#unshot

[keydekyie]

Friends, is it cringe to shoot your own book with an arrow for clout?

[jicklet]

I love going back to the pilot knowing Nace is endgame, because it is both the wildest choice you could've made and also somehow, doesn't feel wrong at all.

[rainbow-burst]

Feel like shit tonight

[zannolin]

the pevensies discovering the treasure room in the ruins of cair paravel must have been like stepping into their own tomb. here is the ruin of what you were. here is the remnant. here is where they took what you left them with and laid it to rest. here is your funeral shroud, daughter of eve. the skirt is too long for you now. here is the cordial, half-full. they dared not use it to save anyone without your hand to do the saving. here is your bow, still strung, and your arrows, unshot. here is the sword your hand still remembers, and here is the face you have forgotten. you did not die here, and yet still you were buried. what is a legend but another kind of ghost?

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

imagine like reader being a detective or something, being on the case to catch Red Hood (while he’s still a crime boss)/ the Arkham Knight, but being in a relationship with Jason, unaware of his nightly business. And then boom, they find out one day and it’s all angsty 🤞🤞 love ur work btw hihi

Betrayal

Hi, nonnie! I thought I had this done earlier, but then I had to keep world building. Stuck with Red Hood on this one. Hurt/No comfort warning. Non-graphic, very minor character death. ~1.8k words

Gotham is cursed. That's what they told you when you transfered to the GCPD. Yeah, you've heard the stories, but they're just messing with you, right? Trying to scare the newest rookie cop.

Except they were telling the truth. A few years later, more cases than you can keep track of, enough masked rouges to fill arkham three times over, and a promotion to detective, you tell the rookies the same thing they told you. Gotham is cursed.

"Alright, Detective, this one is yours." You make a face at the case file the Commissioner drops on your desk.

"Sir, I took care of The Penguin robbery last week, isn't it someone elses turn to deal with the high profile cases?" You gingerly pick up the file, reading over the name Red Hood stamped on the front.

Gordan sighs at you, already turning away to move onto the next poor detective. "We cycled through everyone else after the Black Gate breakout. Anyone who didn't work on it has active cases. That makes this one yours."

You grumble reluctantly, cases like this lead to more press coverage than you want to deal with, but start flipping through the file, mentally noting down the sparse facts and theories about the up and coming crime lord.

That was four months ago. In such a short amount of time, Red Hood has taken over more territory in Gotham than any other crime lord and completely changed the game. No dealing to children, no human trafficking. You hate to acknowledge it, but crime technically has dropped since he took over the majority of gangs in Gotham under an iron fist.

The work is exhausting, he's always one– no, five steps ahead of you and your growing team of detectives and beat cops. You don't think you've even gotten a real glimpse at him that he didn't mean to let you have.

The closest you've gotten to Red Hood was out of uniform, weeks after you got the case, when he was still a new name on the streets.

It was a robbery, some desperate punk in a mask that didn't conceal anything, was dragging a little girl out of the store as a hostage.

"Take me instead, she's just a kid." You had protested, heart sinking at the terror in the little girls face.

"Not a chance." He barked back at you.

"Look, she's scared, she'll only slow you down."

The gunman stares at you, you see his fingers twitch. "Fuck it. Fine. Both of you are coming with me." That's how you ended up in some alley, familiar sirens wailing in the distance and your hand curled protectively with the child's.

"Shit. Man. Shit. The cops weren't supposed to be here. What am I gonna do? I can't go to jail." He's snapping. Rambling and desperate. Your eyes dart for some kind of plan, a way to help the little girl stay safe. But the alley is empty, not even a dumpster to seek shelter behind. "I just gotta get rid of the witnesses. Yeah. The witnesses."

Your eyes dart to him, he's lifting the gun. You don't hesitate to grab the little girl, wrapping your arms around her and turning your back to the man, tucking her to your chest to provide as much cover as you can provide.

A gun fires.

There's a thud.

You look over your shoulder, the girls face still hidden against you. He's not moving, gun unshot and laying next to him on the ground. There's a pool of dark liquid forming around him. You look up.

You manage to see a red glint, the shine of a gun, the eerie glow of a luminescent eyes. Red Hood.

That's all you manage to see before you're swarmed by cops, guiding you and the girl to safety.

It's a memory that plays in your mind sometimes, when you hear testimonies of how Red Hood saves people in crime alley, despite his crime lord status. It's confusing, exhausting even, to try and sort between the good and the bad, the duality of one man. At least you have your loving boyfriend to come home to.

Jason. He makes you feel like Gotham might not be so cursed. It's great, he gives you butterflies. He makes you happy. You cook meals together, and you both work the weird twilight/night shift hours. He holds you like you're precious under your shared comforter. You think you might love him. He whispers sweet nothings into your hair when he thinks you're sleeping. You kiss his palms when his eyes get that far away, haunted look he can’t seem to explain.

He's insisted on cooking dinner tonight as you watch him, a little starry eyed. You can't really blame yourself when he's shirtless and working over your favorite meal.

"Oh, Jason, I need to wash my clothes. Do you need anything done?" You ask, finally remembering that you do actually have a job and responsibilities and you can't stare at your handsome boyfriend all day.

"No, I'm good, baby. Go ahead and do your thing. Dinner's almost done." He answers idly, shooting you a lazy grin as you stand.

You smile back before leaving the kitchen to gather your clothes. As you dump the dirty laundry in the washer, you realize you never refilled the detergent. Mumbling an annoyed curse, you head to the spare bedroom you rarely use. There should be some extra necessities stock piled in there. You know, for the next time a criminal messes with Gothams chain supply.

