Pete,” I chuckled. I looked at one of the books in my hand and saw the official autobiography of tech giant Tony Stark, and I laughed. “We get it, man, you’re in love with Tony Stark.” 

“I’m not,” Peter said quickly. “Just wanna read up on my boss.” 

“Right,” I said with a click of my tongue. “The whole internship thing. That seems like a pretty sweet gig, Pete.”

“It’s…” Peter began and nodded. “It’s alright.”

“What do you actually do?” I asked, placing the biography of Peter’s one true love back on his stack of books. “Do you do paperwork? Or Mr. Stark’s laundry?”

That elicited a laugh out of Peter. Peter Parker and I had been friends for a while, since we were lab partners in eighth grade biology, and I had been one of the first people he told about the internship. As excited as he was to get it, though, he never really talked too much about it. “I do…” He began. “Um… Stuff.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what I’m asking,” I said, shouldering my backpack. “What kinda stuff?” 

“This and that,” Peter shrugged. “Sorta whatever needs to be done.” 

I nodded slowly. “Uh-huh,” I responded. “Well, since you’re not gonna tell me, I’ll tell you some big news.”

“Sure,” Peter said. “What is it?”

“I got an interview for MIT,” I grinned, and joy overcame Peter’s face. His arms instinctually went out to hug me, but his stack of books went tumbling to the ground around us. He paid it no mind and hugged me tightly anyway, rocking us as he embraced me. Peter gave amazing hugs; that’s one thing nearly everyone can agree on. 

“That’s awesome, Y/N!” Peter exclaimed. “When is it?”

“Friday evening,” I said. “And I’m freaking out really bad. Do you think you could help me prep?”

Peter had already bent down and begun to retrieve his books. “Why me?” He asked. “A-Ask Flash, he’s on the debate team.” 

“Because I don’t want to ask Flash,” I sighed. “I want to ask you. God, Pete, you got an internship with Stark Industries! Why wouldn’t I ask for your help with interviews? I mean, I assume there was an interview process…” 

“Um, sorta,” Peter said. “Yeah, yep, there was.”

My eyes narrowed. “What was that turn around?” I asked. “‘Sorta’ an interview, but also yes?” 

“It wasn’t a, uh, a typical interview,” Peter said. “I met Mr. Stark’s head of security before him.” 

“Wait, hold on!” I cried. “You’ve met Tony Stark?” 

“I told you about this!” Peter smiled. “We went on that company retreat!”

“Th-The one to Berlin?” I asked. “You met Tony freaking Stark in Berlin? How’d I not know this, Peter?”

“I remember telling you,” Peter said. “I missed those days, and I texted you asking about homework, and you told me we had a test and asked how the retreat was, and I said that it was awesome and I met Tony Stark.”

“I don’t remember that,” I said. “But come on, Petey! Please help me prep for this interview, MIT is my dream school!” I grasped his arm and pouted at him, and I said, “For me?” 

Peter rolled his eyes jokingly. “Sure,” He said with a smile, as sincere as always. “Just come by tonight, I’ll get Aunt May to order a pizza or something and we’ll work it out.” 

I hugged Peter tightly. “Thank you!” I giggled. “Hey, save me a seat at lunch, yeah?” 

“Umm, Ned’s brought a few pieces of his Death Star,” Peter began. “It might take up a lot of space.”

“I’ll help,” I said. “If you don’t mind, that is.” 

“S-Sure,” Peter said, the tips of his ears turning pink. “We could use your smaller hands for some of the more intricate parts of the build.” 

“Great,” I said as the bell rang long and high for classes to start. “Crap. I’ll see ya, Pete!” 

The day passed as slowly as any normal school day would. I didn’t have a math club meeting that afternoon on account of our faculty sponsor being sick, so I was able to go home before I went to Peter’s. I gathered all of my MIT stuff from my desk and shoved it into my bag, and I opened my computer for a minute before my mom inevitably made me come to the living room. Twitter was already open (I didn’t pay great attention during last period physics), and I clicked around the trending page for a moment before seeing, at the very bottom of the list of trending topics, something called the “Man-Spider”. It wasn’t being talked about too much, but it was a trending topic in my area; knowing that someone would probably ask about it at school tomorrow, I clicked on it. 

It was a shaky phone video of a man in a blue and red suit on the rooftop of a building that was adjacent to the videographer. “Hey, you’re that Man-Spider from YouTube!” the videographer yelled. 

“Call me Spiderman!” The suited man replied back, his voice echoing around the street. 

“Okay! Do a flip, Spiderman!” 

The so-called Spiderman flipped backwards, eliciting a whoop from the videographer. The video ended there, and I huffed out a quiet laugh. Peter was really into gymnastics; he would like this video. I tagged him, @pparker101, figuring that he would watch it before I got to his place. 

When I finally got myself up and made my way across the borough to Peter and his Aunt May’s apartment, May answered the door. She was a tall and thin woman with long hair that she usually pulled up, and she smiled when she saw me. “Aw, hey, Miss Y/N,” May said. “What’s going on?”

“Peter’s helping me with an interview thing tonight,” I said. “Is that alright?” 

“Oh, sweetheart, of course,” May said, waving her hand around. “Where are you interviewing?” 

“MIT,” I replied. “The actual interview is on Friday, but, since he’s got that internship with Stark Industries, I figured he would help me prepare.” 

“Oh, good job,” May said. “Yeah, Pete popped out to get a sandwich, but you’re welcome to wait for him. Are you hungry? I’m making meatloaf.”

I had known May for long enough to know that it was safest to skip out on the meatloaf. “Oh, I’m alright,” I told her. “I ate before I came.” 

“If you change your mind…” May sang and scrunched her nose at me as she smiled. “Pete said that you helped him and Ned with their Death Star build today; how was that?”

“Pretty great,” I smiled. “It was a lot of pieces and we’re not finished yet, but all working together was pretty sweet.” 

“I bet,” May replied. “All of you are so smart, I could never do that, even with instructions.” 

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see Peter replying to me on Twitter with a simple :). “Thanks, May,” I said. “Um, I think I’m gonna go set up in Peter’s room.”

“Alright, Miss Y/N,” May said and gave me a quick hug. “Have fun.” 

Peter’s room was messy as always, discarded projects all over the place, and laundry piled in the corner of his bottom bunk. I sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk and started to extract my papers and things to practice, but there was a weird sound from behind me. It was quiet and I almost missed it, but the cool breeze that hit my shoulder helped alert me to the fact that the window was open. I turned over my shoulder, expecting to see the widow accidentally unlatched and opening, but instead I saw something completely different: my best friend crawling on the ceiling. 

I couldn’t form words. I wasn’t convinced that I was actually seeing what was happening. Peter was attached upside down to his ceiling, wearing a weird onesie-looking outfit with alternating red and blue panels. He was quiet as he crawled to the other side of the room, and he extended his hand, his middle two fingers and thumb folded into his palm, and a string of white shot from his wrist and attached to the corner of the door. Peter tugged the door closed with ease, as if he had done it before, then he expertly flipped from the ceiling and landed on the carpet with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. His back was to me, but, now that I saw him better, I saw that he wore the exact same outfit that the Man-Spider wore in the Twitter video. 

“Holy shit, are you the Man-Spider?” I cried, and Peter flinched. He turned to me, his face stricken with panic, and I saw a black arachnid symbol in the middle of his chest. “You are! Holy shit, Peter--” 

“Dude, shut up!” Peter hissed quickly. His hand came up to his chest and he pressed on the spider symbol, and the tight suit loosened and fell off of his body. “I-I’m not the Man-Spider--”

“Spiderman!” I recalled from the video. “Peter, what the actual fuck--” 

“Shut up!” Peter pleaded, rushing to me and pressing his hand against my mouth. He was right on top of me, his chest nearly touching mine with each breath, and his dark eyes were wide at me. “Y/N, you… You can’t tell anyone. Please!” 

I shifted my head in order to remove his hand. “Are you serious…” I began. “You’re Spiderman? Wait, how did this happen? Was it the Stark internship, did Tony Stark do this to you?” 

“I’ll explain everything,” Peter whispered. “Just, you really cannot tell anyone.”

“Does May know?” I asked quickly. 

“Are you kidding me?” Peter scoffed. He reached down and grabbed a shirt and began to dress himself; I had noticed that, after the suit came off, he was only in boxers, but I figured that it was better not to say anything. “If she knew, she’d go ballistic.”

