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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

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Geralt x Eskel | 14.7k || header by the loveliest @petrificustotaluss <3

Geralt is in the middle of bottling a pain elixir for Mildred down the road when there's a frantic knock at his door. Frowning in the direction of the sound, he corks the bottle and rises from his seat, crossing to open the door. A young girl - Geralt recognizes her as the blacksmith's apprentice - is bent over, hands on her knees, and panting on his doorstep. She looks worried and when Geralt crouches down she looks up at him with big, glossy eyes.

"He's hurt," she pants and Geralt isn't sure who she's referring to. It's a farming village, someone is always hurt.

"Who," he asks gently and Gretka just looks at him.

"Eskel," she says and it feels like a dagger being plunged through Geralt's heart. It takes everything in him to keep his breathing even as he reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"Where is he?" he asks, "Is he okay?"

"They're bringing him here. The boys from the farm."

"Okay," he says gently, still trying to slow the hammering of his heart, "why don't you run along home and I'll go meet them."

Gretka nods and gives Geralt one last pleading look before straightening up and pulling away. She only takes a couple of steps before turning back to him, fidgeting with the hem of her apron.

"You'll take good care of him, right?"

"Of course."

Geralt doesn't know what he can do. Without knowing what happened, he can't promise anything, but he will do the best he can. Eskel is a friend and one of the kindest people Geralt knows, he has to be able to do something.

When Gretka is out of sight, Geralt pushes himself up on shaky legs, takes a deep breath, and makes his way out of the garden and down the path to meet up with the entourage. He doesn't make it far before he spots them, John the farmer and his three sons, and they've got Eskel between them on a stretcher. Geralt tries not to let it bother him, but even seeing him from a distance makes his chest tight.

As soon as the men reach him, everything moves far too quickly. Geralt is giving them directions and they move surprisingly fast for carrying a man as large as Eskel between them. Eskel himself is awake and Geralt does his best to give him a once-over on the way back to his hut. Immediately, he sees burn marks in his clothes, holes of varying sizes where the fabric was singed and he fears to see the skin beneath. A good portion of one trouser leg has been lost already and Eskel's leg is red and blotchy. Burns, at least, he knows how to deal with; he only hopes it's nothing more serious than that.

When they reach the hut, Geralt hurries in ahead of the others, seeking out a tonic for pain relief. He'd rather Eskel was unconscious for all of it, but that will have to come later; he still needs to talk to him about his injuries. So for now a simple painkiller will have to do. He finds one that's not too strong and hopes it will be strong enough.

He directs the men to lay Eskel on his bed and he hurries into the bedroom after them, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. He thanks the men and sends them on their way. He'll have to remember to repay them somehow, but he has other things to worry about now.

Eskel groans where he lies, and Geralt reaches out, his hand hovering just above Eskel's thigh. He doesn't dare touch him because he doesn't know how bad it is, but he wants to comfort him somehow.

"Hey," he says gently, "I'm here. Tell me what happened?"

"Fuckin' goat," Eskel mumbles and Geralt immediately scans his body for signs of bruising or puncture wounds. "Was making coal and she came up and tried to get right into the fire pit, had to pull her out of the way. Dog next door spotted her and started barking-" he groans and shifts in place, wincing, "-spooked her and when she pulled away I lost my footing-"

"Shit," Geralt mutters. He can imagine well enough what happened next. Eskel huffs a laugh, immediately followed by another groan of pain. "Shh, just relax. Where is it worst?"

"I think my leg?" Eskel says, "but my arm's not great either." He sounds much more concerned about the latter and Geralt realizes with a start that it's his left arm, his dominant arm that's worse for wear. Eskel moves to demonstrate and Geralt presses a hand to his chest instinctively.

"It's okay," he says quickly before realizing he's now leaning right over him. "I'll look you over." He only belatedly realizes he's still holding the bottle of pain tonic in his other hand and he pauses. "Sorry, I should have- It's easier for me if you're unconscious when I look you over, but I need to undress you first." He can feel his cheeks flush already and he hates it, but if Eskel notices, he doesn't mention it.

"Do what you gotta, doesn't bother me any."

"If you'd rather be awake I can give you this for the pain-"

"Geralt," Eskel interrupts, "you're not some stranger passing through town, I trust you."

Oh. Geralt's heart clenches and it takes him far too long to recover from that.

"Okay," he says softly, "wait here-" he realizes what he's saying at once and stops, shutting his eyes and dropping his chin. "I'll be right back with the sedative."

Geralt slips from the room and back into his kitchen, pressing his hands to the table and dropping his head. He's an idiot. Eskel is injured - badly - and here he is barely keeping his shit together. He gives himself exactly ten seconds to sulk and panic a little bit about having Eskel in his home and then he replaces the painkiller on the shelf and pulls down a bottle of sedative.

He measures it out carefully, though with shaky hands, and pours it into a cup that will be easier to drink from. He takes it into the bedroom and sets it on the side table, pulling up a stool for himself so he doesn't jostle Eskel any more than is necessary.

"It's fast acting," he explains, "you'll be asleep in a matter of minutes."

"For how long?"

"A couple of hours? Unless your body needs the sleep, then maybe longer." Eskel nods lightly and reaches up automatically when Geralt lifts the cup off the side table. "Hey," he whispers, "it's okay, let me."

He presses the cup to Eskel's lips, tipping it up so he can drink it. He hates seeing him like this, helpless and obviously in a great amount of pain, but he tells himself it will be fine. Eskel will sleep soon and Geralt can do what he can for the wounds.

Almost as soon as he's finished drinking, Eskel's eyelids flutter and he lets them drop shut. Geralt waits until he hears the sound of his breath evening out, then finally sets the cup down. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding it until he lets go. His gaze lands on Eskel again, looking over him, and he swallows hard.

Pushing all his other feelings aside, Geralt gets to work. He starts with the belt around Eskel's waist, undoing it and gently pulling it out from under him to set it aside. Next comes the apron - slightly more difficult because Geralt has to empty the pockets first before he can turn him over to untie it, and Eskel's pockets are full of shit. Everything from nails to rags to dried fruit for the goat winds up in a pile on the end of the bed and Geralt smiles to himself as he thinks about it, imagines Eskel feeding treats to lil' bleater even when she's a pest.

Once he's got the apron set aside, Geralt falters. Shirt or trousers next and he can't bring himself to do either. But he's a professional, he can do this. He's done it dozens of times before. But stripping Eskel out of his clothes is not the same as the alderman or the seamstress down the road. Geralt swallows hard and resigns himself to a not insignificant amount of embarrassment as he leans over to unbutton Eskel's shirt.

The buttons end halfway down his chest and thick dark hair appears where his shirt now sits open. Geralt pretends not to notice and reaches down to unbutton Eskel's trousers, making it as easy as possible to pull his shirt loose where it's still partially tucked in. He winces in sympathy as he pulls the shirt over his head, revealing red, splotchy skin on the better half of his chest and stomach. It only goes partway around his side, so Geralt isn't too worried about rolling him over, but he will have to check.

First, he gets Eskel's trousers undone all the way and tugs them down his thighs, shocked to find he's wearing nothing between them. He steadfastly ignores Eskel's cock where it rests against his hip and makes a mental note to find him something to wear if he's going to be here longer than the night. Which, judging by the state of him, he will be.

Once Eskel is fully nude, Geralt inspects the burns more closely and they're worse than he thought. But when he turns him over, they don't reach his back, which means lying in bed will still be comfortable enough. Geralt leaves him for a moment, returning with cold water to rinse the burns and a salve for the burns that will both help with the pain and start the healing process.

He starts with the water, soaking cloths and laying them over the damaged skin, replacing each when they begin to warm up. He keeps it up for close to half an hour until Eskel's skin is no longer hot to the touch and then, once he's dry, he starts with the salve.

Geralt fidgets when he can't get the lid off and eventually has to stop and collect himself before continuing. This time, he gets the lid off without trouble and begins applying the salve.

Eskel shifts in his sleep and it takes all of Geralt's strength not to reach out to settle him. He realizes belatedly that he'll need bandages for him and wants to immediately get up to collect some, but he knows he should finish this first. He's just antsy, struggling to sit still and keep from climbing up onto the bed with Eskel. He takes his time applying salve and once he's satisfied with his work, leaves to collect bandages.

Nearly Eskel's entire front has some sort of damage and Geralt winces as he wraps his wounds, starting with his legs and working his way up. When he's done, he sits at the side of the bed for a moment, barely resisting the urge to reach down and brush his fingers along Eskel's cheek. His face is pinched up, even in sleep and Geralt can only hope the salve will act quickly, helping to relieve some of the pain, if only temporarily.

While Eskel is sleeping, Geralt keeps himself occupied. He brews teas to help with the pain and ensures he has enough salve to re-bandage Eskel's wounds tomorrow. He makes sure he has enough food in the house and calls out for supplies he's missing. It's not often he has someone else in the house with him and he doesn't want to leave Eskel alone like this.

But once he's sure his supplies are in order and fresh salve and bandages are prepared for the morning, Geralt doesn't know what to do with himself. He tries to read, but he can't focus on the words and when he cleans, he finds himself sweeping the same bit of floor four times because his mind keeps going back to Eskel lying in his bed. Although that, at least, gives him something to keep him occupied for a little while.

Geralt pulls all his winter blankets and extra pillows from the cupboard, making himself up a bed on the floor next to his own bed. He doesn't want to be far from Eskel, but he doesn't want to risk hurting him by sharing the bed. Once that's seen to, he makes his own supper and extra for Eskel if he wakes before the morning, then goes out to collect his laundry from the morning's wash.

While he's out in the yard, three separate people stop him to ask about Eskel. Geralt tells them all the same thing; he's fine, but he needs to rest and he'll be in bed for at least a couple of days. He appreciates their concern and he knows Eskel would too, but he'd rather keep to himself right now. He's not the one injured, but he's still feeling rather raw and overwhelmed by the whole situation.

It's a well-kept secret that Geralt has always been fond of Eskel, more so maybe than is good for him. They both grew up together in town, playing in the woods and the creek as boys and later attending the same festivals with the other children their age. They had at some point been mistaken for brothers, only as Eskel got older, he got bulkier while Geralt remained thin but strong. As children, Geralt had had a crush on the other boy and like so many other things growing up, it had never entirely gone away.

He drops a shirt thinking about it and as he ducks down, spots a red tulip growing next to the fence. Appropriate, he thinks. Tulips mean passion, a declaration of love, and he can't help but pluck it from its spot and bring it inside with him. He puts his laundry away and takes the flower into the bedroom with him, intending to put it in a cup to brighten up the room a little, but when he sees Eskel again, he sighs and drops onto the stool.

As he looks over Eskel again, his modesty preserved by a blanket pulled up over his waist, he smiles sadly. Leaning over, he slips the flower into Eskel's hair, tucking it behind his ear and brushing the hair from his forehead.

Eskel is still asleep when night falls and Geralt doesn't want to wake him. He takes the extra food he prepared and sets it on the side table with a cup of water. If Eskel wakes in the middle of the night, they'll be there for him, even if it might be difficult for him to move.

Geralt then settles himself in his makeshift bed and shuts his eyes. Then opens them again, listening to the sound of Eskel's breath. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, pulls his blankets up tighter against his shoulders, rolls back onto his side. Nothing he does makes it easier to sleep. His mind races with thoughts of Eskel's suffering, hoping he won't wake until the morning and Geralt will be there to care for him. He thinks about him into the early hours of the morning and then, finally, falls asleep once he's made himself a plan for the morning.

When Geralt wakes, he can't have been asleep for more than a few hours. He pulls himself up off the floor, groaning at the way his joints creak and his muscles groan at him from sleeping on the hard floor. He'd be much happier to have slept on the sofa in the main room or on the bed, but he'd rather be closer to Eskel, though not close enough to risk hurting him.

He goes about his morning routine, cooking breakfast and disposing of the supper Eskel never ate. He puts it in a bucket for the pigs next door and proceeds to get something hot ready for Eskel in its place. He's glad, on one hand, that Eskel is still asleep, but on the other, he's worried that he's still asleep.

It's certainly not the tonic anymore, but he must have been exhausted, from his injuries or just because he works so damn hard. Geralt gets breakfast and a glass of water together and takes them into the room. He sits on the edge of the bed to prepare Eskel's salve and bandages and behind him, the bed shifts.

"Hey," Geralt whispers, turning to face a very frowny and somewhat confused Eskel. "Don't get up, you're hurt."

"I- Geralt?"

"You were brought to me yesterday afternoon, do you remember?"

"Mm, I remember falling in the coals and… yeah. Yeah, I remember coming here. You took care of me."

"It's my job," Geralt says simply, but he can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. It's not his job and they both know it.

"Coulda sent for a doctor."

"You needed immediate attention, I was happy to help. How are you feeling now?"

"Sore. Stiff. How bad is it?"

"Bad," Geralt says simply. He doesn't want to it and he knows Eskel doesn't want that either. "You'll need to rest a couple of days. You're… more than welcome to say here."

"Geralt, I couldn't-"

"You can, you will. I have more than enough space."

"Geralt-"

"I made breakfast," Geralt interrupts, "please, eat. There's water as well and I'll have to check your burns after you eat."

Eskel relents at the scent of food and Geralt is more than happy to have him eat it. He helps Eskel into a sitting position, propping pillows up against the frame of the bed to make him more comfortable. Eskel's right arm is better off than his left, so he's fully capable of eating on his own; Geralt could just leave him to it and give him a bit of privacy, but he can't bring himself to get up.

He keeps his hands to himself, even when Eskel fumbles the first couple of times because he's not sure how much Eskel would allow. He was still pretty out of it when he arrived yesterday, not that Geralt could blame him for that. He sits and waits and when Eskel is finished eating, he drinks the entirety of his water and settles back into bed.

"Sure you don't mind me staying?" Eskel asks.

"Of course not, stop worrying." Geralt gathers up the salve and bandages and sits on the edge of the bed. It's only when he pulls the blanket down to see Eskel's stomach that he remembers he's completely naked beneath the covers and he draws back.

"Do you-" Geralt lowers his eyes, "I could find you some clothes," he suggests, "I could bandage you up well enough if you wanted a pair of trousers."

"'S fine," Eskel mumbles, "wouldn't be the first time, anyway."

Geralt nearly chokes. He knows Eskel's only referring to the times they would swim in the river together as boys, but it feels very different when he's lying naked in Geralt's bed. He's not sure exactly how to go about it with tact, so Geralt just pulls the blankets away all at once and tucks them under themselves to the side. He carefully controls his line of sight as he moves to strip the bandages away.

Some of them have bled through, only a little, but it makes him nervous. He peels the bandages back and is relieved to find the wounds themselves don't look any worse than yesterday. He breathes a sigh of relief and Eskel snorts just faintly.

"I'm more resilient than you give me credit for," he mumbles. Geralt's instinct is to hit him gently, for being so careless about his own health, but he has no intention of proving himself a hypocrite. If Eskel is so blase about it, someone has to take care of him.

Once the bandages have all been removed, Geralt takes them away to be disposed of and finds a clean washcloth. He fills a basin with cool water and returns to the bed, setting the basin on the stool within arm's reach. Eskel has shifted so he's further down the bed now, easier for Geralt to reach, but his legs are spread just so that they draw his attention and Geralt has to try very hard not to look.

He chastises himself for it silently. Eskel is injured and the last thing he needs is his friend gawking at him because he's naked. Forcing the thoughts from his head, Geralt wets the cloth and wrings out the excess water.

Eskel shudders at the first touch of the cloth, winces as Geralt dabs it against the burn on his calf, but he doesn't complain even once. When Geralt is finished cleaning the wounds on his legs, he dampens the cloth again, wiping it along Eskel's unharmed skin. He gets a much better reaction to that.

"If you're too hot I can open the windows in here," Geralt offers. "It's stuffy anyway. In a couple of days, you should be healed well enough for a bath, I can fill it with cool water for you. I know it's hot in the summer."

Eskel just hums appreciatively and when Geralt pulls away to take the water and replace it, Eskel grabs his wrist.

"Thank you," he says, "truly, Geralt I know this is above and beyond your responsibilities. I know we haven't been as close as we used to be. So thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Geralt mumbles, but he doesn't move, not until Eskel's hand slips away from his wrist. "I'll be right back with fresh water."

His cheeks are hot and he feels warmer than he should be so early in the morning, but his skin tingles where Eskel's fingers touched him and it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. So when he goes to collect fresh water, he splashes some of it on his face to cool down and to calm himself. Eskel is just a friend and he's doing him a favour because he's hurt and he can't do it himself. This isn't anything more than that.

He takes the water back and finishes cleaning Eskel's wounds as quickly as possible. To fill the time and keep his mind occupied, he asks about Eskel's work. He's always been fascinated by smithing, everything from the tiny little hinges that he makes for chests up to the frames that are used to build carts. On occasion, Eskel has tried his hand at swordsmithing and he was damned good at it from what Geralt heard. They'd offered him a position in the king's employ, but Eskel had wanted to remain in town, live a simpler life. Geralt, at least, was glad for that.

When Eskel is clean and dry again, Geralt helps him to his feet and finds him a robe to wrap around his shoulders. It's loose but soft and shouldn't hurt when it brushes against the burns. Not at least, as much as any other clothing Geralt could offer him. Eskel walks around a little awkwardly and pauses when he turns back to the bed. He bends a little awkwardly and picks up a crushed tulip from the pillow covering.

"Must have fallen into the bed," he mumbles, turning back to Geralt. "I must have crushed it in my sleep, I'm sorry." He says it with such sincerity that Geralt doesn't have the heart to tell him it was never not in the bed.

"It's fine," he says simply, his heart hammering in his chest. "There are plenty in the garden." Eskel offers him a smile and sets the broken flower back down on the side table.

"I have to water outside," Geralt says, "the sun won't be good for your burns, but I won't be long. Make yourself at home."

He leaves before Eskel can respond because he's still trying to figure out what possessed him to put a flower in Eskel's hair last night. It was silly and pointless and he could have gotten caught and then maybe Eskel would ask to go home. And Geralt likes being able to provide something for him, even if he doesn't like the circumstances surrounding it.

He takes his time out in the garden, both enjoying the sun and fresh air and giving Eskel some time to himself, even if only a few minutes. When he goes back in, Eskel's sitting on the edge of his bed, just watching out the window.

"In a couple of days, your skin should be healed enough to go back out in the sun," Geralt offers. Eskel hums but doesn't say anything and Geralt is surprised to find he doesn't seem particularly sad as he would have expected.

"Do you want to lie down again? I'll put more salve on your burns."

Eskel nods and shrugs carefully out of the robe, hanging it over the end of the bed before lying down obediently. He lies with his legs spread, just wide enough for Geralt to be able to reach between to wrap the bandage around and he should be thankful that he doesn't have to ask, but all he can think about is crawling between those thighs.

He realizes he has bigger problems when he pulls the little box of salve out. He has to get right up close between Eskel's legs to ensure he reaches the extent of the injuries and that means being very close to his cock. Last night Eskel was asleep so it didn't matter and this morning, Geralt was able to avoid touching too closely, but there's no getting out of it now.

But Geralt reminds himself that he's a professional and that Eskel needs this to get better, so he takes a deep breath and gets to work. Eskel's skin is soft beneath his hands, surprisingly so, and Geralt finds his hands wandering. He spreads salve on the wounds, still struggling not to pull back when Eskel winces. And maybe it's as an apology, that he runs his hand under his calf just gently.

But when Eskel sighs happily - the first pleasant sound Geralt's heard out of him - and settles against the bed, it's all the encouragement he needs. Gerlt doesn't let himself get sidetracked from his job, but he drags his fingers along Eskel's unblemished skin, soothing even as he continues to tend to his wounds. Maybe he gets a little carried away, captivated by the smoothness of Eskel's skin under his hands, but Eskel doesn't seem to mind, so Geralt doesn't think anything of it.

Until he moves up to the burns on Eskel's thighs and finds him… hard. Something hot and insistent swirls in Geralt's gut, but he adamantly tamps it down, refuses to acknowledge it. He smooths his palm up the outside of Eskel's thigh, brushing his thumb against his skin before reaching for the salve again. At the first press of the cream to his skin, Eskel's cock twitches, although Geralt tries very hard not to notice it.

"Sorry," Eskel mumbles, a breath of a moan in his voice, "your hands are soft, feels nice."

"It's fine," Geralt whispers, "I shouldn't have." And although he wants to continue touching, he returns to his work but keeps his hands to himself.

When he's finished, he slides off the bed. His heart is still beating too quickly and his own trousers are a little too snug, but he ignores it and pointedly keeps his gaze on Eskel's face.

"I have to go out," he says, "I have a friend who's a mage at the edge of town, I need to get something from her, it'll help."

"The edge of the village?" Eskel asks, "that's pretty far."

"I'll be back before nightfall," Geralt promises.

It's not really that far, Geralt thinks as he leaves the house, it's only half an hour each way - barely anything in comparison to how far he has to travel for some of the herbs he can't grow at home.

The trip, which should take less than two hours, winds up taking three. It's not uncommon that Geralt and Mara get caught up talking about new remedies or new ways to mix herbs, but it just so happens that she has been developing a potent burn remedy. And while Geralt is always interested in new potions - especially those above his own ability - but something that can help Eskel is even more intriguing.

Geralt leaves with a basket of foreign herbs, two bottles of the burn remedy, and a warning that the latter is potent and need only be given in small doses. Geralt makes a mental note of that and hurries back home, having already delayed longer than he should.

When he arrives home, Eskel is in the kitchen and Geralt frowns at him for being out of bed until he realizes there's a simple supper waiting for him on the table. He still wants to chastise Eskel for not taking care of himself properly, but his heart clenches at the thought of him getting up and preparing food for him and there's something about Eskel wearing his robe that scrambles his brain. He settles for a gentle you should be in bedwith me."

"Oh."

He's not sure what to say to that. Geralt doesn't remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone for anything other than sex and even then, that was too long ago to be worth remembering.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says because it's easier than admitting he's nervous about sharing a bed because of his feelings for the other man.

"You won't, please Geralt I hate to think of you sleeping down there on the floor."

"Only if you're sure," Geralt says, against his better judgement.

"Completely. Get up here."

Geralt relents and stumbles over to the bed in the dark, climbing up over the end of the bed and keeping close to the wall so he doesn't jostle Eskel. He lays flat on his back, arms crossed over his stomach and focuses very hard on not breathing too loudly or too quickly. But Eskel shuffles over, presses right up against his side and hums.

"'S warmer with you here," he says and Geralt feels awful. He should have asked if he was warm enough.

"If you're cold, I can get more blankets- I didn't think-"

"Hush," Eskel chuckles, "I'm fine. It's always nicer to have someone else in your bed."

Geralt can feel the flush creep all the way up his neck and into his cheeks, but he doesn't dare say anything. It is, he decides, nicer having someone else in your bed, but these are not the circumstances under which he would choose to share a bed. But the heat from Eskel's arm against his own spreads through him and he lets himself relax into the mattress, more focused on Eskel's body next to him than the quickness of his own breath.

When Geralt wakes, it's with his nose pressed into Eskel's neck and a heavy arm around his shoulder. For a moment he's blissfully unaware that he's actually away, happy to remain in his dreamlike state. But when Eskel moves his arm, he seethes with pain and everything comes back to Geralt very abruptly.

He slips out from under Eskel's arms, apologizing profusely, barely aware of Eskel's constant answering stream of reassurances. It's not until they're fully disentangled and Geralt is climbing back out of bed that he remembers Eskel is naked.

It takes everything in him not to run away, but Eskel needs him, so he stays. He's so flustered he almost forgets about the burn remedy, what with bandaging Eskel's wounds and cleaning them again. But he does remember and Eskel swallows it with a grimace.

"Unpleasant?" Geralt asks.

"Disgusting."

"I'm sorry. You should only need to take it a couple of times. It will help you heal faster and I should have you home within the week."

It's only the second day, but as he says the words, Geralt feels a certain sadness to be sending Eskel off home already. He likes having him around and will be disappointed the first morning he wakes and doesn't have someone to care for. But he's glad Eskel is getting better, or will be.

The morning passes quickly, but there's a lingering embarrassment that follows him into the afternoon and early evening. Geralt has been trying to focus on his work - just because Eskel is injured and in his house doesn't mean he's allowed to fall behind on his other orders - but it's hard.

It's summer, so it's hot and Eskel is always shoving the blankets down during the day, pushing them off his chest so they settle just below his hips and Geralt is having a very hard time keeping his eyes to himself. But every time he glances over, Eskel is stretching or smiling back at him and it's very hard to concentrate on even the most basic remedies when he's under Eskel's gaze.

By the time they're ready for bed, Geralt has gotten a little work done and has settled enough that when Eskel calls him over to bed, he doesn't complain. He crawls up under the covers, making sure to stay on his own side, this time.

This time, when the morning comes, Geralt is still on his own side of the bed and he manages to slip out before Eskel wakes. He slips out of the room to collect water for a bath, splashing some of it on his face to wake him up, and by the time Eskel wakes up, Geralt has the bath mostly ready for him.

He takes care in unwrapping the bandages on his chest and wiping away the excess salve from the wounds but already they're starting to look better. Geralt can't be sure if it's his own work or the burn remedy from Mara, but he's happy to see Eskel moving around more comfortably. Still, Geralt is careful with him.

He pulls the sheets down carefully and nearly chokes when he realizes Eskel is half-hard. Feels nice. The words echo in his mind and Geralt forcefully shoves them away along with the stirring heat in his gut. He shouldn't be thinking things like this about Eskel, he certainly shouldn't be thinking about them when Eskel is hurt. So he helps him out of bed and wraps an arm around his waist, pointedly ignoring the way Eskel's cock bounces when he stands up, and helps him get into the bath.

The cold water, Geralt thinks, should ease his arousal, but it doesn't.

Eskel settles in the bath with a hum, stretching his arms up to rest on the edges of the tub. For the most part, Geralt uses his hands to wash him, scooping clean water onto his skin and rubbing gently with his fingertips. He has a special soap he's used before for greater wounds and it doesn't seem to sting Eskel at all, but he's still careful with it, rubbing it onto his hands to apply it, just in case.

And Eskel hums under his touch, head dropped back over the edge of the tub, eyes closed. He's enjoying this, Geralt realizes, which is... probably a good thing. It's better than him being in pain, anyway. But as Geralt's hands slip lower, he becomes increasingly aware of Eskel's erection and he knows he shouldn't even think about it, but his fingers twitch against Eskel's skin, eager to touch and stroke.

He restrains himself, but only barely and when Eskel's hips shift to get comfortable, Geralt nearly forgets himself. And when he gets to his thighs, slipping between them to ensure the last of the salve is washed away, Eskel lets out a soft, shuddering moan. Geralt grits his teeth against it and continues, despite his own growing arousal. He barely survives the bath, and he has to keep behind Eskel as he helps him back out of it and wraps him in a sheet because there's no way Eskel won't realize just how it's affected him otherwise.

Eskel gets settled on the bed as soon as he's dry enough, lying with the sheet around him, but not covering him. His cock sits heavy against his hip and Geralt curses himself for how much he focuses on it. Yes, it's been a long time since he's been with someone, but Eskel needs him to help him, he doesn't need Geralt lusting over him while he's barely in good enough condition to get up and walk around on his own. He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gets to work.

But Eskel is tense under his hands this morning, and while he does his best to be soothing, nothing seems to work. Geralt has apologized three times before he realizes what the problem is and then he feels like an idiot because it's been staring him in the face this whole time.

"Are you alright?" he asks, "it's starting to look uncomfortable." He gestures vaguely toward Eskel's cock where it's swollen and twitching against his hip.

"'S fine. My caretaker would just be upset with me if I tried to do anything about it, anyway. Gotta relax, can't be overworking myself." He chuckles lightly and Geralt would swear he catches a wink as he scoffs at him.

"Sure?"

"Geralt, it's not the first time, you're just-" he takes a slow, measured breath as if to emphasize his point, "-very good with your hands."

Geralt wants to say that he has to be, that it's part of his job, but he doesn't trust his voice, so he takes Eskel's reassurance for what it is. But he's barely put his hands on him again before Eskel is pulling in shuddering breaths and moaning softly as Geralt's palm slides up the inside of his thigh. It's distracting to say the last and Geralt's own cock stirs in his trousers. He doesn't think it through very long before offering to help.

"I could… take care of it for you," he offers quietly, "so you don't overwork yourself. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Yeah?" Eskel asks and Geralt finds himself nodding, far more enthusiastic about touching Eskel's cock than he should be. "As long as you don't mind."

