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happyyyandcrazyyy · 1 year ago

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matching bracelets (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: when (y/n) buys kaz a bracelet she does so as a joke, she knows he’ll never actually wear it. imagine her surprise when she sees it dangling around his wrist.

based on the prompt: person A gets person B a friendship bracelet, expecting person B to never wear it, but when it’s given to them person B puts it on and is rarely seen with it off.

warnings: mentions of blood and torture (not explicit, briefly mentioned)

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: guess who's back after a year of being mia!! i've been working on a lot of fics, but inspiration just hasn't been there, so i'm going slow, i don't like to force myself to write if i don't feel like it. anywaysss, i hope you enjoy this one! it was such a fun ride to write :)

Jesper opens the door with a loud bang, strutting into the Slat with his head held high and a slight jump in his step. He’s whistling good-naturedly, his left hand twirling a pistol and his right hand holding a rumpled piece of paper.

(Y/N)’s right hand— which had immediately reached for the pocket knife in her boot at the tumultuous noise— retreats back to her side. She relaxes, letting her shoulders sag and briefly looking down to make the final correction on a contract Kaz had her look over, left hand holding the pen and swiftly moving over the paper.

Jesper makes his way towards her, still whistling. She follows him from the corner of her eye, a slight smirk taking over her features. He’s in a good mood, the kind of mood he’s only ever in when the Gods are in his favor and he manages to miraculously not gamble away all his money. It’s not something that happens often.

“Did you win some?” she asks, already knowing the answer but enjoying the way the Sharpshooter preens under the attention. Jesper, very much in character and to (Y/N)’s delight, twirls around and does a ridiculous dance before taking a small bow.

“Baby, I won a whole lot.”

She huffs out a laugh, leaning back as she watches him place the pistol in its respective holster before plopping down on the chair by her right side and tossing her a small bag.

(Y/N) catches it smoothly, reflexes as sharp as always.

She doesn’t need to open the sack to know there’s kruge in there; the sound of coins jiggling against each other is a dead giveaway.

Jesper winks, a teasing smile on his lips. He tips his chair back, feet on top of the table, “Because you’re my favorite.”

It’s really because he owes her more kruge than he’ll ever be able to repay, but (Y/N) plays along. She’s never cared much about money, anyways.

“You sure do know how to charm a lady,” she smirks.

“I’m good at charming gents, too.”

“Versatile.”

“You know me.”

(Y/N) smiles, softer around the edges this time, something reserved only for her closest friends. She’s about to being correcting another contact— she has twelve to go through, all because she’d been bored and had decided annoying Kaz would be a great way to spend her time, he obviously hadn’t agreed —when Jesper slides over the piece of paper he’d been holding in his right hand. In the time he’d made his way towards her he’d somehow managed to crumple it completely.

She takes it, half curious, half willing to do anything to procrastinate revising and correcting those stupid documents.

“Brought this for you, too. I’ve got the feeling you’re going to enjoy this much more than the money.”

Her eyebrows furrow with curiosity as she slowly opens up the paper.

Ink contrasts the yellowish hue of the paper. Her own face greets her, drawn by hand, but fairly accurate.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Wanted dead or alive.

1,000 kruge.

She can’t help the snicker that falls from her lips

Jesper is right. This is better, much better.

“Can’t believe it’s only a thousand this time,” she huffs, a small pout on her lips. “I must be losing my touch.”

Jesper snorts at that.

(Because she hasn’t lost her touch, not even a little, and they both know it. Just yesterday she’d managed to get vital information out of a Black Tip member with a single touch and a minimal amount of bloodshed. Three days before that she’d disposed of a rival gang member who’d been speaking too freely and she’d made sure his body would never be found. Two weeks prior to that Kaz had sent her to steal a miniature stature and she’d done it without a hitch, forging an identical copy in less than five days. No, she still very much has it.)

“I might have to go overboard next time,” she muses quietly to herself, “do something that will raise the bounty to at least two thousand five hundred.”

She traces the outline of her name, biting down a smile when Jesper snorts.

“You’re insane,” the Sharpshooter deadpans, the fondness in his tone almost tangible.

(Y/N) smiles wickedly at him, “So they say.”

Marbles is what they’ve nicknamed her around the Barrel. They say she’s lost them all. And it must be true, she must be out of her mind, because having a bounty on your head in Ketterdam is nothing less than a death sentence. It means having the most ruthless assassins coming after you, all looking for a way to make fast money. It’s living with the constant fear of someone sneaking up on you and slicing your throat, of having your food poisoned, of being choked to death in your sleep, of having your closest friends betray you as a means to survive. But to (Y/N), who has been part of the city’s underworld since before being able to formulate words, who has had any sort of ability to feel fear beaten out of her, this is nothing but one of the most amazing sources of entertainment. It keeps her on her toes, brings an adrenaline rush that does not compare to anything else. She must be crazy because any sane person would be paralyzed in fear, running for their lives, and yet all she can feel is the comforting thrill of being in mortal danger. (And, yes, it is comforting. She was raised to be a weapon, trained to withstand any form of torture; having Death peering over her shoulder is something she’s comfortable with, something she’s used to, something that soothes her). Besides, even if she wasn’t deadly confident in her own abilities (which she very much is), and even if she was able to feel terror overtaking her limbs (which she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel again), the title she holds would be enough to keep her relatively safe; she is Kaz’s right hand, and no one dares touch something that belongs to Dirtyhands.

(Y/N) stares at the poster for a little while longer— they got her nose wrong, made it too pointy —before smirking to herself. She knows how this will all go down, has seen it played out a few dozen times before (this is a regular occurrence, after all, a bounty is placed on her head every couple of months, whenever she loses her temper and murders someone who was deemed untouchable, or steals something much too valuable for her blood-stained hands). So, yes, she knows how this will go; the bounty will stay up for a couple of weeks, long enough for a few to dare try to kill her, and then it’ll be removed by whoever placed it once they realize it’s futile, once they see how everyone who even dares breathe too close to her winds up dead. She hopes the assassination attempts are entertaining, she hopes whoever dares come after her head gives her a good fight, if only to keep things interesting. It’s been a while since she’s had some unrestrained fun.

(Kaz keeps her on a tight rein, knows better than to let her run around freely. To say things can get out of hand when she’s left to her own devices would be an understatement.)

“Again?”

The voice comes from behind her, and (Y/N) doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, she heard his steps since before he even walked into the room. (It’s easy to know when it’s Kaz, he subconsciously places more weight on his left leg to keep the right one from aching, it makes his footsteps distinctive.) Still, she angles her head to meet his eyes. He’s leaning over her chair, cold eyes watching the bounty poster with disdain.

He’s never said it but (Y/N) knows that he doesn’t appreciate her life being imperiled. She is, in a way, an extension of him, and therefore any threats to her he sees as direct threats to him. Dirtyhands doesn’t take it well to being threatened.

“It’s okay, boss,” Jesper calls out. He’s still tipping his chair back, now playing with his guns. (Y/N) is kind of tempted to lean forward and kick one of the chair’s wooden legs, just to watch him struggle, possibly even fall. But Jesper’s known her long enough to realize when she’s on the verge of becoming a nuisance because his eyes narrow playfully and he lets the chair’s weight drop forward, “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) can see the way Kaz’s face morphs. It’s almost indistinguishable, but she notices it. She thinks she would be able to spot the most minimal change in Kaz, she’s known him long enough for that. (Y/N) watches in amusement as he opens his mouth, no doubt to argue that he isn’t worrying at all, because Gods forbid he ever outwardly cared about anyone, but Jesper beats him to the punch and keeps going, “Heard some of Pekka’s Lions talking ‘bout how they’re not even going to try to come after her this time.”

“How boring,” she mutters to herself in disappointment, reaching for her glass of whisky. She’d meant for the comment to go unheard but Jesper’s snicker tells her that she wasn’t successful.

She takes a chug as Jesper points an accusatory finger at her and smirks, “That’s all on you, Marbles.”

At her bewildered look, he elaborates, “Two of them said something about not wanting to meet the same fate as the Razorgull guy from a couple of months ago—” (Y/N) smirks at that. The guy had deserved it. He hadn’t just tried to kill her, but also grope her. Murder she could understand, respect even, but touching someone else without their consent? No, she drew the line there. She’d had him swallow his own testicles; it’d seemed fitting enough. “—and the other one said that even if you hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t come close, not with you being Kaz’s right hand,” Jesper pauses for a second, a smug smile appearing on his lips, “and his best friend.”

Their reaction is instantaneous; Kaz goes rigid at the words and a smirk takes over (Y/N)’s features.

Oh, if the night didn’t just suddenly get better.

She glances up at her best friend, only to find him already glaring daggers at Jesper, who shrugs helplessly and innocently says, “Just telling it like I heard it, boss.” The flicker of amusement in his eyes reveals that he’s very much aware of just how much ammunition he’s provided (Y/N) with.

(Y/N)’s smirk becomes wider and gains a teasing edge when Kaz looks down to meet her eyes. His eyes harden, explicitly telling her to not utter a single word. Sadly for him, she has never been one to follow the rules, and Kaz must notice she’s not about to obey because his face morphs slightly, just enough to show the most minimum amount of discomfort. He cringes just the tiniest bit, bracing himself.

He knows her too well.

“You hear that?” she asks him, tone light and filled with amusement, “We’re best friends!”

“We are not,” Kaz tenses his jaw as he replies. He backs away from her, as if creating physical space between them will somehow stop the words from leaving her mouth and making their way towards him. As if distance could make her less of an bother.

(Y/N) fake gasps, clutching the skin over her heart in the most dramatic manner, “You wound me deeply, Kazzy.”

Jesper snorts, coughing to try to drown the laughter. She might be the only one who doesn’t get a knife to the jugular when calling him that.

Kaz’s eyes snap toward the Sharpshooter and the look must be deadly because Jesper quiets down immediately and tries his best to evade the boss’s glare. Kaz’s gaze then shifts towards (Y/N) and she perks up at the way his eyes harden even further in annoyance. He’s told her a million times to drop that ‘ridiculously stupid’ nickname and she’s decided she never will, not when it drives him to this point of exasperation.

(She’s a thrill chaser, you see. That’s what happens when you’ve seen just about everything and lived twice as much; few things get your heart pumping. And getting on Kaz’s nerves? That’s always exciting. (Y/N) never knows what to expect of him. The Bastard of the Barrel is unpredictable in a way that’s just delightful.)

“If you call me that one more time—”

“What are you gonna do? You can’t possibly try to hurt me. Best friends don’t do that to each other,” she mocks.

His eyebrow twitches, her grin stretches.

Oh, she’s going to have a field day with this one.

It’s obvious that Kaz knows he’s not winning this discussion because he walks forward, snatches the revised contracts and makes his way back to where he came from.

“Get those done before tomorrow afternoon.”

Boring. She was expecting more banter.

(Y/N) turns around to watch him leave, unable to stop herself from throwing a sarcastic, “Sure thing, bestie.” She does her best to sweeten the last word in a way that she knows will infuriate Kaz.

He freezes.

Bingo.

Even from afar, (Y/N) can see the way he tightens the grip on his cane. She’s thoroughly disappointed when he doesn’t throw a dagger her way. That would’ve been exciting. He takes another route, one she should’ve seen coming.

“I’ve got seven more files that need to be corrected. Collect them when you’re done with those.”

The corner of her lips tugs upwards slightly. There’s something thrilling about playing this game with Kaz, of seeing how much one of them can push before the other yields. He’s skilled and she enjoys the competition.

She ignores his order, “Goodnight, Kazzy.”

He slams the door on his way out, the only visible sign that she managed to get on his nerves. That’s mildly entertaining. Causing even the slightest slip of Kaz’s control over his temper is a success in her books.

“You’re out of your mind,” Jesper informs her.

She raises her glass of whisky at him and winks.

And that’s how it begins, as a joke. (Y/N) refers to Kaz as her best friend on every given chance. His reactions never disappoint.

There’s a lot of death threats;

(“Don’t mind him, bestie here is always grumpy.”

Clenched jaw, an exasperated sigh. “I will murder you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Kazzy.”

There’s a knife thrown her way. (Y/N) catches it with ease, whistling good-naturedly. She smirks when she catches the look of annoyance in Kaz’s face.)

and a lot of not so kind words thrown her way.

(“I get special best friend privileges, right?”

“You get tolerated,” Kaz mutters, “barely.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Now tell me you love me.”

There’s that Brekker glare, one that would send anyone to an early grave. (Y/N) just smiles sweetly.

“Get out.”

“Whatever makes you happy, best friend.”

She cackles as she closes the door behind her, the curses Kaz is sending her way loud enough for her to hear.)

All in all, (Y/N) is as happy as can be. Having the time of her life, really. It’s not often that she finds something that makes Kaz fume. He plays the game too, of course. He has her going over financial documents and legal contracts on her free time, knowing just how much she hates the bureaucracy, and he gives her the household chores she despises the most. Still, (Y/N) doesn’t complain. She does everything with a smug smile on her face. The annoyance that flashes through Kaz’s face makes it all worth it.

The bracelet isn’t something she plans for, it really isn’t, but the Saints place the opportunity right in front of her and who is she but a mere mortal that must obey the signs evidently laid by otherworldly deities (or whatever bullshit those religious fanatics preach).

(Y/N) inspects the wristlets in her hand. They’re black and rough, made of broken-down nets that fishermen dispose of near the pier when the material has worn down beyond repair and is no longer useful. The little girl who had sold it to her couldn’t have been older than seven, and yet the design was more than decent. (Y/N) had offered three kruge for it, much more than it was worth. The child had looked delighted, had thanked her profusely as she’d placed the coins inside her worn-down shoes.

Oh, (Y/N) cannot wait to see Kaz’s face.

“What’s that?” Jesper asks as she meets up with him, eying the bracelets with a gleam of interest. He twirls his guns absentmindedly, missing the way some of the fishermen glance at him with distrust.

“Oh, you know, just some matching bracelets for me and my best friend.”

Jesper snickers, shaking his head and proceeding to let out a low whistle.

“This might be his breaking point.”

“Wouldn’t that be delightful.”

“You’re insane, Marbles.”

She gives him a wicked smile accompanied by a wink. She’s about to retort when she catches sight of a shadow on the corner of her eye. She recognizes it immediately as her target. Shopping, as fun as it had been, wasn’t the reason she and Jesper were waiting by the pier. They’ve got orders. She has people to torture and interrogate and dispose of— preferably in a quiet manner —and Jesper is Kaz’s way of making sure she’s got her back covered. (Not that she needs backup, but whatever, she has tried arguing with Kaz about it and it’s the one thing he won’t relent on, the one matter she’s accepted she won't ever win. Kaz doesn't play when it comes to her safety.).

