#(so i'll come back when i can get my brain to cooperate)

[hells-okayest-dad]

47 & 15

Ask game

These are longer, I think, than they're supposed to be (the second, In particular really got away from me) so enjoy the content I guess, though I simply must put some of this under a cut so as to not be obnoxious.

47: crave

Jean was staring. He knew he shouldn't, but he was doing it anyway. His eyes followed a bead of water as it trailed down Jeremy's back, twisting and turning as it followed the contours of his muscles. Letting himself look was a compromise, a concession in the active battle he was fighting to suppress his desire.

There must have been other people in the room, but Jean only noticed Jeremy. That is, until Cody sat down beside him. "He's not typically my type, but even I have to admit he is pretty dreamy." The sudden voice nearly made Jean jump out of his skin. He'd been caught. But something in his brain registered the voice as Cody, and before that, as Not A Threat.

Jean glanced over at them, not threatened but still embarrassed to be perceived. "Shut up," he grumbled, though there was no real malice to it.

"You love me," Cody laughed, nudging Jean with their elbow.

"Debatable," he grumbled back and it wasn't a complete denial.

"I get it, you know. It sucks, wanting something you think you can't have."

Jean followed their gaze over to Pat and Ananya in the corner and scoffed. It was not the same. "You can have them," he said.

"Can't you?" They replied. "I've seen the way he looks at you."

So had Jean. And he was sure Jeremy had seen the way Jean looked at him. The mutual attraction was hardly a secret at this point, the question was just what was allowed. Had the rules truly changed? Was it just as simple as going for it? "Maybe," Jean replied, bringing his eyes back to Jeremy.

15: trembling hands

Jeremy's hands were shaking as he fiddled with the lighter in his hands. He was usually so good at this but tonight he just couldn't seem to get it to light. He was about to throw the lighter off the balcony in frustration when he heard a voice from beside him.

"Does Laila know you are smoking on her patio?" Jeremy hadn't even noticed Jean coming, but he turned to face him now.

"Technically, it's your patio," Jeremy countered. "The FBI gave the apartment to you. And I'm not smoking, I'll have you know, because I can't get the stupid thing to-oh!" As he tried to demonstrate the way that the lighter was bullying him by refusing to cooperate, he somehow managed to get it to go. He reached for his cigarette, but Jean's words stopped him.

"What if I don't want you smoking on my patio?"

Jeremy flipped the lighter shut and looked up at Jean. "I guess that's your right." Jean had his plants out here after all, and he probably didn't want Jeremy stinking up the apartment when he came back inside. Would the FBI pay the building's cleaning fee, he wondered. "I can go for a walk if you really want me to."

"I wish you would not do it at all," Jean said, and his expression was unreadable. Was he angry or concerned or annoyed?

"Yeah, well that's not really a choice you get to make, is it?" It was harsher than he meant for it to be, he could tell by the way Jean's eyebrows shot up, but he was on edge and he really just needed a smoke. He'd be better after. "Look I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I mean I do mean it's just—" he cut himself off, taking a breath. "It's not that big of a deal, okay?"

Jean looked at Jeremy for a moment, as if he were calculating something. Before Jeremy could ask what it was, he grabbed a loose cigarette off the railing and held it like he'd seen Jeremy hold it. "If it is not that big of a deal, maybe I should do it. I have certainly had enough stress to earn myself a vice, no?"

It wasn't at all what he was trying to accomplish, but the sight of Jean against a starry sky holding a cigarette was so striking it nearly had Jeremy on his knees. The bluff was so obvious that Jeremy almost called him on it, but for once he couldn't bring himself to light this handsome man's cigarette. When Jean raised an eyebrow at him in response to the pause, Jeremy just sighed.

"I don't want to see you do that to yourself, to risk your health and career." He knew this meant he lost the argument, but he shoved the lighter into his pocket. "You deserve to find a better way to cope."

Jean looked at him again, content to have won Jeremy and sure. "And what if I feel the same way about you that you feel about me?"

It couldn't have possibly been what he meant, but Jeremy swallowed hard at that implication. Jeremy was interested in Jean, he loved Jean. And while he'd seen flickers of Jean's own interest, he doubted it would ever lead anywhere, despite the way it felt like tensions between them had been growing. But even if that happened, he doubted it would be anything more than that. "You... Shouldn't say it like that. Someone might think you mean... Something else." He was sure his face was turning red, it felt like it was a thousand degrees.

Jean's face was certainly turning red. Maybe he really hadn't intended for Jeremy to take it like that. His eyebrow furrowed and he tilted his head. He stayed like that for a moment, like he was warring with himself. "There is only us out here," he said, and as he stepped closer, Jeremy had to tilt his head up higher to maintain eye contact. "What do you think I mean?"

Jeremy started to look away but Jean had his chin in his grasp now. He was utterly doomed, Jean was simply too hot to contend with. But it was a hard question to answer without revealing his own feelings, although there was the chance that that was the push they both needed to get the ball rolling on... Whatever this was. "That you want to be... More... Than friends."

It was like Jean was waiting for permission, because his lips were on Jeremy's in a second. Jeremy gripped onto the man's shirt and pulled himself in closer. All too soon, he pulled back looking at Jeremy with his pupils blown and his face red. "Does that answer your question?" All Jeremy could do was nod, though he wasn't sure it really did. "Good." He smiled and Jeremy was glad he was already holding on tight as his knees wobbled beneath him. They would have to actually talk about this at some point, but Jeremy was not going to ruin this moment.

"Oh," Jean added. "I will not kiss you if you have smoke on your breath."

Jeremy blinked. That meant he wanted to kiss Jeremy again right? Jeremy let go of Jean with one hand to throw his pack of cigarettes off the deck before bringing Jean in for a second kiss which both men eagerly participated in.

"I shouldn't have thrown that," Jeremy said as he pulled back. "I think kids live down there. I'm gonna go get it actually. But I'm gonna get rid of it. And maybe when I get back..." Jeremy wasn't sure what he was suggesting. Definitely kissing.

Jean laughed, and while it wasn't the first time Jeremy had heard it, is was just as beautiful of a sound this time. "I will be waiting," he said.

[grimgrinnrs]

I need to actually come back here and reply to the shit I've left collecting dust

[suhtorus]

mama's day. gojo satoru

fluff. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ parents au, non sorcerer au, mom!reader, family fluff, two unnamed sons and one baby girl. a little gift for myself ! ᡣ𐭩

little sunshines au

satoru has a plan for your birthday—a very detailed one.

step one. wake up the nuggets

it takes him less than two minutes to get the oldest out of bed, and there's really no point in waking up his baby girl since there's not much an eight-month-old can do.

the problem is your toddler.

"c'moooon, don't you wanna give mama her gifts?"

satoru's tone grows exasperated the longer his son refuses to cooperate, kicking his legs and throwing his nemo plushie at his face.

"no!"

the five-year-old immediately shushes his baby brother, only making the latter whine even more, tears now running down his chubby cheeks.

satoru feels his face fall upon seeing his son so upset, he should've expected the little ones not to take it too well to be woken up at six in the morning.

"hey," he tries softly this time, caressing the soft blond hairs of his toddler, "I'm sorry, mochi. can you forgive papa? go back to sleep, I'll wake you up when breakfast is ready, okay?"

the sobs end and now there's only small sniffles coming from the sleepy kid.

"oki."

step two. make breakfast

"like this?"

satoru leans down to inspect his son's work, brows furrowing as he tries, and fails, to read whatever gibberish his son tried to spell on top of the freshly made waffles.

with a loud smooch on the kid's cheek, satoru squeezes him in a tight hug, grinning proudly the way a father would. "a masterpiece. mama's gonna love it."

dad and son work surprisingly silent, focused on their own tasks. it doesn't take them long to have plates full of food and fruits, as well as freshly made juice.

"why don't you grab these," satoru hands his son two bags with the names of expensive brands on them, "while I go get your siblings. okay?"

"on it!"

step three. gifts

"happy birthday, mama~"

"ma-ma!"

you wake up with a start, surrounded by four pairs of blue eyes staring down at you.

"happy birthday, love of my life, mother of my kids, my one and only!"

satoru pecks your mouth as your brain processes the beaming faces of your three nuggets. your boys sit next to you, one on each side, while satoru holds the baby in the air right above your face.

your confused face finally eases into one of happiness (and relief).

"thank you, my little babies!" you smile drowsily, urging yourself to blink the sleep away as you smooch the faces of all three of your children. "mwah, mwah, mwahhh–"

your husband can't help but smile upon seeing you smothering the kids with kisses. and with his hold still on his baby girl, satoru tugs her away from you and nods at your lap.

"open your gifts, baby. we got you aaaall of your favorites." he winks at his son and the little one covers his mouth behind his tiny hand, giggling. "and we also made breakfast for mama, right?"

with a pointed look from satoru, your toddler remembers the plate of food on his lap.

"eat waffu, baby." your two-year-old offers you the plate full of waffles, pushing it towards your mouth, insistent. "eat it."

step four. spoil her rotten

your two boys happily run across the gardens while your baby girl crawls on the grass, squealing right behind her brothers.

"liked the surprise?"

your husband's arms wrap around your middle from behind. his hold is the greatest comfort you could've asked for.

"you mean waking up with three of your clones staring down at me while I sleep?" you snort, but there's no real bite in your tone. "I loved it. especially their drawing of me surrounded by blue-eyed mochi."

your eldest had insisted on drawing their little family—with you right in the center—and satoru thought it'd be funny to add the mochi instead of the kids.

"oh, but I'm not done yet, sweetheart." he spins you around in his arms, now grinning at you. "an entire weekend. you and me. what do you say?"

a groan slips past your lips and he immediately frowns, indignation clear on his face.

"c'mon, pretty. it's been a while since it was just the two of us." satoru goes for the puppy eyes, knowing that by doing so he already has a fifty percent of chance of winning. "you're not only a mother, but also a wife. let your doting husband pamper you."

"and who's watching over the kids? the baby??" you try to reason, glancing at your nuggets as they giggle their little hearts out as they play together. "satoru, we can't just leave."

"sweetheart, relaaaaax. ijichi got us covered."

oh, that poor man.

you make a mental note to give nanami a call.

[lacontroller1991]

Rumors (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x F!Reader)

Main Master List || Misc Master List

Summary: After you believed he was dead, it comes as a shock to you that he's alive and wrecking havoc.

Warnings: 18+, HEAVY LANGUAGE, drug usage, drinking, mention of cannibalism, violence, gun slinging, blood, nudity, fighting

Author's Note: I swear I'll work on my other requests but the Cooper Howard brain rot is REAL and its STRONG, anywho, first time so let me know how you guys like it :)

Word Count: 3k

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

In the wastelands of California, rumors get you killed and you’ve heard rumors. Whispers of his return. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him. Since he left you on your own in the middle of a gun fight to collect his bounty; and it nearly cost you your life. 

The last you’ve heard about him was that he was 6 feet deep and locked in a coffin with no way of escaping, unless someone purposely dug him out. Yet, you can’t think of a single person who would. Still, rumors spread like wildfire, and you’d be damned if you don’t try and get revenge.

-----------

The California sun beats down on your back. The heat weighs you down, but not as much as the pain in your chest. He let you believe that he cared about you. He really fooled you into a sense of partnership, romance, but you really should’ve known. Cooper Howard is a lone wolf, nothing and nobody will stand in his way. 

The site of Filly in the distance is a welcoming sight. If anyone has seen anything, it would have been here. It doesn’t take you long to cross the remaining distance, sweat dripping down your back as you enter the market. 

“Haven’t seen ya in a while (Y/N).” A local merchant snides with a creepy smile, showcasing his rotten teeth. Walking over to your side, he runs a hand down your arm and you resist the urge to gag. “What are ye in town for?” 

“Information.” You eye the stairs that are being fixed, along with other wooden structures, a signature sign that he’s been here.

“Looking for your Ghoul, huh?” His face is offly close to yours and it’s enough for you to draw your gun, casually pressing it into his side, causing him to instantly back off. “He was here two days ago. Got in a firefight with a knight, seemed like he was after a bounty.” You scoff. Of course he is. Anything for those damn vials. Vials. At the thought of vials a malicious smile forms on your face. Sooner or later, he will need to get more, and you’ll be there when he does. 

