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weyrwolfen · 6 months

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Eidola: Chapter 20 - CT-22-1981 Snap

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Clone Trooper OCs, Captain Rex, Ahsoka Tano, and other canon members of the 501st/332nd and the Bad Batch

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm, injuries, and substance abuse; PTSD; it’s post-Order 66 and nobody is having a good time (but they’re all working on it)

Summary: The mission was never to bring down the Empire. Not really. The mission was to save every single one of their chipped brothers. But if doing do helped break the Empire’s stranglehold on the galaxy? Well, that was just a bonus.

“The kriff are those?” Snap asked without thinking. He almost flinched at his own language, half-expecting somebody to call him on the profanity. But there weren’t any kids around anymore, so he could say kriff again, all he wanted.

Osik’la consolation prize. He missed Gida and the other Lawquane kids already.

Fuse set down the odd carrier full of vials, each containing slips of some kind of plant, suspended in a hydrating nutrient gel. The leaves were dark green with rusty orange veins, but Snap didn’t recognize them. Cut had made sure they knew everything there was to know about the plants they’d been keeping on base, and whatever these ones were, they were new.

“A soporific, hopefully,” the medic said, leaning against the work bench. Snap pulled a sour expression, to which Fuse elaborated. “A sleep aid. Apparently you can dry out the leaves and make a tea with them.”

Right.

“A tea, huh?” Snap asked, not really expecting an answer. Kriffing everybody on base seemed to have sleep issues, at least some of the time. Insomnia. Nightmares. Whatever. Snap definitely had, especially at first. He’d kind of evened out over the last several months, but he still had his moments.

“It’s not as strong as the tabs, but at least it’s not habit forming,” Fuse answered anyway. “If we can get a decent crop of our own going, then we won’t have to worry about spotty supply issues either.”

Well, alright then. Half of their hydroponics units had been emptied out and the plants shipped off to Wadj, so it wasn’t like they didn’t have the room to experiment.

“What’s it’s chem-profile?” Snap nudging aside the box of scraps he’d been about to take to the reptavian colony and leaning closer to the mystery plants. He pulled one of the vials out of the carrier and gave it a closer look. At least it had been grown in something similar to the matrix their own machines used. If they’d been in actual kirffing dirt, like those pop-peas Rasp had brought back… what? Two missions ago? Kriffing nightmare, prepping those for the frames, and half of them had died anyway.

“Uh, no idea,” Fuse admitted, fishing a small datastick out of one of his belt pouches. “But they came with this?”

Snap took the stick and scowled. “Came from where?” he asked.

Fuse shrugged. “It was in the latest delivery of supplies the Mandalorians unloaded.”

That might be good news. Their grow units were Mando-design, maybe they’d luck out and whatever data was on this stick would have the correct chem codes up front and center. If not, Snap would have to figure out how to manually program one of the units again. He was pretty certain he remembered how to do that.

He was a heavy gunner, not a kriffing farmer. This hadn’t been part of his training.

But Cut and Suu had worked hard to teach Snap and his brothers before they’d shipped out, and Snap wasn’t going to let them down.

He grumbled a thanks to Fuse, who took that as his cue to beat a retreat back out of the workroom door.

There was a stack of datapads tossed on the end of the long workbench. Snap picked one up at random and plugged in the datastick. It took a second, but the file did eventually open.

Snap glanced through the text. Apparently the plant was called maara vine, chem profile 3, light level 1. Easy enough.

“Hat Trick!” Snap yelled, pretty certain that his brothers wouldn’t have worked their way so far down the halls as to be out of easy earshot.

The reptavians screeched in response from the neighboring room.

“Yeah?” Hat Trick said a few moments later, leaning over into the doorway.

“Can you handle this?” Snap asked, nodding vaguely in the direction of the crate of scraps. “The medics just dropped a project on me.”

Hat Trick grumbled something, no doubt uncomplimentary, under his breath, but he did pick up the crate and hit the door panel with his elbow. The demanding edge to the reptavians’ shrieks intensified when the door slid open.

Snap scrolled through the text, eyes catching on the pertinent sections. He traded the pad off to one hand and picked up the cradle of slips in the other. There was an isolated growing rack in the room Suu had set aside for the cadets’ science modules. It would probably be a good idea to keep these things separate from the food crops. Accidentally dosing the entire base’s meals with a sleep aid didn’t seem like a smart plan.

A group of Mandalorians had taken over the training mats in the back of the base’s gym, which was setting Snap on edge. It wasn’t like he’d been planning on sparring this shift, but he tended to get his hackles up around unfamiliar natborns.

Usually, this was a peak time for the gym facilities on base, but so many brothers had shipped out that the space felt weirdly empty, even with the addition of five Mandalorians. Not that Snap was entirely alone with them, there were a few other brothers in the room. Ajax was on one of the inclined benches, doing sit ups with a weight held against his chest. Whelk was guiding Feral through a few exercises.

Snap stacked his armor against one of the walls and took a few minutes to stretch out. Then he picked out a weight machine which would let him keep an eye on the rest of the room. The scavenged and improvised training equipment relied on actual, metal weights instead of grav-resistance generators, but Snap found he didn’t mind the clank of the objectively more primitive gear. He set the weight a notch higher than he had last time, settled into the chair, and curled his hands around the grips.

Counting reps wasn’t nearly enough to keep his mind fully occupied, but the Mandalorians were providing more than enough of a distraction. He didn’t know any of their names, but their armor was distinct enough that he was starting to recognize at least some of them on sight.

Black Cuirass with the Red Chevrons was currently kicking Orange Spaulders with the Weird Spikes around the informal ring. One of the ones he’d heard called a Nite Owl was acting as a referee or a spotter. Her armor was painted in the same colors as Kryze’s, mostly blues and grays, but it was far simpler in design. Two others, Three Shades of Green and Gold and Gray Stripes were standing off to one side, helmets angled towards one another, clearly talking about something, even if Snap was far too far away to overhear.

He couldn’t see any of their faces, but if he had to guess, Snap would have said that Orange Spaulders was younger than Black and Red, even if he was the taller and broader of the two by quite a bit. He was fast, but uncoordinated to a degree that would have gotten a sixth-year cadet sent to remedial training. Or worse. Black and Red, by comparison, moved like she knew what she was doing. The two of them were sparring with blades, and every point Not-Kryze had called so far had been in Black and Red’s favor.

The longer the fight went on, the more one-sided it became. Orange Spaulders was obviously letting his frustration get the better of him, getting more aggressive and less controlled with each successive attack. Black and Red wasn’t having any of it, dancing just outside of her opponent’s range and adding some well-placed kicks whenever he tried to charge her.

Not-Kryze called the match, right after Snap had finished adjusting his machine’s grips to their next configuration and started on his second set of reps.

Kark, that kid was skimming for trouble. He stomped out of the ring, body language all but shouting his anger and embarrassment. Snap snorted to himself, thinking of all of the karking awful osik that would have happened to him or any one of his brothers if they’d dared to act like that with one of their trainers.

And then, the puffed up di’kut turned and said something to Feral and Whelk, who were the closest two clones to the sparring ring. Whelk’s head snapped up at whatever had been said, but Feral?

Feral froze.

And then he bared his teeth in a way that couldn’t have ever been misinterpreted as a smile.

The weights slammed down with a sharp clang of abused metal when Snap released his grips mid-rep and rose.

Given his name, Snap would lay good credits on Feral always having been a little bit off, but anymore he came across as brittle, in a dangerous kind of way. He reacted oddly to things. Unpredictably. And maybe Snap had been in the 437th during the war, not the 501st, but Feral had been assigned to hydroponics, and that meant he was Snap’s responsibility.

And Snap was going to tear a strip out of that puffed up natborn, for whatever the kark he’d said to his little brother to get such a reaction.

Whelk had already moved to put himself between the Mandalorians and his brother. Snap didn’t hear what the medic was saying. Truthfully, he didn’t hear much of anything, except for a distant ringing in his ears. His vision had tunneled down dangerously as he crossed the room.

Snap was maybe six steps away from introducing himself to Orange Pauldrons, fist first, when someone intercepted him, fingers driving inward against the inside of Snap’s left bicep and down toward the bone, which sent a jolt of burning pain shooting along Snap’s nerves and made his arm involuntarily jerk back in a pained, defensive curl.

Kark, that really kriffing hurt.

Karking Corries.

Because of course it was Ajax. Of course it was. Whatever the kriff those painful ‘grab-and-squeeze’ techniques were, they weren’t part of the standard training regimen back on Kamino. And Ajax liked to feign complete ignorance whenever any of his brothers tried to ask him about them.

At least the moment Snap’s forward momentum stopped, Ajax loosened his grip enough for Snap to catch his breath. Kriffing ow.

“… Still recovering from a head injury,” Ajax was saying, when Snap got his head on straight enough to actually listen. Ajax was also giving Feral a hard side eye. “So, no. CT-37-4148 will not be cleared for sparring any time soon. However, CT-22-1981 or I would be happy to spar with any of you.”

Snap wasn’t sure if the use of their designation numbers was intentional, or if Ajax was also slipping into old habits around unfamiliar natborns.

He also didn’t exactly care all that much, just then.

Movement on the periphery of his vision drew Snap’s attention, and he tensed when he noticed Three Greens easing his hand off his holstered blaster.

Ajax’s hand went slightly tighter again, in obvious warning.

Snap didn’t relax, but he also kept his mouth shut. Kriff.

Apparently even Orange Pauldrons had realized he’d stepped in osik, if the tense, defensive set of his shoulders was any indication. He did manage to mumble a very half-hearted, awkward, “Uh, sure.” And then, when Not-Kryze shifted her stance pointedly, he amended, “I mean, I would be honored to.”

Ajax gave Whelk a very pointed look, and the 501st medic nodded minutely. Feral didn’t look very happy with being herded up off his bench and away from the situation, but he went along with it anyway. No one sane crossed a medic, and even if Feral wasn’t always on the right side of that line, even fewer of the clones on base would cross any of the Corries.

“I’ll suit up,” Snap said, eyes sliding back to Orange Pauldrons. The kriff had that overly-tall shebs said?

Ajax nodded, but he didn’t move to do the same. “You prefer blades?” he asked casually.

Too casually.

Snap refrained from snorting. So it was going to be like that?

By the time he’d strapped on his lower plate and rose to start in on his upper armor, Ajax was already in the ring, completely unarmored, holding two blunted practice knives against Orange Pauldrons’ full plate and powered down vibroblades.

Snap knew where he would place his wagers though.

“First to ten points,” Not-Kryze was saying, when Snap walked back within easy hearing distance, bucket in hand. She had her arms crossed over her cuirass, but her helmet was canted at an angle Snap would have called ‘dubious,’ or maybe even ‘concerned.’

But Ajax, unarmored and functionally unarmed as he was, just nodded and said, “Understood.”

Not-Kryze simply stepped back out of the ring, dropping her arms and making a brief gesture of invitation with one hand. Under her breath, Snap could just hear her mutter under her breath, “Your funeral.”

Ajax didn’t look terribly concerned. He simply widened his stance and raised both practice daggers in a reverse grip, dulled edges facing forward and down.

Orange Pauldrons looked conflicted. He was tense, obviously knowing he’d stuck his foot in it, but his pride was also stung. He took an uneasy stance of his own, single vibroblade leading, balled fist back and ready to punch.

Ajax just waited, expression so blank he almost looked bored.

Orange Pauldrons stepped forward, making a small feint with his blade.

Ajax stepped smoothly to the side, squaring back up with his opponent.

One more cautious jab, then another, slightly more emphatic. Then Orange Pauldrons lunged forward, fully committing to a powerful, backhanded slash with his blade.

The Corrie dropped low under the attack, left arm raised, knife angled up to catch or block any retaliatory swipe, and slammed his other fist, gripped around the hilt of his other practice blade, into the inside of Orange Pauldron’s right knee, in the gap between the man’s cuisse and greave.

The leg buckled.

Ajax rose even as his opponent staggered, catching Orange Pauldron’s arm in the hook made between the back of his blade and his left vambrace, right hand reversing, then diverting at the last second so that the side of his forearm, and not the tip of the practice knife, struck the side of the Mando’s neck, up close to the juncture where his helmet just covered his jaw line.

Orange Pauldrons dropped like a stone.

The other Mandos shifted there own stances at that, clearly adjusting their assessment of the fight unfolding in the ring between them.

Snap probably should have put his bucket on. He was having a hard time not smirking, because he clearly knew something Not-Kryze and the other Mandalorians were only starting to suspect.

Ajax was pulling his punches.

That knee-strike could have been debilitating if Ajax had wanted it to be, tearing up cartilage and tendons to the point that only bacta could have really fixed it.

Ajax wasn’t an ARC, or an RC, or any of the other named designations for special forces within the GAR. The Corries weren’t exactly sharing whatever hierarchies and training specializations the Guard had built for itself, but the three of them had been on a hand-picked team which had been sent to Mandalore and help subdue a rogue Sith. None of them were pushovers, the rare times their brothers could entice any of them into the ring, but of the three Guards, Ajax was indisputably the best.

Orange Pauldrons rolled on his side with a muted groan and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

Not-Kryze cleared her throat, but her voice was cool and steady when she said, “One, zero.”

Orange Pauldrons took a more defensive stance and waited, right leg visibly wobbling, clearly meaning to approach the rest of this fight with a little more caution.

Ajax obliged him, leaping forward with a quick series of punches and kicks. The Mando did manage to successfully block them, but he was also back on his heels, fully on the defensive.

And that was clearly what Ajax wanted, because the second Orange Pauldrons misjudged, staggering on his injured leg, Ajax was on him, deflecting his left arm high and directing an upwardly angled punch into his unarmored armpit.

Snap, having never actually been punched in the armpit before, didn’t know what the kriff Ajax had hit with that move, but Orange Pauldrons made a noise that sounded like the worst parts of a wheeze and a squawk.

Kriffing Corries.

Snap broke down and decided to put his helmet on, because he was dying here, and he didn’t trust in his ability to keep a straight face for much longer.

Not-Kryze looked at Orange Pauldrons, who was bent double, left arm tucked against his chest, clearly trying to catch his breath. “Two, zero,” she said, and then asked, tone flat, “Zane, are you out?”

“No,” Orange Pauldrons, Zane, managed to say as he straightened into a defensive stance once more, bristling angrily.

A very small, Snap would call it mean, smile curled up one side of Ajax’s mouth.

He took a ready stance very close to Zane, almost daring the Mando to reach out and grab his unarmored opponent.

And because the only thing keeping Zane on his feet was pride, and because Ajax was intentionally stinging it, the di’kut lunged forward and tried to do just that.

Except Ajax threw one of his knives at the man’s visor and followed through with the unexpected distraction by driving his heel onto the top of Orange Pauldron’s booted foot. His synthleather, not beskar, covered foot.

Caught thoroughly off guard from yet another unexpected burst of pain and flailing to regain his compromised balance, Orange Pauldrons barely seemed to notice when Ajax dropped low to sweep his other foot out from under him.

He hit the ground hard, helmeted head clanging loudly against the floor.

Ajax, retrieved his knife and rose, dropping into a ready stance again.

Zane looked up at him briefly and then let his head drop back down on the floor again. “Yeah, no. I’m done,” he admitted, sounding hoarse through his helmet’s vocoder.

Ajax nodded and offered the Mandalorian a hand up.

Snap wasn’t particularly discrete about the fist bump he offered Ajax when the Guard walked past him, but when Ajax returned the congratulatory gesture with an otherwise blank, composed face, Snap also leaned over and whispered just loud enough for his bucket’s mic to engage, “What the kriff did he say to Feral and Whelk?”

“He asked if they had ever fought a Force user,” Ajax said quietly. “I suspect he meant Maul, but Feral and Whelk took it about like you’d expect.”

Force. They were lucky Feral hadn’t dove on the di’kut, right then and there. Everybody knew, but nobody talked about what had happened on Coruscant, when the Order had gone out. That had been true, even before the eight 501st survivors had been brought back from Hadros.

Something of Snap’s scowl must have shown through his bucket, because Ajax said, “Weaver and I will handle any explanations, but I suspect it won’t be necessary.” He glanced pointedly over his shoulder, and Snap turned to follow the pointed look. Not-Kryze and Gold and Gray were hovering over Orange Pauldrons, who had slumped back down against the wall. It looked like the two of them were giving the shiny, and with his helmet off he looked barely old enough to even be a shiny, what looked to be a very quiet, but very thorough dressing down.

Good.

They did not need a bunch of Mandos accidentally dumping salt into those particular wounds. Not if they wanted to maintain the uneasy peace on base.

Ajax gave Snap a pointed look, and then continued off in the direction of his own armor, point apparently made.

“So,” Snap drawled, catching the Mandalorians’ attention. “Any takers for another spar?”

Three Shades of Green crossed his arms across his cuirass and snorted. “Depends,” he said in a deep, oddly accented voice. “Do you fight as well as him?”

Snap grinned under his bucket, and even though he knew he wasn’t in Ajax’s league, he still answered with, “Only one way to find out.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Snap grumbled, hitting the control pad with his elbow. “Calm the kriff down.”

The reptavians, if they understood him at all, did not calm the kriff down. In fact, they only got louder. The ear-splitting screeching did settle down into slightly more tolerable hissing when he opened the cover on the food chute and poured in the day’s allotment of kitchen and gardening waste.

They were pretty little things, mean as osik and vicious, but brightly colored. Snap and his brothers collected the feathers, whenever they cleaned out the enclosure, but it was more out of force of habit than anything else. Ris wasn’t using them in lessons for the cadets anymore, and Ferin wasn’t popping in at off hours to request stuffing for the bedding and soft tubie toys Suu had asked him to make for Gida.

It felt wrong to just incinerate them though. Wasteful. Maybe they’d figure out something else to do with them.

One of the bigger females took a flying leap over her sisters and hit the grate in front of Snap’s face and clung, sharp talons catching on the heavy metal wires which twisted together to make the walls of the cage. He jerked, spilling some of the food waste on the floor for his troubles.

“Duchess, you shebs,” he said, shaking the last few scraps into the chute and then setting the empty crate aside. He bent down to pick up the scattered fruit peels and other, less identifiable bits of organic debris. When he rose and moved to drop them into the chute, the reptavian, Duchess, hissed and rattled at the walls of her cage indignantly.

Snap sighed, but shifted the pile of scraps into one hand so he could poke one of the larger pieces of peel through the study, metal grate.

The violent little ingrate snapped the orange sliver of rind and threw her head back, swallowing the food in one go.

He offered her another piece.

He really shouldn’t get attached to any of the reptavians, they were here to be food after all, but he couldn’t really help himself. Duchess was a little shabuir, but she had an unusually bright, blue-green crest of feathers down her back, and he’d named her, so that was apparently that.

Honestly, it was a safe enough choice. The brothers assigned to the kitchens had gotten into a habit of taking the males for meat, once their red-ruffed manes came in, but leaving the females behind to keep laying more eggs. It wasn’t like she was going to end up in his rations any time soon.

Not that he’d been eating the reptavian meat dishes lately anyway. But that was just because he didn’t like the flavor. Really.

Snap poked the last bit of food through the cage and then showed his hands, back and front, like a sabacc dealer. “No more,” he said, and the little osik hissed at him anyway. As if there wasn’t a giant pile of additional scraps in the bin on the floor. “You can karking well fight your sisters for the rest.”

The reptavian cocked her head to one side and gave him the most scathing glare out of her bright, red eye, before seemingly taking his words at face value, leaping down off of the wall of the cage and landing on two of her siblings, who screeched in indignation.

While the flock was thoroughly distracted, he walked around the corner of the cage and started unlatching and sliding open the nesting drawers.

Cut had walked Snap through the process of sorting eggs before he’d shipped out. The trick was, they changed colors when they were fertilized. The off-white eggs went straight into the freshly emptied crate, while the darker tan ones stayed in the drawers to hatch the next round of voracious little monsters. Any eggs with a more ambiguous color could be held up to the room’s overhead lights. The fertilized ones usually had an opaque band of shell around the middle.

