#busted this attack out in like. less than two hours

[autisticlancemcclain]

It has been many, many days since Lance has seen his bed.

Actually, he’s not sure how many days it’s been since he’s seen his dorm, either. Probably more than four. What he has right now is the app Pidge made him for his birthday, where he can input several alarms in advance and thus set up reminders for every single one of his classes and assignments et cetera, and empty can of Redbull, and an equally empty wallet.

He looks blankly at the vending machine in front of him, in the dilapidated old hallway in the science building. The lights in the machine are long broken, so the clearest thing he can see in the dark glass is his own reflection. He looks busted as hell — there are more bags under his eyes than actual eyes, his hair is a logic defying mix of flat and greasy and frizzy beyond gravity, his skin seems to almost sag, and there’s a grey quality to him, as if he’s a cartoon in a black and white TV show. Tired does not begin to cover it.

Midterms are hell.

“C’mon,” he mutters, wrapping his hands around the sides of the machine and shaking slightly.

More people die per year from being crushed to death by vending machines then via shark attack.

Lance squeezes his eyes shut. The image of his Marine Bio II textbook and all its dorky fun fact graphics still burns behind his eyelids. He’s read it so many times at this point that he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to forget it.

“Please,” he says again, half begging and half praying. To what he doesn’t know. The vending machine, probably. He honestly cannot remember the last thing he ate. It was probably takis, but. Still. He needs sustenance again. Preferably the kind that is less than two dollars and he can eat while filling out calculus problems.

He fumbles with the little flap at the base of the machine, managing to tug it open on the third try and stick his arm in it. He stretches, managing to brush his fingertip on the corner of a dust-covered Snickers, but can’t quite manage to tip it out of its little cell.

He sighs, resting his forehead on the glass. He’ll just — close his eyes, maybe. For three seconds. His alarms will go off twenty minutes before class starts, so it’s fine. And no one even comes into this hallway so it’s not like he’ll get robbed, or anything. Not that he has anything to rob.

Rest. Just a little one. If he can’t get snacks he’ll rest. It’s fine. He doesn’t need to study for the next few minutes anyway. He can afford one or two percent on his midterm. Probably. Or not, but that’s a Future Lance problem. Present Lance needs to power off for half a second.

He registers, vaguely, the sound of rumbly growling accompanied by heavy footsteps coming from behind it, but dismisses it easily. He’s gone at least half a week without sleep. He knows science. It’s hallucination time. It’s not his first and it won’t be his last. He’s been hearing pterodactyl roars periodically for the last six hours. It’s whatever. It’ll chill out by the time he opens his eyes again.

The footsteps stop, and Lance sighs a little, and then the vending machine moves as if shifted, and Lance thinks, huh.

Then the sound of glass shattering echoes in the dusty hallway, and Lance thinks, louder, h u h.

And then Lance opens his eyes, blinking away the grogginess, a — person stands in front of him, dressed in the dweebiest GI Joe meets James Bond outfit of all time, seven foot four, covered in purple fur. Fangs protrude from his mouth. His ears are massive and fluffy. His sclera are yellow.

He holds out, in clawed hands, a bag of takis, pulled from a hole punched clean through the old glass.

Huh, Lance thinks, for the third time.

Slowly, because what the fuck, Lance reaches out and grabs the offered snack. In the three seconds it takes for the snack to travel from the stranger’s hand to his, he decides, whatever. It’s been a long period of time. He is thinking half in math. He is starving. He did not, technically, steal these takis, so there’s not even an issue morally. There’s not an issue anywhere, really. It’s a non-issue.

“Thanks,” he says, muffled from the eight chips he’d immediately shoved in his mouth at once.

The person (he’s a person, probably, right, he got him takis, non-people don’t generally get people takis) makes some kind of — growling noise, at him, but not a scary one. A fairly neutral one, if Lance had to categorize it.

Or maybe he’s wrong and he’s about to get eaten. Who knows. That’s an issue, once again, for Future Lance.

“I’m Lance,” Lance says, sticking out his non-chip dust covered hand to shake.

The person brightens, grabbing Lance’s hand and shaking it so vigorously it nearly pops out of its socket. He garbles something in what Lance assumes is French, too fast for him to make out. He must be an exchange student. Lance would usually try to strike up a conversation, ask how he’s liking it here — he knows how hard it can be, struggling with a new language in a new country — and he even took a semester of French in high school, and it’s decently similar to Spanish, so he could probably keep up with the guy.

But Lance is probably medically brain dead, at this point. Thoughts outside of practice exam questions are just…so hard.

“I’m gonna call you Keith,” Lance says (because someone at the local starbucks has a thing for Keith Richards so those are the only songs in his head right now. The matching mullets also come into play).

Keith offers no protest.

Lance’s alarm goes off in his back pocket, startling him. He pops the last taki in his mouth, wiping the dust on his jeans, and swipes open his phone, reading the notification. Physics tutorial in twenty minutes on the other side of campus. Oh, he knows that one. The TA is a ninety year old retired air force pilot who sits at the front of the classroom with a random tangentially-related-to-class-material wikipedia article open on his phone and reads out loud when he finds something interesting. Finally, Lance can nap.

“Well, Keith,” Lance says, crumpling up his package and tucking it in his pocket. “I appreciate the chips. You cannot understand how much. I’m gonna head to class. See you around?”

He pats the guy’s shoulder as he walks past him. Or, well, tries, he ends up kind of tapping his upper bicep because lordie the man is tall. Keith doesn’t say anything back, but Lance isn’t really paying any attention to him anymore, as rude as that is. There’s this one cupboard, in his physics class, in the very back corner, and there’s a space in between it and the wall that he just barely fits in between, right on top of a heating grate. It’s heaven. It might even be more comfortable than his dorm bed, not that he can remember what that feels like. Ha. He’s so looking forward to it. This nap is going to hit so hard. He can feel it in his bones. He’s gonna nap through physics, then stop at the cafe in between the building and the library, espresso up, and study until close. And then his last midterm at six thirty tomorrow morning. And then he can collapse in bed and stay there for four days. Freedom is so close.

As he hauls ass to the classroom, slipping and sliding on the icy November sidewalks, he catches someone following him out of the corner of his eye. Like the footsteps from earlier, this is not the first time he’s seen this. When he looks he’s sure there’s going to be nothing there.

But…earlier there was something. With the footsteps. So. What does he know.

He looks.

As he half-expected, Keith is following him.

“Do you…need something?” Lance asks, tilting his head curiously. Now that he’s had some food and is less out of it, Keith looks a lot more normal. He’s still absolutely stupid tall, but the purple fur and giant ears he’d been convinced he’d seen are no longer there. His skin is pale, now, fuzz-free, and while his nails are a little long, they certainly aren’t claws. When he smiles, his teeth are still sharper than what Lance would call normal, but not fangs. Probably.

Keith shrugs. He has a certain look in his strange, indigo eyes that remind Lance of his dog back home, following him to the door with her leash in her mouth, expecting to be taken along.

“It’s a boring class,” Lance warns. “And I’m gonna sleep, man. The whole time.”

Keith doesn’t seem bothered. He simply takes a step forward so he’s beside Lance instead of behind him, even reaching down and grabbing his hand.

Lance glances down at their clasped fingers. He asks his brain if it has to power to analyze how that makes him feel. It responds that it does not. He resolves to handle it later, deciding to just go with it for now.

“You’re a strange guy,” Lance mumbles, walking them both to the class. He wonders if this is how people regularly act in France. Probably. He’s never been. Regardless, though, Keith is nice enough to offer a shoulder for Lance to sleep on when he finds his beloved corner occupied with some kind of new equipment. His shoulder is quite soft.

Lance thinks he might be able to get used to Keith.

———

based on this post

[ixhika-jsx]

## What’s a Cyber Forensic Investigator?

Master post - part 1 • part 2

You must have heard bout forensics yk investigating bout dead people who might have been killed and all

You must have seen shows on those topics too.Cyber forensic investigator is just of same kind but investigating through all types of modern gadgets.

Catching hackers and all but cooler

### The Money Talk: How Much Do They Make?

- **Cash Money**: Expect to rake in about $60k to $120k a year. If you are very much experienced and skilled then you can expect about 150k+ a year.(obv different countries and companies may have different wages)

### Companies That Want You

- **Tech Titans**: Google, Amazon, Facebook—they all have requirement for such heroes

- **Gov Jobs**: FBI, CIA—basically every spy agency wants you.

- **Cybersecurity Firms**: CrowdStrike, McAfee—so every gateway you go you gonna have opportunities everywhere.

### What Other Forensic Investigators Are There?

- **Forensic Pathologists**: Real-life detectives who figure out how someone died. Less tech, more science.

- **DNA Analysts**: The ones matching DNA samples

- **Forensic Accountants**: Following the money to catch fraudsters and scammers

- **Toxicologists**: Poison experts, figuring out if someone’s been covertly poisoned. (Yeaa yk snow white story)

### What’s the Work Environment Like?

- **The Lab**: Imagine a room filled with more screens than your gaming setup. Gadgets galore, maybe even a Red Bull or two

- **On the Move**: Sometimes you’re out in the field, collecting evidence. Think of it like collecting rare items in a game.

- **Remote Vibes**: You could be solving cybercrimes from your bed in your PJs .

### How Long Does It Take to Become One?

- **Time Investment**: About 4 years for a bachelor’s, and then 1-2 more years for a master’s if you’re going all-in. So, 5-6 years total. But hey, good things take time, right?

### What Do You Study?

- **Cybersecurity/Computer Science**: Your main jams. Think of them as the ultimate cheat codes for this career.

- **Digital Forensics**: Specialized courses where you learn to be a digital ninja.

- **Law and Ethics**: Learning how to catch the bad guys without breaking the law yourself. (You yourself don't want to be troubled obviously)

### Subjects You Need to Get Into It

- **Math**: Yep, but not the boring kind—more like coding and algorithms.

- **Computer Science**: Your go-to for everything techy.

- **Optional Nerd Points**: Chemistry/Physics if you’re into hardware forensics or just want to flex those brain muscles.

### Work Hours: What to Expect?

- **9 to 5-ish**: Standard hours if you’re working for a company, but expect some late nights or weekend shifts when big cases pop up.

- **On-Call Madness**: Sometimes you’re on-call like a digital firefighter. Cyber-attack at 3 AM? Time to suit up (or log in) and handle it.

- **Flexible/Remote**: If you’re lucky, you can work from home. Just remember, no solving crimes in your underwear during Zoom meetings!

### Interview with a Cyber Forensic Investigator

**Interviewer**: What’s a day in the life of a cyber forensic investigator?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Imagine rolling out of bed, grabbing your coffee, and diving into cases. I’m talking analyzing hard drives, sifting through emails, or tracking down cyberattack origins. Some days it’s all data, other days I’m working with law enforcement or testifying in court. Never a dull moment!

**Interviewer**: What’s the coolest case you’ve worked on?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Helping bust a phishing ring that was scamming millions. Tracked their digital footprints, caught the culprits, and recovered their loot. Felt like a total legend.

**Interviewer**: Ever seen some dark stuff, like murders?

*Cyber Sleuth**: Yeah, I’ve stumbled across some pretty grim stuff. It’s not all memes and malware—sometimes it’s serious business. But catching those bad guys makes it all worth it.

**Interviewer**: Have you ever been on the dark web?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Oh, for sure. It’s like the sketchy underbelly of the internet. Lots of shady deals. I go there when I need to, but it’s not a fun hangout spot.

**Interviewer**: How dark can a case get?

**Cyber Sleuth**: It can get really intense. I’ve worked on cases involving human trafficking and other serious crimes. It’s tough, but making a difference makes it worth it.

**Interviewer**: Any advice for someone who wants to get into this field?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Stay curious and keep learning. Tech evolves fast, so you’ve gotta keep up. And don’t be afraid to dig deep—sometimes the answers are buried in tons of data, but finding them is like hitting gold.

So if you’re into tech and have subjects like mathematics , chemistry and physics then you are all set to start your journey.i have seen ppl running for a common a job and all and they are not even specified about what they want. So just research and find out what you want.

[wildlife4life]

Fuck-It Friday

Tagged by the always fantastic @exhuastedpigeon, @spotsandsocks, @jeeyuns, @hippolotamus, @theotherbuckley, @wikiangela and @disasterbuckdiaz. Thank you all so much! I look forward to all your fics!

Putting the fuck in fuck-it friday with some angst today from NFL Buck. Hope you all enjoy!

The first time Eddie and Evan went past the stage of making out with some light grinding, Evan was on his knees and showing Eddie his skills beyond the football field. He was like a teenager again, bumbling movements that had him almost poking Buck's eye out, trying to decide what to do with his hands. And then coming down the younger man's throat without warning in just a few short minutes. To top it all off, the high of his orgasm quickly bled into a full blown panic attack. Eddie didn't return the favor that evening. Instead he stumbled his way into the bathroom, pants and underwear around his ankles and his father's voice screaming in his head. A man shouldn't be letting another man suck his dick. He shouldn't have enjoyed it. A lone blowjob shouldn't have felt better than anything he ever did with Shannon. He isn't gay. Thank god Evan kept a pin to the bathroom lock above the door, otherwise Eddie knew the quarterback would have busted down the door himself. Screw getting his deposit back. After going though a handful of breathing techniques that Evan learned from his own therapist, Eddie left. Two days later Buck broke up with him. Less than 24 hours after that, Eddie was watching gleefully as Evan smothered himself with a pillow muting his moans of pleasure so not to wake the toddler that slept just down the hall. Eddie finally returned the favor with a very sloppy, but enthusiastic blowjob of his own and he swallowed every last drop of Evan's cum. Evan licked the taste of himself out of Eddie's mouth afterwards, and not a trace of panic followed. Instead, Eddied buried his own gasps and grunts into Buck's shoulder as he thrusted his leaking cock into his boyfriend's hand. He lasted a little longer this time around and reveled in the orgasmic bliss mixed with the sting of the hickeys Evan left down his throat. "Can I stay?" Evan asked in the quiet of their post carnal come down. Eddie didn't even hesitate, "Always."

This fic won't have a lot of smut, but its always fun to sprinkle a little here and there. I also wanted to put some of Eddie's journey to be where he is when he gets to the 118. Hope you all enjoyed. If you want to see more NFL Buck, just go here.

Tagging (no pressure): @fortheloveofbuddie @forthewolves @giddyupbuck @ladydorian05 @devirnis @eddiebabygirldiaz @thewolvesof1998 @loserdiaz @thekristen999 @lizzybizzyzzz @homerforsure @sibylsleaves @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33 @spaceprincessem @shortsighted-owl @monsterrae1 @lover-of-mine @watchyourbuck @rogerzsteven @eowon @911onabc @911-on-abc @cowboydiazes @cowboy-buddie @cowboy-buck @brokenribsdiaz @buck-coded @bvckandeddie @housewifebuck @transbuck @elvensorceress @glorious-spoon @bigfootsmom @eddiediaztho @buddierights @athenagranted @rainbow-nerdss @gayhoediaz @gayedmundodiaz

[loopspoop]

Chapter 4 here we are! Fujiko is back and everyone’s trying (and failing) to cope! Lots of hurt and comfort in this one but they’re working hard to handle things!

TW: panic attack

Fujiko opened the door, frowning as she looked around. There was a blanket on the ground and the coffee table was moved across the room. Where the hell were the boys? Had they gone upstairs to use an actual bed? Hopefully so..Lupin wouldn’t recover well on just a couch. She walked inside, shutting and locking the door behind her as she looked around.

“Hello? Jigen? Goemon?” She called, walking to the stairs as she began to go up.

Zenigata peered over the railing, smiling as he relaxed a bit. “Fujiko, we’re up here.” He had worried it was an intruder.

“Zenigata-?” Fujiko hesitated. “When did you get here-?” She thought he wouldn’t be able to find them…

“Oh, uh…I’ve been here the whole time actually…you have the medication for Lupin, right?” Zenigata rubbed his nape sheepishly, glancing away.

Fujiko nodded a bit, climbing the stairs the rest of the way. The whole time? So, he was already here and they just didn’t know? That was a little creepy. Where had he been hiding at? And where were Jigen and Goemon? Had he arrested them? She wouldn’t be happy if he had arrested them.

“Where is everyone?” Fujiko looked past Zenigata, frowning.

“Ah..we had some trouble while you were gone. Jigen and Goemon are keeping an eye on him in the bedroom but we really do need to give him some medication.” Zenigata frowned, leading her to the bedroom.

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” Fujiko frowned, looking into the bedroom quietly.

Lupin laid in the bed, still unconscious. Jigen sat on the ground beside the bed, smoking silently as he tapped his foot. That was an obvious sign he was anxious. She had picked that up early on, whenever he was on edge he fell into the tapping habit. Goemon sat at the foot of the bed, watching Lupin closely as he held onto Zantetsuken. She could see him rubbing the handle with his thumb, another anxious habit she had learned about from her years with them. Whatever had happened must’ve been bad…but Lupin was still breathing, that much she could see.

“Took you long enough.” Jigen mumbled, glancing at her from under his hat.

Fujiko frowned a bit, walking in as she unpacked the bottles. “You try seducing a pharmacist.” She grumbled angrily.

Jigen scoffed. “Took you less time to seduce Lupin every time you show up wanting a cut of our loot. You decided to take your sweet time while he’s here dying on us!”

“Nobody is dying.” Goemon looked at Jigen sternly, holding Zantetsuken tighter. He wouldn’t let Lupin die.

“Guys-“ Zenigata frowned, looking between them all anxiously. This wasn’t the time to fight.

“Oh, easy for you to say, Goemon. You took two weeks to get your ass to the lab to get him out!” Jigen glared at him, standing. “You took two weeks and Fujiko took two hours! And Lupin’s laying here suffering because of it!”

Fujiko narrowed her eyes. “You have no right, Jigen! I didn’t see you get out of that cell before Goemon showed up and I sure as hell didn’t see you busting your ass to get medication for Lupin!”

“Yeah because flaunting your tits is busting your ass!” Jigen rolled his eyes, glaring at them. “It’s like you two don’t even care what happens to him!”

“That is not true!” Goemon’s stood, glaring at Jigen as his hands shook. “Don’t talk to Fujiko that way!”

“This isn’t fair, Jigen! You aren’t blameless here!” Fujiko huffed, poking her finger into his chest angrily.

“Guys, hey-“ Zenigata frowned, trying to get in between them to stop the fighting.

“I am!” He wasn’t…god he wasn’t blameless but blaming them felt better than blaming himself. “It should’ve been one of you!” He growled angrily. “One of you should be in this bed! Not Lupin!”

“Jigen! Enough!” Zenigata got between all of them, glaring. “That’s enough.”

Goemon narrowed his eyes, turning as he stormed out. He couldn’t handle Jigen right now. He couldn’t handle thinking that everything he had said was true. He could’ve done more. He could’ve gotten there sooner or given Lupin better medical care. Instead, he waited two weeks and put Lupin through hell. It should be him in that bed. Lupin did not deserve this.

Fujiko glared, pushing the medications into Jigen’s arms roughly. “You fucking take care of it then, Jigen.” She growled. “And don’t come crawling to any of us when you manage to fuck it up.”

She turned, walking out and downstairs. She didn’t need Jigen to remind her of what had happened. She didn’t need him to remind her of any of the horrors Lupin must’ve faced in that lab and that it was her fault too for getting caught so easily. But Jigen wasn’t blameless either. It pissed her off that he thought he could get out of this blame free. If he thought he was so great then he could handle Lupin by himself!

Zenigata turned to Jigen, frowning. “What the hell was that?” He crossed his arms.

Jigen turned away from him, looking through the bottles quietly. “Forget about it, Pops.”

“No, I will not forget about it!” Zenigata grabbed his arm, turning him around so they faced each other. “I’ve never heard you talk to them like that. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Leave it alone.” Jigen growled, looking away. He didn’t need this..

“No. I get this is stressful but you don’t get to blame everyone but yourself-“

“I do blame myself, damnit!” Jigen snapped, looking up at Zenigata angrily. “I blame myself for this shit! I sat in that cell for two fucking weeks and didn’t help him!”

Zenigata hesitated, letting Jigen go. He knew that, since Jigen had finally snapped, he had better just listen. He knew the man was usually pretty closed off. No doubt this had been building for a while..

“I got myself caught and Lupin was right down the hall for two damn weeks getting dissected and tortured! And I didn’t help him!” Jigen shouted, slamming the bottles down on the bedside table angrily.

“I couldn’t get out of that damn cell! And when we finally did I couldn’t kill the bastard! Goemon did! And Fujiko got the car and the medication! And Goemon- Goemon treated him!” Jigen clenched his fists, his voice cracking as he looked down at Lupin.

