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moonspirit · 1 year ago

Note

Hello, Moon!

For the director's cut game:

In Planetisimal Feelings, what's your input on the scars on Annie's lower back, how she was afraid of letting people see them, including Armin, but grew to be more comfortable with Armin seeing them (later chapters)

Falling into Neptune (my personal favorite of the series!), the scene where Annie describes Armin's shoulders and hands, how she thought he might grow and become

As for VBEOW, you know I want more about Annie's thought process buying the family name seal (and maybe even receiving it later on)

Best of luck!

-Clouds

Heya clouds! And thanks for asking xD This becomes a little hehe sexy toward the end xD

1. PF, Annie's Scars.

So it's my personal headcanon that pre-shifter scars and marks remain intact even during limb regeneration and Titan healing. Good old Ymir in the paths probably has an anatomy book for every shifter in history to make sure she doesn't mess them up when she rebuilds their legs and arms. Anyway, this is why Annie has scars at all, in this series. Wounds she sustained from her dad's training.

I think Pre-Armin Annie would've cared very little who saw what and what they made of it. Post Armin however and her realisation that he saw her as a nice person, she develops a whole avalanche of emotions that she doesn't really figure out. But anyway at this point, she wants to be a good person for him... But her scars are a memory of her ugly upbringing. Proof that she was trained "not to be good", in direct contrast with Armin who's the epitome of goodness. It doesn't really matter atp because he traps her, she crystallizes and any emotional advancements between the two is pretty much doomed before it even progressed.

Post Rumbling, she's alive, he's alive, they've talked their feelings out and it can't be ignored anymore. Armin who stopped the Rumbling because he's never been a person who's liked the idea of killing anybody ever, and Annie, who killed so many out of a selfish/desperate desire to go home. She feels ugly. Not good enough. Not "clean" enough. She doesn't want him to see it. She also doesn't want him to see proof of the shit she went through as a child because now, it all seems pathetic. Her life has been a pathetic existence. What would he think of her, wanting to go back to the very man who gave her those scars? At least, these are her fears.

But then, throughout the series, Armin wears his heart on his sleeve and doesn't seem to be fazed by anything belonging to her past. He pops a vague-ish "will you marry me" question in PF. Tells her how much he desired her, physically, in Falling into Neptune. In TFLM, he tells her it's okay to live and desire happiness despite everything and that he wants to live his life loving her. Most importantly, there's the letter he gives her in which he very clearly promises to "Love her in all the ways it is possible to love her and maybe someday, the pain that rests in the scars on her back will no longer be a bad memory." which is basically a moment of reveal for her that he already knows about them through Bertholdt's memories. And he still loves her just the same. He doesn't see her as a used war weapon, now useless; he sees her as a girl, a woman, his future.

Her fears begin to dissipate. In VBEOW, she goes through a lot of reckoning over her feelings and her needs and desires, trying to make sense of them beyond just the surface level sexual frustration, and she makes several reckless (and cute) decisions that only serve to tell her that he means so much to her, more than she can even begin to describe. She wants him in her life, for good, for long, forever. And he reinforces all these beliefs by constantly telling her how much he loves her (too). By the time chap 5 comes and she learns of Pieck's sparse time with Porco, she understands the miracle it is to still have Armin alive, and the miracle of being granted long, ordinary, human lives. The scars will remain but she's fine with showing them to him, because it's Armin, he wants her and her alone, exactly for who she is and nothing more or less, and he's never going to let her go.

(More on her scars in chapter 11, Armin's going to... make good on that promise. Literally.)

2. Falling into Neptune - physical changes.

A horny midnight hour idea that arose out of the frustration of being robbed of the moment when Annie really SEES the man Armin's become, in canon material. Anyway. Since none of the sequels were planned at this stage, this was just a fic that focused on the purely physical traits that people grow to desire and want.

There's something to be said of a teenage girl's fantasies over a boy she likes. Annie, despite all her pessimism and seeming disinterest in romance and sex, was no exception. These thoughts are intrusive. You just can't help having them. At 15, as military trainees, while Armin was puny and frail, he was still taller than her. After becoming aware of her special fondness for him, she would've started becoming aware of... other things too. Like the size of his hand when he handed her a loaf of bread - a little bigger than hers. The protrusion on his throat that bobbed with every hearty laugh and shout. The back of his neck when the wind blew his hair away and how it would feel to hold onto it. The curve of her hips in contrast to his - slim and narrow. The wider shoulders compared to hers, narrow and small. The heat and scent of his body when he came especially close to her in totally normal situations, but her heart races. She would've gone to bed after training replaying all the little sounds he made while talking to her, all a little deeper in tone. She liked him, and he was a boy, so... different from her, a girl. At this age, you're hyper aware of every single change that you go through and she would've imagined how much taller he'd grow, how the features would change and etc. At the end of the day, she was just a girl with fantasies like anyone else.

At 19, things are very, very different. She's been listening to his voice deepen in register over four years, but seeing him is... a shock. Suddenly he's way taller. His shoulders are now broad. Much stronger. For all the strength and muscles she packs in her arms, his are now much bigger, and longer. Her neck, thin and long, and his neck, thicker and wider. The back of his neck, exposed permanently by that stupid gorgeous undercut that makes him look so good. Longer legs, thighs slimmer than hers but very firm and strong, and when she sits on his lap, she can feel how easily they remain in place and don't buckle under her weight. Waist and hips still narrow. When he turns his neck and yells at someone, she can see a vein straining. Beautifully long fingers and attractive as fuck forearms. The clench of a sharp jawline. He's lost the baby fat from his cheeks, but while he still looks a little boyish, there's no doubt that this is a man. And far sexier than in all her fantasies put together.

3. VBEOW, Annie's hanko.

So an unplanned but very significant subplot now, the hanko is, undeniably very cute xD While she doesn't find out about the hanko's existence until she actually visits the stamp maker, this subplot begins the very moment she undertakes Armin's job of getting that official seal made. The way I see it, the common family stamp in Japan is affixed on all official documents as a signature, and everyone carries one around. In VBEOW however, I made it so that a married couple has just one, and they share it. When she agrees to visit the stamp maker, she's already begun to share his responsibilities. Seeing the hanko there is just a physical manifestation of what she wants in their relationship, both consciously and sub-consciously.

She's also impulsive. Had Armin seen that hanko, he wouldn't have bought it. (If I can say it without spoiling, I'd say Armin's... going about this in a different way xD and I'm so excited to write this scene later on!) Armin is methodical and he'd have done it by the book, and got their hanko after being married. But Annie had one look at all the family names embossed so cutely in little rubber circles, and she thought "Oh... Arlert... would look nice on one of these."

All it took was once glance. And it becomes a fixation. Better at expressing her emotions by actions (sometimes not even that) than words, she runs back to the store the next day with enough money in her pocket, little to no thought of how it would look like to get a seal typically ordered after getting MARRIED of all things, until after she actually reaches there, she blurts out his surname and scrams back home, mortified and embarrassed. Subconsciously, she wanted something of him to keep with her at all times, but how embarrassing would it be to ask him to give her something of that sort? But here's a thing she can buy, put his name on it, and keep close.

Once she receives it out of the stamp maker's kindness (for free! basically trying to say that the things you do for love, in love, are priceless), she becomes instantly attached to it. At this point, she's still battling with putting a proper name and description to her love for him, so to have this little stamp carrying his name in her pocket, in her hands, something of her own that makes her happy and warm and safe and most importantly, loved (in contrast to the ring, that reminds her of awful things) feels like magic.

The hanko will be important in future too, and there will be plenty of cute shenanigans around it :D (some moments i'm literally DYING to write T^T)

Oh god sorry this is so long T^T I hope you made it through ifhsoighsgg.

#ask game #cloud-senpai #VBEOW #TFLM #AA in Ft Salta Series

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whentommymetalfie · 2 years ago

Text

Home to you chapter 35

-Wave-

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Tommy’s disappearance is noticed.

Warnings: violence, slurs,

Wordcount: 4,5 K

Alfie may be many things, but he’s not delusional: it’s fucking useless, of course, trying to keep the fire contained. Still, there he is, surrounded by his own men, staff members from Arrow house, a clan of gypsies and what feels like half of the Warwickshire countryside, hauling buckets of water at the roaring flames. Because as useless as it may be, it’s unthinkable, standing by and letting the house burn. Not the right thing, is it? Even though what Alfie actually needs is to sit with Tommy curled up on his lap and stroke his hair and feel that he’s alive and whole. Because how can he truly know that now, when he can’t listen to his quiet little breaths and feel his heartbeat flutter under his fingertips? Hold him and make sure he knows he’s safe. That’s where he ought to be. Instead he’s here, throwing buckets of water on a fire that only seems to grow, to keep it from devouring a building he despises. But whatever he might feel about it, it’s Tommy’s house, if not his home, and most of all it’s Lizzie’s home. Tommy’s kids’ home. He’d be a fucking bastard to just stand by. And he’s got a way with people, still, or at the very least a way of scaring them into obedience, so helping Lizzie organizing who needs to go where and keeping them in line is a role he easily falls into. And they all work tirelessly, despite the unyielding enemy.

When the firefighters finally show up, the loads become lighter, and with the spray of the hoses, the flames finally begin to retreat. For the first time that night, Alfie can take a step back and roll his aching shoulders, wiping his sweaty brow.

“Solomons!”

A call comes from behind him and he turns to see Arthur jogging towards him, gesturing for him to come. He drops the bucket and goes to meet him.

“Think you should go to Tommy,” Arthur says. “Have a word with him and convince him to go with Ada. Not sure he’s too keen on the idea.”

“And what makes you think can convince him to do something he doesn’t want to?”

Arthur simply snorts. Which… fair enough. Loathe as he is to admit it, he’s got a point, doesn’t he?

“Alright. I’ll talk to him,” he says. “Can’t be good for him to sit there in the cold grass. Frail little thing. I probably should’ve gotten him out of here sooner.”

Fucking hell it’s the first thing he should’ve done.

He sets off down the lawn with Arthur behind him, leaving the fire behind. There are other people working to save this godforsaken house. He’s got other priorities, doesn’t he? Arthur is unexpectedly quiet. He would’ve thought he’d relish in the opportunity to point out that Alfie’s fucked up. But perhaps dragging Tommy out of a burning building together has snuffed out the worst of their rivalry for now.

They reach the edge of the lawn and weave through the gathered people, some sitting in small groups on the grass staring at the house with glassy eyes, muttering amongst themselves, others distributing clothing and blankets. Ada appears before them, dressed in a mismatched ensemble of borrowed knitwear.

“I was just about to fetch Tommy and the kids,” she says. “Figured the sooner we get them out of here the better. But you might have better luck talking him into that.”

Alfie avoids looking at Arthur and simply grunts in response, taking the lead towards the tree line.

When he reaches the spot where they left Tommy, he sees the kids sound asleep in the blanket, alone. Ada and Arthur stop by his side.

His limbs go suddenly cold, and his heart drops into the pit of his stomach.

“Tommy?” he calls out. Scans the darkness. Arthur turns on his heal and disappears into the crowd. Ada crouches before the kids and carefully shakes Charlie awake. He rubs his eyes.

“Charlie, love, did you see where your dad went?”

Charlie blinks and looks around, eyes half closed. Shakes his head. “He was here,” he yawns.

“And you didn’t see him go?”

Charlie shakes his head again, and Ada nods and smooths his hair back.

“Okay. Okay. Go back to sleep. We’re going to my house soon, alright?”

Charlie has already dozed off next to his sister.

Alfie can’t feel his hands.

Something’s wrong. Something is fucking wrong.

“Tommy?” he calls out again, looking around as his mouth fills with saliva. He swallows thickly. Arthur emerges from the crowd, shaking his head.

Alfie clears his throat and shouts, “Oi, listen up, has anyone seen Tommy?” The ability to get a crowd to listen he’s always had, so they all freeze, but it’s nothing but shaking heads and lost looks. “Really? Fucking no one?”

His heart has traveled from the pit of his stomach and now thuds in his throat and his knees feel weak. Something’s wrong, something’s wrong-

Ada’s hand on his shoulder makes him flinch and he brushes it off.

“He could’ve gone looking for you,” she says. “Right?”

He shakes his head.

“No, no he’d never leave Ruby and Charlie.”

“But if he felt scared and alone, the most natural thing would’ve been to do that. He’s not thinking all that clearly, is he?”

“We shouldn’t have left him alone,” Arthur mutters, looking around the crowd as if Tommy will suddenly appear before him.

“No, no, something’s wrong,” Alfie says. “Something’s fucking wrong.”

The fire. The rapid spread. Fucking of course, of course, how could he not have seen it before? He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat. Everything around him feels distant, sounds echoing through a long tunnel and the edges of his vision blurred.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-“ he mutters rubs his hands over his face tries to slow his racing thoughts and find a course of action. He wasn’t gone for long, right, so Tommy can’t be too far away, but where the fuck could he have gone? Look for him, that’s what he needs to do, of course, why is he just fucking standing here? Alfie sets off towards the darkness beneath the trees -must be there, someone would’ve seen something otherwise…

A hand grabs his shoulder, he wrenches himself free and when Arthur appears before him, blocking his way, he nearly throws a punch.

“Alright, Solomons, talk to me here. Where could he have gone?” Arthur says and how can he sound so bloody calm? He’s the one always flying off the handle, foaming at the mouth, how can he be fucking calm when Tommy is missing?

“He wouldn’t fucking go anywhere!“ Because Alfie told him to stay, and Tommy does as he’s told. “Don’t you see, it’s- fuck- something must’ve happened.”

Arthur lays his hand on his shoulder, still blocking his way.

Alfie punches him in the face. Arthur stumbles back with a grunt

“You do that again and you’re dead, Shelby, you fucking hear that!?”

“Alfie, calm down,“ Ada pleads, appearing by his side but keeping her distance.

“I don’t know how fucking neither of you seem to grasp the gravity of the situation here, but Tommy is missing!” he shouts. “He’s gone!” He’s dead, he’s dead, Alfie can feel it in his stomach his chest his entire fucking body, like a missing limb, he’s gone, Alfie left him alone and whatever happened it’s his fault- His hands shake and he needs to rest them on his knees because the world is tilting around him.

Arthur appears before him again, rubbing his chin and brushing Ada off as she tries to keep them separate.

“Alfie. Alfie, listen,“ he says, grabs him by the shoulders and if he could get his arms to obey he would punch him again. Arthur’s face is stern. “Look over there. See all those people?” Yeah he’s not fucking blind is he? “Yeah? They’ll all be looking. We’re going to find him. Alright? Johnny Dogs got horses. We can get people driving down the road as well. We’re going to find him. And right now, you need to keep your head on. Tommy needs you, and you’re no good if you’re fucking spiraling. Yeah?”

Arthur nods, and Alfie nods along with him.

Arthur looks between Alfie and Ada, and Ada’s mouth draws into a tight line, eyes filling with worry. She nods, quickly and several times.

“Right. Right, we’ll- we’ll go looking for him and-“

Arthur grabs her arm.

“Ada, find Lizzie, and Johnny Dogs. We need more people. And torches.”

Ada keeps nodding as she turns, nearly crashing straight into Esther as she comes running through the crowd.

“Tommy’s missing?” she asks, looking to Alfie for answers. Because he’s supposed to have them. He was supposed to keep him safe.

“Look after the kids,” Arthur tells her. Alfie takes the opportunity to move past him and into the darkness beneath the trees. He can’t wait for fucking torches or people, for anything or anyone, because if he waits even another second and that second is what makes the difference, he’ll never forgive himself.

“Alfie, wait!” Ada calls and he ignores it. Branches crack behind him and he catches Arthur’s gangly frame out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t stop.

“You get in my way again I’m picking up one of these fucking branches and beating you to death.”

“I’m coming with you, you fucking idiot,” Arthur grunts and dodges a low hanging branch, coming up next to him. He’s got a gun. Fuck. Alfie should’ve made sure he was fucking armed…

“Sleep with that thing, do you?” he says.

“Since the war,” Arthur says.

They make their way through the forested area, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. Sticks and old leaves crunch under their borrowed boots, and they have to weave through low hanging branches and between thorny bushes.

“Someone set the house on fire,” Arthur mutters between heavy breaths.

“Yeah. Should’ve realised it sooner. Think we both know who did it. Which is why we need to find Tommy right this fucking second.”

“Right,” Arthur says. And his voice sounds oddly thick.

They’re silent after that. Listening for any sound, eyes scanning the dark, moving as quickly as they dare without risking missing something. With each passing minute, Alfie’s panic only grows. The area isn’t large. He’s seen it with his own eyes from the windows. A strip of bushes and trees before the river, a hundred yards or so. But in the dark, and without knowing which direction is the right one, it seems endless. Tommy might not even be here.

What if they’re in the entirely wrong fucking place?

What if it’s already too late?

He barely breathes. Hears Arthur do it all too loud.

No, he can’t allow himself to think like that. Tommy needs him. He keeps moving, and moving…

“Alfie!”

At first, the bloodcurdling scream makes him freeze in place, heart stuttering in his throat. Then he runs, blindly in the dark, crashes through branches and leaves, Arthur by his side. Arthur is faster but the dark and the trees slow them down, putting them on almost equal footing.

“Tommy?” Alfie calls out.

“Alfie!” It’s worse, fucking worse, raspy and desperate and so full of fear that he screams too, a wordless, desperate sound.

“Tommy!” Arthur yells. “Tommy, where are you?”

Their cries are met with silence and he curses the darkness and the fucking trees and himself for not bringing a weapon or a light, for leaving Tommy alone and unprotected.

