#as in. like. ✨gunpowder✨.

[sovamurka]

Timebomb nation, once again I'm here to tell you about russian localisation's ekkojinx moments. When translating Tales of Runeterra's character lines our translators accidentally made a genius mistake and now Ekko has a nickname for Jinx. Try to guess which one. It's Bomb. Of course it's Bomb 💣

[writingoddess1125]

Yes Buggy and his hot wife are Roger and Jessica Rabbit, but if I may submit this comparison to the council:

✨Buggy and his wife are The Grinch and Martha May Whovier✨

Oh It Is ON!

In the spirit of the Winter Holiday Spirits! We are doing a Christmas Spin on My Effect Series!

So get you a egg nog with 90% rum maybe some holiday 'cigarettes' sit back and enjoy this clusterfuck idea! 🍃 🚬

P.S IM REALLY HIGH WHILE WRITING THIS SO ITS PROBABLY ALL OVER THE PLACE! ENJOY!

The Grinch and Martha May Effect 🎄

If you like my shit, support me on Ko-Fi because recession!

Link to Main Masterlist

• This Crusty Bastard has had the heart of the most beautiful women in the world.

• And didn't even realize it-

• You had all met on Gol D Roger's ship- Buggy being a snot nosed apprentice with his gaggle of friends- While you being one of the few girls on the ship was a cup bearer for your father. Silvers Rayleigh.

• This made you incredibly off limits to all, Sheltered by a life of luxury your father provided as your only real 'job' was to fill his cup. Even Gol D Roger the famed Captian spoiled you in cute dresses and expensive bows.

• Turning you into the Doll of the Oro Jackson.

• A Princess Wrapped in Silver and Gold

• You still remembered the first day you ment him-

• Both of you 13 years old, fresh faced kids still needing the guidance of adults.

• You'd snuck off from your normal areas, wanting to explore the ship some more. That's till you saw a boy- His face covered in what seemed to be gunpowder as he filled homemade bombs with total care.

• His blue hair peaking out of the red hat and drawing you to step a big closer to get a better look.

• The Tull of your sparkling dress catching the corner of his eye as he spun around quickly holding a knife out.

• Then, Ocean eyes met Your own and time seemed to slow. Ever so slightly- Your cheeks warming as you gave a soft smile.

• "Hello" Your little voice slipped out, Buggy stating at you with unsure interest. A crooked smile on his lips as he greeting you quickly- "H-Hi!"

• "Is something wrong with your nose? It looks kinda funny" Buggy glares hard at you, making you blink in question at his reaction.

• Buggy covering his face, his ocean eyes starting to cloud with tears like a storm eyed he stared at you. "Whats so funny about my nose!? Huh!"

• "Well don't get angry- I don't mind. I think its cute. Im sorry if i offended you" You smile so sweetly, feeling bad for making his sad as Buggy felt his face start to glow.

• "You think.. My nose is cute?" He questioned, making you nod honestly. He giggled into his hands, a high pitch squeaky laugh that made you smile and your heart flutter.

• "Whats your name?" He grins at you, Hearing you actually want to know about him. "Buggy! What about you pretty girl?" Your face flushing at his words.

• "I'm-"

• "(Y/N)!" You heard your name being called before you could speak, recognizing the voice of your father.

• "(Y/N)- That's such a pretty name.. Will I see you again?" Buggy asked, his eyes sparking at such a chance. Your delicate hand reaching forward and tucking a strand of his blue hair back into his hat. "I will try"

• And try you did. For a year the two of you would meet, talking on the deck of the ship for hours till you had to sneak away again. Buggy even using his Chop Chop abilities to help you get back to your room.

• It was tragic to say, but you'd never get a chance to see Buggy for many many years after your 14th birthday- Your Father sending you to an Island to keep you safe as you entered your teens.

• The disbanding of the Roger Pirates aiding in this as well-

• The death and heartache Seeming to follow you as you found yourself handing in the hands of Sir Crocodile.

• Crocodile having had an interest to whoo you for years- as he too had met you on Gol D Roger's ship, finding you the only person more then suitable to be at his side.

• You had never truly accepted his advances, Despite his power, status and more. He didn't have your heart, and you wouldn't give him any part of yourself in compensation.

• Decades it had been like this, still the girl wrapped in silver and gold. Hoarded like treasure for everyone to admire, however nothing more.

• But it seemed the tides were beginning to change- After Crocodile time in Impel Down- as well as the formation of the Cross Guild- You would meet your blue haired friend once again. Just in a unique Flashy way

• AKA by his head being punched off by Crocodile and accidently flung into your waiting chest.

• "(Y/N)?-" He mumbled against your bust, your cheeks flaring deep crimson as he floated his head up to lock eyes with your flushed face.

• He got his ass beaten for that by Crocodile of course-

• But for you it was like your heart was Kickstart again!

• At the Cross Guild, you'd always attend. Crocodile assuming it was because you were warming up to him, But in truth it was to see Buggy-

• The two of you talking to each other constantly. He was so fascinating to you-

• Like you two were children again falling in love- Sitting out under the stars talking for hours. You tucking strands of his blue hair back into his hat, him fixing any Imperfections on yohr dresses as you sat next to him. Which often lead to Buggy giggling into his gloved hands while turning away from you

• You accepted him as he was, and adored him for it. You loved his mind, his passion, even his laziness and lewd humor.

• As time went on, you noticed the same for him. How he would ask you YOUR interest, what things YOU actually liked.

• Something no one had asked you since you were a child. Most just assuming your taste and interest.

• Hell when he came for meetings he would bring you something you'd actually want. Not just shiny things to make you look more valuable.

• "Hey (Y/N)!" Buggy cloaked towards you excited as he held out a old dirty crate to you. "I remeber you said you really liked weird plants, so I found these old books and scientist-y samples of the weirdest! Hope you like them!"

• You'd almost cried at the gift, so overfill with you you hugged Buggy. Before spending hours going through the crate and organizing it all to your liking.

• However with the sweets, came the sours...

• There had been countless times you'd walk into the Guild and see Buggys face. Beaten and bruised- How Crocodile and Mihawk kicked his ass as their own personal stress relief or just to show dominace.

• It broke your heart.. truly- Buggy humiliated like that infront of everyone time and time again... You would try to comfort him after the meetings but he would just run away- You swore you saw tears in his eyes a few times.

• You'd want to many times to have him run into your arms, so you could whisper how good of a man he is and deserving so love.

- It had been a particularly festive day in the Guild Hall, Crocodile dressing in a nicer suit as better food was served and fancy alcohol was served. You even being gifted a dress by the Desert King himself to wear today, you didn't refuse but felt rather uncomforble at how attentive he was acting with you.

And uncomfortable that he had purposely sat Buggy so far away from you..

As dinner was being served, Crocodile stood up from his seat next to you. Slapping his hand on the table to gather everyone's attention.

"I have an announcement-" Crocodile voice boomed through the room, you glancing up as the hook handed man gestured for you to stand. Which you silently did-

Oh No...

"(Y/N)- Daughter of Silvers Rayleigh. A women of greatness and deserving of only the finest of riches"

No...

"I ask for your hand- I swear I will give you all the wealth you desire"

Please No...

"From Riches, Silks and even the One Piece if your little mind wishes for it"

NO!

"Will you Marry me?"

Something inside you just snapped. Staring at Crocodile face that had the crooked cigar hanging from his lips.

Crocodile taking your silence positively as he handed you a velvet box with a massive diamond ring inside of it.

You stared at the ring box that had been placed in your glove hands and felt... nothing. Absolutely nothing...

Before A fire of rage filled your insides-

"We- We aren't even dating!-" You shouted, everyone looking to yoh in shock as you looked around wildly.

"What makes you think I want to stay by your side!? You were just ment to protect me not use me as a Scudo Girlfriend! I'm not yours nor will I ever be!-" Crocodile face starting to turn red, his eyes glancing around him before setting on you with a harsh glare.

"So I-I can't accept this" You finally hissed out, bright red in the face from both embarrassment and anger. Everyone in the Guild Hall staring at you in total shock.

"Besides My Heart... Belongs to someone else-" Crocodile eyes widen as he clenched his hands in rage. You handing the ring box back to him delicately, before turning to look at Buggy who had been picking his nose diassociating heavily at the dramatics. Only coming back to reality when he saw everyone was staring at him-

Buggy stares confused, 'Why are you all looking at me?' He looked behind himself first, Then around to see who you could be talking about, that had your heart. Realizing quickly he was alone and you actually ment HIM!

"Wait Me!?"

• After such a stunning yet shocking reveal, Crocodile cut you lose. Feeling you embarrassed him infront of everyone- Which had been the greatest day of your life!

• As you fly into Buggy's (Who got beaten senseless once again) arms. Who accepts you happily into his life-

• Frolicking away to his Circus Themed Ship in what can only be described as total Joy!

• "HAHAHAHAHA I WIN!!" He yells out, holding you in his arms as he flips off Crocodile once more and holds you in his arms.

• You adore his Flashy Crusty ways, the way he weirdly cackled and utter lack of emotional control.

• Oh How you love your Crusty Clown!

[tinytinyblogs]

The Mafia: Mingi

He never jokes about his determination to make you his forever, even if it means he has to take a bullet to prove his love for you.

(Mafia theme, mention gun and blood) 1k words

This story has been lingering in my draft for quite some time, and I haven't made any changes or edits to it.

💌 @ultimatebathroomsinger

Ateez masterlist here

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

The opulent ballroom buzzed with an unsettling energy, a symphony of clinking glasses, silken whispers, and forced laughter that hung like a shroud over the gathering. Amidst this sea of feigning sophistication, a palpable tension crackled like electricity, threatening to erupt at any moment. Like phantoms in a masquerade, the guests mingled, their faces masks of artificial smiles, their eyes darting like wary predators. Enemies, forced to feign cordiality for the sake of appearances, exchanged knowing glances, their words laced with thinly veiled hostility. Beneath the veneer of camaraderie, a web of unspoken threats and hidden agendas wove its intricate pattern, poised to ensnare the unsuspecting. Amidst this treacherous tableau, your eyes found solace in the gentle presence of Mingi, a figure radiating an aura of quiet strength amidst the chaos.

His gaze, as deep and mesmerizing as the midnight sky, met yours, sending a reassuring warmth through your veins. Yet, a nagging doubt lingered, a question that echoed in the recesses of your mind: Was it wrong to find comfort in the presence of Mingi, a man whose name was whispered in the same breath as violence and power? You, clad in a shimmering dress that seemed to reflect the very essence of your vulnerability, felt like an outsider in this world of hardened criminals and Machiavellian schemes. In the heart of the opulent ballroom, you stood mesmerized by Mingi's gaze, his eyes a hypnotic vortex that drew you deeper into their depths. As if on cue, the room plunged into darkness, the vibrant lights extinguishing like a collective breath, leaving behind an unsettling silence that sent shivers down your spine.

In the stark void, Mingi's presence transformed into your lifeline, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. His strong hand found your waist, pulling you closer, his solid form a comforting shield against the looming chaos. In that moment of absolute surrender, you knew that only Mingi mattered, his presence the only anchor in the tempestuous sea of turmoil. As the darkness thickened, the air grew thick with an ominous tension. Gunshots erupted, their deafening blasts shattering the silence, sending echoes ricocheting through the room like a symphony of terror. Painful groans and cries of despair followed, their sources obscured by the enveloping gloom. The once elegant guests, now transformed into terrified souls, scattered in all directions, their frantic footsteps echoing like the panicked heartbeat of the night.