I sighed heavily and sat down on the bed once more. “Make this make sense,” I groaned, pressing my head into my hands. “Did this happen to you? Did you make it happen? Is this a Bruce Banner thing?” 

“No,” Peter said quickly, and he sat down next to me. “Look, it’s a really long story, but the basics are that I was bitten by a radioactive spider and now I can do weird things. Like, things I never was able to do before. I’m really strong now, Y/N, and I just… I can do that.” He said and pointed to the ceiling. “But Tony Stark found out about me somehow and he tapped me to help him in some sort of weird fight with him and Captain America. He made me that suit! It’s really cool!”

“It is!” I said quickly. “So, are you, like, an Avenger now? Is that what the Stark internship is?”

Peter paused for a moment, and his cheeks turned pink. “Yeah, I mean…” He started. “Basically, yeah, I’m an Avenger.” 

“Oh my God,” I laughed. “That’s awesome, Peter! But… Why would you keep this from me?” There was no point disguising the hurt in my voice. That was it, plain and simple. “I thought we told each other everything.” 

“We do,” Peter said. “I just… Mr. Stark told me to keep this a secret. He said that anyone who knew could be in danger. I didn’t want you getting hurt.” 

I chewed the inside of my cheek. The secrecy hurt and it wouldn’t stop for a while, but my excitement overshadowed that. “This is super cool, Peter,” I laughed. “So, the thing you just shot, do you-- Like, does your body make that? Like a spider? Was that a web?” 

“Yeah, it’s a web,” Peter smiled widely. “But my body doesn’t make them. That would be super gross.” 

“Sorta, yeah,” I agreed.

“Nah, it’s, uh,” Peter began and rushed over to the forgotten suit on the floor. “It’s a poly-nylon substance that’s loaded in these web shooters that Mr. Stark made me. They’re super strong and take three hours to fully dissolve. They come out of this shooter that I wear on my wrist.” He lifted up the silver web shooter to show me, and I grinned at it. 

“That’s awesome,” I chuckled. “Wait, does Ned know?”

“No,” Peter said quickly.

“MJ?”

“No.”

“Liz? Betty? Flash?”

“You’re the only one,” Peter reiterated. “Nobody else knows. Mr. Stark, Happy, Pepper, everyone at SHIELD, and you. You’re the only outsider.”

“This is…” I began. “This is really cool, don’t get me wrong, but isn’t it dangerous?” 

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “I mean… Yeah. Everytime I go on a mission, I’m not really sure if I’m coming back.”

I sighed and rubbed my neck. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Petey,” I started. “But I really don’t like this. The idea of my best friend being an Avenger is super cool, but it’s scary as shit. I can’t lose you, Pete. Nobody gets me like you do, and I don’t know what I’d do if you died and I didn’t know why.” 

Peter was quiet as he came back to sit down next to me, his web shooter still in his hand. He toyed with it for a moment, then placed it in my lap. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, Pete, you didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “You were doing what you were told was right. If anything, Tony Stark needs to apologize to me.”

Peter scoffed. “Good luck with that,” he said. “You’re cool. Ya know that?”

“Me?” I chuckled. “You’re freaking Spiderman, dude! You’re cooler than everyone at Midtown! So, is Peter Parker, like, your alter ego? Like Batman?”

“Batman isn’t real,” Peter said pointedly. 

“The point stands, ass,” I said and shoved his shoulder, eliciting a laugh from him.. “By day, you’re a nerdy high school student and, by night, you’re an Avenger?”

“Sorta,” Peter shrugged sheepishly. “I guess, I mean… Not to brag, but--” 

“Brag away!” I said. 

“I’m supposed to be helping you with your interview,” Peter began. “I think maybe we can table this until later. Yeah?”

“Fine,” I said with a pout. “Let me get my stuff…” 

I turned to retrieve my papers and everything that I had brought, and Peter’s hand returned to my lap to grab the web shooter. The fates, though, decided to throw a wrench into our casual moment, because the ajar door burst open to show May. Before I knew what was happening, Peter had shoved the web shooter down between my thighs in an attempt to quickly hide it, and he pressed his lips to mine. I caught on instantly; his hand between my legs only made sense if we were kissing. It was an easy cover up, something to get May out of the room, and-- honestly-- probably something that May had been suspecting all along. 

“Oh!” She exclaimed and backed out of the room, and Peter gave me a tight grimace. I could almost hear him stuttering out an apology. “Sorry, guys! I didn’t mean to--”

“That’s about my luck, huh?” Peter said loudly and laughed. “It’s-- Ah, shit-- Sorry, May!” 

“No, don’t be sorry,” May said from behind the door. Peter pulled the web shooter from between my legs and grabbed his suit, and he shoved them under the blankets behind me. “Don’t let me interrupt... Whatever that was. Peter, please remember to use a--”

“May, hush!” Peter cried, and I saw genuine embarrassment rise in his cheeks. “We’re not-- We weren’t--” 

“We were just kissing, May!” I said quickly. “Nothing else!” 

“Right,” May said. “Have fun. Meatloaf’s burnt, so, if you guys want something to eat, we can get Thai. Or you two can get Thai and I’ll stay here--” 

“May!” Peter groaned. 

“Right, I’ll leave you two alone,” May said, and Peter and I held our breath until we were sure she wasn’t at the door anymore. 

“God, sorry, Y/N,” Peter mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s the only thing I could think of--”

“No big,” I said. “But I’m sure May thinks we’re dating now.” 

“She’s thought that since eighth grade,” Peter said and rolled his eyes. “Now she has ‘proof’.” 

“I mean…” I started. Too late to go back now. “I’d be lying if I said that I hadn��t thought of it before.”

“Us dating?” Peter asked. 

“I know you like Liz and MJ, so it’s always been…” I started. “Never mind.” 

“Sure, I like Liz and MJ,” Peter said. “But I like you too. Like, in a different way than I like Liz and MJ.”

“Like, in a girlfriend way?” I asked. 

“Yeah,” Peter said. He was looking down at his lap, obviously abashed and not wanting to look at me. “You’re really funny and smart, and you’re super pretty… Mr. Stark thinks you’re cute too.” 

“Tony Stark knows about me?” I asked. “He thinks I’m cute?”

“N-Not in a creepy way,” Peter said quickly. “When I went to Berlin, I brought a picture of you in my luggage, and Mr. Stark-- Well, Happy found it and he told Mr. Stark, and he said that you were pretty… Encouraged me to ask you out… Gave me… Ahem, pointers on how to ask you out.” 

“Really?” I grinned. This was amusing to find out. Tony Stark knew who I was. That was almost as cool as finding out my best friend was an Avenger. “What’d he say?”

“Some really gross stuff, to be honest,” Peter chuckled. “Nothing I’d ever say to you, not even jokingly. But… Whatever. Anyway. MIT interview--” 

I leaned in towards Peter and kissed him again, and I felt his smile against my lips. He kissed me back, his arms wrapping around me and tugging me close, and, when the kiss broke, I whispered, “So, does Spiderman have a girlfriend?”

“I’m sure he can get one if he wants to,” Peter said. 

“Does he want to?” I asked. 

“Duh!”

[drawlfoy]

Wonders of Ohio P.8

masterlist (read parts 1-7 here!) request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no ma’am this was spawned in the pits of my hell brain

summary: y/n’s family takes on a particularly mysterious exchange student, draco malfoy. fyi: this is NOT a non magic AU--draco is still a wizard

warnings: swearing, college admissions (ew), vague mentions of a car accident

a/n: hey...ahahahaha yeah so when i disappeared from the writing scene i was actually sitting on this chapter because i wanted to finish the entire scene up until draco came back home, but i haven’t quite figured out how everything is going to work in the middle of this story bc we’re getting into the thick of it. things are only going to get more and more wild and while i have the ending already written (oopsies), there’s still a lot to cover between december and august. i promise you it’ll be worth it tho--thanks so much for waiting!

word count: 2.5k

no music recs because i wrote this in november and i don’t remember ANYTHING!

tags tags tags (message me if you’d like to be tagged!) @icintliviinyiniilsiji @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan

Y/N froze as she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

In any other situation, she would have fibbed, the lies rolling off her tongue and falling into a neat pile.

But this wasn’t just any situation. 