Arthur runs before him and Alfie keeps his eyes on his back, using it as a guide whenever Arthur stumbles and has to catch himself. Up ahead, there’s faint light between the trees and Arthur stops, Alfie tears through thorny branches and stumbles out from the shadows into the moonlight. The river stretches before them, a broad, dark mirror of the night sky. Arthur looks around, frantic, and they see them at the same time, the distant figures struggling on the riverbank.

“Tommy!” Arthur yells again and runs. Alfie runs too, faster than he’s ever moved, but they’re too far away. One of the figures scrambles upright at Arthur’s shout, pulling the second from the ground. Alfie’s lungs burn and his back sends shooting pain down his legs but his body moves separate from all those sensations.

He can just about make out their features as Michael drags Tommy into the water, one arm around his chest and the other across his throat. Tommy hangs limply in his grip, head resting on his shoulder. Alfie can’t see if he’s breathing, he’s too far away, too fucking far away.

Arthur is ahead, gun in hand.

“Don’t fucking move,” he roars. Michael releases Tommy’s neck, backs further into the water as he reaches for something, Arthur is about to leap into the river when he draws the knife.

“Stay there!” Michael shouts and presses the blade against Tommy’s throat. Arthur freezes. Aims the gun at Michael. As Alfie finally catches up to Arthur, a shiver runs through Tommy’s body and he begins to cough. His eyes flare open and there’s nothing but blind panic there as he begins to struggle against Michael’s hold.

“Stay still, stay fucking still or I’ll cut you,” Michael hisses in his ear but Tommy keeps squirming, drawing raspy, frantic breaths. The knife digs into his skin, fueling his panic.

“Don’t move. I’ll kill you, I fucking swear it,” Michael says through gritted teeth and Tommy lets out a whine, terrified, grasping at Michael’s arm to no avail.

“Tommy, Tommy, it’s okay,” Alfie calls. “Tommy, look at me. I’m here. Right here. You’ll be okay.”

Tommy looks at him. At first his eyes are empty, but then they well with tears.

“Alfie-“

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” Michael says and his face twists with anger. Tommy closes his mouth. But he keeps still, looking at Alfie.

“Drop the gun,” Michael tells Arthur. Arthur’s gaze is ice cold and focused, but the hands on the gun shake. Michael’s eyes are wide and manic.

“Drop the gun or I’ll kill him!”

“Let him go, Michael, this is over,” Arthur says, but snaps his mouth shut when Michael presses the knife harder against Tommy’s throat and droplets of blood seep from underneath the blade.

“Drop it, Arthur,” Alfie breathes, eyes fixed on Tommy’s. “Do as he fucking says.”

Arthur’s finger clench around the trigger, his jaw tight.

“You can’t get a clear shot from here. One inch wrong and that bullet is going into Tommy’s head.”

“Drop it,” Michael says.

Tommy closes his eyes, his chest rising in a trembling breath.

Alfie tries to swallow his heart back down his throat.

Arthur raises his hands.

“Alright, alright, Michael. Whatever you say.” He crouches down slowly, eyes focused on Michael, and lays the weapon in the grass.

“Kick it into the water,” Michael says.

The gun disappears in the dark river.

A moment of stillness follow. They stand there: Arthur and Alfie on the riverbank, Michael with Tommy in the water. Michael’s bleeding from his nose. And even if Alfie had promised himself Tommy would never have to be strong again, never have to fucking fight again, because that is his job now, it still makes him proud. He’s a fighter, his Tommy. Even after everything. But Tommy himself is in a dreadful state. His face is an alarming shade of white in the parts where it isn’t blue or purple, or scraped bloodied. Red marks that are melting into bruises encircle his throat, and he’s trembling. But he’s alive, he’s still alive.

And even though Alfie can feel himself shaking with rage, and even though all he wants is to lunge at Michael, tear him away from Tommy and beat his face into a bloody pulp, he knows he can only afford to make the perfect moves. He digs his nails into his palm, sets his jaw and takes a slow breath through his nose.

“Right, what do you want Michael?” he asks. He can sense Arthur’s eyes on him and he glances quickly at him, hoping he’ll catch on. “You hold all the fucking cards. All we want, is Tommy. Simple as that, innit? There’s still an ending to this where you come out alive. But it entirely depends on what you decide to do now.”

Michael laughs. It’s a shrill, awful sound.

“What makes you think I care? Maybe all I care about is seeing justice finally done.”

Arthur shifts at his side. Alfie bites his tongue.

“Would it be worth it?” he asks. “That short fucking moment’s satisfaction, when you know the cost. I don’t think I have to give you any of the grisly details of just how high that cost would be. You’re already acquainted to my methods. The difference here is, with Tommy gone, I’d have nothing to lose. So I’m sure you can imagine how that would impact your fate. You’re a smart lad. Make a smart decision.”

The crazed shine in Michael’s eye catches the moonlight. He hisses something in Tommy’s ear and Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. He moves the knife, enough to stop the edge from digging into Tommy’s skin.

“Fine, let’s make a deal, then,” he calls to them and smirks. Arrogant fucking bastard.

“What do you want us to do?” Arthur asks with surprising calm. His hand his balled into a fist by his side.

“I want you, to get me a car. And park it upstream. By the bridge. I want the proper papers there, signed, that you’re giving up your shares in the company. All of you.”

Alfie grits his teeth. Surely he can’t be that fucking delusional, thinking he’ll still end up with the company-

But the look in Michael’s eyes, the complete detachment, the manic fucking glee, the fact that he set fire to a fucking house… They’re not reasoning with a sane man.

“Fine, fine, we can do that,” Arthur says. “But we have to know Tommy will be safe while we get things sorted.”

“You don’t make demands, you hear me?” Michael roars and Tommy flinches as he tugs him closer, once again pushing the blade against his throat. His breathing picks up, raspy and shallow, and it agitates Michael, his face distorts in disgust, as if Tommy’s fear is a bloody nuisance. Tommy pales further, breaths catching in his throat.

“Michael, you need to let him breathe,” Alfie says. “He’s scared and hurt and you need him alive. Put the knife down and we can talk. Tommy, look at me, yeah? We’re here. You’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay.”

“Shut up, shut the fuck up, don’t talk to him!” Michael shrieks and pulls Tommy further back.

“Michael!” Arthur barks. “If he dies, you die.”

Alfie keeps his gaze steady on Tommy, who looks back, eyes full of terror.

Alfie keeps his gaze steady and breathes slowly, in and out. Over and over. Tommy follows along. One slow breath and then another. He stops squirming, and Michael eases off. Out of the corner of his eye, Alfie sees Arthur’s shoulders fall.

“So. We’ll get you a car. And the paperwork,” Arthur says. “And you give us Tommy.”

“And I want ten thousand pounds. Cash. In the car.”

The fucking bastard.

Arthur glances at him.

“Can you manage that?” he asks under his breath. “I sure as fuck can’t. Maybe Liz-“

“ ‘Course I can fucking manage. But it’d take a few hours. We don’t have that kind of time,” Alfie whispers to him. But to Michael he calls, “Done.”

Michael smirks.

“Hear that, Tommy? You’re at least a pricy whore.”

Tommy ignores the jeer, but Arthur growls and Alfie imagines not for the first time how it’ll feel when he pushes his fucking thumbs through Michael’s eye sockets.

“Tommy!” A call comes from the woods. And through the trees, he sees faint lights. Along with them come more distant sounds of voices, calling Tommy’s name, and Michael’s eyes widen. He takes another step back, frantically scanning the shore. Alfie raises his hands. “Calm down, calm down, they’re looking for Tommy. Arthur will go talk to them. Yeah? He can talk to them and get you that car, alright? That was what you wanted.” The corner of Michael’s eye twitches and the hand on the knife shakes. Alfie’s mouth is dry. “He’d need to leave anyway, right, to get you that.”

“Tell them to stay back,” Michael spits.

Arthur nods. “Of course, of course. As long as Tommy’s safe.”

He sets off into the darkness and Michael looks around frantically. Alfie looks at Tommy, only at Tommy, keeps his gaze steady and tries to convey some sense of safety, even when there is none to be found. Michael’s body is taut like a bowstring and Alfie holds his breath. Michael’s stepped off the fucking edge of a cliff. Not tethering anymore, but freefalling. And he can just fucking stand here. Doesn’t even dare to say a word.

The wind makes the branches whistle. The dark water swirls slowly around them. Tommy seems to grow heavier in Michael’s grip, lashes fluttering. His lips have gone blue and his jaw trembles. When Michael’s hand slips, nicking his throat, he lets out a quiet whine, eyes welling with tears.

“Shut up, shut up shut up,” Michael hisses into his ear. “It’s your own fucking fault.”

“Michael!“

“Your own fucking fault. You deserved worse, far worse.”

“Michael, you hurt him, and the deal’s off,” Alfie says, body pulsating with rage and fear.

His heart beats frantically. Michael is going to kill him.

“He took everything from me. I had everything!” Michael roars and tears roll down Tommy’s cheeks.

“And if you just wait for Arthur to come back, you’ll have the car and you’ll have the fucking company and the money and it’ll be as if none of this ever happened,” he says, and at least shifts Michael’s attention to him. “You can go to America, or wherever the fuck you please, and all you have to do in return is let Tommy go. You’ve gotten even. You’ve fucking won, alright. Not Tommy. Look at him. You’ve bloody wrecked him. He’s never going to recover, or have a normal life after everything you put him through. Isn’t that enough?”

Michael’s breathing is slower again. Alfie locks eyes with Tommy, hopes that he’ll understand, and Tommy blinks away the tears. Michael’s hand loosens around the knife, but he doesn’t move it.

“You fucking got it all,” Alfie says. “You got everything.”

A sudden rustling from the bushes makes Michael flinch like a skittish animal. Arthur emerges, both hands raised.

“They’ve turned back. And there’ll be a car ready soon.”

Michael glances towards the opposite riverbank and then back, looking between the trees.

“You’re lying.”

“No, no, we’d have nothing to gain,” Arthur tries but Michael keeps shaking his head, his eyes darting frantically around the dark. He pushes the knife harder to Tommy’s throat and Tommy presses his head back against his shoulder to get away, his breathing growing more and more frantic.

“Michael, look at me!” Alfie barks and Michael’s eyes snaps to him. “You want to get out of this alive, yeah? That’s it. But the second you hurt him, you’re a dead man. Do you understand?”

Michael only looks at Tommy, and it burns, the hatred in those eyes, and Alfie can see the gears turning, sees the shift and understands what it means. He hears himself scream, and he lunges forward without thought. Just as Michael’s hand moves, Tommy moves too, quicker than what should be possible, grasping Michael’s arm and ducking out of his hold. The unexpected shift in balance makes Michael fall backwards into the water. Tommy wades, swims, towards the shore, Alfie is already in the water running to meet him as Michael regains his footing and launches after Tommy, the knife grazing his back. Tommy falls, disappearing under the surface, Alfie is too far away and Tommy resurfaces, coughing and struggling to stay above water. Move forward, get between Tommy and that knife, it’s the only thought in his mind. Finally, Alfie reaches him, grabs Tommy’s arm and pulls him in behind his back, shoving him towards the shore and blocking Michael’s way. Michael might have that knife but he’s about to run into a solid fucking brick wall. Might be able to overpower Tommy, small and fragile as he is, but he’s got another thing coming, doesn’t he?

And if this still ends with that knife stuck somewhere in his fucking chest he’ll take it if it means keeping him away from Tommy.

Michael freezes, eyes wide. He takes a step back.

“Go ahead, Michael, put that fucking knife to use,” Alfie says, clenching his hands into fists, savoring the moment. “It’ll even things out. I’m a fair man.”

Michael lunges towards him.

A loud bang rings through the night.

Michael’s body jolts, a fraction of a second of stillness follows, and he falls.

Alfie stands there in the water, chest heaving, nails digging into his palms.

Michael’s body floats on the surface, face down, a dark sheen of blood forming around the head.

He turns to see Arthur standing on the riverbank, with a gun in his hand, chest heaving. He lowers the weapon slowly.

Tommy is between them, in knee deep water, staring with wide eyes at Michael’s body. A slow trickle of blood seeps between his fingers as he presses his hand against his neck. He blinks. Tremors wrack his thin frame and he wavers on the spot. Alfie regains his ability to move and wades towards him as Tommy reaches for him and finally this time he’s not too late to catch him as he falls into his arms. Alfie pries the hand away from his neck with trembling hands, but the wounds aren’t deep, thank God, and the slow trickle of blood means none of them run through a major artery.

Alfie moves to the riverbank, hauls himself and Tommy up onto the grass and there he can sink to his knees, pull him completely against his chest, bury his fingers in his hair, press his lips against his temple and breathe. Tommy sobs into the crook of his neck. Alfie pulls him up onto his lap and holds him so tightly his ribs may crack but it’s still not close enough. He rubs Tommy’s back, rocks him back and forth as he cries.

“It’s okay, love, it’s okay, I’ve got you now, you’re safe,” he mutters, voice thick with tears. “You were so brave, sweetheart. It’s over now. I’ve got you.”

Tommy is shaking like a leaf, clinging weakly to his shirtfront, and his breathing is still quick and uneven, sobs hacking up his throat. And despite that, all he can feel right then is relief. He’s back in Alfie’s arms where he belongs. And that’s enough. It’s all that fucking matters.

#tommy x alfie #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #home to you #breathe again verse

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jeonqkooks · 2 years ago

Note

hi darling! congrats on your milestone and your anniversary! could i request “hey, only i can call them that!” and “that is not what the instructions say.” for jin? thank you and congrats again!

forty seven steps | ksj

seokjin thinks he’s decent at building things. well, he’s never met an ikea storage bed.

pairing: seokjin x f!reader

rating: PG

genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, slight crack (?), swearing

word count: approx 1.4k

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

The IKEA Brimnes Storage Bed, also known as the bane of your existence starting from today. Not only does the wooden fucker come with thirty six whole pages of instructions detailing forty seven steps, it needs eight different types of screws and bolts, and another dozen of ungodly contraptions has to put in place before you can get a good night’s rest.

Why you chose to buy it in the first place has long been forgotten since you tore into the packages and were presented with a preposterous amount of pieces to be assembled.

Now, as you sit on the floor, sprawled out in front of a sea of strange-looking bed components, you can physically feel the excitement from before drain from your body. You turn to glare at the man beside you, Kim Seokjin as he’s been called since birth, but from now on he shall only be known to you as The Devil’s Advocate.

The man shrinks under your intense gaze. “What?” he mumbles.

He was at the store with you, helping you pick out furniture and decorations and living up to the title of dutiful boyfriend that he usually holds. That is, until he came across a certain storage bed while you were browsing through an array of mugs and dishware.

Seokjin's face completely lit up with childlike wonder, practically dragging you over to the display. “Look…” he merely whispered, choking up like he was sending his firstborn off to school for the very first time, “this is perfect.”

At the store, the bed was a dream. You even laid in it, under the covers and all, in the middle of bustling IKEA and you swore that if heaven existed, it must feel like a Brimnes bed. It has a ton of storage, which is absolutely godsent as it would save you so much money on drawers that you can’t possibly fit in the less-than-ideal space of your unfurnished bedroom.

“You…” You stab an accusatory finger at his chest. “You did this to me!”

He pushes your hand away. “Chill out. This is totally doable. It only takes…” He scans the instructions quickly, “approximately five hours.”

“Five hours!” you cry, throwing your entire body back to lie on the floor, limbs flailing around petulantly.

A minute later, Yoongi shows up at your half-open bedroom door, leaning against the frame and looking over the mess. He must have heard your distressed noises from the living room, where your friends are helping you and your boyfriend put together another dozen pieces of unholy IKEA furniture. Not because they’re dutiful friends, but because you had promised each of them a favor and dinner at the newest boujee restaurant downtown.

“I told you not to get storage beds,” Yoongi says in his best I told you so voice. “At least fifteen websites claim that they’re the most difficult to assemble.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” you cry out again and jab your foot into Seokjin’s ribs, which makes him squirm like one of those inflatable stick figures in front of car dealerships. “He tempted me.”

Yoongi crosses his arms and shakes his head. “And I also told you not to listen to hyung. He’s a 10-year-old in a grown man’s body. This is mostly on you, dummy.”

“Hey!” Seokjin yells. You don’t know what he sounds so offended for; he’s even admitted to his own childishness on multiple occasions. He throws a dirty rag at Yoongi, though the younger man easily dodges it. “Only I can call her that!”

Your friend chuckles and rolls his eyes, muttering a simple Good luck to you before he goes back to the living room to rejoin the group.

Your boyfriend tugs your limb body closer to his. When you finally sit up, with the biggest pout ever seen in the history of mankind, Seokjin pats your butt in encouragement.

“Come on,” he says, tilting your face up by your chin to give you a peck. “Did you forget how good I am at these kinds of things? I’m practically the handyman at the office!”

You squint at him. What kind of dumbassery is this? He works as an acting teacher at one of the best drama schools in the city. (Yes, it does sound a little fancy. Your coworkers are always enthralled when you mention his profession in passing and how he scores you tickets to movie premieres from time to time.) But the thing is, his “office” is practically pocket sized, and you doubt that there’s a lot of things there that need maintenance other than the printer when there’s a paper jam. Not unless Seokjin is qualified to tinker with a Nespresso Creatista Pro.

Still, you don’t argue with him about it anymore. What’s done is done anyway. You nod in defeat, coming to terms with the fact that you’re stuck with a Brimnes Storage Bed and the only way out is through.