“If you’re kind enough to hold these for me,” she places the bracelets on Jesper’s unoccupied hand, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

They make it back to the Slat before sunrise. (Y/N) had been quick and efficient, as she always was, and Jesper had been a quiet and solid shadow, as he always was.

“I assume it all went according to plan,” the Bastard asks when he hears their steps coming into his office. It’s late, or rather extremely early in the morning, and yet (Y/N) isn’t surprised by Kaz’s presence. He rarely sleeps.

“It went without a hitch, boss,” Jesper responds, resting against the doorframe.

(Y/N) hesitates for a split second, her memory providing a brief flashback to the interrogation she’d done, to three little words the man had let slip out: they’re coming for you.

A warning or maybe a promise.

Thrilling, either way. It wasn’t often that she was verbally threatened.

At the time, she’d dismissed the words, too filled with bloodlust to pay them any mind, but now, with a clear mind and a steady heartbeat, she suddenly remembers her face plastered on paper all over Ketterdam and wonders if the words might be related to the bounty on her head.

Oh, she hopes so. That would prove to be fun.

They’re coming for you. Good. Let them try.

She nods her head in agreement with Jesper’s words. Kaz nods in approval and then jerks his chin Jesper’s way, a clear sign of dismissal. The Sharpshooter never walks into Kaz’s office after missions like this. He’s an escort, a babysitter of sorts, merely Kaz’s way of making sure she heads his way instead of making a beeline for her bed.

(Y/N) sticks her tongue out at him and Jesper blows her a kiss in response.

Lucky bastard. It’s always her that has to stay up to report. And she hates to admit it, but she’s tired, she can feel the exhaustion begin to creep on her bones and settle in. She has been up for more than thirty-seven hours at this point, and she can feel it catching up to her. Still, she knows that Kaz prefers to hear details when the information is fresh on her mind, when she can provide as much detail as possible, so she pushes through for him. She just has to wait a little while longer before crawling into her bed and passing out for the next twelve hours.

“Marbles comes bearing gifts by the way,” is the last thing the Sharpshooters says before exiting.

A smirk takes over her features, sleep, exhaustion and the new information briefly forgotten.

Kaz is going to hate it.

Lovely.

Kaz seems to sense, probably by the wicked amusement on her face, that whatever it is it’s not something he’s going to enjoy. His face twists into a scowl.

“Out with it, then.”

She pulls out the dark bracelet from her pocket as she walks towards Kaz, dangling it in front of his face when she’s close enough.

Jesper had handed them back on the way home, tossing them over as soon as she’d wiped the blood off her hands. He hadn’t said a word, but (Y/N) knew that the action had meant to snap her out of the weird haze that clouded her mind after every mission, where adrenaline still coursed through her body and all she could think about was bloodshed, fingers itching to kill and maim and fight.

(It was a thing, the haze. When taking lives there was nothing but calmness and bloodthirst, the restlessness that always lingered beneath her skin subsiding as soon as a weapon was placed in her hand and orders were given. And as soon as the mission was done, as soon as the target was neutralized and she’d efficiently fulfilled her orders, fogginess followed. Her mind became clouded, as if somewhat trapped in a loop of violence, every nerve on edge and ready for any threat to emerge.

She was brought up as a killing machine, a child soldier, the best out of all the assassins produced by the Silent Blades, her father’s pride. She was ruthless, wretched, or at least those had been the words used to describe her when she’d been a child. She supposed the dissociative state she slipped into was normal when considering her upbringing, some sort of psychological shield that kept her from going insane.

She never spoke about it, but the Crows somehow knew. They often eased her out of it, knowing full well that when trapped in that state she had not an ounce of thought and only muscle memory to rely on, which made her infinitely more lethal.)

Jesper’s actions had worked like a charm. With something else to do with her hands, the fogginess had ruptured. She’d absentmindedly tied one of the bracelets on her own wrist, fingers playing with the edges of the other.

It’s that bracelet, the one on her arm, that Kaz glances at now. It’s brief, but for a split second the scowl etched on his face softens and something that she can’t quite catch passes through his eyes. It’s gone before (Y/N) can even begin to process it.

“Best friends have to have matching bracelets, don’t they?” And if she wonders about it later, she’ll blame it on the exhaustion, but the words come out softer than she intends them to. A jest, but not any less truthful.

Kaz’s face morphs and she gets a fleeting glimpse at that flicker in his eyes again. His scowl melts into something a tad bit gentler, the look contrasted by the aggressiveness with which he snatches the bracelet from her hand, “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” He means that and his tone has enough bite to make her cackle.

Amusing.

Placing her hands on her back pockets and shrugging, she responds, “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Kaz snorts, “Go take a bath.” He dismisses her, turning around and making his way to his desk, “Reports can wait until you don’t look half dead.”

That’s unexpected.

(Y/N) raises her eyebrows, “You’re being nice.” It isn’t often that Kaz forgoes a report after a mission. He might’ve been more touched by the gift than he’s letting on.

“It’s for my own sake,” he retorts, not turning around, “you just stink and it’s making me nauseous.”

She does have a lingering smell of blood and sea water.

“Everything in this damned place stinks,” she responds. I know you’re lying, she’s saying, I know you’re being kind.

“Get out.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” (Y/N) mocks, walking out of his office.

She sleeps a full day after that, everyone knowing better than to bother her unless they want to lose to their head, and when she reports to Kaz the next morning the three words she’d heard from the man slip her mind. (Y/N) doesn’t remember them until a few weeks later when she’s tied to the ceiling by her wrists, face bleeding.

Now, she must admit, she’s impressed. No one had ever tried kidnapping before. There’d been more attempts on her life than she could even count; stabs resulting in blood being shed, never one drop of hers, poison that she had either swallowed down like a champ or identified before a single lick of it touched her tongue, because being raised an assassin meant she’d been trained in the art of toxins and she’d built up tolerance to pretty much every substance in existence, and that one time they’d tried to shot at her, which only resulted in (Y/N) stealing Jesper’s gun and placing a bullet right between the perpetrator’s eyebrows. All in good fun. Kidnapping was new, but only because those who had attempted on her life had never tried joining forces, all of them wishing to keep the financial reward for themselves.

Torturing, that was new, too.

She could endure, of course she could, she’d been trained for this. That did not mean she’d missed it.

The poster had stated she was wanted dead or alive and it was clear that the man in front of her wanted to take his time. It was personal, she could tell by the brunt of his hits and the delicate precision of his cuts. Had she been anyone else, she would’ve been begging for it to stop, but (Y/N) was a Silent Blade, even if she’d left the organization and that life behind, and she would never break.

The only reason she was in this situation was because the assailants had gotten the upper hand. They’d used one of (Y/N)’s street urchins— a little girl with piggy tails and two missing teeth, one of the ones who gathered information for (Y/N) and traded it for food and shelter —as leverage. And time had apparently made her soft because she’d hesitated. The brief second of doubt had been everything they’d needed.

Them subduing her didn’t mean she’d gone down without a fight. There’d been five of them in the beginning. Only three remained. She’d plucked one guy’s eye out, going deep enough to sever the optic nerve and cause brain damage, and she’d ripped the other’s ear with her teeth before slitting his throat. She’d managed to stab one of the three men remaining with a dagger before being injected with some unknown serum. It hadn’t knocked her out, not the way it was supposed to if the incredulous look on her kidnapper’s face was any indication, but it had drugged her enough to allow them to overpower her.

And now here she was, slowly bleeding out.

“I intent on handing your corpse to them and claiming the reward.” He’s been quiet for so long that (Y/N) had almost forgotten his presence. She doesn’t raise her head, only looks up. It’s hard to do so when her right eye is swollen shut. “But they never specified the conditions it had to be in.”

The man has his back towards her, fingers running through a box of tools. He’s used almost all of them on her by this point. Amateur. A skilled torturer knows to go slow, to drag it out, to choose a weapon and stick to it until the person is weeping and screaming.

“It was my brother that you killed.”

That sparks her interest, a smirk taking over her bloodied lips. She looks at him, dead in the eye.

“Which one?” she taunts.

The sound of her voice, still strong despite the blood loss, startles him. He freezes for a split second, hand over a wooden baseball bat.

“What?”

She snickers, blood dripping into the floor. “I’ve killed a lot of men, darling.” The way he seethes, fury filling his features, amuses her. “So which one was your brother?”

“You had him swallow his own testicles.”

“Oh, him,” she nods her head in appreciation. “Can’t say I regret it.”

Now he’s fuming, hand shaking so badly he almost loses the grip on the bat. If (Y/N) looks close enough she can see the resemblance. Same brown hair, same nose, same crazy look in their eyes.

“I’ll make you regret it.”

“You can certainly try,” she concedes mockingly. Because, honestly, there’s nothing he can do to her that she hasn’t already withstood.

There’s a raging roar and then a burst of pain. A hit to her abdomen, which no doubt bruised a rib, and then two to her back. But it’s okay, she thinks to herself as she wheezes and coughs, trying to regain air in her lungs, she knows how to play this game and how to win it. Keep him talking, keep him angry, let him think he has the upper hand, keep him from noticing how she’s preparing to break free.

“I wonder…” he murmurs, bat dragging behind him. “You’re not particularly remarkable.” She scoffs as he begins circling her, a tactic supposed to drive the prisoner into panic at the lack of vision of their assailant. Her heart doesn’t stutter. She’s trained to identify people and objects by sound not sight. She knows precisely where he is, even if she can’t see him. “So, what makes you interesting enough for the Bastard to keep so close?”

She grins, feral and with bloodstained teeth.

“Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

His face does not change but his step falters. “You cannot believe me stupid enough to fall for that.”

“You were stupid enough to tie my wrists with handcuffs,” is all she replies before dislocating her own thumbs and releasing herself from the shackles.

She hits the floor hard, body swaying for a second. Her hands are numb, nerve endings frayed. It hits her, now that she has to keep herself upright, just how much blood she’s lost. The edges of her vision blur.

There’s a cut on her thigh, it bleeds heavily. Her back is all flayed skin. Breathing is hard.

It doesn’t matter. She only needs four fingers and half a mind to hold and use a dagger. She shakes the dizziness off.

He comes at her, but she’s expecting that. Sidestepping him is easy, kicking him in the back as he passes by even more so.

“You’re not much without your friends and a syringe full of drugs, are you?” she stumbles a little as she taunts him. Time is not on her side, she knows this. He’s cut deep in her arms and legs, no major artery touched, but with precision to give her a slow and prolonged death. She’s been steadily bleeding for hours.

(Y/N) has to end this. Soon.

He comes for her again, and she dodges, punching him right in the gut. He feigns left and she moves away, noticing too late the fist that impacts with the right side of her face. Despite the pain, she manages to stomp his toes and slam her knee against his balls.

That does it.

A high whimper leaves his mouth and as he struggles for air, she backs up. Keeping her eyes on him, her right arm reaches back to the toolbox. She knows what she’s grasped as soon as her fingers graze it.

“Say hi to your brother for me.”

The scalpel lodges itself right on his carotid artery.

“Nice,” she mumbles in delirium as she hears him choke to death. It’d been a majestic throw.

The adrenaline is gone in a second. (Y/N) stumbles backwards, barely aware of all the tools scattering around in the floor. She lets herself rest against the wall, slowly sitting down on the floor.

She’s going to die.

It doesn’t matter that she’s managed to get rid of that poor excuse of a man. She’s too injured. She knows.

(Y/N) isn’t scared. She’s tangled with Death for a long time, and as cold begins to creep in and the edges of her vision blacken, it feels like welcoming an old friend. It feels like getting what she has always had coming for her.

The tips of her fingers begin to tingle, her body’s desperate effort at keeping her heart pumping. Her ears are ringing, hard enough that when shouts begin all that she can hear are muffled sounds.

Then someone’s touching her face. She greets the warmth.

“Fuck,” she hears as she tumbles forward, her forehead landing on a collarbone. Jesper grasps the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. At least, she thinks it’s him. Her brain feels mushy, but her nose has never failed her, and it smells like gunpowder and mint.

She’s laid down on the ground gently, probably to inspect her injuries before moving her.

“You’re going to be okay,” the Sharpshooter reassures her, but his voice is trembling. He’s scared. She must look worse than she feels, and she feels like she’s been attacked by a group of Heartrenders.

She wants to speak, to tell him it’s okay, but opening her mouth feels like an impossible task.

“Save your energy.” That’s Kaz. His voice is steady, but she can feel the underlying tension, the worry in his words. “You are not dying tonight.” And he says it with so much conviction, like he would hold her soul with his own hands to keep it anchored to her body, like he would keep her heart beating with pure willpower.

Her eyes look for him, but she catches sight of something else entirely.

“You’re wearing it.”

She must make no sense, words slurred, but Kaz understands. His whispered words are the last thing she hears before slipping out of consciousness.

“How couldn’t I?”

Then there’s nothing. She loses track of time. She comes back to her body from time to time, able to hear words but incapable of pinpointing the speaker. She’s floating, but there’s pain and aching.

“…too much blood, I don’t know…”

“…keep her alive.”

“I am trying!”

“Don’t try, do it.”

“…punctured lung, broken ribs…”

“…don’t know how she’s still alive.”

When she comes to the first thing that she feels is blinding pain. Everything hurts. Her muscles complain as she sits up. She clenches her jaw to keep the tears at bay. The worst is already over, she will not cry.

“Don’t move,” (Y/N) freezes at the command, her head snapping towards the voice. “Nina stitched you back together, I doubt she would be very happy to see all her hard work ruined.”

She gently eases herself back on the bed, fingertips running over her bandaged stomach. She can feel the edges of the stitches poking through it. It must’ve been bad, then, if she required stitches to keep the wound together. Usually, she’s a fast healer, a result of all the training she’d gone through.

“How long?” Her voice is raspy after not being used. Her throat hurts, which might be related to the way she was choked to the verge of unconsciousness several times while held hostage.

“Four nights.”

Bad then.

(Y/N) can feel Kaz’s eyes on her, assessing. She meets his stare, and it’s when she’s looking at him that a vague memory comes back.

Her eyes drift down to his wrist.

The twin bracelet to her own, the one she keeps tightly wrapped around her wrist, as if part of her own skin, greets her.

“You are wearing it.”

Kaz frowns in confusion, until he follows her line of sight. He looks away, hand clenching and unclenching over the head of his cane.

“Even after almost dying you’re still insufferable,” he responds.

But when he looks back at her, (Y/N) can see everything in his eyes.

How could I not, he’d said, and he’d meant it. If friendship was something that could bloom in a wretched place like Ketterdam, Kaz was her best friend and she was his, even if they’d never discussed it, even if they would never admit it. You’re the steady order to my unrelenting chaos, she thought to herself, someone I would follow to the end of the world.

He nods, as if reading her mind and agreeing with her.

