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the-kr8tor · 3 months

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On These Metal Tracks I Lay Myself Bare

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mention, CW guns, TW violence, CW injury, Cowboy AU, wild west AU.

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CHAPTER 5 >>> CHAPTER 6

The train station is packed with people, all finely dressed, waiting along the tracks, their luggages weighing heavy in their hands. The place smells of iron and steel, sweat soaked wood and rough leather. Your eyes wander around the station, domed ceilings loom above, carvings of horses and birds decorate the chestnut wood. Sunlight filters through the cracks, rays of light acting as a spotlight to the ornate building. It's a busier train station than the town you were in, the city you've stopped in is huge in comparison to the little towns you've passed by. The station is full of ticketing booths, lines stretching a few feet away that are full of impatient passengers. You look across the train tracks, seeing parents chastising their children, hearing hurried murmurs from husbands, holding their wives’ hands even though the luggage in their hand slows them down. You look at Hobie's gloved hand that's resting upon the ticket booth, you stare at it longingly, eyes getting glossy by the minute.

He's taking you home, and just like back home, you have no say in it.

A train whistle echoes, a signal of its metallic arrival. Its steel body creaks as it stops, its copper inlay is slowly turning green, and there's rust around the wheels. Soon, the station fills with smoke, dark tar belching smoke that sticks to your lungs as you cough. You feel a warm hand on your back, in a second you look back, the warmth is gone.

“You alright?” Hobie asks, lighting up a cigarette in-between his lips.

“It's the smoke,” you say, scratching at your throat that he cannot keep looking at for the scar in his neck throbs at the memory from the mundane act.

“Alright,” without a second thought, he takes his freshly lit cigarette from his mouth and then flicks it away from you, embers fly off in the distance just before it lands on the dirt outside.

You feel like the golden light in the summer. “I was talking about the coal smoke from the train. But that works too, thank you.”

He scoffs, a small smile ghosting over his lips. “Right, didn't do it for you, I did it for myself. Heard it kills people y'know.” Nudging you, he doesn't expect for you to shuffle away. Blinking, he avoids your eyes, “that's our train, it's an overnight one so we can rest in our cabin.” He tugs you in by the sleeve of your coat that's tucked in between his middle and forefinger, guiding you towards the waiting doors.

“That's good.” You follow, eyes trained on his back lest you get lost.

As much as you don't want to go home, you still don't want to leave him despite your mind telling you to forget about him and just leave on Cherry and wander around the west like a tumbleweed caught in the wind. You'd probably last a week.

Hobie stops by the doors, waiting in line with the other passengers. You flick your eyes downwards, his fingers wrapped around your sleeve, not taut, just holding you close to him as the crowd grows. So close to your own hands, yet so far from your heart.

“Tickets?” The man clad in a blue uniform asks, Hobie shows the pink papers and the man nods.

You enter the train car, it's a cute little thing filled with blue velvet curtains with golden tassels, and carpeted floors that run towards the end of the car. On your left are filled with little cabins, with clear windows that you can see through inside. It's big enough for at least four people, five if possible, though it would be a tight fit. The hallway is already small enough that only two people could walk side by side, you'd like to walk side by side with him, unlike now that you walk behind him, behind his shadow that gathers around you like dandelions in the spring.

“This is us,” he stops at cabin number three, opening the door with a creak, he leans away to let you enter first. Closing the door behind him, he pulls down all the curtains so that wandering eyes can't watch your every move. It's bad enough that there's a bounty on both of your heads, you don't want gossiping passengers peering inside.

There are four collapsible beds on each wall, all held by golden ropes, bed sheets in rich red cloth, pillows fluffed to perfection and blankets neatly folded. Hobie scooches in between you and the beds to close the top bunks so that there's more space for his tall frame. He has taken his hat off not for politeness but if he wore it inside it'll be squished by the low ceiling. Then there's the large window that sits across the door, before you could take note of the people outside, Hobie shuts the curtains close.

“What do you think?” He asks, taking his jacket off with a flourish. “It's not even close to the ones back home but it'll do for now. We'll be train hopping to get our scents off the lawmen.”

“It's nice— wait, train hopping?” You sit down on one of the beds, the mattress is surprisingly soft under you. “Please don't tell me we'll be jumping from train roof to train roof.”

Hobie chuckles, copying your actions, sitting across from you. Back resting against the wall, comfortably slouching. “Think you can handle it?”

“God, no.” You can't help but rest your tired head upon the goose feather pillow.

“Good, because we're not doin' that, love.” Again, he copies you. Arms tucked under his head, eyes above the ornate ceiling. “We’re not gettin' off at the last station, so we'll be ridin’ with Buck and Cherry for a bit and then to another train station. Confuse the wankers with our brilliant wiles.”

You lift your head off the pillow, and in turn, Hobie turns his head to look at you. “Wait, what about the horses?”

“They'll follow the train.” He smiles.

“Follow? Like they have our scents?” Hobie laughs, not teasingly, no, it's full of endearment, chuckling softly, but it flies over your head.

“Don't laugh. It's a genuine question.” You roll your eyes with slight amusement.

“They're in the back carriage,” he tamps down his laugh but his smile stays.

After that silence prevails in your cabin as the train slowly chugs on, sharp whistles piercing your eardrums, and the hum of machinery bringing you back home. You want to speak to him, to finally tell him of all your concerns about going home, going back to them. But most of all, you want him to speak to you about everything, to tell you how he was faring for the last five years, and how he became such a terrifying figure to outlaws. You want him to just…talk, and make up for lost time. You gather the courage, but just as you were about to speak, he no longer lies across from you. Hobie is sitting on the bed, body facing the door, hands busy with oiling his guns.

“Hobie…I—”

“What is it?” He flicks his eyes briefly to you, his tone was sharp, but he didn't mean it, blaming it for his own worries and fatigue. He'd say something about it but you're already facing away from him. Back turned, blanket shielding you from him.

“Nevermind,” you mumble into the covers, falling into a deep slumber where the conversation happened in your dreams.

This goes on for three days, hopping from train to train, from busy cities to dead empty towns. You barely speak, talking only when Hobie asks you something. It's like you're back at that empty mansion, with only the plants to talk to.

Hobie silently hates it, he doesn't know what to make out any of it. You seem hungry so he gives you a can of strawberries, you look tired so he lets you sleep without him saying a word. When goosebumps appear on your arms he gives you a blanket, when you're nervous, lips bitten until it's bleeding, he leaves you alone to calm yourself down. None of it works, he misses your chatter that has kept him sane the entire journey. The silence gives him time to think though, a situation that he despises since nothing good has come out of all the thinking.

—

The rest of the journey goes without a hitch, except for that one bit where Bucky was stolen by an outlaw while you and Hobie were buying train tickets. You panic while he sits and waits. People look at you like you were a mad woman pacing back and forth, hand petting Cherry, voice whispering your thoughts to the poor hitched horse. And Hobie just…stares. After what seemed like forever, or fifteen minutes, Bucky returns, riderless, still has his saddle on his back, and seemingly chipper. Turns out, Hobie trained Buckeye to throw off would-be thieves, and this time, Bucky found a convenient ledge to throw this particular man off. You and Hobie quickly ushered both horses into the back just in case a sheriff comes looking for a murderous horse.

You've been seeing a few familiar faces in the crowd of travelers, the same children that's tugging at their father's coat, the same old couple that helps each other up on the platforms. Some have taken notice of you too, to which you smile politely at them while they wave kindly at you.

—

It's another warm humid day, another train to ride in. You don't bother to look at the interior this time, only deciding to sit on the cushy seat you were assigned to, sliding inside the booth, eyes already staring longingly at the outside world. Hobie once again tries to speak about something— anything to try to get you to finally speak your mind, but his rapid pulse tells him otherwise. So he clamps his mouth shut, deciding to sit across from you instead of sitting next to you like he wanted to.

He feels eyes on his form as he picks mud off his spurs, raising his head, he comes face to face with a freckled child staring at him curiously with her big blue eyes. Her tiny hands are curled around a teddy bear, her fiery red hair is tied into a neat ponytail. You notice her a second later, smiling softly at the child.

“Hello,” you greet kindly, and the girl scampers back to her family's seat, hiding her blushing face behind her mother's skirt.

“Sorry about that.” Her mother apologizes, round pregnant belly prominent as she tries to coax her daughter out. “This is Clementine, she's a bit shy.”

“That's alright,” you speak on behalf of Hobie. “Hi, Clementine, my name's Y/N, and this is my companion, Hobie.” The second your eyes meet his own, Hobie's breath gets stuck in his throat.

“Say hello, Clem, be polite.” The girl's father playfully pokes her side. Blue eyes hidden behind rounded glasses.

“Hi,” she says in a small voice, giggling when she looks back at Hobie.

“I think she has a crush on your husband.” Clementine's mother chuckles, patting her daughter's back for a job well done.

“My husband?” Panic sets in your chest until you see her gesturing towards Hobie. “Oh,” you chuckle shakily, fists bunched around your trousers.

Hobie notices, he doesn't say anything about it. He takes your reaction as something else, so to keep your embarrassment at bay, he tells the couple otherwise. “Not her husband. Just escortin’ her.”

The air becomes awkward. “Oh,” the mother rubs her belly, smiling gently. “Sorry, you two just look like a good pair.”

Her husband taps her shoe with his. “Just like us, eh, sweetheart?” The wife shakes her head with a bashful smile, bringing a grin to the man's lips. You start to think that this is what marriage is supposed to be. Caring, loving, clinging onto each other in the best way that doesn't stifle or choke, just love in its most natural form. It's unlike any marriages you've seen and experienced back home. “So where are you folks off to? I'm guessing south? We've been seeing you two around since Valentine, it's nice to have some company during the journey don't you think?”

Hobie doesn't sense malicious intent from the parents. “Sure, whatever you say, mate.”

“You're not from around here aren't you?” The little girl listens to the conversation, head moving from side to side whenever someone speaks. “That's alright,” she laughs softly, rummaging for something in her bag. Hobie has his thumb pressed along the side of his gun. “I can tell you'll be good neighbors,” she hands you a small jar of honey, it's bright yellow and clear, you wish you had some tea to go with it. Hobie breathes a sigh of relief. “Here you go!”