Six and a half hours later, you’re still sitting on your bedroom floor, only at step number 43 out of 47. Your friends have gone home for a while now; it’s getting close to midnight after all, but you don’t have the luxury of resting just yet.

Overall, the bed looks pretty good. It’s almost finished, you just need to put the beams in place, tighten a few bolts here and there, and you should be good to go.

Problem is, a couple of the screws are missing, and there’s one extra beam that you don’t know what to do with. The instructions say all the components don’t have extras, which means you’ve most likely messed up in one of the previous steps.

You stare at the manual as if burning a hole into it with your eyes will magically solve all your dilemmas. Seokjin picks up a random screw on the ground and begins to tighten it on the side of the bed.

“Wait.” You stop him. “That’s not what the instructions say.”

He glances at the booklet in your hands and at the bolt in his, and brushes it off with a chuckle. “It’s fine. All these bolts look the same. Using bolt number 100365 instead of 100360 won’t be the end of the world.”

You purse your lips, thinking it over but you suppose it shouldn’t be an issue. It’s late, you’re exhausted, and you want nothing more than to pass out for at least the next few days. Moving is always such a nuisance, even if you’re moving in with the love of your life.

Humming, you let him go back to the beams and bolts while you work on the storage compartments. It takes another hour before Seokjin stands up and wipes the sweat from his forehead, breathing out a large sigh of relief as he takes a look at his and your accomplishment.

“Fucking finally.” He smiles brightly despite the weariness in his eyes.

You tug on his shorts. When he turns to you, you hold up that extra beam from before. “What about this?”

He faces the bed once more, though nothing seems to be out of place. The structure that you’ve built together looks very similar to the illustrated picture on the manual, even if there’s a few mismatched screws here and there. The wooden piece in your hand doesn’t seem that necessary, so he waves it off. Taking it from you, he puts it in the corner along with all the useless junk that you two haven’t found a home for yet.

“It’s fine,” he repeats his earlier words. “Now come help me put the mattress on.”

It’s fine. The words that you should fear whenever they come from his mouth. Your mistake was being too tired to care.

Because at exactly 3:57AM—a couple of hours after you’ve secured the mattress onto the frame, brushed your teeth and washed your face, and collapsed into bed with your boyfriend—something creaks. More than once. It sounds like it’s coming from right beneath you and it’s so loud that it rouses you awake.

When you turn around in Seokjin’s hold, you’re surprised to find that he’s already up and looking at you with alarm written all over his features. You swallow thickly, and clutch his arm.

The bed caves in. Your life flashes before your eyes. Cue in the bloodiest scream anyone has ever heard.

“Kim Seokjin!”

— permanent taglist: @mi55delulu @fan-ati--c @highly-functioning-mitochondria @bruisedscrewedandtattooed @morauvmi @jeonjcngkook @shownusshoulders @jungkooksseuphoria @yoongukie-ff @curioughts @taegismochi @mwitsmejk @jeonsorchid @here4btsfics @mytearsriscochet @lvoekook

#seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #seokjin fluff #seokjin fanfic #seokjin imagines #bts x reader #bts fic #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts imagines #ficscafe #btswritingcafe #btscarnivalnet #btshoneyhive #bangtaninn #clubzerooclock #52hertz

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

Text

harmless (viii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, protesting, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, gamer (derogatory), smidge of angst

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: listen idk what goes on at construction site and im too sexy to research so we’re going with my version of the world. hello. how are we all doing?

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He doesn’t expect to see you on TV.

In jail maybe, for something scandalous and completely unnecessary, but not TV.

But there you are, a sign board waving around furiously in your hand, voice in protest against the demolition of the community centre. You’re flipping the board back and forth to alternate between the messages you’ve scrawled on the cardboard.

You were among a few protesting, but clearly the loudest.

He thinks that maybe he has the weekend off if you’re too busy fighting big corporations. He’d send his support even.

Until he zeroes in on the sign when it flips over, finally reading what it says.

You better get your ass here, sarge

And so he does.

Half the crowd had dipped by the time he arrived. You were there, still the loudest, but he couldn’t help but notice the lack of people as compared to an hour or two ago on TV. He supposed that justice could wait as long as it took to get lunch from the nearest café.

“I can’t stop you from protesting, y’know.” He’s a little wary of approaching your raging self.

“Oh, hey Barnes. You got my message.” You break away for a second to scream a bunch of obscenities at the gigantic glass building before turning to him. “You wouldn’t be able to.”

“What’s your dumb plan then?”

“First of all, it’s not dumb. It’s stupid. Put some respect on my technological genius.” You held up a finger. “Second of all, it’s not here.”

“Where is it?”

“At the construction site.” You point down the road. “Come on.”

Right along the way you stop to chant another slogan. He waves his arm around meekly in support. He did, after all, have to stand up for what was right, but if his publicist saw him here she’d have an aneurysm.

The construction site isn’t very far off. It’s adjacent to the community centre, which he assumes they’re going to tear down to make more space for whatever shitty commercial building was going to take its place.

There are already a few excavators and dozers there but no one to man them since it was lunch time. What garners his attention is the small silver plate that’s on the floor a few feet ahead in the direction you’re walking towards.

“Here.” You stop once it nears. “The plan.”

“Am I supposed to know what this is?” He lightly kicked at it, earning a smack on the arm from you.

“Stop that,” you scolded, “and look at it. It’s not hard to figure out.”

He narrows his eyes. There’s a small u-shaped piece of metal in the middle of the plate. “That’s a magnet.”

“Exactly.” You clapped your hands together in excitement. “The world’s strongest electromagnet.”

He looks around. The only possibly magnetic things are the cranes and excavators around him.

“You’re going to... stop the machines from moving ahead?” he hesitates in his deduction.

“Yep. Can’t tear anything down if they can’t get to it first.”

Bucky looks down.

“Does this thing even work?” He toes at it again. “It’s kinda small.”

“It works beautifully, stop kicking at it, you demon-”

“What happens if I step on it, huh?” He knows this would get on your nerves wonderfully. He raises his leg. “Do I get to go home for the day?”

“You’re such a little shit,” you whine, reaching for your back pocket. “Stop bullying my invention.”

“’m gonna squish it like a bug.” He’s only half kidding about that part. “I’m gonna-”

Before he can finish his sentence something yanks him down hard. His head nearly hits the ground before his right arm shoots out to break his fall.

"Woah there, don't go falling for me as yet.”

“What the fu-” he begins, eyes locking on his metal arm that was pressed flat against the earth.

“I told you it works,” you say smugly. “Try crushing it now, Barnes. If you can even get off the floor.”

He tugs his hand but it’s firmly attached to the thing. No matter how or where he’s applying the effort, his limb refuses to move. He’s stuck.

“Turn it off,” he sighs. “You made your point.”

“No. Stay there.”

“Y/N, shut up and turn this off,” he groans, trying to find a better position rather than chin down on the ground.

“Lay there and rot. You deserve it for underestimating me.” You huff.

“I wasn’t underestimating you, Jesus Christ.” He really was planning to just step on it, but he had complete faith that it worked.

When he doesn’t receive a reply, his gaze follows yours. Suddenly the crane looks a lot closer than it initially did. Awesome.

“Those are moving towards me.” He picks up on the low groan and creak of metal.

“Yeah, they are.” You nod, one hand on your hip, watching them.

He didn’t think that getting crushed under construction equipment would be how his day went.

“Not my problem,” you decide finally after a bout of silence.

Now that simply wouldn’t do.

Death was definitely a problem, but what was more important was that he was going to get a dust allergy from the mud. He could already feel the blocked nose and temperature incoming.

“Are you really going to waste this on me? Don’t you have a demolition to stop?” He manages to twist his body so that he’s lying on his back.

“Good point,” you squint into the distance at the whirring of the heavy machinery. Their owners wouldn’t be happy to find them missing from their original spot. “But I still can’t help you out.”

“You’re willing to sacrifice your-”

“I can’t help you out because I don’t have an off switch. Yet,” you add the last part in a hurry.

“Then when the fuck were you planning to build one?” He sits up, leaning on his elbow. The cranes weren’t a mini object on the horizon now; the closer they got, the faster they were starting to move towards him.

“I don’t know, after they agreed not to take down the building?”

He could just detach his arm and come back for it later he but had no guarantee that you would stop here for the day or that the vibranium could withstand all that pressure.

“You better make a switch right now and get me out of this, I don’t care how.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, bending to assess how badly he was stuck. “You know, this thing runs really deep into the earth. It’d take forever to dig back up and then get you back to my lab and then build a switch.”

“How long?” He didn’t have a lot of time, clearly, but even generally he didn’t have the whole day to waste. He had a mission the next day. He had to put the fear of death into some Russians and bring some pirozhki back for Nat.

“I don’t know,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “Too long for my schedule anyway, I have class prep to do.”

“Motherfucke- that thing’s like twenty feet away.” He’s worried about how you don’t look fazed at all when he points at the stupid machine.

He’s about to volunteer to detach his arm when he realises it’s definitely less than twenty feet now. He had a backup just in case. It didn’t move as smoothly, but who could tell the difference when a couple of tons of pressure was aiming for your face, and hell, if he explained his circumstances of the destruction of his arm to T’Challa-

“Okay, fine.” You reach into your backpack to grab something that looked like a wrist watch. It matched the one already around your hand.

You reach over and clasp it around his hand before turning a dial on the side.

“You ready?” you ask, ignoring the large crane that was starting to charge towards you.

“For what?” he replies, looking down at it. He can barely hear you over the sound of the whining of machinery.

“Teleportation, baby.” You send him a big grin before slamming down on his watch.

“Huh-” His voice cuts off immediately.

If there’s anything that can be said about teleportation, it’s that he feels like every atom in his entire body violently splits to float around briefly before suddenly rejoining again.

The ground beneath him feels different, and it takes him a second to realise that he was on the floor of your lair.

“What the fu-”

“Hello,” your voice comes from above him.

“You can teleport.” It’s not difficult for him to look at you now without the sun in his face. His arm is still stuck to the magnet but since the giant rod it was attached to was no longer deep in the ground, he could lift the entire apparatus up relatively easily.

“What, like it’s hard?” You discarded your bag on the floor. “You good? Takes a while to get used to.”

He gives you a grunt in acknowledgement, shaking his arm to see if he had any luck. It didn’t budge.

“Come on, take a seat.” You gesture to a lab chair you’ve pulled up for him on the raised platform at the front of the room. He realises that this is the first time he’s properly seen what’s actually inside your lair.

There are various buttons that do God knows what, drawers and cabinets painted black, several computer screens and gigantic pillars of glass on either side of the set up that encapsulate some green bubbling liquid. There’s a giant television set up against the wall, divided into several screens.

“Whaddya think?” You do a small swoop of your arm to show off the place.

“Gamer,” he says simply, testing his luck.

“What did you just say to me?” you recoil instantly, disgust on your face.

“It’s a gamer set up.” He points a finger at the TV screen. He was told by Shuri to use it as an insult, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. It just felt appropriate.

“Take that back right now.” You raise a finger accusatorially at him.

“No.” He was sticking with it even though he had no idea what exactly the context was.

“Fuck your arm,” you announce, throwing your hands up in surrender.

“Fuck your demolition then,” he replies simply, getting up from his place on the chair to leave with the thing still attached to him.

He takes one step ahead before your voice rings out.

“Sit down, drama queen,” your voice calls from behind him. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I’m the best part of your week,” you fire back, ”and also your only way out of this. Now sit down.”

He didn’t even need the second warning, he was already on the chair the first time around.

“I’m not going to build a switch to turn this off. It’d take too long,” you examine the piece of equipment with more gentleness than he was expecting, “I’m going to remove it instead. It’s gonna take a while, so you better get comfortable.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s so sad,” you say without any indication of wanting to help.

He rolls his eyes.

You pull up next to him, welding glasses covering your face and the tool in your hand.

He turns away when you start, making sure his face is not directly within its trajectory.

He makes himself busy by looking around some more. There are details you’ve put into the place, materials that are non-flammable made up most of the architecture. It’s dramatic, sure, but somehow the designs and colours seemed to go together. It did look sinister, he’d give you props for that.

The space was quite big. It occurs to him only then that that’s how you manage to sneak up on him so often in the past. Everything clicked. Fucking teleportation.

“So,” your voice was raised to speak over the noise. “How’s it going?”

He decidedly doesn’t answer. His position is more than enough.

“Right.” You clear your throat.

He takes to counting the tiles on the floor, figuring out how many were there from the raised platform to the wall of the entrance.

“Not how you imagined your day to go, huh?” you continued despite his lack of response. “But some might say it’s a privilege to be spending the day with a cool, mad scie-”

“Are you going to keep talking?” he interrupts, losing his count on the floor.

“Yeah, duh,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You got anything better to do?”

He didn’t.

“What’s it like living with a bunch of superheroes?” You change course. He’s not sure if he’s really allowed to disclose top secret information. “I assume there’s a lot of protein shakes, talcum powder for the chafing-”

Then again, how much damage could you do by knowing that Steve preferred pancakes over waffles?

“It’s quiet,” he says. “Most of the time.”

“Save all your smart talking for the battlefield, huh?”

He doesn’t reply. It’s quiet around the Tower. A lot of their energy goes towards missions and recuperating once they’re back.

“You go on missions a lot?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Boo, you whore,” you say with mock disappointment.

He got that reference.

“What’s your favourite food then?”

He scrunches his eyebrows.

“What?” The welding stops for a second while you look at him. “Don’t tell me that’s classified too.”

It’s not, he’s just never thought about it.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, “Pasta?”

“Vague, but I’ll take it.”

He used to boil a lot of pasta, from what he could remember of his days in hiding. Cheap and bought in bulk before he saved up enough to buy things like fruits. A lot of the times the amount of sauce he had access to was enough for maybe seasoning, not a whole component on its own.

It’s one of the perks of being a free man in the 21st century he thinks, a steaming bowl of fettuccini drenched in sauce and garlic bread on the side.

“What do you do in your downtime?”

“Nothing.” Well, he considers it to be a pass time and doing nothing is a full time gig. It takes effort to do nothing. He even has days dedicated to doing nothing, as suggested to him by his therapist.

“Really?” You sound a little surprised, although it’s hard to make out when you’re already speaking a lot louder than usual. “No shining your penny collection? No software update for this thing?” You tap at his arm.

There really isn’t anything. Truth be told, he thinks he’s the most boring guy in the Tower. He sticks to himself, has a few succulents that he adores and occasionally watches trashy television. So then why are you so interested in him?

“You’re obsessed with me,” he says pointedly. “Why?”

You give a short laugh. “I think it’s the blue eyes, sarge, they’re really popping today. Gotta say, I’m loving this colour on you. Is it different from the black you wore last week? And from the one from the week before that?”

He looks down at his dark t-shirt and utility pants. He had other clothes but those were reserved for things that were not this.

“Or maybe it’s the grumpiness, I don’t know. I love it when someone shows absolutely no interest in me. Very sexy of you.” Oh jeez, you were going to continue. “Hell, maybe it’s the thighs-”

“Okay,” he interjects, feeling the need to count the tiles more than ever. He equates the heat in his neck from the welding going on beside him.

The loudness of your laughter is clearer than the sound of metal on metal when you tug a large piece of the invention off. Things were moving fast. He could get back home to his Star Trek marathon and forget this day ever happened.

“You know, you’re more interesting than you think,” you pipe up casually.

He doesn’t expect this and therefore he supposes he can’t stop the curiosity from enveloping his face. He hasn’t told you anything about himself, so then the inference you reached came out of nowhere.

Apparently, you take notice of the confusion on his face, even though he can’t see through the giant welding mask, because you let out a chuckle.

“Oh, come on, really? You have no idea?” you ask lightly, pausing to see if he offers anything other than silence. “You’ve come back almost every week even though you know it’s a waste of your time, you always keep your promises and I know for a fact that if you wanted to stop me once and for all, you could have. But you’re not.”

He doesn’t realise you’ve stopped welding until you start again. Good, it gives him an excuse not to have to look at you after that.

Frankly, he’s a little stunned.

You’re not looking at him, he can tell from his peripheral vision. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a small crush on me.”

At that, he’s forced to roll his eyes out of instinct. Thankfully you do know better.

A few screws out later, another piece comes out. You inform him that’s it’s going to get trickier from there since the circuit was a little more intricate, a lot more time than the original few pieces. He can see his Star Trek marathon fade away in the distance.

You ask him a few more questions. Some he answers with silence, others maybe a tidbit here and there.

“How’s dating now compared to the forties?”

“Strange.” He purses his lips in thought. “One guy asked for a gym date. Didn’t know that was a thing.”

“How’d that turn out?” you laugh.

“He didn’t ask for a second one.” His Bumble matches with girls somehow had gone down since he cut his hair, but he’s not too bothered. Not like there was a huge shortage.

He likes cats, thinks the worst merchandise that they make is the stupid baseball card with his face on it, and doesn’t have social media for the sake of his sanity. He’s seen the thirst tweets.

Clearly, he’s revealed his deepest, darkest secrets. Utterly classified material. But he doesn’t know anything about you other than your name, number, address, where you teach, what your hobby is-

“You, uh-” he hesitates, “You got a favourite food?”

Your hands hold still to hover above what they’re working on. You fight back a smile. “Sure do.”

He asks a few more questions. Shuts up when he feels his social battery drain. That’s enough for the next month, he thinks.

The sun’s dipped down beyond the horizon by the time majority of the work is completed. Both of you have taken a few breaks to fight the feeling of stiffness that was creeping into your joints.

You scoff and tell him you’re not planning to poison him when he denies the offer of a soda. He doesn’t deter in his decision.