“And when he had his seizure..that was you, Pops. I’ve done nothing for him…what type of partner am I if I can’t do anything for him…?” Jigen pulled his hat down further, trying to hide the emotions that were getting the better of him. “..It should be me in that bed…not Lupin..”

Zenigata frowned, hesitating before he put a hand on Jigen’s shoulder. “You got him out of there. It might not have been all by yourself but you got him out of there. And you’ve been taking care of him the best you could. And I would say…I would say that Lupin would be pretty damn grateful if he was awake right now.”

Jigen bit his lip hard, tears beginning to trail down his face as he sunk onto his knees beside the bed. He had been so worked up…and he said pretty shitty stuff to Goemon and Fujiko when they were hurting too. He had really fucked up. What would Lupin think of him if he had been awake for that? Zenigata sat on the ground beside him, wrapping an arm around him quietly. He had dealt with a fair amount of this with his time on the force. Jigen just needed some time..

“…I love him.” Jigen mumbled softly, shaking his head. “I love all of them..and I fucked up…I fucked everything up.”

Zenigata hesitated, frowning as he thought quietly. “I don’t think you did.”

Jigen glanced at him before glancing down. “I’m sure accusing them of failing Lupin doesn’t win me any points..”

“Maybe not. But they’re in the same boat you are right now. They’re worried about him. And I’m sure if you went and apologized and let them have a moment to feel how stressed they are…it might work out.” Zenigata squeezed him, smiling a little.

Jigen thought quietly for a moment, laughing a little. “When did you get good at being sappy, old man?”

“Hey, I was married once!” Zenigata rolled his eyes, shoving him gently. “Communicating is important..even when things get hard. Now go sort things out. I’ll give Lupin his medication.”

Jigen wiped at his eyes, nodding as he stood. “Thanks.” He looked out at Zenigata from under his hat, smiling a little.

Zenigata nodded, standing as he smiled back and began to look the medication bottles over. He knew the gang weren’t all bad..they just made some bad choices sometimes. They were still human..it was part of what charmed him so much about them. Jigen walked downstairs, biting the inside of his cheek as he looked around. Fujiko was laying on the couch, watching the TV silently. Jigen took a breath, walking down stairs the rest of the way. He would have to settle things, even if they were so mad they wouldn’t talk to him.

“..Fujiko.” Jigen walked into her line of sight. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Are you actually sorry or did Zenigata just tear you a new one and make you come apologize?” Fujiko glared at him, sitting up. “You were such an asshole, I’m surprised he didn’t tell you to leave.”

“He probably should’ve.” He sighed, sitting beside her. “I’m actually sorry. I know we don’t always see eye to eye and I can be a bastard-“

“Can be? You are.” Fujiko huffed, glancing at him angrily.

“Fair.” Jigen laughed a little. “All of this just…put me over the edge and I took it out of you and Goe and I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry. You didn’t take too long. Without you we would’ve been screwed. I’m sorry I said all of that to you.”

Fujiko bit her lip, glancing at him quietly for a moment. “…what happened while I was gone, Jigen?”

Jigen sighed, rubbing his face quietly as he looked over at the blanket on the ground. He could still see Lupin there, shaking, not breathing. The sound he had made when he stopped breathing..it was something he would never forget. He hadn’t been the only one to see it or the only one to deal with the fallout..Fujiko didn’t even know the worst of it.

“Jigen.” Fujiko took his hand, frowning. “Tell me what happened.”

“He had a seizure. Right here, he just..stopped breathing and..” Jigen sighed, playing with Fujiko’s fingers gently. “His fever from the infections got too high…and I thought…I thought he was dying..Pop’s was the only one who knew what to do about it..”

Fujiko eyes widened as she held onto Jigen a bit tighter. All that had happened while she was gone…? No wonder he had snapped at her for taking too long..she probably would’ve done the same thing after seeing something like that. She wouldn’t tolerate his behavior…but she could forgive it. He was sorry, that much was very clear. Obviously the events with Lupin had taken their toll on Jigen…and most likely Goemon too. It was all she could do to keep from imagining Lupin in pain like that. It made her feel sick…poor Lupin.

“I forgive you. But next time just..talk to someone? Don’t accuse us of not caring. We all care about Lupin.” Fujiko looked at him sternly.

Jigen nodded. “That’s fair. I’ll work on it.” He wouldn’t take it out on them again.

Fujiko smiled softly. “Good. Now I’m going to shower the two weeks of cell dirt out of my hair. Go make up with Goemon.” She pulled his beard lightly before she stood.

Jigen rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah..” hopefully it would go well with Goemon..

“And, Jigen?” Fujiko walked to the stairs, smiling softly.

“Hm?” Jigen turned toward her, raising an eyebrow.

“Lupin is oblivious at the best of times.” Fujiko winked, waving as she walked upstairs. “Just remember that.”

Jigen hesitated, blushing. What the hell-? Was he that obvious? Damnit…he would deal with that after he talked to Goemon. At least she wasn’t being a bitch about it... He shook his head, looking around as he rubbed his nape. Jigen checked the rest of the downstairs over, frowning when he found no trace of the samurai. He walked to the back door when he heard the sound of Zantetsuken cutting through something, opening it as he peered outside curiously.

Goemon held Zantetsuken tightly, striking at nearby trees angrily. How dare Jigen accuse him of not caring for Lupin?! He cared for him! Of course he cared for him! He paced angrily, hands shaking enough to make his slices crooked. His chest felt heavy. He had failed Lupin more than once but..this was continuous failure. Lupin could have died because he had taken too long…he had not treated him well enough. Goemon bit his lip, stabbing Zantetsuken into a tree as he leaned against it. He felt like he was drowning, his hands shaking as he panted. Maybe this was deserved…

“Goemon.” Jigen walked over, frowning as he watched. He was definitely worked up..

Goemon glanced at Jigen, body trembling as he gripped Zantetsuken’s handle tightly. Lupin could’ve died..and Jigen was right to tell him it was his fault because it was. Of course it was. Jigen and Fujiko couldn’t get out of that cell. It was all his fault for taking so long. He sank to the ground, vision blurring as he clenched his fists. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything right!

“Shit-” Jigen frowned, carefully stepping closer. “Goemon.” He crouched beside him.

Goemon curled in on himself, gasping as he teared up. He cared for Lupin…he would’ve given his life to take Lupin’s place! Jigen was right..he had failed and continued to fail. Whatever this was, it was karma for letting this happen to Lupin..

“Goemon. Goe, breathe.” Jigen grabbed his hand carefully.

Goemon flinched away, his hands shaking harder as he looked at Jigen. His chest ached and it was hard to breathe. Tears streamed down his face, his hands gripping his hair roughly. Maybe he would die and fail again by making more work for everyone. It certainly felt like he was dying. Jigen frowned, carefully wrapping his arms around Goemon as he held him tightly. He could feel how tense he was..how much he was trying to breathe properly. He never meant to make the poor guy have a panic attack over Lupin’s condition..Goemon closed his eyes tightly, hyperventilating as he tried to breathe properly. Tears continued to stream down his face as he tried to relax into Jigen. It was his fault this had happened…he should’ve been better.. what Lupin must’ve thought of him had he been awake…he felt nothing but shame over his actions..

“Just breathe, Goe. Breathe with me. In and out. It’ll pass.” Jigen pressed a hand to Goemon’s chest gently, breathing with him.

Goemon bit his lip, shakily breathing with Jigen. He gripped Jigen’s arm anxiousky, the shaking his his hands dying down a bit after a minute. His chest still ached..but breathing came a bit easier as he focused on the pressure Jigen applied to his body and the sound of him breathing. Even thought he detested his and Lupin’s smoking habit, the cigarette smell was calming and familiar and helped ground him. This was so embarrassing..he was a samurai..he was supposed to be strong. This was not strong. He was being childish in front of Jigen of all people..

“That’s it.” Jigen nodded, squeezing him carefully. “Just take it easy. Everything’s okay.” He felt awful for causing this to happen…

“Jigen..” Goemon mumbled, resting his head back against his shoulder as he looked down. This was embarrassing..Nobody should’ve seen him like this…

“I’m right here, don’t worry. It’s just a panic attack, it’ll pass.” Jigen frowned, gently taking Goemon’s hand. “I shouldn’t have blamed you for anything, Goe. I took my stress out on you and Fujiko and I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. You did everything you could’ve and I know Lupin would’ve appreciated the hell out of you if he was awake.”

Goemon closed his eyes tightly, more tears streaming down his face as he held onto his hand tightly. “I-I would’ve given my life for Lupin..I failed him…”

Jigen shook his head, holding his hand gently. “Lupin wouldn’t want that, Goe. You know he wouldn’t want that. You didn’t fail anybody. You did so much..do you think I would’ve thought of that thing with the sugar? Hell no. You took great care of him and you killed that bastard that did this to him. When he wakes up he’s going to be so grateful..I’m grateful for you too, Goe. We all are.”

Goemon hesitated before squeezing Jigen’s hand. “..I care for all of you…very much..” he mumbled softly.

Jigen blushed a bit, nodding softly. “We care for you too, Goe…” he glanced away, biting his lip. “Me especially..”

Goemon blushed a bit, glancing at him as he nodded little. “..thank you..for assisting me..”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks.” Jigen shrugged a bit. “You’ll probably feel like shit for a while, just a heads up. We can go inside and rest for a bit, that’ll help.”

Goemon bit the inside of his cheek. “What about Lupin?” He glanced back at him anxiously.

“Pop’s watching him. He’s gotten his medication too, so he’ll be alright.” Jigen nodded, helping him stand as he held onto his hand. “Since we’re all here we can rest and take shifts watching Lupin, okay?”

Goemon nodded a bit, pulling Zantetsuken out of the tree as he held onto Jigen’s hand. “..okay.”

Jigen nodded, walking back to the house with Goemon. He knew he was tired, he could see it in how he walked. He knew that was from all the stress and the panic attack. They’d just have to get a little TLC while Lupin recovered..once he woke up it would be a lot easier.. he squeezed Goemon’s hand, the samurai squeezing back as they made their way inside.

“We’ll get some water and then once Fujiko finishes taking her shower you can have one. That’ll help. For now we can just sit on the couch, okay?” Jigen helped him inside, sitting Goemon on the couch while he got him some water.

Goemon nodded, looking down at the floor quietly. They was definitely embarrassing..and he didn’t need to be babied by Jigen for having an outburst…though, it felt nice to be taken care of.. It was reassuring to know that Jigen had been in this situation as well..it made it feel less embarrassing. He just didn’t want to make anyone worry for two people when they had Lupin to worry about.. Jigen walked back in, handing him the water as he sat beside him. Goemon drank some, putting the water down nearby as he laid back against the couch. His eyes ached..his head ached..his body was tired..he hadn’t had a panic attack before..they were definitely something he would have to train against.

“Come here.” Jigen frowned, pulling Goemon up against his chest as he laid back.

“Hm?” Goemon opened an eye, looking up at him as he blushed a bit.

“I’m figuring you’re sore. Just take it easy.” Jigen gently ran his hands through Goemon’s hair, massaging his scalp carefully to help him relax.

Goemon blushed more, hesitating slightly before relaxing against Jigen slowly. It…felt nice. It was hard to let himself relax knowing Lupin wasn’t well off..but if Lupin had more people to watch over him…maybe it was okay? Jigen told him it was…he would trust him..he wanted nothing more than for things to be alright again..

Fujiko watched from the stairs, smiling softly as she dried her hair with a towel. She was glad they had sorted that out. They were cute together when they weren’t at each other’s throats..now they just needed Lupin to wake up and things would start to be okay again. She would go over the notebooks Goemon had brought back and they could figure out what to do for Lupin. They would put him back together and find ways to cope with this…she would make Jigen confess to him too. She wanted things to go back to some type of normal again.

[waterless-witch]

Of Knights and Demons

Chapter 1

TW: Rape/Non-con in following chapters, Dark themes, forced marriages, violence and swearing. MINORS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU

This is my first ever fic so please be nice to me, I’ve also got it posted on A03 under the same name in case anybody would like to read it there.

You are the sole daughter of Byakuya Kuchiki, the sole heir to a noble family. Your father has broken from tradition with his refusal to marry you off against your wishes, instead wishing for you to find a husband of your own choosing. After years of arguing with not only your own family, but the other lords of your court all seems well. That is until a once thought dead knight returns with an army to take your home.

Souske Aizen, a man you once found kindness in has demanded that the two of you are to be wed, with your father still missing along with most of the guards you’re left with few options but to comply and hope that aid comes before anything can be set. How will you stop a man like Aizen from destroying your home and the people you care about? And who are these strange people with bone masks on their face?

You watched red hair blow in the breeze as you were led deeper and deeper into the forest that surrounded your home. Renji had come to collect you quickly after the attack began on your home, the bulk of our knights and soldiers had been sent to deal with border skirmishes days ago, your father among them. He had promised he would not be gone long and not to worry that it was all being taken care of. What he didn’t know was that there were already more enemies surrounding your home, waiting until the bulk had been deployed before they began their attack.

You had been shoved into your bedchambers before you could comprehend what was happening, the sound of steel against steel rang out along with the screams of battle. The battle couldn’t have been raging for more than twenty minutes before Renji had busted into your room, blood running down the right side of his face as he panted and told you it was time to leave. Now. He would not hear any arguments you’d offered about wait for help or being able to win. After a moment he signed and grabbed your hand, leading you through the empty halls and into the gardens at the rear of the manor. You asked why the two of you were not headed for the stables, to which he told you that more than likely they were already there waiting for people with the same thought.

Once you were at the edge of the gardens you heard the ear piercing screams of women coming from the house. You whipped around on instinct, both Renji and yourself pausing, both of you heard your breath. You couldn’t see anything from where you stood but you could certainly hear it. Screams and pleas echoed as the sounds of boots spread out throughout the manor. As the sounds of boots against flooring got closer Renji grabbed your hand again and began to run. You followed behind him blindly as you stumbled through the forest, no telling how long you’d been running but it felt like an eternity before he let the two of you slow into a fast paced walk. Your hair was damp with sweat and your chest heaved. Once you had finally caught your breath you asked, “Where are we going?”

Renji didn’t bother to look back at you, simply answering “Away from that.” Sounding harsher than you’d ever heard him before. He had trained under your father, rare considering he didn’t come from any noble family, instead he’d come from an impoverished village a dozen or so hours to the south. He had always been very loyal to your father, more than likely he felt indebted to him. Your father had hand picked him from the line up of new soldiers to come train under him. He’d been knighted less than six months ago taking the place of one of the knights who had gone missing during a mission. You had a few nights laying in bed and thinking of what had happened to the three knights who had disappeared, they were all skilled and from what you understood the mission itself hadn’t been a particularly difficult one to complete. You wondered what was happening now was related, if perhaps whoever was attack your home where the same people that killed those knights.

It was a strange thing to be thinking about right now, perhaps it was easier than thinking about what was going on back at your home to people that you knew well, to your friends, to the people who you cared for. Instead your mind was running circles around three men who you hardly knew. You didn’t know much about Gin, he was a silver haired man with an untrustworthy looking smile, he’d never given a reason for this though, just a strange feeling, like it was almost too kind, in an off putting way. The second was a man named Tosen, you knew a bit more about him but only because he was some kind of miracle. He was born blind but had somehow become a skilled swordsman. He was the focus of a lot of rumors when he’d first been knighted, from ones saying that he wasn’t truly blind because they couldn’t believe he could be that skilled, to rumors about him wanting vengeance for his dead wife. You personally had never really cared for the gossip but it didn’t stop it from circulating. Finally the last man had been named Aizen, him you’d known a bit better, he was a kind man with a warm smile to match it. He’d often come to talk with your father about matters around the kingdom, when he did he always made a point to greet you and have a conversation with you. The two of you were not friends by any means of the words but you were a bit more friendly than acquaintances.

In fact, you’d been quite sad when he didn’t return. Your father tried to soothe you, telling you that perhaps he wasn’t dead but instead caught up with something or being held somewhere. While he had only been trying too help, it had made you feel much worse. You knew he was a smart and strong man, Aizen had made it to being a knight afterall, but the idea of him being held and possibly tortured wasn’t something that’d made you feel better.

Renji slowed as the two of you came to a small river, as you came to the edge of the bank he fully stopped, clearly contemplating how to cross. While the previous week had been the warmest in a while spring had still not yet fully begun, meaning that the water would be ice cold. “We’ll head downstream and try to find a bridge or someplace thin enough to cross. It’ll be better for us to put the river between us and them.” Renji explained. You nodded in response and continued to follow his lead. Together you two walk downstream for a few hours before coming across a towhead in the water. At the widest part it looked around twenty feet at each side away from the bank, luckily the water didn’t seem too deep, it came to your mid calf at most. You slowed as Renji kept walking downstream.

“Shouldn’t we cross here?” You asked, “With the sun setting I don’t think we’ll find another place to do this safely.” You continued to express.

He turned around to face you with knit brows, “It’ll be cold.” He simply said while looking at you. “And you're not dressed for the cold, especially if I drag you through water.” You looked down at your dress, it was long sleeved and a beautiful shade of deep forest green but he was right, it wasn’t made for the cold and you hadn’t had the time to get anything on your way out much less warmer clothes. You thought for a moment, not wanting to stay on this side of the river, surely whoever had invaded your home had begun searching the surrounding areas and you were sure you didn’t want to be captured by them.

“I’ll be fine,” you argued, Renji said your name in a warning but you interrupted him. “Once we cross we can get deeper into the forest and set up camp before dark, we can light a small fire and I’ll be fine I promise.” He considered what you’d said for a long moment before sighing and begrudgingly agreeing. He made his way down the steep river bank first before offering his hand to you to help you down.

You took his hand and made your own way down, the second your feet fell into the water you gasped, the water being much colder than you expected. Your hand tightened in his and he gave a small chuckle, “I told you.” He said as he began pulling you to the towhead, once you’d made it to the small bit of land you could feel your shoes squishing in the cold mud and the cloth of both your shoes and dress holding the cold to you. You made you way back into the water on the other side of the towhead, the bank was higher than the other side so Renji had to lift you while you used a tree rot to pull yourself the rest of the way up.

The two of you kept on your trek, every so often Renji would look back at you with a worried look on his face, every time he did so you will yourself to stop shivering and to give him a reassuring smile even though you don’t think your legs had ever been so cold. The sun was barely above the horizon when Renji stopped the two of you and made a fire, you sat with your legs close to it as the heat dried your clothing and shoes and helped to calm your shivers, though not completely stopping them. You looked over to Renji and he looked completely exhausted, he had heavy bags under his eyes and the hand he had resting on his sword hung completely limp. He clearly needed sleep especially if he was supposed to be navigating the two of you to safety. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I can stay awake and alert you if I hear anything strange.” You offered.

He looked up at you and shook his head, “Not a chance, you sleep I’ll stay awake.” He said in that same stern tone you’d heard all day.

“No,” you countered. “How are you supposed to get us out of here if your exhausted and sleep deprived?” You answered back just as sterenly.

He took in a sigh and started to answer back to you before being interrupted, “I don’t think he’ll be taking either one of you much further.” A voice said from behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck rose and you were on your feet in a split second. Renji had reacted much quicker and had drawn his sword and pulled you behind himself. “Now, now, put it down.” The man said, stepping forward. He was tall, freakishly so, and thin with long black hair that fell to his shoulder, an eye patch hung over one of his eyes and he wore a simple black leather tunic with pants that matched, “I’d hate to get in a fight and end up hitting your pretty little lady there.” He said with a smug grin. Renji kept his sword up and didn’t say a word, you took a step back, eyes darting between the two of them. You were at a complete loss for what to do, never have been in a situation like this. “Fine, have it your way!” He yelled before taking a step towards Renji and raising his own sword. The smirk he held turned into a wolvish smile.

“Nnoitra wait!” A second voice rang out stopping the man in his tracks. A second man with blue hair like you’d never seen before stepped into the light cast by your fire. On his face sat a mask that looked like it was made of bone with sharp teeth, he wore an identical outfit with his partner. His eyes fell on you and looked you up and down slowly, in a predatory way. Eventually his eyes met yours and held them as you took yet another step back. He cocked his head and asked “What’s your name?” While still holding your gaze.

You didn’t answer, “Her name is none of your concern.” Renji answered through grit teeth. The man's eyes flicked to Renji for just a second before looking back at you. “Regardless, I think she’s the one he wants, she matches the description perfectly. I don’t think we’d be rewarded well if she was hurt in this little squabble.” He explained. The other man, Nnoitra, lowered his own weapon.

