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afloppedpage · 1 month ago

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How to win over them (Genshin Impact Characters x reader)

Pairings: Ifa, Cyno, Venti, Kinich x GN reader. Warnings: None, just a little bit fluff and frustration, frequently mention mental health (I’m sorry). Slightly OOC. A/N: This is my first time using this app and first actual writing post. English is not my first language and my writing is kinda rusty so I'm sorry for any mistakes I have in advanced. W/c: 3,309 words.

________________________________ Ifa

Winning over Ifa is a hard thing to do and it’s a long-time journey.

Requires you to be in his sight, work with him, or casually pay a visit often. A plus for you if you care about the Saurian and if possible, you can take care of them too – when Ifa is busy doing something else.

A major plus when Ifa sees the Saurian loves you, to the matter that they would rather cling to you than him. You would treat them kind, patience – even when they are in the fuss, you endure until the tantrum pass and you would teach them lessons.

If you are not really a patient person, you still can win over him if you are willing to try to help him with some of the work. Making him see that you are trying to be “A better version of yourself”, not the reason is to impress him. (Ifa will feel himself like a burden if you sacrifice yourself for such things you don’t like)

Stay strong, literally mentally strong. It just that you should have value of yourself in life, know how to take care of yourself (because he would be the person sometimes to fall into the swirl of overthinking so you could be the person that he admires). Not requires much, but: Take care of yourself, knowing when to SEEK help and LEND help if you can.

To win over Ifa, you need to win over Cacucu first. By setting a curiosity onto that bird, constantly giving compliments to Cacucu and even trying to steal him away from Ifa. Sometimes you can transform into a Saurian and talk to Cacucu, a real talk. You can chat with that bird so you can understand what he truly means, and you can get to hear his opinion too. As you and Cacucu are getting closer, even to the point that Ifa can’t help but curious what are you two talking about (He low-key gets jealous of Cacucu).

Literally takes his joke, keep calling him a bro, even better when you call him a "lil bro" because he is only 5. Ifa can then tease you back by giving you a nickname “Big bro”. Take that joke and tease him over and over, treating Ifa as a literal 5 years old, provoke him by giving him candy for doing a good job, or pat his head because he is a good boy (He wouldn’t mind though).

As soon as he notices himself staring at you for a long time with the slightly heated cheeks, he would slap himself, walking in the circle and mumbling nonsense, trying to deny himself. So, you need to wait for some time in a stage of denial, just keep a usual vibe and meet up with him, also with sometimes ‘unintentionally’ stay close to him, it would make him have a flip in the stomach.

His stage of denial is something, really, it is a super long journey for him. He used to swear to himself that he would never take anyone with him in a lifetime, so breaking that rule is truly a hard one. In this stage, do not meet him too often now on, he would start to doubt both himself and you that you are ‘playing’ his emotions, that you are the main reason for him to have a headache. You need to give him some space, some time for him to rethink his choice, he is not ready yet.

He is used to the life of saddening himself as he holds the Saurian back to their new home, bitterly thinks that it would be better for the Saurian to go and don’t stay with him. It also applies to your situation, he would deny your love, thinking that it would be better for you to go, and to pursue your dream. So, you do exact same what did Cacucu do to be adopted by Ifa. By “accidentally” make a situation that Ifa thinks he needs to take care of you. You need Ororon to be in your plan as you pretend that your live is so boring and sad because you don’t have a boyfriend and Ororon sees you crying. Ororon then goes to your most trusted person to help and reassure you – Ifa (Of course you wait for the right time when he is not busy). He would reassure you and then you can share your personal story to him, to the fact that he would feel so sorry for you and trigger his ‘sympathy’, you can spice thing up by leaning against him or hold his hand. His mind would be chaotic after that.

You can even drop a hint bomb like: “We would be a very great duo, you know that?” or “You know that a lot of people ship us recently, even a stranger would mistake it.” (Of course he would feel flustered, yet uncomfortable, maybe)

Actually, you need to confess how desperate you want to be with him, to hang out with him, and to follow him. Because he would never feel your genuine feelings towards him unless you shout directly to him. Slap him in the face, kicks him in the knee, then capture him with your hands and hug him dearly, saying that you truly love him. You know that at this time, he already fell for you, but he is still denying, so you gamble yourself, 1: He accepts, 2: He rejects, and your friendship will be gone. The decision will be his, you did and won’t show any force to him as you give him space after you slap him back to reality. It is likely that he accepts.

Cyno

He is rather easy to win over, just..endure his sense of humor.

Be a responsible person who takes care of their own and do what you should and have to do. Build him a sense of trust as you don’t go over any boundaries between him and you.

If possible, you can play Genius Invokation TCG with him and let him shine, let him be himself as he constantly flexes all his new creation in card comp, strategies. It would be a plus when you recognize his smart moves, his choice of cards, and give him a real true compliment.

If you don’t into Genius Invokation TCG, just pretend to “curious” about the game and tell him to explain the whole, if you understand, good – he would really contented; however if you don’t, it is okay because he understands that not everyone like the game, he would appreciate your efforts to try to play with him.

About his jokes, you can either be a person who is very interest in his jokes or be a person who sighs every time he slips out a joke. It is okay for you not like his joke, but don’t refuse him disrespectfully whenever he wants to tell you a brand-new joke (You are so important that he would tell you first).

Flirt to him, if you are that type of person. Or you can just simply drop a few lines to him, such as: “I like how you do it,” or “I have to admit that this one is funny," a small chance that he would be flutter and lose it.

Be unserious, be silly, be opposite than his vibe. Just initiate, take the action first. You can constantly run to him and push him from behind like a friend does, or you can pat his back and say: “Hello fella, what’s up? Wanna break a lunch with me?” Cyno’s character is quite quiet, so you can do the initiative talking and share whatever you encounter in a day, just to have a chat with him and you can ask how his day was, that would be a nice time for you two.

Please do ask him a lot of questions as if you are interested about him (you should). He is the person who always interrogate the others and demand judgement, but he rarely feels the feeling of being ask, of being cared – maybe. So, ask anything, from “What color do you like?”, “What fruit do you love to eat?” to “Why do you think you are granted your vision?”, “What do you think about the Akasha terminal?”, he would at the same time overwhelmed by your question and feel special as you care for his opinion.

At the same time, be prepared to answer all his questions too. He would express his interest in you through his questions, so please answer it long and if you are comfortable, share your stories (but please don’t be the person to answer all the time).

Do whatever to make him recognize your efforts, from listening to his jokes, playing Genius Invokation TCG with him, to spending time with him, do any camping activities, walking in the desert and be comfortable in the silence.

His strength is very stable, not only physically, but also mentally too, so seeing your efforts to catch up with him, or whenever you try to lend him some help, he would be thankful of it although he doesn’t need your help. (Act like a person who cares for him)

Wait for until he slowly acknowledges his feelings. Actually, he realizes your intentions in winning over him not long before he admits his feelings toward you (like how often you are being in his sight, spending time with him. He would notice your embarrassed features and the slightly ‘crush’ behavior), but he still keeps in touch just to see how cute you are trying to stay close to him, and he doesn’t mind your presence at all. In fact, he would wish you to go further and make bold choices, he would wish you to continue like this.

Venti

He is kind of difficult to winning over with and the chances are very low.

You might and can have the same hobbies, favorite things to do with him. It can be the ideology of living freedom, the love of poetry and the love of playing music. Having the commons are not truly guarantee that he would like you. So, another key factor is to be bold, to be ‘unintentionally’ meet him often and exchanges knowledges.

Start popping up in every performance, in every event that are hold in Mondstadt, he will always in every festival as he loves lively atmosphere – he loves the cheerful smile the citizens have, the contentment they have when they are having fun and hanging out with friends and family. You can try to find him and talk to him, telling the general atmosphere as you comment positively on it – as to tell him that you have the same interest with him.

Getting his attention by attending in every of his performances and give him a real cheer and applause after each performance. If you are into music, you can simply ask him how to play it after the show. You can tell that you admire his talent and be curious about him, but do not cross the line – or whenever he is uncomfortable about your questions. If you are not really into specific type of music, you can still be there and give him a genuine smile, an applause and a small gift which can be Mora, or even a bottle of wine (He is surprised when you know he loves wine).

If you are into poetry, you can ask him about the music lyrics, ask him to talk more about it as if you are demanding him to have a spoken essay about the lyrics. You can even tell him to review and hear your explanation about the lyrics, you can express your curiosity, the yearning for knowledge as if you are dying for the beauty of the poetry (You will soon be a good buddy of him). Even a plus when he can review your poetry too, he would very feel special to you and value the relationship. But if you are not into poetry, it’s okay, you can give him compliment about his voice too, he would be flustered because not a lot of person gives him that kind of compliment, just be genuine and truthful, it can be like: “Although I don’t understand, but I love your voice.”

If the compliments are too common for him, starting another way of reaching to him is possible. You can look around the corners or anywhere that is hidden from the festival (he wants to hide himself and watch the crowd from afar), you can spend some quiet time with him while offering wine, that’s a major plus for you. Just be chill, relax yourself, be comfortable within his presence and you can wait for him to begin the conversation.

The next thing to be is matching his vibe, be cheerful, somewhat childish and have some random shit ass moment, can be you two play in the puddle of water and see who splash the most, play snow and see who make the biggest snowman, ...

You don’t need to know his identity to get more deeply understand him, you can treat him as a fellow friend (crush). Just play prank on him, give him a bottle of vinegar instead a bottle of wine (when he tells you to purchase wine), threatening him with a melting cheese pancake whenever you feel like it and telling how delicious it is (He hates cheese). He would feel the urge to ‘revenge’ you soon after, and it’s a good sign that y’all relationship is going well.

Another thing is to share your traveling past experiences, your encounters, your dilemma when you have a hard time to explore in other nations. But don’t be plain, spice things up by telling the challenges you have, he would be so hooked up by it.

Venti would never know and understand all your actions came from your love, so please give him some hints and implies. By telling him to write a poem about love, telling him to speak his opinion about love, and unintentionally give him some affections, like physical. You can ask him if you can lean against him and rest after a stressful day to calm yourself, with the comfortable presence of him. Or even you can slip off “I like you.” Surely, he won’t think that much, but as long as you tell out loud, he would consider it. He would consider you...

Kinich

He is kind of difficult to win over with

First up, don’t cling to him too much. Because he has own work to do and sometimes it takes a few days straight and you can’t even see or meet him. So, whenever he is back from his commission; if possible, you meet him and pay him a visit, ask how his mission went, and don’t take too long to chat – his social battery is not much after the exhaustion of work and talking to the client.

You can often give him commission and give a fair price: Mora, fruits, equippments,... (That’s an easy way for you to see him often). Treat him as a fellow helper, with prices of course. You can maintain this for sometimes and then you can be friends with him.

Also, participate in helping and volunteer in Natlan. He would truly appreciate your contribution to his home nation, and he would consider you a friend. You can make a big contribution in Natlan, like help fighting the Abyss with your other fellows, protect the citizens from the Abyss corruption and provide mental care for the people who experience loss; be there, be willing to help people without wanting anything in return. He would see himself in you, that he just like you, he would do anything for his nation too. So, being such a nice person will make him intrigued in you, and he would try to help you back without any cost.

Also, as you become friends with him, ask him to have lunch with you, or dinner, just a casual hanging out together, you will have more chance to see him (If he accepts or course). You don’t need to talk too much when eating with him, just be there, silently eat your food and enjoy the scenery. He isn’t the type to initiate the conversation, so you can just casually ask how he is, how is his mission, ... (Don’t yap too much)

To create an impression to Kinich, be chaotic with Ajaw. What that means is just to play along with that “harmless pixel” - Be provocative to him, mock him back like “Oh a small one like you can’t even hurt me in the slightest,” or “Aye Almighty Dragonlord..heh” with a provocative tone (makes him mad for your own amusement), which makes a bad impression to Ajaw. Then, Ajaw will sometime mention you to Kinich that how annoying you are. However, sometimes you can treat both Kinich and Ajaw with their favorite food, for Kinich is fresh fruits (except grainfruit), and for the bad, rotten ones you can juice it and give it to Ajaw, and say to him after he drinks that those you juiced are bad ones (but truly delicious).

Soon after sometimes when Kinich starts to get familiar with you being around, now you can start help Kinich out without his hesitation about the price he is going to pay. In general, start listen to him, pay attention to his normal usual solitude, that you won’t know if there are any hidden worries lies within him, and point it out gently if you ever spot it. “Kinich, is everything okay? You look quite down.” Just casually ask him like a fellow friend, don’t force him to answer and it is okay for him not to answer, all that matter is that you are there with him, no matter what. If it's a mundane conflict between him and clients, he can tell you his usual work and vent, it would be better than not telling anyone (you can get to know more about his life).

After you lend an ear to him, he would secretly pay a price for you being there with him, like often going to your home and giving you some extra fruits that he ‘accidentally’ picks too much, or personally inviting you to lunch (You asked him most of the time), and give you some Natlan’s local flower to you, he would try to find a way to know which one are your favorites and keep giving them to you.

He would be gradually started to fall for you, day by day, slowly and sweetly, by your welcoming presence and your cheerful demeanor. Until to the point that Ajaw can detect his embarrassment when he spots you from afar. Ajaw would flabbergast as he sees Kinich blushes and secretly observes you from afar. Ajaw would constantly mocks him for falling such a boring person like you - “That uninteresting brat has a place in your heart??? Do you even hear yourself? I don’t have a servant like you – a down bad, desperate servant.” But he can’t help but to admit that he likes your fruit juice. He would also ‘approve’ you to be the next servant just after Kinich to serve the Almighty Dragonlord (No one has a chance to meet the K’uhul Ajaw and you two has a big privilege to serve under him)

But Kinich hides his feelings well, so you need to be patient and lure him out more, only time matters in this moment. Wait for him to consult his friend about his complexity in his heart, and just to have a conclusion that: He falls in love with you.

__________________________________________

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #gi x reader #ifa x reader #ifa x you #cyno x reader #cyno x you #venti x reader #venti x you #kinich x reader #kinich x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #fiction #my writing #my fiction

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tiredmamaissy · 2 years ago

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Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode III

Calm After the Storm

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, profanity, age gap, rut cycle, heat cycle, extreme knotting, marking, scenting, territorial/possessive behaviour, breeding kink, p in v, mating/bonding, multiple climaxes, creampie, belly bulge, actual breeding, let me know if I forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Happy halloween guys! I know I literally fell off the face of the earth and I will make another post to address that. But I know I haven’t participated for @pandoraslxna ‘s kinktober event (I’m so sorry bby) but if I could only participate for one of the days it would be today for sure. So I definitely wanted to get this out before midnight. It’s not purely a/b/o but honestly entails all the aspects of it. I think we can all definitely tell who’s the alpha and omega here (Ralak is alpha material hands down, ofc). I hope you guys enjoy this one, and I apologize for such a wait <3 Also I feel like I’m a bit rusty, so apologies for any typos, errors, or just plain suckish writing.

ALSO a big happy birthday to my babe @neteyamsoare <3 love you and hope it was a good one!!

Synopsis: Your heat starts to subside, but Ralak’s rut is only getting stronger. What could possibly go wrong?

<- Previous -> Next

——

Only an hour has passed before you feel your not-so-gentle giant stirring behind you, waking you from your sleep. You’d both been on your sides for too long now and everywhere seems to ache. You whine when you feel his hips shift against you, tugging at the immense pressure between your hips. The bulge protruding from your lower abdomen has barely gone down and you feel almost as full as you did when he initially emptied his load inside you.