In the midst of this pandemonium, your body was tossed about like a leaf in a storm, Mingi's grip the only lifeline keeping you from being swept away by the human tide. The sounds of violence intensified, the air heavy with the acrid tang of gunpowder and the palpable fear that gripped the room. Suddenly, amidst the cacophony of chaos, a deep, guttural groan escaped Mingi's lips, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. The echo of his suffering hung heavy in the darkness, a stark reminder of the peril that surrounded them. The silence that followed was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional groan. As you and Mingi escaped the chaos of the ballroom, he dragged you towards a room with a large window, the only source of light amidst the darkness.

The moonlight streamed in, illuminating the room and revealing Mingi's bloody shirt. Despite the wound, he couldn't suppress a grin. "We're safe, sweetheart," he said, his voice laced with affection. He gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "I told you, no one else can keep you safe. Only me." A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. You knew Mingi was capable of great violence, but he also possessed a tenderness reserved only for you. You had always questioned his motives, but now, as he cradled you in his arms, you felt a flicker of trust. "I took the bullet for you," he confessed, his grin widening. "Stupid," you muttered to yourself, your voice barely a whisper as you fought back tears. The thought of the bullets that could have pierced your body sent shivers down your spine.

Mingi reached out with his other hand, gently wiping away the tears that streamed down your face. "Darling," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "They say falling in love means we're being stupid. Well, I guess I've been stupid for you all this time." A faint smile graced your lips despite the fear that still lingered in your heart. "And I'm not going to let this bullet wound kill me," he continued, his voice filled with determination. "My men will be here soon, and you're going to stay with me tonight." Your eyes narrowed into slits, their fiery gaze piercing through Mingi's calm demeanor. "Why would you do that?" you hissed, your voice barely a whisper yet laced with intense emotion. "You know it's dangerous!" Mingi maintained his serene expression, his lips curving into a gentle smile.

"Calm down, my love," he soothed. "It's called sacrifice, and I'm willing to make it for you." A sudden noise from outside startled you. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by a voice that Mingi immediately recognized as belonging to one of his trusted men. "That's why I told you to make it easy for both of us," Mingi said, turning his attention back to you. His gaze softened, his eyes filled with a tenderness that almost melted your resistance. "Just marry me," he proposed, his voice a gentle caress. "Be stupid for me, love me. Isn't that easy enough?" Mingi turned his body to face you squarely, his expression resolute. "One bullet should be enough to demonstrate that I'm not joking," he declared, his voice unwavering. The door burst open as one of his men rushed in, his face etched with concern. He quickly scanned Mingi for injuries, his relief evident when he received a nod of assurance. "I'm fine," Mingi informed him, his tone dismissive. "Take care of the rest. Get the car ready and take my fiancée with us." With a final wink at you, Mingi strode towards the door, leaving his men to handle the aftermath. You followed closely behind, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush.

© Tinytinyblogs

[grandlinedreams]

Heya!

I wanted to ask if you could write some TrafLaw x fem!reader but she reminds him of Corazon (the way she acts, dresses and smokes her cigs)? At first he doesn’t know what to think/feel/do due to his past, but eventually he falls for her?🌸✨

That would be amazing since I really like your work and story telling ~🙏🏻💙

Thank you!!🫶🏻

Hey, absolutely!! Thank-you so much for requesting from me, it means a lot!

[heads up!: cigarette use, afab reader]

Law doesn’t believe in reincarnation. It’s too romantic of a notion, too hopeful to think that people can come back just because they’ve loved and been loved enough. And even if such things were possible with concrete proof, he doubts the universe would be so kind as to allow him something like that. 

And yet. 

You aren’t Corazon. He knows that – Corazon died years ago, a lifetime ago. If he thinks about it too long, he can still taste the gunpowder and smoke, feel the chill in his bones. He doesn’t believe in reincarnation, but there must be some kind of cosmic interference at play, comedy for how much of Cora he sees in you. 

And wishes he didn’t. 

At first, the similarities are coincidental. You like to smoke, just like him – a horrible habit when it comes to your health, but all he can do is keep reminding you, watching as you snuff it out with a sheepish grin when his gaze lingers too long. There’s the way you dress, too – again, not something specific to Corazon and Corazon alone, but it’s a little eerie that you have the same taste in fashion. (And then, the fact that Cora had been male, and you are not.)

It’s a lot of little things, too. The way you smile, the easy way that you interact with the crew – before you, Law had allowed himself to sometimes daydream about what it would’ve been like to have Cora here too. Lanky, clumsy, wonderful Cora. 

On days where the coincidental similarities are too much, he considers making you leave. You’re too much ㅡ too much like the man who'd fought to extend his borrowed time, let him steal too much of it at his expense. 

That wouldn't be fair to you, though. You don't know, you couldn't ㅡ because he asks you. If maybe, somehow, you'd once run into him.

"Nah," you answer when he asks, playing with your lighter. "Think I'd remember if I had. But this guy ㅡ Corazon, you said?” He watches the plush of your lips around your cigarette, the practiced flick of your finger against the lighter as you bring it up. He listens to it click, watches as you inhale, then exhale. “I think he’s proud of you, Captain. Proud that you didn’t let his efforts go to waste. That you’ve become someone worthy of following without being cruel.” 

Law wants to hate you, at that moment. Childish fury, irritation because you don’t know Cora, how dare you try to speak for him and try to say how he must feel? But you mean well, there’s no malicious intention with your words. So he bites back the instinctual vitriol, patches up that wound that never seems to heal.

He thinks he’s done well to keep his comparisons to himself outside of that conversation, but maybe he hasn’t – because somewhere down the line, he lets up. Lowers his guard just a little at a time, lets you in step by step. Uncharted waters that he treads oh-so-carefully – unexpected, but not wholly unwanted. 

“I’m not Corazon, Law.” Your tone is soft, an undercurrent of something that makes him look up from where he’d been studying and over at you. You’re tucked at the corner of his bed, jacket draped around your shoulders (black, just like his, but without the thick carpet of feathers). “You know that, right?”

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. “Of course I do,” he responds. “Is something wrong?”

You hesitate, attention drifting over his room. Everything has a place, of course, but there’s just enough disarray to be comforting. The papers stacked on every available surface of his desk, the books stacked precariously at the corner, bookmarked and worn thin by the repeated drag of fingers over text – all of it comes together in a way that’s unmistakably Law. 

You love it, love him – and while Law has yet to let something that vulnerable slip from his lips, the fact that he allows you to coexist here with him, outside the role of Captain and subordinate, is more than enough. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you answer when he prompts with a call of your name, “I just…I wanted to make sure that you knew.” Anxiety makes your fingers twitch with the needed habit of a cigarette to soothe your nerves, but you don’t reach for one. You won’t smoke in here (and idly, you wonder if Law’s noticed the sharp decrease in that habit as a whole), and force yourself to meet his gaze. “I just don’t want this to be because I resemble him.” 

The fear that he’s only allowing you this close because you remind him of his savior has lurked for a while now and while you’re usually good at quieting it yourself, you need him to confirm that his feelings exist outside of the parallels that border on uncanny. 

Law is silent, staring at you until you look away, and his chest aches. He gets it, why you’d worry that he feels the way he does only for the idea of keeping whatever little mementos of Cora he finds as close as he can. That wouldn’t be fair to you, would be unspeakably cruel – and while he’s awkward with intimate emotion, that’s not something he’d ever do. 

“I know that you’re not him,” he begins, tone soft as he moves to sit next to you. “For one, you’re not as clumsy as he was. Nor do you have the knack for being on fire, which I’m grateful for.” He means for it to be in jest, but you still won’t look at him. He hesitates, then reaches for your hand. “I don’t like you because you look and act like Cora, [Name].” 

You move to pull your hand away, but his fingers slot through yours and curl so that you can’t, keeping you anchored to him. “It’s rude to try and leave when someone’s talking. Please listen.”

After a moment, your fingers curl around his. “Okay.” 

“Cora meant everything to me. He tried so hard to find a doctor who would treat me and when he couldn’t, he risked his own life to steal the ope-ope fruit so I could find a cure myself.” It hurts, prodding at that years old injury, the silent fear that he’d never live up to Cora’s expectations, make his sacrifice worth it. Some days, he still feels like the frightened, helpless child he’d once been. “But you…you aren’t him. You’re your own person, and I think it’d be incredibly unfair to pursue a relationship with you because of something as shallow as coincidental similarities.”

Finally, you turn back towards him. “So you like me–”

“Because you’re you,” he states firmly. “I know that I’m not the best at expressing things like this.” Too afraid to voice it out loud, for fear that it’ll jinx you, set you up for being taken from him. “I want you to stay with me, please. I want this to work.”

You could reject him. Untangle your hand from his, pull away entirely, go back to before – or leave entirely. But you don’t. Instead, you tighten your grip on his hand just a little more, let yourself lean over, head on his shoulder. Law stiffens for a moment, then relaxes, tips his head to rest against yours. 

“I love you,” you say, and Law doesn’t say it back – not yet, but he doesn’t have to. For now, this – the warmth of his body next to yours, the slight shift to press his lips to your hair – is more than enough.

[feralwetcat]

I have ✨social anxiety✨ so for some reason i hate posting headcanons in the fable discord, sO i feed Tumblr 🪿

- Oscar has tried to eat Ocies fins while she carried him before, just a little nomnom

- it takes every OUNCE of self preservation in Fenris to not just roast the SHIT out of fable like "you're really brave for walking around in *that*", like he is trying SO hard not to because of how shitty he knows it'd go

- Malitae and Violet talk shit on the weekends over coffee

- little Fable would tell stories with gummy bears and bits of food, mainly ending in the yellow gummy bear winning over all (based on how when i was a kid I'd tell gruesome stories with my food)

- Jerry sprinkles gunpowder on his food 👍

- has been caught just downing a fistfull of it and flashing really brightly like a creeper does before it explodes

- Ocie writes little notes for her family when shes not at the mansion, just on tables around the house, or pinned to walls

- Oscars are always really low to the ground so he can read them, theres also little doodles so its easier for him to understand<3

- Caspian got drunk, bit a tree, cried, hit the tree, then apologized and hugged the tree

- Aax tried Caviar and walked up to Ocie and said "i just ate thousands of babies", Rae walked up and explained that she had ate Caviar

- Ocie has special earrings for her fins made by Len, she now wears them daily as a form of memorial, it's mainly cuffs and chains but there are some piercings

- Oscar has a necklace from Len as well

- sometimes the sparks will form silly little shapes and stories for Oscar, the souls recently have tried to recreate that with finger puppets, it wasn't the same but it was comforting for the little guy

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part fifteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

this is happening.

a/n: ….I got nothing folks, my askbox is open if you wanna yell about it 😇 this is wildly unedited but it’s late so HERE U GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

word count: 6.6k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, canon typical violence/injuries/it’s all for the PLOT OKAY

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new chapters/works!✨

Since the moment he set foot in Boston, Joel’s been loathe to leave you.

Even when he first arrived, when his head was buried so far up his ass, when he was keeping himself awake at night convincing himself that he didn’t love you anymore, that you couldn’t love him anymore, he still worried. He paced the floor of your apartment until Tess all but forced him to get some sleep.

Those two days you were in lockup, he thought he’d go mad, with the worry. And then when you did come home, dripping blood on the floor and collapsing into Tess’s arms. He had to remove himself from the room, because he knew if he didn’t, he would have fallen at your feet, have held you close and refused to let go.

Now, things are different. He’s yours and you’re his and everything is as right as it can be to Joel, but he worries more. Every run you go on, he wants to go with you. When he doesn’t, all he does is worry. He knows full well you can handle yourself, has seen you in action often enough to know he doesn’t have to put himself between you and the line of fire. But it doesn’t matter how many times he sees you with a gun in your hand, sees you swinging the bat he gave you so many years ago, watches the gears turning in your head when things don’t go exactly as planned.

You’re a badass, and he knows it, but he loves you and he has to protect you. That’s his job. And without Sarah to—

No.