“Oh no thank you, we can't possibly take it.”

“Please do.” The husband says, “we used to have a colony of bees, but we had to sell them all before we moved.”

“We have dozens of unsold honey, we're honestly just looking to get rid of it before we get to our destination. They're heavy, y'know.” His wife finishes for him. “Clem, can you give it to sweet Y/N for me?”

“That's so kind of you.” You smile, nodding. “You're moving to the south?”

“Okay.” She happily takes it, walking across the aisle to you and Hobie. Unsurprisingly, she gives it to Hobie instead of you. “Here you go.” She copies her mother.

Hobie takes the jar with trepidation. “Thank you?”

You quiet down a laugh while Clementine’s parents guffaw across you.

“Oh she's in love.” The mother says, arms raised to embrace her daughter who welcomes her touch. You can't help but feel a pang in your heart at her love for her child. “And yes we're going to be living there with my in-laws. Rent has gone too high in the west, y'know.” You nod along, making friendly conversation.

“Wish I had tea,” you hear Hobie mumble. You smile softly at his words.

—

It's been a couple of more trains, and more smoke in your lungs, you start to feel like your hands are starting to smell like the steel that you now know as your temporary home. The scenery outside your window has changed. From grassy dusty plains of tumbleweeds and windmills to rolling mountains that rise up high with large looming trees that shield you from the sun. Soon your view will be full of the southern charm, but you don't look forward to it, being there means that you're closer to getting back to the place you dread.

You've grown quite close to Clementine and her little family, even the other familiar passengers that are heading the same way as you are quite fond of you as well. You eat breakfast with them, have afternoon tea, and have even introduced Cherry and Bucky to the children. They've lovingly named them both ‘horsies,’ to which you'd always giggle at.

Clementine has latched onto you, you teach her about plants and flowers, and have her draw them for you just like you've sweetly described it to her. But when Hobie's near, she opts to be his shadow for the time being, following him everywhere until her mother calls her back. Hobie is half annoyed that he can't find the time to speak to you, but he's glad that there's someone as a mediator between the two of you or he'll start vomiting out words that may or may not make the situation worse.

Your back aches at the lumpy mattress that you've unfortunately landed into. You can't help but give up the assigned cabin for you and Hobie to Clementine and her family since the beds are much more comfortable in that cabin. So you offered to exchange it, citing that the mother, Florence, you've come to know, needs it more because of the growing baby in her. She gratefully gave you another jar of honey for your sacrifice.

Hobie enters the booth, heavy boots thumping against darkened wood, spurs clicking, footsteps rolling along like a thick heavy fog of loneliness.

“Where were you?” He asks even though he's afraid that he'd be overbearing. His worries win over him.

You grip the spine of the borrowed book, knuckles tightening, eyes drawn downwards to the written word that spells out ‘grief.’ “I visited Cherry, I don't want her to be lonely.” You barely look at him.

Hobie flexes his hands not out of anger, no, out of fear of losing you, this time, just like the last time he did, he doesn't know why or how he could even lose you. He sits down across from you, bed creaking from his weight. He tries to play as the nonchalant cowboy like he always had for the past five years.

“Clementine was lookin' for you.” *I was looking for you. “Cherry won't be lonely, she has Bucky with her.”

“Bucky hasn't been much help when all he does is look at her. Not much of a conversationalist.” You flick your eyes over to him, flashes of anger and hopelessness are melted into your irises.

“Maybe Bucky just doesn't have the words.”

“And maybe Cherry just wants to talk to him.”

“That fuckin’ horse,” he laughs, you don't find the humour in his words. But he clearly does. Your anger flies over his head. “that horse is already worth half of your bounty.” His words are a sharp sting in your arteries. “If she actually speaks she'll be worth it.”

“And what if she doesn't? That she's not worth your damned money?” You toss the book aside. Anger seeping out of your pores. “You'll sell her after you bring me in to my aunt?” Your voice breaks, and you hate yourself for it. “Am I just that to you? A bounty?” The dam breaks, and everything you've kept to yourself bursts open.

“That's not—” The heart that he has sewn together breaks at the seams.

You abruptly stand up, tears pricking your eyes. Inhaling, you stare down the man you love. The only man you've ever loved. “You are not what I hoped to find when I escaped on that ship.”

Before he could say something, anything, you disappeared into another train car, and amidst the metallic halls.

—

Another grueling day, another steel cage to get into. The train whistles as it comes to a stop, you've grown acclimated to the smell of burning coal, you let it coat your lungs as you enter the train with Hobie silently trailing after you.

Your eyes are glossed over, red and swollen from the sobs you've let out over the course of the last sixteen hours. Hobie hasn't talked to you since then, always looking at your back, face unreadable. You pass by familiar faces, you don't acknowledge them. You're tired, bones aching, muscles twitching from lack of sleep and water. Head thrumming, you enter your designated cabin like a doe who has lost its way.

There's a sinkhole underneath your feet, slowly it eats at you, up to your shins and up your thighs, coating your flesh in mud and dirt. You don't tug at him anymore, the small ember of hope in your chest has diminished, instead, you let the ground swallow you whole— letting it suffocate you, letting it drown your lungs in soil.

Just like he did on the first train ride, there's four beds on each wall, but instead of an empty space in the middle, there's a little foldable table. You close the top bunks and lay down on one of the bottom ones, head heavy against the soft pillow. You feel his presence behind you, and then a cool steel atop your bicep. You flinch away, thinking it was a barrel of a gun.

“I figured you're thirsty.” He says, hand hovering above your shoulder in an attempt to calm you down. The train whistle rings out, and the engine whirrs and starts up as more smoke bellows outside your window.

You take the flask, sitting up to take a drink. He sits across from you, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him.

Hobie sees the glow of your ring, he instinctively brings his hand up to his own that has made its home around his neck; hidden behind his clothes, finding comfort in its gilded form, the closest thing he can get to you.

“Why do you still hold on to me? After all these years?” He asks, eyes swirling with unknown emotion.

“Why did you let me go?” You answer, and that was the end of the conversation. Then it hits you, he truly doesn't love you anymore.

—

Night comes, and with it your sadness comes flooding through you, getting in the corners, slithering around every crevice— it has memorized your form and made it its home.

Weirdly enough, Hobie hasn't left the cabin, his lingering presence doesn't stifle you, unlike the man back at home who watches you with piercing glares. Even with your fury, your mind still finds comfort in Hobie.

He hears your almost silent cry, he wants to hold on to you, to brush his palms on your cheeks, to wipe away the tears and press his lips against your own. But he can't, or you'll think that he didn't mean it, that he only did it to make you calm down. It would be a cheap satisfaction for the both of you.

“I didn't let you go, I had to go.” He suddenly says above the quiet cutting of an apple in his hand, leaving pieces of it on your side just in case you want it. His voice doesn't waver, perhaps he has been saying the exact words to you in his mind for the past five years. You still have your back turned facing him as the deep rumble of the train goes on. “I was young and stupid. I was forced—”

You suddenly turn towards him, sitting up on the lumpy mattress. “And I was young and stupid too, yet I knew in my heart that running away with you wasn't foolish. Was it stupid to you? Escaping with me? That you'd rather run away, alone, to another country than be with me?” The memory of a young you waiting for him with your luggage in your grip has you seething.

Hobie matches your anger, hunting knife pausing on the red apple. “Did you hear what I said?” He angrily skins the fruit, slicing and dicing at its flesh. “You have no idea what I've done to survive. I have endured a lot to be where I am now—”

“And what of what I endured?!” You stand up, taking your bag, rummaging through it. “I'm truly sorry for whatever happened to you— but how could I apologize for something that I don't even know?” You toss the letters on the desk after struggling to take it out of the bag. “There! The letters that were sent back to me because I had no idea where you would be! Read them, and you'll know of the things I've endured. Unlike you who would rather look at me with contempt than tell me why I deserve that horrid gaze.” You gasp for air, he lets you speak, his own anger dissipating, fear once again encompasses him. “I thought you were dead, everyone kept telling me you were, but I didn't believe them. It's been years, my hands are raw from— I mourned you.” You pause, watching your golden ring glow in the lampshade. “Do you know how much that hurt? To start to believe their words? To lose hope? I didn't know where you were but you knew where I was and yet, not a single fucking letter went my way.”

Hobie stares at the letters spilled all over the table, apple juice seeping into the yellowed paper. He takes one, the oldest looking one that has its edges burned. Breaking the wax seal, he reads as he listens to your words coated in venom and grief.

“One letter, Hobie, and I would've understood. Then I wouldn't have come after you if you just told me you didn't want to be with me anymore.” You nod, “and now you're bringing me home, to the same people who would rather keep me locked up and tell me lies. I don't know how your letter got in my possession, but now I know that you didn't mean anything you wrote in it.” For five years you've asked yourself, ‘was it me?’ ‘Was I the reason you left?’ you never got the answer to your question, so now you ask him finally. “Was it me?”

Hobie raises his head to look upon your sorrow, his hand shakes at the act they've done to you the second he escaped. He had thought they'd leave you alone, that they'd finally let you go once he was gone and forgotten; but he never thought it would get worse, the hurtful words and slaps on the wrists were nothing compared to what they've done after that night he was almost buried alive— the night you tried to escape with him. His mind draws the scene, blood coating your knees, your pained cry as your aunt jabs your hands with the tip of a fountain pen. And then her words of hollow apologies as she heals your wounds so that it wouldn't scar. You're filled with them, invisible to the eye, but not to you, the only person who has felt every single torturous wound.

‘It's terrible,’ you wrote, ‘not ever seeing you again.’ And he agonizingly read it. No, it wasn't you, it was them, them who would rather commit murder just to mimic what he had. Hobie can't form coherent words at what he just read, anger and sadness piercing his veins like a poisoned arrow of guilt.

You sniff, wiping the tears in your eyes as he just stares back at you. His hands shakes, paper crumpling under his tight grip, he needs to bring you home. But not there, not at the gilded cage he left you in.

The cruelty of memory has plagued you, you try to remember, you reminisce, but did it actually happen? Did all his love for you even happen?

“You don't have to keep reading,” you say solemnly, “it doesn't matter now, we're nearly there.” With a slide of the door, you leave.