“Okay well then how do you recommend we take them in then, if you’re so smart?” He questioned angrily, his smile falling completely and being replaced with an agitated glare.

The blue haired man signed, “You get him and I’ll get the girl, remember they want as many of them as possible back alive.” He sneered back before moving towards you.

“Run!” Renji shouted to you before moving to strike the blue haired man moving towards you, only to be stopped by Nnoitra’s blade. You turned on your heels and made your way towards the forest. You could feel your adrenaline pumping through your veins and you ran as you heard the sound of steel on steel. You ran blindly in the dark woods, getting caught on tree limbs and roots but desperately trying to get away. You couldn’t hear anything behind you but you didn’t chance a look back to make sure. Through the mood light you cloud see a clearing coming up ahead of you. You had no idea where you were but you did remember something about there being some outposts around the forest edge. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you towards the clearing praying that maybe there would be soldiers or even just people from your own kingdom there. Someone to help you. Someone to help Renji.

Just as you were at the tree line something wrapped itself around you waist, and pulled you back, knocking the air from your lungs as your back collided with something hard. You realized it must have been the blue haired man and started struggling to get out of his grasp. His other hand grabbed you by the neck, not choking you but with enough force for it to be a treat. “Stop fighting, while this little game of cat and mouse has been fun, if we don’t get back to your little friend I can’t guarantee that Nnoitra won’t kill him.” You stopped struggling, your chest heaving, trying to think of some way out of this. Before your mind could come up with anything he spun you around before lifting you over his shoulder, hands holding just above your knees, forcing you to bend over his shoulder.

You yelped as he lifted you up. “I can walk!” You shouted and resumed your struggle in an attempt to force him to put you down. No matter how you shook or kicked at him or threw your fists into his back he would not let you go.

“I’m sure you can but this is faster,” he said as he started walking you back towards your makeshift camp. “Plus this way makes sure you can’t run off again.” You kept struggling and hurled curses at the man carrying you, he gave a light chuckle at your efforts before he spoke again, “Y’know you shouldn’t struggle this much, some men like the fight and that’d leave you in a pretty hard spot if ya catch my drift.” He said putting emphasis on the word hard. Your eyes widened and you completely stopped moving. He gave a barking laugh. “There we go, that's more like it.” He said.

He continued walking and you began seeing the faint orange glow on the backs of trees as you got closer and closer to your camp. Your mind began reeling as you realized that you couldn’t hear the sound of sword fighting anymore. Had that man killed Renji? Were you alone out here with these two strange men? You felt like you were gonna be sick as you heard a grunt, followed by another one. Then you heard what sounded like flesh hitting flesh. The blue haired man finally put you down and spun you around keeping a firm hand on your shoulder to keep you from moving. In front of you Nnoitra had Renji pinned to the ground, swords flung to the side and both of them bloody as he continuously punched him. You gasped loudly, eyes clouding up, the sound pulled Nnoitra’s attention from Renji to you and gave a smirk through bloody teeth. “Took you longer than I expected Grimmjow.” He said as he straightened out, still sat atop Renji.

The blue haired man, Grimmjow, simply shrugged, “She was faster than I thought.” You couldn’t take your eyes off Renji, both his eyes had been blackened and swollen, his lower lip busted upon, bruises and cuts marred every part of him and blood seemed to be thrown everywhere. Nnoitra was also clearly injured but no half as bad, a large cut ran up his face towards his uncovered eye but stopped just before it reached the eye itself. He also had a number of smaller cuts and bruises but nothing that he particularly needed to be immediately concerned with. “You have to carry him back to the horses if he can’t walk.” Grimmjow said not at all concerned about Renjis injuries.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He said getting up off Renji, he kicked at him telling him to get up and when he didn’t Nnoitra pulled Renji’s arm, forcing him up and pushed him towards the way they had come. “Fucking move!” He said as he harshly pushed him, “You don’t want us to leave you out here to die and ride off with your pretty little friend do you?” Nnoitra said snuggly causing Renji to glare at him the best he could with his swollen face.

Behind you Grimmjow gently nudges you forward in a silent command to follow. Your feet drag along the ground as your mind tries to come up with what they meant about looking for you specifically. You weren’t important or the head of your family or anything that could be useful to whoever it was that they served. Anxiety builds in your chest making it hard to breath, your breaths become quicker and shorter as you try to think of every worst case scenario of what would be waiting for you or if these men were even telling the truth and weren’t about to kill you or worse. Maybe they were just screwing around with you two for fun like a cat batting at a mouse before it eats it. Or maybe they would take you back and you would be publicly executed. Your heart pumped so hard it hurt in your chest and even though the night was freezing cold you could feel yourself begin to sweat.

“Stop freaking out,” Grimmjow whispered close to your ear, you jerked your head to try to look at him or perhaps put some distance between the two of you, you didn’t know. His hand grabbed the top of your head and kept you looking straight as he continued, “If I’m right about who you are none of us are allowed to hurt you. Do what you're told, play your role and you and your friend will come out of this relatively okay.” He kept his voice low almost as if he didn’t want his colleague to hear him.

As the four of you made it back to the river Grimmjow again spun you around like you were a rag doll and flung you back over his shoulder, Nnoitra and Renji trudged through the cold water first and stopped once they got up the bank, Renji stumbling a few times due to his injuries. Grimmjow followed and as he got close to the bank he moved you so you could climb up with stepping a foot into the frigid water, “If she tries to run again do I get to hunt her down?” Nnoitra asked with a wolf-like grin returning to his face. Grimmjow didn’t bother responding to him as he climbed up himself, instead just rolling his eyes and clicking his tongue in disapproval. Grimmjow placed his hand back on your shoulder and pushed you past the other two.

Another twenty minutes past before you found yourself in front of three horses. They were not from your home stables, they wore an all black saddle and nothing that could mark where they had come from but each of them also had strange bone like carving on their faces just as Grimmjow did. Grimmjow removed his hand from you and turned around to look at Renji, “Are you going to live long enough to ride back?” He asked in an uncaring tone. You looked at Renji for the first time since you’d crossed the river and could clearly see that he was worse than you originally thought, he had paled a considerable amount, he stood hunched over and his chest heaved with every breath he took.

“I’ll make it back fine.” Renji answered in a horsed tone. Nnoitra laughed manically and pointed towards one of the horses and told Renji to climb up. Renji gave himself a moment to try to catch his breath before steeling himself and making his way to the horse, he slowly and heavily made his way onto the back of the animal looking like he could pass out at any moment. Nnoitra made a snide comment that you didn’t quite hear as you stared at Renji in deep concern. You didn’t know if he could truly make it back, you watched blood drip from him onto the ground below, your eyes locked with his, “I will make it back with you.” He swore to you.

You opened your mouth to say something back but where stopped when Grimmjow again spun you to face him. Your eyes met with his for just a second before he grabbed you by the waist and picked you up again. You were tired of being treated like a rag doll, and Renji yelled something at Grimmjow clearly sharing your displeasure about your treatment. He ignored both of you and placed you on one of the other horses before climbing behind you and picking up the reins, trapping you between the animal and himself with his arms on either side of you. Nnoitra tied Renji’s horse to the last one before mounting it himself and leading you back through the woods towards your home.

You had no idea what awaited you back home, Grimmjow had said something about how they wanted as many of your people back alive as possible but that didn’t seem like it meant much as you looked at Renji’s broken and bleeding form. Your mind wandered to your father. Did he know what had happened? Was he already dead? Had these people killed them first before finding you? They seemed like they knew who you were but your father was a quiet and solemn man you couldn’t imagine him speaking of you to an enemy in any way much less one that would put you on their radar.

Once you got closer to your home Grimmjow slowed your horse a bit allowing the two of you to lag behind Nnoitra and Renji a bit. “Once we get there don’t fight him, do whatever he wants and be quite about it. He’s a cruel man but he doesn’t seem to want to hurt you more than he has too. Just be quiet and good and you should be fine.” Grimmjow whispered in your ear lowly, he was close enough that you could feel the bone mask on the side of his face lightly graze against you. This time you knew better than to turn around to face him, thinking of the last time when he held you in place.

Instead you simply asked, “Who?” Grimmjow just laughed hotly into your ear before rising back up. Clearly he was set on ignoring your question which only served to aggravate you. It felt like every time he spoke to you he raised more questions than he answered. Which you thought, perhaps was on purpose, he was just messing with you, never really being done with the game of cat and mouse you’d started in the forest when you’d run from him.

Soon you found yourself riding down the Main Street that your manor lied on. As you got closer and closer to your home you could see the large white wooden doors had been kicked in and a number of windows had been shattered. Blood ran down the entry steps and while you couldn’t see inside you were sure there was much more carnage there. As you approached you didn’t turn towards your own home, instead heading straight to High Lord Yamamoto’s home. While your family manor and the ones of the other noble families lied in ruin and blood the High Lords manor stood completely untouched. It looked as prestigious as ever, completely out of place when looking at its surroundings. As you rode to the front of the manor three men opened the huge rounded dark wood door.

You felt yourself stiffen as you immediately recognized the man in the middle who was walking down to greet you. He wore a similar outfit to your captors but it was decorated with much more glamor, a small cape hung from his shoulder and a sword hung from a finely decorated holster from his hip. He wore his hair different than you’d ever seen it before, instead of letting it hang loosely in its natural shape it had been slicked back. Behind him and his accomplices followed two more people with strange bone masks on their faces.

But they were not your concern. You barely spared them a look as your eyes locked with eyes of mahogany. He smiled brightly at you as if there was nothing wrong in the world. “Hello my dear, I hope your travel was not too harsh on you.” Aizen beamed at you as he came up beside the horse you were currently riding on.

[beardedmrbean]

An out-of-control Brooklyn woman has had a troubling string of busts over the past year, including alleged assaults on three consecutive days last week — but remained free without bail until now.

Charlena Nicholas, 29, has been charged with biting three NYPD cops, threatening someone with a Marine Corps flagpole, running over a man’s foot with her car and slugging an 80-year-old woman.

It wasn’t until her recent mini-crime spree that she was finally put behind bars.

“This is what happens when you’re the only state in the country that doesn’t have a dangerousness standard, allowing someone like this to fall through the cracks,” one source told The Post. 

On Wednesday, Judge Masateru Marubashi finally had enough and set bail at $40,000 — $20,000 for each of her most recent alleged assaults.

Outside the courtroom, Nicholas’ grandmother said she has struggled with psychiatric issues.

“They say she’s schizophrenic or something like that,” Lynette Jameson said. “”She stopped taking her medicine. She said it was making her sick. So I said, ‘There’s different types of medicine.’

“She wouldn’t take it. But with all she was going through, they should have given her help,” she said. “I”m not going to make excuses for her I told her she needs to get help.”

In her recent rash of arrests, Nicholas is accused of trying to slug a 35-year-old woman on Gravesend Neck Road in Brooklyn on Feb. 27 in an unprovoked attack.

Charged with attempted assault, menacing and harassment, which are not eligible for bail in New York, she was released without bail at 11:38 a.m. on Friday — only to be busted again less than four hours later, this time for allegedly slugging an 80-year-old woman on Flatbush Avenue.

“What are you looking at?” Nicholas allegedly snapped at the woman before attacking her, police said.

Nicholas was back in handcuffs on Saturday, this time for allegedly making an antisemitic remark on a No. 3 train at an Atlantic Avenue subway station — then punching the victim in the chest.

“I think being a Nazi is cool,” she said to the Jewish victim, according to law enforcement sources. “Pretty cool. I’m a Nazi. I’m antisemitic.”

When the victim started shooting video of her verbal assault, Nicolas allegedly punched the woman.

She was arraigned in the two most recent cases on Wednesday, when she was finally held on bail.

Most of her earlier arrests failed to qualify for bail under the Empire State’s 2019 controversial criminal justice reforms, which barred judges from setting bail for most crimes.

According to sources, that includes a Sept. 12 arrest on menacing charges for allegedly threatening a staffer at Kingsborough Community College with a Marine Corps flagpole after she was told there were no free snacks available on the campus.

On Sept. 26, she was being evaluated at a medical facility when sources said she flew off the handle. When cops responded to a 911 call, Nicholas allegedly bit three of New York’s Finest.

She was charged with second-degree assault, which is eligible for bail, but the case was tossed less than a week later because the cops’ injuries weren’t serious enough, according to the sources.

But Nicholas had another scrape with the law in December in two road rage incidents — a Dec. 16 encounter in which she punched a motorists after she nicked his car, and a Dec. 10 incident when she allegedly crashed into another car and ran over the victim’s foot when he confronted her.

Brooklyn prosecutors asked that she be held on $5,000 cash bail or a bond of up to $15,000, but the third-degree assault charge is not eligible for bail, so Nicholas was released again — until the three new arrests.

“Where’s the humanity on letting someone who demonstrated clear emotional distress — bits cops, random assaults — in letting them just go into the world?” another source said. “We need a mechanism that allows for civil commitment that’s seamlessly integrated at the point of arraignment.”

[edwardslostalchemy]

OC Game

I was tagged by @tododeku-or-bust thanks, my dude!!!!

I'm talking about my main girl who lives in my brain rent free, Carmen. :)

Name: Sofia del Carmen Portillo Guerrero, Hero Alias: Ripped Gate

Nickname: Carmelita, Meme (by her younger brother)

Gender: Female

Star sign: Aries

Personality type: happy, observant, intensely dedicated to fighting/sparring so she can be a little feral, quick witted, sassy with people who annoy her, trustworthy, discreet, cautious, positive, blends in with her surroundings when under cover

Height: 5ft / 1.52 m (she is 5 feet of whoop ass)

Orientation: Bisexual :D

Nationality/Ethnicity: Mexican/Hispanic

Favorite fruit: Mangoes!

Favorite season: Spring because that's when flowers bloom

Favorite scent: coconut-y smells because they're tropical, and because of Malibu rum

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: Coffee, though she isn't opposed to the other two. She does love strong, caffeinated coffee that can keep her awake because she uses all the time of the day she can for her missions/research.

Average hours of sleep: 5-7, depending on the workload of the day, but if she needs to have information ready for her missions, she will sleep less than 5 hours.

Dogs or cats: DOGS!!! She and her family have owned dogs since she was a kid, and she had a husky that sadly passed away a few years prior to the beginning of my story. Now, she has a special husky as a guard/watch dog. Notice I said the dog is special.

Dream trip: She has travelled to various countries around the world for work, but she's never had the chance to go to Hawaii or other small islands like the Maldives.

Number of blankets: 4 blankets: 1 that goes under her when she sleeps, and 2 that cover her when she sleeps; and 1 she uses to wrap herself with whenever she's lounging around her apartment. She loves being warm.

Random fact: Her quirk is Portal Creation and she's the one person in her immediate family that was blessed with being able to make stable portals that are useful for transportation. She can create as many as 30 stable portals at once, and when she touches her younger brother's hand when he activates his quirk to stabilize portals, she is able to create 50 stable portals. She can even make portals over her eyes as a way for her to see into other locations, though this temporarily blinds her (but it's still so cool). She has to be very careful because if she doesn't concentrate on her portals, she could rip through time and space, which is not something she (or anyone else) wants. She can travel from place to place with it and it is very useful in combat because she can evade her opponents and then make a portal to attack them from the back; she can push villains into her portals to disorient them and this gives her the upper hand to apprehend them quickly after she kicks them out of the portals; and when her teammates create something with their quirks, she can store them in her portals to use for a later attack. She can't let her opponents stay in her portals for more than 3 seconds because they will lose their minds and she can hear their despair in her portals. She can also have other people walk through her portals to get them from one place to another, though it's better if she goes with them as their guide. One of her moves is called the "Grand Slam!" because it's an homage to her father, a retired pro hero who likes baseball; and it's her favorite sneak attack on her opponents by appearing from behind them through a portal and punching them.

I have so much to say about her!!!! And I have other ocs if others are interested, too!!!

I am tagging @eclipsedrawsthings and @an-aura-about-you !!! Please start a separate post if you do the game. <3

[tf2workbench]

Loched and loaded

Long ago, when I was less experienced, I spoke about the Loch-n-Load, a weapon with a rich history of being really dangerous and then not so dangerous. I think that I focused too much on the Loch-n-Load’s utility in that post rather than its uniqueness, which - although related to power and balance - is the most important thing for a weapon to have. Uniqueness is what lets people have hours of fun with the weapon; it’s what stops it from getting boring.

Loch-n-Load (+) +20% damage vs buildings (+) +25% projectile speed (-) -25% clip size (-) -25% blast radius (-) Launched bombs shatter on surfaces

Here we see a weapon with a purpose: building-busting. 120-damage grenades will take out Level 3 buildings in just two shots as opposed to three. It doesn’t actually make a difference against Level 1 or 2 buildings if they haven’t taken other damage, but if you combine it with a teammate’s attack, you can take those down faster as well. Moreover, the increased projectile speed means a longer range, which is handy for sniping faraway sentries. If the Engineer and their team are inattentive, a sentry can go down in a matter of seconds.

In terms of what makes the Loch-n-Load unique, I would say the projectile speed is arguably more important than the building damage. While damage against buildings is relatively straightforward, projectile speed makes your experience with this launcher quite different, albeit in subtle ways. Your effective range is increased and you need to aim slightly differently than if you were using the stock launcher. This is not a huge change (consider, for example, how different it feels to use the Loose Cannon), but it’s definitely something to distinguish this weapon. For making interesting grenade launchers, altering grenade physics is often a good way to go. I might lean into that.

Loch-n-Load Iteration 2 (+) Hold down the Fire button (up to 1 second) to increase projectile speed (up to +75%) (+) Up to +25% damage on charged shots (-) -25% clip size (-) -25% blast radius (-) Launched bombs shatter on surfaces

If you thought the regular Loch-n-Load shot far, you ain’t seen nothing yet. This launcher works as kind of a counterpart to the Quickiebomb Launcher, dealing catastrophic damage if given some time to charge.

In general, adding a charge function to a weapon makes it much more complex, allowing users to do many more things and use the weapon creatively. That’s a good thing, and I quite like this Loch-n-Load for that reason.

One of the concerns I have is that, the last time the Loch-n-Load could deal 125 damage in one shot, it was pretty swiftly nerfed. For a light class, being in danger of being one-shot can be very frustrating, as you might have noticed when a Direct Hit Soldier punches you in the face with a rocket. I do think that the charge function on this launcher makes that much less likely, because it has to be charged perfectly and aimed very well to be able to get the one-shot. And, really, if that becomes too much of a problem, it’d be entirely possible to reduce the maximum damage of the charged shots.

I’m curious about a few specific things concerning this gun. You might want to think about them yourself: - Would Demomen be able to use this launcher as their “regular” weapon rather than as a situational tool? - Would Engineers feel more able to deal with Loch-n-Load users? - Would long-range kills feel like luck or like skill to the victims? How frustrating would they be for light classes, especially Snipers?

[patheticprogrammingperson]

Welcome to Tintin and the Picaros, in which Tintin coup d'états a small South-American country, and the last Tintin book I will be reviewing.

There is still Alph-Art, but as an unfinished work I consider it unfair to judge it against the standards of Hergé’s unfinished works, and besides, I haven’t a copy of any of the attempts to complete it.

As to what I will do after this, I’ve a few ideas, and for all two of my followers, there will be a poll to decide if I cannot myself, and there will be a transitional period with other, more… spontaneous content, delivered at regular intervals.

Plot-line

So General Alcazar’s been deposed, again, by General Tapioca, again, but none of that matters because Bianca Castafiore, henceforth referred to as White, is going there in tour, but that also doesn’t matter, because Haddock’s had a violent reaction to some Whiskey, and can’t drink it anymore, but that doesn’t matter either, because White’s been arrested for conspiracy to overthrow Tapioca, and Tintin&Co are named as co-conspirators in the plot, and so they promptly fly off to San Theodoros, at Tapioca’s invitation.

Arriving, we’re treated to views of the modern city-scapes, high-rise buildings, flags from every roof-top, and the slums.

However, Tintin’s not come, only Haddock and Calculus, but that doesn’t matter, as that’s all the more heavily-guarded villa half an hour from civilisation for the rest of them.

The next day, Haddock goes out to buy some Tobacco, accompanied by no less than 14 armed guards, but on getting home, Tintin’s arrived.

There we go, we’re set up for the action to begin, wasn’t that frantic?

So all of a sudden, Pablo, whom you may remember from all the way back in book six, feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?

Anyway, back on track, Pablo has replaced their previous servant, who’s left from slight injury, and informs them of a plot to kill the three, and blame it on the Picaros, however, there’s a counter-plan, the next day, they are to visit a pyramid, they are to take that moment to act, climbing the pyramid to get out of sight of their guards, Picaros attack one side, they go down the other side, and be picked up by Alcazar.