“Rest.” That’s an order, one she has no intention of disobeying.

“Sure thing,” she responds as Kaz makes his way towards the door, “bestie.”

(Y/N) can feel the amusement in his words, “Absolutely insufferable.”

She smirks, toying with the ends of the bracelet’s strings.

(Y/N) never takes it off. Neither does Kaz.

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couch-potato28 · 5 months ago

Text

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

VERSION V.

(a/n: Hey guys, really sorry again for not updating, this past week i got hit with the flu and honestly felt like dying 💀 tyy for reading though and let me know if u see any grammatical errors ❤️)

WARNING!-none

wc: 1.1k words

ALSO: tags @ttheggrimrreaper ❤️

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…13, Barou Shoei”

A few coughs and loud 'oh'-s were heard across the room. Immediately turning around, some of the girls gave you strange looks before turning back to their friends, whispering about something. Finding it weird you tried to ask around, a sudden bubble of anxiousness taking over your mind, but all of them simply decided to either ignore or give you very vague answers. Trying for a few more minutes to no avail, you decided to go to the room with the MANAGER label on, where Anri gave you your new uniform, along with a booklet and some advice.

Imagine being Barou Shoei’s manager, known as the king.

——————

Barou Shoei, who made you shiver at first glance. Just for a moment though, but you did shiver. Tall frame, deep voice, scary aura, and red eyes that could kill with just one look. As much as you wished for another player at that moment, you still held out your hand, introducing yourself to the boy, because we don’t judge based on looks and reputation right? Still waiting for his palm, you looked up while he simply stared at your face before glancing back at your extended hand.

“You disinfected it?”

“What?”-you asked, a little surprised.

“Your hand. Is it disinfected?”-he repeated with a slight grimace on his face.

“Um…not yet. Should I?”-you replied, hoping he wouldn’t strangle you. Shit, rookie mistake. After a loud “tch,” he turned around and went to his stuff on the benches, searching for something in his sports bag.

“Here”-he threw the small disinfectant to you.- “Use it and let’s get over with this.”

———————

•Barou, the king of the court, the villain, the player who…acts exactly like your mother. You, who can’t escape the grasp of a parent even in this isolated facility, because who would have thought that you would get yourself a tidy, polite, tough-looking softie?

•He, who is terrifyingly big, yet talks so much and chews your ears off like an old lady about your so-called lazy habits. He notices right from the start that you don’t organise your notes in folders, you don't know where some papers and documents are, and the fact that you only use one freaking pen.

•Also, you know he doesn’t mean to offend you, but he does mention that it’s time for you to get back to the gym, cause he won’t be having a weakling as his manager. This guy even offers to create a personal training plan just for you.

•So, just after the first week, you can’t help but adjust your schedule and habits a little for his sake, but all of this comes with a price, of course. Meaning both of you agree to the condition that if you become more tidy, he’ll have to be nicer to those around him and that doesn’t include threatening.

•As a result, you have to go get some damn highlighters for your notes a month later, with him smirking in your face every single time you use them.

•Barou, unlike you, follows his daily routine to the core, doing even more than the mandatory training sessions, always making sure his body is on top. Most of the time, you don't even have to move or remind him to do anything, because he's already on to his next task by the time you even remember to remind him. He even keeps YOUR schedule in mind, in case you might forget that as well.

•As his manager, you could lay around all day if you wanted to, because he doesn’t need help.

•When you get up, Barou is already doing some practice rounds. When you go and do your assigned tasks for the day, he’s crushing it on the field. You go to check on him during practice, he’s waiting for you with some random request again.

•Getting ready for the evening’s analysis? Wrong, you’re literally late for it cause he has already watched almost all of it.

•He's also the one with whom conversations are usually good if you don't give him a headache. With a bit of a grumpy attitude, but he answers everything. Turns out he has 2 little sisters, with him being in charge of bringing them home from school and cooking dinner for the whole family.

•Barou is surprisingly really attentive as well. Similar to Isagi, but you would never tell him that because he would kill you for it. However, you can feel his slightly different behaviour towards you.

•Like the subtle but gentle tone in his voice or when he clearly doesn't like something, but he listens to you anyway. Also, if he notices that it’s that time of the month for you, he will grumble less and lazily ask if you're okay on a daily basis.

•Barou, who is not that difficult to work with if you figure out what he wants in advance and give him a ready-made solution.

•He doesn't want to run 20 laps today? Okay, let's make it 15. Does his shoulder hurt? To the infirmary! The food sucks? Well...you can’t do anything about that actually, but telling him his cooking is probably far more superior than the canteen food seems to work.

•Overall, he’s a pretty tough player to deal with and you're sure you know him well by now yet the last thing you thought was his way of spending free time instead of resting or something, was cleaning. And so skillfully at that.

•"Get me some wet wipes. The Quickle brand."- he looked into your eyes one day, after a training session.-"I’m out of them. Thanks.”

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Barou, honestly doesn't change that much. Yeah, maybe his minor tantrums during matches have gotten a little worse, and although he's not condescending to you, his personality towards the other boys has changed.

•But everything has a bright side, and his new team has a lot of advantages. First of all, their coach is really calm and treats the boys well. Barou may not like him that much, but both of you know he never likes anyone.

•On the other hand, his new teammates are...interesting to say the least, but you have to admit that thanks to them, his usual dark hair is now streaked with red and it suits him in a way you haven’t thought about before.

•Barou, with whom half of the tutoring consists of wiping the table first and the chairs, then him quickly criticising or praising the neatly written notes lined up in your folder, and lastly making some progress with the Italian language.

•Also, your pre-match habit with him is still a regular thing in the evenings, despite the busy schedules, because nothing beats eating pudding and watching The Dark Knight together as a bonding program before an intense match the next day.

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x manager au #blue lock u20 #blue lock x you #bllk barou #blue lock barou #barou shouei #barou shoei x reader #shoei barou #blue lock barou shoei #barou x reader #blue lock ubers #reader x barou #barou

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sakumz · 6 months ago

Text

____________________________________________

[ a. harumasa x fem reader ]

____________________________________________

" my! if it isn't my favourite classmate from the academy! " you hear harumasa shouts as you quickly turn to the sound of his voice.

he was behind you. must he really be that loud? he's lucky there isn't much people in the store right now. with just his voice and looks he could summon his whole fan base, was that what he was trying to do?

seth awkwardly shuffles in his spot, trying to calm down from the sudden appearance of his senior. sure he saw him and you interacted around the academy but to be his classmate? he's not surprised.

seth clears his throat, thinking of a way to start the conversation properly. he has an hour break, it's best to make the most of it. afterall with a break, he's supposed to be relaxed before he has to go back to patrolling.

" so, whatcha doing? on a date? " harumasa quips as he peeks over you and seth, standing right beside you.

" no, we're not on a date. I'm treating seth because he helped me with a case. " you answered sternly as harumasa pretends to think.

" didn't you owe me for saving you last time, back in the academy? " hearing him say that, you can't help but look over his face. where was he trying to get to?

seth can't help but listen closely. you were everyone's idol back at the academy. a strong, passionate and basically everyone's idol. you weren't one to stand out flamboyantly but your straightforwardness could charm anyone and the way you carried yourself, you were easy to talk to and everyone just adores you for being you.

" y/n senpai owed you something? " seth tilt his head as you throw a quick glance at him before looking back at harumasa. a smirk crawling to his face.

" yes your favourite senpai owed me for saving them back in the academy! I'll get straight to the point. remember when you fell asleep in class and you didn't catch anything from the lesson so I, your saviour and most handsome classmate lent you my notes. you aced the pop quiz the very next day, thanks to me. " he proudly rambles as you tried to recall the scenario.

" well that did happen but weren't a bunch of students after your notes? since I managed to pass the pop quiz and they barely did... " you trailed off as harumasa looks at you confused.

" I saved your butt by telling them to just study hard and not rely on a lazy person like you. they eventually backed off and actually study for the next sudden pop quiz, " you state proudly as you hear harumasa fumed in embarrassment.

" um yeah guess you can count that as payment. but what about that time at H.A.N.D when you couldn't find some documents because someone was after your position as an executive? I stood up for you against your chief! " you can't help but blush at the memory.

your chief was really furious and it did not help the fact that someone from another section led by the person they disliked was saving you. you were going to get fired, but thanks to harumasa, you were even transferred to a much happier section even if your section office was just a few doors away from his. you let out a sigh as harumasa eyes sparkled, knowing he won.

" fine, pick a drink. " he cheers as he scans over the menu quickly, opting to pick the most expensive one. seth chooses his with zero sugar and you picked a simple black coffee.

settling down with everyone's drink. you peek over harumasa as he took a sip from the most expensive drink in the menu, which just so happens to be a sweet vanilla mocha drizzled with caramel and topped with whipped cream.

" um... isn't that a little too sweet for you? " seth questions as harumasa perks up, forcing a smile.

" not really, I can stomach it. I do have a preference for bitter things though. like y/n's love for me~ " you kick him from under the table as seth quickly looks at the pained harumasa confusingly.

" if its too sweet, you can have my coffee. I haven't touch it yet, " harumasa quickly agrees. moving the drinks around as he watches you take a sip from his drink.

even if its sweet, you can't help but feel satisfied. it is nice to treat yourself to sweet things once in awhile especially after working so hard. you barely ate cakes or chocolate in months! for a sweet tooth like yours, it doesn't hurt to feed into it.

" y/n senpai, do you like sweets? " seth ask as you look at him, before drinking more in an attempt to hide your embarrassment.

" well she is a girl so it's understandable for you to like sweet things, " harumasa replies as you can't help but glare at him again.

" it's not just that. sugary stuff has always helped me stimulate my brain. it was hard to keep up with the people from my previous section since the chief was never happy with my works... so I had to redo them alot of times, " you admit.

you feel seth pat your back in an attempt to smooth you and praise your efforts.

" you know seth, me and y/n just shared an indirect kiss. " you can't help but be thrown into a coughing fit, this time seth removed his hands as they watch you try to calm down.

tears prick your eyes as you stare at harumasa hard. a frown on your face as harumasa smiles cheekily.

" if you keep frowning, you'll grow wrinkles. " he pokes your forehead.

" why do you keep bullying y/n? " seth asked when you grab harumasa finger, squeezing it hard in hopes it does some damage.

" she's fun to tease plus I really like her alot and she never seem to reincorporate. "

" can you please shut up for one minute. "

" hey seth, did you know the first time i actually confess to your senpai here but she told me to wait and I didn't get a reply back. its been... 5 years. do you think she's fallen for me by now? " you let go of his finger as he wraps his hand on yours.

" well if you treat her nicely and if you're honest about yourself, maybe she will? " you heave a sigh at seths answer. he's not wrong.

" I did fall for you. many times, but the feelings were quick to disappear whenever you open your mouth. "

" what's that supposed to mean? "

" remember when I transferred to another section, thanks to a certain somebody. they threw a welcome party and invited you. you babbled something about treating me right or you'll beat them up. it has become an inside joke and some people think we're secretly related. why would I fall for my brother? " harumasa bursts out laughing. he didn't even know that happened. seth can't help but laugh along.

once the laugher died down and drinks are finished. the three exits the place. seth went a different direction, leaving you and harumasa alone. you walk with harumasa back to H.A.N.D.

" I do like you a lot. " he confess as a blush slaps itself to your face.

" please give me a chance, " he whispers sincerely.

#sakumz.pdf #zzz harumasa x reader #zzz x you #zzz x reader #zenless zone zero x reader #asaba harumasa x reader #harumasa x reader

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khristie16 · 2 years ago

Text

A Game On Red

about: two ferrari boys are madly obsessed with you, they do whatever it takes to keep their pr manager just for themselves warnings: daddy kink, size kink, guys are toxic, reader is innocent, jealousy, kidnapping, primal play, cnc, smut based on these requests: one two info: this was suppose to be one short post but I decided to make it into like two or three parts. It’d be a shame to make one long post taking so long to write since I make extra effort writing this plus not giving you anything to read. Hope you’ll like it the same as me. words count: 2K. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

“He thought he could overtake me that easily hahah”

Max was just maxplaining to you about other drivers on the grid. You had to laugh at him for acting like this. He was a literal God out there and he knew that as well. You liked his goofy side and you always had such a nice time with Max having around. As you were smiling at Max and listening to him, you felt this uneasy feeling spreading through your body. As if something was stabbing you in your back. You shivered a little and turned around to see what is it. Carlos was standing there with his arms crossed and determined look on his face, boring his eyes into you like as if you broke an unspoken rule between the two of you. You were looking at him, trying to figure out what this is about, but as you kept thinking about it, by the time his feature changed. A devilish smile displaying his face. You looked at him confused as ever as he walked away from the open space.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

“Where have I put the document??” “YN”

Your arm flew to the side where the vessel was standing, bringing it to the pieces as you broke it with your maneavour. You looked around.

“Charles?” “Can I have a quickie with you cherie?” “Of course!”

He chuckled at your comment and you didn't know what was so funny about it. As you were behind Charles following him to the suite next to your office, you saw Carlos sitting on the red couch in the middle of the room. You gulped slightly from the memory of the previous encounter with him. Carlos could be scary sometimes, you knew that from before, sometimes he looked so mad because of something happened during the race, but the look was never meant towards you. The look in his eyes could do harm. And they did to you not so long ago.

“So, guys, what do you need me for?” “A lot of things actually..”

Charles spoke to you alone, Carlos was just watching you as your wandering eyes find out. His eyes went slightly lower to your hips, just then you realized you're trampling on the spot. You immediately shut that down and placed your hands by your side.

“Dímelo cariño… do you know what is a primal play?” “Primal what?” “Primal play cherie”

You looked at both of them confused. You were lost at what they are asking you. You haven't ever heard that before and you got disempowered all of a sudden. You hated the fact they were talking about something realated to the job since you are their pr manager, and after all of this years of work in this field, you have never encountered such thing. It was embarassing enough for you.

“Why you looking sad cherie?”

You looked up again while hemming the shirt you had on.

“I am?”

You've heard Carlos groaned a little. You jumped on your spot from such sound. It couldn't possibly come out of his mouth. It was so animalistic.

“yes, you are cherie.” “Well.. I haven't heard of it. There is no such thing in my scripts either. Is this something new from the grid?”

They both bursted out loud and laughed at you. You furrowed your eyebrows and felt shame spreading through your body. When they finally stopped, Carlos looked at you again. You hoped he felt pain in the stomach for such hard laughing before.

“I can count on that you wanted to try it out with Max, didn't you?” “W-what?” “Don't play innocent cherie.” “No I-”

Carlos big fist landed on the table next to him startling you once again. You looked at him in disbelief from such behavior. It was your job afterall to untie them from the leash before meeting media. You couldn't let him walk out of there to be seen like this on cameras.