He tries to cut off the train of thought, tries to blink away the memories that threaten to form behind his eyes. Time won’t erase them, and lately, they weave with his dreams, turn them to nightmares. He sees the faces of the people he’s killed, smells the gunpowder in the air. He loses his daughter, over and over again. He loses Tommy, loses Tess.

He loses you. Over and over. Hears your screams, feels the heat of your blood on his hands. He can’t—

“Joel?”

Your voice yanks him out of his head, deposits him back on the broken road he’s standing on. You’re a few feet ahead of him, your brow raised, the bat propped on your shoulder. There’s a smear of dust on your cheek, no doubt from the path you’d taken out of the QZ, squeezing through rubble until you popped out the other side — your least favourite way out, Joel knows. There’s a handgun strapped to your thigh, a knife hanging from your belt. His shirt hangs from your torso, the top buttons undone, the bruise he’d left on your collar the night before visible from where he’s standing, knowing he put it there. Your hair is half-tucked behind your ear, but a strand flutters across your cheek in the breeze.

You’re…beautiful. There’s no other word for it.

“Take a picture, Miller,” you say with a laugh, walking back the few feet separating you. You hook your fingers in the collar of his shirt, pull him forward and lean up on your toes to kiss him at the same time. His hand finds your waist automatically, fingers seeking bare skin, and you’re grinning when you lean back. “It’ll last longer.”

Joel grunts at you, unable to hide his smirk as your fingers twine with his, pulling him forward, boots shuffling across the gravel. “How much time we got?” he asks, falling into step beside you.

You glance at your — functional — watch. “An hour,” you reply, shaking out your wrist, tapping the bat against your boot. “Time to kill.”

“Gonna have to go through the museum,” he tells you, and you nod. You’d scoped things out at the hotel, like always, concern on both your faces when you saw the water that had begun to pool in the sunken lobby. An easily bypassed obstacle, but the decaying city was showing more and more wear, the Infected getting closer to the QZ. 

“Fine by me, there’s a place I wanna check out between here and there anyway.”

“A place, huh?”

You shrug, your face noncommittal. “Yup.”

The place turns out to be a jewelry store, tucked between what was once a coffee shop and a dentist’s office. The entire strip has definitely seen better days, and Joel’s instantly wary, reaching for the gun at his waist while you bee-line for the front door, barely hanging onto it’s hinges. 

You pay him no mind, using the bat to clear the jagged edges of the broken window, making a clear path into the store. You disappear through the opening and Joel follows, calling after you. “Liv, wait a sec.” 

Joel’s sure the place has been well looted, probably nothing of any value left — not that it matters anymore, what good is a diamond ring when you could have a stack of ration cards instead? He can’t even remember the last time he saw a dollar bill out in the open. He still has his wallet, tucked away in one of your drawers in the apartment, still with a twenty in it, his driver’s license, a credit card that expired in 2004. None of it means anything anymore.

“It’s clear, Joel.”

Inside, just as Joel suspected, the place is a disaster. Shards of glass crunch underfoot with every step you both take, display cases turned on their sides, velvet cushions and those creepy hands used to showcase rings scattered across the ground. There’s no light inside, save for the bit of sunlight that creeps through the broken windows, and Joel watches his step, gun still in hand.

You’ve headed straight for the back corner of the store, and it takes Joel a minute to figure out why.

You and Tess have a bet going, of sorts. Every time you go on a run, you try to find the other person something outrageous, always trying to top the last item with something more ridiculous than the last. It started when you brought back this gigantic jar of marbles, then Tess came back with a whoopee cushion. On and on it’s gone, with Tess currently winning, returning from her last run with Tommy with a mostly complete deck of Uno cards.

“Shit,” you grumble, poking through the pile of glass at your feet, pulling the sleeve of your shirt over your palm so you can lift the display case. “It’s all broken. I wanted one of those little glass animal things. Like a turtle or a deer or something?”

“Baby, they bombed the city,” Joel retorts, putting his hand on his hip. “You really think the little glass animals survived?”

You blow out a breath, pouting, and Joel stifles his chuckle. But then your eyes go wide, and you crouch down, bat dragging through the glass as you move, reaching for something in the mess. “A-ha!”

It’s not a turtle. Or a deer. In fact, Joel has no fucking clue what it is, at first glance, until you place it in his palm for further inspection. It’s a fox, no bigger than his index finger, curled up in his hand. And it’s made of crystal, a slight crack up the middle of the tail, but otherwise intact.

“What d’you think?” you ask, laughing as you take it back from him, pulling your bag off your shoulders so you can stow the thing. “Do I win?”

“For now,” Joel says, smirking at the beaming look on your face. “I’m sure Tess’ll show up with a damn giraffe next time.”

You glare at him, zipping your bag shut. “Appreciate the vote of confidence, Miller.”

He offers you his hand, pulls you to your feet, leaning in to give you a quick kiss once you’re upright. “Anytime, baby. You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, slinging your bag back on and heading back towards the front of the store. “Y’know, I think I might have her beat for a while now.”

Joel only half hears you.

Something’s caught his eye, on the ground. Tucked partially beneath one of the overturned displays, it glints at him, catching the dim light in just the right way. Joel crouches, uses the end of his gun to move the shards of glass away before he reaches for it. Not silver, not gold, but a rosy colour, something he’s not sure he’s seen before. It’s pretty, a flat band, no gems, but flowers engraved into the metal, all the way around. It’s light, in the palm of his hand, has a few scratches but nothing serious.

Instantly, his mind wonders what it might look like on your finger. The thought nearly bowls him over, and he almost stumbles back a step, reaching up and dropping the ring into the pocket of his shirt.

He could ask…couldn’t he? He wants to ask. The feeling bubbles up, crawling up the back of his throat. It’s not the same as it was before, not that anything is. There’s no fanfare or big white dresses — though knowing you and Tess, he’s sure you could find something — or drinking until you forget how sore your feet are from dancing. It’s just a piece of paper, signatures tying your lives together, indefinitely to FEDRA’s eyes. Another note in your file, the first person to be notified should you show up dead somewhere, lucky enough to be recognizable.

But…he wants it.

Fuck, he wants it. With you. For you. You.

“Joel?” you call, your voice laced with concern, and he calls back, jogging towards the front of the store, watching his step as he goes.

“Comin’, baby.”

+

You meet Gwen in the usual spot. She’s been your go-to for some time now. Her drops are always good, always on time, and you’re always happy to give each other something extra. The first chicken you traded for didn’t last long, and you’d tried to extend the life of the second, but the clucking pissed off the neighbours, and Tess makes a mean chicken casserole.

This time is no different, at the start. There are faces amongst her crew you don’t recognize, a couple younger guys that are clearly just getting their feet wet. The trade is for first aid supplies from Gwen, produce seeds and a few boxes of ammo from you. The pharmacy in Boston has been running low on things for weeks now, with no promise of anything coming anytime soon. Deanna’s been worried as hell, grumbling at you any chance she gets, and you know this’ll help some.

“Who’re the newbies?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the two guys, your bag filled with Gwen’s supplies, zipping it shut once more. They’re young, maybe mid-twenties, and it makes you uneasy to see unsure hands on such a large gun.

“My brother, Trevor,” Gwen offers, and you lift a brow. “And the other, Noah, just arrived in Hartford a few weeks back.”

Joel glances at the men before turning to Gwen. “Not wastin’ any time, huh?”

Gwen’s face goes dark as she look between you and Joel, and it makes your stomach turn. “Hartford’s not what it used to be. I don’t…I don’t know how long it’ll be until we can make another trade, Liv. Things are changing.”

“Meaning?” you ask. From the corner of your eye, you can see Joel’s jaw go tight.

“FEDRA’s making it harder and harder for us to live in peace. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Her tone tells you you’re not getting any more information besides that, so you just nod, thanking her for the supplies. She offers a hand to shake, and you take it, nodding to her. “Stay safe, Gwen.”

“You too, Liv.”

“SHIT!”

Everyone whirls at the same time, watching as Noah goes toppling backwards. You’d met up at one of the intersections near the remaining chain link, same as always. A crater left by the bombs takes up the right half of the road, and Noah falls straight into it with a loud yelp. As he goes, his gun goes off, spraying the wall of the crater with bullets, and your heart sinks into your toes when you see where they land.

The crater is filled with cordyceps.

It’s taken a while, for FEDRA to figure out just how the fungus operates. They still don’t totally know, that much is for sure, but it’s not just in people. It’s underground, everywhere, branching out for miles in every direction, sprouting up through the earth in strange patches that you would almost think beautiful if you didn’t know firsthand the devastation they’ve brought. Disturb a patch in one place, and all you could do was pray that the Infected you’d awoken were too far away to get to you before you could get away from them.

The crater is lined with it, the cracked asphalt painted like a canvas, tufts of grass poking between, signs of nature taking back the earth. The sound of the bullets rings through your skull, the noise almost muffled as it breaks through the fungus.

Not a second later, you hear the screams.

There’s seven of you, total. You and Joel, Gwen, four of her men. Well, three, since Noah is now at the bottom of that crater, and hasn’t reappeared. You’re not optimistic.

Joel grabs your arm, pushes you behind him, towards the drugstore on the corner of the road. “Inside!” he barks, and you obey, purposeful strides carrying you towards the storefront, pulling your gun from the holster at your thigh as you go. Gwen waves her guys towards the building as well, and as soon as you’re through, Joel presses you into the wall, keeping himself between you and the outside.

Your heart is beating so hard you can hear it, your jaw solid and your grip on the bat so tight your knuckles are screaming in protest. Joel’s chest is heaving, his face a hard mask. You reach out, wrap your hand around his arm, squeeze lightly.

I’m here.

The screams echo through the city. It’s nothing new, to encounter Infected on a run. You’ve killed dozens of them at this point, bat, gun, knife. Whatever works. It’s become second nature, an unfortunate old habit. But the sound of them, no matter how many times you hear it, you still feel your spine bristle, like a cat that’s been cornered, making you want to hiss and spit.

Joel covers your hand with his, the other brandishing his gun. Slowly, he moves you back further, your back against the wall, inching away from the storefront. Maybe you could slip out the back, take the long way around back to the QZ, lose the Infected that way. 

You open your mouth to suggest it to Joel just as the swarm of Infected sprints past the front of the drugstore. It’s unnerving, how fast they are, the way their bodies move in that almost-inhuman-almost-human way. Nerves rise in the back of your throat as your boots slide backwards on the tile, Joel still leading you backward.

It all happens in one instant.

There’s a door, towards the back of the drugstore. An office, break room, you don’t know, but it swings open, and something lunges at you, knocking you to the ground with insane force that pushes all the breath from your lungs, your head smacking against the ground, bat flying from your grip, ringing when it lands beside you. You slide into a long-empty shelf, metal cutting into your shoulder.

You hear Joel shout your name.

You feel something rip into your side, tearing flesh. You scream.

You smell blood.

You see flash of Joel’s gun, the barrel bright silver. Has it always been that bright?

The gunshot rings loudly through the drugstore, and all the heads that had turned to you — Joel, Gwen, her men — all turn back towards the outside. Most of the horde had gone straight to the crater, bodies tumbling into it, but some, maybe ten of them, all turn their heads towards the drugstore.

Joel stares at you, his eyes wide as dinner plates. You shove at the now-dead Infected, ignoring the drips of blood down your shoulder and side as you scramble to your feet, pulling your handgun from it’s holster. Your arms are shaking as you lift it, cover one hand with the other to steady your shots. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this can’t be happening.

As the Infected start to draw into the drugstore, you all start shooting. The sound is piercing, echoing through your head, every nerve in your body pricking with pain with each shot that’s fired. Bodies drop, screams bounce off the walls, but you’re focused, picking them off one by one, ignoring the way your stomach turns with each one, the way you know what just happened, but you don’t — you can’t address it. Not yet.