You're more focused on the delicious smells floating through the apartment as you open the closet door, idly looking around for the detergent. That's why it doesn't really click in your mind what you're looking at. Guns. Armor. Your thoughts freeze to a stop. Are you dating some kind of henchman? A bright red helmet takes up your vision. Nope. You're dating a crime boss.

The helmet is in your hands and you're fumbling your way to the kitchen before you even have your thoughts sorted. Should you call for back up? Shouldn't you try to catch him by surprise? Sure. But, you need answers. You want this to be a misunderstanding. You want Jason to be your partner– not– not what the evidence that's heavy in your hand says he is.

Statistics run through your mind. Stories of Red Hood saving working girls. Stories of him leaving bodies of dealers that sold to kids. Then, memories of your boyfriend. How he leans down to kiss your forehead. How runs his hand up and down your arm while you watch movies together. If there was a sign. If you were too blind and in love to realize.

He turns to look at you when you stalk in. You throw the helmet at him. The helmet you'd recognize anywhere, even if you've never gotten close enough to touch it before. He catches it with the grace of a predator. "The hell is this, Jason?"

"It's a helmet." He says evenly, turning off the stove and placing the helmet down on the counter.

"No, duh, it's a helmet, Jason. Don't patronize me. Is it yours?" You nearly hiss, hands curling in anger and frustration and heart break you're not ready to admit you're feeling.

He studies you, eyes dark and calculating. It makes you bite the inside of you cheek. His eyes never looked at you like that before. "It is."

You laugh out of disbelief, stepping back. "So you've been using me? Is that what all this was? Just a way to get information about the GCPD and what we had on you?"

"What? No." He says your name a little pleading, "it's not like that. Not anymore."

"But it was." You bite out, cursing yourself for the sting of tears in your eyes.

He steps closer, you step back, trying to keep your hands from shaking. He whispers your name, and you think you see hurt flash in his eyes before it disappears. His voice goes steady, even. "It was. But I haven't tried to get anything like that since–"

"Since when, Jason?" You cut off, anger and hurt clear in your voice, in your face. "Was it before we raided the warehouse at the docks? Is my computer bugged? Did you hack my phone?"

He winces. You don't need to be a detective to know he has. "I haven't used them since we started getting serious."

"And when was that, Jason?" You ask, voice breaking at his name. "Because it's been serious this entire time for me."

He doesn't answer at first, gaze leaving you to stare at his helmet. "Since I– I saw you save that kid. Instead of going after that shooter. When I realized you weren't just another one of the corrupted cops. That you care about this city. And the people. I realized I couldn't keep doing that to you."

You go quiet. What can you say to that? "Were you ever going to tell me?" You settle on.

"I don't know." He shrugs helplessly, eyes leaving the helmet to meet your teary gaze. "I didn't know how. I don't– think I wanted you to know. " He stutters over his last sentence, and then says your name, pleading coming back to his tone. "I can't lose you over this."

"You never had me!" Your voice raises, a shout in anger before you can bury it down. You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively and lowering your voice. "You never had me if everything this was was built on a lie."

"It's not a lie." He says firmly, snapping to attention and stepping towards you. He gestures between the two of you, says your name like he demands your attention. "This is not a lie."

"It is, Jason! You're only here to gain something from me! From my job!" You push back, throat tight and head spinning. Maybe you shouldn't be yelling at Gothams most dangerous and deadliest crime boss, but your heart is too broken for your head to think straight.

"No, pretty." You think he's pleading. You think his mouth might even be trembling as he speaks, but you can't make it out through the tears in your eyes. "No. It was like that at first. I know. I know that hurts you, but, it's not like that now. It's nowhere near that now."

"I don't care." You choke out.

"You don't mean that." Jason protests, but he doesn't sound certain.

"I don't want to see you anymore." You say the words before you're even sure you want that.

His face drops. "You don't mean that either."

"I do." It tastes like a lie. It sounds like the truth. You're turning and leaving before he can speak again, before you can unpack what you really want, locking yourself in the bathroom.

You fall asleep to the sound of your own tears, curled on the cold tile floor. You wake to silence. His helmet is gone from your counter when you enter the kitchen.

Your favorite dinner is wrapped in plastic when you open the fridge.

It makes the truth of it all worse. Gotham really is cursed.

Part Two

[sergeifyodorov]

connor mctragedy this. connor mcdoomed by the narrative that. what about connor mcendearing? connor mcwirey muscle, coiled tight like a spring, like a cat about to pounce? connor mchands as soft as fawn skin, heart in the right place (not that he knows where that's supposed to be), mind cold like a knife. connor mclike a bullet in its casing, unshot. connor mcsexy thighs also

[loveluststerek]

Silly Stranger Things Headcanon

Eddie picks up the phone, hears a lot of rustling and before he can say anything, the teeny voice from the other line yells;

“I’VE BEEN SHOT?!” Eddie knows that voice. His eyes go wide at the statement that was somehow also a question??

“WHAT??!”

Steve, bless his heart, answers Eddie’s rhetorical question.

“I HAVE BEEN SHOT”

“WHY AM I YOUR FIRST CALL??!! WHERE’S RO-“

The phone goes through motions the other end, and suddenly another very familiar voice is hoarsely screaming their lungs out.

“EDDIE STEVE’S BEEN SHOT?!”

Eddie: “WHY IS THAT A QUESTION?! GET UNSHOT!!”

The yelling goes back and forth for a bit, before Eddie’s uncle chimes in stating that the hospital is probably a good idea. Or super glue, depending.

[eyesxxyou]

The voices

FTM! Hobie and FTM! Reader scissoring

Sor- *unshots*

T4T CONTENT YASS

It's so messy too, your let under Hobie's while your other is on top. You're under him while he ruts his hips into yours, your cunts sloppily rubbing against each other, making a mess of your thighs as your wetness mingles. Your clits bump and grind.