“Too bad for you cariño. We are the ones to have it from you.”

This gaze again. The harsh big brown eyes on your face. You felt your eyes watering . Charles rushed to you.

“Oh cherie, don't cry baby girl. You will like it, I promise.” “I-I sti-ll don't k-know what this has to do with j-job g-guys.” “Well you want us to behave the best right? You might help us with that. So it is kinda your job to take care of it” “Take care of what?”

Charles was out of your sight now and you were looking at Carlos. Trying to find answers in his face but none for your finding. You got a little impatient, you hated to be left out off knowledge. You didn't know what was happening and your vision got black the next second, your breath was caught by the material harassing your nostrils. All you could hear before your consciousness turned black were those words: Poor girl, we will catch you running baby girl..

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Your head hurt like hell. You breathe stiffly and your neck is sore. As you managed to open your eyes, two men in red sitting in front of you, watching you patiently. You spoke but in vain. You hardly could make a sound.

“I've told you to be more gentle with her.” “i can't help myself” “She's tiny Carlos” “oh, I love that about her”

You regained your focus again as those two were whispering to each other. You become aware you are tied up to a chair and having different clothes on. Red dress that give off the vibe the material brightens when exposed to light. Your heels were the same as you remember.

“Guys. what are you doing, w-why I have d-diffe-erent clothes on?” “We changed you cariño.”

You gulped. It meant they touched you when you weren't awake. They've seen you naked. And bare. Most of the time you don't wear panties if not neccessery.

“You have no idea how hard I had to restrain myself from that sweet little cunt of yours.”

You gasped in shock. You thought you're in a nightmare of some sort. Some fucked up dream, this couldn't be real. Just this morning you were getting your nice cup of coffee and heading to work. You've been working for these guys for few months now and they've always seemed so good. And now you look at them with disbelief and betrayal.

“You are sick.” “Cariño..”

Carlos stood up and went slowly towards you. Just now you've managed to see they have changed as well. Carlos had tight material hugging his torso and arms, leaving no imagination to his beautifully shredded muscles on his stomach. You took a look and went right back up to look elsewhere for not wanting to be confronted about this. But it was too late.

“Are you eye fucking me cariño?”

Charles appeared by his teammate's side, looking good as ever. His torso was visible with the shirt unbuttoned at chest with his veiny arms hanging beside him. His long beautiful fingers covered in rigs that made your thighs clench together once again once more. Charles reached his hand towards your face and cupped your cheek. You leant into his touch feeling dizzy. His piercing green eyes looking at you from upper hand and giving you a hard time not to smile at him. He was the cutest to you.

“We had to change you cherie. It's for the game.” “What game?”

Charles walked past you, making him stand in the position right back at you. Leaving his fingers play with your neck and slowly making its way to your collabore. You quietly hissed and felt the warm spread through your body. He rode his finger under the hem of your dress and peaked on your breasts. You stiffed by his approach and looked terrified to Carlos calm look.

“The primal play.” “What?” “You run, we chase. If we catch, we fuck. Simple rules.”

Carlos went closer to you, hovering over you, your eyes right in the level of his crotch.

“Are you trying to tell us cherie, that you are not attracted to us? That you don't want my fingers in your tight wet pussy?”

“I bet she is wet by now.”

Your watery eyes got to their peak and tears were lining down your cheeks. You looked down ashamed of yourself trying to hide from them.

“For hiding will be enough time cariño. Show me those tears.”

He tucked at your chin to pull it up. He was directly looking into your eyes. His big brown eyes warm, giving you some time to breathe and relax as you melt under his gaze. This gaze that was following you all the time since you’ve started working for them. You missed his old self.

“Que preciosa.” He murmured to himself

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You drove a long way from the place. You didn’t know if it was a house or some old tavern, all you knew it has to be away from curious people around. At least that's what you thought, because the boys didn't forget to blindfold you. And you thought if you saw some woman being blindfolded with two men by her side, you wouldn’t let it go. For you right now in this situation, it meant you’re completely alone with them. It must have been dark outside already, you felt the cold creeping in on the seats you were sitting on. You were shivering as you tried to warm up.

“Don't worry cariño. You will warm up enough when running.”

Charles remained silent. You knew he was sitting next to you because occasionally he put his hand on your thigh and caressed your skin. You were happy for such moments. You only knew boys like that, being nice and always treating you with respect. So you were glad it was at least as close as to it as it was before. Your thinking got interrupted as the car started to slow down and your body stretched upwards, expecting that you had already arrived at the place. You heard the click of the belts and at that moment your breath ran out. It‘s happening.

The piece of cloth you had tied around your eyes was torn off and your eyes slowly began to adjust to the environment. It didn't take much time because it was really dark outside. Carlos wrapped his arms around you and looked down on you. He was smiling at you as if he expected something from you and was looking forward to taking everything you had to offer. You slowly turned back to the front where Charles had stood a moment ago.

“You have a choice here.You either play with us and follow the rules Carlos mentioned back at the house, or you will withdraw from the game, but you will have to resign as our PR manager. We just couldn't longer watch you making eyes at next riders anymore. So, what do you choose?”

Charles left you in a state of distress. You barely blinked and perceived the world around you. The thought of losing your job was incomprehensible. You loved your job and couldn't imagine ever getting rid of it. You knew you weren't in a position to explain moral behavior to them right now. It would obviously be useless. They thought that you were way too friendly with someone else and their unreal obsession developed into something like this. Although this was blackmail, there was no other way to deal with it. And the fact that you were excited about the game, you quickly shoved it to the back of your mind, because it was incomprehensible for you to admit that something like that might appeal to you.

You slowly and cautiously nodded your agreement. Charles smiled at you but Carlos didn't share that enthusiasm. He tugged at your arm and looked at you with that look.

“Words cariño”

“Y-yes.”

The game was on.

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz smut

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jojoajah · 3 months ago

Text

Elaborating on my last post with making comic pages based on some of their final notes.

Absolutely adore how the game manages to portray Miles and Waylon succumbing to insanity and have them slowly showing their true colors without them even saying a single word out loud. And I think their characterization is most evident in their reactions to the deaths of their main antagonists.

Whether or not you read the documents on Walker, in the end upon seeing the guy who did nothing but torment him the WHOLE GAME, Miles feels sorry for Chris, and in a way he even prays for him to find an afterlife that wasn't torturous.

On the other hand, Waylon FRIGGIN LAUGHS at Eddie. Which is very deserved I hate the guy too. But it just goes to show the contrast in their personalities and how — as much as Miles cusses and slams doors, he's an empathetic man who has a strong sense of what's right. And while Waylon also has a strong sense of morality I can't help but feel like there's an underlying... I dunno, selfishness? Apathy? I can't seem to find the right word, but it's not pure.

Basically, I love them both and I need Waylon to make Miles his 3rd son.

#miles upshur #outlast #outlast game #outlast whistleblower #waylon park #literally walter white and jesse pinkman #although waylon is a better person than walt #obviously #outlast trials

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comicarc · 5 months ago

Text

𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

⋆★⋆ masterlist ⋆★⋆

Hal and the reader confront their feelings after being trapped overnight in a dusty hangar.

wc: 1769

Hal Jordan paraded around the Ferris Aircraft facilities with an arrogant grin plastered across his face. He’d finished his test flight early today, meaning he’d be the first person to leave the base for the day and start his weekend early. Feeling chipper, he pranced into Carol’s office to say his goodbyes for the week, but to his surprise he found another presence.

y/n was digging through Carol’s drawer trying to find something when she heard Hal step inside of the room. As her eyes landed on him, she watched as his enormous smile dissipated into a straight face. Reciprocating his indifference, she asked in a monotone voice, “Need anything?”

He replied, “No, just saying bye to Carol. Do you know where I can find her?” His hands fidgeted as he spoke as if he would rather be doing anything else.

She took it as a sign to succinctly end the conversation, directing, “She’s by the first hangar, dealing with some investors.” With that, y/n resumed her search for some documents Carol had failed to find. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Hal speeded away, stepping out the door as soon as she had finished speaking.

Hal, on the other hand, had hoped his nervousness wasn’t too obvious. Was he a little too loud, too annoying, maybe too cheery for y/n’s liking? He’d rehearsed how he’d act in front of her too many times to count, but on the rare occasion that he had finally seen her, all that practice had gone out the window.

Embarrassment beginning to creep in the back of his mind, Hal managed to make it to Carol just as the investors were leaving. Approaching her he enthused, “See ya on Monday!”

She laughed at his excitement, questioning, “Done already? That was quick.” She thought for a moment, recalling a thought she had earlier in the day, as she held back Hal with a hand on his shoulder, “Since you're done early, could you help me out with something?”

Technically, he wasn’t supposed to leave for another few hours so doing one more task wouldn’t hurt. He’d be out of here soon enough to enjoy a stress-free weekend away from his Lantern duties and his work.

Agreeing to help her, Carol elaborated, “I need you to clean out hangar D-16, y/n’s gonna help you too.” Chuckling, she fled the scene before Hal could protest. Head hung low, Hal complied as he headed toward the hangar anticipating that he’d be biting off way more than he could chew.

D-16 was more a storage unit than a hangar, with outdated parts lying around, a massive pile of trash that had accumulated over the years and dust lying in thick layers across every surface. The place had been all but abandoned for a few months now, with no one having the courage to enter the potential biohazard, nor anyone with the guts to take on cleaning it.

The other source of his dread lay in y/n being his partner. She was as kind as could be, pretty talkative, and had such a lively personality. Of course, never with him. He’d stumble upon her laughing and joking around with Carol countless times or rambling about something she’d learned recently with some of her friends at the base. Never had she talked to him directly with such zeal, but he had longed for it to happen someday.

He was stubborn and he wanted to know her, for she possessed a certain optimism and will that he had never seen before. Her diligence in working, her passion for helping, and her knack for being curious, had all made her the object of his intrigue. She was the only girl who made him blush mess. The only girl who never quite spoke to him like she did everyone else. The only girl he couldn’t figure out. He always thought she hated him, and it was a reasonable conclusion seeing as how cocky and blabber-mouthed he could be.

“Hey,” There was no dread to her voice, no enthusiasm, simply a passiveness he took for hatred. Walking up to him as she entered D-16, y/n observed the mess that towered around her. “I’ll take this side.” She pointed to the right, strolling away just as quickly as she had come.

y/n could see the stern look on his face, a tinge of blush creeping in his face. It was either a product of the summer heat or his dislike for her, with y/n leaning toward the latter option. Was her voice too annoying, her words too nonsensical to comprehend, or maybe her mere presence simply irked him? Regardless, cleaning the hangar would be a time-consuming task, allowing her to put off the worries bubbling in her mind for just a little while longer.

Two hours had passed and the heat had started to turn up a notch. The pair toiling away in D-16 were starting to sweat profusely, their heads spinning and their bodies exhausted, but they’d managed to clean most of the hangar up, making some parts even look brand new. Done for now, Hal began heading out, but before he could exit the hangar doors, he collided with a preoccupied y/n.

In an attempt to gain some footing, his hand reached for the nearby wall, fingers grazing against the emergency lock which subsequently trapped the two inside. Stuck in his worst nightmare by his own doing, Hal was absolutely mortified. Before he could begin profusely apologizing, y/n remained calm as she proposed, “Let’s call Carol. She’d probably be somewhere nearby.”

Had she not wanted to hear him talk, was that why she cut him off before he could even begin? Regardless her idea, though noble, forgot to acknowledge one key detail, “There’s no reception here. Calls won’t go through. We’ve got to wait till tomorrow morning when they open all the hangars for inspection.”

Her eyebrows quirked at his statement, finally allowing her voice to express a hint of irritation, “You have to be joking.”

Shaking his head, Hal sighed. This was going to be a long night.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

It had been well past Ferris Aircraft’s closing as the sun had already gone down. By now, Hal had contemplated using the Lantern ring to get out of this mess a million times. Maybe he’d make a giant baseball glove to smash off the hangar doors, or a train to ram through them. But, he couldn’t risk having people ask the questions that would naturally follow. Only Carol knew about his status as the Green Lantern, that too, a secret she had uncovered accidentally. He couldn’t risk his coworkers piecing it together, nor did he want to shock y/n so much so that she’d never break down the walls that were established between them.

Taking a leap he should have made a long time ago Hal stood from his seat on his side of the hangar to sit beside a huddled y/n, beginning, “Why don’t talk to me?”

The ring had taught Hal many things he’d never known about himself, for example, his discipline. He’d often thought of himself as an impulsive adrenaline junkie, given that his job did require a lot of dexterity. But he was always more than that, being diligent about his routines and commitments, having restraint for many endeavors he wanted to undertake in the sky, and knowing when to surrender. This was one of those times when he knew he couldn’t keep up the charade of acting normal around y/n.

Turning her head to face Hal beside her, y/n answered, “What do you mean? It’s freezing cold and I’m just trying to conserve energy.”

As her hands gripped onto her calves even tighter, Hal took off his signature aviator jacket and placed it on y/n explaining, “That’s not what I–ugh–I mean why don’t you ever talk to me? At Carol’s office, when we’re doing test runs, even when we go out to lunch.”

He waited for her to say something, anything, as a long silence unfolded. “I didn’t know what to say,” She sighed knowing that lying would be pointless, “No–I have a lot to say, I’m just afraid of saying it, and being judged for every little word.”

“Why? You talk to Carol just fine.” He asked, his interest piqued and his apprehension fading.

“Carol’s the closest thing I have to a sister. Outside of her…” y/n paused. She didn’t really know why she was so awkward, silent, and walled off. She didn’t want to be invisible, a nobody. But outside of her physical body, she had nothing to show for herself. No personality that could uplift others, no words of encouragement to inspire them, no humor in her conversations, nothing but the endless thoughts and anxious emotions that crowded her mind. Who was she outside of simply being human?

Knowing she couldn’t answer his question, she instead diverted, “How about you? Why are you always so indifferent to me?”

“Well that’s easy; you make me nervous. I’m hyper-aware of your presence at all times, and I thought that the best way not to scare you away would be by toning myself down a notch.”

“Why? I like it when you’re cocky.” She chuckled as she spoke.

People crave what they can’t have, and she craved to hear Hal being himself with her. It was projection of sorts as she thought she’d be able to learn how to fill the hole in her mind that prevented her from expressing herself by learning from such an outgoing, confident man. But now, she had a feeling that he wouldn’t have fixed her, that was something she needed to do herself. He thought she was worth the effort, and maybe it was time she tried to do things differently. Put in the effort on herself rather than those around her.

Taken aback by her statement, Hal found a new zeal in him as he enthusiastically announced, “To new beginnings!” His hand in the air holding an imaginary champagne glass.

y/n followed clinking her imaginary glass with his. Turning away from him, she spoke, “Let’s start over.” Turning back to the man beside her, and holding a hand out she introduced, “Hi, I’m y/n.”

