S T R A Y
Taking in strays is, all in all, an understandable vice. The dips in between their ribs, those large and forlorn eyes, they can help you forget the claws and the teeth and the danger lurking beneath fur. But the habit's a knife edge; your efforts may not be rewarded with kindness (animal instincts aren't discretionary) and you may get bit despite what you've overlooked. A stray doesn't care about pity. All it can know is survival.
These warnings apply to strays of the more human(oid) sort, too.
But what may even more perilous with this type than any drawn blood is what you can get when they grow to trust you. You can earn their undying loyalty...or their love. Either from such a wild thing is a precarious path to go down, if you allow yourself to do it.
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- ғɪɴᴅɪɴɢ — Who's that? They're no ordinary passersby! Were they in an accident? Are they foreign? ...should you approach them?
- ʀᴀɪɴ, ʀᴀɪɴ, ɢᴏ ᴀᴡᴀʏ — The elements make this night no time to sleep out of doors.
- ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ — Cuts, broken bones, injuries all of sorts...you have to stitch them back up, then make sure they don't get any
- ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ — It's all you can do to show gratitude to the person who took you in. Fix them a meal, care for their house, whatever you can do once you're able.
- ʙᴀᴅ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ — FUCK THIS PERSON AND FUCK THEIR COUCH. You didn't ask to be brought here. Let them clean up after you, you don't even care.
- ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴍ ɪ? — How you got into this situation is a mystery. Even more of a mystery is your identity, and why the person you were would be so displaced.
- sᴇʟғʟᴇssɴᴇss —
- ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ — If you've been injured badly enough or can't remember all too well, you might have to relearn a good deal. Luckily, you have a helping hand.
- sᴄᴀʀs — Scars from the encounter that lead you here or scars from prior, you don't want them to see either. You still have your secrets to keep.
- sᴛᴜʙʙᴏʀɴ — Ugh, your house guest is so stubborn! They always get up when they should be resting, have the worst habits, and completely disrespect your home! You'll get to them, one way or another. Or you'll throw them out. You don't want to, but you will.
- ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ — Bad memories or nightmares wreck you; your host and nurse comes to your side unexpectedly.
- ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄʟᴀsʜ — The person who's taken you in is from a different culture or lifestyle than you, and adapting is harder than you thought.
- ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ — Think learning about a new culture is hard? Try being a different species. Can you keep your little eccentricities at bay for the good of your station?
- ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ — Now that your emotions towards your caretaker/host/jailer are softening, you're finding yourself unusually jealous of those in their life who were close to them before.
- ɴᴇᴡ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛɪᴇs — You never thought you'd have fun after all that's happened, yet such simple gestures as a picnic or a movie make all the difference.
- ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ — You love them, this person who's taken you in or this person you've found. It's not a pity or a thankfulness, it's love, and you know that now. What you choose to do with this information is
- ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ — Suddenly, the person who's been so nice to you finds out that the two of you have a history. You killed their loved ones or caused something terrible. How can they forgive you?
- ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ — So much has been done for you. The least you can do in return for the one who helped you at your lowest is make sure they never have such a low point.
- ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢ — Anyone in the way of getting to you will be destroyed, and that includes the person you're staying with.
- ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ — You've been given a home, maybe which you've never had before. You don't want to leave.
- ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ — Not only are you living with them, but you're starting a proper life with them.
- ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟ — All secrets are laid out on the table. You've decided to tell about your past and what lead you here.
- ʀᴇᴠᴜʟsɪᴏɴ — What you've done and who you are is so heinous, they want nothing more to do. You're to leave their home and leave them alone.
- ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ — It doesn't matter what they've done. You've opened your home and your heart to them, and nothing's changed.
- ᴘᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ — All things must come to an end. No matter what you feel for each other, it's time to leave. Hopefully, you'll see each other again.
- ʜᴀᴘᴘɪʟʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ — Come what may, you've decided to stay at your new home with the person you love. Now, it's safe enough to do so.
- ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ
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bakerstreet2023-04-30 10:24 am
Red Hood | Titans
alhaitham | genshin
Wanda Maximoff | MCU | OTA
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[Wanda remembers everything, when she opens her eyes. The rage, the desperation - the unceasing hunger to find the family that she lost when she restored Westview to a normal town in New Jersey. She remembers chasing a teenager through the multiverse in order to steal her powers; she remembers confronting Strange and Wong, and the attack she laid on Kamar-Taj.
She aches as she picks herself up, stretching. She wonders how she survived burying herself under a mountain. Then again, she supposes, stranger things have happened.
She glances around her, trying to get her bearings. She seems to be standing on some sort of farm, out in the middle of nowhere. There's an irony to this, she knows, but, also, something about this particular farm seems familiar.
She glances down and notices that she's still dressed as the Scarlet Witch, though her clothes are as torn and tattered as the rest of her. She sees bruises of various shapes and colors from the spaces in between the rips in fabric.
Wanda decides she might as well try to figure out where she is, and hope that no one actually recognizes her. She moves slowly and carefully, making her way to the front porch. She doesn't know if she has enough energy to make a quick escape if this is all somehow a trap, but she doesn't mind. She doesn't deserve to make a clean getaway, all things considered.
When she reaches the door, she knocks. And she waits.]
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Clint hasn't seen Wanda since the funeral. Stark's funeral; they'd already done a smaller, quieter ceremony for Nat in keeping with her wishes, and they'd talked about one for Vision but it had just never materialized, and then the next time he heard anything she was on the news along with some town in New Jersey.
Had he reached out then? He feels like he must have tried, but apparently not hard enough because the surviving Maximoff twin, the one he'd told himself he'd look after, stayed under the radar after that. And then the whole Kamar-Taj thing, and by the time news had trickled down to him it had been too late.
A lot of regret is following him around these days. He made a choice, because after everything he'd been through, making up for five lost years with his family, and healing those wounds, rebuilding himself after Ronin, had been enough.
But his heart still aches for Wanda, feels as if he's failed her. And now, like Nat, she's slipped away from him and he can't remedy any of it.
That's part of the reason he barely recognizes her when she knocks on his door, inexplicable, out of nowhere. She's supposed to be dead. But even if she weren't he's never seen her as the Witch, and certainly never seen her this tattered and torn and beaten down.
And he should be scared, he should be downright terrified of her, knowing what he knows now. When he first catches a glimpse of her on his porch through the window of an upstairs room his instinct is overwhelmingly to run. Just, grab the kids, get Laura, and make for the back door and the truck parked out there.
Of course heart wins out over head, it always seems to, and before he can rethink it he's opening his door to her. Just a crack at first, his bow in his other hand.
"Wanda?" His voice shaken and hoarse, as if somehow saying her name will make things seem more real.
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It's Clint on the other side of the door. Because of course it is.
Wanda's eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the Avenger she felt closest to outside of Vision. Perhaps, instinctively, her magic brought her here. Subconscious magical travel, which...all things considered, isn't the weirdest stunt she's ever pulled.
"Clint?"
She's not surprised that he keeps his door mostly closed; she expects he has his bow ready, too. It hurts, but who could blame him?
"Sorry," she says, and she doesn't know if she means just for showing up at his farm unexpectedly, or if 'sorry' includes everything else she's done. Maybe somewhere in between. "I...I wasn't expecting to...well."
She thought she was dead. She should be dead, she thinks, shivering and crossing her arms across her chest, hugging herself.
"I don't mean to intrude," she continues, "and I'll get out of your hair as soon as I can, if you can tell me where the nearest...I guess bus station? Yeah, bus station. Wherever the nearest bus station is."
She could choke on the shame she feels right now. What if her presence here puts Clint and his family in danger? She can't have someone else innocent getting hurt because of her.