If this plan sounds like it’s utterly appalling, don’t worry, there’s a reason for that.

So they execute said plan flawlessly, however, a anti-tank gun lying in waiting, hidden in some bushes, almost kills them, but Tintin notices a monkey run away from it, and makes Alcazar swerve off the road, narrowly sparing their lives, but getting their truck blown up.

So, they then walk, and walk, and walk walk walk walk, until the sudden arrival of Ridgewell, who you may also remember from book six, and so they stay with the Arumbayas for a night, in which Calculus makes use of a drug of his own creation in order to make the Arumbayas, as well as Ridgewell, Tintin, and presumably Alcazar and Calculus himself, allergic, so to speak, to alcohol.

This causes a rather eventful dinner, however off they go the next day, after some minor troubles, they reach the camp of the Picaros, and see before them a crowd of drunkards, unfit to hold a gun, much less fight a war with them.

So, Tintin makes use of Calculus’ pills to prevent such negative behaviour, but only after convincing Alcazar that the reveolotuion must be bloodless, no executions, which Alcazar objects to, however a tear gas grenade convinces him otherwise, and so it is done.

At that point, a busload of tourists enters the camp, including our old friend, sketchy insurance salesman Jolyon Wagg, who’s touring with his carnival act, the Jolly Follies, who just so happen to wear costumes that entirely obscure the wearer’s face, not to mention having plenty of spare baggy space.

So they get them drunk, steal their costumes, and their bust, head off to the carnival, chloroform their way inside the palace, take over, make Tapioca give a speech on the radio handing over power, they save the Thom(p)sons from the firing-squad by the metaphorical bell, riding on a parade float.

The day is won, White is saved, Alcazar is in commands once again, inside his empty palace, and we fly back home again, over the very same slums.

Characters

So, Alcazar and Tapioca.

Throughout all the books both appear in, neither of them do anything to really differentiate each other as rulers, we never see the true state of the country under their respective rules, other than two key panels: the views of the slums.

Both when Tintin&Co arrive and leave we get a view of a slum, not the same one mind, at least from what we can see, but both are pretty much identical in every way, other than once change: Billboards reading “Viva Tapioca” are changed to “Viva Alcazar”.

Now, you may say, “Alcazar’d only been in power for a few days, you can’t expect him to solve things overnight!”, a strawman which completely misses the point.

These are not there to show you that slums exist, or that they do not change, but rather, they are symbolic, pay attention to the change of the sign, the leader’s changed, the living condition hasn’t.

If, from this, we make the assumption that Alcazar and Tapioca are equally as bad as each other, does that not make the efforts of Tintin throughout the book meaningless?

Perhaps it does, perhaps it doesn’t, and perhaps, that is what Hergé wanted us to think.

Things I like

Again, I face the issue of so much good stuff, it’s hard to cover all of it, so I shall cherry-pick one sequence, the escape via pyramid.

When first re-reading, in preparation to write this, the plan came off as utterly terrible, if there’s an attack on one side, why would you assume they won’t attack the other side too, why play right into their hands like that?

Well, of course, it’s all a setup so of course they’ll move, and on a base level, serves to tip the reader off to it.

Then, there’s how Tintin spots the gun, an older, weaker, book would have had the gun fail (see The Calculus Affair), or some other unrealistic method, whereas here, Tintin spots something in the road, uses binoculars to identify it as a monkey, then, when it bolts off from something, instinctively tells something’s wrong, and then gets Alcazar to swerve off the road.

Just this one sequence shows Hergé’s improvement as a writer, even in the last few books.

Things I don't

If you don’t’ know the drill by this point, you should, but fine, I’ll explain, these are key, fundamental, core, flaws of the book, and make it utterly unreadable

Wait, there’s nothing?

No small flaws?

No nitpicks?

No comedic rule of three?

I don’t know how I’m going to cope with this, media being without small, sefl-contained, flaws that are easy to digest and understand.

Troublesome bits

Well, as normal, nothing blatant, however, I do suspect the Arumbayas are less than accurate, for the four pages they appear, but I am not an expect on the matter.

Silly bits

White, despite being only an opera singer, owns millions of dollars worth of jewels

Haddock refers to Tapioca as a “fancy-dress fascist”, should add that one to my vocabulary

Haddock, just a few days after calling Tapioca a fascist, says “he isn’t a bad old stick really”

Calculus says “I'm sorry, officer, but I cannot shake a hand which grinds underfoot the imprescriptible rights of the human individual!” when introduced to one of Tapioca’s henchmen

Snowy, much like Haddock, considers a Pimiento to be very spicy, despite them being 500SHU at most

When prompted for famous last words, Thomson suggests “Kiss me, Thompson”, this may imply… homosexuality

Conclusion

As a send-off for Tintin, I think it’s spectacular, comparing it against the very first book, Tintin in The Land of The Soviets, it is effectively unrecognisable, even more modern books such as Prisoners Of The Sun are notably behind it

Sources

Pepper spice

[imagine-you]

every lover's got a little dagger in their hand (2/?) [joel miller/reader]

Summary: You find Joel at Cumberland Farms in the midst of his quest to save the human race. "You had so many questions you wanted to ask Joel. Where did he get a kid from? Where was Tess? Was he on a job? If so, then why the kid? Did he feel anything when he looked at you?" Word Count: 3.9k Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who supported part one. This wouldn't have continued without y'all. Title from Love From the Other Side by Fall Out Boy.

part one

The trip to Lincoln was supposed to be relatively short compared to most of the trips you were used to taking. The painfully awkward silence made it feel like it was several days long and not the hour it took to trek out there.   

You kept shooting small glances at Joel, wondering if he was regretting his decision to let you tag along. Joel seemed to purposefully keep his eyes forward, not even bothering to acknowledge you. There was a set to his jaw as he walked, and you knew something must have happened, because he looked like he had something on his mind that he would rather forget.  

"So," Ellie started, falling back to walk at your side. "When'd you meet Joel? You don't look that old," she observed, looking you up and down.  

"We've got a few years between us," you admitted, shooting her an unimpressed look at her scoff. "What?" 

"It's more than that," she said, pulling her knife out of her jacket pocket. She started trying to flip it over and over in her hand, fumbling it every so often.  

"Yeah, well, I don't think a kid should be hearing about that," you pointed out. You knew you could keep the conversation PG enough to give Ellie the gist of your relationship with Joel, but not while Joel could overhear. What if he heard the love you still carried for him in your voice? What if he disagreed with you? What if he never thought you actually had a relationship and instead considered it a series of flings? What if he didn't think it was worth mentioning at all? You didn't want to find out the answer to any of those questions, so you decided to go the easy route and bow out.  

"Alright, well, I'm about to start eating my hair out of boredom," Ellie told you, briefly pointing her knife at you. "So, give me something here. Like you said that infected at Cumberland was put there by you. How'd you manage that?" 

You noticed Joel glance briefly at you, a quick there-and-gone-again look, as if he was also interested to know how you trapped an infected in the cellar.  

"Well," you started, aimlessly kicking at a rock. "It almost cost me my life," you reminded her, ignoring another brief look from Joel.     

--- 

You weren't sure how this job had gone so sideways so fast. It should have been a simple pick-up-and-trade, but you faced an obstacle at every turn. It was one of the first times you began to regret your choice of not having a designated partner for your runs. First, FEDRA blocked the road you would have taken, searching for something which you hoped wasn't you. Next, your contact failed to show up, which meant the whole run was a bust. Then, you had the bright idea that you were so close to Boston, you might as well visit Tess.  

Even you weren't really kidding yourself. Visiting Tess meant visiting Joel and that was really what you wanted after all the bullshit you had gone through. You wanted to drop by Cumberland Farms to stow away the goods you had meant to trade, so you wouldn't risk losing them if you were attacked or came across FEDRA.  

You were less than a mile out when you made a near-fatal error.  

 You saw one infected stumbling along in the woods. It wasn't far away from you, so you resolved to take care of it as quietly as you could. Your mistake was assuming it was alone. That one infected turned out to be five infected, and they all came running at you.  

You got off one shot, two, before you realized that you would simply have to run. You thought you could get to Cumberland and hold them off from there. You didn't count on the sixth infected to run at you from the side, tackling you into the dirt. You felt something scrape your side, your hand sliding over a sharp, jagged rock.  

The blood only made them more frenzied, eager to get to you. Your ankle felt like it was on fire, but you couldn't care. You had to run, escape, because if you became one of them, then you ultimately lost.  

You managed to take down the one that tackled you before pushing to your feet. You ignored the pain, counting on the adrenaline to carry you through. Every moment felt drawn out and weighted, but it was simply a passing second where you had to make the right choice or die.  

You didn't dare look over your shoulder as you ran. You kept your eyes forward, avoiding roots and debris that would trip you. You felt like there was a knife in your side, each breath in painful and sharp. Your ankle threatened to buckle under you and your hand was bleeding, stinging little zings of pain reminding you that you were wounded.  

You were trying not to panic, but you could feel desperation to survive clawing at you. This might be it, you couldn't help but think. This might be the last moment you were alive. The last moment you were truly human. You tried to push those thoughts aside and just focus on moving forward, ignoring the pain and fear fighting for your attention.  

You could just see Cumberland Farms up ahead when you started to finally allow yourself to think that you weren't going to make it. Five infected all on your trail while you hobbled along, injured and bleeding? No chance.  

You were going to have to do something crazy, you resolved. Something that might take you down with it, but at least you weren't going to leave this world infected with Cordyceps. That was all you really cared about at the moment.  

For a fleeting second, you thought of Joel and how much he would disapprove of your plan. Maybe he would mourn your death and maybe he would be glad to be rid of you. You didn't know. You had no clue. Which just about summed up your whole relationship with Joel. Confusing and uncertain and leaving you clueless.  

You only had a few seconds to enact your plan, knowing that if you slowed down at all, you would be swarmed by the infected. You rounded the back of Cumberland Farms, letting out a cry of pain when you stretched an arm back, grasping for the weapon you kept lodged in the side pocket of your bag. You finally wrapped your fingers around it, allowing yourself one moment of relief.   

You drew to a stop once you hit the back of the store, fumbling with the door for a moment before pushing inside. In a perfect world, you wouldn't need the weapon in your hand at all. You could get to the cellar and lock yourself in, regroup, and then deal with the infected once you weren't about to pass out from the pain.  

You got the cellar door open before it all fell to shit again.  

You assumed the infected would follow you around the building and through the back, but one of them surprised you, running in from the front. You had barely enough strength to push it away towards the back of the room before you brought the weapon in your hand up. You pulled the pin on the grenade and launched it into the group of infected at the back of the store, attempting to shield yourself from the oncoming blast.  

The grenade detonated quicker than you thought it would, taking care of the infected for you. You didn't count on being so close to it when it went off, though, and you were launched backwards, through the cellar door. You were weightless, floating, for one perfect moment before you hit the ground.  

You were sure you blacked out, because the next time you were aware, you were writhing on the ground, screaming. The pain in your side had doubled, tripled into a knot of agony. You glanced down, your hands covered in blood, to see a piece of a branch sticking out of your side. Had it been there the whole time? It must have been, but this was the first time you allowed yourself to notice. You were sure it was scraping along your gut, causing internal damage you wouldn't be able to fix stuck in the cellar of a gas station.  

Your hands traveled down to wrap around the branch in your side. You knew you shouldn't pull it out, but now that you knew it was there, you were painfully annoyed by its presence. You wanted it gone. Now. But you had a higher risk of dying if you simply yanked it out. If the shock didn't kill you, then the blood loss surely would.  

You heard the screech of an infected and prepared yourself for the worst. You weren't in any shape to fight one off, but the sharp sting of a bite never came. You cast your glance to the far side of the cellar, where part of the building had collapsed, rubble taking up the back half of the cellar. There was a face staring back at you, the rest of the body submerged beneath the debris. It shrieked at you again, uselessly trying to pull itself free, but stuck.  

"Fuck you," you snarled, pain making your vision swim as you shakily held a hand up, flipping it off.  

--- 

"Now, hold on," Joel said, halting your story. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how reckless that was?" 

You quirked an eyebrow at him before slowly raising your shirt to show the scar on your side. "Yeah," you drawled, smiling at him. "I think I do." 

Joel opened his mouth, no doubt ready to give you hell, but Ellie spoke first.  

"So, you were bleeding out, delirious from the pain, and what? You magically got better? Rubbed some dirt in it and walked away?" 

"No," you snorted, shaking your head. "There's more to the story than that." 

--- 

You lost track of time in the cellar. You knew you were bleeding. You knew you were in pain. You knew you were in danger. But you couldn't seem to make any of your limbs work. Once it started growing dark, you knew you had a hard choice ahead of you. Make yourself move or simply lie there and die.  

The sounds of the trapped infected had become background noise to you.  

"You can do this," you muttered, your hands clenched into fists to help you deal with the pain. "Just get the fuck up," you hissed, finally pushing yourself to your knees.  

It was a slow, torturous crawl to the trash can you had dropped into the cellar years before. You managed to roll it into the right place and slowly but surely pull yourself up onto it. The tricky part came when you had to straighten up, an excruciating ball of fire exploding in your side. You let out an agonized shriek to rival that of the infected before you forced your shaking hands to grab the edge of the floor above you.  

You didn't remember much of how you managed to actually get out of the cellar. It was a blur of pain and swearing and wondering if you should just let yourself fall back into the cellar and die.  

By the time you were stumbling out of Cumberland Farms, you knew you only had one option if you wanted to survive.  

You were sure you could easily be mistaken for an infected as you staggered down the road. You were covered in blood, your ankle dragging as you pushed yourself forward against your body's wishes. You forced down a scream of pain when you felt your foot roll over a rock, your ankle protesting the movement. There were black spots dancing at the edges of your vision, your field of view growing smaller and smaller the longer you walked. Your head felt dangerously weightless, as if it would simply float above your body and eventually become untethered and your breaths were getting shorter and shorter, barely coming at all.  

You didn't remember reaching your destination, but suddenly your hands were fumbling with a keypad and you were struggling to remember a string of numbers you could have sworn were ingrained in your memory. You didn't remember sitting on the ground and you didn't remember when it started raining. Your clothes were soaked, a mix of blood and water, making them cling to your skin in all the wrong places.  

"We've got one that somehow avoided the traps," you heard someone say, startling you out of your daze. 

You didn't know how you were suddenly looking up at the sky or why it was now daylight.  

"Help," you rasped, hoping you were discovered by a friend and not a raider.  

"Shit," Frank hissed, his voice coming closer. "It's Y/N. Let's get her inside." 

"Hold on. Stay on that side of the fence," Bill said, holding out a hand to stall Frank from coming any closer. "She could be infected." 

"It's Y/N," Frank tried to argue. "She needs our help." 

Bill pulled to a stop over you, staring down at you. You saw Bill pull out a virus checker before he crouched down, holding it near your neck.   

"Bill," Frank warned, apprehension in his tone.  

"Please," you managed to say, staring up at Bill. You didn't know if any of the infected had managed to bite you in your rush to escape. If you were infected, then you wanted them to put you down before you turned. You didn't want to risk Bill and Frank more than you already had just by coming here. "Please," you repeated, managing to nod up at Bill.  

He watched you for a moment before pressing the sensor to your neck. The sharp sting barely registered to you. It wasn't long before you heard Frank let out of a breath of relief. You saw the flash of green signaling you were in the clear before everything went black.  

You were aware of things in brief flashes of time. You woke up the first time, a pained cry leaving you as Frank and Bill attempted to get you into their house.  

"I know, I know," Frank tried to soothe you. "We've got you." 

You woke up the next time on a table, screaming in agony as Bill pulled the branch out of your side. You were vaguely aware of the push and pull of your skin being stitched together. You could hear Bill and Frank talking above you. Frank sounded so worried and you wanted to tell him it would all be okay, but you couldn't seem to get anything out.  

The first time you could actually make sense of what was going on, you realized you were on a bed.  

"You scared Frank," came a voice from your side.  

You glanced up, noticing Bill leaning against the wall of what you assumed was a spare bedroom, watching you. He had a gun in his hand, aimed at you, as if he didn't fully trust you wouldn't turn despite the all clear you got from the scanner.    

"I'm sorry," you got out, your throat dry and scratchy. "I don't even remember getting here." 

"You're lucky you didn't trigger one of my traps," he pointed out, finally lowering his gun. "You're lucky to be alive." 

"Yeah," you sighed, suddenly aware of the tight feeling at your side. You moved to touch your side, but Bill stopped you.  

"Don't," he warned, shaking his head. "You'll fuck up your stitches." 

You wanted to thank Bill for having your back. He had every right to leave you out there. You knew he'd let the whole world burn to protect Frank and you respected that even when it meant you'd burn too. You simply settled for meeting Bill's gaze, letting everything you wanted to convey show on your face.  

Bill simply dipped his head in a nod, his expression as stoic as ever, but his eyes conveying his understanding. In turn, you knew what he was telling you with just a look. His expression was stern, with just a hint of softness beneath it.  

You can't stay here. 

I have to protect Frank.  

I'm glad you're alive.  

"Once you're back up on your feet again--" 

"I'll be out of here," you finished for him. "I'm grateful," you told him, offering a small smile. Your eyes felt heavy and your breaths were coming out slow and measured. You could feel yourself beginning to fall asleep again. 

"I know," you heard Bill say before you drifted off.  

Two weeks later, you felt like you were on the edge of overstaying your welcome. Your wounds were healing nicely and you could walk without feeling like your ankle was going to snap. You knew it was time to leave. 

"You could stay," Frank offered, escorting you to the fence surrounding Lincoln.  

"I know," you said, grinning at Frank. "But you know me. Can't stay in one place too long. It's not me." 

"Y/N," Frank called, stalling you near the gate. "You know you're welcome here anytime. You don't have to wait until you're bleeding out to visit. Bill’s a grouch, and he’s got a funny way of showing it, but he likes you. He wouldn’t mind seeing you more often either." 

"Thanks," you told him, taking a step towards him. You held your arms out, waiting for Frank to step into your embrace. "I'll be back," you promised him. "Hopefully without the blood next time," you joked, pulling away from him. "Take care of yourself, alright? And the grouch too." 

Frank laughed, shaking his head. "You too. See you later, Y/N. Be careful out there." 

"I'll try," you promised, winking at him, before you exited through the gate. You started walking down the path, sparing a look for Frank at the gate. You raised your hand in a wave before you turned around, resolving to visit them the next time you had to do a job in the state.  

---  

"And I haven't been back since," you admitted with a frown.   

"Wow," Ellie breathed. "So, they saved your life and you couldn't even make the time to visit them? Remind me to let you bleed out next time." 

"Okay, smartass," you said, rolling your eyes. "It wasn't that easy, alright? Besides, I'm here now, right?" You pointed out, glancing at Joel, wondering if he got your meaning.  

Joel was focused on Lincoln, though. He carefully instructed Ellie around the traps Bill had built and approached the gate. He typed in the code, glancing around, waiting for Bill or Frank to appear at any moment. Surely, Bill already knew you were here.  

You followed Joel and Ellie through the gate and shut it behind you. You kept waiting for Bill or Frank to greet you, but you made it to their house without a sign from either one of them. A tendril of dread started to take root in your gut as you watched Joel easily push open the front door of their house. Bill always made sure it was locked if they were both inside. There was an eerie stillness that had settled over the town and you feared the worst.  

You immediately moved upstairs, searching for the couple, but you drew short just outside an upstairs bedroom by Joel's worried voice calling Bill's and Frank's names. You rushed downstairs to see he was trying to open their bedroom door, obviously locked to keep anyone out.  

"Uh, guys?" Ellie called, drawing you both to the dining room. She held a paper in her hands, reading over the words written on it. "This is for you," she said, glancing up at Joel. She tried to hand him the letter, but he refused with a shake of his head.  

"You read it," he prompted, moving to lean against the wall while he listened.  

You listened to Ellie read Bill's letter to Joel, keeping your eyes on him. You weren't sure if you were concerned about Joel or just trying to ignore your own feelings about Bill and Frank dying. It wasn't until Joel reached forward and snatched the letter away from Ellie, reading over something, before he shoved it at you.  

"Joel, you know--" 

"Just give me a moment," Joel interrupted Ellie, pushing past you to walk out of the room. You heard the door open and close and you were left alone with Ellie in the dining room.  

You glanced down at the letter, reading the words Joel and Ellie didn't dare read aloud.  

"I don't think he's over it yet," Ellie started, looking to you, cautious in case you didn't want to talk about it. Talk about Tess.  

"I didn't even realize she was gone," you admitted, trying to process three deaths all at once. The world grew smaller each day and you weren't sure what you would do when it finally disappeared.  