“How much to go?” He has a mission tomorrow that he’d really like to get some sleep in before. Waking up at 3am to get ready was the worst part of the job.

“Basically done.” You roll your chair back, rotating your shoulder and stretching your fingers. “There’s just this little part that I can’t access from this angle. How good are you at hanging upside down like a bat?”

Fuck it, he sighs to himself, it was almost finished anyway.

Bucky stands up, tilting his neck to the side slightly before pulling at a small latch under his arm, one so tiny that you’d never make out was even there unless you knew it existed. The arm releases from his shoulder with a small click.

He offers it to you, a piece of your magnet still attached to it.

Your eyes are slightly wide. He raises his eyebrows.

You don’t say anything, just accept it and flip it to a position you were comfortable with. It takes only a minute or two for the sound of the last piece hitting the floor to reverberate through the hall.

You give a small cheer. He lets out a tiny exhale in equal parts fatigue and relief.

“So,” you drawl, handing his arm back to him, “you could have just done that the whole time.”

He doesn’t reply, just slides it back onto his shoulder.

“You had the option of leaving your arm here and coming back later to get it.”

He gives it a few shakes, opens and clenches his fist shut a few times to make sure everything is working.

“You wanted to talk to me.”

He gives you a deadpan look. “I was distracting you.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh.

“Believe what you must.” He shrugs, turning around. “My job here is done regardless.”

“Oh, I believe alright,” you call out from behind him as he walks towards the entrance of your lair. “I believe you’re a sneaky bastard, Bucky Barnes.”

He doesn’t stop himself from smiling at the overdramatic gasp you give when he flips you a middle finger. From the metal arm, too.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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sopxhiea · 3 years ago

Text

Palpable

Farrier X Reader

Summary: Farrier meets a young woman who works as a spy during the war and it so happens that this young woman’s next mission means she’ll be around for a while.

“Sorry… I wasn’t born with a filter.”

The sky seems to be too clear for a day of war. The base is full, new soldiers come and go as they’re instructed to do while the ones that have been here for a while just watch. The air force base is a big metal box with high walls that house the destruction machines.

But that’s not how Farrier would describe them.

He sees them as his wings, maybe he was given a pair before he was born but they’d morphed into longer limbs. He knows he’s meant to be flying, whether it’s for his country or not. The war adds danger and thrill to the mix, two things that don’t necessarily go together.

He watches as the newbies walk into the space, they’re mostly young lads with their heads held up high. He knows they’ll come out of this as men, men who are emotionally drained and will never return to their old selves again. It’s a new week, he concludes and walks back to his wing on the base.

His stare drops on Collins first and the scotsman gives him a nod of his head. There’s a line of men waiting to be briefed about their next mission, even though there’s not much to be said. They need to keep the sky clear of any enemies and that’s mostly it. He stands next to Collins and they start making small talk.

That is, until the General walks in.

He’s wearing the dark green uniform, stars embedded across his wide shoulders as he takes a look at the line of men. They become less with every passing day. There’s a bunch of papers on his hand that are soon to be thrown out and a lieutenant follows his footsteps.

And there’s you.

It’s no wonder why you stand out, given you are in a base filled with men and men only. You’re wearing a black suit, similar to what Collins is wearing but it’s baggier and less formal. There’s no indication of a rank on your shoulders but a maroon beret and compartments filled with small guns for all he can see.

And you’re beautiful, too.

He thinks it’s not something that they pay attention to when choosing officers of any sort but the only women he’s seen around are nurses and they certainly do not look as gentle to the eye as you do. There’s a boyish hint to your walk as you eye each and every men on the line, they seem interested.

The briefing starts, it’s short and completely unnecessary. The air force is not the most liked part of the army but you know they do their job, more so than some other parts of the military as far as you’ve seen. You listen to the General as he talks about certain areas the pilots are required to stay away from and then he finishes his words.

The wing commanders then separate into another room, it’s a different briefing about the movements of the Germans and Farrier follows the General as he walks into the small room. There are four commanders, the general and you in the room and everyone is waiting for the General to address the elephant in the room, that being you.

The general then proceeds to clear his throat and look at you before facing the commanders and speaks.

“This is Ms. Y/L/N from the Secret Intelligence Service. She’ll be here to carry out a couple missions for the crown.” he finishes his sentence and the commanders all nod except Farrier, he’s looking at your gentle orbs instead, the ones that are directed right at him.

Your gaze does not shy away from his or any other commander’s unlike all the nurses or the women they have met through the course of the war. You hold a weight within yourself, something he’d seen in soldiers who’d been bombed and almost died but he just goes along with the General’s orders.

You’re young, he thinks. Young enough that he feels uneasy but not enough to make him speak up.

He then walks back to where his precious Spitfire rests next to Collins. Collins starts making talk about how he’d seen a couple of new soldiers fuss about Farrier’s plane but Farrier is not as present as he sits on the familiar seat of the pilot and gets ready.

A long day waits for him.

--------

The sound of bullets through the air and a plane engine crashing into the water hits his ears as he walks around the base. It’s far past midnight but the base is even more alive. He sees a couple guys he recognizes, some of them from the morning briefing and some are just familiar lads.

He waits for the engine fuel while there’s a clear rush around. It’s not the kind of rush he’s seen a lot in the air force base but more of the kind he’d come across on the ground. He then sees a couple soldiers being carried into the base, wounded badly with nurses overcrowding around their heads.

His gaze falls on you.

You look like you’re walking out of hell with cuts and bruises all over your face and upper body. He sees the blood covered bandage on your left arm and no matter how injured you look, you walk towards the general with full ambition. You look furious.

Your mouth moves, hair falling on to your forehead as you talk to the general and he nods at your words, telling you to meet him upstairs in his room. It’s not much of a room, Farrier thinks but they make do.

The general walks past Farrier and tells him to do just the same, wait for him in his office. Your eyes briefly meet his blue orbs but before he has a chance to say something, a nurse comes to your rescue and drags you around the place only to sit you down and take care of some of the wounds around your face.

The truth is, there are many soldiers that need the nurse’s help. Farrier finds it obscure that this nurse is taking extra measures to make sure your face is more put together when there’s men losing limbs around the place.

But then he puts it together.

He’s heard things about the secret intelligence spies. He’s heard of a few women but he know they do business with their faces first. He can tell you’re trained to kill but your face says something else, which is just what you need when you’re trying to get into places no soldier can possibly have access to.

He walks upstairs into the crumbling room where the General waits. There’s another lieutenant in the room and you come in with blood and cuts around your face not too long after. Farrier takes a good look at your face, he thinks you manage to look beautiful even with countless glass cuts all over your face but he stops when he finds you staring right back at him.

“Y/N.” the General speaks and you both straighten at his voice.

You nod and speak, it’s the first time Farrier’s heard your voice. “Yes, sir.” you say, a gulp follows the stern voice. He thinks you sound just like how you look, confident but young.

“This is Wing Commander Farrier..” the General speaks and you look at Farrier for a brief moment with the shake of your head, as a way of saying ‘hello’. “...His crew will be the ones assisting you on your next mission.” he finishes the sentence and you nod. You recall the place you need to go for the next mission assigned to you, you catch Farrier nod from the corner of your eye and the General leaves the room along with the lieutenant.

When the room is fully empty, you turn to Farrier and offer your hand with a soft voice. “Y/N.” you speak, you know he knows your name but there’s always time for proper introduction.

His large hand envelops yours as he shakes it, your soft skin feels new as he speaks. “Farrier.”

Just as you’re about to speak up, Collins walks into the room.

“Hey-” he says but before he can continue, he looks at you from head to toe. Farrier sees no reason to waste any time and speaks up.

“This is agent Y/N.” he says, looking at you and you only while you offer your hand to the scotsman who’s currently inspecting your face. You don’t blame him. You’d had a perfectly clean face in the morning and now, you have blood all over your face.

“Pleasure to meet ya’.” Collins speaks and you nod, he’s dressed sharply compared to Farrier and you note the attitude change.

“It’s been nice meeting you gentlemen but I have a mission to get to.” you speak with a low smile, a childish hint to your voice that makes Farrier want to rescue from what you’re about to do but he watches you walk away and so does Collins.

Just as Collins is about to speak, your soft voice as a shout comes from the corridors of the space, making both of them look out of the door while your back is turned at them for a momentary second.

“Good luck out there!”

-------

It’s a day later. There’s smoke in the base from the malfunctioning machines accompanied by the silent screams of the lucky soldiers who have been rescued from around the place. There are a couple nurses away from the tent they’re assigned to, running around with hopes to help some of the new comer soldiers covered in wounds.

And there you are, cleaning your fresh wound on your own.

It’s on your right shoulder, you can see it when you lean down but not too clear. Your irises burn from the smoke around but you know there’s no escaping it. You ignore the oozing pain from your ankles and try to clean the wound to the best of your ability.

Then, he shows up.

The exhaustion is clear on his face, the day was spent chasing enemy up on the sky but he can’t help but walk towards your figure. You sit on the floor with some bandages around you as you rub alcohol into the wound. You’re actually doing a good job but he figures a hand wouldn’t hurt.

Your eyes meet his when he sits on the ground next to you. You’re about to say something but he takes the cotton from your hand and does what you were doing just a little earlier, just gentler as you watch.

You gulp and speak, he can see the fancy dress you’re wearing but he doesn’t ask questions. Figures it isn’t his place. “Thank you.” you say, eyes far away while he looks at your face, it’s healing up.

You’d gone to a noblemen’s party today, you were assigned to gather information on one of the trusted funders of the war. He was French but the intelligence had enough dirt on him to assume that he was helping the other side, the side that was currently destroying the country from its heart.

Everything was all going well until a drunk rich lord had decided to load his gun and play a little game on his own. You’d stopped the gunfire but it had cost a bullet on your shoulder and cuts from the shattering glass around. It was silly, just how luxurious these lords and madams lived while the poor and unfortunate suffered.

“Your assigned mission is tomorrow?” he spoke, the mission he was meant to watch for was tomorrow and he wanted there to be as little damage as possible. You got up after he finished with patching you up and you both started walking towards the briefing area.

“Yes, although It will be shorter than what you’ve been told.” you spoke and started walking down the stairs and he followed with brows furrowed.

“How much shorter?” he spoke, accent filling each word as you licked your lips before answering him. You had report today’s work to your superior and he was just following you.

“About an hour. It’s an easy job, in and out. It won’t take me longer than that.” you spoke while his boots thudded against the surface of the floor.

He sped up his steps to catch up with you, he was trying to get your attention but you were completely ignorant to the idea. It was war time and you were focused, you had to be.

“What’s the job entail?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.” you said, finding it silly that he would even ask an agent to expose any information but he was just trying to get you to talk. And you did. “The general will inform you on your side of the job.” you spoke, eyes looking up at his and you ignored the fact that he had been staring for a while now. You kept on walking and he followed you.

“Now, Commander, If you’re done asking me about classified missions, I have to report back to the base.” you spoke, voice confident while offered Farrier a smile. He didn’t mind your professionalism, he knew this wasn’t a place of love.

He nodded and murmured a small ‘yes, ma’am’ before you disappeared. Your walls were made of steel, he wouldn’t be able to melt them no matter how hard you tried and you figured, he already had someone as most soldiers did. If they didn’t, they’d take it up on themselves to find a lover around their base.

He was just curious about the mission, you told yourself.

------

Twenty hours, five bullets, two airplanes and three explosions later, you were seated between Collins and Farrier.

The mission was complete, the Queen’s man had been protected and you had enough information about the new individuals to act on them. It also happened that you were covered in your own blood since there had been a surprise attack to the mansion you were in.

The look of surprise in both Collins’ and Farrier’s face was a picture when they saw you. You looked like a dead bride of some sort, every inch if your face and upper body were covered in blood, some your own and some of the other guests’.

You were currently waiting for the general to come out and give you the new details. The pilots were there, waiting to get fuel in their death machines next to you. You got a pack of cigars out, ones you’d gotten from a French aristocrat. You didn’t regularly smoke them, only when you’d been face to face with death.

“Those kill ye’, ya’ know.” Collins spoke, watching you light the cigar and you inhaled once before looking at him.

They weren’t covered in blood like you, they looked just fine but there was a hint of horror in both their eyes.

“I’ll die soon if it goes like this anyway.” you let the smoke go as Farrier watched you with intent eyes. There was no point in lying, the missions had been extra challenging and you’d been shot too many times to be able to function properly.

You realised what you’d just said to two soldiers who faced death everyday. They saw men die all the time, it wasn’t pleasant or wanted but seeing you, a young woman who’s supposedly in the prime stage of her life saying that she’ll die soon had felt like a bullet in their hearts.

“Sorry… I wasn’t born with a filter.” you said, earning a chuckle from Farrier. You offered them the cigar, licking your lips and speaking as you’d not just said that you would be dead soon.

“You’ll think you’ll make it?” Collins spoke, looking directly at you as you sat next to him on the metal surface.

Farrier’s eyes locked with yours the moment Collins’ words left his mouth. He was not keen on living afterwards, he’d seen his fair share of the world but it was clear that you hadn’t.

“Probably not.” you said, taking another puff from the cigar as they waited you to speak further. “..most of the agents who work for the crown die in their first six months of the missions.”

“How long have you been working then?” Farrier spoke, you gulped before answering him. You weren’t the typical agent.

Most of them were men who were in their mid twenties. It became easer to identify them and targeting them became no hassle for the germans which was why they had secretly started hiring women, young women in particular, to work as spies since they seemed to be more versatile.

“About nine months.” you said, chuckling when Collins murmured a small ‘cheers’.

But what you were saying was different and Farrier was the only one caught up with it. You were a walking corpse. You’d done and knew too much to even survive if you went back home. You had too much information, your young age didn’t matter to the crown. Only your service did and you’d done your fair share of the spy work.

Collins then left, something to with the engine of his machine. You watched as he walked away, probably leaving the base soon to do his job. You were left with Farrier on your side then, the cigar was long gone.

“Are you always that close to death?” Farrier asked, genuinely curious after seeing you work today. You’d went in with a fancy party dress and came out with three bullet wounds and blood all over you. “Like today, I mean.” he kept speaking but you knew what he was saying. There was something calm about him that made you want to take it easy but this was war, not a calm tuesday afternoon in a the peaceful world.

“Mostly.” you gulped and kept on speaking. “They have a line of agents who do inside jobs like me. I deal with the risky side of the business.” you spoke, like it was just regular business and not dangerous criminal work.

“What about the others?” he spoke, curious as to how this all works. He’d heard things but this was the first time he even had the chance to speak with an agent of the crown face to face, let alone a young woman like you.

You eyed him first, he was being nosy. If it was anyone else, you would’ve just told them to mind their business, the information was confidential. But something about Farrier made you lower your guard for some reason. You looked around before speaking.

“They deal with the common people. Officers and workers. They gather information on things like...” you waved your fingers through the air and made a confused face before speaking. “..hideaways and all that.”

He looked at you then, you were far too young for this but he of all people knew that war knew no age. If it was a different time, he was sure he’d find you with rosy cheeks, under a blossoming tree but now, you were covered in blood in a dress the military had provided you.

“I assume you deal with the posh ones then.” he spoke, just trying to make conversation. He knew there was no way he could get personal so he kept the topic on work.

You nodded before speaking again, eyes not meeting his most of the time. “Noblemen, aristocrats, madams and sometimes even presidents.” you said, lifting your eyebrows at the last words as his expression changed from interested to shocked. You dealt with people who caused this war in the first place.

“You ever get scared? Cold feet?” he asked, earning a genuine grin from you. He was cracking up to be something.

“Always.” you spoke, it was the full truth. You didn’t go into a room full of aristocrats and their beloved butlers without sweat on your hands.

He looked at you then, scanning you from head to toe to see any kind of fear of doubt. You smiled at the soldier next to you, a genuine curve of your lips greeted his blue orbs but it felt like a bullet had gone through his head. Your earnest smile was the first thing that had managed to make him feel at ease since he’d gone into this mess.

What was he doing?

He nodded at your words, long after they stopped hanging around the cool air around you as you looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time. He seemed rough around the edges, not like his colleague Collins who was dressed sharply and knew every sign in the book.

He then asked the biggest question he had, the one that appeared the moment he saw you.

“Aren’t you a little too young to be carrying out missions for the crown?” he said in one full breath. His voice wasn’t as confident.

“I am.” you gulped and spoke again. “That doesn’t really matter. They just want someone who can attract attention and do the job at the same time.” you said, liking the way his orbs change when you spoke.

“And that’s you.” he said, as a matter of fact.

“Surprised?” you asked, finding comfort in talking to this stranger you just met a couple days ago.

“Nah.” he shook his head at his own words. “If anything, I think you’re quite perfect for that sort of job.” he said, watching your curious eyes as he spoke. You laughed at first, it was genuine and he swore it was like birds singing or that time he’d heard a beautiful melody inside a church.

“Well, Commander, I need to leave but it’s been a pleasure.” you spoke, eyes formal and stern again. It was like you had a switch.

“Will I see you?” he said in a heartbeat. He didn’t think twice before saying the words, hence why he was cursing at himself while you gave him a sweet smirk.

“I’m sure you will.”

And you were off.

--------

Tagging: @clairecrive @parkbearum @sourirez @vetseras @mollybegger-blog @jelan-bike

a/n: Let me know what you thought of the chapter/if you want to be tagged!! <3 And so sorry this took so long but i hope you enjoyed it.

#farrier dunkirk #farrier x reader #farrier #dunkirk imagine #tom hardy x reader #how do i....tag this?

