#not my best story but i needed to get this prompt out of my system | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shadowdaddies · 11 months

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Heyyyy I feel like we’re besties at this point😭 could I request, yet again, an Azriel story. Maybe one where they’re best friends and they get into a serious argument and maybe it ends with a confession and the bond snaps into place but one of them panics and leaves. And ends up having a panic attack while the other one is super worried and is searching for them. When they find them they calm them down and have some cute fluff with like “look at me” or “breathe with Me” something cute idk and then it ends with smut of them finally being mated and it’s all sweet and stuff. (Maybe with some wing play because holy- that’s hot) THANK YOUUUU

hey bestie! love this request, it's been a hectic week to say the least so I'm catching up on requests but I've been so excited about this one. Love your prompts, hope you love this story as much as I do💜

Laid Bare

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: this is angst, fluff, and eventually smut below the cut, wing play, shadow play, p in v sex, minors dni

You followed Azriel through the door to the House of Wind, slamming it behind you as you yelled at him. The two of you never raised your voices at each other, but your emotions got the better of you as you held back tears, shaking with anger and fear for your mate.

You had known that Azriel was your mate for a long time now, but you knew that he had so much he needed to work through, and you’d decided it would be better to be there for him as a friend while he worked through his trauma, without the added complication of the mating bond.

Tonight, however, you had hit your limit with Azriel’s refusal to accept help and love from others. It wasn’t only you - Azriel had always kept even his brothers at an arm’s length, only opening up to Cass and Rhys when he deemed it necessary. While others were willing to accept his distance, the bond pulled you closer to him, and day-by-day your love and desire to be there for him grew.

Azriel stopped in the kitchen, sipping on tea in his faux-stoic manner that drove you crazy as you stormed over to him. “What the Hel, Az? You put yourself in so much danger, so much unnecessary hurt, and for what? You think you’re a burden to people by letting them be there for you, but it’s a burden.... it really hurts me, Azriel, when you won’t let me be there for you. I love you, all I want to do for the rest of my life is love you, and I just wish you would let me.”

The words poured out before you even realized what you were saying, tears streaming down your face as you dared to make eye contact with Azriel. The moment those hazel eyes locked with yours, Azriel dropped the cup from which he’d been drinking, his steely expression shattering into one of shock, and you knew what had happened. The mating bond snapped for him - at the worst time, when you were yelling at him over something that now felt so trivial.

You began sobbing so hard you were shaking, hyperventilating as you began to panic. Before Azriel could say anything else, you winnowed away. You appeared on the outskirts of Velaris - a quiet place where the mountains met the sea - and vomited everything from your system. You heaved for breath, trying to ground yourself in your surroundings. You went to a nearby brook, splashing water on your face and cleansing your mouth with the fresh water.

The sun had nearly set at this point, and you leaned against a tree as you took in the various shades of the sky, the bright Night Court stars already visible at dusk. Mind reeling with how to address the situation with Azriel, you didn’t hear him approach.

You startled at first, watching him carefully as he sat down to lean against the tree beside you. It was no surprise that he would know where to find you. Azriel let out a long sigh, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “How long have you known about the bond?” he asked quietly. Chewing your lip, you murmured back, “Some time now, almost a year.” He nodded, taking a moment before he said anything.

He at last turned to you, taking one of your hands in his as he gave it a squeeze, as though he was finding his own strength through that touch. “You were right. Everything you said back there... I’ve always felt like a burden if I were to show weakness or ask for help. But you are always there for me, even when I don’t know what I need, you do.”

Azriel pulled you into his lap at this point, you straddling his hips as he wiped his thumb across your cheek, observing you as he confessed, “I love you, too, by the way. I have for a long time. If there’s anyone I trust, that I feel I can open up to, it’s you. I am damaged, and it will take time, but I want to love you, and be loved by you, if you’ll have me.”

You smiled, turning your face to kiss Azriel’s palm, holding it against your face. “Azriel, I have waited my entire life for you, and I would wait one hundred more lifetimes for you. We will grow and learn how to love and be loved together. That’s what this is.” At that, Azriel pulled you in, your lips barely brushing each other as he looked to you for consent. You smiled, throwing yourself into him as you kissed him how you’d been longing to for so long.

Azriel squeezed your backside, causing you to gasp so he could slip his tongue in your mouth. You ground against him, drawing a groan while you ran your hands through his inky black hair, tugging at the strands. When he thrust his tongue into your mouth next, you sucked on it, earning a surprised gasp and a groan from him as he gripped your hips, grinding his own against you.

You mewled at the contact, desperate for more from him. You pulled back, gasping as you opened your mouth to tell Azriel you needed more, only for him to say so first. A thought occurred to you as you noticed his desperation, and you leaned back, studying Azriel as you ran a finger down his chest. With as much confidence as you could muster, you tilted your head, giving Azriel a mischievous smile as you proposed your deal. “I’ll give you more tonight, Azriel, if you let me take care of you. I want to make love to you, how I’ve been waiting to for so long now.”

At your words, Azriel’s cheeks blushed in that way that you loved as he nodded. You leaned forward, giving him a chaste kiss as you promised in a whisper, “we’ll take this slow - nothing you are uncomfortable with.” With that, you began removing his shirt, guiding him to lay down in the grass as you admired his body in what was now bright moonlight. You removed your own dress, now bare above him, feeling no shyness or shame in your body as your mate gazed at you in awe, running his hands along your sides, palming your breasts as he toyed with your nipples.

You let out a high-pitched moan at the contact, writhing against his touch as you struggled to maintain dominance in the situation. You forced yourself to look down at Azriel, feeling how your own appearance must mirror his own, pupils blown out, cheeks flushed, hair wild as you ravished each other under the stars. You leaned down, rolling your naked body against Azriel’s bare chest as you kissed down his neck to his collarbone, moving one hand to the side for support.

Your finger accidentally touched the edge of his wing, causing Azriel to let out a hiss as he bucked wildly up into you. Immediately pulling back, you frantically searching Azriel’s face for discomfort. “I’m so sorry, Az. I didn’t mean to touch your wing without permission. Please tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

To your surprise, Azriel laughed. It was a loud, joyous laugh like bells, louder than you’d ever heard from him. He looked up at you with a beautiful, full smile as he shook his head and grabbed your hand, guiding it back to his wing. You looked at him questioningly, “are you sure you are okay with this? You want me to touch your wings?” Azriel nodded, kissing your palm before guiding it back to his wing. “Yes, I want you. Only you. All of you.”

Your heart melted at his words, eyes never leaving his as you experimentally traced your fingers lightly across the veins of his wing, watching as he groaned and panted beneath you at your touch. “Fuck,” Az finally huffed out, “if you keep doing that, I’m going to finish in my pants.” You smirked, taking that as your cue to pull away, kissing down his chest and stomach, giving extra attention to each scar as you worshipped Azriel.

You were working your way down to the waistband of his pants when Azriel gracefully flipped you over, laid on your back against the grass with your hair splayed out. The two of you simply admired each other for a moment, memorizing the feeling of an intimacy you’d never felt before. You helped Azriel remove his pants, eager to have him inside of you, fully one with your mate.

He leaned down, kissing you sweetly as he pushed into you, your eyes rolling and back arching as he entered you, his large size a stretch for you. Azriel kissed all over your face and neck as he settled inside of you, only moving once you had given him permission. Every thrust hit a perfect spot within you, the sex like nothing you had felt before - it was apparent, Azriel was made for you, and you for him.

You could sense that you were nearing your high, stomach tightening as you attempted to mumble to Az that you were close. He understood, licking his thumb before bringing it down to your clit, rubbing circles in tandem with shadows that appeared around your nipples. The sudden stimulation sent you barreling over the edge with a scream, Azriel following closely behind.

He hung his head, resting his nose in your neck as the two of you caught your breath. After several moments, Azriel collapsed into the grass beside you, pulling you into his side as the two of you watched the night sky, laid bare to each other in every sense.

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lullaebies · 16 days

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GREEN FAMILY PROMPT!

Please, it is possible to get a drabble where Daeron saves Helaena and her children from B&C???

He had a bad feeling, so he's like, "I'm gonna visit mother, sister, and nieces and nephews to see if they are fine," he thinks and then goes to her mother's chambers

Alicent is tied up and gagged, and she begs the gods to help them, her child, her grandchildren, and as Blood or Cheese says: "You heard that boy, your momma wants you dead" to Maelor,Daeron barges in and saves the day.

I need this out of my system after the season 2 finale fiasco :(

a/n: oh bestie i became literally not normal over this prompt. i genuinely may have went crazy with it a bit LOL. it is way longer than a drabble, and a bit on the graphic side, but daeron... daeron best uncle, that i assure. love how this turned out, seriously.

He had been feeling uneasy for days.

When Aegon had been crowned, Daeron had been summoned to court. He had been excited to come back home, and had been glad to see his older brother glowing as King. Mother, grandsire and Aemond had been quarrelling over the death of Lucerys Strong, but Aegon had shut the divide down for the most part.

Aegon had been trying his best, and Aemond had a feast for his avenged past. Mother had steeled herself, swallowing her nerves, and Daeron swallowed his wine, drinking with his brothers for the first time in his life.

He very much wanted to find comfort in that. In the hearty laugh of Aegon and Aemond’s pleased smirk. And yet, Daeron had felt anxiety creep upon him. He trained with his uncle Gwayne for this long day because of it, the auburn-haired man trying to snap him out of his worries.

“You sound like your mother,” his uncle told him. “You and your brothers are boys of true valor. Whatever comes your way, you’ll shut it down, triumphant. You hear me, boy?”

Daeron nodded, but he hadn’t managed to find ease in his shoulders nor his heart. He had been walking around the castle for the entire evening, the unmoving storm clouds in the sky threatening to rain down the red keep.

Damn it all, he thinks to himself. He feels a child at a time he must be a man, and petulant where he should be collected. He had been on his way to his room, unable to get in the mood to participate in the joys within the mead hall, but he turns on his heel. It is childish, he supposes, to seek his own mother, but he can’t help it. He missed her, and if he sounds like her — shouldn’t that prove that more than all, they should confide in each other?

He barely had her act his mother in his life, but he very much wanted to be her son.

It is a sound choice, he thinks. At these hours, his sister goes with his nephews and niece to see their mother at the Hand’s Tower, to tell the children bedtime stories and kiss them goodnight. Daeron adores the twins, and even more so little Maelor, who plays with Daeron’s rings and cuffs whenever he sees him. Helaena had been a successful mother as she had been a beloved sister to him. Between her and the children he feels much at ease, although sometimes he does feel she acts as if he had been just as tiny as her toddlers.

Mayhaps he’d be able to contribute to the bedtime stories. He had not yet strayed far enough on Tessarion to tell the children his adventures, but the many books in the Hightower had kept him company on days where he had felt lonesome. Princes and Princesses have little they couldn’t receive from the world, but he knows the merriment from a good story could appear on their button nose and full cheeks as they crinkle.

It is not long before he is by the Hand’s tower. For a moment he thinks he should’ve probably bathed before this; he is sweaty in his training garb — Jaehaera is going to tell him he is stinky, no doubt — but then he notices color, from underneath the door, trickling from between the copper-colored bricks of the floor.

Dark, bloody red, separating in between the creaks of stone.

“M-Mae.. Mael…”

Is that his sister? Her voice is in croaks. He hears other voices from the inside, but they are not familiar to him. They’re male, but not childlike, they are gruff and spiteful; scoffing.

“Hear that, little boy? Your mama wants you dead.”

And realisation hit him. The knots in Daeron’s body and bones, the one that constrained him for these past few nights, release in a burst of flame and make him spring into action. His hand reaches for the grip of his sword while his side slams against the door, forcing it open.

The blood that seeped out of the room is one of a slain maid he only barely manages to avoid from stomping. There are two men in the room, one tall, mountain-like in figure, and the other hunched, with a blotched face. He had Maelor in his grip, his arm pressing tight on the neck of his younger nephew.

He finds his mother seized and gagged, tied to a chair, and his sister bruised and shaking like a leaf, her dress torn at the skirt. Jaehaera’s nails dug into the fabric of it, frightened, and Jaehaerys had been painfully held by the shoulder by the giant man that now turned to him.

“Aren’t you silverlings supposed to be dragons? All I see are helpless skinks,” the man drawls. Jaehaerys almost manages to escape his grip but he catches him by the hair and tosses him towards him to a blotchy man. “Hold the boy, ratcatcher!”

The man begins to pull out a lengthy, heavy sword from its sheath, and the blotched man reaches for Jaehaerys at the cost of dropping Maelor to the floor. Maelor screeches as he hits the floor, Helaena scrambling to get to him and his brother.

Daeron charges to ram into the man before he could begin to swing. A man like that is too large to allow to wield a weapon and demand distance. While the man recovers from the slam, Daeron slashes at the dirty hand that grabbed at his nephew’s hair. The swing is not long or powerful enough to cut through bone, only flesh. Blood erupts from the man’s thick wrist. He is forced to let go of his sword, and enraged, the man brings his other hand, fisted — and smashes it against Daeron’s face.

Daeron is knocked to the floor, no better than Maelor, laid underneath that goliath of a man. As his gums bleed, he can hear his sister and her children screaming, and his mother — his mother’s muffled cries from behind him, begging, begging, begging, the cloth that keeps her voiceless to allow her to scream his name.

No mother should weep, naming her son. No mother would. The bloody iron on his tongue turns him to the very steel he holds in his hand. The accumulation of adrenaline within his belly ignites into a battle cry louder than thunder as the man over him to punch the life out him. Daeron manages to find the strength to lift his sword crookedly, make it an axe, slamming down the man’s head and opening his scalp, cutting right down to the skull.

Blood drips down through the cracks of it, onto Daeron, as the man’s eyes lose light. The large assassin falls to his side.

“Fie on the lot you!” The apparent ratcatcher screams watching, looking for something in his pockets, all while trying to steal away with Jaehaerys, dragging the boy by his chin. “Where the fuck is it—”

Jaehaerys, despite the tears in his eyes, finds the courage to open his mouth, and bite.