"I think he really loved her," Ellie observed, watching you.  

"It was hard not to love Tess," you conceded, trying to get your thoughts in order. There was pain and shock and grief and guilt. You couldn't even find it in you to be jealous that Joel was so torn up over Tess and so obviously in love with her, because you understood. She was there for him through everything. She was his constant and you knew that losing her had to have shaken his world.  

Your eyes caught on your name further down the letter.  

And Y/N, if this is you, Frank wants you to know that you're welcome to any of it. You can stay, put down roots if you want. Pick any house you want. You'll find everything you need in the bunker. But if you can't stay, take what you need. Don't go falling on anymore trees, because we're not here to keep you from bleeding out. Good luck, kid. 

A sob caught in your throat, the reality hitting you all at once.  

Frank and Bill were gone.  

Tess was gone.  

You only had Joel now and by association Ellie and Tommy.  

"I'll be right back," you told Ellie, hastily handing her the letter. You followed after Joel, finding him sitting on the lawn outside. "Hey," you whispered, approaching him, not wanting to startle him.  

He didn't look at you, but you saw his shoulders tense before relaxing just a bit. You moved to sit at his side, letting your knee brush against his leg.  

You sat there in silence with Joel for a few moments before you glanced over at him. "I'm sorry," you told him. "I know," you cut yourself off, knowing there weren't even words for what Tess was to Joel. "I know," you repeated, letting it stay there. Joel didn’t want to talk about it and you’d respect that, but you didn’t want him to feel alone. Not now and not ever.  

He didn’t have to be alone and you were starting to realize you didn’t quite need to be alone either. Frank and Bill had years together, loving each other and surviving together, because those experiences didn’t need to be mutually exclusive. You only wished that you had understood that sooner.  

Joel dipped his head in a nod before he finally looked at you. "I've got to go get Tommy out of some trouble in Wyoming and then I've got to get the kid somewhere. You're welcome to join us if you want in," he offered, the corners of his lips ticking up in a smirk. “Unless you’ve got a job you’d rather get to.” 

"No. No job,” you answered, not caring about anything else but Joel and whatever journey he needed to take. "I'm in.”  

taglist: @stilldreaming666 @littleshadow17 @rickysgrimes @owenniasstars

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[erodasfishtacos]

could u please do like a harry x youtuber/influencer!reader and like lots of fluff🥺

Hi bubbie! Here you go :)))

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Language

Harry was panicking. His mum and sister were going to be here in less than two hours and he’s burnt the eggplant parmigiana he had worked tediously on. 

He grabbed what he had left in his fridge - ground beef, shredded cheddar cheese, and a little bit of bacon. 

It was the type of foods he usually strayed away from so sometimes when his shopper would bring this stuff home - he’d avoid it and admittedly sometimes it would go bad sitting in the fridge.

The singer pulls up YouTube onto his phone - hoping something would come up when he typed in the ingredients on the search bar.

He clicks on the first video by cookingwithnofucks. A chuckle at the name as an advertisement plays.

A cute, bubbly girl appears on screen in a beautiful modern kitchen. She has a shirt on that says ‘fuck the patriarchy and eat pizza’. A high ponytail and minimal makeup.

“Okay - today we’re making a cheeseburger casserole,” the girl chirps, “It’s a heart attack in a dish but it’s so fucking good.”

Harry finds himself smiling as he crinkles his nose - it sounds absolutely disgusting but he’s intrigued more by the girl on the screen.

“Shit, I forgot to introduce myself. Hiii, if you’re new - I’m Y/N and I do cooking shit. Subscribe to my channel and all that jazz,” she titters while cutting open her beef package.

Harry follows along step-by-step, shaking his head as she doesn’t describe the instructions nearly well enough and is generally all over the place.

It’s a fucking cooking channel and at one point the meat starts burning. She just laughs and says, “s’just a little crispy!” 

The casserole turns out looking even better than Y/N’s to be honest. It’s done in just the right amount of time for him to shower before his family arrives.

He makes sure to subscribe to her channel - eyebrows raising when he sees that she has 16 million subscribers.

Harry wanted to spend longer, looking at her social media but there was a fixed time so he locked his phone and went to get ready.

**

Anne - always the sweetheart just tells Harry that the casserole is delicious even as a bit of grease runs down her fork from the fatty meats.

Gemma wasn’t as kind, grimacing at the casserole and remarking, “You truly are turning into an American, huh?”

**

Laying in bed that night, Harry swipes back onto YouTube. Going back to the page he just subscribed to - under a pseudonym. He clicks on another video.

“Uh, okay. So I’m cooking...fuck, it’s called unicorn bark. It looks like a magical animal puke but it looks delicious so we’re going to try it.”

Harry realizes he’s been watching this girl cook for nearly an hour. Different videos from desserts to dinners.

She curses like a sailor, fucks up almost every recipe, and makes a mess everywhere. But she’s smiling and talkative which makes him quite memorized by her.

**

“I hate editing,” Y/N groans, letting her head fall dramatically against the desktop. Her best friend and dog looked at her oddly.

“I keep saying you need to hire someone, you stubborn bitch,” Laney retorts, clicking through her Instagram feed.

“Fuck off,” she tells her friend with no real heat. The video was almost fully edited - how to make spicy as fuck jalapeño poppers.

There is a calm silence for a while until Laney gasps, “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Y/N asks, not really caring as she clicks her mouse to trim a segment.

“Harry fucking Styles just followed you on Instagram and Twitter!” Laney shouts, her dog - Rufus popping his head up in confusion.

Y/N looks at her friend to see if she’s really serious and sees no signs of deception. “Oh my god,” Y/N replies. She loved Harry Styles in One Direction and as a solo artist - a fangirl if you will.

Y/N was a well-known influencer and has run in the circles of many celebrities. She’s even met Liam Payne but she’s never been able to bump into Harry.

Her alerts tell her it to be true, she swallows as she looks back up at Laney, “He dm’ed me.”

“Open it! What did he say?” She squeals, squeezing herself on the chair next to her, peering over her shoulder at the phone.

Y/N is a bit nervous, trying not to have a mini aneurysm as she opens the message thread.

HarryStyles: Hello. Just wanted to let you know that your cheeseburger casserole recipe saved my ass last night. Cheers x

“He’s totally coming onto you,” Her friend states instantly, bouncing excitedly - she also had a bit of a crush on the singer.

It takes the two of them a minute to cool their shit before Y/N manages a reply.

Y/N/LN: Well I guess it’s only fair. Your songs have made a few of my nights much better. I’m a bit of a slut for Fine Line.

Harry laughs behind his screen at the cheeky reply he gets back. He’s usually never this forward - especially on social media where he likes to fly under the radar.

HarryStyles: Well if you fancy my music that much, I totally love for you to come to a show. I’m performing in New York City in two weeks.

“This has to be a joke, right?” Y/N sputters to her friend, eyes wide at the invite to a concert she already had tickets to.

Y/N/LN: I’m not going to lie, I already have tickets to the show. However, I don’t have any backstage passes to meet the man of the hour. Do you know someone who can hook me up?

It does wonders for Harry’s narcissism to know that she already had tickets for his concert. Was he really going to do this? He hasn’t met up with some like this since his One Direction days.

He had to remind himself - she may just be friendly and take this as a totally casual interaction. Which would be normal, Harry really shouldn’t be so infatuated with someone he’s watched cook on social media.

HarryStyles: I think I can arrange that. Shoot me your number? I’ll have them sent digitally to you with instructions on how to get backstage.

Y/N is a bit dumbfounded at how fast they agreed to meet up. A harmless backstage tour - he could just be a fan of hers and totally not interested, right?

**

Over the next few weeks, they never really stop texting. Harry sends her pictures of the recipes he copies off her channel - that usually always look better than the original. He sends her clips of him goofing around during tour rehearsal. FaceTimes her when he’s finally home for the night.  

She sends him videos of her watching Harry Styles Best Moment Part Five. A few photos she snaps throughout the city of him on billboards and buildings, in Times Square. YN facetimes him when she’s frustrated with filming or watched a sad movie.

It didn’t make sense to either of them how seamlessly they’d clicked - especially without meeting. They were a perfect balance for each other. Harry - laidback, organized, level-headed. Y/N - eccentric, all over the place, adventurous. 

Jeff had told him that he’s been gaining media attention from his social media interactions with Y/N. They like each other’s photos, begin following each other’s friends, and comment goofy things on their posts.

“Listen, I have a great idea,” Y/N begins - which Harry learned is never good. “You should film a video with me sometime.”

Y/N knew she was going out on a limb and instantly regretted the questions she’d been building the courage to ask for days when it’s quiet on his end. There’s static for a moment and Y/N needs to fill the silence.

“It was - I was just, uh, I know you’re probably too busy. I was -“ She stutters, embarrassment flooding her.

Harry cuts her off, “I’d love to.”

“Yo-you would?” She asks timidly. Was she really going to have Harry Styles in her apartment? If so, should she take down her poster?

He laughs sweetly, “Why do you sound so surprised? I can’t wait to come to New York, love.”

Y/N giggles, “Not the fact that you’re performing in front of a sold out crowd at MSG? I don’t think seeing me will top that.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meetin’ you in person since I came across your channel. You so lovely,” Harry replies, his voice a little softer but more serious.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N admits, picking at a thread in her jeans.

“Me too,” Harry murmurs, despite not wanting to admit it - he wanted her to know this was new territory for both of them. He didn’t want her to think that this was something that he did often. But a little too prideful to admit it’s the first time he’s ever done something quite like this.

“What if you don’t like me?” Y/N whispers, she...well she didn’t compare to the models he’s been seen with before. She’s regretfully fell into the rabbit hole of looking up his past flings and relationships.

Harry barks out a disbelieving laugh, “You can’t be serious, darling. I’ve been gone for you since I saw you burn that ground beef.”

**

Harry was having a bad day - scratch that. An awful one. He tried to go get coffee at eight in the morning and got bombarded by fans, he left the shop without even ordering. They followed him back to his car and it took him fifteen minutes to pull out.

His favorite Mickey Mouse Gucci suitcase he was bringing along on tour had busted. The zipper unraveling and the trim falling off as a result. It was a one-of-a-kind.

Then he’d been stuck on a Skype meeting about tour merchandise with a group of business partners for the last three hours - all he wanted was a fucking nap.

When Y/N’s contact vibrated across his screen, he’s itching to answer but declines as he needs to give these people his attention.

When she calls again, Harry feels a prickle of annoyance. It’s not even at her - to be quite honest. It’s just the shitty day and everything’s piling up.

He always got like this before he kicked off a tour - stress level maxed out and his ability to handle minor incidents nearly shot.

I’m busy

Okay! Sorry, just have a super exciting surprise for you, bub! 

I really do not feeling like talking. I’d rather be left alone.

Oh, alright. Hope everything’s okay! Do you still want to facetime later?

Harry leaves her on read because he doesn’t want to slip up and take out his frustration on her. He’d been known to do that and he didn’t want her to think he was anything but besotted with her.

**

Y/N feels a little hesitant as she begins the uploading process to her channel. The red loading bar told her it’d be twenty-minutes before it’s going to be posted to her 16 million subscribers - one of them being Harry himself. 

Twenty-minutes for her to back out and cancel the upload. She starts having doubts about it when Harry never replies to her text which is unlike him. 

She takes Rufus out to avoid staring at the loading screen with unnecessary anxiety and uneasiness.

**

Harry is just getting home from a business dinner with the touring company’s management team. The tension and anxiety from today piling up on his shoulders and he just wants to call Y/N and crash in bed. 

He tosses his keys in the little bowl in the entry and kicks off his dingy white vans to the side. His phone dings with an alert from Gemma.

You two are the literal cutest ever. It’s quite gross.

Harry slides onto a stool in his kitchen, confused by the text message before she’s sending the link to him.

Fine Line Inspired Cupcakes!

Harry isn’t quite sure why his heart starts pounding furiously in his chest. A sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes that this was probably the surprise she was excited about.

He clicks on the thumbnail.

“Hiiii, it’s Y/N. Okay, well today we are going to bake some Fine Line inspired cupcakes. And if you haven’t listened to the album - get your ass out from rock you’re living under and stream it on Spotify!”

She has her hair down in long, waves and a loose cropped shirt that says TPWK in rainbow embroidery.

Harrys mouth is dry and he can’t take his fucking eyes away from the screen. 

“Soo, I was thinking the first batch would be cherry flavored? ‘Cause he has a song titled ‘Cherry’. Let’s start there. First - I need to find my measuring cups.”

In true Y/N fashion, she scours her kitchen - cussing and yanking stuff out of her neatly organized cabinets before huffing and storming off to the side.

She comes back into view, a little frazzled but smiling when she holds up the ring of plastic measuring spoons, visible bite marks notched into the material.

“My asshole of a dog had a little snack,” Y/N shows the camera before shrugging, “Let’s get this shit started. Okay, you’re going to need one cup of sugar - no wait, two? I can’t read my fucking handwriting.”

Harry’s absolutely enamored by this scatter-brained, giggly girl who manages to produce cute blue and pink cupcakes that very vaguely resembled his album cover. His heart felt a million times too big for his chest.

He was enraptured for the entirety of the thirty minute video without taking his eyes away once.

To be honest, he hadn’t felt this way since his last relationship which was over a year ago at this point.

It’s not even a thought as he’s requesting a FaceTime with Y/N. 

She answers after a few rings. She has a green face mask painted on her nose, chin, and forehead with gold eye masks under each eye. She is so fucking ridiculous it’s not even funny. 

What is even more ridiculous is how gone Harry is realizing he is for her. She was quirky, unfiltered, carefree. If he was honest - he hadn’t met a girl like that in a very long time - especially a well-known influencer.

“Hi! How was your day, grumpy?” Y/N asks brightly, making a goofy face as the mask begins to tighten and crack on her skin. Not holding the earlier conversation against him and deciding to just move forward. She understood how stressful it can be.

“M’sorry. I was a bit grumpy,” He admits, “I loved your new video, darling. Did you make those just f’me?”

He can tell she’d be blushing if her face wasn’t covered, a bit bashful as she mutters, “You already know I did it for you.”

“You’re too sweet to me, only six days until we meet,” Harry replies, voice taking on a slow, lazy drawl. 

“Six days,” Y/N repeats, eyes crinkling as she smiles with excitement.

**

“Is this outfit too much?” Y/N panics. Even though there’s literally nothing she can do about it - they’re already walking towards the backstage entrance of the massive arena. It’s still about two hours until the show starts but Harry requested her to come earlier.

Laney sighs, “For the millionth time, you look fucking sexy and Harry’s going to want to rail you right when he sees you.”

Y/N shoves her lightly with a faux annoyance as they meet up with a burly man who’s blocking the entrance to the backstage hallway and rooms.

She gives him their names and pulls up the passes on her phone before he’s nodding with any expression and letting them pass.

They’re not quite sure where to go from here so they begin to wander down the long hallway toward what looks to be the main area that people are milling about.

Y/N is nearly on the ground when someone rounds the corner without looking and walks right into her. Both of them let out huffs of air as they collide and attempt to stabilize themselves.

But there are large hands grasping her arms and holding her steady. In typical Y/N fashion she’s already cursing, “fuckin like a brick wall, look out next time.”

Then she’s looking up to Harry staring back down at her with an amused expression. He doesn’t let go of her and instead tugs her against his bare chest. He’s warm and a bit sweaty - like he’d just worked out. He was only in a pair of thin, running shorts, nike tennis shoes, and a little clip holding his hair off of his face.

Y/N can’t help but wrap her arms around his waist, returning the embrace and amazed by how right it feels to be in his arms. Her face tucks right against his collarbone and it’s like they’d known each other for years.

Pictures and videos don’t do this man justice. He’s gorgeous - sharp edges and dark inked skin. Tall and muscular but dimples that are carved in his cheeks. 

“Nice to meet you, m’Harry,” Harry rumbles, removing one hand from Y/N’s shoulder to reach out his hand to her friend.

Laney shakes his hand before asking, “Laney. I’ll leave you two lovebirds be. Where’s the food?”

Harry chuckles against Y/N’s wavy hair, “Down the hall to the left.”

Laney’s trailing off without another glance, she was very food motivated despite her skinny frame. Also not wanting to intrude of the very personal first moments of their meeting.

The popstar pulls back to look down at the girl he’s fallen for in mere weeks. She’s as beautiful as he thought she'd be - if not more. He can’t help himself, “Would it be too forward to kiss you?”

Y/N smiles widely, running a hand along his jawline, “I’ve wanted you to kiss me since you stayed up on FaceTime with me until two in the morning as I cried after watching The Notebook - despite me seeing it a million times.”

Harry ducks forward to press his lips softly to her, large hands come to cup the side of her face as they connect. He’s so gentle as he moves his mouth against hers. In true Y/N fashion, she’s bold and has no hesitation slipping her tongue into his mouth.

He’s so fucking in love with her. It doesn’t make much sense - it’s definitely not logical but he’s realizing that’s okay.

“Oii, get a room!” Someone shouts from down the hallway teasingly.

Harry flips them the middle finger and pulls back, pink lips swollen and puffy, dimples on full display, “Let me take you out to dinner after the show, darling.”

“You going to wine and dine me, Styles?” Y/N giggles, unable to contain the pleasant warmness he’s spreading through her body. 

“Mmm, have t’make sure you’ll want to keep me,” Harry murmurs happily against her lips once again, pressing kiss after kiss to her to make sure she’s real, “Definitely want to keep you.”

Y/N bites teasingly at his bottom lip, hand planted on the soft but firm skin of his stomach, “You’re never getting rid of me, hope you know that.”

“Was hoping you’d say that, now let me introduce you to my band.”

                                  -- ---- ---- -- 1 year later - -- --- --- --

“Hi bitches! Today is a super special day. We have the one, the only Harry Styles filming with us. I know that’s not really that special since he’s on here all the time with me. But we’re celebrating our one year anniversary!” Y/N smiles, bumping hips with Harry who stands dutifully next to her. 

Anyone viewing can see the absolute heart-eyes and adoration he has for the girl standing next to him. He’s still as lovestruck and gone for her as he was the first time they met. Harry’s fans were thrilled - for the first time in years, he’d opened up again.

They weren’t very public on social media beside’s tagging each other in memes and posting the occasional picture. Y/N was constantly uploading cooking videos from wherever in the world she was with Harry on his tour, she’d also begin making vlogs about different foods she’s been experiencing.

---

“Okay, so here in Peru - they’re known to have this really fucking spicy beef with noddles. So obviously, I’m going to make Harry try it first,” Y/N laughs as she props the camera up on the side of the table on a napkin holder.

Harry - who has a concert in a few hours - frowns at the steaming dish in front of him, “Darling, I don’t want to try it first. It’s going to burn my mouth. Not gonna be able to sing.”

“You’re sucha baby sometimes,” Y/N rolls her eyes, slurping up the noodles with her fork while making a silly face at her boyfriend. She pulls back, straight-faced, “It’s not hot at all. Tastes amazing, though.”

Harry takes that as an initiative to shovel a spoonful into his mouth. It only takes half a moment until his taste buds erupt in fiery flames from the spices, “You bloody little brat, y’tricked me! It’s so fuckin’ hot!”

Y/N smiles widely, laughing much too loudly in the restaurant when Harry chugs the glass of water next to the plate while glaring at his love. “I’m sorry, s’just to easy with you, lovie,” She replies, leaning over the table to press a kiss to his lips. 

He’s a sucker for her and kisses her right back despite his mouth being an inferno. His heart was on fire for her and that burned much more intensely.

---

“No, love. The instructions say baking soda, not baking powder. They’re not the same thing,” Harry sighs, attempting to read her scribbled, sloppy handwriting. She’d already spilled milk on half of the paper.

“S’interchangeable, right?” Y/N hums, cracking an egg into the bowl and Harry automatically knows to look to fish out the eggshells that’d she’d let slip in because she sucks at cracking eggs but always wants to do it.

Harry reaches over her, grabbing the vanilla extract and a teaspoon, “It’s not, baby. Lemme do this real quick.”

“Will you make me a grilled cheese after this?” She asks, nuzzling into his side and wrapping her arms around his waist as he finishes adding the wet ingredients to their bowl. Harry stopped questioning her thought process a long time ago.

Harry swipes his finger into the mixture of icing off to the side and rubs it right onto her nose, cackling at her pout and squeaking when she pinches at the fleshy skin of his hips. She in turn dips her finger into the sugary cream and pops it right into her mouth.

Harry eyes darken, watching her lips purse as she sucks off the icing. It was a dirty move on Y/N’s part and she knows it. It has her boyfriend dragging an icing-covered thumb along her collarbone before leaning down to slowly lick up the sugary trail with his tongue.