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He doesn't, though. Not yet. He's still trying to wrap his brain around how, and why. She seems as clueless about all this as he is. Not a menace--just a lost little girl, the way he remembers her from before. Is it all an act?
Scrambling, he latches onto the practical.
"You want to take the bus looking like...?" Clint gestures at her tattered, dirty, disheveled everything. And part of him is thinking, can't she just fly wherever she's going, or teleport, or something? And another part of him is thinking, oh God, what if Strange figures out she's still alive?
It's that thought that opens his door all the way, though his bow is still in his free hand, arrow between his fingers ready to be nocked if necessary.
"Nah. Come inside. You can clean yourself up, borrow something of Laura's." And maybe he can get some answers out of her. Thank God Laura and the kids are away at their Aunt Pepper's.
My apologies that this is so late!
She notices the bow in his free hand and the arrow between his fingers. Good, she thinks. She's glad that he's ready to defend himself on such short notice.
"If...that is okay with you," she says, quietly and with hesitation. "I would like that very much. Thank you."
She moves carefully to step inside, unable to keep herself from studying the way Clint has his home set up, the way his home feels...well. So much like a home instead of just a place to live.
np! i've been slow lately. glad you're back though!
He's honestly glad she doesn't protest his offer, not least because it doesn't give him much chance to second guess his decision. She slips inside his house like a timid ghost, but he notices her looking around. Wanda's never been to the farm, Clint knows, and it's normal to take in the decor the first time. But there might be other reasons she's scoping the place out. Good and bad.
"Nobody else is here," he assures her, shutting the door behind her (and maybe he's also informing her, letting her know that if she had any notion of hurting his family they're currently out of reach).
"Actually nice to have some company." It is and it isn't. This whole situation is as awkward as it is dangerous. But Clint tries to stay relaxed, at least outwardly, because the last thing he wants to do is spook her.
FWIW I'm always happy to backtag!
Wanda nods, keeping her arms wrapped tight around herself. "Good," she says. "I...wouldn't want to make things awkward. Well, more awkward."
She feels lost in all sorts of ways; she's still trying to get her footing after all of that multiversal madness.
He mentions that it's nice to have company, and Wanda manages what she hopes isn't a terrible smile. "I hope I prove to be good company then," she says. She's moving slowly; cautiously. As if by holding onto herself and moving carefully, she might avoid presenting herself as a threat.
She considers a moment before asking her next question. "Which bathroom should I use?"
She doesn't want to assume.
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Not when she's like this.
"It's upstairs, first door on the right." Technically there's also one downstairs, but the one upstairs is a lot nicer. He thinks she could use a bit of nice right now.
"I'll get you some towels and be right up, okay?" Clint could show her there himself. But she needs to know he trusts her enough to walk around his house on her own.
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"Okay," she says, heading towards the stairs. She glances at Clint, feeling both grateful to him and guilty for intruding on him like this. "I...thank you, Clint. I really appreciate this."
She starts to make her way up the stairs, slow and steady, as though one wrong move might send her flying.
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He has enough time to doubt himself halfway up the stairs, wondering if it wouldn't have made more sense to take this time to call the Avengers, whatever's left of them. Just for a little backup. Maybe that's what he should be doing instead of... whatever this is.
But he can't bring himself to. Not yet, anyway. He has to give her a chance. After Nat, and Vision, and Pietro, and everything, he just has to.
Clint knocks on the bathroom door. "Got the towels," he says unnecessarily. "I can leave them outside the door, or." It'd make more sense to just bring them in and hand them to her, depending on whether she's decent or not. But what the hell makes sense anymore?
an zhe — little mushroom
Uraraka Ochako || My Hero Academia || OTA
Yelena Bolova | MCU
vash | trigun stampede
8 and for a change with Vash being the stray?
what nicolas finds much funnier is that they're such a collection of disabilities, one can't hear, one's short an eye and one's short an arm, and somehow they're still more competent than half this fucking city. the thing is, vash's prosthetic is pretty busted. nicolas has seen him fiddling with it, but for some reason vash has never actually asked for- for much of anything. help, or tools, or whatever the hell else he might need. so. nicolas sits down on the couch with him, eventually, and just turns the question on him instead. ]
your Arm. What do You need to fix it?