The ratcatcher yells in pain, forced to release the boy who rushes back to his mother. Helaena, who is already holding Maelor and Jaehaera in their horror, embraces her eldest back to her, and then lifts her eyes to the blotchy man in front of her. They are flaming violet.

Daeron manages to get up from underneath the heavy corpse. The ratcatcher seems to want to flee, backing on his heel, but Daeron catches him, bringing an already bloody sword to his throat.

Finally, all too late, guards arrive at the room, shocked at the scene. Daeron doesn’t let that faze him, and neither does it faze Helaena, who has them speak to her, but her gaze is insistent on the man, while her hold is insistent on the children.

And now, he seems so frail, locked in Daeron’s grip. “Please, wait, I’ve been forced—” he says as Daeron tightens the slit of the sword against his neck. “They told me— they told me to bring the boy’s head. The Prince! The rogue prince, and his worm, they made me! I beg you, your Grace…”

Helaena is still shaking. But unlike the shaking leaves that are her children, she is shaking with rage that drips in tears down her eyes. She picks up something from the floor; a small dagger, which looks better than a butcher’s skinning knife. That is what the scum looked for — a way to kill the boy.

“One word, Helaena,” Daeron tells her. Just one word, and he’ll slit his throat clean.

“Not word, name,” she says, and looks around the room. “And not one. All of them. I want every name of every person who has been a part of this,” she says, and inches closer. “Take him to the dungeons for now, and make him spit every single one.”

“Your Grace, thank you, thank you..” the ratcatcher nearly weeps as Daeron relents him over to the other guards.

Helaena glares at him and looks at the guards. “And after you believe he is done listing your accomplices, call me. The last name he’ll hear would be his own one, from my lips,” Helaena decrees, and comes closer to the man. “I want you dead.”

The ratcatcher is dragged away in despair, no less lifeless than the corpses the guards take out of the room.

When they are away, out of sight, Helaena tosses the dagger in her hand into the fireplace of the room, and goes to her children, falling to her knees and wailing loudly with them, over them, kissing their faces with ruptured apologies.

Daeron watches, in tears himself, when he feels his mother’s hold on his arm. The marks of her formerly bound wrists catch his eye first. “Mother,” he starts, but finds himself croaked, voiceless instead of hers, his limbs helpless instead of hers. “I…”

“My sweet son,” she says, bringing a hand to his face, wiping the blood by his mouth. She holds him the same way she did when he was no older than his nephew and niece. “My sweet Daeron. I am sorry,” she says, crying. “I am sorry that you had… you have to…” she loses her voice to a raspy weep.

And he is uneasy, and fretting, like his mother. The apologies on her tongue, for having to be brave at the face of hell on earth, he may have before had been comfortable receiving from her, or his brothers. But no more. He will be no craven when his family is at stake. His mother, anxious as he, had always known they were at stake.

He won’t let her be scared, nor anyone else.

“All that comes your way… our way, mother,” he says, holding her tight, letting his tears of stress fall on her shoulder. “I’ll repel, and endure, triumphant. I swear.”

His mother embraces him close. “My little light,” she coos. “I will never allow it to be otherwise. I love you.”

I love you too, loves his family whole and true. The painful beats of his heart tell him how heavy it had been, knowing a scenario like this has been impending. And never again he would allow it even a chance.

Aegon and Aemond storm into the room, Ser Criston in tow, moving hands touching his face and lips asking him questions. Aegon rushes to his wife and children; the crying Helaena leans entirely into her husband’s hold along with all of their little ones. Aemond and Criston examine him and Alicent, their own rage palpable as they reach over to hold them too.

When they leave the room, locking the horrors shut behind them, they move to the midst of Maegor’s Holdfast, coming to sit in front of a greater fire with a greater fireplace, awaiting the baths that will allow them to wash away the horrible day.

Daeron sits in the middle, as silence falls between tear-dried faces. To be brave at the face of hell on earth, is not only to be brave within battles to survival, but also force away fright that haunts halls.

“Should…” he opens his mouth tentatively, looking at his nephews and niece who sit at restless adults’ laps. “Should I tell you a story?”

Jaehaera lifts her head to look at him from Alicent’s lap, while Jaehaerys adjusts himself in his father’s hold. Maelor, still deep in his mother’s apologetic embrace, is the one who nods through his sniffles.

And he finds his comfort again, as a storyteller for his kin. For the many times he may have to swing his sword, may he find himself in this circle of perked ears and crinkling eyes.

#daeron the daring #daeron targaryen #helaena targaryen #my fics #alicent hightower #maelor targaryen #jaehaerys targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #team green #hotd imagine #hotd #reqs #tremendouswolfsaladranch #hotd fanfic #answered

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directdogman · 1 year

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Dialtown short story + art piece - Wheels Within Wheels

Finally went through with polishing the short 6 page story about Mingus + God discussing the possibility of restoring Crown’s memory! This scene was devised originally as a potential flashback for the final route, but the flashback scenes were cut because they made the final route feel too narratively disjointed imo. Now you guys get to hear a conversation that you wouldn’t have otherwise!

I’m not the best narrative/descriptive writer in the world (and even then, I’m not 100% happy with it), but hey, at least this way people get something to gawk at :)

STORY START:

Rhythmic mechanical whirs resonated from the complex system of exposed gears on display, their ceaseless revolutions punctuating the resounding silence of a still operating room with a dim, but reliable tick. Wheels within wheels, revolutions within revolutions. After a prolonged, sterile pause, the mayor's alert stare shifted from the head of the centenarian titan lying on the operating table in front of her to meet the rueful gaze of the sole conscious person in her vicinity.

"So?" the mayor asked her guest, her tone firm and imposing, "What do you think?" The man to her left stood with a meek, shiftless posture, discomfort plastered across the face displayed on the CRT screen in the place of an organic face. "Yeah..." the man trailed off, his eyes glancing slowly from the controlled chaos within the patchwork phone to meet the mayor's hungry gaze, "...I don't think there's anything I can do." Pearlescent white fangs materialized as the mayor's maw contorted into a sneer. "You barely LOOKED." the mayor snarled back at the man, prompting the man to lean back slightly, putting distance between himself and the rage bubbling within the mayor. "I took as long as I needed to know I don't have the remotest idea how to fix this." the man replied, his voice almost a murmur. The mayor's eyes fixated on the man's face as she took an imposing step forward.

"So..." the mayor snarled, lowering her head while keeping her gaze fixed, "...You're refusing to try?" Sensing imminent danger, the man held his hands out shakily and uttered his hesitant defense. "N-No, no, it's not-" the man stammered, wringing his hands, "It's not THAT, ma'am, I just... I wouldn't know where to BEGIN, y'know?" The mayor's gaze loosened as she slowly nodded her head in reluctant comprehension. "The way I see it..." the authoritative tabby declared, "...Given Paw-Paw's near-constant lack of lucidity, consistent inability to recognize others, and TOTAL lack of awareness of his surroundings, ANY meaningful change would logically have to be positive, correct?" The hound's eyes shifted towards the floor, unable to meet the mayor's engrossed stare. "I mean… I could blind him, deafen him..." the man muttered back, still staring at the floor, "Hell, I could KILL him. There's... substantial risk with me touching anything in there." The mayor scoffed resentfully at the feeble hesitation exuding from her guest's replies. "No achievement is bereft of risk. I didn't get where I am without taking risks." the mayor affirmed, her tone and posture seeping with grandiosity, "My Paw-Paw didn't get where HE did by shying away from peril." "...Certainly not, ma'am." the man muttered, as his wincing gaze shifted back to the geriatric governor lying on the operating table.

"Y'know, if anything happens to him from me meddling..." the man uttered, his voice almost a whisper now, "You'd hold ME responsible." The mayor rolled her eyes. "So, you're asking me for total impunity before you act, is that it?" the mayor asked, folding her arms impatiently, "You're asking me to promise that I'll spare you should you make an error." "It's not just that, ma'am." the tattered guest replied, as his expression shifted from fearful agitation to an empathetic peer, "Are you willing to throw the dice, knowing it'd likely mean that it'd likely mean losing your Paw-Paw? Have you considered what that could do to you?" For a fraction of a second, the mayor's stare loosened, as her mind visibly considered a possibility too agonizing to contemplate. Within a second, the mayor's face shifted back to its invulnerable and imposing leer.

"Think of how much better off we'd all be if you WERE to restore his memory." the mayor asserted, decisively gripping the man's right arm, "This isn't just about what I want. You'd be saving the whole human race." The man peered down to notice the mayor's claws embedded into his sleeve, causing him to stumble backwards, glancing uncomfortably from the unmoving relic on the table to the bargaining tyrant as he relinquished himself from her grip. "Look, I, uhhh- I wouldn't be the most qualified person to, uhhh-" the man stuttered, his body now trembling slightly, "Maybe you're better off getting a neurosurgeon to take a look at your Paw-Paw." A scoff sounded from the mayor as her expression twisted into an embittered sneer.

"I've HAD scores of neurosurgeons summoned in here from around the COUNTRY." the mayor spat back at her guest, "Not one of them had so much as an INKLING of how to fix my Paw-Paw." The mayor's sneer shifted into a defeated scowl. "Each relented that their skills mainly lie in correcting organic defects, NOT in prying data from fine-tuned machinery." the mayor stated, enthusiasm fading from her voice. "The neurosurgeons recommended I instead get a visitor who repairs swiss clocks for a living to diagnose what's wrong with Paw-Paw's brain." the mayor whispered, her gaze now fixed on the moving parts within her grandfather's head. The stifled ticking from within interrupted the momentary pause. "The clock-mender couldn't make heads nor tails of what he was looking at. Wouldn't touch a thing." the mayor murmured, her gaze still fixed on the relentless mechanisms whirring away, "Said he wasn't comfortable playing God." The man's bewildered gaze then met the mayor's. "So, you thought I'd be up for the task, then?" the vagabond asked.

"I've had dozens upon dozens of experts grace this room, and yet, not ONE of them were qualified enough to fix my Paw-Paw. Who else IS there to ask?" the mayor demanded, folding her arms warily. The man glanced away, clearly unable to answer. "You dare crown yourself a GOD among men, and yet, you shy away from MY challenge?" the mayor spat, "You call yourself a GOD? Prove yourself. Prove yourself to me, NOW." The man placed his right hand on the back of his neck. His face now betrayed him, with bewildered indignance showing at the corners of his mouth. "I have nothing to prove to you. There IS nothing that I can prove to you, ma'am." the man replied calmly, "I never claimed to have the answers. I never claimed to be anything other than a vagrant with life experience."

"So, who are YOU going to pawn this bothersome task onto, then?" the mayor growled, leaning into the dog-faced drifter's space, "Who are YOU going to pass the buck to, huh?" "I'm not passing the buck, ma'am." the man replied, his gaze drifting back over to the mechanical wreck lying in front of him, "I don't think anyone other than your Paw-Paw would know how to fix whatever's wrong." The mayor's expression softened as a new possibility evidently entered her hirsute head. "I see now that fear doesn't effectively motivate you." the mayor crooned, her tone now one of bargaining, "Well, then. Go on. State your demands. What will it take for you to make an earnest attempt to fix my Paw-Paw?" "I'm sorry, but... There's nothing that you can offer me, ma'am." the man replied honestly. Unable to accept this answer, the mayor relented. "Nonsense! There isn't a person on earth who isn't looking for SOMETHING." the mayor affirmed, "So, what is it that you most want? Go on, then. Spit it out." The man took another step back, sensing what was to follow wasn't going to benefit anyone present.

"What will it take for you to care? Hmmm? Countless riches? Societal power, perhaps? The respect of each and every person you see on the street?" the mayor bargained, pacing towards the man, "What do I need to offer you to get you to try something, ANYTHING-" "Ma'am..." the man interrupted meekly, his hushed tone intelligible against the mayor's relentless pleas. "I can give you EVERYTHING you've ever wanted, you know. Whatever life you'd most like to live!" the mayor implored, "I can give you ANYTHING that your heart desires." The man paced backwards, visibly distressed, but the mayor continued. "You may think I only have MY OWN paltry resources to offer you, but no!" the mayor desperately ranted, "Why, after you restore Paw-Paw's memory, I would ensure that he- that he'd know that he has YOU to thank for-" "MINGUS." God boomed, causing everything in the room, save for the conscious duo, to cascade away into darkness, leaving the pair standing together in a vast, unending void. The mayor stood paralyzed, unable to speak, with an expression of trauma plastered across her face.

A stifled silence emanated from the abyss. As the man sheepishly realized what he'd done, he exhaled deeply, and placed his hands over his face, causing the room (and Crown) to phase back into view. An unbearable hush presided over the two.

"I CAN'T fix your Paw-Paw." the man stated, his quivering lips holding back a snarl and flattened hand moving with every stressed word, "I'm SORRY." The mayor's gaze stayed glued to her Paw-Paw, tears now welling in her eyes. "Listen..." the man stated emphatically, compassion leaking through his voice, "Even IF I wanted to-" The man trailed off, realizing he'd almost sorely misspoken. The mayor's gaze slowly drifted back to the vagrant's face, her left brow now raised and her lips curled into a sneer. "I'm.. sorry." the man meekly stated as he glanced away from the mayor's oppressive stare while wringing his hands, "I wish I could take your pain away. But, there's nothing I could show you that wouldn't just hurt you even more." "Useless." the mayor spat at her guest, "You call yourself a God, but you're just a CHARLATAN. Pathetic." He shook his head slightly before a slight grin graced his face. He turned back to face the mayor's feline gaze.

"Y'know..." the man trailed off, unsure of exactly how to broach the thought that had entered his head, "...Might I offer you some advice?" The mayor scoffed with vocal aggrievance. "Why would I want to hear what YOU have to say?" the mayor sneered with bared teeth, "All the years you've spent on this planet and what have you built? That's right. NOTHING. You've achieved NOTHING." The man nodded slowly before replying. "I admit it. The bold rat usually gets the cheese." the man replied, desperately trying not to visibly glance at the incapacitated Crown, "But, the crafty rat watches the bold rat die in the rat trap and gets to return home with a piece of the cheese." The mayor's sneer retracted to a snowl, and her brow raised inquisitively. "Human history is basically just a chronicle of mistakes." the man added, his expression now back to its default vacant grin, "I think it'd be a disservice to your family's good name if whatever eventually snags ended up being something you could've seen coming." "Alright, then." the mayor responded, curious to hear the advice of this hapless immortal, "Out with it, then. Give me your sermon, while we're still young."