When Y/N slides her fingers into his hair and lets out a pretty moan, Harry’s standing back up, trailing over to the tripod and saying into the camera, “We’ll be back after a little commercial break,” and is then turning off the record button.

It takes little to no time for Harry to have Y/N’s bum on the countertop, mouth on her neck, and hand in-between her thighs.

And when they finally posted a very edited final cut of the video - well there may be a couple of fans who notice the how flushed Y/N is halfway through and a lovely purple mark on Harry’s neck that wasn’t there in the beginning of the video.

[rightpastnowhere]

16 - Appearance Headcanon for any of Percy's deceased siblings you feel like oooooorrrr. 10, sleep headcanon for Cassandra.

headcanon ask meme

16. appearance - de rolo siblings

your mistake was saying any, and so now i will do All

julius: i’d think it be really funny if he was shorter than vesper and percy both. so i headcanon that he was shorter than both of them, and that would have been shorter than all of the de rolos (except for whitney and cass) if they’d all grown into their adult heights. i think he would have had the lightest hair (medium brown, maybe some natural blond streaks), as well as the least-pasty skin (but still pale), because he’s the one who goes out and about the most often. blue eyes, darkish blue, and a more square-ish face, his jaw still not quite yet sharpened out from his lil baby face by the time the briarwoods attack. also VERY curly hair. and some light freckles

vesper: i headcanon her as second tallest next to percy - maybe about 5’10? - because i’m tall and like when other ladies are tall. it fuels me. she was taller than percy until he hit that pre-teen growth spurt, and she was quietly pissed about it. medium brown hair, a lil darker than leona & wolfe’s hair color, and it would have been curlier if she didn’t keep it so long - the weight of it drags it down into loose curls/waves. i think she’d wear it half-up most of the time, up enough to be out of the way but not looking too severe or grown up. grey-blue eyes, similar to what i headcanon for percy but more grey than blue. i think she’d be pretty fit, considering all the horseback riding and fencing and other noble whatnot, and also because she grew up play-fighting with julius and they keep that competition going with sparring

whitney: the older twin, but oliver always denied it. i think she’d have the lightest hair out of the de rolos, still brown but just lighter, and that it’s because of some of johanna’s genes. i think she’d keep it cut short, which started when she cut it herself (with oliver’s help) when she was five. it wasn’t exactly rebellion, but more general mischief and also “blegh i hate my hair”. i think she would be the shortest of the de rolos, once they all grew up, and was constantly threatening to bust kneecaps if you called her out for her height. i imagine her with green eyes that sometimes looked hazel, and a little button nose that stood out from the line of de rolo noses

oliver: i headcanon him taller than whitney by like 4 inches, and that he never shut up about it. brown hair that’s lighter than vesper’s, but darker than percy’s was. i imagine him trying to grow it out to wear in one of those cool lil ponytails, but he never managed to get it past this awkward, wavy mullet that his siblings gave him so much shit for. his eyes would be green like whitney’s, but they kinda just stayed green instead of looking hazel sometimes. he and whitney didn’t look much more similar than they did to the rest of their siblings, but they did make the exact same expressions all the damn time. especially the glares when they’re angry, and shit eating grins when they’re up to something

ludwig: i think he would look the most like percy - same color hair but much curlier, similar eye colors (more blue than percy’s), same eyebrows, same nose, with the latter two being de rolo traits. very lanky and awkward, still growing into his arms and legs as a baby teenager. i imagine him being a clumsy kid, so he’d have a collection of little nicks-and-bumps scars, but very minor ones that are mostly covered by his regular clothes. he differed from percy by being a bit less pale because he actually went outside lol. had some pale freckles, too, on his cheekbones

10. sleep - cassandra

cass and percy have the worst sleep schedules known to man, the both of them, and it drives vex up a wall. cass stays up late working, and gets up early, because every hour asleep is an hour wasted - and that’s nothing compared to the five years she lost under the briarwoods. she also struggles with nightmares, but it’s quieter than with percy has them - and they tend to leave her disoriented more often than percy’s do.

i also think she’d always end up holding something in her sleep - either a pillow or herself. and it’s always tightly, too, curling into herself. a childhood habit that she never grew out of, and one she can’t really break despite being forced to grow up so fast. vex mentions “casually” that she’ll sleep holding a pillow sometimes if she’s away during a trip, so she doesn’t wake up with arms cramping. cass doesn’t say anything, but tries that, and sleeps a bit easier

[watermelonlipstick]

Stabbed

This was written following an anon request that read as follows:

Hello sweetie, can I please request a dean x reader one shot in which she gets stabbed during a rough hunt and it's a race against time to save her (maybe Sam is the one driving and dean gets in the backseat with her?) And dean is scared of losing her and he has a panic attack after she wakes up but she manages to calm him down?

Obviously everyone’s experiences with panic attacks are different, but I tend to think if Dean had one it might manifest more externally as a violent outburst; I think he would subconsciously feel like it’s a more acceptable way to express ~freaking the fuck out~. This fic is sort of loosely set during early season 3, partly because that contextualization made sense to me with what you were describing and partly because I feel like that tenderhearted, slightly-less-jaded Dean would be more likely to allow himself to be perceived as vulnerable in such a fraught moment. 

I’ve also taken a couple liberties with the medical situation described for literary purposes. 😋 Don’t @ me, I know this isn’t exactly how hypovolemic shock plays out.

Title: Stabbed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4206

Summary: Dean’s anxiety gets the best of him when the reader appears fatally injured on a hunt, and is soothed only after the danger is gone. 

Warnings: canon-appropriate violence, description of panic attack, swearing

           Sam slammed the door once Dean had hauled you into the backseat, propping you up like a mannequin next to him on the bench. Your vision was starting to fade in and out, but the sense memory of the muscles in Dean’s side and the leather seat underneath you were comforting anyway. It seemed like the car started flying before Sam had even closed the driver’s side door and you tried hard to focus on Dean’s babbling.

           “You’ll be able to give me shit about this one forever, right, kid? Should’ve listened to you, you said they would’ve left the barn by the time we got there. Always so smart, when am I going to learn?” He was trying to chuckle but it came out breathy and wrong, Dean never quite able to actually hit the casual affect he wanted in moments like this. Honestly, it made you more nervous, knowing that for injuries he wasn’t worried about he wanted to look over you with clinical precision, chastise you for being careless. He only did this pretend calm when he was trying to keep it together—you used to think it was only for you or Sam but after a few years and more than a few bad scares you started to understand it for the defense mechanism it truly was. Not that you needed extra evidence that this was bad; you could feel the life leeching out of you like a water balloon with a pinprick leak.

           “Hey, come on—open your eyes for me, lemme see those stunners,” he said, guiding your chin up where you had begun to slump onto his shoulder. “Perfect, yeah, just like that. Hey, stay with me—”

           You mustered up everything you had to swim to the surface of the sleep-darkness your body so desperately wanted and straightened your spine to take a deep breath. Bad idea, the wounds in your side feeling like they were splitting you clean in half even through the haze. At least it woke you up for a moment to catch Dean’s eyes, fiery with panic even as he tried to smile.

           “Dean, I—” you started, feeling like your throat was full of broken glass.

           “Babe, don’t try to talk, it’s okay, you can tell me whatever it is when we get to a hospital.”

           Sam turned his head away from the rural highway the Impala was absolutely sailing down to look back at his older brother. “We’re hours away from a hospital, we’ve gotta go back to the motel,” he said, low and serious.

           “If we’re hours away from a hospital then I guess we’re driving for a couple hours, aren’t we, Sammy?” Dean was getting worse and worse at covering the hard edge of fear-driven anger in his voice as the seconds ticked by.

           “Dean, we—she’s—we don’t have a couple hours.”

           Dean closed his eyes tight and set his jaw firm. “We’re going to a fucking hospital.”

           His brother swerved deftly around a giant pothole, somehow able to turn the wheel so slightly that the car’s path barely changed. “Listen to me. She can’t bleed like that for long enough to get to a hospital. We have to try to handle this one ourselves or there’s no chance—”

           The whole conversation felt like it was happening to someone else, your senses starting to detach from your body, and you couldn’t hold onto those trains of thought for long enough to process them. You were forced to expend all the energy you had on what you needed to say, and reached for Dean’s hand with a weak grip.

           “Dean, look at me.”

           He sounded like a hurt puppy when he said, “please,” and you knew he was asking you not to make him listen but you were worried you were out of options, out of time. That frantic smile looked almost crazed as it started to quiver on his face, eyelashes clumping with moisture.

           “Sam, can you hear me too?” you asked, frustrated in an abstract way at how frail your voice sounded.

           He gave one tight nod in the rearview mirror with a jaw set firm as iron, and when he said “Yes—yeah,” it was choked.

           “I love you idiots so much. These last—ow, Jesus—however many years have been some of the most fun I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t take it back for anything. Sam, I—you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I—fuck,” you winced, something about the breath you took to keep from crying sending an electric jolt of pain through you and doubling you over.

           “It’s okay, I know,” Sam said up into the rearview mirror, and you couldn’t tell if the way the headlights were falling on the trees impossibly fast was something about your sight being distorted, because if it wasn’t then you were surprised the Impala hadn’t broken some kind of land speed record. You made a mental note to tell Dean to start drag racing before remembering you might not tell him anything ever again. What you were nearly positive you weren’t imagining were the break in Sam’s voice or the reflection of tears on his cheek as he locked eyes with you in the mirror.

           By the grace of whatever higher power the Winchesters were on the good side of at the time, you connected with him in the reflection, were able to absorb some fraction of the bone-crushing, pick-you-up-off-your-feet hug you wanted so badly from Sam in that moment. You tried to be thankful for what you got and drifted back to Dean’s gaze.

           “And Dean, baby,” you continued, some bizarre flutter of second wind giving you enough force to clench your hand tightly around his and remember to keep your breaths shallow, keep talking even if your eyes couldn’t quite focus. “This was not your fault, you gotta—promise—me you know it wasn’t.”

           “I, ah—” he faltered, throat vibrating as he tried to keep the inevitable tears down.

           You gripped his hand tighter, felt your fingers going numb, and tried to smile hoping it didn’t look too grotesque on a face almost certainly drained of lifelike color. “C’mon, gotta obey a last wish, right?” The grief-stricken chuckle of surprise that dark joke punched out of Dean opened the floodgates, and tears burst forward to stream down his face. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

           You’d thought of some goofy punchline to try to give, some ‘no sleeping with random girls for at least a year, want you guys to pour one out for me every day’ bullshit but seeing the love and pain in Dean’s eyes as your vision came in and out zapped it away. “I love you baby. I just—thank you for—everything—and—”

           It was getting too hard to take even those shallow breaths, your hearing gone fuzzy around the edges, and the last thing you remembered was seeing a streetlight on the edge of town as Dean took your face in his hands, “I know, kid, I know, come on—please,” fading out like he was being zipped away through a long tunnel.

           You were completely motionless in Dean’s arms, pulse gone thready enough that Dean was having a hard time finding it through the rumble of the car.

           “Fuck, Sam, FUCK!” Dean screamed, one hand wrapped up in the hair at the back of your neck as he fought desperately to keep you upright.

           Sam muscled through the lump in his throat and tried to stay focused. “When we get there you need to be ready to go, okay, Dean? HEY, listen to me. Don’t quit on me like this,” he barked, trying to catch his brother’s eyes in the rearview mirror without taking his focus off the road, terrified at the speed of the Impala and the potential of repeating what had happened the last time he’d had someone he loved bleeding out in the backseat.

           The car skittered around two corners and Sam prayed as hard as he had ever prayed for anything that there weren’t any Keystone cops looking to meet their month’s ticket quota by hanging around dark parking lots with radar guns, willed Dean to stop punching the window of the car with the hand that wasn’t clutching your head to his chest. He couldn’t decide if he thought it would’ve been better to have Dean drive, if he would’ve been able to hold it together any better than Dean was right now, if Dean could’ve focused if he was driving and not feeling you drift in his arms. There wasn’t time to figure it out and it ultimately didn’t matter, his brother turning into a bomb in the backseat and Sam needed to figure out a way to funnel Dean’s sheer panic back into the denial that would fuel him to keep moving, do anything to keep you alive, regardless of whether there was any hope left.

           “It’s not over, you’ve gotta keep it together. She needs you. See, we’re right around—"

           But he didn’t get to finish through the flurry of action as he pulled into the motel. He careened the Impala straight up to the door of the room, more than half of the car parked over a strip of grass intended to make the nondescript building feel more homey. By the time he’d torn the keys from the ignition Dean was practically leaping out of the backseat, carrying you into the room a quarter step after Sam half-busted the door open, laying you on a bed and tearing your t-shirt off with his bare hands like a cheap wrestling gimmick.

           Sam didn’t bother closing the motel door, moving too fast to care as he ripped a cork out of whiskey bottle with his teeth and poured it all over your now-exposed side, grimacing with nausea at the way it didn’t make you draw back in pain even a little. Dean tried his best to thread a needle with floss and remember whether it was better or worse that the blood was still flowing fast and bright red out of those stab wounds rather than slowing or oxidizing—this is bush league shit Dad pounded in years ago why can’t I remember fucking any of it? His hands shook with too much adrenaline to get the floss through the needle but Sam was already working on patching the biggest wound, tying knots with the rapid precision of a surgeon.

           It was only when he started getting in Sam’s way that the younger Winchester said anything more, encouraged that Dean was at least trying to pull himself together. He began talking through the stitches, muttering when he had to pull one tight with his teeth.

           “We—Dean, look at me.” Sam drilled into him with those brackish eyes, struggling to maintain the appearance of being in control that his brother needed of him when he could feel you going cold underneath his fingertips. “We’re going to need to give her a lot of fluids when she wakes up; all we have is beer. Go get some stuff for her to drink—electrolytes, she’ll need electrolytes.”

           “I’m not going to fucking leave, asshole!” Dean was strung out and not even pretending to hide it anymore, voice taking on that juvenile squeak Sam had only heard a handful of times since Dean was a teenager.

           He took a deep breath in an effort to soothe himself before speaking as clearly and firmly to Dean as possible, no room for negotiation. “Dean. This is not helping. The best thing you can do for her is to go get some fluids. Gatorade, OJ, bananas too, if they have them. She’ll need iron but we can deal with other food once she wakes up.”

           “What if she doesn’t—” Dean half-moaned, sounding like he’d been struck by something that was sucking all the oxygen from his lungs, looking like he was on the last ten feet of a hundred-mile race.

           “She’s going to wake up.”

           And Sam’s stubbornness actually did help Dean a bit in that moment, knowing that even if his life was about to change radically, that never would. “Go get some fucking Gatorade.”

           By the time Dean came back—arms filled with so many bags of sports drinks that it would be comical in any other context—his brother had stitched up every wound, cleaned off most of the blood, and put all your limbs atop high stacks of pillows in an attempt to get as much blood to your vital organs as possible. Dean was near catatonic with the singular focus of a task, which was Sam’s intention. One thing at a time.

           After about five minutes of sitting alongside Sam watching you, thick, viscous panic bubbled back up to the surface.

           At first, he was muttering like he was talking to himself. “She told me, she fucking told me they wouldn’t be in the barn anymore, I didn’t listen. I should’ve been right behind her, Sam, what the fuck was I thinking—she was—she—she was alone, they wouldn’t have—” and then the way his voice built to a fever pitch matched his body, Dean perched on the mattress like a sailboat in a tempest, slammed against invisible waves of panic.

           “It wasn’t your fault, Dean. You couldn’t have known—”

           “She was alone against five of them, Sam, do you get that? I left her fucking ALONE!” Dean wailed, springing forward from the bed with eruptive energy and bashing the nightstand lamp hard enough that its base shattered against the opposite wall, coming clean out of the socket as easily as if it hadn’t been plugged in. Sam flinched but didn’t get up, instead taking a quick visual inspection that no shards of ceramic somehow bounced back to cut your still body. By the time he glanced up again he only had a millisecond to react as Dean threw a chair from the kitchenette against the wall, exploding the mirror there into shimmering beads of glass and ricocheting back, forcing Sam block it with a forearm lest it hit him or you.

           “DEAN, enough!” he yelled, crossing over to his brother with a few powerful strides and grappling with him, battling to keep Dean still as the older of the Winchester brothers fought to destroy the room to match the chaos in his mind. Sam knew exactly what was going on, the way Dean’s brain converted fear to rage, but hated when his brother got like this, not only because it cut so deep to see him in pain but because the explosiveness was so similar to the knock-down drag-outs they’d grown up with, made it impossible to try to fix the root of the problem.

           Sam tackling Dean to the ground was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes.

           “Do I pull this shit when you guys are sleeping?” you croaked from the mattress, trying to sit up and immediately abandoning that plan, stilling yourself and holding your breath until the pain settled a fraction.

           Sam and Dean scrambled to get to their feet and ran over to you, hovering over the bed looking like their backs had a light dusting of glitter rather than a million tiny shards of glass.

           “What’re—are you okay? What do you remember?” Sam blurted out, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade out of a plastic bag and cracking it open for you. He snatched a pillow and helped you sit up slowly, jamming it under your head so you could drink.

           “Well, I’ve definitely felt better,” you tried to chuckle, but the tension it caused in your abdominal muscles made you wince. “I’m really sorry, you guys, I shouldn’t have—” you began, immediately stopped by the way Sam and Dean shook their heads, sucked on their teeth.

           “I’m—ah,” Sam started, smiling self-deprecatingly through the shake in his voice and looking down at the ground for a beat with his tongue in his cheek. It was like his body knew that the worst of the crisis had passed and refused to let him hide his emotions for one second further. After a second he met your eyes again, faintest hint of tears in his eyes. “I’m really glad you’re up.”

           Behind him, Dean collapsed into himself, his expression simultaneously complete relief and like he’d seen a ghost. You peered around Sam to meet his gaze. “Hey, dork,” you breathed, unable to come up with anything to match the weight of the moment.

           He opened his mouth a few times and couldn’t find anything either, wincing and biting his lip hard as he rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I’m so sorry,” he finally choked out.

           As always, Sam knew what Dean needed and snatched the car keys off the table as his brother tried in vain to keep his restless limbs still. He gazed at you with such naked thankfulness it made you smile involuntarily. “I’m going to see how much red meat I can find you, I’ll be right back, okay? Drink as many of these as you can and don’t stand up alone.” You nodded gratefully to him as he backed out the door.

           When Sam left, Dean still shifted uncomfortably on his feet, clenching and unclenching his hands until he ultimately jammed them deep into the pockets of his coat with enough force that it shook loose almost all of the glass, sending it floating to the ground around him as if he was a mirage. You could see, even as he stood a few paces away from the bed, that his breathing was quickened from the rapid, shallow movements of his chest and neck. “I’m—ah, I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have—” he stammered against a jaw locked shut tensely enough to make the muscles bulge out of his cheeks, and the lack of the self-assuredness that was normally so Dean to you made him seem unbelievably young, made you want to leap across the room and wrap him up in your arms. As it was, you beckoned him over with a shaky hand.

           He walked over to you hesitantly, only sitting down on the side opposite your injuries when you patted the sheets next to you. Awkwardly trying to move your torso as little as possible, you tossed the pillows on that side to the floor and motioned for him to lay down.

           “I don’t want to hurt—”

           “I’ll be fine. Please?”

           Reluctantly taking off his coat and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground, he gingerly tucked himself under your arm and laid his head on your chest. You faintly dragged your fingertips down his back, waiting for his heartbeat and uneven, shallow breathing to slow down. When they didn’t and all you felt was a spreading wetness on the remaining upper half of t-shirt you still had, you twisted laboriously to see Dean’s face.

           Tears streamed down onto you, Dean biting his lip so hard to keep quiet you were shocked you couldn’t see blood, the whites of his teeth almost matching the pressure-blanched skin.

           “Oh, Dean,” you hummed, pulling him close to you with your one arm. “Babe, I’m here, I’m right here. Everything’s okay; I’m okay, you get to treat me like a princess for a few days and I’ll learn for the hundredth time that I shouldn’t go off by myself.”

           “I—I thought you were gone,” Dean whispered between stunted sobs breaking the words off in short staccato, still fighting to speak as though he wasn’t crying even as his tears soaked you.

           You craned your neck slowly to kiss the top of his head. “Not gone, right here. Always going to be right here.”

           “You were bleeding so mu—just like Sam, it was just like when Sam—” he faltered, speaking slowly to try to grab the reins of his voice as it shook.

           “Not just like Sam, baby, I’m still here. Everyone’s okay. And Sam’s okay too, right?” You waited for him to confirm what you knew was true and emphasize your point, drawing back to meet his gaze when he didn’t. “Right?”