Hobie calls you such a good boy between desperate pants and you whine with euphoria, warm bliss spreading throughout your body like fire. His hand caress your body, his stroking a little harder.

That is until you flip him over and now you're on top, his back meets the bed and you worship his body, his tip surgery scars, his waist, his hips. You have one of his thighs over your shoulder. The creamy sound of your pussy rubbing against his mingled with your moans.

It's so filthy and and I love it.

[equationsoff]

he tries once again to jump with a twist of his wrists but his power can barely produce a spark. that, and it nearly causes him to collapse. the energy for his blinks not even finding life force to steal. he is entirely tapped and could go with sleeping for several decades. if only to try and stop his body from feeling like it's going into organ failure.

apparently reversing time did more to him than he'd anticipated. blood trickles from his nose and he finds his limbs turn to jelly. at least he's managed to isolate himself in this state of distress. a private hotel room away from the others. if they saw him like this...five isn't sure they'd care. probably, they'd berate him for the timeline being fucked, dad not adopting them and various people not existing.

they wouldn't care that he can't stand, move or breathe with any degree of certainty.

the person entering the room would tell him how everyone felt about him regarding the timeline.

open starter - five actually has consequences from his reversing of time and being unshot

[lyledebeast]

I think I talk a lot about how Jason Isaacs transformed the role of William Tavington into a villain who feels like an actual person rather than a plot device, but the fact remains that he is still a character in a script written by Robert Rodat, and as such, he does suffer from having some stupid-ass decisions inflicted on him. I feel pretty adamant, though, that this is a writing issue and not a case of a villain being hubristic and over-confident because, in almost every case, Tavington's stupidity works to eliminate the danger of the hero's stupidity having consequences.

Tavington does not discover the Ghost's true identity until 2/3 of the way through the film. About three seconds after Tavington coins Benjamin Martin's superhero alias, a tall drink of water walks into his tent who later claims to know everything about Martin, up to and including his boot size. It seems outlandish to suppose that Wilkins would not also know Martin as the "hero" of Fort Wilderness, and that he is proficient with a tomahawk. He also knows where Martin lived, which is something he and Tavington have in common. They could have had that conversation about boot sizes and home addresses about two months earlier if Tavington had not looked up and down Wilkins' considerable frame, said "Ew, colonials," and left. Even with Cornwallis's atrocity ban in place, would he not have allowed a special exemption for the family of the man who is single-handedly keeping him in South Carolina? It doesn't take that much for him to allow Tavington to start targeting civilians willy nilly. But if Tavington had gotten such permission, it would have been clear much earlier that Martin has done absolutely nothing to keep his children safe from murderous dragoons in spite of having lost a child to them already.

Tavington stops targeting militiamen's homes when there are militiamen occupying them. TAVINGTON HAS A LIST OF OUR MEN! HE'S BURNED SEVEN HOMES ALONG THE SANTEE, KILLING WHOEVER RESISTS. TAVINGTON! TAVINGTOOOONNNNN!!!!" the reverend says, reminding us all of Rene Auberjonois's stunning performance as the skeleton in The Last Unicorn (1982). Presumably, that list has more than eight names on it, but every single militiaman that Martin sends home on furlough a week before the major battle comes back unshot and unsinged. As though Tavington has no interest in killing the actual militiamen responsible for the deaths of so many British soldiers but only in women and children. This is clearly untrue. Look at the way Tavington's face lights up like a little boy's on Christmas morning when he recognizes Martin at the Selton plantation; he completely forgets about the sister-in-law and children. The reason Tavington does not pick off these furloughed militamen one by one is that Martin's plan at the end hinges on their being a militia for Cornwallis to hold in contempt! Sending his men to their individual homes is a monumentally dumb choice that only escapes making a meal of his ass because Tavington fails to capitalize on it.

Tavington snatches defeat from the jaws of victory in the final battle. He is a great fighter. I really don't know what to say to anyone who disputes that. The entire first half of the film serves as evidence of Martin's fighting prowess, and Tavington gets him fresh off the death of a second son, so Martin is even more ferociously propelled by grief and rage than when he killed a whole company of British soldiers virtually single-handed. And Tavington could've had him (literally!) dead to rights in the first three minutes if he'd wanted to. Martin is only able to kill Tavington in the end because this British Colonel makes the same mistake of leaving himself vulnerable to attack by a man who is armed and not mortally wounded that Gabriel made as a corporal with three years fighting experience. Martin does not even have the advantage of a concealed weapon. The rifle with the bayonet attached is so long it takes a wide angle just to frame it!

There has to be a lot going on in Tavington's head in his final moments. He has longed for this confrontation probably since he first saw Martin, definitely since their malevolent little flirtation at the gate halfway through the film. And it's going so well for him, until it isn't! Were this his only dumbass moment, I'd be willing to go along with it. He's tired and hurt and horny. His horse died. Whatever. But as the third incident at least where his stupidity just edges Martin's stupidity out enough for Martin, and his remaining children, to live to fight another day, I don't buy it. Some commentors criticize Tavington's choices from a strategic perspective as well as a moral one and conclude that he is a weak villain (looking at you, Brandon F.) But they are historians who study battle tactics, not English professors who study fiction genres. Tavington is the bad guy in a highly romanticized war epic, ergo He Can't Win! If the hero is an idiot, the villain has to, just occasionally, out-idiot him.

[super-unpredictable98]

The Eighth Child (~TUA AU~) - Season 4

Chapter 2: The Prodigal Daughter Returns

Warning: Strong language, mention of death and mental illness, talk of addiction.

(The Eighth Child Masterlist)

A few days passed and they all forgot about Jennifer and the dry cleaner. Viktor decided to stay a few days to make up to Grace for missing her birthday, and Klaus was trying to be more romantic than usual.