"Are you familiar with the Roman emperor, Caligula?" the man asked, with an unassuming smile. Mingus nodded. "Yes, yes, I know my history. Especially the stories of powerful rulers who've come before me." Mingus replied, "Caligula was the mad emperor who promoted a horse and declared war on Neptune and had his soldiers attack the sea." The man beamed with joy. "Wow! You already knew the story I was gonna tell!" he replied with genuine enthusiasm, "You're smart. Maybe I don't need to give you this advice at all." The cat scowled. "If the moral of your story was genuinely going to be 'don't stab water', or 'don't wage war on things that DON'T EXIST'..." the mayor growled, "...I'm going to kill you with my hands." "It... uhhh. It wasn't." the man sheepishly replied, "Although, those aren't bad lessons to learn EITHER, per se." The mayor glanced away, trailing off in thought. "Some sources theorize that Caligula declaring war on Neptune was actually just a pointless task he gave his skittish soldiers after they refused to invade Brittania by sea..." the mayor muttered, "They brought home sea shells as medals. Then, there's those who think the whole story was fabricated by his detractors. Envious peasants love to tell lies about the powerful."

"Trust me, it happened." the man replied, "I was there." The mayor's gaze drifted back towards the man, bewildered. "I think people just like to assume it didn't happen because of how goddamned RIDICULOUS the whole thing was." the man mused, "Don't ask me WHY. I've never been one to see into the head of an autocrat." The man averted his gaze away from the disembodied relic on the table, realizing what he'd just said aloud. He continued. "It genuinely was AS ridiculous as it sounded, y'know. Thousands of armor-clad Italian dudes just... stabbing at the waves." the man stated, his gaze drifting upwards as if vividly recalling the sight. "Heh. I remember turning to this Gallic dude to my left and telling him…" the man grinned nostalgically, "...that I'd be SHOCKED if the sea actually, like, LOST, seein' as the waves outnumbered the soldiers at LEAST five to one." The mayor tapped her heel on the floor impatiently. "Whatever the POINT of this story is..." she growled, "It had better be FAST approaching."

"Look, do I need to spell it out?" the man replied, "The soldiers fought the TIDE." The mayor raised her eyebrow and leaned forward slightly. The man continued. "Hey, I'll be the first to admit: Humanity's got MOXIE, y'know?" the man shrugged, "We live in an age of space shuttles and, like, five THOUSAND flavours of ice cream, most of which are TERRIBLE. Seriously, who eats ice cream and thinks: "Wow, this flavour is already pretty good, but y'know what it could use? Huh? RAISINS." Now, amirite, or amirite?" The mayor stared back, mouth slightly agape. "Sorry... Went off topic there for a bit." the man sheepishly added, "My point was, when you fight the tides, you make an enemy of the WORLD." "And IF you fight 'til your last breath against the WORLD..." the man continued, "The story can only end two ways. With your destruction, or the whole world's." The mayor's gaze shifted nervously over to her grandfather. "When a large wave comes, would you rather be riding it, or FIGHTING it?" the man asked, causing the mayor to glance back to him.

"You know... There's something to be said for accepting that there's things out there that you CAN'T change." the man replied quietly, a quiet sadness appearing in his eyes, "...In accepting your own powerlessness in things." The mayor scowled. "That's just something that SHEEP tell themselves..." the mayor muttered, "The people whose destinies are controlled solely by people like me... It's just something they tell themselves so they can sleep at night." "There's nothing wrong with being able to sleep at night." the man replied in a sympathetic tone. The mayor didn't reply to this, instead choosing to stare down at the floor. Sensing emotional vulnerability from the mayor's posture, the man persisted. "Y'know... I think the concept of closure is massively underrated in this day and age..." he trailed off, "Maybe... Maybe the best end in this case would be if we accepted that there's nothing more that can be done for your Paw-Paw and w-" Predicting the course of action that her guest was about to suggest, the mayor cut him off.

"Choose your next words... VERY carefully." she snarled. The man stood silent, realizing he'd almost carelessly talked his way towards his own doom. Several oppressive seconds of silence presided over the room before the man regained the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." the man reaffirmed, "I can't fix your Paw-Paw."

"Well, that doesn't matter ONE IOTA to me. And do you know why that is?" the mayor growled, tears welling in her eyes, "Because I'll find someone who WILL. I'll ask every single person on EARTH if I have to." The mayor's claws unwittingly extended, though she didn't notice. "I'll even learn how to fix him MYSELF if I have to. I'll move mountains, I'll split atoms, I'll PART the TIDE and CLEAVE THE HEAVENS IN TWAIN, IF I MUST." she bellowed, "Even if the whole WORLD has abandoned Paw-Paw, I WON'T." "When Paw-Paw's himself again, HE'LL know." she spat, "He'll KNOW that I never gave up on him!"

The two stood in silence for what felt like an eternity. Mingus saw what she hated most reflected back at her through the eyes of her guest. Pity. Shortly after this, the mayor's guest silently excused himself from her company with a wordless nod and a wincing expression of understanding, leaving her alone in the dim, sterile operating room with her grandfather. Blinking back tears, she stared into his head, and looked upon what appeared to be a roll of film, being pulled along a belt, not unlike the surface of a treadmill. Constantly circling back and forth. Locked inside this incomprehensible mechanical safe, her Paw-Paw. No matter how futile it seemed, she would never be able to forgive herself for giving in. A single lock stood in the way of the salvation of the whole world, and by extension, herself.

The Mayor stood alone, transfixed with the impenetrable puzzle before her. Rhythmic mechanical whirs resonated from the complex system of exposed gears on display, their ceaseless revolutions punctuating the resounding silence of a still operating room with a dim, but reliable tick. Wheels within wheels, revolutions within revolutions.

STORY END.

(Art piece was by the talented Jen Jenneration! Check her stuff out, it’s top notch!)

There we go! Quite a few of you guys asked for it, so receive it you shalt...’ve(?) Thanks.

#dialtown #oc #writing #Mayor Mingus #god dialtown

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gazs-blue-hat · 10 months

Note

*ahem!* may I offer a humble prompt for Gaz as tribute?🙋🏻‍♀️

something along the lines of everyone around you and Gaz always saying that you're dating or asking you "are you sure you're not dating?" and you/him always denying it. but at the back of your mind, it leaves a lingering thought of what it would be like to date him and looking over at Gaz and catch him looking at you👀 with the same thought running through his mind.

but you can't really blame everybody else because you're always seen together and you act like a couple so WHAT TF DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE NOT DATING?

(I may not may not be speaking from experience😂)

I FIGURED OUT ASKS EVERYBODY! I'm so so sorry @groguspicklejar for the insane about of time it took me to figure the ask system out. Without further procrastination, here is the story!

Paperwork Shmaperwork

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick X Reader (gn)

WC: 1,265

TW: Miscommunication (In a funny way I swear), Mutual pining, Canon typical language (LMK if I missed any)

Everybody knows you and Kyle are a 'thing'. It's so abundantly clear to everybody who looks at the two of you any time you are together. Kyle and you are practically attached at the hip.

And it pisses Simon Riley the hell off.

He's all for his buddy getting some affection and care but every single time he mentions things to Kyle, he gets a flabbergasted look and a chuckled 'they're just my friend!'.

He's absolutely had it. He knows there's a connection between you two, hell he was it in Tommy and Beth before they got married! In true Riley fashion, he decided to take things into his own hands.

That's how you and Kyle ended up in a swivel chair in Simon's office with a file placed before him. The file in question had his name on it followed by a series of angry scribbles.

"Tell me again what this is about?" He raised his eyebrow, looking at his LT. You nod your head, sitting next to Kyle with your hands in your lap.

"Since you two so 'clearly' are "just friends" I've decided to compile evidence that proves otherwise." Simon leans back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. Kyle scoffs while you make a confused expression. Kyle opened the folder, shifting it so you could read it too, and began glancing over the tactical writing on the pages.

"Johnny put you up to this?" You have to ask, it's so out of character for Simon to stick his nose in people's business.

"No, I don't need him to tell me what right before of my eyes." The response is cold, but Simon's at his limit.

Kyle rolled his eyes at the first entry. It was dated a few months back and a description of the incident was written down.

-----five months previous----

"Hey, Gaz! Wait up!" You were jogging across the tarmac, a blue cap in your hand. Kyle had been so worked up about this next mission that he had forgotten it at the breakfast table. You were lucky enough to have caught him before the helo took off.

Kyle turned, smiling at your form rushing him with his hat. He had felt that something was missing but he couldn't tell what it had been. He checked his whole kit about seven times before you arrived with his token headpiece.

"Oh thank you love! Almost forgot it!" He reached out to grab the article of clothing but you simply hopped into the helo and placed it on his head, making sure it was straight.

"Can't have you going off without this! How else would Price be able to identify you out in the field?"

He chuckled at your statement, patting you on the shoulder and ushering you out of the chopper before Price had another episode about 'authorization' and 'keeping things tactical.

You stood on the tarmac as the helo took off, waving fondly as your best friend was carried through the air to some unknown destination for some unknown amount of time.

-------

"That doesn't count! Johnny did the same fuckin' thing to him last week!" You sat back in your chair, a blush starting to creep up your neck. The way Simon had worded the report made it seem so clear that you and Kyle were in a relationship.

What you had said was true. Johnny had rushed to give Kyle his hat back but that was after he had stolen it and Kyle was on a war path to retrieve it. When Johnny had gotten the hat back to Kyle, it was a slam on his head and a cackling sprint instead of a soft handover and a pat on the shoulder.

Fuckin' MacTavish...

Simon grunted and just pointed at the next entry, a smug smile on his face under the mask.

---Three months ago---

"And then I said-" The man next to you continued chatting away even after you had told him no less than five times that you were not interested. One person can only say "That's crazy" so many times before they themselves go crazy.

"Pardon me, sir, I need to steal my friend here for a moment." You felt a warm hand at the small of your back, palm just barely touching your shirt.

Kyle

Kyle gently led you back to the part of the bar where he was sitting, along with a few of his old buddies from the CTSFO team he had been working with before he met Price.

"Oh my God, thank you so much, Kyle. You're a literal lifesaver. If I had to listen to one more story about some random topic, I was going to go insane." Kyle laughed softly, the sound buzzing pleasantly in your mind.

"Don't worry about it. I could practically smell the boredom from here. Can't say we will be much better conversation but at least we won't pester you for your phone number or anything!" Kyle's remark got laughs from everybody at the booth, including you.

His hand never left your back.

--------

"Any good friend would have done the same! It is not okay to leave someone stranded in a situation like that!" Kyle was starting to blush as well. He had never romantically thought of you but he couldn't deny the feelings that were bubbling in his mind now.

You were in a similar situation with your own feelings. Having everything written out like this before you made things so much clearer. You had been tossing the idea of Kyle around in your mind for a few months now. He made you laugh and smile. He made you feel safe in a way that nobody else ever had before.

Perhaps Simon was onto something...

Simon grabbed the folder from Kyle and shook his head, pulling two more files out from the drawer of his desk.

"I already got the paperwork for you two. The documents are all in there so there's no need to go bother Price about it. The deadline for those documents is in three days so I suggest you both get your shit sorted out quick." Simon folded his arms and started working on a different piece of paperwork, leaving you and Kyle gaping at him like fish.

Simon looked up at you both, rolling his eyes and making a dismissal gesture with his hand. Neither of you had to be told twice as you stood and exited the room, closing the door behind yourselves.

You both stood outside of the office for a long while, not knowing what to say or how to act. Kyle opened his mouth to say something at the same time you did.

"Do you thi-"

"Want to g-"

You snickered and gestured for him to go first. He smiled and rubbed the folder between his fingers.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted to talk about this...paperwork over a pint?" he was blushing a bit and he couldn't quite meet your eyes.

You nodded, smiling as you looked down at the documents in your own folder.

"Only if you bring that good pen that everybody is always trying to steal." You couldn't help but gently nudge him with your elbow

"It's a date then. Say 6:00?" He was already pulling his phone out to mark the time in his calendar.

"How about now?" You turned your head and smiled. Kyle did the same, placing his hand on your lower back to lead you to his quarters on base.

"I like that plan."

He never removed his hand from your back.

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #request #call of duty

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leviathans-watching · 1 year

Note

ive never done requests before 😭 would it be possible for u to maybe write a sick!mc w the dateables? i need more simeon in my life dawg

sick!mc with the dateables

includes: the dateables x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .4k | rated g | m.list

warnings: mentions of fevers, colds, coughing

a/n: ugh this was so cute! thanks for requesting and i hope you enjoy <33 my inbox is open to chat, request, or leave feedback, so come say hi!!

Please reblog<33333

➳ diavolo had noticed you looking pale and sluggish, so when you start to complain that you don’t feel well, he’s really not surprised. “oh, dear,” he says with a sigh, touching your forehead. “you’ve definitely got a fever. weak human immune systems. how about i run you a bath and make you some tea.” already, he’s thinking about how to best take care of you, making a mental list of things he needs barbatos to run out and get. and just to be safe, you’ll have to stay in his room tonight where he can look over you and make sure you don’t get any worse.

➳ barbatos wrinkles his nose as you cough, long and painful-sounding noises escaping your mouth. without prompting, he hands you his handkerchief and then sets up the kettle, grateful you’re already in the kitchen. “i’ll make you some tea,” he offers. “you can just sit there and not strain yourself. and also please don’t cough all over the counter. i just cleaned it.” you smile at that, sensing the dry humor in his words, and he pulls down the honey, intent on making some of the best tea he’s ever made to help with throat and chest health.