Holstering your gun, you flip him a bottle cap in appreciation before stalking off, heading to the one place you know he will be.

By the time the sun sets, you’re settled in an abandoned building, low enough to the ground where you can see what’s coming, but high enough to be out of any immediate danger. Wrapping your arms around yourself tighter, you can’t help but to think about the times where you and him would be shoulder to shoulder, barely touching, but enough to make butterflies fly in your stomach.

Despite his ghoulish appearance, you find him to be quite handsome. His rugged cowboy exterior does barely enough to hide the last shred of humanity he has, and at times, it was directed towards you. With a sigh, you let your eyes shut, sleep easily consuming over you.

-----------

“Please, let me go.” A feminine voice stirs you from your unconsciousness as your eyes blink against the harsh light of the sun. “Please, sir, I’m begging you.” Shuffling slightly, you peer your head past the concrete wall, spotting two figures, one in a blue/yellow vault-tec suit and the other in a cowboy hat with a lasso around the girl. 

“Well I’d be damned,” it’s hushed and to yourself, afraid of him hearing you and spotting you.

“I done told you vaultie, ain’t gonna happen. You deaf or sum?” His drawl sends chills down your spine as he nudges her forward with the tip of his gun. “Now hur-” his words are cut off by a coughing fit but his grip on the lasso remains. After regaining his breath, he wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Hurry up. I ain’t got all day.” You watch in silence as the pair walks past your hideout, unaware of your existence. Grabbing your things, you rush off after them, making sure to stay in the shadows as your brain goes through different scenarios of what could happen. Would you and Cooper make up? Would he try to kill you? Would you try to kill him? Does he even care? The closer they get to the supermart, the more you hang back, hand slightly hovering over your gun. 

Trying to listen to the conversation, you strain your ears but to no avail. Peeking over an abandoned car, you focus your eyes on the situation ahead of you, watching as he gestures for the girl to go through the sliding glass door. The minute they shut, he collapses on the ground and you resist the urge to go and help him. Sighing, you open the bag at your side, rummaging through a variety of equipment before your fingers run over the cool glass of the vials that keep him sane. “That’s just ironic,” you chuckle, looking back to him still laying on the ground, a slight tang of pity radiating through your chest. If there’s anything you hate about yourself, it’s that. You’re too soft for people who have no problem leaving you out to dry. 

You could confront him now, kick him while he’s down, but being dramatic is more fun. It’s useless trying to talk to him when he’s in that sorry state. 

An hour later and you’re still outside, covering from the sun and waiting for the right moment to make your appearance. The sight of the vaultie walking alone gathers your attention as you keep out of sight? Now how the hell did she manage to escape? You’re not an idiot, everyone and their mamas know that the SuperDuper Mart takes in bodies and harvests the organs, selling them to the highest bidder. So how on this God forsaken planet did she escape practically unscathed? As she walks further away you ponder the possibility that maybe you and everyone on the surface has really underestimated the ones who live below. 

Once she is out of sight, you rush out from your hiding spot and toward the mart, hoping to find him. “Well, he isn’t where I saw him last,” you huff out, drawing your gun from its holster as you walk through the glass door, keeping your eyes vigilant. With the mart being practically empty aside from overturned themed rides, it’s easy to hear a person stumbling around, knocking stuff over. 

By the time you spot him, his back is to you, head tipped slightly back as he downs a bottle of alcohol he found. The sound of you cocking your gun causes him to freeze in place, and if you were facing him, you would spot the smile on his face. 

“You ain’t gonna shoot me now, are ya?” Your silence is deafening and you don’t move an inch, not really sure if you would actually shoot him or not.  “Was wonderin’ when you were gonna find me.”

“It’s pretty easy to find a drug addicted ghoul these days, especially ones that have a penchant for the dramatics.” You keep your gun trained on his back as he slowly turns around, dropping the glass bottle and letting it shatter to the floor. 

“Me? Dramatic? I don’t think I’m the dramatic one sweetheart. You’re the one who came in here, guns blazing. I think you’re the dramatic one.” He takes a step forward, and another, and another, until his chest is pressed right against the nozzle of your gun. “Now why don’t you put your gun down and give Coop a big ki-” your gun whacks across his face, tearing the flesh slightly only for it to heal right away, causing him to growl. His gloved hand reaches up and wraps around your throat, hoisting you against the wall while you struggle in his grasp. “That’s no way to greet me. Where are your manners?” He asks, his southern accent penetrating each word.

“Fucker,” raising a leg, you kick between his with all you can muster and spit on his face, the shock being enough to let you loose and allowing you to slip out. 

He looks at you for a second before laughing sadistically, using his thumb to collect your spit and put it in his mouth, closing his eyes as if he was savoring it. “I missed you kitten.”

Scoffing, you holster your gun and take a seat on the couch, turning your attention to the tv where you spot a young, handsome, human Cooper Howard on the screen. “Really Coop? You’re that full of yourself?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he plops down next to you before taking another bottle and giving that a swig. “Was the only half decent shit in this hell hole,” at the mention of the place, you take a proper look around, bodies laying everywhere, some human, some ghoul, and even a robot.

“The fuck happened here?”

“Was traveling with a vault dweller, traded her for some vials but I guess she didn’t take too well to the idea of her organs being sold,” he comments nonchalantly, twisting off the cap of a vial and draining the liquid into his mouth while you look at him like he grew two heads. 

“You’re meaning to tell me that that vault dweller managed to do all this?”

“Did I stutter?” Now you know you really underestimated the people in the vaults. You honestly wonder if they’re all like this or is she just some random four leaf clover. “Why’d you come in here raisin hell anyway?”

Leaning back on the couch, you look forward to the tv, trying to concentrate on the handsome man on the screen instead of the one sitting next to you, “heard you were dead.”

“The details of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Still doesn’t answer my question,” he looks at you with a look that says ‘I frankly don’t give a shit’ but something deep down inside of you tells you that he does. 

“I’m pissed as hell that you left me. I thought we were partners?” Rolling his eyes, he laps at a random white powder laying on the table before leaning back.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Didn’t see a need to stick around. You got what you wanted and I got what I wanted. Seemed like a fair trade.” 

A sigh escapes your mouth as you take the bottle from his one hand and downed it, scrunching your nose as the alcohol burns down your throat and lights a fire in your stomach. How can he be so naive? You had initially joined him when you were both after the same group of people, but for vastly different reasons. He had wanted the large bounty on the head of the leader and you wanted to find your past lover, but somewhere along the route to finding them you developed feelings for the Ghoul sitting next to you, and you thought he developed them too. You initially didn’t spot him when the shooting started, too occupied with the Ghoul pressing his back against yours, the two of you working in tandem. Everything happened so fast and before you knew it, you were the only one shooting back at the group of people, most of them lying dead and your companion nowhere to be seen. The bounty was also gone.

He had left you on your own and it hurt. It also didn’t help that once the shooting was over and you remained, you found your former lover in the arms of another. It’s true that you found who you wanted, but at what cost? Was it really your lover than you wanted or was it Cooper Howard, the Ghoul, who you wanted?

Realistically, you know the answer. It’s pretty obvious by the way that when you heard he was alive, you practically dropped everything in pursuit of him. Taking another swig of the alcohol you ponder over your next course of actions. Should you admit your feelings for him or should you leave it? Looking back at the tv, you watch the former Cooper Howard get down from his horse, gun in hand and hat tipped ever so slightly over his eyes, much like how the man next to you does. He’s never going to be the same man again, you know that, but maybe he still has the ability to love? “I love you, you know?”

Cooper looks over to you with a puzzled look on his face before it goes blank and your heart sinks. If there was any sort of superpower you could have right now, it would 100% be mind reading. “You’re stupid.” 

“Right. Yep. Totally.” You’re pissed. You took a gamble and lost. Laid your heart on the line only for it to be destroyed. Swallowing down your pride, you get up from your seat and holster your gun, taking a couple of vials for safe keeping. “Have a good life Coop.” You don’t bother turning back, tears welling in your eyes. How could you have been so stupid? Of course he doesn’t return the feeling. You kick the dead body out of your way, too overwhelmed with your emotions to realize that he is calling your name. A hand wrapping around your wrist stirs you from your thoughts as he hand spins you around to face him, a soft look gracing his features.

“I ain’t finished,” it’s soft. Softer than anything you’ve ever heard from him but you yank your hand away, rebuilding the walls around your heart.

“I don’t wanna he-” he cuts you off with a rough kiss against your lips, his arms wrapping around your body and holding you close as his scarred lips move against yours. The kiss is rough, demanding, but also loving, intimate. It’s enough to make you dizzy. Pulling away, he keeps you in his grasp as you look up at him through blown eyes, trying to figure out what he’s playing at. “Coop?”

“Shh darlin’. You didn’t let me finish. I said you’re stupid. Stupid for loving someone like me. I’m no good for anyone, especially you, you should know this.” You can tell by the restraint in his voice that he fully means what he’s telling you. Smiling softly, you dust off his duster and pull on his vest, straightening out his clothes as he watches you, not really sure what to make of your intentions. 

“Y’know, there was this one cowboy I met years ago and when I asked how he survived as long as he has and you know what he told me?”

“What’s that?”

“We take it as it comes.” He closes the bridge between the two of you with his mouth against yours, this time it’s more eager. Taking in your bottom lip, he bites hard enough to draw blood, causing you to gasp in surprise. Using that to his advantage, his tongue slips in, exploring every crevice of the mouth that he’s longed for.

“Well ain’t this sweet. We have a ghoul and a ghoulfucker. I wonder what that sex looks like,” you and Cooper pull away abruptly, you eye the three men in sheriff uniforms while Cooper scowls, annoyed by their presence. Moving towards them, Cooper raises his hands in false surrender while you get behind his back, one hand reaching for his shotgun and the other reaching for your own gun, ready to draw at any moment. 

“What can I do for you folks?” The three men eye each other before pointing their guns at Cooper, you still standing behind him, ready to take on each of them.

“Destroying a legitimate business? That’s illegal around these parts,” one speaks up, aviators covering his eyes as he moves around to get a better view of you. “My my, don’t tell me this pretty little thing did all this damage. Why don’t you raise your hands sweetheart, let’s see that gorgeous figure.” 

If looks could kill, that man would be 12 feet under and blasted to high heaven with the biggest nuke Cooper could find. “I’d be careful if I were you, she may be pretty, but she's also a pint sized atom bomb.” His head tilts, telling you all that you needed to know. Reaching for your gun, you quickly shoot the two companions as Cooper lunges for the man who dared to flirt with you. Kicking the gun away from reach, Cooper wraps his hand around the throat of the sheriff and hoists him in the air while you loot their supplies. Turning the men around, you cut their pants off, leaving their backside exposed for Cooper to take his fair share of ass jerky. The man in his grasp squirms at the site of his counterparts being exposed, but Cooper’s grip doesn’t falter.

“Why are you sick freaks doing this?” The man continues to struggle in Cooper’s grasp, hands trying to claw away at skin but to no avail as you load your gun, sliding over to the duo. 

“Wanna do the honors sweetheart?” It’s rare that Cooper offers anybody anything, let alone a kill and it takes you a minute to process his proposal.

“We do this for the love of the game.” A gunshot rings out while the man goes limp in Cooper’s hand, brains splattered on the floor below you. Dropping the man, Cooper’s eyes flit to your body, chest rising and falling as you come off the adrenaline high. 

“Now that was hot as hell sweetheart. You sure know how to make an impression on an old man.” 

“Is that right?”

“‘m afraid so.” His eyes watch as you begin to unbuckle your armor, letting it fall from your frame to the floor.

“Then come and get me cowboy.”

@reveluving

[grandlinedreams]

|| this man is an exposed live wire in my brain ok

|| notes: uhh prequel to [this] and [this], semi Canon compliant, pre-s1 but mentions of pre-war Cooper, I love the dynamic 😔👌✨️

|| warnings: hopefully IC Cooper, asshole x asshole dynamic we love to see it, weapons/supply dealer!reader, Canon typical violence, mention of blood/reader is injured kinda, spoilers? Abt Cooper's backstory, kinda enemies to friends/lovers

He doesn't know why he's here.