This is happening.

Your clip runs out, and you drop to a knee, grabbing another from the holster, letting the empty clatter to the tile as you reload. For just a minute, Joel looks at you over his shoulder, his gun still raised, something you have no name for in his eyes.

This is happening.

Your blood is thrumming in your veins, birdsong you haven’t heard in a long time, making your ears ring, making your heart race. You keep pulling the trigger, half a mind to grab your bat off the ground and charge headfirst into the swam.

What difference would it make, anyway?

Gwen and her men move forward, brandishing knives to pick off the stragglers that climb through the broken windows. Joel lowers his gun, you shove yours back into its holster. He’s on you an instant later, turning you towards him, pulling at the fabric of your shirt. “Let me see.”

“Joel—” you start, pushing at his hands.

This is happening.

“Let me see,” he growls, and you relent, feeling your lip start to quiver as you let your arms drop, turning your head as he lifts the hem of your shirt. You hear his sharp intake of breath, see the crease between his brows deepen, and you know it’s exactly what you think. You felt it, different from the scratch Dean had given you on Outbreak Day. This was much different. Teeth, tearing, blood, saliva.

Infection.

Joel turns away, his face now pure anger. He kicks at the wall so hard his boot goes through, and you lift your shirt again, peering down at the wound. It’s a bite, no question. Teeth marks at the edge, blood seeping down your skin, turning the waist of your jeans dark.

This is happening.

Slowly, Gwen walks towards you. Joel cuts her off before she can get close, watching you inspecting your wound. “Oh god, Liv,” you hear her say, and behind her, someone cocks a gun. It makes you gasp, the sound choked, and Joel lifts his own gun.

“Get out of here,” he barks, his voice a terrifyingly deep register you’ve never heard before. “Now. I’ll deal with it. Go.”

Gwen just nods, gives you a sympathetic look before she’s herding her guys out, all of them picking their way around the bodies littering the floor. You let your shirt fall back down, the blood making the fabric cling to your skin. Your shoulder aches, blood soaking your shirt there too, but you’re too busy starting to lose your shit to really notice.

This is happening.

“Liv,” Joel says, his voice softer now, cracking around your name. Your chest aches. You just got him back. You can’t leave him, you can’t go, you can’t turn into— “Liv.”

You sink into a crouch. You bury your face in your hands, feeling the tears pour down your face. It’s done. It’s over. There’s no getting out of this. I’ll deal with it, Joel said. Meaning he’ll deal with you, meaning he’ll put you down. Knife or bullet, bullet or knife. What’s the kinder way to go? What’s the better way to let the love of your life kill you?

Which one will haunt him less, when you’re gone?

It’s not fair.

But it’s happening all the same.

Joel sinks down with you, slides his bag from his shoulders. You peek between your fingers just enough to see him pulling out bandages, a bottle of water, an alcohol wipe.

“Don’t waste it on me,” you mumble, pushing at his hands when he reaches for you. There’s blood on your hands, streaked up your forearms. “Don’t, Joel.”

“Stop it,” he says, shaking his head. His hair’s gotten longer, you notice, watching the dark curls ruffle along his scalp. “I’m gonna fix it.”

“You can’t!”

You scramble back, out of his reach, until your back hits another shelf. The metal rattles, your skull along with it, and you pull your knees to your chest, wrap your arms around them. It makes your side sing with pain, but it just adds to the mix, to the riot in your head, the ache in your heart.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. Your voice is thick with tears, and they won’t stop. You know they can’t stop. You can’t stop.

“Liv—”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

The bottle of water slides from Joel’s hands, and your eyes track it as it rolls across the floor. You don’t want to spend the time you have like this, hiding from him, keeping your distance. It’s not fair. You just got him back, just got comfortable. Why did you let yourself get comfortable?

You want to die in his arms, to breathe your last breath with his eyes on your face, you want to—

“I saw Anna.”

The name makes you stop short, your head snapping up, eyes glued to him. Your heart skips, you’re sure of it, every drop of blood inside you freezing for one singular moment. He stares back at you, those dark eyes impossibly shiny, lined with silver tears that haven’t fallen yet. 

“Anna?” you repeat. Are you going already? Is the fungus already in you, creeping up your spine, taking over your brain? You’re supposed to have more time, you’re supposed to—

“Anna, Liv. Anna, your sister. Six months after the outbreak. I saw her, when Tommy and I were on the road. Some makeshift shelter FEDRA set up in Cincinnati. She recognized me, nearly bowled me over when she saw me and Tommy.”

Your mouth drops open. “My…sister.” My sister, my baby sister, Anna, my little sister. Your mind whirls, Cowan’s voice in your head, the radio room before the walls went up. There is no record of Anna. Your heart is shattering in your chest, you’re sure of it. “She’s alive?”

His head drops. “A few of the soldiers got infected, started turning, started biting.” Joel swallows hard, and your eyes flick down as his throat bobs. “She got caught in the chaos, fuckin’ soldier bit her ankle. I put him down. And she hid it, at first, asked me and Tommy to get her to some guy outside the city. I can’t remember the name, said it was her boyfriend or something, I can’t…it doesn’t matter.

“We were planning to leave the shelter, trying to gather supplies to get the hell out of dodge, when she got caught. Someone walked in on her changing the bandage on her ankle, saw the bite, screamed for help. I tried to stop them, but FEDRA doesn’t take chances.”

“So they killed her,” you say, the words blunt, laced with tears.

“They took her away. I never saw a body.”

You shake your head, let your eyes drop closed. “Then why tell me, Joel?”

He slides across the tile to you, pulls at your limbs until your legs are spread either side of him, your arms limp in your lap. Before you can even try to shrink away, he’s got your face in his hands, wiping at your tears, warm palms pressed to your cheeks.

“It was three days, Liv. Three days between her getting bit and FEDRA taking her away. She never showed any signs, never turned, never fuckin’ twitched. She was immune. What if…” He leans forward until his forehead touches yours. “What if there’s a chance? What if you are too?”

Your mind is racing. The pain in your side throbs with every beat of your heart. You don’t have words, you can’t bring your lips to form them. Your brain offers up images, only making your thoughts move faster. The infection running rampant through you, replacing your blood stream, clogging your veins. Your sister, bruised by the outbreak, the loss of your parents — did she even know that they were dead? — but alive, those eyes bright as you remember them. 

Her ankle, Joel had said. The soldier bit her ankle. In your head, she hides the bite beneath thick socks, cleans it and pulls her jeans down over it. Her eyes snap to yours, big and filled with tears.

“It’ll be okay, Liv. Just wait.”

Wait. Wait it out, wait to lose your mind, wait to turn into one of them. Wait to feel like you’re not in control of your body anymore. Would it still be you, buried beneath all of that? Does the fungus keep you alive, turn you into a puppet, make you watch the harm you cause, the violence that ensues?

But Joel wouldn’t let it get that far, would he?

Knife or bullet, bullet or knife. What’s the better way to go?

Your mind cycles through everyone back in Boston, Tess, Tommy, Emily, Henry, Deanna. Hell, even Cowan shows up. You see their faces, hear their voices, immediately imagining the reactions when Joel tells them what happened. And Emily, she—

Your brow goes hard, more tears slipping down your cheeks.

Emily watched her father kill her mother, after he turned. In the mall, before the wall went up, when you were still considering leaving. Contaminated food, they said, moved you to the apartments, made you wait it out. Six other people turned, FEDRA put them down without batting an eye. But you never did. You’d ate the same food as Tim, Emily’s father, the night before he turned. You both wanted Thai, Marcy and the kids had soup instead. You still remember Emily’s giggles when you slurped your noodles.

But you never turned.

Anna’s voice is in your head again. It’ll be okay, Liv.

You curl your fingers in the collar of Joel’s shirt, pushing at his chest slightly, enough that he pulls back, enough that your watery eyes can meet his. “We wait it out,” you tell him, and his brow crumples completely, a sharp sob in your ear as he collects you into his arms. “If I start to turn, Joel, I swear to god, you put me down and you don’t think twice about it, you understand?” You keep your gaze on his face, watch his eyes slip closed, and he nods. “You put me down, and then you go back to Boston. All right? You promise me. You go back, and you tell everyone I’m sorry.”

“Liv—”

“Promise me, Joel.”

He swallows so hard his throat bobs.

“I promise.”

+

You wait it out.

Joel feels like he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off you, doesn’t want to miss anything. He’s memorizing you, all over again, trying to paint you in his mind. Something clear, something pure.

Something to remember.

In case he’s wrong. In case he has to put a bullet in your head before the sun comes up. In case he’s about to lose you. He wants to remember you as you are, not what you might become. Alive, intact, whole.

Liv.

You let him tend to your wounds, after a bit of convincing. Joel cleans the blood from your skin slowly, meticulously, tapes the gauze to your shoulder, to your side. He clears out the office your attacker had been hiding in, makes it as comfortable as he can. He can feel you watch him, just like he’s watching you, and one it’s safe — as safe as it can be — he sinks down beside you, puts his arm around your shoulders, pulls you against his chest.

And waits.

There aren’t many words. You flinch with every sound that echoes through the city, the creak of buildings, the shrieks of the Infected. Joel shushes you each time, hauls you closer until you end up across his lap, one arm banded around your back, the other hooked behind your knees, keeping you close. Closer. As close as possible.

Eventually, it gets so quiet that he can hear the thump of your heart, feel the flutter of your lashes where you face is buried in his neck. He rubs his hand up and down your arm slow, pushes his nose into your hair. You stretch out a bit in his arms, roll your head onto his shoulder, your eyes shut.

“Sleepy.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, darlin’. M’right here.”

You blink once, and your eyes are so shiny that Joel’s heart jumps in his chests. “What if I…?”

You trial off, the rest of the question left unsaid, but Joel finishes in his mind. What if you turn? What if you bite him? What if you take him down with you? He doesn’t care, he thinks, and is suddenly acutely aware of the ring sitting in his pocket.

“You won’t. I’ll stay awake. I won’t let you…I won’t let you turn, okay?” He leans down more, brushes a kiss across your mouth. You whimper, tightening your grip on his shirt. “I’m right here, Liv. Not goin’ anywhere.”

Your brow furrows as your eyes drop shut again, and Joel lifts his hand, drags his thumb over the crease in your skin. “I love you, Joel.”

He moves his thumb again, over and over until your face softens, but keeps it up even then. “Love you.”

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep. Knows he shouldn’t, knows he should be keeping an eye on you, but as the sky outside gets darker and darker, his lids get heavier and heavier. You’re a warm weight against him, your own eyes twitching as you dream, your breath hot on his neck. Dreams take hold of him — dreams, not nightmares — and he dreams of you, in a pretty white dress, his scavenged ring on your finger, a smile on your lips. He holds you in his mind, too, keeps you impossibly close, kisses you until he’s not sure where he ends and you begin.

And then he wakes.

To you.

To you, shoving at his shoulder, climbing into his lap, curling your fingers in his shirt. You’re crying, your hair a mess about your face, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself out of the dream version of you, to the real version.

“You were supposed to stay awake, you jackass!” you’re shouting, your voice breaking on the words. Your fist thumps against his chest. “I could have killed you! I could have—”

He’s very awake, suddenly. It’s…daytime. He can see the sunlight through the little window in the office door. Joel catches your wrists, stops you from hitting him again. You suck in a breath, freezing, and your head lifts, hair falling away from your face, fresh tears on your cheeks. He can’t stop himself from smiling, and his chest explodes with warmth when your grin matches his.

“But you didn’t.”

He pulls you against him, and you kiss the air from his lungs. Your mouth is hot and insistent on his, yanking your hands from his grip so you can dive them into his hair. His own drop to your waist, curling around your hips, pulling you closer, closer, closer.