There were enough unfertilized eggs this time to fill the bottom of the crate, carefully stacked three deep.

Maybe they could get the Mandos who’d signed on to take shifts in the mess to make more of that spicy egg casserole.

He’d left his helmet in the workroom while he’d dealt with the reptavians. After he punched a message into his vambrace alerting Spoons that the eggs were ready for pickup, he picked it up and noticed an alert flashing inside. Pulling it on, he found a message from Weaver waiting.

Apparently the Guard wanted to know if Snap would be interested in the additional help, which, kriff yes! Especially since they were expecting a bunch of returning Mandos as soon as the mission to Abainya was settled. Reading further, he found the catch.

The whole list of volunteers was made up of unfamiliar, Mandalorian names.

He’d have to ask if Delta, Link, and the other 501st brothers would be willing to put up with them though. That might be a hard sell. As for Snap himself, he found he didn’t mind the idea that much.

“New toy?” Snap asked, grabbing the seat next to Tenor. Somebody had shoved the exercise equipment into even closer quarters to make room for two rows of metal-composite benches scrounged up from kark even knew where. He could have stayed upstairs to eat his lunch, but why do that when he could take in a show instead?

Tenor looked up from the small knife he’d been rolling over and over in his hands. It was a simple-looking thing, barely longer than his hand, with a straight spine, a curved edge, and a handle wrapped in some kind of braided cordage. Definitely non-regulation, but the edge looked sharp enough.

“I guess so,” Tenor finally replied. He sounded weirdly conflicted. “Woves showed me how to make it.”

Snap speared one of the cubed, red chunks out of his bowl – a Difranian helituber [chem profile 2a, light level 6], unless he missed his mark – and stuck it in his mouth, chewing slowly and considering. He’d really thought he’d learned all of their newest brothers’ names at this point, but he didn’t know anybody on base named Woves.

“Who’s Woves?” he finally asked, stabbing at another tuber chunk.

Tenor eyed Snap for a second before his gaze pointedly slid across the still-empty sparring ring, to the Mandalorians clustered on their own set of benches. There was a wide gulf of empty space between them, but Tenor’s voice still dropped low when he answered, “See the pale one in the gray and green armor?”

Wait, Woves wasn’t a brother?

It didn’t take long for Snap to find his target. Tenor hadn’t been kidding about the man being pale. Pale hair, pale skin, pale shades of green and gray over a pale gray bodysuit. He was speaking to two other men whose armor Snap did not recognize. “The one who looks like he fell in a vat of bleaching agent?” he asked, also speaking in a quiet tone of voice.

“Uh huh,” Tenor said, carefully testing the edge of the blade with his thumb. “I don’t know. He says he owes Buckler for something, but Buckler shipped out, so I guess I’m the next best thing.”

Snap’s eyes widened suddenly, looking down at the odd blade in a new light. “That’s not…” he trailed off.

“Beskar?” Tenor asked with a snort. “No. Just some spare alloy the recycler kicked out.”

Oh. That was a little disappointing. But still… “Think he’ll teach you how to make armor too?”

Tenor’s expression twisted weirdly again. “Maybe?”

That had a lot of potential. It wasn’t exactly a secret that while plastoid was cheap and easy to work with, it wasn’t the strongest material out there. Snap wore his armor like a second skin and poured his soul into maintaining his paint, but at the end of the day, his plate was mass-produced gear for a mass-produced army. “Let me know when you start taking orders for durasteel,” he said, only half joking. He was sure the Reaper and Raider teams would get first dibs, but just because he wasn’t on the front lines anymore didn’t mean he’d turn down a sizable upgrade in his equipment.

“Who’s taking durasteel orders?” Ding asked, sitting down on the bench behind Snap and Tenor. Some of the remaining brothers from engineering and the deck crew were filing in after him.

“Nobody,” Tenor grumbled.

“Tenor,” Snap said, at the exact same time.

Ding looked back and forth between the two of them, one eyebrow inching upwards.

Tenor just heaved a very put-upon sigh and said, “One of the Mandos taught me how to make this.” He held up the cord-wrapped blade. “And Snap’s reading way too far into it.”

“Let me see,” Ding said, sticking out a hand, palm up, for the knife.

Tenor handed it over, and Ding eyed it appreciatively.

Snap didn’t comment, even if he was sorely tempted to. He didn’t actually think he was reading too far into anything. Mandalorians took their weapons and armor very seriously, and they had this whole cultural thing about making them. Instead, he just speared a spike shoot [chem profile 2, light level 2], popped it in his mouth, and chewed on it.

“They’re certainly trying awfully hard to win us over,” Ding said, flipping the knife around and handing it back to Tenor hilt first.

Snap pointed his empty fork at Ding. “Right?” he said, thinking of the first batch of maara vine leaves he’d passed along to the medics.

Tenor just glowered.

Snap didn’t know what the kriff his problem was.

“But we’re still under orders to conceal the location of our other bases,” Tenor finally said.

Arches leaned around Ding, joining the conversation with, “You think they’ve told us about all of theirs?”

“No,” Tenor replied, sharp and obviously annoyed. “But I also think Lady Kryze hand-picked people who were the most likely to keep the peace.”

“And then threatened them if they didn’t,” Arches agreed.

This was all starting to sound an awful lot like politics, which was firmly Corrie business and not Snap’s.

But at the same time, he wasn’t sure he agreed with the political conclusions his brothers had reached, so he asked Tenor, “Think she asked Woves to teach you how to make knives?”

Tenor didn’t have a quick answer for that, cynical or otherwise.

Neither did any of the others.

“So, speaking of Corrie business,” Ding finally said, clearly dropping the subject. “Ajax is fighting…” he scanned the board some enterprising brother had hung up on the wall. “Ergan Vayn. Who the kriff is Ergan Vayn?”

“Red helmet,” Cutter volunteered, from his seat a few spots down from Ding. “And the cuirass painted to look like a ribcage.”

Right. Snap actually did recognize him.

And after that would be Zipps, who’d joined a few other brothers in erasing his number from the bracket and replaced it with his actual name, and Black and Red, whose name Snap had finally learned was Lytra Krest.

She’d knocked Snap out of the competition yesterday, and while his back still smarted from the bout, he couldn’t exactly argue with the way it had ended. Krest was kriffing quick and fierce. Zipps was going to have a time with her.

“The Abainya mission went well, so Captain Rex should be getting back soon,” Snap said, leaning back to grin at Cutter. “Rumor is, he’s going to fight whoever wins this bracket.”

That got some very interested looks.

“And does the Captain know about that?” Ocher asked dryly.

Snap grinned.

“Weaver’s supposed to tell him.”

The mess was packed, with third shift cycling off for their late meal and sleep cycle, first shift grabbing caff before rotating on duty, and several newly arrived Mandalorians, fresh from Abainya. Half of them were missing pieces of armor, exposing bacta bandages and a variety of medical braces underneath. The smell of burn cream filled the room, even over the sharp scent of heavily spiced food.

Snap tried to make his way through the room without bumping into anybody, assuming for every injury he could see, there were probably three more hidden under body suits and armor plates.

He found Ocher and Nails already at the caff station. Ocher was adding sweetener to his caff, but Nails was filling his own mug out of a smaller carafe containing hot water. Snap wouldn’t have pegged Nails for a tea-drinker, but whatever.

Except the little fabric pouch he dropped in the cup had a medical tag hanging off of it, and Snap’s sleep-fuzzy brain finally made the connection.

“How’s that working?” he asked Nails, nodding at the mug in his brother’s hands.

Nails looked up sharply, as if expecting some kind of a trap, but after only a moment’s pause, he just shrugged. “Well enough,” he admitted, but then he grimaced a little. “It’s bitter as all kriff.”

“Ask Fuse if you can add some sweetener or something,” Snap suggested, reaching for a cup of his own. “Gotta be something that can mask the flavor without mucking with the effects.”

Nails scrunched up his nose, but he didn’t outright reject the suggestion.

The caff sloshed into Snap’s mug, near to overflowing. He bent awkwardly to sip some of the excess off, so he wouldn’t spill more.

“Let me know when you’re headed out to-,” Snap paused, eyes landing on the closest Mandalorians, and rapidly adjusted what he’d been about to say. “Your old corps, and I’ll pack up a couple of the plants for you.”

He probably should have run that past Fuse or one of the other medics first, but whatever. If the tea was working, it was working, and Snap knew perfectly kriffing well that their brothers on Wadj were having at least as many sleep issues as the ones stationed on the Draboon VIII base.

If anything, Nails’ expression got even more sour. “I’ll probably kill it.”

And now it was Snap’s turn to shrug. “So give it to somebody with a clue,” he said, picking up his cup and stepping a little to the side, so he wasn’t blocking access to the caff anymore. “I’ll send instructions. They’re kriffing hard to kill.”

Truthfully, the vines were growing like weeds. Snap was going to have to start cutting them back one way or the other, and he knew perfectly kriffing well how many grow racks they’d packed up to send with the Lawquanes.

Nails nodded, coming to some conclusion that made him square his shoulders a little. “I’m on the next ship out,” he said.

“Good,” Snap replied, because it was good news, even if it didn’t leave him much time to prep the plants for transport. “I’ll get some cuttings ready to go.”

The Captain turned to eye Weaver flatly. “This is the ‘diplomatic effort’ you needed my assistance to pull off?” he asked, tone very dry.

A wave of badly suppressed snickers rippled through the crowd, clone and Mandalorian alike. The gym was packed, standing room only, even with extra chairs dragged in from all over base. Snap had given his entire team the shift off to attend, and he was pretty certain the other teams on base had done the same. No kriffing way was he going to miss this, but hopefully somebody was off minding the comms and life support systems.

Weaver, to his credit, didn’t quail under the Captain’s thinly veiled accusation. “It has been remarkably good for morale and inter-faction cooperation in your absence, Sir,” he said mildly.

Captain Rex sighed like his soul was leaving his body, and he eyed Ajax critically.

Ajax, who was already in the ring with his bucket tucked under one arm, just smiled placidly.

Kriff.

Never let it be said that the Corries lacked stones.

“I’m guessing Commander Fox gave you some pointers?” the Captain asked, sounding more than a little resigned.

Ajax’s smile got just a little sharper. “No more than Commander Cody gave you, Sir.”

The Captain pulled on his bucket and asked, “Rules of engagement?”

“First to ten points,” Panz said. And wasn’t that saying something, that they’d tagged a medic to referee this fight?

“First to submission,” Ajax countered blandly, tugging on his own helmet.

The Captain tipped his head to one side, then the other, obviously making a show of stretching out the muscles along his shoulders. “First to submission,” he agreed.

Panz looked like he wanted to murder both of them.

Weaver held out a hand expectantly, and Captain Rex’s shoulders moved like he’d just huffed a laugh which was too quiet to be picked up by his helmet’s internal mic system. He drew both of his blasters and handed them off, but he didn’t stop there. His charge packs followed, then a pair of thermal detonators, and then he unsnapped his pauldron and draped it over Weaver’s arm before loosening his utility belt to access the fasteners for his kamas.

Ajax’s smile widened into a grin that showed off most of his teeth.

Snap figured he knew where the Captain was coming from. He wouldn’t want to offer up the Corrie any free hand holds either.

Manx elbowed Snap in the ribs and tipped a bowl of fried, spiced legumes [chem profile 7, light level 3] in offering.

Kriff, yeah. Snap took a handful and popped one in his mouth.

“You got any bets riding on this?” Manx asked.

Di’kutla question. Everybody had bets riding on this fight. Maybe not in credits, but in favors and intel, shift assignments and bragging rights. Snap had overheard three Mandalorians joking about proposing marriage to the winner. At least, he thought they’d been joking.

“Captain Rex, of course,” Snap said, with only the smallest flicker of doubt. Betting against the Captain was generally a losing proposition, but Ajax was really kriffing good. One way or the other, it was going to be one haran of a show.

By the time Captain Rex stepped into the ring, he’d pretty well stripped down to his bare plate, with only a single vibroblade hanging off of his belt, which seemed only fair, because Ajax had also kept his two knives in the custom sheath he kept in the small of his back. Neither one of them drew their weapons though, they just fell in on either side of the wide ring, watching one another.

“I will call the match, if I think it’s medically necessary to do so,” Panz said darkly and then stepped back, out of the ring.

How the kriff the medic managed to make being a total wet blanket so threatening was a complete mystery to Snap.

But apparently that was all the signal either man needed, because both of them were moving, Ajax in a wide circle and Captain Rex in a smaller pivot, tracking his opponent without giving ground, letting the Guard close distance, if that was what he really wanted.

Apparently Ajax did want that exact thing, because he was abruptly spinning, directing a kick towards the outside of Captain Rex’s leading knee.

Kriff, he was fast, but Captain Rex was a gen one, amongst the oldest CTs in the GAR, and that experience showed. He drew back, just enough to shift out of immediate range.

If Snap had been in the ring, he’d have surged forward, trying to take advantage of Ajax’s exposed back when the initial kick missed, except the Guard wasn’t stopping, continuing his rotation even as he dropped lower, pivoting to the opposite foot and then following through with sweeping reverse kick at the Captain’s ankle.

But it looked like the Captain had anticipated that move as well, because he shifted his stance one more time, lifting his foot just high enough to pass over Ajax’s lightning-quick kick. Then he planted his foot and followed through with a kick of his own, with the full weight of his body twisting to add force to the blow.

Ajax managed to roll away, tumbling with the force of the kick and darting back up to his feet, seemingly unscathed, with an unnecessary, almost playful bounce in his stance.

One of the Mandos whooped, breaking the breathless silence of the crowd.

“Get him!” one of Snap’s brothers, probably Boar, shouted.

Snap had no idea which ‘him’ that was directed at, but it probably didn’t matter.

He kind of felt like he should have been taking notes: Ajax’s speed and precision against Captain Rex’s economy of movement and punishingly powerful blows.

When Snap would have tried for a block or a dodge, the Captain accepted the hit, shifting just enough that Ajax’s strike glanced off of his armor instead of the more vulnerable spots exposed between the plates. That gave him a fraction of a second more time to close distance with the Guard and slam a knee into Ajax’s side with enough force to make the plastoid creak in protest.

Instead of retreating out of the range of one of Captain Rex’s incoming punches, which was definitely what Snap would have tried, Ajax actually twisted to the side, reaching up and grabbing the outside of the Captain’s wrist with his right hand and then snapping an open palm against the back of Rex’s elbow. And maybe the hit didn’t land exactly dead on, because the Captain was already shifting his trajectory to minimize the damage, but it certainly got his entire attention.

Snap normally would have been yelling out suggestions and making additional side bets, but he found himself utterly riveted. Sure he barked out a laugh or cheered when one of them managed to pull off some ridiculous move, but he didn’t exactly have the words. This was ARC osik, or whatever version of that training the Guard had put together for itself. The kind of half-mad druk that would have had them digging latrines for the duration of the war if their commanding officers had ever caught them pulling such dini’la stunts mid-battle.

Except this wasn’t a battle, which was kind of the whole point. It was fun.

Ajax had somehow managed to rip off the Captain’s belt, for some karking reason. It had ended up tossed into the crowd and picked up by Weaver for safe keeping.

Snap wasn’t sure what the kriff Ajax’s plan had been, because that stunt had been both intentional and the source of his current limp. Seemed pretty stupid, just highly, uncharacteristically di’kutla to Snap, but whatever. All it had managed to do was made the Captain’s plackart hang a little awkwardly low. It wasn’t even affecting his movement noticeably.

Of course, the Captain had picked up a slight limp of his own from one of Ajax’s sharp punches which had actually managed to land more or less on target, and that was affecting his mobility at least a little.

Which was a kriff-ton more than Snap probably could have managed against either of them, so maybe he should withhold judgment.

Except then Ajax tried to tackle Captain Rex head on, which ended up earning him one haran of a slam to the mat, followed by a swift kick across the bucket, hard enough to break its magnetic seal and spinning it dangerously to the side, no doubt utterly karking his vision. So maybe Snap had seriously overestimated Ajax’s previous displays of intelligence and strategy.

But then Manx sucked in a sharp breath, drawing Snap’s attention back to the Captain, and holy kriffing kark! Was that a vibroblade hilt sticking out of the Captain’s ribs?

Kark. It was!

Granted, it wasn’t in all that deep, just kind of jammed in between the Captain’s hanging plackart and his cuirass. For just a moment, Captain Rex stood perfectly still, his arms frozen at his side like a statue. Then, one hand inched upward and grabbed the hilt, easing the powered down blade out from his side. The Captain gave the blade a brief inspection before dropping it on the floor. A thin trail of red ran down the Captain’s plackart, enough to make Snap wince, but the Captain’s visor remained unreadable. That is, until it snapped up towards Ajax, who had managed to roll further away and get up on one knee, but was still scrambling to either straighten up his helmet or tear it off.

Captain Rex took one step towards Ajax, but Panz stepped in front of him and stopped him with a hand in the middle of his cuirass, scowling fit to strip armor paint. “Armor off, you’re both done.”

Snap booed.

He wasn’t the only one.

Except then one of the Mandalorians, a tall one in orange and midnight blue armor, took it one step further and walked into the ring, complaining loudly. The second, the absolute moment his hand touched Panz’s shoulder, the medic whipped around and drove a fist into the man’s throat, sending him staggering backwards with a rasping gasp.

“You’re done too,” Panz said, pointing a finger at the wheezing Mandalorian.

Captain Rex collared Cutter, who was in the process of taking violent offense with anyone laying a hand on a brother medic.

Not-Kryze and Krest ended up stopping a few of their people from doing something equally incendiary. Between the three of them, and Weaver, who’d helped a clearly concussed Ajax to his feet before laying into the closest troopers, they eventually got most everybody calmed down and chased out of the gym.

Maybe it was the promise that once the gym was fit for use again, they’d start a new bracket. And whoever won that could have another go at the Captain, assuming he wasn’t deployed somewhere off-base by then. And if he was, then Ajax would be around to do the honors instead.

Assuming the medics signed off on whatever additional injuries the two of them were clearly hiding under their armor.

Snap wasn’t too worried, there hadn’t been that much blood to mop up. And he would know, he’d ended up sticking around with Cutter, Boar, and two of the Mandalorians to put the room back into something resembling order. They’d all five been there to see when Ajax and Captain Rex finally had been escorted off to the infirmary by Panz and Fuse. They’d both been smiling.

Snap knew perfectly karking well that he didn’t stand a chance of making it to the finals, but after he erased the names from the board and redrew a blank bracket, he went ahead and added his name, not his number, to one of the empty slots.

AN: Previous chapters are available here.

Dividers by @freesia-writes using helmets by @lornaka. More designs available here.

I've been mentally restructuring a few things about this fic, so I have a question for you all if you're game. Do you prefer one long fic with distinct parts within it or multiple separate fics linked together as a series? I'm leaning towards option 2, but I thought I'd poll the audience. Thanks in advance.

#eidola tcw fanfic #star wars #tcw #clone wars #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfic #tcw fanfic #clone wars fanfic #the clone wars fanfic #star wars the clone wars fanfic #original clone trooper #clone trooper oc #oc clone trooper #clone troopers

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semiweirdshipper · 2 years

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Albert Wesker x Reader Story

It was purely accidental. You didn't mean to grow any feelings because of it. But every time you experienced a trial facing him, Wesker was always praising your work ethic and survival skills. Constantly he was saying things like "what a striking performance" or "well done, (y/n)" or even "I know you can do better than that,". His tenacious laughter would echo mischievously in the wind behind you.

After being here for a few months, you knew that you were not high standard. No one really thought you were all that interesting, honestly, and due to the fact that you were demisexual, most people who tried getting to know you gave up pretty quickly. And your sexuality wasn't the only downside to you.

You were extremely sensitive and would break down instantly at the slightest mean comment or the raise of someone's voice. You always either tried to avoid people or stay as quiet as possible. Even you believed that it was stupid and annoying, but you couldn't help how your heart felt.