Silken strands of his hair fall onto your prickled skin as he props himself up on his elbow from behind you, perching his chin on your throbbing shoulder. He inhales deeply – longingly. His hot breath gently blows against your neck just as you feel his arm snake under your leg and yank it back in one rough tug.

“Ralak.” His name falls from your lips through a nearly inaudible croak. “‘m so full.” You barely mumble out, rolling your head to the side. Yet, the flame within you is without a doubt reigniting with a vengeance.

And he can sense it.

Simply by the way you push back into him, making that bulge in your belly protrude a little more. His large hand resting on your stomach can indubitably feel it. And the smile that it puts on his face is almost baleful, bearing his lengthy canines that yearn to sink deep into you once more. “Sorry, tìyawn [love].”

He just can’t help it.

No matter how hard he tried. The desire—no, the need—to fuck into you and claim you as his time and time again is… irrepressible. In this moment, nothing else felt better than your little, used cunt hugging his cock so tightly that it almost hurts. He yearns to fill you over and over. Again and again until your womb is overflowing with his seed. The mere thought has his balls pulling tight to his body, firming up by the second all just to flood your womb again.

“Muntxate [wife].” Ralak growls into your neck, sliding his hand down to your inner thigh. “I will try to be–” He groans slowly, his pointer finger now burrowing itself between your tied pelvises, “–flrr [gentle].”

The final accented word comes out roughly, and if it weren’t for his finger slipping past his knot and into your cunt, you would’ve probably heard it clearly. You yelp out when he traces his finger around his knot, stretching your already taut skin, attempting to work a little space to allow his bulge to slip out.

It's all consuming and you’re simply too overwhelmed with his size that you fail to realise how your body is synced with his and bearing down to push him out. All whilst he’s struggling to fight the snap of hips to avoid hurting you. But the tugging is nothing like you’ve felt before adn you can finally understand why he was so insistent in the first place.

ut there was no getting out of this now, not that you even wanted to.

“It–it’s…” You brace yourself by grabbing onto his forearm, “...t-too big.”

“Ngaytxoa [sorry]” He huffs out his fourth apology, losing himself once again as his hips finally jerk back out of his control.

Pop.

His knot slips out of you with such force that the squelch it makes is as loud as your whimper. It’s so wet and slippery that his cock follows behind his knot, sliding out of you effortlessly. He’s more than half-hard yet so heavy and hung it rests close to your knee. Then you feel it. His cum dribbling down your thigh, still warm and sticky as if he just filled you up seconds ago.

It’s such a conflicting feeling — a mixture of relief and pent up frustration. Your heat is still in full bloom, despite it being so quenched until you’re almost nauseated. It’s as if you were two pieces perfectly linked together, allowing nature to run its course with no second thought. He grunts when he feels the crisp night air against his groin, his cock now springing up to its full length in just a few seconds.

He, too, feels some sort of feverish way now. Itching to be back inside your warmth, enveloped by your gummy, slimy walls. He opts to pepper wet kisses along your neck, and then up to your jaw, lingering there as he tries to distract himself from the ache to shove it back inside you.

Until it becomes too much.

“Tanhì.” He moans into your ear, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open as his tongue trails the skin on the back of your neck. “Need you.” It’s his way of begging for permission. Permission to slam his cock back inside you and hammer into you until the annoying itch deep in his core goes away again. You were the only one to make it go away. To stop the hurt. “Please.” He whines out a plea of desperation, now gritting his teeth from the way his stomach is tensing. “Now.”

But that last plea wasn’t much of a question, no. It was more of a demand. A way of saying, ‘give it to me, or I’ll take you on my own terms’.

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath, sliding your free hand down your side to hook it under your leg. You pull it back and reposition your hips to give him access to your cunt. “P-Put it in, ‘Lak.”

Ralak’s hips begin to stutter — the leaking, mushroomy tip of his cock now repeatedly prodding between your puffed up folds. His breath turns raggedy as he tries to guide himself back inside you handsfree. Your slick is overflowing, making it even more difficult for him to align himself with your entrance. The frustration brewing within him bubbles over when his cockhead glides past your swollen clit instead of sinking in your cunt. So he pulls back in one swift move and —

Thrust.

Your body jolts from how quickly he slams every inch of his cock inside you, forcing you split-open. Ralak huffs a shaky sigh of relief, his breathing growing a little steadier now that he’s deep inside his mate. Meanwhile, your mouth hangs agape yet no sound falls from your lips. Your eyes well up with tears and your ears lay flat against your skull. Your body is in complete submission to the beast dominating it and there’s nothing else you can do but give in to the pleasure.

“Your scent.” He whispers open-mouthed, tips of his canines grazing the nape of your neck. “It is driving me crazy.” You release the breath that you didn’t even realise you were holding. You didn’t even know what to say. Not like you could really say much right now anyways. You’re too lost in the fog of your own heat. For once, Ralak is doing most of the talking. “It makes me…” He snaps his hips back, only leaving half of his length inside you. “...lose myself completely.”

A deep roll of his hips.

A lewd moan dripping off your lips.

“How do you do that?” He huffs, pressing his teeth against your neck. You don’t answer yet again. You just can’t find the words. Not right now. Not when he’s so deep inside you. “Hm?” A deep growl vibrates up his throat, his teeth just barely piercing the first layer of your silken skin.

“I—” You’re cut off by your own squeal when you feel the sting of his bite. Your breath catches in your throat and he immediately unlatches, lapping at the nicked skin to soothe it. “Sorry.” He whispers breathlessly, planting a quick kiss on each of your marks. “Sorry. Sorry.” A few more apologies flow from his mouth, as if he were drunk off of too much fermented fruit. Somewhat lucid but still so spaced. “I cannot —ngh— help myself.”

Thrust.

“‘M sorry.”

He knows he went a little too deep just now. But you feel so fucking good around his cock.

Chomp.

Another mark. Right on the bend of your shoulder, next to your first.

“Ngaytxoa [I’m sorry]”

A small cry from your quivering lips.

“S-Stop. No more apologies. I am yours to do what you p-please with.” You finally get out in one, weary breath.

Ralak’s languid, deep thrusts are laced with desperation. And with each stroke they become harsher and harsher. Faster and faster. Now he’s got your full permission he lets go once more, falling into the thick fog of his rut.

Within seconds his cock is pumping in and out of you, his half-deflated knot continuously prodding and poking at your entrance. The tip of his cock drags against your walls, putting an immense pressure right on your sweet spot. Yet still, sounds barely fall from your flushed lips. You’re too out of it. Too focused on the raw sensations rippling through you all at once. His overwhelming pheromones. His marking. His relentless pounding.

Rather, hot tears well over your eyes and stream down your face.

He can’t stop slamming himself inside you. He doesn’t want it to stop. It’s absolute rapture and he’s unapologetically drowning in it.

“Tanhì. Tanhì.” He groans needily. “y/n.”

He only says your name when he’s serious about something.

And hearing it drip from his tongue onto the nape of your neck has your hairs standing high and your clit throbbing.

“Eywa. Yes, ‘lak? T-Tell me what you need.” You blubber out, tightening your grip on his forearm.

“Haa — spread yourself.” He demands, prompting you to tuck your leg back as far as you can. His pace quickens, hips striking you with a sinful vengeance. But no matter how hard he fucks you, or how deep he buries himself inside you — its just not enough. He needs to be closer. To be deeper. To really be inside you. To knot you.

“More.” He grunts, slowing his thrusts into rocking, grinding himself inside your slippery, tight cunt.

You go to tug at your leg and meet nothing but resistance. “I-I’m trying.” You can feel it now. Perhaps it’s the bond or maybe it’s the way his knot is working you open but he’s growing more and more frustrated by the thrust.

“Mmmh. Wider.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You’re quick to answer, feeling nothing but pressure from the way he’s trying to shove more of himself inside you.

“Agh.” He growls in frustration, pulling out of you and grabbing you by the ankle to flip you onto your back.

Ralak situates himself between your legs without hesitation and pushes them so far back your knees graze against the tips of your ears. You can barely breathe in this position and are having a hard time seeing anything else but his raging cock at your entrance. You can feel the burn in your thighs from how far back he’s shoving your knees but that sting is masked by the pleasure of him plunging himself back into your pussy.

The moan that rips from your lips is obscene and like no other. The crown of his cock is drilling itself directly into your sweet spot, causing it to swell with unadulterated pleasure. And each time he pulls out just to sink it back inside you he winds you in the process – making you sputter out absolute nonsense. Even he knows you're close, despite being in the thick of his rut.

But frankly, he doesn't care.

All he’s concerned about is satisfying his own urges.

“Not enough.” He grits through his teeth as his eyes shift to an even deeper shade of mauve. “‘ts not enough.” He pants, voice laced with something of worry. Panic that this feeling won’t go away. It makes you panic too, wondering if you’re doing enough for him. If he’s going to take even more from you. If you can manage it.

“You’re okay. Do what you need.” You try to reassure him, grasping your feet and holding them back–opening yourself up even more. But fuck, that only made things worst for you.

And by worst, you mean better. It feels like you’ll burst any second now, especially with how much pressure is on your bladder. “Fu-ck me. God, fuck–ahaa-fuck me.”

His brows bunch together as he peers down at you, beads of sweat rolling off his face to drip onto your chest. His jaw is so tense it looks as if it may fracture. He’s grunting with every push and huffing with every pull.

“Right there! Fuck. I’m close. I’m so fucking close. I-I need you to cum i-inside me. Oh—please ‘lak. Please!” Your cries are choked and muffled, breaths short and raggedy. The heat pooling in your core is unbearable. It needs out. Now.

Ralak swallows. Hard. Through his own haze he can see that you’re in need too. He shuffles closer to you, tucking his feet under him to assume a squatting position. Now he’s all but on top of you, folding you into a merciless mating press. This one shift in position has you coming undone on his cock, coating it in your thick slick as you sob from the white hot pleasure. The force of your climax has you pushing him out and only has him drilling himself further inside you. If it’s not for the way your pussy walls tighten around him surely his knot would have popped inside you by now.

He’s still fucking into you, right through your orgasm and towards his.

“Say what you need.” He panics through a tightened jaw, grinding himself inside you – pushing his knot against the resistance.

You know what he’s actually asking from you. To say something. Anything to tip him over the edge. To rid him of this maddening itch.

“Breed me.” You whisper, locking eyes with him. You watch as his pupils blow into thin rings and then constrict into nothing but dots. You try to swallow what spit you could, attempting to clear your throat. “Breed me. Please.”

“Then take it.” He lets loose a sinister growl, putting all his weight into his final push. For the first time, you feel his knot pop inside you, veiny and as thick as can be. You let out a high-pitched whimper, and feel your teeth begin to chatter. That doesn’t make him ease up, though. He continues to grind himself inside you until you feel the familiar, warm sensation of his sticky seed spraying inside you – filling your womb to the brim. His cock throbs wildly, in perfect synchrony with his own heartbeat, and soon yours too as the bond equilibrates your souls once more.

Strangely, you thought you’d be sore and overstimulated by now, but your body has never felt better. You’re full and content and more than satiated. Ralak heaves a sigh — one of pure relief. It’s glued to his face. All panic washes away and he’s feeling more at peace the longer he remains inside you. He’s rigid, firmly holding his position on top of you — ensuring he empties every single drop inside you. Yet, his heavy lidded eyes begin to close.

“I can’t breathe.” You mumble, snapping him out of his tranquil trance. His eyes meet yours and the corner of his mouth pulls into a little smirk. He exhales a breathy chuckle and carefully manoeuvres you both into a more comfortable position. He settles himself on his back and supports your body whilst positioning you on top of him.

“Better?” Ralak husks, drawing circles into your back with the tip of his finger.

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs to full capacity and then slowly release it. “Much.”

“Nga yawne lu oer [I love you]” His accented words slur together as he dozes off.

“Nga yawne lu oer, Ralak [I love you].”

——

Ralak woke repeatedly throughout the night for his fill. If it wasn’t him, it was you. Waking up in a clammy state, shaking and nuzzling into his chest from your heat. You honestly thought that the more time passed — the more rounds you went — the more he would calm down.

But, you thought wrong.

He’d start by leaving tender kisses wherever he could, whispering he’d do his best to be as gentle as he can be. Then, he’d slip a finger inside you, stretching you out in attempts to pull his knot out without hurting you. But it would always sting, even just a little bit. After that he’d beg. Pleading with you to let him back in, and apologize right after plunging inside you regardless of your answer—which was always yes.

At this point your own foggy haze would take over. Perhaps it was your body’s way of coping with the overstimulation, but you pined for every single second of it. Sometimes it would last for a few minutes. Where he’d be quick to fold you in two and growl in the shell of your ear, ‘you’re mine, haah — fuck, take me’.

Sometimes it was closer to an hour. Where you’d both be so tired you’d take breaks, lazily taking turns fucking each other, telling him to ‘put it back in’ whenever he’d slip out. But one thing remained the same every time. You’d sob when you’d cum and then beg him to breed you. And he would, without a doubt, breed you.

Mercilessly.

And with each breeding, he’d lose himself a little deeper. Knotting you over and over. Marking you repeatedly until your body’s littered with bites. Until you were so fucked out you’d lost the feeling in your legs. Until your throat was so dry you could barely speak. Until you needed a break.

——

“Wait.” You crawl towards the bedside table with wobbly knees. “Just need some water, Lak.”

Ralak pounces on you, knocking you onto your stomach and pressing himself against you. You extend an arm out, fingers splayed out and shaking from you trying to reach the cup of water Ka’ani left there more than a day ago. Ralak grabs your hips and hoists you up onto your knees and elbows, and mounts you from behind.

“Water. Water, Lak.” You beg with a hoarse cry, only for him to line the crown of his cock up with your sopping cunt. He growls next to your ear as he stretches over you and reaches for the cup of water, filling his cheeks and putting it back down within a couple seconds. With a quick grip of your jaw, he turns your head and meets his lips with yours.

Before you can process what’s going on you’re gulping down water as fast as you can. And when he pulls away, you’re yet again met with the hazy eyes of his rut. That’s when it dawns on you that whilst your heat is coming to an end, his rut is only getting stronger.

Rather than looking away, he locks his gaze onto you, just so he can watch your face screw as he slams his cock inside of you in one, hard thrust. It works a sudden, breathy moan from your mouth, eyebrows pinching together from the stretch. He holds his position, basking in the warmth and tightness of your cunt as his breath goes shaky.

“Wait.” You mumble weakly, shoving a hand behind you to push against his lower stomach. “Please.”

For the first time, you were telling him to stop.

His jawbone flutters as his eyes search yours. Restraint plasters to his face, and the only audible thing is his heavy breathing. He nods. Just once. A firm and intentional nod. He swallows the residual water left in his mouth and tenderly pulls out of you. You hear the thud of his footsteps quiet down as he nears the marui door, and then the splash of the water when he dives into the rough sea.

It’s pouring outside.

Storming, actually. Thundering and lightning. Yet he feels this is the only way he’d be able to resist the urge to storm back in and fuck you. But the instinct to protect his mate, even if it’s from himself, is more than enough to give him the willpower to walk away.

You take this moment to just breathe, turning your head to face the plush bed beneath you as you gather your thoughts. Did he just show that much restraint? Enough to walk away from a female na’vi during her heat cycle… all whilst in the height of his own rut cycle?

“Lekye’ung [insane]” You mutter, using your trembling hand to grab and bring the cup to your lips. They, too, are sore and chapped. Having gone so many hours without any food or water, you knock it back, shaking the cup to get out every drop. Finished already? You think to yourself, looking inside the cup with hazed vision, confirming it’s indeed empty.