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kandyrezi · 3 years ago

Note

Offers you some pocket lint and also a bag of chocolate buttons and an actual button or two

Can I get some uhhhhhh Yandere Ziki stuff?

—esurient;

pairing: yandere!ziki x reader

warnings: dismemberment, amputation, blood & gore

(a/n: I have no idea what on earth I’m supposed to do with those assortment of items you just electronically gifted me, but thank you anyway -

- yeah, not me thinking to myself upon seeing this ask ‘who tf is ziki?’ ……. OH, THE MOUTH WITCH. moment of enlightenment after that. (there are some bonus headcanons as well at the bottom of this fic! <3))

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

SHE DIPS HER FINGERS into the crimson stain, placing the blood-stained digits on her tongue, identifying the one it belongs to. Unmistakable, no doubt. Her lover's blood isn't as tasty as some of the others' she's consumed – but it's inconsequential. The taste bears no meaning in comparison to the adoration she feels for the one who brightened up her world like no one else ever has.

(she remembers the look in your eyes – lost and confused – the very look you gazed at her with the first time when she spotted you.)

The blood splatters leave her darling's scent lingering, yet they themselves are nowhere to be found – most likely having somehow wandered off to somewhere. You must have hurt yourself, as she doesn't remember you bleeding when she'd left you on your lonesome.

(she fell in love with you the day she'd met you.)

It's too bad no one in this world will come to your aid, not like she did when she first met you. The other witches are all selfish and only acting in their own self-interest.

(not wanting to lose someone so precious and wanting to consummate your love, she took you back to her little place of residence hidden away in the witch world.)

Finding you is laughably easy when you didn't even make it very far in the first place; you're awfully noisy and the tongues on her body have excellent taste receptors. One of the mouths on her braided hair maims you in the thigh, hardly a challenge at all as you're still drowsy from your escape— rather, your impolite, unannounced departure. As you look up at your pursuer hovering on her broom with your one still-intact eye, instead of ghostly white, her eyes shine a captivating yellow much like the mysterious sphere resting in the skies.

You must have seen her then for who she really was.

A witch of hunger and rage.

She didn't want to inject you with her venom. Weaker creatures such as yourself were easily susceptible to it and would likely die from it ("cardiac arrest" Ptomain had described it as) as opposed to becoming immobilised.

You are not the human who had the prettiest lilac eyes who escaped from the mansion of a vampire lord. You are not the leopard seal girl with broken fangs she came across beached on an island.

But you're you, and that's all she cares about.

. . .

The source of light provided by a stream of orange glow from the skies reflected off of the leaves from the trees yet the bright hues do nothing in ways of giving comfort. It could be pitch black and your heart would threaten to beat out of your chest from terror in equal measure.

You're partially blind due to your missing left eye and your surroundings are alien to you. Never would you have willingly entered a maze of unknown woods, yet at this moment you're desperate. You wish some ghastly beast would emerge from from the underground to devour you right then and there to simply end it so you wouldn't have to endure it – anything at all to avoid the deadly clutches of Ziki.

The soles of your feet no doubt have developed callouses and your toes burn from how long you've been running while avoiding getting your ankle stuck in vines or treading on one of the many-eyed endemic snakes. You momentarily lean your weight onto a (hopefully) harmless tree trunk with your dismembered, two-fingered hand.

The wind blows, howling right next to your ear, causing a tremor of shivers to trail down your spine. You feel like you're being taunted, watched with a calculating gaze – you push yourself upright and are ready to sprint (to your death if you have to), but it only takes you less than a second—

The jolt of sharp pain in your thigh forces you to freeze up like an icicle as the painful sensation rapidly spreads through your body. You fall into the dirt with no way to brace yourself with painful collision. something (but you know it's in fact, a someone) has bitten you in the leg and the juncture above your ankle is maimed next.

Ziki might not be hunting you for the purpose of killing you (—or so she's claimed) yet obviously natural predator-prey instincts kick in when the one being hunted down isn't so keen on allowing the one doing the hunting to sink their sharp, sawtooth-like tusk into your thigh so she can't let you get away. Especially now when one of her twin-tail mouths latch on to and break through muscle and tissue, the stream of red running down your leg creating another warm shade of color to paint the woods with. You're too weak to struggle much due to injuries you've sustained back at the witch's residence and on the run, and the fight ends before it can even begin.

You slip in and out of consciousness many times – the words shifts and moves around you, but you aren't sure where you ended up, not until after you wake up again.

The braided witch is saying something but you can't make out all the words.

"Neither your eye... your fingers... enough."

Were you really taken back...?

"It seems... you still don't... the conjoin of our love, so..."

What is this lunatic saying?!

"...Zi-Ziki..."

Your head barely becomes clearer yet it still hurts, you realize it when you feel the tight hold of belts strapping you to a familiar chair by your ankles and shoulders. It must be her kitchen. Where she keeps her jars and other glass containers full of substances you don't want to know about. The herbs and flowers hanging from the walls can't block out the stench you feel oozing from them. You can't really see her, but a smile on her face was normally her default expression, so it's far from a stretch to assume so.

"But I'm not complaining," Ziki keeps on talking, "Not when the meat from your flesh is so... tender. I've been keeping you well-fed and nourished, you can thank Ptomain for giving me some tips. Not sure how she knows so much about the health of your kind, but..."

She leans forward to hold your hand with farce tenderness, her other fingers stroking the outlines of the veins on your wrist below.

"...it's good that you're here now! After this, you'll tell me how much you feel the same way that I do for you~! Don't worry, I won't let you die. A witch's promise."

All the mouths on her body open to showcase their sharp teeth right in front of you. you vaguely register her biting your arm off from the elbow with the mouth on her face while the rest hold your body still to keep you from struggling. It's not a clean bite – she twists and yanks as your bones crack and shatter while tissues come apart under her immense strength. It all happens in less than a few seconds yet your nerves are on fire and you can't remember screaming or crying or pleading – nothing – as your body forces itself into unconsciousness from shock and agony.

You pray you won't wake up again after this time.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

• Ziki has a desire to consume a part of her lover so they're with her always - probably a body part like fingers, an entire limb, earlobe, or an eye (rarely) - possibly keeps some in a jar as well. She "falls in love" easily but is unable to "keep them"for long because she becomes too overzealous in her treatment of them.

• She hates it when her darling runs away from her. It's enough to make her lose her composure and almost kill them when she finds them again - it's mainly a stroke of luck when she doesn't violently lash out at the moment of seeing them.

• Despite how much of a whacko she is, she is actually strategic when it comes to anatomy and knows best places to injure to keep a darling immobile or crippled.

• Ziki doesn't have any healing abilities like some of the other witches. If her darling were a human, they would most likely end up dying from the injuries which she inflicted.

• She is kept under careful watch of the Great Witch to make sure she doesn't go overboard but will sometimes turn a blind eye if it's some stray, weak human (since they don't usually survive under the harsh conditions of PBW anyway).

• While she will otherwise go for anyone, she has a bit of a fetish for humans in particular because she likes how frail and docile they are.

• Feels lonely since the death of her familiar (not caused by her). This might correlate with her desire to keep a plaything to fill in that void (...or it might not).

• The mouths on her body can open and eat things, but can speak with only the one on her face.

• Ziki is friends with Ptomain and Kagimori. Since they can do types of witchcraft that fundamentally differ from one another, Ptomain has given her tips on medical care and health without the need for magic usage. Kagimori sometimes complains about the mess from blood stains on the hardwood floors of Ziki's cottage when she goes in for a visit.

• Her eyes change color depending on her mood; her pupils are pure white when she's feeling more docile, but they turn yellow when her emotions become intense and she feels them strongly.

• Aside from her appetite for flesh, she also likes mandarin oranges.

- - -

(a/n: ziki is literally a blank slate with just a visual appearance, so I got a little creative with her in ways you normally can't with established characters. I wrote the headcanons while i was trying to figure out her personality for just myself initially, but then decided to share them anyway.)

#yandere x reader #funamusea #mogeko #okegom #yandere #deep-sea prisoner #dsp #female yandere #ziki (mogeko)#yanderecore #ficlets

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years ago

Text

Rainy Day

Frederick Chilton x Reader

For @storiesofsvu’s Fall Bingo! Requested by a discord friend (& basically co-written by—this is all her idea!)

Warnings: Post-burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff. Chilton goes for a walk and gets rained on. It’s too late for an umbrella to help, but you’ll offer anyway.

1,200 words

The clouds darkened by a shade with every painfully slow step he took toward the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Out across the bay, thunder rolled low and distant. The sidewalk was dry, but he could not yet see the hospital rising above the suburban city outskirts. Knowing his luck, the storm would speed up in his direction, outpacing his retreat.

Dr. Frederick Chilton could only move so fast these days.

His joints ached, his muscle tone was still diminished, and his skin… his skin was far too tight. Gods—he remembered one time, in a pique of fashion, he had tried on those skinny jeans the hipsters were so fond of. He nearly had to be surgically removed from the constricting garment. That was what it felt like all the time now—the burn scars surrounding his legs’ circumference were their own overly tight fabric.

Walking was part of his daily physical therapy regimen, which he attempted to do over lunch. He was the BSHCI’s administrator again after a year-long recovery. The familiar job was the best place for him now. In the old days, he saw running the hospital as a position of prestige—a launching board for fame as a criminal psychiatrist. Now, he saw it as it was—a place to hide in anonymity. A place he could languish, simply coasting without worrying about fans or interviews in front of cameras promoting his latest novel.

The trees whispered as a cold rush of wind struck his face. Rain began to fall.

From the first day he met you, you always looked at him with such kindness. Nothing like his other staff. You were a little reserved, a bit shy. Didn’t seem to mix with the others either, like him. You smiled all the time, like he used to do when he was young and still thought he could be friends with everyone, before he discovered how they spoke about him when he was not in the room, unaware of his monitoring devices. But you never spoke that way.

How he wished he had said something sooner.

Dark circles pattered into existence on the grey pavement. The few other pedestrians out on the street began to sprint for shelter, and then he was alone. Beneath the red-and-orange leaved street trees, mirror images of the canopy were painted on the dry sidewalk. The musty smell of earth filled his nose.

The day Frederick Chilton left the BSHCI to tour his book, Hannibal the Cannibal, he thought he was such a bigshot.

There were more important things to do than pursue romance with a lowly secretary who made his heart beat faster. He was finally on his way to national acclaim. There would be more romances on his rise—partners more befitting his station.

He left you behind without ever telling you…

Rain was pouring now—heavy, round droplets that beat against the ground and soaked through his suit. Cold.

A car driving too fast deliberately swerved into a puddle at the curb to splash him, and dirty water pelted his leg. He jumped back and swore, angrily shaking his cane at their taillights, but it hardly mattered. The suit was already ruined. It was worsted wool of the finest quality, and the chances of it drying correctly were slim.

He already had to buy new suits tailored to fit his gaunt body.

The last thing he remembered was the smell of gasoline smoke and his own flesh burning, then waking up in a white room, unable to move his limbs.

Pain everywhere.

For the first few weeks, it was so ubiquitous, so searing, he couldn’t even remember that his lips were gone.

Hypermetabolism and six months of bed rest reduced his body mass by 70 pounds. He lost so much: skin, lips, independence. But he gained something, too.

A soft knock.

Your shy voice at the door.

The breeze howled, ripping off yellow leaves from branches and setting them spiraling into the grey sky. Frederick hugged his arms around his shivering body, but it was a futile gesture against the autumn chill.

You were his one regular visitor in the hospital. Though he was a snarling, angry, nearly feral creature at first, trapped in a chrysalis of humiliation and pain, you tolerated it. Found ways to made him laugh—a dark and cynical bark—and eventually even smile. He enjoyed your company, and you seemed to enjoy his. The witty conversations would last until visiting hours were over, and a nurse shooed you out.

When he learned that you still worked at the BSHCI, it cemented his decision to return.

After all this time, someone was waiting for him.

Squinting his eyes through the rivulets of water running down his forehead, Frederick noticed a splash of bright red at the end of the block. It grew larger, coming toward him. The Red Death coming for Prospero was his first superstitious thought, or an envoy of the Red Dragon come to finish him off where his master failed.

As the figure jogged closer and came into focus, Frederick realized it was not the red of blood and death, but the red of a rose—of life and passion. You held up the umbrella against the downpour, your boots splashing through puddles as you hurried to reach him.

When your soft hands held his ghastly, mutilated, scarred claws, he felt like a monster, not a lover. He was broken. He had loved you for so long, but he was too broken now—it was pointless. A walking corpse (who could barely walk, at that) should not attach himself like an anchor to someone so lovely and full of life.

You were kind and gentle and patient, and he was a burden.

Why did he wait to tell you? Why did he think promoting a book was more important than being near the one person to make him feel like a decent man?

“Found you!” you panted for breath, sides expanding and falling rapidly. “I saw the weather… and I noticed you… didn’t take…” You stood close and held up the umbrella to shelter him.

Above, the constant pelting of freezing droplets on his forehead transformed into the low roar of rain hitting a tent roof. His drenched suit continued to drip. The $2,000 real-hair wig was plastered to his scorched-bald scalp like a drowned rat.

“I am not certain this will make any difference,” he let out a small laugh at the umbrella that arrived too late.

“You’ve been through enough,” you smiled sadly. “Let me help where I can.”

“That is kind of you.”

Without being prompted, he reached out for your hand and let it warm his icy fingertips. You leaned against his chest, unconcerned that your own clothes were getting wet, and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to his cheek. It was too chilly a day for him to grumble and withdraw from your affection, calling himself a monster. He was freezing to the bone, and the heat of your lips felt too good.

It was too late, wasn’t it? Too late for love; too late to be saved.

He turned and nuzzled your neck, nipping the soft, salty skin there. It was a much more comforting sensation to focus on than the clinging of his wet clothes. And he was glad, as you walked back to the BSHCI together, that no new raindrops fell on his head.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Taglist:

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen / @sassyada / @detectivebarba

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #storiesofsvufallbingo

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nancywheelxr · 3 years ago

Note

Word of Honor prompt suggestion: WKX and YBY play the drunken ancient Chinese equivalent of Truth or Dare. The situation rapidly escalates from throwing Wolong Nuts to property damage, while a horrified ZZS attempts to restore order. In the end, Gu Xiang smacks both of them down.

anon, i am delighted by this prompt, thank you so much

Zhou Zishu loves having an extended family.

It’s great, so great. Amazing. Really, just lovely. A blessing.

“Who are you calling blind? Twice that distance, it would still land true!”

A blessing. Especially when they all decide to visit at the same time. Lovely surprise, truly. So great. Zhou Zishu is just so happy. Estactic even. Look at him, he’s a shining beacon of happiness.

“Shifu,” Chengling says, frowning up at him from the where he’s supposed to be meditating, “are you alright? You look stressed.”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?” Zhou Zishu snaps, “who’s stressed? If anything, it’s your laziness that’s stressing me!”

Chengling doesn’t look too convinced because, unfortunately, somewhere down the line, the kid seems to have lost all common sense. Personally, Zhou Zishu blames Wen Kexing. “Sorry, sorry, I promise I’m not being lazy,” he grins, eyes going wide and pleading-- another thing, that, personally, Zhou Zishu blames Wen Kexing for. “As soon as we stop hiding, I’ll go back to training!”

“Who’s hiding!” Zhou Zishu takes a deep breath. He’s been told to manage his stress levels. Besides, he’s not stressed. Beacon of happiness. Shining, that’s what he is. This is all fine. “We’re not hiding. We’re meditating away from the mess your Shishu is making with Ye-qianbei.”

Chengling nods once, serious. “A warrior knows when to retreat.”

“That’s not--” He stops himself. Somewhere, probably in the courtyard, there’s a crash loud enough to echo in the room they’re using. This is fine.

“Where would that count? I dared you to strike down that tree, not take a statue’s head!”

“What’s wood compared to stone?! Have you gone senile? Your dare was too stupid to consider, I made it better!”

Wen Kexing is slurring his words already, Zhou Zishu can tell, and it’s with a startling clarity that he can see it in his mind: Wen Kexing, drunk, throwing his fan around the courtyard on a dare, and Ye Baiyi, not drunk, unbothered by the very real risk of someone losing a limb if he deemed it entertaining enough.

They had been throwing those blasted nuts around, the last time Zhou Zishu checked on them. Shooting them around like arrows and leaving dents all over his walls. Then, he had been merely grateful for their unspoken agreement of not ever choosing truth, just in case someone stepped in one of the several emotion landmines scattered in their past-- if anyone starts crying, Zhou Zishu is walking out, he’s decided this very early on.

Well, he supposes, if it’s Wen Kexing, he would probably stick around to sober him up, tears and all, but he’d really rather not.

It was a mistake though, it seems, to leave them unattended for too long. Now the dares have escalated and one of the statues is allegedly missing a head.

So great.

“Stay here,” he tells Chengling, just in case the kid’s luck strikes again, and goes investigate the noises. Following the chaos is always sure to lead him back to Wen Kexing.

The several disciples scurrying away from the courtyard is also a good indicator he’s on the right path.

“Old Monster,” Wen Kexing is saying, and in his arms there’s a large stone that might at some point have been a statue’s head but has been hacked at too much to retain any semblance of its former image. Hacked at too heavily to have been done by a fan, lined with steel or not. Which means-- “I dare you to-- I dare you to cut this in half now!”