           Reluctantly, Dean nodded. The redness around his eyes made his irises seem almost unreal in electric green contrast and you couldn’t believe you were so close to never seeing them again. His lashes were even darker than normal, spiky black frames formed with salty tears like cartoonish mascara. You waited a beat then let him settle back into your chest before continuing, feeling the choke-hiccupping of his breath stop even if it stayed rapid. “Everyone’s okay. You’re okay,” you hummed into his hair. “You’re okay, baby.”

           The two of you stayed like that until Dean’s breathing finally steadied, waiting past the clearly forced long held breaths and through to the point that he genuinely seemed like he’d hit the smooth rhythm you knew so well. “How are you feeling?” you murmured.

           “Like a bitch,” he grumbled softly against your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile, thankful beyond anything for the glint of humor back in Dean, that shimmer of normalcy returning.

           “Sorry for scaring you.”

           “I’m never fucking letting you out of my sight again,” he said, words still sticky with swirling emotion and muffled by his cheek pressed against you. You knew he was only partly joking but also that now was not the time to push back, just kissing his hair in response.

           There was no way it took Sam an hour to get you a diner burger but you were thankful for his intuition nonetheless, because by the time he got back Dean was calm enough to get up and had even helped you to put on a new t-shirt—one of his black ones; he said it was because it was looser but you suspected it was some kind of metaphor, covering you with part of himself—and shimmy into a pair of mesh athletic shorts. Standing up for a shower was still too ambitious, but the fresh clothes made you feel a little less gross. He was trying his best to clean up as much broken glass as possible when his brother opened the door and tossed him a paper bag with a bubbly illustrated hamburger on it.

           Walking into the room without taking his jacket off, Sam set your food on the nightstand and grabbed a motel binder of local attractions (minimal) as a makeshift tray for you to eat off of before carefully helping you to sit up a little more. “Double cheeseburger—eat it before the fries, you need the iron. Oh, and I almost forgot—couple of these too.” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved two bottles in one big hand that appeared to be acetaminophen and an iron supplement.

           “You’re the best, Sam.” It was nice to hear your voice sound more normal, lubricated with two bottles of Gatorade already, and you tried not to imagine how awkward or painful it was going to be to try to get up and go to the bathroom later.

           The Winchesters sat on the other bed, still in their boots because of the rug of broken glass no one wanted to acknowledge, and Sam turned on whatever dumb comedy he could find first. For a fleeting moment it felt like any normal night on the road, nursing an injury and eating greasy food in a room you’d never see again past tomorrow morning, and you almost forgot that (minutes? hours? you still didn’t know how long you’d been out) earlier you thought you were saying goodbye to the two people you loved most, who’d moved heaven and earth and miles of rural highway to bring you back, whose superhero resilience you’d seen start to crack at the thought of losing you. A searing jolt of pain when you reached for another Gatorade reminded you all too much, and when you hissed both Sam and Dean leapt off the bed with faces contorted in concern.

           “Just stretched too far, I’m okay.”

           Watching them take twin deep breaths could’ve been funny and you hoped it would be in a few days—hoped in a few days laughing wouldn’t feel like being impaled. For now, you tried to drink in this little moment of peace and made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t take another one for granted ever again.

-

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[guardianofrivendell]

Reckless

Meludir x gender neutral reader

Requested: Yes! Anon asked: “Hello, can i please get a oneshot between meludir and reader where reader is injured from an orc attack and meludir is looking after them?”

Warnings: I tried to write something fluffy, I really did, just a normal fluffy kind of oneshot but the force of sarcasm and sass is too strong! 

A/N: I didn’t know Meludir that well, and there isn’t much information about him besides that he’s from the Mirkwood guard, so I just went with my own interpretation of his character. This was also a request that was long overdue (by now all of my requests fall into that category, I AM SO SORRY).

“I can’t believe we’ve waited so long,” Meludir chuckled, gently wiping the hair out of your face.  

You were both relaxing together at the edge of the forest, right at the other side of the bridge where the trees stopped and the palace grounds began. It was one of the more quieter spots in the kingdom, away from all the hustling and bustling of the palace, but still close enough so you would notice if something was wrong. Your sense of duty as a member of the Mirkwood Guard was never far away, even if you had some time off.

Meludir was sitting with his back against a tree, your head resting in his lap, your eyes closed. One of his hands was intertwined with yours and the other one was now lazily going through your hair. For a moment it felt like it was just the two of you, and time stood still. 

“Maybe we were a little too blind to see what was right in front of us,” you said in response, and brought the hand that was going through your hair to your lips to kiss it, marveling at the softness of his skin. “But I’m glad our eyes finally opened, Meludir. I don’t think I could have gone another day dancing around each other, meleth nin.”

Meludir hummed softly and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I could not agree more. Gi melin, mîr nin. An uin.” (I love you, my treasure, forever)

He then started singing to you, his voice soothing and barely above a whisper. You focused on the caresses of his thumb on your hand, and when his fingers started gently scratching your scalp, you felt yourself slowly slipping away. 

“Sleep, meleth nin. Sleep, my one true star.”

The high-pitched scratching of a chair dragging across the floor pulled you out of your more than pleasant dream. 

You desperately tried to focus on the last images which were still lingering in your mind but alas, the loving words sung by Meludir were slowly replaced with the soft thumping of a massive headache and your head was no longer resting on his comfortable lap but on a fluffy pillow instead. Which was also nice but, you know, not the same. 

Someone took your hand in theirs, followed by a soft squeeze. No, no, no, you weren’t ready to wake up yet! You weren’t done with that dream! Who needed the cruel reality where your best friend was just that, your best friend - with the emphasis on friend - while in your dreams he was your intended? So hello dreamworld it was! 

You tried to turn on your side so you could try and go back to sleep, but as soon as your right leg shifted just the tiniest bit, a shot of pain went through it, setting it on fire and making your body go rigid. 

Okay, so moving was a big no no. What happened to you?

You inhaled a little deeper to try and breathe through the pain, when the scent of herbs and starched linen filled your nose.  Wait a minute... The pain in your leg, the smell of herbs and linen…  This was not your own comfortable bed you were lying in! 

You were in the healing wing! 

Okay… Maybe you should open your eyes and check? Just to be sure?

But you were rather comfortable if you were being honest - if you didn’t count the slight throbbing in your head and your leg that was still hurting - and as long as your eyes remained closed, you didn’t have to deal with the aftermath of whatever happened to you. 

Better make the most of it and try and sleep some more! 

But alas… there was no rest for you when flashes of what had happened shot through your head, making you forget about the pain for a moment. 

You had been on a patrol through the deeper parts of the forest with your friend Meludir and a few other guards when you’d stumbled across a couple of spiders. Despite being far outnumbered by the vile creatures, you came out victorious, but you couldn’t prevent some of the less experienced guards from getting hurt. While you were taking care of their injuries, Meludir had spotted an orc pack in the distance. 

So of course you had to go after them… By yourself, leaving a very upset Meludir with the wounded. You’d deal with him afterwards. He will come around eventually, he always did. That’s why you were such good friends. 

You were all about impulsive decisions. It’s what made you join the Mirkwood Guard in the first place and usually that turned out for the best. This time? Hmm… not so much. 

You were caught off guard during the fight and suffered a stab wound in your leg because of it, there were simply too many Orcs for you to face alone. Oh you could almost hear Meludir’s ‘I told you so’! While you were distracted trying to get the dagger out of your thigh as soon as possible - afraid it was poisoned - one of the remaining Orcs saw its chance and charged at you. Your reflexes were too slow and you failed to deflect the hilt of his sword. That’s when the lights went out. 

“Y/N?”

Another squeeze in your hand. 

Seriously, how impatient can someone get? You were sleeping! Or trying to, your leg was still hurting after all. Didn’t they teach them how rude it was to wake a sleeping, injured person? Not good for the healing process! 

But the sounds surrounding you were getting louder, reverberating against the insides of your skull and making your head throb even worse. Guess that blow to your head actually did do some damage there. Better keep those eyes closed for a while longer, you thought. 

But you were also curious, and you couldn’t help trying to concentrate on the sounds closest to you. You could hear a voice talking softly to themselves, it sounded oddly familiar, it had sung to you in your dream not ten minutes ago. Meludir…

You suddenly remembered who exactly you were dreaming of a few moments ago. Oh Eru, you didn’t talk in your sleep right?!

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.”

Yeah, that was Meludir alright. You could almost hear the smirk coming through his voice. The hand covering yours was probably his too. 

Oh, he was not going to like this. He’s probably worried sick, or angry. Or both. Either way, you were in trouble. 

You opened your eyes a little to take a small peek. If there was even the slightest hint of anger on his face, you were going to pretend to be asleep for a little while longer.

Meludir seemed relaxed at first sight, his elbows were resting on his knees, his hands holding onto your left one. He was still wearing his uniform, covered with blood stains from the encounter with the spiders, and you noticed some black Orc blood as well. But he was unharmed, thank the Valar. 

His dark eyes were already staring at you as soon as your eyes met his, boring into yours with such an intensity that you couldn’t help but look away in shame...  Busted.

“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” you tried to joke, trying to assess his current mood. He looked like he was relieved to see you awake. This might not be so bad after all.

Oh how naive could you be...

“Now that you’ve finally opened your eyes...” he began. 

The relief that was etched on his face slowly turned into anger. Uh-oh. 

“What were you thinking, Y/N?!” he whisper-shouted, smacking your arm. 

“Hey hey, no assaulting the injured!” you protested, grasping your arm.

“Your arm is fine! Wish I could say the same about your leg and your head,” he huffed.  

You rolled your eyes and let go of your arm. 

“Both are still attached to my body so clearly you are overreacting, Meludir!”

“I am overreacting? Who exactly went after an entire Orc pack by themselves?! You! And without even telling me, you just ran off!” he ranted, seeming to forget he was in the healing wing. “You could’ve died, Y/N!”

“But I didn’t,” you countered. 

Meludir rushed to stand, his swift movement unbalancing the chair. 

“But you could have! I could have lost you!” he snapped, his hands going through his dark hair in frustration. 

You didn’t know if he said that last sentence to himself or not, but this was the first time you saw him in such a state and you didn’t know what to think of it. 

You hated it when Meludir was angry at you. He just had to get it all off his chest, you knew that, but that didn’t mean you liked it when he yelled at you.

One of the healers nearby reprimanded him for raising his voice, and that seemed to calm the Mirkwood Elf a little. He looked at you apologetically.  

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, I was just- Never mind…” He took a seat on your bed this time, carefully as to not hurt your leg. “Tell me, how are you feeling?” he asked, taking a deep breath. 

Oh. Okay, we finally have worried Meludir. That’s a good thing. You could work with him.

“Killer headache and as long as I lie still, I should be fine. I’ll be back up in no time.”

“You had me- and us, you had us worried there, Y/N.”

Meludir’s hand wrapped around yours again. Weird, since when did you guys start to hold hands this much?

“Awww, you were worried about me?” you teased him, trying to ignore the strange feeling in your stomach when you looked at your joined hands.  

“Y/N, I found you unconscious and bleeding on the ground with Orcs leaning over you. Of course I was worried!” he raised his voice, his eyes wide in concern. “You were out for several hours!”

After a few seconds Meludir let go of your hand and sighed. 

You finally got a good look at him and you noticed his hair was messy, some strands sticking to the side of his head. He looked tired, you didn’t think you ever saw him tired before. He was a complete mess. Very unlike him.

The poor Elf had probably been at your side the whole time. Guilt started settling in your stomach.

“I’m sorry I made you worried,” you apologised, “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Meludir chuckled. “Yeah, we both know that’s not going to happen.”

You lifted your head a little to look around, and you were surprised to see the other beds empty. Where were the other guards?

“How are the others?”

“Some scratches and minor injuries, a few spider bites. Nothing the healers couldn’t fix. You were worse off than them,” he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

You let your head drop back into the pillow dramatically, relieved to hear the others were fine. But something still bothered you.

You rolled your head to the side to look at him and pointed at his chest.

“Why is there Orc blood on your uniform?”

“Well, someone had to finish what you started.”

Is that a smirk you saw? The cheeky bastard!

“Oh, just you wait until I get back on my feet, I’ll happily remind you who’s the better fighter,” you challenged him. 

“That’ll take some time, the healers said you can go to your own chambers once you wake up, but…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead looking at you in apprehension. 

“What? What’s with the dramatic pause?”

“You have to stay off guard duty for at least two weeks. Orders from the healers and King Thranduil.” 

“What?” you gasped, and you winced when you sat up a little too fast and careless, hurting your leg in the process. Your hand flew towards your thigh and you saw Meludir’s hands doing the same. 

“Don’t hurt the messenger! Or yourself!” he joked, but you didn’t miss the slight hint of fear and worry in his eyes. Good.

“Meludir,” you whined, dragging out his name, “you don’t understand! I’ll die out of boredom!”

“Your wound needs healing, Y/N. You cannot use your leg and you need your rest.” 

He grabbed your hand and traced your knuckles with his thumb. 

“And in the meantime I’ll be there to take care of you.”

Oh. Oh.

Well in that case...

He squeezed your hand again, and smiled at you. It lit up his entire face, and you couldn’t help but mimic his expression. Maybe with him as your private nurse it wouldn’t be so bad after all. The prospect of being carried around by Meludir all the time made it all seem almost enjoyable. 

“But before I carry you to your chambers, I need you to explain something to me first, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, what is it?”

The corner of his lip twitched and his entire demeanour changed. 

“Why did you call me ‘meleth nin’ in your sleep?”

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[mystery-fic-anon]

We Should’ve Been Better Brothers

Summary: Papyrus (Mutt) has a bad day. Sans can't fix his mind, but at least he can cook him dinner. (My piece for the To the Bone Sans and Papyrus Zine.)

Warnings: Mutt has PTSD/a panic attack in this story. He is not doing well. No physical violence, but implied murder.

Thank you to @nugget4550 for beta reading.

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43199760

Sans walked the long route back to his home in Snowdin with purpose. Head up, eyes straight ahead. He took his steps with military precision, even when he wasn’t fully marching. It was subtle, but it dissuaded monsters from talking to him unless there was an urgent need. After the day he’d had, anything less than the entire town burning down was going to get the unfortunate soul who tried his patience a bone to the face.

His right shoulder flared in pain with every movement of his arms, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t let his usual strong posture shift, especially not because of some silly injury he’d gotten while training a new recruit. He had popped his shoulder back in only a few seconds after it had been dislocated; it had no right to still be aching hours later.

On top of the new recruit training today, which lasted 3 hours more than his usual shift—with no overtime, of course, it was the duty of the royal guard to help their comrades—Papyrus had fucking disappeared. Sans usually didn’t give a shit, but he had specifically asked Papyrus to wait for him by the guard post so they could go home together. It was the little flexes of authority that cemented his image to the general public, they both knew that, and Papyrus was usually the easiest one to flex power over.

When he had gone to finally drag Papyrus’ lazy ass home from his guard outpost, the bastard hadn’t been there. In fact, he hadn’t been at any of his usual smoke spots, or at Muffet’s. Sans had spent an extra two hours tromping around Snowdin, pretending that he wasn’t looking for his stupid fucking brother.

Luckily, no one except for Muffet seemed to notice something was off. She never responded to the veiled threats he made, and today was no different. She just offered him a drink with that sickly sweet smile, and said that if Papyrus did stop by later in the evening, she’d be sure to send for Sans to pick him up.

Sans had finally given up. If Papyrus didn’t want to be found, then he wasn’t going to bust his ass all night looking. Sans knew that sometimes Papyrus needed space or time alone to go spying, but usually he mentioned it beforehand. Whatever, he would just chew Papyrus out when he did show up.

Sans didn’t allow his expression to relax until he was inside the house with the door closed and triple-locked behind him. He heaved a sigh, leaning against the wall and lifting up one of his feet. Each of his boots hit the ground with a satisfying thud, after which Sans immediately picked them up and put them into their proper place. His armour came off next, the plates stacked neatly on their designated shelf, ready for him to wear again the next morning. Leaving only his shorts, chain mail, and bodysuit, Sans stepped into the living room.

There was a familiar figure sprawled across the couch.

“WHAT THE FUCK—” Sans cut himself off as Papyrus curled up.

The movement was fast and fluid, and only years of practice let Sans pick out the separate stages of it. Papyrus’ long legs suddenly went from being fully extended to folded up on one seat cushion. He pressed his head in between his knees. His arms folded up defensively around his head. His hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles sparking with magic as he tried to reign them in.

His boots and coat sat on the floor next to the couch, a fine coating of grey ash covering them.

When Sans stepped closer, the smell of fresh dust was obvious. Whatever had happened, it must have been bad for Papyrus to curl up like that.

Sans took a slow, deep breath. He took another, counting to ten. He clenched his own hands into fists, then released them. He did that three times, then took two more slow breaths, mentally counting all the while. The techniques were silly, but at least they still worked. Sans relaxed his hands, wincing a bit as his shoulder twinged.

Sans walked around the couch, and stopped once he was facing Papyrus. “Who do I have to kill?”

Papyrus didn’t curl up tighter, but he didn’t open up either. Not a promising sign, but Sans pressed on. He didn’t get into the royal guard by being a quitter.

“Mu—brother, it’s alright. It’s just me. I’m not going to judge you, I just need to know what happened so we can stay safe.”

Papyrus shook his head a bit, his entire body rocking side to side due to his position.

Sans took another deep breath. “Can you at least look at me? You’re injured, aren’t you? Come on, let me see your face.”

Sans took a step closer, and Papyrus flinched. Sans gritted his teeth together, turning a growl into a sigh. When Papyrus got into this kind of mood, nothing could make him talk. Bribing, cursing, and even threats fell on deaf ears. Papyrus had retreated somewhere Sans couldn’t follow, and now all Sans could do was work to bring him back.

“I’m going to cook dinner. You can just sit here and be a lazy ass like usual,” Sans said, doing his best to keep his tone dry. Anything beyond his usual sarcastic jabs was just going to make Papyrus worse.

Sans picked up the TV remote, and turned on the television. Sound blared from the speakers, and bones rattled on the couch. Sans quickly muted it, then set the remote down on the edge of the table close to Papyrus. Once the deed was done, Sans walked away quickly, not looking back once as he strode into the kitchen.

The shelves were just as bare as they had been when he’d left that morning. Well, there had been no point in going shopping anyways; the supply train to Snowdin was late again this week. The only thing that was always plentiful in the town was alcohol, and Sans didn’t much care for cooking with it.

No matter, Sans was used to working with fewer ingredients than his recipe books called for. Aside from some stale cereal, they had five mushrooms, three bruised tomatoes, an onion, a clove of garlic, and plenty of chilli powder left. The mushrooms were on the small side, and Sans looked over his ingredients with a pang of disappointment. It would be better if they had some kind of water sausage, or tofu for a source of protein. Or even some beans. Cheese, sour cream, lettuce… There wasn’t much to go inside the taco, let alone on top.

Sans would have complained to Papyrus, but he doubted he’d get a sympathetic listening ear. He might be a royal guard, but he still had to wait for supplies like the rest of the town. In the meantime, he’d simply have to make do with what he had. At least he had enough ingredients to actually make something this time, instead of silently eating whatever he’d found directly out of the box.

One of the main components of tacos was missing, though. He didn’t have any shells. That was going to be a problem.

As Sans looked through the pantry again, he found something hidden on the top shelf. It was so far back that it had almost become one with the wall, but when Sans pulled it down he almost yelled with joy. They still had some corn flour! Sans had been certain that he’d used up all of it last week, but there was an extra bag there, smaller than the one he’d brought home from the store.

It was just like Papyrus to stash things away for later, no matter how much food they had in the house. Sans had scolded him for it before, but they both knew that it wouldn’t do much. Papyrus had his eccentricities, and one of them was hiding food. At least he wasn’t putting things in the walls this time; it had taken months to get rid of the mice, and a good chunk of Sans’ salary had been spent on traps.

Sans started with the shells, since the tortilla dough needed to rest before he cooked them. The ingredients were simple, but Sans knew he could make them great. He added some chilli powder to the dough mixture, even if the book only called for a bit of salt and oil. He liked the kick, and Papyrus had never complained about it.

No matter how long his day had been, Sans always enjoyed cooking. There was something so relaxing about it, especially when he was making a familiar recipe. The process of cutting, pulverising, and mixing was a great way for him to work out some tension without destroying his practice dummies, and he liked tasting the results and comparing them to previous attempts. His own writing covered almost every space available in the margins of his cookbooks, and the original page for his taco recipe was illegible.