Geralt barely resists licking his lips as he glances at Eskel's cock and assures him that he doesn't mind at all. It's part of his healing, after all.

He slips off the bed to retrieve a bottle of oil and then comes back to sit on Eskel's other side. He slicks his hand up and tries not to think too much about what he's doing. The first touch has Eskel shuddering though and it's increasingly difficult for Geralt to keep his own body under control.

He winds his fingers around him and they don't quite touch. Eskel seems oblivious to his internal struggle and Geralt reminds himself this is not for him. As much as he wants this, it's for Eskel. So he gets to work quickly, wrapping around the base of him and stroking up to the head. To start, he's slow, almost clinical about it, as he would be if he needed to force an erection to examine a patient. But he doesn't have to force anything with Eskel, and before long his hips are shifting, pushing into the touch and Geralt speeds up.

He lets his thumb rub over the head of Eskel's cock, watches the way it pushes through the tunnel of his fist and he barely holds back a groan himself. He wants this to be more. He wants to be able to straddle his hips and kiss him while he touches him, to be able to slip his fingers down and find out if Eskel is amenable to being touched elsewhere. The thoughts bounce around in his head and it makes it hard for him to just keep his hand on his dick. Especially when he rubs under the head and Eskel lets out a low moan, pushing into the touch.

Geralt would do anything to hear that sound again, even if it means embarrassing himself when he's the one who comes out of this with an erection. He gets one hand on Eskel's hip - to steady him, he tells himself - and brushes his thumb against the skin. Eskel makes soft little noises under him and Geralt starts to pick up on what he likes.

Firstly, he likes to be squeezed hard, Geralt almost pulls a whimper out of him when he clenches his fist around the base and pulls all the way up, keeping pressure around him. And when he plays with the head, running the pad of his thumb along the slit and just beneath. But when he goes quickly, jerking only the top couple of inches, Eskel writhes in the sheets. And Geralt knows he shouldn't let him. It's not bad for his burns, most of which being on his front, but it's not good either. Though the sight is something Geralt will remember until the day he dies.

He licks his lips, biting down on the bottom one, and stops abruptly, squeezing the head in his hand. Eskel swallows hard and rolls his head back.

"Geralt," he groans, "fuck, that's good." Geralt doesn't dare respond. His own cock is aching beneath him and his throat is dry. "'m close."

At that, Geralt groans aloud and one big hand comes down to settle on his shoulder. He works him quicker, pushing him closer to that edge and then realizes with a jolt that Eskel is going to come all over himself and he doesn't know what to do about that. In a moment of panic, he ducks down, taking the head of his cock in his mouth.

Eskel bucks and whines and then both hands are in his hair, tugging as he winds his fingers through it.

"Oh fuck- Geralt, yes." The words encourage him and Geralt takes him deeper, pushing as far as he can take it as Eskel mumbles above him. Somewhere amongst the slurry or words, he imagines he hears wanna touch you, but passes it off as a figment of his imagination prompted by how badly he wants to touch himself.

He shifts his position so his cock presses against the bed with every forward thrust and he's pushing his luck because he could easily come like this, even though he's holding himself back. He winds his tongue around Eskel's cock before dragging it up the underside and pressing into the sensitive spot below the head. Eskel groans above him, pressing Geralt's head down lightly and Geralt is more than happy to let him take control. If he lets Eskel call the shots, he can't be held accountable. He's helping out a friend in need, is all.

His own cock jerks under him and he rocks his hips into the bed with a groan, but Eskels thrusts pick up, quicker and harder than before, effectively distracting Geralt from his own need. Eskel moans his name as he comes and it's like a bolt of lightning through Geralt's entire body as he tries to keep his mouth on him. He swallows everything down, pulling up to suck at the head to be sure.

Eskel's eyelids flutter shut and he slumps back against the bed, breathing hard. His hands remain in Geralt's hair for a moment, tangling gently before Geralt rises up and he lets go.

"I-" Geralt starts, but then Eskel's eyes open and he's reaching for him. Geralt shakes his head and pulls away. "You don't need to. I'm fine. I.. have to go get the bandages, I'll be right back."

He barely manages to get out of the room before cursing silently. He leans against the wall, hands clenched at his sides. This was a stupid idea. He should have known he couldn't get out without being affected by it himself. Geralt shuts his eyes and focuses on anything else, walks himself through the remainder of Eskel's care for the afternoon, and once the heat searing through him fades a little, he goes to collect the bandages and returns to the bedroom.

Eskel just looks up at him as he approaches, still slightly foggy from his orgasm and when he smiles Geralt sighs and plops down a little too hard on the end of the bed.

"I'm sorry," Eskel says, "I didn't mean to push, you just- I thought you'd want me to reciprocate."

"You're injured," Geralt says, "and I couldn't ask that of you." He turns away, grabbing the salve from the shelf. Neither of them says anything else as Geralt returns to cleaning his wounds properly.

When he's finished, he's still wondering if he didn't make a mistake and Eskel is right on the edge of falling asleep, so he leaves him alone in the room and sets himself to work for a little while. It's not until well past noon that he realizes he hasn't been out in the garden at all today.

He heads out and tends to the plants, but he can't keep his thoughts from Eskel, from the way he moved under his hands and the way he moaned his name. He doesn't know how he's going to continue on with Eskel in his house after this.

But the following morning when he checks his wounds, everything goes smoothly and some of the smaller burns have already started healing around the edges. Geralt makes a mental note to talk to his Mara and ask about the recipe because it seems to be working wonders. Once Eskel is bandaged up again, Geralt finds him some clothes to wear and Eskel accompanies him out into the garden.

His skin is still sensitive, so Geralt finds a spot in the shade and lays out a blanket for him to sit on while he goes about tending to the garden. Eskel chats quietly to him, petting the neighbour's cat when it comes to see what's happening, and it all feels disturbingly domestic and Gerlt isn't quite sure what to do with that thought.

He continues on with his work, poking at the edges of a fantasy where Eskel comes home to him every night and Geralt continues to care for him. He lets himself get carried away with it, scoping out the best place in the garden to build a pen for the goat; she's well-behaved (most of the time) but not enough to be allowed free reign in his garden. She's already cost Eskel days of work, she doesn't need to cause problems for Geralt's business as well.

But there's a section in the backyard that he keeps for fall plants and they could be moved to the front yard easily enough if he brought some of the herbs inside to grow in his-

He's abruptly pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and he spins around to see Eskel standing behind him, smiling at him.

"Sorry," he says quietly, "didn't mean to startle you, you seemed very caught up in your thoughts."

"Mm," Geralt agrees, "just thinking about reorganizing the garden, bringing some of the herbs inside."

"I could help," Eskel offers and Geralt huffs a soft laugh, ignoring the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

"I don't think I'll have to, it was just a thought. How are you feeling?" he asks, quickly changing the topic before Eskel can add anything more.

"Better. I got up to walk around a little and I found these growing just down the road. To replace the one I crushed."

"That was for you," Geralt says weakly.

"Oh. I thought," he says a little bashfully, "they'd look nice in your hair." Eskel holds up the white flower, reaching up to slip it behind Geralt's ear. But Geralt jerks away unintentionally when he sees the flower.

"What's wrong?" Eskel asks, withdrawing.

"Nothing, it's just those - Gardenia - it means secret love."

Eskel's cheeks darken just slightly and Geral's heart does a little flip-flop at the sight. It's a very good look on him.

"Keep it anyway," Eskel says, reaching back up again. He pushes Geralt's hair back and tucks the flower behind his ear, smiling at his work. "Maybe you could tell me more about them so next time I can find you something more… appropriate."

Geralt's heart sinks a little but Eskel is still smiling so softly at him and the thought of telling him about his plants is exciting, so he pushes the bad feeling away and smiles in return. They spend the next hour going back through the whole garden while Eskel listens patiently to Geralt's explanation of the plants - what their meaning is, what they're used for.

Eskel listens and takes in everything Geralt tells him and Geralt has never loved him more than he does right now, standing out in the middle of his garden explaining how to make a potion to cure headaches.

By the time dinner rolls around, Eskel is getting sore again, so he heads inside while Geralt finishes up with the garden. He heads in when he's finished to find potatoes and carrots already cut for stew and Eskel sitting at the table in the corner waiting for him. He stays while Geralt makes dinner, talks to him while he cooks and Geralt wants to keep him forever, but he also wants him to leave because he knows he can't keep him.

Tonight, when they ready themselves for bed, Geralt doesn't hesitate to climb in next to Eskel, basking in the warmth that radiates off of him. He remembers nights when they were boys, camping out under the sky and pretending to be adventurers, knights. They would curl up together when it got too cold and he wishes he hadn't taken those times for granted. He'd give anything now to be able to cuddle up close to him and breathe in the comforting, still-familiar scent of him.

He lays quiet for a while in the dark, listening to every little hitch in Eske's breath, every groan when he moves wrong. He wants to reach out to him, to comfort him in any way he can, but without knowing how much would be welcome, he decides against it altogether.

But at some point during the night, Eskel shifts in his sleep, turning to lie on his side and Geralt wakes up with his head tucked under Eskel's chin and strong arms holding him. He wakes before the sunrise, letting himself enjoy the comfort of Eskel's body against his own, but as the sun streams in through the window, he disentangles himself and heads into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Without even checking, he knows Eskel's burns are healing quickly. He knows today will probably be the last he wakes up with Eskel in his bed and his heart is heavy as he prepares food for them. He tries not to think of their upcoming parting, knows that Eskel lives just down the road and they will still see each other, but Geralt will still miss him.

It's only been a few days, but he's been happy with Eskel here, even if he's spent most of the time trying to distance himself from him. He takes the food into the bedroom where Eskel is just sitting up and they eat quietly, but he can feel how badly Eskel wants to say something. Likely, he wants to know what's wrong and Geralt will inevitably lie about it, make up something about the house being too quiet without him around. But it doesn't matter what he says, because there's still a chance that Eskel's burns need treatment and if they do, he'll be staying a little longer.

Geralt doesn't hope for it, but he wouldn't be disappointed by it either.

He is disappointed upon unravelling Eskel's bandages, to find that most of the small buns have diminished to marks on the skin and when he touches them, Eskel confirms there's no pain. The worst of them are still red and uncomfortable, but they no longer inhibit his movement and Geralt barely holds back a sigh at the realization that Eskel is perfectly well enough to go home. And if that's the case, he'd rather do it sooner than later.

"You'll be happy to know they're healing quickly," Geralt says, rebandaging only the worst of the burns. "The remedy I got from the mage had worked wonders, but there's still some discolouration." The scars are lighter than Eskel's tanned skin, but Eskel just shrugs it off as he looks down at himself.

"I've got dozens of scars, a few more won't hurt."

"Suppose not," Geralt hums, tying off the last bandage around Eskel's thigh. He lets his hand slip, running down his inner thigh to rest on his knee. "They're healed well enough now that you'll be able to go home today."

He doesn't want Eskel to leave, not at all, but there doesn't seem to be much of a choice. Because Eskel no longer needs him, so there's no good reason for him to stay. Geralt sighs as he pulls away, but if Eskel notices, he doesn't mention it. Eskel watches him and Geralt almost thinks he looks disappointed (his own feelings getting away with him, he tells himself) but before he has a chance to do anything about it there's a knock at the door.

Geralt gets up to answer it, offering Eskel a half-smile as he goes. He doesn't want to seem down, but he's not looking forward to being alone in his little hut again, especially not after sharing a bed with Eskel for the last few nights. But when he opens the door, it seems Eskel will certainly be leaving him.

John, the farmer and Eskel's closest neighbour, is standing in front of him with a goat in his arms and she's squirming and bleating loudly. Geralt's surprised he didn't hear it before.

"Please tell me he's in good enough shape to come home," John says and gives Geralt a pleading look. "I don't mind looking after the goat, it's just she's… well, she's a demon to put it frankly."

Geralt opens his mouth to reply, but there's a huff of a laugh from behind him and he turns to find Eskel coming up behind him, pulling a shirt over his head. The goat squirms so hard John has to put her down and he's barely bent over before she's leaping from his arms and trotting over to Eskel, still shrieking loudly.

"Sorry," Eskel smiles, "she's attached." He bends down, running a hand along her back and sighs. "Guess that means we're heading home then, hm? Thank you, John," he adds lifting his head again. "I'll bring her home."

"I'll be heading home then," John says and once he's gone, Geralt shuts the door and turns to look at the goat, now happily lying on the floor and nibbling at one of his rugs.

Eskel is gone, but he returns a moment later with his boots, mostly unharmed by the accident.

"Well, I guess this is it. You can have your house back," Eskel smiles but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes and Geralt desperately wants to tell him he doesn't want his house back. He wants to tell him he'll make space for the goat and he'll find somewhere for Eskel to sleep if he doesn't want to continue sharing and he-

"Thank you, Geralt, for everything. And don't tell me you'd do it for anyone, because we both know that's not true." He reaches out, resting a hand on Geralt's shoulder and his thumb just brushes against Geralt's neck. "I'll see you."

And just like that, Eskel is gone, heading out the door and back to his own home. Realistically, he just lives down the road, but he's never felt so far away and Geralt isn't quite sure what to do with himself. It's only been a few days but he's grown used to having Eskel around and he's not sure what he's going to do now without him.

He could go after him, tell him he doesn't want him to go, but what if Eskel does want to go home? What if all the little things Geralt has thought were hesitation were really something else? He doesn't want to risk his friendship with Eskel on a guess, so he lets him go and resigns himself to his chores.

The day passes slowly, but it's fine until Geralt turns in to go to bed. The room is still set up to care for someone and Geralt quickly makes the decision to tidy up before bed; it's one thing to come to bed missing someone, but it's a whole other to start your day that way. But clearing away the medicines and bandages doesn't help, because when he crawls into bed it smells like Eskel and Geralt can't help but press his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply.

He's not sure how it happened, or even when it happened, that his friendship with Eskel shifted into something more, something greedy and wanting, but he's never felt this way about anyone else. A part of him wishes it was anyone but Eskel.

For two days, Geralt's life returns to normal, for the most part. He's plagued by thoughts of Eskel and the memory of him in his bed, of his scent and his smile. But he gets through as he always has, reminding himself that it's better to have Eskel as a friend than not at all.

Then, on the third evening, since Eskel left, Geralt is in the kitchen boiling water for a tonic for the boy down the road when there's a knock on the door. Geralt sets the pot aside and pushes the grate up to keep the sparks in and crosses to the door wondering who could possibly want him so late. Another emergency, he supposes.

He's preparing himself for another sick child or an accident on the farm, but when he opens the door, Eskel is standing in front of him, a bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand. He smiles sheepishly and Geralt forgets for a second that he's supposed to greet visitors because he looks so shy.

"Eskel," he says and the confusion in his voice prompts a soft laugh from the other man.

"Can I come in?"

"Oh-" Geralt steps out of the way, eyeing the bouquet as Eskel slips past him.

To anyone unlearned in the meaning of flowers, it looks a little like a jumbled mess, but Geralt can tell there's a theme. Longing. Love. Hope. He knows the meanings of each one of those flowers and realizes with a start that it's a floral confession of love. His heart clenches to wonder who Eskel means to confess to, but he suspects he wants Geralt's help with the flowers and Geralt only wants the best for him.

Eskel shuts the door behind him and holds the bouquet in front of him, looking down at it as if ensuring it's good enough. Geralt is about to tell him it is, that the flowers are a little aesthetically jumbled, but that their meaning is clear when Eskel holds it up to him.

"I'm not very good with words," he says, reaching back to rub the back of his neck, "and you're not very good at picking up on things, but I thought this might be a little clearer."

"Eskel-?"

"I got the idea when you were telling me about your garden and I have a friend who knows about flowers. She helped me pick the right ones because I wanted it to be perfect."

Everything clicks into place at once and Geralt realizes he's been holding his breath. Slowly, he lets it out and considers very carefully what he wants to say before mumbling, "they're for me?"

Eskel nods and Geralt leans in, kissing him without thinking. He pulls back as soon as he realizes what he's done, but Eskel's already got a hand on his waist and he draws him back again, kissing him softly but firmly. Geralt shifts against him, giving in with a soft sigh and wrapping his arms around Eskel's neck. Gently, Eskel lays the flowers down on the table and puts his other hand on Geralt's waist, holding him against him as he kisses him.

It's soft, softer than anyone has ever kissed him before, but there's an urgency behind it, a desperation that speaks of years of longing. Eskel's hands slip up under his shirt and Geralt hums against his lips, parting his own to deepen the kiss as Eskel pulls him closer. For a few, glorious moments, Geralt knows nothing but Eskel's mouth against his own, his hands on his skin, and when they break apart, he finds it hard to breathe.

"I should see how you're healing," Geralt breathes and Eskel grins at him, tipping forward to press a brief kiss to his lips.

"Mm, of course," he agrees, tugging his shirt out of his trousers and pulling it up over his head. It falls to the floor unneeded and Eskel gets his hands back on Geralt's waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom, the implications of which are too much for him to think about right now.

Eskel sits himself down on the bed and Geralt crosses to stand between his knees, looking down at him. He runs his fingers over the discoloured skin, now nearly completely healed, and makes a note to ask Mara about her potion. But Eskel grows impatient with him quickly and in only a few minutes, Geralt finds himself tugged down into Eskel's lap.

"'M fine," he says softly, "thanks to you." He kisses Geralt's cheek, his jaw, his neck.

"Not me," Geralt hums, tipping his head back to give Eskel better access to his neck. "Mara made the potion."

"Mmm, but you got it for me. You cared for me. You loved me." Geralt starts at that, pulling back to look at Eskel. Almost immediately there's a hand on his cheek, rough but gentle. "Hey," Eskel whispers, "I love you, too. Have for a long time."

"I love you," Geralt breathes and the words feel foreign on his tongue, like somebody else is using his voice. He never expected to say those words out loud, much less to have Eskel smiling back at him.

Eskel kisses him again, soft and slow, and Geralt lets himself melt into it. He slips forward, straddling his lap and smiling against his mouth. Abruptly, he's hauled up and Eskel readjusts them so he can lie back against the pillows, pulling Geralt down on top of him.

It doesn't strike him until Eskel's hands are working their way under his shirt again, that he's allowed to touch, that Eskel wants him to, if past experiences are anything to judge by. He breaks the kiss, nosing at Eskel's neck before kissing down to his collarbone. He traces his fingertips along the edges of Eskel's scars, kissing the paler skin with reverence. Geralt pours all of his love into the soft kisses, everything he's wanted to say for years and felt he was unable and as Eskel's hands slip into his hair, he hums softly against the skin.

Eskel moans softly under him, pressing up into each kiss and winding his fingers between Geralt's against his hip. He holds him close even as Geralt dips lower, following the burn marks down to Eskel's stomach and the waistband of his trousers. He only detangles their fingers to get Eskel's trousers undone and once they're off and out of the way, Eskel reaches for him again. Geralt gives a little squeeze of his hand, a reassurance mostly meant for himself as he shifts down the bed and settles himself between Eskel's thighs.

He slides his free arm around Eskel's thigh, tipping his face to kiss along the line of the burn. His left leg is better off than his right, but Geralt picks out every little mark, kissing them individually as he makes his way down. Above him, Eskel groans and Geralt can feel his arousal in every little shift of his hips, of his legs, in the way his fingers clench around his own. There's a peace that washes over him knowing that this is what Eskel wants too; out of all the people he's met in his life, Geralt is the one he wants and it feels something like relief.

Geralt continues, diverting from his task to kiss Eskel's thighs, nipping at the soft skin and running his tongue over it. Eskel moans softly, spreading his legs and then he's reaching down, tugging Geralt's shirt up over his head. Eskel's fingers brush along his shoulders and the side of his neck, soft and tentative, and he lets Geralt linger for a while longer before hauling him up so they're chest-to-chest.

He kisses him again, harder this time and as Geralt shifts to get comfortable, he can feel the hard line of Eskel's cock against his stomach. His own cock twitches in his trousers.

"Gods," Eskel whispers, running his thumb over Geralt's lip, "you have no idea how badly I want you, how tempting it was with you sleeping right beside me." He rests his hands on Geralt's hips, slipping down over the swell of his ass and guides his hips forward, rocking up against him.

"Tell me," Geralt mumbles, "what you wanted."

"Mm," Eskel hums, "you looked so soft and sweet next to me, I just wanted to touch you, to get you hard. I wanted to roll you onto your side and slip up behind you. I'd take such good care of you, fuck you so well, sweetheart."

"Please," Geralt whispers, but he's breathless and the word comes out broken. Eskel doesn't need to be asked twice.

He rolls them over, shifting onto his knees over Geralt to fumble with the ties of Geralt's trousers before shoving a hand inside and wrapping around his cock. Geralt's already half-hard but it doesn't take much to bring him to full hardness with Eskel's mouth hot and demanding against his own and a strong, calloused hand stroking him.

Eskel nips at his lips and Geralt shifts, pressing his hips up and pushing between Eskel's fingers. He rolls his hips and fucks into Eskel's hand, moaning against his lips as Eskel's fingers slip lower on his prick until he's wrapped around the base of him and tracing the vein on the underside with his thumb. When he finally slips up again, he rings his fingers just beneath the head of Geralt's cock, squeezing tightly around him.

He lets Geralt fuck his fingers and Geralt wraps his arms around his neck, happy enough to have Eskel's hands on him. But it gets too restrictive, his trousers are in the way and he wants to spread his legs, to fuck up properly. Eskel seems to notice and he pulls off of Geralt's cock to rid him of them.

As soon as Geralt's fully naked, Eskel presses in close right up against his side. He traces his fingertips down the length of Geralt's cock, his lips hovering just above Geralt's and then, as Eskel's fingers slip down to cup his balls, Geralt groans and Eskel smiles.

"Mm, good?" he asks and Geralt nods, whining softly as Eskel's fingertips press into the sensitive flesh. He rocks into the touch and Eskel's lips drag across his jaw and up to his ear, nibbling at the lobe and nosing behind it.

"You're so beautiful," Eskel whispers, "I love you." He kisses behind his ear, moving down Geralt's neck to nibble at his shoulder. "I want to make you feel good."

Geralt shuts his eyes as Eskel's mouth finds his own again and then Eskel's fingers are slipping down, pressing back behind his balls and teasing at his hole. He shudders and Eskel's free arms lips under his neck, wrapping around so his fingers brush across his jaw.

"Okay?" he asks and Geralt nods, sliding a hand into his hair.

"Please, Eskel, I-"

"Shh," he whispers, "I know love, I've got you."

He presses further and Geralt opens to him, spreading his legs and shifting to give Eskel better access. He wants him, wants this and it still doesn't feel real that he's allowed to have it. But Eskel is soft against him, even his fingers, calloused and rough feel gentle on his face and Geralt tips his head to the side, kissing his fingertips.

Eskel holds him, rubs over his hole, whispering against Geralt's ear. He's only half listening, but it doesn't matter what he's saying because it's Eskel. Geralt just likes the sound of his voice, regardless of the words, so deep and rough yet somehow still soft. He shuts his eyes and focuses on Eskel's voice, on his hands, moaning and pressing back onto Eskel's fingers.

"Eskel," he breathes, "please, I want you."

"I know. Where's the oil?"

Geralt groans. The oil is back where it belongs, tucked away in his cabinet in the other room and Geralt regrets ever putting it away. Reluctantly, he pulls out of Eskel's arms and climbs off the bed. Eskel hums appreciatively as he crosses the room and Geralt smiles to himself. He can feel eyes on him all the way out of the room and even as he ducks into the kitchen, careful to avoid the windows.

When he turns back, oil in hand, Eskel is leaning up on one elbow, watching him with a soft smile on his face.

"What?" Geralt asks.

"You're so beautiful, do you know that? You were always the best looking of us but you really got pretty."

"Shut up," Geralt mumbles, but when he reaches the edge of the bed, Eskel reaches up around the back of his neck and tugs him into a brief kiss.

"'M serious. You're so fucking gorgeous, Geralt." He kisses him again, tugging him closer and Geralt climbs onto the bed, deepening the kiss as Eskel moans softly against him. This time, Geralt ignores his words, despite the heat that spreads through his chest, kissing him deeply instead.

Eskel rearranges them with ease, maneuvering Geralt onto his back again and pressing up against his side. Immediately, he reaches down, stroking him slowly without breaking the kiss. He takes the bottle of oil from Geralt and pops the cork, spilling it over his fingers. He wraps around Geralt's cock, stroking right up to the head and rubbing his thumb beneath the head before slipping back down again.

Geralt moans as Eskel's fingers slip down between his legs, pressing back against his hole. He's less patient this time, pressing against him and pushing inside just a little before withdrawing. Eskel's fingers are thick and stretch with every press and Geralt drops his head back against his chest with a groan.

"You okay?" Eskel asks and Geralt nods.

"'S good."

"Good," Eskel leans in, lips brushing against his earlobe as he whispers, "I want you to come on my fingers before I fuck you." Geralt groans, but then Eskel's pressing into him again and he turns his face into Eskel's neck, breathing against his skin. "There you go, sweetheart, just lay back and let me make you feel good. You took care of me, now it's my turn."

Geralt wants to tell him that there's a huge difference between this and that, but Eskel pushes deeper and the protest dies on his lips. Eskel kisses the groan from his lips as he presses a second finger into him and Gerlt rocks enthusiastically back onto him. Eskel is incredibly good with his hands, pressing in and stretching him, and Geralt is breathless where he leans against him, groaning against his lips.

Eskel is above him, behind him, all around, mumbling soft words into his hair and against his lips and Geralt has never felt so wanted in his life. He shudders and lets out a soft little moan as Eskel presses a third finger against his rim and tips his head back.

"Eskel," he groans, "please, come on."

"Not gonna rush, sweetheart, don't wanna hurt you."

Geralt groans. He's seen Eskel's cock, gotten up close and personal with it and has been dying for a chance to get it inside him. He doesn't want to wait, he wants Eskel to fuck him. But as much as he rocks down or squeezes around him, Eskel isn't letting up. He adds a third finger and Geralt bites down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud.

"Don't have to be quiet for me," Eskel hums, "I like hearing you."

"Fuck."

"Mmm, that's right." Eskel presses his nose into his ear, nibbling at the skin of his neck. "Tell me how it feels, Geralt."

"Good," he mumbles, "but I want you."

"You've got me. Always."

Eskel gives a good couple of thrusts, then presses in with just two fingers, seeking out that spot inside him and rubbing against it. Geralt squirms against him, writhing as Eskel plays with him and then he withdraws altogether.

"Roll over," he whispers, nudging Geralt with his knee. Geralt turns onto his front and he's still settling when Eskel climbs over him, kissing his neck and pushing the hair aside.

He moves down Geralt's back, kissing a line down his spine and sucking at the skin. It sends shivers through him and Geralt can't help but rock his hips down, grinding against the mattress as Eskel's hand drops to hold his hips. He huffs a soft laugh against Geralt's lower back and then he's moving lower, one hand slipping between his cheeks and pressing back in.

Geralt buries his face in the pillow, gathering it under his face and moaning into it as Eskel fucks him with his fingers again. He's quick and hard but somehow still gentle, lips sliding softly over his skin until Eskel's thrusts slow and his mouth moves to join in.

The first press of Eskel's tongue against his rim has Geralt pulling up on his knees, thighs spread to give him better access and Eskel huffs against him. He slides a hand down Geralt's thigh, steadying him as he pulls his fingers out, and licks over the stretched muscle.

"Think you can come like this instead?" he asks and Geralt nods. He's sure of it.

His cock is already leaking steadily onto the sheets, hard and aching, and every press of Eskel's tongue sends him rocking forward, eager for any sort of friction. And when those thick fingers wrap around him again, Geralt could cry. He rocks forward immediately, rutting into the tunnel of Eskel's hand and pressing back against his tongue.

Then Eskel pushes in and Geralt cries out into the pillow. Rough stubbles scratches against his cheeks, a stark contrast to the slick smoothness of Eskel's tongue pressing inside and he's mindless as pleasure sparks through him. Geralt whimpers and rocks back, overwhelmed by so much sensation, until his hips stutter, unable to move fast enough to keep up with the need. But Eskel pulls him up, gripping around the base of his cock and thrusting in with his tongue.

Geralt whimpers, unable to do anything other than take what Eskel is offering. His legs shake under him, the coil of heat in his gut tightening until he almost can't stand it. He's so close, he just needs a little more. Eskel wants him to come like this and Geralt wants to, wants to shatter apart under his hands, and have Eskel put him back together again afterward. He whines and bucks, vaguely aware of Eskel rising up to cover him then Eskel strokes him again, slow and steady and he pushes him over the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart, fuck, you look pretty like this."