“Ha!” Ye Baiyi snorts, sword already unsheated, and there’s a faint flush to his face which is all sorts of terrible because if even Ye Baiyi is a little drunk, then how much have they drunk? And could people, please, stop waving around sharp weapons while inebriated? “You call that a challenge? Brat, I could be in my death bed and that would still be too easy. Don’t waste my time, come up with something better.”

Yeah, no, it’s definitely time for an intervention. “Alright, alright,” he calls, stepping out into the courtyard and promptly tripping over an entire watermelon. What the fuck. “What the fuck?”

“A-Xu!” Wen Kexing grins, waving at him while hugging the head to his chest, and it’s horribly endearing, yes, but also, terrible because Zhou Zishu is trying to hold on to his annoyance. “A-Xu, be careful! I won that fair and square, it’s my prize! Isn’t it good? We can have it after dinner but not the Old Monster, he can’t have it, A-Xu!”

“As if I wanted! It’s probably rotten--”

“Oh, it’s good that you’re here, A-Xu, I’ve missed you, and now you can stand guard on our watermelon!”

Deep breaths. “Where did you get the watermelon?”

“I won it.”

Ye Baiyi scoffs. “You cheated.”

“You won it. From where?”

“No, he cheated,” Ye Baiyi repeats as if speaking to a particularly slow child, “I’ve already told you that, stop making me repeat myself.”

“Don’t listen to him, A-Xu,” Wen Kexing walks over with his stone head, swaying as he goes, “no cheating was involved. Look, isn’t it a good watermelon?”

The question is accompanied with a genuinely distressed look, as if it was of paramount importance that Zhou Zishu agree with him on this, as if the whole world is hanging on this thread, so Zhou Zishu finds himself picking up the damn thing and awkwardly inspecting it around. “Yes, it’s very good.”

Immediately, Wen Kexing spins around, using the statue head to point at Ye Baiyi vindictively, “see? Take that, Old Man! How about it? A-Xu says it’s good, so it’s good, it’s not rotten!”

Well, in truth, it might be a little past its prime, but Zhou Zishu decides to keep that to himself and not think about where it came from anymore. This, he figures, is going to be a problem for Sober Wen Kexing when he wakes up tomorrow. So he places the watermelon back down and steels himself for the task of prying the head from Wen Kexing. “Yes, yes, I’m always right, and now A-Xu is saying it’s time to go to sleep.”

For his troubles, he receives a most betrayed look, “A-Xu, it’s still so early, A-Xiang isn’t even back yet,” something seems to click on his head, “and the Old Monster hasn’t completed the dare!”

Zhou Zishu curses silently. Having deemed Wen Kexing’s ramblings boring, Ye Baiyi had retreated back to the his seat at the table and been about to pour himself some water, but now he perks up again, throwing one of their precious nuts at them. “Come up with a worthy dare, then! Qin Huaizhang’s disciple, bring more wine.”

Hearing this, Wen Kexing rushes forward, waving the statue head. “Don’t change the subject! If you think it’s too easy, how about I throw it in the air first, huh? I dare you, cut it in half before it touches the ground!”

I’m going to have to rebuild this place again, Zhou Zishu realizes with a morose sort of resignation. The manor might have survived the Window of Heavens, but he’s not so sure it’ll survive these two drunk idiots.

This epiphany takes some time to be processed, so Zhou Zishu doesn’t feel too guilty for not noticing Gu Xiang arriving with Cao Weining until they’re at his side, gaping like little dumb fishes at the scene. “Ah, Zishu-ge! Why did you let them get like this!”

“A-Xiang, A-Xiang,” her husband says helplessly, and Zhou Zishu snorts, magnanimously forgiving her slap at his shoulder, “don’t be so harsh, it’s not so bad! Wen-gongzi is...” without anything other than drunk out of his mind to finish his sentence with, Cao Weining trails off.

“What a mess,” she grumbles, “what a mess. You were supposed to keep an eye on them!”

“Me? How am I to do that? Do you think I can grant miracles?”

She hits his shoulder again. “Zishu-ge! You just had to keep an eye on him! That’s the one thing you like doing!”

“A-Xiang!” Cao Weining gasps, grasping at her sleeves to keep her from going for another slap, “Zhou-xiong, we’ll help clean it up, it’s the wine we brought anyway.”

“Pah,” she scoffs, shaking Cao Weining off and marching towards the two still squabbling about how best to throw the statue head, “who’s we? Honestly!”

From their spot by the door, Zhou Zishu watches as Wen Kexing beams at her, saying something too garbled for him to make out, while Ye Baiyi just squints like he’s seeing a new weird-looking bug.

A-Xiang’s screeches are very clearly heard, though. In a minute, she’s prodded and bullied Wen Kexing into giving up the head and poured them both healthy servings of tea, taking advantage of Ye Baiyi’s seemingly internal debate over insulting a little girl to shove the glass at him.

“Huh,” Zhou Zishu says, admittedly impressed. She really is efficient when she wants to be.

“Ah, A-Xiang really is amazing,” Cao Weining sighs in a horrible smitten way, so Zhou Zishu has to fetch and toss the nearest broom at him, on principle. “Ah?”

“It’s very good that Cao-gongzi offered to help,” he smiles, knowing Wen Kexing will laugh about this come morning, “now if you excuse me, this one has a very drunk husband to rescue.”

Feeling very satisfied with himself, he labels the mess a problem for Cao Weining now.

Zhou Zishu loves having an extended family. A blessing, truly.

#woh #shl #woh fanfic #wenzhou fanfic #wen kexing #zhou zishu #gu xiang #ye baiyi #cao weining #woh tag #word of honor #wenzhou tag

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pocketramblr · 11 months ago

Note

for the hc game: au where one for all doesn't actually work for quirkless people, Toshinori just had an invisible quirk the whole time; the ability to do anything if he believed he could

this is like the opposite of that no quirk au...

1- ok, so you need to have your own pre-existing plus alpha factor in order to activate any quirk in your body. Have no plus alpha factor or no quirk? Quirkless, you need both in order to actually manifest a power. Some quirkless people do actually have quirks, but no factors to activate, and some vice versa. One For All quirk works like a car, but doesn't come with the key to activate. Toshinori had a key, and also a second, secret car that protected him all along from dying of having two cars, or getting his limbs blown off by the new car. The metaphors getting away from me.

2- Izuku, however, has no plus alpha factor because i know thats what you wanted out of this prompt. (he has a quirk- his hair is a visual indicator of this, but alas, no key.) Which means, he's going to be unable to actually use OfA once he has it.

3- but since his New Quirk Car is Totally Haunted and full of Secret Smaller Cars... i mean, does the can-do-anything quirk from Toshi mean OfA would let Izuku do anyhing if he thinks he can? No, since Izuku can't turn on the can-do-anything quirk to let that happen. hm. BUT, but, Toshinori does have a key, and Izuku's got part of his genes now, so can Izuku do anything Toshinori believes he can, just not anything Izuku thinks he can? I mean that'd probably just open more doors for izuku since his own self worth wouldn't hold him back. So actually what's going to happen is related to how Toshinori can feel his vestige self, but only when in contact with Izuku- Izuku can do anything Toshinori thinks he can, as long as Toshinori is physically touching him.

4- so..... that entrance exam is going to be frustrating. OfA just doesn't activate. Uraraka is injured by the zero pointer, but RG heals her up. Izuku goes home and after several hours of sheer dread, eventually musters the courage to tell All Might he needs to meet him at the beach, intending to give OfA back. All Might arrives, and tells Izuku that he is the right choice, still. He only had a few hours with the Quirk in his system, and only fifteen minutes to figure out activation, so All Might is fully ready to blame his own teaching on it. They try a few times to activate it on the beach that night, and nothing works. Toshinori puts his hand on Izuku's shoulder and says it's alright, they can try more later, but Izuku wants one more shot - and shatters his arm in the process.

5- he hardly feels the pain, overjoyed it worked even if All Might has to rush him to RG for more healing and a very irritated lecture about the hour. Still, they're in good spirits when they meet the next day for training, not at the beach (too popular now) but a room in Might Tower. And yet... Izuku can't do a repeat. Toshinori suspects he still needs more muscle mass and his body is instinctively preventing activation to avoid injury. He begrudgingly gets Gran's help, and everyone's trying to figure out what the pattern is. Gran bullies Toshi into asking Nedzu for help, which he does after an apology for resigning before the school year even started. But Nedzu likes puzzles, and he eventually suspects the reason, but isn't sure why physical contact is enough to override it, and if that will continue to work once Toshi burns through his share of OfA (or dies). He does, however, have an idea- would a support item with Toshi's DNA be able to replicate the effect? What good luck that UA has a hero student and a support student who can help- Mirio Togata and Bibimi Kenranzaki! (Izuku doesn't know why All Might looks so nervous at the suggestion that they meet to ask for help...)

#will a braid of Toshi's hair around Izuku's wrist work? genuinely no idea it could go either way #but i mean hey! Izuku is getting private training at Might Tower and UA isn't getting attacked so #this is a short term benefit for some characters #the long term will depend on... other factors #does Izuku go support gear quirkless hero when unable to use his power outside of dadmight hugs?#or does he wrench ofa out of the cold grip of the uncaring universe that tried to deny it from him?#who knows!#pocket talks to people #anon #ask game

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hb-writes · 4 years ago

Text

The Devil’s Footsteps

1913

It was Ada's day to pick up the kids, but seeing as Tommy was heading back to the house anyway, he figured there was no harm in taking the route that passed by the school. It was a few minutes past the end of the school day, but Tommy knew the kids liked to dawdle, stretching out the walk home with leisurely steps and strategic pauses throughout, so he had a good chance of catching them.

When strolled up to the school, he found Ada alone though, leaning against a brick pillar and picking at her cuticles.

"What are you doing, Ada?"

Ada recognized her brother’s voice and slowly glanced up to him, a pouting lip already plastered on when she met his eye. "I thought it was my day to get the kids."

"Right." Tommy blinked a few times, long and hard as if he was summoning some sort of ancient patience.

Smart as their Ada was, Tommy often found himself wondering where her head was at. On a boy, he supposed, though he hadn't a clue which boy. There was just something about that quixotic look in her eye. That and the new attention to her dresses and shoes and hair.

"So where are the kids, then, Ada?"

Ada shrugged. "They haven't come out yet."

"It's quarter past," Tommy said.

Ada wasn't paying attention though, her eyes drawn across the street. Tommy snapped his fingers in his sister's face when her response didn't come quick enough. "Ada!"

"What?" she shouted as she turned back to him. “Why are you shouting?”

"Don't you think you should've gone to look for them?"

"No?" Ada offered. "They'll come out when they're ready."

Tommy shook his head at her and stepped away. By the time he passed through the gates of the schoolyard, Ada was on his heels, crashing into him when he suddenly stopped short.

Clara and Finn were on the far side of the school building, the pair of them spotting their older brother and sister at the same moment he spotted them. A great flurry of excitement seemed to pass between them, lips and limbs moving quickly as words Ada and Tommy couldn't hear passed between the kids.

By the time Tommy and Ada reached the twins, Clara had tugged Finn by the arm so they stood side to side and as the boy opened his mouth to say something, Clara shoved her elbow into him. Finn was about to do it back when Clara cleared her throat.

"Hi, Tommy."

Tommy glanced between the twin's forced smiles. "Ada's been waiting on you two."

He waited a long moment to see if the kids filled the silence with an explanation but their lips stayed quiet other than Finn offering a hello to Ada when she pulled up beside Tommy.

"What do you have there, Clara?"

Clara's hands were clasped behind her back and at his words, she started rocking back and forth on her feet, her face twisted up in thought before her gaze found the forgotten pile of dusty erasers Tommy had already spotted.

"An eraser," she offered. "The teacher asked me to—"

Finn's mouth dropped open for a moment, a small sound coming out of him before he offered his own explanation. "Clara got in troub—"

His words came just a few seconds after Clara's started, but Finn had to stop before finishing his sentence, raising his arms to take cover from the eraser Clara brought down upon him. It sent a cloud of chalk dust into the air between them and she got in a few solid hits, stamping Finn's head and back with white rectangles before Tommy tugged her to his side.

"You're not supposed to tattle!" Clara shouted, pulling at Tommy's hold.

"You're not supposed to lie!" Finn shouted back, turning and twisting away as Ada tried to pat the chalk dust off his clothes and hair.

"I didn't lie."

"You were gonna."

Clara tried to lift her arm to launch the eraser at Finn, but Tommy's grip was too tight. "No, I wasn't!"

Tommy tried to turn his sister towards him and was unsuccessful for several moments while she continued trying to work out a way to free herself. Defeated, she turned to him with her features softened, all big sad eyes and frowning lips.

"I wasn't gonna lie, Tommy," she said. "The teacher asked me to clean the erasers. That's what I was gonna say." Clara turned back to Finn. "And that's not a lie."

"Why did she ask you to clean the erasers?"

Clara shrugged and Tommy had a feeling he'd found what she intended on lying about, or as was more likely, leaving out completely. Finn had just been trying to keep her from doing it, tattling on Clara in the name of preservation rather than malice. Finn was trying to save her from herself.

It made sense considering Finn had just gotten in trouble for the very same thing—a bit of lying. He'd lied about going off to play by the Cut when he'd been told to stay on the lane, and the boy found he'd have fared far better by just telling the truth and admitting his wrongdoing.

Clara rarely lied outright, and never for anything too serious, but when she did lie, she always told the vague truth, hoping they could skirt past the incriminating details. Clara would tell him the teacher had asked for her to clean the erasers, which was likely true, and leave the reasoning out of it.

That's what the kids had been fighting about, which is what Tommy decided they had been doing when he spotted them across the schoolyard.

"Was Finn telling the truth? You've gotten yourself in some trouble?"

It wasn't a frequent occurrence. Clara tended to stay out of trouble, both in and out of the house, and when all Clara did by way of a response was shrug, Tommy repeated himself.

"Was Finn telling the—"

"Yes!" Finn shouted, the little boy's raised voice startling them all a bit.

Tommy's distraction allowed Clara to get enough leverage to launch the eraser, which missed Finn's head and left a white mark on Ada's dress instead.

"Clara!" Ada let out a scream and stopped troubling herself to clean off Finn's clothes and began working on her own dress. "Tom, aren't you going to do something about her?"

“What would you have me do, Ada?”

“I don’t know!” Ada shouted. “Do something to control her.”

“Me? Control a little sister?” Tommy asked. “I never had much luck with you. Can’t imagine I’ll have any luck with this one.”

Ada rolled her eyes. “Well, stop her from throwing things, then.”

Tommy smirked at Ada's theatrics before glancing down at his sister. “Clara, can I hold your hand, eh?"

"Why?" she asked, hesitantly conceding as his grip slid down from her arm to her hand.

"To appease our dramatic sister."

"What's appease?"

Tommy had a definition ready for Clara, something that would be informational while also likening Ada to a belligerent royal, but Ada's mouth flew open first.

"Aunt Pol's right. You spoil her too much. Let her get away with everything. She'll be a right devil when she's older."

The way Tommy saw it, everyone spoiled the babies, which was why Ada was coddling Finn, hugging him to her side when he was no worse for the wear at being stamped over with a chunk of felt.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "If our Clara goes that way, it'll only be because she's following in another Shelby's footsteps, eh?"

"Yeah, yours," Ada answered.

Tommy was having fun with Ada, but there was more fight in her today, her bite a bit sharper than normal and he assumed she was mad at him about something he had yet to figure out, so he let her have the last word.

Tommy pulled a coin from his pocket and flicked it to Finn who caught it in his hands. "Right, Finn. Why don't you take our Ada for a treat on the way home? Sweeten her up a bit."

Ada glared at him before grabbing the boy's hand. "Come on, Finn."

“What about me?” Clara asked.

“I’ll walk you home,” Tommy answered. “I assume you’re still responsible for finishing the rest of those?”

Clara glanced at the small pile of erasers Tommy nodded towards and huffed.

“Best get to work then, eh?”

Clara picked up two from the pile and got to work banging them together while Tommy leaned back against the side of the building. She was quiet for several moments, the only sound the clapping of felt.

"I'm not a devil," she said.

“So, what’s all this about, then?”

Clara shrugged mid-clap. She wasn't a devil, but she was a Shelby and she'd watched her brothers and sister and aunt never allowing a bit of disrespect to come their way without addressing it.

“Come here," he said, lowering himself as she walked to him. Tommy settled his hands on her arms. "And don’t tell me it’s nothing. Kids like you don’t get sent out to clap erasers for nothing.”

Clara glanced up at him. “Are you going to be mad?”

“Depends on what it is.”

Clara sighed, holding her hands out between them, palms up and waiting. “Can I hold your hand?”

“What for?” Tommy asked though he'd already moved his hands from her arms to rest on top of her outstretched palms.

“So you don’t throw anything.”

“That bad, eh?” Tommy said.

Clara had a grave and serious look on her face before she shook her head. "No, it's just…I already took care of it."

Tommy's head tilted. "You took care of it?"

"Wally kept whispering about how Finn can't read, but I took care of it," she said. "That's why I threw the eraser at his head."

Tommy snorted. "You know you can't go throwing erasers at other people, eh Clara?"

"Should I have punched him instead?"

Tommy shook his head and pulled a hand away from hers, hiding his smirk by rubbing his hand over the bottom half of his face.

"But John showed me how," Clara said, reaching forward to place her fist against Tommy's jaw. "If I hit someone right here, I can knock him out."

"Don't listen to John."

"Why?"

"Because John was out here clapping erasers every afternoon, so I can't imagine you want to follow in those footsteps."