—

After the twelfth tear stained letter, with his own tears flowing down and leaving moistened webs on the paper, he has had enough. His eyes always seem to see the same words now, ‘was it me?’ ‘Are you alive?’ and ‘When will you come back?’ Hobie hasn't even made a dent on the letters, barely reading half of the pile of longing you've left. Hobie's mind swirls into different emotions, going through every scenario where he didn't run away, where he came back for you while clutching his still bleeding throat and body covered in moist soil.

He was foolish to try and push you away, to hold you at arm's length, to only look at you like he has let the poisonous words thrown at him by the very same man that gave him the scar curl around him like blackened smoke that stains his clothes. He thought that wanting you back would bring nothing but hurt, especially that he thought that he didn't deserve it. To want is his demise, to have you again in his arms is his folly, but what a wonderful folly it would be.

How could he do all of that to you when his scarred flesh is in the shape of your name.

He pockets the letters, tucking it inside his waist coat, right above his heart just to feel your words through them. The door opens with a click, and he walks towards your direction like a compass built inside him that always points towards you. His fingers glide along the scar on his neck, raised skin felt through his gloves as he walks from carriage to carriage. Where there's open air in between, cool breeze stinging his moistened cheeks. Then he stops at the edge of a crowd, a jaunty tune plays from a traveling musician, playing for a scrap of coins in the corner. People gather around the brightly lit bar, alive and happy, and there you are standing as if you're frozen in time. As if he's seeing you just how he left you.

Amidst the familiar faces within the crowd that gathers in the small bar to converse, he stares at you, and by some miracle, you stare back at him, meeting his jade eyes that are surrounded by a sickened red. There's a soft, ghost of a smile on your lips, even after what you've told him— eyes full of love for the same man who has your heart in the palm of his hands; gentle, caring and yet unknowingly the only person that could truly hurt you the most without the painful slap of a wooden board against your back. It brings him back in time, under the cloudy gas light and the whir of the metal machines whose maw opens and closes to reveal heated metal— His mouth opens and he says the exact same thing that he has been saying every single time his eyes meet yours in secret— ‘meet you back at home.’ He utters, a promise kept under the smell of unlit gunpowder and cheap champagne that your aunt always buys to placate the workers. And you say the same words back without a bated breath— ‘wait for me.’ You almost cry out into the crowd, you'd scream it if it weren't for the forbidden relationship. It has been like that through every cheap congratulatory milestone the factory and your aunt has thrown. You don't speak to him, but your longing eyes do. He doesn't come near you, but his hand would always gravitate towards your velvet clad hand. ‘No one else knows.’ ‘No one else knows,’ those words echo in your mind like a root taking its place. Yet, someone saw, it only takes one good pair of eyes to see the growing love between you— ‘no one knows,’ he mirrors, but one does. It only takes one to set off a domino effect, an effect that would lead to his attempted murder, and to your demise that he isn't fully privy to. ‘No one knows,’ ‘no one knows,’ you whisper to yourself as you pack your bags to escape the life you haven't got a say in. No one knows, and yet, one did, and that one got your love's neck slashed and buried alive in the same soil you once kissed above on, under the same tree that you were supposed to meet in.

He wondered why you didn't show up, but the one that knew did. No one knows, and the one that did lived in your house, ate your food, shared a bed with your aunt— a story told through a letter from a man he once worked with, a man who now has one eye, a man that helped dig him out of the shallow grave they've put him in, waiting to bleed out in the earthbound soil. A dangerous letter that he had burned in the fire from anger. He wanted revenge, but you would be the cost. So he survived and killed, and survived again, always seeing you in the corner of his eye, always hearing your almost forgotten voice when he's on the edge of sleep. He survived and now he's here, meeting with your eyes amidst the crowd once again— with the evidence of his survival curling around him like a heavy rope, and your own hovering above you like a grey cloud that threatens to spill, yet he still utters the same words above the murmuring happier crowd, “meet you back at home.” His throat closes in around the words, almost screaming it to the crowd.

A tear slips from your eyes that are full of woe, and you say the words back, quieter, unsure, yet, the love is still there— “wait for me.”

Hobie breathes for the first time, his feet carrying him around the crowd, weaving through bodies to get to you while you stand still, waiting for him, watching as he desperately trudges to get to you.

You look just like how he remembered, standing by the oak tree, waiting for him even if his hands are stained black from grease— you'd still hold his hand. Now his hands are soiled in crimson that drips onto the floorboards, and yet you still hold your hand out towards him. He would atone for his sins if that's what you'd ask of him, but no one would grant him his penance, he has accepted that fact long ago. Only your touch could mimic it.

Hobie finally makes it to you, now he stands in front of your form, now he notices your hand grasping his own. Featherlight, unsure, if he'd reciprocate, giving him enough time to shake you off. But he doesn't, instead, he holds on to you tighter as he leads you outside of the noisy carriage and away from prying eyes, what he should've done all those years ago.

Hobie tugs you out of the hole that has consumed you.

Silently, you follow him, squeezing his hand twice to let him know that you're right behind him without him looking over his shoulder to inspect. You feel his fingers run along the ring on your finger.

The sound of the metal wheels are loud in your ears, steam rolling off in waves as it warms your back. It's dark out, the moon above guiding his path while he opens the other door leading towards the last carriage that carries horses and baggage.

The moon has always been a comfort to you. You thought in those years without him that he'd be staring at the same moon as you, that at least you've still got a connection with him. Even if you weren't sure he'd be alive to look up at the sky. Arms suddenly envelopes you, hands cradling the back of your head to keep you close to him, face hidden in the crook of your neck.

You're the first one to speak while you tentatively raise your arms to embrace him back. He's warm, warmer than you remember. “Do you mean it?”

Hobie sniffs, diamonds rolling off his cheeks, a promise falling from his lips, “yes, I'll bring you home, my home.” He molds himself to the shape of you once again. An act that you've been trying to attain since the beginning of the journey, now you're both perfectly aligned with each other, heartbeats synching and full. “I'll tell you everything, everything you need to know.”

“Just the ones you're willing to tell, Hobie. I'm so sorry for yelling those words at you.” You hold his head in your hands, gentle, caring, cradling him like you're holding the moon. Guiding it upwards so you could stare at his viridescent eyes that's full of hope for the first time in years. But the gnawing in your mind draws too close to you. “They'll never stop, they will keep hunting us down.” A sob breaks through your throat, “You have to bring me to them.” Tears flow out of you, “or we'll never be at peace. You'll never be at peace.”

The horses neigh behind you, Cherry huffs while Buckeye just stares at the scene. The carriage rattles for a moment before Hobie leans, laying his forehead atop yours, squeezing the soft skin on your nape. He closes his eyes, inhaling you in, you almost crumble in his arms. You've dreamt of this day, dreamt of holding him like this once again.

“You're my peace.” he whispers, “They can try to ruin that peace, but I'll stop them. I'll kill them if I had to.”

“Okay,” you close your eyes, just as he opens his own. “Take me home.”

“‘m sorry,” he kisses your forehead, lips lingering, a heavy kiss that brings you back to life, mending all your doubts. “Let's go home, yeah?” Leaning away, his eyes dart over to a man coming your way, he doesn't find it suspicious, but then the stranger brandishes a gun, raising it over your head. “Y/N—!”

Your body flings off to the side, hip hitting harshly on the corner of a crate. Then a loud cackle of a gun goes off, the sound bouncing off the walls, gunpowder flying over head, hiding Hobie from your vision. You yell his name, but you can't hear your own voice from the ringing in your ears.

Everything happens slowly in your eyes. Smoke spreads as you see Hobie still standing and unscathed, gun raised, barrel aimed at the man's head. Said man runs towards him like a bull, making Hobie miss his shots. Yet the man still shoots at him, slower than Hobie but just as deadly. Hobie leans his head slightly to the side, effectively dodging a bullet. You scamper towards Cherry, lifting yourself up, waiting for the right moment. And then you slap your precious horse, making her kick before he could reach Hobie. Cherry's deadly kick hits the perpetrator right on his back, where a sickening crunch can be heard. The sheer force of the kick has dust flying off his body, and now he lays motionless on the wooden floor.

“Fuckin' hell.” Hobie gawps at you, smile spreading across his lips. “You alright?” He walks over to you, or tries to while Cherry gives one last kick towards the dead man.

“Yeah,” you nod, patting Cherry, Keeping her calm. “It's okay, girl. I'm so sorry.” You coo at her, Hobie goes around the horse to hold you. “Are you—?”

His arms wrap around your waist, lips smashing on yours. You inhale and it's already over. Even if it was quick, it wasn't a cheap satisfaction, it's everything. He pats your cheek affectionately, beaming at you, holding you close. “You're brilliant.” His thumb rubs softly where you hit your hip on the crate, a silent apology.

You smile, heart thumping loudly like an engine. “It was all Cherry.”

“Should I snog the horse now too?” Hobie says smugly, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“No, preferably just me, for now at least.” You tap his chest, bashfulness encompassing you.

“Nah, it's you until the end, love.” He clicks his forehead against yours, making you chuckle.

A scream rings out from the other carriage, hurried footsteps bounding away. “Do you think—?”

Hobie reloads his gun effortlessly, giving the spare one to you. “You're a better shot than me anyway.” He takes one last look at you, as if this is the last time he'd ever set his eyes on you. “Whoever they are, I'll cut through them. Cover my back?”

“Always,” You nod, taking the silver six-shooter, “then we'll go home after this.”

He grins, hope in his eyes. “Home, you'll love it there.”

“Let's cut through all of them then.”