You’re alive. You’re you.

He’d sit there and let you kiss him all day, but the echo of an Infected scream makes you both freeze, and his instincts kick into gear. With one last kiss, you disentangle from each other. Joel’s back screams in protest from sleeping sat up against the wall all night, and he groans as he gets to his feet, helps you to yours. You wince at the movement, one hand gripping your side, and Joel inspects you, lifts the hem of your shirt and peels the bandage back.

He’s seen bites before. Seen the strange, spidery lines the spread from them, the infection curling beneath the skin like a raised tattoo. Your wound is still angry, still seeping blood, but not enough to soak through the bandage. You might need stitches, Joel’s not sure. You wince again as he presses it back into o place, smooths his fingers along the tape.

“We need to get you home.”

You just nod, leaning against him, and he kisses your temple. The relief in the air is palpable, unbridled joy laced with nerves and worry. You have to keep this a secret, that much Joel knows. He still remembers the terror on Anna’s face, when they took her away. He tried to fight them, tried to stop it, but they put a gun to his head, to Tommy’s. Anna told him to stand down, to let her go, and then she was gone.

He won’t let them take you. Never.

It’s slow going. He takes you out the back way of the drugstore, avoiding the bodies littered at the front. Joel’s learned the city a little more with each run, he knows your shortcuts, the long and short ways, the quickest way back to the QZ in a pinch. He knows which routes you favour, which ones are last on your list.

He keeps your fingers laced with his, lets you lean into him as you walk. The pain you’re feeling is clear, but you grit your teeth and carry on, squeezing his hand tighter every few miles. He asks you if you need to stop a few times, and each time, you just shake your head.

It’s even slower, getting back over the wall. It’s midday, by the time you’re nearing the gate, and the ideal path — the one that takes you right under the wall — is too dangerous in broad fucking daylight. So you take the same path you’d lead Joel and Tess in with. Your chest is heaving by the time you reach the top, and Joel lifts the hem of your shirt to see you’ve bled through the bandage, drops of blood sliding down your hip.

You stop inside, Joel forcing you to wait a goddamn second so he can clean you up, replace the bandage. He grits his teeth; he can’t take you to the clinic, can’t involve Deanna in this. Can’t involve anyone in this.

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

Corporal Nick fucking Cowan is standing at the mouth of the alley, gun hefted in his hands as Joel lands on the pavement, holding his arms out as you climb slowly down the ladder of the fire escape. It’s a good five foot drop down, and he knows even landing on your feet isn’t gonna feel great.

Joel stumbles back as you drop, your boots sliding against the asphalt. He tries to support your weight as much as he can, and you let out a sound that’s not so much a wince as a sob. You bury your hand in your side, gripping tight as he slides his arm around your waist. 

“Nick,” you breathe out, and Joel looks up to see the soldier glance down the road before jogging towards you, concern on his face.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, and you heave a breath, your head lolling onto Joel’s shoulder. “Tess came to find me last night, asked if I’d seen you, if you’d gotten yourselves thrown in lockup.” His brow hardens as he looks at you, looks at Joel. “You were out all night?”

Joel tightens his grip on you. “Didn’t plan it like that.”

“We got cornered by a fucking horde of them,” you breathe out, hissing as you take a step forward. Cowan holds a hand out to you and you wave him off. “I got…”

You trail off, and Joel bristles, scared you’re gonna say it.

Bit.

Cowan wants answers, pressing harder, and Joel can see how he’s inspecting you, his eyes darting all over you. “You what, Liv?”

“I got hurt, asshole,” you spit through gritted teeth, trying to angle yourself away from him. “Is that really not obvious?”

“I’ll take you to the clinic,” Cowan says instantly, and reaches for you again. Joel nearly growls. He knows you made your peace or whatever, but he still doesn’t like the guy. Doesn’t like that he acts like he’s got some kind of claim on you. “Deanna’s working, she can—”

“No,” you both say at the same time, nearly shouting, and Cowan takes a step back, staring between you, trying to meet your eyes. Joel can see it, the wheels working in the soldier’s head. You straighten a bit, staring back at Cowan. “I’m fine, I just wanna get home.”

For a minute, Joel thinks Cowan will accept the answer. He pulls you tighter against him, tries to sidestep the soldier, taking you with him. But he’s still blocking your path, and everything in Joel turns over as he reaches for the handgun on his hip.

“Show me.”

You freeze, your entire body going taut in Joel’s grip. “What?”

Cowan doesn’t lift the gun, but Joel sees his thumb pull back the hammer, cocking it. He reaches for his own gun.

“Nick, what’re you—” you start, but then the soldier lifts his gun, aiming for you.

Joel steps in front of you, shielding you with his body, holding an arm out, lifting his pistol, aiming right back at Cowan. “Cowan, stop it,” Joel grits, and the soldier just stares back, his eyes wide.

“You are the last fucking person who gets to give me orders.”

“I know that,” Joel replies, and lifts both his hands, something like surrender. He points his gun at the sky, feels your hand curl around his hip. “I know you hate me. I’d hate me too, if roles were reversed, and I don’t expect you to do me any fuckin’ favours. But I know you care about her. So, please. Do this for her.”

The gun wobbles slightly, but Cowan shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“Please, Nick,” Joel hears you say, a waver in your voice, your nails biting into his skin. “Please, just let us go. We’ll leave the city, we can just—”

“No!” Cowan shouts, the sound echoing down the alley. “You know I can’t.”

“Nick, please,” you say again, and the gun wobbles again, Joel moving to put himself in front of it, to keep it away from you.

“Put the gun down, Cowan,” Joel says, his hands still in the air, trying to force reason into his voice. “Just put it down, we can fix this, we can talk this out, just—”

“Shut up!” Cowan yells, and Joel’s heart is in his throat. “You don’t deserve her, Joel. Look what you did, you put her in harm’s way, over and over and over again. You nearly got her killed, and still she chooses you over me.” 

“Nick, stop—” you cry, and Joel can hear the tears in your voice. The gun points at you again, and anger, fear, terror rises in Joel’s gut. He points his gun back at Cowan, finger twitching on the trigger.

“You don’t fucking deserve her.”

“And you do?”

Joel’s not sure which one of them fires first.

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[wayfayrr]

Gonna ask this RIGHT this time lets GOOO

I’m a bit of a nut when it comes to pyromaniac and explosion obsessed characters, just going absolutely manic with numerous explosions going off around them type of stuff

Can I maybe ask for a reader like that with Time? Just an absolutely tired man who loves seeing them happy, but by god please put the gunpowder down for five minutes

Thank you, and once again bc you deserve it, congratulations :>

thank you again for all the congratulations 🥹💖💖 I swear everyone on here is so sweet. 💖 for this one I hope you don't mind I went with a calmer moment for that type of reader where they're sitting by the fire making explosives relaxing, I hope you like it!!!🔥✨✨

“[name], what are you making over there? Please don’t tell me it’s more explosives…”

“Look you don’t have to mutter under your breath like that.”

“You didn’t answer my question [name].”

“I thought you didn’t want me to tell you.”

The old man seems to be looking his age for once, granted I'm one of the main reasons he's been pushed to his limits like this. Really though, it's in my nature I can't just hold myself back. He should know this with how clear it is that I'm not the most civil when things like this are involved.

"Please stop making explosives from your own world, at least use normal bombs."

"'Normal bombs' don't have the same effect though Time... Look it's not like I'm making the dangerous ones."

Maybe I should stop doing stuff like this, it seems Time really is more stressed than he ever was before I arrived. The chain are taking care of me here, I shouldn't be adding to their stress, well time’s stress more than anything. It’s hard not to feel at least a little guilty about acting like this when he sounds so exhausted. Planting himself down next to me with a sigh, it really feels like I’m about to be given a lecture about my personal safety. It takes a moment to remove my current project away from the heat and to make sure that it’s stable, meaning I can leave it unattended for a while. Better to be over-cautious than the reason Hyrule needs to tire himself out or drain their already low supplies. Nothing would make me feel worse than that after a lecture.

“Just be careful dear, I love you more than anything so I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lecture me?”

“No, I love seeing how happy you are. Even if I wish I was the one making you happy rather than the explosives.”

That was unexpected? I swear if Wild was the one in my place he’d have been trapped here for hours while Time went on about his safety, but for me just a simple admission and a blush? Time’s blushing!? Because of me?? How long will it take him to realise how I’m looking at him like he’s both amazing and acting utterly unlike the Time I know? Barely a second it seems.

“Don’t let me sitting here distract you [name].”

“RIGHT. Yes alright. Um… would you like me to show you some really cool things you can do with fire? There are some safer things in my world that are beautiful.”

“Do you have it recorded on your ‘phone’?”

Rolling my eyes at him with a genuine laugh while reaching for a couple of containers within my bag, he seems a bit scared of what I’m about to pull out of my bag. Like he’s expecting another outburst like the first fight I got into, It's a good thing Hyrule can treat burns. 

“They’re different metal oxides, they change the colours of the fire. And no I’m not going to set the forest alight again not at the moment anyway.”

“[name] I love you but please.”

“...Fine. I promise I won't set the forest alight at all. Now can I show you what these do?”

I didn’t even let him answer this time, preferring to just toss some of the copper chloride powder into the fire waiting for his response to the apple-green flames. He looks stunning with how they reflect off of his armour, and how they highlight his face. Which colours would light him up the most beautifully I wonder, red, green, pink, cutting the colours completely and having him silhouetted by an explosion perhaps? 

“Do you keep things related to all of this on you at all times?”

“Why would you ever assume otherwise?”

“Please hold back from burning entire woods from now on.”

“...I’ll try.”

[cherrynwinesk]

🍒: I really didn't think one bit that you would like As u Sleep because it deals with a topic that I have never made known on my blog, thank you very much for your support. Also want to thank and give full credit to ✨ @norachere ✨ who has been the mastermind behind this third part, without her idea this history would not have been possible.

As u Sleep pt.3 ~ Cellbit

Story g: horror (no love), nsfw, not safe

Language: English/Inglés

⚠️: supernatural creatures, blood, murders, horror. This is too violent, minors or sensitive people do not read, NOT SAFE, ONLY +18, (no sex, only violence), NO LOVE

CC's: Cellbit

Reader g: Neutral reader

📝: All the content is fictitious and an attempt is made to adapt the PUBLIC personality of the cc's, that is, the personality that is shown in front of cameras, I do not know the true personality and any resemblance to reality is mere coincidence.

🍒: Hello, writing requests are always open, if you want something in particular, ask without fear. I clarify that English is not my main language, I apologize for any error and accept corrections to improve the quality of the content

Master List

Cellbit had been able to get a power source without actually killing someone, the morgue was a horribly lonely place, he could hear the whispers of souls resting in his ear as he weighed the dead brain on the scale, he hated it when the corpses sat on the metal table, he was not afraid, in the end he was the one who had been dead for much longer than the person lying down, but he hated having to reposition them to be able to work.

He hated having to feed on dirty blood, old blood, blood contaminated by gunpowder from a bullet, blood contaminated by drugs or foreign substances. But he didn't want to ruin someone else like they ruined him, he would have preferred that monster to kill him instead of turning him into an immortal.

Cellbit was so tired, tired of pretending to be a random human who goes to the supermarket to buy bread and milk that ends up flushing down the toilet while everyone sleeps. Tired of spending time inside the morgue until the sun goes down and then leaving the house before it dawns, locked in that refrigerator like the dead man that he is.

Tonight, anger was consuming Cellbit, it had been you who was about to ruin his hateful life, which he had been perfecting so he could infiltrate as just another mortal. How through an oversight you had obtained the answer to his behavior, his very isolated way of being, and why they would never have shared a dinner together.