And in these past few weeks, your heart had been beating for Albert Wesker.

Besides the people who only wanted quick, one night stands- which you obviously refused- there hadn't been anybody who had shown you true interest. Besides Wesker that is... That man treated you differently, or at least you suspected he did. Unlike other survivors who got the rasher end of his behavior, you were praised, complimented, and some times even given second chances. That had to be a sign right? A sign that you were special to him?

"'Is Wesker seeing anyone'?" Kate repeated your question with heavy sarcasm, her arms crossed as she gave you a judgemental stare, "Ha, and why are 'you' asking, huh? You think you actually have a chance with him? Do you realize how pathetically stupid you are- I mean, this is Wesker we're talking about. What could ever make you think that a hot piece of meat like him would ever fall for a flavorless dud like you?"

You were shaking, your arms, face, hands and chest growing hot and sweaty beneath your clothes as tears filled your eyes. "You're right," You could feel the shame, embarrassment and stupidity slicing ribbons across your heart, "I'm sorry."

Quickly, before she could say anything else, you walked away, one shaky hand covering your mouth as you found an isolated area in the woods and fell to your knees. Like a bursting dam you began crying, snot pouring out your nose as you covered your face. Regret pounded through your veins; you shouldn't have said anything to them. You should have known that they would only be cruel.

Kate was right though. You were pathetically stupid. You were a flavorless dud. Not to top it off but you were also boring, ugly, weak, and an overly sensitive crybaby. As if Wesker would have feelings for a low piece of trash like you. You were so stupid for falling for the new guy. He was probably like everyone else- only interested in beneficial relationships, hot people, and easy wins during trials.

You were nothing.

...

"My back is fucking killing me," Kate hissed while tenderly rubbing her aching sides.

David looked at her with mock pity, "Maybe you should stop lettin' em bend ya over the gens, yeah?"

"It's not my fault that's all they'll do," She scuffed.

"Were you able to do it with the new guy yet?" Feng eagerly asked, excitement in her eyes.

Kate groaned and pouted, shaking her head, "Nope, he's not biting yet, but we're getting there. No one can resist this sexy ass, haha- oh! I forgot to tell you guys..."

Unbeknownst to the survivors leisurely lounging about inside the living room to the Haddonfield house, Wesker was standing right outside the window, quietly listening in. He had been searching for that fancy dressed buffoon with the electric abilities, needing to gain some information about trials. Evan told him that he could find him here. Unfortunately- or perhaps luckily- his casual search had bestowed him upon this interesting conversation.

"This morning (y/n) had the guts to ask if he was single- ugh, like their pathetic ass could ever get with a guy like him," Kate rolled her eyes and made a gagging gesture, "They're so fucking stupid."

"Ya really think they're into him?" David chuckled, "That's funny. It would suck to be them."

"Yeah, they'll never find a partner," Feng giggled and grinned, "Especially not my sexy Wesker, haha!"

"I told them off," Kate stated with a small glare, "Demi-dumb ass better stay the hell away from him... Pathetic bitch."

On the other side of the wall, Wesker desired doing one of two things. Either smash through the wall and brutally murder those two scumbags for ever thinking that he belonged to anybody, or run straight to you to find out if it was true. Did you really harbor feelings for him?

As more disturbing talk about him and other 'sexy' killers began to pollute the atmosphere, Wesker calmly took his leave without making a bloody scene and headed in the direction of his own realm. Gossip was inevitable. Constantly, no matter what the circumstances, there was always going to be people who talked behind others backs. He had learned long ago not to take what people thought of him into heart. Sure, some things were irritating and he hated being seen as nothing more than a sex attraction, but it is what it is. As long as people didn't act on their stupid feelings, he was fine.

Wesker had only been here a few weeks and countless times already survivors and even a few killers had tried to seduce him. Some of them would praise themselves while using lewd body language, some would straight up ask him if he wanted a 'real' partner, and some had gotten completely naked in an attempt to lure him in. It was safe to say that all those naughty attempts... Had failed.

You were among one of the only survivors who seemed to play right. You were quiet, concentrated and smart, and you never tried to seduce him. Chasing you more often than not served as a tremendous challenge and had him smirking with delight. That and he could tell that you were shy. The way his comments caused your face to light up with color and bashfulness, how you would become so distorted and clumsy and bump into things- he absolutely loved it. He wanted more.

And more he would have.

...

Going into upcoming weeks, Wesker admitted to becoming severely annoyed and impatient. Apparently you were as skilled at hiding in the external realm as you were inside of trials which made it virtually impossible to learn anything about you. He had tried venturing into the survivor woods, but other team mates of yours constantly tried to take up his time and attention when he seriously did not care what they had to say. Asking about you was futile and often got him frustrated reactions. Those imbeciles should know not to test him.

During trials he had gotten more cruel and assertive, abusing uroboros and nearly crushing the skulls of filthy, rotten survivors. He was getting quite fed up with this possessive/obsessive attitude everyone had towards him. And the one person he wanted to find seemed to no longer exist because these perverted idiots had to ruin everything for him. Ugh, it just made him so angry.

All he wanted was to learn more about you; the one appropriate, talented, sane person in this ridiculous hell.

But eventually the wait became worth it. When he finally got a lucky peek at you inside of a trial it was during a, to say the least, messed up moment. He had been on the way to check a generator and had caught the survivor known as Élodie kneeling in front of the hardly working device. Aside from her lacey underwear, she was completely naked.

Almost instantly the veins in Wesker's head throbbed to bursting point, and he was glaring in heavy dissatisfaction at the smirking woman who was moving her rear in obvious suggestion at him. Just as he was about to bring out uroboros, he saw movement from the corner of his eyes and carefully turned his head to see you. Yes, you.

You and your wide horrified eyes that were desperately trying to avert as you saw what was happening. The expression on your face was absolutely priceless. It was like you were a friendly neighbor who accidentally opened the door while their friends were having intimate time. The way you flinched, covered your face and began crouching away had Wesker throbbing with an idea.

"So... You really think that your body is good enough for me?" Wesker asked the question loud and clearly, his hand lifting outwards as he stared down at the half naked woman.

Élodie cocked her hips and puckered her lips in a smirk at the approaching man, "Baby, I 'know' it's good enough for you."

"How amusing that you speak so highly of yourself," Wesker grinned, shot out uroboros and shoved the woman's head back against the rough hill, "I'm not sorry to disappoint you, but the only body I'm interested in is the body that belongs to (y/n)."

Élodie screamed in pain, her body going nearly limp as soon as Wesker retracted uroboros. She tried to get away, but without any clothes or reliable recourse, she was sliced down within seconds. The darkly dressed killer wasted no time in perching the perverted woman on a hook before eagerly sprinting off in search of you.

Wesker refused to let this chance slip through his fingers. Once he realized that you were avoiding him, he began to slice up your other three team members until all that was left was you, Jake, and three broken generators. It took a few rounds of patrolling, but he finally caught you working on a generator in the distance.

Using uroboros, he flew up to you like a snake and, with a force that was far more gentle than what was used on the others, he shoved you against the brick wall. You cried out, expecting the sickness to immediately seep into your body whilst your heart pounded with fear and anticipation. Instead of getting sick, however, the uroboros keeping you pinned slowly inched away from your neck and chest leaving you to blink in confusion.

"If you have an ounce of intelligence, you will not run from me," Wesker breathed in what he wanted to believe was final relief, and he reached up to tear his glasses off because 'fuck' those glasses- they were preventing him from fully admiring his prize.

You stood there in your boring sweatpants, t-shirt and plain jacket, a look of confused horror on your flushed face and-and 'god', Wesker had never imagined that he could be this invested in someone who was so utterly average. Just the fact that almost ninety-five percent of your skin was a mystery to him made him vibrate with excitement. You were the untouched, demisexual survivor who never made deals with the killers and played by your own accord.

You were the survivor that he found himself completely unable to resist.

You, feeling horribly overwhelmed and uncertain of what to do, gazed around anxiously. You didn't know what to do, nor could you guess what exactly was going on. You had been trying to avoid Wesker ever since the other survivors kept bringing you down for asking about him. Having him this close all of the sudden after all that time... It almost made you start hyperventilating in distress. What would he do?

"You've been avoiding me," Wesker stated clearly, bearing down at you with vivid, orange eyes, "Why?"

You looked at him, his expression that of a hungry predator causing you to wince away in tremendous fear and paranoia. "I..." You thought back to everything the others told you and nearly started crying in humiliation, "I-I was just- I'm not avoiding you, I..."

"Did you hear what I said earlier?" Wesker asked, his entire body aching with need to put a cap on this ending so that you both may shed light on a new beginning.

You gaped at him, your eyes glistening with tears as you hesitated, "I-I... I did, but... I-I don't understand... Were you really telling the truth?"

Wesker breathed in, a large smile blooming across his face as he nodded, "Did I sound like I was telling the truth?"

"I..." You shook your head at him, gasping as you go to cover your head in the waves of denial and confusion and heartache, "B-but I'm just an ugly, stupid dud, I-I'm not good enough for you. The others-I... I..."

Ah, so this is why you were avoiding him. Doubt. That was understandable. At least you had just answered one of his many, silent questions; you were interested in him. "Call yourself what you would like, but that is not the way I see you," Wesker took a step forward, gently grabbed your wrists, and slowly pulled them away from your face, "You are talented, intelligent, and you dress in rather boring attire but I cannot deny being allured by it."

"Huh?" You blinked at him with wide, surprised eyes, your body twitching in shock.

It made Wesker grin as he reached up and gently brushed your cheek, "And you're irresistible when praised. Tell me (y/n)... Is that a weakness?"

You uttered a choked noise of embarrassment at him and tilted your heavily flustered face away in an attempt to hide. Absolutely precious, adorable, cute, beautiful... "So it is," Wesker chuckled and used a gloved hand to gently tilt your head back up, "How would you like to be praised by me on a more... 'intimate' level?"

"Y-you mean like a relationship... or just sex?" You asked, wincing whenever you looked up into his blistering reddish-orange eyes. Was this really happening?

Wesker bowed his head and hummed a chuckle, his chest nearly pressing against you as he leaned down and whispered beside your ear, his accent a low pur, "Why would I waste myself on a one night stand when I could be rewarded... With this."

#dead by daylight fanfiction #dbd #dead by daylight #slashers #resident evil #weirdo's fanfiction #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #Cute and simple #minor violence #Fluff #slasher fanfiction

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gendervapor14 · 9 months

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gendervapor's 2023 Fanfiction Review ✍

i saw @chromatic-lamina put something like this together and thought it was really cool!! a lot of artists do year-in-reviews, (myself included) but i haven't seen anything for fanfiction yet. so i decided to give this a go! template is from here!! i'll throw a "read more" at the bottom with links to these fics, ratings, and warnings, if applicable. i'm pretty shocked i was able to write at least one fic a month! for some months, i had a bit of an internal conflict deciding which fics to advertise 😅 hopefully i captured a good range!

01746 ~ M, canon compliant, check tags for warnings

how to bed your captain ~ T, canon compliant

all bark and no bite ~ T, modern AU

doflaminBROS week 2023 ficlet collection ~ T, canon compliant

last trip to the county fair ~ gen, modern AU

façade ~ T, canon compliant, check tags for warnings

life of a paper shredder ~ gen, canon compliant

the duties of a pool boy ~ M, modern AU, check tags for warnings

let me kill your demons ~ M, canon compliant, check tags for warnings

words cut deeper ~ gen, canon compliant

heavy-handed ~ T, canon compliant, check tags for warnings

speechless ~ E, modern AU

i was busy this year, huh? i'll put some 2023 stats on display, too!

this is just, insane to me!! i could have NEVER expected this much support!! it's downright absurd. it's not like i'm writing very popular ships or concepts (aside from the donquixote bros, they're somewhat popular to my knowledge) BUT STILL. ya'll have always been so sweet and helpful and just, so supportive. i could never have imagined i'd be this into a fandom for so long, and i think part of the reason is because of the love in this community. i've noticed my writing improving drastically! so thank you. thank all of you. thank you kudos-givers and commenters and mutuals and followers. thank you guests and lurkers and all the folks who opened my fics in a new tab to save 'em for later. i'm giving you all a hug and a treat of your choice. i couldn't have created this much beautiful work without your love ♥♥♥

looking forward to creating even more in the new year!! 💖

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voidsdamned · 1 month

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Wicked Natures - The Ghoul/OC (Female Character) Chapter Thirteen

Summary: Bounty hunters are frequent customers at Mulholland's Saloon, and Rue's taken quite a shine to one gunslinger in particular: a cantankerous, old Ghoul in a tattered duster. Witness her unabashedly lust after him in all his irradiated glory (as we are all currently doing), as well as navigate the precarious relationship she unfortunately has with local law enforcement.

Minors, do not interact.

Content Warnings: the usual swearing, use of alcohol, mentions of prostitution, murder.

Enjoy <3

Chapter Thirteen: Wrong Decision

The spot on the floor sort of looks like a dog: a big, fluffy one with a dopey, squishable face Rue would very much like to season with kisses. She’d like to give it a hug around the neck, bury her face in its fur, and take a nap. She’d like it if the dog was big enough for her to take a nap on –so big she could lie on its side and sink down into it like a mattress.

Hell, she’d just like a nap after days and days of Deck’s ridiculous, early-morning nit-picking and the long, tiresome nights that follow. Nights where she gets two or so hours of sleep at most because she works so damn late and Deck’s developed this irksome habit of popping in at the ass-crack of dawn for a breakfast Rue doesn’t want –doesn’t have the energy– to make.

The sheriff’s gone now. He left around noon for out-of-town business that’s supposed to keep him tied up for a week or two, and such news nearly brought Rue to tears of relief and joy. She’s still tired, though, and the only thing keeping her going is the promise of a late-morning sleep. But the prospect of lying down and petting the floor-spot dog is sorely tempting.

“Rue, honey, you there?”

Her fuzzy, heavy, half-not-in-her-head brain perks at her name. At the slow, concerned tone of Bo Fortenberry. She glances to him, not fond of the furrow-browed look on his face, and then her eyes go right back to the floor. She points at the spot.

“That look like a dog to you?”

“Huh.” Bo makes a teeth-kissing, curious sound. “Kinda?”

“More like a chicken to me,” Len Thomas comments, peering over the edge of the table. “That dirt or just the way the wood warps?”

“Better not be dirt,” Rue grumbles, scrubbing at the dog spot with the toe of her boot. It doesn’t move. Doesn’t have any sort of texture to it other than wood grain. “Tired of scrubbin’ the damn floors….” She decides it’s just the wood grain and sighs before shooting a grin at her table. “I completely forgot if I was comin’ or goin’. You boys need anything?”

Three out of four boys shake their heads in the negative, but Gen Guthrie bobs his as he takes a big gulp of beer.

“Just to know how long the waitin’ list is on… Ana? Anis?” Gen sets his beer down, head cocking and brows scrunching. “Annie?”

“Second one was closest,” Rue tells him, fingergunning. “Anais. And buddy, ya might not get a spot for months. She really knows how to –and I’m quotin’ Brent Mahonne directly here, ‘Lay it on a guy.’ So, I’m guessin’ she’s pretty good.”

“Brent Mahonne’s a dog,” Fat Patrick tosses in around a laugh. “Long as it’s got a hole, he’d fuck it.”

Rue believes it. She heard him proposition Adel once, and well… Rue doesn’t like that she’s imagined it, but she thinks cigarette smoke probably billows out of Adel’s cooze the same way it does from her mouth. She wouldn’t go near it. But Brent Mahonne sounded earnest and wanting when he suggested they pop out back.

She decides to not share that with the boys, though. Adel’s been shrieking at her enough as is, and Rue’s sick of it. Instead, she smiles devious and says, “Bet him and gulper fucker are best pals.”

Bo gives a short laugh but corrects her, “Naw, they can’t stand one another –both think the other’s nasty as hell and oughta be shot.” He takes a quick sip of beer. “Personally, I think the gulper fucker’s the worse of the two. Takes a depraved fucker to put their dick in somethin’ dead.”

“So, you’re sayin’ it wouldn’t be as bad if it were live when he did it?” Gen poses.

Bo’s nose scrunches, but he dips his head. “Kinda?”

“Stop talkin’ ‘bout the gulper fucker and dead things,” Len groans, green as a supermutant around the gills. “I just wanna drink my beer without hearin’ ‘bout it.”

“Awe, we’ll leave it alone, Len,” Roo coos, smile soft and teasing. She spares a swink for the rest of the boys. “I’ll come back ‘round in a bit.”

Varied appreciation comes from the table as Rue turns to leave, eyes catching on the dog spot a final time before she drags her gaze away. She has to focus and stop thinking about fluffy things to nap on. There’s a shift to get through, and then her lumpy couch can swallow her up.

Her mind spins back around to her couch often, though. When her arms wobble under the weight of a too-full tray. When Yumi keeps stealing her goddamn drinks. When Rina tells Rue she’s, “Just not feelin’ it,” when a neglected table has Rue go hunting for her. When Adel bids Rue to guess at how many caps Harvey James just offered to get Rue in the broom closet with him. When Hal asks her for the dozenth time tonight to run up the stairs to take drinks to one of the girls’ rooms.

Rue slogs herself up the staircase, a bottle of red wine in the hand that doesn’t pull her heavy body upwards with tugs at the stair rail. On the landing, she hesitates but for a moment before heading towards the room that used to be Lara’s.

Rue couldn’t actually say how long it’s been since Lara left –time runs together for her worse than it ever has– but her absence still feels very new and strange. And she frankly doesn’t like it even though she is glad Lara got to leave. Rue’s glad she’s far away and hopefully enjoying the hell of that tall, muscley boy she landed, but Rue misses Lara as fiercely as she misses hot water (if not more). She misses her honey eyes. Her quick smile. Her secret devilishness. She misses the way Lara would humour her silliness and let her try just about anything with her hair and makeup. She misses talking about nothing. She misses talking about everything. She misses the simple pleasure of sharing the same space.

And then there’s the fact that Anais isn’t very nice or likeable. She’s another Molly. Another Rina and Yumi. She’s rude, demanding, refuses to learn how to work the floor in the server kind of way, mistakenly jealous of how much attention Deck unfortunately gives Rue, and doesn’t know how to do her makeup. But she thinks she does. She gets the spitting, throwing shit kind of mad when Adel sends Rue to her room to fix whatever travesty the courtesan has thrown together.

Rue’s quick about the drink drop. She knocks loud and clear, sets the bottle down, and turns to book it back downstairs.

But then she hears her name come from further down the hall, around the corner one would take to get to Adel’s room.

People talk about Rue all the time, and she used to ignore it. She’d space out or leave it, but ever since Artie, Rue hones in when she hears her name. Something in her pricks and demands to know what is said. It could be important. Something she can use. A warning.

She takes a step down the hall, pausing for just a moment when the door to Lara’s old room parts just a fraction and a freckled hand slithers out to snatch up the wine bottle. The door shuts; Rue moves more steps, careful and slow until she comes to the corner where she takes the quickest of peaks.

Lucky and a man she doesn’t know the name of (but she knows she’s seen hanging around Deck for a little while now) lean into a wide, open window. Cigarettes smoke idly between lips or fingers, curls of grey filtering into the midnight air.

Lucky’s taking a particularly long drag, expelling it with a great sigh. “Well, they think Lara probably begged her for it, and Rue… she’s not altogether there, but she’s sweet. Sweet and simple. She’d give anyone the shirt off her back, and Deck’s pissed Lara took advantage of that.”

Rue pulls back, spine pressing into the wall and heart doing all manners of flip-flops in her chest. That’s bad. She hasn’t heard much, but that’s really, really bad.

“That… that still don’t sound like a good enough reason to send someone after her.”

Rue’s flip-flopping heart splats to the floor. She…. Maybe she’s just misunderstanding the situation? Surely, they’re not talking about Lara having a bounty her. Not Lara. Not Lara who’s never done anything but love someone –who didn’t even ask Rue for help.