"Was that good?" He asked, lying next to His wife.

"Yeah... yeah of course," Victoria nodded.

"You don't have to lie."

"It was okay. You're too soft."

"I can't be rough, you're pregnant!"

She turned her back to him and looked at the jar of marigold on her nightstand.

"I'm sorry," he said with eyes full of tears. "I don't know what to do anymore to save us. I don't know how to be different from what I am now."

"I know," she murmured. "You know how Dad took our powers and all? Because we kept ending the world, but that was because some of our powers were destructive. Allison can start and end wars and she's not mentally stable, Ben can commit a massacre without breaking a sweat, Five can mess with the timeline... but we're not destructive. You just become immortal and see a few ghosts. Alright you can conjure them and stuff, but you won't need to."

"Are you suggesting I drink this shit?"

"That would make you feel safer and nobody would have to know... then you could go back to being the man I love."

"What do you mean? You don't love me anymore?"

"How can I love someone who carries a gas mask to go places?" She snapped. "Who won't eat a runny egg yolk! Who needs to bathe in alcohol before getting in bed? Who won't buy used books because someone might have left fluids on them that could give you a disease? I can't stand your restrictions anymore and you're making our daughter into a fucking wimp like you! You're boring and your new haircut sucks! You getting sober was the worst thing that ever happened to me!"

A silence took over the room and he started crying, scared to wake up their daughter with all the screaming.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," Victoria quickly tried to take it back, but words are like bullets. They can't be unshot.

"Three years... you wanna throw three years down the drain because that's what you want, right?" Klaus sobbed. "You love our little parasitic relationship, the eternal screwup and his holy savior! I'm your charity case, I've always been and you feel so superior because you can smoke a joint once in a while, have a few drinks and you're fine! You can go back to being normal Victoria, but I have a disease! Once I start, I can't stop!"

"I know... I didn't mean to-"

"Every time I'd relapse back in the day, you got a glint in your eye! Oh, I get to save him again!"

"That's not true! You know damn well how hard I tried to keep you sober! I said it without thinking!"

"No, don't take it back. Dysfunction is what we do best in this family so how could we ever raise our children in a happy home? You need to traumatize them like Dad did you us! Because you think it made you tough, it made you interesting, it built character. Newsflash, sweetheart! You're just broken and full of Daddy issues!"

"How can you say that?" She started crying as well. They had not fought this badly since she left him to work in California.

"You're selfish and a big baby! You leave me when things get too hard or too boring, you did it when we were 25 and you're doing it now! I'm so done living cowering in your little bubble of superiority!"

"I took care of you your whole life! I made sure you didn't get in trouble, I made sure you were fed and healthy and safe! I was your shield for 30-something years! You know I'd take a bullet for you even now that I'm no longer indestructible! You think it was easy? You think I like picking your sorry ass off the floor when you hit rock bottom?"

"Bottom? Moi? There's no bottom here, missy, no bottom at all. I'm the goddamn Mariana Trench! Just wait till you see!"

"You're threatening me now? Give me a fucking break, I wanted to help you, you coward! So scared of a little itty bitty ghosts that you need to pop every pill on the planet. Your power is a gift!"

"You wouldn't survive a day with my power! So easy for you... I don't feel pain, nothing hurts me!"

"I'd thrive with your power, you're just too weak and cowardly to deal with it how it's supposed to be!"

"Thank you... you know truly thank you. Finally a grain of honesty. Feels refreshing! You wanted the old Klaus? You got him!" He reached for the jar of marigold but she took it from him.

"I'll put this away, nothing good is gonna come from taking this shit..." Victoria got up and grabbed a box from the top shelf to leave the jar in, but she found something that caught her eye. A card.

"Give it to me! You want me to so bad to be your pet junkie again!"

"No! I'll give it back to whoever gave it to us!"

"You'll return it to the man in the dry cleaner?"

"No, someone else... look after Fortune, I'll be back."

**

Victoria headed to the Hargreeves mansion, she had not been there in years. Not ever since she tried to get the location of their birth mothers, but Reginald knew nothing of it.

The guards were more than eager to let her in, they treated her like she was actually part of the family.

When she walked into the mansion, she heard the sweet sound of a violin being played by a beautiful lady who looked almost angelic.

"Abigail."

"Hello, Victoria," she smiled, putting down the violin. "Long time no see! What brings you here today? I see you're glowing, when can we expect the second little one?"

"You forgot your jar of marigold," Vicky leaned against the wall in front of her.

"I'm sorry? I think you're mistaken."

"No, I'm not, step-mama. You know, I can't read minds anymore, but I'm not stupid. That whole Sy Grossman story was mighty suspicious. So I turned to the note you gave us to send the location of Viktor. Where had I seen that handwriting before? Oh yeah! The card you sent to us the day my daughter was born. I had to check it to make sure, and there it was... your handwriting. Now would you tell me why you gave us a jar of this stuff?"

"I synthesized marigold back in my world, but when I created this new element, another one was accidentally produced as a byproduct... Durango."

"Durango."

"Yes, and it's inside of Jennifer."

"Jennifer... as in Jennifer who got my brother killed?"

"I do not know about that... but when marigold and durango interact, there's a dangerous physical reaction."

"Makes sense. He touched Jennifer and started getting this weird rash, then his tentacles were out of control, and he ended up killing himself and the girl... but wait, you gave us Marigold and sent us to look for durango? Do you wanna fucking kill us?" Victoria grabbed Abigail by the collar.

"What is the meaning of this?" Reginald came into the room with a scowl. "Unhand my wife right now!"

"Your wife tried to end the world! I have a child and I'm expecting another! I have a nephew and nieces, how could you do this?"