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tojisun · 1 year

Text

our shallow graves — 01

recom miles quaritch x recom fem reader

!! smut (between fuck buddies outside of main pair) - minors dni; heat (as a theme); mean quaritch; power imbalance; references to (made up past), including death and prev dead lovers; worldbuilding; fast slow-burn; the reader adopts a nickname (callsign) which gets used // 3k words

: this chapter lays the foundation of the fic and introduces the initial dynamic of quaritch and the reader; reader’s callsign is 10/10 from that one penguin in madagascar; this fic made me fascinated with deja blu fr; hope u guys would luv it <33

next // m.list

you don’t understand why you were one of the early ones they awakened. sure you signed up for the shitty program – because who wouldn’t want to be an eight-feet tall blue alien? apparently, other than the scientists, you were the only one in your squad who wanted the transfer – but you didn’t expect to be the first in the line up.

to be in colonel miles quaritch’s squad.

other than walker and mansk, you knew absolutely no one from the deja blu team. but you’ve heard of them, alright. who wouldn’t? they have lines of kills and assists in terra and, now, in pandora; they are warmongers at most, rascals at least.

you stare up at their imposing figures, trying to make sense of the fact that they’ve all been killed in action.

despite not remembering much, you’ve come to terms with your own death during the initial war – a lone pilot, only meant to be an escort, gunned down by trudy’s bird before being further propelled into the lush forest floors of pandora by the banshees. it is a boring life story, one that is only worth telling because of your “sacrifice” in alien territory.

(you still don’t understand why the shrink insisted on showing you the syphoned clips of your death.

“it’s to help you move on,” she said as if she could ever understand the horror of seeing yourself fall to your death. as if you had not been a human trapped inside a fucking burning bird, being torn to pieces by, what could literally only be, flying dinosaurs. as if you were just another collateral. just another number added to the charts.

“i’m sorry,” she added, a small smile on her face as she turned to you, her hair tied in a neat bun and her white blouse tucked in her pencil skirt. “ultimately, thank you for your service, ma’am.”

fucking piece of shit.

you wondered if she even has a licence or the RDA just handed your files to some science nerd and was told to play god for their little blue alien. to fix you right up so that they could send you to another suicide mission.)

but that wasn’t the case for the rest of the deja blu. you know they were directly fighting; leaders of smaller squadrons, following the beat of papa dragon. walker and mansk, themselves, have touched down with guns in their amp suits, directly under wainfleet’s command. you don’t know how they died – you couldn’t even fathom wainfleet dying. and yet there he stands with the others, bald as fuck but imposing nevertheless.

your eyes shift to the man beside him. not the tallest, zdinarsik got that title, but the one in command.

colonel miles quaritch. big, blue, and seething.

one more thing you noticed in this whole fuckery is that your recombinant body is short. you stood about two inches shorter than walker, and she’s a full head shorter than anyone else. as you line up beside her, with fike on your other side, you three could very well make a groupie of santa’s little helpers.

wainfleet smirks like he’s thinking the same. you would have rolled your eyes at him but the colonel began to move close, his combat boots echoing against metal floors, snuffing out any noise from the squad.

“and who are you, kid?” he asks, standing directly in front of you.

you tell him your name, internally wincing when your tail unconsciously coils around your leg. you still don’t know how to control it – an easy tell of your anxiousness. the colonel’s lips lift up in a smirk, his eyes flashing at your tail in slight mirth, before recognition crosses his eyes.

“rico?”

you startle at the use of your unofficial callsign, a feat only made possible after climbing up the ranks and being heralded as one of the best pilots.

(trudy had been the best pilot in hell’s gate; the one with the most medals, and rightfully so. she was the one who ripped through the skies with her samson, zigzagging like she had been riding a banshee instead of a plane.

the one with the kindest heart.

there is a part of you that is grateful that it had been trudy who took you down.)

“yes sir,” you reply, blinking up at him after he’s dismissed your salute, feeling a little shy at being recognized, somewhat, by the colonel.

quaritch hums, tilting his head to the side in thought, watching you with narrowed eyes. briefly, you wonder if he’s asking himself why it had not been socorro who was awakened. to be honest, you are asking yourself the same thing because it doesn’t matter if you were one of the best, not when socorro, sweet and gentle and pregnant socorro, had the colonel’s favouritism.

(socorro’s child was a beautiful boy with sun-kissed hair and chocolate eyes. he was such a darling even though you’ve only seen the infant in passing, held lovingly in his mother’s arms.)

they could’ve made a blue alien baby this time around. maybe, then, they’d be happier too.

the colonel certainly doesn’t deserve it but socorro does.

“were you a private, rico?” quaritch asks, pulling you from your thoughts. he leans close again, dramatically bending his head down which highlights the difference in your heights.

“no sir,” you reply. “i was a lance corporal, sir.”

he hums again, finally backing up and giving you more room to breathe. then, he sends you a smile. “well then, welcome to the team, kid.”

the tension seeps out of you as you nod, thanking him before he turns to the other recoms, chatting amiably. walker bumps you with her shoulder and you see her smile from your peripheral.

you give her a smaller one before willing your tail to finally uncoil from your damn leg and act normal.

of course it just swishes behind you.

-------

training is gruesome. you honestly thought that it would be easier with your stronger and newer body, but with the colonel around, that thought vanished.

suicide drills were the squad’s least favourite, you especially. not only were the stakes increased to push the limits of your new bodies, but you all were always watched by the scientists, with their little sticks poking at your bodies and their little wires strapped down to whatever skin they wanted to bother this time around.

wainfleet started screaming at them, calling them “fucking losers,” and barking at them to give the squad some space. quaritch quickly took over, grunting that whether they were losers or not, whatever they were doing was necessary. that said, he sent the scientists a heated glare, making it known that his words do not necessarily reflect his feelings – wainfleet had taken this as his victory.

the tests weren’t fun, but you appreciated their purposes; through them, you learned that your na’vi DNA was extracted from a tipani warrior. the sentiment isn’t lost in you – they robbed the graves of the na’vi. you think you are used to what humans could do all for conquering pandora but for many days, you were unable to stomach any packet meal they fed your squad. walker had to talk you out of it because your unintentional hunger strike made you lag behind – an error that had you being summoned to the colonel’s office.

“we’re all tryin’ our best here, rico,” quaritch’s voice echoes in his office.

you’ve never been inside the one he had back in hell’s gate and you had hoped that you would never see the day of being in his current one, but there you stood, tensed as the colonel studied you.

he refused to sit on his customized chair, choosing instead to pace just behind his desk, his bulging arms hidden from your view as he clasped his hands behind his back. quaritch’s lips are pursed, almost pouty, and you beat yourself up at the thought of finding him – your nose scrunches at this – attractive when he’s busy scolding you.

“our circumstances ain’t ideal, but we’re back as some lab-grown native and we oughta take advantage of what we’ve become,” he says, continuing his tirade amidst your silence, snapping you out of your humiliating thoughts. “your little stunt costs us a delay on proceeding with a recon of the area and the only reason i’m not benching you is because the general has faith in you – faith that, frankly, i’m still not understanding.”

your back straightens at his words, and you tamp down the need to wince at his scathing tone. he is right, after all. for some fucked up reason, the general – both ardmore who’s stationed in pandora and gonzales who’s still in terra – backed the need to have your soul transfer commence. you still don’t know what it had been for, given that past your flying skills, you are just another idiot who knows her way around a gun. not memorable to many, except, apparently, for those in command.

(‘maybe this was why the colonel doesn’t particularly like me,’ you would think later, safe in your room. ‘socorro may have the colonel’s attention but what is a colonel – one who already failed his priority mission – against two generals?’)

“i’m sorry, sir,” you utter, clear but not loud, and quaritch just watches you again with his unwavering stare.

finally, he grunts, turning his body away from you to fully face the glass window that oversees the lower-level operations. you take this as his dismissal and scurry out of his office.

-------

“and she’s finally back from tryna kill herself!” wainfleet’s voice echoes in the nearly empty mess hall and you roll your eyes at him, glowering when he just proceeds to chuckle.

you plop your tray in front of walker, sending her a small smile which she returns with a cute beam. her braids are out of her hair tie today, letting them frame her face in the way you saw the omatikaya prefer. shooting a quick glance at zdinarsik’s way and it’s clear that someone else prefers it this way too.

“what’d the pukes say?” fike asks, sloshing around his packet meal, sneering in disgust when it jiggles like a slab of jello. more than the fact that you found out that your gene came from a corpse, this ‘food’ is about to do the trick of making you want to pursue starvation again.

“said i needa take so many pills.” you shrug, tearing open your packet of faux meat with pinched lips and your shoulders tensed like you’re expecting to be shot at. “apparently, i stunted my growth.”

prager laughs. “aww, you gonna remain short?”

“aww, you gonna remain hairy?” you shot back, snorting when prager just pouts as he raises his hand to rub at his fuzzy chin. gross.

wainfleet barks out another laugh at the exchange before reaching across the table to place an apple onto your tray. “‘ere ya go, rico. real food.”

you don’t know where he got the fruit, you don’t even know if it’s ‘real’ like he just said, but you do not have room to complain. fake fruit is a whole lot better than the slush in the compound.

“thanks,” you say, smiling bashfully, not expecting wainfleet, of all people, to adopt the mother hen role. he winks at you in reply, wiggling his brows, before straightening back up and fooling around with prager.

you dump the packet back to your tray before picking up the apple. you wipe it on your shirt before bringing it up for a bite, humming in delight at the crunching sound it made.

“delicious?” mansk asks from beside you, his lips quirking up in a smile when you turn to him.

“yummy,” you reply, humming, taking another bite. he snickers, bumping your leg with his, before placing his own apple onto your tray too.

“you gotta eat more,” is all he says when you make a questioning sound before bending over to hover his lips on the shell of your ear. “news spread fast that you got your ass reprimanded by the colonel yesterday.”

“uh-huh,” you mutter, unable to focus on what he’s saying at the sudden surge of heat engulfing you.

your lips feel dry all of a sudden, your throat parched from unknown thirst, and you turn to mansk, wanting to ask him what the hell is happening to you – was this the fault of the fucking apple? – only to see his own face flushed, blue skin turning into dark purple.

his eyes meet yours and all of a sudden, you feel like you are doused with gasoline and set ablaze.

huh. well, if that isn’t interesting.

-------

“jesus- devin, not too ha- ah!”

your back arches at a particularly hard thrust, your jaw falling open for a drawn out garble. the explosion of pleasure races across your synapses, filling you up with nothing but a deafening white noise. blearily, you recognize mansk’s bigger hands wrapping around your waist, lifting you up from his lap only to drop you down again. a hiccupped moan escapes your lips, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, feeling your walls spasming around him.