Geralt fists his hands in the pillow, hips jerking abortively as he spills all over his sheets. Eskel moves again, continuing to stroke him as he comes and then he's pulling away, readjusting to get an arm around his waist as Geralt's legs nearly give out on him.

"Fuck," he whines and Eskel guides him down against the mattress, humming softly against his skin.

"Yeah," Eskel agrees. He runs his hands up Geralt's back, slowly lowering himself over him until they're pressed chest to back and Geralt can feel Eskel's breath against his skin.

"Mm," Geralt mumbles, "you didn't come. Want you to fuck me." Geralt pushes his hips up and Eskel slides his hands up, letting his full weight rest on Geralt and twining their fingers together. He shifts his hips so his cock fits perfectly against Geralt's ass, pushing between his cheeks with each little movement.

"Just like this?"

"Yeah. Wanna feel you." He loves the weight of Eskel's body against him and he wants to make him come, and he wants to keep as close to him as he can.

"Tell me if it's too much," Eskel hums and then he's pulling one hand away, reaching down to adjust himself. Geralt holds his breath as the head of Eskel's cock presses against him and then he's pushing in, stretching him impossibly further and filling him up. He pauses before he's fully seated and Geralt shifts his hips, wiggling encouragingly.

"Don't wanna hurt you," Eskel mumbles and he sounds breathless already.

"You won't." Geralt can already hear the rebuttal, so he pushes his hips back, pushing all the way onto him, and Eskel drops his head between his shoulder blades.

"Fuck," he whines and Geralt just hums and tips his head to kiss Eskel's fingers where they're wrapped around his own.

Eskel gives a short roll of his hips, testing Geralt's readiness and pushes right up against his prostate. Geralt whines and his cock stirs beneath him where it presses into the bedding. It's sensitive, but it feels good and Geralt exaggerates the motion when Eskel thrusts into him again.

He keeps an even pace to start, slow enough not to hurt him, despite Geralt's assurances that he won't, but quick enough to keep him happy. And gods, he could stay like this for hours, pressed against the mattress as Eskel fucks into him. It feels like a dream, one of those he thought could never possibly come true, and yet with every thrust, Eskel mumbles against his skin, kisses him, holds him close against him. And Geralt didn't think he'd be able to come again, but his cock swells again, needy and wanting beneath him.

Then Eskel is shifting behind him, rising up to his knees and pulling Geralt up into his lap with him. He slips a hand around his chest, tweaking his nipples and sliding down his stomach. His fingers brush the base of his cock and Eskel hesitates before slipping down further, following the curve of his cock.

"Mmm, you're hard again," he hums, burying his face in Geralt's neck. "You want to come again, sweetheart?" Geralt doesn't respond, but Eskel's fingers are already wrapping around him again, stroking him in time with his thrusts and Geralt couldn't stop him even if he wanted to.

He settles his hands back on the bed, leaning back against Eskel's chest and turning to kiss him. The angel is awkward, but he catches his lips, groaning as Eskel takes the opportunity to slide his free hand up the inside of Geralt's thigh. He's already worked up and the faint brush is overwhelming.

He squirms under Eskel's fingers, but they just drag further up, teasing around Eskel's cock where it breaches him.

"Please," Geralt whispers and he's not even sure what he's asking for, but then Eskel presses one finger alongside his cock and Geralt's eyes roll back in his head. He's vaguely aware that he's mumbling, asking him for more, asking him to come, and Eskel holds him against his chest, kissing his shoulders and his neck.

"Come on," he whispers, "come for me, Geralt."

It doesn't take much after that, with Eske's hand around him and one pressing into him before he's coming again, a choked-off moan on his lips. Both of Eskel's hands leave him as he rides it out, wrapping around his middle.

Eskel fucks him quick and hard, panting against Geralt's ear.

"Love you," he mumbles, "gods, Geralt, you're so beautiful, so good for me-"

Eskel comes with Geralt's name on his lips, pressing his forehead against his shoulder and burying himself deep inside him. He shudders as he comes, hips twitching, and Geralt reaches a hand back to wrap around his neck.

For a moment they sit together, panting, and then Eskel flops to the side, pulling Geralt down with him. Geralt shifts to get comfortable, letting Eskel pull him up against his side so he can rest his head on his chest. The sheets are damp with sweat and come, but Geralt has never been so comfortable as he is in Eskel's arms.

"Could I stay?" Eskel hums, nosing into his hair.

"Of course," Geralt smiles, "as long as you want."

"Still got Lil' Bleater to get home to eventually, but I don't want to leave tonight."

"Could put a goat pen in the back corner of the garden," Geralt yawns, "there's lots of space if we move the fall plants to where the herbs are." Eskel pushes himself up, looking down at him.

"Geralt?" he asks tentatively, "are you- are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I- if it's not too much trouble going back and forth to the forge?" he reaches up, running a hand through Eskel's hair. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss you until you were gone again. I don't want you to leave again."

"You might get sick of me," he teases but his lips curl up in a smile and he smooths his hand across Geralt's stomach.

"I doubt it, it's been thirty years and I'm not sick of you yet."

"Thirty-" he starts but cuts himself off. "Yeah, okay. Guess we'll be building in the morning then, hm?"

"No," Geralt hums, tugging Eskel against him and curling back against his side. "Tomorrow we're moving plants, then we can build a goat pen."

six months later

For months, Geralt has been blissfully happy. He didn't think he'd ever get to be like this, but having Eskel living with him has been everything he could hope for and then some. They've even gotten another goat to keep Lil' Bleater occupied and Eskel has been talking about breeding them and selling goats. It's not a well-thought-out plan, but Geralt entertains it because Eskel's ideas usually turn out well for them and he wants Eskel to be as happy as he is.

But recently Eskel has been distant. He's always busy at the forge making something for someone, but lately, he's been spending more and more time there, coming home long after Geralt is asleep and leaving almost immediately after they wake up. And Geralt has his own business to attend to, so he tries not to let it bother him too much, but he can't help wondering.

Maybe Eskel is tired of spending so much time together, maybe he needs a break. On bad days, Geralt will wonder if there's someone else, but Eskel always comes home smelling of coal and singed hair, and that helps to settle Geralt's worries.

Then one morning he wakes up and Eskel isn't in bed at all. His side of the bed is still untouched from the night before and his first thought is that something happened to him again. Geralt rolls out of bed, fumbling to get dressed as he stumbles into the kitchen and out onto the road.

The forge isn't far, and he makes good time, running half the way in his rush to ensure Eskel is okay. And when he arrives, he shoves the door open to find… Eskel is fine. He's leaning over a table at the back of the shop and when he hears Geralt he turns to look at him.

He looks… fine and Geralt feels like an idiot for rushing up here. He's breathless, leaning in the doorway and Eskel smiles when he sees him, crossing the shop.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, ducking down to kiss him briefly, "and in my shirt, no less?" Geralt looks down to find he is, indeed, wearing Eskel's shirt and he shrugs.

"You didn't come home last night, I was worried something had happened to you." The smile fades from Eskel's face and he shuts his eyes.

"Shit," he mumbles, "I'm sorry Geralt, I got carried away. I didn't mean to worry you." He takes Geralt's hands in his own, bringing them close to his face and kissing his knuckles. "I've been working on something special, something important. I thought it was too early, but maybe,-" he shrugs and smiles, "do you want to come see?"

Geralt nods and Eskel leads him back to the table at the back of the room. There doesn't seem to be anything there, but Eskel picks up a small velvet bag and opens it, tipping the contents into his palm. From here, Geralt can't tell what it is, but as Eskel gets closer, he realizes it's a ring.

"Can I-?" he asks, reaching out a hand and when Eskel nods, he picks it up and inspects it. It's beautifully crafted, delicate flowers inlaid in the band, honeysuckle, he thinks, everlasting bonds, happiness - a wedding ring, most likely. "It's beautiful."

"It's for you," Eskel says and Geralt's heart stops for a moment. "If you'll have it. If you'll have me."

"Eskel-"

"Just… you have made me happier than I've ever been, Geralt and I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without you. Marry me?"

"Yes," Geralt says before the rest of him can catch up. He doesn't even have a chance to think before Eskel is surging forward and scooping him up into his arms.

He kisses him softly, slowly, only pulling back to take the ring from Geralt's hand. He slips it onto his finger and slips his fingers between Geralt's, tipping forward to kiss him again. There's a weight to the ring, but it feels like comfort, like that first time Eskel touched him. Geralt smiles against his lips, bringing his free hand up to slip through Eskel's hair.

He can't believe that a year ago, he was silently pining over this man and now he's looking forward to spending the rest of his life with him.

#geralt x eskel #herbalist!geralt #blacksmith!eskel #spicy #rex writes

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years

Text

Headcanons for being Diego Hargreeves’ child

Diego Hargreeves x child!reader

warnings: knifes, blood, guns, death mentions, mental hospital

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Hi! Could you please write a “The Umbrella Academy” Diego Hargreeves x daughter reader headcanon? I always think Diego is such a overprotective softie dad ♥️♥️”

deigo really said “?????”

how dad

but also he’d just the most loving dad anyone could ever ask for

✨it’s because he was never loved by his dad✨

“hi cutie, i love you, i love you, i love youuuuu”

he locked away all his weapons so that you couldn’t hurt yourself on them

but he always missed a few and he’d turn around and see you holding throwing knives and just FREAK OUT

“no, no, no, you may not have those! knives are for big boys like me, not babies”

“give back”

“‘give back?’ are you nuts?”

diego has conversations with lil you as if you know what the fuck he means dhshshhshs

as you got older, you became more interested in his “career”

“no, i dont care if you have powers or not! you have a bedtime, that means no vigilantism, you hear me?”

“if i say ‘no’ can i be a vigilante?”

“you know what? how about you clean up the gym for al so he doesn’t evict us?”

you did not sign up for this

you really wanted to meet your aunts and uncles, but you weren’t exactly sure they knew about you

i mean, you knew you had a cousin but everyone knew about her because aunt allison was a goshdarn celebrity

“dad, i want to meet the family!”

“no you don’t”

end of discussion

despite having a bedtime, you still watched movies late at night with your dad

he really liked marvel movies

“come on, that would never happen!”

“you come from a family of superpowered kids, a robot mom, and a monkey, and you’re upset about...a guy that shoots arrows?”

“maybe i am, what’re you gonna do about it?”

you ask about umbrella academy stories a lot, you your dad usually makes it about him

“and then i punched that guy in the face! and then i stabbed him in the leg because he was a dick! bet you’re friend’s dads arent as cool as me”

*yawning bc you’ve heard this story a million times*

you go to public school

you do have your dad’s last name

which occasionally gets recognized

“woah! wasn’t your dad a superhero?”

“i have no idea what youre talking about” :)

practicing your knife throwing while diego is away, him coming home to find his knifes stuck through various targets

so proud but he had to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself

you actually had to learn how to patch him up because he did come home a bit battered and bruised several times

“im okay, y/n. no need to freak”

“dad, there is literally blood dripping on the floor will you just sit down and stay still for five goddamn minutes?”

“woah, who the fuck taught you to cuss?”

watching the news at home when your grandfather was reportedly dead

you were actually very upset because you wanted to meet him so bad

even if he was a dick

your dad came home silent and you knew he knew

“you okay?”

“oh, yeah, im better than okay!”

finally getting the chance to meet your family

“who are you?” -allison

“im, uh, y/n. diego is my dad”

*jaw dropping*

and you know what? that happened four more times (plus ben but you didn’t get to see that)

“and you are?” -luther

“who’s the...the little one?” -klaus

“well, what do you know? diego’s a dad” -five

“don’t tell me that’s...no way” -ben

“you’re diego’s? wow, i can’t believe he didn’t tell anyone” -vanya

“i...i know who all of you are” -you

diego bragging about how perfect you are while everyone simultaneously rolls their eyes

“well, y/n, maybe one day we’ll schedule a playdate for you and claire” -allison

“‘playdate?’ how old do you think i am?...but yes i wanna meet her”

“god, you’re so much like diego, it’s unsettling”

you had been secretly training at al’s gym during your dad’s late night activities

so when trouble came your way, you were able to handle yourself pretty well

“where the hell did you learn that?”

“al showed me a few moves!”

“that old man? you’re kidding”

you met your grandmother, grace, who was tasked with keeping you safe at all times

you actually loved her sm

but there was something a bit off about her

besided the fact she was a robot

klaus snuck you out so that you two could have BoNdInG tImE

it wasn’t all bad

ben was a lil choked up that he got to meet one of his niblings

“they’re perfect”

“they just stabbed someone, buddy”

“who are you talking to?”

FIVE EVEN SCHEMED WITH YOU

“okay, y/n, i need you to curve something when i throw it, got that? right at that security guard”

“what are you throwing?”

“you’ll know when you see it, make your uncle five proud”

“IS THAT A GUN”

<3 family

running into patch!!

“hey, kid, i just saw your dad. i thought i told you to handcuff him to the radiator when you were away?”

“yeah, well, he wouldve chewed his hand off so here we are”

that was the last time you saw her :/

well, your dad was now a wanted man

“what happened to your arm?”

“no”

you actually didn’t expect this family reunion to go south like this

wait—yes you did

vanya has powers????

“i thought vanya was the one without powers?”

“yeah. so did we.”

diego straight up did not want you anywhere near that

but you, again, were his child and also fuck authority you do what you want

the vibe is almost getting shot several times

by hazel, cha cha, and “commission” guys?

going 2 ur auntie’s concert 😌✨

“y/n, hide in the bathroom and stay there until i come get you”

“dad, i love you, but no”

“y/n, i love you too, but yes”

“no”

“yes”

“NO”

“YES”

you won

but in the end (or not so much) you time traveled to...1961?

without any of your family

“this is...this is not good”

understatement of the year(s)

what was a kid like you gonna do in dallas, texas in 1961

no seriously, what

it was rough, but you managed to survive on your own

and open a paper in 1963 to find a mugshot of your dad

“son of a—”

visiting dad! (two years later)

“y/n? oh my god, y/n! shit, i missed you so much! why do you look different? you’re bigger, oh god. how long have you been here?”

“2 years, dad. you?”

his hair was so LONG

“2 months”

“christ, that’s it?!”

“i have to stop jfk from being assassinated”

“what makes you think that’s a good idea???”

“its the right thing to do, wanna help?”

“shit, i guess. as long as i dont end up here”

“no promises, people in the 60’s are crazy”

diego: 👁👄👁

you: 👀

running into five on the street soon after

“uncle five?”

“no time to talk”

“okay, asshole? i’ve been here for 2 years and you dont care?”

“two years, huh? i spent 45 years in a post apocalyptic world as a 13 year old and beyond”

“i didn’t say it was a competition, dude. you kinda dropped us all at different times. at least, me and dad. he—”

“is trying to kill lee harvey oswald, i know. come with me”

finally running into your other aunts and uncles, who were so excited to see you

you ran into their arms and they picked you off the ground and you felt closer than ever after only knowing them for 10 days

dad broke out

lila too

“im your new mom!”

“you’re what?”

diego dragged you along with him almost everywhere

he had missed you so much, but he keeps forgetting you kinda grew up without him for a while longer

meeting grandpa :)

“a grandchild, huh? how unfortunate”

“bitch”

“what did you just call me?”

“a bitch.”

your dad and basically the entire table trying to hold back laughter

reggie was stunned

cold hearted just like him <3 he didn’t know if he was offended or proud

this is so confusing

diego just disappeared off the face of the earth

and assassins were on your case

“the goddamn swedes are back oh shittt im gonna die”

“y/n, just curve their bullets”

“it’s not as easy as it sounds, klaus!”

you were doomed

theres too much to go over

apparently you died on a farm????

and then you didn’t??????

and your dad was almost apart of the commission

“hey, you okay, y/n?”

“i would like to take a nap please”

“yeah, me too”

“me three!” -klaus

yeah it was never that simple 😌💕 the end

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @cullens-stuff // @lotsoffandomrecs // @takethebladeawayfromme // @that-nerd-tessa // @teenwaywardasgardian // @spidergirla5 // @sheridans-dynamos // @freya-xo // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @jay-is-groovy // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm // @abbiesthings // @thereagles // @ofthedewthesunlight //

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy #umbrella academy imagine #tua #tua imagine #tua x reader #diego hargreeves x child!reader #hargreeves!reader

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

Text

You know, we’ve been continuing the conversations lately about the group’s inability to practice what they preach, what with Yang’s Raven secret and Ruby’s decision to perpetuate Ozpin’s decisions, but at least those two things are... acknowledged? Sort of. What I mean is, the story clearly thinks the Raven issue isn’t relevant. It absolutely is, but after three whole volumes and a dropped end credits scene, I think it’s pretty clear that RWBY considers it unimportant and has shuffled it off screen. Not worth your time, folks, and that in and of itself is some kind of acknowledgement: you should just let it go. Meanwhile, Ruby’s choices are frustratingly excused with a, “You’re different” speech, but at least an explanation exists, no matter how absurd. A dislike of the explanation doesn’t erase the fact that we got one. It’s still hypocritical, still stupid, still built on rewriting the themes as we go, but at least it’s something.

You know what hasn’t been dropped from the story and likewise hasn’t been given at least a shoddy excuse? Oscar’s secrets.

He (along with the rest of the group) lied to Ironwood for weeks/months about Salem and Ozpin

Then he kept the fact that Ironwood had gone off the deep end and tried to murder him quiet

Then Ozpin returned and he announced that he wouldn’t be sharing this crucial piece of info until he felt like it

Then he tops things off by, apparently, learning at some point that he had an insanely powerful weapon at his disposal and just... never brought that up

I don’t like dragging the farm boy because I love the farm boy, I spent a huge amount of time throughout Volumes 5 and 6 defending him, but he’s suffering big time from the writing flaws lately. Ruby (rightfully) gets most of the heat for lies and secrets because she’s the leader, the show’s main protagonist, and the one who actually speaks them to Ironwood, but Oscar is in his own unique trouble due to being Ozpin’s “better.” At least supposedly. I mean, I personally despise RWBY’s message that the younger generation is inherently superior to the last - “We don’t need adults” and all that - but I don’t think we can deny that such a message exists. Ozpin had his successes off screen, that extraordinary time of peace, yet when the show starts he’s in the process of a downfall. The school is taken over, he’s murdered, and two volumes later he’s literally on his knees, having what little control he retained snatched away. Who replaces him? Oscar. The young, hopeful, bright-eyed child who is now - literally, due to the merge - stepping into Ozpin’s shoes. He’s accepted by the team when Ozpin is not (even if it took way too long). He’s got the wealth of optimism when Ozpin falters. This last volume we saw him straight up go, “No, we’re not doing your escape plan, we’re doing my turn-the-villain plan.” Oscar exists to provide that contrast, the new and improved Ozpin 2.0. The story is essentially saying that Ozpin, the ancient planner, failed spectacularly, but Oscar, the young go-getter, succeeds. Oscar-as-Ozpin will do what Ozpin 1.0 failed to accomplish: helping to defeat Salem by the end of the series.

... so why is Oscar keeping so many secrets?

That’s the snag for me. That’s where RWBY’s intended message falls apart. Not because the message was never there in the first place, but because they’re writing it badly. Ozpin’s way of doing things is, according to the show, defined primarily by controlling information. Keeping things close to his chest, as he says in Volume 6. For Oscar to exist as his better, he needs to reject the actions that - again, the story says - are dangerous, hurtful, and bound to fail. We see that a little bit in his willingness to trust Hazel (which, imo, is far too much of an extreme in the opposite direction), but beyond that Oscar is acting exactly like Ozpin. He’s keeping that info close to his chest just in case Ironwood proves to be an enemy. He’s reducing a traumatic event to “a long story” so as not to upset his teammate and cause further distress in an already stressful situation. He’s deciding that there’s a time and a place for revealing Ozpin’s return and that he will wait until such a time works for him. He, apparently, has a wealth of knowledge at his disposal now, from weapons to information about the Relics, that he’s doling out only when he feels the group absolutely needs to know these things. The cane nuke is just the new moment on the train: we need to escape Salem so I’ll reveal that I have the power to do so; we need to avoid the grimm so I’ll reveal that the Relic attracts them. You get this information when I consider it relevant, not before. And as far as we know, the merge isn’t really happening yet. Oscar is no less Oscar than he was at the start of Volume 4, minus a tendency to stand straighter. That’s the lack of acknowledgement. The story isn’t saying that Oscar is getting cagey because evil Ozpin is infecting his soul, it’s positing this as normal development for him as an induvial and... ignoring the problem with that.

It’s real easy to point to Ruby as the main culprit here and critics (myself included) are absolutely right to. You really can’t do any worse than a whole volume of denouncing secrets, having Ruby parrot Ozpin’s near exact lies, and then try to hand-wave that away with, “But you’re different, Ruby.” RWBY’s moral themes shattered in that moment, but I think, beyond that hugely glaring flaw, there’s something a little subtler going on with Oscar - yet no less frustrating. The story clearly wants us to believe that Oscar is an improvement over Headmaster Ozpin, the new man (boy) who actually puts his trust in others... but who is he putting that trust in? Like the fandom’s worries that the group will eviscerate Jaune (the friend) after insta-forgiving Emerald (the enemy), it doesn’t sit right with me that Oscar is out here keeping major info from his teammates while handing out war intel to the guy torturing him in Salem’s whale. RWBY’s got its ideas of trust and forgiveness backwards and the crew doesn’t appear to realize that any excuses or explanations we might apply to Oscar will always apply to Ozpin too. Like Ruby and Ozpin, there remains a double standard at play between Oscar and Ozpin. You just can’t have this kid keeping so many things to himself now and ignore that this is the exact thing the story said was what made Ozpin the bad guy. Either acknowledge that and fix Oscar’s behavior, or acknowledge that and have the characters realize that Ozpin was right. Because without considering these choices, Oscar doesn’t actually exist as the contrast that I think RT wants him to be and the few nods to their differences - like trusting Hazel - come across as stupid decisions, not improvements. Rather than writing a kid from the next generation who is truly able to do better than the man who came before him, RWBY is writing a kid who is becoming exactly like his elder, with the exception of some incredibly foolish mistakes... all while claiming that he’s different in the way Ruby is different: just because, I guess.

#rwby #rwde #mymetas

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

Text

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 11: Under Pressure •

TRIGGER WARNINGS: blatant homophobia from Nicklesmart The Beatboxing Jester™️ in disguise as someone you know, internalized homophobia throughout the whole chapter. As usual, will put a skip marker for the heavier scene before and after if you need/want to skip. It is not light, ngl 😔 [trigger words: f*iry + the f slur, each used on exactly one occasion, and (as an insult) queer. I'm so sorry, this was not easy for me either and please do not read this if any of this in any way bothers you, i won't be mad if you skip the chapter 💕]

A/N: Next chapter will be all fluff I promise 🥲, I'm so sorry, but I needed something that could solidify Richie and Y/n's friendship for good, and her helping him through his worst fear is the best way to do that and will be explored in other ways throughout the rest of the series, specifically in the sequel. all that aside, I missed you guys and this series so much!!

LGBTQ+ RESOURCES AND SELF HELP LINKS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CHAPTER

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

- 𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗦𝗧 -

Richie keeps his eyes trained on the dried mud on his navy blue slip-ons as he makes his way across town, his mind buzzing twice as fast as it normally did. He felt as if his entire body had been put through a blender; his skull still vibrating in his head turning his brain into jelly. His stomach empty and lurching as it twisted into knots far more impossible than what you'd see from a circus performer and his heartbeat could rival a hummingbird's. Not to mention he was walking with two extra legs he'd grow from time to time, another freaky affect the physical and mental toll these past few weeks had put on him and his eyesight. The caffeine he had been living on hadn't helped him one bit either he reckoned.

Insomnia had become his best friend in the past few weeks, hence this last-minute trip to the old gravel pit just behind Derry Town dump. At least, this was the lie he told himself to pluck up enough courage to call Y/n up. Richie hoped she could talk him through it, give him some advice. He was never this nervous to talk to her and deep down in a corner he wished to bury forever - that small part of himself that begged to be free - knew exactly why. This small, repressed Richie Tozier that lived locked away in the center of his heart was calling the shots that day. Hell, he probably had been his whole life but he wasn't ready to admit that to himself yet, let alone his true attentions of seeking her help.

All he knew is he was nervous as all hell, his palms were sweating, he couldn't stop fiddling with his glasses and he was sure one wrong move and he'd shit his pants. For fucks sake, he needed to shake this! He had already freaked Y/n out, that he knew. He could still hear her voice over the receiver. It was soaked in static and every 's', or 'c' sound she made felt like a pencil was being shoved into his eardrums cause of her shitty outdated telephone.

"You," she had asked with a pause. "want to meet at... the dump?"

"Yeah," he scoffed, scratching the same spot behind his ear for what had to be the billionth time out of nervous habit. "you got wax in your ears, L/n?"

"Nope. Just, a little confused is all. You seem kinda... I don't know, squirrely," she said wearily, and through a sharp crackling hiss from the receiver he can make out a nervous chuckle on her end. "You sure nothin' jumped up your ass or anything?"

He bit his lip. Hard. As if punishing himself for drawing her suspicions this early. What if she somehow caught on to what he was gonna talk to her about? Her walk to the gravel pit would surely give her enough time to get to that conclusion, and Richie wasn't daft. He knew he wasn't exactly subtle about... "insomnia". What with how many times he teased insomnia, called it that special nickname he knew it hated but secretly loved. That forbidden flutter in his chest when insomnia would laugh at his jokes, and the small but precious moments they shared from time to time when the others were late that would stay in his heart and mind for weeks to come. But it didn't matter now, as everyone knew; insomnia kept Y/n's company now.

Thankfully his mouth was faster than his brain, and it fired a rapid response before a lull could form.

"You bet your fur," he fires, his lanky arm had rested awkwardly against the wall beside the wall mount. "I am right as rain, toots."

He of course hadn't seen it, but she had frowned at her phone. Her concern was growing with every word spoken from him.

"Yeah," she snorts, throwing back a sarcastic remark. "Cause you sound it."

She had eased a bit, growing soft and falling back into their usual banter. Their special dynamic always seemed to coax down his guard a bit.

"You're talking like a 1950's gangster in a speakeasy," She straightened a little and had begun pacing as much as the phone cord would allow her. "Ya know... More than usual."

Y/n smiled when she could practically hear the smirk taking over his face, and she certainly had no trouble picturing his hunched shoulders and intimidating snarl he was most likely dawning.

"It's a little somethin' called moxie, kid," he spoke with curled his words, imitating all the gangsters he had seen in those cheesy old films. "somethin' you just don't have,"

Y/n had rolled her eyes again, at least Richie could see her doing so when he heard her respond. "Right, right. My bad Baby Face."

"Hey!" He barked, snapping his fingers and pointing at the floor as if she could see him. His voice lowered in a thick Chicago accent. "That's mista Baby Face to ya."

"Mista Baby Face Nelson!" She strained, her annoyed shout tainted with a laugh. "Are we meeting at five or not?"

Richie released a quick and silent breath, expelling as many nerves as possible.

"You bet your fur."

The exchange kept playing over and over in his mind and Richie wondered if the same rang true for Y/n. He hoped not, cause that would mean she was thinking about it too much. Hell, he was thinking about it too much now. A heavy sigh rolls off of his chest as every anxiety collectively manifests into its own dark thought.

Fuck, he really had it bad.

How pathetic he was.

Eddie would surely be horrified to know what Richie really thought of him, that was for sure.

And as if he hadn't felt crazy enough, the thoughts actually began to feel like voices calling him from the darkest shadows of his mind.

'And the other Losers? You'll be lucky if they even look at you again.'

Richie was surprised to find himself fighting back, pushing back as much as he could. Despite all the jokes and jabs, he couldn't be completely alone. A small part whispered in his heart that he wasn't, and he thought briefly of the turtle strangely enough but it was gone just as soon as it had come. All he knew was that whatever was telling him this thing was stubborn. But so was Richie Tozier.

He treated it as an intrusive thought. Made a decision then and there that it was, never occurring to him what it could be if wasn't.

No way. Not those assholes, he tells the voice. These are the Losers for fucks sake!

The more he thought about it the more he was sure of it. God forbid Eddie did find out, which Richie had no intention of, and what would happen was in fact unclear. But no matter how he looked at it, he just couldn't picture the little spaghetti man ever cutting him out of his life completely. Not by choice at least.

Now Ben, that lovable sappy haystack of his that was too passionate for his own good. Richie may not be the silent type but he does pick up on things, and Hanscom's affections for Beverly Marsh were far from subtle. Always opening doors for her and turning redder than a tomato when she smiled at him. Not to mention Richie was about ninety percent sure there was a poem of some sort involved. And that was just Beverly, Ben was always thinking of the Losers. Now Richie knew for sure that boy had no hateful bone in his body to the point it was fucking annoying.