After setting it back down onto the table, you slump back into the bedhead, relaxing your body. You’re sore. Actually, sore is an understatement. Every single muscle and fiber in your body burns—and that isn’t entirely due to your heat either now that it’s finally subsiding. Perhaps you should be taking this time to have a look at your… condition, but you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

So you give in, sinking further and further into the bed as you doze off.

—

A few hours go by and Ralak returns with a net of fish thrown over his shoulder and a bucket of fresh water perched on his hip. He carefully sets down the bucket and rests the net next to the fire pit. He’s cautious not to wake you, nor come too close to you. Ralak ignites the fire and fans the flame. As quietly as possible, he prepares and cooks the fish, setting them aside to wrap in the leaves of a spartan tree.

Since coming to Awa’atltu, one of your biggest adjustments—despite the obvious—has been your change in diet. Fish weren’t uncommon back home, but they certainly weren’t the main source of food. You prefer the other foods here, your favourite being what you call ‘inland boar’, which is an animal that resembles what your father calls a ‘pig’ from his star.

But not even that, (boar) could smell better than this (fish).

The aroma alone rouses you from your sleep.

Your eyes open to a dark room and a glowing fire pit. The fire is out but the wood remains hot, shifting among different shades of orange and red. Ralak sits beside it, with his back leaning against the support beam of the pod. His arms are crossed over his chest and his knees are slightly bent. It’s hard to see more than just his silhouette with the lack of moonlight.

“That smells good.” You rasp. Ralak’s eyes fly open to reveal a familiar shade of deep blue. Like the sea. They glow and flicker before you, examining you now that you’re sitting up out of bed.

Crack.

A bolt of lightning strikes in the distance, illuminating the room. For a moment, you were able to see every single bike mark, scratch and bruise you’ve given him. It also reveals that he’s shaking. Trembling from being wet and cold, or possibly from the strain he was putting himself through from just being in the same room as you.

Ralak moves quickly, shuffling to his feet and going right for the leaf that holds a few sloppily rolled fish. He brings it to you, setting it slowly on your lap, being overly cautious not to touch you. Grabbing your cup on the table, he dunks it in the bucket and sets it beside you.

“Eat.” He whispers, backing away to sit next to the pit. You watch as he slides down the beam and into a sitting position, and then glance down at your food. Saliva pools in your mouth from the aroma wafting up your nose.

You’re hungry.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, hastily stuffing an entire roll into your mouth.

You moan as you chew, nodding your head from how good it tastes. It’s hard to swallow, given that you bit off more than you could chew—literally—but when it finally goesdown you feel your stomach grumble for more. Ralak watches you intently. A wince screwing his face with every swallow he witnesses. And when you finish, you chug down your water and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Another crack of lightning strikes, and then a low, lengthy rumble of thunder follows.

“That was… one of the best you’ve made, lak.” You say with a wobbly smile, slowly getting on your feet to wash your hands. The bucket is nearby your mate, who is still fixed in position. Although he remains unmoving, his eyes follow your every move. You shake your hands to dry them and shuffle over to Ralak and sit next to him.

“so… how do you feel?” You ask quietly, raising your hand to check if he’s feverish. He turns his head before your hand can make contact with his skin and his gaze locks onto the charred wood in the fire pit.

“Fine.” Ralak mutters.

Eyebrows pinching in confusion, you tilt your head to try and look him in the eye. Your brows relax when you come to the realisation that he’s already taken care of himself. And only Eywa knows how many times.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I would have—”

“Ma’ muntxate [my wife]”He croaks, swiftly turning his head to look directly into your eyes. “Oeru txoa livu [please forgive me].”

“Txoa? [forgive?] What for, ma’ muntxatan? [husband]”

“I have… neglected you.” He’s struggling to speak. You can hear it in the strain of his voice.

Regardless, none of his words are really making any sense to you right now. How has he been neglectful? Despite the circumstances, it’s obvious he’s been trying his hardest to be good to you. Somehow, even conjuring up the strength to pull out of you and walk away.

“Ralak. You have not. Please, I—”

“Look at yourself.” He snaps, taking a quick glance at your body before dropping his head in his hands.

Crack.

Conveniently, another strike of lightning and boom of thunder, revealing exactly what he’s talking about. For a few seconds, you’re met with the sight of your battered body—scabbed and bruised. You lift your head, staring at his shameful demeanour. But the more you stare, the more you see your own reflection.

“And have you looked at yourself?” Your words bounce as you shuffle closer to him. “I bet you can’t even feel all that damage I’ve done to you.” You coo, using your thumb to gently graze past an easy six-inch scratch mark on his bicep. “I haven’t been so gentle with you either.”

Ralak shakes his head, allowing it to sink further into his hands. “You were starved.” He mumbles into the palms of his hands.

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin in the dip between them. Your eyes wander over to the fire pit, catching sight of the outline of a few fish rolls.

Has he really punished himself by not eating?

“Have you eaten?” You ask, resting a gentle hand on his back.

“No need.”

“You should, you know. Don’t want you starving on me, lak.” You say lightheartedly, allowing your hand to slide up his spine and to the base of his skull.

He lets loose a quiet groan, fighting the twitch of his ears. Your fingers smooth over the base of his kuru, playing with the braid encasing that covers it. “If you do that—”

“Do what?” You whisper coyly, quickly running your hand down the length of his kuru.

His spine immediately straightens, his head lifting from his hands. The tips of your fingers gently make their way to his tendrils, carefully teasing them as they try to wrap around your digits. He sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, allowing a shiver to run through him. It feels like your fingers were inside his skull, tickling his brain in the best way possible.

Reaching for your kuru with your free hand, you bring it up and over your shoulder. You lean into Ralak, your lips only inches away from his. You pull away your fingers to grip and pull his queue forth. The loss of contact has him sitting up straight, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I will not let you suffer alone.” You whisper, lessening the distance between the two of you, tilting your head to the side ever so slightly. He stills himself, even limiting his own breath so as not to make any sudden moves. “Okay?”

You wait for just a moment. For him to say something. To move away. But he remains stock-still, waiting for you to initiate this. You smile, your top teeth briefly rubbing against this lower lip, and lock your lips with his. He exhales through his nose, coming to life from your kiss and returning it full force. You take this as a good sign. A sign that you’ve broken through that wall once again, and bring your kurus together — making tsaheylu [the bond].

Both your eyes fly open, blown pupils staring into one another as your spirits unify. You both pull back, shoulders and chests heaving from your quick, unsteady breaths. You feel all that he feels – the frustration, the panic, the tension. It’s all fading, now finally nearing the end. He feels your subsiding heat, your soreness, your overpowering urge to care for him.

Before another second could pass, your lips crash into each other again—tongues intertwining as they explore one another’s mouth. Using his hand to support your upper back, he slowly lowers you onto the woven floor, parting your legs with his free hand. He situates himself between them, pressing his crotch firmly against yours. He’s warm, just like the toasty fire pit next to you.

I will try to be gentle. Ralak thinks to you, just like he’s been promising to be night after night.

I know you will. You smile, moving your kisses down his jawline as he slides his hands between your sticky pelvises.

——

It hasn’t even been two full weeks since the synchronous heat that had you and your mate locked away in your marui pod for a little over two days. Your back and thighs–and honestly everywhere else– still ache but outside of that, you feel like a brand new person. You weren’t able to confidently say that Ralak feels the same way, however.

Of course, he was adamant on limiting intimacy until you were ‘healed and recovered’. But, he had a bounce in his step. As if he were physically lighter. As if the weight of six years of pent up sexual frustration and self neglect melted off his back when you satiated the ‘insatiable’.

The constant aftercare was almost sickening. Even after most of your marks had faded he remained adamant on treating them with your own omaticayan herbs from back home. He praised them at every use, thanking your people for making such exceptional ’umtsa [medicine].

But as you entered the second week, after tons of reassurance, things dissipated and went back to normal. Ralak went back to his usual routine—fishing, hunting, responding to a few calls to Tonowari and your father. Ralak, without a doubt, made a vow to you and himself not to initiate anything until you were more than healed. But nonetheless clung to you in the nights.

He even, in fact, added a new step into your usual nighttime regimen. As usual, it began with the snuggles and tucking you under his arm just right, providing you with enough warmth to endure the cool night air. Then, he would release the perfect amount of pheromones to get you drowsy enough for bed.

But recently, he’s spent the past seven nights delaying the nightly routine until he’s had his fill of your scent. He’d lay himself down on your chest, nuzzling his face into your bosom and just breathe. You allowed it, thinking it was his own newfound way to wind down for bed.

Yet, the real reason was much different.

——

Right on the two week mark, Tsireya had roped you in with helping her with some of her Tsakrem duties. You were always happy to help her though, as it meant getting away from the marui pod for a little even if it meant being poked and prodded at.

And it certainly didn’t take long for that to happen.

Tsireya lets out a frustrated sigh and plops the medicinal pouch she’s weaving in her lap. “I can no longer ignore it, y/n. You smell different.”

You lift your head, tearing your focus from your task of weaving and look at her with a puzzled expression on your face. You bring the end of your tail to your nose and sniff, but smell… nothing. “Like what?” Her brows lower and her eyes glisten with concern. She purses her lips and unsheathes the lengthy pin from its casing and grabs your hand. “Here we go.” You mutter to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the sting.

Prick.

“Sss—ah! You need to be careful with how deep you go with that, you know. You could really—” The tsahik in training puts the wooden stick to her tongue and stares at you wide eyed, mouth agape. It’s as if she wants to speak but the words are lodged in her throat. “What? What is it?”

“You—perhaps I am wrong.” She stutters, quickly sheathing the tool back into its casing. “You should see my mother, y/n.”

“What? Why? Just tell me.” The words come out in a haste, and your voice is laced with panic. Do you have some sort of disease of the sea? Is there a cure?

“You — you are with child.” Her lips tremble as she says the words in an uncertain tone of voice.

“What?” You stare at her dumbfounded, a little caught off guard by her choice of words.

“Pregnant. You’re pregnant. But I am likely mistaken. I am only in training. Which is why I said you should see my moth—”

“Oh. No. You’re… you’re probably right, Tsireya.” You swallow the spit pooling in your cheeks, avoiding eye contact.

“H-How? I mean. I know how. But how? Surely Ralak knows not to do such a thing during your heat. He can control himself. R-Right?”

“Right. If I were the only one… in heat.” You say the last few words under your breath, fixing your shawl before picking back up your task.

“What do you mean?” Tsireya leans in with a tilted head, looking a little closer at your covered shoulder. “Did you help him with his rut?” Tsireya asks bluntly. “He’s been unmated for six years, y/n. Did you reall—”

“I am his mate. Of course I did.” You nearly snap, baffled by the tone she’s having with you.

“H-How did that even work?” Tsireya shakes her head, slowly raising her hand towards you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You finally lift your head to shoot her a puzzled, yet offended stare. “It worked like it would for any other Na’vi.”

“Y/n…” Tsireya quickly grabs your shawl, pulling it off your shoulder to reveal a large, deep and scabbed up bite mark. It looks almost infected because of the strange omaticayan herbal concoction smeared over it. “You should have just let him ease you into it. Look at you, you’re all bruised and—”

“Tsireya.” You interject, “thank you for the concern, but—” you aggressively pull up your shawl, “I feel just fine. Besides, being in heat was the best way to ‘ease me into it’…He was as gentle as he could be.” You mutter, twiddling with the twine as you think back to the way he tried to handle you with care.

“By the looks of it, he was anything but gentle with you.” Tsireya seethes, angry that the man she grew up looking at like a brother would do something like this to you.

You wince at her words. They’re like a knife to the heart.

A long, awkward silence fills the space between you and Tsireya. She reflects on everything she’s said, realising that perhaps she was a little more harsh than needed. She softens her gaze, “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I just hate seeing you hurt.”

“I get it. I know you’re just looking out for me. It’s alright, ‘reya.”

You exchange lighthearted smiles.

“You are definitely pregnant then. After six years, he must have really filled you—”

“Tsireya!” You laugh, giving her shoulder a light shove.

Tsireya’s grin morphs into a more serious expression. “See mother to make sure. Okay?”

Your smile also fades into something softer as you nod your head in agreement. “Okay.”

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ollyissleepy · 8 months ago

Text

𝟎𝟔.𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

a/n: was is supposed to come out on monday? yes. is it coming out on wednesday because I was too busy playing new dlc for the sims 4? also yes. cw: none?

← prev. | m.list | next →

Ongoing Call

3:02:38

"For someone who plays video games for a living, you're really bad at them," (name) teased upon seeing yet another 'you won' screen. "Don't tell me you letting me win is your way of flirting."

"Nah, I'm just not playing it that much." Kenma said, glancing at the other monitor to stare at the call screen, hoping that one day the silly character (name) has as their profile picture would be replaced as their actual face. "I'm a little rusty, that's all."

"You could've just said so. We could play something else," but he didn't; hearing (name) getting all cocky after every win made his heart skip a beat or two.

"And watch you lose for the past hours? That'll bore even me." Kenma hoped his voice didn't sound too weird, like it tends to do when he's nervous around someone.

"You're cocky for someone who drunkly confessed his undying love for me in front of thousands of people," (name) chuckled while starting another round.

"Yet here you are, still talking to me," Kenma confirmed the character he'll be playing and waited for the game to start.

"Gotta give some attention to sore losers too, y'know?" (Name) teased also watching the loading screen. "Anyway..."

Kenma tried really hard to focus on the words that left (name)'s mouth, but his mind kept going back to their comment on the way he confessed. The guilt was building up in his stomach, knowing that (name) didn't ask for this. If he was just a bit more careful, they wouldn't have to worry about what his fans would do. And yes, he did ask them to back off, but he's been a streamer for long enough. He knows that it probably worked only on the more sane viewers; the rest of them probably still try to find out who he was talking about. Kenma was aware that he might be putting (name)'s safety in danger. He worried that finding out the name they go by on social media might not be enough for some of them. WHat they'll try and leak their face or worse, doxx them.

"So what do you think?" (Name's) question brought Kenma back to reality; he was so lost in his head that he for a minute forgot about the fact that the person he worries so much about is literally on a call with him right now.

"Kenma? You still there?" (Name) asked again, confused why he's not responding. They quickly check their internet connection, wondering if it's the issue with their wifi.

"What? Yeah, I am. Sorry about that. I'm just tired." Kenma felt horrible making up excuses like that, but it was the only thing that he could come up with on the spot without admitting that he was just overthinking.

"You should've said so! Go and rest. I won't be keeping you up any longer." Both of them said their short goodbyes.

What (name) wasn't aware of is that Kenma ended up staying awake until late hours of the night, thinking if getting to know them was the right move. He thought for so long that he started to believe that it wasn't.

Block @(nickname)?

yes no

@sunsribn @starssfall @cherryblossomy @vaedotcom @bae-ashlynn @theweirdfloatything @strawbrinkofdeath @scinclaitnoir @kodzubaby @shi-toshi @madiexuberant @fiannee @giocriedpower @moucheslove @3lectraheart @defnotciara @miruac

#kenma x reader #kozume kenma x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu fanfiction #kenma x you #hq kenma #kenma x y/n #hq x reader #hq smau #hq fluff #hq fic #timeskip kenma #hq timeskip

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livingdeadmlm · 2 years ago

Note

saw MK on your list i am clicking my heels and bursting into song. a kung lao fic would be awesome. i feel like no one gives him the attention he deserves

I LOVE KUNG LAO hes so silly I'm a little rusty with MK characters but I'm using what i remember from the games since i played it as a kid

Ill do some SFW and NSFW hcs of dating kung lao a mix of modern day hcs and in game hcs

SFW

What a cutie am I right? he knows it and you know it so he uses that to his advantage.