“rico, fuck, so good. so good.” mansk’s voice is faint, falling from his kiss-swollen lips in murmurs. you would have missed it without your new heightened senses, but the sound of his voice tickles your ears, making your tail flick behind you as you preen at his praises.

a giggly “thank you” barely makes it past your teeth when mansk manhandles you again, humping his hips up to grind himself along your pelvis, driving him deeper. you choke on your words, unable to stop the moan that is punched from your lungs, the sound so loud that mansk had to cover your mouth with one of his hands.

“not so loud,” he mumbles, bumping his forehead against yours. the sound of his rugged voice makes you clench around his length, making you feel utterly stuffed. you drag your blunt nails across his back, your eyes fluttering rapidly, feeling yourself tipping into the peak of your orgasm.

mansk laughs. “y’r unbelievable.”

you do not know what it is that you said, your wobbly voice still smothered by his hand, as you get lost in the way he bounces you on his lap. mansk goes quiet, only letting muffled grunts pierce the air between the two of you, and you feel the sudden surge of primal need unleashing deep in your belly.

the tight clench of your abdomen almost hurts, your orgasm ripping through the remnants of your sanity. your last thought was: ‘motherfucker, why did no one ever tell you that the na’vi have heats?’

it is later when the haze lifts up that the warmth licking up from the core of your muscles – almost like it is burrowed deep within your blood vessels – is finally snuffed out.

mansk is asleep on his bed, dead to the world. you shuffle out of his loose embrace, blinking blearily before realizing that he had cleaned you two up. a small smile graces your lips as you fully slink out of his bed, looping your tail around your leg as you pick up the pieces of your off-duty apparel.

pressing a kiss on his forehead, and rolling your eyes when he sleepily bats you away like you are a fly, you grab your respirator and quietly leave his room.

standing in the empty hallways, turning your head from side to side, you study the stillness of the metal walkway with bated breath, afraid that someone will eventually see you making your walk of shame to your room. when the silence continues, you finally begin to move, lithe steps only broken by the continuous hissing from your respirator as you occasionally take slight sips of air.

nearing your room, your heart finally settles, your tensed back loosening up at the feeling of safety. you cross past one of the intersecting hallways, quick in your steps, when a hand reaches from the dark and grabs your wrist.

a scream nearly bubbles from your lips when a palm is shoved to your face, shutting you up once again. panicked eyes turn, trying to see who’s got such a strong hold on you, only for your heart to careen even faster when you make eye contact with quaritch.

no-

his sneer is terrifying, his bright amber eyes glinting with so much malice, it pins you right on the spot. cold dread washes over you like a tide, chasing away the quiet elation that settled deep within your veins. the heat is returning, you know that, but it is muted and mingled with fear that you can’t even feel the need to scratch the itch.

your ears are pinned onto your skull, your tail drooping as it wraps itself around your leg again. this time the colonel doesn’t look at it in amusement, instead he continues to glare at you.

“colonel-”

“next time, fuck around quietly,” quaritch barks out, cutting you off. “and go take a goddamn shower. you reek.”

he snatches his arm from your wrist as though he’s been burned before marching away, his combat boots echoing in the hallway. tears prick the back of your eyes and you run to your room, heaving, trying to calm yourself.

anger, hurt, and shame bubble deep inside your stomach, expanding, until you are finally reduced to tears. you cry your frustration away, hoping that by doing so, you would stop thinking about how good the colonel smelled as he glowered at you with his sharp eyes.

(if only you had glanced at quaritch as he walked away, you would have seen the way he burrowed his face on his palm, chasing the sweet scent that roused him from his sleep and pushed his own heat into its beginnings.)

#suns.f #our shallow graves #miles quaritch x reader #recom quaritch x reader #quaritch x reader #quaritch x you #recom miles quaritch #miles quaritch #recom avatar #suns #avatar the way of water #atwow #cliffhanger my beloathed (as reader) n beloved (as writer)

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kairiscorner · 1 year

Note

hi hii lovie!! would u mind doing a short blurb of miguel being with a harleyquinnfem!reader? i just rewatched suicide squad and birds of prey and i just think margot’s harley quinn and miguel would be such an iconic pairing given those two have complete different personalities lol, thank you!! hope u hv a good day!

HELLOOOOO !! OMG, ok i just wanna preface this, i am not exactly very well-versed in a lot of DC characters so i'm really sorry if i end up not doing requests for those characters or if the execution is really shitty, BUT THIS ONE IS SOMETHING I'M A LITTLE MORE FAMILIAR WITH AND ONE I WANNA SEE :'DD again, REALLY SORRY IF I DO IT HORRIBLY 😭😭😭but here ya go, i hope you like it anon <:))

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

miguel o'hara x harley quinn!fem!reader

summary: you two agreed not to kill each other, which is easier said than done; but someday, eventually... you'll come to realize that he sees you as more than an extra hand in fighting off tricky villains, that he cares about you more than you'll ever know. word count: 853

right as miguel thought that this would be the end of the line for him as the villain kept him pinned against the ground–about to dissect his innards and skin him like a spider to be taxidermied–he soon heard cackling from far away. he rolled his eyes further into the back of his head in an attempt to roll them weakly out of exhaustion as he groaned in utter defeat.

'great, that pain in the ass knew i was here.' he thought to himself as you came with a bang–quite literally as you blew up a street on your way here and caused 12 cars to crash into each other. "hey you ugly, bowl cut bitch!" she called out to the villain miguel was being pinned down by. you giggled as you jumped up in the air and swung your gigantic mallet at the cybernetic villain and bashed her head in. you licked your lips at the destruction, and the villain–despite looking banged up and having a few sparks flying out of the right side of her head, smirked at you. "that all you got, ya little harlot?" she asked as her grip on miguel's neck tightened, eliciting groans and grunts from her sheer strength.

you giggled as you swung your mallet for show. "now, now, if anyone's gonna choke little miggy 'till he's blue in the face and sobbing and begging for forgiveness, it's gonna be me." you declared as you jumped up again and brought your mallet down to squash her–but the villain aimed at you with their finger guns and shot lasers at you as you were in mid-air. you grinned wider as you contorted yourself in the air to dodge the lasers; you were very flexible and super fast, and miguel knew that very well. the villain didn't give up, however, as she shot at your blind spot, getting you by your feet and causing you to lose balance as you got shot in the knee.

you grunted in pain as you fell down, with the villain laughing as she turned to miguel. you got up and watched as the villain leaned over to kiss miguel, "fucking gross." you muttered as you tried getting up to your feet, when you heard the villain yelp a little as she froze up and loosened her grip around miguel. you giggled as you watched miguel get up and look at you from the corner of his eye. "all yours." he muttered as he helped you up.

"wait," he said as he webbed up the gaping wound in your knee from the shot. "can you walk?" he asked you with a tone of concern in his voice. you didn't answer him as you climbed onto him and whispered in his ear, "toss me." miguel was used to this showy scene, though he hated doing it–out of fear he'd throw you too far. he followed through however and tossed you at the villain, who was recuperating from the paralysis miguel's venom gave her. taking out this villain was like a walk in the park for you as you brought your mallet up and whispered a little, "bye-bye!" as you brought down your vengeance–or just utter desire to hit something right now–upon her with a loud smash!

you skipped over to miguel with a bright smile on your face. "job's done!" you said with a perky voice as miguel rolled his eyes as he looked over at the damage you caused on your way here. "this is, what, four million dollars in property damage?" he asked you sarcastically, to which you giggled and counted on your fingers. "correction, fourteen million dollars!" you said with a giggle as miguel opened a portal and gently took your wrist in his hand as he dragged you along. "hey now! you promised me that next time, we'd go sight-seeing in the universes we're in! how dare you break your promise, miggy?!" you whined as miguel placed his hand under your chin and gave you a stern look.

"when you'd behave." he said as he leaned down a little towards you. "it'll happen if you prove to behave yourself, and this little stunt you pulled off, it calls for a good talking to with you. you'll get what you want from me if you behave, do i make myself clear?" he asked you as you nodded slowly and smiled up at him. "gotcha, miggy." you said in a chipper voice as you walked through the portal, then running back out, but with miguel grabbing you by the collar and dragging you back in. "the things i do for you..." he muttered as he rubbed his eyes. though, weirdly enough... he finds your chaotic way of saving him a little endearing. either you've pissed him off so much that he misses feeling responsible for your mess, or it's that you've had his heart ever since you tried to kill him the first time you two met. ah, well, it doesn't matter now; as long as you're safe, and will get that wound fixed up, he wouldn't have you any other way.

a/n: i love this dynamic WAIT AAAAAAAAAAAAAA also thanks ate @binibinileonara for risque's nickname :> also SHET PARE, i fr was so desperate to see miggy's eyes roll to the back of his skull when the vulture was choking him, like- please.

tags !! @binibinileonara @miguelswifey04 @luvstarrstruck @fiannee @yuridopted0

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction #harley quinn #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #atsv #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderman across the spiderverse

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starswritewhispers · 2 months

Text

your name is your promise- 2

A03

Chap 1

“I could kill you, if I wanted to, y’know,” Gojo sounded far too cocky in Suguru’s opinion, especially considering that he was the one pinned to the forest floor. “Yeah,” the fourteen year old responded with an unimpressed snort, “Sure looks like it,” “I don’t need to use my hands,” Gojo answered with a frown as Suguru rolled off of him, lying next to him in the dirt. “You wouldn’t get it.” “Everyone can buy a gun, you’re not special,” Gojo only let out an amused huff and Suguru turned his head to face him. A soft smile slipped onto his face as he took in Gojo’s content expression. He could feel heat rising to his face, the tip of his ears, and he quickly looked away, focusing his expression on the sky before Sukuna’s cruel words could come back to him. “I don’t want to kill you, anyway,” Gojo’s voice rang through the clearing, announcing the obvious as if it were a gift. “You’re important to me.” “Thanks for not committing a felony,” Suguru commented dryly, fishing his phone out of his pocket when he felt it buzz. Gojo’s eyes were immediately drawn to the device and Suguru pushed his curiosity down. He knew Gojo didn’t have a phone, but the last time he asked, he’d gotten a vague run around about ‘family shit’. “I care about you too, dipshit.” He added, before Gojo could start pouting.