Mike, Richie felt, might be a little similar. The kid had a lot of heart, always going on about the animals on his farm. Would even go as far to say he considered them his friends, what with how much Richie knew about Mooriuel the calf and he hadn't even met her for cripes sake! Richie imagined he'd be a bit more shocked but would try some sappy speech when he came around. Would make a whole big thing of it, pat him on the back, and even invite a conversation. He scoffed at the thought, the image of Mike slapping him on the back and his signature grin... Yeah, he appreciated the hypothetical gesture but it wasn't Richie's style.

He could easily see Big Bill sputtering up a storm, but managing a smile. He'd probably even manage to forget their differences long enough to say something stupid but supportive. And Beverly and Stan were the ones he worried about the least. Stan would probably be too indifferent to care, throw him some snarky ass comment like, "took ya long enough, dipshit," and Beverly? Well, Beverly had always been cool, very laid back. She never took shit, and she never dished it out if she didn't think it was deserved which Richie admired greatly. This was one of many reasons he was so shocked she had taken Bill's side in the fight.

The thought brings him back down again, and as soon as the memory touches him so do the nerves in his jaw tensing up again where he had been hit. He could feel the punch all over again. And he suddenly remembers why he is here.

He is here, he realized.

Just around the bend, coming into view was the gravel pit. Old and crumbling it was, and overrun with weeds and bushes. One could easily scale in and out of it, and at the very bottom Rich had discovered one day was a beaten and tattered leather seat from a car that found its way from the junkyard just a ways over. This was where he told Y/n to meet him.

Y/n...

Jesus fuck, what would Y/n say? How would he tell her? Would she still wanna be friends with him? Would she laugh and crack a joke, not taking it seriously? Would she hate him for it? More importantly, why in the ever-loving fuck was he here and willing to tell her?

His gangly legs tumble into a sprint as he picks up momentum descending the uneven terrain. The rubber soles of his shoes kicking up the layers of dirt and shaved gravel that lay beneath the rocks and he had to put effort into not crashing as he comes to a stop. He manages to avoid a nasty fall, completely ignorant to the fact that his right foot had been only inches away from a root peeking out from the rocks surely would have broken his neck had he made even one wrong move. He puffs out his chest, dusting himself off, and once again tries to dispel the nausea broiling in his stomach like hot tar.

He closes his eyes tiredly as he drags his feet to the leather bench, letting his backside fall through the air and into the somewhat plush cushion with a deep groan. "Fuck."

His fingers rub his tired eyes, his fingertips finding bits of crust he hadn't gotten earlier and his knuckles brush his glasses further up onto his forehead. Not quite knowing what to do with the overwhelming thoughts and emotions clouding him, his fingers dig further into his eye sockets until all he can see are inky splotches behind his eyes.

Richie doesn't know why he would ever think those things of Y/n. He hadn't ever told her this, not directly at least, but she was just about the only person in the world he trusted most. He knew in his heart of hearts this was why he found himself dialing her number before he could even register what he was doing. Even after their separation and the bitter feelings they took with it, the Losers were and always would be his best friends in the world.

So why did everything about this feel so wrong?

From the moment the phone call ended, he felt like he was waltzing into a trap like some putz...

"Well, look who it is..." snarled a voice from up above the surface.

Richie's blood ran cold and it felt as if the remainder of the air in his lungs had been squeezed out like air in a deflating balloon. He whipped around at the voice, his head twisting up at the silhouetted figure so fast he was shocked he hadn't broken his own neck. The figure held their hands on their hips, thousands of the sun's rays spilling around them as they blocked out a part of the sun, an advantage they reaped from where they stood before Richie at just the right angle. His breath caught in his throat as he had recognized the voice immediately, but the figure didn't quite match the voice.

The last thing person he needed to see right now was Henry fucking Bowers, that was for sure.

The universe agreed so it would seem. The figure shifted, just out of the light revealing the teasing smirk of his best friend Y/n. Her hands snapped together, her palms forming a handgun, the barrel aiming right at Richie's forehead.

"The jig is up," she snarled. "We knows it was you. You was the ones to steal from Big Bill's dame, and I wouldn't be surprised if yous was in cahoots, neithers."

Despite the fear that had clutched his heart only seconds ago, a small chortle left Richie at how awful her accent was. Hadn't she learned anything from him? A smug smile overtook Y/n's face as he broke. She holstered her handguns and gracefully descended the pile of gravel. His smile expired not long after, and despite the thin veil of clouds creeping over the sun the light in the sky was much too hard to even glance at his friend without blinking back several painful searing tears from the harsh light. But he could still make her out.

She was dressed in her usual ratty and eclectic garb; a mix of something far too big for her frame and something that seemed far too tight to be comfortable. Richie was certain she had never once owned even a thread of clothing that had always been hers. Her s/c brow had its usual, light glossy sheen of grease that Richie had learned very early on to not ask about. But there was something about her now, something he couldn't quite place.

Though one question kept popping up in his mind. One that left an itch in his brain he couldn't quite scratch in his dazed state. And that was how could he have possibly thought she sounded like Henry Bowers?

He finds himself looking down at the gravel now, wiping away as much of the sun's damage pooling in his eyes as he can. Unbeknownst to him, she watches him studiously, the ghost of her smile still on her lips as if she was enjoying his discomfort. His long and gangly limbs are folded awkwardly, still, onto the leather seat that sits on the ground. Finally, she takes a seat beside him with a huff as he had.

As he rubs his tired eyes for a second time she takes a long look around, breaking the silence when her trip around the gravel pit lands on him.

"Well, you've looked better." She quips, offering a smile.

Richie snorts, pushing his slipping glasses up the bridge of his nose with a friendly smirk. "This comin' from Raggedy Ann?"

They both breathe a small laugh and for a moment - just one beautiful, fleeting moment - Richie forgets he was ever scared. This is what he needed.

"So," she says, pulling his gaze towards her, sending him a cocky smile as a knowing look sparkles behind her eyes. "I'm guessing there's a reason I'm here, and not helping you with your summer training?"

Richie, for reasons unknown to him, feels his muscles tense up again involuntarily. Like a puppeteer suddenly yanking the strings, ripping his shoulders up to his ears and his muscles bracing. He felt rigid and he was, but he was doing all he could not to show it. All his unease came back in steady waves marching up the sand, but what could he do now? He could already feel her eyes burning holes into the side of his head as he kicked around a sizeable rock with the toe of his shoe, studying him. Waiting.

Finally, his shoulders slumped in a shrug, lower lip in an indifferent pout as he looked around at the sky hanging above the gravel pit.

"Just needed a change from all those ugly mugs, I guess," he manages a laugh, and he rises to his feet to lazily chase the rock that had rolled out of his reach.

He can feel her eyes on him still, and he doesn't know what to make of it until finally she breaks her silence with a chuckle and rises to join him. She catches the rock with the heel of her dirtied sneakers. They're worn down to the very last thread and several shades off from the original color. She kicks the rock back to him, and they engage in a lazy game of rock soccer.

"I can understand that," she says calmly, eyes trained on the rock as it tumbles across the gravel with several chunky clanks. "Reckon it'll be good for you, too,"

He frowns confused without looking up at her, winding one lanky leg back before one big kick. "Whad'ya mean?"

"Well, you don't wanna spend your whole summer inside of an arcade, do you?"

Richie's face freezes in a frown, the rest of his body going rigid. His eyes cement on the rock underneath his shoe, willing away the veil of tears that threatened to fall. Had he not been so caught up on why he was here, Richie might have had a clear enough head to realize Y/n wasn't there for that conversation, nor had she heard about it from anyone there. Instead, all Rich can think about is the small hypochondriac boy that had stolen his heart.

He can hear the conversation he had with his best friend, all those weeks ago when school let out. And if felt like a lifetime since he had seen that squishable, pouty little disgusted frown Eddie always put on that made Richie's inside melt. As if reading his mind, Y/n spoke.

"This is about Eddie, isn't it?"

Her tone is gentle but veiled. Something was concealed about the way she held herself, ever since she had arrived, something that Richie couldn't quite place. And there it was. He was right about her suspecting him, he must be. Richie battles the lump forming in his throat, and he can feel his ears turning pink under her unwavering and unblinking stare.

Richie does all he can to fight a snarky response, not knowing how else to navigate and survive the intensity of his feelings. All he manages to do is nod.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■]

"Rich, it's okay," she says, taking a step forward, his gaze is pulled to her eyes. And here it is, he thinks. The moment he had been dreading, the moment he hadn't even allowed himself to think about. "...I miss him, too."

His face caught in another frown. That's definitely not what he expected her to say. Quickly as he could, he wiped away a spot of snot at his nose. He had managed to keep the tears at bay but now they had found another way out. He felt like a fucking fool, and he wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Of course she didn't know what he was talking about. Why would she - how would she? His spirits were crushed, and he suddenly didn't feel like getting into it now. She seemed off today, not that Richie cared. All he wanted was for this whole day to be over with, not even knowing the worst had yet to come.

She studies his reaction, almost as if she had been waiting for this and she blinks for what Richie is now starting to realize must be the first time since she got here. Y/n's face screws into a frown, and yet there still lingered an uneasy smile that taunted him. Her eyes squint suspiciously at Richie, her head tilting in an expression he never knew he had always feared would come.

She laughs finally, a shrill and grating laugh he hadn't quite heard before and she nudges him playfully. "Oh, come on! It's not like you've got some faggy crush on him or something?"

When he doesn't answer, she scoffs, turning away and shaking her head in disbelief for a moment.

Richie felt he just might vomit. Or cry. Or both. He had never felt so distraught, so dejected. So broken.

How could she be saying these things?

He tries with all his might to conjure a response, any fucking thing at all so he wasn't some blubbering broken chump breaking down in front of her. But for the first time in his life, Richie "loudmouth" Tozier was speechless.

That fuck-awful grating laugh returns, a sour look screws up her face as she looks him up and down in disgust.

"Wait, seriously?" She gapes with a scoff, making him feel about two inches tall. "You actually think he'd want to be with some fairy freak like you?"

"F-f-uck off," he sputters, though he does not feel better.

The trembling in his voice, the vulnerability, hearing it in himself strips any remaining scrap of confidence he had left. He's crying now and there's no hiding it. And she heard it in his voice, he knew that now as he looks at her. Her lips curl into a malicious smile and she takes another step closer, Richie fumbles a step back.

"He isn't some," her nose crinkles as she continues to advance on him, the fire in her eyes building as he stumbles back to escape her sudden venom. "rotten queer like you."

Y/n spits the words out like they were poison on her tongue, and this was true in every way. Her fiery stare never left Richie, it burned holes right through him as she advanced on him like a wolf on a wounded doe. They were nearing the edge of the gravel pit, and Richie had nearly run out of room when her finger stabbed his chest like a sword's final strike to the heart, pushing him to the ground as she spoke those poisonous words.

Richie felt his backside meet several jagged rocks that brought even more tears to his eyes, though none of them hurt as much as her words. She towered over him now, the sun beating down on her back and pouring over her shoulders, trapping Richie in her shadow. She shakes her head, and he can still make out the pathetic look on her face as she glowers at him.

"It's girls he likes. It's me he likes." she points to herself, shaking her head. "He was mine the second he saw me, but you?"

She scoffs again, and her shadow releases him as she kneels to balance on her feet, legs folded before him with a snide look.

"You've always been the insufferable loudmouth he couldn't get rid of." A sharp laugh escapes her, the clutch on his heart tightening to dangerous amounts he fears it will give out. "Well, I guess he doesn't have to worry about that now, huh?"

His heart feels as if it has been ripped to shreds, the claws of the wolf had struck and now he was drowning in his own sorrows as pain as the heartbreak filled his lungs. Richie could no longer see behind the thick wall of glassy tears that blanketed his eyes, and the sounds of his own sobs amplified his embarrassment and despair. He was hopelessly broken, and he could feel himself crumble, each piece disappearing amongst the gravel underneath him until he couldn't be found. He blinked only once, but it was enough to send every tear racing down his cheek at once.

Another malicious smile contorts her face, her e/c eyes burning darker until they looked almost a completely different shade. Her lips seemed to stretch on and on and on in a way only one thing could. And it was then that it occurred to him.

Not one thing she had said to him is something he could have ever prepared himself for, each word constricting his heart and lungs and swelling his throat with the ever-growing lump.

Nor was any of it something she would ever dream of saying, he knew this now.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■]

This wasn't Y/n, this was never Y/n. She had never showed, and if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own fucking head he would have caught on from the second "Y/n" arrived. Especially that entrance, Y/n surely would have fallen on her ass on her way down into the gravel pit never mind the fact her accent wouldn't be nearly as shit.

But none of this mattered now. This thing that looked like his friend had him cornered, and It knew it.

A wicked grin overtook the mask of Y/n's face that chilled Richie to his bones, and yet it also reassured him. Y/n was tough and could be scary from time to time, but he knew she could never be capable of the pure evil that now danced in It's eyes. Richie's body was already in motion, his arms and legs scrambling for any sort of grip that could take him up the side of the pit and to safety. But the gravel beneath him was always shifting, rolling out from underneath him when it wasn't raking his palms to pieces and all he was accomplishing was a small plume of dust that clung to his backside.

Richie didn't know where it came from, but his actions were faster than his feelings as his fist collided with It's nose. And no sooner did the heel of his shoe collide in a painful crack that sent It's head back, did his eyes widen in horrific shock. The painful crack that would surely haunt him for many nights to come, had not been from the collision of his heel on It's nose but It's head - or Y/n's as this was still It's disguise - had snapped completely back and dangled completely off It's/her shoulders.

The only thing connecting her head to her shoulders was the suit of s/c skin. Protruding from the center of her neck just under the skin was the end of her spine where it had disconnected, giving away a disturbing lack of muscles and veins in her neck as if it had been hollowed out like a pumpkin. Her head rolled back and forth limply, and Richie could feel bile climbing up his throat, ready to burst out his digested mac and cheese.

His mind was screaming at his legs to run while all was still but a small part of him knew this was all a gambit, that it didn't matter if she was frozen stiff or not. Richie knew as soon as he booked it, It would spring to life with something even more twisted. That now, without his friends, he was as good as dead.

And It was more than happy to prove Richie right.

The clone of his friend sprang to life, It's head still rolling around on It's shoulders. Connected only by the skin of It's neck, and moving around like some fucked up slinky toy. Richie was already halfway up the gravel pit, bits of rock and dirt finding their way into his shoes as he kicked up the earth though that was the farthest thing from his mind.

By the time Richie reached the top of the pit, he could no longer hear the thunderous boom of his heart attempting to break loose from his chest, which was saying an awful lot. His screams echoed out into the air only to be swallowed by the screams of other children and Richie didn't know how he knew this but he knew those were the screams of Betty Ripsom, Ed Corcoran... Georgie Denbrough. The bloodied screams of It's victims were drowning Richie as he ran for the junkyard, and he wondered if he might live to hear them stop.

The screams were so fucking loud in his ears he could see them. Each of them a blinding, deafening, gut-wrenching, and blood-curdling scream that danced through the air like ribbons as they begged for their lives. Richie cried out and he couldn't even hear his own voice, but he didn't let this stop his legs from pumping as hard as they possibly could. He was nearly to the junkyard, surely he could use something to fend It off but he knew he was just buying time.

He could taste the blood on his tongue from where his teeth bit into his cheek. In all his short life, Richie Tozier would not have guessed child-eating clown to be the way he'd kick the can. When ever the thought of death began troubling him, he always liked to picture something like a western. Him and his rightful enemy squaring off against good and evil, he'd shoot first and save the day but still sustain an injury and bleed out. But it'd be a hero's death. And that was something.

But this... this was something born out of darker than evil and Richie was about to be pulled into the gravity well of this black hole and swallowed up. And he knew in his soul, the very pits of his stomach it would reach out with its shadowy arms and pull him into darkness.

And it did.

Richie had been rapidly approaching the edge of the junkyard without realizing and within an instant found himself on the ground, caved in on himself as he tumbled in the dirt and rocks accepting he was to join them soon enough. He closed his eyes and waited for death as a hand curled around his shoulder and pulled him around. Another jolt of shock shot through his entire body at the sudden contact, locking his jaw and paralyzing his entire body in fear as he was met with the new threat. He didn't dare open his eyes, and certainly not when he heard his best friend's voice again.

"Richie! Richie?"

It was her again, he realized. Y/n's real voice, the one that he heard on the telephone that was dripped in static. The one now dripped in fear.

"Richie?!"

When the boy opened his eyes, they were filled with terror and his sobs continued. A lense Y/n never thought she'd see Richie look at her through. Her heart broke in an instant when she realized he was afraid... of her. Instantly, she released him and let her backside fall back into the gravel. She watched through a thick wall of tears as he trembled, crying to himself, and never in all her life had she seen Richie Tozier so broken.

It tore her apart.

She didn't have to be a genius to realize what had happened here. Before she had even reached the junkyard on her bike she had heard his screams strangled through the wall of trees gating the area. When she had reached the gravel yard, she was happy to see him still in one piece but he was running for his life from an invisible force. The damn coward had gotten what It wanted and scared him shitless, but why would he disappear just because she showed? She had wondered.

Now she was beginning to understand. It didn't need to be here to scare her. Just the sight of Richie in such a state was enough to tear her down and it took just about everything in her not to scream into the sky from a mix of fury and fear.

Besides the tears that race down her cheeks and wet her legs, all Y/n could feel was a painfully numbing fear. Fear that Richie would never be the same. Fear that Richie would never speak to her again. Fear that Richie would never trust her again. Fear for whatever the fucking hell that thing did to Richie. Fear that It would do it again.

All she felt now was fear for Richie.

Y/n doesn't bother to fight the sob that breaks loose, her bottom lip quivers violently and her arms fall to the gravely pavement beneath her. As if her head had filled with lead, it grew heavy enough to fall into her chest where her chin landed, shaking several more tears loose.

"I'm s-so sorry, Richie,"

Y/n yearns to say more, but her body is physically weak from sadness and shame. Yet still, she repeats it in her mind hoping with everything in her it slips out of her mouth, or maybe if she thought them loud enough he'd hear them in his mind.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry for whatever happened. I'm so goddamn sorry...

"I'm sorry," she whimpers. "I promise..."

I promise I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise I'm not gonna hate you. I promise I'm gonna be there for you, from now on. I promise.

Her sniffles blend with his own, and Richie is unsure why this is the moment he knows for sure this is the real Y/n before him; maybe he was just too exhausted to think it through, perhaps it was the godawful sound she was making trying to keep herself from snotting as bad as he was but he knew It had gone. And the Y/n sitting beside him — crying with him, was the one he dialed up today. This was the Y/n he had been prepared to bare his soul to. His true self.

So with one shaky hand — the other still tucked in close to his chest — Richie's left hand slid out from under him and across the gravel to Y/n's open palm. Her fingers were digging into the gravel, sharp edges of the rock digging into her skin as if to assure herself she was really real. Suddenly, she felt Richie's shaky palm slide underneath hers, carefully taking it.

Y/n picked her glassy stare up from the ground to look at their intertwined hands, and she melted a little. Several of those fears — not all of them, but some — were ebbed away and she looked to Richie. He was still curled up in the dirt, his eyes closed and silent tears streaking his dirt-covered face. Each tear paved a path of clean skin, washing the dirt away in wild streaks where ever each tear had fallen. Several large and swollen beads of tears collected at his chin where they dangled, threatening to fall.

She gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know she was there for him as she had promised him. And she was ready to sit with him for as long as he needed.

For hours that feel only like minutes, they sit together in tear-filled silence, clinging to one another's presence and the knowledge that they are now all they have left.

And there was no way they were letting go.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Here are some LGBTQ+ resources for mental health and self help if you feel you need them:

How do I find LGBTQ friendly therapy?

An article on safe ways to find the best sources of help that are right for you

The Trevor Project

Self Care Tips for Trans and Non Binary Folks

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early2000smovieimagines · 4 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Merrill Hess

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You and Merrill met when you took up a room with him and his family.

- You quickly became a part of the family, growing close to each one of them as you helped out around the farm and shared meals together. Along with the platonic love you shared with the children and Graham, there were also more ...romantic feelings bubbling between you and Merrill.

- In the beginning, there’s probably more sexual tension than anything. You and Merrill are the same age, single, around each other constantly and both of you are; admittedly, easy on the eyes. It’s only a matter of time before something happens.

- The two of you remain; flirtatious, “friends” for a long while before the tension between you becomes too much to bear. It’s after Graham takes the kids into town that things finally come to a head and you wind up sharing a heated kiss; and a whole lot more, between the stalks of corn.

- You hear Graham’s car pull up and quickly throw your clothes on, fussing with your hair before meeting the family in front of the house.

- A million thoughts race through your head during the rest of the day but they’re quelled when you’re left washing dishes with Merrill and he momentarily grabs your soapy hand, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

- You go into town the next day and share a meal at a local diner together, and, well, the rest is history.

- Merrill lives with his preacher brother and two kids in a god fearing town, he’d feel weird being even remotely sexual with you or too lovey dovey.

- He likes to keep his arm around you, usually when you’re sitting together on the couch or standing side by side.

- Tight hugs; especially after you manage to worry him in some way.

- Slow kisses.

- Hand kisses.

- Head kisses. He’ll usually pull you in under his arm and press one into your hair.

- Heated makeouts.

- Having the kids “ewww” at you when they catch you kissing. He’ll usually prolong his innocent pecks just to tease them.

- Going into the cornfields to get a little privacy every once in a while.

- Occasionally getting surprise bouquets of flowers after he comes back from town.

- He tends to call you honey more than anything. He thinks it suits you and it’s just what naturally falls out of his mouth when he thinks to address you.

- Hair petting; he’ll usually do it while trying to comfort you but occasionally he’ll just do it without having any genuine reason behind it.

- Bridal carrying, piggyback rides, etc. Getting picked up is a common occurrence in your life after the two of you start dating.

- Merrill's a pretty big fan of cuddling; he’s a fairly touchy person in general but he usually saves it for when you’re behind closed doors which means cuddling with you is perfect for him. He’ll usually either be the big spoon or basically just have you lay on top of him while he wraps his arms around you.

- Falling asleep on each other in front of the television; especially while the whole invaders from mars thing is going on.

- Merrill has a habit of isolating himself when he’s feeling low so you’ll occasionally have to pull him into a hug and just let him know that you’re there and want to help.

- It feels strange trying to describe this but you know that position where the girl is standing between the guys legs and he’s got his arms wrapped around her thighs and she’s cradling his face to her chest. No? Well that's the two of you whether you understood any of that or not.

- Going to your towns events. I have a feeling they probably have some kind of swing dancing nights and things like that.

- Country fairs.

- Spending days at the lake and going fishing, usually with the rest of the family.

- Play wrestling on the couch when the kids and Graham arent home.

- Patching him up when he clumsily cuts himself or bangs into something while doing his chores.

- Hose/water fights when you’re working outside together or washing the dogs.

- Spending days out in the sun.

- Going into town with him. You don’t do it too often but it’s certainly nice to get away from the farm for a while and get some quality time alone with your boyfriend.

- Running errands together. He likes being able to do menial things with you, it relaxes him; keeps him sane.

- Laying out on a blanket together and looking out at the nighttime sky. He tries to remember constellations to point out but he’ll usually just start to jokingly make ones up when he can’t spot or think of any.

- Checking up on him; or staying with him, when he makes himself “cozy” under the stairs.

- Being interrupted by the kids.

- Babysitting Bo and Morgan with him.

- Watching him play with and take care of the kids. You can’t help but find it adorable whenever little Bo immediately runs to her uncle to tell him what happened during her school day or when Morgan convinces him to help him build/teach him something.

- Every now and again, he’ll talk to Graham about you or the kids will ask if he wants to marry you which he always shyly agrees to.

- Making dinner together. Little Bo will usually come in and try to help; she usually just ends up watching her uncle like he’s the greatest thing in the world …or she’ll cling to your skirt and watch what you’re doing with interest.

- Family dinners.

- Barbecues.

- Comforting and trying to keep him calm when things start to get strange.

- Letting him and Morgan rant to you about aliens, even if you don’t quite believe that that’s what’s going on; at least at first.

- Sarcasm. All you have to do is raise an eyebrow at him and he’ll pretty much immediately give you a shy apology.

- Merrill’s had a lot of practice when it comes to comforting people so he always seems to know what to do or say when something happens/upsets you.

- Sometimes he’ll look at you and just say “god you’re beautiful” in the most husky, earnest voice you’ve ever heard. You won’t be able to stop thinking about it for at least an hour afterwards.

- You're never allowed to feel insecure around him because he will legitimately borderline threaten you for feeling that way about yourself. He’ll tell you not to say “that” about yourself ever again without a twinge of humor in his voice before he makes sure to tell you just how amazing you are.

- It depends on the situation but Merrill can get pretty damn jealous over you. You’re his woman and people should understand that, and if they don’t, he has no problem making them.

- Somewhat overprotective; especially after everything that’s happened. He always makes sure that you stay behind when he’s going to check something out and insists that he do whatever; sort of, dangerous thing you were planning on doing. When something happens to you, he’s at your side in an instant, making sure you’re okay.

- The two of you have a fair amount of arguments but Merrill’s inability to not apologize when he’s done something rude makes it hard for small arguments to evolve into full blown fights. He’ll be sarcastic, snap a little and things can get a bit heated but he’ll always feel bad when he realizes how shitty he’s being.

- He always apologizes pretty quickly unless, of course, you were the one who started the trouble and did something wrong. He might be a little petty and ignore you for a bit but he comes around and forgives you easy enough.

- He tells you that he loves you a regular amount; he certainly isn’t hesitant when saying it. He knows he loves you so why shouldn’t he?

- Merrill’s pretty traditional so he’s going to want to marry you, and he likes kids so I’m sure he’ll want a family too. He really just has that white picket fence dream in mind.

#2000s movie headcanon #2000s movie headcanons #2000s movie imagine #early 2000s movie headcanon #early 2000s movie headcanons #early 2000s movie imagine #signs imagine #signs imagines #signs headcanons #signs headcanon #Merrill Hess imagine #Merrill Hess headcanons #Merrill Hess headcanon #Merrill Hess imagines

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thatgoblin · 3 years

Text

Small Town Affairs

Summary: Hazel is an Omega in the small town of Tin Springs, Midwest America. She's trying to live her life after breaking up with the local sheriff, John Walker, and his mate, Brock Rumlow. New people aren't something that happens often, but when a new pack comes to town her whole life goes from a small mess to a complete disaster in the best way.

Warnings: Domestic Violence, Assault, Sexual abuse, Himbo Bucky, Misogyny, will update as story goes.

Chapter 1

It wasn’t often that people moved to Tin Springs, population 803. We barely had enough people to need a high school and a junior high school let alone more than a general store and gas station. There wasn’t even a Walmart for nearly 20 miles. You had to make a special trip to the larger town of Conway that had fast food restaurants and strip malls while the closest we had was a Dollar General and a ‘home style’ restaurant that was closed after 9. We did have a few bars and a strip joint, but those were just outside of town. Far enough that most people didn’t count them as being a part of town. It was very much a dying breed of Mayberry towns that used to thrive till people moved for better jobs and schools or to just get out of that small town headspace.

So when what looked like a whole fleet of moving trucks drove down the main road, everyone was talking. Turns out there was some guy with the last name Rogers that owned land that belonged to his pack that he was moving his new pack onto. The family had basically moved away or died off by the time I was 18. Most of the townspeople thought the houses on the land would stay empty till someone bought the land up for farming or to build new houses on. No one ever did and the moving trucks were telling us why it wouldn’t happen. Everyone and their dog would be gossiping and talking about who the new people were, where they came from, why they came back now, but I just ignored the whispers and gossip as I checked out folks at the general store.

“Hazel, would you be a dear and stock the shelves before you leave tonight?” The store owner, Peggy Carter, asked from her office. It sat just to the side of the register, making it easy to keep an eye on things. Her prim English accent was very much out of place in the small midwest town, but it wasn’t as crisp as it used to be when she first moved to Tin Springs.

“Sure. I’ve got my keys so I’ll lock up for you too,” I said, glancing back at her before the bell above the door rang. “Howdy,” I greeted the customers before going back to tidying my area. They were just a couple of women that were grabbing last minute items for dinner, which was the usual crowd so close to our closing time. I knew their faces, but couldn’t recall their names. I’d seen them around town, but I didn’t exactly interact with people outside of my job.