No, that's a lie ㅡ he does know why he's here, he just doesn't want to admit it. To himself, or to anyone else, for that matter. That he needs help.

Those fancy little bullets for his gun are hard to come by, few and far between when he can't get them by looting and places like Ma June's enjoy extorting as much as they can for so very little.

There's a difference between business transactions and highway robbery, even now. Which is why he's here ㅡ he'd gotten talk about a place that sold weapons and weapon-related supplies at a fair rate, and necessity had made him swallow his pride to go and find out for himself.

Which is why he's not just turning around and fuckin' leaving.

The building is crammed between two others, as ramshackle as the rest being made of recycled tin and wood that's rotted by time and rain in places, but still suggests a stability that won't crumble if somebody breathes too hard on it.

Cooper's spurs jingle as he walks, lost momentarily to the chime of something over his head when he pushes the door open. He looks up, forehead creasing.

Is that a bell?

Rusted but still in working order, it clatters again when he shuts the door, looking around. It's about as put together as any other kind of shop, an eclectic organization to it ㅡ a couple of rifles, a pistol or two, along with an admittedly impressive assortment of knives ㅡ but it's the shine of something on the floor that makes Cooper stop.

His head cocks as he studies the stain, the still-slick shimmer to it that makes him crouch and drag two gloved fingers against it, studying the residue. Coppery, with a hefty dose of some kind of chem to clean it, but still unmistakable ㅡ blood.

Well damn. He doesn't know what's happened here and he's pretty sure he doesn't care to, much beyond the fact that if the runner of this place is dead, that puts a damper on things. Or maybe not ㅡ if nobody's here, what's to stop him from taking what he wants?

"If you're thinkin' of stealing," comes a call that snaps his head up as it echoes from further back in the building, "I'd advise you not to. Less you wanna meet your maker, then I'd be happy to assist."

It's a flat bravado that both amuses him and piques his interest, and he leans against the counter to rap his knuckles. "Not stealin'," he drawls, "just wonderin' what kind of business model you've got if you make customers wait."

"The kind where patience is still a virtue, that's what." Foosteps, unhurried ㅡ and then Cooper is staring at you as you round the corner. You've got a jumpsuit of some indistinguishable color opened to rest around your hips, dingy tank-top underneath ㅡ and a stimpak in your hand. No doubt for the mess of your other arm, bicep wrapped with gauze that's already seeped into a bloom of bright red.

Well now. Cooper wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but you still manage to surprise him. Enough that he's staring, which makes you scowl.

"I know that look," you challenge, "if you think I'm easy picking, you'll get a new place to breathe from, courtesy of the hole I'll put in your head."

Cooper's head cocks. "Well now sugar," he says, "that's not very nice now, is it? Wasn't even thinkin' of that." He turns, jerks a thumb at the half-assed cleaning of the mess on the floor. "That's your doin', I reckon."

You nod. "Don't get trouble much," you say, "but when I do, I make sure to prove a point." You jam the stimpak into your arm, and he watches the tension melt from your shoulders. "Now, what can I do for you besides point out the exit?"

Well damn, Cooper thinks again. You've got a pretty face, but it's at odds with the attitude coming from that nice little mouth of yours. About as welcoming as a rattlesnake and probably just as quick to anger, from the way you bristle as he eyes you.

"Need supplies," he says, and you snort.

"What a wellspring of information you are. What kind of supplies?" You eye him, brow furrowing. "You're a bounty hunter, aren't you? Get your kind in here all the time." You tap a worn boot against the floor, hands now on your hips. "Hope you got means to pay for shit, because I don't do tab and I sure as fuck don't do charity work."

Cooper isn't sure if he likes you or he hates you. Bit of both, he guesses. The like is tentative and the hate is more solid ground, because he hates just about everybody. Makes it easier to do what needs to be done.

"Well, sweetheart," he leans into the counter, tips his hat, "depends on what you got to show me that's worth buyin'."

You stare, unimpressed by whatever angle he's going for. He's handsome, you'll give him that ㅡ but not much else. He also reminds you of somebody, with that hat of his and the way he talks ㅡ the low, drawn out drawl that you've only seen in those movies you manage to scrounge up here and there for your amusement.

Rolling your eyes, you hold up a finger and shrug your arms back into the jumpsuit, though you don't bother to zip it up. "Gimme a sec."

You don't know why you're doing this. Entertaining the notion that if you show him good enough product, he'll become a regular. You like regulars, but most of what you get seem to run on about six months worth of visits and then vanish.

Probably dead. Such is the way of the world, and it's still enough to get by. But you like new faces.

To his credit, he doesn't flinch when you slap the first pack onto the counter, followed by a second, and then a third.

"This is baseline stuff," you explain. "Your usual grade of bullet. Black powder, the standard kick." You shove the first pack at him, let him inspect the bullets. "Then you've got these."

The second pack shoved over, thin fabric parted so he can eye the neat little row of what would be hollow-point bullets if they didn't end with a tiny, pointed bulb of red glass.

"Explosive rounds." Your expression is unreadable. "They do the job, but they need special packing. Unless you wanna be blown up before the damn things even get loaded into the gun."

Cooper hums, eyes the bullet he holds up, the barely there shift of powder in the glass. He watches as you push the third over. "And these?"

"Same, but they pack even more of a punch. I'd recommend only shooting them at shit you want up in smoke." You shrug. "Or people, deathclaws, whatever the fuck you do out there."

Cooper studies you. "Where did you get this stuff? Thought bullets were hard to come by."

You give him a flat look of annoyance. "I make 'em myself."

Cooper stares, then smirks. Another little tip to his head. "Really now," he says, watches you bristle like a viper, ready to strike. Wonders if those fangs of yours pack a punch, what he'd need to do to get you to spit at him. "How 'bout you show me, darlin'? Wanna make sure what I buy is good quality."

You should tell him to shove it. Tell him to get the absolute fuck out of your shop, take his fuckin' yeehaw personality to someone else in the mood to deal with it ㅡ but you don't.

Instead, you sigh and tug the packages back, moving away from the counter. "Well c'mon then," you prompt, irritated. "Don't have all goddamn day."

The back of your shop is half a home and half a workshop, sprawled mess of equipment rusted with time but otherwise well maintained, smell of grease and hot metal and gunpowder that clings to everything.

You don't have to look back to know he's followed you, the jingle of his spurs as he takes his time, eyes missing nothing. The boxes of empty casings and empty glass bulbs ㅡ and the Mister Handy that's slumped in the corner, sparks spitting from it.

"Poor thing got shot first with that...situation earlier." Your voice is quiet. "Gotta fix 'im if I can."

Kind of funny, you sound sadder about the damn machine than the fact you'd killed someone over it. Then again, they'd been trying to kill you, so...eh. Justified, in your book.

The rest of the room is a haphazard attempt at something like a house ㅡ a couch with blankets on it, a short stack of books gone yellow at the edges, a coffee table ㅡ and sitting on it is a shitty little television, staticy and without color ㅡ but that doesn't matter. What matters to Cooper is that he knows what it's playing.

Your flitting around fades a little as he watches himself on screen ㅡ forever ago, a lifetime ago. Before the bombs, before vault-tec ㅡ when he'd been happy.

He'd loved his life, his family ㅡ and they'd loved him too.

"I've got enough stuff to make another round of flash-baㅡ" You stop, blinking at the way he's staring at the television. "Somethin' wrong? I know this isn't much, but it's my way of living, soㅡ"

"Stop your yappin'," Cooper rasps, and you glare as he shakes himself out of whatever reverie he was lost in. You scowl.

"Look, I know this doesn't seem like much of anything, but this is my business, and my shop." Your eyes narrow. "So try to be a little fuckin' nicer if you want me to sell you anything."

Whatever patience he'd had left promptly snaps like a bowstring as he snatches your arm, grips it tighter than he should. "Listen, sweetheart," he hisses, "what exactly is stopping me from just takin' what I want and leaving?"

Something whirrs behind him, distracts him just enough for the cool, sharp kiss of metal at his throat.

"Do it," you taunt, expression unreadable, grip tight on the blade you hold to his neck. "You're not the first one to try, and you won't be the last."

And there, Cooper notes, are your fangs, ready to sink into his skin. The two of you stare at each other for a good, long minute while the Mister Handy spits and sputters. And then Cooper huffs something like a laugh. "Glad to see you've got some bite to you, darlin', but I still think I could handle you."

A threat and something a little less hostile all in one, even as you yank your arm out of his grasp. "You couldn't handle me even if I came with a fuckin' manual," you snap back, but there's a playful gleam to your eyes. "You gonna buy anything or just lookin' to be a pain in my ass?"

A crooked grin tugs at Cooper's mouth. "Both."

ㅡ

The truce between the two of you is tentative. An understanding in the barest sense, because neither of you are dumb enough to pass up a lucrative, beneficial deal. He gets his supplies, you get caps. Simple.

You won't go as far as to say you're even friends, up until the point that you greet him on a visit with, "You know, you remind me of somebody."

He eyes you. "Really now. And who would that be, sweetheart? You workin' with more ghouls than just me?"

You snort. "Careful," you tease, "you almost sound jealous." Your tone quiets as you drum your fingers on the counter. "Nah, you remind me of that one actor, Cooper Howard."

Cooper stills. Watches you warily, turning a spent bullet casing over and over between gloved fingers.

"He played a cowboy," you say, nodding to yourself. "Talked like you do, too. Good movies, at least the ones I've gotten my hands on." You eye him, playful light to your eyes. "Wouldn't happen to be a fan of him too, would you?"

Cooper debates. He's not sure if you've put the pieces together and if you have, you're polite enough not to say it. He appreciates that, makes that fleeting temptation of putting a bullet in your head all the more temporary. He likes you. Be a shame if he had to cut ties.

"No," he answers. "I can safely say he and I are nothin' alike." Not anymore. He lets himself lean over the counter, too close to your face. Intimidation, maybe, or perhaps just because he likes being able to look at you like this. "Got anythin' else to tell me?"

Your eyes flick over his face, down to his lips as you lean a little closer, the suggestion of your mouth just shy of his. "Yeah," you murmur, quiet. "Next time you come by, work on your fuckin' manners."

[greyfics]

even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

pairing: the ghoul (cooper howard) x reader fic type: enemies to lovers, no smut, mild spice + eventual fluff slow burn meter: ◈◈◇◇◇ word count: 3.8K inspo: TPD lyric prompt list, reblogged on main reader type: assumed wastelander background, gender neutral, 'I don't need a knight to save me', assumed negative views of BoS, assumed gun for hire cw: strong language, violence, reference to fictional drugs, mild dismemberment summary: reader is a gun for hire who has gotten themselves into a bit of trouble in the form of a moderate bounty with a local segment of the brotherhood- and cooper howard knows he can get all the drugs he needs for what seems like an easy job.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

"We can do this all day, darlin'. Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leavin' here with you." you feel the pressure of a pistol barrel pressing against the base of your skull from behind, and a disgruntled, defeated sigh slips through your lips. The game is up- you're out of ammo, down to the ripper hanging from your side, and 'gun against the brain-cage' is the indisputable checkmate.

Up to this point, you'd been pretty successful in shaking off the swathes of bounty hunters and jet-scrounging raiders that'd been on your tale since you became an enemy to the brotherhood- which, nowadays, seemed to be a pretty fucking easy feat to accomplish. The rusty knights were getting a little big for their oversized, several-tonne boots- and you had never been a fan of self-asserting authorities using their power in the name of 'order', especially not when they could hardly organise their own little sectors across the expansive, sparse remains of the USA.

As good with a revolver as you are, today it seems your luck has ran out and your karma has caught up with you, because you've finally met your match in a ghoul with a face so smug you wish you at least had a chance to slap it before losing the game of cat and mouse you'd been playing for a couple days now across Junktown. Your face collides into concrete and a quick click combines with the feel of steel against your wrists, The Ghoul's threat having evolved into a promise.