“Who is it?” He asked and Suguru looked over to see a frown on his friend’s face. “Shoko,” he passed the phone over, watching Gojo’s puzzled expression as he read the messages. Shoko: u with ur imaginary friend again or r u free rn?

Geto: I’m with blue bird, yes.

Shoko: yknow my dad knows some psychiatrists

“Why does she think I’m imaginary–why do you call me blue bird ?” Gojo demanded, eyes darting between the text thread and Suguru. Another traitorous blush rose to his face and he averted his gaze, staring up at the blue sky.“Well, you never leave the forest and,” he shrugged, watching the clouds pass by. “For some weird reason, names seem sacred to you, so whenever someone asks about my best friend, I just call you blue bird.”“Why?” Gojo pressed, but he could hear the smile in his voice.“They remind me of you,” Suguru finally admitted with a swallow, looking over to meet Gojo’s bright smile. “And we’re always in the forest,” He shrugged.“You can take pictures on this thing, right?”Suguru nodded, then yelped as Gojo grabbed him to take a selfie. After he hit send, a self satisfied smirk made its way onto his face. Up until the phone buzzed again.

Shoko: nvm give the recommendation to ur friend what the FUCK is he wearing

“You people have no taste.” Gojo grumbled as Geto fell back onto the forest floor in a heap of laughter.

–

Suguru woke up from his dream–memory, really, with a soft smile, slowly sitting up in his bed to– Except this wasn’t his bed. His eyes widened, looking around the massive room as the events of the previous day slowly came back to him. The bitter taste of betrayal felt foreign on his tongue as his eyes swept over the unknown room. He supposed he should've felt childlike wonder at the knowledge of fae, of magic being real.

Instead, all he felt was a coldness that felt too similar to the ice in Gojo's eyes.

“Oh, good!” A voice exclaimed, in a way that made Suguru feel like it wasn’t good at all . “You’re up!” He turned to face the owner of the voice, coming back to face with the largest brown eyes he’s seen in his life. For a moment, he was reminded of an overgrown puppy as the man– fae’s – face broke out into a nervous grin. “I’m Haibara,” the male offered, reaching his hand out. Suguru stared blankly at the hand, scared to move forward and find out he still couldn't. A large part of him was still waiting to realize this horrible ordeal was all a food-coma induced nightmare from some shitty street vendor Shoko dragged him to. A pink hue quickly rose to Haibara's cheeks and he quickly retracted his hand, a string of rapid apologies being flung Suguru’s way. “I’m sorry, I thought it was within human customs to–” “You were right,” Suguru cut off the male’s rambling, a large sense of relief washing over him as his own words flew off his tongue. “I just–” He shrugged, helplessly at a loss for words.

Just can't get over my best friend kidnapping me. Oh and also being a fucking magical creature. Which exist, apparently. “Where am I, exactly?” He asked again, a fake smile easily plastering its way onto his face. The male in front of him didn't seem inhumane, manners could easily be the best way out of this hell. “The palace?” Haibara answered with a frown as if it should be obvious. Suguru waited for him to continue.

He didn’t.

Suguru groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “Am I at least in full control of myself again?” He asked, dreading the answer. He didn't even truly understand his own question, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to. Somehow, Gojo had stolen his ability to--well, exist. The reminder weighed heavy within him, his fingers tightly clutching at the sheets as if that would alleviate the emotional turmoil he was drowning under. “I believe so,” Haibara’s tone was off, something almost akin to disapproval lacing it, “The king promised he released his hold on you once you fell asleep.” “How courteous,” Suguru grumbled, voice drenched in sarcasm. "Waiting for me to be unconscious before giving me autonomy."

The two fell into a silence before Haibara’s words truly clicked within his head.

"Did you say king?" Suguru demanded, snapping his head back towards him. "As in Gojo?"

“Uh,” The brunette chuckled, doe eyes widening even more as he looked around the room, as if to find an escape from this conversation. “He didn’t mention it then, I gather?” “You're telling me that idiotic twink with a god complex is your–” “I am not a twink–” An indignant voice cut Suguru off and Haibara winced, quickly scooting aside from the bedside to make room for his quick exit. Suguru leveled his angry gaze at Gojo, not bothering to spare the blond man standing behind him a second glance. He paused, briefly looking at Haibara over his shoulder. “I have control over my movements, correct?” Haibara swallowed, looking at the blond man, rather than Suguru or Gojo. There was silence for a tense moment, before a glimpse of amusement flashed over his face and he nodded in Suguru's direction. “Lovely,” Suguru muttered, curling his hand into a fist and quickly moving forward to connect it to Gojo’s jaw, sending the fae king stumbling backwards with a curse. “Send me home.” He spat at him, rage boiling up within him again. “Holy shit,” He ignored the hushed whisper behind him, ignored the common sense screaming within his head, ignroed eveyrthing but the bubbling rage and betryal that was pounding at his heart, scratching at his soul.

He trusted Gojo and he played him like a fucking fool.

“Turn your infinity back on, idiot,” The blond hissed at Gojo, a hand moving to the sword hilt by his side. Suguru had no idea what infinity was, nor did he care to know, but the sight of the weapon was enough for him to pause his approach. “It’s been on,” Gojo answered with a bright cheery grin that neither matched nor explained the horror and shock on the other two fae male's faces.. “Why'd you think I wanted to bring him home so bad?”

The blond man's lips parted to answer, but Suguru cut him off with a loud clear of his throat. “Sorry, hate to interrupt,” Suguru cut him off, eyes narrowing. “I don’t think you do–” Gojo argued. “But the human who you kidnapped–” He continued, as if the other had never spoken. “With love–” “With magic and force–”

And you say I’m dramatic–” “Just–” Suguru pressed a thumb to his forehead, breathing in deeply. Punching Gojo again would do nothing except temporarily quell his rage and possibly lead to his execution or imprisonment. He needed to calm down, hopefully get some answers, and then beat his best friend to a bloody pulp for kidnaping him and lying to him for years.

“Explain,” he exhaled.

“Seems pretty self-explanatory, doesn’t it?” Gojo answered with a grin. “Your home was built on the edge of a fae gate,” he rocked back on his heels, his increased fidgeting the only telltale sign he was anxious as he held up his hand “I wanted to see the human world, met you, got attached, found out you could surpass infinity, brought you home,” with each phrase he lowered a finger.

“You took control of me,” Suguru snapped at him, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t give a fuck about all this magic shit, but–” That may have been a lie. His mind was whirling with the shock, the impossibility of it all, but the sharp sting of betrayal held more weight over him. “You took away my ability to make a fucking decision .” “Oh,” Gojo shrugged. “That.” “Maybe not the best response,” Haibara whisper- yelled from behind Suguru. “Humans are touchy about consent, try empathy." “Are fae not ?” Suguru demanded, whirling on his heel to glare at the brown eyed boy, who quickly found an interest in the tapestry behind him. “Don’t throw such a tantrum–” Suguru turned his glare back at Gojo but before he could explain that being upset over losing his autonomy was not a tantrum the male continued with a wave of his hand. “My name’s Satoru, we’re even now.”

The air in the room seemed to still at the admission, as air within Suguru’s own body seemed to return to it. “Your stupidity should be studied by scholars,” the blond behind Gojo deadpanned. “They’d find enough research about morons to write multiple installments.” Despite the chaos of the morning, and the confusion still running through his body, Suguru couldn’t stop himself from nodding in agreement.

#jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #jjk #gojo satoru #satosugu #gojogeto #satosugu fanfic #suguru x satoru #geto suguru x gojo satoru #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru x geto suguru #satoru gojo

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lmanburgseulogy · 3 months

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hii! how are u lovely person?

so uhmm I've been seeing a lot of my moots and followers rb u recently so gimme like ur top 5 head cannons for L'manberg/ just the smp ( yes it's L"manberg u bitch-) and some stuff u wanna share about urself ( maybe a ramble u've been holding in or a couple facts that define ur personality or somethings u really like i guess i dunno)

( also wanna be moots?)

anyway have lovely day! <333

Yeah so. I’m just gonna interpret this as infodump about L’manburg since this ask is old and we’re mutuals now:

HEADCANON TIME 🔥🔥🔥

• They named every flower field in L’manburg based off each others names. After the FCR wilbur and Tommy ran out to Eret’s field and ripped a bunch of the flowers out.

• c!Niki couldn’t get into l’manburg during the war because the smp would literally kill her. so she mailed them their uniforms through birds that hated her lmao. they would peck at her hair and she would swat them away with a newspaper since they followed her home for food. once she mailed all of them their outfits though, she was out of fabric for her uniform and couldn’t get the right color hence the light blue. er somethin

• Tommy would stack rocks up into towers and in his mind compare them to Eret’s tower [don’t think about exile don’t. Don’t.]

• They had special days planned to go wash their uniforms in the river together. clothes lines were everywhere in L’manburg

• c!wilbur would drive around the van in circles until one day the camarvan just broke down while they were going full speed. Tommy looks at him like 🙄 and the camarvans been stuck there since

• Tubbo put up those stars on the ceiling of the camarvan but arranged them perfectly to look like real constellations. Took him forever but Tubbo is just like that

• c!Clingy would constantly fight over who would take naps in the window seat of the van after brewing potions

• They kept tally on the doorframe of the van for every time c!Wilbur hit his head on it

• c!Niki put stickers all over the dashboard. She also sewed and hung up curtains so they wouldn’t be seen making drugs

• The adults would play card games in the afternoons

• the windshield of the van was very dirty up until tommy was playing with a slingshot and cracked it

#brynn posts #brynn rambles #camarvan #the ask tag #the moot tag #l’manburg posting #l’manburg

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fumiyami · 4 months

Text

MY OPINIONS ON DIFFERENT TOKOYAMI SHIPS!!!!

TokoTsuyu (Tokoyami x Asui)

• both animal based!!

•teamed up for that one thing of 1A against the teachers and was a good team

•saw a fanfic of these two on ao3 and it made me think of them two more!!

•I see Tsu as a lesbian mostly but none of their sexualities are confirmed (and let’s be real most of them are gonna be straight😰)

Overall: 4/10

BakuToko (Bakugou x Tokoyami)

•I saw a bunch of fics of these two and they were mostly all super good!!