“Drac--uh, Draco,” she began, rather lamely. She wondered if he could see what she had been doing and then immediately stopped that train of thought--of course he could, she was sitting there crouched with his letters all over the floor next to her.

Y/N had never seen him look so terrible--his eyes were saucers and his fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“What’s up?” she asked. Maybe I got really lucky and he hasn’t noticed yet.

His mouth opened and closed a few times as he seemed to agonize over what to say. 

“Give me those letters back,” he finally said. “And come into my room. We need to talk.”

She scrambled to get everything back into the satchel--honestly, how had all those fit into such a tiny bag?--and tossed it into his hand. He refused to make eye contact and instead yanked her into his room, shutting the door before closing the blinds.

“Uh...what’s going o--”

“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “You know what you read.”

She withered under his gaze, all of a sudden trained on her with a heat that could melt through iron. 

“Here’s how this is going to go,” he said tying up the satchel and tossing it into a drawer. “You’re going to sit right there and tell me everything that you know. And no lying. I can always tell.”

Something about the weight of his words told her that the last part wasn’t hyperbole. “O--okay. Um, I know that you’re kind of strange, and I know that your family definitely isn’t into politics because unless you’ve changed your name I haven’t been able to find shit on your family...I know that you’re here for some kind of punishment, or at least that’s what the letter said, and that wherever you’re from believes in, uh, magic, or something…”

Y/N had never been so scared of Draco as she was right then. He stood looming over her, his eyes calculating and cold. “You’re telling the truth.”

“Uh--how did you--”

“Is there anything else you want to know? Ask now or forever hold your peace. I promise I’ll take care of this.”

Y/N blinked. “What? What do you mean take care…”

“Don’t...just don’t ask that right now.” Draco’s demeanor made a switch from intimidating to exhausted. His previous towering presence looked more mournful than anything. 

“Ok,” said Y/N, willing to take something else over nothing. “So...why are you here? Where are you actually from? What happened to your dad?”

Draco drew in a few slow breaths. “My family’s name is Malfoy. I never lied to you about that. We’re from England, like you think. But we’re not really from the same world as you.”

He looked at her, gauging her reaction. When nothing came, he continued. “I’m...magic, as you would probably say. Like, wizards and witches and shit. Like the stuff all of you here celebrate for Halloween. Just more real.”

“You’re off your rocker is what you are,” said Y/N. “Magic isn’t real.”

“You’re right, it isn’t,” Draco replied, his tone wearing down. “Not to you. It’s very real to me.”

“Were you in a cult or something because that’s absolute batshit cra--”

“Oh my fucking God can you just listen,” he said in one long-winded breath. “Thank you. Not that it matters that much if you actually believe me and I’m not allowed to show you any magic--they almost sent me back home for spelling my hair neat that one time in the car with you--but you should believe. Did you really think you were just sick after Homecoming? Like, did you think that was the common cold or something?”

“Well…” Y/N trailed off as realization dawned on her.

“I don’t know how you got into that store, but it was magic. Whatever object you picked up did something to you. You would’ve died from muggle care--the only possible treatment was extracting whatever magic had somehow gotten inside you.”

“So you were the person in my dream.”

“Yes. Anyways. So back in England, my family got wrapped up in some...dark business with a very evil wizard. I had to do some things that I’d rather not get into, and those things were serious offenses in the eyes of the Ministry--which is like your government. I was sent here as a punishment instead of something more severe.”

Y/N snorted. “Assuming all of this is true, why did you get sent to America? Normally exchange students see trips to the US as a kind of vacation...but I do understand the part of Ohio being used as a punishment.”

His face was void of amusement. 

“I wasn’t sent here because Ohio is boring,” he said. “I was sent here to be forced to assimilate into muggle society--”

“Muggle?”

“People who aren’t magic. Anyways, that was the punishment. Having to live with and associate with muggles, far enough away from home that I faced no threat of vigilantism and couldn’t escape.”

“Oh.” Y/N deflated into her seat as it all began to hit her. So that was why Draco was so disgusted with her. There was a reason why some gut feeling told her that he would never see her like....that.

“Anyways, for the less exciting part.” Draco turned to rifle around the jewelry box they’d kept in the guest room. “It’s crucial to the safety of my people that you don’t know about us. Muggles get scared, and sometimes they hurt us. They nearly wiped us out a few generations ago.” 

He turned around, wielding a small wooden cube that glimmered in the light. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. I have to do this. If they know you know, they’ll send me away.”

“Do...what?” She stared up at him as he approached, holding the square out in his palms. “Draco, what’s going--”

“I told you I’d take care of it,” he said, his tone pleading. “I’m going to make you forget.”

~

Y/N eyes flickered open. It was chilly in her room--one look confirmed the fact that her window was wide open--but she had a thick blanket pulled over her. As she shed the last pulses of drowsiness, one thought bubbled to the surface: 

That fucker.

She sat up, threw the blankets off her bed, and started towards the guest room.

“Hey,” she said, yanking the door open and standing in front of a very surprised Draco. “Nice try. Are we actually gonna talk this through, or are you gonna put me to sleep again?” 

“Wha-”

“I remember everything, dipshit. Especially the part where you didn’t let me say my piece before you knocked me out.”

“I-”

“Try and steal my memories again and it’s on sight, Draco.” Y/N sucked in a deep breath and finally slumped down onto his bed. “You were saying?”

“How did you...er...you’re not supposed to remember me,” he said. “Do you have any magic blood in your family? Do you know?”

“Look around. If we had magic blood we wouldn’t be living in Ohio.”

“I’m not joking around.” He joined her and laid back. Y/N tried to not make a mental note of how a few strands of his hair brushed up against her cheek for a second. He smelled of peppermint and pine. “There’s no reason why that shouldn’t have worked. You definitely aren’t magic--I can feel it, no offense--and that Obliviation cube was explicitly created to work on muggles and wipe specific memories of magic.”

“I guess I’m just better.”

“Not funny. I’m definitely going to get sent to some random village in...I don’t know, Siberia for this. And your whole family will be obliviated. The whole point of me telling you was so I could get you to understand why I had to wipe your memory.”

“That’s horribly disrespectful, you know. Not even asking for my consent before doing such a thing? Try again.”

“I will,” he said, sitting up and grabbing the cube again. 

Y/N sprung up and scooted away. “Wait! Wait! That was a joke! Can’t we just talk this through? I’m a really good liar.”

“Lying doesn’t matter in front of the Ministry. They have their ways.”

“And what’s the Ministry going to do?” she asked. “Because, right now, it looks like I know about your secret and they’re not knocking down my door yet. Are they seriously going to break into my own home and perform some kind of lie detector test on me out of the blue? Are they really gonna cause a scene like that? No? I didn’t think so.”

Draco looked even paler than usual as he examined her from the other side of the bed, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. “I hope you’re grasping the severity of this. This isn't a fun little joke. This is the difference between my community living or dying.”

“I get that. But if I say I’m not going to tell anyone, then how is your community at risk?”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“Draco.” Her tone was strong enough to make him snap his head up and meet her eyes. “You saved my life. I’ve lived with you for almost 3 months. Trust me when I say I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Swear on my life.”

The silence was tangible between the two as he stood there staring.

“You have to trust me,” said Y/N. “Please.”

Draco met her eyes again, a type of helplessness written so deeply into the etches of his face that he nearly looked like a different person than the proud, posh British boy that was usually him. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She let out a sigh of relief as he put the cube back into the drawer. 

“Don’t get too comfortable, though,” he told her. “Once I figure out how to fix this, I won’t need to trust you anymore.”

“You’ve been trusting me with your life since the moment you got into a car with me for the first time. Do you have any idea how many teenagers crash on the freeway? I don’t get why this is so different.”

He scowled. “I think it’s very obviously different.”

“I can pull up the stats for you real quick if you want. Just so you can grasp the severity of the situation that you’re minimizing right now.”

“Damn it, Y/N, you don’t understand!” Draco slammed his hands on the dresser, the wood making a loud smack sound as it connected with his palms. She jumped. “All my life I’ve been...You just don’t understand.”

“You have no other option, Draco,” said Y/N. 

“I...I know.”

~

The next few weeks were profoundly uncomfortable. If it wasn’t just for the fact that there had been a burglar turned home invader turned...whatever on the loose, Y/N was now dealing with the fact that her world as she knew it was turning upside down.