"I never asked to be brought back!" Abigail finally said. "Reginald brought me back to life and I didn't ask for it! He unleashed this danger into your world after it destroyed ours, I just wanted to cleanse it."

"Very well, it's cleansed," Victoria opened the jar and tossed it in the fireplace. "Now don't you ever come near me or my family, with or without powers, I will end your sorry ass with my bare hands."

"There's no need for this sort of-" Reginald placed himself between them.

"Don't you miss being so strong?" Abigail held up a vial of marigold. "Nothing could hurt you, you knew what everyone was thinking and even controlled it, you controlled what they felt... wasn't it great?"

"I'm great without my powers, I'm a mother and a wife, a business owner... that's all I wanna be," Victoria sneered.

"What about your husband? Don't you miss him? Don't you miss the devil-may-care Klaus? Who jumped in front of cars and spent all night partying? The man you fell in love with is gone."

"Shut up..."

"This is the very last of the marigold in the world. Enough for two people... maybe three, if you want to make your daughter special as well. Protect her from the world."

Victoria sniffled and grabbed the vial, she looked at it and for a moment all the memories from her youth came rushing back.

She remembered crazy nights with Klaus, dance lessons, their mother's shoes, their college days, his face while getting his palms tattooed, the amazing girls she met in Vietnam, her life in the 60s, the cult, his proposal, their wedding, falling out of her window when he tickled her... and it was the concrete that shattered.

"It was the concrete that shattered," Victoria mumbled, opening the vial.

"All you have to do is to look for Jennifer," Abigail murmured.

"Will it hurt us?"

"You won't feel a thing. You and your family will be protected. You won't face the same ending as your brother."

"There's another thing I'm good at besides recognizing handwritings..." Vicky swallowed. "Recognizing liars."

She tossed the glowing liquid into the fire once again and turned her back to leave.

"Victoria!" Abigail called.

"Enjoy the rest of your life in our world and don't you dare create more of this shit. I'll come kill you myself."

**

Meanwhile, back at home, Klaus was pacing around the room. He kept replaying and replaying all the moments from the fight in his mind and it hurt more and more each time he remembered.

That familiar need started taking over and he knew he was about to relapse. He took the phone and called Claire, asking her to come over and pick up Fortune because he had to take care of an emergency.

After that, he started going through the house grabbing everything valuable he could get his hands on. First his own wedding ring, Vicky's collectible Disney music boxes, her jewelry, the Rolex she got him for their anniversary, and finally their daughter's piggy bank.

He smashed Fortune's porcelain pig on the floor and grabbed all the money inside before pulling their flat screen off the wall in the living room.

"Daddy?" Fortune stood behind him. "Why did you break the piggy bank? I'm saving for a Barbie Dream House!"

"Tunnie baby!" He tried to smile. "You're here! Claire is coming to pick you up so you can play at Aunt Alli's house."

"What are you doing, Dada?" She frowned, noticing something was clearly weird.

"You know this TV has been on the fritz for a while. Haven't you noticed, baby girl? I just thought I'd take her down to the old geek lab, let them work their magic."

"It's not broken, Dada. You're weird, I'm scared... where's Mommy?"

Fortune tried to come closer, but Klaus held his hand up.

"No no no! Your feet, sweetheart, you'll hurt your feet with the shards. Watch your feet, sweetheart!" He cried, covering his mouth in panic. "The piggy was an accident, Tunnie, I'll pay you back."

"I don't care about the money, Dada, I want you to be okay," the little girl looked down, tears running down her face. "I know something's wrong, please tell me so we can talk and make it better."

"I'll talk to you, Tunnie, I will. But Daddy has had a horrible day and he just can't... just can't have this conversation right now. I'm sorry."

"Claire said you were sick. That you needed help to stay healthy, are you not feeling well again? I can help you! I'll call 911, please stay with me!"

"It's too late, baby, I'm sorry. You stay put and wait for your cousin, okay? You need to stay on the couch waiting for her and when mommy comes back, she'll pick you up."

"No, Daddy! Don't go! You're sick, you need a doctor!" Fortune tried to stop him from going to the door.

"No, Tunnie, Daddy's gonna leave now just for a little bit."

"Please stay! It's dark and I'm scared!"

"I gotta go-"

"But Daddy...!"

"WILL YOU PLEASE JUST FUCKING MOVE?" He yelled. "NOW DO WHAT YOUR FATHER SAYS AND DON'T TALK BACK, FORTUNE BENNIE HARGREEVES!"

The little girl was stunned into silence and her little pout quickly turned into panic as she started crying harder. She watched her father leave and sat on the floor sobbing quietly.

Not once had he ever raised his voice at his daughter, she was an easy girl and never got in trouble. She never needed to be punished or grounded, he always considered himself lucky... but now Klaus feared he was turning into what he hated most: his father.

*

"Hello," Victoria picked up the phone as she drove back home.

"Vicky, we need to get together right now," Five said. "Bring Klaus."

"I don't know where he is, he left Fortune at Allison's and disappeared with our TV and my jewelry. I'm looking for him right now."

"Shit... we need you! I think we have some more insight on the whole Jennifer situation."

"So do I, wait until I tell you who planted the marigold in that box and sent us after durango."

"What? What are you talking about? Ben is here! We're all at the old Academy."

"I know, he's an asshole. Big news..."

"No, not Sparrow Ben, our Ben."

"What?" She nearly crashed the car when she made a turn to head to the Academy. "How?"

"He found this sort of subway where the train takes you to different timelines, there's a crack in time and space which made several portals around the world to this station. The timelines are bleeding into each other."

"Please don't say another apocalypse is coming, I can't cope," she huffed.

"No, I mean, not if we find out how this is all connected. It's supposed to be one timeline, The Keepers, that group Sy mentioned... Lila and I have been infiltrated there for months and they know we're in the wrong timeline."