He likes to say some weird shit and when you ask about it he just looks at you confused

"Did you let in the grass light morning?"

What did you say?"

"??? Nothing babe what are you talking about?"

dinner dates ooooo

Going out to eat and cooking together he considers a good date

In the modern age, he definitely is a gym goer and loves to go to Planet Fitness to set off the lunk alarm. You don't have to work out yourself but if you go with him he tries to show off more than usual hoping that you'd throw some praise his way.

Either has the latest phone or the oldest one known to man no in between

in-game you are his assisted fighter and have a duo fatalities. kinda like In Eyes of Heaven

matching accessories can be bought for the two of you.

calls you baby girl even if you're a guy.

thinks about you all the time at work and how he can't wait to get home and eat and lay down with you

he flirts with you in public places like he's a stranger and you are the lead in a romcom

people in the shop staring as it seems like a romance blossoming before them but it's less interesting when they see once again it is Kung lao flirting with the same man as many times before

NSFW

He believes in fairness so you best believe that both of you leave satisfied no matter what.

Probably not much experience to be had out on the farms but man does he get the hang of everything quick

Head game goes crazy, He is scarily good at it and loves doing it as well

He is not into hitting or anything, he doesn't like the idea of actually hurting each other.

Tug his hair though that's his one exception

He understands taking things slow and will most of the time but at the start of the relationship he gets pretty excited fast and is really hansy grabbing at your hips, legs, and ass like you'll vanish once he lets go

occasionally he still gets that way but has some more self-control

kinda likes getting frisky in risky places and alleyways and when there are people up and walking around in a shared place

his adrenaline spikes but never goes all the way, he insists that that's too far.

if there is distance he sends nudes for sure

with shitty camera quality, he means well and sends them seriously but its hard to keep the mood up when all you have is an 8-bit photo to work with

When you've been on top he has placed his hat on your head, strokes his pride to see it on you while you're enjoying yourself

Probability a Power bottom

#male reader #mortal kombat x male reader #Kung lao x male reader #Kung lao x nb reader #M!Reader #x male reader

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broareweabouttoviberightnow · 4 months ago

Text

that was then this is now second half notes!! (spoilers ahead!!)

mark poutin out the window at Cathy. it really ain't an se Hinton work until there's a brother whose real possessive over his siblings huh (pony n steve beef, rusty james n Cassandra, now mark n cathy)

also off topic but the poster for this actuay goes insanely hard. emilo served.

bryons hair is SO big

'I baked this for u n Mark! it's carrot cake!' mark, from deep in the house somewhere 'I HATE carrot cake' 'guess marks feelin better'

it's been ONE day. the mark cathy beef is insane. yall JUST met.

'she gone yet?' 'yeah' 'man somebodies gotta teach that girl to COOK. n FAST! heheh' guys I fear he's actually kinda funny

wait a damn minute. the equivalent to Charlie gettin drafted in this movie is? his girlfriend turnin him down? hm. I don't know how I feel about that.

aough. hmm OK. the parallels from Charlie n Debbie to mark n bryon. ok. hmm. 'you think you know somebody. they love you the same way you love them. but. nothin... where's your partner?' OUGH. those two lines back to back. aough. brotherly love. hmm.

the way the mark is so soft with bryons mom actually makes me sick. aoughhhh.

'how'd u do that?' 'fight.' 'didya win?' 'not exactly' 'not at all' guys the writin for these boys is actually so funny to me. like. that's siblin behavior. aough.

what the fuck is this fit for bryon. ugly. long sleeve shirt n? an unbuttoned baseball jersey? bad.

the fact that Mark is always gigglin at his own jokes. I love that kid actually.

two bit n this kid would actually get along. let me say that. like the overlap there is insane.

mark wackin m n m with rolled up poster.

MARKS BLEACHED EYEBROWS???

Charlie takin the tab for bryons coke from marks change. hmm.

marks just always sittin on shit n kickin his feet man. also bryon playin all the pool n Mark just bein the hype man. real funny to me.

mark callin out for bryon. aough. the little like half sob noise he makes. aoughhhh.

AOUGH. Mark goin straight for the gun n bryon goin straight for Charlie. AGH. their character thesis in a scene. OUGH. it makes me SICK.

marks little 'what? *sob* what?' but never lettin go of the gun. ohhh. ok. cool. no no no. cool man.

cool cool cool. Mark at Charlie's grave rockin himself. yeah. alright. cool. ridin the bus home alone. sittin across the street from Charlie's bar. yeah. ok man. eatin dinner alone? I'm gonna be sick.

mark leavin n bryon immediately takin his place. I dunno. somethin somethin about changin places. somethin abiut stayin n goin

THEIR KITCHEN DRAPES ARE SO CUTE

if I had a nickel for everytime an se Hinton character was in the paper for witnessin a tragedy n were praised for their heroics I'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

mark is literally the unemployed friend. love his crazy ass.

why the FUCK did bryon invent m n m n MARK on his date. mama. what is this line up.

Mark gettin outta the car just to sock some guy in the face you will always be famous to me.

*mark n cathy beefin* 'can I get a hamburger? can I PLEASE get a hamburger' actually wait im gonna make somethin

'do u want any fries?' 'did I ask for fries buddy?' 'no:(' 'then no fries'

'how come you never buy us frosted flakes?' 'cause sugar makes children hyper' *thirty seconds later* mark 'how come you never buy us frosted flakes?' ur honor they are siblings

Cathy's such a good sister actually. n bryon does not give a FUCK. 'bryon ur the only one that seems worried' *blank vacant stare*

bryon mark have like a Steve n soda esque relationship if they were WAY more toxic.

the way bryons mom n Mark care for each other I am SICKKK

mark has so much. like. restless anxious energy in him. I actually need to study him like a bug.

I feel like I'm watchin a shit romcom where the whole movie I feel like yellin JUST COMMUNICATE! JUST FUCKIN TALK TO EACH OTHER! JUST TELL HIM THAT UR FEELIN LEFT OUT! JUST TALK!

marks lil smile he draws on the window aw

marks drivin stresses me tf out. good lord. it REALLY ain't a se Hinton movie until a teenage boys drivin stresses me tf out so bad.

mark is always side eyein whatever girl happens to be with bryon at the time. man is SO jealous.

angela. my baby. she's actually kinda sweet. like. hmm. no they definitely deserve tim to beat the ever lovin fuck outta them.

'sometimes I feel like I just wanna cut it short' n Mark reachin up to touch his cut? oh. that is the eyes of a man thinkin about cuttin somethin else short for her

angela shepard. I love you actually. n I'm sorry. I've been won over. my poor poor baby. both her brothers are in jail. n she's all alone. augh. my baby. look mark ily but I hope tim breaks ur fuckin jaw man.

bryon why the FUCK are u just sittin there. mama speak UP. u ain't gonna cut all of it are ya? STOP HIS ASS U STUPID BITCH!

wait short hair angela kinda serves. can't keep a hot bitch down.

mark helpin him get his socks off aww

bryons line 'he tries to help us out n look what happened to him' REAL reminiscent of dallas' 'so that's what you get for helpin people huh'

'why'd ur dad shoot ur ma?' WOAH. goddamn u can't just cold open with that.

the rain gradually pickin up as Mark talks about his parents death. aough. that whole monolouge makes me sick actually.

'ain't nobody on my side has those eyes. no on urs neither' HES GOT BLUE EYES YEAH? dog. I'm pushin my mark n dallas are siblings agenda again. I'm sorry. (actually in the book he's got golden eyes but in the movie he's got blue. so. there)

since it's the 80s not the 70s what is m n m? like? a crack addict?

what the fuck is this v neck situation for bryon. why is mark always servin n bryon is always in some ugly ass shit.

sorry I was so focused on his ugly shirt I missed their entire fight. but marks dialouge there is so important to me. 'I just don't like to see ya judgin people' 'fine it's OUR problem' ough. Mark.

TIM?? IS THAT FUCKIN TIM??? HOLD ON WAIT HOLD ON A SEC. uh. hmm. well. I was expectin more. but alright. also there's? three of them? tim. curly. n mystery man. are they tryin to tell me there's four of them? cause that cannot be right. maybe I'm misreadin this. but the way the dialouge goes it sorta implies they're all siblings. tim curly angela n this man they pulled up with.

curly n tim bein protective of angela is so so so important to me. shepards you could never be antagonists to ME. I love ya. n I support shepards rights n wrongs

HEY. DOG. I JUST REALIZED SOMETHIN. BRYON IS TO MARK WHAT JOHNNY WAS TO DALLAS. 'I don't wanna fight anymore. I'm sick of it. it never does any good.' HELLO??? N ALL MARK N DALLAS KNOW HOW TO DO IS FIGHT?? AOUGH

'how do u think this makes me feel?' THEYRE COMMUNICATIN!! also bryons fuck ass just got hit in the mouth accent I could NOT take his aas serious

they LOVE to do that behind the shoulder through the windshield shot that ALWAYS gives me motion sickness

m n m all pressed against bryons chest n bryon runnin a hand up n down his arm n playin with his hair AOUGH. my BABY.

why does bryon always just seem vaguely bored. there is a kid trippin balls n accusin ur brother of pushin pills in ur LAP. n he's sittin there like :/

oh cathy smacked the SHIT outta him. man was GAGGED.

the way bryon says he's sorry is just so distinctly different from how cathy says it. bryons is 'I'm sorry I said that'. n Cathy's is 'I'm sorry you can't see the truth' auogh.

godDAMN. Mark has a fuckin PHARMACY under his bed jesus CHRIST.

ik it's serious but bryon sittin in the chair in the dark with the pills is very much givin. n where the HELL have u been young man

Mark 'don't worry I don't take em. I'm fine just how I am' Jennings n Soda 'drunk on plain livin' Curtis NEED to have a conversation I fear.

mark. in that scene. he just. can't get it. ough. hmm. look. aough. his little 'goddammit bryon' 'I want you to leave' 'ok' AOUGH. he's? my baby actually.

'why you doin this to me brother?' 'you're not my brother' AOUGHHHHHH. AGHHH. OUGHHHH. WELL FUCK ME I GUESS AOUGHHH

I LOVE YOU BRYON???? OHHHH OK. OH ALRIGHT. YEAH. OK. FINE. ALRIGHTY. YEAH. OK.

how long mark hesitates before he hits bryon? I. am. SICK.

wait in this version bryon doesn't call the cops on mark? wait a goddamn minute. I have a bad feelin about this. why is this feelin. very dallas winston coded.

oh. thank God. Jesus christ. I thought that boy was gonna end up like Dallas. n I really couldn't take that again.

Angela's kinda givin Lydia with the short hair. she's kinda servin.

bryon does NOT deserve cathy. or to have peace. or to see the light of day actually. should be in a cave.

'what's it like in here?' 'if I told you what it was like you'd be sick' jesus fuckin christ IM gonna be sick what the FUCK did they do to my SON

HIS MOM IS STILL SENDIN HIM STUFF AOUGH

'like a friend once said to me, that was then. this is now.' 'who said that?' 'I dunno. some asshole.' DOG. TWIST THE KNIFE AROUND A LIL MORE. JESUS FUCKIN CHRIST.

BRYON FUCKIN RUNNKN FOR THE BUS. N LOOKIN AT THE CAR N THINKIN ABOUT MARK. OHHHH. OK.

jesus christ. this movie. huh. aough. ok. final thoughts. actually kinda liked the movie more than the book. which is CRAZY. n also brings the count of both movies I've EVER thought that about n se Hinton movies I thought that about up to two. now. controversial opinion. FUCK bryon. FUCK his bum ass. I feel like the movie made marks character WAY more sympathic. that is actually my son. n I am sick to my stomach. aough. ough

#guys #i have no notes on mark #like #thats my guy #n i am SICK to my STOMACH about him.#i love that fuckin boy #hes deserved the world #AOUGH #that was then this is now #twttin #mark jennings #bryon douglas #sodapop curtis #tim shepard #curly shepard #angela shepard #bros watchin #dallas winston

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stareiiez · 1 year ago

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𝑭𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 & 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅

-- seven

Leonard Church ( Epsilon) x Reader

Lavernius Tucker x Reader

note: GETUP RVB FANS I'm here to serve something that's been sitting here for two years. Who's ready for restoration??

content: angst. slow burn relationships. love triangle. potential character death. smut in later chapters. pining. hanahaki disease. blood. bodily fluids. female reader. dark topics are used here a lot. 2.1k words.

The once steady thump- thump- thump- of your heart shattered at the image of Church standing in front of you. His presence, short but broad nearly blended into the lilac-altering shades that were painted on Doc's walls. You blink, once, twice, thrice, four or five times until the burning of your lungs quells your brain to force oxygen to filter into your nose and down your esophagus.

Your lungs fill, expanding in your brittle ribcage that tickles against the lung sacs. The carbon monoxide you exhale sounds shaky as it flows out of parted, chapped lips. You can't help it, not one sense of you, for the most part, is stable in this situation. You can nearly see the small, rusty wheel cogs turning in his brain as his helmeted head flows from your ashen face to the flower sitting calmly in Doc's hand. The smell doesn't hit him, it can't hit him because he's an A.I.; well .... 'ghost' for the most part. Your stomach turns as his head tilts back to you once his vision is glued to the wilting flower. Its petals were curling inwards like the oxygen surrounding it was lethal and would only kill it the more exposure it got to it.

"Well?" after a beat of silence, he speaks up again. His voice nearly makes you flinch, but with Doc by your side, you can't do much but slowly press your weight into his forearm armor. "What's with the flower? Actually, fuck that, what are you two talking about?"

His feet, soundless against the hard steel floor, take three steps to the two of you. His head tilts back and forth between the plant to yours, slowly turning, ashen face. You can only blink, sometimes you don't even dare to break the shocked eye contact you have with the pale gold visor of Church's helmet. "I'm waiting." His voice drips in sarcasm, and the heady impatience in the underlying tone of his words are only magnified when his hands are planted on his hips.

Doc clears his throat, his hand instantly curling around the flower in his bare palm. His nose wrinkles at the feel of the velvety soft petals crumbling and growing damp and squishy in his fist. "She was just showing me the first real flower that she managed to grow out here. Who knew stale old cave water could grow marvelous things! "

Church turns his scrutinizing gaze away from you just long enough to have his pale eyes look Doc up and down slowly. So slow in a way like he's trying to read out every single cell in the medic's body. "I didn't know you were into flowers, Doc."

The latter throws Church a smile, one that looks so nervous and not genuine, but he's trying his damn best to get all eyes off you and your borderline panic attack. "Sure! Botonology was going to be my new major if I didn't get immediately accepted into med school and shipped out here. Donut even offered to help me run my little flower shop when we get back home after this cruddy war." Doc stutters nervously, his cheeks flushing at the vain attempt to lie his way smoothly towards Church.

If you were in any right mind, you would have had a mark of your palm in the middle of your forehead from how hard you would have facepalmed. Instead, you can only breathe, count to ten in your whirring head, and try to come back to reality as fast as humanly possible. Your head tilts and catches the glint of light that bounces off Church's visor. He hadn't even been listening to whatever bullshit Doc spewed out of his mouth. He was busy watching you, studying, trying to figure out why you looked so tense and why your chest hadn't moved since the first moment he had even appeared in the room.

"Can I talk to you for a moment--" Church reaches for you, his fingers don't even have the chance to grasp at you because you're moving your arm away from his transparent touch. "Alone."

"Are you kicking me out of my room? You can't do that! I'll tell Sarge and he will . . . he'll come to yell at you and ---"

"It's fine, Doc." Your voice breaks the nearly growing ramble that leaves Doc's mouth, his cheeks are red and his glasses are growing just a tad hazy from how much he speaks. "It'll be fine."