•but y’all I hate bakugou’s character😓 (don’t send me death threats please and thanks!!)

•still though those fics changed my perspective on these ships

•also like super aggressive x super calm is a good trope!!

Overall: 5/10

TokoYama (Tokoyami x Aoyama)

•u guys i’m coming out as a tokoyama shipper!!! :((

•I LIVE for the trope of sun x moon

•also they have so many things in common!! like: both being insecure (I think), both having belly button quirks, both speaking in an unusual way (yuga speaking french and fumi being like gothic and stuff), and having a set aesthetic (yuga being bright and shiny while fumi’s all dark and broody)

•i’ve seen SO MANY cute fics of these two!! one of my personal favourites: Your Love Is Sunlight by Rainy_Day_Lemonade on AO3!!

•most birds are attracted to shiny things!! yuga is a very shiny thing!!

•I imagine yuga stealing fumi’s heart by first making dark shadow warming up to him!!

Overall: 10/10 (MY FAVOURITE MHA SHIP)

KuroYami (Kuroiro x Tokoyami)

•I don’t know much about this ship or kuroiro in general but he seems cool!!

•they’re both like dark-based or gothic!!

•I feel like it would take dark shadow a long time to warm up to kuroiro due to like him controlling him that one time?? I wouldn’t know I skipped past that scene :((

•also!! kuroiro canonically already has a crush and I don’t really like going against canon or anything!! (I like when my delusional mind can at least imagine my ships being possible)

•the opposite of opposites attract😥

Overall: 3/10

TokoKami (Tokoyami x Kaminari)

•i’ve seen like one fic of this and it was super good!!

•also I saw these fanmade mha tweets on tiktok by this person called Az who ships denki and fumi and it was so cute!! like: Denki: Tokoyami keeps giving me rocks what do I do??? (or something like that)

•I don’t know much about denki (or anyone other than fumikage and mina for that matter) but he seems like a good character!!

•I don’t see much of these two though :((

•another sun x moon trope?? maybe?? opposites attract?

•there’s official art of fumikage and denki sitting next to each other and stuff so :))

Overall: 4/10

TokoShoji (Tokoyami x Shoji)

•I had no idea what colour to do for Shoji so I just went blue :((

•anyways my heteromorph boys!!

•I don’t think of these two much but I keep seeing cute fanart of them on pinterest!!

•I think they’re friends in canon??!

•I feel like this would be a possibility like if any of these ships were to happen it’d be either TokoTsuyu or TokoShoji!!

•i’m so sorry but I did almost forget about Shoji entirely (I love the man I really do!! such a gentleman)

•not much to say but I like the height difference!! short x tall!!

Overall: 6/10

TokoJirou (Tokoyami x Jirou)

•this ship could also be a possibility in some far away universe!!

•they had a drama cd together about jirou being scared of ghosts while her and fumikage explored a haunted building of UA and she grabbed onto the hem of his shirt the whole time which was cool!

•they both have cool aesthetics!!

•both play guitar so they could do like duets together or something

•oh em gee I just thought of them doing a cover of that one song where it’s like “they’re only human they don’t see” or whatever!! (sorry y’all I barely know that song🤯🤯)

•I prefer either jirou x denki or jirou x momo but tokojirou is fantastic as well!!

•but I also have a slight grudge against jirou for personal reasons..(don’t kill me)

Overall: 6/10

TokoKoda (Tokoyami x Koda)

•both heteromorphs!!

•some people headcanon them as both autistic so that’s cool they can like sympathise with each other!!

•I headcanon fumikage to know sign language so if koda goes non verbal then they can communicate!!

•ALSO. animal based quirk x animal based human!!

•both of their favourite animals are probably birds and I love that

•BUT I don’t know much about koda enough and I don’t see much content of this ship :((

Overall: 3/10

I LOVE ALL SHIPS WITH TOKOYAMI REALLY (except for one..looking at you hawks x tokoyami😟😟) AS LONG AS THEYRE LEGAL AND HEALTHY!!

#fumikage #fumikage tokoyami #mha fumikage #mha tokoyami #tokoyami #my hero academia #anime #tokoyama

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helps-the-writing-brain-go · 2 years

Text

Oh wow! People are actually interested! That makes me so happy! :D Here it is (under the cut):

The first time Clark Kent met Captain Marvel, he was terrified.

He'd flown. Oh how he'd flown, higher than he'd ever been before.

Ma and Pa had told him to keep his feet on the ground, to stop gadding up in the clouds before he knew what he was doing, but the sky was just so blue and clear and really, he was only above the field without anyone around for MILES.

What could happen?

Apparently, getting caught in a storm and getting blown way off course into the mountains that's what.

And now he was flying nearly blind, rain lashing at his face and chilling him to the bone. Visibility was damn near nil with how heavy the clouds were and flashing periodically with lightning.And he couldn't drop down of them without possibly crashing into another craggy mountain top hidden out of sight.

Heavy winds swiped at him, trying to tear him out of the sky and Clark once had to perform a very shaky barrel roll out of the way of a flock of birds who didn't take kindly to a strange boy messing around where he shouldn't.

Shit, ma was going to kill him.

Another deafening rumble of thunder had him shaking his head trying to clear the sudden deafness, meaning he didn't notice a whit when the lightning bolt above struck him.

BOOM!

Screaming out in pain, Clark dropped like a stone.

He couldn't see.

He couldn't hear.

Everything B U R N E D.

Then.

Something slams into his side and what little breath is left in Clark's lungs is forced out of him from the impact.

Clark is peripherally aware he has stopped falling, but he's in a bit too much shock to register much else. He wheezes. His breaths are short and painful, each lungful taking far more effort than necessary.

He can feel his hair, heavy from the rain sticking to his forehead and neck, trailing icy water into his already sopping wet flannel shirt. Clark has never much been affected by the cold, but with how rattled he is, he's pretty sure he's freezing right now.

Can he even feel his fingers? No, not really, they're numb and slow and barely react to his commands. His toes too, which wriggle very little, if at all.

"Geeze Ka-Kid. You alright?" A man's voice says in concern somewhere above him.

But that couldn't be right. Clark was in the sky and no one was ever higher up than him here.

"Kid, hey, say something. You're kind of freaking me out now." The mysterious Not-Voice sounded worried.

Clark cracked open an eye.

Instead of still roiling clouds or hopefully, a patch of blue sky, a man with chisled features stared down at him.

"Kid?"

Clark nearly leapt from his arms, only, in his state, the most he could do was a particularly sodden wriggle.

"Y-you...You can fly!"

The man grins at him, all dimpled cheeks and a smile so sunny Clark half-expects to be rejuvenated.

"So can you kid. Though, that was more uh, falling than flying out there." The unknown manbteased lightly.

"Still, you look kinda rattled. Let's get you under the sun yeah?"

He swooped, making Clark's stomach dip strangely and suddenly they were shooting through the clouds and into blessed sunshine.

#billy batson #captain marvel #shazam #ficlet #Captain Marvel Time Travel AU #Superman

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rist-ix · 9 months

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Hi Rist! Can you give us a snippet of the next chapter of tbhtbh? 🙏🏻

I can't give u plot yet. But I can give u death and destruction if you want?

Layla used to tell them so much about her homeworld.

It's brilliant blue skies, it’s crystal clear waters. The gentle currents that would guide the boats of fishers and shellfish farmers from and to their homes; the salty winds that would rustle through palm trees and orchards, bringing rain in the morning and swarms of jewel colored birds in spring.

She used to talk about it with such warmth, such longing, an undying loyalty and love for her home and her people and her duty as their princess. Even when she had raged and resented her parents for the way they'd caged her in, she would have done anything for them. Anything for the vibrant, beautiful kingdom they all loved.

Bloom had never seen its beauty.

The first time she'd stepped foot on Andros had already been the beginning of its end. Even after Council Hall, when they were in dire need of a place to lay low, they never dared to return here.

The realm of the tides never got the chance to recover. The collapsing Omega Portal had robbed Andros of a crucial magical pillar, and when its atmosphere didn’t clear up, its waters didn’t calm and its mermaids were not freed from the monstrous mark on their necks…

It's like an infected body, desperately trying to rid itself of the sickness festering within. Killing itself with its own seizures, its own fever, its own madness. Murky oceans shaping tidal waves, skies heavy with clouds never ceasing their storms, the very earth breaking open and spitting black ash into the air.

They had met travelers two years later who said the fires were still burning.

Still. There's a difference between hearing about it, and seeing it first hand.

The second her feet touch Andros' rust-brown earth, gusts of hot, searing wind start tearing at her hair and her clothes, burning hot against her skin. Salt, sulfur and smoke make her eyes water, her lungs seize; every breath tastes like poison, and hiding her mouth and nose in her sleeve does little to make it more bearable.

When the glow of teleportation subsides and her vision clears, it reveals the full scale of Andros' fate.

Skies like molten iron, bleeding murky rays of sunlight through blackened clouds that seem to glow red from within. Their light is dim and pale compared to the bursts of sickly yellow lightning striking the waves below, over and over again. The horizon is never calm, the twisted branches of electricity reminding her of a nervous system in panic. To the east, lush green jungles have been charred to pitch black fingers reaching skyward. Beyond, red-tipped mountains cough ash and fire into the air.

It's almost beautiful, this deadly display of colors.

For a few seconds, that keeps the horror at bay.

Valtor lands beside her with his usual grace, showing not the smallest sign of discomfort. She can't tear her eyes away from the shaking, shuddering corpse of this kingdom she once knew, so she doesn’t see his expression. But she imagines he must be proud.

A new Domino. Except this time, he can savor its destruction without his pesky, selfish regrets. He's always hated Andros, after all.

“The view never fails to amaze, doesn’t it?”

Valtor makes a swirling gesture with his hands, and the searing wind tearing at her hair lets up. The taste of ash on the air fades as well, and she realizes he's shielding them from the worst of the storm.

Unwilling to yell against it, most likely.

It doesn’t make it easier to answer. For once, she is genuinely speechless.

She turns around to look at him, and finds him already watching her from the corner of his eyes. Almost eagerly, as if awaiting her outrage. Her revulsion.