This time she’d be different and so would he. It’s never too late to begin anew, and though they weren’t perfect, they tried. Now, accepting themselves for who they really are, they both had the will to find happiness in a new way of living.

#hal jordan x reader #green lantern x reader #hal jordan #x reader #carol ferris #green lantern #fluff #one shot #fem!reader

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1moreff-creator · 10 months ago

Note

Hello! Not sure if you share headcanons regarding ships, but if so, then do you have any in regard to Xanace? Feel free to discard this if otherwise ^^

Hello! You know, I don’t think I’ve ever really talked about ships outside of some jokes here and there, but I’ll see what I can do! No Killing Game AU because I don’t know what to do within the KG, and mostly fluff because I'm not an angsty kinda mood :v

Getting Together

-Xander and Ace disliked each other upon first meeting in Hope’s Peak, kinda like canon. You know, Ace’s rudeness annoyed Xander, who scared Ace in return.

-But… they shared classes with Mai, who was hellbent on everyone getting along. Somehow she manages to get them to talk in friendlier terms, and they actually find out they have quite a bit in common. I hope you know enough about Mai for that to make sense.

-They start acting a bit like each other’s impulse control, with Xander getting Ace to back down from meaningless fights and Ace rightfully calling out Xander whenever he gets in too deep in something revolution-related and doesn’t get the help he needs (“what? So you think you’re so much smarter than all of us that you’re the only one that can steal those documents? How about you go sleep for the first time this week and I show you how easy it is!”)

-Ace starts feeling safer around Xander because of his inhuman strength and general protectiveness, and Xander starts feeling like he can relax around Ace. Ace is actually pretty funny when he's not being mean, turns out.

-Ace is actually the one to confess first, and he did it by writing a love letter because he was too scared to say it out loud... prompting Xander to first ask Whit and Arei if they were pranking him, because "there's no way Ace writes in cursive." The misunderstanding got resolved quickly, and they got together.

Fluff

-Ace is uniquely capable of getting Xander our of the worst of moods. If Xander's feeling broody and doesn't wanna talk about it, all he has to do to cheer up is watch Ace's silly antics for a little bit, and he'll be fine.

-Whenever Xander gets pissed off at some form of corruption or another, Ace will join in on the hate, even if he has no idea what the situation is.

-Ace likes calling in Xander whenever he gets scared of something, which is pretty often. There are a few dents in Hope's Peak's walls where Xander threw something at a spider on Ace's behalf.

CW: Eating disorder

-Xander always makes sure Ace eats the right amount and healthily, he's inescapable in this aspect. Funnily enough, Ace actually really dislikes a lot of the food Xander makes (way too spicy for him, it's canon the Rebel eats with a lot of spice), which helps him find the motivation to make proper meals for himself as to avoid being forced to eat those monstrosities. Conversely, Xander actually likes Ace's food... provided he's allowed to add a few metric tons of condiments and spices to it.

CW Over

-Xander gets roped into the Halloween Trio (Veronika-Arturo-Ace) movie nights that Vero drags Ace into. He doesn't actually like horror movies (particularly gory ones), but he enjoys it because Ace consistently clings to him for comfort during the scary parts.

-Xander loves Ace's family, because it's so big. 9 siblings?! He knows it's a little weird, but a lot of them remind him of his own family before they, y'know... so he likes hanging out at Ace's house because it kinda fills that hole in his heart.

-A lot of Ace's siblings make fun of Xander's British accent. He's learnt to accept this. They also make fun of Ace a lot, but they do it less in Xander's presence because he scary.

-So much corruption in the horse racing industry gets exposed, courtesy of Xander. So much.

(I don't actually know how corrupt that industry is but based on a quick google search, and given there's money and gambling involved, I'm assuming "at least quite a bit")

-Arei: "How did Ace Markey get a boyfriend before you?"

Whit: "I guess he was done... horsing around xD" (<- Actually very depressed about this fact)

-David is very supportive, since he wants to support anything his idol friend wants to do. He also happens to be mostly exempt from Ace's insults, since Xander gets sad whenever Ace says something bad about him.

-Ace: "Basically you're stupid and Xander's right."

Min: "Do you have any idea of what we're actually discussing?"

Ace: "No, and I don't need to."

-Xander isn't scared of horses or horse-riding, so he asks Ace if he could take him on a ride some time. Ace finally does it one day, except he rides the horse at Ultimate Jockey speed to get it over with faster.

Xander still isn't scared of horse-riding, but he'll probably never ride behind Ace again.

---

I hope that's enough! Thanks for the ask!

#drdt #ace markey #xander matthews #ask #xanace #damn is that the first time i tag a ship on one of my posts?#funny

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thrawns-backrest · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 11

New chapter, a bit underedited but I'm super excited about this one. Also, cheers for what is now the longest running fic I've posted online.

Title: Buried in Ice

Characters: Ronan, Ba'kif and others

Chapters: 11/?

Summary: Ronan adjusts to life with the Chiss when a sudden revelation leads him to realize that his fate is not as firmly in his hands as he'd thought it was.

___

The first time he’d read it, it’d sounded like a badly written children’s fairytale. The second time left the aftertaste of a poorly disguised joke. The third time had ignited a spark of genuine rage in him as he wondered whose idea of a prank this was.

By the fourth time, Ronan’s brain had finally started absorbing the meanings of the words for what they were and a slim tributary carrying fear had snuck into the rage.

Surely not.

Surely this was impossible.

The fifth time it was the script of a dystopian horror holodrama and for the sixth, Ronan had had to take a seat on the couch, his hand automatically closing over his mouth to stop him from muttering the horrible words out loud. Then he had circled back to rage all over again.

That cycle continued as he paced the length of his living room, his eyes scouring the sparse document as though under a spell.

The part about Thrawn hadn’t really affected him.

The strongest word he could find for it was ‘unfortunate’ and that had taken setting aside all the distrust and lingering dislike he had for the man. The fact that someone had managed to achieve it however was more worrying. ‘Supernatural circumstances’ and ‘unexplained phenomena’ were the words the report used and Ronan didn’t have to be a genius to translate that into ‘jedi involvement’.

The only unexplained thing left in the Galaxy was the science behind how Vader could kill a man without touching him and how children could guide ships through hyperspace while in a mystical trance and it stood to reason that all other unexplained events were somehow connected to that devil-spawned power.

The rest of it was almost too much for him to try and muster the logic to explain.

Normally he would dismiss it all as fiction – chiss intelligence was good but that didn’t mean there was no one out there that was better and couldn’t trip them up spectacularly enough to produce this drivel.

But it was the details that turned Ronan’s blood to ice.

Little bits and pieces that should have never made any official record, let alone an alien intelligence report compiled by a race they still didn’t know where they stood with. The Death Star being mentioned by name was the biggest such alarm bell and Ronan couldn’t deny the plunging, pitiless feeling of horror he’d felt when he’d first seen the words. It only got worse from there.

Alderaan being destroyed was ludicrous enough to make him laugh. A planet teeming with people whose civilian population hadn’t even begun to evacuate before it was purportedly destroyed. Ridiculous. Time and time again it had been asserted that the Death Star’s purpose was to be used as a deterrent or at worst a method of demonstrating the Empire’s firepower to discourage any dissent and further disruption of the order of the Galaxy.

Isolated rebel bases and strongholds were of course always viable targets and collateral damage was inevitable when working with a weapon of such scale but that was about the furthest extent of it. What the report claimed had happened to Alderaan didn’t even begin to fit into those parameters. Director Krennic would have never stood for it.

Unless he hadn’t been there to stop them…

No, Ronan, dismissed the thought firmly, the Director would never let his beloved creation fall into the hands of another. They had poured their lifeblood into the making of the station; persistent as Tarkin and his cronies had been in sabotaging them, the Director’s contribution and achievements were too great for anyone to just boot him out of it.

Anyone, perhaps, but the Emperor himself. Of course Tarkin had always had the Emperor’s ear – cut from the same venal, self-serving bureaucratic cloth, the both of them, Ronan sneered privately – but Palpatine was if nothing else smart enough to know which assets were most valuable to his Empire.

No one could replace Director Krennic. Galen Erso may have fancied himself the chief architect of their project and the thought alone made Ronan fume but he would still be peering at finger-sized cave crystals, the kind they sold as souvenirs at vendor booths, if it weren’t for the Director. It was he who had plucked the Galaxy’s scatter-brained daydreaming geniuses from their dusty labs and put them to work in service of the greatest achievement of their lifetime.

And the only thing that had ever held him back was Tarkin’s military. Men with more Tibanna gas in their heads than brains, without a single lick of vision. Men whose only merit laid in the triggers they could pull…

Ronan swallowed heavily against the sudden onslaught of dread.

Could it be that Tarkin had finally done the unthinkable and decided to dispose of Director Krennic for good?

Ronan could see it happening. As much as it terrified him to even consider the possibility, he couldn’t just dismiss it out of hand.

If the station had reached a stage of completion that made it functional, Tarkin might have finally thrown off his cloak of civility and reached for the dagger that was always his true face. Perhaps he was even mad enough to kill a planet.

But all of that paled in the face of what the report claimed next.

Destroyed, Ronan thought hysterically. Their Death Star destroyed by a measly swarm of rebels.

It made his blood boil just thinking about it. To imply that the rebels had wrestled such a victory was to imply that the Empire itself was on the brink of collapse. The sheer scale of resources, time and skill that had been poured into the project approached the incomprehensible and there was no doubt that all stops would be pulled in order to preserve it.

For the rebels to achieve such a feat, there would have to be a conspiracy at play so sinister and far-reaching that Ronan shivered to imagine it. A distant, nagging part of him called up the image of Galen Erso – quiet, discontent and untrustworthy. A man who would leap at the opportunity to sabotage them, Ronan knew, despite Krennic’s every assurance to the contrary.

Ronan had always hated the man. But even then, he had been under such close scrutiny – much of it conducted by the Director himself – that any form of sabotage would be unthinkable.

But what then, if not internal meddling, could bring about the demise of their battle station?

Not the rebels on their own. Not in a thousand years, Ronan thought vehemently. To even suggest it was an insult and by the time he heard the quiet hiss of the hatch to his apartment, he was itching to sink his teeth into someone.

To let the pent up indignation and rage find an outlet.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around to address his visitor.

“What the hell is this?” he hissed ominously, holding his questis up for the other to see.

From across the room, Ba’kif stared at him placidly, his tall stately white-clad figure looking out of place in the gaudy interior. His casual composure ignited a new burst of fury in Ronan’s chest and his glare flashed, daring the old chiss to rise to the challenge.

“Sit down, Secretary. We are going to talk.” Ba’kif’s voice was as cool and as smooth as glass. And just as transparent, Ronan sneered to himself.

He had been expecting this. Ever since the man had become his unofficial handler, he’d been there to smooth down Ronan’s hackles every time he so much as thought of straying from his designated path. Since that first day when he had shown a speck of defiance and had been herded back in line with a few carefully spoken words.

That was Ba’kif’s role here, Ronan thought contemptuously. And he had come to play it again.

Only this time Ronan wouldn’t be mollified with a few courteous gestures and Ba’kif’s practiced platitudes.

“Is this your people’s idea of a joke? If it is, I daresay it’ not very convincing.”

Ba’kif ignored him in favor of moving to the nearby couch.

“Take a seat,” he repeated and Ronan felt himself bristle.

“Who came up with this?”

“I’m afraid it’s all true. There have been secondary reports since. They all confirm it.”

‘Since?’ Ronan gaped at him. How long had he been kept in the dark about this?

“That’s absurd and you know it,” he growled.

Ba’kif raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you think we would make light of Thrawn’s disappearance?”

“I don’t care what happens to Thrawn.”

Something strained, almost like repressed anger flashed across the old chiss’ face but he stomped it out before Ronan could make anything of it and simply shifted where he sat. Ronan could feel him thinking, switching tactics, and he braced for the oncoming attack.

“If your Death Star had met with success,” Ba’kif tried again. “Would your people try to cover it up?”

Ronan’s anger sputtered momentarily.

No. No they wouldn’t. The Death Star’s existence was never meant to be hidden once it was past its development stage. The battle station was meant to be a beacon – a symbol of peace and order that kept the Galaxy in line through its sheer presence alone.

Naturally that was meant to be advertised, to both allies and foes.

“And similarly, if anyone claimed to have destroyed that weapon,” Ba’kif continued. “Would they not try to disprove it as soon as possible?”

Again, Ronan stumbled from the blow.

Yes, they would hurry to disprove it. A pathetic last ditch provocation like that would warrant an instant demonstration of the weapon’s continued threat. And if they had done that, Ronan reasoned, the chiss would be scrambling like ants to report the subsequent destruction. It wouldn’t be just Alderaan in that report. It would also be whatever moon or planet had been chosen to reassure their enemies that they hadn’t been rendered helpless.

Ronan felt the fine layer of sweat on his skin collect into drops.

The thick shield of confidence he’d built around himself was beginning to crack and the report that he’d so easily dismissed as fiction loomed eerie and ominous in his mind’s eye.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

“There is one more thing I feel you should know about.”

He stared at Ba’kif, feeling that same sense of dread from before raise its head and stir fearfully. Something about his tone set alarm bells off in Ronan’s head and his brain summoned the sudden, inexplicable image of a firing squad raising its weapons.

“Our secondary reports talk of a prior skirmish on a planet called Scarif. Orson Krennic is reported to have died during that skirmish.” ___

Time in the room seemed to come to a standstill.

For a moment, the only thing Ronan could hear was the strained silence of his own lungs refusing to function.

“No.” He said automatically. “That’s impossible.”

Ba’kif held his stare. “Do you really believe that?”

The words spread through him like poison and he scrambled for a foothold on the rapidly crumbling ledge below him.

They knew about Scarif, he thought, his throat going dry. Scarif, where the Death Star’s project data was stored. The first place Director Krennic would rush to if there was a security leak threatening the station’s existence.

Slowly, as if coming out of a fog, Ronan’s own thoughts about Tarkin’s treachery echoed back at him, jeering and mocking him.

Tarkin making sure Director Krennic died on Scarif. Tarkin taking control of the Death Star. The rebels getting their hands on compromising leaks. The station firing on Alderaan…

Ronan’s stomach turned and cramped.

The horrors of what he was being forced to comprehend were almost too much to process and his mind sputtered helplessly as it tried to wrap itself around them.

Tarkin had fired on Alderaan. On loyal, innocent people. Were all of them loyal?

You can’t know that, a voice in his mind argued at the same time another said there’s no way all of them weren’t. Children, for one, couldn’t be blamed for rebel activity.