Doc blinks, mouth snapping shut with the loudest clack of his molars striking against each other in abrupt shock. He blinks twice or three more times until he scurries out of the room. Your eyes faintly trail after the back of Doc's head. He doesn't have time to even turn back to you and offer some silent look of support before the sliding doors have closed and locked behind him. Church's part, how he hasn't grown aware he can hack into the ' mainframe ' of Red Base and manipulate objects by his will is a shock. The idiot has grown smarter. Your head tilts. The corner of your mouth lits in a soft curve upwards, shoulders shrug and you silently have one moment of smug to yourself. Shocker.

However, that feeling goes away when Church swims into your vision and his visor is locked onto your eyes. You knew his own were trained on you. The light color of his irises would be trying to drink your expression in. Figuring out emotions and trying his fucking best to start up a conversation. If he wasn't dead he would have approached you like some fucking feral animal that was backed into a corner, fear in its eyes and ready to pounce on whoever was there to help it.

You probably look like that feral animal. You haven't bathed in a couple of days ever since your coughing fits have turned into full-on vomit moments of colorful flowers. You couldn't sleep. Nightmares of drowning on dry land while blood and flower vines would seep from your nose and open mouth, your eyes would roll back and be poked out by sharp rose thorns that would rapidly creep from your body.

It was like hell on earth, and for some reason, Church was your Lucifer.

"Are you starting some kind of garden with Doc in the caves? You know they're used for Tucker to masturbate in right?" Church quips, his voice breaking the short moment of silence between you two.

"Do you think I care what Tucker does on his own?" More importantly, do you care about what he sexually does on his own? No. No, you don't.

"More importantly did you just decide to pop up because of my little 'garden adventures' with Doc, or is there something else you needed." Your voice sounds snappy. The longer he is here, standing around like he's the second dumbest person on the fucking planet. The more you start to ache.

Nausea smacks you around nearly as fast as the rate Church's hand tries to reach for your own. To hold and caress in that soft little way he used to do. For someone that was such a bitch boy. Who whined, complained, and threw temper tantrums if things didn't go his way or his team brought him to temperamental suicidal thoughts. He could always melt some of you into his open palm like putty.

Some part of you yearns for that feel of warm skin on your skin. Nerves fizzle, your skin twitches and you swear you nearly close your eyes just when you're about to picture a smooth palm grace your fingers. Hell, you would even take his hand to your cheek. A soft hand, fingers brushing against your cheekbone. Those same fingers tangling into your hair or brushing a strand away from your features. Your nose twitches briefly and you nearly hallucinate the smell of gunpowder, metal, and faint cologne. It smells like Tucker.

Your eyes blink the unfocused look you have in your colored orbs. The temporary daydream you have about the one fucking man who touched you, and not managed to have flowers sprout in your lungs, has ended. What you could have pictured as smooth and soft pale-colored skin was replaced and shifted back to the see-through baby blue of Church.

It's disappointing. Not only disappointing but it's weird how desperate the human body is when they crave physical contact or warmth. Your own body has you craving Tucker rather than the man who's trying to figure out what in the hell is wrong with you. It seemed like if you could close your eyes once again, really squeeze them shut, and pretend like Church didn't even exist in front of you, you could imagine the rich and earthy tones of Lavernius Tucker.

What the fuck.

Instead, Church is standing in front of you, concern etched in his eyes behind the visor of his helmet, and it's only growing more in the zeros and ones that make up his pupils. A sharp inhale leaves your lungs. You wish you could crumble the same way as the way the flower folded so easily against Doc's palm. You wanted to be ended rather than deal with the sharp questioning eyes of your situation.

"I'm concerned about you, and I never get concerned about anyone. You should be lucky." You couldn't help the scoff that leaves your bleeding lungs. Well, soon to be bleeding lungs.

"Except for Texas, glad I share the same area of concern with an old flame." Church flinches, his digital frame laps in the way those fuzzy vertical lines ran over an old TV screen. Nostalgia.

"It's different with you. You don't infest my brain. You also don't beat the shit out of me whenever I breathe too loud next to you." A smile would crack behind his visor if he could muster it. It's forced at best, just to try and ease the scowl you have on your face. " Just---- . . are you, healing? Feeling better? We can call someone if Doc isn't help-"

"NO." You bark. The thought of involving more people in your disease is the nightmare you wish not to experience. The UNSC would take you under the knife and scalpel. They'd treat you like some freakish science experiment and run tests before they ever attempt to find some cure for you. They'd make you worse before they decided to be humane enough to make you feel better.

"No, I'm okay. Besides it's only been a couple of days at least, I'll heal. Besides you get worse before you get better, right?" Your voice softens around the edges. It's a sign that has Church exhaling heavily like he, himself, was in your shoes and stressed behind compare. His frame wanders closer, golden visor tilting to look closer at you.

"Right. Well enough of asking about you, aren't you going to give a fuck about me and my travels as being a full-on ghost?" The tension between you two drastically shifts, it's a lot lighter now that the subject changed. It's accepted quickly, you don't have it in you to be mad he's back to his old selfish self once again. Your mouth tilts up into a small smile.

Lungs wetly rattle with a chuckle you grant him. If 'ghosts' could experience warmth from somewhere in their cores; Church would feel it. He'd give anything to feel the small flutter in his heart again whenever he witnessed the soft crinkles in your eyes and nose when you laughed because of him. Tex never laughed around him like you did. It was always rough and demeaning when she laughed at him. Your laugh was a drink of water for a man who didn't know he was dying of thirst. Something something, poetic bullshit. He just liked it when you lit up in amusement around his presence. That's all.

"Let me hear it. Tell me all about where you've been and if you've scared the shit out of anyone that deserves it." Your eyes soften in the corners as you focus your gaze on his armor. The walls that were surrounding you have lowered enough to let your shoulders lower from around your ears. The knots that have formed in your neck and back ache less now when you two settle into your banter back and forth like you used to when Church prattles on about his adventures in his 'haunts' around Blood Gulch.

It feels perfectly normal for the first time in what feels like forever.

#red vs blue #rvb #rvb tucker #lavernius tucker #rvb x reader #leonard church x reader #leonard church #doc dufrense #rvb doc #flower petals and blood #rvb church x reader #rvb church #rvb fic

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siryouarebeingmocked · 2 years ago

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Someone recently claimed that the new Davies era of doctor who has no more wokism* than the show used to.

Now, maybe I've just changed in the past few decades, but from what I've heard of the 60th anniversary specials it does seem a tad more concentrated. Cherry-picking SPOILERS, sweeties.

- Donna got married offscreen. To what I can only assume is the last black cab driver in London.

- Her kid is trans. Specifically, non-binary, female presenting, says the wiki.** - In the next episode, we learn the Doctor is gay/bi when he thinks Sir Isaac Newton is hot. I'd smugly say this bit has no real relevance, but...the actual scene does carry the episode theme of accidentally changing reality. It's just the queer bit that seems tacked on. Though it does carry forward themes from 10s era. - Sir Zack himself is played by a half-Indian actor. It's not exactly hard to tell. I'm assuming they're running on Bridgerton logic. https://twitter.com/frozenaesthetic/status/1731332492282429950 - This episode is basically just Donna and the Doc exploring a weird location, and running into monsters, who happen to look like them. It would be a bottle episode, except for the large vfx budget. And yet ol' Rusty somehow managed to awkwardly wedge in an progressive issue. - In the next episode, the villain explains how he's just exploiting the divisions that already exist in human society, including cancel culture. - no wait he's got a point. Jpg - This is ironic, given that Davies and/or his broadcasting house masters are pretty blatantly on the team that a) coined the word, b) cancels people the most often, and c) defends the idea of Internet lynch mobs*** (***as long as they're left wing. If not, they're *ist "trolls", even if they're just complaining about the latest sacred cow.) Maybe the Davies was criticizing his own team. * Because the Toymaker was kind of racist back in the day (white dude dressed like a stereotypical Chinese dude), Davies made the new version a bit racist "as a callback to his original, problematic depiction back in 1966." - TVtropes, ref. DW Unleashed. On the other hand, the Toymaker also mocks and dresses as several other cultural archetypes. All the ones I've seen were white European ones. He just does this to everyone, apparently. - Toymaker also weaponizes the Spice Girls hit "Spice Up Your Life". No, I will not explain. Though I will note that a line about the "Yellow man in Timbuktu" was apparently drowned out in the episode. Probably for being a tad spicy. - One new UNIT character is a lady in a wheelchair. When the new Tardis - no, I will not explain - has a wheelchair ramp, she happily points it out. Which makes me wonder why the blue box would be so limited, considering it often deals with alien species. - Also, the same actress played a disabled Companion in the Big Finish audio dramas. I'm not sure why it was considered essential to do so in an entirely audio format, but there have been controversies over this sort of thing before (EG Artie on Glee, various racial voice acting controversies). - At this point, casting Ncuti Gatwa as 15 doesn't even register. Not really a blip on my radar. Black Doc? Whatevs. His sonic screwdriver has Rwandan words on it? So? I go to church with lots of Africans. Heck, I'm a black immigrant to ol' Blighty myself, just from the other side of the pond. Ncuti is, chronologically speaking, more British than I am. - Though given that he's Rwandan-Scottish, there may be some debate on the "British" part. - Wikipedia says the actor is pretty left-wing, but the actor seems good so far, so I'm willing to give him a sha-

Oh, come ON!

Maybe the original person speaking was comparing it to the Chibnall “history has always been a whitewash” era, which had a character who was a paper thin Trump satire. A tad ironic, when the whole point of bringing Davies, Tennant, and Tate back is to play on nostalgia.

*Tangent: that word was apparently voted the most annoying words in English. Which is kind of hilarious if you know that it was originally created to self-describe certain progressives. And the "you can't even define that word!" meme was almost certainly ripped off from the right wing "what is a woman?" Meme. ** This is apparently because she's part Time Lord, through Donna. It seems a tad interesting to me that a few works featuring non binary characters happen to make them enby due to some sort of supernatural (Omniscient Reader) or sci-fi (SW Squadrons) influence which the vast majority of IRL enbies don't have. ...As far as I know.

#doctor who

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klausinamarink · 1 year ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! for your prompt i'd love to see how you do Steve with the prompt "And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here someday burns down" because its just too perfect hfdkaslhfdkl maybe hes explaining some of this trauma (to whichever character you'd like) maybe hes just getting a good yell out about it

It was stupid to be outside at this hour when half of Hawkins was raining ash and the other half was crumbling from the abyssal veins in the earth. But Jonathan was suffocating from staying inside Hopper’s cabin and listening to the endless strategy plans for so long that he was almost willing to taste the ash on his tongue. Let them sit inside his mouth and wait for the rot to spread across his jawline and skull and maybe he could finally breathe.

Despite this tempation, Jonathan still wore his mask. He also brought his rusty pipe wrench and flare gun just in case. He wasn’t that stupid.

At first, he wandered aimlessly. Walked between the boundaries of the trees and the still-flat roads. Then Jonathan went further into the woods and eventually found himself just at the edge of the junkyard.

Before he could turn around and head back to the cabin, a sound made him pause.

Thud. Thuck. Thud. Thuck.

Despite the sirens going off in his head, Jonathan brandished his pipe wrench and slowly stalked forward.

As he rounded closer to the source of the noise, Jonathan thought he could vaguely determine what it actually was. It was definitely metallic. Repetitive but slow. A little bit of tearing.

Like something hitting rhythmically at one of the rusty car doors.

As Jonathan hopped behind one pile to another, he could make out grunting noises too. Human, for sure.

Once he felt he was close enough, Jonathan slowly peeked over, holding back the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans.

It was a person. Judging from the broadness of the shoulders and torso, it was a man. He wore a dark camo jacket and pants that almost made him invisible. Jonathan watched with both caution and curiosity as the man swung an object over his shoulder and slammed it against a concave car door. It got stuck for a second, so the man ripped it out.

It was hard to see at first, but Jonathan knew the sight of a baseball bat with nails from anywhere.

He jumped out from his hiding spot and called out, “Steve?”

Steve did not stop or acknowledge Jonathan. He just kept hitting his bat over and over, his grunts growing audibly more ragged and watery. Jonathan suddenly remembered that Steve was fighting off a vicious cold.

Jonathan shouted this time, “Steve!”

Steve whirled around mid-swing, directing his nailbat in Jonathan’s direction. Much to his horror, Steve had his mask and protective eyewear missing.

Despite this, Steve greeted him casually like they were just passing by each other, “Oh, hey, Jonathan. What’s up?”

This threw Jonathan off. He looked over Steve from head to toe. Steve looked utterly disheveled with baggy bloodshot eyes, too-pale skin, and messy hair.

Everyone looked like that these days but Steve looked, well, shittier.

“Fine.” Jonathan said slowly, already calculating the time it would take to walk back with Steve in tow. “Are you-?”

“Perfect!” Steve interrupted with a too-wide grin. “Just fine too, really. You gotta be positive these days, ya’know?”

Steve threw his head back with a strained laugh that turned into a cough. It was enough for Jonathan to move his feet and grab Steve by the arm.

“Yeah, let’s get back to the cabin.” Jonathan pulled but Steve barely budged. When Jonathan looked back, Steve was still smiling but his stance was more defensive.

He laughed nervously, “Uh, why?”

Jonathan stared at him, “Dude, I don’t know where you lost your mask, but you still have a cold and-”

Steve laughed-coughed again, “Oh right, right! But, uh, you can just go back by yourself. I’ll catch up soon.”

Jonathan had a horrible thought. He did a double-take over Steve before he asked very slowly, “Steve, are you getting visions from Vecna?”

This time, Steve’s laugh was short and awfully genuine. “Nah, no way, dude. My skull’s too thick for him apparently.” Steve shook off from Jonathan’s grasp just to knock mockingly at his head, “I’m just Steve Harrington. The guy who goes through everything for those little shits but gets told to shut up, you’re an idiot for not knowing basic science, thank you very much, Henderson.”

Those last words were Steve just talking to himself as he examined his hand. Jonathan

“Okay, Steve, let’s just go. You’re still sick. You have no idea how bad it is to breathe in the Upside Down.”

“No idea.” Steve repeated slowly. Then he scoffed, “Yeah, of course I don’t have any idea about how gross monster air is like I hadn’t already walked through this shit twice, with and without protection.”

“Wait, you did?” Jonathan frowned, trying to remember from the previous Upside Down encounters. “I don’t think I had any idea-”

“Yeah, of course you don’t,” Steve suddenly spat at him so viciously that Jonathan stumbled back.

“You had no idea about the shit I went through even though you saw me beaten up again and again. Did you ask if I was okay? No, you just shrugged and never spoke to me. If you thought your shitshow at California was hard, then you have no idea what ours was like here.”

Steve jabbed a finger at Jonathan’s chest. “You never saw how Max had wrote these letters for us because she felt she would die anyway before we found a way to stop Vecna from killing her! Max shouldn’t have to feel like that but, hey, I guess I had no idea how to stop her from floating in the air anyway!”

“Steve-” Jonathan tried to speak, but Steve barrelled on, seemingly ignorant of the tears streaming down his eyes.

“I definitely had no idea how to look at Max in the eyes when she offered herself as the bait for Vecna! I promised to Max that she’s going to be okay no matter what! I promised to her like I was her brother and- you saw her, right? Did she even looked okay after that? I don’t know how to talk to Lucas when he also had Max die in his arms and still reads to her like she’s going to wake up any minute!”