"Well fuck, that means the cleanse is a little more drastic than I thought."

"How do you know about the cleanse?"

"Abigail told me, it's a whole chemical thing with Jennifer. I'll explain better once I'm there."

"Jennifer? Oh, that makes sense why Dad is trying to keep her away from society."

"He is?"

"Jean and Gene, the leaders of that group I told you about were just murdered along with a bunch of their followers when they tried to kidnap Jennifer from the make-believe town where she lives. Everyone in the town is a Hargreeves soldier."

"Alright, I'm so confused. The Klaus hunt will have to wait, I'll be there in five... Five."

Tag List: @jozstankovich @firstpersonnarrator @salvador-daley

[marklikely]

saddest unshot chekovs gun of all time continues to be the close family mailbox nat 20 blunt

edit everyone nvm great news

[go-river-flows]

Sweet Visions of a flower

Summary: Syulang (OC), an orphaned girl after the destruction of Hometree. She is constanly reminded of this by her amputated left leg and constantly dreams of her deep trauma. Even when she gets adopted by Toruk Makto and his wife, who she resented for over six years before forgiving him.

Part 6 or ?

  Jake and the group of warriors stripped everything off the demons, their weapons, knives, their strange talking box (a communicator, according to Jake), even their tactical vests and eye coverings off two of the demons. Binding their arms and legs together.

“Yes, everything is okay. No, she’s not hurt. Everyone is fine, no one got injured except me,” Jake spoke into his communicator, definitely to the family. I was patching Sempul’s bullet wound as the demon with strange shaved hair stared at me. Once Jake had finished talking to the family, he finally turned to me.

“I'm going to have a talk with you later,” he said in a harsh tone, “You're still injured and I didn't want you to fight,” it was similar to what he said in my vision.

  It was dark now, as the eclipse had arrived. The forest lighting up in bioluminescence. A few of the demons looked around in awe, taking in the glowing flora.

“Let's go to plan B,” Jake announced. I looked at him unsure of what he was talking about. The warriors called for their ikrans, pulling the demons from the ground, dragging them to the warriors' respective ikrans.

The demon, named ‘Quaritch’ in front of us finally spoke up, “How d’ya know we were gonna be here?” He glared angrily at Jake. Who scoffed at the question.

“Why should I tell you?” Jake quipped back.

“What are ya gonna do to us?” Quaritch asked. Jake didn't respond as he called for Bob, his ikran arriving just two seconds later, landing right next to us.

“Hey. You girl!” he called out spooking me. I pointed to myself, “Yeah, you with the prosthetic leg. You his girl?”

  Unsure how to respond to his question I was about to nod, when Jake put his hand on top of my head, glaring at Quaritch. The rest of the warriors had already taken off with the other demons, taking them only Eywa knows where. Jake hopped on his unshot leg, yanking Quaritch to stand.

“Hold him for a moment,” Jake commanded, he climbed onto Bob first, as I guided the tall demon next to me, pushing him toward Bob, Jake leant down taking a hold of the demon’s clothing hauling him onto his ikran, belly down. The Demon cursed out in foreign tongue.

“Go home,” Jake demanded of me, before commanding Bob to fly. I gave a nervous nod and mounted my thanator.

  I knew I was in for a scolding as soon as I got home. And I was right. Neytiri yelled, no, screamed at me. Furious I left my siblings, furious that I charged into a fight, furious that I told no one where I was. And I sat there taking it all. I deserved it after all.

“–You of all people should know! You are supposed to be the responsible big sister! What message does this send to your younger siblings? Huh?” Neytiri cursed out. Tears threatened to fall from my eyes.

“I know sa’nu, and I was wrong to do what I did. I understand. I just had a bad feeling. It was so painful, like a knife to my gut. I had a vision that the demon was going to kill Dad, I just couldn't let him die,” I cried out, “I just couldn't lose another father. Not after Hometree fell. Not after the sky demons killed my papa.” I wept to Neytiri. Her face crumpled into despair as tears threatened to fall. She knelt down in front of me gripping me into a tight hug, she began to cry too. 

Third POV

Neytiri forgot that her Syulang had lost her biological parents until that moment. She watched her grow up and thought of Syulang as her own daughter. Something she would not confess to the girl in front of her. Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri and Spider were listening from outside the tent. Their heart broke for their sister. They too forget that they were not real siblings, that she was an orphan, adopted by Neytiri and Jake. But they though of her as their strong willed and protective big sister, they too spilt some tears.

  When Jake returned much later, he was still furious as his oldest daughter. Dragging his injured leg toward the family tent, he saw his sons and daughter lying asleep outside the tent with tear stained cheeks, getting closer he whipped open the entrance of the tent, finding his wife humming a tune rocking Syulang back and forth, both with purple eyes and tear stains down their faces. Noticing his wife’s heavy-hearted expression, his anger turned to sorrow.

“Ma Jake,”  Neytiri whispered, as she held her hand out to her husband. He dejectedly knelt in front of his wife and oldest daughter, grabbing ahold of his wife’s hand. 

“Ma yawne,” Jake exhaled heavily, “Sh–”

“She knows. Ma Jake, she had another vision. Eywa showed her that you were to be killed, that's why she went there,” Neytiri said in a hushed tone, “She wanted to save you, because she was scared to lose you too.”

Jake looked down at his daughter when he heard the word ‘too’, the realisation struck him like an arrow. He wanted to cry, he should have thought about how his daughter already lost her father. His heart felt heavy as he looked at Syulang. He saw her bravery, her kindness, her agony. He saw a part of himself in her. He reached out to brush the hair from Syulang’s face, feeling the intense heat from her forehead through his fingers. He placed the back of his palm to it. Almost recoiling from the burning of Syulang’s forehead.