➳ simeon knocks on your door, chicken soup in hand. “i’m coming in,” he calls gently, pushing your door open. lord, it’s a good thing he’s around because the brothers would have no clue how to treat you. when he enters, he sees why you never replied–you’re asleep. unable to stop a smile from forming upon seeing your cute face and messy bedhead, simeon sets the tray down on your nightstand, pulling the blankets you kicked down back up to your chin. “get well soon,” he murmurs, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. partly to check for fever and partly because he wants to.

➳ solomon dismisses your concern for him catching your cold so he can nurse you back to health, staying by your side attentively while the illness runs its course. he’s always there with another blanket, to tell you stories, and to refill your water, even using his magic to keep you entertained. it’s nice, and you really appreciate him, but can’t help but roll your eyes when you recover and he begins to get sick. “hey, now it’s your turn to nurse me back to health,” he jokes weakly, and you sigh, but know in your heart that you don’t mind taking care of him, just as he hadn’t minded taking care of you.

leviathan-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

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hitlikehammers · 7 months

Text

there is a tree as old as me

rating: teen tags: future fic, outside POV, trespassing, established relationship, engaged steddie💍 ✨for @kallisto-k at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: To Build A Home—The Cinematic Orchestra: 'and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust // out in the garden where we planted the seeds // there is a tree as old as me

She catches the trespassers by chance, really.

She’s awake early even for her routine, age doing nothing for the capacity to sleep in on a good day but her hip’s been a trial, and she needs buy a new mattress but Richard’s insistent he can’t bear to sleep on a stone slab, Patricia, good god—she wants to get one of those Select Comforts that splits their settings between two sides as a compromise; he argues those are for lesser mortals, which she’s long learned has evolved in recent years to mean not just that he thinks he’s above something in general, but more now that he thinks he’s better than technological advances.

And Patricia Harrington has standards, certainly, but she can also recognize when

She’s also old enough to remember when ‘new’ was an opportunity to throw her Black Card and gloat a little in the rush of the novelty, the momentary shine until the next new thing appeared to repeat the cycle.

She might be feeling her years, but she doesn’t understand when her husband got so damn old.

At least he’s still savvy enough to the time that they’ve got an airtight security system for the house itself, given the trespassers—more likely would-be-burglars, given the evaluation they’d just paid taxes on for the property—that she spies out the window, hears where she cracked the window in the kitchen to light a cigarette as she brews an early coffee.

Maybe Richard will agree to motion sensors for the yard, if she tells him about these…miscreants.

They’re moving carefully, like they don’t want to be seen, or more likely caught—suspicious, obviously—but they’re also moving like the know where they’re headed, as if they’re familiar with the space they’re traversing even in the pitch dark: even more suspect, really, and she wonders if they’ve cased the home, adds full-property camera surveillance to her list of proposals for reevaluating their security.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to—“ she barely catches the hiss from one of the criminals from across the yard, but it doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last because the second party drags the first close and: the lighting’s horrible, the moon’s crescent at best, but there’s really only one thing to be doing when two bodies press close, and then break apart with a pop she makes out on the breeze and, well. She was young, once.

“Believe it, baby,” the second trespasser rumbles low, and, oh, good god: “we gotta hit all the landmarks.”

They’re men. They’re both of them men and they were just—

“Landmarks?” the first one hisses sharper, this time, and Patricia…she doesn’t care nearly as much as Richard does about what people do in their bedrooms that she personally doesn’t agree with.

But this isn’t anyone’s own bedroom. This is her lawn.

“Of our story,” the second one, he—he—has got such curly hair she likely would have assume it was a very tall women, if it weren’t for the voice; “all our highlights.”

“What, exactly, was—“ the first man, he sounds a little exasperated as he whispers, but…fond. Fond like Patricia hasn’t heard in…well.

A very, very long time, at least.

“Here,” the curly haired fiend traipsing her property stops at a redbud tree Richard had always despised, said it looked tacky, common. Patricia canceled every removal service he’d had whichever secretary he instructed to send.

The second man turns, moves slow toward the tree before reaching, placing a hand on the trunk almost carefully, reverently. There’s something…familiar about him. The shape of his face, the way the the coif of his hair catches in shadow—

“My nanny used to tell me this tree was planted the year I was born, that it grew up with me,” and oh, oh, that’s, he’s—“so that I’d have to eat my vegetables and stuff, if I wanted to see it grow.”

He sounds so nostalgic, so soft at the edges; Patricia doesn’t know if she’s ever heard her son sound like that.

Because that’s who it is; why he seemed familiar even at a distance.

Even if she hasn’t seen or heard from Steven in nearly twenty years.

“And look at you both,” the other man, with the curly hair, he’s holding Steven by his arms, and the motion, the body language is…tender even before she hears the words filter over:

“Big and strong,” the man says, and then he’s cupping Steven’s cheek and Steven leans in so quick, like he trusts deeply, here: “fuckin’ beautiful.”

She can’t see it, not in the dark, but something tells her Steven’s smiling for the words. It makes her feel…uncomfortable.

Because it’s not as if they hadn’t seen it; she doesn’t know where Steven’s moved, where he ended up when he moved out while they were gone, left his key and a simple, terse little note about the furnace needing looked at—she only knows he’s nowhere near here, anymore, and she suspects there are some, like the former police chief and his wife, who know where he went but she never asks. She’s too proud for that.

But the point is: Steven doesn’t live in Hawkins anymore, and likely lives nowhere near Hawkins. But when The Post ran the engagement announcement it had only been implied, she’d never have been able to place is, but: when and S. Harrington and E. Munson announced their happy news in print, in a town that didn’t house people by those initials, even if it still housed residents by those family names?

Well. Patricia had suspicions. And she remembers the Munson boy largely because his hair was an unmistakable mess.

Apparently some things didn’t change.

“This,” the Munson boy, because that’s who it is, that’s who’s still cradling her son so close and so gently: “this was the first place I knew you wanted me.”

Steven’s head, she sees, still tilts just so when he’s baffled.

“What?”

“I knew you loved me like I love you, I knew that way before but you,” and the Munson boy, he pulls his hand across his face like the night isn’t doing the hiding for him. Preposterous, really.

“The urchins were inside, we were going to grab more pop to bring in and you pushed me up against this very tree,” and the boy—man, they’re men, they’ve long been men and Patricia doesn’t want to pry up the implications of how she saw no part of the becoming part of that process with her own eyes—but the man’s voice is so warm, so…smitten.

It should be nauseating. Another thing she doesn’t want to pry at is why it…isn’t. At least not quite.

“Couldn’t wait, you said, couldn’t keep you hands off me,” and he’s turning Steven, walking him back against the tree as he speaks the words, like he’s reenacting something nigh-sacred.

“And I knew that I was out of my mind with wanting you like that, on top of loving you more than fucking life baby, but,” and Munson, she can see the way he breathes in his deep for the heave in the line of his back, and she can see the way he…brushes the line of his nose back and forth against Steven’s.

Who still has her father’s nose.

“You were hard as soon as you pinned me,” and Patricia frowns at the glass, when she hears that; and she barely hears is, in fairness, it’s pitched low even as they think they’re alone which is the least they can do but they are not alone and Patrician does not need to be subjected to—

“And it was like a light switch, or a lightning bolt,” the Munson boy—they’re boys they are still boys—but the Munson boy whispers it, and sounds like he’s wondering at it;

“He loves me,” he breathes, the line of his back breathing so deep again; “and he fucking wants me.”

And no, Patricia does not need to hear that at all, but.

There is a part of her, buried somewhere, who…does miss the idea of wanting. Of being wanted. In the abstract.

“You’re absurd,” Steven snorts and oh; oh, she remembers that tone, that testy little snark that always riled Richard enough that he’d largely stomped it out of the boy but oh: Patricia did love when Steven failed to rein it in.

Because it always reminded her that Steven was her son.

She doesn’t intend to start rubbing at her chest, but it…it feels kind of tight, there, just now.

It aches, there. Just now.

“I love you,” and Steven’s voice, she’s never heard him speak with that much feeling, and it’s difficult not to…to react to even just overhearing, to eavesdropping, though in fairness: it is, again, her property.

“And I want you,” Steven leans in, and kisses at Munson’s cheek with such affection, a devotion that’s obvious, near-blinding even in the dark; “just as much now as then,” and then Steven, Steven—

He laughs.

He laughs and it’s such a light and carefree sound and it’s so foreign to Patricia’s ears that it almost makes her anxious, or something of the like.

“But then so much more, baby,” and the warmth in those words: those are foreign too.

Those feel strange to hear, not least in Steven’s voice which…

She thinks she may not have recognized, if the first thing she hear were these words, in this tone.

She’s not wholly sure how to sit with that suspicion.

“Ten days,” the Munson boy’s hands go to Steven’s hips and he rocks them back and forth a bounce in the motion, a levity.

“Ten days,” and Steven…no.

No: she would not have recognized that voice.

She would not have known her son.

“You’re gonna be my husband,” the Munson boy whispers, Patricia only hears because she’s trying to, now, she…she wants to even if it hurts unexpectedly, the tightness under her hand in her chest a pain, now, a small little stab when this man cups her son’s cheeks, cradles him so careful and so…so loving, undeniable even like this, and says what she suspected from that notice in the paper.

Steven is getting married. Steven is getting married and he is proud enough to flaunt it in a town who could never prove it, where he no longer has tied; to a a partner who is proud enough to do the same just as brazen, and she doesn’t know if she’s proud or put-off, but she does know here, now—

Steven is in love. And he is loved deeply in kind. And the person who loves him sounds in awe at the idea of pledging forever not as a contract, but maybe more as a privilege.

She wasn’t paying attention for a strand of seconds as she acknowledged this, and decided ultimately to stop trying to do anything deeper than just that.

But she sees them pull apart; they’d been kissing the entire time she’d been thinking it through.

She isn’t even interested in acknowledging the…niggling little feeling of that kind of prolonged affection, let alone the way they reach for each other, steady each other in the coming apart, as if they have no desire to wholly come apart.

The idea of trusting another pair of hands like it looks as if they do, in the dim of these early hours, is…another foreign thing.

“Okay, okay,” the Munson boy laughs, no, giggles; “let’s get out of here before the owners notice.”

And he turns, would meet her eyes if he could see her; she knows he can’t, knows she’s standing just beyond the capacity to be caught and how absurd, caught inside her own house.

But then he’s turned away again; the house, and whatever it holds, far less compelling than the man at his side.

“Wayne’s place?” Steven’s asking and the Munson boy grabs his hand, lifts it to his mouth.

“Yeah,” the Munson boy says so low, so soft and sweet; “we can hit some more landmarks before that bagel joint he likes opens, we can take him breakfast.”

“More landmarks?” Steven sounds baffled, but so very fond and his partner doesn’t let go of his hand once, reels him in to peck his cheek.

“Of course, sweetheart,” the Munson boy nearly…purrs, how ridiculous; “so many. Because we’ve got one hell of a story.”

But ridiculous or no: the moon shifts out from the clouds as they make to scamper off the lawn and Patricia sees her son’s face for the first time in decades, now, and oh.

Oh: she’s never seen him smile like that. Not…not once.

She turns away, because the sting in her chest burns behind her eyes, a little; because the joy on Steven’s face is…

It feels private; like something she’s not meant to see.

She goes to pour herself the coffee she’d largely forgotten, and, well.

She’s still going to talk to Richard about security, but maybe…

Maybe not just now.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690

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theresattrpgforthat · 7 months

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Hi! I'm on a regency binge at the moment and while Good Society is on my list, do you have any more regency games/systems to recommend?

THEME: Regency Games

Hello friend, I think I have a nice little selection for you to take a look at!

One thing to note is that some of these games are very gendered, providing roles such as “Matron”, “Nobleman” or “Countess” that is rather unavoidable. Sometimes this is simply part and parcel of playing in a specific era of history, and sometimes it is done purposefully, as games can often be commentary about certain issues that were prevalent at the time.

While I think you could likely make a non-binary character in these games if you really want to, I think that one of the appeals of playing in the Regency era is the strict social structures that created such rigid gender boundaries, and so I’m not surprised to see those boundaries enforced in these games.

Vicious, by Budget Versailles.

Vicious is a game set during the Regency period about scandalous gossip told via letters between three or more players.

Players roll dice to generate scenarios and gossipy twists to pass on to the next player until everyone has been deceived with shocking slander and hearsay.

If you’re a fan of the epistolary phase of Good Society, Vicious is probably worth looking at. Watch a piece of news twist out of your control as your letters get flavoured with gossip. You can roll for inspiration for various scenarios, as well as for juicy gossip to make those scenarios even better - but the game ends with one player sends out an invitation to determine how many of the accusations that have been sent around are true.

I think Vicious is also an excellent add-on to pair with another game of your choice, especially since it could be played in between sessions, cooking up drama for the players to hash out in an in-person confrontation.

Hazelwood Abbey, by stevehatherly.

Downton Abbey meets Hillfolk. Players play an aristocratic family in a player-led dramatic game of emotional needs and wants for 4-5 players.

Hazelwood Abbey uses Pelgrane Press' DramaSystem rules engine to create a story of high-stakes interpersonal conflict. During the session, you will create family members with conflicting needs and goals. And then you will find out what happens.

To play this game you’ll need a good understanding of how the DramaSystem works. The author recommends referencing a copy of Hillfolk, although you can also check out the SRD for free to see how you feel about the system.

The DramaSystem is all about relationships, and give and take. Your characters all need something from each-other, something tied to an emotional reward. When interacting with each-other in a dramatic scene, tokens will be gained or spent by following prompts specific to your playbook. In Hazelwood Abbey, your characters are split between the upstairs and downstairs, just like in Downton Abbey. The upstairs playbooks will wrestle with ties to family, tradition, and duty, while the downstairs playbooks commonly struggle with ambition, social inequality, and precious secrets. If you deny another person what they seek, too many times, they may force an emotional concession from you by spending tokens.

I think this is a great example of dramatic tension, and while I suppose Hazelwood Abbey might be slightly later than regency era, it might give you some of what you’re looking for.

Sense and Sensibility, by Armanda.