“Steve-”

“When Eddie died from those fucking bats, you can say I had no idea how to save him! He was just bleeding all over and I used CPR on him like an idiot! I have his dead blood on my lips and I can still taste it! I still don’t know how to comfort Dustin when he saw his favorite person die in his arms and he acts like I killed Eddie!”

Steve broke into a coughing fit and dropped to his knees. Jonathan followed, finally clenching his hands on Steve’s arms. Steve tried to pry away but Jonathan wasn’t letting him.

Finally, Steve stopped resisting and just let out a horrible wail that went beyond the junkyard. Jonathan grabbed him and held Steve’s face against his chest to muffle his cries.

Jonathan’s mind was spinning. He knew - had seen - that Steve tended to be the most injured of the Party, but Steve always brushed it off. Jonathan never wanted to assume that Steve wasn’t hurting, at least physically.

But to hear him in a state like this…

Steve lifted his head up, a mess of snot and tears and spit. “Why didn’t Vecna come after me? Why Max and not me? None of this would happen if Vecna had me!”

He stared at Jonathan, his redder eyes all the more pleading. Discomfort grew under Jonathan’s skin, but not for the wrong reasons. He just doesn’t know how to exactly comfort anyone who isn’t Will or his mom or even El. Let alone someone like Steve Harrington.

None of them had seen Steve crying anyway.

But as Steve dropped his head and gave out another pathetic and wet cough, Jonathan slowly pulled Steve closer and wrapped his arms around the other man’s shoulders in what he hoped was a gentle hug.

It doesn’t stop the next round of tears, but with how Steve’s went limp and his hands clutching tighter on the back of his jacket, Jonathan took that as something of a good sign.

#alexa play angela’s hell from silent hill 2 after no children is done #the klaus birthday special #klaus writes #klaus answers #jonathan byers #steve harrington #stranger things

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featherglum · 2 years ago

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Silly transformers ocs that came to me in a dream (except I heavily altered the designs and lore from the original vision)

In the dream, I was browsing a website similar to artfight and saw a transformers oc named Priest ( @sonia-aquamarineson 's oc Gusty was on there too, but he was called Herring. This has no bearing on the rest of the lore, it was just funny). Priest's original design was a bit different from the current one and looked more like this:

(Made with this picrew and edited a bit to be more accurate. I didn't draw him because I wanted to get his design down ASAP before forgetting everything + I wasn't very confident in drawing tf characters yet.)

His lore was very inconsistent. A picture on his page implied that his alt mode was a speaker, but the first line of his description said it was a set of silverware. But that was contradicted too at the end where it said he was "a book with pages as brittle as his trust". There was also a mention of how someone cursed him and since then he just stayed at home.

There were also these 3 pictures that were, (allegedly) related to his backstory:

(Some nun looking with disapproval, Priest's human version looking sad or scared and finally, a weird Christmas tree with a face [what])

So yeah. Priest's backstory was pretty nonsensical, but thankfully after sharing the dream with Sonia (because Gusty was there briefly) we were both so normal about the guy that we decided to make his lore make sense.

Basically:

Pine was a cringefail scientist fed up with having his lab at some abandoned, rusty old base next to a junkyard in the middle of nowhere and wanted the other cons to finally respect him. So when his inventions weren't impressive enough, he had a different plan

He was going to kidnap some autobot and then contact their friends with a typical "grr hand over the secret info or your friend will die >:-[" message. But here's the twist! Before that, he would put a bomb inside the bot's chassis, which would activate when they leave the base. So even if the friends showed up to heroically rescue their bestie, they would still die anyway! Yippee!!

He managed to catch an unsuspecting bot, which happened to be Priest, and all seemed to be going well...

.. Until it turned out Priest was about as respected by the autobots as Pine was by the decepticons. When contacted, Priest's acquaintances couldn't care less about him possibly dying. They didn't seem too keen on heroically rescuing him, but didn't hand over the information Pine wanted, either.

Pine wasn't sure what to do. Sure, the bomb was already there, just waiting to be detonated. But on the other hand... was it really worth it? What's the point of this kind of murder when no one is watching?! When there's no one the lament the loss of their loved one?! And as much as he hated to admit it, he felt some sympathy for Priest, who was as much of a loser as he was.

Pine was like "ok, kidnapping's over, your murder is cancelled. Lemme take that bomb out of your chassis real quick. Then you can go wherever you want and forget this ever happened. Sorry for wasting your time". And yeah he took that bomb out but there was another problem.

Priest didn't really have anywhere to go and didn't want to come back to the autobots, considering how little they cared about him.

And so, he ended up staying with Pine and joining the decepticons (which had little to do with the actual ideology and more with wanting their partnership to look less suspicious). Priest spends his days helping Pine with his inventions and digging through the junkyard for any interesting devices he could use as an alt mode (since there isn't much else to do there, really). As such, he changes his alt mode very often and it's a bit hard to keep up with sometimes. However, one form he often comes back to is an arcade machine (which is the design pictured in his ref!)

Also don't ask how an arcade machine ended up in space. This is a ridiculous little story about a pathetic pine tree robot and and a guy named Priest. And it was based on a dream. Weirdness is unavoidable here.

Oh that was long. If you're still reading say. Uh. Idk just say something.

And shoutout to @sonia-aquamarineson yet again for helping me figure out the lore and her contributions to Pine's design!!

If anyone has questions about them, my asks are always open

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ethereousdelirious · 2 years ago

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Welcome to the sediment layer of "fills I had to write on a 10+ y/o iPhone because I post my real phone in Canada"

It has since been replaced, but. That was a dark time

Sicktember 2023 Day 28

Prompt: "I should have stayed home"

Fandom: Pokémon

Characters: W.allace, St.even

Notes: Emeto emeto emeto

Now, at this very moment, linguists were re-writing the Official Hoennese Dialect Dictionary. Flip to the 'D' section— there, under 'down bad,' a picture of Wallace sweating through his shirt.

Definition: whatever; example sentence: "Wallace is down bad for Steven Stone."

Down so bad that he'd agreed to come to this hours-long lecture on rocks. Down so bad that he hadn't canceled despite waking up with the stomach ache of the century. Despite the near-misses he'd had throughout the day, stifled gags behind closed lips and hoping the challenger of the hour wouldn't notice anything. And thank the Makers that he hadn't actually gotten sick in his Gym, because then some poor janitor would have had to melt the ice and drain the water and that would have been a nightmare.

Wallace's stomach bucked beneath his waistband. Oh, right. He was already in a nightmare. A never ending stream of lectures on rocks and stones and boulders and minerals and whatever else and he was right up front, so when he inevitably left to go puke his guts up in the university bathroom, everyone would notice.

And then, once he'd recovered, he'd have to find his seat again and sweat through some more lectures, because of course Steven was speaking last.

There was just no way Wallace could miss his speech, not after months of late-night phone calls helping Steven workshop subheading names and sentence structures. He'd been so excited that Wallace had agreed to come.

So Wallace was going to sit and swallow back the waves of nausea and shiver in his custom white suit (with the diamond-studded tulle capelet, thank you very much) and be there for his best friend.

All he had to do was wait.

And wait.

And w— and not throw up, do not, do not.

And wait.

The misery came in waves: first a cold sweat on his brow and pressure in his stomach, then more sweat rolling down his back, then a heavy urge to retch sitting in the back of his throat. His breaths came so loud through his nose it interfered with his ability to hear the lectures and surely his neighbors resented the chill of his exhalations on their wrists, but he couldn't control it. Not if he wanted to control his stomach.

Worst of all, the longer he held back, the more his stomach hurt, cramping like Nolan's Pinsir had him in a Vise Grip.

Pressure and pain built up in his belly until he just couldn't ignore it any more. Brackish saliva flooded his mouth and every attempt to swallow it down met increased resistance at the back of his throat.

He stood just as applause filled the auditorium— a stroke of luck. Keeping his head down, he stumbled over his neighbors' legs on his way out of the auditorium. How rude, to leave like this. But still, it was better than vomiting all over the carpet.

Wallace staggered into the atrium with the next speaker's voice booming in his head— "...the significance of Kanto's Mt Moon. How many of you have had the chance to visit—"

Wallace's stomach lurched and all his senses slammed inward with it, frantic focus on self and now and oh no I'm not going to make it.

Giving up on the bathroom, he steered himself toward the nearest trash can and immediately coated its contents with a thin wash of watery stomach acid. The edge of the can rammed into his sore abdomen and he heaved again, this time bringing up nothing but a quiet noise of distress.

Tears flooded his eyes and his knees gave out. He hit the ground hard, further irritating his stomach, which now felt like the Rusturf Tunnel: violently hollowed with rusty digging equipment.

He sat there on the floor for a moment. Just enough to collect himself, calm his breathing. He felt better now, really, a little better. Better enough that he could do the stupid, thirsty thing and stay long enough to listen to Steven's speech. Otherwise, what was it all for?

All he had to do was picture the grateful look on Steven's beautiful face and it would all be okay.

The feeling of tentative stability stayed through the second half of the speech he'd bailed on, even backing off enough to let him enjoy honest butterflies in his stomach when Steven finally took the stage.

Wallace's front row seat gave him a perfect view of the way Steven's silvery-green eyes sparkled in the spotlights. They were especially captivating tonight, probably because of the fever cooking Wallace's brain. Or, no, Steven really was that magical, wasn't he? From the easy way he commanded a room to his effortless presence in battle, he really was divine.

"...Wallace, whom I really cannot thank enough."

Wallace shook himself. Was that a blush on Steven's cheeks?

"Please stand up, Wallace; I really could not have done this without you." Steven gestured into the audience. "Gym Leader Wallace, everyone."

With his own cheeks burning, Wallace stood. He would have waved to Steven if he hadn't immediately come over dizzy. All his focus shifted at once to the monumental task of staying upright; he had to lock his knees and lean back against his chair for the modicum of stability it offered him.

He all but collapsed when the applause died down and Steven's next few sentences faded away to the roar in his ears.

Oh.

He was really sick.

He should have realized it earlier, probably, as though gagging into a trash can and collapsing hadn't been enough of an indicator. He was… too sick to be here and too stubborn to leave.

Even when the roar in his ears died out, silver spots blinked in his eyes and refused to go away no matter how he tried to ignore them. Worse still, the cramping pain in his stomach came back, low and constant.

And still.

He refused to regret his decision to stay. Steven really had blushed and that meant something and damned if Wallace was going to leave before reaping the rest of tonight's rewards. If staying earned him even one more smile, then he would stay.

"Wallace! There you are!" Steven beamed, his smile no less dazzling for the muddy yellow lights beaming down from the exterior of the auditorium. "I wondered where you'd gotten off to."

"Smoke break," Wallace said, uncrossing his arms before Steven could notice how desperately he'd been holding his stomach.

It seemed Steven was too caught up to notice anyway, because he didn't even pretend to laugh at Wallace's bad joke. "I'm so glad you came," he said, taking one of Wallace's hands between both of his own. "Really, I can't thank you enough. You look wonderful."

Wallace's stomach did a flip, half nerves and half real nausea. "I wouldn't miss it," he said. Steven had no idea.

"I'm glad you're alone, actually." Steven held tight to Wallace's hand, somehow not noticing the cold sweat on his palm.

Another flip.

Well, less of a flip and more of a triple lutz, triple flip combination that kicked up a dangerous splash of briny saliva in the back of Wallace's throat. He swallowed with difficulty, trying to keep focused on Steven's face when every instinct in his body screamed at him to curl up on his side and get ready to turn his stomach inside-out.

"Wallace, I wanted to ask you to dinner," Steven said, "just the two of us." His eyes shined green and earnest in the yellow light, putting to rest any lingering suspicion that this was just another dinner between friends.

He had left Wallace the perfect opening to say something charming or, better yet, heartfelt. But the only thing behind his lips was a strangled gag. He swallowed it down and managed to squeak out, "A date?" without painting Steven's shoes, but it was a near thing. Oh, he could cry. All he'd wanted, it was all he'd wanted...

"Yes," Steven said slowly, "a date. Wallace, are you—"

Wallace turned and heaved into the bushes, yanking his hand out of Steven's. There really, really wasn't anything left to come up and he coughed on the empty gags crawling up his throat.

"Wallace!" Steven's warm palm found his forehead, the other anchoring on his back.

The leaves tickled Wallace's face. He batted feebly at them, hands shaking, heaved again, and then his knees buckled and Steven had him, Steven had him.

"Wallace, can you look at me?"

Ugh, leave it to Steven to start testing his mental orientation instead of immediately administering mouth to mouth. With tongue.

"M'fine." Not strictly true. "Not having an aneurysm." A shudder ran through him and Wallace stifled a groan into the warmth of Steven's thigh. "My stomach hurts."

Steven's muscles shifted beneath Wallace's cheek and warm fingers began to brush his hair back. "Did you eat anything questionable earlier?"

Wallace shook his head as much as his positioning would allow. Ah, yes, he was mostly on the pavement, wasn't he? He should get up; his suit would get all dirty. "Haven't… felt well all day. Had to close my Gym early."

"Then why—" Steven's hand stilled for a moment. "Not that I'm not grateful, but why did you come if you weren't feeling well?"

Wallace tried to shift so he could look Steven in the eye, but his stomach cramped fiercely, so he stayed still. "I was hoping you'd ask me out on a date."

"Ohhh..." Steven sighed. "Wallace." He took a deep breath and released it, running his hands through his hair. "Can you sit up? Apparently we're having our first date at the ER."

The nurses spared Wallace some indignities and let him keep his suit on. Steven had to help him with his jacket and with rolling up his sleeve and even held his hand when it was time for the IV (which was very, very soon after arriving, because Wallace passed out in the lobby like some kind of waifish soap opera star).

"Did you know you have a fever?" Steven asked, reaching over to put a hand on Wallace's forehead.

Wallace closed his eyes, anchoring one hand on the emesis basin in his lap in case he needed it. "No," he said. The fluids had cleared his mind a little, but all he could picture was Steven's spotlight-dazzling smile. "I would've come anyway."

"I—" Steven broke off with a sigh. "You really don't think you should have stayed home?"

"Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to ask me out on a date?" Wallace countered. "I had a feeling tonight would be the night."

"You could have asked me out if you were so sure," Steven said, strangely subdued. Wallace opened his eyes and found Steven frowning at him, a furrow between his brows.

"I wanted you to ask me."

"But does that mean that you only agreed to help me with my speech because you wanted—"

"Steven Stone." Wallace held up a hand to stop him and winced when he pulled on the tape holding his IV line in place. "I risked throwing up all over your parents tonight because I wanted you to ask me out on a date. I helped you with your speech because I love— Ah." Searing heat flooded Wallace's face and his stomach dropped, though not in a way that indicated a strong need for the emesis basin. He white-knuckled it anyway, drawing it closer. "...rocks," he finished weakly. "Because I love rocks."

Steven, who had yet to let go of Wallace's hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it like he couldn't help himself, like it was something as reflexive as breathing. "You know, Wallace," he said, gazing at him like he was more beautiful than any diamond, "I love rocks, too."

And this time, Wallace and his upset stomach managed to not ruin the moment.

That honor went to the doctor, who interrupted their adorable little mutual confession with questions about Wallace's health and wellbeing, like that mattered when he could have been canoodling in a hospital bed with Steven.

When the doctor was finally satisfied, thankfully clearing Wallace to go home, Steven took his hand again. "Have you at least learned a lesson from all this?"

"Oh, sure." Wallace squeezed his hand and smiled despite his exhaustion. "Steven Stone rewards bad behavior."

#ethereous writes #sicktember 2023 #emeto

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spinningbuster98 · 2 years ago

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youtube

Kept you waiting huh?