He listened to you through the walls, how you cried with fear, how you asked for help and that your biggest mistake was having gone to sleep. Because while you sleep, Cellbit carried that scalpel inside his bag, looked for his gloves and headed towards you.

He knocked on your bedroom door, you saw him work so many times in that cold place and he hoped you would guess how a point pierces a naked body, it was your turn to know.

Cellbit climbed over your body, his mind full of anger repeating "lets fuck her / him up". He stuck the scalpel into your bare stomach, watching how the pain made you open your eyes, how you tried to defend yourself from his teeth on your neck, how you lost strength due to the blood that was needed in your body.

Leaving you looking lost in fear, "I won't be missing you."

Making sure to leave the note to infuse terrorism into the criminal investigation team. Leaving the apartment and getting rid of anything that had your blood on it.

Cellbit went through hard days, in which he could only feed on wild animals, once again causing him that savagery as when he had just become immortal, hidden from the sun, while the nights tortured him, driving him crazy, making his claws come out , his eyes turn red, and an uncontrollable urge to kill like a mad dog. The episodes in which his inner demon attacked caused Cellbit's face to change his features a little which would help not to be recognized.

He had to spend some time without being able to feed himself in order to control his beast and try to enter civilization again. His plan was to get his previous life, his daily routine to be able to feed himself without the need to become a monster, changed.

So Cellbit returned to the city, picking up that paper announcing that they were requesting a forensic doctor at the most prestigious hospital in the area.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Cellbit, I am very surprised to see that you have professional studies and even experience, why did you leave your previous hospital?" The owner of the hospital spoke while looking at the Cellbit file.

"I just want to continue growing professionally, the previous hospital was a small one"

"You are hiring, I just want to tell you, the current doctor is resigning since his colleague disappeared and he is afraid, I think you know very well the danger that this type of work entails, I only ask that you be professional in this aspect"

"Don't worry, I'll take the job seriously."

The doctor who owns the hospital showed Cellbit the way to the morgue, giving him a short tour of his new workplace.

Morgue was already empty, too many corpses to work with, so Cellbit started as soon as possible. FBI and investigative police quickly contacted Cellbit

What was talked about today were multiple disappearances, some type of serial kidnapper, organ sales, or human trafficking were being investigated. Dismembered bodies also continued to arrive in black bags. This time Cellbit was working without being able to eat even a little.

"Cellbit, this person was found in his house, and there was a note from some type of mafia, anything you find on the body, notify me since it's likely to be the same group in charge of the disappearances"

Cellbit nodded without even looking at the police officer who was speaking to him, he could only see how they left a body inside his black insulated bag with a zipper. He was not feeling well at all, thanks to the state in which the corpses were arriving at the morgue, he had to feed on animals again, and the episode of madness was returning, so he went down to the basement where no one would see him become

Pain made him want to tear out his hair, scratch his own skin and tear off his clothes with his claws, he threw himself on the floor seeking comfort while his beast took over him, the pain and desperation had been so strong this time that Cellbit reached faint.

After a few hours unconscious he was able to get up, he walked with difficulty down the stairs to get to his workplace, he leaned on his desk to stabilize his vision. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as the body on the table got up to sit down. Cellbit knew this always happened, so he reached out to unzip the bag.

Without even looking at the person, he maneuvered his body back to the previous position and returned to the tool table to get what he needed to work. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the body rose again and he sighed in frustration.

When he turned around he could finally look at the person who had been dead for days in his apartment, he could recognize you.

“Y/n!?”

"I killed all those people, I couldn't contain my hunger" Cellbit felt so bad, he didn't understand how you hadn't died if he sucked all the blood himself and made sure to stab you in the right place, but now you were there covered in blood on your face. Your hands and clothes, your mouth stained red, your eyes were bright yellow and as you spoke with anger in your words, horns sprang from your forehead. Cellbit dropped his scalpel from the shock and fear that having done this to you caused him.

"Cellbit, this hurts too much and I will make you pay for what you did to me"

[anonymousegeek]

HI HI JI HI *SHOWS YOU MY ROBLOX OC AND A LIL DOODLE OF HER AND POOB I MADE*

Also OC HCS IN BELOW

-She's part demon (no she is not 'AlL-PoWErFUl'. She's weak to religious objects and her demon archetype is an imp.)

-Personality wise, she's mainly inspired by Pinkie Pie, but she has some aspects of Dan from Dan VS, Glam from Metal Family, along with a few songs like 'Fine' by Lemon Demon

-Knows vaguely that Gnarpy is a space commander, but also... ✨Kitty✨. She isn't all that scared of xem because she more so goes ":0 *G4SBP* K1TT3333HHHHH!! :3" (she's only ever scared if xe threatens her)

-Voice Claim; Kinda high pitched, energetic, British accent (think of like pinkie pie but british)

-Texts in all caps and replaces numbers with letters, and O is replaced with Ø. Basically texting is a mix of 2000's "R4WR XD" and Terezi from Homestuck

-Sees Bive as like a best friend (Bive sees Cass more as an acquaintance rather than a friend, however)

-Speaking of which, Cass sees almost EVERYONE as a friend in some way

-Likes classic rock, hyperpop, generally any music that sounds good to her

-Carries around a stop sign she stole. YES. SHE DID STEAL IT. Just plucked it out of the ground one day (it's support was rusting a lot!)

-The barbed wire on her arm (which i forgot to draw on her ref on the right) is fake! It's just aluminium foil, metal wire, and some silver glittery pipe cleaner! (although sometimes she confuses her fake barbed wire for real barbed wire... A lot of hospital trips happen)

-Self conscious abt her eyes (nothin wrong with em! They look kinda like 1930-ish style cartoon eyes :3)

-They get anxious if an elevator stops randomly and has to hold someone's hand. If not, they just tap their fingers/hands together awkwardly

-The look was just something I came up with around 2021 or 2022! I wanted to go for black + a few colors + some silliness!

-Autism and ADHD

-LOVES making explosives with fireworks, gunpowder, and a few other things like paint and glitter. Expect colorful pipe bombs in your mailbox

-Her face changes emoticons for emotions! shell' be :D happy! Or :( sad... Or even O□O SHOCKED!

[walker33961]

FACE M A S K 🧖‍♀️✨🦢

- Kyle was back from his 4 month long mission... Well yn & him both were 141's without a home for them..... Even though kyle wished to have a small house with yn ....

Their feelings for each other's in relationship is increasing every day , he fell for yn at first sight.......

Everyone in the base knows how much yn loves to treat her face with good products and even bcz of her , the base keeps stock of good cosmetics for yn and other girls in the base... Even the guys got influenced bcz of their girls or their best mates and started rubbing the jade roller on their face... 😆

02:43 AM

- Kyle was all tired , he dropped his bag and fell on the bed , facing at the little photos with the gang and yn in the rough base wall....

Suddenly, The door opened to reveal Yn with her eye mask and charcoal face mask ... Kyle started laughing...

Kyle :

Love, Did you steal ghost's mask and he rubbed his face paint over ....? 🤣😭

*Laughing*

Yn :

You know it's a charcoal mask Kyle....

Stop acting...

Kyle :

Isn't there any gunpowder one ?

😭🤣

Yn :

Huh... At least my face doesn't stay like the rusty irons after a mission like yours...

*smirks*

Kyle :

How can i turn my year old rusty iron face to soft as cotton like yours...

*was about to kiss yn*

Yn :

Hold up Kyle...

Not even a single bit of charcoal while you're like this...

- Yn brought her bag of products and Kyle was just "😲😯"...

Kyle :

Like damn yn...!

Yn :

I brought it from Soap... He's the only guy who understands self care so perfectly...

Kyle :

Thanks to his lady for rubbing Aloe on his skin after a desert mission... 🤣

Or else he would be like a burning Scottish Potato 🤣

Yn :

Let me fix my burned British cake first....

Kyle :

Not fair...

Yn :

Don't talk... Let me put this sheet in yo face !

- Yn firmly attached the sheet mask in his face and sliced cucumber over eyes....

Kyle :

Wh - wha' are ya doin!?

Yn :

Taking care of my Prince Garrick...

- Yn took a photo without Kyle's realisation. And sent it to the group chat...

*Next morning*

- Soap, Laswell trying not to laugh over him.. He was shining but the photo yn sent literally made everyone fell from the space ..

Laswell :

Kyle... How did your treatment go Son?

Kyle :

What are you talking about?

*Soap laughing and showing him the photo*

Soap :

Ahahahe our lad gets some good care aye..

I really want that type of care...

Soap's Gf :

No way you're getting that...

Not until you bring the Rosemary plant I told you...

Soap :

Not fare Bonnie!

Kyle :

That's fair for laughing over me..

Let me ask her why she did that...

- Kyle came to their shared room inside the base.. Yn was fixing her hair to a ponytail. Kyle hugged from behind ...

Kyle :

Who gave you the idea of sending the photo?

Yn :

Mrs. Garrick gave me the idea for Mr. Garrick...

- Kyle roamed his hands to yn's soft pair , circling his finger around her nipples.

Yn hitches..

Yn :

K-kyle.. Not N-now...... Ah....

Kyle :

Did you warn me before taking the photo?

*pinching nipples*

*yn getting wet, moaning lightly*

*Kyle bites her neck*

Kyle :

Speak Love....

Yn :

*moans*

N... No... H..

Kyle :

" Then how can I let go of you so easily , You deserve a soft punishment "

[lilolilyr]

✨

✨What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

Ohhh so many!

I still absolutely love what I think was my first real longfic, the Andromaquynh fanfic In Your Stead, and I think it just doesn’t get notes anymore because anyone who might be interested in it has already seen it? AQ fandom is not too huge and definitely not getting many new members, so my wish for that fic to still get some attention is doomed to fail I guess. Still kind of sad to see my fav of my own fics basically collecting dust!

Then there’s my latest long(ish)fic, 10k T lonely hearts on distant roads for Milippa which got a stunning whole 9 kudos, and like I know our fandom has fallen into such a deep slumber it might as well not exist but like. I think it deserves better. And it’s a modern AU so basically anyone can read it even if you know nothing about the fandom o.o (pretty pls)

And I have several Gunpowder Milkshake fanfics that haven’t gotten much attention, but here it’s less one fic in particular and more the fandom in general that I feel is under appreciated, and like, why? It’s such a fun film! And it has Michelle Yeoh Lena Headey Angela Bassett Carla Gugino Karen Gillian what more do you want? xD

Thank you for the ask even though you are being mean! xD (she had sent me an ask with 3 questions, apparently took one look at the end note on the last ask, Messaged Me To Disregard Her Ask and sent them all separately instead. Lucy I like that you’re trying to make me productive but. Mean xD)

And I know you’re literally the wrong person to complain about my underappreciated fics to bc I think you already read pretty much all of them xD so thanks for the support <3

Send me fic asks because I’m trying to be productive for university No this is not counterproductive I’ll force myself to write at least a paragraph on my paper before every ask I reply to!

[cheesy-cryptid]

Made a little something to give back to the Encanto oc community inspired by the “Draw 6 characters” challenge 🥰

Featuring : 💕💕💕

Jolo Cevallos || @artsynellyyy

Diego || @lunamadrigal

Celeste || @its-actually-ash

José Guzman || @my-gunpowder

Elena Ruiz || @prophetic-hijinks

Reme || @clichejoe

EDIT: i made changes to properly credit José Guzman in the image to my-gunpowder all thanks to @lethalamigos ! Thank you again for telling me! ✨

Also heres a template if anyone wants to try this out 💖✨💖✨ (you can spice it up too if u like )

[basiatlu]

Thanks for tagging me @lqtraintracks and @goblinmatriarch 🤭💖✨

-Three Ships-: ok so last time I avoided hp ships so let’s make them all hp-centric! I mean Drarry as an easy shot, then there’s Wolfstar (but it always makes me really sad so only little nibbles), and finally Ginny serves as my village bicycle where I enjoy her paired with almost anyone I deem compatible as I want to see her thriving in life and experiencing fun and safe partners and finding herself etc etc I adore her. How’s that for a run-on sentence?