“Ma Jake?” Neytiri noticed her husband's expression, doing the same thing, and hissing out. 

  Jake took Syulang from his wife’s arms, forgetting his bullet wound, standing and yelping out, he stumbled. “Ma Jake!” Neytiri tucked her head under his arm, steadying him. 

  Neteyam who heard the commotion inside, moved the flap noticing the strange position his parents were in, looking down he saw the blood soaking through it's bandage, he rushed to his father’s side to steady him. All together they brought Syulang to the healing tent, past their sleeping children, Neteyam ran off to get the Tsahik and a healer. They laid Syulang down as Jake collapsed into the cot next to his daughter.

<–Previous Chapter | Next Chapter –>

[rainwaterapothecary]

A Certain Insecticidal Flower pt 3

#serennedyprideweek Prompt 6 - Flowers

[Part 2]

Watching Luis stalk through the mines, arms flailing expressively was torture. And Leon would know, he was currently going through two experiences simultaneously that by definition fell under ‘torture’.

Leon sucked in a shallow breath, thirsty for air but unable to fill his lungs. Somewhere behind him, Luis was saying something about looking out but Leon wrote him off outside of marking his rough location. The pistol in his hand smacked against his palm as he loaded and knocked it in one fluid motion, raining lead down on a Ganado that looked like she could have been a schoolteacher in a past life. He couldn’t think like that. They were targets. Deep breath, aim for the head.

Bang. Luis cheered at his marksmanship before yelling ‘Oye!’ and raining lead from his magnum.

Weaving around the mines with Luis settled the off-kilter feeling the agent had been fighting since the scientist left them, he realized with a jolt. That isn’t right, it should be the other way around.

Who is this guy?

A researcher. Ex-Umbrella. A ladies’ man.

Why did the last one sting the worst?

Dealing with Luis Serra made him feel a bit like a lava lamp: big feelings moving in clumps and bubbles that he tries to send away with each revelation about the man’s past only to have the exact same wave buffet him with a smile or an exclamation.

It was exhausting.

It made him fucking cough.

“Easy there, let me take a look before we go further into the nest.”

“The nest?”

“Sí, this is where the plagas ancestors were dug up, locked in amber.”

Leon tries to sigh but all that comes up is a cough and the tang of blood. Not now.

“Remember what I said about opening fire, Luis.” He tried, with a tight grin. The scientist shook his head and rolled his eyes before waving the agent ahead of him.

“After you.”

Next thing he knew, they were in battle.

Again.

It was a bit like a whirlwind sprint, how adrenaline got Leon through his makeshift arena fights. Hyper-focused on each detail around him, ready to take on two giants at a time in a small space.

“One for each of us! You get that one!”

Luis sounded almost cheerful as he unconsciously lifted half the weight Leon was struggling to carry. The Red9 fired repeatedly and the race was on.

Somehow Leon was climbing and shooting and slashing in a tizzy over and over, trying to hack away at the pest that kept his giant going.

Then Luis ran.

Leon really should have been expecting it. Massive, shambling monsters covered in armor-

Then he came back.

Luis came back.

“Brought you a present, ey!” Leon could hear his smile as the cocky fucker jumped off the thing’s back. Damn they worked well as a team. The thing turned to face Leon and Luis would shoot, then they would trade. Boots hit metal and a magnum fired.

The floor opened up.

“Oh shit! Sorry!”  

“Jesus, Lu-“ Leon rolled out of the way of a slamming foot and switched out with the withe man at the controls. “Cover me!”

“On it!”

“Luis, MOVE!”

-

If only he had been able to yell in time.

The minecart fiasco had lulled him into an adrenaline-and-Luis-filled haze where the two worked with all their combined faculties to keep each other alive, unshot, and on the rails. At times he almost had the Spaniard curled into his chest, keeping his head down and out of pistol fire.

Then he was gone.

Leon felt the branches choke him from the inside out as tears of agony muddied his vision.

”Rookie.”

Krauser.

“Luis-!” Leon almost turned away from Krauser when he heard the other man shift in the dirt, but then the blade was out of Luis’ back and in Leon’s, proverbially. With a sinking feeling Leon took in three things:

-Krauser had removed the knife -Luis was bleeding, bad -Leon couldn’t breathe

His vision swam in and out in speckles as sharp, blue eyes shot from red beret to knife to amber to Luis and back.

Krauser didn’t finish his monologue about ‘trash’ before Leon’s knife was at his throat.

“Knives are faster, right Major?” With a tinkling sound, Leon forced something out of the larger man’s hand and reeled back to punch him in the face.

His heart ached to talk this out, to make the Major see reason, but his training and his air capacity said fight and fight hard.

So he did.

A predatory smile stretched Krauser’s scarred features as he traded blows with his protégé, knives flashing in the low light, one soaked in Luis’ blood.

“Why are you- doing this-?” Leon grunted. Ah, his heart hadn’t given up. Waste of oxygen. “Are you in that- that cult?”

No. Krauser was just an asshole.

An asshole working as a free agent, probably with very little backup.

Somehow Leon ended up on his back as his vision fuzzed out once more, knees coming up to throw his attacker against the wall. His boot soles connected with something solid and a gun went off twice.

The magnum.

Luis.

With a growl, the thing attacking Leon lept to the scaffolding around them. Leon squinted. Major Krauser?

The blond slowly sat up, his breath whistling around the branches he hid.

When his vision cleared, the threat had retreated and a body hit the ground with a familiar groan.

“Luis!” Leon got to his feet far too quickly and had to blink fireflies out of his eyes as he stumbled to his…friend.

Oh no. Luis is my…my friend.

Taking wheezing breaths between his teeth, Leon begged Luis to stop speaking, to save his energy, to stay with him.

Something was being pressed into his hand.