YOU ARE A DEAD GUY’S SECOND FAMILY IN 18th CENTURY ENGLAND. Your mission is to get one of your sisters to marry well, since you’re all women and can’t live without the favor of a man. You have no rights other than the right to marry and be a mother. In this game, you’ll explore the terrible vicissitudes of British bucolic countryside life and deal with neighbours and city people coming to visit the various families in the area, where gossip and marriage (and love, in the best of cases) are the order of the day.

Since this game is built off of Lasers and Feelings, I’d expect it to also be fairly easy to pick up if you’re familiar with other works in the same system. You have two stats and a number somewhere between 2 to 5 that tells you how good you are at one of those things, and how bad you are at the other.

I think this game is more focused on family relationships than some of the other games on this list, because your entire family’s well-being depends on the success of finding a wealthy match. Battle gossip, defend your honour, and possibly even sabotage your rivals in an attempt to find some security for yourself and your loved ones.

The Season, by Rue.

It's London season and you're in for a ball!

The Season is a GM-less RPG about elevating your status and keeping up your reputation during the fabled Regency Era social season.

This is a competitive RPG that takes place over the course of 10 rounds. Each characters’ goal is the same: to end the game with the highest Reputation. To chip away at your rivals’ reputation, you’ll have to demonstrate your own social graces, spread rumours, or meet gossip with the perfect amount of composure. You just need 2d6 to play, although you’ll probably want a few roll-tables for inspiration if you don’t consider yourself that good at improv.

This is another game that might benefit from being played alongside something bigger, or perhaps using some established lore from another setting.

Teacup Masquerade, by Sam Scribbler.

A one-page cozy social game about getting revenge on your enemies. Inspired by Regency-era romantic dramas such as Bridgerton with a vengeful twist. Create a character, discover your rival's secret, and become the darling of high society.

This is a simple game meant to fit on one page. You have three basic stats, and a gradient scale of success. You gain a random social advantage and a random personal shame, which you’ll want to try to hide as you go about discovering the secrets of your rivals.

There’s not a lot of guidance for this one, which is pretty common for one-page games. It might be a good fit if you have an idea of the kind of story you want to tell, or if you have your own set of home-brew rules that you want to add onto an existing premise.

The Social Season, by Scott Sexton.

In this single page role playing game inspired by the works of Jane Austen, you and your friends play as high society characters navigating the treacherous London social season.

To save your family from ruin, you must land an advantageous marriage proposal by the end of the season. Will you outwit scheming rivals and jealous suitors to make a fortuitous match, or will you become embroiled in scandal and depart London in disgrace?

This is a Honey Heist hack, pulling you between the two extremes of Composure and Scandal. Since it’s built off of a familiar system (to me), I can expect this game to be rather light-hearted, pushing your characters to vacillate between following social graces or deliberately doing something considered… untoward. This is certainly a chance to put on your stuffiest airs, flutter your fans dramatically, and describe your attempt to kiss your beau on the back of their hand.

The London Season, by Stéphanie Dusablon.

The London season of 1874, a perfect time for the aristocracy to advance the marriage prospects of their offsprings, entertain themselves through various social engagements and, naturally, gossip to their heart's content.

We were also taught that once we attained marital bliss, our husband would take ownership of our wealth, property and body. They probably would have passed a law to ensure our mind became theirs as well, had it occured to them that we might actually have one.

Create your young lady, decide if you hope to secure or avoid an engagement this season and carefully navigate 8 fortnights of glamorous events, social engagements and secret messages.

As a solo roleplaying game, The London Season is an examination of the social inequities present in the Regency era, as well as a love letter for a time of secret messages and glamorous events. You’ll mostly be drawing cards to answer questions, receive secret messages, and navigate both welcome and unwelcome engagements, journaling each step of the way. At the end of eight fortnights, your young lady will have either achieved or lost her goal. Whether that goal is marriage or something else is up to you.

Games I’ve Recommended In The Past

Le Bon Ton, by RobotFrancis.

Pride and Extreme Prejudice, by Grant Howitt.

Eyes on the Prize, by ira prince.

#tabletop games #game recommendations #indie ttrpgs #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg #regency

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magicalqueennightmare · 1 year

Text

I Meant You

Sometimes Tony's meddling ends up being a good thing

Drinking games gone right

Warnings: Cursing, mention of kissing and steam (ish) themes

You glanced up from where you'd been laid back across Wanda's legs when Tony walked in whistling. "Uh oh" the downside of the compound when there were no missions or no big event to attend? Tony tended to get bored and a lot of times you all were dragged into it.

"Tony" you warned cautiously but he just smiled "C'mon now sparky we need some fun and I've got just the idea" you groaned under your breath glancing around the room and realizing just why Tony had summoned all of you to the media room "What's the idea?" Nat asked coming to sit next to you and Wanda, curling her legs under her gracefully. "Well I have a few bottles out of my personal collection for us mere mortals and Thor brought some mead from home for the super soldiers and demi gods amongst us"

"You called us all here to drink?" Sam spoke up but Tony shook his head "Not just drink. We're gonna do some team building exercises" you narrowed your eyes "Drinking games" he pointed to you with a smirk "first point goes to sparky for figuring it out!"

You rolled your eyes but honestly? It sounded kind of fun. Hell it wasn't like most of you ever got the chance to have downtime and a lot of you had never had a normal upbringing so why not cut loose a little? Or maybe the appearance of a certain brunette super soldier wandering into the room with Steve and Thor perked your attention.

Bucky had moved into the compound a while back, after Steve and Sam's prompting. Your quarters were on the opposite ends of the same floor. Of course you'd known stories about him, both as the winter soldier from the S.H.I.E.L.D. files and as Bucky from Steve.

You didn't judge him for the winter soldier stories, you knew those codes were far gone out of his head and he was no longer a threat in that way. He'd shied away a lot, only talking if you prompted first and honestly you hadn't thought he liked you at all until one night he'd been plagued with back to back nightmares.

You hadn't been able to sleep so you'd headed for the kitchen that was the middle mark of your floor. Tony had them all strategically lined up, something about ventilation systems or something. You knew that he had the best espresso machines in every kitchen and that the fridge and pantry would be stocked.

You walked into the empty room and asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. if she could access your Playlists. She started playing one and you smiled, humming along with it before moving around the kitchen. You started a cup of espresso then headed for the pantry to see if any of the croissants Tony had brought still remained.

You'd walked out the pantry and nearly dropped the box of croissants because Bucky had spooked you. He moved so quietly and was so damn broad you hadn't been expecting him to be standing in the doorway. "Sorry doll. Didn't mean to scare you"

The small smile that was pulling at his lips made your stomach flip. Damn he was gorgeous, those damn blue eyes made you forget your train of thought for a moment before you recovered "Oh, it's fine Bucky. Did I wake you?"

He looked confused so you motioned to the lights and speakers "I couldn't sleep" he nodded "Yeah me neither" a silence fell so you held up the box in your hand "Ever had chocolate croissants?" He shook his head so you smiled "Ever had espresso?"

He shook his head again so you grinned "So I'll set the machine to make another cup and we'll head to the media room. Tony has like every movie known to man at our fingertips so we might as well take advantage right?" He looked unsure for a second "You sure you want the company?" "Of course! Bucky you're my team mate and I'd consider us friends. Friends hang out so let's hang out" he smiled "sounds good"

Since that night you and Bucky had started getting closer. He let you in on things only Steve knew and a few things Steve didn't. When you had a nightmare he was there to comfort you and vice versa. On missions you always ended up teamed together and any outing the avengers had to attend he'd be close to your side especially after the incident where you'd threatened a reporter for making statements towards him and Natasha about the redroom and hydra.

You'd started to develop feelings for him but damn who could blame you? He was gorgeous and sweet, strong but gentle. When you'd fall asleep against him and wake up in his arms it made your mind wonder to how it would be to truly be in his arms. How did he kiss? How would it feel when he touched you? When he pulled you close?

You knew that was a line that couldn't be crossed, no matter how you felt when he smiled and asked if he could sit with you even as Tony and Sam argued over what game all of you would play. "So what's Stark up to?" You shrugged "He wants to play never have I while Sam wants to play a twisted version of two truths and a lie"

You turned towards him and saw the confusion in his eyes "Bucky, you don't know either of those games do you?" He shook his head so you quickly explained the basics of both games, not only to him but to Steve and Thor as well.

By that time Tony and Sam were through arguing and turned to adress the room "We're playing never have I first if there's no interesting incidents we'll move onto two truths and a lie" "Set up" Sam motioned to the table so everyone grabbed a glass.

You were seated cross legged between Bucky and Nat. So far you'd taken two shots, Bucky had taken one of the mead while Nat was three shots in. Everyone around the table had taken at least one shot.

"Ok here's one" Nat spoke up and when you cut your eyes at her she gave you a wink "Never have I...had feelings for someone younger than me"

Tony took a shot considering he was married to Pepper who was two year younger than him. Wanda took a shot since technically Vision was younger than her. Steve and Thor both took a shot. What surprised you and made your thoughts run rampant was when Bucky gave you a small smile before tipping back a shot himself.

Who did he have feelings for? It couldn't be you no matter if the thought had been fleeting through your head. Could it be Nat? Or maybe Maria or even Sharon.

Of course he'd have feelings for someone, hell he was allowed to date same as the rest of you. No matter Iif the thought of him with someone else made your heart clench.

Bucky noticed how you went quiet at his side. You'd been laughing and joking over the various questions up until that point. Christ, had you figured out he meant you?

Maybe that's what was wrong. You knew he meant you when he took a shot for having feelings for someone younger than him and didn't feel the same.

He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, hell you were one of his closest friends now. When he'd moved into the compound he hadn't been sure anyone would trust him, not that he blamed them. You on the other hand had been one of the first to greet him with a smile.

You were beautiful and smart. You were able to think on your feet during missions and always did the headcount once everyone was back on the jets to ensure no one was left behind. You'd defended him and Natasha alike to the press.

More than one night when neither of you could sleep you'd end up in the media room watching some movie you'd clicked on. He hadn't cared about the movie as much as the company. You always slowed his mind down and help chase the demons out.

The first time you'd curled up into his side he'd been sitting with his arm across the back of the couch. You were sitting hip to hip with him citing that the movie had freaked you out a bit but you refused to not finish it. He hadn't minded you getting closer. The movie was almost finished when he realized your head was leaned over on his shoulder where the metal of his arm met with flesh.

He hadn't been sure if he should wake you or not. As he sat there you snuggled closer to him and despite himself he found a smile working its way onto his face. He'd let his mind wonder what it would be like for you to be in his arms in earnest, to feel your lips against his.

He'd never meant to fall for you, it just sort of happened and now had he inadvertently pushed you away by half admitting his feelings?

You shook yourself from the shock of Bucky admitting he had feelings for someone to clear your throat "Ok here's one, never have I had merchandise of me" you laughed when damn near everyone in the room aside from yourself, Bucky, Wanda and Maria took a shot. "Ok Sparky you got me on that one. My turn. Never have I threw a punch on reporters" you, Nat, Sam and Maria all took shots.

You leaned a little closer to Bucky, trying to get your mind off the question of who he had feelings for. You missed the look Nat shot Sam who spoke up "Never have I had feelings for someone older than me" you leaned up to glare at him before taking a shot. Luckily you weren't the only one, Nat and Maria both took a shot which opened a whole new line of questions.

You avoided Bucky's eyes when he bumped your arm with his. He leaned down next to your ear "Is it Steve?:" you shook your head slightly "Nope" "C'mon now didn't think we had too many secrets any more" you turned to face him, thoughts escaping you at those blue eyes staring back "Yes I have feelings for someone older than me, way older but no it's not Steve"

You felt everyone's eyes on you which made heat rush up your neck. Normally you could handle it but given the amount you'd drank mixed with the fact that Bucky clearly had meant someone else was too much. You downed the shot in front of you before standing up "Excuse me. I've got to use the bathroom" you turned and walked quickly out the room with intentions to hide in your quarters long enough to let the embarrassment pass.

Maybe you could convince Bucky you meant Loki or Sif?

The moment you left the room every set of eyes landed firmly on Bucky "Tin man are you really that dense?" Tony was the first to speak up. Bucky was trying to comprehend what had just happened "What the hell did I do Stark?"

"She means you man!" Sam shoved him when he spoke. "What? No she doesn't" Bucky argued which made Nat stand up and walk over to him "Dammit I know her better than anyone. She's had feelings for you for a while and you've had feelings for her. Man up, go chase her" "and if you're wrong?" He asked so Nat pointed towards Tony "I will let him take out a billboard that says Natasha was wrong for once"

----------

Bucky headed in the direction you'd went knowing you were more than likely in your quarters. The closer he got the clearer he could make out the faint music slipping under the door. It was that band you loved.

He paused for a second before finally knocking. The moment the door opened he saw your eyes widen "Damn I was hoping for Natasha" he shrugged "I can go get her?" He started to walk off but you grabbed his arm, your fingers curling around the cool vibranium of his palm. "Wait, Bucky what did you need?"

He looked down where you were holding his hand and a smile slipped onto his face. "I meant you" the words escaped without any thought behind them but the moment they were out in the air he didn't want to take them back.

----------

You froze, fingers digging into Bucky's hand slightly. He meant you? "Are you saying that to save my feelings because Nat told you I meant you?" He smirked slightly "Actually Nat, Tony and Sam told me you'd meant me but no I'm not saving feelings. I meant you"

You stood there for a second before Bucky moved, his right hand cupping the side of your face "Can I kiss you?" You nodded and he smiled before leaning down to capture your lips with his.

He tasted sweet, the honey of the mead prominent in flavor and on his tongue. You sighed slightly and felt him relax into you as he deepened the kiss. His left hand went to your waist pulling you flush against him even as you were forced to pull away in need of air "Well damn" you breathed out and he smiled "That a good reaction?" You laughed breathlessly "The best. Now please kiss me again"

#bucky x you #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader

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asukaskerian · 8 months

Note

prompt 4 for moshang with the mood "incensed" would be hilarous i imagine

Mythology - Foretold by the gods - moshang

So he might have, maybe, at some point -- some late at night or maybe very early point -- tried to figure out an OC for Mobei-jun to ship w fuck. Dude was so perfect, it was a shame his dump truck ass and sequoia thighs remained unembraced. (Also the whole "he's so mysterious and never opens up and unveils his deep thoughts and tender feelings except for me" fantasy but never mind all that.)