But Clara thought she might. A lot of people picked one person to look up to, taking step after step in their wake, but Clara hopped around, fitting her small shoe into the mess of muddy footsteps left behind by the Shelby’s that came before her. She wasn’t much fussed with who the treads belonged to so long as the person who made them belonged to her.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #tommy shelby #ada shelby #finn shelby #clara shelby #little lady blinder #I love you prompts #300 follower celebration

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the-broken-truth · 3 years ago

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The Strings That Bind Us ~ The Reunion

Summary: A Male Foreigner is found and captured on the outskirts of the village & brought before Mother Miranda & The Four House Lords. Upon waking - the male comes face to face with Angie - Donna's Living Puppet - and instantly recognizes her before calling out for Donna herself. Just who is this male and who does he know Donna?

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Male OC (Vulcan)

[Unknown Place - Unknown Time]

He didn't remember where he was. He doesn't remember how he got here. All he does remember was that he traveled to Romania to search for something precious that he lost years ago. He happened to stumble upon a rather destroyed-looking village that basked in the shadow of an enormous castle; the village itself looked as if its residents all rose at once and abandoned it and all their possessions.

The man walked through the frozen dirt streets of the village with a black, hooded cloak upon his shoulders & the hood upon his head; revealing only his chin and his mouth to the elements - occasionally, his breath with leave his lips and freeze in the cold winter air. He continued to walk around until he stood in the middle of a multi-crossroads, unsure of which way to go. He stood still until he lifted his right hand - revealing a ring on his finger but this ring was different.

The ring was not made of gold or silver - nor was it made of titanium or brass - this ring was more fragile than that for the ring was made of porcelain. Its smooth white surface shined even in the low sunlight. He brought the ring to his lips and kissed the cold surface of it as he tried to keep himself from crying as the memories came back.

'I'll find you and I promise I'm going to protect you - both of you.'

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of twigs breaking and snarling - he looked around and saw a creature unlike anything he ever saw before - it was humanoid but its skin was grey, it has a mouth full of sharp teeth, and it the noises it made - it was almost wolf-like. He wanted it to say it was a Lycan but it looked nothing like what a Lycan would look like. There were more and more snarls - he looked to see he was now surrounded by these Lycan Rejects. That's when his 'Fight or Flight' instincts kicked in but he's never been one to flee - he never ran from a fight when he sensed something he cared about was in danger. His ring was in danger of being shattered if those things got a hold of him and he would be damned if he let anything shatter his ring. He reached behind his back - under his cloak - with both hands and withdrew two daggers with black blades and silver handles.

"Bring it." He snarled as he dashed into the line of creatures and began to slaughter them left and right until they all laid dead at his feet and his blades were soaked in blood - still dripping from the curve.

"Well - that was an interesting show to watch. I didn't think you could slaughter my lycans with knives like that and still be standing. You're strong as hell, my friend." A voice called out from behind him. He turned to see a tall man wearing a hat with a green coat - he had grey hair that was complete with a beard and circle glasses. He held a massive hammer constructed out of gears and other metals - speaking of metals, the metal that surrounded him on the ground began to levitate around him with each step he took. The stranger took a puff of the cigar he was smoking.

"You call those 'Lycans'? Please, don't make me laugh. Also - who the hell are you?" The cloaked man asked.

"Oh - you're not a local! That's even better." The hammer-wielder smiled as he pointed at the cloaked man - sending a pole flying at him at high speeds until it stabbed through his cloak and into his shoulder, making him grunt and drop one of his daggers; which then got pulled into the strange man's magnetic field.

"Mother Miranda's gonna love you." The man smirked as more metal began to encompassing the cloaked man, trapping him in a metal cocoon of some kind. Before the metal fully took him, his armed hand covered the ring to prevent it from facing the impact of the metal. Soon - began to slip into unconsciousness.

[Unknown Amount Of Time Later]

"I'm telling you - this bastard slaughter my entire squad with these daggers." A familiar voice called out.

"Well - it's obvious your little 'game' would be more of a 'hunting game' to him. I think I can find a better use for him." An elegant feminine voice called out as a response.

"Oh, and what use is that? Using him to make the next brood for your bloodline? Please - he's a hunter so he goes with other hunters and if it takes to him better then he can be the alpha I was looking for." The familiar voice said again.

The unconscious man began to stir awake & opened his eyes to see...wait...It couldn't be her. The familiar large head and thin body with thin limbs, downed in a wedding dress-like attire complete with a veil. He looked at the doll - not in familiar - but astonishment and...was that hope that she saw in his eyes.

"He's awake!" The doll called out as she looked at the other people in the room.

To the left, seated in a chair - a rather tall woman dressed in the look of a royal lady. If he was to guess, she was the owner of the large castle he saw when he first come here.

Across from her was the man who trapped him - his hammer resting by his legs as he saw on a pue of some kind.

To the left of him, more tucked away in the shadows was a small figure, cloaked in fabrics as if to hide his appearance.

Across from him, seating in a chair was a figure downed in black attire, wearing a dark veil over their head, the only part of their body was their hands - by the look of those hands, that person was female.

'I've seen those hands before.' More hope filled his heart.

In the center of it all was a woman - she must have been the leader of it all.

They were talking about something - but the man couldn't care less, when he saw the doll walk away he hurried to his knees but couldn't get all the way up because of the binds but he could use his voice.

"W...Wait...Angie...Angie, is that you?" The man asked.

This caused everyone to stop talking and looked in his direction - including the doll, who was completely confused.

"How do you know my name? Have we met before?" Angie asked as she slowly moved closer to the bound male, who shook the hood off his head to reveal his looks.

His skin was tan but it was a bit paler due to being in the snow for so long. He had short black hair that was wild and free, his eyes...they were amber - burning bright with an unknown emotion.

"Yes, we have; decades ago but you were...alive like this..." His eyes widened as he began looking around. "If you're here then...Donna? Is Donna here too?! Donna?!" He began calling out - almost like a worried spouse looking for their other half.

Everyone looked at the man before looking at the veiled figure sitting to the left of the leader.

"Do you know him, Donna Dear?" the raven-masked woman spoke.

The man's breath caught as he heard her words and looked at the veiled figure who rose from her seat; Angie ran back to her and stood by her side, clenching her dress in her hands like a child holding their mother.

"Donna..." The man spoke softly - tears began to build in his eyes as he tried to rise to his feet - only to be stopped by the binds and cuffs that kept him down. He glared at the restraints and began pulling on them.

"Good luck with that. You're cuffed up ti-"

*CLANK!*

Everyone's eyes widened as the binds holding the captive were shattered, allowing him to stand at his full height.

The Hammer-Wielder jumped to his feet and summoned his hammer to his left hand as if he was getting ready to strike him but the man didn't care - he kept his eyes on Donna, who looked in his direction.

"Donna...I...I found you. After all this time, I finally found you." The man's voice cracked as he spoke with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face.

"Just who are you? How do you know us?" Angie spoke from her place. The man smiled at the doll.

"It's been decades, Angie. It's only natural you don't remember me...after all - you weren't as alive as you are now when we met. My name is Vulcan and I've been searching for you and Donna since the day you guys disappeared." The man - Vulcan - smiled at Donna, who still said nothing, and slowly raised his hand - revealing the porcelain ring on his finger; Donna and Angie gasped at the sight of it.

"I kept it, Donna. I kept this ring just as I kept my promise." Vulcan slowly staggered towards Donna and Angie - completely ignoring the looks the Noble Lady and the Hammer-Wielder were giving him. He took the single step in his way and was now standing before them. He blinked - letting the tears fall from his eyes as he reached out and took Donna in his arms; hugging her as he rested the tip of his nose on her head.

"I'm here, Donna...I won't leave you, I promise." Vulcan sobbed.

Donna - who was silent for the most part - slowly reached her hands up and returned to hug as she clenched his cloak as if he would disappear - as if this was all a dream.

"Vulcan." She spoke as she nuzzled her head into his broad chest with a weak sob of her own.

[End]

#resident evil 8 #donna beneviento #donna beneviento x male reader #donna beneviento x male oc

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heliads · 3 years ago

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One Moves On Chapter Four: Crow Rock

Stiles Stilinski doesn’t know what to think when he’s taken by the Ghost Riders. He’s grateful to be joined by Y/N L/N, although when he finally escapes, no one seems to remember her at all.

previous / series masterlist / next

Now that he’s finished his research, Stiles isn’t sure what to do next. Does he drive over in a fit of glory and bad decision making, hope to find Y/N and pray she hasn’t left before he gets there? Does he risk traveling without a pack to one of the areas with the most supernatural activity other than Beacon Hills?

In the end, Stiles decides to just go. Deliberating and hesitating won’t do him any good, not when Y/N is still out there, weaponless and with no idea where she is. Stiles spends a haphazard half hour running about his house, trying to put together supplies he might need for the trip, before finally stumbling over to his Jeep.

When he finally makes it out, keys clutched in his hand, Scott is waiting for him.

His best friend is leaning up against the driver’s side door, arms folded across his chest. Stiles’ steps falter. “You knew I was going?” Scott lifts a shoulder. “Your dad called me, said he was worried. We knew you’ve been concerned about Y/N, but we didn’t know that you would go this far. Where are you going, Stiles?”

Stiles holds up a hastily printed map. “Actually, I’m going to a town called Crow Rock. Good supernatural activity, and I followed the law of triangles-” Stiles’ voice dies off as he takes in the look on Scott’s face. “The law of triangles, which is a very reputable law from a very reputable manuscript which we all know about. Right. Well, I know how it sounds but trust me, it’s going to be alright.”

Scott sighs. “I want to believe you. Honestly, I do. But Y/N died months ago. You have to know that. I didn’t even know you cared this much about her. I’d call it grief, but you watched her die some time ago. She’s already buried.” Stiles frowns at him. “Is she? Where?” Scott fumbles for a moment. “Uh, in some cemetery.” Stiles presses his advantage. “Which cemetery? If we saw her buried, where is she?”

Scott’s brow furrows, and he stares at Stiles in bewilderment. “I can’t remember. I know where Allison and Aiden and all the others are buried, but I don’t know where she is.” Stiles throws his hands in the air. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t know because she isn’t dead. We never buried her so of course we can’t remember the cemetery. Scott, you have to believe me. She’s out there somewhere and I have to bring her back.”

Scott’s face softens. “You’re sure this will work? You know where to find her?” Stiles nods fervently. “I’ve done my research. Sometimes, people are pulled away from rifts by something called etheria. I was able to make it back safely from the Wild Hunt, but she wouldn’t. She’s not the first either- these victims, they call them etherials or something, have been disappearing for centuries. I’ve managed to track down another hotspot where she might be located and I think it’s my best shot at finding her.”

Scott nods once, then claps him on the shoulder. “I think you can do it.” Stiles looks up at him. “Really?” Scott smiles trustingly. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve put in a considerable amount of time for research. I think if anyone could track down an etherial who everyone else thinks is dead, it would be you.” Stiles grins. For some reason, hearing his best friend’s belief in him is enough to give Stiles a boost in confidence.

Scott steps away from the door of the Jeep, allowing Stiles access at last. “I just wanted to check with you before you go. To make sure you knew what you were doing.” He glances at the map, taking in the location of the hotspot. “There’s going to be a lot of supernatural trouble there. You sure you don’t want a backup group?” Stiles shakes his head, smiling. “I’m good, thank you. I think this is something I have to do by myself.”

Stiles climbs into the Jeep, giving himself a moment to think. This is it, the last moment before he sets off on his journey. He’s spent so much time preparing that it’s strange to think that this is his stepping off point, the last opportunity he has to back down and say that this is too dangerous, or that the chances are too great that he will fail.

Stiles turns on the ignition in a roar. Scott waves goodbye as the Jeep disappears down the road.

Stiles has only been driving for an hour or so before he notices a shift in the air. It’s not much, barely there, but yet something is not right. It’s like the atmosphere of the car has become quieter, even more silent than before. No one has entered or left the vehicle to warrant this silence, but it’s still enough to make Stiles feel slightly uneasy. He’d felt it a little when he was crossing over the boundary to Beacon Hills, a slight change in the energy as if by leaving he was passing through a barrier of some sort.

Stiles supposes it makes sense- you leave a hotspot, you might notice some change. Stiles doubts he would have noticed it had he not just been taken by the Wild Hunt or even gone without his temporary possession by the Nogitsune. He has a feeling that sensing this change in supernatural activity is an ability usually attributed to the supernatural, and the fact that he, a supposedly ordinary human, can sense it sets Stiles’ teeth on edge.

Stiles becomes aware of another change about fifteen minutes later. He sits up straighter in his seat, trying and failing to figure out what exactly is filling him with unease, and then he sees the sign. It’s faded, paint crumbling off of a metal backing. Even with the weathering of the sign, Stiles can still read the derelict letters: Welcome to Crow Rock. Stiles has made it at last.

The Jeep rumbles on, past the sign and onto the twisting roads. Scott, Lydia, and Malia had told him about visiting Canaan while he was still in the thrall of the Wild Hunt, and how the entire town had given off the uncanny, almost sinister energy of a ghost town. Stiles has no idea what it must have been like to walk those streets, but he has a suspicion that it would be pretty similar to how he feels right now, driving down the blocks and avenues in his truck.

Stiles has looked at images of Crow Rock from larger topographical maps, and realized that the town itself isn’t actually that big. He’d been happy then, thinking that maybe this was one instance of luck for himself and that it might not take as long to search the town for Y/N, but that hope is starting to wither away from him now. The town may be small, yes, with fewer hiding spots, but it also means fewer people to watch him. With fewer bystanders, the chance of supernaturals backing down from a public attack grows slimmer and slimmer with each mile Stiles travels within the town.

Stiles intended to drive to the center of town, where the hotspot of supernatural activity would most likely be the highest. However, as he goes he finds that certain roads are blocked off or congested with traffic that miraculously vanishes a few blocks down. He’s forced to take alternate routes, driving him on a convoluted path away from the entrance. It gives Stiles a sneaking suspicion that he’s being intentionally misrouted, that something is drawing him close.

Stiles has just taken a turn into a new street when he’s forced to come to an abrupt stop. A construction barricade has been laid across the road, orange and white paint signaling that he can travel no further. Stiles checks his rearview mirrors, ready to make a U-turn and get onto another road, when he freezes in place. A group of people is slowly spilling out into the road behind him, and they come to a stop at the main road, blocking off any chance of escape. They all consider Stiles with identical glares. This is not good.

Seeing as he can’t drive anywhere without mowing down this group of people, Stiles turns off the ignition and starts to climb down out of the Jeep. All of his instincts are screaming at him to stay in the car, to not give up the one piece of shelter he still has left, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. At least he’d be able to run on foot- if he remains in the Jeep, he’d just be a sitting duck.

Stiles walks away from the car, coming to a stop a few yards away from the group. One man steps forward, glaring at Stiles with an almost animal rage. “You should not have come here, human. You reek of enemy packs.” Most people would be smart and hold their tongues, choosing to live instead of delivering a supposedly witty retort. Stiles prefers to save his academic success for the tests in school.

“I think it’s kind of mean to go up to people and tell them they smell. I mean, I showered this morning, I can’t be that bad.” The man raises an eyebrow. “You are a human with a death wish, I see. It is not wise to pick a fight that you cannot win.” Stiles shrugs. “I’m just a tourist, man. I can see why your driving tours got such low reviews on Yelp.”

The man scoffs, the sound skidding deep in his throat like the roar of an engine. “I am quickly tiring of you. I will give you one minute to leave this town. If you are not gone by then, you will be dead.” Stiles shakes his head slowly. “I can’t do that. I’m here for someone.” The man roars at him, the sound echoing off of the buildings around them to culminate in a low din of noise. “Then you will die here instead.”

The man charges towards Stiles, claws already starting to extend from his fingers. Stiles takes one look at him and decides to do what he does best: run. He spins on his heels, dashing towards his Jeep with every ounce of energy still left in him. He’s almost there, one hand flung out towards the door, when a werewolf skids to a stop in front of him. It lets out a piercing howl, the sound of an animal about to attack.

Suddenly, a knife slams into its throat, and the wolf slumps sideways. Stiles’ head jerks up as he looks for his savior. A blur of flashing knives and running limbs appears out of nowhere, and a figure grabs the knife from the werewolf’s throat to throw it at another approaching wolf. Then the figure turns to Stiles, and he feels like he could dance with joy.

“Y/N?” She flashes him a grin. “Great to see you. Get in the Jeep.” Stiles doesn’t think twice, diving for the door and throwing himself in. Y/N climbs into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed just before a werewolf can slash her to ribbons. Stiles turns on the ignition, thanking everything holy and then some that the engine doesn’t fail him. He begins the turn to direct his car back towards the road, and then hesitates.

Y/N stares at him. “What are you waiting for? Do you enjoy being killed by enemy packs?” Stiles gestures towards the road. “The werewolves are blocking all the lanes!” Y/N’s eyes widen in something like incredulity. “Then run them over!” Stiles returns her startled gaze. “They’ll wreck my car!” Y/N grabs his hand, forcing it back onto the wheel. “If you stay here, they’ll wreck your car by dragging your dead body out of it and tearing it to shreds. Drive!”

A wolf howls nearby, raising his hand to slash at the metal body of the car. This is enough to motivate him, and Stiles slams a foot on the gas. The Jeep lurches forward, and the werewolves are forced to dive out of the way lest they get flattened by the wheels. The Jeep races around corners and through straightaways before they finally lose the enemy pack and the roads become deserted once more.

Stiles stares at the windshield unseeingly. His hands still shake from the close call. “You know, I don’t think I used my turn signal once during all of this.” There’s a quiet sound next to him, and for a second Stiles thinks that Y/N has started sobbing. Then he looks over and realizes that she’s doubled over in silent laughter. She manages to choke out two words. “Turn signal?”