“You had eyes on it,” he heard himself say. “The only way everything you’re saying could be true is if you were there listening for it.”

The conclusion seemed to come on its own and Ronan’s eyes narrowed when he realized that it actually made sense.

“Why were you spying on Stardust?”

Ba’kif took the accusation in stride, his face betraying nothing.

“Our agents pass on any information they believe might be pertinent to the security of our people. I would say the destruction of a planet falls under that category.”

The answering recrimination didn’t escape Ronan and he bristled, turning all his fury on Ba’kif.

“Who’s to say you wouldn’t do the same to the Grysks if you had the chance?”

“We would do what’s necessary to protect our people.”

And so would we Ronan wanted to say but the words died in his mouth. Protect themselves from who? he thought desperately, petty terrorists who threatened supply chains? Political activists who couldn’t even get their bills off the ground?

Yes, the Death Star was meant to quell all those voices. To stifle useless dissent that only brought chaos and scuffle where a peaceful society could thrive. One demonstration of power was all it would have taken.

But that was never supposed to be a massacre. This, more than anything, convinced Ronan that his assumption of Tarkin taking over was true.

Ronan wavered where he stood, struggling to find the air to breathe.

What if Krennic truly was dead? What if it was Ronan’s fault because he hadn’t been there?

A new wave of rage hit him then and he clung to it like a lifeline. Even if he hadn’t been there, why hadn’t they been able to protect the Director? Who, in the entirety of the Empire, deserved more credit for the successful completion of the project?

Unless they had meant to discard him from the very beginning, the moment he outlived his usefulness, Ronan thought as he began to pace wildly. The Emperor had never liked sharing his power or his glory. And the same went for the menagerie of ruthless, scruple-less men he had accumulated around himself over the years.

Amedda, Vader, Tarkin… They would all leap at the chance of removing a man like Krennic from the picture.

And that above everything made him want to tear his hair out.

Even now, they were all fighting the same enemy. Be it out here in Wild Space or back in the Empire and yet all they were concerned with was tearing each other apart. The thought made him want to scream and he actually raised his hands to brown-grey hair, pulling at the roots.

The same infighting that had toppled the Republic – backstabbing officers out for each other’s blood, deranged terrorists tearing up the fabric of peaceful society – it was happening all over again and it may have cost Director Krennic his life.

All while Ronan hadn’t even been there.

Ba’kif opened his mouth to say something and he whirled on him, slamming his hands on the coffee table between them.

“Damn you all,” he spat in basic, watching the General’s mask slip for just a moment, making his face twitch.

It was laughable to think that he could have prevented it all from happening. Ronan knew his own limits despite what others might think of him. But he would have been able to do something.

As small and as pathetic as it was, maybe he could have thrown his own life away to save Director Krennic’s and surely, that would have made a difference.

For one, they might have tried to rebuild.

“Which officers died in the attack?”

Ba’kif went to answer again and Ronan cut him off brusquely. “I know you know this. You said there were secondary reports. Don’t try to lie to me.”

This time, a thread of the old chiss’ patience seemed to snap and Ba’kif gave him a warning glare. He had tolerated Ronan’s impudence so far but he seemed to draw the line at being given orders.

“Careful, Secretary,” he growled and something in the tone made Ronan’s hair stand on end. Despite this, his ire seemed to subside after a moment and he began listing them off, the names sounding alien and warped in his accent.

“Tarkin.”

Good.

“Motti.”

Conniving bastard.

“Bast.”

Ronan had never known the man.

“Yullaren.”

A blow to their security…

“And Vader?” Ronan tried hopefully.

“No.”

He hung his head in defeat.

And the Emperor was safely back on Coruscant, he thought wryly. He would have traded him for any single man of the million on the station.

A million, he thought suddenly, as though struck by the number. He wanted to scream about it in Ba’kif’s face but could only chuckle hysterically when he realized he didn’t even know the number in cheunh.

A million. There was supposed to be a million people there.

Ronan prayed to whatever god would listen that it had been less than that, that the station hadn’t been fully staffed yet at the time it had been destroyed. Much of that personnel was non-essential, it was likely that their transfer had been scheduled for last.

A few thousand people or so spared. That was the best Ronan could hope for, the best he could tell himself.

The thought brought a sudden influx of weariness and Ronan felt his rage decompress, like the atmosphere of a ship sucked through an open airlock, leaving him sprawled over one of the couches.

The room was quiet for a moment, making space for the expanding shadows to crawl forward.

“I want to go back,” he said hoarsely after a while. “I’ve done my time, I’ve done what I could. Now I need to go back to my people.”

Ba’kif’s sigh was loud in the small space.

“And do what, Secretary?”

“Rebuild. Start over. Build another station.”

“You don’t know if they’ll be building another.”

And you don’t want me helping them if they are, Ronan thought acidly.

“My duty lies with my people. Not yours.” He glared at the chiss across from him.

“What can you offer them that they don’t already have? Schematics? Resources?”

Experience, organization, Ronan thought readily. The people who had oiled the machine of construction for years were now stardust.

“Director Krennic’s legacy,” he said instead, feeling it more appropriate.

“Then carry out his legacy here. Your director has taught you valuable skills. Managing staff, navigating politics. Skills that can be put to use here to keep the Grysks at bay.”

Ronan grit his teeth.

They were dancing around the unspoken truth again. The truth that Ronan really wasn’t that valuable of an asset for the Ascendancy. He had been, under Krennic’s leadership, while contributing to the Death Star’s completion, but not here. Ba’kif simply wouldn’t let him go because of all the secrets he’d accumulated.

Trapped, you were always trapped…

Part of Ronan wanted to force Ba’kif to admit it. To make the old man cough out the words that he was holding behind his teeth and dressing up in pretty arguments.

But that was stupid. Better to try and convince Ba’kif he was not aware of their primary motives.

If they’re aware you know you’re trapped, they’ll know you’re desperate. And if they know you’re desperate, they’ll be more careful.

“Tell me Secretary, how aware were your leaders of the Grysk threat when you left the Empire?”

“All the more reason to make them aware of it now.”

“And they will listen?”

Ronan’s mouth contracted. Ba’kif continued without waiting for a response.

“And what will happen if the Grysks get their hands on your station?” he asked and Ronan blinked at him.

They would use it, he thought with dawning horror. They would use it in the same indiscriminate way they had shredded through those people on the mobile way station and plowed through every single battlefield Ronan had seen since.

As tough sensing his horror, Ba’kif gave a cynical sympathizing smile.

“Believe me, we’re as reluctant to let that happen as you are. The way things stand, we are the barrier that stands between the Grysks and your Empire. And your Empire is more vulnerable than ever.”

Ronan gave him a wary stare. The man was dancing around the truth again. The pinnacle of this conversation was as clear and simple as the first time they’d had it and Ronan was tired of pretending it wasn’t. Caution and mind games be damned.

“You won’t let me leave,” he translated quietly, the taste of the words ashen and familiar on his tongue. Ba’kif’s placid admission was just as dry.

“No, we will not.” He nodded solemnly. “The question is, will you rail against it or make something useful of it.”

“How gracious of you.”

“You wanted honesty, Secretary.” Ba’kif shrugged. “I’m offering you it. And a choice.”

With that, he got up from the couch and moved to the hatch at the far end of the room, already swallowed in darkness. Just before he left Ronan watched him pause at the threshold, a silhouette of white against the hatch.

“For all that it’s worth,” he said quietly, the words soft in the budding onslaught of night. “It would be regretful to see you put in a cell.”

#thrawn #thrawn ascendancy #thrawn treason #brierly ronan #ba'kif #Buried in Ice fic

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sh4dowpuff · 2 months ago

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UNIVERSITY BOLTVERSE

In a University Boltverse where all the HIGH&LOW characters and my OCs attend the same university, each gang's culture, values, and personality traits would influence their chosen college courses/majors. Here's a breakdown based on their personalities and backgrounds without the kids:

RUDE BOYS

Smoky – Architecture or Environmental Engineering

He cares about the Nameless Street and rebuilding or protecting it. Architecture suits his artistic but practical side.

Yuu – Fine Arts or Urban Studies

Quiet and expressive, Yuu would thrive in a course that lets him express himself or understand cities better.

Takeshi – Kinesiology or Fire Safety Engineering

Physical, dependable, and brave—he’d want a hands-on, protective role. Fire safety suits his sense of duty.

Pi – Mechanical Engineering or Street Design

Quiet and precise, likely to enjoy working with machines or underground infrastructure.

M! Reader – Media Studies or Psychology

Given your role in the gang, you'd be the observant type, great at reading people or documenting stories.

SANNOH RENGOKAI (Hoodlum Squad)

Cobra – Public Administration or Law Enforcement

Leadership, justice, and protecting others. A future police officer or community leader.

Yamato – Physical Education or Construction Management

Strong, athletic, and loyal. Great at organizing people physically and mentally.

Noboru – Law or Political Science

Smart and calm, especially after his ordeal with Ichigo-kai. Aiming to change things from the inside.

Inei (Cobra’s partner) – Child Development or Creative Writing

Sweet and nurturing, but creative. They’d likely want to help kids or express themselves through stories.

WHITE RASCALS

Rocky – Fashion Design or Business Management

Stylish, a leader, and knows how to run a brand. Could open a fashion label or club.

Koo – Graphic Design or Music Production

Silent but strong, with a mysterious aura. Might love creating album covers or beats.

Kuina (Rocky’s partner) – Marketing or Theater Arts

Mean-girl and stylish. She’d run the most iconic social media accounts or star in campus plays.

OYA HIGH / PART-TIME SCHOOL

Murayama – Education or Sports Therapy

Surprisingly thoughtful, he'd love mentoring troubled kids or helping athletes heal.

Furuya and sekki– Martial Arts Studies or Auto Mechanics ( I like to called them Furuya brothers because they treat each other as brothers along with Murayama)

All brawn and chaos, but maybe into fixing bikes or opening a gym.

Keiro (Murayama’s partner) – Home Economics or Nursing

He’s the “male mom,” so he'd shine in caregiving or practical life skills fields.

DARUMA IKKA

Hyuga – Criminology or Theatre

Loud, and always ready to stir the pot—he’d thrive in drama or criminal psychology.

Mirai (Hyuga’s partner) – Communications or Fashion PR

Baddie vibes, knows how to talk and make an entrance. Would dominate in marketing or public speaking.

Here's a plan for each couple in the University Boltverse, including their love tropes, how they meet, and what each of their 5-chapter arcs will explore. Each chapter will be around 1,500 words, making them mini-stories.

1. Cobra x Inei (Non-binary OC)

Love Trope: Grumpy x Sunshine / Protective Crush

Meeting: Inei stumbles into Cobra's Public Admin class by accident and instantly brightens his day—he just won’t admit it.

Chapters:

Wrong Class, Right Person – They meet, Cobra’s annoyed but intrigued.

Coffee & Rainy Days – Accidental study sessions begin.

Jealous? Me? – Inei talks to Noboru, and Cobra can’t handle it.

Rooftop Secrets – Inei comforts Cobra when he’s overwhelmed.

The Grump Melts – Cobra finally confesses—with blushes.

2. Murayama x Keiro (Male OC)

Love Trope: Domestic Partners / Slow Burn Friends-to-Lovers

Meeting: Keiro offers to tutor Murayama after seeing him struggle in class.

Chapters:

The Tutor Agreement – Keiro proposes a study schedule.

Homemade Bentos & Shared Notes – Intimacy through routine.

Panic & First Aid – Murayama gets injured; Keiro panics.

“You Don’t Even Realize” – Someone flirts with Keiro; Murayama reacts.

Morning Coffee, Finally Yours – They move in together.

3. Rocky x Kuina (Female OC)

Love Trope: Power Couple / Mean Girl x Gentleman

Meeting: Rocky catches Kuina in the fashion wing criticizing a design—and loving her flair.

Chapters:

The Red Lipstick Threat – She makes fun of his shoes. He smirks.

Frenemies at First Sight – Paired for a fashion competition.

You’re Hot When You’re Angry – Heated argument leads to sparks.

Eyes Only for You – Club girls flirt with Rocky. Kuina declares war.

Queen Meets Her King �� They win the show—and each other.

4. Hyuga x Mirai (Female OC)

Love Trope: Chaotic x Chaotic / Ride or Die

Meeting: Mirai throws a drink in someone’s face at a party. Hyuga helps her escape security.

Chapters:

The Great Escape – They run across campus at midnight.

Two Devils in Class – Both prank their prof. Chaos ensues.

Jealous Bitch Energy – Mirai gets real about her feelings.

I’d Fight for You, Literally – Hyuga nearly gets suspended defending her.

Loving a Hurricane – They make it work their wild way.

5. Smoky x Iluliaq (Male OC)

Love Trope: Leader x Leader / Healing Love

Meeting: They argue over community funding, each representing a different student org.

Chapters:

Tension in the Boardroom – Sparks fly over a charity budget.

Silent Apologies, Loud Actions – Iluliaq helps Smoky during a health scare.

Opposites, Still Alike – A peaceful walk and shared backstory.

You’re Not Alone – Smoky opens up about Nameless Street.

One Heart, Two Walls Down – Mutual respect turns into love.

6. Male Reader x Takeshi, Pi, and Yuu (Crush Arc)

Love Trope: Shy x Popular / Pining from Afar (Reader’s POV)

Meeting: You’ve always been around RUDE BOYS, but your feelings run deeper—for all three.

Chapters:

Blushes & Accidental Touches – You get flustered around Takeshi.

Library Shadows – You and Pi end up alone, your heart races.

Yuu’s Quiet Kindness – He notices your mood before anyone else.

Confession in the Moonlight – You finally speak… but to whom?

Three Hearts, One Choice – Who do you pick—or do they pick you?

Masterlist

#Boltverse #University boltverse #high&low oc #high and low x reader #rude boys #white rascals #sannoh rengokai #daruma ikka #oya kou #My oc's #different types of love tropes with each couple

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science-lings · 1 year ago

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more info for each option below

1- I just think it's funny if everyone knew who Sherlock Holmes was (Phoenix's 'Sherlock Holmes 2 baby!' moment) and it's a popular belief that he wasn't real but he was, just under a better name.

2- I can't help but look at these guys and point at them. Kazuma's concept art where he has his hair back is so Phoenix-coded and one of his thinking sprites looks a lot like Phoenix's and I think that in the afterlife whenever Phoenix is kind of a bitch Ryunosuke looks over at Kazuma and blames him for it. I don't know which one is trans and neither do historians, it's knowledge that has been lost to time. Though it would be funny if Ryu just popped out of nowhere to go to university where no one knew him so no one would know anything about him. Did he forge government documents to do it? who knows he's just living his best life memorizing tongue twisters.