Oh boy it's DMC4 guys! Probably the hardest game in the series to talk about that isn't the reboot and for reasons that veterans probably can already suspect but let's just say that I ain't looking forward very much to some of the stuff will have to offer later down the road

Not now though, now's the time for fun!

So unlike previously I'm actually playing on a New Game + on the highest difficulty mode AND Turbo Mode turned on, which speeds up character and enemy movements by 20%.

This is probably a very bad idea on my part given that DMC4 is not the game I'm best at in this series and I'm also a bit rusty as of now, which you can see by how throughly I got bodied by the literal tutorial boss

Oh yeah: unlike DMC1 and 3 which told newcomers to git gud fast or take a hike DMC4 actually wants to be pretty beginner friendly in a number of ways, firstly by having an actual tutorial serve as the intro stage!

Normally I would complain that it's boring but honestly? The cutscenes intersperced between the gameplay help make this tutorial kind of fun and memorable

(Also these people worship Sparda as their God and given that Dante is Sparda's son this means that, from their persepctive, Jesus just came crashing down from a window and shot the pope right in the face. Also Dante is Jesus)

So here we have our new boy to the group Nero!

So Nero was very blatantly created to be beginner friendly character since his gameplay is way simpler than Dante's:

unlike the Red guy Nero only has one sword, the Red Queen, and one gun, the Blue Rose. This means that Nero's moveset is certainly more limited, which is why to my knowledge, back then, some ultra experts hated him. However this makes Nero very easy easy to pick up and play and there's lots of genuine fun to be had in his simple style because what he lacks in complexity he makes up for in cathartic aggression

Nero's #1 signature ability is his Devil Buster: he can grap any enemy in the game that's close to him and initiate a unique animation (unique to every enemy and is also different depending on whether or not you have Devil Trigger on) that will have Nero going ape shit on the poor demon dealing great damage, it can even be used on bosses if you manage to stun them. The Buster is hella fun to use because of the variety of animations and just how fun it is to see Nero just lay the smack down on enemies. You have to be careful though: you're not invulnerable during the animation so don't think it's a get out of jail free card!

If you're locking onto an enemy when using the buster you'll instead drag the poor sucker towards you or, if the enemy is too heavy, you'll drag yourself to it. This is great because it gives you greater freedom across the battlefield and it can also be used in mid-air, causing Nero to be generally a better air-combatant than Dante.

Then there's Nero's gun: when you start it's really weak, but you'll be able to buy upgrades for it which will allow you to get 3 different charge levels for it. Do yourselves a favor: go into the options screen and switch the button for Nero's gun for one of the shoulder buttons. This will allow you to charge the gun while you're fighting with your sword thus always having a charge shot ready. This makes MUCH more of a difference than you might think (or even I at first) because the third level charge shot is DISGUSTING: not only does it do great damage, if the enemy survives it will explode seconds later for even more damage, which may even hit nearby enemies!

Poor Berial, the game's first proper boss, gets fucked so hard by the fully charged shot even on DMD! Before I thought this guy was a pain on DMD because I could never properly combo him without him suddenly swinging his big ass sword around and knocking me on my ass. But if you keep your distance and play it defensively while hitting him with charge shots Jesus did you see his health?

There are other gameplay mechanics related to Nero, mainly his Exeed gimmick and his unique Devil Trigger, but I'll save them for later.

Aw yeah the first few stages of DMC4 fuck pretty hard if you ask me!

....too bad this won't last forever...

#devil may cry #devil may cry 4 #my gameplay #also sorry for the low quality #I have no idea why my PS4 suddenly decided not to record in HD for this one #Youtube

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bellesdomain · 3 months ago

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Not a dumb question! Dumb directorial decision to cut such an important character, it is indeed hard to imagine the show without him! But the story did pretty much hold up without CB...

in Freight, as the trucks introduce themselves, Rusty stood in the 6th spotlight. If you didn't know a truck was missing, it made perfect sense that the engine who's trying to manage the whole situation is there.

For Race 1, Krupp raced with Nintendo, rather than CB racing with Hashamoto. Krupp egged him on and pushed him, so Nintendo crashed when he took the last corner too fast. Krupp would brake just in time, and laugh hysterically at his failure! It didn't read as part of a bigger plot, just Krupp enjoyed chaos - though it could have been intended as Krupp helping out his master. Meanwhile Greaseball won, and Electra came second - to me the biggest plot hole in the show, how was Electra OK WITH THIS??? The show then went straight into Poppa's Blues, the whole post-race, "There's Me" scene was cut.

In act 2, at the end of Girls' Rolling Stock, the "Invitation Dinah" scene was extended. Purse arrives to invite Dinah to race with Electra,

Dinah: OK, but if Greaseball changes his mind...!

Ashley: So who do we go with?

Buffy: You and the french train make a great team!

Ashley: You take Rusty, use a head of steam!

Buffy: Crazy, I'm stuck with the slow one, it's crazy

Rusty: Hey! it's me or it's no-one, I'm crazy, going crazy, going crazy...

Going into the Uphill Final did have pleasing symmetry with all four of the principal coaches racing. The race started, and Rusty did REALLY well, immediately passing Bobo (who may have been distracted flirting with Ashley), and getting between Electra and Greaseball - just as they all reached the bridge and a corner of the track where for a moment, the racers pass out of view. A moment later they reach the bridge, there's a big wreck, everyone's crashed, Control cancels the race, with a rerun in 15 mins.

Greaseball and Electra both immediately blame Rusty to the marshalls, but Greaseball tells his gang - and Flat-top who really wants to join in - that he did it. "Make sure it don't happen again, I'm sure I don't need to explain" - Greaseball doesn't ACTUALLY TELL his gang to beat up Rusty, in so many words, but it's clear that's what he means. Then using the tune of "Wide Smile", the gang beat up Rusty.

Then Greaseball and Pearl pass by, and Pearl is heart-broken to see him in a heap on the floor.

Greaseball: Looks like Rusty had a small "Accident", right?

Gang: right!

Pearl: You did this?

GB: He took me on and he lost the fight!

Pearl: I'll go tell the marshalls-

GB: You're in it as well, they'll only suspend you if you ever tell

Pearl: This wasn't how I wanted it, this wasn't what I saw, each time I try it seems that I get sadder, but no wiser than before...

Greaseball, Pearl, and Gang leave, with Flat-top at the back - he's still holding Rusty's helmet, and hangs back long enough that once they're out of sight, he comes back to give Rusty his helmet and check in "You alright Rusty?" Rusty tended to snatch his helmet back and shrug off this sympathy. Then, just to make Rusty's mood EVEN BETTER, the Rockies turn up with "Right Place, Right Time".

Rusty meets the Starlight Express, Dustin's there with him as you'd expect, leading into the final race...

Dinah's Disco has a slightly different angle. Dinah disconnects Electra, and obviously he doesn't call for CB. It just so happens that Bobo, Ashley and Buffy are passing...

Electra: Who cares, who cares, dining cars can make you wait forever! Hey, Buffet, make my day? Make it fast and make it now or never!

Buffy: Electricity gives me a charge!

So into the Downhill Final, Greaseball is racing with Pearl, Electra with Buffy, Bobo and Ashley, and Rusty and Dustin of course.

Greaseball initially has the lead, Rusty's way back, but Pearl is distracted from the race, looking out for him, and Greaseball doesn't appreciate being slowed down. So he uncouples her at speed, leaving her uncontrolled speeding off the stage into the audience - but Rusty saves her! Control invents the rules as they go along, and the rules say Greaseball has 30 seconds to find a new partner. So he steals Ashley from Bobo. Then it's a straight up race, Electra and Buffy, Greaseball and Ashley, Rusty and Dustin gain on them after the setback of stopping for Pearl. Rusty manages to overtake both Greaseball and Electra - Electra in third place, uses his electricity to zap Rusty but he misses, he zaps Greaseball and they fly off out of control. The coaches have enough sense to let go and keep clear of the crash - Rusty and Dustin are the only racers to cross the finish line at all!

Without Caboose, it pretty much hangs together as a story, Greaseball has his gang to support him, Electra has his components working with him. There's the odd moment of "oh, how convenient that character just happened to be passing by right now", but generally, once the decision to cut CB was made, they did a really solid job of darning up the holes left in the story.

But... even so... it's still weaker than having a Caboose. That initial decision to cut the character makes no sense!

Hey guys, this is probably a really dumb question but:

Is cb not in 'the new starlight express' (1993) album? Cause i haven't heard any of him in it, and there seems to only be 2 sings in 'one rock n roll to many' and I just really need someone to explain how it works without cb or bv or slick or literally any form of him

#The New Starlight Express #Starlight Express London #cb the red caboose #I saw this production 200 times and missed CB every time

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andheresthething · 2 years ago

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I Got So Fucking Romantic, I Apologize

Summary: Cute lazy morning (afternoon) with Nightowl.

[No use of y/n] [Lazy Mornings] [But it's really 2 pm] [Cuddling & Snuggling] [Kissing] [Love Bites] [Pet Names] [Dorks in Love] [I cannot stress it enough you act like teenagers in love] [Implied Sexual Content] [You're smaller than him] [Established Relationship]

•·················•·················•

Notes:

I recently played Blooming Panic and absolutely fell HARD for Nightowl. This is the first time I've ever posted any of my writing and it's been a while since I've written at all so this will probably be rusty. I might write more (could make a spicy follow-up) if people like this one, though it might be delayed because carpal tunnel is a bitch.

Gender-neutral reader for yall :)

I wrote this while listening to my character playlist for him

Reposted from AO3

Also, I haven't used Tumblr since MIDDLE SCHOOL so I apologize for things being strange to the platform

●▬▬▬▬▬๑⇩⇩๑▬▬▬▬▬●

Rays of light shone through the drawn blinds of the bedroom you and Nightowl shared. The small beams laid across the two of you sleeping well into early afternoon. You slowly blink and let out a yawn, taking a moment to come into the conscious world.

Once your eyes adjusted you finally get a look at the blonde sleeping on his side next to you. His chest slowly rising and falling and an arm draped over you. Lips slightly apart, just enough to show a sliver of his front teeth, and his neck and collar bones covered in spots that ranged in shades of purple. Though a familiar sight for you to see each day, it never grew old. Each day, without fail, your heart would flutter the same way it did when you spent your first night together. You cracked a smile, just watching and waiting for your partner to wake.

Sometimes it was still baffling to you that clicking on a discord invite led to this. How fast everything moved between the two of you was unexpected, but not unwelcomed in the slightest. You recall all the nights the two of you would spend up, talking about anything and everything until you fell asleep. Nightowl would follow shortly after, but would never hang up the call. Some of the time right before he’d turn in as well, you were just conscious to hear him say, ‘I can’t wait until we can do this in person. Goodnight, Cutie. Sweet dreams.’

Your smile grew thinking about those early times of your relationship, though soon enough you were broken from the little daydream with the feeling of Nightowl lifting his arm off of you, stretching himself awake with a yawn.

“Mornin, sweetheart,” you said as he lowered his arm back to hold you. He sleepily smiled, then placed a light kiss on your forehead.

“Good morning, cutie,” he smiled, “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“Impossible, plus I lost myself in thought, so I doubt I would have noticed an hour going by.”

“Care to indulge me?” Nightowl asked while moving his hand to hold yours.

“I was just thinking about our old late-night calls before I got to move in with you and how sometimes when I was half asleep I’d hear you say how you couldn’t wait for this to happen for real and wished me goodnight”

Nightowl squeezed your hand, eyes lighting up slightly. Your little story seemed to help wake him up from his groggy state, “Awe, I love you getting all sappy and nostalgic on me first thing in the morning, cutie.”

“I always felt all stupid and happy whenever I heard it.”

“You know,” he scootched as close as he could be to you without being completely on top of you, “I did it every. Single. Night.” he hummed, peppering a kiss on your face between every word, and you giggled with each one.

“Really?”

He put on a serious face, sharply nodding, “Without fail. I still do actually. Granted, I’ve changed that first part a tiny bit considering you’re now actually here with me, in the flesh.”

“Awe, sweetheart, you’re literally the best. How’d I get so lucky?” you reached to hug him. Maybe a bit too enthusiastically, though, as you managed to push Nightowl over on his back and put yourself on top of him, burying your face in his neck in the process, “Seriously, I could have never imagined having someone who does stuff like that for me all to myself.”

“ You can’t believe you have me all to yourself?” Nightowl laughed, “I should be the one saying that. I was such a hungover ass to you after knowing you for, like, five days, and you still wanted to be with me after that night. You’re the one here that's the best,” he refuted, placing a kiss on the side of your head, “To have someone as precious as you makes me the lucky one here, darling.”

“Mmm, I’d have to disagree with you.”

“Incorrect and unfactual statement.”

You lifted yourself enough to meet your eyes with his, “As much as I’d love to continue this to prove I’m, in fact, correct on this matter, I think I’m a little too tired to try.”

“So what you're saying is that I win?” he said with the biggest shit-eating grin. You groaned at his playful antic and started to push yourself up, now straddling his lap as he still laid underneath you, which also effectively pushed the blanket once covering the two of you off and behind you.

“Sure, you win, dumbass. What shall your prize be?”

“Can it be anything?” he said excitedly.

You knew you might regret the answer you were going to give, but went through with it anyway, “Sure, anything you want, sweetheart,” with that, you sealed your fate.

“Hmm, what a tough decision to make,” Nightowl exaggeratedly pondered while pushing himself back slightly to be able to sit up with his arms supporting him from behind. You also moved so that you were sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around his bare lower waist, and brought your arms around his neck. Your arms sat on the soft fabric that was the straps of his crop top, “The possibilities are endless, cutie. How could I ever just choose one thing?”

You giggled at his complaint, “You better, the offer is going to expire soon. Then you just get bragging rights.”

“Oh, how cruel! How could you?” he moved his arms from behind him to hold your hips.

“I know, I’m such a horrible person,” you said, matching his sarcastic and playful tone.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, you took the time to admire his face. The small beams of light highlighted his softer features. They made his messy hair shine and his brown eyes sparkle, revealing all the little flakes of different shades that resided in them.

The light also reflected off of his cartilage piercings. Nightowl had a bad habit of not taking out his earrings before bed. No matter how many times you reminded him, he always forgot. It wasn’t the end of the world that he didn’t, though. At least he remembered to take out his statement piece each night.

In that time, Nightowl did the same, soaking in the sight of you. Hair just as messy as his own, a stupid wide smile, and a pair of beaming eyes staring into his own. But your shirt, God it was killing him. It was one of his own that you’d steal regularly to wear almost anywhere. While purposefully somewhat oversized on him, you were swimming in it, allowing your neck and collar bones, covered in marks (courtesy of him), to be exposed. Maybe it was his somewhat possessive nature, but the mix of the shirt and hickies fogged his mind with a myriad of thoughts ranging from wholesome to extremely sexual.

“Have you made a decision yet?” your words snapped him out of his short, albeit very vivid, daydream, “Or are we just going to settle for bragging rights?”

“Nope! I’ve come up with my prize.”

“That would be?”

“One super lazy, stay-in-date day complete with stupid horror movies and possibly some more… intimate affairs later on,” he paused, “Please.”

You pretended to think it over, despite the arrangement of this prize. While you, of course, got tasked with a pile of work for the weekend, you couldn’t care less about it. Getting ripped by your boss on Monday would be worth it, especially with the not-at-all-subtle proposition for later in the day. Knowing Nightowl though, it would probably come way sooner than nightfall. “You, sir, have yourself a deal.”