“Did you see the paper today? John Walker’s up for re-election again,” one woman said as they meandered towards the dairy section. While they sort of tried to stay quiet, the store was empty at that time of day and with it being so small that the voices carried easily.

“I saw that. He’s got my vote for sure,” the other woman said. “You know, he’s been such a good sheriff and I don’t think anyone’s running against him. It should be an easy win for him.”

“Hopefully. Things are just fine as they are now, why change them?” The first woman said. “Though, it is a bit odd that he’s with another Alpha and not an Omega.”

“I know, but Brock’s a good man. Both of them are. It’s just too bad things didn’t work out with them and that Omega girl.”

I should be used to it by now, hearing people talking about me and my exs. When you date the county sheriff and the only garage owner in town, things aren’t exactly secret. Even if they didn’t know your name or face, they knew your business.

“You know, John always said she was a good gal, but just had some problems. His mother and I play bridge at the church on Wednesday evenings and she told me that he was heartbroken over their split up. Him and Brock adored her, said they wanted to have kids too. I do hope she’s getting herself straightened out,” the second woman said.

I could handle the whispers and looks I’d get from the older Omegas in town, but this was a new low. They weren’t even trying to keep it quiet anymore.

“Just so ya’ll know, we’re closing soon, so if you’ve got some trash talking to do, do it outside where I don’t have to listen to it,” I called, earning small gasps from the women. They hurried to the front to check out, keeping their eyes down as I glared at them. If they were dumb enough to talk about me in front of me, I was not going to go easy on them. They didn’t say another word as they left, leaving me behind to glare at their backs.

“You should learn to ignore them. People will always talk,” Peggy said from the office.

“The least they could do was be discreet about it,” I mumbled. “Besides, it’s already been over a year and you’d think people would let it go and move on.”

“Well, with the new people moving in, you might get your wish,” she said. I could only hope.

The rest of the evening went by pleasantly fast. Peggy left me in charge to stock the shelves after closing. We closed usually at about 8:00 PM, no one showed up after 7:45 PM on a regular day. So to hear the door jostle as someone tried to open at 8:10 PM was odd. Frowning, I put down the pasta to look over the aisle to see a man trying to peer in. He had dirty blond hair styled back into a faux hawk of sorts, and dressed in ripped skinny jeans and a tight black tee. There were a few cuts on his face, a bandaid over his nose, and what looked like hearing aids hooks around his ears, the man stood out like a sore thumb compared to the locals. Seeing me, he put on a big smile and waved.

My first instinct was to ignore him, but since he didn’t look familiar I figured he was one of the new people in town. They wouldn’t know the hours of any of the stores in town. I decided to at least let him know the store was closed. If anything happened I had a bat under my register and pepper spray on my keys in my pocket. Going to the front, I unlocked the door before opening it.

“Hey, sorry, we’re closed,” I said as the muggy summer air came rushing in. “We close at 8.”

“Damn it,” the man hissed as he pulled out a cell phone. “Is there any other place to get groceries around here? My pack and I just moved to town and we don’t have any groceries. We’ve been working all day to get stuff into the house and didn’t realize the time.”

“Oh, uh not really, sorry,” I said. “Dollar General closes at the same time and you’d have to go to the next town over for Walmart and that’s 20 miles away.”

“What time do you guys open in the morning?” He asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“We open at 6:00 AM.” The way he looked when I told him was like witnessing a puppy being kicked. I could smell him, he was just an Omega. What harm could it do to let him in this once? Peggy had let a few people in here and there after hours, so what was one more? “Okay, so you can’t tell anyone or you’ll get me in trouble, but I can go ahead and let you in to shop. I’m just restocking shelves, so go ahead and get what you need.” Stepping aside, I let him in before locking the door behind him to keep anyone else out.

“Thank you so, so much. You’re a lifesaver, really,” he said as he grabbed a cart and proceeded to grab things off the shelf. I didn’t mind staying late, rent was going up and it was getting harder to pay, so a bit of extra time wouldn’t hurt. “I’m Clint by the way.”

“Hazel,” I replied as I went back to the shelves. Letting him fill his cart, I finished up my work before meeting him at the register. It was a lot of food, but then again how many moving trucks had showed up? “I really hope this isn’t just for you.”

“Naw, there’s 8 people in my pack. I’m hoping this will be good enough for at least dinner and breakfast, but there’s a few of us who can eat out a whole house,” Clint said with a chuckle as I scanned the items.

“Wow, that’s a lot. We don’t really have any packs at all around here. Maybe a handful, but it’s just three people at most,” I said.

“Oh yeah? We just moved here from New York. One of our Beta’s, Steve, used to live here. You might know him,” Clint said.

“Last name Rogers?” I asked, getting a nod. “Not personally. I know of the family and the land, but that’s about it,” I said with a shrug. “Alright, and total for today is $234.89.”

“Yup, sounds about right,” Clint said with a chuckle as he swiped a credit card. What did they do in New York that allowed them to buy that many groceries? Not to mention that was just for one night, I couldn’t imagine a full week’s worth. Maybe they should go to Walmart for groceries next time. “So is there anything fun to do around here?” He asked as I handed him the longest receipt I’d printed before.

“Eh. Depends on what you want to do. We have a restaurant that closes at 9:00 PM, a few bars around here, and a strip joint, but other than that there’s not much to be done unless you’re a fan of high school sports,” I said with a shrug.

“I’m going to have to give Steve a slap upside the head for bringing us to the most boring place in the world,” he sighed before looking at me wide eyed. “I mean, it’s just that it’s kinda slow compared to New York.”

“Don’t worry. I think it’s boring too, but like most of the folks that live here, it’s cheaper to stay than to move if you don’t have another job or family else where,” I said. “Sometimes the rodeo comes to the next town over and a lot of people go there.”

“Yeah, when he said this was a completely different place, I didn’t think he understood how all of us would find it so different,” Clint said as he started to load up the grocery cart.

“Here, let me help you take those out to your car. I’ll get the cart from you and you can head out,” I said, grabbing the keys to unlock the front door to let us out then relocked it.

“Thanks. You know, I guess small towns do have a lot of nice people willing to help out,” Clint said as he led the way to a black sports car.

“Sheesh, fancy,” I snorted as he popped the trunk.

“Yeah, it was a pain to drive it down the dirt driveway I have with my mate. I don’t want to part with her, but I also don’t want to ruin the undercarriage,” he said with a wince.

“That’s a bummer. There’s a car lot in town here, but I don’t know if they’d have anything your style,” I said, handing him a paper bag full of cereal.

“Howard, my mate, would shit his pants if I tried to go there,” Clint said with a chuckle. “He’s too posh to even think of buying anything pre-used. I’m pretty sure he’d have a heart attack.”

“Sounds like he’ll get comfortable real quick,” I said with a snort.

As we were finishing up putting the groceries in the car, there was a short honk and siren bwep before a sheriff’s car pulled into the spot next to Clint’s.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Clint frowned, unsure of what was happening, but I knew.

“Howdy friend!” A familiar voice called as a blond man with bright blue eyes and an irritating smile stepped from the patrol car. Dressed in his brown and khaki uniform, Sheriff John Walker approached us. “You must be part of the pack that just moved to town.”

“Uh, yeah. Just got in today,” Clint said, shifting his body again. “I’m Clint.”

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Sheriff Walker. Figured that since I saw you in town, I’d catch you real quick for an introduction,” the man said, holding out his hand for Clint to shake. Raising a brow, Clint shook the officer’s hand.

“Nice to meet you. You’ll probably be seeing the rest of my pack throughout the week,” Clint said before closing the trunk of his car.

“You’re on the Rogers property, yeah?” John asked, resting his hands on his hips.

“That’s the one,” Clint said with a nod.

“I think I went to school with one of the Rogers’ pack. Steve, I believe his name was. He was a grade above me. His family stayed in town a while before leaving. Didn’t think we’d see anyone come back to live on the property,” John said. I wanted to get away from this conversation as fast as possible. John hadn’t even addressed me, let alone acknowledge my existence. The last thing I wanted was for him to start shit with me in front of someone.

“Probably, I mean, he’ll be in town tomorrow to get all the paperwork fixed up with his mate,” Clint said. “But I should be going. We’ve been driving all day and everyone’s tired and hungry.”

“Alright, I’ll let you go,” John said with a nod, backing up to let Clint move. I kept quiet, trying to not look John in the eye as I moved the cart back to the sidewalk. “Have a nice evening, now,” he said, typing his broad brimmed hat to Clint.

“Thanks. See you around, Hazel,” Clint said to me with a tight smile and wave. I gave a short wave back before booking it back to the store.

Don’t follow me, don’t follow me, don’t follow me.

“Hazel, wait up,” John called as he jogged to catch up with me. I wanted to scream as I stopped at the front door to unlock it. “So, you’re talking to the new people now, huh?” He said as Clint pulled out and drove away.

“John, go away. It’s none of your business and this is not part of the agreement,” I hissed, getting the door open. Shoving the cart in front of me, I tried to shut the door in his face, but he’d stuck his boot in the way.

“Look, I’m just trying to keep an eye out for you, okay? Don’t get cozy with the new people. They might be interesting, but you never know what people are really like,” he said, pushing his way into the store.

“Ironic coming from you,” I snapped, glaring at him as I moved to the register. “I’m trying to close, leave.”

“Remember what I said,” John sighed. “Don’t trust those new people.”

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you and we both know it’s not far,” I snarled. “Now go away or I’ll short Brock this week.”

“Fine,” he said. “But just remember, I was the one that always looked after you. Even after everyone started those rumors about you, I stuck by you.”

“A lot of good it did me. Now go.”

John looked like he might say something else, but stopped himself. Instead, he shook his head before leaving the store. Quickly, I locked the door after him. Standing there, my hands shook as tears pricked my eyes. The asshole could always get under my skin. Just a damn look and I’d be nearly in tears. As much as I wanted to believe I was stronger now and could handle myself, that small interaction showed me that he still had a grip on my life.

Finished for the night, I headed home. There were no more encounters with anyone else thankfully, allowing me to relax for the night with a beer on my porch. My house wasn’t much, a one story two bedroom house that had a less than stellar paint job, but it was home. It was old, from the 20’s, but it was sturdy. I wasn’t there much but to eat, sleep, and shower anyways.

Sitting on the porch, one beer turned into two which turned into three. It was the fourth one that I finally felt like I could stop shaking completely. The last time I had seen John and talked to him was nearly a month ago. We’d been separated for almost a year and he was being his usual passive aggressive self just to push my boundaries. He’d come into the store and made a show of talking to me like I was a kid, letting everyone see he was the calm, collected Alpha that was trying to reach out with an olive branch to fix things between the unstable Omega who just needed some gentle handling to become a decent person.

I had nearly come unglued on him, but managed to keep my voice low and my eyes down. Peggy found me right after, sobbing out behind the store. No one, not even Peggy, knew what really happened between all three of us, but I wasn’t about to tell them and neither were John and Brock. We’d come to an agreement that they would leave me alone and not talk to me unless absolutely necessary and I’d stay quiet. As well as paying them off. It was nearly half of both my paychecks, but it was worth it if it meant they didn’t come into the store when I was there or tried to talk to me at all.

But John was starting to toe the line and push back. Brock kept his part of the deal, I was pretty sure he never really cared for me, but John was always obsessive. The deal was going to have to be revisited if John didn’t back off.

Done for the night, I tossed the bottles before heading to bed.

The last few days of the work week were about the same. Go to work, come home, go to work, come home. I saw Clint now and then who came in to grab a few things here and there, but that was it. He was nice and despite John wanting to tell me who I could and couldn’t see, it felt better to know that there was someone in town who didn’t know things about me without my permission.

While we weren’t best friends, we did send memes to each other when I was on break and he wasn’t busy. At one point he messaged me a picture of his shed full of cobwebs and wasp nests and asked if it was appropriate to burn it to the ground. I told him to be careful because there could be copperheads underneath or groundhogs. That led into me explaining what those were and learning that the man had lived 37 years thinking a groundhog was something made up by a city for a holiday and it was really just a beaver they were using.

It seemed that I would be teaching him, and probably his pack vicariously, what to look out for in their new homes. I still hadn’t met the rest of the pack, though I had seen one or two here and there around town.

Soon Friday rolled around. I woke up at about 4:30 AM. Friday would be busier than usual as it was a payday. I showered then dressed, sliding on jeans and a long sleeved shirt, I then made a pot of coffee before doing my makeup. Just enough to hide the bags under my eyes and a few marks on my neck that were visible above my shirt collar.

It was my regular dress for my job at the store, Peggy didn’t care too much so long as it wasn’t offensive. Which meant anything but plain clothing and no writing. After coffee, I fixed my hair so it didn’t frizz then grabbed my thermos of coffee. I locked up then headed to work.

The sun was peeking above the trees and clouds as I pulled into work around 5:15 AM. Peggy was already there when I walked in the back.

“Did you have any problems closing the other night? I forgot to ask,” She said as I stepped into the office to get my cash drawer for the day.

“It was fine. Had one of the new people stop in, Clint. The blond that comes by for snacks. He’d made it in just after we closed, but I went ahead and let him shop since they didn’t have anything at their houses,” I said, taking the drawer from the open safe.

“Houses? You mean they’re not all in one?” She asked, looking up from her book keeping.

“There’s not a big enough house for more than four people on their property. There’s like ten of them,” I said with a snort.

“Well I’m sure we’ll meet all of them at some point. We’re the only grocery store in town,” she said.

“Unless they need to buy in bulk. Clint nearly bought everything in the store,” I said, counting my drawer at the register.

“We can only hope. Next time you see them, let them know if they need more than a few things to get us a list and we’ll get them large amounts. We used to do that a lot when there were bigger packs in my hometown,” Peggy said. The woman was nearly 60 and had lived in England up until about 30 years ago, getting the general store from her uncle who had passed away. I was used to hearing the facts of ‘We used to do this in my hometown’ a lot.

“Will do.”

Finished with setting up, I unlocked the front door and turned on the rest of the lights at 6:00 AM. The usual rush of moms right after school starts as well as early rising elderly came in, making for the usual busy rush that Peggy would step in and help with at the second register. By the time 10:00 AM rolled around, things were tapering off. We’d have a lunch rush for those grabbing a quick something, then back to a nice slowness.

“I’m gonna take my break after this last person checks out,” I said to Peggy who nodded. I was starting to get hungry and I saw a bearclaw in the donut rack that had my name on it. A few cups of coffee could only hold me over for so long before I needed actual food.

Before I could clock out for a break though, two people walked into the otherwise empty store. They were part of the new pack, just the scent alone said that, and they were Alphas. Great.

“I got this if you want,” Peggy said softly as she caught the scent too. Peggy was a sweet Beta and she acted as a stand-in grandma for me, but I couldn’t just run at every Alpha that came in.

“I’m good,” I said, giving her a small wave and smile. It wasn’t long before the Alphas came to the register. One was taller, probably over 6’, with steely blue eyes and dark, earthy brown hair with a scruff on his face. He smelt of fresh rain and peaches with that Alpha musk. Dressed in an almost too tight tee with an extra sleeve and glove covering his left arm and hand, he looked out of place in the button up work shirts and plaid that was usually worn by the adult men around town.

The other was shorter, more tailored. His light brown hair had a bit of copper to it as it was swept back from his face as that held a neatly trimmed beard. His dark eyes stayed on the phone in his hand. He too was in a tee and jeans that were fitted tighter, making them look. . . Well almost foreign. A whiff of cedar and maybe smoke or tobacco swirled into the first Alpha’s scent. Both of them mingling and making something settle deep inside my belly.

Fuck.

“Is that all for you two?” I asked, holding back with every fiber of my being any scent or sign of them making me feel like a simple, needy Omega.

“That’ll be it,” the first Alpha said. It was standard groceries of meat, cheese, dried goods, condiments, basically anything to stock up a house after moving.

“Is your pack settling in okay? Clint comes by now and then,” I said, trying to make small talk. Usually I didn’t, but something about those two had me anxious. Not a bad anxious, but. . . I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Oh, uh yeah. We’re getting there,” he said with a nod. “It’s different than what we’re used to.”

“What are ya’ll used to?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

“A lot more people and a lot less trees,” the second Alpha spoke up, his voice lilting into an accent I couldn’t place. “But it is lovely here. I quite like how peaceful it is without masses of people a hair’s breadth away.”

“Glad you like it,” I said, giving him a soft smile. “So are all of you from New York too?”

“A few of us, but not all,” the first Alpha said as he pulled out his wallet.

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t take you long to settle in. Today’s total is $87.56,” I said, tapping a few buttons on my keypad.

“Tell me, is there a nursery around? For plants that is,” the second Alpha asked, leaning onto the counter when I started to help pack up the groceries into the cart. “I am wanting to start a flower garden, but would like to see where the supplies are first.”

“A plant nursery? Um, there is one just west of the town. Just take the main road and it’s about ten minutes from town. It’s run by the Mennonites and they have a bunch of different plants to pick from. They’ve even got starter trees for fruits and some bushes for blackberries and the like,” I said.

“Thank you. I appreciate the information,” he said with a soft smile and a nod. I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“You’re welcome, if any of your pack needs anything just ask around. We’re all pretty friendly here,” I said as I finished putting the bags in the cart.

“I will keep that in mind,” he said, moving over to the cart to hold out his hand to me. “I am Helmut. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Hazel. It’s nice to meet you both,” I said, taking his hand. It was warm and soft, different than the work roughened hands I was used to. Helmut rolled his eyes at the other, elbowing him.

“Hey,” he grumbled, shooting him a glare. “Oh, uh, I’m Bucky.” A quick wave and awkward smile was all I was given as he quickly moved to push the cart away.

“He’s house broken, I swear,” Helmut said with a wink. I couldn’t help the honest to God giggle that came out of me. “Have a good day, Hazel,” Helmut said, smiling as he shook his head at Bucky.

“You too,” I called after as they left. It didn’t even occur to me that I was staring after them till Peggy came up next to me.

“You could always ask for a photograph. It would last longer,” she said with hum.

“Oh shush,” I said, waving her off. “They were just, ya know, nice. Most Alphas around here are curt and so loud and demanding. It’s a nice change to see is all.”

“Uh huh. Even if you weren’t letting them get a scent of you, you were definitely giving them eyes. I’ve never seen you do that for anyone. Not even when you were with ‘Those-Who-Shan’t-Be-Named.’ I think it’s cute and wonderful that you had that reaction,” Peggy said as she went to the other register so I could take a break. “Besides, when’s the last time you actually touched someone on purpose?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just being nice to new people is all,” I said, locking my register computer after clocking out for a break. Quickly, I grabbed the bearclaw before leaving the dollar and change for Peggy. “It was just a handshake. Besides, you always tell me to work on my customer service skills,” I said as I walked to the back door.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” She called after me.

#john walker/oc #brock rumlow/oc #john walker/brock rumlow/oc #bucky barnes #john walker #brock rumlow #bucky barnes/helmut zemo #bucky barnes/oc #helmut zemo/oc #zemo/oc #bucky/zemo #bucky barnes/helmut zemo/oc #bucky/zemo/oc #a/b/o #marvel #fanfiction

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abluescarfonwaston · 4 years

Text

Shapeshifter Au 6

Heads up at the top this one is our “Last Wish Special”. It’s extra long and what should be no surprise to anyone- Jaskier does not have a good time! Please take care of yourselves as we move into plot territory.

Part 1 Part 5 Inspired by @spielzeugkaiser art here And Also now on Ao3 cause that’s probably easier for everyone.

Sometimes, when Geralt got hurt, he’d use his shapes against him.

Help was the word he’d use. To help him. But if Geralt preferred to think of him using his shapes against him then so be it.

“Get off me Jaskier.”

He looked down his snout at Geralt and grumbled his reply before returning to his composing. They would at very least wait until the bleeding stopped to ride back. Since Geralt insisted the injuries were not so grievous as to require proper attention.

He might very well have been right about that. Which meant they could afford to wait for it to stop before returning for the reward.

If Geralt wanted to treat his wounds then he’d let him. But he wasn’t going to let him ride off and make everything worse because he was a stubborn ass. That was Jaskier’s job. Being a stubborn ass. Not that he made a habit of being farm animals. The risk it would sour him to the taste of their meat was far too great. He refused to be vegetarian. Grass just did not taste very good. No matter what Roach claimed.

“Jaskier get off me or I will throw you off.”

He shifted more of his near 400 pound weight onto Geralt’s torso to demonstrate exactly what he thought about that.

“I can.” He growled.

He puffed up his fur telling him exactly what would happen if he tried.

He had bigger forms yet. If that’s how he wanted to play- well. He wouldn’t bet on Geralt winning. Witcher enhancements be damned.

Geralt, seemingly having realized this, ceased his struggling and ventured a new tactic.

Insulting him.

Which got him grumbling and growling at Geralt. But didn’t get him off him. Geralt knew well enough what he was saying. He didn’t need to transform to express his displeasure.

Geralt, a versatile and clever man, switch tactics yet again.

Reciting history facts but slightly wrong- the year was 1123 and he was a duke not a prince Geralt- asking questions about agriculture – cereal crops deplete the soil of nitrogen. Legumes fix this. A fallow field is left for weeds and grazing. The three fields are rotated. Together this system allows farmers to plant more crops and increase production. – and finally just asking him to play for him.

He, personally, admitted that his bear vocals left something to be desired but he didn’t let that stop him from belting out a few heavily modified versions of his favorite tunes.

Geralt covered his ears and glared at him.

It was only after three verses of Fishmonger’s daughter that he finally popped down into his human shape to do the finale justice.

Geralt shoved him off breaking his sustained note.

“Rude.” He squawked from the dirt as Geralt stood.

“I stopped bleeding three songs ago!” He growled at him.

“I’m well aware.” He grinned. “But I do so enjoy a captive audience.”

Geralt threw the bedroll at his head. Which did hit him. But he managed to catch it on the rebound, which counted as a win in his books.

“I don’t need you mothering me bard.”

“Is that what you think this is? I’m trying to keep Nenneke from murdering me next time you need her services. The woman terrifies me Geralt.”

She did. A little. Not in the way he suspected she expected to be feared though.

It was because her eyes always held too many questions about why he’d arrived before Geralt, knowing exactly the condition of the man’s wounds, even though he lacked a horse while Geralt road in on Roach.

He’d fly ahead, unhampered by the twisting of the roads, and set them to prepare for Geralt’s arrival. Or, when the situation was far graver, have them send a cart to meet him. Transforming on the road just outside of the temples view.

His skin itched when she stared at him too long. Like she almost knew what he was and if she watched him closely enough she might figure it out.

Luckily, “I mean the woman already hates me Geralt.” She was easy to annoy into not looking closely. “No need to worsen her to me by damaging the one reason she even tolerates my presence at the temple.”

If all she wanted to see was an airheaded flop of a bard that was all he would show her. Staying within the confines of expectations worked well enough to keep people from digging.

“She does hate you.” Geralt agreed with a smirk. Pleased he’d befriended someone Jaskier had not.

“Naaaah deep down she likes me.”

Geralt bobbed his head, half conceding the point.

People were complicated like that. She hated Most of him. But she liked that he cared about Geralt. Even if she didn’t always agree with how he cared about Geralt.

With how they cared for each other.

So maybe he shouldn’t have poked the insomniatic bear that was Geralt as he dredged up the lake at Rinde. But he was a bear often enough and he didn’t mind being poked. Sometimes Geralt needed to buck up and face his problems head on!

Then his throat started closing.

Which was scary. Sure. But there were plenty of forms that didn’t need his throat to breath. He’d play catfish or pike or bream or – he was just listing fish again- something while Geralt sorted out the curse the djinn smacked him with.

Except.

Except none of them would come.

He tried to shift bigger and his skin pulled too tight like it was yanking away from the muscle and he tried to shift down and his organs compressed in his chest. And he was left folded over in pain from his throat and his lungs and from being trapped.

Trapped in one form. Perhaps forever.

“Can you shift?” Geralt asked him, looking between him and Roach. Debating.

He managed a ragged sob that Geralt translated as the ‘no’ it was.

There was the bumpy ride on Roach- poor girl they weighed far too much together- and the elf with the painkillers – which helped a little. But the world continued its painful descent into darkness.

Geralt was scruffing him by the doublet. Dragging his limp form. Somewhere. He liked being scruffed. It reminded him of the old mouser in the kitchen who’d claimed him as kin when he was barely a boy. Whenever he got in trouble, or was lonely, or scared he’d just run to the old tom and pop down into a kitten. Instantly be scruffed and pulled under the cabinet for a bath and cuddle.

Scruffing meant that soon everything would be okay. He was in pain and terrified but soon. Soon everything would be alright.

Everything was not alright.

There was a very scary woman with an amphora on her belly and-

And she was a mage.

A powerful mage.

Something in him was singing. Singing at her notice. Her attention.

He didn’t much like that part of him.

His knees near buckled under him as she gripped his nethers and pressed a knife to his throat.

“If you want to keep all you have familiar,” She squeezed him tighter. The singing and terror crescendo-ing in his ears. What do you want me to be? It sung, heart racing in his chest. “Make a damn wish.”

He reached. Reached for. Something. Some shape that would get her away. Small or big or cute or monsterous or something.

Her magic threw him to the floor and it crackled over his skin- she wants you to be human so that is what you shall be – lighting up every nerve with delicious power – do as she says. So that the powerful one might keep you – and burning the tapestry of thread he didn’t know was woven underneath his skin.

“Make your damn wish! Do it now!”

This one is better. Powerful. Be what she wants. “I don’t- I don’t know!” Lightning ran through his veins and fire blazed through his chest and- and- Be her’s. Wish to be hers. Exalted one.

He didn’t want that.

“I wish very much to leave this place forever!”

She turned from him, the burning fading. The singing loud in his ears. Scolding, screaming, begging him to go back to her as he scrambled from the building.

And Geralt was there.

Geralt was alive.

Geralt left him to that witch.

“Jaskier. You’re okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.” He fumed.

The singing was quieter now. The smoldering in his chest easing next to Geralt-

Geralt was going back inside.

The building collapsing.

“She could not have survived it.” The elf from earlier- Chireadan- said.

There was coldness in the shape of the lightning flowing through his veins. Ashes in the stitching of his soul where Geralt once resided.

“Why did Geralt go in there? It doesn’t make any sense. What, to save a mad fucking witch?”

“Because she was magnificent.”

She was. The song wept.

His knees hit the ground, the pain of the gravel collision distant, over the shapeless void that pulled him to nothing.

“What am I supposed to do now, hm?” What would be left when this form collapsed into the emptiness in his chest? “It wasn’t supposed to go this way.”

You should have died with him.

No.

“I’m gonna write you. The best song. So that everyone remembers who you were, what we did, everything we saw.” There was a lifetime there. In the spaces they shared. Not a human lifespan perhaps. But it wasn’t like he was human anyway. “And I will sing it. For the rest of my days.”

“He always said I had the most wonderful singing voice.”

A joke. Between him and a dead man.

If he wanted to correct him he should have stayed alive.

Chireadan knelt before him, laying a hand on his shoulder. A tiny beat of comfort in a symphony of pain.

“They’re alive.”

They were very alive.

He ran his fingers down Roach’s neck, unsure how he was supposed to feel.

Relief that Geralt was alive? Jealously that he’d gone to Yennefer? Jealously she choose him over you?

Anger?

Joy?

Hollow. He felt hollow.

Roach nudged him.

He was nearly draped over her.

He wanted that old tom cat to scruff him and pull him under the cabinet. To lick and squish and purr him back to whole.

What would he be if he shifted now?

Nothing. It called to him that nothing.

Nothing wasn’t a shape. Nothing wasn’t Jaskier. Jaskier wasn’t nothing.

Still it called to him.

Roach lipped at a saddlebag. The one he’d nested in as his wing healed.

He shoved his bloody shirt in as a makeshift nest and fluttered in.

If Geralt wanted his peace he could dump him on the side of the road.

Until then. He breathed in the way the leather bag blended Roach and Geralt into itself and fell asleep.

He drifted back to the shores of sleep welcomed by the gentlest smoothing of his feathers.

He readjusted, further nesting into the callouses of Geralt’s hand.

“I thought.” The pain in Geralt’s hesitating voice forced his eyes open. “That the djinn took your voice and your shifting from you.”

Geralt was laying down on their bedroll watching him with those big sad eyes. Which hurt.

But not as much as the fact Geralt had stopped petting him. He shifted into Geralt’s petting hand demanding he get back to work with a sharp chirp.

Geralt resumed his gentle stroking, lips twitching slightly upward. “So bossy.” He complained.

They laid there as the sun went down; quiet and exhausted.

“We used to do this a lot. When your wing was broken. It was nice.”