“It’s enough for him.”

“…He’s weird ‘bout that one.”

A grumbled, heavily sighed. “Buddy, ya don’t know the half of it. He don’t like it when anyone gets too close to her or when she does anything for anyone other than him. And it’s just been gettin’ worse and worse here lately with everything goin’ on. Her interactin’ with folks here is gettin’ to be too much for him. Can’t tell ya how many times he’s complained ‘bout Bo Fortenberry and his boys or that Ghoul takin’ up too much of her time. He’s even startin’ to get weird ‘bout Hal and… and that Ghoul rancher –shit, what’s her name….” A snap of the fingers. “Ira Jean. Just everyone now. And he’s stuck her in the absolute worse place for him to be this way. But that’s the other half of it! He likes to show her off. He likes hearin’ how bad some people want her. It’s askin’ for fuckin’ disaster.”

Rue’s stomach has joined her heart on the ground, and both sort of just writhe down there. Twisting. Thundering. Her head spins hard. Horribly.

“Makes me think of that off-his-rocker fella he was spinnin’ like a twister ‘bout when I first joined up. Think I ‘member someone sayin’ she patched him up on her porch and that’s what set him off?”

A tired, “Yup. …That was one job I really didn’t wanna do. I was relieved whoever hurt him came back and got him so quick.” Another sigh. “But that’s back in my lap now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Ya see that redhead that stopped in earlier?”

“Uh… blue hat and a .357?”

“Mhm” A quick pause. A vocal exhale. “That’s Geraldine. She brought me a head, claimin’ it was Artie’s. Said she found him down in Two-Sun just wanderin’ ‘round.”

Everything goes out of Rue, goes brittle and cold, and she goes to shaking so violently her vision vibrates. She bites down so hard on her lip she tastes copper, but there’s no pain to it. There’s only rage and a scream she can’t let leave her throat. She has to keep it together. She has to hear the rest.

Rue stares up at the ceiling, blood dribbling down her chin and eyes burning.

“He escaped?”

“Must’ve. Maybe? I dunno that it’s really his head. It’s busted to hell and back, decayed bad, and Geraldine’s got a reputation for fakin’ bounties. …She brought us a head off a raider boss, Macho, a few years back. It was in rough shape –we couldn’t confirm or deny the identity– but we took her at her word. ‘Bout two weeks later, another hunter comes in with Macho’s head in pristine condition. No doubt it was his. So, we had Geraldine brought in, and the only reason she ain’t dead –still doin’ business with us– is ‘cause she coughed the caps up, and… well… she soothed Deck’s ego. If ya catch my drift.”

“Think she’d be dumb enough to try it again?”

“Some people don’t learn. …I decided to not to give her the full bounty. Told her she could wait ‘round for Deck to come back to town and take it up with him. Guess it’s sort of a good sign she’s still here, but I don’t trust her.”

“Don’t reckon I would either….” There comes a lecherous chuckle that firmly boots Rue out of her focus. “But I’d let her soothe my ego.”

Rue barely hears Lucky’s response of, “Fuckin’ dog,” as she pushes away from the wall, as she tries to hold her head and heart and her entire self together. She’s moved into a different frequency. Spiraling away. And all she can think about is getting away. Running and running. She’ll explode if she doesn’t.

She almost falls down the stairs, fumbling the last few steps, and she’s not nearly as dexterous as she usually is as she winds through the main floor of Mulholland’s. She’s not right enough in her own mind to avoid folks, and their voices sound like big-band trumpets. Every accidental brush of another against her burns. Pricks like cactus needles. They… they all kind of look like cacti to her. Just these faceless shapes, all lumpy, spiney, and too close.

A figure is suddenly in her path, and Rue doesn’t even think about stopping. She can’t. She collides, teeth and left shoulder ringing. Everything’s ringing. Vibrating. It’s gone from trumpets to a church bell tolling in her head. It’s loud and terrible, and Rue’s hands clamp over her ears to stop the noise, to keep her skull from rattling apart.

She’s hit again, knocked to the floor. Her ass strikes, rough, splintering wood, sending shocks up her spine. Rue’s spinning eyes stare up, fixing on a red-haired woman in a blue hat that is absolutely ranting and raving. Spitting as she glares down, as she pulls out a shining, .357 magnum and levels it on Rue.

Rue goes very still inside, her scattered world coming into intense focus around the redhead. She speaks a name aloud in question, a breath of confusion, “Geraldine?”

“Who’s fuckin’ askin’?” The redhead’s voice is a temperamental, not-quite shout full of growl and venom. “You need to watch where the fuck you’re goin’.”

Rue tries to stand. The redhead plants a boot in her chest. It hits so hollowly –Rue barely feels it– but it puts her right back on her ass.

“I didn’t say ya could get up, cunt,” probably-Geraldine barks. “Ya owe me a proper apology and some goddamn respect.”

The gun glints in the low light of the saloon. There’s a click of the safety being disengaged.

A complete disconnect occurs in Rue’s mind. She doesn’t realize that she lunges forward or that the .357 fires. She doesn’t realize she’s wrapped herself around the redhead’s legs like a rabid radcoon, bringing her down to harsh floors. And she doesn’t realize she’s screaming. That she’s scrambling or straddling the woman, bringing her netted hands down into a combined fist upon Geraldine’s face over and over again. She doesn’t feel the hot wetness of blood. She doesn’t feel flesh connect with flesh, breaking and splitting.

She doesn’t feel the arms around her, lifting and hauling her back. She can only see herself being pulled away from the redhead, who really is just a red head now. A spreading pool of crimson fluid and fiery strand of slicked hair.

Rue shakes again, whole body pulsating. Her vision blurry and uncertain. Worsening. Wet. The world spins, and she looks up at a ceiling. A terrified face she suddenly recognizes as Hal’s. He looks like he might be shouting. Maybe at her?

The world dims. Air rushes. She can barely see him anymore. Will she see him again? Will Deck kill him for touching her? Will he kill Mrs. Ira Jean for her kindness towards Rue? Murder Bo, Len, Gen, and Fat Patrick for being one of her favourites? The Ghoul for being her favourite.

It’s like trying to move the earth, but Rue manages to reach up. To find Hal’s face. Her slick fingers drag across his stubbly cheek, and she presses them to his lips, tracing a red smile.

“I… c-can’t keep ya s…safe,” she tells him, not hearing the heartbreak to her own voice. The way it wavers. There’s just the way it vibrates up her throat and slips through her lips. “I-I could…could…n’t keep… n-no one sss-safe.”

Her heavy, unseeing eyes slip closed, and Rue feels everything go out of her. Every ounce of anything until she’s just a hollowed-out outline of herself that’s slurped up by warmth and nothing. And that nothing, that darkness that eats her up… it’s really, very nice.

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

Being spat up is miserable. A brief glimpse at something bright, and then having to claw her way towards it. Again and again until Rue snags a sensation, and it’s wretched. A headache which pounds like a drum in her skull. A throat that feels sharply raw. Her limbs are lead and far away, but not as far away as her body. It’s not real at all. Not yet. But then the nausea hits, and Rue is aware of every inch of herself and the intense possibility that she is going to vomit.

She takes slow, deep breaths. She doesn’t want to vomit. She hates to vomit. She’d rather a knife go through her hand. …Shit, she feels like knives have already gone through her everywhere.

“No, her still being unconscious is very normal. Stimpaks can only do so much, especially with multiple injuries involved. And they’re a strain on the human body. A period of deep rest often follows their use, and compounded with the exhaustion physical trauma can cause… she could sleep for another day.”

Rue’s eyes part a fraction at the sound of Doc Nguyen’s voice, that precise and careful cadence. So clear and no-nonsense. So… educational.

There’s a sharp, puffing exhale. “Right, right. If you’re sure she’s fine. Or going to be…. She’s going to be?”

That sounds like Lucky, and Rue can’t figure out why the sound of his voice puts her so on edge. Makes her want to hold her breath.

“Yes, she will, and you can thank Hal for that. If not for him getting her here as quickly as he did, blood loss likely would have taken her.”

“I’ll… uh….” Lucky sounds so winded, so tired. “I’ll most definitely do that. And thank ya, too, Doc. …Will ya send word once she’s up and ready for visitors?”

“I will.”

“Thank ya –again.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good day, Lucky.”

“You too, Doc.”

Footsteps sound against wood flooring. A door opens and closes. Silence follows in its wake, soon broken by a sigh.

The doorknob to the room Rue guesses she was dying in at some point rattles and turns. The door creaks open, allowing the tall, elegant figure of Doc Nguyen to breeze in. She pulls her salt-and-pepper hair out of her face, into a tight bun at the base of her neck, but stops halfway through the motions of it to cut Rue a mild glare.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to know I almost kicked the bucket.” Rue’s voice is hoarse and broken, but it works well enough. “And hell, I fuckin’ feel it.”

Doc Nguyen fights off a grin, finishes tying her hair off, adjusts the glasses perched on the tip of her nose, and grabs a chair from close by, rolling it to Rue’s bedside. “You’re lucid enough, so let’s talk. I know you don’t feel well but describe exactly how you’re feeling to me.”

“Mmm. Not all the way here –like half of me’s still down for the count. But what I do feel aches…. Vomity. Headachy. My throat’s raw.”

The doctor spins away. Rue doesn’t turn her head to watch where she goes because it makes the world go into cartwheels. So, she listens as something slides open and gets rattled around. Doc Nguyen comes back and presses something chalky to Rue’s lips.

“Chew.”

Rue does.

Several more somethings with waxier coatings are held to her mouth. “Hold.”

Rue holds the pills in her mouth. The rim of a bottle is held steady to her lips. She is bid to, “Swallow,” and does so, washing the weird flavours out of her mouth.

“Give it ten minutes.”

“I got all the minutes.”

The good doctor clicks her tongue. “You almost didn’t have any….” Rue snorts; Nguyen goes on. “Why don’t you use a few of them to tell me what you’ve been doing to get a mild case of radiation sickness.”

Riding a necrotic cowboy into the sunset, but I swear I did a RadAway drip each time after….

But Rue’s obviously not going to say that. She likes Doc Nguyen –she’s been caring for Rue since she came to Dust– and she wants to trust her; but Rue’s secrets don’t feel safe with anyone but herself.

“Indulgin’ in Cram despite knowin’ better.” It’s an easy fib. Believable if she’s been eating the canned meat a little bit too regularly. “It’s so good fried, Nguyen. Ya can’t even taste the decades and decades it’s been marinatin’ in a tin can when ya fry it.”

“I’m going to recommend you quit. If not for keeping your rads down, then for keeping your intestines in working order.”

“I’ll take it into consideration.”

Nguyen sighs. “If I weren’t a doctor, I’d hurt you. Just a little bit.”

Rue grins drowsily. “Only a lil’?”

Doc Nguyen’s lips quirk ever so slightly, but she’s good at squashing her amusement down. She’s straight-faced and not-quite-frowning in an eyeblink. “Moving on. If it’s too foggy or hurts your head, don’t press, but I’d like to know what the last thing you remember is before waking up here.”

“I had a fit?” That’s the only thing Rue can currently guess at. She always ends up in Doc Nguyen’s office in a sorry state when she’s had a fit, and it’s a bit up in the air if she’ll remember the why behind it. Sometimes she does; sometimes she doesn’t. She definitely doesn’t at the moment.

“Yes, but let’s not call it a fit. We’re going to say a mental health crisis.”

“That sounds worse.”

Impatience leaks into an otherwise even, professional tone. “Rue.”

Rue sighs. She knows that voice and that she should probably stop dicking around. “Sorry, Nguyen. Lemme think….”

“Take your time.”

The last thing Rue remembers with any kind of clarity is being at Mulholland’s, running drinks and chatting with tables. How tired and ready for bed she was. At one point, she was thinking about Lara. Missing Lara. It twists at her even now, but there’s something deeper there. A worry she doesn’t understand.

Rue starts over, retracing all her steps. Her morning was average. She was able to do all her normal chores and feed Eggshells before Deck and the three or four boys he’s taken to keeping on him at all times swung by to walk her to work. He bid her goodbye on the saloon’s front porch, pulling her in for a hug that lasted for far too long and ended with a kiss against her hair.

Rue mentally pushes that away, wishing she could erase it completely, but she’s never so lucky as to forget that kind of shit. But she was a little lucky when she went inside the saloon and popped behind the bar to tuck Baby Destiny in her safe place. Hal had saved her a muffin, and Rue scarfed it down in three bites before helping him with stocking glasses. Then she headed upstairs to help the girls get ready, and that was as thrilling and enjoyable as it usually is.

Now that she’s thinking about it, she spent an awful lot of time going up and down the stairs last night because Anais likes to share drinks with her clients. In fact, Rue has a very vivid memory of watching Anais’ arm slip out her cracked bedroom door and snatch up a wine bottle before she… she followed the sound of her name and her heart went to hurricane-ing.

Because Lucky. Because Deck. Because Lara. Because Bo. Because the Ghoul. Because Hal. Because Ira Jean. Because Geraldine. Because… because Artie.

Rue’s sore fingers spastically clench. Her whole body recoils, and she wants to claw out the heart in her chest that goes so tight. That aches and rages and breaks apart bit by bit.

“Rue? Rue, what’s wrong?” A hand comes down gentle on Rue’s bandaged right hand.

Rue stares at it hard, seeing it red stained. Seeing red on floors. Red hair.

“Did I kill that lady?” Rue asks, quietly.

Doc Nguyen is silent for a long moment, and when she speaks, she does so plainly, “You did. One of your blows struck her nose in a very particular way. It shoved the bone into her brain.”

Rue keeps staring at her bandaged hand, through it. Through the thin bedsheets and mattress and all the way down to the hell she never thought existed. But she thinks it might now. She thinks it might be all around her. Demons and figments and bright spots only used to hurt her even worse later.

“You aren’t in trouble for it, Rue,” Doc Nguyen goes on. “Everyone agrees what happened, happened because the other party escalated the situation when she pushed you down and drew her firearm.”

“Nguyen,” Rue says carefully, as calmly as she can muster with her heart and eyes burning like wildfire and her throat so tight on account of tears. “I don’t wanna talk no more.”

“That’s… that’s alright. We don’t have to.” Doc Nguyen’s hand on hers pets so gently. “Is it alright for me to run through my check-up?”

Rue simply nods, not moving another muscle as the doctor does whatever she needs to do.

And Rue’s brain spins through what she needs to do. Or not do. She can’t do anything. She couldn’t save Artie. Lara might have a goddamn, fucking bounty out on her. Everyone who comes into contact with her is in danger because Deck Craven loves her in the most twisted, fucked-up, obsessive way someone could love another. But it’s not love. It’s not right. He’s ruining her life. He’s ending lives. And the universe doesn’t want her to end his –or that’s how it’s really starting to feel. Every attempt she made was foiled, and he’s gone the night she snapped and killed someone.

It shoulda been him. It shoulda been him. It shoulda been him.

She… she doesn’t know what to do anymore. Did she ever? It feels as if she’s made every wrong decision, but they always felt like the only ones she had. She couldn’t run. Bounty hunters would have gotten her. She never wanted to tell a soul what he did, never wanted to drag them into her shit. It was her and Deck’s business. It was never supposed to be anyone else’s. No one else was supposed to die because of her.

Rue’s eyes slip shut, the keen, horrible realization that everything she’s ever done and endured was pointless burrowing deep. Breaking her down so low, making her feel so weak and helpless and small. So, so stupid –as stupid as everyone says she is.

Rue suddenly, desperately, wants her Pa. No, she needs him. She needs him to scoop her up and hold her tight. Needs him to pat her hair and tell her everything is alright, and goddammit, he always made it so. He always knew what to do, and she really fucking doesn’t. She’s just some burnt-brained kid fumbling around, making bigger and bigger messes that get the people she loves killed.

“N-Nguyen,” Rue’s voice is watery, wavering, “do ya still-.” She sniffs, breathing uneven. “Do ya still have my holotape? I-I wanna hear Smile.”

Nguyen looks up from the small, scabbing over cuts on Rue’s knuckles. Her hazel eyes pick over Rue’s face, and for a moment, Rue sees sadness and worry. More kindness she doesn’t deserve. More love she can’t have. But she wants so desperately, that she greedily clings to despite knowing better.

“Of course I do.” Doc Nguyen rises, patting the back of Rue’s hand very carefully before stepping away. “I promised I would keep it safe. I even have a pair of headphones for you this time around if you want to try them.”

Rue can only bob her head, no longer trusting her voice to speak.

#the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #fallout the series #fallout 2024 #fallout tv series

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sapphicscholar · 10 months

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20 questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tag, @lilolilyr!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

135 fics total!

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

2,436,430 words (jfc hahah)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Ever? Listing them in vague order of when I started writing for them: Supergirl, Wynonna Earp, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Grace and Frankie, This Way Up, Once Upon a Time, Madre Solo hay Dos (just on Tumblr), Abbott Elementary, Hacks, and Julia

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

ALL of them are Supergirl from back in the early-ish days of the show when it was a pretty massive (by femslash standards, I suppose) and very active fandom! It's actually so interesting seeing how absolutely nothing I've written in more than half a decade even shows up, since I've largely switched to smaller fandoms since then.

But the top 5 fics by kudos are:

Stronger Together, a collection of one-shots for various Supergirl ships (with a few gen fics mixed in), which has nearly 5k kudos (WILD to me as someone now in a fandom with maybe 25 people total haha)

Welcome to the Gayborhood, my first ever fic, a looong Sanvers and Supercorp professor AU that still keeps the alien/supernatural elements of canon

6,500 miles away...but getting closer, a Sanvers epistolary fic that my wife and I actually co-wrote and posted 1 letter/email per day every day for many months

Noise Complaint, a Sanvers next-door neighbor AU that, hilariously, given its placement in the top 5 here, is what catalyzed a series of events that led to me very much leaving the fandom (and fandom writ large for nearly a year)

Supercat Sanvers 2020, a Sanvers and Supercat political AU that was maybe one of the last long-form works I wrote before moving out of DC!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I really try to! Sometimes if it's from a person I know well, I end up responding via DMs, esp if there are questions about what comes next, plotting elements, etc., that I don't necessary want everyone to see while the fic is still being posted, but mostly I try to respond on AO3. I've gotten a bit worse in the past few years just because I'll manage to eke out a bit of time to write, which puts me behind on my work, and then I don't leave myself time to respond, and by the time I DO have time, it feels awkwardly late to do so. But even if I don't respond, I absolutely love/cherish/adore/etc. every single kind comment I've ever been given <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Forgoten, but not Gone - a Sanvers amnesia AU set post-breakup that's heavy on the angst with a rather ambiguous ending. I got talked into writing a part 2 that resolves the angst haha, but taken on it's own it's definitely my angstiest ending!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Huh idk! Most of my fics end on fairly happy, if a bit open, endings. I'm not a big fan of having all the loose ends tied up, and I realllyyyy don't do the marriage/2 kids/white picket fence epilogue, so I guess maybe the political AU has to be up there because it actually envisions a world where a queer woman wins the presidency on a progressive platform, and that feels rather utopian 🙃

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Not in a while, though I used to back in the days, like super vitriolic shit (big fandoms with too-big emotions, man... which has really kept me away maybe forever from those kinds of fandoms!)

9. Do you write smut?

Haha very much so. I've written and posted before about why, but I really believe there's so much interesting character work and exploration that can be done by exploring characters' pleasures, their desires (both thwarted and realized), their fantasies, etc. Obviously smut isn't the only way to do this, but fanfic feels like one of the few venues where it's a real possibility!