You spit a ball of blood and saliva from your mouth, wrought up by the hard impact with the ground below, "Alright, you win this round you freak- I'll come with you, just get these off of me." You hear a smirk from above, "Now how stupid do you fuckin' think I am? No, I gave you a chance to come willingly, you chose to shoot me in the leg. Lucky I ain't returned the favour." He gives you a light, sharp kick in the side with the tip of his boot, "Up. We got a long way to travel, and sooner we get there, sooner I get paid. I'll be reminding you now that I only get a bonus for bringing you alive, so make my life hell and I'll live without the extra caps." "Not exactly easy when my-" you hear the chick of a safety being cocked, and awkwardly shuffle back until you can jut sharply up onto your knees and slowly stand, turning to glare daggers into your now captor. The Ghoul's expression remains stiffly affixed with the wry, smug facade he bears: relaxed, squinting eyes peeking out above a thin, ever-upturned lip- you swear to yourself to you'll smack that smile off his face- but by all accounts, beneath the withered, decaying skin that had festered in his ghoulish transformation, the man had the stature (and admittedly, the jawline) of a filmstar.

You shake off the irritable possibility of monster like this getting lucky with the gene pool as a calloused hand secures a vice grip on one of your wrists and tugs you in suit as it's owner sets into motion, dragging you away from the remnants of an old civilisation and towards a military base miles away you are all too acquainted with.

You had been so caught up in the wild ride of adrenaline that came with being on the lamb that you briefly detached yourself from the catalyst of the chase- but as concrete and clay inevitably crumbles away to distant sandy dunes and cacti, the dread stirs in your stomach like a plague. It was easier to wave off the consequences of your actions when you weren't being marched towards the gallows to face them- it wasn't like you made an attack on the organisation. You kill one knight trashing up a town in the name of redundant technology, and suddenly you're on a hit-list. You know The Ghoul probably doesn't know this, and you know for certain that even if you tried to give the man a sob story he wouldn't care. This was it. "You about to be sick?" You snap from your pessimistic daze at the sudden interruption of silence, "No. Why?" "You look like you just ate a mouldy iguana, that's why- and I don't want sick on my boots." You let out an irked groan, and sharply snap your head to face the horizon in the opposite direction to your captor. You hope this will satiate his sour jabs for the time being-

Your hope is crushed five minutes later.

"Go on then. I'm bored shitless and I'm outta jet, so spill." He says with an almost theatrical exasperation in his voice, "Spill what, exactly?" you coldly respond in a mute tone, focus still fixed on the horizon to the west, "Well what's the big story? Someone's always gotta be the victim when they got a bounty on their head, so what's the tragic tale behind 'Y/N', huh?" the muscles in your neck and shoulders tense up at the mention of your name- you weren't exactly a known associate or long-time rival to the brotherhood, and the wanted poster you had wrestled from the stiff fingertips of a raider last week only had a sketch and a scrawled account of the incident. You falter for a moment before replying, but ardently avoid taking the bait, "If your plan is to get me to tell you how we got to where we are right now just so you can mock me, then I think I'd rather carry on enjoying the view, if you don't mind." The sweet-toned sarcasm at the end of your sentence seeps with venom, and the hostility it implies does not slip away from your adversary.

This time, his laugh is a soft, whisper of a chuckle- something spiteful, foreboding- followed by matching words, "You should hear what your little community had to say about you for a couple caps and a promise not to shoot anybody- well, anybody else-" his words cut into something personal, then- and though you would normally know that attacking someone with your hands cuffed behind your back is never going to end in your favour, at this moment you couldn't care less as you swing your leg round in a swift roundhouse motion, and raise your knee towards the only place you can think to leave a mark-

You hit your target, but instead of howls of pain you are met with a split second of awkward silence as the ghoul cocks his head, unimpressed, before slamming it into your own, sending you staggering back a few paces-

Before you can reorient your vision, a heavy dull force plummets into your ribs- the sand cushions your blow slightly better than the concrete you met face-to-face with an hour ago, at least. Your arms, however, are not grateful to be pressed beneath you as a familiar, withered hand pushes into your throat, putting as much pressure on your trapped limbs when your upper body presses back as it does on your esophagus, halting your air supply as he lowers himself down to a kneel and fixes your gaze onto his,

"If I wasn't already a walking corpse, that could've really hurt- not a very nice thing to do to someone just tryna have a little bit of light conversation now, is it?" All you can do is glower through eyes blinded by the sun, which gleams behind the shadow of the ghoul's head, bearing on it a smile tweaked with frustration- you need to breathe- you can't keep this up, your heartbeat is louder than the sun in your eyes and-

The pressure releases. You turn your head to the ground and suck in air between dry, heavy coughs, and after you've finally steadied your breath, you find a minor fleck of relief in being hoisted up from the ground this time instead of scrabbling to get up at gunpoint. You wonder, perhaps, if this is some small act driven by guilt- perhaps this man had a conscience once and a set of values beyond doing what it takes to ensure one's own survival. You were a gun for hire yourself, so it would be hypocritical to criticise your captor for his line of work- mostly, you preferred to stick with jobs guarding merchant caravans and to take out bands of raiders harassing the cities you passed through, but you never questioned the legitimacy of the requests you received, or the cargo you oversaw; you had settled for a little while, having stuck around the same little settlement for a few years now and had started to develop some semblance of a connection to the people there-

or so you thought.

You know you're going to be walking for a while- so with a resigned breath, you begin saying what little there is left to say about your present situation, "Well, you probably know most of what I can tell you from the sounds of things, but I guess there's nothing else for me to do right now, and the horizon is the same no matter where you go around here. I guess you could say we're in similar lines of work, but that's not really what got me in trouble with The Brotherhood. They think they can rock up in a power armour with a logo on it and wreak havoc as they please because it's for 'the greater good', but they leave towns half-destroyed when they pass through. I didn't want that to happen to... well, I didn't like the sound of that happening where I was. So, dude gets out of his power armour and starts waving guns around screaming about some piece of pre war tech or the other, and I tell him with... a strong choice of words, to get going. He starts running for the power armour, guns blazing- and I just have better aim, I guess. Not even like I got paid for killing him, either. Maybe that would've made this whole thing a little bit sweeter."

Your profession leaves a silence hanging in the air for a little while after, but it feels appropriate. The dunes filter sand from the far west to respond to your story- the horizon quivers, but only through the illusion of heat; the sand dries your eyes before they have reason to shed tears. A loaded sigh escapes the ghoul in front of you, and the clasp on your wrist softens but for a moment before stiffening to pull you onwards, "Yep, well, caps keep you going a little longer round these parts, but money can't solve all your problems." "You should tell that to the Brotherhood. They seem to be doing pretty well for all the wealth they've hoarded- can even pay big time bounty hunters to do their shitwork from the looks of things." You retort, but after a moment follow up with, "Wish I could say I was upset about it but hell, if I were you, I'd turn me in too."

You hear that soft chuckle again, but when you turn around to catch a look at the face that matches it, you see relaxed muscles and a far-off stare- he won't let you go, but he has let his guard down but a little bit- perhaps when we get closer to my story's end, he'll even let me walk to my death with my hands unbound.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

After trudging on in silence for a while, head bowed to your fatalistic contemplations, you find as you drag yourself out of the pit in your head and look over the horizon once more that the scene has changed: the atomic orange dewdrops spattering the sky not long ago have quickly to faded into a bruised overhanging shadow of violent, lavender, crimson; twilight approaches, and you're still surrounded by desert hills and illusions.

One of these illusory quivers catches your sharp eye, a dark blip that has appeared somewhere in that distance; it's moving, but it isn't close enough for you to determine whether it's just a trick of the heat or whether it's something heading in your direction. Your brow furrows, but you say nothing yet.

Within a minute, the object comes into better focus- or, rather, the creature. Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to utter some kind of warning, managing to rasp, "Get the handcuffs off of me." "Now, darlin', I thought we managed to get past this already-" "No-" You tug your bound wrists, pulling the ghoul into your side- his other arm steadies itself against your shoulder before slipping up to your jaw and dragging it to face him, his own clenched and unaccompanied by a smile this time- the pallid complexion of your own face gives him enough pause for you to blurt in a fruitless, strained whisper, "Deathclaw."

If The Ghoul's skin could have paled more than it already had in his lifeless state, then it might have at that moment. The tight grip holding you against him slackens completely and you thud onto your ass as he draws his guns and casts you a playfully pitiful glance from above, shrugging and saying, "Sorry, darlin', guess I forgot to pick up the keys." He steps in front of you as a curse rips out of your throat in the sudden panic that ensues, and you try to muster enough brain cells in this moment to figure out a way of not dying, prematurely, and becoming just another skeletal curio.

There's the back-up plan, the 'if shit goes south' plan that you still hadn't gone through with because of the possible dismemberment that it might entail- but you had not been unarmed when you had been restrained earlier, and the phantom hum of a ripper blade always strapped to your waist as your last resort. You won't be able to wield it with any competence with your hands restrained as they are, but you can hit the power button from your current position-

Though, usually, you'd prefer to do it when the blade was already in your hand, not digging into the side of your leg.

shredded leg is better than deathclaw snack. Your astute analysis confirms your decision, and with a grunt and a whack, the blade starts chugging into a steady whirring action by the will of the dregs of an energy cell embedded inside- the next couple of seconds are far too long.

The blade begins it's excursion into your thigh as the gunslinging ghoul whips around at the sound, eyes wide at the sudden display of spraying crimson. You scream, struggle to try to align the cuffs without jerking your shoulders out of place. The deathclaw bounds into the mid-distance, closing in upon it's approach- it caught your scent before you could even see it's silhouette-

The tip disappears as your leg reflexively jerks, responding to the dancing jig of the chainsaw blade- you see pathetic sparks as the thing bounces off of the cuffs- strong enough to sever a leg, too rusted and battered to cut through metal. Your plan is failing. Your leg is bleeding. The cowboy falters as the deathclaw closes further-

You make a snap decision: fingers are easier to fix than legs.

You twist your wrist, and the pain just melts into the already existing burn emanating from your leg- a bloody, three-fingered stump slips from it's cage, and you swing your still-cuffed hand around in a fluid movement to drag the ripper from its sheath within your leg, snapping the cord that ties it to your waist-

You hear a frenzied firing of a revolver, but the approaching thunks are unimpeded- and though you know your leg may give way when the adrenaline finally dies, and though you know you need to find the two fingers you lost before sand vipers snatch them up and you're known as three-fingered y/n for the rest of your life- you launch yourself from the ground on your good leg, and stagger towards the approaching beast.

You grew up in the wastelands. You grew up in a settlement up here that, like any of the rest, was constantly plagued by critters and beasts- and if you were taught anything by the survivors that surrounded you, it was the following:

If you can't blow the bastard up, get 'em in the belly.

The deathclaw- a baby, thankfully- has it's gaze fixated on the man that had in the past half a minute become it's primary aggressor- so when you stumble forward, low and bleeding, with what to the creature is just another indistinguishable bit of metal in your hands, it does not see reason to change the track of it's jump.

As it launches itself above you, you pray to lady luck that you hit your mark.

An ear-splitting yowl and a sudden muffled crash tells you she's listening, for once.

Finally, after a few ragged breaths, the adrenaline wears off and you feel the weight of your body pressing into the wounds that liberated you- and the blueberry sky fades to black as you become weightless. This time, your fall is of your own accord- and this time, something stops you from hitting the ground.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

When you come to, you do not open your eyes at first- awake though you might be, your body is heavy with exhaustion. Before your encounter with the ghoul, you had been on the run for weeks, and in the last twenty four hours had not had time to stay put long enough to sleep. Coupled with the rough journey and the blood loss, you couldn't move if you wanted to. That being said, in those few dark minutes, a few things of note still catch your attention.