Draco was magic. He was different, and while this at first had been difficult for Y/N to believe, she began to realize just how much sense it made. The way the most ordinary of daily objects confused him...his discomfort with using the internet...his distaste for all of the people he met…either he was raised under a legitimate rock or he was telling the truth....

And perhaps the most conclusive revelation regarded his stance on his feelings towards her. After that night at Sylvia’s, Y/N had begun to think that there might be something there, or at least that something there might’ve been possible.

Now she knew that it wasn’t. And she had to be okay with that.

Draco was for the most part normal apart from the fact that his wariness around her was obvious. She could feel him keeping a close eye on her in the halls when she spoke with her friends. Sometimes he’d even level a look in her direction, a clear demand written all over his face: Not a word. You promised.

Evening teas stopped entirely. Draco ate in his room for breakfast and seldom said anything on the rides to and from school, and, to be entirely honest, it helped. She could feel her hopeless crush become weaker as the month of November wore on. Her giddy excitement towards a possible love interest was directed to the nervous dwellings on her UChicago application. 

Results were out on December 3rd, and she was absolutely buzzing. Fuck weird blond boys that came into her life and told her of an entire mystical and magical world out there--the gothic, hallowed architecture of UChicago was waiting for her. 

“Honey, it’s almost 5!” 

“I know.”

Y/N sat, cross legged on her bed, as she looked at the email she’d received moments ago from UChicago. In 3 minutes, the portal would open up. And her fate would be decided.

“Don’t open it yet, your father and I are coming!” Mrs. Y/L/N yelled from the kitchen. 

She smiled--for once, her father had managed to take a night off of work to be there for her. The only person missing in their home was Draco, and she supposed that he didn’t count anymore. At least not in the classic way. 

5:00pm.

“Hold on, hold on.” Her father’s voice carried down the hall, paired with the sound of feet thumping up the stairs.

Her parents appeared in the doorway, rushing to her and peeking over her shoulder.

“Are you ready to open it?” Mrs. Y/L/N asked, placing her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. 

“Uh...yes.” Her stomach flipped as she pressed her mouse over the blue hyperlink, directing the screen to show a login page. She wasn’t quite sure what it would look like--perhaps her decision would be right there when she logged in--but despite her racing thoughts, she input her portal information, pressed enter, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Dead silence.

“Honey.”

Her mother’s voice was strife with...some kind of emotion, whatever it was. Y/N dared to pry her eyelids open just a pinch, giving her just enough vision to read out the clear “CONGRATULATIONS” spanning the entirety of her page.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!”

The euphoria that followed was indescribable. Her father’s arms, encircling her shoulders in a way he hadn’t done since she was a child, her mother’s professions of how proud she was...incredible.

The only thing sullying it was a Draco shaped figure looming in the doorway once the hysteria died down.

“What happened?”

“I got into UChicago!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. 

He simply stared at her, his gaze cool and uninterested. Y/N felt all the joy drain from her face. “I hate to butt in, but I have some news too. I’ll be traveling back home for the holidays.”

“Oh.” Irritation was written clear as day across Mrs. Y/L/N’s face. “When will you be leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

final a/n: heyyyyyy everyone let me know what you thought. what do you guys think will happen next chapter? how do you think this is going to end overall? ik this is a draco x reader but do you guys think that draco still has a ways to go before he can have feelings for y/n? or does he already have them? im inch rested please lmk your thoughts

also my endless apologies to ohioans i did not mean to add the slander in there ik that plenty of you are lovely people <3 cancel me if you wish 

[writingletterstothefire]

hopeful silence

A/N: This fic has taken me a week to write and it’s only 3.1k words. Ugh. But anyway, this is based on a dream I had where I was an undercover DEA agent and Javi found me and stuff ensued. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any future work! I don’t have a taglist just yet, but if there’s enough interest, I’ll make one! Enjoy!

This mission fucking sucked. Why did you agree to this? Yes, it was part of your job description. Yes, you were one of the more talented undercover agents. You liked to thank your background in the high school drama club for those specific talents.

But, shit, this mission sucked. Peña had heard through one of his informants that one of Escobar’s most infamous sicarios would be at this brothel, and someone needed to get on the inside. Unfortunately, Peña being Peña, had to go “meet an informant” immediately after delivering this information, so he was no help in the planning of the mission. With Peña clearly out, all eyes turned to you. You tried to put up a fight, you really did, but as the only female agent in the DEA, your protests meant very little. Trujillo, the bastard, had suggested you go in, under the guise of being a prostitute, and get close enough to be sure the sicario locked eyes on you. From there, you’d lure him into one of the private rooms in the back, where Carillo and his agents would be waiting to take him down and keep you out of harm’s way.

So that’s how you ended up here, in a packed brothel, tugging at your too-short, too-tight, lime green dress and trying not to muss your hair or makeup too much. You felt ridiculous, like a child playing dress up. Your ridiculously high heels were already killing you, as you smiled and chatted with the other girls. As far as they knew, you were new to the area, on the run from an abusive boyfriend, and had a small baby to provide for. Prostitutes with children were extraordinarily common in Medellín, so the girls immediately developed a soft spot for you. They were in the middle of telling you all of the secrets about how to get repeat costumers, when you felt a hand on your waist. It took everything you had in you to not immediately twist the offender’s arm back. Instead, you forced your most dazzling smile onto your face, and turned, ready to pretend to be interested in whatever sleaze had his grubby hands on you, when you got a shock to your system.

Peña. Peña was currently pulling you close by your waist, a half-hearted smirk on his face, but his eyes a mixture of concern and fear. He was pulling you close to look like he was just another paying customer, checking out the new goods.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He whispered roughly into your ear. You did your best to not let show how caught off guard you were, in case anyone was looking, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling as if he said something flirtatious.

“Working, cabrón,” you whispered back.

“So, what? You’re a hooker on the side? DEA not paying you enough?” You felt his hands start to wander up your back, and then suddenly going down, down, down. He was enjoying this too much.

“I wouldn’t fuckin’ be here, had someone not run out to meet an informant before we had a chance to come up with a game plan. I’m here to help Carillo get the sicario. And watch your fucking hands, Peña, before I break character and put your ass in the hospital,” you hissed into his ear.

“You’re what?!” He pulled back, alarming some of the girls around you. He quickly played it off, yanking you closer, and turning so that you were pressed between him and the bar. “Absolutely not. What the fuck were you thinking, putting yourself out there like that? This guy will kill you if he finds out you’re DEA. No. You’re leaving, you’ll pretend you’re coming home with me and we’re getting out of here.”

“You don’t get to have an opinion on the game plan right now, Peña,” You ground out through gritted teeth, tugging him closer by his shirt. You were trying to play along despite your growing irritation. Speaking of growing—

“Are you really getting a boner right now?!” You whispered harshly, glaring up at him. He just smirked in response, his frustration momentarily forgotten. “You’re fucking impossible, Peña.”

The brothel door opened, and you froze, peering over Javier’s shoulder. Sure enough, the sicario strutted in with two other men flanking him. He had dark, slicked back hair and skin the color of café con leche. His green and blue floral patterned shirt had the top three buttons undone, and tucked into his tight, black jeans that sat low on his hips. You felt your mouth dry up as his piercing green eyes scanned the room. Fuck, if he wasn’t a sicario…

Javier snapped his fingers in front of your face, an irritated look in his eyes. “Where the fuck is your head at, muñeca?” He looked between your awestruck expression and the sicario. “Oh, fuck no. You’re not doing this.”

Your attention snapped back to him, angrier than it was before. “You don’t get to make that call, Peña.”

He tugged you closer, whispering in your ear. “Don’t. Blow. Your. Cover.” He was right. If you got too angry with him, your cover of prostitute and customer would be revealed to everyone in the building. You begrudgingly ran your hands up under his jacket slowly, feeling every ripple of muscle in his defined back through his thin shirt. “Good girl.” You tried to ignore the ripple of pleasure you got from hearing those words come from his mouth. “Now listen to me. You can’t handle that sicario. I saw it on your face, you’re already to attracted to him.”

“I’ll be fine, Javi. I can do this, I just need to get him to the back where Carillo is—”

“Would you let him fuck you?” The question was asked so bluntly, it caught you off-guard.

“I-I…”

“If he asked nicely, would you let him go down on you?” Javi’s hands slowly slipped down your back. “Or would you want him to take you without asking? Grab you and use you until there was nothing left for him to take?”