3- It would either be something badass like a snake winding around her arm or something symbolic like a fleur-de-lys which is the flower-based symbol in TGAA for European prosecutors. I also think it's funny bc it's apparently based on an Iris (or a lily), and the iris has the connotation that it 'prevents fire' which would be funny subtle anti-phoenix symbolism.

4- as much as the fan renditions of scruffy beanix absolutely fuck, this guy has the most pathetic facial hair I've ever seen, he's trying so hard to look like a homeless rundown stoner but can only manage a sprinkling of stubble. In addition, Miles can grow facial hair and he tried to grow a mustache for a week in Europe but it was a sensory nightmare and he will never do it again.

5- idk there's a reason his little mascot is a mouse, I just think it's funny if he just appears next to people and they have no idea how he got there. quiet little guy (unless he's thinking loud enough for it to leak out of his mouth). If he was a little more chaotic he would make an excellent thief/ pickpocket. The closest he gets is making snacks disappear from the 221b pantry.

6- All the animals as evidence and his first defendant in seven years being an Orca, he has that disney princess vibe. He was buds with Polly the parrot during the trial and even Money the monkey warmed up to him, especially in the anime where he just chills on Phoenix's shoulders during the court demonstration. I also think eventually Taka would also warm up to him due to his immaculate bird vibes. Trucy's doves and rabbits love him, he does not know how this happened. He regularly has pigeons following him around during investigations. He accidentally makes friends with a crow when throwing out popcorn kernels, it regularly gives him things now and more than once it has retrieved evidence for a case he's working on. He names it Kay and refers to Human Kay accordingly.

7- A little detail I noticed was that a lot of the information Mia got on Redd White was from conversing through the spiritual veil which seems to be her strong suit even as a spirit herself. She can talk to Phoenix without having to use a medium. I think it would be interesting to delve into all the nuances of the Fey's spiritual abilities outside of channeling. There's definitely a whole lot more to it than we're provided. How does that magatama work? how does Pearl charge it with 'spiritual power' and why is she the only one that can do it? I'm a hoe for magical worldbuilding so I would love to get my grubby fingers all over the Fey's.

8- Just two haters who can't have the job that they worked so hard for and are bitter about it. I like to think that Ema visited America at least once a year to visit Lana in prison and she stayed with Phoenix to save money on hotels. It just means something to me that it's her pin that's on his beanie and she gets included in the Wright family (+ Apollo) new years official art, and he keeps the investigative tools she gave him for nearly a decade. They aren't the best influence on each other but they understand each other more than nearly anyone else. They send each other pictures of Edgeworth whenever one of them is hanging out with him so the other doesn't feel left out. Also, they both think it's funny to catch him in the middle of talking or making a weird facial expression.

9- Some guy can't just change how trials are done for everyone without a lot of political bs, Phoenix is famous in law circles and even outside of law circles but he needs to convince a lot of important people (and expose a lot of corrupt important people) before it can go through. At some point, Edgeworth is going to pick him up and they're going on a private plane to talk to the president. It's important to me that he has trouble grasping how important he has become and is surprised every time he's invited to speak at some fancy event even though he's literally important enough to have statues made of him. He is the most iconic defense attorney, he solved the deaths of the two most notable defense attorneys before him in some of his first trials. He is going to be in history books and that is unimaginable to him.

10- Obviously since his canon ancestor is Japanese he's at least part Japanese but I mean like, in my mind, he's fully Japanese American who can speak the language and was raised by immigrants, but I also think that so many other hcs are fun. Is he latino with his black daughter? love that, inject some melanin in these attorneys please. I see the ensemble artwork and am blinded instantly.

#i know not all of these are unique but I am giving them to those who want them #idk how good this batch is but I got to pull out my symbolism book so that's fun for me #ace attorney #phoenix wright #i kinda want to make polls for pride month to see all the headcanons #that kind of thing is always fun #let me know if you read this if that sounds interesting to you #andromedas poll hell #apollo justice #tgaa #tgaac #ryunosuke naruhodo #idk i don't want to spam tags so ill leave it there

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toxlink · 4 months ago

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PAW Patrol Headcanon Oneshot: Ryder's Hatsune Miku Robot (Some doodles at the end!)

Based off of a headcanon I posted about here. I don't have an Ao3 account (yet), so this will suffice. Buckle up, this'll take a long time to read.

'Twas a night with clear, twinkly skies. It was dead quiet outside. No cars passing through the roads, no reckless teenagers outside to disrupt anyone's safety and beauty sleep. All the house lights were off, leaving only the glow of the streetlights, the quiet sound of waves, and the light breeze from the west enveloping the quaint little Adventure Bay, home to a pack of six dogs and their techy owner...

Outside the Lookout tower, in their little pup houses, peacefully slept the six mentioned puppies. The cockapoo and the labrador slept in a very polite position, the mix-breed had some very quiet music playing from his tag. The German sheperd cuddled his trusty police teddy bear, while the dalmatian and bulldog were turned on their side and back, snoring their hearts out. The yard was, of course, a mess. Dog toys everywhere one could turn. It was an cute sight, how the yard livened up by the pups during the day also falls asleep during the night, the traces of their whimsical shenanigans evident all over it.

We've brushed over on the dogs, but what about their owner? Is he also sleeping peacefully, lulled to sleep by the rare moments of peace and quiet? The short answer would be... it couldn't be further from the truth.

The bedroom was quite a mess. Not the childish "toys and clothes everywhere" kind, however. It was more office-like, with various documents scattered all across the floor. Lists of material orders, profit analyses, tax evasion plans... and quite a few crumpled and torn robot plans. In the bed, the culprit of the mess turned left and right, clearly having trouble sleeping on such a fine night. Was it because he didn't have a great plan to evade and the IRS is on his companies' tails? Or is it just so quiet it's too good to be true, and he's waiting for someone to yelp for help?

You're in luck, dear reader, because I don't feel like being cruel to our exhausted heroes this time. Adventure City is hosting a big robot contest, where everyone can show off their amazing robotic creations. The deadline is in three weeks, and Ryder hasn't got the first clue as to what to make. Everything he thought about making was either already thought of by someone else or he already made it. He had been looking forward to it for so long, yet with all the missions and company management he had to do, he had no time to stop and think of something to create.

Frustrated by the whole thing, Ryder sat up, his face showing groggy frustration. He turned left to look at the time on his nightstand clock:

"2:46AM" glowed straight back at him in weak red light. Groaning, he plopped backwards down on the mattress. Great, now that he saw the time he won't be able to fall back asleep any easier.

"Maybe I should skip this year's contest," he thought to himself. Yeah, maybe that's for the best. He pulled the weighed blanket over his body again, and closed his eyes. "Let's think of something else. Pups' shenanigans... ATV tweening... Ooh Hatsune Miku..."

"Hatsune Miku... Hatsune Miku... Now why exactly her..."

Then his eyes darted open, his body snapping up in a standing position not even a second later. This is it. His Eureka moment.

"MIKU ROBOT."

Welp, guess there won't be contest skipping after all.

The peace and quiet outside the lookout tower quickly got disrupted by loud stomping and giggling. The door of the garage opened, before closing with a not-so-quiet slam. This jolted up the cockapoo and the sheperd. Considering they're the oldest members and most mature, they take any suspicious noise seriously.

Alerted but still only half-awake, Skye stumbled over to the blue pup house. "What was that?" She asked with a yawn, her magenta eyes worryingly staring up at the latter. "Sounded like the garage," Chase replied, already fully awake, "Let's go sneak up to them through the elevator." And so, he snuck up under Skye to carry her on his back, running in while she is still starting up.

The sight that awaited them in the garage was quite... interesting. Ryder was moving the ATV away while he muttered to himself excitedly, grinning ear-to-ear. Once he did, he excitely pranced back, before flinching away with with an ear-piercing screech. In turn, the pups screeched back, leaning back as if they're written in italic.

"...Why are you two awake?" Ryder recovered, a blush on his cheeks. He was caught talking to himself and acting like a high school girl with a crush. "You woke us up. Why are you awake?" Skye inquired, sitting down. Chase followed in her stead, tilting his head: "And what's with the lab coat?" "Don't worry about it," the boy replied, "I finally decided on what to make for that contest, so I just need to start up the crucial parts. Now, go to sleep, it's very late and it's not good for your growth." What a hypocrite. "Don't stay too long in here," Chase regarded as the two stood up, turning to leave as they exchanged goodnights.

"It's been two days, what is he doing?" The smoke-spotted dalmatian asked others as they all gathered in front of the garage door. The younger four listened to the noises curiously while the older two just stared in disappointment, having realized long ago that their owner did not heed their advice. Suddenly, the building noises stopped. A few seconds later, they were replaced by that familiar excited manical laughter.

Suddenly, the garage doors slowly opened up. The pups all stared up in awe, even Chase and Skye couldn't be disappointed. In front of them stood a 7ft tall woman. Blue hair, blue tie, (HIDING IN YOUR WI-FI) with magenta hairclips contrasting her mostly monotone look. Her hair reached her shins, yet it remained untangled (Miku cosplayers, be jealous). On her sleeves and skirt were all the things one would see on equalizers or DJ equipment, and her left shoulder has 01 stamped on. They couldn't believe their eyes. That japanese robot singer, head to toe, in front of them. She slowly tilted her head down, her blue eyes and soft smile staring down at them.

"Pups!" A very tired and disheveled, but very excited Ryder popped up behind her, the disappointment on the oldest ones' faces coming back. It was obivous he was dead tired, the dark eyebags, the wobbly stance, the shaky hands from all the energy drinks he consumed... "Look what I made for the contest!"

"Woah!!" Rocky's eyes sparkled. He had never seen a robot so well-made, so human-like. It was so intriguing. Marshall and Rubble's jaws were dropped, never thinking that their dear Vocaloid singer could become real. "Dude, this is so cool!!" Zuma commented. He wasn't invested in either robots or singing robot girls from Japan, but he knows an awesome thing when he sees one.

"Can we hear her sing?!" Rubble asked excitedly, his and Marshall's tails wagging uncontrollably. Ryder chuckled sheepishly, as if caught guilty. "I haven't exactly gotten around to getting accustomed to the Vocaloid system. So, until I do..."

"Arf, arf!" A robotic bark escaped Miku's lips. "Robo-dog???" The pups exclaimed in unison, not expecting that. "Yes, Robo-dog's system runs Miku," Ryder replied sheepishly as his words started getting sluggish, "And he'll keep on running it. But until I get the hang of the Vocaloid program, we'll keep on hearing Robo-dog's barking. It shouldn't take me long to... grasp it..." Ryder was soon losing stability. He then proceeded leaning to fall right on the concrete. Gasping, the pups all hurdled in front of him so he could fall on their little bodies. But instead, Miku grabbed him by his armpits. She then methodically picked him up, cradling the exhausted boy in her arms. The pups sighed in relief, before Chase let out an order. "Robo-dog- ...uhh, Miku. Take Ryder to his bed. I'll call Katie. She needs to give him a stern talking..." With another bark, Miku proceeded to walk to the elevator. Considering her legs are very long, she ate the distance up very quickly.

"Okay, but can she play the existing songs?!" Rubble asked, but he knew he won't be getting an answer this time.

The three weeks rolled by quickly, and what do you know? All the local newspaper sites online talked about the contest, and the astounding Hatsune Miku that Ryder made sure came to life. He was banned from competing again, however. Gotta give others a chance.

⬆️ Here's a very tired and sorry attempt of their victory photo. I wrote all this for two hours non-stop, straight on the posting tab. Also, here's a tiny concept doodle I made in January, but switch the 5'1" with 5'4". It's blurry because it's dark and I used the flash⬇️

#paw patrol #paw patrol ryder #paw patrol headcanon #hatsune miku #no beta we die like men

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bg-brainrot · 1 year ago

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WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 6: The Man of your Dreams

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence

WC: 2k words, 6/?? chapters

Summary: You make your way toward Astarion, trying your best to prepare for the encounter to come.

A/N: Some context for this chapter -- if Tav starting dreaming for real when they were 18, had on average 3 dreams of that life a week, they had about 156 a year, so around 1716 dreams between ch 2 and 3. Another whooping 10,920 between ch 3 and ch 4. At 4 hrs per reverie, they dreamed about Astarion for 50,544 hours. I would be obsessed too, Tav.

Ao3 | [Ch5][Ch7] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

After leaving the druid’s settlement, you begin your trek back to Baldur’s Gate. Only a few more days and you will be on Astarion’s doorstep. I hope he hasn’t moved, you think. Or worse, moved on. You don’t want to think about what you might do if he’s moved on– either to another lover or to another plane– but you suppose you should prepare for those possibilities as well.

As you spend your time traveling, you plan for the important moment ahead. There’s not a lot of time left before you’re face-to-face with the man your past-self loved. The man that you might have come to care quite a bit about. Could you even love someone you’ve never met?

You shake the question away and focus: what will you say to him? How will you introduce yourself?

I suppose I should start with hello. Maybe follow it with my name. You think, briskly walking along the large dirt road back toward Baldur's Gate. Or maybe this is a good opportunity to be clever, refer back to your previous life. What did my past self say first? You start flipping through one of your earliest notebooks of documented dreams, to try to find the first one you’d had as the hero.

“‘Easily, stand back’?” you ask yourself aloud. What kind of first words were those? No, no, you can do better than that. What did they say next? You continue to skim as you walk and audibly groan. “I can’t headbutt him! What kind of first meeting was this?!”

Surely you can do better than this. Maybe you can refer back to one of his favorite poems? Or perhaps a particularly interesting adventure the two of you went on. There must be something in your notes that will help you make just the right first impression on him. You just need to remember what your past self said to him, what they were like.

You spend the next few days of travel doing just that: brushing up on your past with Astarion from your notes. Before setting off, you had managed to trade a few rare spell scrolls for a Bag of Holding for this journey, to ensure that you would never be without your research or your documented reveries. Now seemed as good a time as any to refresh on your knowledge.

Hero’s Life - Entry 254: Tonight I dreamed of that mad vampire. Again. The entire time we were just sitting around a campfire. He hit on at least four of my companions present. I don’t understand why this is helpful.

At the end of the night, he propositioned my past-self once again, and while they didn’t say no, they asked him, “Are you that desperate?” He replied, “Darling, we could die any day now, why not a little death before that?” (Note: I researched the innuendo. I still don’t understand why this is helpful.)

They didn’t end up sleeping together, but they did stare at each other for a long while. Not sure what to make of it, but the loud tiefling woman, Karlach, laughed and they both snapped out of it. She told them to, “Stop flirting or invite me next time!” Based on how these memories are going, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s my next dream…

You frown at the entry. Too early, you conclude, seeing the still somewhat-hostile nature of your relationship. I need something a bit later.