He'd gone exactly as far as 'Meeting: why tf would he notice anyone. Dashing rescue? Why does he need a rescue he's too cool and basically untrappable anyway, what are they rescuing him from socializing with his cousins lmao???' on his notes before giving up on making it realistic. The next scribble was 'cuz i said so ok next'.

There had been no 'next'. His battery had died and when he managed to get home and get his laptop plugged in it was time for another word vomit on the topic of Bing-ge's meat truncheon.

[Secret side-quest: Easter egg! 1/536 discovered. Keep going!][Category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" 1/413]

'System-bro, what the entire fuck!?!' Airplane screeched inside his heart of hearts; ass on the floor (bruising), clothes askew (from sleeping in them!!), and the most gorgeous, terrifying man he'd ever seen staring down at him from the bed they'd crashed into (Mobei-jun first, because unconscious, Airplane later, because idiot) the previous night.

Because he had expected being sneered at; being talked down to; being attacked on sight. Being haughtily ignored, after sufficient groveling at crotch level.

But his most perfect, most unattainable creation, that Himalayan peak made flesh, saying that --

The problem with Airplane was, he didn't trust people. He didn't trust them to share their feelings and decisions with him freely instead of leaving him reeling at yet another swerve of which he was merely collateral damage. He didn't trust them not to lie to themselves, or even know they were lying to themselves, so even if they did tell him what they thought or felt he assumed they were doing the polite 'the real reason is none of your business but telling you to fuck off is rude' thing at best.

So yes, his favorite game from childhood had been to pick someone in the crowd and tell himself stories about their life. This guy is a grandfather of seven and doesn't know the birthday of a single grandkid and his eldest son just pointed it out to him, but not even angrily which is worse because that's how low the bar he failed to clear was, that's why the fancy package and the gloomy expression. That girl just broke up -- she's so angry though -- he was fucking her sister. No wait, her nails are short, it was a girlfriend for sure; she fucked her brother, a double betrayal. It had evolved into telling himself stories about his classmates and his half-siblings and his parents, since they were never ever gonna bother to invite him to take a real glimpse inside, anyway.

He was fully aware that statistically speaking he was probably wrong a lot of the time, but 1. coming up with coherent narratives was satisfying enough to smother the jealousy and loneliness and 2. as far as he was concerned it was true until proved otherwise, which was never.

But a guy who gave him nothing to work with. That was a challenge. That was fascinating.

....

But a guy who greeted him by "You are to be my husband?" with a tone of dismay?!

What the fuck! What the fuck!! What the flying dick-flapping fuck!!!

He was so shocked, he forgot to kowtow.

"You uh. My king?" He hadn't made the guy so above it all that he landed straight back into a a naive ingenue, right? "Just sleeping on the same mattress doesn't -- people don't have to be married to share--"

The muggy air of the inn room went so cold so fast that condensation rolled cold drops down his back.

(The effect didn't last; there was a haze in the air, briefly, and then a suffocating breeze from outside ruined the surprise air-con.)

"You will not speak to me like an idiot child," Mobei-jun-to-be rumbled threateningly, and then ruined the cool by continuing in that wtf vein. "My husband will show respect to his wife or his wife shall reign as a widow."

Holy shit, now Mobei-jun was the wife???!?!??? What? What! Airplane was dead. Again. For good.

He stayed down there sitting on his ass, waiting for the world to make sense. It didn't happen. The man of his masochistic dreams had crossed his arms over his massive bara titties like a barricade and was now sulking up there like an offended wi-- no, he couldn't even think it.

"My -- my king? It's only, ah, your humble servant doesn't... recall... getting married...?"

Eyes as blue as the afterimage of a lightning strike speared him through, metaphorically.

"Not yet. But we must."

He let out a long sigh; and his face didn't twitch when he moved to aggravate his wound, but the way he stilled for a breath was telling. Shang not-yet-Qinghua winced in reflexive sympathy.

"There is a prophecy."

"... Ah?" A prophecy. About his king. That he hadn't put into the story. That he hadn't even scribbled into the margins or thought about. 'System?!'

[Yes, valued User?]

"There is a prophecy for each generation, and most of them don't matter," the ice demon using that shitty inn bed as his throne said with a bitter tone. "But the eleventh ruler of the Northern Desert will be heralded by his foretold spouse; that is how he is confirmed."

"Ohh," Airplane said intelligently and with characteristic eloquence.

"'You will know them by these things," his king quoted sourly, "first, they will heal you; second, share your bed; third, offer their hand, and service, and their soul."

'Their soul! Their soul!! I was offering my sneakiness and maybe my dick, ah?! System!!! Who told you to mess up my creation with made-up prophecies?!'

[The easter egg category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" belongs to the third rung of canon : Word of God.]

But he hadn't told anyone--

But he'd written it down, he remembered now. 'Cuz i said so.'

Oh god. Oh immortals ascended before him. Oh little ancestors in both and either worlds. Someone fix this for him. "My king. Haha. My king, that is -- so vague! So vague?! How can there not be a dozen candidates with criteria so -- so stupid? And if the prophecy is common knowledge then people knew them in advance?! How were you not sabotaged right and left--"

...Oh no. He was gorgeous when he smirked like this, slow and feline, satisfied. My king, so unfair.

"This prince has long since made it a point not to sleep where others may catch him." A delicate pause. "He has also made it a point to return misplaced agents to his most obstinate siblings's chambers at a time his elders may not miss them."

"--Oh. Disqualifying them for trying to disqualify you -- so smart, my king!" For a moment, he had gotten enthused. But then he remembered that they were discussing his sudden non-canon matrimony, and then he started poking it for plot holes. "But -- just anybody can share your bed."

"The language is old, and clear. The prophecy speaks of the only person to ever share this king's bed."

... Hhghhhk.

That stare. So hard. Offended. Those cheekbones. So cutting. That nose, regal; that hair.

"My king," Airplane said as he climbed up to his feet, eyes trained on the floor and his knees and the things spread on the table and anything else at all. "Have you ever thought that the 'sharing a bed' section was metaphorical?"

He met the demon's eyes then, incredulous and angry, buoyant with it. "You haven't even shown me your dick and you think I should be making recompense?! What the fuck! Passing out on the same shitty mattress doesn't mean getting deflowered! I didn't knock you up with a snowball ass egg, why the fuck should I--"

Oh, he was tall. Also wide. Especially wide. Flatten me daddy indeed.

Oh, he was angry.

"It is not. Metaphorical. Though if all you need is to see my body--"

His hand landed on his belt. Shang eventually-Qinghua stopped breathing, body hot and bubbling with too much emotion--

It read like one of his waifu plots, the Joan of Arc types, unconquerable holy virgins except via the pressure of greater good.

A vague scrying over some random-ass kingdom, a little prophecy and welp! Nothing to it, just gotta fuck it out for the marital bed and then never again. At least you getting lawfully reamed has saved Bumfucknowhereistan.

'System. Demerit if I say hell no?'

[The bonus Mobei-jun questline remains optional, and brings User no penalties on opt-out.]

'Great.'

Like hell he was jumping into marriage because he liked some guy's face and didn't want to be bothered by geriatric busybodies tittering over his lack of wedlock. Who was he, his mother?

"I'll pass. Sorry, my king, at least I'm ditching you long before the altar?"

And with a sweep of his hand, he dumped all his things off the table and into his qiankun pouch, and was jumping out the window and doing a sick flip trick on his trusty borrowed blade. Airplane over and out, bro!

Thanks for nothing. Now his spank bank was forever tainted.

Three days later he was still dealing with bursts of anger and anguish and other moronic emotions, which didn't help navigating his miraculous return to the sect ("I was so scared!" lost its impact if he broke a sneery judgmental Shixiong's ankle with a well-placed kick) or the medical peak's nosiness ("Who cares about the bruises, my biggest injury is my blue balls and broken heart, thanks!") or Shen not-quite-Quingqiu's scalpel eyes.

His king's eyes were prettier.

His king was never going to be his king. Optional quest line. Yeah. He vaguely wondered how the System planned to make him betray the sect, then, who for, and then decided it wasn't his problem. Fuck it. He was sure it could do blackout poetry with his notes and pull out some contrived justification that would amount for half as much incentive as Mobei-jun's everything.

His fierce determination, his fearlessness, his skill, his -- his body.

His body that was extremely too visible on Shang in-his-soul-Qinghua's disciple bed, shoulders draped in furs and bountiful meaty muscle on full frontal display.

"I will not," he growled low and quiet, "be discarded by my spouse."

"Hhg."

He had snow leopard rosettes on his flanks in dusky blue, secret patterns never appeared in any cover art Airplane had commissioned.

[Secret side-quest: Easter egg! 2/536 discovered. Keep going!]

... Oh god, it turned out Shang Qinghua was exactly as stupid as Bing-ge's most ice-cold chaste wives. Because 'lie back and think of England?' Yeah, he was going to think of England and that dick.

#svsss #asuka writes #writing meme

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pepsiiwho · 2 months

Text

That a very vivid dream of nothing so have rock Lee fic ideas, might make this a one shot

Originally I was gonna do sm dealing with the prompt “Lee is tasked with locating Naruto (and sasuke, as they are attached at the hip) and “neutralizing” him— preferably in the field and without significant retaliation” because I find the concept of Lee being taken seriously as a ninja and possible machine of incredible, pointed violence, or an expendable tool of the machine that can easily be replaced, either works— to be very very compelling. In this story it would be Lee and probably shikamaru because I think it’s funny to put the apathetic one with the hair’s trigger for a reflex.

But digressing, it would explore Lee’s relationship with being a ninja, an object of violence and warfare. He’s never been anything else and everyone he knows is one as well, but the violence has only been funneled outward to the ‘enemy’ not towards someone from his own home base. Would that stir something in him? (Yes). Would he struggle with the moral guilt? (Yes). Would he complete his mission? (Yes, to the detriment of his psyche).

I want to watch him squirm. Worse, I want to watch him have to go through his ex-gaara to get to Naruto. More feelings come from that.

This version of Lee is stuck to his duty, to his fighting and the personality that is so deeply tied to fighting. He’s formed himself around this identity, this need to prove himself and ‘better’ himself through strength and there’s no natural way to do that without moral discomfort when you’re being used to worsen lives. In this bad end Gai probably died in the war, or whatever (hand waves) and he’s reeling writhing that constant there. He’s obviously aged out the system and works as a remarkable ninja and has money and a support system, or enough of one, but that doesn’t replace gai or fill the hole. Shrugs. I so love my doomed guys

But I’m thinking instead of something so deeply canon divergent I think a small character study on Lee and possible resentments he’d have to his peers and friends and how they interact with him. Making all my favs resentful is like a reward idk. They deserve to feel bitter, even if only fleetingly. Maybe this can come at the hands of Gaara asking something something to the effect of “how are you not mad at me?” And Lee responding “… I think I’m just mad at everyone” and it branching off from there.

(Projection and AU levels of extrapolation incoming) He isn’t allowed the agency to be too mad usually, not even just bc of his own self restraint, he’s an orphaned child with little to himself— he has to keep himself in line and do his best lest he lose his father figure or his teammates or his work or whatever, so on so forth. It’s as much an active thing as it is a trauma response and way for him to preserver. Sigh

My fucking thingie….

#rock lee #gaalee #naruto #the funnies

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bobgasm · 5 months

Text

kingpin ⦾ fourteen

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x ofc!emery young word count: 4074 warnings: mentions of loss, old friends, a revelation,

summary: in which richard floyd’s presence sparks more than a heated argument

thirteen | kingpin | fifteen

A young Emery laughs as Mickey, her best friend, drops his school bag and breaks out into a cartwheel.

“My sisters taught me on the weekend when you couldn’t come over,” he tells her proudly, showcasing a toothy grin. “Maybe they can teach you too sometime!”

“That would be so cool!” Emery replies, grabbing his backpack and handing it towards him. “What’s it called again?”

“A cartwheel.”

They chatter idly as they navigate the streets from their school to Flo’s Diner where Emery’s mom works. By the time they arrive, they’re ready for a snack and Betty, Emery’s mom, greets them with a wave. They settle into a booth and pull out their sheets of homework while Emery hands Mickey a pencil.

“Hey you two,” Betty says warmly, giving them both a hug. “I’ve just asked Reg if he can whip you both up a sandwich.”

“Thanks Mrs Young!”

“Thanks mom.” Emery grins. “Mickey showed me how his sisters taught him how to cartwheel over the weekend. Can I learn too?”

“Of course, bubby,” Betty assures her. “You’ll have to ask them nicely.”

“Nah, they’ll probably just teach you anyway,” Mickey interjects. Betty fondly ruffles his hair. “Did my mom say what time she’ll get us tonight?”

“Six o’clock, on the dot. Make sure you both help her with the dishes tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” they chime together.

“How much homework did Mrs Lofroth give you today?”

“Some spelling and maths,” Emery replies. “But I finished my math homework at school.”

“And we’re learning about Rome, so we have to build a panther over the weekend,” Mickey adds.

“Parthenon,” Emery corrects. “Mickey can’t remember what it’s called.”

Emery hadn’t slept well. The last 40-odd hours had been full on, to say the least. Being asked questions about her mom and her loyalty…Emery wasn’t surprised that when she’d closed her eyes, she’d dreamt about her mom. Or her childhood best friend.

It had been a much simpler time then. Mickey always had some crazy story or new trick he wanted to teach Emery. She’d been thinking about him a lot lately â€“ mostly, what the hell happened to him and his family. They’d been such an important part of her life, and for them to just disappear made her heart sink.

She was desperate for some answers; something from her past to keep her grounded now that times were changing. Now that she’d been brought in, to an extent. She’d chosen her job and her loyalty to the Floyd’s. Whether that was a smart decision was yet to be decided.

Either way, she’d made her bed. Now she had to lie in it too.

She was at work early after a morning training session at Fitch’s. Payback, Reuben, she wasn’t too sure what to call him, was kind enough to offer his help during her session. She really only wanted to hit something, so he made it productive. Giving her a few drills and hit combos to practice. Emery was grateful for his help, and thanked him once again after taking a quick shower.