There is a faint crackling to your side, and the lulling warmth of a fire that brushes in waves against your face- and though you feel the silky grains of sand cushioning most of your resting body, your head lays higher up, neck leaning up to a more elevated surface- your attention snaps to the light sensation of fingertips absently grazing your neck in a repeating pattern, and the distant hum of an old country song embedded into muscle memory. The surrounding sensations are a strange comfort for all the brutal imagery this post apocalyptic world usually beholds; but it is brief, as your neck tenses, giving away your lucidity. The hand pauses, lifts- settles somewhere to the side.

When you dare to open your eyes, you are unsurprised to see the question-begging smirk and sharp eyes peering down from above, "Have a good nap?" You bolt upright, and immediately regret it when the bending of your leg snags one of the stitches you didn't know had been sewed into you until just now. Defeated, you flop back down, turning your head to the side to gaze into the dying embers of the fire beside you- praying you can brush off the flush of blush creeping into your face to the influence of the fire. Eventually you garner the courage to speak, "Feels like I've only been out for an hour." He snorts, shaking his head, "You went down around sunset, and it'll be sunrise in a couple hours." This catches you by surprise, and not just because of the amount of time you've lost, "What happened to getting your caps as soon as possible? Lost a lot of time waiting." He frowns, but does not lose his grin, "You trying to get yourself killed? 'Cos you've done a damn fine job of that so far. No, I've just been doing some thinking." "Congratulations. I'm proud of you." His eyes narrow into slits and he tuts at your sarcasm, following your gaze into the fire, "See, it could be argued that I would've been minced ghoul splattered n' buried six feet under the dunes if you hadn't gone all psycho slicing yourself up like that to get that baby deathclaw where it hurts." "That was a baby?-" "Anyway, guess my point is I might be willing to do a lot of things, but I still got my principles- only human thing I got left, probably. So I'd say I owe it you to not kill you at least. When you can walk, we'll go east to- well, to what's left of Shady Sands, and then you can do whatever the fuck you want."

You consider his words, and not knowing how to express appreciation or what to begin to make of this mysterious stranger and his obscure appeal, you find yourself rejecting this suggestion, though you don't know why- and so naturally, you dig yourself into a hole, "Well, you could also say that I would have died of blood loss if you didn't stitch my leg up." He studies you then for a minute, before shrugging and clasping your hands together at the wrists. You begin to stammer indecipherable protest and with a smirk he pulls you up, your hands still held rigid in your lap by his own, his head resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, "Now, I'm starting to get the impression you want me to march you up to our friends at the brotherhood just to keep my company." If he can't see the warm hue in your face now, he can certainly feel the heat flushing through your flustered face- you fight against the feeling, if only to make sure you stand a chance of winning this little exchange,

"Says the man who watched me sleep all night." You feel him shrug your comment off as his grin extends, "I might look like a monster, but I was a gentleman once upon a time. Like I say, I got principles." He lets you slip forward out of his grasp when you move to shuffle yourself around. As you do, you feel for the first time you are looking at him properly, sincerely- face to face, on equal grounds, with no threats of death or necessary facades of false confidence. After soaking in as much as you allow yourself to without losing yourself to curiosity entirely, you crossing your arms across your chest, and reply,

"Well, I have principles too- and if you're oh so graciously not turning me into the brotherhood then I still I owe you, so I guess I'll just have to stick around until you nearly get yourself killed again- that's all. No other reason." The ghoul rises, resting a hand on his pistol,

"You tell yourself that, darlin'- I'm gonna enjoy this change of scenery, I think."

[inexplicifics]

Hiya! I was wondering if you’d been having any luck making the Cats Among Wolves bunnies cooperate lately? If not, that’s cool. Plot bunnies are not the most cooperative creatures, but I figured I’d ask. I was also curious about what the writing process usually looks like for you if you were willing to explain it a bit. Do you tend to jump around between projects just following the inspiration, or do you write out at least a whole scene or chapter before letting yourself move around? How many times do you usually send a fic to Rose for betaing before you feel ready to release it? I always find different people’s processes so interesting.

So Cats Among Wolves is mostly not cooperating at the moment - I am weirdly low on Brain and the bunnies are not doing long-form very well just now. But here's a snippet from the Cedric & Axel fic:

Fuck, this is good, Cedric opines, sipping greedily at the soup Gaetan is holding for him. “The old Wolf knows his way around a kitchen,” Gaetan agrees, nodding. “I think I gained most of a stone the first winter I spent here.” “You needed it,” Eskel puts in. “All you Cats are too damn scrawny.” “Wolves are just absurdly big,” Gaetan sniffs. “And what are Vipers, then?” Eskel - teases. And Gaetan is grinning. Axel has never seen Gaetan so relaxed around an alpha before. Not even Cedric. But there’s not even a hint of tension in his littlest brother. He’s utterly unafraid. “Vipers are mostly perfectly normal sizes, Letho’s just special,” Gaetan says cheerfully. Letho smirks.

As to my writing process - oh gods, it's like a pogo stick. I often have eight or ten docs open, and I create a new WIP at least three times a week. (I am very easy to plotbunny. And I am surrounded by enablers.) I write until I get stuck and then I go to something else. Sometimes, if something really grabs me, I can get a whole longfic out in a week; sometimes I have to come back to it again and again until it clicks. My personal feeling is that as long as words are ending up in a row, it's all good.

I don't outline. Outlines kill fic for me. Once I've written down what's going to happen, why bother writing it again? Even for something like MBtT, I had the very loosest possible sketch of the plot and the desired relationships. I also can't estimate how long a fic is going to be to save my life. I thought MBtT was going to be 50K. I have to very deliberately keep from putting plot into things like prompt fills and flash fics, because once I've added plot, that fic isn't getting done in less than 10K.

I usually send the fic to Rose when it's completely done, and then do a pass through it once she's left comments, fixing all the plot holes she finds. Then she checks my work and I put it in the posting queue.

One thing I have found that helps me is that I color-code my docs. Blue is in progress, purple is ready for beta, and green is ready to be posted. It makes it easier for me to track things visually.

The other thing that really helps is cheer-readers. Because I try to only post finished fics, sometimes I'll start wondering if what I'm writing is really any good. Rose and Twist and Ray have all been wonderful at Encouraging me enthusiastically to keep going, and suggesting directions when I get stuck. Cheer-readers are great and I encourage writers to find them if they can.

Hope that was interesting!

[cheralith]

hello,

all right so hear me out (I say whilst being dragged into the rubber room) detective rin needs to find a cannibalistic serial killer (random character of your choice) so the police force enlists the help on an imprisoned cannibal (reader). on the hunt for the killer they proceed to have the freakiest situation ship/not relationship known to man (this is greatly inspired by hannibal) I loveee the cannibal au and your writing and this has wormed its way into my brain

ooooo this is fun !!! i cant lie to u anon ive been having trouble with rin (and sae) in this au in terms of a plotline that intersects their reader with kaiser's reader (as im planning their plots to be intertwined the most) so this is so intriguing! esp since i love hannibal im planning a rewatch soon huehue

def planning to write this more elaborately but this is what i said about rin & sae in this au. shidou would be the obvious choice in regards to the killer, but since i made him a human here, what are our thoughts abt oliver or karasu??? someone whos analytical and level-headed, someone who can properly blend in with the rest of society yet hide in the shadows when the time calls for his urges.

whoever it is, perhaps c!reader had a prior connection to him—a close relationship of sorts that sort of teetered on romantic but he never fully delved his heart into them. his partner-in-crime perhaps. but when they take the bullet for him during one incident that lands them in jail and contact is severed between them, reader loses hope and trust for him, thinking that he abandoned them.

in comes rin, offering this chance of reducing their sentence and possibly getting revenge on him in exchange for their cooperation on this manhunt. they have this fair exchange: reader gets their vengeance and rin gets a chance to prove himself to his brother (see prior post), but they don't realize they get so tangled within each other in the process.

(i'll add an extra plot twist: the serial killer had never abandoned reader. he was just silently plotting a way out for them to get them back to his side. the problem is whether reader believes him or not during one encounter and if they devote themself to back to him or rin)

[chaoticneutralgood2627]

Advice to College Students (From someone who's trying to apply for a master's program)

Note that these are in no particular order and from my own particular experience. I will add if I think of more.

TAKE NOTES ON EVERYTHING, ESPECIALLY IF YOU FIND IT COOL: your brain will tell you 'I'll remember that fact, it's so neat!' Your brain is a BITCH. You will not remember SHIT. Take ALL the notes. If you can record your classes, even better!

Write down who your professors are for each class. Make a big document. All the years. Write them. Write down their vibes and if you like them. Write down what sort of assignments they gave. Because I'm over here trying desperately to remember which professors I had multiple classes with so I can beg them for recommendations.

Save your assignments. Even if they're horribly cringey. You can use this to gauge how far you've come. I know it hurts your soul. I have fanfic from when I was 12. Do it anyway.

When they tell you the grad school shit, pay attention. Even if you don't plan to go back to school. Because I didn't listen and now I have changed my mind and I have no recollection of that section of school.

Networking. Gather contacts from your classmates. If for no other reason than because you think they're intimidating and you don't want your LinkedIn to look depressing. They're probably just as intimidated by you. And if not, you can pretend they are.

College is not high school. Next to no one has friends at first. Everyone is a disaster. Talk to people. You might not find Your People in your first friend group. That's fine. There are people there somewhere that can make life less awful. The worst they can say is no, you can't be friends with us (and most people aren't that bitchy). The universe is big and no one is judging you harder than you are.

It's not that friends Can't Live Together, it's that people have different organization styles and needs for survival and sometimes those Do Not Mesh. If you're going to live with someone, make sure that you have talked about things.

Everything can go on a resume if you word it right. Editing a friend's paper? Congrats, you have editing and tutoring experience. Playing DND on weekends? Cooperation and teambuilding to work towards a common goal, sometimes in the face of creative differences (your friends want to Fight Everything and you want to Stay Alive (or reversed)). EVERYTHING CAN GO ON A RESUME.

There are so many resources on campus. Use them, for the love of god because then you're going to be an adultier adult and realize that there is not a med center right across the campus.

Find what motivates you. Mine is spite, I am applying to grad school to get out of retail and to spite 2 specific supervisors. Cling to that when you want to drop out and quit.

There is not a specific route to take in college. Or out of college. Listen to yourself rather than everyone's advice (I am aware that this is ironic to be on an advice post).

If you think you can wake up at 9 after like 4 hours of sleep, that is the devil talking to you. Go to bed.

On the same note. I am aware that you woke up at like 5 for high school. You will not want to exist before noon. 8 am classes are not illegal, but they should be.

Take care of yourself. You're paying a shit ton of money to be there, you can take an hour to eat the food. Plus, if you take care of yourself, then you will work better.

There will be weird shit happening all over. Just roll with it. Unless it's hurting someone or has the potential to hurt someone (my one friend got stalked).

You are not required to stay somewhere social if it's creeping you the fuck out or if you aren't comfy. I think I went to a single party in my entire college life and I hid in the corner with their illegal kitten the whole time.

Speaking of illegal kittens. If you know someone has an illegal kitten, no the fuck you do not. There probably will be at least one. And you do not know about it.

[verysanebsdfan]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟻: ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴋᴇ

The Perfect Equation: Village by the lake

Ishigami Senku x fem!reader

masterlist tpe masterlist

<previous ・・・・・ next>

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"My name is Kohaku. And I do believe I've fallen for you quite hard."

She says, making Senku drop the tree he was slowly trying to place down. I am also startled. "Did she really just say that? We just met. I mean, she is cute but..." I think, not daring to make a sound, at least not before one of them.

Senku looks annoyed, as always, when anyone mentions romance involving him. "Sheesh. Annoying crap like that makes me wanna curl up and die." Senku groaned, not trying to hide his annoyance and disgust. "I mean, really? You've got a crush on me now? In an emergency like this...?"

"I'm not saying that at all!" She said in her defense, and I relax, leaning closer to Senku.

"Even if she was, so many guys would take that chance; she kinda looks like Lillian Weinberg, you know... The American singer." I chuckle and then look back at her. "Sorry to say that, but it really sounded like it, no offense, now calm down... Both of you." I smile.

"I'm just saying I'll cooperate with you because I like you as people!" Senku finally calms down, saying he appreciates it, and then he says something about how love is the most irrational emotion ever. Wait till he finds out about jealousy.