He softly trilled an agreement.

“I could smell you on Roach when I got back you know? I thought you had left. I understand if you’d left. After what I did.”

He blinked tiredly at Geralt before standing to shift up. He didn’t want to have this conversation now but if Geralt did then. Well then they’d have it now.

“Don’t.” Geralt’s hands shifted slightly, like they were caging him in. They weren’t. He knew he could get out. Knew that if he wanted to leave Geralt would let him.

He settled back into Geralt’s fingers, more than happy not to.

“Tonight. Can we be that again? Just for tonight.”

Be simple. Be easy.

Nenneke always scolded Geralt for thinking he could deny destiny. Because she cared about him and knew destiny would have her way, willingly or not. It would he agreed. Geralt couldn’t run away from her forever.

But he did help him run away from it. Sometimes. Like tonight?

Tonight destiny could go fuck itself.

Tonight they were just a bird and a man sharing each other’s company.

Tonight they were easy.

#Geraskier #geralt x jaskier #shapeshifter au #shapeshifter!Jaskier #geralt #jaskier #post in the tags darn you #writing

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walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“The Bowman’s Sister” Part 2 of 4 - Daryl x Sister!Reader

GIF CREDIT: https://gfycat.com/queasycourageouskookaburra

PART I PART III PART IV

Word Count: 3194

Daryl Dixon & Sister!Reader (Rick x Reader in future)

Warning: none

Song I Wrote To: “Silhouettes” by Of Monsters And Men

Summary: After being reunited with your brother, Daryl, you try to adapt to the prison life by talking to Carl, going on a run, and getting to know some of your new fellow survivors.

Note: Yeah, that summary is shit, but this is the continuation of part one. Not sure how long this will be, but I wanna see what where I can go with it. I won’t be uploading on any schedule as of right now, but I’ll let ya know if i do.

------

That night you lay awake, your eyes on the ceiling.

You had convinced Daryl to retake his bed as you took the top bunk. He had offered to find you a cell of your own, but you had decided to stay with him as long as he would have you. You weren’t ready to sleep alone again.

Below you, you could hear your brother’s snores. He had crawled into his bed only an hour ago as he switched his watch shift with Sasha. Apparently, they needed more security due to a threat that was not exactly gone. Michonne had told you about the Governor and Woodbury. You had heard of the town in passing but never ventured there yourself. It seemed too good to be true and apparently it was.

You learned that one of their people, Andrea, had died there and then Daryl was the one to tell you that the Governor was the one to kill your big brother. However, it was Maggie who later told you that Daryl was the one to put him down the second time and that nearly broke you. You and Merle were supposed to be the older siblings, the ones that looked out for Daryl, and yet here was looking after the both of you.

Slipping your hand under your pillow, you pulled out the knife Daryl had given to you earlier that day. He also gave you new bullets for your gun. You kept your pistol with your bow and quiver down below, but the knife was never far from your reach.

The problem was, you weren’t sure if you trusted these people.

There was no denying that you loved your brother and that Rick seemed to be different than you first thought, but the welcoming demeanor was still a bit of a shell shock and it would take some time. Something about the prison reminded you of the old apartment building you used to live in when you and Carter first got together. Merle had said that it also reminded him of being on the inside.

Thinking of Merle put a heaviness on your heart. You didn’t want all the gory details, but you needed to know what had happened. A part of you needed to go find the man that did this to you and your brother. You were gathering, however, that Merle was not exactly a welcome addition to the group when your brothers had met up with the rest of them in Atlanta.

You understood that. Merle Dixon was a tough asshole to get along with. He even bashed on Daryl when he got the chance, but he had always had a soft spot for you and you also knew he took the brunt of the beatings your father dished out. There wasn’t even a grave you could visit, but then again, Carter and Hannah didn’t have graves either.

Carefully, so as to not wake Daryl, you slid off the bed and lightly landed on the stone floor. You froze, waiting for him to wake up, but he remained asleep, his arm thrown over his stomach as he slept off his long day. Grabbing your bow and quiver, you stepped out of your cell and into the main block. Snores echoed around you as you slowly made your way to the main door, needing to be out of the cramped building.

As soon as the night air and the sounds of the Dead at the fence met your ears it was oddly comforting. Taking a deep breath, you moved through the courtyard, keeping your eyes on the Walkers. The word these people used for the Dead was slowly growing on you.

You made your way through the first gate and over to one of the empty watchtowers. Sasha was in the tower to your left, but you ignored her obvious glances and climbed the stairs. As soon as you exited onto the platform, it was as if you could finally breathe. Of course, you were happy to be with Daryl and safe behind fences, but the cell had been near suffocating. Even with the Walkers and the Living out to get you, you had to admit that you felt better outside.

Leaning next to the railing, you crossed one foot over the other and listened to the world. Your mind kept wandering to how the world used to be. It was the simple things you thought of: the sounds of kids after school as they played at parks or on their bikes; the ambient noise of a TV being left on in the background of the house; even the occasional roar of a plane in the sky above.

The night was now clear and full of stars. Without all the light pollution, it was as if you were looking at a different sky.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” You turned to see Carl exiting the tower behind you, his hat slightly askew.

“It’s fine, I didn’t think anyone would be up here,” you said, relaxing again.

“Yeah, we usually have at least two people on watch at a time.”

“Because of the Governor?” you asked. Carl nodded, joining you at the railing.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and to make sure the fences hold.” You nodded, fiddling with a ribbon that was tied around your left wrist. When you noticed Carl staring at the movement, you tugged your sleeve back down. Carl was quiet for a moment before turning to you again. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Just not used to being...secure, I guess,” you admitted.

“I get that,” Carl said. “This is the first place we’ve found that has been this safe. We were at a farm for a while, but it got overrun. We lost people there...and here.”

“I’m sorry,” you said and you were. It was never easy losing people, especially at his age. “Your mom?” you asked, noticing nobody had claimed themselves to be Judith’s mother.

“She died when Judith was born. I had to put her down a second time.” Jesus, you said to yourself. You reached out carefully and squeezed his shoulder.

“That’s rough,” you told him. “My mom died when I was around your age too.”

“I know,” Carl said, “Daryl told me about the fire.” There was a touch of a smile on your face as you thought of that. Daryl telling the young boy of your mother to comfort him was nice to hear. It was a very Daryl thing to do.

“Hey,” you said, looking at him in the darkness, “you still have your dad and sister, right? And from what I can tell, the people here care about you. Don’t forget you still have family, okay?” Carl gave you a small smile of his own.

“Why are you up here?” he asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said with a shrug.

“Me neither” he admitted. You thought for a moment before pulling your quiver off your back and digging the glue and extra fletching from the small pocket on the side.

“Well, do you wanna learn to fletch some arrows?” you offered. You waved one of your projectiles at him before a smile spread across his face.

“Definitely,” he said. You nodded to sit down next to you against the tower wall and together you got to work on fixing and fletching some more arrows for you. You would need to fashion some more bolts for Daryl as well. As Carl carefully worked next to you, you assisted in whatever he was having trouble with, but the kid caught on quick.

As the night wore on, fatigue finally caught up, and slowly, you drifted off to sleep with the kid next to you, already passed out on his own.

------

The next morning you were down by the fences.

You worked with Beth, killing the Walkers that pressed against the fence. Using the end of a sharpened broom, you easily sunk the wood into the decaying flesh and if you were being honest with yourself, it was oddly therapeutic.

You kept thinking back to the conversation you had had with the younger Grimes the night before. It was one of the nicest conversations you had had since the world had ended. Just two people watching the stars and listening to one another. You were hoping for that to happen again and maybe even with someone over the age of sixteen.

Beth was getting tired so you gestured back up to the cell block to grab something to eat. She agreed and the two of you started to head back. As you stepped into the thick grass of the field, a familiar sound echoed through the air. The Walkers groaned louder as the rumble of a motorcycle split the air.

Merle’s motorcycle.

A grin spread across your face as Daryl rode out towards the front gate. Rick was waiting for him with Glenn, both armed and ready to head out. “Beth, I’ll meet up with you in a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, touching your arm briefly before heading to find her sister. You approached the three men, your hands slipping into your pockets.

“Going out?” you asked, stopping next to your brother. He nodded.

“We need medicine and some more clothes for the little one,” Daryl explained, not looking at you.

“Great, let me grab my stuff and I’ll come with,” you said, already knowing what he was going to say.

“Yer stayin’ here,” he told you, his blue eyes locking with yours finally.

“Why’s that? Ya’ll got a rule against women going on runs?” you asked, even though you knew Michonne had gone out just yesterday for a few hours on her horse.

“Ya just got here, (Y/N),” Daryl said, “take some time to rest.” You looked at Rick and Glenn, gauging their faces.

“We could use another set of eyes,” Glenn offered and you gestured to Glenn expectantly.

“Daryl,” Rick said, gaining the other man’s attention. “We’ll keep an eye on her. Besides, you were the one who told me she was a good shot.” You raised a brow at that. Daryl chewed on the inside of his cheek for second before nodding.

“Fine,” he conceded, “grab yer bow.”

------

You clutched at Daryl’s waist as he roared down the road.

It had been a while since you had been on a bike, this one in particular. The feel of the bike was familiar and it made you smile as you leaned your head on Daryl’s shoulder, watching the forest pass by in a green blur. Rick and Glenn followed in a car as Daryl led them towards a strip mall not too far from the prison. You would be back before dark.

You passed Walkers on the road, some barely able to move as they were missing limbs and baking in the Georgia sun. You kept your head ducked behind Daryl’s back to block the wind as he sped through the dilapidated roads, careful to dodge any debris on the road ahead.

Another ten or so miles and he slowed, turning into the mall. You climbed off the bike as he put down the kickstand and stretched out your legs and back causing Daryl to chuckle. “Shut up, it’s been a while,” you defended. Daryl raised his hands in surrender and picked up his crossbow, loading a bolt.

Rick and Glenn joined you both as you surveyed the buildings before you. “Drug store is there,” Glenn pointed to a building with thick bars on the windows. “No guarantee anything will be left, but we’re running low and the Doc is gonna need them when it gets colder out.”

“(Y/N),” Rick said, gaining your attention, “what did you do before the Turn?” Daryl snorted and you smacked his shoulder.

“I was a psychiatrist, specifically for veterans,” you explained.

“She was a shrink,” Daryl corrected and you responded with a roll of your eyes.

“You didn’t seem to mind when you stole my prescription pad,” you pointed out.

“That was Merle, dumbass,” he scoffed as he headed to the car to grab some bags they had taken to fill.

“So you know meds?” Glenn asked. “We have a few from the Doc to look for, but we don’t take him out of the prison just in case.” Glenn handed you a small list that Caleb, or Doctor S, had written for them.

“I know some of these,” you nodded. “Want me to take the pharmacy?” you asked, jabbing your thumb towards the drug store.

“Sound good to me,” Glenn agreed.

“Good,” Daryl said, tossing you a bag. “Let’s go.” You held your tongue about not needing a babysitter and saluted to the other men and followed Daryl. While Rick and Glenn scavenged for clothes and any other food they could find, Daryl broke the lock on the door of the drug store.

Daryl went in first, his bow up and sweeping the aisles. You followed close by, watching his back. As you turned towards the final aisle in the small store, a Walker reached out and grabbed at Daryl’s boot. He wasted no time in shooting it through the eye.

Retrieving the bolt, he reloaded it and took another look around before nodding to you. “Seems clear, don’t drop yer guard,” he warned.

“Yes, Sir,” you sassed and pushed past him. You scanned the many shelves, tossing things in your bag as you went. Daryl wasn’t far behind you and every time you looked at him, he quickly glanced away as if he had been staring at you, observing your every movement.

Ducking into another aisle, you began grabbing up all the rubbing alcohol and bandages you could get, trying to keep out of his gaze. When a Walker, nearly just bones, grabbed your foot from under a collapsed shelf, your boot connected with its skull. The creature dropped immediately and you shook off the brain matter that stuck to the leather.

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked, coming around the corner.

“I’m fine, Daryl,” you said, stepping over the corpse and heading for the pharmacy at the back. Daryl wasn’t far behind, his own bag nearly half full already. You hopped up onto the counter and knocked against the metal cage a few times and listened. When nothing came for you, you dropped to the ground and started making your way through the inventory, searching for everything on Doc’s list.

Daryl grabbed up more bandages and even found a new pair of crutches for Herschel if he needed them. You continued through the pharmacy, but when you once again found Daryl watching you, you out down the bottle of pills you had been holding and faced him. “What is it, Daryl?” you asked.

“Nothin’,” he mumbled, dropping his head.

“Don’t ‘nothin’ me,” you said, reading him like a book. “What’s wrong? You still pissed I came with you guys?”

“Nah, that’s not it,” he said, looking at you again. You waited. Daryl sighed, hiking up his bow on his shoulder. “Yer too calm,” he said. “Yer whole family is gone and yer actin’ like nothin’ happened.”

“Not all my family,” you reminded him. Daryl set his jaw. You stepped closer to him. “Daryl, I’m doing everything to keep it together right now,” you told him. “You think it’s easy for me to get up every morning with her face still in my mind? You think that I don’t hear her screams every time I go to bed or see Carter’s blood on my hands every time I kill a Walker? I see them and feel them every damn day, but I don’t have the luxury to wallow and break down. If I sit and cry and don’t keep goin’, I’ll die and then their deaths mean nothing.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“You know what the last thing Car said to me? He told me to go find my brothers,” you said, taking his hand. “Carter never thought for a moment that you two jackasses died and that is what kept me goin’. That is what is keepin’ me calm.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Daryl admitted, squeezing your hand tighter.

“But ya have,” you reminded him. “Carl told me about the people you’ve lost. He told me about Sophia.”

“She wasn’t mine,” Daryl told you.

“But she was innocent and you cared enough to look for her all that time. She was just a child, too, Daryl.”

“Are ya gonna tell me it wasn’t my fault?” he asked.

“Nah, you already know it’s not.” You leaned forward and kissed his forehead just as you used to when you were younger. “You reek,” you said, scrunching your nose.

“Welcome to the end of the world, sweetheart.”

------

The two of you, after filling your bags, met up with Glenn and Rick.

Glenn was on his back in the parking lot, pushing a Walker off of him as Rick stabbed it through the head. He grimaced as Rick helped him up. “Why am I always the one to get tackled?” Glenn asked, picking off pieces of Walker from his shirt.

“Cause ya never shut up,” Daryl said as you two approached.

“Hilarious,” Glenn shot back. “How’d you do?” Glenn asked you.

“Got what we needed,” you confirmed. “You?’

“We got enough for now,” Rick said, raising the bag he had with him. “Gonna need to get some fresh meat soon, though,” he said looking at Daryl. You turned to your brother, surprised.

“You hunt for them?” you asked. Daryl shrugged.

“Someone has to,” he muttered. You rolled your eyes at his modesty.

“Well don’t expect me to do any huntin’,” you said starting to load up the duffel bags. “I didn’t get the mountain man gene.”

“I don’t remember ya being this annoyin’,” Daryl said with a small smile. You shoved him lightly. You turned to look at Rick and Glenn.

“How have ya’ll put up with him for this long?”

“He’s like a stray dog,” Glenn joked, “Just kind of kept following us until we decided to keep him.”

“Keep laughin’, Rhee,” Daryl said. Glenn grinned at him and Daryl rolled his eyes, climbing onto his bike. Glenn went to get in the car and Rick grabbed the other bag from you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly to Rick. He looked at you in confusion.

“For what?”

“For keepin’ an eye on him. Looks like you’ve gotten pretty close,” You said, looking at Daryl as he checked his bike. Rick placed his hand on your shoulder.

“He’s saved my ass a few times too. We’re alive because of him,” Rick admitted. You looked up at him and into those blue eyes that had seen some brutal thing and saw the truth. Rick and Daryl had become brothers and it made your heart swell.

“Thanks,” you whispered and patted his hand before joining Daryl on the back of the bike. “Any chance I can convince you to let me drive?” you asked, peering over his shoulder. Daryl snorted.

“Sorry, only mountain men get to drive,” he said and you rolled your eyes.

“Very funny.”

#the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead imagines #daryl dixon imagine #dixon!reader #daryl and sister!reader #twd imagine #twd season 7 #walkerwords #twd imagines #walking dead prison #prison era #reader insert

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sp00kworm · 4 years

Note

H,,hi is it possible for you to do a darth maul with a male s/o sfw and/or nsfw imagine? Love your content!! UwU

Pairing: Darth Maul x Male Reader

A/N: I’m glad you enjoy reading anon! Due to the nature of events on tumblr at the moment, I don’t think its wise for me to write adult content for anonymous asks since there has been a big issue with underage users consuming this content. However!!!!!! I adore Maul and I would die for some content with him so I have written this to rot your teeth.

---

Fathier Race

Raising Fathiers was perhaps the hardest thing you knew of in the Galaxy. Sure, Republic fighters were out and around constantly, the Jedi helping in wars and disputes everywhere, but you could show them bruises and aches beyond anything like that half the time. Fathiers were needy and required hours of hard training to keep them in shape. You’d spent numerous years on Naboo, looking after the beasts for the races that used to occur. Rich Senators and other such Nobles liked to race them, and had done for years before the race courses were set up across the Galaxy. Highly prized and known for their ability to run amazingly fast across any terrain, you’d grown to love Fathiers more than anything. That aside, you grew to hate the Stable Master, and that had quickly made you leave. Even the money you had stashed wasn’t enough for even one of the Fathiers in your care.

All that had changed when you’d encountered the silent Zabrak.

You’d been in the stables late. Far too late. Late enough that you would be undoubtedly questioned roughly by the guards or the Master if he was still around. Golden eyes glowed underneath a shadowy hood. A fist clenched by his side as he caught sight of you, teeth clenched with a snarl as he stalked away, out of the ring of stables, and towards the door. With a last look at the door, you dared to breathe again, feeling the tension in your entire body dissipate as you glanced back and remembered the red skin and black, thick tattoos. The golden eyes glared at you behind your eyelids as you tried to sleep that night.

The memory of the Zabrak haunted you often after that but it wasn’t until many months later that the city exploded with violence, the thunder of rifle fire bouncing from the walls as the military moved in to take Naboo’s trading federation back by force. There was the hissing of lightsabers being drawn as you reached for the stable doors of the Fathiers. They bucked and brayed unhappily even as you undid the doors and got them running. They would be safer running in the greens rather than in here when the roof caved in. You grabbed a saddle and pushed it over the back of your favourite mare. She tottered unhappily with the noise but let you on top of her with minimal fuss.

The hum of a lightsaber made you freeze, sat atop the Fathier with your bags clutched close and a rope for catching some of the stray beasts.

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked as you turned in the saddle, holding your breath at the sight of the burning red saber and golden eyes.

The Zabrak reached for his hood and tilted his head as he pulled the black hood away from his head, revealling the crown of horns on top of his head, golden eyes boring into you. The man hummed as he took three, slow steps forward, prowling closer, looking at the quivering muscles of the beast underneath you. It was ready to bolt, nostrils flaring at the smell of him.

“Run, little stable boy. Take those beasts with you...” He turned back to the door, stalking away, stance low as he readied to fight, “They stink of spices.” He was gone in an instant, the sound of his saber cutting through flesh deafening. Your Fathier bucked underneath you. With a snap of your heels she bolted, howling to the wind as you clutched your belongings close, trying to escape from the war zone behind you.

Years later, you were set up with your own farm. Fathiers were happier with space to be free and roam, and although you didn’t race them, a few were selected as studs or mares for breeding sometimes. Most of your visitors were childrens groups. The farm was, however, often silent. Just you and your rescued Fathiers. Getting them from Naboo had been a task, and your favourite mare was living her final years out now in pasture. Ten long years had passed, and life was finally good. Sicemon was a long way from Naboo. The bribery of two of your Fathiers had been the price to get the rest here to the planet of vast grasslands. Still, the cargo ship’s crew had promised they were for the youngsters more than anything. One went to live on one of the crew’s own farms.

With a smile you watched two young Fathiers prance around each other in the paddock, kicking powerful legs up in the air as they darted underneath the adults and around their legs. Holding your tea close you watched them play for a little while more, breathing in the fresh air. That was until a figure appeared out of the trees, clad in black. The Fathiers startled as the figure stepped into the pasture, swathed in tattered cloaks, dragging their feet as they came close. The Fathiers brayed and scattered, leaving a clear path for the person as they stumbled in some of the longer grass before righting themself again.

With a growl you reached for the blaster tucked at your back and pointed the muzzle dead at the person’s chest, “State your business!” You hollered over the field.

The figure stopped and seemed to take heed of the weapon pointed at their chest. Gloved hands reached upwards slowly, careful of making sure that you weren’t going to shoot them my accident. They pulled back the black hood and scarfs to reveal a familiar crown of horns on top of red skin and inked black tattoos. Golden eyes looked at you from a gaunt looking face. This was not the man that had once scoffed at you before telling you to take the Fathiers. This man was the leftovers from that creature you had watched prowl to the slaughter.

“I mean you no harm.” He growled, teeth grinding as he looked upon your farm, a small home with miles of land around it. A little something in the middle of nothing, “I am...looking to inquire about your beasts.”

You glared, holding the blaster tight, “Liar. You look like you’ve been beaten up pretty bad. The least you can do is admit you need help. Plus, my Fathiers aren’t for sale.” He grumbled again with that and and directed his eyes at the blaster once more.

“I need food, water and maybe a bed.” He ground out, “If you would be so kind.”

“No I won’t.” You snapped, “Get on your way. I don’t want your trouble. Not after what I’ve heard.”

The Zabrak growled, “And just what have you heard.” He sneered at you.

“That a Zabrak swathed in black leads a criminal underworld gang.” You offered peering at his feet, “Something about him being half robot.” With a flick of the safety you looked at the man and sighed, “But I also know you have nothing left.” With a gentle curl of your fingers you let him come closer, “I’ll let you rest a while. You look like you need some food...” You pinched your nose at the stench emanating from him, “And a very hot bath.”

The Zabrak snarled at you once more as you turned towards the house and offered him a smile. He didn’t return the grin as he ducked inside of your home, pushing away dried herbs and vegetables away from his horns as he entered.

“Here. I have some breakfast. Its just porridge but its better than nothing.” You spooned a heap of it into a wooden bowl, placing a spoon alongside it before taking the pot from the fire and replacing it with one for water. You drew over the metal basin and took the hook along with some buckets, “I’ll be back soon.” The Zabrak nodded as he sat at the table, peering around the room with tired, sunken eyes.

It took three days to coax his name from him. Maul. Just Maul. He said nothing about it for three more days before you both drank rice wine and told each other about the brutality of your childhoods. He told you of his home planet and the Nightsisters. His brother. You watched a tear drip from the Zabrak’s cheek before gently reaching out to wipe it away.

“This is weakness.” He hissed, snatching himself back, pressing his fingers together tightly around the wine.

You smiled and swallowed the last of your own wine, “This is normal. There’s no weakness in expressing yourself.” You grinned at the other male before leaving him to look at the dozing Fathiers and to contemplate your words. Maul felt a cynical smile turn his lips upwards, stretching the tattoos on his face as he poured himself another long drink of alcohol.

“So, Maul, when can I expect you to actually ride one of these Fathiers?” You asked, perched on top of a young stallion, riding in tight, quick circles.

Maul scoffed from the fence, searing eyes watching every movement closely, “I would rather wrestle a fabled demon than sit on top of one of those.” He commented as he watched the male Fathier spin and buck, prancing with energy despite the exercise.

“They’re not scary.” You laughed before leading the stallion close and pointing over at your old mare, “She would be easy to learn on, I promise.” You leaned over in the saddle and grinned at the Zabrak before sticking your tongue out at him.

“You are not a child.” He snapped before pinching your tongue between his thumb and finger, tugging harshly before he rolled his eyes, “I will not learn to ride. Accept that and find another thing to pester me about.” He stretched his arms over his head and turned before you caught him by the sleeve and tugged him back.

“What?” Maul snapped before going silent, eyes wide.

You kissed the Zabrak harshly before letting him go, cantering away with a great laugh.

Maul snarled behind you, “You are the single worst human male I have ever met.”

“Then get off my farm!” You teased from across the paddock.

#darth maul x reader #darth maul x male reader #maul x reader #star wars #darth maul #maul #star wars the phantom menace #star wars the clone war #the clone wars #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #request #sw #star wars the clone wars #star wars: the clone wars #the phantom menace

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bouwrites · 4 years

Text

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 16

It’s the little things that separate the good from the great.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

Superboy makes his debut with the Teen Titans, alarming many and confusing many more. Jon thinks it’s frankly ridiculous that anyone is confused about the name being ascribed to a new teenage hero rather than twenty-two year old Jon considering that Robin exists, but, really, it’s not much of his business either way.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t strange, though.

Jon was sixteen once. Big for his age but still a bit smaller than Conner is now. Large muscles didn’t spare him the roundness of his face unlike Conner, who if he weren’t with the Titans might be confused for a few years older than he is. (Jon desperately tries not to think about the fact that Conner is, in truth, much, much younger than even that.) Jon also never bothered with the gruff affectation that his little brother seems to adopt that ages him so, the cute huffiness (and not at all fake temper) that Jon knows hides a lonely kid just looking for approval.

After all, if that isn’t at Conner’s core, there’s no reason for Conner to keep visiting him. Jon isn’t a hero, he’s not Superboy, he has no information or advice for Conner to do his hero job. The only connection between them, really, is that Jon accepts the kid as his adorable little brother.

Sometimes it feels like Conner spends a little too much time at Jon and Marinette’s cramped apartment, considering New York and Jump City are on opposite coasts. Jon tries not to think too hard about that, and instead takes time with his little brother at face value. Something that gets harder when he finds out that despite the time Conner spends in New York with him, Superman essentially only sees Conner on the job.

Not that Jon himself is having much luck talking to Superman right now. Ever since Jon found out about Conner, his dad has been avoiding him. Easy to do, with Jon tied to New York for his classes, but not at all appreciated. Superheroes are damn tiring even when Jon isn’t one of them.

Jon spent his whole life trying to live up to the image of his father. The Man of Steel, Superman, some even call him a god among men. Jon grew up watching his dad on television. He still has videos of himself in action, filed away on his computer, both with and without his dad at his side. Jon knows, logically, that he’s younger than any of the Teen Titans in some of those videos, yet watching Conner jump into the fray as Superboy is a gut-wrenchingly visceral feeling to him regardless.

Because Jon sees Conner’s face and he sees the lost kid closing himself off at the farm, wary but hopeful, volunteering information up until the point of embarrassment when he’ll turn away and pout like a child because he doesn’t want to admit vulnerability. The pure joy and shock and awe in his face, how completely flabbergasted he is to simply be called brother. The uncertainty, the confusion, the respect shining in those eyes, the same as Jon’s own, when Jon admits why he isn’t Superboy anymore.

The little kid who wants family, and who wants to make his own way in life, who suddenly and inexplicably finds a brother who accepts him without thought (seemingly, to him – Jon ensures that’s what he sees), who does exactly the opposite of what’s expected of him for no other reason than that this is what he needs to do to be happy in his life.

Conner looks at Jon almost the same way Jon used to look at Superman, and Jon is doing everything he can to never let Conner see just how deeply that unnerves him.

It shouldn’t. It’s not the first time a young man has looked at Jon that way. When Jon was Superboy, he got looks like that all the time. And yet… there’s something so incongruous about watching Conner punch bad guys with the rest of the Titans on television, and that little boy that looks at him with that look. Because that look makes every cell in Jon’s body scream at him to protect, to take Conner into his arms and never let the cruelty of the world touch him. But Jon can’t do anything for him when he goes out looking for that cruelty all on his own. All he can do is offer a home to return to, and a brother who undoubtedly loves him, no matter what else.

Conner’s attitude, the front he puts up when he works on missions with the Titans, when he’s on television, ages him several years, yet when Jon watches Conner still just looks so… young. It makes his insides squirm, and a voice deep within him rage at the memory that despite it being basically his own fault (because he surely would have gotten into trouble all on his own, especially with Damian dragging him around) Jon himself was put into that position at ten. Jon distinctly remembers being upset because he was too young to join the Teen Titans of the time.

Blame it on his newfound pacifism, but that thought is paralyzingly horrific to him now. Why the hell did Dad allow it? Jon can’t help but think. Because even if Jon would still have gotten in trouble, if only at Damian’s behest, forbidding him from hero work would at least have lessened the ridiculous number of terrible situations Jon was in. As a child. How strange, that Jon has to grow up so much for that thought to even occur to him. It seems like it should be obvious.

Or maybe it’s not age, so much as separation from hero life. He wonders if his view of the world seems as warped to them as theirs do now to him.