At work, she made herself some coffee and started making a dent in a few invoices that had come in. She knew her day was mostly going to be taken up with entering everyone’s hours into the payroll system so she could organise them being paid on time, but she didn’t want any bills to slip through the cracks. Making sure she checked over everything before starting on the wages.

Emery enjoyed her job. She was thorough and careful to dot all her i’s and cross all her t’s. She was able to reach out to suppliers who hadn’t sent all their invoices that correlated to ones listed on the statements to ensure prompt payments. She ran regular reports to make sure the accounts were balanced and reconciled any differences she needed to.

Her work was the only sense of normalcy she felt that she still had. The tedious number crunching was like a safety blanket; she knew it would always be there and comfort her. She could control 90% of what she normally did, and being thrown in the deep end of keeping the Floyd's books wasn’t going to be something she’d take lightly. It was a whole new ballgame she had to learn and keep track of, and that was going to take time. If she didn’t perform, or if things didn’t look right, she was scared about what would happen to her.

Scared that they would go after her sister.

She took a break when there was a knock on her door, looking up from her screens to see Bob standing in the doorway.

“Yes?”

“Good morning,” he replied casually.

Emery sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Is it still morning?” Glancing at the bottom corner of her screen, the time reflected Bob’s greeting. It was, in fact, still morning for another two minutes.

“Afraid so,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as if he wanted to smile. “Callie said you got here before she did this morning.”

Emery nodded. “Couldn’t sleep,” she replied, watching him take a seat opposite her desk. “Thought I’d go to Fitch’s but, as it turns out, hitting something only made me more mad. So I gave up and came in early. Who’s Callie?”

Bob chuckled softly, crossing his left ankle over his right knee. “Halo,” he supplied.

“Right, naturally. Did you need something?”

Bob shuffled slightly in his chair. “As you know, my father’s back in town and called a meeting. Everyone who knows anything about what we do will be there. Your presence is required.” Emery bit the tip of her tongue to stop herself from saying what she wanted to say. “Say what you’re thinking.”

“You told me about this yesterday,” she reminded him, watching him nod slightly in acknowledgement. Clearly? she wasn’t the only one in her head today. “My presence is required,” she repeated. “You don’t want me there?”

“No,” he told her honestly. “Not yet, anyway. I know I can trust Coyote and a few others, but most of the people at this meeting are…seasoned contractors. Some of the most terrifying people I’ve ever met, but when I get scared, I go quiet and take everything in. What do you do when you’re scared?”

“Say that I’ll dig my own grave to save you the trouble,” she confessed sheepishly.

Bob smiled like that was exactly what he’d been hoping to hear. It made Emery feel sick. “You can’t do that in this meeting.”

Emery swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, nodding slightly. “Is this meeting just an interrogation for me?”

“No,” Bob replied. “We’ll be discussing the best case of action for this Decker situation. I’ve been handling it so far, but my father still sits at the head of the table.”

“Morgan said things run better with you in charge,” Emery noted, watching his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise at the admission.

“We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things,” Bob replied hesitantly. Emery could tell he was carefully choosing his words. Making sure he didn’t say the wrong thing, or overshare. “I just…wanted to give you a heads up.”

Emery swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”

Emery was early to the meeting. Bob hadn’t specified a time, but she’d seen unknown people walking past her office. Some of them had paused to see who was sitting in Decker’s chair, while others headed straight for the board room. She signed out of her computer and locked her office before joining a few people in the room.

Bob was engaged in conversation with a man Emery noted was in police uniform, which made her wonder just how far the Floyd’s reach was. Whatever he was talking to the officer about was clearly not meant for anyone else’s ears, so she took a seat beside the only other person in the room she knew â€“ Coyote. He gave her a tense nod as she settled in beside him.

“Don’t be nervous,” he told her. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m worried about saying the wrong thing,” she replied, chewing nervously on her bottom lip while picking at the skin around her fingernails.

“You won’t,” he assured her. “You’re a new face here. People will be curious to see if you can hold your own. If you get too mouthy, I’ll start talking over you. If you hear me, you zip it, alright?”

“Yeah.” She swallowed thickly. “Thanks, Coyote.”

As more men, and a few women filled the room, Emery tried to memorise faces. She realised she hardly knew anyone, aside from Coyote, Halo, Payback and Bob. Of course, her realtor had shown up, Penny, as well as her landlord, Heather. Emery now felt stupid for having accepted Bob’s help to find an apartment, because she was living amongst, and working for, the mob.

Emery watched Heather give Bob a hug and fuss with his hair. That kind of familiarity reminded her of her own mother, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She tried to pry her eyes away, feeling like she was invading by watching them interact. Her gaze settling upon the cop who was busy talking to Payback. There was something about himâ€¦she couldn’t figure out what exactly.

“Who’s the cop?” She asked Coyote.

“Fanboy,” he supplied. “Poked around a bit much. Bob took a liking to him. Found some dirt on him. Now he’s one of us.”

Emery nodded at the information. “He have a real name?”

“Sure he does,” Coyote replied with a chuckle. “No one here calls him by it, though.”

“Right, because the nickname shtick isn’t a dead giveaway that your organisation is different,” Emery replied, sarcasm laced throughout her tone.

“Our organisation.”

“That’s exactly what I was telling you not to do,” Bob commented, making both her and Coyote turn to face him. “Bite your tongue.”

“At this rate, I’ll bite it off before this meeting is over,” she told him. “Sorry, that’s the last time. Just needed to get it out of my system.”

He gave her an understanding smile, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Just breathe. You’ll be fine.”

His words brought her some comfort, but not much. She took a shaky breath as he took the seat Coyote vacated beside her, opting to stand behind them instead. Emery figured he usually stood in these kinds of meetings â€“ chairs were sparse and those who sat seemed to hold an air of importance. It made her want to stand.

Sensing her thoughts, Bob reached out and placed his hand over hers, slightly shaking his head to warn against it. Silence slowly washed over everyone as heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Bob patted her hand reassuringly as the door swung open, revealing a large, pot-bellied man. His size was intimidating, and Bob’s hand had been withdrawn. He sat up a little straighter and Emery copied his movements, watching the man walk towards the free chair in front of his wife whom he failed to acknowledge.

“Is this everyone?”

Emery stilled at his words, his voice familiar. She knew him â€“ not really. She knew of him.

“Everyone stateside,” Bob replied. He received a grunt in response which only made Emery shift slightly as a shiver worked its way up her spine.

Emery stilled as his gaze moved from Bob to her. She did her best to hold his eye, but she remembered him. He’d been younger back then, all muscle instead of his current stature. She felt like he was looking through her, rather than at her.

“I called this meeting because we have reason to believe Dominic Decker is working with the Russians. You’re the one who discovered that he was stealing from me, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied formally.

“How much?”

“Five million so far.”

“You think there’s more?”

“He’s stolen from the mob,” she pointed out. “He’s going to die either way. Why would he stop there?”

Despite the murmurs of agreement, Bob shuffled beside her, a silent warning to bite her tongue. Emery was determined to hold her ground. She believed her statement to be true…if there were any paper records that predated the use of their current payroll system, she knew they’d find more evidence.

He grunted in response. “Hangman has tracked Decker down in Ecuador. He was seen with Sergei Popov. We used to buy guns from Popov over thirty years ago.”

“Hangman and Rooster have heard chatter that Decker wants to hire a gun to kill Richard. My best guess is that the Russians will want to see the job through themselves,” Bob added. “It’s likely they won’t stop with Richard.”

“Until we know more, nobody travels alone. Popov will stop at nothing to exterminate us. This will be the last meeting we hold together until this mess is cleaned up. The less we’re all in the same place, the harder it will be for them to take us out.”

Men started talking over one another, trying to discuss the next steps.

“He wants you dead,” an older man with dark hair by Richard’s side pointed out. His words brought silence across the room. “I’m assuming you and Heather will need a security detail?”

“The farm has better vantage points. We’d be able to see them coming if they came to take you out,” a white haired man commented.

“We’re staying in the city,” Richard said with finality. “We’ve waged wars before and not once have I had to leave my home.”

“Mav and Ice are right though,” Bob replied, drawing everyone’s attention toward him. “We can protect the farm, we can’t protect a townhouse. Two of our best shooters are chasing Decker and trying to find out exactly what the hit on you includes. Given that it’s your life that’s been threatened, and by that same token, my mom’s, you need to get underground. You take your most trusted men and you disappear. If I don’t know where you are, then Decker can’t use me to get to you.”

Emery wanted to pay attention as Richard started speaking again. She wanted to know what was going on, but he struck a nerve with her. Something about him didn’t sit right. Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in the many faces of everyone else present.

Every time she tried to move past the cop, she got stuck. Taking in his features, wondering why he also looked familiar. He was young â€“ too young to have been the officer who’d told her that her mom had died. She could’ve sworn he’d been there that night, but he couldn’t have been older than 25. It would’ve made him…holy shit.

It would’ve made him about ten. Three months older than Emery, if she remembered correctly.

“Betsy, if you can’t pay attention and answer my questions, I have no need for you!” Richard boomed.

Right, Emery thought. Probably should’ve focused on listening a bit better.

She swallowed thickly as she rose to her feet, placing her hands on the table in front of her as she stared Richard down. “I remember you, you know?” She told him. “You owned the diner where my mom worked before she was killed. Isn’t that right, Coyote?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came Coyote’s response.

Emery didn’t turn to look at him. She was seething and wanted Richard to know just how pissed she was. “My name is Emery, not Betsy. And my mom’s name was Betty, but you didn’t care enough to try and learn it, let alone remember it. You’re a disgrace. My mother was killed in your diner, and if I were to wager a guess, she came to the same conclusion that I did, she works for the mob.”

The room was silent as everyone stared between Emery and Richard. She knew she should have done what Bob said and kept her mouth shut, but he stayed quiet beside her. She didn’t know if he was brave or a coward for doing so, but she couldn’t care less.

A slimy grin took hold of Richard’s mouth, his eyes dark as he stared at her. She wanted to run. Wanted to hide. Her stomach in knots, she felt sick, but she held her ground.

“Yes, a shame, really. That robbery,” he said, a chill rippling through Emery’s body. She hated how he had the power to cause such a reaction with only his words. She hated that she flinched. Hated that she still felt like that timid nine year old in the diner.

“Emery,” Bob’s tone was low, a warning. “Sit down.”

She disregarded his comment, turning to look back at the cop. Mickey. Her childhood best friend. He looked slightly pained by her outburst, the revelation. Familiar brown eyes pleading with her to stop talking, jaw set hard.

Emery didn’t sit back down. She did probably the smartest thing she could’ve done, and that was leave. Even though not a single word was spoken, she knew Bob would have something to say when she finally faced the music. For now, though, she needed to be alone. It was the only way she wouldn’t get herself into more trouble.

She locked herself in her office, kicking her heels off and freeing her hair from its clip. She’d taken it from the bathroom at home – it was Nat’s. She thought it’d make her feel more put together. It didn’t.

With a sigh, she roughly ran her hands through her hair, shaking it out as she sat down in one of the comfy chairs. Her breathing was deep, purposeful. An attempt to calm herself down after doing the one thing she’d promised she wouldn’t do – run her mouth.

Fuck this, she thought. Richard’s comment had pissed her off. Pieces of the puzzle slowly started to form as she went off on her tangent, and then he’d sent her over the edge. It was clearly more than a robbery, like she’d thought for the last decade and a half. Maybe she hadn’t been told the full story because she was a kid, but either way, she wanted to know everything.

She wanted the police report that Coyote had scraped together for her background check. She wanted to ask Mickey if he could dig some more, but she was kind of mad at him too.

He stood there silently, but she saw recognition in his eyes. Desperation. They needed to talk, but she couldn’t do that in the office. She knew better than to get his number and talk over the phone, and her apartment was off limits. Bob said he hadn’t had time to bug the place, but she didn’t want to take any chances. If Heather saw Mickey leaving, she’d likely tell Bob.

Emery didn’t have any safe space away from the Floyd’s. She doubted that Mickey would either.

She waited, wondering who was going to enter her office first. Watching people through the frosted glass of her office door as they retreated down the hall. The meeting clearly over…for now.

Bob didn’t knock as he opened the door, “My office,” he told her. Emery followed him out into the hallway and into his own office where Coyote, Halo and Fanboy all waited patiently.

Mickey stood to the side awkwardly as Emery gave him a once over. Bob closed the office door behind her, accepting the drink of dark, golden liquor that Coyote handed him and taking a sip.

“Emery?” Coyote asked, tilting the bottle in her direction. She nodded.

“How badly did I fuck up?” She asked, not addressing anyone in particular, but keeping her eyes on Bob for any sign that his mask would slip. She hated when he was hard to read, stoic almost. This way, she had no way to gauge off his facial expressions.

He made himself comfortable behind his desk, gesturing to everyone else to take a seat. She settled into a chair beside Halo, swirling the liquor around the sides of the glass that Coyote handed to her. Unable to lift her eyes to meet anyone else’s, but mostly to avoid staring at Bob. He was always staring at her, she found. It made her squirm, but she didn’t hate it.

“Richard can’t fault that you’re doing an impeccable job tidying up Decker’s mess,” Bob started.

“Why don’t you call him ‘dad?’” Emery asked. When she finally looked up at him, he seemed amused by the question. “It’s always Richard, never dad. Just an observation.”

“He was never much of a father,” he replied, putting an end to her conversation before it strayed too far. “He’s appreciative of the work you’ve done and will continue to do.”

Emery sensed there was a ‘but’ coming.

“But,” bingo. “He never wants to see you again.” The feeling’s mutual. “I believe the way he put it went something like, ‘if you can’t put a muzzle on that bitch I will bury her next to her whore mother.’”

Emery’s gaze burned through Bob and he had the decency to look ashamed to have even repeated what was said to him.

“What were you thinking?” He asked her.

“He called me Betsy, just like he did to my mom. It was dismissive and ignorant, and I couldn’t stop myself from telling him as much. He’s a bully.”