-First Ship-: was totally SasuSaku which was then a gateway drug to shipping the angsty boy with Naruto because early internet image searches, man.

-Last Song-: “Blue Spotted Tail” by Fleet Foxes

-Last Movie-: Gunpowder Milkshake - so good about 8/10 for me!

-Currently Reading-: reading through my paired fics for the upcoming Big Bang fest

-Last Thing I Wrote Drew-: yesterday’s drawtober prompt

-Currently Writing Drawing-: today’s drawtober prompt (totally not even procrastinating - not even a little bit)

-Are you named after anyone?-: I am! There’s the Polish jazz singer, Basia Trzetrzelewska. My mom is a big fan hehehe

-Favorite Subject in School-: History! Ancient history specifically

-Do you have kids?-: No, but I do have a circus of cats. They’re currently on a diet and have made the last month a terrible time for my sleep health lolz

-When was the last time you cried?-: so I have overactive tear ducts? So if I laugh I cry and I usually hit a breaking point everyday where I laugh hysterically at something. Today it was a sticker order a customer at work had ordered of an ms paint tracing of a Scooby-Doo ai splice gen where Scooby is eating the Mystery Gang in a giant hoagie sandwich. Yeah. Me and my co workers printed it out to pin to the wall as I cry/laugh/sobbed at my desk.

-Do you use sarcasm a lot?-: Yes but also no but also I just make fun of myself constantly and intentionally act stupid. It’s a great ploy to get others to lower their defenses around you. Not out of malicious intent, just I don’t take myself too seriously in order to save that energy for when it matters. Like when I have to intensely support my friends and partner with very serious-mode love and affection. … this doesn’t make any sense.

-What sports do you play/have played?-: soccer, softball, and swim <— I hate competitive sports and never stuck with them long than a year or I just was a filthy casual doing summer seasons/clubs. I’m more of a hiker and leisure gal.

-What’s the first thing you notice about people?-: the way they hold their shoulders and hands, secondary is their eyebrows and nose. It’s all demeanor and posture for me.

-Any special talents?-: gosh um I can cook really well. Honestly I don’t like eating out and neither does my partner because we turn to each other after and go “Eh it was ok but…” and wish I had done it at home instead. I can fold and make odd shapes with my tongue, can crinkle my fingers in odd ways (double jointed, but they lock badly so no thank you), and I can do some fucking weird voices/imitations but I chicken out in front of others beyond like 3 people, unfortunately for those 3

-Where we’re you born?-: Canada

-What are your hobbies?-: video games, tarot card readings, cooking, drawingdrawingdrawing, and reading

-How tall are you?-: I hover somewhere between 5’6” and 5’7”

-Dream Job-: comic artist / self-employed artist with occasional contract work for publishing/movies. I think if I could completely support myself and have a savings with a Patreon or the like that would make me so accomplished and at ease.

Ok enough of that!! I tag people now, yeah? @mono-chromia @hihimissamericanbi @littlewinnow

[laesas]

TRICK OR TREAT 🎃🔮✨

Hello Darcey tumblr user kinnbig. 🎃

Congratuations: You have won VegasPete gunfucking foreplay in the Yok's Bar alleyway!

Vegas breathes out and takes another step. Pete takes another step back. “Vegas.” Pete warns. But they both know he’s bluffing. Pete’s heel hits the wall of the alley behind him. His instincts are good, he doesn't break eye contact, doesn’t even glance back, instead Pete stills, the gun still trained on Vegas’ face. He’s beautiful like this, half shadowed in the dim street lights and on the cusp of wanting. Vegas smirks as he raises his right hand to mirror him, his fingers curled into the shape of a gun, leaning forward, until he feels the cool metal of the gun brush against his lips and Petes breath, warm against his fingers. He watches Pete as the air shifts between them. Charged. Dangerous. Vegas presses a soft kiss to the tip of the gun. Pete doesn’t move, but his eyes burn. Vegas smirks, holding his eye as he runs the tip of his tongue lightly along the outside of the barrel. He can feel desire coiling in his gut, and the first swell of blood, rushing lower. He closes his mouth around Pete’s knuckle, still curled around the trigger. Feeling the ridges of the fresh graze against his tongue as Pete’s sweat and Pete’s blood cut through the bitter taste of smoke and gunpowder. Pete's eyelids flutter softly as his mouth falls open just a fraction, lips parted, and Vegas’s pointed fingers drag along his bottom lip before curling into a bruising grip around his jaw. "Take it off safety."

🦇🎃💌 Send "Trick or Treat" 💌🎃🦇 For something from the trick or treat writers' ask game

[blackiraven]

Surprise with your own version, please!

Wow! Is anyone really interested in this? So, what's in the surprise box? My OC! It's going to be a big story🎁✨

The echo of the hail of shots still sounded in my head. The air was saturated with the smell of gunpowder, metal and blood. The beams of flashlights crawled into every corner in search of our souls, and tall figures with shiny badges loudly ordered us to stop. How useless. I was faster than them. If it weren't for the heavy and important burden on my shoulders, I would happily kill everyone. The shot Nygma, whom I carried further and further away, growled in pain and through clenched teeth threw curses at the police side. I agreed with him and was already thinking about how I would get to each of them and execute them for such impudence. Riddler had just managed to get out of Arkham, put on his new suit and breathed freedom into his lungs, and they crept up like rats.

"We'll be at your place soon. Be patient a little longer." holding the wounded body tightly, I quickly turned into narrow and dark alleys, scaring away real rats with my stomp. Nygma's lair was not so far away, we just need to cover up or confuse our tracks.

“What?.. No… no! Kha! We need… another place." Edward had already started coughing up blood, but for some reason he was against me going to his lair. Is he afraid that we will be noticed after all? But I'm not going to put his life on the line.

"We don't have time! You urgently need surgery!" I shouted sullenly and discontentedly, but Nygma quickly passed out and could not answer me. Silence is a sign of agreement, so I built an approximate short path and followed it with maximum speed.

All the passwords to the doors were carefully stored in my head, copies of the keys Edward once with difficulty, but still gave me. A small protective maze was overcome by me in exactly a minute. The last door swung open, and I ran into an ordinary hallway. For some reason, lights were on in all the rooms, as if someone had lived here during the long absence of Riddler. What a pity that the owner can't open the veil of secrets now. For the first seconds there was dead silence, and then, to my surprise, someone's footsteps rang out. What?! How can this be?!

"Sir! Sir! You're finally back!" a joyful cry rang through the apartment, its source getting closer and closer to me. What should I do?! Who is this?! Why didn't Edward tell me anything?! A boy ran out to meet me. Long dark brown hair, blue pajamas, in his hands was a plush toy. The boy looked to be about six or seven years old. A smile of happiness shone on his face.

"I missed you so much…" the child stopped abruptly and, seeing me, turned pale and numb. The toy fell to the floor. Small hands rested on trembling lips, tearful green eyes examined me from head to toe. My mask and suit only made things worse. We looked at each other in silence and dumbfounded. When he saw the bloody body, he cried out in fright and shook all over.

"Hurry up! Bring the first aid kit here!" I shout rudely and through wild shortness of breath unexpectedly for myself. We can't get distracted, Edward needs urgent help. All questions will be asked later. Need to be patient a little. My head started to split from the flow of thoughts, but I continued to stay on my feet. The boy quickly nodded his head and rushed towards the Riddler's office. Meanwhile, I ran into the kitchen, threw off everything unnecessary from the dining table and laid Nygma on a flat surface. The jacket and the reddened shirt had to be torn to get to the blooming and bleeding wound on the left side of the abdomen. Damn, the bullet is stuck, we'll have to take it out! At that moment, he suddenly woke up and groaned in pain. Turning around, I saw a child frozen in the doorway, holding a large red box with both hands and whimpering.

"What are you standing for?! Hurry up and come here! Or do you want him to die?!" I growled at him in a commanding tone.

"No!" holding back a heart-rending roar, the boy ran up to me and handed me a first aid kit. I take the box and get everything I need for the operation.

"Argh! A… hah? You?.. Damn…" Edward said in a fading and creaking voice, noticing the presence of a child. How long has he been living here? Why did Riddler decide on such an act?..

"Kha-kha! Ngh… don't look at it… kha… Go away, p-p-please. Everything is going to be fine with me… a-a-a… it will be fine." due to the fact that he talked a lot, the bloody cough intensified and frightened the little boy. Edward was worried about him… very much. For some reason, it annoyed me.

"No, let him stay! I could use some help." I insisted stubbornly and pulled the mask off my head. The sobbing child looked first at me, then at Nygma.

"It's still… umgh… too early for him to see this. Kha-kha! Idiot!"

"He should know what it is! If next time I won't be around?! What can he do?!"

"Sir… I…"

"No! Please… umph! Go away…" the last hysterical words squeezed out of his chest with ragged, hoarse sighs. Without any strength, Edward stared at the ceiling with his eyes closed, and tears rolled down his cheeks. What a tragedy! And why am I involved in this?..

"Decide for yourself now. If anything, I can handle it." I take off my rag gloves and treat my hands with alcohol, trying not to look at the child at all. I was infuriated by his innocence, his tears, so I wanted to push him into the harsh reality, but at the same time I understood that he could only get in the way.

"I… I'll stay!" he squeaked, wiping the tears on his cheeks with his sleeves. The boy resolutely clenched his fists and tried not to cry anymore, which surprised me. He showed a desire for new and useful knowledge and an understanding that he really could not help Riddler alone.

"Then give it to him first. One pill at a time." I threw him two packs of painkillers and antibiotics, simultaneously laying out the necessary tools on the edge of the table. Nodding once, the boy ran for a glass of water and, lifting Edward's head a little, gave him medicine.

"Of course, I can see that you are very small. But. Try to hold him down a little bit, okay?" I take a deep breath, preparing myself, and thoroughly moisten a piece of gauze with peroxide. Swallowing a lump of tension, the child grabbed Nygma's shoulders with both hands and pressed him to the table. Well, the operation begins, and the fate of the villain has thrown me a little assistant. With one sharp movement, I tightly apply a fragrant cloth to the wound. The patient instantly revived and screamed at the top of his throat from the burning pain. He was shaking his head furiously, wriggling his whole body and waving his limbs. I immediately threw away the bloody gauze, wrapped my arms around Edward's legs and held him firmly from falling. The boy did not have enough strength, so he leaned his whole body on his chest. The exposed flesh hissed, the blood foamed, but Nygma gradually calmed down. After treating the wound, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and picked up a pair of tweezers.

"Listen, he's got a bullet stuck in his body, and I'm going to get it out now."

"Is it… is it going to hurt?"

"Is it going to fucking hurt… Ready?"

"Yes…" in anticipation of the most terrible boy, he took Edward by the hand and squeezed his eyes shut. The thin silver tweezers slowly sank into the torn meat, from which nasty slimy sounds were heard and children's castles in the air were destroyed. Blood gushed out again, but the tweezers were actively digging and continued to sink into the wound.

"A-a-a!" the patient screamed with unimaginable force. New portions of torment tormented his body in all directions. The crunch of a child's brush, which he was clutching with a trap, was heard. The boy burst into tears, but did not make a sound. Is this the first time you've heard such melodies? This is just the beginning…

"I found this. I'll take it out now." I was in full concentration and tried to ignore most of the agony of Nygma. But my heart still shrank to a shapeless lump. Smoothly, but with all my efforts, I begin to pull out the captured bullet.

"Aahhh! Fuck! Mha-a-aha-a!"