You gave him a small peck, but Nightowl being Nightowl, was having none of that. He immediately put his lips back on yours, tightening his grip on your hips. While it took you slightly by surprise, you gladly accepted the act, kissing him back. Quickly things became heated, pulling each other closer, the movement of your lips becoming desperate. Your hands drifted to his hair, lightly grabbing at it, which Nightowl responded to by letting out a small moan into your mouth. That noise of his set you off, eager to continue the sudden act of intimacy.

Unfortunately, as quickly as it picked up, it stopped. Nightowl pulled away and loosened his hold on you, causing you to let out a small whine of disappointment.

“As much as I don’t want to stop this right now, cutie, I’m starving for some actual food, not just you.”

You let out a chuckle, arms going back down to rest on his shoulders, “You’re such a tease.”

“Says the one wearing nothing but my shirt,” he flirted, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face once again. “Looks great on you, by the way. Makes your ass and thighs look fantastic. Especially your thighs.”

“I do, in fact, have something on under, mister,” you retorted, “But if you’re that hungry, I guess we could go scrounge up something, but by we, I mean me. We both know you can't cook for shit.”

“Ouch, that one stung.”

“It’s not that bad if I like cooking and you like eating it. Plus, you get to stare at my thighs all you want while I do so.”

“A win is a win,” he lifted one hand off your hips to cup your cheek. “Shall we then?”

“To the kitchen!” you giggled.

Nightowl gave you one last kiss on your forehead before putting his hand down, allowing you to get up off of him and the bed. He followed suit, loosely holding your hand. With that, you led the way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to start your long date day at 2 pm.

#blooming panic #bloomic #blooming panic fanfic #bloomic fanfic #nightowl #blooming panic nightowl #bp nightowl #bloomic nightowl #blooming panic x reader #nightowl x reader #bp nightowl x reader #bloomic nightowl x reader #sfw

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quillsareswords · 3 years ago

Text

Church Pews and Rescues

DAMIAN WAYNE X READER

SUMMARY: Being in love with someone who gets into fist fights with werewolves is hard, but not for the reason he expected. Okay, well, some of the reasons he expected. BELONGS TO SWORDS AND SPELLS COLLECTION.

WARNINGS: F!READER, language, descriptions of peril, mentions of death, my most Unhinged reader-character

MASTER LIST in BIO

Sometimes, he really wishes he would have just kept you at arms length. Times like being forced to read, with his own eyes, the following text message at five in the morning on a Wednesday:

Come pick me up sugar tits [Location shared]

He could've chosen anyone. He could have chosen no one. He could have woken up this morning and went down to the Cave to train just as he'd planned. He might have finally perfected the rotation and angle of a throwing axe. He might have tried the new protein shake Alfred brought home yesterday. He might have even had enough time to take a nap.

Instead, he's trying to navigate the backroads of some tiny town in the middle of nowhere a state and a half away from Gotham.

Sure, you bring him more unbridled joy than any person he's ever known and he would cut a man down at the ankles for sneezing on you in a grocery store; but there are days he'd love nothing more than to absolutely fucking murder you.

You've been gone for three days with barely any communication, which worries him enough as it is, and now you're apparently stranded somewhere and won't answer your phone. He fully expects this address to be a police station.

Wouldn't be the first time. Probably won't be the last.

He makes it a mile outside of town, past the crumbling brick and fading billboards lining the interstate he had to abandon a few miles back, dutifully following the little blue line on his screen. The location you sent him is just past an upcoming four-way, assumably on the other side of these trees and around the corner.

Blank white gravel parking lot, wheelchair access, white paint on wooden siding, a cross as tall as his Lincoln is long—it's a church. Of course it is.

He doesn't see your car, but there is a boxy old Buick parked to the left of the cement stoop my. He pulls in past the sun-stained sign advertising 10:00 worship on Sundays, and parks on the other side of the steps.

He thought you'd said you were going after some kind of man-eating forest beast that had been terrorizing a campground. Then again, your jobs don't always pan out like you expect. Maybe it was actually a possessed dog, or something. Or, worse yet, something else entirely came up.

Whatever the case, he assumes you aren't in terrible shape or mood if you made the terrible decision to call him sugar tits. Which, of course, will not go unpunished.

He'll wait until he sees you to make that call, though. As much as he hates it, there's the very real possibility that he's about to find you bleeding out onto cheap church carpet, texting delirious SOS messages to anyone on your contact list.

That's unlikely, he reminds himself. He's seen what it takes to knock you down, and he doubts it would be scavenging around Nowhere, Massachusetts. Then again, it is an old part of the country, artifactly speaking.

He takes the steps two at a time, trying to keep his gait as inconspicuous as possible. There's a few papers taped to the inside of the glass doors, one about Bible study, another about a summer camp.

He just hopes the doors are unlocked. If he has to break into a church to find you, he's going to be so pissed. Again, working under the assumption you aren't wounded and hiding out on holy ground. If he has to carry you out of the church he just broke into, he's going to be even more pissed.

Luckily for him, the right side door swings open with some rusty resistance.

He's greeted with cool, vaguely musty air, and a hallway. There's a bench and then an open door on the right wall, two closed doors (one labled restroom) on the left. At the end of the hall, flimsy wooden double doors, the left one cracked open. Most likely the sanctuary.

He hears clanking from the open door. Then humming. Tapping—shoes on linoleum floor. Your boots don't tap. Heels?

He listens for a long moment. A woman. Older. The clanking sounds like something being set on a baking pan.

He unbuttons his jacket, smooths his hair, fixes his shirt—is this the same one he worse yesterday? Damn it, he'd grabbed the first one he saw and now he's covered in wrinkles. He tries to make himself a little more approachable.

He walks down to the door, and peers around the corner. Sure enough, a sweet-looking old woman in a floral dress and what he thinks you once called kitten heels is spooning out cookie dough onto a pan at a little wooden table. She startles a little, looking up from her work through thick red-rimmed glasses. "Oh," she gasps, "hello. Can I help you?"

He smiles, channeling the signature Wayne charm he mirrors from Bruce and Dick. "Good morning. I hope you can help me, I'm looking for someone–"

"Oh," she breathes, pressing a hand to her chest. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, you caught me a little off guard," she laughs. Then she waves her hand back out toward the hall. "In the sanctuary, honey. She said someone would be along for her."

His smile gets a little tight. "Thank you." He offers a hand, in some grateful gesture, and back out into the hall.

He's going to rip you a new one. Right after he gets you breakfast—he glances at his watch (is McDonald's still serving breakfast?)—or, well, lunch. (No. No they are not.)

It's modest, just like the rest of the building. But there are children's decorations hung on the walls and family pictures hung up among the religious artworks. There's a row of pews on either side of the room, leading up to the stage. He can't find your head among the backs of the pews, and there aren't any other doors.

He starts down the isle. He keeps in mind all the times he's followed you through similar buildings, your voice in his ear telling him to mind any thing that moves. Entities hide everywhere, all the time. If you aren't watching, you'll never see them coming.

So he stays ready. He watches the corners and the spots where the sunlight gleaming through the windows doesn't touch. He steps lightly and carefully.

And then a snore just about gives him a heart attack.

He whips around to the pews on the left, and there you are. Sprawled out on the fifth pew from the back, one leg on the floor and an arm thrown up over your head. An ugly denim print baseball cap is pulled down low over your eyes. Your bag is tucked uncomfortably under your head.

If it weren't for the soft snoring, he might've thought you were dead, flopped across the wood like a husk.

He shoves out an irritated breath and crosses his arms, trying to settle the wild beat of his heart.

He'd really like to be annoyed. He deserves to be. You dragged him out of bed and across a state line, and he finds you passed out on a church pew at 10:30. He has every right to be at least a little angry.

But he's not. The sight of you, well enough to doze off despite the bruise blooming down your arm from beneath your shirt sleeve and the patch bandage slapped over the opposite forearm, releases the tension he hadn't realized was coiled between his lungs. If anything, he's relieved.

He is annoyed, and you definitely owe him for this, but knowing that you're safe, and having you back in his immediate vicinity is enough to soothe it.

Still, that doesn't mean he can't milk it a little.

He kicks the boot on the floor. "Rise and shine."

You grumble something that gets lost in the dreary edges of your rough voice, the hand previously rested on your stomach moving to prop up the bill of your hat. You squint up at him.

Even tired down to your bones and a little out of it with sleep deprivation, you tuck a moment away to appreciate the way he looks, standing over you with bright sunlight beaming in behind him to outline his figure.

You pin it to your brainpan and move right along. "Well, look-ee here, if it isn't my knight in shiny black armor." You smile up at him, lopsided and exhausted.

He rolls his eyes. "Do you want to explain yourself?"

You snort. "Does anybody who wakes up on a church pew really want to explain how they got there?"

"They do when someone has to drive for three hours to pick them up."

You wince. "Yeah, alright. That's fair." With a groan, you plant a hand on the wooden back and haul yourself upright. Something tender pulls tight beneath the skin beside your spine. "My car got kind of fucked up. It's in the shop. Won't be driveable til, like, next week. And it was really late by the time I finished up with, uh, work, so I just...crashed here. Cause the door was unlocked."

He raises an eyebrow and watches you bend forward to retie the laces of your boot. "You trespassed in a church instead of waiting a few hours for a hotel to open?"

You cock a shoulder. "Yeah. Public property. Plus, it's consecrated, so I didn't have to worry too much."

He sighs. "You're unbelievable."

You turn your head to the side for him to see a shit-eating grin. "And you're insufferable, but here we are."

There's something off in your eyes. He could chalk it up to exhaustion or the lighting, but he's known you too long, knows you too well. Something is bothering you.

He clicks his tongue and turns sharply on his heel, feigning irritation. The sooner you're in the safe confines of his car, he'll pry until you open up.

You scoop up your bag and sling the strap over your shoulder, wary of whatever muscle you've pulled there, before you follow after him. You catch up with him at the door, bumping your shoulder with his to squeeze through with him. "Thanks for coming, by the way."

It's said a little quieter, a honester. Your voice dips below the superficial attitude, to a lower tone that reveals the exhaustion and the gratitude.

He can stand to drop his act for just a moment. "Of course. I always will."

Not that he'll be happy about it, by any stretch of the imagination—be he will always come when you need him.

He'll complain the entire way home, at the table while you wolf down whatever he can get you, and while he redresses whatever is going on under that bandage on your arm. He will moan and bitch while he tucks you into his bed and lets you sleep off the headache he knows is collecting behind your eyes.

But he'll also do it all again the next time you need him. Because he loves you more than anything, and he'd do anything for you. Even when that means getting up before the sun to drive a six hour round trip to drag your bruised ass home.

Even when you call him sugar tits.

Fucking. Sugar tits.

"Thanks, Maria," you call as you pass the kitchen, waving at the elderly woman.

She waves back with a hand still covered in cookie dough. "Safe travels, hon. Stay out of trouble."

"I'll try," you chuckle. For a week, maybe. Just for her. Well, and because you're probably about to get a lecture from your doting boyfriend, but it's the thought that counts, right?

He doesn't miss the way you drop down the cement steps, cringing every time you land a little too hard on your left foot. He opens the passenger door for you, carefully taking the bag from your shoulder as you pass him. You let him without any argument, which is unusual. He can't open any door for you without some mocking quip about what a gentleman he is or about how you can do it yourself.

He slings your bag into his trunk on his way to the driver's side, purposefully ignoring the suspiciously meaty thunk it makes.

When he drops into his seat, simultaneously pulling the door closed and pressing the startup, you're already reclining your seat and closing your eyes.

He uses the camera to back away from the church, but there's still a hand on the back of your headrest.

You feel bad. Guilty, mostly. You are tired, and it is getting hard to keep your eyes open, especially when he's driving and you know you don't have to be so on guard anymore. But you also really don't want to see how tired he looks.

Truth be told, you didn't have to text him. You easily could have waited until the hotels opened, booked yourself in for the week, and drove yourself home when the car was fixed. You had enough to afford it, none of your injuries were an immediate issue, and you could've called him later in the day to tell him all this so he wouldn't worry.

There's a long strip of bandage that's wrapped around your ribs beneath your shirt. There's a thick pad of gauze that got you some weird looks from the local CVS cashier last night. (Unlike Jerry, who wouldn't have blinked.)

A church grim is an entity that guards a graveyard. Originally, they were thought to protect churches—hence the name—but really, it's the graveyard they guard. They keep the evil dead within, and the evil living out. They're comically powerful for their purpose; enough so that you avoid them whenever possible.

You couldn't have known that those two rent-by-the-day camping spots stood on an old, unmarked cemetery. Native or pilgrim, you haven't the foggiest—all you know is that you picked a fight with a church grim who was only doing his job.

You almost died. It wasn't the typical brush with death that you've unfortunately become accustomed to, either. You could almost see a reaper standing off to the side, watching you wrestle the poor thing with little more on you that a Bowie knife.

You'd expected a werewolf. Probably a new turn. Someone you could reason with, or something you could shoot if you really had to. It happened all the time, sadly: newly turned werewolves with no-one teaching them the ropes or how to keep themselves contained. Very rarely did they really mean any harm. Most times, they took every scrap of advice you could give them and accepted the phone number you scribbled down on a diner napkin.

So no, you weren't prepared. You weren't even ready.

It was pure chance that you had a proper offering in your bag. A jar you'd shoved in there for something else, ages ago, and must've forgotten to take out. If it hadn't been for that jar, if it hadn't been for the rock it shattered over, the damned thing probably would have killed you. Mauled you, at the very least, if the state of your car was any indication of its ability.

You didn't want to stay here. You didn't want to be within ten miles of that campground. You left a note on the owner's cabin as you left. Advised he close them, repurpose them, anything but keep them open to the public unless he was going to get it certified as a historical burial site. With any luck, nobody with malicious intent would ever fall victim to that thing.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to curl up in a bed that smells like Damian, in a room decorated in his taste. You want to pass the fuck out in his arms, where you're safe, and you don't have to worry about church grims or werewolves or demons or whatever else.

You'll tell him later. Probably once he finds the bandage and starts shouting about why you didn't tell him earlier. Maybe once you're snuggled into his chest. Maybe once you've gotten something to eat.

"What do you want?"

Your eyebrows furrow, but you still refuse to open your eyes, even with a pair of his sunglasses shielding them. "Hmm?"

"To eat. What do you want to eat?"

"Chicken nuggets."

"From?"

"Don't care. Honey mustard, please."

"I know."

His hand is warm on the top of your thigh. Even with the heated seat turned on and the air circulating, his palm is defined through your denim. You hum quietly, shifting your own on top of it to keep it there.

You drift in and out of sleep for a little while longer, comforted by the smell of his cologne and the warmth of his presence.

Between catnaps, you wonder when he'll ask.

He's a logical person. He knows you could have gotten into a hotel and came home when the car was ready. He knows you wouldn't want to make an entire other trip down to pick up said car. And yet, you texted him anyway.

You'll tell him, when he does. You'll tell him that you didn't feel safe in that town, or maybe that you knew you'd feel safer with him. You'll tell him about the church grim and the glass jar and locking yourself in the car to scramble for a saving grace.

When you do, he'll get that pinched look on his face that he always gets when you tell him about your near-death adventures. You don't like it very much. In fact, you dislike it so much that you've almost lied to him a few times—but you promised honesty. Just like he did.

You wonder if you get a look like that when he tells you about swinging over chemical fires on a steel cable and squaring up with homicidal maniacs.

That's a problem for later, though. For right now, you're both content with sitting beside one another quietly. He's content to let you feed him fries while he drives you back to Gotham, and you're content to dunk nuggets into honey mustard dipping sauce while you ignore the ache in your arms.

What you don't know is that he's not content—he's plotting The Revenge of Sugar Tits.

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #swords and spells #damian wayne blurb #quillshalloweencollection

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