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nah, not really. I've written a handful of bring characters x and y into the universe of another show fics, but that feels mostly different. Every so often I'll borrow vague character outlines for tertiary characters in other fics just to see if folks recognize them (had Grace Hanson as a grumpy background character in a Sanvers fic set at PT for instance hah)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Once or twice, but we got them taken down

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, one of my SG fics was translated into Russian! I'm not sure if it's still up (tbh I can't recall which one; it's been a long time!) I've also had a couple podfics now made of my fics, one of which I still need to go listen to when I get the time!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah! The long-form Sanvers epistolary fic my wife and I co-wrote together, and a group of Supercat authors got together and did a delightfully chaotic round robin, each writing one sentence, then setting a timer for the next person to write the next sentence, etc., until we had Intergalactic Standard Cuddling

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh man, I really don't know that I have a favorite! I really appreciate what various ships can offer me at different times - there are certain themes that make sense to explore with one pairing but not at all with another, or certain AUs that work in one fandom but not really in another. Basically, if a show is giving me multiple female characters who interact in canon in ways that go beyond existing near each other, I'm intrigued, and if these characters actually get depth and complexity, I'm probably in! There are, however, some ships that I might not end up feeling fannish/creative about even though I love them as ships (I talked a lot to @trying-to-get-somewhere-real about this recently, actually!), so it's hard to name a favorite when the metrics get all wonky!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

I don't want to say never, but I have a Cat-centric fic that'll end on Supercat that just has a lot of angst that coincided with a period of unexpected loss and grief in my own life in ways that have made it really hard to get back into even now (it just feels so...enmeshed with that moment, even though the timing was utterly coincidental)

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I do a good job with dialogue and getting characters' voices down - I'm really into the character side of things (which is also what gets me invested fannishly in shows! I want a show that cares about developing their characters first and foremost vs. a show where plot takes priority)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Certain kinds of action scenes haha - also I tire easily of writing things that feel repetitive to things I've done/written before (this was more of an issue when I took prompts)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Largely, this isn't something I've had to deal with much outside of maybe a few phrases and sentences from multilingual characters. I've talked before about how it was actually the language/translation barrier that kept me from writing for Madre Solo hay Dos. I don't speak Spanish, and getting a show entirely via the Netflix-provided translations meant 1) I was fairly certain there were some word choice/dialect peculiarities I was missing, and 2) I couldn't catch the rhythms of their speech, the cadence of their voices at least in ways that corresponded to the specific words. For me, voice matters so much, and it really felt like a barrier to not have access to the source language because I felt like I couldn't do these two women justice!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Supergirl

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Oh I've answered this elsewhere with 2-3 works, and tbh I don't think it's changed since then! I'm actually far more interested in others' favorite fics of mine because it's so interesting to think about the question of *what* sticks with a person from yours (it's often so idiosyncratic!!)

I'm getting to this pretty late, so I won't tag anyone, assuming many people already have been, but if ya see this and want to participate, feel free to give me a tag! I always love seeing people talk about their own writing :)

#fandom things #tag meme #fic writer asks

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the-localwildlife · 3 years

Text

An Exception to the Rule [Gary Smith / Jimmy Hopkins]

So I've been having the time of my life over the past couple days and wrote a bit of self-indulgent fanfic to help me cope.

TW: Blood Ship: Smopkins Rating: Gen. Wordcount: 981 Summary: Gary isn't the sort to care for other people, but when Jimmy wakes up lightheaded with a heavy period he does what he can to make his boyfriend comfortable.

Caring for others had never been Gary's forte.

For Jimmy? He could make an exception.

Jimmy hadn't asked for help, but Gary didn't have to be a genius to realise something was wrong. Gary had burst into Jimmy's room to see what was holding him up. Jimmy barely moved in his bed. If he didn't get up they'd be late for their train, but he hardly reacted, even to Gary's less-than-platonic teasing. "You alright, moron?" Gary pulled off Jimmy's cover, and Jimmy tried to hold them close to his body, but he wasn't strong enough to stop Gary. "You can sleep later—"

Gary didn't mean to scream, but he had never seen that much blood in his life.

"What's wrong?" Jimmy may not have seemed particularly lucid, but his voice was clear. He hoisted himself up onto his arms and looked down. "Oh." Jimmy got out of his bed with a stumble. "You ok?" He approached Gary, who was gaping at the blood-soaked boy. Jimmy kept his distance, well aware he was likely to stain in his current state. "I—how are you alive? Do I need to take you to a doctor?" Gary fired off what seemed like thousands of questions a minute. He then realised he was still holding the blanket, and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. "Huh? Oh, it's just a period." Jimmy winced and dug through one of the drawers in his bedside table. Gary noticed the blood had soaked through his underwear to make a horrific red Rorschach test. Jimmy took out a little white pot with the word IRON emblazoned on the side and unscrewed the lid. Jimmy swallowed the little orange pill dry. He returned the pot to his bedside table and continued his search. Jimmy left the room with a fresh pair of underwear, a towel, and a plastic pouch in hand. Gary took in the damage. The bedsheets Jimmy used were sodden with blood, he didn't want to imagine how the mattress looked. Did Jimmy and his bed go through this bloodbath every month? Gary didn't think it was possible, because he would have noticed by now.

He opened the windows to let some fresh air in and thought about what to do with the blood-soaked fabrics. The easiest thing would be to leave them, but Gary thought about Jimmy's state and knew he couldn't do nothing, even if it was easier. He went to his bedroom and got a bin bag, which he used to carry the bedsheets to the basement laundry room. At 11AM on a Saturday there was little chance of bumping into anyone in here, and—despite his eagerness to stare down any jerk using the room when he wanted it—Gary relished the sight of the room devoid of life. If only he had any clue on how to get blood out of fabric—it was more his thing to stain fabric with blood than take the bloodstains away.

A cursory internet search indicated he needed to soak the stains in water. There was a surprising amount of blood. He opted for throwing them in the tub in the corner and turning on the cold tap. He hesitated before plunging his arms into the reddening water, unaccustomed to touching other peoples blood when it wasn't necessary. All the same, he got to work rinsing and turning the fabric to get as much blood out as possible.

"Gary, are you in here?" Jimmy's familiar voice called from the top of the stairs. He made his way down and Gary took a step back from the washing and dried his hands on an abandoned towel. "How are you feeling?" Gary closed the distance between them and put the back of his hand to Jimmy's head. He looked pale, and felt close to warm. But the warmth could be thanks to the oversized hoodie he was wearing. Did he know it was almost summer? "Yeah, I'm ok," he looked past Gary to the laundry tub filled with his bedding. "What are you doing? We have enough time to catch the next train." "Don't worry about that, we're gonna stay in. Do a movie night or something." "I was looking forward to going to the new bike park, though." Jimmy pouted.

Gary couldn't stop Jimmy if he fought to go, but he could see how he swayed from side to side and the way his glazed eyes were hooded by eyelids. Jimmy probably wouldn't make it to the train station, let alone to the bike park. "We can go next week." Gary hummed and kissed Jimmy's forehead. "How long will my bedding take?" Jimmy mumbled as his head drooped onto Gary’s shoulder. "Not too long, I hope. Then there's also your mattress—" "What about my mattress?" Jimmy lifted his head for the purpose of raising an eyebrow. "It's also soaked in blood, not as bad as the sheets, though." "There was hardly any blood on the sheets in the first place, it'll be an easy job." Jimmy yawned as he spoke, all his limbs looked like they were dragging him down. "Don't feel like you have to deal with that, either." Gary formulated a plan as he spoke, "I've got my air mattress and some spare blankets and pillows. You're staying in my room tonight." "Nono, you hate my snoring—" "I'm not asking, James, you're sleeping in my room. we'll stay up watching films and then when you're less tired we can fix your bed. Ok?" Jimmy nodded in response.

Gary finished Jimmy's laundry to the best of his ability, then he went to town and got Jimmy's favourite snacks. They watched movies together until Jimmy fell asleep curled up against Gary. Gary turned off the TV and pulled the covers over himself and his boyfriend. Gary was not one to care for other people, but to him Jimmy would always be the exception.

#I'm probably going to add more details later #Maybe publish it on AO3 at a later date #But I like it as it is rn #and I'm just... so tired #and I haven't published any writing recently #so I hope it's likeable #Smopkins #Gary Smith #Jimmy Hopkins #Trans Jimmy Hopkins #Bully Fanfic #My Writing #Bully #Bully CCE #Canis Canem Edit #If you like it let me know!

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sofreddie · 3 years

Text

Scent From Above 6 (Final)

Summary: Jensen and Y/N settle into life together.

Characters: Alpha!Jensen x Omega!Fan!Reader, Jared, Gen

ABO BINGO: Pack Life

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, Fluff, Mentions of Mating/Claiming, Pregnancy

Word Count: 796

A/N: The end is here! @spnabobingo Square - Pack Life. I actually struggled with this final part. The words just did not want to come. I think it wrapped up pretty well. Thanks for all the support throughout!

PART 5

Y/N sighed as she looked over herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hands smoothed down her summer dress over her large belly. Even though she was only six months along, carrying the giant Jensen Ackles' twins made it look like she was full-term already.

After they claimed each other, Jensen insisted he wanted her with him. He wanted to build a life and home with her. He ended up buying a house down the street from Jared and Gen. He liked the neighborhood and the homes and he knew it would be a great place to raise their kids.

She wasn't used to it at first; Jensen buying this and that. She wasn't used to having means and being able to afford such nice things. She realized though that he wouldn't be deterred. He wanted the best of everything for his mate and child. That was enough for her to keep her mouth shut.

She looked herself over one last time, deciding to remove her engagement ring. Her fingers were starting to swell and the rock he bestowed upon her felt heavy. It was yet another extravagance she wasn't used to, but it didn't stop her literally squealing and tackling him to the ground when he proposed.

Deciding she was as comfortable and put together as she was gonna get, she finally headed downstairs and out to the backyard. Gen sat at one of the patio tables, a large umbrella overhead shielding her from the sun. She smiled warmly and gestured for Y/N to join her.

"Sucks having to pee all the time," Gen teased her playfully.

"All the time!" Y/N exclaimed with a laugh.

As Jared was such a prominent fixture in Jensen's life, it was inevitable that she and Gen would meet. She hadn't expected them to become such good friends. Whenever the boys went out of town, Y/N stayed over with Gen - at her and Jensen's insistence. He was still worked up over having found her and Y/N suspected it was one of those things that would never leave him.

Y/N let her eyes wander to the pool. Jared and Jensen were having a blast, playing with Jared's kids in the water. Her heart swelled seeing Jensen with the kids. He was so good with them, kind and patient. She knew he'd be an amazing father and thanked the Heavens once again for blessing her with her Alpha.

As if he could sense her gaze, Jensen's eyes met hers. His face lit up with a brilliant smile. His sun-kissed skin glowed in the shimmering sun, his claim mark bright and clearly visible against his neck. There was no doubt in her mind anymore. This man, this perfect Alpha, was completely in love with her and she loved him just as much.

He had given her a family, a pack. Something she'd never had in her life. She felt a strong kick and rubbed at her belly once more to soothe the active babies. Looking around her she realized, she'd never have to be alone again.

Before long, Jared and Gen wrangled their kids to get them dried up and ready to eat. Jensen smiled as the family entered the house, one of the kids hanging off Jared's shoulder.

"That'll be us here soon, Omega," Jensen stated, pecking her lips. He knelt down, focusing his attention on her belly as he placed a hand on either side. He felt them kicking and he smiled up at her, "They giving you a hard time?"

"Just sore," she sighed, adjusting to try and get comfortable in the chair. She never really managed to be comfortable anymore unless she was curled in bed with her Alpha.

Jensen hummed, pulling another chair over to sit. He picked up her feet, laying them gently in his lap before he started massaging the arches of one foot with his thumbs. She moaned out a sound that was usually reserved for their bedroom activities. Jensen bit his lip and smiled.

"Please don't stop," she whined and he continued working as he shook his head.

"You're killing me," he groaned, her sounds and words riling him up. She smirked at him knowingly.

"Such a good Alpha," she praised and Jensen swelled with pride at her statement, just like he did every time.

"Let's get you inside and get you fed, huh?" Jensen asked, putting her feet down after massaging them both. He helped her up from the chair, catching her as she almost lost her balance.

"I'm too big," she pouted, letting Jensen support her and guide her inside.

"You're beautiful," he countered, "Full of my babies," he kissed her soundly, before placing a tender kiss to her mark and breathing in her comforting and familiar scent, "My Omega."

"Hmm, my Alpha."

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@fangirlxwritesx67

@jarpad24

RPF:

@smoothdogsgirl

JENSEN TAGS:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

@slamminmine

@deanjensenficsandart

@woodworthti666

@charred-angelwings

@deandreamernp

@laycblack

#spnabobingo #scent from above #part 6 #alpha!jensen x omega!reader #jensen x reader #supernatural rpf

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deerixiie · 4 years

Text

24/7 ramen.

description: you are iwaizumi’s home; even if he is forced to take you to a ramen place at 2 in the morning.

pairing: iwaizumi x gen!reader

genre/warning: banter, fluff, literally just filler dialogue with an overarching plot, light mentions of violence

word count: 1.8k

a/n: this was inspired by some headcanons im going to post. oh and this is for @hajiimes... hehe <3

“I got into a fight.”

Iwaizumi paused, his phone hovering near his ear. He resisted the urge to let out a sharp laugh—of all the things, why did you have to get into a fight?—and slung his arm over his face. “And you lost?”

Iwaizumi could almost hear you pouting. “To be fair, they were-”

“But you lost.”

A pause. “Yeah.”

Iwaizumi dragged his hand across his face with a heavy sigh. “Why are you fighting people at,” he paused to squint at the digital clock on the dresser, “Two in the morning?”

“Ramen.”

“What?”

“Hot and spicy shrimp,” you said solemnly. “There was only one pack-”

“You’re aware we have finals tomorrow, right?”

“Exactly the reason why I wanted ramen.”

Iwaizumi sighed again. “Are you hurt?”

“Well, someone elbowed me in the eye-”

“The eye?”

“Yes the eye. I’m pretty sure it’s swollen, but other than that I’m perfectly fine.”

“Why do you sound so happy?” Iwaizumi asked, getting up to scour his closet for a hoodie. “You lost a fight over a pack of ramen.”

“Well technically, no one won the fight. We all got kicked out of the store. Poor guy didn’t even keep his ramen.”

“Which store?”

“Walmart.”

“You couldn’t have gone to a convenience store or something?” Iwaizumi pulled on the hoodie Oikawa sent him from Argentina and grabbed an old Godzilla hoodie from his closet.

“Haji, this is Socal, not Japan,” you condescended. Iwaizumi scoffed at how haughty you sounded. “I’m sure Socal has convenience stores,” he muttered.

“Well, Walmart was the closest.”

“You could’ve woken me up,” Iwaizumi grumbled, moving on to grab the keys off the drawer, “I would’ve taken you to a convenience store.”

“But you were sleeping.”

“So? You know how dangerous that was? I’d feel a little better if I was there.”

“Yeah, but I wanted ramen,” you sighed. “Anyway, can you pick me up, Haji? It’s getting cold.”

Iwaizumi shut the apartment door with a quiet click. “I’m leaving the apartment now.”

“That was fast.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling that you’d want me to pick you up.”

“Okay. Oh, and remember to drive on the right side of the road.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure? You almost drove into a tree last time.”

“Because I was tired.” Iwaizumi opened the door to the car, dropping the hoodie into the passenger’s seat. “Tired people don’t think straight.”

“Aren’t you tired right now?”

“No, I’ve been awake since you told me you got into a fight. You need to tell me what the hell actually happened there.”

“I told you, it was ramen,” you huffed. “There was one pack of spicy shrimp and three desperate college students in need of ramen.”

“So you fought for it.”

“I lunged for it, some other dude shoved me, I crashed into the third person, and then he was pushing them and I was on the floor and then someone’s elbow was in my eye and then the employee grabbed us and tossed us out.”

Iwaizumi took a moment to process your words. “You sound proud of yourself.”

“I’m not. I didn’t get the ramen.”

“No one got the ramen,” Iwaizumi deadpanned. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“I mean yeah, but now I can tell people I’ve been in a fight.”

“Why would you want to tell someone you’ve been in a fight?”

“I dunno,” you sighed. “I’m tired and hungry. Tired and hungry people say weird things.”

“Damn right.”

“That was an insult.”

“It was.”

“Ouch.”

Iwaizumi didn’t respond, lightly drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited for the red light to turn green.

“My eye hurts,” you said suddenly, your voice crackling from the phone’s speaker.

Iwaizumi furrowed his eyebrows. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“No,” you decide. “Ramen would make it better.”

“So now I’m buying you ramen?”

“Yeah.”

“At 2 AM?”

“It’s 2:28 now.”

Iwaizumi scoffed.

“I found this ramen place that’s open,” you said. “24/7 Ramen. It’s 25 minutes from here.”

“Why is there a ramen place open for 24 hours?” he muttered, half to himself.

“It’s probably run by college students. That’s why the name is catchy too.”

“Catchy?”

“It sounds like a song. You know, 24 Karat Magic by Bruno Mars.”

“Never heard of it.”

“What?” Iwaizumi found himself flinching, despite the fact it was simply your voice coming from his phone’s speaker. “How have you been living in America for two years without ever hearing 24 Karat Magic? That song is a classic.”

“I think you’re forgetting you’re speaking to a guy born and raised in Japan.”

“Haji, you’ve been here for two years. That’s 24 months. 48 weeks. And a certain amount of days I’m too tired to calculate.”

Iwaizumi thought for a moment. “730.”

“730-” you paused. “How the hell did you calculate that so fast?”

“Dealing with stupid people makes you smarter, I guess.”

“No, ramen makes you smarter.” You sighed. “I really want ramen.”

“I heard.” Iwaizumi turned the steering wheel, bringing the car into the Walmart parking lot. “And I’m here now, so you can stop whining.”

“Oh, I see you. Do you see me?”

There was a figure sitting on the front curb, waving erratically in Iwaizumi’s direction. “I see an idiot waving at me like their life depends on it, so yes, I see you.”

“I think being around stupid people makes you grumpy,” you grumbled.

“No, having to pick my significant other up from Walmart at 2 in the morning makes me grumpy.”

You responded by scoffing and hanging up the phone. Seconds later, you were sliding into the passenger seat of the car. “Aw, did you bring a hoodie for me?” you asked, glancing down at the Godzilla hoodie that you almost sat down on.

Iwaizumi glanced over to you, raising an eyebrow. “Hello to you too.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Iwaizumi’s cheek. “Hi, I love you, thank you for picking me up. Happy now?”

“I’m ecstatic. Yes, that hoodie is for you.”

You smiled, pulling the hoodie on over your shirt and relaxing into the seat. Iwaizumi carefully looked over your face. The only noticeable injury was the ring of darkness around your eye—did they really elbow you that hard?—and a slight cut on your upper lip, but those would heal soon. He let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“What, is there something on my face?” you asked, reaching up to brush your fingers over your cheek.

“You have a black eye.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Damn. Is it bad?”

“No, not really.” He checked the dashboard for the time and slightly frowned. “Where’s the ramen place?”

24/7 Ramen was a small convenience store in between an optometrist and a cigarette shop. On the outside, it wasn’t much. The name of the store was illuminated in large flickering neon letters. The exterior brick walls of the store were dusty and crumbling with age and wore. The windows were covered with assorted posters and papers, some for missing children, upcoming movies, and advertisements for Japanese snacks.

“Oh, so this is like a Japanese convenience store then?” you asked, looking at one of the Japanese ads. “I guess you were right.”

“Told you.”

“Just come on and buy me my ramen.”

The door opened with a familiar chime that reminded Iwaizumi of warm yakisoba buns, tangled with the sight of preppy school uniforms, and of course, Oikawa Tooru. The layout of the store was straight out of Japan, overwhelming him with countless reels of tender highschool memories. If he closed his eyes he could see himself standing right there, bag under his arm, Oikawa at his shoulder.

“Feeling a little nostalgic, huh?”

His head whipped toward you standing behind him with an amused smile on your face. “This place does have a Japanese feel to it.” You raised your eyebrow in that insufferably adorable way of yours, and Iwaizumi found it hard to breathe.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as a flush began to form on his cheeks. “Be quiet.”