Your breathing was getting heavier and heavier, a high pitched whine escaping your throat as you felt him squeeze at your ass. You felt his mouth on your neck, hot and wet, leaving open kisses in between sucking and nipping at the soft flesh. Your mission forgotten as you pressed closer, you whimpered out, “J-Javi…”

You felt him smirk against your neck, his mustache tickling you as he moved. His hands kneading at your ass had you weak in the knees. You were putty in his hands, and he knew it.

You had never told anyone about your crush on Javi. You knew his reputation, knew he wasn’t the type to settle down. You admired him from afar, keeping enough distance to keep your crush under control, while staying close enough that no one would think anything was off. You were acquaintances. Co-workers. Nothing more, nothing less. But now, with one hand on your ass and one hand making its way to tangle in your hair, and his mouth on your neck, you were sure you’d never recover again.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, princesa. Would you let him fuck you?” Each word in his question was punctuated by a firm nip to the flesh of your jaw or your earlobe.

“N-No, Javi…” It was a lie. Or at least, it would have been a lie the first time he’d asked you. But now, the way he was all over you, all you could think was Javi, Javi, Javi!

He growled in your ear, violently pulling you so that your legs opened enough for him to press his crotch to yours. “Feel what you do to me? Feel how much I want you? I want to rip this stupid fucking tight ass dress off of you. Wanna take you to the back rooms and fucking destroy you, princesa. Make you scream loud enough for that fucking sicario to hear, and Carillo and his men to hear. Make sure everyone knows who’s fucking you so good.”

You gasped, grinding against him, momentarily forgetting that you were in public. “Javi, please!” You whined. “Please take me to the back, fuck--!”

You were near tears as he pulled away from you. He looked as ragged as you felt, pupils blown wide, and chest heaving. He used the hand still tangled in your hair to pull your face close to his. “You’re gonna bring that fucking sicario to the back, and then you’re going to come home with me. Everywhere that fucker touches you, you’re gonna feel me for a fucking week.”

You nodded, whimpering as his hands left your hair, heart fluttering at the way he smoothed it down and wiped some stray lipstick away at the corner of your mouth. You couldn’t wait for this mission to be over.

It took about a half hour of giggling and flirting, but eventually you were able to get the sicario, who was suddenly not nearly as handsome as you initially thought, into the back rooms. He was rough. Too rough for your tastes, but maybe that’s because you knew that his hands were calloused in the wrong places, and had held guns that fired at the people you worked with. The sicario pushed you onto one of the brothel’s hard, uncomfortable beds, and you fought to keep a seductive smile on your face as he crawled over you. After a few moments of kissing and fondling, Carillo and his men burst in just as the sicario was about to rip your dress off. You watched as they took him down, and ignored the Spanish curses he hurled at you. They held no weight for you, considering Carillo was going to off him once they extracted the information they needed from him. The fucker did manage to get a swing in once he’d realized you were in on the bust, and you now had blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, along with what you were sure was going to be an awful bruise on your cheek.

You looked up as the last of the men left the room, and your eyes met Javi’s dark gaze. He beckoned you forward, to which you complied. You couldn’t deny him if you wanted to. He cupped your jaw gently, examining your cheek. His gentle touch was a stark contrast to the way the sicario had handled you. You recalled Javi’s promise to replace the sicario’s touch with his own, and you suddenly felt dirty. You needed Javi to make you clean again. As if he could read your mind, Javi silently guided you out with a hand on your back, and led you to his Jeep, parked at the curb across the street from the brothel. You got in without a word, and watched him as he started the Jeep, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

No words were spoken the entire ride to the apartment complex, and the silence followed you into Javi’s apartment. He brought you into the bathroom and sat you on the edge of the tub. He grabbed a washcloth, running it under warm water to dampen it. He cupped your jaw the same way he did at the brothel, possibly even gentler. As he wiped the blood from your lip, you had the realization that he was also wiping half of your makeup away. You blushed, and went to say something to stop him, but he just pressed his thumb to your lips, shaking his head slightly. The message was heard loud and clear. Don’t worry. He continued wiping the thick makeup away from your cheeks, moving to your forehead, nose, and then ever so gently, your eyes.

When he was finished cleaning your face, he left the washcloth on the sink, and led you to the bedroom. You expected him to jump on you, but he simply sat you on the bed, slipped your heels off of your sore, sore feet, and dug around in his dresser. He pulled out an old shirt and some boxers, laying them on the bed for you. The fragile silence, a silence that had been full of unspoken, yet understood words, was finally broken.

“Shower. Take as long as you need. You can change into this when you’re done.” He cupped your jaw gently again, gazing down at you before pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. He stayed with his lips pressed to your head for a few seconds, before slowly walking out of the room.

You stayed frozen for a few moments, before gathering enough strength to move into the bathroom and shower, letting the water rinse the filth of the sicario off of you. You rinsed out your hair, using the shampoo Javi had on a shelf. A scent that was inexplicably Javi surrounded you. It calmed the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of your stomach in the moments between entering the back room of the brothel and Carillo’s men bursting through the door. You hadn’t allowed yourself to think too hard about it while it was happening, but there was an overwhelming fear of what could have happened if they had taken too long to get into that room. You quickly shut off the water before you could slip back into the mindset of those moments.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in Javi’s clothes, you could hear Javi moving around the kitchen. You walked out to see two sandwiches sitting on the counter, and Javi popping the caps off two beer bottles. It was an oddly domestic sight. You wondered if he made sandwiches for every girl he was about to sleep with. You hopped up onto the counter, and Javi turned to you, eyes scanning over your body in his clothes. His lips quirked up in what was the closest thing to a smile you’d seen since before you approached the sicario.

He slid a plate towards you, and stood next to you as you both munched on your sandwiches. Javi finished before you, moving to stand between your legs as you finished. He didn’t touch you, but it was enough proximity to have you scarfing down the rest of your sandwich and pushing the plate aside. As soon as the plate was off your lap, his hands were on you, pulling you right to the edge of the counter. His lips were on yours before you could register what was happening, but you tangled your fingers in his hair the second you recovered. You tried to deepen the kiss, but each time you inched forward, Javi inched back. He was keeping the kiss soft, you realized.

In fact, everything was soft. From the way he gently helped you off the counter and led you to his bedroom, to the way he peeled your shirt off of your body. With every touch, his eyes met yours, searching for permission. That fragile silence was back, but this time it held a different weight. It became clear to you that Javi was doing everything he could to contrast the way the sicario had been touching you. While he’d promised to be even rougher earlier, you both knew that you needed something else now. You needed soft.

The way Javi seemed to know what you needed was enough to bring tears to your eyes. You were quick to reassure him when he froze after seeing your tears, kissing him and softly stroking his hair. You tried to communicate with your eyes, nodding at him, to keep the silence. He nodded back slowly, returning his lips and hands to your body.

Eventually, the silence was broken with the sounds of skin on skin, breathy moans, and the soft calling of each other’s names. When you climaxed, it was with the song of Javi, Javi, Javi on your lips.

When it was over, you waited for him to finish his cigarette before sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?” You had never, in all the years you’d known him, heard Javi sound so broken. You looked back at him, confused. His eyebrows were drawn together, and one hand was outstretched as if to grab you, but he held it back as to not invade your space.

“I-I thought…” Your eyebrows drew together to match his. “Isn’t this where you kick me out? I…um, I usually hear the girls leave after…”

Javi visibly winced at the mention of you hearing other women leave his apartment. Your apartments were across the hall from each other, and you knew he forgot how thin the walls were. Although, you had to admit that the sounds of women in Javi’s apartment had grown few and far between over the last few months.

“I didn’t…You have to know that those women…They were…” Javi was struggling. He’d never done this before, that much was obvious, but you needed to know what he was going to say. You gently took his still outstretched hand, nodding for him to continue. He took a deep breath before continuing, “Those women were informants or prostitutes. They didn’t mean anything to me. They were there for… information or stress relief. None of them were…were you.”

You inhaled sharply, eyes widening for a second. “So…you’re saying…?”

You didn’t want to get your hopes too high before. You didn’t want to give him the power to send you tumbling to the ground. But now, what he was saying was unmistakable. You just needed to hear him say it.

“I love you,” he breathed out, “and that’s fucking terrifying to me. But I love you. And I want you to stay, if you will.”