Whatever he finds in her expression seems to satisfy him, because he smiles and turns his back on her, surveying their surroundings.

“Do you know where we are?”

She does. She knew before they even stepped out of the portal where it would lead them, and she has dreamed of this place often enough to know it blind.

The crumbling stone arches, the single circular structure rising from the sea. Saltwater in her mouth, her nose; her ribs still aching from Icy's blast to her back. A memory so vivid it’s hard to distinguish from reality, for a moment.

“We met here,” she says. Despite the relative silence within his shields, her voice feels small.

If they had known then what would happen, would she and her friends have even come? Surely, whatever damage Andros would have suffered under Valtor's attacks would have been preferable to this. If they had simply stayed at Alfea, hadn’t snuck out and simply acted like the students they still were, it could have all been so different.

Valtor clicks his tongue, chiding.

“We first met on Solaria, dearest. But I'm glad you remember that day.”

He trails his fingers over the rough, salt-encrusted stone of a pillar.

“I think of it often. I'd been dying to meet you again once I knew who you were. The very last princess of Domino, just when I feared there was nothing left of it. 'How often does one get the chance to destroy the same dynasty twice?' I thought. You must have been meant for me, an opponent like no other. Our final battle, your death, only that could mean true victory.”

He smiles to himself. She can tell from the way he inclines his head, the way he speaks, even if she can’t see his face.

“I don’t make a habit of being wrong, but I suppose even I have to admit foolishness, here.”

The wind around them howls, and the spray of harsh waves crashing against their little ruin evaporates against his shield.

His head tilts in her direction, just a little.

“Do you ever miss it?”

He doesn’t have to clarify. She knows exactly what he means.

How they had chased him through the entire dimension, the thrill of combat hot in her veins. Every fight a point to prove, a cocky race to the top, it didn’t even matter if she failed because she got quicker, closer each time. Locking eyes over the blaze of their colliding magic and understanding perfectly how the other felt.

Knowing that she would be his undoing. No matter how long it took, she would be the one to end him. The brilliant, powerful, immortal wizard that not even Omega could hold; she would bring him low.

The simple, reckless single-mindedness of it.

She also remembers that sense of safety. Tecna's shields humming to life around them, Stella's sarcastic little comments there to take the edge off of their numerous close calls. The unwavering certainty that nothing could hurt her, because her friends were there, and once the battle was over they'd go home and sleep it off, huddled together on Stella's giant bed.

“Every day,” she tells him.

Even Valtor, self-serving and arrogant as he may be, can’t ignore what she's really saying.

#asks #fic: to be hunted to be haunted #it’s not that i haven’t WRITTEN the plot yet it’s just very big and dramatic and I wanna savor your reactions when the actual chapter is up #I’m actually doing pretty decent! so far I’ve written every evening for 1-3 hours for the past 4 days #granted I haven’t written a lot quantity wise #but still!

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archangeldyke-all · 20 days

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Angelllll

I know you’re mainly a sevika stan and blog (and for good reason), but I wanna know how you feel about everything elsee from the trailerr. Caitlyn, Vi, Warwick, Jinx, THE WHOLE PACKAGE !!!

I feel so many hyped up feelings about it mannn and I TRULY TRULY cannot wait for fucking November OMGGG😫😫

(Also, which do you think is better as some on that excited for the next season of arcane ? — wait for the three weeks for all episodes to release when it does and binge it all at once; or follow the three episodes three act format that slows for both bingers and ppl that love to wait for episodes to come out? I love to binge so I wanna wait and watch it all at once, but I don’t think that’s a good idea as I’ll be so excited tho at I’ll burst and I’ll probably see spoilers on here or sth. So, as a fellow fan, what do you think is best ?)

OMGGG okay let me rewatch it rn and give u my notes hehe

cait's "i want to tear that laugh from her throat forever" LMAOOOOO this was so funny and unexpected coming from her character i mean it's badass and cool but that line in her posh little accent just kills me. but also imagine being vi and hearing ur girlfriend talking about ur sister like that LOL

my best guess for a timeline is that vi will join cait after the initial attack where she'll become an enforcer (meanwhile jinx and sevika will team up in the undercity), then she'll fight jinx the first time then she'll quit-- she can't handle the pressure-- she'll do her emo fighter thing (sevika will get her makeover and jinx will go into hiding-- she cuts her hair and dyes it purple to disguise herself??), and then after a timeskip when vi's hair is long it'll be the final fight of (i'm hoping??) zaun and piltover uniting against noxus (which is when we see sevika in a crowd looking at the sky?)

SPEAKING of noxus-- ambessa just looks so fucking powerful and cool in all her outfits. the hair disc crown she wears is SO cool, the weights on the end of her braids when she's in combat so that her braids act as little weapons too?!?!!? just incredible character design she's so intimidating and badass and her SWORD IS SO COOL

she's like silco: i'm not rooting for her, and i know that her character is The Bad Guy this season, but i just can't help but be excited every time she's on screen.

on a side note..... what are we thinking on the mel front?? mel. please be alive girl ur mom is out here going apeshit and starting wars, we need u baby. please be alive.

(but. then again. i could 100% see the reason ambessa wages this war in the first place is because she's lost her daughter.)

(i saw someone say season 1 was about fatherhood, what if season 2 is about motherhood with ambessa and mel and sevika and jinx being the 'mother/daughter' figures. such a good theory)

i audibly gasped when i saw that enforcer knocking out the firelight with the bird mask (idk if she has a name) but like DUDE that's a FIRELIGHT u better leave her OUT OF IT

SEVIKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SEVIKA SEVIKA SEVIKA SEVIKA SEVIKA SEVIKA SEVIKA SEVIKA SEVIKA SEVIKA

now that i'm looking closely, it looks like she's IN the scene where jinx is being touched by all the blue-haired followers she has. that just makes me SQUEAL, because sevika's really gonna do it!! she's gonna align with/tolerate/encourage jinx!!!!

SPEAKING OF WHO IS THAT BLUE HAIRED KID?!!?!? that's not powder, and i'm pretty sure it's sevika carrying them?! is that the kid who is standing by jinx in the background of sevika vs. smeech fight??!?!!?

i cannot fucking wait for sevika and jinx to interact more. god. i'm betting the only comic relief we'll be getting this season is heimerdinger being stupid, and sevika and jinx trying to get along.

DID JINX CUT HER HAIR!?!?!?!??!

JINX LOST A FINGER TOO

i'm obsessed with thieram in the streets fighting enforcers let's go king!!! asl;dhf;laskdjf

singed's "you've found it, haven't you?" was CHILLING. i'm really excited for the singed/vander/warwick storyline. i'm hoping to watch singed and viktor interact too, since viktor is back in the undercity.

(speaking of viktor-- i'm so curious as to why he and jayce haven't been shown yet. it could very well be that they're the main players in act 3 and are what start the big final fight with noxus... but idk.)

"the arcane is waking up" ominous lol

is that ekko pulling that chain?!!?!? with his hair pulled back and his facepaint off and wearing that beige outfit and an earring? i managed to pause on the singular frame they flashed and i'm pretty sure it's him.

his new look is SO SLEEK. OKAY EKKO!!!!!! finally getting an outfit change!!

they keep showing the arcane ('the arcane is waking up' lol) and i wonder if maybe viktor and the arcane have merged in some way. i remember in season 1 viktor said a bunch of sciency shit that was basically like-- the arcane is connected to me, i am connected to it, because he gave it his blood or something?? idk it's just so interesting to try to figure out what's happening there.

poor vi :( sad girl :( little tragic lesbian :( she just can't catch a fucking break can she?

SEVIKA VS. CAITLYN: WHO WOULD WIN AND WHY IS IT SEVIKA?!!?!?

i am so excited to watch that fight. i know the producers said everyone's gonna be an opposite of who they were in season 1, and my bet is that that means in this specific fight it'll be caitlyn vs. sev-- sevika's about to kill her when someone saves cait with a lucky shot (aka the explosion) just like she saved vi from sevika in season 1. who saves her tho? jinx on accident or vi on purpose? or is it just a coincidence?

caitlyn just looks so tired this season. gonna be sad that we don't have naive slightly awkward sweetheart caitlyn anymore.

the ekko and vi shot of them sharing a hoverboard... i'm sobbing.

idk what to say?? i'm so excited to see my wife. arcane isn't usually a show i'd be into (i only really watched for sevika in the first place lmaooo) but season 2 looks THRILLING so far. (but honestly if they kill off sevika i might just dip then and there lololol) (it's not that i don't like vi and cait and jinx and the rest of the characters, it's just that... i'm really only here for sevika hahaha)

i know that the character that's gonna piss me off the most will be caitlyn. i'm thinking that ambessa and cait's shared grief over their respective losses will make cait vulnerable to ambessa's influence. i'm guessing act 3 starts when caitlyn realizes what she has allowed to happen in letting ambessa start a war, and she finds vi and they reunite to save the city from noxus?? who knows. but i know i will be tearing my hair out watching cait kill herself for revenge she's never going to get.

(completely unrelated rant: this would be a caitlyn stan blog if she wasn't a fucking cop. i get that that's her whole character, but come ON. she wanted to help people and piss her parents off and turn her back on her wealth, i get it, she couldn't've become a fucking teacher or something!?!? sorry, the lesbian cop trope just pisses me off so fucking bad.)

if arcane doesn't give caitvi one good kiss (AT LEAST) they're gonna have a big fucking problem on their hands. i went into arcane season 1 thinking 'okay, i'll find out who this hot lady on my pinterest is, and i know there's lesbians in it so it's gotta be worth a watch' only for the lesbians to do NOTHING LESBIAN except yearn. i'm gonna need the homosexuality meter turned all the way up this season. fuck it, make all the characters gay. give jinx a girlfriend. give ekko a boyfriend. give us a sex scene between heimerdinger and singed, idc.

me personally, i'll be watching the episodes as they come out! i think it'll just be easier for me that way-- i won't have to avoid tumblr for half a month, and for me half the fun of watching a show is watching it as it airs out so me and all the little gay people in my phone can talk about it hehehehe

those are my main thoughts! so sorry they were all jumbled and random! feel free to write your conspiracies about the next season in my ask box, i love shit like that!!

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