You hummed but made no other comment, instead choosing to shoot him another knowing look that made his blood roar in his ears. You started moving through the store, picking cups of ramen off the shelves. He hovered behind you, still embarrassed about his nostalgic moment—was he that homesick?—occasionally picking up cups of ramen and examining them before placing them back onto the shelf.

After what seemed like ages, you presented your armful of ramen cups with a proud smile. “I’m done.”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “I’m not buying you 15 cups of ramen.”

“But you promised-“

“Each one is like, 65 cents? I’ll buy you 5, max.”

“Why not more?”

“I’m just as broke as you are.”

You sighed in defeat. “Being broke in college sucks.”

“I told you we should’ve held off on getting a car.”

“But I wanted a car!”

“More than you want ramen?”

“That’s- that’s an unfair comparison!”

Iwaizumi continued to go back and forth with you, even as you paid for the ramen at the cash register. You were in the middle of a frantic explanation of why investing in a car was important in California when you finally made it outside.

The air was still and cool, save for the slight breeze that occasionally tangled in Iwaizumi’s spiky locks. The only sounds were the distant cars speeding across the road and the faint sound of crickets chirping, for you had both fallen silent after leaving the convenience store. Iwaizumi turned to look at you: one eye swollen, upper lip bleeding, a plastic bag full of convenience store ramen clutched tightly in your hand. He could see the fire in your eyes, that odd determination to make your own dreams a reality, no matter how fickle or ridiculous they were. It was similar to the drive he saw in Oikawa’s eyes, he realized. The reckless, worthless one that seemed to be a double-edged sword.

Maybe that’s why whenever he looked at you, he felt like he was at home.

“I love you, you know that?”

You cocked your head to the side and smiled slightly. “Where did that come from?”

He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets again, turning away from your curious gaze. The corners of your mouth pulled up into a faint smile. Without warning, you turned Iwaizumi toward you with your finger and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. And then you were bounding off toward the car, the plastic bag jostling in your hand.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi called, starting after you. “Come back here so I can kiss you properly.”

“I want my ramen!” came your response from the car. “No kisses until I get my ramen!”

Iwaizumi chuckled softly. You were annoying and feisty, but you still managed to make him feel right at home.

taglist in reblog; please comment/reblog with comments in the tags or in the post if you enjoyed!! i love hearing your feedback :)

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi x gn reader #iwaizumi oneshots #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi imagines #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gn!reader #haikyuu x gen!reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu #haikyuu writing #haikyuu oneshots #hq #hq writing #deerixiie #does anyone understand the 24 karat magic joke

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moonbeamwritings · 4 years

Note

Are requests still open because may I have one for Part 3 Jotaro? Part of this is stemming from an alignment chart I found with one category being mythological creatures and the other location types. After Jotaro's battle with Dio, the petty vampire curses him to become an aquatic werewolf like beast stripping what's left of a normal life he could have. The only way to break it is true love and thus the reader comes into play. Gen-neutral and its your choice whether its SFW or NSFW. Thank you!

ooo this is very unique~ !! i’m so sorry i’ve been keeping this one waiting! i hope this is along the line of what you were looking for and that you enjoy it and thank you for sending in !! ❤️

part 3 jotaro and a curse only the reader can break

Jotaro could rationalize the existence of stands, that hadn’t been much of an issue. He could also at least attempt to understand how vampires like Dio could actually be roaming the Earth, but Jotaro, for the life of him, could not wrap his head around his current predicament.

Right before the end of the battle with Dio, the bastard had managed to mutter some sort of incantation under his breath, sending Jotaro’s body through a horrific transformation. It all left him feeling as if his nerves were on fire, body sprouting thick fur and a tail, of all things. Laying there, flat on his back on the pavement somewhere in Cairo, he watched as whatever sense of normalcy he had established during the trip to Egypt melted away, replaced by long, sharp claws and fur, by a curse.

The Speedwagon Foundation was quick to jump into action, transporting Jotaro to the sea while they desperately searched for a solution. The old man was no more help than Jotaro expected as he paced the beach, ranting and raving, but not coming to any ideas or conclusions. Throughout the whole ordeal, Jotaro found solace in you, just as he had during the rest of the trip.

You were supportive, taking time out of your day to help where you could and resting along the shoreline, keeping Jotaro company as he wasted away in the sea. As ridiculous as his current affliction was, being able to see you smile and offer your support got him through the worst of days. You didn’t shy away from him, even in this form, and he didn’t think he would ever be able to repay you.

“The Speedwagon Foundation told me they’re still rifling through all of those books in Dio’s library,” you explained to Jotaro, delicate fingers dancing along the water’s surface inches from his face, “Maybe they’ll come up with something that can help.”

Jotaro wasn’t exactly not listening to you, really he wasn’t. He simply found himself getting lost in the gentle movement of your hand, in the soft way your lips moved as you spoke. If he missed a few of your words along the way, then so be it.

“I hope so.” He finally muttered, shifting his eyes away from you in favor of watching the slow movements of the water around him.

The books did little to help.

You’d come along the following day, news falling from your lips in a disappointed, deflated tone. The books hadn’t led to much of anything, complicating their investigation more so than helping it. Jotaro’s chest heaved with a heavy sigh, doubt starting to settle deep in his lungs. He didn’t think he was a negative person, the trip to Egypt and his often unwavering determination proved that much, but as the weeks turned to months, Jotaro began to think that he would be stuck in this body forever.

“You know,” you said from where you rested back against a rock, feet swishing gently in the water before you, “Polnareff said something funny last night.”

“That’s new,” Jotaro piped up, a scoff leaving his mouth.

He listened as a laugh bubbled up from your throat, short and sweet. A smile played on the corners of his lips at the sound.

“Hey, don’t be mean. He made a good point, as silly as it sounded.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He said what you were going through reminded him of a book his sister used to read when they were kids. Something about a curse and true love’s kiss. You know how it goes.”

Jotaro heard another sheepish, almost nervous, chuckle leave your lips.

“He was thinking that could be your situation. Stupid, right?”

The silence in the air felt heavy as it lingered. In all honesty, Jotaro had thought the same just the other night as well as he reflected on the sappy love stories his mom made him watch as a kid. Surely it wouldn’t be that simple, right?

Jotaro had felt love creeping up his spine and settling in the back of his mind since the first time he saw you laugh, your whole body shaking with the force of it, face illuminated by the combined glow of the stars and the warm fire. He’d acknowledged that it was silly then, to foster any sort of relationship when either of you could die at any given moment. With Dio gone, and a curse to break, what more did he have to lose?

“Is this your roundabout way of asking to kiss me?” Jotaro teased, rough, furry hands reaching out to poke and prod at your swinging feet.

His words and actions had you shooting up from the position you were in, hands moving in a flurry as you attempted to explain yourself, “No! That’s not what I meant at all! I was just saying-”

With a roll of his eyes and a sigh, Jotaro brought a large, wet hand up to cradle your face, connect his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

The moment you returned the kiss, Jotaro began to feel that familiar fire alight in his chest, his nerves tingling under the pressure of the now broken curse. His claws retracted, the fur covering his body turned back to skin, tail shifted back into legs.

As you pulled away, Jotaro leaned more of his weight onto the rock you were still sitting on, body tired and sore, but finally free. A laugh emerged from deep in his chest as he tried to catch his breath, wet hair dripping down onto your forehead as he kissed you once more.

“True love’s kiss, huh? Good grief.”

#jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro imagine #jotaro kujo imagine #jjba x reader #jjba imagine #moonbeam answers

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hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Zero Days Without Incident

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 20 Prompt - Defiance

The ‘Days Without Incident’ sign in Tony Stark’s private workshop has nothing to do with engineering or science mishaps and all to do with a bet between him and a certain Spiderling.

Words: 1783, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Stabbing

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter you have thirty minutes until your curfew,” Karen warned him, already plotting a course home and throwing it up on his HUD.

It was a balmy spring evening and Peter had spent most of his patrol leisurely swinging through Queens or relaxing on a hammock made from his webs. There had been a few petty crimes he had dealt with, some grand theft bicycle, a cat stuck in a tree but, all in all, he couldn’t really complain. He loved being Spider-Man and helping his neighborhood but it was nice to have a slow day sometimes.

A scream sounded in the distance.

“Spoke too soon,” he mumbled, altering his course and picking up speed. “Can you get me directions K?”

“Of course Peter,” Karen answered, as chirpy and happy as normal, re-routing him away from his apartment and toward the sounds of discourse in the distance. When he dropped in on the scene it seemed to be a mugging in progress and Peter rolled his eyes – didn’t people have anything better to do on a random Tuesday in April? God just seriously rethink your life choices.

“I would say its knife to meet you but I’ve definitely used that pun in the last couple weeks and I don’t want to be accused of not being original,” Peter called down, making both the assailant and victim flinch and look up to where he was perched on the wall above them. “Where did even get that thing? The renaissance fair? Who robs people with a full on dagger anyway? Run out of kitchen knives?” Peter quipped, flipping down and pushing the mugger away with a well placed kick to the arm that made the man stumble back.

“This has nothing to do with you bug,” the man snarled, brandishing the weapon at Peter now and making him roll his eyes. “Don’t get in my way and I won’t have to use this on ya.”

“Spiders are arachnids actually, not bugs” Peter pointed out, shooing the stunned woman out of the alley and on her way out of any potential danger. “And how about you not stab anybody today huh? If you promise to behave I won’t web you to the wall and call the police. Sounds like a fair trade right?”

The man snarled at him with irritation. “You talk too much.”

“So I’ve been told,” Peter agreed easily with a nod. “But what do you say? Ready to give up your life of crime for the straight and narrow?”

“No,” the man grumbled and, with literally no warning, lunged forward and stabbed his knife directly into Peter’s gut.

They both stared at each other in stunned silence before Peter processed the pain with a loud ‘fuck!’.

“You motherfucker,” Peter grunted, backing away to lean against the wall, holding the knife still with one hand so as to not dislodge it. “I can’t believe you stabbed me!”

“I thought you would dodge! You always dodge!” The man said, reaching up both hands to dig into his hair. “I stabbed Spider-Man what the fuck!”

“God this is just-,” Peter grumbled using his free arm to fire webbing at the guy and secure him to the nearby dumpster. “I’ve gone three weeks without having to go to the MedBay! Three weeks! All I had to do was last one more and then I got to pick the movie at movie night for the next month! God I can’t believe it! Mr. Stark is going to be so insufferable now!”

“You could just… not tell him?” The man asked hopefully, not even bothering to struggle against the webs and Peter blew out a breath as he sank down to sit on the gritty ground – he was starting to feel a little cold and dizzy from either the blood loss or shock, he couldn’t tell which. Not that it mattered, his fierce anger overshadowed everything.

“Not an option,” Peter grunted, leaning his head back and closing his eyes against the helpful countdown timer Karen had started displaying the second Tony had entered the Iron Man armor and started jetting to him. “He already knows.” Curse the Baby-monitor Protocol! He and Ned would need to remove it again…

“He track you or something?” The man asked questioningly, head quirked to the side in obvious curiosity.

“Or something,” Peter agreed.

“That’s wack man,” he said. “An invasion of privacy. A, uh… violation of your constitutional rights as a free American!”

“Do you honestly think Tony Stark cares about an something as simple as an invasion of privacy? I’m lucky he hasn’t microchipped me yet,” Peter pointed out. Or, at least, he didn’t think Tony had microchipped him. He’d have to check that and remove it post haste if he found something.

“Dude,” knife guy said commiserating and Peter had to fight the eye roll. Of course the person who stabbed him felt remorseful now.

“I know,” Peter agreed, peering down at his side to look at where the knife was embedded into him. He was pretty good around blood as long as it wasn’t his own and, looking at the way his suit was slick and blood was beginning to pool under his thighs in a puddle made Peter lightheaded so he closed his eyes again. “He’s probably going to be pretty pissed at you by the way,” Peter warned. “He has pretty good lawyers so I wouldn’t have high hopes of getting out of this without jail time.”

The man groaned and Peter just shrugged. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time and all that – also don’t stab people and leave them to the ministrations of their helicopter mentors. Same thing really. The sound of repulsers neared and Peter braced himself – he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with this.

“I guess that we can change the ‘Days Without Incident’ sign back to zero eh Spiderling?” Tony teased as he landed in the mouth of the alley, disengaging his suit and walking over to kneel next to Peter. “You were doing so good too – your longest streak ever in fact.”

“Don’t remind me,” Peter hissed as Tony prodded around the wound carefully with a pre-gloved hand. “Can you not touch that?”

“No can do buddy,” Tony said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Gotta anchor it in so it doesn’t fall out on the ride back. Happy’s on his way to pick us up.”

“Oh great,” Peter groused, letting Tony lean him forward a little so he could start wrapping roll gauze around the knife. “He loves to complain when I get blood on the seats.”

“Only when you get impaled,” Tony said brightly, pulling the gauze tight almost vindictively and making Peter wince. “Wouldn’t want to deprive him now would we?”

“You could just let me bleed out and die here,” Peter suggested seriously. “Since my life is basically over now anyway.

“You’re such a dramatic little shit,” Tony groused, tying off the gauze and levering Peter up off the ground to slump into his side for the extra support. “Now say ‘goodbye’ to your friend, he won’t be seeing the real world for a long, long time,” Tony’s voice had an edge of steel as he said this, dragging Peter to the end of the alley and ignoring the muggers ‘Aw man, c’mon!” as they passed. Peter just shrugged a ‘what can you do?” and wiggled his fingers in a facsimile of a wave as he was pulled away.

Happy, to his credit, was efficient and must have already been in the area because he was quick to pull up with a surly look already cemented onto his face as he surveyed where Peter was leaning into Tony and dribbling blood onto the sidewalk in large, heavy droplets. “I already called the cleaning crew,” he told them through the open window. “They’ll be here before the police to scrub up any possible radioactive DNA.”

“Best forehead of security ever,” Tony crooned lovingly as he carefully situated Peter onto the pile of towels Happy had put into the backseat to soak up the blood and keep it off his leather seats. Happy glared at the both of them in the rearview mirror before rolling up the partition. Tony snorted in undisguised mirth.

“How you feeling kiddie?” He asked as he peeled Peter’s mask from his sweaty face. “Not going to pass out on me again right?”

“Uh…” Peter groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tight to stop the spinning and grey dots that were clouding his vision. “No promises. Sorry.” Tony just let out a put upon sigh like he expected as much and pushed Peter to lay down across the seats, grabbing one of the extra towels to press tightly around the knife and making Peter let out a whining moan at the pressure. “Yeah I might pass out,” he said faintly as his vision started to tunnel.

“Go on then,” Tony said, running a hand through Peter’s damp curls and smoothing them away from his face. “At least you don’t sass me when you’re unconscious.” Peter felt the man lift his legs to slid a few wadded up towels underneath… like that would actually help keep him awake.

“Rude,” Peter grumbled before losing his grip on reality – he trusted Tony to take care of things for now.

——————————————

“I hate this movie,” Peter grumbled groggily, as he pulled himself awake some time later. He was lying in one of the beds in the MedBay, attached to a blood transfusion and with a thick padding of gauze on his abdomen. Tony, seated next to him and munching on popcorn, just sent him a shit eating grin and held up the whiteboard that had been hanging in his workshop displaying ‘Days Without Incident’ with a large 0 written under it in obnoxious red ink.

“This is such bullshit,” Peter said petulantly, picking at the tape holding the IV in place. “I can’t escape! Go watch your garbage movie somewhere else.”

“Excuse me you brat,” Tony said imperiously. “The Breakfast Club is a cult classic thank you very much and besides,” he continued, offering Peter the bowl of popcorn, “someone clearly has to educate you on good movies.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Peter said, flicking a kernel of popcorn playfully at his mentor (and missing damn – he must be on drugs) and letting his tired eyes slip closed again.

“Sore loser,” he heard Tony tease as he fell asleep and that did it. When he won their next bet they were marathoning the whole Star Wars series from beginning to end, including all of the Clone Wars and the Mandalorian, and he didn’t care what Mr. Stark said.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump20 #Prompt: Defiance #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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secretpeachtea · 4 years

Text

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 5

Title: the graduation celebration

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

A/N: IM BACK. this literally took me a whole month to write and i hope there aren’t too many mistakes. if there are mistakes, feel free to point them out to me! other than that, hope you enjoy!

Previous///Next

Your back was aching from standing at the register for such a long time, so you decided to take a seat on one of the two chairs set up behind the counter for times like this. There was only a little over an hour left before closing, and there weren’t any customers at the moment, so taking a quick break wouldn’t hurt. It seems like Osamu was thinking the same thing as he plopped himself next to you languidly.

Your boss rests an arm on the back of your chair. “You tired?”

“A little bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you reply back with a sigh. “How about you?”

Osamu takes off his cap and runs a hand through his hair before placing it back on his head. “Nah, I’m good. Just feeling a bit dazed. It’s been a pretty slow week, so I guess I’m just lacking some energy boost.”

“Yeah, I guess. We haven’t had any interesting customers come in for a while, huh.” You think back to the time when you had to babysit a certain volleyball team and when you interacted with a specific gamer during work. “Although, I can’t really tell whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Your conversation was interrupted when you both heard the entrance slide open indicating the arrival of a customer. Or, rather, customers. A group of young men walked into the shop while also engaged in their own chatter.

“We meet up after such a long time and you decide to come here?” A man with light brown, uneven bangs shoved his hands into his coat while sporting a blank expression. “Although, I can’t really say I’m surprised, Goshiki.”

The one addressed as Goshiki scowled in slight frustration. “I don’t trust any of the other options you all pitched in! I didn’t want to eat spicy ramen from the convenience store when we haven’t met up all together like this in so long! I won rock paper scissors too so it’s my choice, Shirabu-san!”

Another man with a crimson-tinted buzzcut chipped in with a lighthearted tone, “Are you sure you didn’t want to just come here ‘cause you heard about the cute register girl?”

“N-no! That’s not true, Tendou-san!” (yes)

“You’re so easy to read, Tsutomu! Isn’t that right, Wakatoshi-kun?”

Broad shoulders on a tall figure turned towards the redhead. “I suppose it is easy to understand Goshiki as if I were reading the gardening section of the newspaper.”

The fourth person of the group had a guitar strapped to his back with an...interesting outfit that you would not normally see someone wear voluntarily. “You guys sure haven’t changed at all. I can’t really say I expected to come here either.”

The last two people to enter the shop chuckled as they listened to their peers. One had a spiky undercut and slanted eyebrows, while the other had large, defined lips and tan skin. The latter spoke up, “Well, it’s not too bad, Semi. Plus, we’re here to celebrate Shirabu’s graduation and acceptance into medical school.”

You and Osamu are now standing behind the counter but the group of seven had yet to notice you both. You do a double take when you glance at the one who just spoke. Covering your mouth with one hand, you whisper to your boss, “Okay. I see what you meant by Benkei.”

Osamu just quietly chuckles.

It didn’t take long for one specific person to direct his attention at you as he walked to the counter. “Ah, (Surname)-san. How have you been?”

At the sudden greeting, the rest of the group ceased their conversation.

You just gave the familiar face a small smile. “I’ve been doing well, Shirabu-san.”

“SHIRABU-SAN KNOWS THE PRETTY REGISTER GIRL?!”

You’re a bit taken aback by the loud exclamation by Goshiki, so you just stare at him with wide eyes. A couple people burst out laughing, mainly Tendou, Yamagata, and Semi. The poor boy’s entire body flushes red as he tries to get the guys to stop laughing. Shirabu just lets out a sigh and turns his attention back to you. It seems like the other two who weren’t part of the boisterous bunch also turned their focus to where you were.

“Sorry about that. I told you I would visit soon, but I didn’t expect to come with my former teammates,” Shirabu apologized.

“No, that’s okay. If that’s the case, then these guys must be the Shiratorizawa alumni you mentioned before.” You shook your head in understanding. You turned towards the others. “Nice to meet you guys. I’m (Surname) (Name), Shirabu’s college classmate.”