“He’s a fucking Don, Emery. You don’t challenge him unless you want to meet your end a lot sooner than God intended.”

“Don’t sit there and preach to me like you didn’t suggest I dig my own grave on fucking Monday. It’s Wednesday, Robert, in case you forgot. I’ve known about this whole organisation for less than 72 hours. How the fuck would I have known you don’t challenge a Don? What the fuck is a Don? Shouldn’t he have a cooler nickname like Coyote, or Halo?”

She deliberately didn’t mention Fanboy. She didn’t want to talk about Mickey, or give him any ideas his nickname was cool.

“Until he’s dead, he’s in charge,” Bob stated.

“Maybe we should just let Decker kill him, hm? All those in favour?”

Emery raised her hand, but knew no one was stupid enough to challenge Bob like she was doing. She knew better than to look around for support. To him, it looked like he’d forgotten there were more people around. He looked at her with a fire of his own shining in his eyes and an upturned lip. She’d seen a similar look on his father’s face earlier, but for some reason it didn’t come across as creepy. It was slightlyâ€¦no, don’t go there, Emery.

“When he dies, you’re in charge, right?” She continued.

“Enough, Emery,” he warned her.

“Why, is your office bugged too?”

“Your office isn’t bugged,” Bob told her.

“Did you have Coyote remove them?”

“Yes, but we’re getting off topic,” he said, the smile soon fading from his face. “You made quite the impression on everyone.”

She stared at him blankly, slowly blinking and she waited for him to continue. It was Halo who broke the silence.

“Are you left, there was a discussion about the diner. About your mother,” she said. “And the name of the account Decker has been channeling funds to.”

“Let me guess, you think the B-Y in the account name stands for Betty Young,” Emery said, meeting her eyes. “I wish I could deny it, but I have no idea if she even knew him.”

“Do you think it’s possible they were connected in some way?” Coyote asked.

Emery thought back as hard as she could. She didn’t remember much of her childhood, aside from the moments she felt the happiest. There was that one day that shadowed the rest, obviously. Thinking back about every time she was at the diner with her mother, trying to remember the faces of the customers and wondering why Dion stood out so much.

“Do you have that picture of Decker I saw the other day?” Emery asked Bob. “Or one where he was maybe twenty years younger?”

“What are you thinking, Emery?” Mickey asked as Bob logged into his emails and found the photo she’d seen yesterday morning.

Emery turned the phone to face Mickey. “Imagine him twenty years younger. Slight salt and pepper beard. Friendly smile, always said ‘hi’ to us in the diner.”

Mickey’s jaw tensed as he looked at Emery over the top of the phone. “Dion?”

Emery swallowed the contents of her glass. “Dion.”

author’s note: how y’all doing? i know @yuckosworld caught how the FBY account name could be For Betty Young, but did anyone else have their suspicions?

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x ofc #bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x ofc #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert bob floyd fanfic #robert bob floyd fanfiction #mob!au #mob!bob floyd

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writeforfandoms · 1 year

Note

Follower celebration ask!

Prompt: response to I love you is “I love me too”

Character: Soap (because he’s a loveable dumbfuck 🤣)

Also I feel like he’d think it was a joke for a second, hence “I love me too” and then he’d realize they were serious and chase after them lol

Hee hee, this one was fun! I didn't exactly follow what you had in mind but this scenario made me cackle like a madman. So!

Warnings: Drinking, tipsy reader and Soap, misunderstandings.

Nights out with the two boys were always something else. You couldn't actually keep up with them in terms of drinking, and had long since given up on that. Instead you stayed comfortably tipsy, watching Gaz and Soap go round for round yet again.

"I am not carrying either of you back to base," you reminded them, grinning, watching as Gaz nearly overbalanced and tipped off his stool.

"Won't need to be carried," Gaz muttered, eyeing the bottom of his beer like he was debating getting another. "New round, yeah?" And he hopped off his stool and headed up to the bar.

You giggled at the look on Soap's face. His hair was mussed from the day, eyes still bright despite the amount of alcohol he had in his system. In short, he was still gorgeous.

"Wha's tha look for?" He blinked at you, slow and mostly focused.

"Nothing, nothing." You attempted to wave him off. You were not drunk enough to think telling him was a good idea.

"Tell me," he wheedled, leaning close to you and somehow not falling off his stool.

You huffed at him, torn between amusement and exasperation. "Just... thinking. You're having fun."

"Aye," the scot agreed slowly, blinking at you again. "Wi' my best mates, aye?"

You warmed at that. It wasn't quite the way you wanted him to think of you, but it was close enough. "Aye."

He grinned and reached over, probably aiming for your hair but missing and nearly poking you in the eye instead. You swatted his hand away, laughing, and probably would have devolved into further tussling had Gaz not come back with the next round.

"What are we drinking to this time?" Gaz asked, passing the beers out.

"Best mates!" Soap crowed immediately, hand steady as he picked up his drink.

"I'll drink to that." You clinked your glass against his and then Gaz's. Because clearly you had the brains tonight, you did not chug your drink, like the two idiots in front of you did.

Instead you sipped your drink and watched the two of them chat, telling embellished stories of past missions with grand motions and exaggerated sound effects (mostly from Soap). It was fun. And carefree.

And really cemented just how much you loved the Scottish idiot in front of you.

Gaz called it a night first, waving to you both as he made his way out. You opted to stay with Soap and make sure he got back okay.

"What's on yer mind?" Soap leaned in closer to you, elbow propped on the table.

"Life stuff," you answered, dry as dust, and laughed at the face he made.

"Aw, c'mon," he whined. "Tell me!"

You shook your head with a smile. "Nah. Just. Thinking how much I love you."

"Aye?" He blinked at you and then nodded wisely. "I love me, too." He quickly devolved into snickering.

Your heart ached but you smiled through it. "'Course you do," you agreed. "Come on. Time to head back, before it gets any later. Or Price will have both our heads."

He grumbled and groaned but gave in. You both paid your tabs and then headed back, stumbling together and giggling probably too loudly for the time of night. But you made it back fine and went your separate ways to go sleep.

And you figured that was the last of it.

Until Soap dropped down across from you at lunch time, a strange look on his face that you'd never seen before. "So," he started, smug and amused and all kinds of things. "Ye love me, do ye...?"

You stopped, wide-eyed, feeling like the kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "Um?" That was really more of a squeak than an actual word.

"I remember," he said, leaning in closer, eyes so blue and so bright. "Did ye mean it?"

"Would I have said it otherwise?" You shook your head, pushing your tray away. "You were drunk, I think you're misremembering."

"Ah'm no'." Faster than you expected, his hand whipped out to grab yours. "I remember, see, 'cause I love you too."

You stopped dead,s taring at him, eyes wide. "You... do?"

"Mmhm. Have for ages." His smile turned bashful, almost. "Yer stuck with me now, darlin'."

Somehow, as your smile stretched your lips so wide it hurt, you didn't mind one bit.

#follower celebration #2k celebration #johnny soap mactavish x reader #gn!reader

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lou-struck · 2 years

Text

The UnBirthday Boy

Kiyoomi Sakusa x reader

~While at dinner with your boyfriend and a few of his teammates, Kiyoomi becomes victim to a classic prank.

WC: 1.5k

~I’ve had this prompt on my Google Doc for a while now and since it’s kinda birthday themed it would work well for today!

Kiyoomi Sakusa likes keeping you close when the two of you go out, you make him feel way more comfortable going to places that may not be the cleanest.

But now as you and a few of his teammates are waiting for your meal at some Western themed restaurant Atsumu found on Instagram, your boyfriend is so close to you you can feel the light brushing of his long eyelashes on your skin as he tries to whisper in your ear without catching the attention of the others.

“We could’ve gone somewhere else,” he murmurs, watching Hinata, Bakuto, and Atsumu try to balance their spoons on the tips of their noses. He grimaces, turning his gaze back to you. “Alone.”

“It’s not too bad, Omi.” you whisper back, not even trying to hide the amused smile on your face at their antics. “They are pretty entertaining to watch.”

“But they are going to eat with those spoons.” he grimaces, his knuckles turning white around the cloth napkin he is clutching. “Bokuto’s has fallen on the floor twice already.”

“Hey~ What are you Lovebirds whispering about over there, Omi Omi?” Atsumu says, shooting you a playful wink. The motion makes the metal spoon balanced on the bridge of his nose slip off and clatter to the floor.

“Does this mean I won?” the ginger says excitedly, removing the spoon from his nose and placing it next to his other cutlery. You don't need to look at your boyfriend to know he has that disgusted look on his face. Patting his hand gently you do your best to comfort him knowing that the hunger is only making him more irritable.

“No,” Kotaro Bokuto says determinedly, picking up his spoon with one of his massive hands, “let’s go again, I won’t lose this time.”

“Yer on,” Atsumu grins reaching over towards Kiyoomi’s untouched spoon.

“Touch my spoon, and you lose your hand Miya,” he mutters lowly. The threat coming through loud as day for the setter who backs up raising his hand in the air in surrender.

“Omi is just a bit hungry, Tsumu,” you say towards the blonde who nods and reaches for his fallen spoon.

“Aren't you hungry y/n,” he asks softly, looking at you with loving-kindness in his eyes.

You nod, “just a bit, but I wasn't the one who had practice before this.” you admit now becoming more aware of the hunger that has robbed your usually chatty table of conversion.

Thankfully, before you have to wait much longer, your Waitress returns, bringing by your food, a refill of your drinks, and a few more spoons for the childish pro athletes to eat with.

“Good, I have never been so hungry in my life,” Shoyo says, inhaling the savory steam coming off of his meal.

“You said that yesterday,” you tease hearing a light chuckle come from your boyfriend who is already cutting into his dish.

Once everyone gets a few bites of food in your system, the hangry tension at the table seems to dissipate and the fun banter the group usually has takes its place. Even your stoic boyfriend doesn't seem to notice his friends are chewing with their mouths open as they try and finish each other's stories about how practice had gone earlier that day.

The biggest story being that Meian accidentally hit a visiting sports reporter with one of his powerful serves, giving the poor man a concussion. The happy twinkle in his eyes and the small smile on the curve of his lips makes you feel as if you are falling in love with your boyfriend all over again.

Even through his hunger, his table manners are practically princely. Not inhaling his food like its oxygen, and really trying to taste what made his friend want to try this place so badly. Just out of the corner of your eye, you see Atsumu trying to put on his best poker face as he pulls aside your waitress. Pointing to your Boyfriend and whispering something as the others snicker.

“You have a little something by your lip,” your boyfriend says, turning his gaze toward you and placing your attention solely on him.

“Huh?” you murmur dumbly swiping the back of your hand across your mouth to try and wipe away whatever it was that was stuck to your skin. “Did I get it?”

“Not even close,” he snorts picking up his napkin. “Let me get it.” Gently he tilts your chin up towards the light and wipes away that little speck with his other hand. The precision he uses to dab at the dot sends butterflies in your stomach as you are enraptured by his features.

“Got it,” he whispers, placing the cloth back onto the table still not tearing his gaze from yours. You miss the little smirk on his lips that would’ve told you that there was nothing on your face at all and he made it up to get your attention.

“Omi-san,” Hinata calls from across the table. The devilish grin on his face looks misplaced on someone so innocently cheerful. “We have a little surprise for you.”

“That’s right, Omi Omi,” Atsumu grins, leaning back in his seat. “Since it’s such a special day for ya?”

Looking over to Kiyoomi he looks painfully confused as to what his teammates are talking about. “What are you guys going on abo-”

The sound of banging drums and clapping hands cut him off as he turns his head towards the sound with wide eyes.

The entire waitstaff is behind him, with big smiles as the one in front carries a large slice of cake with a little lit candle sticking out of it. Oh no.

“We heard it’s yer Birthday.” one drawls looking down at your horrified boyfriend with a too-large as all the other tables turn their attention to him.

With the cake slid in front of him you feel his hand grab ahold of yours for support. Once someone decides to tell a restaurant it’s their birthday, the only thing one can do is to just sit down and accept the inevitable birthday song.

“But wait, aren't you missing something,” Kotato says, his owlish eyes alight with mischief as he grins.

“We wouldn't want to forget this.” The Waitress laughs, pulling out a comically large bright pink bedazzled birthday cowboy hat. Plopping it in all its feathered glory onto his beautiful dark curls. Saksua’s shoulders tense as the restaurant sings some variation of the birthday song, with Atsumu, Shoyo, and Kotaro singing the loudest of all.

When the song ends, the restaurant erupts in cheers as the waitstaff leaves your table to get back to work. The obnoxious hat, a few dozen pictures, and the cake are the only reminders of the prank the trio had just pulled.

“Happy Birthday Omi,” you tease, picking the candle out of the desert and giving him a little smile trying to relieve the tension in his broad shoulders.

“C-can you please get this off of me,” he says looking up at you desperately. Nodding you pull it off feeling the crunch of craft glue on leather as you place it far away from your boyfriend who must be thinking about how many other people have worn that hat over the years. Poor guy.

“Are you okay Omi, I know that was a lot to have to deal with,” you ask.

“I’ll have to shower when we get home, I still feel like the hat is stuck on my head.” he sighs looking at you thankfully. “But thank you for thinking of me. I know it's a bit odd I get so grossed out like that.”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” you say softly, noticing that the others are still going through all the pictures that have been taken. Not paying attention to your conversation at all. “You are wonderful Omi, and I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he murmurs affectionately. You fix a few of his curls that were flattened by the hat wondering what he is going to do to the three little jokesters at the table.

“Ha, that was great Omi Omi.” Atsumu cackles, holding his stomach from laughing so hard. “We really got ya didn't we?”

He looks at his friends, and then at you with a serious expression. But then, he relaxes and shows something close to a smile. “I guess you guys did get me pretty good.” he sighs. “But if you ever pull something like that again I’ll kill you.”

His bluntness pulls a few nervous chuckles from his friends but they soon die out as they notice the free Birthday Dessert that your boyfriend was given. They reach for a fork only to have their hands swatted away by Kiyoomi.

“What do you think you are doing? It’s my unbirthday after all.” he jokes, sliding the cake and the forks between the two of you to share.

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