The boys are startlingly accepting of Conner. Jon really expects them to question it more, but after they are introduced to Conner when they all visit before the holidays, David turns to Jon and whispers in his ear, “So, your brother is totally baby, but also I think he could bench press me, so I’m really confused right now.”

Jesse scrunches up his nose. “Gross, dude, he’s a minor.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” David protests. “I mean look at him!”

Mason chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I get what you mean. He’s just like Jon.”

Jon makes a face. “What?”

“Exactly!” David says cheerily. “Totally baby, but also could throw me like a football.”

Jon just shakes his head at the boys. “I’m not baby.”

Tamias giggles, along with – the traitor – Marinette. “Sorry, Jon,” Tamias says, “you’re kind of baby.”

Jesse dramatically slaps a hand to his face. “Boys, boys, come on. You’re seriously missing Jon’s big himbo energy?”

Jon squeaks in indignant protest, but it’s David that comes to his defense. “Jon’s way too smart to be a himbo, dummy. You’re a himbo.”

“I’m a mechanical engineer, dude!”

“That’s true, but also, and I mean this with every ounce of love my body possesses, you’re the dumbest man I’ve ever met.”

“Jesse’s a twig.” Mason snorts. “He can’t be a himbo if he’s a twink.”

“Thank you!” Jesse exclaims, huffing in finality for a moment before his eyes go wide once more with outrage. “Wait, what?! Rude, dude! I can be a himbo if I want to be!”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Boys!” All the boys immediately quiet to stare at her. “Jon and Tamias are obviously both baby. David, you’re a himbo.” David squawks with outrage, though his smile tells them all he’s not really upset. “Jesse’s a boi, and Mason’s a daddy.”

Jon actually, physically cringes. “Marinette, I love you with all of my heart, but please never say any of those words again. I’m begging you.”

Marinette just shoots him a look that seems to say, “Hey, they’re your friends.” God. I know.

David coughs conspicuously into hand. “She’s right though.”

Mason cackles and wraps one arm around Jon and the other around Tamias, bringing both of them close in a hug. “My children.” He says mockingly.

“I can crush your head with two fingers.” Jon warns, glaring at Mason, who just continues laughing at him.

“You can.” Mason agrees. “But you’re too baby to actually do it.”

Jon hates, with every fiber of his being, that Mason is absolutely right. “I hate everything about this conversation.” He says, peeling himself away from Mason. “I’m going to go find my baby brother.”

Jesse snickers. “Baby brother.”

“I hate all of you; oh my God.”

So, yeah. As Jon swiftly removes himself from that conversation, it occurs to him that none of his boys seem to think twice about him suddenly having a little brother. It’s nice, he thinks, that not everything has to be a big federal issue all the time. This, and definitely not the conversation Jon steps away from, is why he loves those guys.

The apartment is small. Too small, really, to be hosting any number of people comfortably, which is why Jon is glad that his boys, and the girls, who stop by earlier, are only dropping in rather than hanging out. Just a small visit before the holidays, to say hi, to steal some cake that Marinette makes (because they have to, of course), and swap presents (not to open until Christmas, which David is insistent applies to everyone, including the girls) then head back home.

When Jon casts his gaze through the place, Conner is nowhere to be seen. Which leaves four options. The bathroom, and given how Jon’s dad is also missing, Jon hopes that isn’t the case, that they leave the apartment entirely, and Jon is sure they will at least tell him when they do, Marinette’s room, which for their sakes they better not be in, or Jon’s own room. Jon doesn’t mind that. It is a lot of people in a small space with all the boys over, so he’s not surprised Conner ducks out after meeting them.

Why his dad follows, however, is a different question. Judging by the growl on Conner’s lips when Jon opens the door, it’s not something that spells peace and unity for their family.

Luckily, the two of them apparently learn their lesson from the first time, and as soon as they have Jon’s judging gaze upon them, they both duck their heads in apparent shame. Jon just sighs, closes the door behind him, crosses his arms and arches his brow.

“Clark has been avoiding me.” Conner rats out their dad quickly, then amends the statement. “Us.” Conner crosses his arms, fingers digging into his biceps. Jon tries not to wince at how Conner’s knuckles turn white. “If he doesn’t want me around, he should just say so.”

“Conner,” Clark protests, “that’s not-”

“I’m sorry.” Conner says quietly, directly to Jon. “It’s because of me that you aren’t getting along with him now, too, isn’t it?”

Jon takes a steadying breath. “No, Kon. It has nothing to do with you.”

Conner’s eyes go wide for a moment. “But-”

“I’m pissed at Dad because he kept you hidden from me for a month. And because he’s been avoiding talking about it since then.” Jon glares at his dad for emphasis. It’s almost pitiful how Superman can look so small, especially in the face of his own son. “None of that is your fault, Kon.”

“But I-”

Jon marches right up to his little brother and throws his arms around him in a big hug. “It’s not your fault.” Jon says again. “You haven’t done anything wrong, so don’t convince yourself you have.”

As Conner’s arms slowly wrap around Jon in response, Jon narrows his eyes. Casting his gaze sideways, he swears his dad is just a little closer to the door than he was. Whether he is or is not trying to sneak out, though, doesn’t matter. He freezes under Jon’s watch.

Jon separates from Conner, looks him in the eye and nods, satisfied that Conner looks a little better, and then turns fully to his dad. “And how long did you think you could get away with ignoring me?”

Clark rubs his neck awkwardly. “Jon, it’s almost time to leave. We shouldn’t-”

“What?” Jon scoffs. “Shouldn’t talk this out? Consider it a Christmas present, then.”

“You have guests over. Now isn’t the time.”

Jon taps his foot. “Kon?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Will you please go let Mom and Marinette know what’s happening? Marinette can handle the boys until they leave if we’re not out by then.” Honestly, they’ll be so distracted by Marinette’s baking that they probably won’t even notice how long this’ll take. Jon doesn’t intend for it to be long.

Conner looks between him and Clark, indecision clear on his face, but eventually he nods and scurries out the door. Good. Jon thinks. Probably better if he’s not listening, anyway. When Conner closes the door again, Jon waits just a moment before turning back to his dad. Finally, without his baby brother watching, Jon breaks down just a little. A tremor in his voice, a shake in his frame. “Why?” Jon asks. “Why would you do… any of this? Especially with Kon. Don’t you see that he needs you? I can’t- I can’t be his dad and his brother I- I’m doing what I can, but…”

Clark shakes his head sadly, shamefully. “I’m so sorry, Jon.”

“Kon deserves the apology.” Jon says through gritted teeth. “You hurt him a lot more than me.”

Clark grimaces. “But I did hurt you.” He says. “And I’m sorry. I know I should have told you about Conner as soon as we found him, I just… I was scared. He was an unknown; there was no way to know he wasn’t a threat – I couldn’t just welcome him into the family if there was a chance he’s trying to hurt us. And I especially couldn’t let him hurt you.” Jon grits his teeth, biting back every retort in his throat. The shame and sincerity in his father’s voice deserve to be listened to. “You wanted to put this life behind you, and if Conner tried to target you…” He sighs heavily and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes and throat sting. Still, he says, “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t have the exact same fears? Did you ever- ever even look at Kon? He needs you. I don’t care where he came from or even if he is… programmed, or whatever, to hurt us. He’s a kid, and he needed you, and you…” Jon forces out a sharp breath and draws a new one in. “I know you don’t really understand what I’m doing. I know you don’t get the way that I’m trying to live. And I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me, but how on Earth could you think that I wouldn’t want to meet him?”

“I knew you would.” Jon’s dad protests. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d find him, and I couldn’t risk dragging you into this again.” His eyes shadow as he averts his gaze. “I already did that once, and because of that, you still have nightmares. Panic attacks. I hurt you, maybe permanently, so bad that you had to give up being a hero entirely, because I wasn’t a good enough father. I just… wanted to protect you. I didn’t ever want to see you… like that day on the farm.”

Jon stares at his dad, unable to utter a word. That’s what this is about? He blames himself for Jon’s trauma?

“I keep thinking about what I should have done different.” His dad continues quietly. “And I just- it seems like every option was the wrong one. I- I don’t know where I went wrong. All I ever wanted is what’s best for you. And now Conner keeps trying to… connect. And I just keep thinking that I’m going to let him down, too.”

“Dad.” Jon’s plea comes out more like a choked sob. “I never blamed you for that.”

Jon doesn’t say any more than that. Just that one small, weak little statement. He doesn’t say any more not because he has no elaboration or nothing else to say, but because no more words allow themselves to cross the threshold of his throat.

Jon might mention how he often thinks about his father’s choices, and ponders if they were really wise, or even good. He might mention how angry he gets, thinking about not just himself and Conner, but all the young heroes who fight battles even grown adults should never have to go through. He might mention how, once upon a time, he idolized Superman just as much as the most devout of Metropolis, how he wanted nothing more than to be Superman, and how nowadays it’s not that he just can’t be Superman but that he actively doesn’t want to.

But he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say any of it, because just like saying that he still thinks about the possibility of Conner being a sleeper agent will hurt Conner to an impossible degree if he hears it, if Jon says any of that right now, any of that equally true and valid thought that lingers in his head, it will tear his father apart.

It would be possibly the most violent thing Jon will ever do. Punches and kicks hurt, but this? That’s why he won’t. That’s why he can’t. That’s why he says the thing that he can, even if it’s not enough. Because that is also true. As much as Jon doubts his dad’s decisions, as angry as he is at his own childhood of danger and strife, even when he occasionally allows that anger to be directed at his dad, Jon never has and never will blame him for it.

Jon’s trauma, everything he’s seen and been through… some of it may have been avoidable, yes, but the worst of it? The parts that haunt him? That, he thinks, was inevitable. Based on his own personality, his own dream of being just like his dad, that was never his dad’s fault. If anything, his dad has always erred on the side of caution with him. It’s only after he slips out (with or without Damian’s help) and does it anyway that Jon’s dad corrects the rules to let him do those things he would do without guidance otherwise as safely as he can.

Maybe he was too accommodating? Maybe too sentimental, too hung up on his own struggles of growing up without an outlet to use his powers? Maybe he just made mistakes? But he did his best. He kept Jon as safe as he could, and Jon has never been anything but thankful for that.

Nothing else needs to be said. “I never blamed you for that.” Jon repeats, stepping forward to hug his dad tightly. He doesn’t blame his dad for that. Not any more than he blames Marinette for being Ladybug once upon a time.

“I-” Strong arms wrap around him in return, one of the most familiar embraces Jon knows. “Thank you, Jon. That means… more than you know.”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Dad.” Jon mumbles. “I know- I know everyone expects Superman to be, but you don’t have to. I love you, and Kon just wants the chance to love you, too. That’s all.”

Clark laughs, half pride and half disbelief. “When did you grow up into such a smart young man?”

Jon laughs as well. “Marinette helped.”

Clark holds that glimmer in his eyes even as he sighs. “You’re right. I’m… I’m going to talk to Conner. I’m going to be there for him.”

“You were always there for me.” Jon says. “So, I know you will.”

Jon is pleasantly surprised by just how calm the holidays are. Unlike the first two years, he’s not stressing at all for his finals before them – he is on top of his work from day one. Conner showing up does momentarily throw his schedule off, but at this point Jon is nothing if not adaptable. He doesn’t let it affect his studies.

Of course, he does owe a lot of that to Marinette and, oddly enough, Wayzz (the little kwami is heaven sent for reminding him to stay on top of his responsibilities, honestly, especially when Marinette is too busy with her own to spare the time to help him) but he isn’t totally irresponsible on his own. Even if he were, three years of Marinette looking out for him from the beginning is more than enough to get him into good habits of his own.

He just forgets, sometimes. Marinette does, too, but when she spends too long watching television, or engrossed in a book or her sketching, Jon is happy to return the favor.

Wayzz, their ever-watchful guardian, and on occasion Tikki, are by far the most consistently responsible ones, but then they’re not the ones that actually have to do the work.

But finals come and go and Jon has to say goodbye to Marinette for the holidays and, when he does part ways with her at the airport, Jon suddenly feels so incredibly lonely that he could cry right there. It’s so stupid of him. They part with much less fanfare every other year, and it’s not as if she wasn’t important to him from the start, but… now, her plane doesn’t even take off yet and he misses her so terribly. It’s like the moment she crosses that security line, Jon is left all alone in the airport. It feels as if even the many, many people making their ways to and fro aren’t even there. He feels completely and utterly alone.

He supposes he’s just too used to her company now. He felt the same before summer, too. Too used to her hand in his, or her looping her arm around his, or just the steady beat of her heart. Now that that rhythm is gone…

Jon shakes his head and moves on. He’ll visit soon, just after Christmas like last year. They can have a romantic date like their first, and it’ll mark a full year for them. (Jon still isn’t totally sure whether their technical anniversary should be Thanksgiving, the first day back from Thanksgiving, or that day not long after Christmas, but nonetheless the holiday season has one more thing for him to celebrate.)

It’s during the holidays, sitting out on his tree and staring at the stars, that Jon realizes that next semester is the last one. Only one more semester of college, then he graduates and… then what? He laughs at himself, shaking his head. All that soul-searching, all that trouble, all that drama, and now, closing in on his last semester in school, he still has no idea what he’s truly going to do after.

It’s got to be a joke, at this point. There’s nothing to do but laugh, really. He knows he’s going to stay with Marinette, if she’ll let him, and she’s got a much more solid career plan laid out, so he’s just going to have to consult with her. At the very least, she can tell him what city he’s going to be looking for jobs in. Paris? It wouldn’t be so bad. Marinette’s friends are awesome, and it’d give Jon a good excuse to put the French he’s learning to actual use (though, if that’s the plan, he should practice with Marinette a lot more in the upcoming few months). His family will be far, yes, and it’ll be far easier for him to visit home than for everyone to visit him, but it will be pretty easy for him to visit.

Or maybe even Metropolis? Or New York? Maybe they can find another small apartment right next to the garment district. Hell, maybe they can just keep on staying in the apartment they’ve been renting for three and a half years already. (Well, Marinette won’t have FIT to work and store all her projects at, so they’ll have to get her a studio, or just a larger apartment, but they can figure that out.)

Whatever way, the question doesn’t weigh too heavily on him anymore. He’s not scared of it like nineteen-year-old Jon was. In fact, he’s excited. He can see the stars, every star, each one a possibility, but he’s narrowed down his search enough. He’s staring directly at Hercules, and once upon a time that might bother him, but not anymore. Because he’s comfortable now. He still can’t bear getting into a fight, he still has nightmares, his gut still turns at getting to close to heroism as he grew up knowing it, but… that’s not all there is to being a hero.

Hercules isn’t Perseus. The word “hero” doesn’t mean Superman, or Batman, or Wonderwoman, or any of the people who go out dispensing justice with their fists. Hero can mean anything to anyone. Marinette pulled him from a dark place, she gave him a home when he was so close to rejecting the one he had, when he was trying so hard to find one of his own. She stands with him, comforts him, reminds him to turn his light on when he’s studying on his computer after the sun goes down, brews a cup of tea for him when he needs it, or coffee if that’s what he needs instead (usually, she knows better than he does), nags him about the shoes he hasn’t forgotten to take off for a long time, makes dinner for him when his classes run later than hers so that he can focus on studying.

Marinette is, without a doubt, a hero. And even if neither of them are fond of the term, so much so that Jon will never speak it aloud, that doesn’t make the term any less apt. Jon only wishes he can find the words to tell her how ardently he loves her. Thanksgiving was a good attempt, but now that they’re together properly, especially because they’re together properly, he has to keep saying it.

(After all, he thinks, he already plans to spend his life with her, so… if they get married, he’s going to need his vows to be perfect, won’t he? But that’s thinking far too far ahead for now. No, now, he just needs to remind her how important she is.)

His most recent opportunity to do just that was when Thanksgiving came a second time. It’s a perfect time to fluster her the same way he (inadvertently) did back at last year’s Thanksgiving. It’s clumsy and inelegant, just like the first time, and he repeats a lot of what he said that time, too, but the effect it has on Marinette is just the same as well. And Jon just grins like a fool because he’s never been happier in his life. He doesn’t mess up this Thanksgiving starlight kiss. Not a chance.

Then the next semester starts, they’re back in their tiny apartment in New York, Marinette is giggling over a faux-leather jacket she makes for Conner that Jon admits works with his personality, and a pair of faux-leather pants for him that just leave him gawking at Marinette wondering if she wants him to strip in them or something. (He’s assuaged that it’s just a joke, though the thought lingers sinfully in his mind, and he’s entirely unsure how he feels about it. He does wear them, just once, because he loves her, though. She’s allowed a picture under strict confidence that Jon’s boys never ever see it, though he feels so awkward wearing them that he’s sure the picture isn’t great anyway.)

Of course, even though the pants are just a joke for Marinette’s giggles, the “gift” still starts another gift war (Motivated primarily by Jon knowing how much fabric costs. The pants aren’t real leather, thankfully, but that still can’t be a cheap joke. Jon begrudgingly adds them to his closet and wears them on rare occasions for that reason alone – they do look good, if not his usual style, especially as he slowly gets more comfortable in them – despite Marinette’s insistence that it’s unnecessary). Jon makes his grandma teach him to bake over the summer and holidays and he has recipes to shower Marinette with, so it’s a perfect opportunity to use them. This gift war eventually ends when the both of them decide they don’t want to get fat from eating baked treats all day every day. Even with them sharing with all their friends, they have a bit of a surplus. Their friends, needless to say, mourn the day this particular gift war ends.

That’s life, though, isn’t it?

Well into his final semester, Jon is frowning at the chessboard set up on their table, contemplating his next move, taking a sip of his tea (which Marinette gets him into – tea is great, actually), when his opponent says, “I am curious. Do you still believe the Girod to be an impossible ideal?”

Jon blinks at the kwami perched on the edge of the teacup on the other side of the table. Wayzz shoots him a knowing smile, which drops when Jon makes his move on the chessboard. “Yes.” Jon answers honestly. “Why?”

Wayzz hums a little, floating up higher to get a better view of the board. He moves his piece before he says, “I’m simply wondering. I never did ask; if you believe it’s impossible to achieve, why strive for it at all?”

Jon bites his lip, torn between the next chess move and his answer to the question. “Well…” Jon says, reaching for a piece but hesitating. “To me, it’s not so much that I need to… exemplify the Girod. Frankly, even if that is how people were on Krypton, I’m not a proper Kryptonian, anyway.”

“You do not feel a desire to keep Krypton’s culture alive?”

“…Not particularly.” Jon takes another sip of his tea and decides on his move. “I know I’m studying it, and it is interesting, but… I don’t know. Maybe Aunt Kara will be mad at me for saying this, but… it’s pretty much just academic to me. Despite all the powers and my heritage and all, I’ve never really had a connection to Krypton. It was destroyed before I was even born. There’s definitely value in learning about it, and I am into it as a subject for study, but I’m not going to change the way I live just because Kryptonians did something a different way. I’d never be happy just emulating history.”

“A thoughtful answer.” Wayzz says sagely. He takes his turn and returns to his own teacup to take a drink. “Then why bother with the Girod at all?”

“Because there’s value in it.” Jon says. “Even if I don’t believe it’s possible to be all those things at once, even if it’s impossible to be wholly virtuous, that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying for, don’t you think? It… gave me direction when I needed it. Marinette helped, too, obviously, but it was something to hold on to.” Jon frowns at the board, reluctantly making his move. “Maybe I don’t need it anymore. Honestly, I can’t tell if it’s too soon or not to stop trying for it, but… the Girod gives me virtue outside of heroism. Used to be that I thought I had to be a hero, because Dad’s what’s good, and Dad taught me that being good means getting involved and helping anyone I can, and that because I have these powers, that means that I have to be a hero to be good.

“…Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think he really meant it that way.” Jon says. “But I was just a kid learning all that, so it was easy to confuse. The Girod was my… ethics guidelines that I can use without the need to run off and save the day all the time. Really, it was just an excuse so that I can stop calling myself a bad person for stopping hero work. But…”

Wayzz nods slowly. “There is value in it.”

“Yeah. Even if I’m not trying to live like a Kryptonian, I think there’s room in my life for truth, and justice, industriousness, peace, blah, blah, blah.” Jon waves a hand dismissively, chuckling just a little. “And hope. Hope is really important.”

“Hm.” Wayzz moves another piece. “Good thing Marinette is always carrying it around, then, yes?”

Jon’s mind immediately conjures the image of the delicate silver “S” hanging from Marinette’s neck. The symbol of hope, and also of his family. His cheeks warm, but he smiles and nods and sips his tea calmly despite that. “Yeah. It’s great.”

——-=——-

Tag List: @moonystars14 @pawsitivelymiraculous @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @buticaaba @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe @moonlightstar64 @amayakans @theatreandcomicfreak @toodaloo-kangaroo @too0bsessedformyowngood @justcourttee <3

#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml fanfiction #ml x dc #maribat #marijon #ehhtrtd

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dweetwise · 4 years

Note

ok lowkey. that spirit thing was mweh😘 how strange yet oddly interesting. if you dont mind doing something similar... could you ... maybe write something where Zarina befriends the Nurse? like the nurse is getting bullied by all the other survivors and Zarina is just like 'bruh why?'. this happened once in a match and i cant get it outta my head😤🤡 love LOVE your work. keep it up

[thanks anon ily 😳😳😳 hope this is ok! there’s a special place in my heart for baby nurses, they are so pure <3]

zarina never had to deal with op old nurse bless her

Zarina befriends the Nurse: ficlet

Hearing yet another wail from the Nurse echoing across the map, Zarina looks up from her generator into the misty grounds of the asylum. The match had surely been going on for nearly ten minutes already, and the teleporting killer had yet to down any of the survivors.

Finishing up the repairs on her generator, Zarina starts navigating towards the sound of the screeches. On her way, she doesn’t spot a single one of her teammates on any of the generators, and frowns in irritation that the killer had apparently decided to farm with the others without anyone deeming it necessary to inform her.

“Forgot about the new chick again, huh?” she mutters to herself, already having had some trouble fitting in with the rowdy group of survivors and their already established dynamic.

Zarina finally reaches what seems to be the center for the commotion, arriving at the shack where Feng, Nea and David are running around in circles with the killer teleporting through the structure, landing a hit on David who the girls then immediately begin patching up right in front of the killer’s face. Zarina huffs out an annoyed breath that her assumptions were correct, turning away from the spectacle and fully intending to go elsewhere and refuse to participate in the others’ dumb little game, when...

“Oi, over ‘ere ya cunt!” David taunts, causing Zarina to clench her fists and whip around, ready to give the asshole Brit a piece of her mind for insulting her--

Only to see the still injured David pointing his flashlight in the Nurse’s face, prolonging the killer’s already painful looking fatigue state. Zarina swallows her misdirected anger and takes a more thorough look at the events unfolding at the shack.

She sees Feng Min get right up in the killer’s face, doing her stupid butt dance, while Nea chain blinds the killer with her own flashlight, rendering her useless for a few more seconds. The killer takes a wild swing in Nea’s direction, but the street artist sidesteps.

“Ooh, big swing!” Nea mocks, clicky-clicking her flashlight and moonwalking around the Nurse while the killer recovers from her miss.

“Baby killer, baby killer!” Feng’s high-pitched laugh echoes through the area as the gamer feigns vaulting the shack window, causing the Nurse’s bonesaw to uselessly hit the wood with a dull ‘thunk’.

“Couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with that aim--” David taunts from the shack entrance, making the Nurse quickly blink to him. David dashes through the pallet, avoiding the hit and proceeds to throw down the piece of wood on the killer, flashlight at the ready and already pointing at the Nurse. “Baited ya, bitch!”

“She’s so boosted!” Nea laughs, moving into position to reset the pallet in the blinded killer’s face while Feng injects a healing syringe into David’s shoulder. When the Nurse finally recovers from the combination of the fatigue, stun and blinds, only to have the now upright pallet be slammed right back in her face, Zarina decides enough is enough.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Zarina demands, approaching the scene. “Hey Zarina! Look at this baby killer!” Feng says, obnoxiously spam-pointing at the stunned Nurse. “Shouldn’t you be doing gens?” “Don’t get yer knickers in a twist, we’re just horsin’ around,” David grunts, rolling his shoulder from the sting of the syringe needle. “But why, though?” Zarina asks, shooting a glare in Nea’s direction where the Swede is once again blinding the killer with her flashlight. “Haven’t you done enough?” “No offense newbie, but maybe you should go find a gen and leave this to us, yeah?” Nea says, a cocky smirk on her lips.

That moment, the Nurse manages to get control over her movements and executes a precise teleport to an injured David, only to have the syringe take effect a split second before the hit and fully heal his wounds, merely causing him to get injured again. Zarina thinks she hears the Nurse groaning in defeat, and she doesn’t blame her. With Nea sprinting right back up to the killer, flashlight in hand, and Feng running after David ready to tank a hit, the Nurse readies another blink and, to everyone’s surprise, teleports away in the direction of the main building.

“LMAO she gave up!” Feng laughs, the sound grating on Zarina’s nerves, as she begins patching up David. “Let’s go after her!” Nea suggests. “NO!” Zarina yells, absolutely done with her fellow survivors’ bullshit against the clearly struggling killer. “You’ve already won! Don’t you have any empathy?” she scolds the trio. “Oh I’m sorry princess, is the taaxic flashlight against your wittle journalist’s ethics?” Nea mocks, fake pouting. “We’ve put of with ‘er shite for years, least she can do is take a couple pallets in tha face,” David grumbles. “Yeah you try versing a five blink Nurse with a mori and tell us how fair and balanced that is,” Feng says, hands on her hips. “Whatever, that’s your problem,” Zarina says, not about to entertain the trio about whatever grudges they seem to be holding. “Just do the fucking gens and leave.”

With that, Zarina makes her way to the main building, thankful that the others seem to stay behind, at least for now. She feels compelled to apologize to the killer on her so-called friends’ behalf, once again trusting her strong moral compass to guide her to the right decisions. Before long she finds the Nurse in one of the rooms on the second floor of the asylum, sitting on a windowsill with an old photo frame in her hands.

“Umm... miss killer? Excuse me?” Zarina makes her presence known, peering in through the door frame. “You didn’t have to intervene, girl,” the Nurse says with unexpected softness and clarity in her voice. She looks almost serene, ominous heartbeat gone, sitting primly in front of the window and torn dress flowing gently with a breeze from the derelict wall.

“I know, it’s... I couldn’t just watch. I’m sorry about them, they’re--” “It’s fine. Truly. I understand,” she says, looking down at the photo again. “I haven’t exactly shown them mercy in the past, I would not expect them to act different.” “Are you... okay?” Zarina asks, cautiously approaching. The Nurse sighs. “This place, it... brings back memories I’d rather forget. I feel my focus slipping and my head is just not in it today.” “The others said you used to be more powerful--or p-perhaps just more ruthless, before...?” “I suppose that’s true,” the Nurse chuckles. “There was a time where I lost myself completely, the entity filling my mind with hatred. Now... I’m weaker, more often a disappointment to it, but... perhaps it’s for the best.” “Umm... not to point out the obvious, but--don’t you think it might help to take the bag off of your head so you could see better?” “You’d offer advice to me, an enemy? A rather peculiar survivor, you are,” the Nurse says, fondness in her voice. “As for the matter, I am able to see just fine, courtesy of the entity. Hiding my face is a choice, one of the few I still have. I--” her voice cracks. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a touchy subject.” “What a curious one you are. Never give up that fire,” she says. “As for covering my head... he always loved seeing me smile,” she says, fondly stroking a finger over the picture, before handing the frame to Zarina, taking her completely off guard as she fumbles to grab the item.

In the frame is a picture of a happy couple on their wedding day, both smiling brightly and embracing each other. The man looks like a proper old-time gentleman, complete with a top hat and silly mustache. The woman is gorgeous, her pale skin and white gown a stark contrast to her fiery red hair and deep emerald green eyes.

“Is this you?” Zarina asks, slightly taken aback, reminded of the fact that the killers probably used to be normal people, just like her. “It was the happiest day of my life,” the Nurse says wistfully. “That was his favorite photo. He said it brought out my eyes, he--he loved my eyes, said they were a reflection of my soul, of our happiness. Which is why I can’t let anyone see my face.” “Because now you’re... unhappy?” Zarina asks, trying to understand. “Because I don’t want anyone to look into my eyes and see the madness that consumed me,” the Nurse whispers.

Zarina is at a loss for words, intrigued about the remorseful killer’s past but not wanting to pry further. She stares at the photo and tries to imagine how the cute, carefree woman in the picture could have ever turned into a bloodthirsty killer.