“Hellooo~ (Name)-chan!” Tendou joyfully greeted after listening in on the conversation. Goshiki was now hidden behind Ushijima’s large stature to avoid any awkward encounters. Yamagata and Semi rejoined since they were also curious as to how you knew their former setter. After some brief introductions, you had learned all of their names before going into detail of your relationship with Shirabu.

“(Surname)-san and I went to the same university and had a couple classes together since our majors were similar. We were both fairly diligent in our studies, so we often grouped up to do assignments.”

“Oh? What did you major in, (Surname)-san?” Ohira asks.

“I majored in Anatomy and Physiology. I plan on going to grad school for Sports medicine.”

You hear a small gasp behind Ushijima and a quiet, subtle statement of “She’s pretty and smart!”, but you pretend like you didn’t hear anything in hopes to spare Goshiki from any more embarrassment. Osamu seems a bit intrigued since he’s never really heard you speak about school but stays silent off to the side.

“Have you decided on where you want to go? I know you once told me you applied to a special Sports medicine program.” Shirabu asks.

You feel a wave of negative emotions at the question but try your best to control your facial expression. “I...um...was waitlisted from the program and was rejected from all the grad schools that I applied to…”

Your former classmate’s eyes widened a bit in surprise and lifted his hand to his chin in thought. “I see.”

You try to brush off any unnecessary thoughts by waving your hands in front of you. “There must have been a reason for that. My resume wasn’t all that great and they probably thought I was lacking in a lot of ways.”

“Nonsense. From the couple of times we’ve worked together, I know that you’re a very well versed and competent person.” Shirabu crosses his arms and looks straight into your eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be able to come across a good opportunity with your capabilities.”

You were quite touched by Shirabu’s firm words and he’s managed to slightly lift up the corners of your lips despite the heavy weight in your heart. He’s fairly blunt and doesn’t like to sugarcoat words, so you know his words are genuine.

“Oh? How romantic~” Tendou commented. Shirabu just glares at the tall redhead and remains silent.

A sudden low rumble echoes into the air from Semi’s stomach. “Oh, sorry guys. I’ve been composing all day, so I haven’t gotten around to eating yet.”

“We should order now,” Ushijima advises. The rest nod their heads in agreement. As the Shiratorizawa crew puts in their orders, Osamu sets up his workstation to accommodate. The entire order came out to be quite a lot since most of the guys were heavy eaters and some ordered additional side dishes.

“Will this be all in one order or is everyone paying separately?” You ask.

Shirabu opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by Tendou. “Since we’re here for a celebration, we can’t let the man of the hour pay for anything!”

“Are you suggesting that we split the cost of Shirabu’s meal or have one person pay for it?” Yamagata looked up thoughtfully.

Tendou raised a finger into the air and wiggled it in denial. “Just one person will pay for all of the food!”

“It’s fine, Tendou-san. Onigiris do not cost that mu-”

“Nuh uh~ That’s not an option!”

“Alright. Then, how would we determine who pays?” Semi looked a bit weary at the suggestion.

Tendou clapped his hands together. “We’ll play some games to determine who the ultimate loser is! The winners from each round will be exempt from the next one! There will be three games in total. Whoever loses every single game and remains as the last person will be the one to pay for all of us!”

“Seems simple enough,” Yamagata comments. The other guys nod their heads in agreement.

“This is a great idea!” Goshiki in particular seems fired up. “I will defeat you, Ushijima-san!”

“I look forward to your efforts, Goshiki.”

As if there was some kind of telepathic signal between the guys, everyone but Ushijima, Shirabu, and Goshiki look at one another. Sly smiles and pitiful expressions begin to form as they take a quick glance at where Goshiki and Ushijima were standing before turning back to each other in mutual understanding. It seems like the majority has come to the conclusion that one specific person will be walking home with a lighter wallet.

Shirabu, who’s already used to his former team’s antics, doesn’t even try to stop them. Once they start, it’s difficult to halt their chaos unless he wants to hear them complain about it for the next couple weeks. Although, he does make the effort to face you and Osamu. “I know they’re getting ahead of themselves, but is all this okay? I know you haven’t closed yet, so I wouldn’t want to disturb your business.”

Your boss just waves his hand to brush off the concern. “Nah, you’re good. It’s been a slow day and I was planning on closing a bit early anyways. Feel free to hang out and have fun as long as you clean up after yourselves. I’ll be preparing the food in the meantime.”

“Yeah, as long as I’m not mopping up someone’s vomit off the floor, I don’t have any problems with it either,” You reply.

With the final yes from the owner of Onigiri Miya, Tendou sports a wide grin and faces his peers. “I already have some game ideas, so all we need to do is set up everything like I ask!”

You’re just about to return to your previous seat behind the counter before the Shiratorizawa boys entered, but Tendou waved at you to get your attention. “(Name)-chan! Would you mind being the referee for the games?”

Bewilderment is evident on your face as you try to decipher the redhead’s intentions. You’re a bit cautious since the group is so unpredictable. “Oh, um, wouldn’t it be better if Shirabu-san watched over you guys? I think I prefer watching you all have fun from afar.”

“Aw~ That’s a shame.” Tendou pulls out a small box wrapped in a bright blue ribbon from the bag slung over his shoulders. “I was planning on sharing these gourmet chocolates with the person who volunteered to be a referee.”

“Huh?” There was a small glint in your eyes.

The lanky man gently pulled off the ribbon and opened the lid. Inside the box were 5 pieces of chocolate all laid out on top of a plastic mold. Each of the chocolates had intricate designs that hinted at the work of delicate hands and showed the amount of care that went into making them. The surfaces of each piece shined under the fluorescent lights and the delectable, mouthwatering aroma permeated the air. “I gifted some chocolates for our lovely graduating friend but had a couple chocolates leftover, so I made an extra box. It’s too bad that it’ll go to waste since no one will claim them.”

“...”

You stay frozen for a moment as you eye the exquisite sweets in front of you. “...What do you need me to do?”

Tendou lets out a small shout of happiness at your response, and you took one of the chocolates out of the box. You plopped it into your mouth and immediately tasted a burst of flavor. A soft, content sigh leaves your lips as you savor the dessert. There was a soft chuckle next to you and you assumed it was Osamu but decided that you were just going to savor the moment. After gushing over two more pieces, you decide to save the rest for later and make your way around the counter to where the rest were waiting.

Tendou briefs you on some of the games and you can’t help but sweatdrop at what he has planned. As you look to the side, you see Shirabu sitting on his own since he’s the only one exempt from participating in the competition. The other guys just seem to be waiting for Tendou to fill them in as well.

Goshiki notices your presence and starts to make his way over to you. “(Surname)-san! W-what are you doing over here?”

“Tendou-san asked me to be a referee for your games, so I’ll be watching over all of you from here,” you reply nonchalantly.

“What?!”

Tendou snickers beside you and places his hands on the younger boy’s shoulder. “Now, now! Let’s get ready for the game, Tsutomu!”

Since all you really had to do was monitor and keep track of the losers of each game, you take a seat next to Shirabu who just has a bored expression on his face and acknowledges you with a short nod. Tendou has now gathered everyone else into one big group and begins to gesture his arms wildly. “The first game is called ‘Pass the Napkin’! There will be two teams of three people, and it’ll be a competition to see which team passes more napkins in one minute.”

The guys just looked at one another with contemplative faces. This game seemed simple enough...or so they thought.

“There’s one special rule!” Tendou’s eyes glinted under the lights. “You can only pass the napkin with your mouths! No hands! No other body parts!”

Many faces grew pale at the “special” rule. Yamagata brings a hand up to his forehead regretfully. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy.”

Ignoring his former teammate’s exasperation, Tendou continues his explanation. “Each team will have two baskets: one full of napkins and one that is empty so that you can place the ones you’ve successfully passed. Team A is gonna be Wakatoshi-kun, Tsutomu, and Reon! The other two including me will be on Team B! Perfect even teams with 6 people!”

Ohira takes a brief moment to think. “Now that you mention it, Kawanishi isn't here.”

“He said he had a date, so he couldn’t make it today,” Semi answers. Although, Kawanishi’s absence seems to be in his favor at the moment.

“Let’s get started!” Tendou passes you his phone with the timer app opened as all of the teams make their way towards their respective napkin baskets. “Please count us off, (Name)-chan!”

All of the guys are staring at you as they wait for your signal, and you let out an inaudible sigh. “3...2...1...Start!”

Ohira and Tendou, who are the first people in their respective teams, begin inhaling a napkin with their mouths. The game has begun.

In Team B, Semi looks mildly uncomfortable, but Tendou spares no time and immediately passes the napkin to the former’s mouth. The redhead doesn’t even give Semi any time to comprehend anything as he goes for another napkin swiftly. As Semi turns to the last person in the group, Yamagata just shrugs his shoulders and takes the napkin quickly before blowing it away into the other basket. The three seem to realize that passing the napkins in rapid succession shortens the time of contact between each other and increase their pace with each napkin.

Team A doesn’t seem to be going as smoothly. Goshiki is the middleman and hesitantly receives each napkin from Ohira with flushed cheeks that only seem to be getting darker as time passes. There is an evident pause every time the youngest team member needs to pass the napkin to Ushijima. For some reason, Goshiki also seems to make frequent eye contact with you as he’s passing the napkin to the older pro athlete before quickly averting his eyes with an even deeper blush. As a result, Goshiki drops the napkins several times.

“S-s-sorry, Ushijima-san! I’ll get the next one!”

Both teams continue transferring napkins from one basket to another for a couple more seconds. Glancing at the timer, you see that there are about 10 seconds left. You open your mouth to start counting down the remaining seconds but a sharp, horrified gasp stops you. As you direct your attention towards the source of the noise, Goshiki’s posture is tense and he’s making a strange face at the opposing team. Shifting your gaze to his line of sight, you understand what had caused the poor boy to be in such a state of shock.

A lone napkin flutters onto the floor as silence creeps through the air. Yamagata is leaning forward in Semi’s direction while the latter has his hands anchored onto his teammate’s shoulders. Their lips are connected with nothing to separate the physical contact, but both males are too shocked to make any motion. Mortified expressions from Yamagata and Semi tell you that this predicament was not intentional.

“Oya?~”

Tendou’s sudden disturbance seems to break everyone out of the trance. The timer goes off at this moment as well and a cacophony of noises fill the room. Semi and Yamagata jump away from each other aggressively. The grey-haired male sprints to the bathroom to scrub down his mouth as Yamagata vigorously rubs a handful of napkins onto his lips. Tendou begins to cackle rather loudly while Ohira just lets out an amused chuckle. Goshiki becomes a sputtering mess, red spreading across his whole body. Ushijima blinks absentmindedly.

You watch the chaos unfold and notice Shirabu closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in disappointment. It takes a minute for everyone to get their bearings and Semi returns from the bathroom bashfully. He glances at Yamagata briefly. “That never happened?”

“That never happened,” Yamagata firmly agrees.

Tendou seems to have calmed down a bit because, before you know it, he already has both napkin baskets in his arms, one obviously more full than the other. “Team B is the winner!”

Ushijima is the only one to start clapping while everyone else just sweatdrops at the redhead. Tendou puts away the baskets and turns towards the group once again. “All of Team A will be moving onto the next game since they lost! Team B is exempt from paying!”

You watch as the lanky man saunters over to the counter and Osamu hands him a tray with three small rice balls. You make eye contact with your boss and he just gives you a smirk.

Tendou proceeds to explain the next game. “For the next round, there is one rice ball filled with delicious seasoned meat while the other two are filled with wasabi! The three participants must pick one of the rice balls to eat. Whoever chooses the tasty rice ball will be exempt from paying and the other two people will move on to the final game! (Name)-chan will pick a random name from this conveniently premade bag of names to see who will choose a rice ball first! Everyone will eat the rice balls at the same time though for fun!”

Yamagata gestures you to put your hand inside of a small black bag filled with what you assumed were the three names from the losing team written down on pieces of paper. You reach in and grab one of the papers and take it out of the bag before reading out the name. “Ohira Reon.”

Ohira makes his way over to where the tray was and picks up the rice ball in the middle without hesitation. He seemed pretty confident in his decision, but you didn’t really get the chance to question it as Tendou grabs your attention once again. “Please pick the next name!”

You turn back to Yamagata and reach out to grab another name out of the bag. Your hand stops right as your fingers graze the hem. You blink once and realize that the bag looked a bit different from before; it now seemed to be a more navy blue color. Wasn’t the bag black before?

Noticing your reluctance, Yamagata shoves the rest of your hand into the bag and gives you a suspicious yet pleading look. You inwardly sigh and proceed to pick out a name. “Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

The tall volleyball player chooses the rice ball to the far left leaving Goshiki to take the last one left without a choice. Tendou placed the tray down with a satisfied smile. “Now that everyone has a rice ball, it’s time to eat!”

Ushijima, Goshiki, and Ohira all consumed their rice balls in one bite. There were only chewing noises as everyone waited for any reactions. All of a sudden, Goshiki doubled over and threw a hand over his mouth.

You panicked. “Woah! I wasn’t joking about the vomit! You better not throw up on this floor!”

Terrified by your warning, Goshiki immediately ran towards the nearest trash can and practically stuck half of his head into it. Although he was able to control himself enough to avoid regurgitating everything in his stomach, he desperately spit out the entire rice ball with wasabi and tried his best to get rid of as much residue as he could.

You turned your attention back to the other two people who had eaten a rice ball, curious to see the other victim. Ohira wiped his hands on his pants with a content smile as he continued to savor his delicious snack. Ushijima, on the other hand, stood in his usual stoic stance.

“That was quite spicy.”

It truly is a wonder how someone could remain so composed in situations like this.

“The losers are Wakatoshi-kun and Tsutomu! Get ready for the last game to see who will pay for all of the food!” Tendou exclaims excitedly, completely ignoring the younger boy that’s now leaning over the counter in despair. “The final round is called ‘Find the Volleyball’! The two players will both be blindfolded and they will need to search for the volleyball that we will hide in this room. Whoever finds the volleyball first wins the game and the ultimate loser will be the one to pay for everything!”

Tendou takes out two sports towels and a volleyball from Ushijima’s duffel bag. He passes the towels to Ushijima and Goshiki so that they could begin blindfolding themselves. The others are just lounging around and waiting for the next game to begin. You notice that Ushijima is having some trouble keeping the towel over his eyes as he tries to tie it behind his head. Without thinking too much, you walk over to where he’s standing. “Ushijima-san, do you want some help?”

“Ah, yes. I’m having some trouble keeping this in place. Do you mind holding the towel over my eyes?”

“Yeah, sure!” For a moment, you take in his tall stature and smile sheepishly. “But, you might have to bend down a bit for me. You’re quite tall.”

Ushijima complies to your request and slightly bends his back as he places the towel over his eyes once again. You bring up your hands to his face and your fingers gently brush against his as you replace his hands with your own over the towel. The blindfold starts to fall a bit so your hold on the male’s face reflexively tightens a bit, your hands practically cupping Ushijima’s face. You start to lean forward to get a good look at the blindfold to make sure there are no gaps, not realizing how close you truly were to the volleyball player.

On the other side of the room, Goshiki’s eyes widen at the suggestive position you and Ushijima are standing in. He was just about to wear his own blindfold, but was struck by a great idea. “(Surname)-san, can you-”

“Tsutomu! You look like you need some help!” Tendou swiped the towel from Goshiki’s hands and immediately covered his eyes forcefully. “I can help you!”

Goshiki gasped in discomfort. “Ah! Tendou-san, you almost poked my eyes!”

Ushijima was finally able to successfully tie the towel around his head and you took this as your cue to pull away. He straightened his back and nodded his head in your direction. “Thank you, (Surname)-san.”

“No problem,” you reply with a grin.

Since both males were properly blindfolded, the game was ready to commence. However, instead of hiding the volleyball, Semi held onto it. You were a bit confused since you remember that the rule was to find the hidden volleyball, but at this point, you don’t even want to question these guys anymore. Tendou stood off to the side and projected his voice loud and clear, “The game starts…Now!”

Semi immediately passed the ball to Ohira and some of the guys who weren’t participating began to pass the ball amongst each other silently. Ushijima and Goshiki both reach out their arms in front of them cautiously to protect themselves from running into things. Although, their efforts were in vain as Goshiki stubs his foot on one of the chairs with a yelp and crouches to the ground in distress. Ushijima manages to knock over a bottle of soy sauce from the counter, but he doesn’t seem to realize what happened as he turns around and continues his search. Fortunately, the bottle didn’t shatter, but there is now a puddle of soy sauce coating the floor. You sigh as you grab a handful of napkins and make your way towards the mess.

Goshiki seems to have changed strategies and is now crawling along the floor with one arm in front of him. He bumps into another chair and lifts his arm higher to steady himself. Suddenly, his hand came in contact with a round object that felt firm like a volleyball. “Yes! I found it!”

At his exclamation, everyone in the room shot their gaze to where Goshiki was and paled. Ushijima raised the towel obscuring his vision to see what was going on. Even Shirabu’s jaw dropped substantially. At this moment, Yamagata was in possession of the volleyball that was definitely not anywhere near the younger boy.

In broad daylight, Goshiki’s right hand was placed on your butt. You felt every one of your nerves kicking into overdrive as soon as your body overcame the initial shock. Spinning around abruptly, you deliver somewhat of a roundhouse kick to the poor, blindfolded boy’s body and he ends up tumbling backwards dramatically. His pained groans snap you out of your exasperation and immediately kneel down to check on him. “Oh, sh-! Are you okay, Goshiki-san?”

With your help, Goshiki is able to take off his blindfold and sit upright. “W-what happened? Where’s the volleyball? Did I beat Ushijima-san?!”

“N-not exactly…” You play with strands of your hair unconsciously out of embarrassment. “Sorry about kicking you so hard.”

“But, I thought I felt the ball just now? Why does Yamagata-san have it? What else could I have been touching? And, why did you kick me? Unless…” Goshiki’s expression suddenly shifts from confusion to absolute horror as he starts to connect all the dots. He begins to shriek at the realization and he almost slams his head onto the floor in order to bow in apology. “I’M SO SORRY, (SURNAME)-SAN! IT WAS A COMPLETE ACCIDENT!”

You try to reassure Goshiki that you’re not angry at him. “I-it’s okay. I know it wasn’t on purpose!”

“Nice kick, (Surname)-san.”

“10/10.”

“Would pay to see that again.”

As voices fill the air, that’s when you realize that you were still in a room full of other people and your cheeks flush pink once again. The rest of the guys were observing the whole interaction between the two of you in amusement.

Tendou gave you an apologetic smile but still seemed satisfied with how this ‘competition’ went. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Alright! Congratulations to Tsutomu for winning the game!”

“Huh? I thought neither of them found the volleyball in the end,” Semi commented.

“Well, Wakatoshi-kun took off his blindfold first before anyone found the volleyball, so he automatically forfeited.” Tendou faced his best friend. “It’s for the best. You make the most money out of all of us, Wakatoshi-kun!”

Ushijima nodded his head in acceptance and proceeded to take out his wallet. “I cannot deny that.”

“WAIT A MINUTE!” Suddenly, Goshiki jumped up from his position and pointed at his peers. “WERE YOU TRYING TO MAKE USHIJIMA-SAN PAY THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

“Yup.” Four males voices all answered at once.

“THEN, WHY DID WE PLAY THE GAMES?!”

“‘Cause it’s fun.”

The four males continue to tease their youngest friend and you sigh for the umpteenth time today. Ushijima walks over to stand next to you and hands you the total payment for the food. “I believe this is enough to cover everyone.”

You spend a couple seconds counting the money before looking back up to the broad shouldered man beside you. “Yup, looks right to me. Thanks.”

Before you could make your way to the register, you feel a light tap on your shoulder. Turning your head, you see Ushijima’s hand inches away from where you felt the sensation and you’re surprised by what he says next. “Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” You blink in confusion.

“You looked very uncomfortable before.”