Stiles stares at her for a second, then starts laughing too. Maybe it’s the thrill of yet another near death experience, or the rush of gratitude that he’s managed to find her at last, but all of a sudden every single thing in the world seems funny. He has to divert his attention back to the road in a jolt lest he run over a suicidal squirrel, which just makes them laugh even harder.

At last, they approach the sign announcing that they will shortly be leaving Crow Rock. Y/N’s laughter dies on her lips as she stares at the sign, then speaks abruptly. “Stop the car.” Stiles stares at her as she jumps out before the wheels have even stopped moving. He puts the car in park just a little bit beyond the sign, then leaps out after her. “What are you doing? Do you like the idea of being slashed to bits by the enemy packs?”

Y/N shakes her head, staring at him with quiet grief. “I can’t leave the town.” Stiles walks back over to her. “What are you talking about?” Y/N looks at him, and Stiles realizes that she doesn’t look afraid or even disappointed. Her face only holds a calm acceptance of a depressing fact. “I can’t leave. I’ve tried before, but the town won’t let me. Look.” She moves to step forward, past the ‘Leaving Crow Rock’ sign, but her feet refuse to budge. It’s as if she’s trying to walk into an invisible wall.

“I’ve tried to leave, ever since I showed up here, but I can’t. It’s like the same magic that brought me here intends on trapping me here forever.” Stiles’ eyes widen. “It’s the etheria. All those manuscripts talked about how people would be yanked away to other hotspots and never return. I thought they just meant that it was the olden days or whatever and that long of a distance was too far to travel without cars or something, but they literally meant that they couldn’t leave.”

Stiles shakes his head, unable to accept this. “I’m not giving up, not now. I’m not losing you again.” Y/N laughs quietly at that. The sound is bittersweet and tears at his heart. “I don’t think you have a choice, Stiles. There’s no way around this.” Stiles’ pulse is thundering in his veins. “No, I’m going to make a choice. Even if I have to do it all myself. No one is supposed to remember the etherials, but I remember you. We’re the exception, Y/N. I am not leaving you again.”

Out of some impulse, Stiles steps forward, wrapping his arms around Y/N and pulling her close. She stiffens for a second, then returns his embrace. After so many days of hearing everyone tell him that she was dead, that she didn’t exist, having her so close is like a dream or an impossibility. They stumble slightly as a strong wind hits them, shifting slightly but not letting go. Y/N gasps quietly, the sound torn away from her chest. Stiles looks at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Y/N shakes her head slightly. “I don’t know. I feel like-” Her eyes widen as she stares at the sign to Crow Rock, the sign that is now behind them. In that brief moment, when they’d moved to avoid the wind, they’d moved over the town barrier. It had just been mere inches, but it was enough. Y/N stares at him in awe. “How did that happen? It’s never happened before.”

Stiles can just smile at her, feeling relief crest over him like a wave. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re the exception. Now, I don’t know about you, but I think I’d like to go home.” She beams at him. “I think I’d like that a lot.” Stiles reaches out, wrapping his hand around hers to guide her back to the car. They’re together at last, and they can finally make their way back to where they belong.

one moves on tag list: @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch, @blahhhhhhhaaa

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski series #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf series #teen wolf stiles #stiles imagines #stiles x reader #stiles series #stiles stilinski teen wolf

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makeste · 4 years ago

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BnHA Chapter 282: Aizawa Defeeted

Previously on BnHA: Oh my god do we even care about that at this point. Tomura made a speech; Gran Torino died; Deku lost his shit and tried to strangle Tomura to death with his bare hands; Ryuukyuu came back from Wherever She Was and tried to grab Tomura but he punched a hole through her giant hand; and now he’s grabbing his Quirk-Be-Gone bullets and is ready to cause some mayhem okay?? That about sum it up?? Is anyone even reading this?? CAN WE JUST GET ON WITH IT I’VE WAITED AN ENTIRE WEEK.

Today on BnHA: Well I guess let’s start with what doesn’t happen: Bakugou doesn’t lose his quirk. HE LUCKED OUT!!... for now, anyways. Because, thanks to a near-impossible-to-predict series of events (seriously, raise your hands if you had “Aizawa gets shot but goes full World War Z on his own ass” on your bingo card), Tomura has seemingly regained his regeneration powers, which means that his other quirks are probably back online as well! So we’ll see how that all goes. Anyway so in the meantime Shouto’s back, looking very mad that everyone temporarily forgot he was a main character. And Gigantomachia is back as well! Or almost, anyway. Also, you’ll never guess who broke another one of his arms! Go on, guess. But at least he still has the arm, though, which is more than we can say for certain other people’s limbs. Poor Aizawa is literally on his last leg. He and Tomura really got off on the wrong foot. He chopped his leg off, is what I’m saying. It’s that kind of chapter folks.

you guys I’m losing my whole fucking mind. I straight up deleted the tumblr app off my phone for 24 hours so that I wouldn’t be tempted to log in and risk potentially being spoiled. and I’m happy to say that it worked! so here we are now, completely spoiler free, and let me just say that if Horikoshi decides to cut back to Gunga Mountain now, I will either cry for hours or abandon the series forever and go do something more productive with the rest of my quarantine like learning how to play sad songs on the guitar

all right. here goes

so we’re opening with Deku, who is currently comprised of 100% rage and 0% mercy, and is doing that thing where only the whites of his eyes are visible. and basically he’s just thinking “I’VE REALLY GOT TO HOLD ON TO THIS GUY AND MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING ELSE HOMICIDAL.” which is a solid game plan, but perhaps not so easily accomplished

-- oh my god this poor kid is still in denial, I can’t. why are you doing this

is there even still a Gran Torino to tend to at this point? after Tomura bulldozed a hole through his torso, and you went and finished the job with your own fucking attack? sob

but I guess the law of Tragic Shounen Mentor Deaths mandates that Gran’s should be at least as drawn-out as Nighteye’s was, though. so he’s probably only Mostly Dead, which is still Slightly Alive if I remember my Princess Bride correctly, and I think I do

so now the rest of these stooges are finally catching up with us here

yes, my friends. a bullet. WELCOME TO MY LIFE FOR THE PAST FUCKING WEEK. anyways I have a LOT of pent-up energy here just fyi. there may be a lot of unnecessary screaming in this recap

FUCKING WYOMING SMASH Y’ALLSSSS

I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT JUST HAPPENED SOB. DID HE JUST HAMMER FIST TOMURA’S HEAD INTO THE GROUND. DID HE SNAP HIS FUCKING NECK AT 100%. IN AN IDEAL WORLD HE WOULD HAVE JUST CHOPPED TOMURA’S ARMS OFF WHILE SOMEHOW MANAGING TO AVOID BREAKING ANY OF HIS OWN BONES IN THE PROCESS, BUT I HAVE A FEELING THIS SITUATION WILL NOT BE RESOLVED IN ANY KIND OF MANNER ONE WOULD CONSIDER “IDEAL”

(ETA: fun fact: this attack did absolutely nothing except make things approximately 100x worse. but you tried Deku. you tried.)

THE FUCK KIND OF PORTENTOUS BULLSHITTING TITLE IS THIS. OH MY GOD, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT EMOTION I’M HAVING RIGHT NOW, IT’S JUST A LOT OF LOUD THOUGHTS

anyway so if you’re just joining us, Tomura just pulled two bullets out of his pocket, the good guys finally noticed, and then Deku did a smash and everything exploded. the radius of this attack actually looks wide enough to have potentially involved Aizawa, who probably does NOT want to get any debris in his eyes right now, and also Gran, who probably doesn’t particularly want to be hit by another deadly attack for the third time in the past ninety seconds. anyway so I guess what I’m trying to say here is WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT YOU LITTLE GREEN LUNATIC

AHHHHHH

he got the one!! the one that was in Tomura’s right hand!! but what about the one in his left ahhhhhhh

(ETA: lmao at Kacchan being the one to blow up the same bullet I was so sure he was going to be shot with. saw the writing on the wall, huh kid? what do we say to the god of foreshadowing?? ‘NOT TODAY.’ ...except that we’re still not actually out of the woods yet so you still better watch yourself lol.)

...

based on the font here, these are Tomura’s thoughts. which he is thinking immediately after getting the lower half of his jaw very painfully cronched by the VERY homicidal sixteen-year-old still clinging to him. anyway so Tomura’s thought processes are as inscrutable to me as ever lulz

and Deku’s arm looks broken again, yaaaaay. but at least it’s his left arm and not his right! so that’s nice. now they can match

[SHRIEKS]

HE YEETED IT. IT HAS BEEN YEETEDED. HE DID A YEET. [sobbing] he DiD a YeEt oH my GOD

DID IT HIT SOMETHING!?!?!?

my reading process here is as follows: 1) scroll down exactly one panel. 2) scream even though absolutely nothing has happened yet. 3) WRITE THAT DOWN 4) REPEAT

DKSFJLKHSDLGKHLI

DID IT HIT HIM!?!? DID IT GET HIM IN THE LEG SOB ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. JUST LIKE THAT?? BOOM GUN BULLET LEG!!?

YOU GUYS IT REALLY HIT AIZAWA AND NO ONE DID A GODDAMN THING?? it wasn’t even drawn out or anything??? it just HAPPENED, within like four pages??? NO SLOW MO?? NOT EVEN A REACTION PANEL WHAT THE FUCK

son of a bitch I would so dearly like to grab Manual and RockLockRock’s heads right now and just conk them together real hard. YOU STUPID FUCKS sob YOU HAD ONE JOB!!! IT REALLY WAS JUST ONE!! AND YOU WERE SHARING IT!! SO IT’S MORE LIKE HALF A JOB!! AND YOU STILL COCKED IT UP IN ABSOLUTELY NO TIME AT ALL OH MY GOD

(ETA: they should blow this panel up and make it into a t-shirt and make Manual and RLR wear the shirts every day for the rest of their lives. half a job, you guys. please go away I cannot even look at you right now.)

FUCK MY EVERYTHING

(ETA: I still can’t figure out if this horrific angle is due to the earlier damage from the Noumu, or if Tomura really just flung the bullet THAT hard. honestly I’m surprised it didn’t just slice right through him with that kind of velocity. “no thanks because then I wouldn’t get to write a scene where he chops his own leg off” oh okay well when you put it that way, Horikoshi.)

if I recall correctly this is the leg that he said was “twisted”, no? yeesh. might just want to chop it off real quick, then. s’not like it’s doing you any more good. does anyone know if zombie rules apply or not with this sort of thing?? shit

?!?!

“THANKS”?? okay what. did it hit him or not??

-- oh my god WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT

I WAS -- I WAS JOKING I -- FFFFFFFFKJK

jesus fucking christ. when I said “might just want to chop it off real quick” literally FOUR PARAGRAPHS AGO, I can tell you that the one thing I did NOT expect was for Aizawa to be all, “you know what, that’s a good idea”, and then YOINK OUT HIS TRUSTY HERO SHANK AND GO FULL 127 HOURS ON THIS BITCH. "LALALA WE’RE GONNA DO IT RATIONALLY TEEHEE” like excuse me, the fuck

anyways. I don’t even know what to say. thank you Aizawa’s leg for your sacrifice, and for always supporting him. literally. oh my god I came here ready for my son to enter a new phase of character development, and for the manga as a whole to enter a new phase of glorious, glorious angst. no one told me I’d be sitting here making puns instead. what a fine, confusing day

anyway though let’s just fucking hope it worked. and side note, if Aizawa Shouta really did chop off his own fucking leg just now and somehow STILL managed not to fucking blink, I think we might as well just go ahead and hand him the Biggest Badass In The Series award right now because no one is ever going to top that. nope. not happening

it is truly a testament to Shigaraki Tomura’s unfathomably mysterious sexy villain energy that he still somehow manages to look hot with only half a face

also no one in this manga actually feels pain, do they. not Deku, not Aizawa, not Tomura, no one. no wonder none of them have any self-preservation instincts to speak of

did someone just randomly explode just now. at this point it might as well happen, right

oh it’s the shockwave from Deku’s Wyoming attack, apparently. how nice of it to have a delayed reaction for absolutely no reason

anyway so Deku’s being flung back, but he’s grabbing onto Tomura again with Blackwhip. but oh shit you guys, if Tomura escapes Deku and Ryuukyuu’s clutches and still has any bullets left in his pocket, we may still be able to salvage this Bakugou quirk situation after all. would be nice to be able to actually do something with all of these “happy quirk losing day” balloons that I ordered

(ETA: actually, believe it or not I honestly like this better. Tomura using AFO was always the more dramatic option anyway. and now that we’ve done the bullet thing everyone has presumably let their guard down again, which, good.)

I love how Tomura apparently hasn’t noticed that Aizawa’s just amputated his own leg? to be fair he’s probably distracted by all the explosions and such

also gotta love how Deku’s arm-breaking attack seemingly just made everything worse for no reason. and also how Manual and RockLockRock are once again just standing there doing absolutely nothing

SO NOW GUESS WHAT’S HAPPENING

I MEAN IT! GUESS. BECAUSE YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE LOL

OH WELL OKAY THEN

just like we all saw coming!! ...

so is this Endeavor’s attack?? Bakugou’s?? either way, hot damn. fortunately for Tomura he is apparently operating under the same guidelines as the U.S. Federal Reserve, in which mutilated bills may still be exchanged at face value if more than 50% of a note identifiable as United States currency is present. basically as long as roughly half of him is still vaguely Tomura-shaped I assume he’ll be fine

(ETA: in hindsight I should have immediately been able to identify this as a Shouto attack based solely on how murdery it was lol.)

OH MY GODDDD

KRANCH?!?

OH MY GOD LOL WHAT. LOL. REMEMBER EVERYONE’S THEORIES FROM LIKE TWENTY YEARS AGO LOL. SHOUTO WHAT THE FUCK. DID YOU STOP FOR DRIVE THRU

AND MEANWHILE DEKU’S BACK ON THE SCENE GIVING ARGUABLY EVEN LESS FUCKS THAN BEFORE, IF SUCH A THING IS EVEN POSSIBLE. SO FAR THIS CHAPTER HAS PRECISELY ZERO THINGS THAT I ACTUALLY EXPECTED IN IT, WHICH IS VERY IMPRESSIVE

IT ALSO HAS A LOT OF SMASHING

a LOT. of smashing, guys. feels like... 60% smashing, 20% severed legs, 20% Kranch

-- oh no oh SHIT oh shit oh shit

(ETA: um so I really can’t tell how far that wound extends and whether or not Aizawa still has his right eye, shit.)

first of all how did Deku get here next to Aizawa when he was just over there with Tomura, what. and second, I think Aizawa just blinked, oh shit. probably on the verge of passing out after CHOPPING HIS OWN LEG OFF which STILL hasn’t been acknowledged yet?? did I just completely misinterpret all of that back there or what

(ETA: there was seriously so little attention called to this that I scrolled back up to confirm it probably like half a dozen times. apparently Horikoshi thinks that THE MOST BADASS THING TO EVER HAPPEN IN THE MANGA should be completely downplayed. whereas if it were me, there’d be an entire two page spread of JUST THE LEG. WITH MUSIC PLAYING. EVEN THOUGH IT’S A MANGA.)

YEPPPPPPP. fuck

look at him though. he’s so happy. this is why I can’t stay mad at you no matter how deranged you get you little maniac

so is quirk-stealing back on the menu then or what. don’t think I’ve been lulled into any kind of false sense of security by any of this lol

-- ARE WE SERIOUSLY CUTTING AWAY

so Todoroki really went after them ALONE. the better to put his dad right back up at the top of the Lose Your Quirk Sweepstakes finalists. well... second-to-top, maybe. like I said I will not be lulled

yuh-oh

why do I feel like the odds of Gigantomachia arriving to herald the end of this chapter just shot up DRAMATICALLY

so the next page is almost entirely just a list of cities that the news anchor is telling people to evacuate because they’re in Machia’s path. along with a bunch of dead heroes lying around everywhere, and Ochako being all ominous

(: weren’t they, though? heh. this is going to be so, so bad (: (: (:

-- fuuuuuuuuuuu

aaaaaand that’s it. hahahaha. okay then let’s summarize

Bakugou defied all expectations and kept his quirk (FOR NOW)!

Aizawa cut his own fucking leg off and it WASN’T EVEN REMOTELY ACKNOWLEDGED FOR REASONS I CAN’T UNDERSTAND (R.I.P. AIZAWA’S PRECIOUS LEG. YOU ALWAYS PUT YOUR BEST FOOT FORWARD)

Kranch showed up after 157 years and is probably wondering why the heck I keep calling him “Kranch” now. THINGS CHANGE WHEN YOU’RE MIA FOR A WHILE MY LITTLE STARBUCKS CHRISTMAS CUP

Deku broke his arm for the 78th time

Tomura regenerated but seems to think Aizawa’s quirk is actually gone for good, which I’m pretty sure it’s not. so if they can keep him from destroying everything long enough for Aizawa to turn it back on again, we might possibly still survive this

and lastly, Machia is about to kill all of these stupid people frolicking around outside of this fitness club who are probably so proud of themselves for not being glued to their phones 24/7 because they prefer to LIVE LIFE IN THE MOMENT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. well that’s on you my friends. at least it’ll be a quick death. ffff

#bnha 282 #aizawa shouta #shigaraki tomura #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #sorry for all the leg puns #it's in my nature #I can't help it if I find this kind of situation humerus #...oh no wait that's arms #dammit

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