“Here, the key to my lab.” A pitiful laugh left the other man’s lips, coated in lifeblood and sad. “And I think the Amber fell somewhere to my left, you knocked it out of that puta madre’s hand with your- your attack, Sancho.” Leon’s vision flicked to the phial on the metal decking, noting it helplessly as the hands gripping his own got colder and colder. His hands began to shake.

“Luis- Luis no, no Luis you are going-“

Wracking coughs tore him apart from guts to uvula, curling the agent over the hands he was holding.

For a moment he forgot what he was holding, what his body was doing.

He felt weightless.

“Leon…” Something in his hand moved.

Oh.

Luis’ hand is on his head, that feels nice.

“L-luis no-“

Bright, nearly electric orange exploded into their laps, accented by the bright red blood of Leon’s windpipe.

Luis’ last breath was wasted on a gasp of shock and understanding.

Leon slumped into the dead man’s lap and expelled a certain insecticidal plant from petal to root, the flowers having nothing to hold onto after the object of their love left the world.

Yellows, oranges, brightest reds. A fireworks display of love and broken-hearted affection dashed across leather gloves and wet rock.

*-*-* A/N

If you want you can stop reading here BUT there's one more part bc I did RESEARCH lol

[Part 4]

[chidorisjournal]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 26 - Zip

Chidori felt the weight of the sword. She'd changed her style so many times over the battles. Time itself had somewhat lost it's meaning, and now she just counted the battles, won, lost, delayed, defered. Between them stretches of rest, training, more rest, more training. Food with friends, with friends who became foes, with foes who became friends. Loss. More loss. Grief. Joy, too, interwoven into the fabric of her life, hope, always, the brilliant thread of hope. Golden eyes that had once watched from behind dark shadows now in the light, watching this practice session once more with the twins. Understanding, too, in that thread. Exhaling a low breath, she squared her shoulders, nodding at the tall Duskwight across from her. The distance was long, and the arrows blunted, but it still hurt with each strike.

Still, she knew better than to dwell on the past, here, facing down a longbow taller than she was. Watching the slow draw back, the archer's stance loose, comfortable. A series of deep inhales from the fence line, all three observers already drawing aether to heal whatever hurt might appear should she fail this task. She couldn't spare them a glance, her focus only on the arrow being made ready to fly at her head.

Zip… thwip. The soft hiss of the fletching and shaft as string released it to fly toward her face and the twice again as heavy practice blade had to be lifted in the blink of an eye. Her own hissing zip of air, punched from her lungs at the effort, spinning through the strike to cleave the arrow rather than allow it past her. The sting of splinters against her face as metal met wood in a predictable way.

And yet she remained unshot. She'd take it. Letting the blade drop, the weight of it digging into the soft loam, she leaned on it, reaching up to smudge away a droplet of blood from her cheek, letting the grin slide across her face. She'd done it.

[kitchenisking]

It's raining here🌧️ so enjoy a hot cup of your preferred beverage and enjoy the lights!❤️

We Fall Into One Another by jettiebettie - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2459, sterek)

Life affirmation is a funny thing, to be perfectly honest.

It’s like one minute you’re running harder than you ever thought you could in order to outrun bullets, and the next you have boner at the realization that you did it. That you’re alive and unshot and free to fight (flight) for survival another day.

And then you have your hand down another guy’s pants. It happens.

It happens to them.

Finger Bangin' by Hatteress (goddammitstacey) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3464, sterek)

Stiles starts bringing drumsticks to Pack gatherings, sitting himself on the edge of the group to tap out maddening rhythms on his knees as the werewolves train. The first time he’d pulled them out, spinning one stick in a showy twirl between his fingers, Derek had actually staggered a little, missed a basic move, and ended up on his back blinking up at fucking Jackson, of all people.

The Mechanic and the Pea by FluffysRkive - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7712, sterek)

Prompted off of this picture: Derek is a mechanic with naughty thoughts and Stiles is a teenager who is trying to not explode from sexual frustration before graduation.

Your Body Language is Broken English by merpiplier - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1522, sterek)

Stiles hates the noises Derek wrings out of him when they're in bed. Derek loves them and can't get enough to making Stiles make more.

Scent by moodwriter - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1629, sterek)

Derek and Stiles get down and dirty in a library.

You Sure Are Looking Good by miriad - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3070, sterek)

Stiles also doesn’t like it when assholes treat other people around him poorly, which is how he ends up meeting Derek.

Fix Me by iamee  - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3110, sterek)

Derek has a car. Stiles is (sort of) happy to fix it. Derek is (sort of) in heat. Stiles is just there.

Six Stages of Stiles by rufflefeather - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3406, sterek)

“I’m not surprised,” Derek huffs. It’s not even with exertion, it’s just out of annoyance which is his default setting since the anger one passed. Stiles calls it his Six Stages of Stiles: Anger, Annoyance, Bargaining (for him to go away), Acceptance (because he never does), Like and Love. He’s not found anyone who has reached the final stage yet, not counting his dad because he’s got no choice, apart from maybe Scott. But Stiles is an optimistic guy, he fears for his life on a weekly basis and still wants to get up in the morning, so yeah. One day there will be love. And sex marathons. Hopefully.

Driving me Insane by Viet_joker - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2604, sterek)

Stiles is seriously driving Derek insane. He always had control, up until the worker at the drive-thru window had an interest in Stiles, and Stiles seemed somewhat surprised and probably interested. Derek was going to show that Stiles belonged to him and only him.

They Can Smell It On You by philosophyofhedonism - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1854, sterek)

Taken from a prompt on the Teen Wolf Kink Meme that I have since lost, so imma post it here. Derek rides Stiles hard and puts him away wet. To keep him that way, he makes Stiles wear a plug when they're not having sex.