It doesn’t take you long to realize that he’s talking about what had conspired during the last game. “Oh, yeah. I’m okay. Thank you for asking, Ushijima-san. You don’t have to worry about it too much. I wouldn’t mind if you or your other friends came by again after today either. I had a good time overall.”

“Ah. Then, I will take your word for it.” Ushijima gives you a small smile and then turns to walk back to his group of friends. The volleyball player doesn’t seem like the type of person to show much concern for other people due to his naturally stoic and aloof demeanor, but you were pleasantly surprised by his caring nature.

“Order’s ready, guys!” Osamu places multiple bags of food onto the counter. “I don’t mean to mess with your outing, but we are about to close, so you won’t be able to stay for too long.”

“No worries. I think we’ve extended our stay here long enough.” Shirabu assured your boss after being quiet for quite some time. “We’ll probably head over to Goshiki’s apartment anyways.”

“What?!”

Everyone ignored the boy’s outburst and started to grab all their food. As the Shiratorizawa alumni started walking out of the door the night air was filled with shouts of byes and thank yous. Shirabu turned to you one last time before following his friends. “We should keep in contact, (Surname)-san. You still have my number, right? I can also let you know if I hear about any other programs for graduate schools during my internships.”

“I do! I really appreciate it. I’ll see you again sometime, Shirabu-san!” You give him a final wave and he leaves through the exit lifting up a hand behind his shoulder in acknowledgement.

Today was definitely not what you expected from what started out as a slow, normal week.

“Still tired?” Your boss questioned you once again.

You smile as you remember him asking the same question a few hours back. “Exhausted, but strangely refreshed. Is that weird?”

“Definitely a contradiction.” He laughed at your answer. “You got yourself roped into an interesting group of people today. Didn’t know you had a sweet tooth though.”

A mild blush spread across your face as you start to stutter. “I-I normally don’t, but…”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Your boss gives you a thoughtful look and subtly smirks at your reaction.

Recovering from your flushed appearance, you gesture a hand towards a certain box on top of the counter. “Did you want to try one of the chocolates? You’ll understand once you get a taste of it.”

“Why not?”

After quickly washing your hands in the sink, you slide over the box Tendou had given you and open it on the counter space next to Osamu. Your fingers snatch up a star-shaped chocolate and casually bring it up to his mouth. The taller male doesn’t think much of your actions and allows you to feed him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. After everything that happened today, your mind can only briefly sense that your fingers made contact with your boss’ lips. Although, your heart does linger on the fact that Osamu’s lips are much softer than what you expected.

Once the chocolate is fully consumed, Osamu lets out a satisfied hum. “Those Shiratorizawa folks sure know what they’re doing despite the craziness that follows them. Actually, there’s something else I want to ask you. You said you went to the same university as Shirabu-san, right?”

“Yup!”

“When did you graduate?”

You look up to the ceiling as you think. “Um...Maybe around a week ago?”

There’s a slight pause as Osamu takes in what you had just told him. “What?! I had no idea! Did you celebrate with your friends too?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I never really had a lot of friends since I was working so much in college and the ones that I’m close with are all overseas already.”

Osamu nodded his head in understanding. “Well, I got nothing against spending some relaxing alone time, but did you at least treat yourself with a cake or something?”

“I’m not really used to buying things for myself. It’s fine, though. I’m pretty used to pushing aside stuff like this.” You shrug your shoulders to emphasize your carefree attitude. Although, your eyes held a hint of sadness that Osamu would’ve missed if he didn’t have his full attention on you. “Plus, I didn’t even get accepted into grad school, so there’s not much to celebrate there.”

“How come it never came up in any of our conversations?”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t think anyone else cared.”

“...” Osamu stays silent and a slight somber atmosphere permeates the air. He contemplates about something for a moment before suddenly snapping his fingers. You look at him curiously and he just gives you his signature grin without telling you what he just thought of. Instead, he places a hand on your head and begins to pat it gently. “I don’t know how much it means coming from me, but you did well. I’m sure you’ve worked hard, (Name)-san.”

You felt a slight sting in your eyes and lowered your head so that your boss couldn’t see how much of an effect he had on you. “Thanks, Osamu-san.”

A/N: make way for ushiwaka everyone. and yes, osamu loves to just sit back and watch all the chaos unfold

taglist: @dinablossom

#onigiri miya #onigiri miya tidbits #secretpeachtea #shiratorizawa #ushijima #tendou #semi #shirabu #goshiki #ohira #yamagata

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milks-writings · 4 years

Note

Omg I simp hard for Sakusa adfddsfhkj. Could you write about him doing a modeling photoshoot (b/c yk he would be getting sponsors) and he falls for the reader who does his make up because she is meticulously clean? 🥺🥺 this is almost a selfish request b/c I drew him as a model and now I kinda wanna read about it 🥰🥰🥰

✿.｡.:*☆.:*:.☆*.:｡.✿.｡.:*☆.:*:.☆*.:｡.✿.

☆*.:｡.✿ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Kiyoomi Sakusa x Fem!Reader

☆*.:｡.✿ 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: swearing but I swear one day imma stop

☆*.:｡.✿ 𝕒/𝕟: FINALLY SAKUSA RQS UGH I LOVE HIM SM

and,,, can I please,,,, see the art you did??? I am so curious about how you drew him🥺🥺💖

☆*.:｡.✿ 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

☆*.:｡.✿ Scenario:

→ Two months

“Sakusa Kiyoomi” His eyelashes fluttered, and he blinked so often with those long beautiful lashes, he could almost start to fly with them. “Huh?” his mouth parted in confusion, staring at the female worker who pulled out cleaning wipes from her bag and started to clean her make up supplies. From the powder, over to the foundation, and even the eyeliner brush which she did not even touch once got cleaned by her. “I am done with your make-up” the female reminded him and flashed him a small smile, making his heart skip a beat, maybe two or even three. It was not her first day, neither was it her last one. She started to work just recently there, and Sakusa was already head over heels for her. Not only because she was damn clean and always washed everything after every use, but also because he just loved the way she stood calm around him and did not freak out after seeing her own work.

Sometimes he had to deal with crazy fangirls who would just scream at him, or his pictures. But Y/N always kept calm and quiet around him, not bothering him. She also never complained about having to use sanitizer or about wearing a mask around him. She wasn’t even bothered in the slightest, actually seemed to do that gladly. “How often do you wash those?” The first time the male spoke up to talk to her, which made both, her and him surprised. “Oh? After every use” Her voice clearly reflecting the nervousness which tensed up in her whole body. “How often do you use them?” Sakusa's voice seemed to almost suffocate her, it wrapped tightly around her throat and she could barely get any words out. “Uh, as often as I have to do someone's make-up?” to her, it almost felt like the wrong answers, even though there could be no wrong answers. It was just the truth.

“How often do you clean your supplies?” “You mean-” just as the female wanted to finish her sentence, the male just bricked between her words, which were already unsteady. “Yes. I mean the pallets, foundations, and so on.” The female, clearly confused and also kind of uncomfortable and nervous, looked around the room like she would find an answer this way. But sadly she didn’t. Sadly, she never did. “I guess uh, yeah. I Mean. Very often.” Between the small pauses, she did since she lacked oxygen and always had to inhale sharply, the female looked around the room to not have to look at him.

“I think I like you”

“eh?”

For a second, the heavy air lingered in the room, which symbolized the awkward silence between the male and the female. Then, the next second the male cleared his throat, snapping both, him and her back into reality. “Sorry-”

“It’s okay,” the answer shot out almost immediately after the male spoke like she didn’t want to hear any further explanations. “I understand” for both in the room it was clear that she did not understand. Not even one of his words.

“It just slipped out because-” “I have heard that very often, please don’t come up with excuses like ‘I like you because you look so beautiful’. That’s just whack” Y/N confessed, to which the black-haired only nodded lightly in agreement. She was right, it would have been weird then. But that was not the reason why those words just slipped over his lips. So easily, like they were out of ice and his mouth hot, they just slid over his lips like it was the easiest thing ever. Sakusa didn’t even know to this day that the was able to confess this easily.

“Give me two months.”

The sudden confidence in his voice made her eyebrows quirk up in a confused, yet somehow satisfied manner. “For what?”

“To make you fall in love with me.”

«𝐛𝐲 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞»

☆*.:｡.✿ 𝕃𝕠𝕪𝕒𝕝 𝕡𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕤: @yams046 @shouyouwrites @sugawsites @kara-grayson04 (send an ask to be tagged in the gen. Taglist! <3)

☆*.:｡.✿ 𝔹𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕦𝕝𝕥 𝕡𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕤:

@akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma @kawanisshi @thiccbokuto @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq @badlywritten-hq @mochibeaa @oinkanna @chxrry-wxne @spudicide @airybby @asranomical @karmasuna @nekoglasses

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darks-ink · 4 years

Text

Darkness - Ectoberweek 2020

Yes I wrote this one because I just really wanted to write Vlad and Danny meeting in Antonym-verse, shh. Don’t say anything.

[first part]

Rating: Gen Warnings: - Genre: Supernatural Words: 2,147 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Sequel

[AO3] [FFN]

---

“Well,” Danny said, humming thoughtfully.

“Well,” the other person agreed, his bright red eyes absurdly visible in the dark room they were in.

Since the man didn’t seem inclined to talk, Danny didn’t bother to, either. Instead he started peering around, blinking his own vivid green eyes. Even though his retained night vision usually did him little good, he was glad to have it, now. He highly doubted ordinary humans would’ve been able to see in the pitch black they were in.

Unfortunately, the room did not include any hints as to where he was, nor why he was here.

“You’re Danny, aren’t you?” the man suddenly asked, his red eyes narrowed. “The Fenton’s adopted son?”

Danny hummed. He wasn’t sure if he was legally adopted, the human world had so much complicated paperwork, but they certainly seemed intent on counting him as their son. “Yeah,” he finally agreed, figuring he should vocalize. “But I don’t think I know you. Do I?”

The man visibly considered that, weighing options against each other. Finally he offered a hand to Danny. “Vlad.”

“Well, you already know my name, obviously.” Danny shot him a grin as he took the hand and shook it. “But I’m Danny.”

“And you’re half-ghost,” Vlad said, a strange emphasis on the ‘half-ghost’. “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Danny pointed out with a shrug. “I think that the more pressing questions are “where are we?” and “how did we get here?”, don’t you?”

Vlad hummed at that, expression somewhere between pleased and aggravated. Someone was digging for information, huh? “Yes, I suppose you’re right. You don’t know either, then?”

“Nope,” he agreed easily, taking his eyes off of Vlad to look around again. The room was empty and featureless, absolutely non-distinct in how bland it was. “But! I don’t think we’re in the Ghost Zone.”

“How can you tell?”

“Not nearly enough ectoplasm in the atmosphere.” Danny leaned over to knock on the wall. “And these are solid. Humans can go through walls in the Ghost Zone.”

“You seem to know a lot about the Ghost Zone.” Vlad’s eyes narrowed once more.

“Yeah, well.” Danny paused, reconsidered. Vlad didn’t seem like a ghost, not like him. Vlad seemed like a human. If Danny could become part human as a ghost, why couldn’t a human become part ghost? “I guess I spent a good bit of time there.”

“And your parents?” Vlad pressed, cold disinterest in his voice.

Danny snorted, dismissive. “You mean my biological parents? Dunno. Can’t remember them. That’s why the Fentons took me in, y’know? Now can we please focus on getting out of wherever this is before we continue the interrogation?”

“Yes, of course,” Vlad said, graciously. Like this was anything to be gracious about. Danny bet that if he’d been in full control of his powers he could’ve beaten the other half-ghost easy. But, alas. He was still fighting to control his core, never mind use his powers properly. He would have to settle for civilized human behavior.

“Good.” Danny turned away from Vlad, walking along the wall, one hand trailing over it. The whole thing felt solid in a uniquely human way. Definitely no ghosts involved here.

The door, when Danny reached it, was no less solid. He grabbed onto the rounded doorknob and jangled it, but there was no give. Definitely locked. “Yeah, we’re not getting out this way.”

Vlad, who still hadn’t moved, the ass, hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose we will have to use our powers to leave, then. I see no cameras of any sort, do you?”

“No,” Danny admitted, releasing the door and looking around just to be sure. “I suppose you’re right. Some intangibility and invisibility should get us out.”

“Yes, indeed.” Vlad crossed his arms, waiting for a moment before arching his brow at Danny. “Well, go on then.”

“Me?” He scoffed. “It was your idea. You go first.”

The man stared at him for a moment longer, his red eyes boring straight into Danny’s, before he sighed. “Fine, then. But only because I suspect I cannot hope to out-stubborn a teenager, let alone one raised by Jack Fenton.”

Danny quirked an eyebrow at that unexpected hostility. Sure, he’d only known Jack for a month or two, but still. He seemed like a good man.

Vlad’s transformation was similar to Danny’s own. A spark of light from the chest, from the core, forming into rings which passed over the body, and shifted it from one state to the other. Admittedly Vlad’s were bizarrely black, while still giving off light, but it didn’t really matter. Not now, at least.

No, Danny was far more interested in Vlad’s ghost form. He looked rather like a typical ghost, up to and including a thematic appearance. And what an appearance. Vlad had gone full vampire on his looks, with pale blue skin, empty red eyes, pointed ears and sharp fangs. His hair, black in ghost form, was swept up into gravity-defying points, and his clothing did not match the suit he’d been wearing at all.

Hell, the guy even wore a cape. What kinda person did that?

But… Vlad had gone and shifted to his ghost form, so Danny supposed he’d better follow suit. Mentally crossing his fingers that his powers would hold—his core was still settling back into proper stability after his accident—he called his core to the forefront of his existence. Light flashed as he, too, transformed into a ghost.

Vlad quirked an eyebrow at him, judgment heavy in the air. “A jumpsuit, boy, really? You are certainly a Fenton, aren’t you?”

“It’s Phantom, actually,” Danny correctly idly. “The jumpsuit is just a coincidence.” He lifted up from the floor, trying to judge how well his core was doing that day. “Now come on, I don’t have all day.”

“And you think I do?” Vlad scoffed, but started floating as well. “I will go first. I expect I will be more likely to recognize where we are than you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t have to be so haughty about it. “Sure, knock yourself out.” Danny swept out an arm in a wide arc to underline the statement, throwing in a sarcastic bow as well.

The gesture clearly wasn’t lost on Vlad, but he apparently made the choice to ignore it, flying towards one of the walls and flickering invisible before he hit it. With a roll of his eyes, Danny followed, focusing his senses on the feel of Vlad’s core so he could track the man while invisible.

Outside it was… also dark, admittedly, but not as hopelessly pitch-black as inside. A glance upwards confirmed that it was a regular dark—stars barely visible due to a nearby city, and the new moon that was supposed to come that night.

Vlad was still nearby, although invisible, so Danny let himself drift over. “Well,” he said when he was close enough, keeping his voice low since they were still invisible. “I don’t think we missed much time. The moon phase is correct.”

“Hm. And what do you know of where we are?” Vlad asked, a tone of curiosity layered under the smarminess of his voice. “Or have you spent all your time looking up?”

“I thought you were going to focus on our location?” Danny shook his head, realized Vlad couldn’t see, then decided to look around anyway.

And, huh.

“Well, at least we’re not far from home,” he said, feebly.

They were on the outskirts of Amity Park.

“You aren’t, no.” Vlad huffed, a sound of displeasure. “Unlike you, however, I live in Wisconsin.”

Cool. That meant very little to Danny. He was pretty sure that it was a state in the country he was living in, but where, or how far away it was? Absolutely meaningless.

“Okay, well… If you know the Fentons you can probably stay over?” He let his invisibility drop, since the strain on his core was rather unnecessary. The people of Amity Park didn’t look up enough to care about ghosts in the sky. “And if you didn’t… Well, they probably would let you stay over anyway. They’d love to talk more about your half-ghost-ness.”

“Joy,” Vlad muttered, and he could not possibly have put more distaste in the word. “And you do not care to stay invisible, then?”

“I can’t keep it up forever, dude.” Danny shrugged, letting his legs blend away into a tail as he drifted in the direction towards home. “Besides, I know Amity Park. It’s a safe place to fly without invisibility, trust me.”

Vlad scoffed, but dropped his invisibility as well. “Very well, then. Lead on.”

Danny nodded back, then shifted into proper flight, making sure to keep his speed fairly low. As annoying as it was to have to hold back, he knew he couldn’t make full use of his powers, not while his core was still recovering from the transition. One day, hopefully, he’d get back to his prior strength.

Still, that did make him wonder. It definitely seemed like Vlad was a human who’d become half-ghost. How did that work, compared to Danny himself? How strong was Vlad? Did he need to wait for his core to mature the usual way? That almost seemed easier to Danny than what he was going through. A slow progressive growth, rather than having all these powers and not having the power to use them.

And Vlad had conveniently skipped around explaining how he knew the Fentons, too. Honestly, he was kind of giving Danny the creeps. Something about his behavior was just… off. Weird.

Or maybe that was just how slimy he was, how haughty, how superior. Yugh.

Vlad didn’t try talking to him while they were flying to FentonWorks, although he did raise a questioning eyebrow at the neon sign when they landed behind it.

“The glow of the sign will hide our light,” Danny explained with a shrug. He’d been told by Jazz that the sign was an oddity among humans, but he didn’t think it was that weird. “We can enter the house through the door up here.”

“Why not phase inside?” Vlad asked, crossing his arms. “That way no one will see us.”

“True. But it’s also rude to go inside without announcing yourself.” Danny grinned at Vlad, displaying his own sharp teeth, before releasing his core to shift back to human form. The flashing light was barely visible beyond the glow of the sign. “Coming, Vlad?”

The other half-ghost sighed, making a motion like rolling his eyes—despite the fact that they were empty in his ghost form—but transformed back into human form as well. “I would’ve thought that using ghost powers meant we were no longer following human sensibilities, but it’s your house.”

Human sensibilities? What, has no one ever told this guy the rules of lairs in the Ghost Zone? Yikes. “You do realize that it’s a thing in the Ghost Zone too, right? Not randomly wandering into people’s lairs?”

“And how would you know?” Vlad sneered back, his eyes dark for the first time since Danny had met him. “You’re what, fourteen? And clearly new to being half-ghost, too.”

“Yeah!” Danny snapped, feeling his core kick up a notch. He was so tired of this asshole. “Yeah, I’m new to being half-ghost! Because I was a full ghost before this!”

He leaned in closer to Vlad, seeing the reflection of his glowing eyes in Vlad’s. “Just because you think you’re a big deal doesn’t mean you are. You don’t know shit, Vlad.”

Satisfied that he’d gotten his point across, Danny whirled around, pulling open the door and climbing down the stairs. After a moment, he heard Vlad follow.

“You are… a ghost turned half-human?” Vlad asked, quietly. “Not the reverse?”

“Not like you, no,” Danny confirmed, opening the door to the upper floor hallway. “But the Fentons will still want to talk to you.”

“No.” Vlad stopped before crossing the door. Danny, too, stopped, turning around to face Vlad again. “No, I don’t think that that’s going to happen.”

“What?”

“I thought I had found someone like me. For that, I was willing to put up with Jack Fenton, at least for the moment. But now?” Vlad scoffed, a derisive sound. “For a poor ghostly imitation? No, certainly not. Goodbye, Phantom.”

With that, Vlad whirled around, vanishing from sight. Danny could still track his core—apparently Vlad had shifted forms almost immediately—but he was, in fact, leaving.

“Well. That just happened,” Danny muttered to himself as Vlad left the premises entirely. “Wonder what the chances are that the Fentons know more than one guy named Vlad.”

He shrugged to himself, continuing down to the living room, where his family waited. Guess he had some more mysteries to solve now.

Like that room. What the fuck was up with that?

#danny phantom #ectoberweek2020 #ectoberweek 2020 #dp fanfic #phanfic #danny fenton #vlad masters #whoo i finished 6 out of 7 fics for this event!#they're all kinda short but hush that's good #i wanted to stop writing monstrous one-shots that never ended #dark writes

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