You released a long breath, before sliding your body back to its original position, pressed to his side. You looked up at him, gently cradling his jaw the way he’d done to you so many times that night.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered, thumb stroking along his cheek. “I love you, Javi. I’ll stay as many nights as you’ll let me.”

Javi’s hands rose to rest on your cheeks. “Every night, mi amor. I want you to stay every night.”

With that, your lips met. You allowed yourselves to slowly explore each other’s mouths and bodies for a second time that night. The silence that surrounded you now was not the same fragile one that had followed you that night—it was a perfect, light, hopeful silence. There was nothing left to be unspoken between you two. You had tonight and every night after that to tell each other everything there was to say.

[andveryginger]

Fictober Day One: “Elephant in the Room” (1/1)

Title:   “Elephant in the Room”

Prompt:   1. “I need you.”

Fandom:   Marvel Cinematic Universe/Multiverse (Clint/Tasha AU)

Rating:   Teen

Warnings/Tags:   Language!

Notes:   Real life sucks. But hey... it got done. Something of a follow-on to my MCU Ladies Fanwork Exchange piece, “By Example,” written in 2016... what seems like a century ago. In it, Tasha is wounded during exfil, following an operation that wasn’t quite as expected. The original story focusses on Maria Hill/Steve Rogers, but this snippet shifts the focus back to our favorite SHIELD spies. Decidedly AU at this point, and written with the idea that maybe the multiverse can fix it.

Posted without beta, and after months without writing fic; essays and non-fiction don’t flex quite the same muscles. Apologies if it’s a bit rough around the edges.

*****

“I need you.” Natasha Romanov heard the strained whisper, felt the familiar presence somewhere off to her right.  She felt weightless, floating in darkness, yet somehow aware of the coarse texture of the medical ward sheets beneath her fingers. To her left, her heartbeat echoed through the telemetry monitor, the steady rhythm fluttering slightly. Exhaustion, pain, and no small amount of medication weighed heavily on her, pressing her back into the thin mattress, discouraging any attempt to move, to acknowledge the whisper at her right.

“I know we don’t…talk… about stuff like this, but…” There was the rustle of clothes, and, even in her limbo state, Tasha could almost see Clint Barton rub his hand over his face. His voice was quiet, low, reflective, barely audible over the hiss of the oxygen. “We’re the normal ones – no armor, no invulnerability, no super strength – and we just go charging in. We don’t stop, don’t think too hard about what we’re getting into; we just do. ‘Cause it needs to be done, and it’s what we’ve always done. But now…” He paused, taking a breath and forcing it out in an audible exhale. “When you climbed back into the ‘jet today, I felt that good ol’ adrenaline rush: Job well done; world saved – Hell, maybe even the galaxy! I was looking forward to beer and pizza back at base, trading fish tales with Maria and Cap and, well, whoever else. But now, Tash, I’m sitting here, watching you breathe, and I… realize there’s a lot we don’t say that maybe we should. “I need you,” he continued. “I need you in my life. Not just because you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count – though that’s a damn good side benefit – but you’re my best friend. My partner in crime. We get into so much shit, and we just… understand how it affects us.” Tasha again heard him shift, his leather jacket squeaking slightly. She imagined him wedged between the wooden arms of the too-narrow bedside chair, leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His chin was down, wide eyes lifted to study her face. There was a long moment of silence, and she could almost feel his struggle with his words and his voice. He wasn’t, as he frequently pointed out, known for his eloquence.

“Fuck.” Clint snorted, gave a sarcastic laugh. “Why is this so fucking hard to say?” There was another heavy sigh, the soft brush of his hand over his hair. His voice shifted to a low rumble as he tried a different tack. “Had a talk with Cap a little while ago – you prob’ly heard him come in,” he said. “Stark told him Maria was in the medbay, and he came all barreling down here, thinking she was on her last breath.” Another dark chuckle. “Seems our favorite meat popsicle has a bit of a thing for the boss. Hearing she might not make it made him recalculate a few things and… well, let’s just say they’re going out for coffee later this week.” “The whole thing got me thinkin’ I don’t wanna wait till it’s too late, Tash,” he said. “You’re gonna be good – Doc Cho said as much. But watching you collapse, catching you before you fell…” The marksman drew a sharp breath. “…and then talking to Cap, it made me realize I don’t wanna quit running into the line of fire, but I damn sure want you to know how much I care – fuck, how much I love you – ‘cause, in the end, maybe one of us doesn’t make it home, and I don’t want there to be any question.”

Drawing a deep breath, Tasha struggled against the heavy weight of unconsciousness. She forced her fingers to move, followed by her toes and lips. Pain gripped her side, crawling across her rib cage and back as she emerged into the dimmed lighting of the room. Her heartrate fluttered in response, echoed in the high-pitched beep of the monitor. When she finally opened her eyes, she found familiar blue-green depths watching her, glassy and sparkling at the same time. His voice was soft, gentle, and warm as he greeted her. “Hey.” Still feeling the weight of the medicines, of the fatigue, of the need to sleep while her body repaired itself, Tasha blinked sluggishly, frustrated with the lack of cooperation from her eyelids as she fought to stay awake. “Hey,” she whispered in response. Relief and affection filtered into his gaze, emotions she allowed to reflect in her own. Abruptly, however, his attention dropped to his palm. Tasha frowned, confused for the instant it took to follow the shift. Then recognition settled: A small, silver arrow pendant and chain lay in the palm of his hand. Her necklace – the one he had given her. It had apparently broken in the fight and fallen off confusion of the extraction.

She licked her lips, drawing her attention up toward the mass of unruly hair atop his head. Her voice was groggy, rough as she spoke. “There’s no question, you know.”

He raised his head and looked up at her. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a rueful smile even as a rosy tint crept over his cheeks. “So you heard everything.”

“Unconscious, not dead,” she replied. Her lips twitched. “One of the things about sharing a brain… we already know how we feel.”

“Even when we’re in denial?”

Tasha chuckled, though she immediately regretted it. “’Specially then.”

A long moment of silence followed as Clint swept his rueful and affectionate gaze over her features. Swallowing, he reached his empty hand through the railing and, pushing back the scratchy sheet and thermal blanket, clasped her own. It was warm against her chilled skin, the callouses on his palms and fingers as comforting as they were familiar. A somber tone settled over his features. “I’m done with denial,” he said. “I… can’t take it back, and, well, I don’t think I want to. Love isn’t just for kids, Tash.”

Taking a deep breath, Tasha then swallowed back the lump in her throat. She forced a smile, a teasing one, though she knew he would see through it. “That’s a heavy word, Clint.”

“I know,” he conceded. His lips thinned. “I think we both know what it really means, why we always seem to avoid it.” His gaze dropped back to the necklace. “Lots of rumors about us. Those I don’t really care about; let ‘em wonder. But… I’m in this for the long haul, Tash.”

Warmth flooded her, creeping up her neck and sweeping over her cheeks. She arched a red brow. “…’till death do us part’?” Clint nodded. Sleep tugged at her once again, and she grimaced. There was a lot more to talk about, but it seemed all else was going to have to wait. The grimace gave way to a soft, lopsided grin. Her speech was starting to slur, despite her best intentions. “If I go first, I’m haunting your ass, Barton.”

Giving a laugh, Clint pushed forward. His lips gently brushed hers, hand offering an affectionate squeeze. “Wouldn’t expect any less,” he murmured. “And you know I’d return the favor. Now… I’ll get your necklace fixed while you get some rest.”

“Not because you told me, but because I don’t seem to have a choice in the matter,” Tasha replied. She allowed the lopsided grin to widen. “Oh, hey… tell Steve thanks. Then give him Hell.”

He laughed softly, and his lips curved into his own mischievous grin. “Already on the agenda.” With one final squeeze of her hand, he dropped a kiss to her temple. He slipped from the room just as sleep reclaimed her.

[hollowknightheadcanons]

Spooky Scary ideas for the funny soup au

(by ratcandy)

Oh boy! You've allowed me to ramble! Horror soup au time.