Hero’s Life - Entry 599: The vampire seems to be a terrible influence. In tonight’s reverie, my past-self spent hours stealing things from people, and he seemed to be the guiding force. I can still hear his ridiculous little giggle. My past self said, “This is necessary to help us defeat the Absolute.” But based on how our heart was racing, I’m thinking ‘defeat the Absolute’ translates to ‘sleep with Astarion.’

Astarion seems to enjoy the fun though. He said, “Naturally. We’re only being the most diligent heroes, aren’t we?” Then my body giggled– I can’t tell if I enjoy these dreams or not anymore.

You laugh at that entry, shaking your head. It’s silly to you that now those shared giggles are fond memories, not annoyances. You continue to flip.

Hero’s Life - Entry 1356: Astarion was in tonight’s reverie. My past-self was talking to him about the scars on his back and he seemed hesitant to talk about them. Cazador did terrible things to him, I’m not sure if I should write it all down, but needless to say, it’s dark, demonic magic. I might not like the man much, but no one deserves that kind of treatment.

Note: Refer to Hero’s Life - Entry 1395 to learn more about the scars on his back. Refer to Hero’s Life - Entry 1307 to learn more about Cazador.

You gulp at that entry. For a while, you felt uncomfortable documenting what had happened to your companions, especially Astarion. After some time, you knew you needed to keep track, if only to understand the man better. Now you feel a bit guilty studying him, as if he were a subject on which you’re about to take a very important test, one where you can’t afford to fail.

Pushing the guilt down, you switch journals to find an entry past the events of Baldur’s Gate, wondering if perhaps you could recall anything more… loving, less of the struggles you dealt with.

Hero’s Life - Entry 3711: Tonight I was in the Under Dark, on our way to visit the vampire spawn. I haven’t seen the Under Dark in my memories in years (Note: see Hero’s Life - Entry 219 for most recent reference). It’s just as beautiful as I remember it being, lovely bioluminescence and so much amazing fauna. Astarion looked incredible in the glow of the Glowcaps and I’m glad my past-self told him as such. He appreciated the compliment, and I recall the warmth I felt when he said, “Keep lavishing me with praise and I can assure you we won’t be making it to the spawn today.” We shared such a lingering kiss that I can still feel on my lips.

We traveled for a few hours before reaching the vampire spawn settlement. I wish I could have stayed in the reverie longer to see how they are all faring. Before I lost the memory, Astarion said, “Gods below, this cannot be how they live.” I hope I get to see what he meant.

You smile at this memory. It’s a nice entry, but you’re suddenly struck by how sappy your entries became. No wonder my parents worried, you think.

Still, nothing stands out to you that might help– Maybe a “hello” really is the best you can do. Regardless, you suppose that studying will be helpful, so you continue to flip.

This goes on for many more entries, more journals and notes. After a few days of walking and reading, you find yourself back at Baldur’s Gate– a weirdly familiar city, one that you’d live in for much of your previous life, but, for now, just another stop on your journey.

You take the night to rest, refresh, and reread the final entry in your notes on the Hero’s Life.

Reading the dream you had just a few nights ago only serves to unnerve you. Your stomach squirms in displeasure at the idea that this was all a terrible, terrible idea. Again, you think to yourself, why did my past-self give up? They seemed so powerful, so incredibly competent, surely they could have made it out of there alive.

But there’s no use in speculating. You won’t get any closer to Astarion by spinning yourself in circles. Besides, you should get some rest ahead of the final stretch of your travels tomorrow. You lay down for your reverie, thoughts of finally meeting Astarion creating a pleasant, albeit anxious, buzz in your mind. Not long now, you think.

All that’s left is to make it there.

You’ve arrived. Or at least you think you’ve arrived. The druid’s marking seemed clear enough, but you’re surprised by how far out this trek was from the main road. It was at least an hour’s walk from the nearest inn, and nearly an entire day’s journey from Baldur’s Gate. It’s past sunset now as you catch your first glimpse of the house.

House is rather a misnomer– Mansion would make more sense. It’s a massive building, with rows and rows of curtained windows lining two large floors. Several steep staircases lead up a winding pathway to the entrance, framed on either side by well-manicured hedges. You’re struck by how carefully everything seems to be decorated: from delicate awnings to the many balconies’ balustrades. The style itself is ostentatious, a bit much for your taste, but you suspect it’s not nearly enough for Astarion’s taste from what you’ve seen of him.

Again, you’re reminded of what Halsin said, “Many sought him out after that day, to try to warm his cold heart. I'm not certain if any succeeded.” Perhaps the decor was affected by a possible paramour. Your throat feels dry at the thought.

But you’ve come too far and you’re far too determined to turn back now. Besides, if someone else answers the door and it’s clear you’re too late, you know how to graciously take a step back. You hope.

You walk up the stairs to the house, legs numb and heart pounding. This feels like the longest walk you’ve ever had the displeasure of taking, and you’re almost certain you haven’t taken a single breath the entire time. By the time you reach the top, you take a few hurried breaths, smooth out your robes, dust off your hair– generally, try to make yourself look more like the love of Astarion’s life and less like a weary traveler on weeks of poor rest.

It’s now or never.

A few solid knocks on the door, and you stand there, waiting. Your nerves seem to have nerves and you’re not sure how you’re managing to stay standing. Torn between bouncing into the sky and sprinting away at full speed, you twist your hands together in a small attempt to remain sane.

An excruciating number of seconds, maybe even minutes, later, you hear the door unlock. You hold your breath as the door opens and before you stands the man you’ve been dreaming of for nearly a century.

He looks the same as your memories. His perfectly curled silver hair, his elegant elven features, his striking red eyes– all of them feel so familiar and a warmth comes over you. He’s as beautiful as the day I met him, you think, only distantly recalling that it was not you who met him. But it is you to whom he's speaking now.

"Why hello," he says in a cheery tone and that same Baldurian lilt you've come to love. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The proverbial cat has your tongue, every excuse and introduction you'd considered is simply gone from your mind. All you can do is stare at him, savoring the way his lips are curled into a smile, wondering if his hair feels the same in real life as it did in your memories.

“Hello? Did you need something or are you just here to admire my face?” he asks, an annoyed eyebrow arching up, the perfect smile broken.

“You're the man from my dreams,” you say, before you can think better of it.

“That’s odd. Usually I'm the one with the cheesy lines,” he says with a wry look. It drops a second later, and he continues, deadpan, “Not interested.”

Before you can say anything more, the mansion’s large wooden door closes in your face.

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paradise-in-k4 · 8 months ago

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Kirisame Print Shop Notes: The Ten Elixir Tavern, Scene B2

A potential option from here

Alice - I have a question for you about the incident, considering the circumstance in which you’re running this tavern on a mountain that seemingly appeared from nowhere.

Jackson - About the Ten Elixir Tavern? What piques your curiosity?

Alice - How did you and this establishment- a possibly western medieval-styled tavern become involved with the West Mountain?

Jackson - You must be wondering about our story. Ahem.

(200X) It all started with the construction of the building within the borders of the Royale Districts of the Clash Kingdoms. Back then, it was being funded and managed by representatives of the Royale Parliament as a place where people of all kinds can crash in for food, drink, and friends. Business was booming. Food was wonderful and wonderfully cheap, and elixir flowed freely and kept the masses merry. I should know; I worked my way up to being the head cook and Royale headsman of this tavern!

(November 2023) And then it all changed last year when someone else entered the building one night… a Little Prince. He started by snagging a drink from one of our patron Barbarians, causing minor unrest amongst everyone else. But once he caught sight of the recruit with an important document, that’s when he pulls out the crossbow and sends arrows EVERYWHERE. Bar brawls fueled by Rage Spells escalated. Several Goblins had their karaoke night ruined when the speakers and microphones had their cables sheared in the crossfire. Everyone was just about to descend on him when another knight came charging through, sending patrons, tables, and staff flying everywhere. That was the Little Prince’s Guardian. They left with the document and left the place in shambles.

Aya - Ayayayayaya… that sounds rough. How did this not make the local paper?

Jackson - Oh, it did. Front page headlines, even. The Little Prince in question got away with the document and was made a Champion in the Arenas. But that’s not where the story ends. We rebuilt from nothing and assembled a team of outcasts amongst troops to give rude hotshots a wakeup call as fellow challengers in the Arena. That all started once the Ten Elixir Tavern’s land was sold off.

(November 2023) You see, after that little incident, Parliament decided to sell the tavern’s rubble and green space off to the highest bidder, where the buyer can run the place however the heck they wanted. For a few hundred thousand gold coins, this place was bought out by a man who we all know now as Jerry. You see, Jerry was a Hunter. Stout guy with really bushy eyebrows, a mustache that could put many others to shame, and a trusty shotgun. He could take out ten skeletons with one shot from a safe distance, knock an Inferno Dragon outta the sky with a couple bursts at point blank range, and even deal nasty blows to adversaries who armed themselves with shields. No Wizard ever survives an encounter with him in melee range. He made his living by pursuing bounties and big game while also becoming a sort of dark horse of the Royale Arena who people always overlook in favor of Musketeers and Mini P.E.K.K.As, although his time working in the village eventually damaged his hearing from consistent use of their firecracker-based Air Defenses. The sounds of Firecrackers’ rockets and the echoes of nearby Hog Riders only anger him more because they’re just that loud.

I was his first employee after the building was rebuilt. A headsman from Spooky Town with a love for cooking and gardening who could also use a double-sided axe as a boomerang. Me and another fellow Executioner from another land even exchanged recipes, where he gave me one for deep-fried chicken. The hood stays on at all times because I don’t want people to see the accident I did to my own face a decade ago trying to shave after a beard after a month-long dare where I couldn’t shave.

Using his nest egg in the form of an Overflowing Gold Crate, Jerry hired Henderson and Philip- a Builder and an Apprentice from his home village respectively- to fund the reconstruction of the Ten Elixir Tavern. Philip was retained with the tavern after reconstruction work with the presentation of a part-time job offer as a mechanic for some of our machinery. Turns out he’s a good shot with a Spell Launcher. After a few modifications made from a TH-16/IV prototype and a Freeze Trap purchased from an apprentice Wizard, Philip made it work fast enough to supply all kinds of Spells on demand for the Royale Arena. We’ve consistently made good use it to throw flasks of Freeze Spell at our opponents in the Arena to halt dangerous advances, and to deal with rowdy crooks who try to pull a fast one in our tavern.

Jackson - There’s a few other people that joined our staff line over the months, but that’s for another time and place. As to how we ended up on the West Mountain…

(2017) Seven years ago, way back when the tavern was still Parliament-operated, I often hosted everyone who’s now on my staff roster to a dinner here as part of our weekly “Ten Elixir Therapy Circle” where anyone could drop in and talk out their misfortunes. During one of these sessions, we had a newcomer. Her name was… Helen. A nine-tailed fox in human form, she appeared. Blatantly obvious too, with no intention of hiding it. She had recently been dumped on the altar when a politician from another kingdom named Alfonso bribed Charles- her groom- who then ran off.

(2018) Over the next year or so, she made the trip to our sessions until she announced that she had a new fiancée: a veteran Builder named Samuel. They moved to a vacant plot of land with Jerry and Henderson and invited wandering travelers to settle in and help them start a new village in the kingdom. When they finished the first upgrade on their Town Hall, their wedding day was announced for the village and her homeland to see. Delegates from her home kingdom helped usher in an era of prosperity for both sides… all except Alfonso, who was the only voice of denial at the wedding. Let’s just say… the villagers gave him a good thrashing. I probably could’ve gotten his head too if correspondence from her homeland’s king said otherwise. But ever since August that year, everything on their side went silent.

(July 2022) Fast-forward a few years, and Helen’s doing swell. She regained her confidence back in her home kingdom after uncovering a scheme run by Alfonso to overthrow King Darian DaCacao of his home kingdom, and she even reclaimed the honor in her title as “Captain of the Licorice Watch” …whatever that means. Probably some fancy title equal to Chief over in our kingdom, which actually holds decently high weight in the hierarchy. But guess who showed up again in our tavern? That’s right, Alfonso showed up yet again in a party of three. The same night, Helen was in attendance, and she brought a couple friends over with her: a shepherd from the snowlands named Camellia Jr. with a really hairy ram named Cupcake, and even King Darian DaCacao himself. It turned out that an incident happened in their homeland, since the instant Alfonso started provoking Helen and the elixir we served him, Cupcake went on a rampage through the tavern trying to mow him down. It took the combined efforts of Camellia and a few Ram Riders to calm him down. All that was left behind besides the carnage was a note that said “Your Time Is Coming…” and a line of Royal Recruits and Guards chasing his party to the door, only to get stopped by the purple King himself. In the following months, we received correspondence from another neighboring kingdom that this exact same incident happened in their own tavern, and that we’d be compensated for the damages to save face for Alfonso and Helen’s homeland after that same party of three caused ANOTHER incident elsewhere.

(June 2024) A couple more years after that fiasco, now past the purchase and reconstruction of the tavern, Helen’s declared that she was heading back to her homeland yet again to resolve a plague that was spreading across the land. Days later, a package comes in with a piece of a pocket watch and a rippling voice that said… what was it… “Your efforts… fruitless… RETURN TO FLOUR.” And that’s when the whole place shook itself apart like an earthquake. When we all came to, the building was now on the mountain foot where it is now, and the sky was as crimson and blue as you see it now from this side of the mountain’s boundary. The Clash Kingdom’s Royale District still stood as it was, but when we walked elsewhere… we found ourselves somewhere else! And that’s when we spotted the mountain, as well as the mysteries it held at its peak.

Jackson - In other words, we’ve only been here about 6 months, but we were still able to walk back to where our old tavern was freely. You just gotta follow the road exactly as it’s marked and you’ll enter the Clash Kingdom’s border in no time, but if you stray from the path, you might end up somewhere else in this universe entirely!

Alice - Helen… who was Helen…? Wait… was she the one who asked me to make her a wedding dress? And Alfonso… of course. That revolution scheme two years ago was exactly the same thing we had to deal with as part of the Frost Miko Incidents.

Marisa - That Master Spark I shot at him was SO deserved, ze!

Reimu - Don’t get me started on how many times me, Meiling, and even Shinmyoumaru got a few good kicks, punches, and stabs at him after the trouble he and Seija caused us. I personally want to keep him in an Evil-Sealing Circle for the way he tried to con me out of my pocket money. If I ever see him again, you can bet “Fantasy Nature” is on the list.

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//If you manage to find every reference in this crossover chapter, you have my full respect for managing to align my ramblings with my recent interests. Some words and names are linked for context

#kirisame print shop notes #parallel satellite incident notes #universe k4 #muse: alice #muse: aya #muse: jackson #muse: marisa #muse: reimu #can you spot my rambles?#crossover story #clash of clans #clash royale #cookie run kingdom #writing #crossover au

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