That was fine, Sans had already memorised the steps by heart. He mixed the dough, then sprinkled a bit of flour onto one of the counters. He divided the dough up into three normal-sized pieces and one smaller one. It wasn’t perfect, but Sans wasn’t going back now.

As he kneaded the dough Sans tilted his head, peeking through the kitchen door. Papyrus hadn’t moved much, but Sans could swear that his head was raised enough to watch the TV. Sans turned away, pressing both hands down in the centre of one lump of dough.

He banged the counter a bit harder than before, then winced. He didn’t look back at Papyrus, though. He just kept kneading the dough, even as guilt burned in his soul. No matter. He just had to make Papyrus the best dinner possible, and then the sheer appreciation for the food would bring Papyrus back to his usual self.

Once each tortilla had been rolled out and left to rest and the oven had been set to preheat, Sans had to wait a bit. If he started making the rest of the taco filling before baking the shells, then it would be ready far too early. No matter how much he hated sitting still, there was nothing for him to do.

The TV was muted, so he could hear every minute sound—or lack thereof—coming from the living room. Papyrus was still catatonic, seemingly immune to what was happening in the kitchen. Sans sighed, but he didn’t bother trying to goad his brother into coming into the kitchen. At least Papyrus was calm this time.

Sans paced around the kitchen, checked the sink to see if any dirty dishes had miraculously appeared, and finally just sat at the kitchen table.

The moment thirty minutes had gone by, Sans jumped up and went back to his dough. It had risen a bit less than usual, but when Sans prodded it the texture felt right. He freed the dough, and grabbed his baking tray and his rack.

A few Gyftmases ago, Papyrus had somehow found a metal rack which let Sans cook tortillas while they were folded into the shape of taco shells. It had really been a perfect gift; Sans hated to use store-bought shells since they were expensive and always stale, but he loved to eat tacos. His own home-made shells were far superior, but they took significantly longer to cook when he had to first cook the tortillas, and then bake them a second time in the right shape.

Papyrus would feel the benefits of his gift tonight. Sans rolled out the dough, then carefully laid each of the shells out on the tray. The rack had been made to hold the tacos, and while the edges of the bigger ones leaned against each other slightly, it was still enough support. Sans opened up the oven and slid the tray in, then pulled off his oven mitts.

Finally, Sans could move on to the filling. He wasn’t used to pulling his punches, but he forced himself to use less force than usual. He put down the pan instead of slamming it, and only left divots on the surface of the cutting board instead of pushing the knife halfway into the wood.

The tomatoes and onion went into the pan first, so they had plenty of time to cook together. Sans would add the mushrooms later, since they only needed a few minutes to cook fully. Sans stood in front of the stove, not taking his eyes off of the food for a second.

Sans chopped up the mushrooms, making sure to get some decent chunks. He had experimented with a few different methods, and he found that Papyrus preferred bigger bites over shredded mushrooms. It made the distribution of material in the tacos slightly uneven, but that didn’t matter tonight.

Once the vegetables were sizzling in the pan, Sans cracked open the oven to check on the tortillas. They were still a little pale, but they were definitely becoming more cooked. There were a few tiny brown spots on their surfaces, and Sans quickly closed the oven door so they would grow bigger.

Perhaps the food didn’t need to be stirred as much as he did it, but Sans didn’t care. He needed something to do with his hands, even if it was just the mind-numbing motion of pushing food back and forth. The sounds and smells wafting from the kitchen weren’t enough to tempt Papyrus’ curiosity, but Sans didn’t care about that. It just meant he’d be more surprised when Sans brought out such a glorious plate of food.

Soon, everything was finished cooking. Sans took his fillings off of the stove, and pulled the taco shells out of the oven. He tapped one with his finger lightly, and nodded in approval. They were firm to the touch, and the perfect golden colour. It was finally time to assemble everything.

Sans put two full-sized taco shells on Papyrus’ plate, while the third full-sized taco sat with the smaller one on his own. As much as he hated them, Sans found himself hoping that Papyrus would notice and make a short joke. He’d even take a bad pun over silence at this point.

Sans had already mixed the stuffing together in the pan, so all he really needed to do was divide it up properly. Sans put as much as he could into each taco, but the end result was only a meagre portion. He just hoped it was enough to fill Papyrus up. He added a bit more sauce on top, drizzling it in some abstract patterns. He wasn’t going to skimp on the presentation just because today had been a little difficult. He added a few extra cilantro leaves to each taco, then wiped the edges of both plates.

His spices were still on the counter, but he could put them away later. The kitchen wasn’t horribly messy, and the food would get cold if he stopped to clean now. Sans put some glasses of water into his inventory, then picked up the plates.

Sans lightened his steps as he came back into the living room. Papyrus had shifted a bit; his posture was more open now, but not by much. Papyrus met his gaze for a moment, then looked down at his own feet.

“Eat.” Sans put the plate down in front of Papyrus, and set the glass next to it. Then he sat down on the couch next to his brother.

Sans’ skull was turned towards the television, but his eyes stayed on Papyrus. Sans picked up one of his tacos and bit into it. Papyrus blinked, turning his head as if he was noticing the food for the first time. Sans did his best to stay calm, and act nonchalant as he chewed slowly. Papyrus leaned in and picked up one of his tacos, then bit into it with a loud crunch. A few pieces of shell fell down onto the plate, but Sans felt himself relaxing already.

Sans took another bite of his taco, chewing normally. It was… decent. Sans could definitely taste the missing ingredients, but he had done the best with what he had.

An NTT special was now playing, but Sans didn’t pay it any mind. He barely even paid attention to his food. He watched carefully as Papyrus ate, ready to intervene in a second if something went wrong.

Papyrus ate slower than usual, but at least he was eating. His hands were still a little shaky, but the way he was leaning in meant that all of the crumbs fell back on the plate instead of on his own shirt. He still seemed a bit off, but that also could have just been the exhaustion of going through… whatever he was remembering. Sans didn’t fully understand Papyrus’ personal demons, and he knew better than to pry, especially at a time like this.

Neither brother said a word to each other. Sans wasn’t afraid to break the silence, but it didn’t seem appropriate. Papyrus would speak up when he was ready, and Sans wasn’t going to push him. He was eating; that was all Sans needed.

Once Sans was done with his food, he folded his hands in his lap. He curled his fingers inwards, so Papyrus couldn’t see them. He idly picked at the tips of his gloves, his gaze still trained on Papyrus. Papyrus was eating with a bit more enthusiasm now, and Sans felt pride at the thought that Papyrus had appreciated his cooking.

Papyrus finished off his whole plate, and ran his fingers over it to collect the crumbs. Sans clenched his teeth as Papyrus licked his fingers, but he didn’t say anything. Well, they weren’t eating at the table, so he supposed he could let it slide. He would take it as a sign that Papyrus enjoyed the meal, rather than bad manners.

Sans had long since finished his own food, and once Papyrus was done he quickly got to work. He stacked his glass on top of his plate, then picked it up. He took Papyrus’ plate and glass in his other hand, and stood up. He glanced back at Papyrus, then turned to head for the kitchen.

“Thanks.”

It was said so quietly that Sans almost didn’t hear the word. He stopped walking and tilted his head, but didn’t look back at Papyrus. Neither of them were particularly good at emotional vulnerability, and he didn’t want to startle his brother. If he mentioned something about it not being a problem, would that make Papyrus feel like a burden?

Sans considered the possible answers he could give, but ultimately, sticking to their routine seemed like the best course of action. While some aspects of his routine weren’t enjoyable, Sans took a certain comfort in their cyclical nature, and Papyrus seemed like he could use some of that stability. Besides, Sans didn’t want Papyrus to feel like he was condescending or treating him differently.

“Yes, you should be thanking me. I’m the best cook in this rotten town and you know it,” Sans said smugly. He might be laying it on thick, but he couldn’t help it. “Take your time on the couch now, lazybones, because once my kitchen is spotless, I’ll be back here again!”

Sans walked into the kitchen, his soul feeling lighter than before. He was still tired, of course, but at least his work hadn’t gone unnoticed. Sans would do anything for Papyrus regardless, but it was still nice to be appreciated.

Sans began humming under his breath as he piled dirty dishes in the sink. He’d check in on Papyrus later, but it seemed like things were improving, and that was enough to let him properly relax while he cleaned the kitchen. The main crisis was averted, so now all that was left was for Sans to keep an eye on Papyrus, and give him the space to pull himself back together.

[hopelesshawks]

Love and Admiration Part 15- Adrenaline

18+ Bakugo x fem!pro hero reader

Summary: (Y/n) has known Bakugo since middle school, admired him since high school, and had a crush on him since the first time they met. Even now, a top pro hero in her own right, she can’t shake her school girl crush. Too bad Bakugo literally has no idea she exists. Well that’s not entirely true… He does know pro hero Mercury exists, but (y/l/n) (y/n)? Never heard of her.

Warnings for unprotected sex, semi-public sex, lots of dirty talk, mention of reader having a vagina, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, creampie/minor cumplay, size kink, and like one (1) line that’s sort of degradation

Masterlist Help Lulu <3

Bakugo looks surprised when you show up to Ground Zero in a cropped hoodie and jeans instead of your hero costume. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he asks although by now you know him well enough to know he doesn’t mean it as negatively as it sounds. “Hero costumes would be a little bit conspicuous don’t you think Mr. Explosion Murder God,” you reply with a raised eyebrow before making a pointed glance at the large gauntlets of his own costume. The overall design of Bakugo’s costume has gotten a lot more streamlined since the two of you were in high school, with some of the flashier pieces being done away with, but a lot of the core elements have stayed the same. You can tell the moment he realizes you have a good point because he gets a vaguely disgruntled and yet begrudgingly accepting look on his face as he declares he’s going in to change. It shouldn’t be nearly as endearing as it is. Kirishima walks out shortly afterwards to start his patrol so the two of you get to take some time to catch up and he keeps you occupied until Bakugo returns. The man looks absolutely sinful in a gray Henley, the sleeves once again pushed up to his elbows, and jeans. Kiri has to nudge you hard in the side to snap your attention back to him, much to your chagrin. It doesn’t seem to bother him though as he just waggles his eyebrows at you before declaring he’s heading out with a wave. “What were you talking to shitty hair about?” Bakugo asks, his eyes narrowing at his friend. “Ah nothing much, just catching up. We should do a big hang soon, it’s been awhile since I saw Denki and Midoriya too,” you note. “Whatever,” Bakugo grumbles as you start leading him to the warehouse. “I know you hate this kind of thing but could you coordinate with the guys? I’ll handle the girls and maybe I can swing Shinso too. I just think it’d be nice since I kind of ruined their reunion yknow?” you shrug. Bakugo gives you a look then, almost calculating, as he tries to figure out what to say. “You didn’t ruin anything dumbass. I’ll talk to the idiots about it,” he finally tells you. “Yea?” “Yea. Now hurry up and take me to this fucking warehouse.”

You hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to stay unrecognized even in your civilian clothes. Multiple times you and Bakugo have to duck your heads close together or squeeze into some alleyway to avoid someone recognizing who the two of you are. Thankfully as you get deeper into the warehouse district where it’s far less populated it gets much easier to maintain your anonymity. It doesn’t take long to find the warehouse in question and sure enough you can already see the high grade equipment in what is supposed to be an abandoned building. The two of you crept inside and made your way through the building, first identifying the two men you’d been tracking and then checking to make sure they were alone. Once you’d confirmed they were the only two around you and Bakugo attacked.

Bakugo could watch you fight for hours on end and be no less amazed by it. Your quirk isn’t in and of itself anything special but the way you use it is so effortless and it’s obvious you’ve taken a great deal of time to learn precisely how best to utilize it. Your fighting style is almost graceful in its execution and it’s what had initially drawn Bakugo to you and made him so sure you’d be taking a spot in the top ten this past season. It makes him want to show off more, as if in hope that maybe just maybe you admire his fighting skills as much as he admires yours. It doesn’t take long for the two of you to subdue the villains but then you get this look in your eye and immediately Bakugo is suspicious. “Take them outside and call the cops to round them up, I wanna check something out,” you tell Bakugo, already starting to drift deeper into the warehouse. “What the fuck are you up to idiot?” Bakugo huffs even as worry starts to creep in. “Just trust me! I’ll be right out,” you promise before rushing off before he can stop you.

Bakugo growls out his displeasure but there’s not much he can do other than listen to you. He grabs both the unconscious villains, hefting one over his shoulder as he drags the other outside. Bakugo does trust you so he stays put until the cops can show up and start cuffing the villains. When you still haven’t re-emerged by the time the cops are carting the villains away he decides to go back in after you. He’s inside maybe a couple minute before he finds you sprinting full speed towards him chanting a frantic litany of “shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” “What the hell-“ “We gotta move!” is the only explanation you provide before you grab hold of his hand and tug him hard after you. It doesn’t take long for Bakugo to match your pace but before he can interrogate you further he hears a loud booming noise erupting from deeper into the warehouse. He’s set off enough of his own explosions to know what one sounds like. The booming noises are only getting closer and closer and there’s no way the two of you are going to make it to the main entrance so Bakugo course corrects you both towards the nearest window. Just as the largest one yet starts to set the room the two of you are in aflame he grabs hold of you and pulls you into his body, shielding you from the blast as he sends you both flying out the window and into the back alley behind the warehouse.

The two of you manage to land relatively unscathed so you heave out a sigh of relief as you stand and brush yourself off before checking for injuries. “You good Dynamight?” you ask but before you can look to him for an answer you’re suddenly being shoved against one of the brick walls of the alley. “What the fuck were you thinking?” Bakugo demands, carmine eyes burning with his signature temper as he pins you to the wall with one arm across your chest, just below your collarbone, and his other hand planted on the wall next to you to stop you from escaping. “I was thinking that that bust would be for nothing if we didn’t destroy the supply chain as well,” you huff, not backing down even though being this close to Bakugo is admittedly distracting. “So the explosions were fucking intentional?” “Well I didn’t know they’d be that big!” “You could’ve gotten hurt!” “But did we die though?” Something in Bakugo visibly snaps at your flippant comment and you’re half expecting him to literally blast you through the wall you’re still pressed against.

Imagine your surprise when you feel his mouth on yours instead.

You’re quick to get with the program, kissing him back before he can do something stupid like pull away and it only makes him even more aggressive. The arm pressed to your chest drops so his hand can grasp onto your bare waist instead. He kisses you like a man possessed, every ounce of adrenaline and pent up lust fueling him as he slots his thigh between your legs and grinds in the most delicious way. His erection presses insistently into your hip and god it’s so fucking big. Your mind practically spins as fantasy becomes reality in front of you. It’s almost embarrassing how turned on you are already just from his kiss but then the hand at your waist sneaks up beneath your shirt to grasp at one of your breasts, squeezing and massaging with just the right pressure as his thigh once again grinds into that sensitive spot between your legs and you can’t help but let out a gasp. Bakugo takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, desperate to finally taste you the way he never could in his fantasies. The two of you shouldn’t be doing any of this in an alley of all places where someone may walk by, but that doesn’t seem to bother Bakugo at all as he uses the hand not currently fondling your breast to unbutton and unzip your jeans. He wastes no time slipping his hand past the waistband of your pants and panties to finally touch your bare sex and a possessive growl rips out of his chest as he feels for himself how much of an effect he has on you. “You’re so fucking wet for me already. You this much of a slut for everybody or just for me?” he growls in your ear as his fingers skate along your pussy, collecting your juices and so tantalizingly close to where you really want them. “Just for you,” you pant and it must be the correct answer because you’re rewarded with two of his dexterous fingers sliding inside of your cunt. Your hands fly to his shoulder and reel him in closer, fisting the material of his shirt as you keen and whimper. Your eyes squeeze shut, head bowing as the sensation of his fingers stroking along your inner walls continues to drive you insane. As amazing as his fingers feel though, your mind keeps wandering back to the bulge you’d felt against your hip only a moment prior and you know it isn’t enough. “P-please. I need-“ you beg but you can barely get the words out as he starts to rub circles into your sensitive clit. “Look at me,” Bakugo commands, the hand not currently shoved in your pants slipping back down to your waist. It takes a moment but finally you force yourself to look into his crimson eyes. “What do you need princess?” he asks and the pet name sends shivers down your spine. “Need you,” you whimper, as he continues to relentlessly plunge his fingers in and out of your desperate pussy, “all of you. Want you inside me.” “Say my name.” “Ba-“ “No. My first name dumbass. Then ask real sweet.” “Katsuki please, I need your dick inside me.”

You take it as a win that Bakugo, no Katsuki, curses under his breath as he pulls away just enough to use his free hand to undo his own jeans. You whine at the loss when he extracts his fingers from your aching core but use your resolve to finally, finally have his dick inside you as motivation to focus enough to shove your pants and panties down to your ankles. As Katsuki does the same your eyes widen as you take in the sight of his cock. You subconsciously feel yourself clench at the sight alone. He notices you staring as he steps between the v of your legs and over your jeans to get closer to you. “Like what you see?” “God yes, Jesus Katsuki you’re massive.” “You sure you can take it all?” “Abso-fucking-lutely.” Bakugo grasps hold of your thighs and hoists you up until your legs can wrap comfortably around his hips. The brick wall behind you helps distribute your weight as he lines himself up with your entrance. “Ready princess?” “Please,” you whine and the smirk you get in response makes your heart race even faster than it already has been. He pushes into you agonizingly slowly but even still it burns slightly as your body tries to accommodate his girth. “Too much?” Katsuki asks and there’s a gentleness there you’ve never heard before. You hurriedly shake your head no. “Just give me a second,” you tell him as you focus on relaxing to allow him in. It’s a shockingly intimate moment, the sounds of the city are a soundtrack you’re both oblivious to; all you two can hear is the sound of your breathing.

You finally lean forward and press your forehead to Katsuki’s. “I’m ready. You can move,” you tell him and he’s all too eager to oblige. He starts out slowly pulling himself out until only the tip remains inside your entrance before he snaps his hips forward, shoving himself back inside and making you see stars. “Still good?” “Fuck yes, do that again,” you moan and that’s all Katsuki needs to bring the smirk back to his face as he starts to really pound into you, his pace relentless now that he’s confirmed you can handle it. “I’m gonna fucking ruin that pussy of yours. Make sure nothing and no one can please you the way I can,” he growls possessively before capturing your mouth into a kiss again, swallowing every whine, whimper, and moan that comes out of your mouth. Your grasp onto his shoulders for dear life, probably leaving long scratches along his back from where your hands have scrambled for purchase but neither of you care. Nothing matters to you outside of the pleasant pull of Katsuki’s thick cock slipping in and out of your clenching pussy. “God you’re so fucking tight for me. I can feel you clenching princess, you gonna cum for me?” he asks. “I am. God I am, ‘m so close,” you whine. Katsuki shifts the angle just so and immediately you know it’s over as your vision whites out with a final cry of Katsuki’s name as your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your entire body clenching around Bakugo as he desperately chases his own climax now that you’ve gotten yours. His rhythm stutters and gets sloppy as he gets closer and closer. He’s so focused on fucking into the tight, wet heat of your pussy still fluttering around him that it takes him by surprise when you whisper in his ear “Please Katsuki. Fill me up, make me yours.” “Fuck (y/n),” he groans and it’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced. The reality of finally having you this way far surpasses every fantasy he’s had about this moment and by the time his orgasm finally passes it’s almost overwhelming.

Bakugo lets you back down onto the ground almost gently, before slowly pulling out. He watches with rapt attention as his cum dribbles down from between your legs and he just barely stops himself from reaching over to push the bit that’s leaked out back in. Instead he forces his eyes to meet yours. He’s not entirely sure what he sees in the (y/e/c) depths of your gaze but it makes him panic, his cheeks flushing as he looks away. He wants to offer up round 2. He wants to invite you back to his place. He wants to make you moan his name and beg for his cock to fill you up but he can’t make himself say the words he wants to. The fact of the matter is that with the adrenaline now drained from his body and the lustful haze lifted, the great Bakugo Katsuki has lost his nerve. So even though he wants to ask “what are you doing the rest of the night?” he instead says “we should head back.” “Oh... right yea, of course,” you reply dazedly as Bakugo backs out of your space and quickly moves to pull back up his pants and underwear as you do the same. The two of you walk back to Ground Zero in silence, both still processing what’s just happened. “See ya around,” Bakugo tells you before striding towards the door to his agency. “Yea, see you,” you reply, equally as spaced out. You watch his retreating back until he actually enters the building and the door shuts behind him. As the door clicks closed you both have the same thought:

“What the fuck just happened?”

A/N: Kirishima definitely texted Mina the minute he realized the police had submitted the paperwork for y/n and Bakugo’s bust but the two of them hadn’t returned from the mission yet. They love gossiping about their two favorite horny idiots

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