The sound of the exit gates being powered snaps her out of her thoughts, finally handing the frame back to its owner.

“Thanks for telling me all this,” Zarina says. “Can’t have been easy, what you’ve went through.” “I should be thanking you, for indulging a silly woman her tales,” the Nurse says. “Feel free to stop by, should you happen to wander into this realm from the campfire. I don’t often linger here, but... maybe it would not be so bad, had I company.” “You know, I might just take you up on that offer,” Zarina says, offering a small smile. The sound of a gate opening and the end game triggering reminds her that she’s on a time limit. “Shi--shoot, I’ve gotta run. See you around, uh... ms. Nurse?” “Please, call me Sally,” the killer says, primly bowing her head. “Zarina, was it? Do be careful out there. Your kindness might just be the end of you.” “Doesn’t sound so bad, as far as causes of death go,” Zarina quips, offering a cheeky grin before sprinting off the find the gate.

[sally is precious fight me. and lmao i didn’t even try to be subtle about who toxic nea is inspired by]

#zarina kassir #sally smithson #dbd nurse #dbd #dbd fanfic #request #dweetwrites

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fascinationuniformed · 4 years

Text

Festival Tipi

by Mr. Scade https://www.patreon.com/fascinationuniformed http://iancooketapia.com/ Story originally inspired by the photo above.

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Marco unzipped his tent and the light was agony. Immediately, the leftover alcohol beat at his skull like smiths to iron, as if the very understanding of daylight had injected them with energy.

He scrambled inside his tent and found his sunglasses. With a contended sigh, he sat his ass on the plastic of the tent and rested his bare feet on the wet grass outside.

“How’s that headache?” Jen appeared. Before he knew what was going on, a water bottle was in his hands. He drank greedily.

He made a non-committal sound, and then flopped back onto his sleeping bag. He groaned, forgetting that he was lying on a patch of semi-dry farm field and not his feather down bed.

Jen chuckled. “Drink that whole bottle. Go for a piss. Come back, and we’ll start getting you feeling better. Trust me, it feels worse if you stay there.”

And with that, Marco heard her feet mulch on the wet ground towards the sound of sizzling bacon.

Marco’s first festival had so far been a loud, wet, rambunctious and drunk affair. Everything he had heard and more. Constant drizzling rain and mud splatters up to your chest? Check. Popular crap music as well as fascinatingly good unknown bands? He had already bought some CDs he doubted would be available on Amazon. Drunk and a little rude? Well… not just a little rude but in a near-constant state of passive-aggressive confrontational entitlement. It is alcohol, after all! That was expected. Required, even. The drugs had surprised Marco, though, but the more he walked around the festival grounds the more sense their presence – if not outright requirement – made.

Without those drugs, then some of the attractions in the festival would either be empty or burnt to the ground. Especially the tents. Oh, there were tents dedicated to forest spirits, tents designed to put you in a sensorial overload or a deprived state that really made you see things. There was an entire little tipi hut made of furry, soft things that people went in just to, kid you not, roll on the floor laughing. It was called the ROFL Tipi. Going into one of the tents sober was a trip on its own – they were just that good – but seeing the reaction from those whose perception of reality was, should we say, enhanced was a riot. Being on acid must make some of them a truly mind-bending experience.

No. Of all the things that stood out about his first festival experience, it was the bare skin that surprised Marco the most. The grand majority of those showing extra skin were women, with the occasional dude or older gentleman bare chested or wearing naught but a banana hammock. It was on the second day when it suddenly became a pattern, when Marco finally realised it. Perhaps his own heterosexuality affected his perception, but he hadn’t really seen that many guys dressed up like peacocks during mating season. A relatively fit man in naught but a speedo and wellington boots? Yeah, okay. Some heavy set obese man, glowing pale white, in a vest and assless cowboy chaps? Well, someone might be into that. Perhaps the sample size was too small. But the girls? Yes. Not all the women were dressed like rave culture had an illegitimate child with hair metal and then had it raised by Eddie Izzard. But those that were? Neon bikinis with fishnets, plastic-tassels wigs and gaudy, giant sunglasses. Leotards with cut-off breast holes, tear drop-shaped pasties covering the nipples, and that getup wasn’t half as eye-catching as their holographic wellington boots. One girl had high-waisted shorts, a black PVC harness on top, a sheer bra, and pink hair in messy pigtails. Marco noticed the earphones leading to a secret pocket inside her shorts, as she danced by herself next to a bin overflowing with beer cans.

Two days, and Marco had trouble not staring. After all, those outfits were meant not so much to be looked at but gawked at; eye-catching, proudly proclaiming “here’s my woman’s body” and making a statement. If it was political, sexual or just going with the flow of the festival, Marco didn’t know. And the longer he was there, the less he cared to even think about that. Booze, dance and the few hot girls amongst the sea of impractical outfits made it hard to have such lofty conversations with his friends and even with himself.

It was a festival, after all. Rules and normalcy were outside this muddy field. In here, anything went. Possibilities could be bent. People could even look attractive wearing high-waisted jeans!

By the third evening, Marco’s initial anxiety had been drowned and everything felt pretty mellow and right. His gut didn’t feel like exiting in an emergency, and the meal they had made from what was left of their store of tins had been edible. And he managed to keep it in, unlike the bacon-heavy breakfast. That very morning, however, he had learned the dangers of mixing alcohol and weed. But after drinking a little cocktail from one of the health stations – little kiosks manned by some NGO dedicated to safe consumption – he felt more human than usual. He even went for a second one. Whatever that thing was, it felt like all the lies healthy supplements try to sell but, you know, real.

The day had been pretty chill after that. Some shows, some games, a lot of standing around in what had at some point been a green field but could now double as a “junta de embarre”. Come the evening, though, he and his friends were feeling a little bored.

Down the hill, a show of lights and loud synth guitars shook the ground. A mass of people holding glow sticks moved like one wave. With one mind, one body. It was beautiful to witness from far away. And sitting down. Not for the last time that night, Marco rubbed his feet. He should’ve brought hiking socks to this place. Or hiking boots. Something comfortable, at least.

Jen passed a joint to Brando, who tilted his head back as he inhaled. An old habit of his. After a moment, he passed it on. Marco took a drag, and then drew hoops with the smoke and then passed it on to… whoever had made their way into their little campsite. In any other situation, Marco would’ve worried. But the tangy, mellow flavours in his mouth made it easy to not care. It was a festival, after all. Make friends and make love. Rules were abandoned outside these muddy fields.

“D’ya see that?” Jen said suddenly, pointing up to the sky.

They had agreed to no lights at night. Some stars could be seen overhead, but mostly it was the lights reflecting on the clouds. An ethereal, otherworldly show, half-imagined, half-there.

After a while, Jen pulled the hood of her frayed hoodie down and pointedly pointed at something in the dark, past their tents. “We should do the Experience Tipis.”

“Which one, though,” Marco said, a little unsure.

“Take your pick. I would so,” Elongation. The syllable hanging in the air for too long. “Love to go into the expansion tent.”

“The what?”

“Expansion tent,” Jen repeated.

Brando coughed some smoke, rubbing his nose on his shirt sleeve. “She means the spandex tent – tipi, I mean,” He coughed some more. “It is covered in soft spandex and the floor is a big shaggy carpet. Soft. And dry.”

There was general assents at the word dry. The floor mulched under the plastic tarp they all sat on.

“And with the show down there,” Marco pointed down the hill. “It should be emptier.”

“Sounds like a plan,” The person next to Marco turned out to be a woman with a thick accent. It was a pretty accent, though.

They zipped down their tents, and then trudged through trenches of brown-grey mud and slush. Past piles of plastic cups, tin cans and the occasional guy passed out on a wet puddle that could’ve been anything.

A no-nonsense woman guarded the entrance to the Tipi Village. She eyed them, shone a light on their eyes, and sniffed around.

“Strong stuff?” She asked, as she made a note of their festival bracelets.

“Mellow. Could run a mile, but might get distracted by a tree,” Jen said. Whatever that meant satisfied the guardswoman and she let the four of them through.

The Tipi Village was arranged in a horseshoe shape, with the heavily decorated gate at one end. In the middle of the space, there was a big bonfire that turned the people there into eerie shadows. Most were unmoving, some were eating. They were all quiet.

“This one!” Jen cried, opening the flap to the tent with the sign that read Relaxation and Rebirth Tipi.

One girl sitting near the fire glared at them, shushing loudly.

Marco looked at her, in her star-shaped bikini, a row of tiny, strawberry-sized hair buns giving her hair something like a ridged spine. Discreetly, he adjusted his erection. The whole gathering was made up of these festival girls in their gaudy and trashy and, frankly, pretty hot outfits.

“Hey, you coming?” Brando said, waiting just inside the tipi. Some of the light landed on Brando’s face, illuminating the scar on his lip.

Marco was glad for the darkness. It hid just how close that phrase had come to reality.

“Yeah,” Marco said before stepping into a world made of soft pastels inside. Warm lights gave the whole place a colourful glow, not too intense, and very homey.

His friends had found a little step of soft plush green carpet, pink beanbags, and other soft items. Jen was already stepping into what looked like a cocoon hammock made from whatever soft spandex-y fabric Marco felt under his socks. Brando flopped onto a bean bag. While their new friend simply lied down on the plush carpet. She was tall and plump.

With a shrug, Marco went towards them.

The tipi had other people. Some on their own, others in small groups. They must’ve been here for a long while, because they looked asleep or, rather, a little out of it. Every single one of them was just lying down, on the floor, or on the steps, cradling themselves on the soft fabric. One or two seemed to be sinking into their chairs, blissful expressions on their faces. What he did notice was that every single person in the tipi was looking up at some sort of projection of a psychedelic dream. Just looking at it made Marco feel a little dizzy.

“Hey,” The stranger girl said. “Come. Sit down. It is so nice.”

As Marco sat down on a soft plushy chair and—

“Holy shite, this is so soft!” He cried.

“Told you,” Jen said, mumbling like a happy cat.

“It is life, bro,” Brando sighed, already halfway swallowed by the too-soft beanbag.

And Marco couldn’t help but sigh as he let his weight be taken by the plush… object. It wasn’t like any beanbag he had ever sat on – it was like stroking a soft cat and being wrapped in silk all at once.

It was then that Marco looked up and saw the shapes. Not just the psychedelic colours straight out of a Pink Floyd-induced nightmare, but the shapes hiding between the colours, inside the patterns.

“Guys, do you… d-do you see that?”

The patterns were shifting, circling, psychedelic dreams, perfect truths, new realities unheard of. Like every trippy piece of media, ever song composed while high as a kite, like every epiphany about the size of the universe all neatly put together in an impossible pattern of impossible colours.

Marco heard someone shush him. He turned, and from the corner of his eyes saw Brandon’s happy, blank face slowly sinking into the plush chair as if he were on quicksand. With a pop, his friends’ visage disappeared and all that remained was a round, plump fuzzy chair.

“G-guys?” He tried again, his attention snapping to the patterns.

The world felt so soft. So snug and warm and comfortable and, damn, those lights even felt warm on his skin.

Marco moved his neck just in time to see the floor swallow their new friend. It was like she was a leave floating on water, dipping the surface tension but not breaking when, suddenly, the woman disappeared with a pop.

“What the fuck!” Marco tried to get up, but something snapped him back into the plush cahir.

“Shhh… Marco,” Jen moaned hard and long. “It feels so much better when you let it take over.” She moaned again like someone getting their brains fucked empty.

Marco blinked, glancing to the side. Jen’s shape was visible, writhing and twisting, inside the tight green spandex cocoon. Her hands were groping at her boobs, between her legs, as the hammock closed down as if someone was reverse-peeling a banana. With a sigh, Jen’s face disappeared under the fabric before it tightened around her features as if she were being vacuum packaged.

“W-what the—” Marco’s voice was swallowed by the soft, green furry plushness of his chair. He could move his arms and legs, but just barely. The heavy plushness weighted on him, making it hard to kick or punch. Besides, just moving felt so nice that Marco would forget to even fight and just idly start stroking the fabric, letting it swallow him.

As the plushness came over his face, darkness didn’t appear. Instead Marco saw a world of technicolour spark through his eyelids and into his mind.

Eventually, the four of them left the tipi and sat around the fire, staring at it for a long while. Silent, enjoying the orange glow on their bare skin.

Jen sat with legs spread wide, letting the warmth of the fire lick her skin. The sheen of perspiration shinning on her bare midriff, her exposed breasts and naked legs reflected some of the light. If the sweat was from external or internal heat, that was hard to tell. The girl simply sat, eyes staring into a place far away inside the fire. Her star-shaped facepaint impervious to perspiration. Her hair, shiny green, cast a shadow over one half of her face.

Next to Jen, the plump girl coughed a little before she was shushed quiet by all the other festival girls basking before the flames. She looked abashed for a moment, before she leaned closer to the fire. Her neon-green bikini top disappeared under a rain of pink tassels from her plastic poncho enveloped her. Her enormous pink sombrero made her look like a giant, plastic Mexican statue.

A small girl kept playing with her boobs muttering something. Every squeeze sent her body shivering, letting a moan escape lips coloured a deep red. The colour, however, was carefully applied to avoid the scar that decorated her pretty face. The rest of her was wrapped in tight, shiny red spandex, a unitard of some sort, with a plunging neckline. Her arms and legs, however, were wrapped in fuzzy, furry, shaggy, pink hair.

A fourth girl, sat by her friends, looking around nervously. Something was odd about her friends, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. A sound broke her rumination. She turned, seeing a group of guys going into the same tipi she had walked into just a couple of – hours? days? – ago. As she moved, she felt something graze her legs. She looked down, seeing grass tickling her fishnet-covered legs. She giggled, and it made her bouncy tits bounce. They looked nice in their neon-green bikini top. Comfortable, like they had always been there.

“Oh, of course I’ve always had them,” Marco said. “I’ve always been a festival slut.”

Another sound. Someone shushing the boys.

She turned, seeing one of the tipi caretakers approach her. The woman was dressed in stars and tassels, in bright neon spandex and with colourful face paint. She looked hot as.

“Oh, Marcella, darling, you have to look into the fire,” She placed a hand on Marcella’s face and she felt her pussy tingle.

Softly, the caretaker tilted Marcella’s face towards the controlled, multi-coloured bonfire. “Look into the Fire. Let it warm up your heart. Your pussy. Let it fill you with feminine power. Let it burn away what was. Learn to burn bright and blinding. Learn to look like no one could ever look away.”

Marcella shuddered, feeling the warmth of the fire lick her skin. The caretaker’s skin caressing the inside of her thigh.

“Learn to be a festival slut, dear.”

FIN ‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

If you’d like to help me make more of this type of content, and explore new ideas or styles, consider pitching to my PATREON where not only can you see my newest work early, but can even affect the nature of this work!For more of my writing and illustrations, do visit My website. My Twitter| My DeviantArtAll work on this blog should be understood in context. Any portrayals of non-consent are, themselves, consensual between author and reader.

#short story #fiction #transformation story #my story #mcstories #male to female transformation #festival girls

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breakthesitcom · 3 years

Text

1OO IMPORTANT CHARACTER QUESTIONS

taken from beth kinderman and nikki walker’s the 100 most important things to know about your character. a good list to help develop a character’s background, personality, and general aspects.

Taken from: @museinspo Tagging: Whomstever!

PART 1: THE BASICS

What is your full name?

Jordan El Kent

Where and when were you born?

Metropolis, Kansas in 2009

Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)

Clark Kent aka Superman and Lois Lane, they used to work for the Daily Planet. But, they quit after we moved to Smallville. Now my dad’s a farmer, and my mom works for the local paper. They’re both pretty good parents.

Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?

I have a twin brother named Jonathan, whose my polar opposite and better than me in a lot of ways. I also would have had a little sister named Natalie but...things didn’t work out that way.

Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.

I live with my mom and dad in Smallville, Kansas which is a small town and it’s pretty quiet. But it’s...a good place to live.

What is your occupation?

High school student

Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.

I’m 5′7″, with curly black hair and a lot of people say my eyes are blue-green. They’re blue, it’s just sometimes they look kind of green depending on lighting. Um, I don’t really know how much I weigh and...I am as pale as the driven snow because I never see the sun. I prefer wearing black and dark clothes. And no tattoos or marks.

To which social class do you belong?

I’m...guessing middle class?

Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?

Allergies no, but I do have an aversion to Kryptonite.

Are you right- or left-handed?

Right handed

What does your voice sound like?

It’s still not that deep, or as deep as I’d like it to be.

What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?

I have no idea, you’d have to ask my brother that one.

What do you have in your pockets?

Currently? Um some change, keys, phone, ooh I have gum! I didn’t know that was in there.

Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?

Um, I guess sometimes I tend to talk with my hands a lot. It’s a little weird, and I’m sure my brother can tell you many annoying habits about me. My worst one? Diving headfirst into stuff, without thinking of consequences. That one gets me in trouble a lot.

PART 2: GROWING UP

How would you describe your childhood in general?

Um, home wise it was pretty good. My dad was usually working or out of town, so he wasn’t always there. It was usually mom and us, which was...fine. Ok sometimes it could be a little frustrating, but I can’t complain too much. Outside of home? Like at school.....lets not talk about that.

What is your earliest memory?

I think, I vaguely remember being in a dark place. it’s a place that’s really dark, and I can hear my mom? But she sounds muffled..like I’m underwater but I can still hear her. And there’s something else in there, so it’s a little cramped, but it’s not scary. I told my mom that, and she said there was no way I remember being in the womb. But I swear I remember that one thing.

How much schooling have you had?

Kindergarden through freshman year.

Did you enjoy school?

Nope. Well, back in Metropolis I didn’t. I was bullied relentlessly, and had no friends and...everyone hated my guts. Smallville High isn’t that bad, I like it here.

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?

Um, depends on what you mean. Now that he’s around a lot more, I do...learn a lot of stuff from my dad. Like, how to use my strength and how to work on the farm.

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.

Probably my mom, she was Superwoman...ironically. But, she was the parent who was there the most. She’s a badass, and she never lets anything stop her from doing the right thing.

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?

I kept to myself a lot, I...also threw tantrums...a lot so I’m sure I didn’t make it easy on anyone.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Ironically, Superman. When I was a kid, my mom would tell me Superman stories and....I wanted to be just like Superman. I also wanted to be a video game programmer, and make games of my own.

As a child, what were your favorite activities?

Drawing, I used to play the piano, writing, and reading.

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?

Well I had undiagnosed Anxiety, and before we knew I used to throw tantrums a lot. Not proud of that, but...I did. I was alos a lot more shy and insecure, about a lot of things. Um, there was a time...I might have been nicer and...maybe more optimistic, but I think bullying kind of beat that right out of me. So. I was also kind of a crybaby. I was...a troubled kid....still kind of am depending on who you ask.

As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?

Uh no, actually....I was the loser, outcast, who never talked to anyone. I didn’t have any friends, unless you counted Jonathan. I have friends now, which is weird to me.....but also nice.

When and with whom was your first kiss?

Um, next question.

If you are a supernatural being (i.e. mage, werewolf, vampire), tell the story of how you became what you are or first learned of your own abilities. If you are just a normal human, describe any influences in your past that led you to do the things you do today.

Not technically supernatural, but I am...part...alien? My dad is Superman, and thus I am part Kryptonian. I’m still trying to figure out my powers, though I know I’m probably going to get all of his. At first I didn’t think I had them. But then I saved my brother from these big metal tubes and....I guess that’s when they kicked in.

PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?

Probably finding out I had powers, to be honest and then finding out my dad was Superman. Life kind of changed after that.

Who has had the most influence on you?

My mom, and my brother. They’re the family I spent most time with.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Winning my first ever football game, I never played sports before and ok I did have powers to help me out. But...it still felt good to win something for once.

What is your greatest regret?

Hurting my brother.....letting my dad down.....letting Edge take my dad.....lying to Sarah every day.

What is the most evil thing you have ever done?

So....when I was six, mom and dad were repainting the living room. And there was paint, I have no idea why I did this. But, I dipped my hand in the paint, and I.....touched the walls.....and then blamed Jon for it. Granted in my defense, they were gonna paint it anyway. But.....yeah, I think that’s the most evil or I guess bad thing I ever did.

Do you have a criminal record of any kind?

Nope...pretty sure my mom would kill me if I did.

When was the time you were the most frightened?

Oh there have been plenty of times, um when my superhearing kicked in and Jon and I had to go save dad, he drove us all the way to this warehouse with weird red lights. There was Edge and what he did to dad, there was....a lot of stuff.

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?

Lets not open that can of worms.

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?

mm, I wouldn’t have broken Jon’s arm.

What is your best memory?

So it was really hot one year, and mom and dad surprised us with a beach trip. Jon and I were seven and well we’d never been before, so we were super excited, we spent all day there and we ate this big burgers with fries and....it was nice.

What is your worst memory?

Not gonna answer that.

PART 4: BELIEFS & OPINIONS

Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?

Um, I’m in the middle? I think it depends on what it is. Sometimes, I can be an optimist....mostly a pessimist.

What is your greatest fear?

Losing control of my powers...and hurting other people.

What are your religious views?

I mean, we were raised to believe in the Almighty, and granted it wouldn’t surprise me given all the aliens and supernatural stuff if he did exist. Uh, but if there is one...he has a very interesting sense of humor sometimes.

What are your political views?

Well, still forming those but I do lean more to the left.

What are your views on sex?

I’m gonna skip this one.

Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?

No. I don’t think I have it in me to kill anyone. I...I know I probably seem like the type, y’know loner, wears black, and plays violent video games, but I would never do that. To me, even if it’s a villain...all life deserves to be protected. Maybe that’s naive, but I learned that from dad.

In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do?

I think manipulating someone, taking them and just...doing whatever it is to brainwash them and turn them into someone their not. Or even just, making them do something they would never do, I think that’s pretty evil.

Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love?

I do, because in every universe there is a Clark Kent and a Lois Lane, and in almost every universe they find one another. And they choose each other. And I think that’s pretty great.

What do you believe makes a successful life?

I’ll...get back to you on that.

How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)?

Not very, but depending on how angry I am I will infact yell and scream about my feelings. Mostly though I keep stuff bottled up, which probably isn’t healthy but I don’t want people worrying.

Do you have any biases or prejudices?

I do not, I’m willing to give everyone at least one chance..and the benefit of the doubt. Except for Lex Luthor...screw that guy...and Jimmy Cutter while I’m at it but even then.....if he apologized? sure.

Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it?

Wear a cape, listen I have seen the Incredibles, and sure it’s a kid’s movie but...I still would rather not have a cape snag on takeoff or get sucked into a plane’s turbines.

Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)?

My family...my friends...Sarah.

PART 5: RELATIONSHIPS W/OTHERS

In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how?

I will treat you as you treat me, you’re gonna be a dick? I will be a dick back. You’re nice? I’ll be nice back. But....I also believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt when it’s earned, in giving second chances, and helping even if I don’t like them.

Who is the most important person in your life, and why?

I don’t think I have just one person.

Who is the person you respect the most, and why?

um, my parents? For obvious reasons, and Jon....for a lot of reasons.

Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people.

It’s probably weird, but my best friend is Jon. We do everything together, and he’s always been there for me. He protects me, and sometimes we annoy the heck out of each other. But we’re always there for each other.

Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person.

I do not have a spouse...yet.

Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened.

I’m pretty sure I feel in love with Sarah after I saw her again, at grandma’s funeral which sounds weird. But in context, we hadn’t seen each other since we were kids, and when I saw her...it was like...there was something....inside that felt nice.

What do you look for in a potential lover?

That’s a weird way to put it, but um...I want someone whose nice, whose good and sweet and smart, and someone who cares about me and who I can laugh about dumb stuff with and whose....not afraid to be them and....someone who understands...and is very understanding.

How close are you to your family?

We’re getting better, but we weren’t always super close.

Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not?

No not yet, but eventually? I do want to marry Sarah and have kids with her. I think I’d like....two or three kids?

Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help?

I guess it would depend on the danger. If it’s a bully at school? Jon, if it’s something more emotional? mom if...its something superhero related dad.

Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why?

My family....they’re always there for me.

If you died or went missing, who would miss you?

Before Smallville, I would have said no one. That everyone would be happier...but now I know that’s not true. That, there are people, who would in fact miss me.

Who is the person you despise the most, and why?

The most? Tal-Rho, look say what you want about Lex Luthor, or Gorilla Grodd, or any other villain but Tal is an asshole to the highest possible degree. I do not even consider him an uncle, because he’s not. He’s just a tyrannical, fascist, bully, who deserves to be alone and miserable for the rest of his life.

Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?

Oh yeah, no I..I argue...not my best trait. I mean I’ll avoid it if I can but...mostly I will fight.

Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations?

Nope I am not cut out to be the leader under any circumstances.

Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not?

Also no, I have anxiety and sure I handle large groups in small doses, but mostly I prefer smaller groups of people.

Do you care what others think of you?

Yes and no, it depends I guess. I care very much what Sarah thinks or my friends, do I care what villains and bullies think? Not really....well bullies...eh.

PART 6: LIKES & DISLIKES

What is/are your favorite hobbies and pastimes?

Playing video games, sometimes football, reading, I started playing piano again.

What is your most treasured possession?

I’ll keep that to myself.

What is your favorite color?

Black

What is your favorite food?

Spaghetti and meatballs.

What, if anything, do you like to read?

Um, I’ll read anything honestly, but...my favorite book series has to the Percy Jackson series. Which ok I get the irony, but it’s a good series. It is.

What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)?

Honestly? I don’t mind binging a random comedy every once in awhile.

Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit?

None of the above.

How do you spend a typical Saturday night?

That would be, playing video games or just binging something and eating whatever junk food we have.

What makes you laugh?

I have a very dark sense of humor, Jon can get me to laugh though no matter what.

What, if anything, shocks or offends you?

Probably bullying, which is a huge one for me.

What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself?

I’ve actually had insomnia before, and usually I’d get on my computer or play video games very very quietly.

How do you deal with stress?

I don’t.

Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan?

In some cases, sometimes I like a plan, mostly though I thrive on being spontaneous. You’d think I wouldn’t but...that’s a whole other conversation.

What are your pet peeves?

I have way too many to count. But I think the worst one? Clacking the spoon with your teeth when you’re eating. It’s like nails on a chalkboard to me.

PART 7: SELF IMAGES & OTHER

Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted?

Um, wake up, brush my teeth, have breakfast, get dressed, go to school, and go home. If I’m not hanging out with Sarah and obviously on the weekends its different. Honestly? it gets disrupted every other week so I’m used to it.

What is your greatest strength as a person?

I don’t really think I have any if I’m honest.

What is your greatest weakness?

Oh where to start um, I am too human for aliens and too alien for humans, I am weak, I am way too emotionally charged, sometimes I occasionally give way too much of a crap, I am a freak of nature, and I....I’m the last person who should have ever gotten super powers.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Probably....the above, I don’t mind powers but....Jon should have gotten them, not me. He’s the real hero.

Are you generally introverted or extroverted?

I am definitely an introvert.

Are you generally organized or messy?

It drives my mom crazy how messy I am.

Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at.

Um, things I’m bad at? Sports, being in a large crowd by myself, cooking and...things I’m good at? That’s a great question.

Do you like yourself?

Before Smallville, no. I hated everything about myself, and I...didn’t think very highly of myself in regards to...other people. I thought life would be better for everyone if I...wasn’t a thing. But, I’m starting to....I can’t tell you things I’m good at or what I like about myself. But I can tell you, that I have friends, a family, a girlfriend...people who I can rely on and who rely on me. I dunno if that means I like myself, but I know it means...I have people.

What are your reasons for being an adventurer (or doing the strange and heroic things that RPG characters do)? Are your real reasons for doing this different than the ones you tell people in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons…)

Growing up, I idolized my mom and Superman and I wanted to be just like him. I don’t deserve these powers but now that I have them. I’m gonna use them for good.

What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime?

Well for starters I really, really want to be a superhero

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

In five years? So when I’m 19. I will be a Superhero, and I will go to college in New York with Sarah and...we have an apartment there. We have jobs, small ones not fully careers but....I want a life with her.

If you could choose, how would you want to die?

oof morbid, but um....I’m gonna quote Titanic a little. I want to die when I’m very old, safe and warm in my bed...having lived a good life.

If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left.

Um, probably try to spend as much time with Sarah as I could, I would kiss her and...tell her how much I love her. I’d play one last game of football with Jon, and I would have one last dinner with my mom and dad.

What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death?

mmm I think that’s kind of a tough one.

What three words best describe your personality?

- Defiant - Hotheaded - Quiet

What three words would others probably use to describe you?

Oh they have uh stupid, weird, freak......yeah.

#ask game

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