"Hold on, Edward! Be patient! A little more!" after a couple of seconds that seemed like an eternity, the bullet was finally pulled out of the wound. He shook, then abruptly went limp and swallowed his scream, remaining only able to breathe quickly with his head thrown back.

"Here! Good… good. You're doing great, Edward." I whispered with light joy and stroked his sweat-soaked hair. All my hands were covered in blood, the child looked at them with horror, he was numb and panicked breathing. His eyes were glazed, empty, his lips were moving soundlessly, his legs were unsteadily giving way, and his head was heavy and fell on the table.

"Hey? Hey?! Are you sick?" I run up to the boy irritably, pick him up and shake him slightly, removing the strands of hair stuck to his face.

"Hold on, breathe deeply. He still has a wound to sew up." I lightly slapped the child on the cheeks. In response, he shook his head, as if throwing off dizziness and confusion for a while.

"We don't have much time. You agreed to it yourself, so be patient with all your might. Do you understand?" his weak endurance irritated me and I did not want to give any discounts because of his small age. Not at a time like this. By the scruff of the neck, I dragged the boy to the other side of the table, pulled a chair closer with my foot and put the child on it for convenience.

"Here. Wipe off the blood. Carefully. Don't touch the wound." I sternly pointed out to him and shoved a fresh gauze rag into his trembling hands.

"Uh-huh…" he squeaked excitedly and with light movements began to perform this task. The child tried very hard and held his breath, so as not to hurt the sore spot. Fresh blood scared him, he categorically did not want to touch it. Meanwhile, I was opening packages with threads and a special bent needle, but I still carefully monitored the movements of the child. Any mistake he makes will inflame me, I will be very angry and it's not a fact that I can restrain myself. Perhaps he understands this and feels the full weight of my strict attitude with his whole small, flimsy back.

"Am I doing everything right?.."

"You could say that. And now treat your hands, hold the edges of the wound and bring them closer."

"W-w-what?! Hold the wound?!" after a shocked sob, the boy lost the power of speech and stared with open eyes at the rough hole in the flesh.

"Yes, damn it! Hold this, and I'll sew it up. Hurry up!" I push the wayward student in the back and pour cold alcohol on his hands. He began to whimper long, but still rubbed his hands and put twitching fingers on the torn skin. After the first attempts to connect the edges of his hand, Edward's blood quickly covered it. The child sobbed, sniffed, but continued to endure. I loomed over him like a soaring hawk over a defenseless vole.

"Good. Stay in this position." I lean towards the pulsating bud and make the first smooth stitches. The sight of the needle piercing the skin and pulling a black thread through it made the boy close his eyes and turn away. But his hands seemed to freeze. No mistake, although I expected them. Is this Edward's special upbringing? What a pity that he can't tell me anything now because of the strong effect of the pills. Gradually, because of the oppressive silence, the boy began to get nervous again.

"Hush. Don't move. Try to imagine that we're just sewing up a plush toy. Like that. Half is already ready." I use the first association that came to mind, suitable for a child. My rudeness calmed down by itself. The words no longer had such a strong effect on my partner in misfortune, so I put my palm on his, suppressing the trembling and helping the boy cope with an important mission. He shuddered once and looked at me. Something alive flashed in the boy's eyes. He could have smiled, but the situation was not right now, and he knew it perfectly well.

"Look, this way the seam turns out to be smoother, and the probability of its opened up becomes minimal."

"Is it bad if the seam splits?"

"If help is provided in time, it is not critical. But it's unpleasant. Pain again, bleeding, a scar may remain."

"And with sir… does this happen often?"

"Yes…"

"And with you too, yes?"

"Well, yes. This has already become commonplace for us."

"Does sir help you as well?"

"Oh. I think that's enough questions already! That's it, you can take your hands off." the overly curious little boy quickly pressed his hands to his chest, and I finished the last stitch, cut the thread and made a small knot.

"I did it… I did it." with his eyes closed, he whispered encouragement and reassured himself.

"It remains only to bandage everything well. Will you hold him?" the bloody instruments were replaced by snow-white clean bandages and thick napkins. Shaking my hands, I lifted Edward's torso and handed him over to the child. He immediately snuggled up to Nygma and buried his wet face in his shoulder, looking for calm and quietly rejoicing at his return. A barely perceptible plaintive whine tried to wake him up, but to no avail. While the failed surgical assistant held Edward in a sitting position, I quickly bandaged his waist. In some ways, we are still similar. Riddler is so dear to us. Is it good?

The mysterious boy chose to stay in the kitchen while I carried Edward to the bedroom and changed his reddened clothes. He's probably still coming in a state of shock. I know this place well and new details instantly caught my eye, even the semi-darkness could not hide them. A lot of children's things appeared here. Toys, books, and several shelves in the closet were occupied by small-sized clothes. Children's drawings. There were a lot of them. Basically, the child drew either himself or Riddler, or himself together with him. But among these harmless objects there were textbooks, notebooks with mathematical problems, mechanical parts and simple drawings made for children's perception. You're teaching him hard. What for? Is this some new plan of yours? My frown gaze and fell on the peacefully sleeping Nygma. I want to scream, I want to hit him. Why… why didn't you tell me anything?! Who is this boy?! Is he really your son, or do I just think he looks like you? My hands clung to Edward's shoulders with a willingness to brazenly and with maximum selfishness shake all the answers out of him, but at the last moment I was able to stop myself. "Another riddle of yours, Nygma…" I exhale with difficulty and stroke his head and cheeks.

The children's crying growing in the other room did not allow me to collapse next to Riddler, hold him to me and finally relax, forget myself. I had to go back. My body ached from fatigue, my legs were swollen, my hands were shaking, everything was blurred before my eyes from time to time, and my head was spinning. The boy was sitting on a chair and howling loudly, sniffing and wheezing. His reddened face was soaked with new tears, and small hands clutched his chest and buried themselves in his pajamas.

"What's the problem? It's already over." I walk up to him with heavy steps and look down puzzled. In response, he stretched out his arms and showed me his bloodstained palms. It's almost dried out, embedded in the skin and got under the nails. That's what scared the child.

"Do you see blood for the first time?"

"Someone else's and… so much – yes."

"Are you scared?"

"Huh? Y-y-yes…"

"Then listen to me carefully." my voice became quieter, I squatted down in front of the boy and took his hands so that he could see that our palms became the same after the whole operation.

"This fear is your new lesson. And you should remember this for the rest of your life. What has just happened should not remain a painful scar. This is a new stage that cannot be abandoned. Do you understand me?" the pathetic crying stopped abruptly. It became quiet, the child thought and looked at me, then at his hands, then at the table with a large brown spot and a bullet extracted.

"Yes… I get it." with his head bowed, he squeezed my fingers tightly. Under the scarlet layers, I saw something unusual on the back of his right palm. It was a real mark in the form of a question mark. Were you seriously capable of that, Edward?.. I can't even believe that this crybaby could survive such terrible pain.

"Good. Now try to calm down. Think about how all this helped Edward." I free one hand and use my sleeve to wipe the tears from the boy's cheeks. Suddenly, the child jumped off the chair and hugged me, almost knocking me down. I gasped, pursed my lips, but still hugged him back and stroked his head a couple of times. If only it would end quickly. Oh, you little and nimble lamb…

"Sh-h-h. Don't waste your strength on tears. Let's go wash up." I got up to my full height and went towards the bath. The child actively jumped after me and took my hand.

"Is sir going to be okay?"

"If you ask less, then yes."

The two of us stood in front of the sink and thoroughly washed our hands with plenty of soap. The boy enjoyed the voluminous foam and floral aroma. Sometimes we looked at each other, each time about to say something, but changed our minds at the last moment.

"Um… my name is John. Jonathan Crane." I gave out in one breath and then rinsed my face with cool water.

"And my name is Leslie Mcgee." it was also difficult or awkward for him to introduce himself, although in theory it seemed easier than simple. He has a different last name! A heavy boulder has just fallen off my shoulders. When Leslie found out my name, he beamed with happiness and began to smile broadly.

"How old are you?"

"Ten."

"Really? I thought you were younger."

"No, I'm really-really ten!"

"And do you know who Edward is and what he does?"

"Yes. That's how I met sir. And I… often saw him… taken away by the police or… Batman."

"Why do you call him "sir"?"

"Because sir likes it! And I call him "Mr. Riddler" before."

"Well, that's Edward's style."

Leslie repeated after me and also washed his face. His attention completely switched to me, the boy was examining my suit, thinking about something, and his eyes were shining because of the appearance of a new "friend". With children, everything is so simple. All the circumstances of our acquaintance have already gone into the background.

"Mr. Crane, you and sir are friends, right?"

"I don't have an exact answer for you. It's a long and complicated story."

"Oh, sorry…"

"It's all right. If Edward didn't tell you anything about me, then it's too early for you to know."

"Because I'm still small?"

"Because you're still small."

The boy constantly followed me and wouldn't let go of my arm or sleeve. Even when I plopped down on the sofa in the living room, he settled down next to me.

"Mr. Crane! Mr. Crane, can I go to sir?" holding my hand, Leslie looked at me with puppy dog eyes.

"No." I replied dryly and closed my tired eyes.

"Please… I haven't seen him for so long. I'll be very careful!" Leslie was whining insistently under my ear and nuzzling my shoulder.

"Hmm… then tell me what the mark on your hand is." from my exchange offer, the child quieted down for a while, which allowed me to tune in to a nap.

"Um… well… sir did it. But I agreed to it myself!"

"And what does it mean?"

"It's… um…"

"Come on, Mr. Mcgee, I'm not letting you go until you tell me."

"It means that I was able to pass many tests and solve many riddles. And then I started living here. And I'm very happy here! I've never been so happy…"

"I see. You can go."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Crane!"

Through the drowsiness that had fallen on me, I felt Leslie hug me tightly in gratitude, then jumped off the couch and ran away. Now I was left alone, and a small competitor took a comfortable and soft place next to Edward. Where did you pick up this devoted puppy? Does he have parents? What fate have you built for him? When Nygma wakes up, I will immediately squeeze him in some corner so that he can not avoid my questions in any way.

After an indefinite time, an incomprehensible sound was heard. Getting closer to me, the noise gradually became clearer. It was the patter of small feet. Silence, no screaming or crying. Then my back stopped hurting, and my head lay on something soft. It got warmer. Did he bring a blanket for me?

"Here. It will be more convenient for you, Mr. Crane. I hope we are good friends now."

Well, I hope you liked my Leslie. And, as usual, if you want to know more details or get a little story from me, ask is open👀👉👈

[james-vi-stan-blog]

I know you’ve written before of some of the awful things King James went through but was there more?

-✨

I wrote a quick overview of the various traumas he had up to age 20 (I still want to do a more in-depth timeline with date-checking and proper sourcing but I continue to not have the time blegh) but those events were followed by all kinds of shenanigans like the Earl of Bothwell's rebellions, etc. There was all kinds of crazy infighting at the Scottish court, and a common way for a rebellious lord to get back in power was to force his way into the king's presence in order to be "forgiven" (read: threaten him into forgiveness).

James was the target of numerous assassination attempts both in Scotland and in England, though some may have been spurious. I was just reading a fresh debate this day the 1st of March 2024 about James's persecution of Catholics (as James I of England) and whether he brought the Gunpowder Plot on himself - but the anti-Catholic measures that James had tightened, which led to the Gunpowder Plot, were themselves because James's hand was forced by the Bye and Main Plots (1603, within months of his succession). So whenever James is characterized as cowardly or paranoid about assassinations, well, uh, people were constantly trying to kill him, kidnap him, or blow him up.

His childhood was rougher than average but in many ways the chaos of his adult reign and the number of assassination plots wasn't unusual for the time (like, Henri IV was the target of 12+ assassination plots), but even so, it's probably not right to characterize him as unduly paranoid.