We all got ready to sleep since the sun was already setting. I prepare the fireplace and light it.

"Hey, (Name)? Do you want this sleeping bag or can I take it? I only have one, sorry." He tells me apologetically, to which I shake my head. I've been sleeping without one for some time now, so I'm okay. He then proceeds to huddle into the sleeping bag and turn around.

Both Kohaku and I lay, well, more like sit, in almost identical positions. Sitting, our back supported by a tree, and our hands on our stomach or chest, getting supported by a leg. The only difference is that she has her knives in her hands.

"So you new humans sleep with blades in hand?" Senku asks, watching her from his comfy sleeping bag.

"It's pretty obvious I don't have 'love' on the brain, right? Hah! I may be curious about your ways, but that doesn't mean I trust you. This is just a habit from having had to protect myself my entire life. Don't let it get to you." She said, looking alert just like before, her teal eyes reflecting the fire quite nicely. "I still don't get why you thought I had a crush on you, I'd never take someone's man. That's like common courtesy, is it not?" She says, and I nod along until I realize what she said. And I am not the only one who realized it.

"She is not my woman!!" Senku yells, looking agitated, a light blush coating his cheeks. "Anyway, you can drop the weapons, I ain't so brave to suddenly attack a lioness like you. So don't waste another 0,1 seconds and get to sleep already.

"A lioness?!" Kohaku angrily exclaims. "That's mean! You may live like a gentleman, but your super-filthy mouth tells a different story. My blade may find that sharp tongue of yours before either of us knows it. (Name) How do you put up with him?" To which I just chuckle, "I'd also like to know that."

・・・・・

"That long-haired man, you're fighting him?" Kohaku asks us, just as she picks up her huge jar. "I would be happy to help, I'm not one to retreat in disgrace, you know."

"Yep. That's why I'm building a Kingdom of Science." Senku says, looking determined. It suits him.

"Science? You mean your sorcery?" Kohaku questions but is not met with an answer.

"But first, I need manpower!" Senku states, and I smile, I am so glad he got revived. One thing is that I missed him; the second is that we would have no chance without him.

"Then you should come with me." Kohaku offers. "I'll be returning home after fetching some hot spring water."

"Hot spring water?" I tilt my head in confusion. What could she need it for? For medical or relaxation purposes? Rituals? I don't know. I'm sure she'll tell us, though.

Kohaku approaches the spring and fills the whole Jar with steaming water. "This will make a fine hot bath once I carry it back. Perfect for rejuvenation." She clears out my confusion, mostly.

"But you're ten billion percent healthy. Why would a vigorous lioness like you need rejuvenation?" Senku asks, looking dumbfounded.

Hearing that, Kohaku bursts into anger, "I am no lioness!" she defends her pride. "And it's for my older sister!" She sighs and picks up the jar. "I swear, she's such a nuisance. That sister of mine only slows me down. She's been sick lately; if I could take her place and give her this healthy body of mine, I would." She calmly says, looking sad, understandably so.

"But then you would be the one sick Kohaku. That would be just as bad, no?" I question, to which she does not respond.

We all start walking down the hill. I take in the beautiful scenery. Green was everywhere in sight. No signs of a modern civilization. It was so peaceful, and the air was so fresh. I could get used to this. I might miss modern life as much as possible, yet nature makes it so much better. The beautiful sight made me relax a little. I was no longer alone. I had Senku with me, and now also Kohaku, whom I already adore.

"That pot only holds about 50 liters. Not exactly enough for a full-blown bath." Senku states. He's right. It's far from enough, so why? "How many times have you gone back and forth, carrying that big, heavy thing, day after day?" Senku asks softly. He looks impressed and melancholic. No, that's not it, but it is an emotion I don't seem to be able to classify.

"Hah! It serves as my daily training. The water is just heavy enough for that. It helps strengthen my body, so I suppose I have to thank my troublesome sister for that." Kohaku says positively, smirking back at us, yet then she almost trips and almost spills the water. Senku caught the jar just in time.

"You're still not totally healed from earlier, huh?" He smirks at her, holding the jar up. Did he get stronger? He said the jar is about 50 liters, which would be 50 kilograms, counting only water; the jar also weighs something. If both of them are holding it, I can only assume how much he is currently holding, but I'd guess about 25 kilograms. "That's a lot!" I nod my head, he has definitely gotten stronger. "We'll be in a real pinch if you overdo it and kick the bucket. Lemme lend you a hand." Senku offered, still showing off that stupid smirk of his.

Kohaku, of course, handed him the jar, and that was too much for him, and he ended up falling face first and also spilling the jar. "Talk about overdoing it." Annoyed, Kohaku said, picking up the jar and going to refill it.

"Am I the only one in this stone world who's not a gorilla? Kohaku, Tsukasa, Taiju..." Senku grumbles as he gets up from the ground.

"Hey!! I'm not a gorilla, too, idiot. Right now, I'm probably weaker than you." I tell him while chuckling. I approach him and dust off a little dirt from his shoulders. "Here."

・・・・・

While Kohaku was out, Senku decided to make a three-wheeled vehicle to transport us to Kohaku's village faster.

"Amazing, building such a useful contraption so quickly!" Kohaku squeals excitedly as she sits on the jar at the front of the vehicle.

"So quickly? It's only because I had the perfect set of materials from the pulleys yesterday. Progress gives rise to further progress. And practical application of that progress is at the core of science." Senku yells from behind me.

"Senku, I don't wanna underestimate you, but... does this have breaks?" I ask, sweating nervously.

"No!" Senku responds. Of course, it doesn't; what did I even expect? And, of course. We crashed. I felt the harsh ground scraping my kneecaps, palms, and elbows. Groaning, I try to get up, until I realize Something is holding my lower body down. Senku was laying right on my thighs. This made me flustered. The intimate nature of this position is getting into my brain. "He looks cute, lying there."

He grunts and props himself up on his elbows. "You okay?" He asked, and I quickly stood up, ignoring the small streak of blood from my wounds tickling down my leg. "Yeah." To which he just shakes his head and says: "I'll patch it up for you later."

We dust off the stray dust particles on our clothes and look ahead of us. "Welcome to my village!" Says Kohaku proudly.

"How many people live here?" Asked Senku. "I forget how many children and elders there are, but them said,e we have exactly forty!"

We are staring ahead at the primitive settlement on two islands by the shore of a lake. If there are forty people plus some children and elderly, it means there must have been a lot of generations or a lot of revived people. But those people do not seem too knowledgable about, well, anything. At least from what I can see. They do seem like good fishermen, though.

We get closer to the bridge that connects the first village island and the shore, but then, out of nowhere, two men get ready to attack us. Thankfully, Kohaku deflects their attacks. "No violence, Kinro, Ginro! I'm alive thanks to those two!" Kohaku shouts at the men.

"Sorry 'bout that, Kohaku, but no can do." A blonde man with a side part, chin-length hair, and green eyes says. "No outsiders allowed. You know that. The chief'll be mad.

"There's nothing to argue about. Rules are rules." Says the other man. His haircut looks like it's straight out of Bungo Stray Dogs. I swear the random long piece in the middle of your forehead is not that hard to cut off. He does, however, have the same eye color as the man beside him, a pleasant shade of green.

"No humans live beyond our borders. Any outsiders have to be criminals we kicked out in the past. They cannot stay here. Whether they're your saviours or not, the details don't matter." The man with the strange haircut says.

"You leave me no choice," Kohaku says, "Right here. Right now. Fight me!" She threatened them, making a really scary face, but I put a hand on her shoulder.

"Kohaku, let me at least..." I sigh and turn to the young men. "Uhm, hi, uhm, how about we take this logically and without fighting. Both me and my companion seem around your age, if not younger. Which means you would know if we were criminals. You might say that our parents were criminals. Well, I do not have a good argument for this one, but look, if they were, they would more likely have more kids and attack you, obviously." I try to reason with them. "Either way, I don't need you to trust us right now, but I would appreciate it if you didn't fight, with Kohaku especially."

Then, some bubbles fly from behind me. I see Senku using our soap and a bit of the hot spring water to make them, blowing them through his finger. I smile; this brings me back to my childhood. But I can't say the same for the men. Kinro and Ginro, was it? They look absolutely baffled and terrified.

The brown haired one tries to pop them frantically, while the blondie looks at the 'flying jewels' that are floating around him.

"Whut?!" Senku exclaims while sticking his pinky into his ear. "They're that primitive, huh?" and then he makes a really nasty face. "Heh, heh, heh... perfect. They'll all be mine. I'll have the power of science and forty people to boot once I recruit this bunch to my cause," he exclaims while holding his hand up. This really is some face a main villain would make when talking about world domination or something. "Get excited!!"

[imfeelinghungry]

(KCD2 Fanfic) A Fate Worse Than Death - Chapter 1: Introduction

I finally started that story I spoke of a few weeks ago.

Description:

A series of chapters depicting Erik's revenge on Henry (and Hans) for killing Istvan Toth. Told from both Hans and Henry's third person point of view, depending on the chapter. Check the notes at the beginning of the first chapter for more information on how it will be formatted, but essentially every chapter will be a different trope. There will be no in-depth chapters on how they got into this situation, because as much as I love them, my ADHD makes me super impatient when it comes to writing them. You can ask for a particular trope in the comments of any chapter, or submit them in the form of an [anonymous] ask via my tumblr @imfeelinghungry. I'm very non judgemental when it comes to the enjoyment of whump, so please don't worry about it being offensive. Worst I'll do is let you know that it's not something I'm personally comfortable writing <3

Click for the story under the cut

Content: Captivity, beatings, asphyxiation, forced to watch, blood, wounds/injuries, [mentioned] humiliation, restrained

Hans’ head was throbbing when he awoke. The pain was sharp and jarring, as though someone was pricking his brain with hot needles. Faintly, he could hear someone speaking. Not necessarily to him, but certainly about him. The voice was unfamiliar and cold, and it sent a shiver down his spine before he’d even seen who it came from.

“Look who’s finally awake. I think we’re finally ready to begin – wouldn’t you say so, Henry?”

That name alone was what gave Hans the strength to open his eyes. He found himself staring at the ground beneath him for a long moment - the rest of his body unwilling, or perhaps unable to cooperate with him, before his gaze flickered towards the limp form that hung from the ceiling in front of him.

It was indeed Henry. Chained by his wrists with his head hung low and both his arms outstretched. He stood on the balls of his feet, unable to completely touch the ground due to the chains being too short. His hair was damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead, while his body remained completely bare. Hans could see everything that had been done to him up until this point. Every fresh scar on his body, every open wound, every drop of blood that oozed from them - he could see it all, and it made him sick to his stomach.

He made an effort to call out to him. Tried reaching out a hand to drag himself even a little closer, but Erik had a boot on his neck before he could get very far. The heel dug relentlessly into him, cutting off his airflow almost all together and leaving him gasping for air.

That was when Henry finally lifted his head up.

“Leave him alone,” he barely managed to get out, his voice hoarse in a way that was painful to even listen to. God only knew what had been done to him before Hans woke up. He tried not to think about the amount of screaming that had to happen for his voice to get that bad. “He had nothing to do with it.”

“Perhaps so,” Erik agreed. He practically towered over Hans now, applying more and more pressure to his neck until the noble’s sight began to blur at the edges. Breathing was impossible. His fingers trembled as he pounded and clawed at Erik’s armoured legs, but the man barely reacted to it. “However, I’ve experimented quite a bit with you in the short time you’ve been down here, haven’t I?”

He turned his attention back to Henry, finally removing his weight from his second victim’s neck in the process. Capon immediately curled in on himself and sucked in as much air to his burning lungs as he could. His wide, infuriated gaze was still locked on Erik.

“I’ve cut you,” he began to list off in a low voice; dragging the very tip of his blade down Henry’s exposed chest as he spoke. Blood began to trickle from the shallow scar that it left in its path. “I’ve beaten you. I’ve humiliated you in front of my men, and yet this,” he practically spat, pointing a finger in Hans’ direction, “is what gets a rise out of you. The simple act of me putting my hands on someone you care about. Did you really think I wasn’t going to take advantage of that? Especially after what you did?”