A'ight so how is soup boy getting ahold of soul? We know in canon that there's... some way of extracting soul, aside from just killing bugs, but I don't believe we ever see what that machine... is? We see a snail shaman strapped down somewhere, presumably to be Drained(tm), but I can't remember if we actually see a soul-extraction-device of sorts. Considering the only other method we've seen of gathering soul is through attacking/killing bugs, I can only imagine that the soul draining process would be horrifically painful! So much so that he'd likely have to be careful how much is drained at a time... if he's not trying to kill the bug off. Which in of itself opens up the can of worms of him using the same bug over and over again for soul! What if he was in a rush? Would he just drown them in the hot springs (or whatever that liquid is) until they're full on soul again? How does he make sure they don't fight back?

On that note, where's he keeping his victims? You mentioned "When he first started out, he was only using a couple bugs- why raise suspicions by draining a bunch of bugs for soul when you could keep only a couple? But then as his restaurant got more popular, he needed more." He's gonna need a place to be holdin these bugs. Somewhere they can't escape and where they can't be heard. I know there was talk of a basement somewhere?? That COULD work, but it'd have to be soundproofed to some degree. Also, it'd have to be a pretty big basement! Assuming the growth in popularity is enough that he needs a constant supply of soul! Unless the basement is underneath the restaurant. Which is actually an idea I've used for a story before! The "ingredients" are kept deep underneath the feet of all the unknowing customers. They can scream and shout all they want - it'd be worse if they know there's bugs above them that can't hear them - but alas! No saving them now.

Bro hear me OUT What if he obtained his victims by setting up a sort of... yknow. "Now Hiring!" façade? Some poor sod thinks they get to work in the popular five star soup restaurant but oh no! actually you're being used for years of torment. but hey! your blood, sweat and tears is put into every bowl :) you're a vital asset to the team!

I'm also just imagining a whole scene where Lurien finds out about the basement, somehow, but he's not sure what to expect. He sneaks down at some point, maybe in the dead of night when the restaurant's closed, only to be faced with the horror of hundreds of drained bugs, all barely alive, begging to be freed. 

Someone headcanon'd at some point that the Soul Master is straight up chugging raw soul after a long day and. IMAGINE. Throughout the show/story/what have you, his body is just progressively contorting due to the effects of soul. Having "watered-down" soul, as is used in the soups, is fine in small doses, but just... straight up drinking that strong stuff? Oh terrible! By the end of it, he's just a bloated, hardly mobile mess, constantly choking on the soul he's ingested but somehow supremely powerful still. So he can fight back when Lurien shows up to. I dunno. arrest em? kill em? Dunno what the end goal is for Lurien other than proving it to the King, who's been shown to. likely not care! (The King's probably in on it imo)

ON that note, too, what about Mistakes/Follies? I imagine they're all over the basement. Experiments with "how much soul can i put in this soup without is having negative effects on a customer" that went very wrong! 

Does soul behave like a drug here? I mean, it's got healing properties, so anyone that ingests it has gotta be feeling pretty good afterwards. If they realize the correlation between "hey i'm feelin real sweet rn" to "this soup is wiggity wack" then. oop. they just keep coming back for more :)

And just for the sake of yummy gore and unsafe food practices: what if some newly-hired idiot (actually hired, not hired to be drained), that the Soul Master just trusted for some reason, didn't understand it was the soul being used in the soup and thought it actually was bugs themselves? Uh oh sisters! Accidental cannibalism? accidental cannibalism! And soup boy having to HASTILY cover up this mistake somehow when someone realizes there's chitin in their soup. actually. no. you didn't notice anything. please let's discuss this privately :) would you be so kind as to meet me downstairs? 

OKAY time to put a cap on my rambling for now!! It'd probably be a good idea to tag this with. uh. some sort of warning? I dunno hskjh, I tried not to get too graphic here but!! YeeAH,

———

This has the energy of that one post that’s like “a sitcom that keeps getting progressively darker and when a character dies their scene in the opening theme is just dead silence”

By the time Lurien uncovers the full secret, it’s unlikely there would be any bugs alive- however remember the soul sanctum basement in the game itself? yeah.

If Soul Master overdoses on soul then that would be the series finale or something. when it’s completely switched genres lol. Imagine the mood whiplash from going from season 1 episode 5 to season 5 episode 8.

Idk if PK is in on it since in the game he did try and shut down the soul sanctum (it’s implied at least) but the soul master went and continued behind his back anyway.

now for the machine that drains soul, we only have two references for that. the snail shaman and the place where you get spell twister.

its not that difficult to actually get the bugs for the soup though since he has at least two soul warriors and i hate those guys, one almost killed me in steel soul. i was at one mask.

Wait what if when they first started out, they (soul master and other soul sanctum guys) used their OWN soul just to test it out before they started getting into the whole kidnapping bugs for soul business. just a little bit. so that’s how the machine is not designed to kill on accident.

ooh i just got an idea but i’ll make a separate post.

[collecting-stories]

Ocean pt. 2 - JJ (Outer Banks)

Request: ocean was so cute! pt 2 pls

A/N: So this takes place when they’re eighteen. I listened to the song Water by Caroline Pennell while I wrote this. 

~Ocean - pt.1, pt. 2~

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

Every time you did this it felt the same. The same beach, the same midnight air, the same view. Millions of stars in the sky, dark waves lapping up the sand, and the most beautiful boy you’d ever seen sitting beside you, smoke dancing in the air around him. It all looked the way it was supposed to look, sounded the way it was supposed to sound. JJ was talking about something but it sounded far away from you. A memory you were having of this exact moment in time but not the actual moment. It was a bad trip but you hadn’t even been smoking. Everything was the same except you.  

Usually you met him at the top of the beach, backpack full of snacks and a twenty to pay for the weed he would smoke even though you had asked. The same routine every time you called him for the last three years. But then he got to the beach right before midnight like you had agreed upon ages ago and you weren’t there waiting for him on the bench at the top of the beach.  You’d already laid a blanket out and you were down near the ocean, just far enough in that the tide licked your bare feet when it came up to meet the sand.  

“What’re you doing?” He called down the beach to you as he tossed his bag down and lit up, he had stopped pretending like you were going to smoke with him and he wasn’t really sure why you hadn’t stopped.  

You could only shake your head. It was all the same but you. There was a difference in the carefulness of your steps as you walked up to meet him and you wondered if he could tell, if he paid enough attention to you to tell when something was wrong. He looked the same, blond and blue-eyed, the same bracelets, rings, and necklace. The same easy posture as he relaxed from the joint. You were always quiet. In the beginning you had told him that the weed made you contemplative but now he knew that you were just quiet. That words had to be extracted from you with the most delicate of phrases. If he didn’t ask the question just right he’d never hear a sound from you.  

Sometimes he let it go, he smoked enough that the silence stopped bothering him and he could relax, watch the ocean ahead of him and get lost in his own head. But that was only when he was here, at midnight, on the beach with you. When he saw you at parties you aggravated him, when he saw you around the Cut it drove him a little crazy. He couldn’t explain the feeling. It was like watching the ocean on a calm day. No wind, just water, calm and still and deeper than he could fathom. Without the waves it offered nothing. Too vast for him to navigate, to deep for him to wade out without something to push him back to shore. When it was midnight on the beach there wasn’t anything he wanted from you, or from the ocean. It was all the other times when he looked for the push back, when he wanted you to offer him the smallest of waves but got nothing.  

“I’m going to Columbia.” You finally said, after what felt like hours drawing in the sand while JJ laid on the blankets, staring at you. He felt a little hazy from the weed and he thought maybe he shouldn’t have smoked earlier with Kiara before coming here.  

A wave crashed over him when he wasn’t expecting a tide.

“What?”

“In two months, I’m moving up to New York, I got accepted to Columbia.” You explained.

He was caught in it, spinning, drowning, he couldn’t find a board. He’d waited three years for push back, for a tide to come in, and now it had caught him off guard. “What?” He didn’t know what else to say.  

Everything was always the same. You met at the top of the beach, sandals in hand, always in shorts and a hoodie that advertised some obscure band or another. You must’ve had a million of them. You always complained that it was too cold but you never wore jeans, always shorts. Once he gave you his sweatshirt because you forgot yours and when you returned it three days later it smelled like cinnamon. It was the essential oil in the handmade dryer sheets you used. He slept on it until the smell disappeared and thought about you too much. He smoked the joint that you bought and whenever he tried to pass it you always told him you’d had plenty, as if you’d had any at all.  

He didn’t ask you about personal stuff. He didn’t even know where on the Cut you lived. He’d just smoked and talked about getting lost in the ocean and imagined getting lost in you and how was he supposed to do that if you were leaving? The waves rushed away and he was left on the sand, with a sky that looked clear as the water and why couldn’t he breathe?

“You can’t leave.”

“I have to go to college.” You shrugged, drawing your knees up to your chest. You were talking, you were giving him so much and he wanted to listen to your voice forever.  

“There’s a college at Chapel Hill.”  

“I’ll still buy weed from you at Christmas.”

This wasn’t about weed. He’d been floating out on the surface of your ocean for years, not entirely sure where he was going, waiting for the waves to take him to shore, and now that they had he wanted to go back out. He could live out there, he could set up camp on this beach with you if it meant spending more time navigating the ocean with you. He would never complain about the silence and the calm waters again.  

“I don’t care about that. You’re gonna be like, thousands of miles away.”  

Every time you did this it felt the same, like you were losing yourself. Not drowning, you weren’t out of control, you were just coasting. You were letting yourself fall so far into someone else that you could forget yourself for a little while and it felt nice. But it couldn’t feel nice forever.  

“So much for getting lost together.” JJ finally said, that ache to hear you talk to him was back. He wanted you to say something, he needed to get back in the water.  

“I have two months left, we could take a boat out.” You smiled, “Moana style?”

“Yeah.”  

“I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be,” JJ shook his head, sitting up, “you deserve to go somewhere incredible.”  

“You could always sail your boat up to New York.” You suggested, watching him. It was too dark to see the blue of his eyes but you knew them well enough to see the ocean in them.  

“I’ll have to.”  

-

Taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @calumhoodsbuckethat @millie-753 @jolomez @alex12948

If you want to be tagged let me know👩🏻‍💻

[pip-n-flinx]

I posted 6,721 times in 2021

85 posts created (1%)

6636 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 78.1 posts.

I added 237 tags in 2021

#go for the heart - 36 posts

#mass effect - 34 posts

#reblog - 26 posts

#read later - 25 posts

#signal boost - 24 posts

#dragon age - 23 posts

#bartending - 20 posts

#music - 20 posts

#cassandra pentaghast - 15 posts

#fic rec - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#and my unending efforts to piss of my writing and english teachers by writing even my most basic communique in a style that shifts towards

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

OKAY so listen up

I spent several hours this past evening testing Paloma recipes for @swaps55's Clay Beaudoin, and the results were honestly rather surprising, so now you get the perfected Pip'Loma. A drink recipe sure to make any bartender hate you but which is honestly one of the best things I've ever made

You'll need:

2 oz Mezcal from Guanajuato

1 oz Fresh Grapefruit Juice

.075 oz Agave Syrup (as little as possible, this stuff is ALWAYS sweeter than I give it credit for...)

Barspoon Pistachio Oil (trust me, this is the special sauce that makes the magic happen)

Dash of Habanero/Hot pepper bitters (or a drop of a hot pepper extract, ludicrously hard to come by but surprisingly easy to make)

Salt (rim)

Twist of Grapefruit peel (for garnish)

To make the cocktail!

Rim a Nick & Nora glass (or coupe) with salt

In a shaker, place the smallest drip of Agave Syrup, a barspoon of Pistachio Oil, 2 oz Mescal (smoky prefered) and 1 oz Fresh Grapefruit Juice.

Crack a large rock of ice into the other half of the tin, combine and shake (12-30 seconds)

Dash Habanero bitters (or pepper extract) into your glass, then strain the cocktail over top (bonus points for double straining, which can filter out ice shards)

Express Grapefruit twist over glass, rim, and drop into cocktail. Your Pip'Loma is now ready to serve!

For the "dear God Pip why did you create this??? Question:

First I was afraid I had initially steered Swaps wrong (I had, no one had a good recipe ANYWHERE also while I made a pretentious recipe, it was far from the best...)

Second I was curious

Finally, for the details. Tequila and more delicate, less-smoky mezcals get buried by the grapefruit flavor. You need something robust. A little heat goes a long way to making the smokier mezcals pop. And the secret sauce, the pistachio oil that gives the cocktail more body, a round and velvety mouth feel, and a subtle nuttiness that helps bind the flavors together.

Grapefruit twist is just a chunk of grapefruit peel (use a y-peeler without serration, or just do your best to get the peel and not the pith with a pairing knife.) Adds to the olfactory(smell) experience. Citrus twists are a great way to take your cocktails to the next level in general. If you aim to impress you can use a knife to trim then into pretty shapes

Also tagging @pigeontheoneandonly because I know you are fond of a good cocktail

35 notes • Posted 2021-04-13 07:58:29 GMT

#4

Big Surprise!

I’m mad about the Disney Live Action Remake of Mulan. No one is surprised by this. But I as a musician, I am horribly offended by what Disney has done with their musical IP in their reboots lately. Mulan and Star Wars are great examples, and while I know fucking NO ONE followed me for musical analysis or critique this is my blog so you’re gonna have to put up with it I promise I’ll keep the mumbo-jumbo to a minimum.

OKAY so Disney scrapped the idea of Mulan as a musical. The whole secret to the Disney renaissance in the 80-90s was adapting what works about musical theater and letting their animators go to town on it. But there’s already a ton of content about that on Sideway’s channel, I highly recommend you go check him out. In fact, he’s already done a breakdown on Mulan and why their use of Reflection is jarring. I’ll try and lay out the groundwork so you don’t have to watch the video:

By referencing the musical numbers in a score for a non musical, at least for an audience that remembers the lyrics, you’re bringing these hollow lifeless reminders of the plot and personality of the original into unrelated scenes in the remake. There’s more to the video, but this is specifically what I want to talk about here.

It’s not just that these throw-away musical soundbites mean nothing, its that depriving of them of the lyrics, of their weight in the original film ruins them. Context and timing is key, more perhaps in music than anywhere else. In the original film, Reflection is how the audience gets into Mulan’s head. She sings all her plot relevant thoughts right at you, and your heart breaks for her. The struggle between being a ‘perfect bride/daughter’ and being herself is the singular most important part of the movie.

So when you take away those lyrics, that drives a wedge between the audience and Mulan. But what Disney did is worse than that. They placed Reflection in the places where Mulan casts off her armor, lets down her hair, allows herself to lay down the facade of army soldier. They reference Reflection in places implying Mulan is true to her reflection when she allows herself to cast aside the masculine tools/mannerisms that she adopts in the army. BUT THAT IS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT THE ORIGINAL REFLECTIONS IS TRYING TO TELL US. They reinforce this with talk of Qi (Chi) and the sorceress telling her not to hide herself, it’s turning her Qi/Chi ‘rancid.’ It’s also curious that in addition to using Reflection to reinforce gender rather than question it, they use this song reinforcing feminine gender roles almost exclusively in and around battle sequences. It’s a bizarre and utterly meaningless pattern, more motific devolvement rather than development

One of the greatest things about the oringal Mulan was that it called on us to question gender, to question the building pressures of society. It allows its main character to experiment with different identities, pronouns, and settle only finally when they feel understood and loved.

The remake offers no such advice, instead making Mulan’s soldiering days an act of violence against herself, instead of the brilliant journey of self discovery in the animated classic. They seem blind to the moral tale of the original. To motific development in music. The hero’s journey. To character development. They stripped a movie of all its emotionally charged moments, made an overbudget action flick, and robbed it of all its depth, meaning, and comfort.

And I hate it for that.

37 notes • Posted 2021-03-05 08:40:09 GMT

#3

found this on youtube recommended and needed to share it

39 notes • Posted 2021-02-17 10:03:38 GMT

#2

I know MEA isn't that popular but I'd love to find some people to play MEA multilayer with! Anyone play MEA on the PC up for some multiplayer? No pressure, not trying to grind but I've been really enjoying it and only have one friend who plays with me!

Signal boost appreciated

42 notes • Posted 2021-02-12 08:56:36 GMT

#1

So @natsora and @crackinglamb tagged me for WIP and while I haven't written in forever... I am working on rigs to record bass amd guitar! The pedal board and modular screw on plates (as well as my strat-style guitar!) are in the second picture while most of the guitar pedals (and attendant power supply) are in the top photo.

Maybe I'll even start posting snippets and EPs in a few months once my life calms down a bit! Not sure anyone would follow that here.

Lemme know what y'all think!

57 notes • Posted 2021-09-16 09:54:42 GMT

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