Henry’s bottom lip quivered from his attempt to stay quiet as the knife made its way down to the soft flesh on his stomach. He made a brief attempt to lower his head, but Erik was quick to dig his fingers into his jaw to force it up again; a small yet chilling smile on his face. “You don’t get to hide from me. Not today.”

It took a few moments for Hans to find his voice. He simply stared, silenced by his own horror at what was unfolding in front of him. Blood trickled from the torn flesh that followed in the blade’s path. Henry seemed to be holding his breath to avoid digging the knife any deeper into his stomach, and his legs were shaking from the effort it took to keep himself on the tips of his feet.

“Enough!” the noble shouted as loudly as his body would allow. It was enough to get their captor’s attention, though he faintly heard Henry hiss as the sudden noise caused Erik’s hand to jerk and the knife to jab him a little deeper. “At least give him a chance to defend himself!”

A sarcastic little smile appeared on Erik’s face as he finally withdrew his knife. Despite his chillingly calm exterior, Hans could see the barely contained rage simmering beneath the surface. It showed in the way his hands gripped the handle of the blade so tight that his knuckles had turned pale. It showed in the way he grit his teeth whenever he wasn’t speaking. This was an angry, grieving man that was long past the point of negotiation.

Hans struggled to remain calm as Erik subsequently moved his attention onto him. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest, loud and throbbing in a way that overpowered even the pain in his head and the sound of their captor’s boots getting closer to his head. His bound hands shakily moved to cover him as best he could, though he knew it would do very little if Erik chose to take his anger out on him.

Within mere seconds there was a hand in his hair, yanking him to his feet and throwing him against the cobblestone wall of their cell. His body hit it with an audible thud, before sliding to the ground below him once more.

As he forced his eyes open for a second time, he struggled to even breathe from how hard his body had made contact with the wall. It felt as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, leaving him gasping and spluttering while hands desperately grappled at the concrete floor. Less than a few seconds later, There was a bitter laugh, closely followed by a searing pain in his lower stomach as the toe of Erik's boot collided with him. It was a hard and calculated kick; one that had him feebly curling into himself as a few involuntary tears welled in his wide eyes.

His face burned with both rage and humiliation. How had he so quickly been reduced to such a mess? Even as he lay there, his head tilted towards the ground, he could feel saliva dripping from the side of his mouth and onto the concrete. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but let his mouth hang open as his body fought for air. Not to mention - the noises that he occasionally managed to strangle from his own body were nothing short of pitiful, at best, and only caused his face to burn redder.

With Hans incapacitated for the moment, Erik finally turned back to Henry. He couldn't quite make out either of their forms entirely with the constant wetness in his eyes, but he could hear Henry's barely-contained rage as he spat profanities and threats one by one. His voice was strained by the uncomfortable position that his body had been tied in, but it held a threatening bite to it that Hans had never quite been able to muster, even at his angriest.

"I will get out of here, you whoreson. I will, and you better hope It's the last you see of me."

"Oh, aye? How do you plan on doing that, then? Hm?"

For a moment, there was almost complete silence, save for the occasional pained noise from Hans and the near-constant heavy breathing from Henry. He sounded utterly miserable and defeated, despite his words. Erik no doubt felt the same way, and proceeded to fake a laugh in response to the silence that followed. "That's what I thought."

Hans remained silent after that. Even after he managed to get his breath back, he found himself carefully pushing himself out of the man's line of sight and into the corner, before bringing his knees to his chest and his bound hands to his lap. He'd never been in this sort of situation before. He supposed he had his noble blood to thank for that, though it did little to help here. Even if he had no plans to outright kill him, it was clear that Erik was not above making him suffer. Henry had no doubt already endured things that Hans was, much to his own shame, grateful to have not witnessed.

Even now, just the sight of the opened wounds and the deep bruising that covered Henry's blood-stained skin was enough to send a shiver crawling down his spine. He kept a shaking hand over his mouth to muffle any noise that came out and remained as still as he possibly could until their captor finally lost interest in them, what felt like hours later.

To his horror, Henry simply collapsed the moment Erik undid his bindings. No hands reached out to catch himself or, at the very least, cover his face. There was no stumbling forwards or wavering on his feet before he fell. His entire body seemed to just give out on him, and though Hans considered waiting until their captor had left before he drew any attention to himself, he couldn't stop himself from finally crawling out of his cowardly spot in the corner to make sure he was still alive.

Before he was allowed to get too close, however, Erik tightly bound Henry's arms behind his back again with some chains. They were heavy enough to stop him from moving around too much in his weakened state, and couldn't be removed without a key.

Just as Hans thought Erik was finally about to leave, the man paused for a moment before turning around and crouching down in front of him with a tight-lipped, mocking smile. He grabbed his captive by the jaw and, with a firm grip, pulled him closer until they were mere inches away from each other. Hans wasn't sure he'd ever felt so small and powerless before.

"If I find out that either of you have tried to escape, I'll make you wish I'd killed you to begin with. Do I make myself clear?"

Overcome by terror, all Hans could do was force himself to nod. His eyes darted up to the ceiling a few times, trying to distance himself from the intense gaze of his captor, until finally, the man let him go.

With a deep, shaky breath in, Hans crawled his way towards Henry's body, giving as much space between himself and Erik as he did so. It felt as though he was being suffocated beneath the weight of his own fear. Instead of struggling to suck any air into his lungs, he could now feel himself getting closer and closer to hyperventilation. It took him several attempts before he even found the strength to pull Henry into a sitting position against the wall due to how much his hands were trembling.

"Henry!" he all but hissed, his voice dripping with desperation as he cradled the man's head in his hand. The other, still bound to the left, gave him a few light slaps on the opposite cheek in an attempt to get his attention. "Christ, Henry, please wake up."

A few minutes later, Henry's eyes finally flickered open again, and Hans immediately hung his head as a deep, relieved sigh escaped his lungs. As selfish as he knew it was, he couldn't go through this alone. He was terrified.

Even as Henry began to hold his head up on his own, Hans' hands remained on either side of his face. He couldn't bring himself to let go. Though, for what it was worth, Henry seemed perfectly fine with resting some of his weight back against him, and it gave Hans some encouragement to press himself just that bit closer.

"'s he comin' back?" Henry asked quietly after a moment, to which Hans lifted his shoulders in a miserable shrug.

"I don't know. Perhaps not today... though, truthfully, I have no idea what time it is. If it's early enough in the day, he may."

All Henry gave in return was a small nod as his head laid back against the wall once more. It worried Hans to think that he might even be upset with him for hiding while Erik took his anger out on the other. For once, he wouldn't blame him. He knew he'd be upset, and yet Henry made no protest as the noble sunk to the floor by his side before gently guiding the injured man's head towards his shoulder.

Neither of them said anything else. Hopelessness and exhaustion had long settled over them, and they were both in far too much pain to make any idle conversation. Hans had briefly tried to think of something, as his mind usually attempted to do when things went silent for too long, but he found himself being pulled towards the mercy of unconsciousness before he could.

After checking to make sure Henry had done the same, he welcomed it.

-

[yesbutmakeitgay]

Once Upon A Time I Used To Know A Girl

Chapter 16

Carol Danvers x Reader

Masterlist | This work's masterlist | AO3

Summary: Upon Fury's request, Carol comes to you with a proposal you can't morally refuse.

Angst, Slow Burn, Amnesia.

Word count: 981

A/N: I really like this chapter and I hope you do too!

Tailored By The Stars

You're in your room minding your business when someone knocks on your door. Your tactical brain starts going through all the possibilities, it can't be Kamala, because she would just walk in, it's not Valkyrie, because she wouldn't wait for an answer after she knocks, Fury doesn't seem to bother with the stairs, you conveniently run out of options and decide to ignore it, but the knocks persist, so you get up to answer them.

You find Carol standing firmly, holding out a card for you, "What's this?" you question.

"An invitation to the next Stark gala." Her expression is flat.

You refuse to take it, "No, thanks."

"We have to go."

"We? Why's that?"

"We already RSVP'd, before the whole-" she doesn't finish her sentence.

"I'll just go on my own."

"Everyone over 18 has to bring a date." She came prepared for your lack of cooperation.

"I'll take Val, then."

"She will out shine you no matter what you decide to wear." You hate to admit it, but she's right so you pull out your ace of spades.

"And why exactly would I go with you?"

"Because I already found the perfect dress to match your favorite suit," she states, matter of factly, "I'll pick you up at 8." And just like that, you run out of options, again.

It's the night of the gala and you're already late getting dressed. You put on your favorite tux, freshly pressed, and manage to get your bow tie right on the fifth try. As much as you're dreading tonight, you do enjoy dressing up.

Right as you finish tying your shoes you hear a knock, this time you know who it is. You open the door to see Carol wearing a long, slender green gown with black accents that hugs her figure flawlessly, she wears her hair down, beautifully styled, and her nails are manicured to perfection.

You stare at her in awe with your mouth open, she says something, but you can't even process it, "Huh?" you ask her to repeat herself.

"I said, are you ready to go?" You simply nod in response. She's fully aware of the effect she has on you, especially since she did it on purpose.

Tonight is gonna be interesting.

You make it to the party with Carol by your side, you see Tony and go greet him against your will. The place looks impeccable, like all the amount of money and effort that went into it could have definitely been put to better use, but you're not about to say that to Mr. Stark and ruin Carol's reputation.

For the next hour you get caught up next to Carol talking to random people, some that you remember and some you can't tell if you've actually met before. It's a lot of fake smiles and playing pretend, but you do it for the woman you got by your side. After one too many conversations, The Captain decides to take a break and go get a snack.

"I can't believe you're making me suck up to the Avengers," you joke.

"What's all that about? You didn't hate them so much when I knew you." Her tone is lighthearted, unaware of the heaviness of her statement.

'Knew,' past tense. It feels a little insulting coming from the person who can read your every move before even you do, the one who can quote back your strongest opinions about menial things, the person who seems to know, with precision, what it is that makes you tick and how to use it against you, "I have to go," you mumble as you make a quick exit.

You leave to the backyard, away from the noise and the people. You find yourself looking up at the stars, they give you a sense of peace and calmness, one that could maybe help you understand how you managed to live in a spaceship for so long.

Spending some time alone allows you to remember the reason why you didn't want to be here in the first place. These events are all about fabricated glamor, about looking good to the outside world when really you're all depressed and traumatized inside.

It starts to get chilly so you go back to the party and stand in a corner hoping no one approaches you. You strongly consider getting a drink, but then think Kamala would be disappointed if she knew you had alcohol with your meds so you settle for a mock-tail.

You spot the girl in the distance, gushing over some hero or another and, after a while, you see Valkyrie arriving fashionably late with Thor by her side, both of them looking marvelous in a way that would have definitely made you look bad if you had walked in with them. Needless to say, you're now having a terrible time, but you don't actually want anyone to make it better, you just want to leave.

You walk to the entrance as you're finishing your fourth fruity drink when you hear Stark yelling over the crowd, "Who's in charge of Danvers?" Your ears perk up and you curse in your head.

You turn back and scan the room to find the culprit, leaning against Valkyrie, clearly way over her limit. You make your way towards them, "I believe you have something of mine," you say to Val in a slightly annoyed tone, not paying attention to Carol.

The King looks at you amused, "Is she now?" she takes a big gulp of the bottle she's holding.

You're not in the mood for this, "Shut up, hand her over, and enjoy the rest of your night." You grab the Captain's arm and pull her towards you, she seems completely disoriented.

"Play nice," Val warns you, with a teasing smirk.

"I’m always nice." You shoot her a fake smile and go on your way.

Chapter 17

We're getting to the good part!!!

Tags: @graniairish @carols-photonblast @thelittleliars @unicorniusfallapatorius @prplepeony @eringranola

Let me know if you wanna be tagged :)

This is the dress I imagine Carol wearing to the gala, you're welcome.

[ghostieagere]

i'm sorry i've been hoarding this ask for so long, dear anon :0 i think it's about time i got around to writing this one properly, don't you ? <3

cw: mountain is worried he's being annoying/a burden, little mountain, caregivers swiss and rain, they/them rain, allusions to spanish swiss and french rain

The kettle kicks into motion as Swiss moves around the kitchen. He's making himself a coffee, but he figures it wouldn't be out of place to make some teas for anyone else who wants one. As he's reaching into the high cupboard to grasp around for the tin of teabags, though, a noise catches his attention.

It sounds like a whine, or maybe a sniffle, but either way it's quiet. As if whoever is making the noise is trying to stifle themselves. What's confusing though, is that there is no one else in the kitchen with Swiss; they're all on the sofa preparing for their weekly movie night while Swiss makes their drinks (it's Sunshine's turn to pick the movie this week so they're watching The Exorcist, again).

The sound reaches Swiss' ears again, just barely concealed by the thrum of the kettle. It sounds like a kit's whine, Swiss notes. A distressed kit, or a lonely one. Perhaps both. He quickly runs to the lounge area and does a quick headcount. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine... Someone's missing, and Mountain's beanbag is empty.

Oh.

Swiss races back to the kitchen and calls out for the earth ghoul. "Mount?" He calls. "Tierra, are you in here?"

Another sniffle answers him, and one of the lower cupboard doors swings open slightly.

Swiss slowly walks over to the cupboard and crouches down in front of it, opening the door just as gradually. He doesn't want to spook the earth ghoul even more than he seems to be.

As Swiss opens the cupboard door, tear-filled green eyes stare back at him. Mountain, at some point during the day, has managed to squish himself and his comfort blanket into the cramped kitchen cupboard.

Swiss smiles down at him gently. "Hi, Mounty. What are you doing in here, tierra?"

Mountain furrows his brows and brings his blanket up to cover his face.

"Oh, you're hiding?"

The little earth ghoul nods, blanket still draped over his horns.

"You don't wanna come watch the movie with us?"

Mountain shakes his head so rapidly that it's a wonder he doesn't fall out of the cupboard from dizziness.

"Ex-ist," he croaks. Words are always difficult for him when he slips into this headspace.

"Ex-ist...?" Swiss wonders aloud. "Oh! The Exorcist?" Mountain nods. "You don't want to watch The Exorcist?"

Mountain shakes his head, bringing his blanket off of his head, and Swiss finally realises that the cause of the tears filling the earth ghoul's eyes is fear.

"You don't have to watch the scary movie if you don't want to, baby," he assures Mountain. "We can go to my room and do something else, if you'd like." He smiles at the little earth ghoul, hoping he'll be able to coax him out of the cupboard; the cramped space doesn't look very comfortable at all.

Despite the relief in Mountain's eyes when Swiss tells him he doesn't have to watch the movie if he doesn't want to, Mountain shakes his head yet again, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to say something. He only gets more frustrated when his vocal chords don't want to cooperate with him.

"I'll tell you what, tierra," Swiss starts, quickly stepping in to stop Mountain's spiralling thoughts. "If you let me help you out of your cupboard, we can go and get your whiteboard. Then you'll be able to tell me what you're thinkin' in that brain of yours, yeah?"

Mountain gives Swiss a small smile and a nod, holding his hand out to let Swiss help him out of the cupboard. The multi ghoul grasps his wrist and tugs gently, still allowing Mountain to climb out at his own pace. Once he's out, the little earth ghoul sits on the floor, legs straight out in front of him, the corner of his blanket in between his teeth as he chews and sucks on the soft fabric.

"Alrighty, little buddy," Swiss reaches a hand out and rubs Mountain's knee comfortingly. "Do you want to come with me to get your whiteboard?"

Mountain shakes his head and points to the floor with the hand not holding his blanket up to his face; he wants to stay on the kitchen floor.

"Will you be okay on your own in here?"

Another shake of the head.

"Who do you want to keep you company, tierra?"

Mountain shrugs.

Swiss gives him a grin and a thumbs up before jumping to his feet. "I'll be back real soon, 'kay?"

Mountain nods and Swiss only just manages to catch a glimpse of the shaky thumbs up that the little earth ghoul gives him in return.

As Swiss rounds the corner to the lounge area, Sunny spots him and smiles before making a face when she sees that he isn't carrying any drinks like he'd promised earlier. "Can one of you go look after Mount for a sec, please?" He asks. "He's in the kitchen and wants some company while I grab his whiteboard."

Rain nods and makes their way over to the kitchen as Swiss heads in the opposite direction towards Mountain's bedroom. He gathers up Mountain's whiteboard and pencil case of markers under one arm and does a quick scan of the room for anything Mountain may want later on. All of the little earth ghoul's favourite cups, bowls and snacks are in the kitchen, he's already got his blanket with him, and he's not slipped far enough to want or accept a pacifier or teether, so Swiss deems the whiteboard and markers enough for now and makes his way back to the kitchen.

When he gets there, Rain and Mountain are sitting side-by-side and Rain is helping Mountain to play some kind of counting game on their fingers. The water ghoul nudges Mountain when they see Swiss walk in, pointing to the multi ghoul to let Mountain know he's back.

"Look what I've got..." Swiss sing-songs, grinning wide when Mountain looks up at him excitedly, already reaching his hands out for his communication tool.

Once Swiss has passed it to him, the little earth ghoul grabs his favourite green marker in his fist and starts writing messily on the board. He turns the board around for Swiss and Rain to see.

"wanna wach a moovy but not exy-sist but sunny wants to wach exy-sist so it is mean if i do not let her :("

"Oh, tierra, Sunny won't mind if you ask if we can watch something else."

"Yes," Rain agrees. "She likes The Exorcist, but she loves you more, mon petit chou."

Mountain turns the whiteboard around and erases the marker on its surface, quickly writing another phrase before turning it back around to face Swiss and Rain.

"promiss?"

“We promise, darling,” Rain assures him.

Swiss smiles his agreement. “Do you want to ask Sunny, baby? We can help if you want us to.”

Mountain nods tentatively and out of the corner of his eye, Swiss sees Rain’s face split into a soft smile as well.

“How about you get something written down on that whiteboard of yours then, tierra?” Swiss reaches out to ruffle the little earth ghoul’s hair gently as he finishes speaking. He can see Mountain fighting off a smile as he rubs the marker off with his sleeve and begins writing.

Rain moves around to look over Mountain’s shoulder, nodding along as they read what the the little earth ghoul writes, occasionally giving him ideas for phrasing his words nicely. Mountain gives them both a thumbs up when he’s done.

Rain kisses the top of Mountain’s head and assures him that he’s done a very good job before standing up and holding their hand out to the little earth ghoul.

Swiss gently swipes the whiteboard and marker out of Mountain’s hand before mirroring Rain’s action, both of them offering to pull Mountain up. Once he’s up, Swiss offers the whiteboard back to him, but Mountain shakes his head, lifting his both hands where they’re joined to Rain’s and Swiss’ own.

“You wanna keep holding hands, tierra?”

Mountain nods, almost shyly, like he doesn’t know if it’s okay.

“That’s perfectly alright, petit chou,” Rain smiles.

“Yeah,” Swiss agrees. “We’ll keep you nice and close in the common room too, okay?”

Mountain nods, more sure of himself this time.

“You ready?” Swiss waits for yet another answering nod from the little earth ghoul. “Alrighty, let’s go find Sunny!”

[yuurivoice]

Any foods u just don't fw?

I know I've got some amazing answers for this and my brain just doesn't want to cooperate so I'll give you one, but trust me when I say I will come back and reblog this when I remember what I hate. Lmfao

So, Texas BBQ, specifically in the Austin area gets hyped like mad and I'm gonna be honest...it hasn't lived up to the hype for me. I am more of a saucy BBQ guy, so I'm more like a Kansas City type. But specifically it's the ribs and the pulled pork that ain't doing it for me.

And you know, pulled pork SHOULDN'T be that damn hard to get right. If it's moist, it really shouldn't be tricky. These mfs putting all kinds of shit in the pulled pork like brother why is there mustard in this shit? I just want meat and some goddamn hot sauce.

The usual suspects are fine, but like, you don't get points for having good brisket, it's fucking brisket. Getting it right should be the minimum. Like the pork. 😂

I just don't fuck with dry rubs too much. I shouldn't be getting more dust in my mouth than meat. Damn.

Anywho, I would be eating BBQ all the fucking time if there was any place I could reliably get my favorite meats at with any sorta resemblance of how I like it done. 😤

That being said, you'll struggle to find any piece of meat I won't put in my mouth. It's just funny that ATX BBQ gets so much love and my ass is here like........eh.

And don't get me started on the sides. Fuck. Can only find one half decent baked bean, potato salad is store bought, not a piece of corn bread in sight.

When it comes to TX food, Houston is where I would rather be. Folks down there know what they're doing.

It's crazy I've lived here for years now and I really haven't found my spots that I swear by. I could try a little harder but also maybe not because I'm losing weight and it's going well. 😂

[malka-lisitsa]

NAME?: ησνємвєя (novi)

PRONOUNS?: she/her

MOST ACTIVE MUSES?: Katherine and she absolutely refuses to share. It's a FIGHT to be on any other blog, but the closest competing one at present is @revoltionary-jinx

(rip to: @little-elena @apex-royalty @naruto-9tails @voros-kiralyno )

EXPERIENCE/HOW MANY YEARS?: Bestie idk. I've been on tumblr since like 2k12? and had a break for two years came back in 2k16, then left again and came back two years ago??? But ive been writing on discord in those gaps so like since 2k12 ish. And in messaging chats I was too young for honestly I needed to be supervised way better.

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT?: Angst 400000% of the time. I get bored with fluff quickly bc it's so unrealistic to my bpd ass and can only lead to angst anyway. I do not mind smut but Katherine is very picky about who she actually lets get it. She likes the chase more than the act (stefan not withstanding)

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES?: I don't mind either. A mix is honestly perfect bc then on days where I look at a 5 para reply and my brain says "lol nope" I have a one para to balance it out. Sometimes one liners are ok but they always evolve anyway.

PET PEEVES?: I have many. But my biggest is people acting like portrayal doesn't really matter. It does bestie. It does. You CAN be wrong and I've gotten my fill of "ITS JUST MY STYLE" in the art world. Thanks.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE?: I am like my single muse blogs. They all tend to have a running theme. I am most like Katherine, and I mean the accurate Katherine portrayals not the ones running around making her overly violent and shit. I am also a lot like Elena (go figure the doppelgangers and such) and Jinx comes in at a nice third. Im not nearly as violent as she is but the emotional stability is there UwU

TIME TO WRITE?: Honestly I'll write at any time. I sleep for 4-6 hours on average so I have plenty of time to float on and off the dash. It just depends on when and if Katherine cooperates.

Tagged by: @hollowpit

Tagging: YOU DO IT TAG ME

[simvanie]

7 Sins Legacy - generation 4 (pride)

Suraj: Ah! Supriya, good to see you back from your vacation. Do you have a minute before you leave? Supriya: Yes, of course.

Suraj: I wanted to make sure that you are coming to the benefit gala my wife is organizing this Thursday.

Supriya had really hoped that she could make it out of the office as unnoticeable as possible. She currently doesn't really feel like going to events where her coworkers will also be outside working hours, and hoped that she could get as efficient as possible through her last days of work before handing in her resignation letter. No one knows that she is planning to quit her job yet, and she would like to keep it that way so that she doesn't have to explain to everyone why she wants to go in the meantime.

She tried to find an excuse, but her brain didn't seem to cooperate. "Oh, I- I don't know if I can make it. I..."

Suraj: Only a few people know this, but I'm going to publicly announce that I want to retire at the gala. I'm currently inviting everyone from our party and I would love for you to be there because you are doing so much for us.

Supriya: Oh! Well... I- Suraj: You have to be there. It would mean a lot to me.

Supriya: ...Alright, I'll be there.

Suraj: Wonderful! I'll see you there.

As Suraj walked away, he muttered something to himself when he was out of earshot from Supriya: "Hmm, why do I get the feeling that maybe Rohan is right..."