[ they've all been pretty don't ask, don't tell about vash's story, and that's fine - he likewise hasn't asked about the collar bolted to the back of nico's neck, and even otherwise asked remarkably few questions, like someone who's not as new to this sort of life as he might have people believe. even so- now there's a question. as much of a hassle as talking is, worick is busy with other work right now so he can't exactly pester him into doing it. ]
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so yeah, he knows that he owes them. he owes them big time. probably more than what he could ever pay them back for, even if he had the dollars. so for now, vash does what he can - it doesn't always work, but he tries to give each of them what they want; company for worick when he wants somebody who would talk back, even if it is to just make some noncommittal noises and put in the right exclamations where he wants it, and for nicolas? keeping his distance, even when he can't, what's with three men in close confines in a one bedroom house that's practically falling to pieces.
at least he can cook, a little - and what if they weren't some amazing restaurant quality? at least they are passable.
the arm, though, has been acting up more and more often; it is the little things to start with, slow stiffness to his joints as if he'd been standing outside in the cold without gloves on - something that vash finds hard to explain to others because all they see is just some jumble of metal pieces fitted together in a morbid approximation of an arm, whereas to vash, it has been so long now that anyone pointing that fact out to him comes as a surprise. it isn't really enough a problem to bother anybody with, much less break his cover and put brad and luida in danger alongside him, so vash has been trying to make do with what he can - except this morning he's woken up to pins and needles feeling all up and down his arm that speaks of nothing but bad news. ]
Oh! [ vash jumps a little, half turning to look back at nicolas with wide, surprised gaze, like a deer caught in headlights; he has his arm propped between his knees, an array of small, intricate screwdrivers laid on his lap, and peering at the ports that connect it proper to whatever's left of his arm. ]
Sorry, I didn't hear you coming up. I'll just- [ the drivers scatter a little as vash shifts in his seat, and he ducks his head, gathering them in the palm of his one hand before they could roll away. ] Sorry about the mess!
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the way vash jumps makes nico huff, amusement sneaking into his expression, the corners of his eyes, tugging at his mouth. he shakes his head before it gets any meaner, gesturing first, then catching himself. ]
slOw dowN. It's Fine.
[ it gets hard to follow his words when he gets so jumpy. ... it gets hard to be irritated at him when he gets so jumpy, too, caught between the ugly, toothy amusement and the urge to let him know he doesn't have to worry so much, like trying to soothe a startled bird (not a cat, because a cat might scratch or bite but vash has spent his whole time here being so harmless as to be unbelievable.) nobody's gonna take his head off over taking up space on the couch.
makes him wonder what taught him to startle so easily, and nicolas knows very well that he shouldn't think about that at all. he sighs, more at himself than anything else, trying to focus on making his words as clear as he can. it only does so much. ]
Do you need helP?
nicholas d. wolfwood | trigun stampede
2, hope this is okay! au first meeting maybe?
He's managed to nab the last room at the tiny inn - places are more full than usual with other travelers trying to keep out of the rain. It's a relief, because even though he loves weather like this, he doesn't really want to spend the night outside in the mud. Vash drops his rucksack in the room and heads right back out to find something to eat or drink, not bothering to change. He'll just get wet all over again, and even his jacket is soaked through at this point, so there's not much point in ruining another set of clothes.
Besides, a little rain never hurt anyone right? It's not every day they get a downpour.
Vash steps out on the muddy street and makes his way around town. It's dark, the streets are mostly empty, and little movement stands out except a few kids playing in the street in the distance, kicking and jumping at puddles, and a few people collecting water from their balconies to save. He turns a corner and sees a group of kids peering into an alley, whispering and huddled around one another.
Finding himself curious, he walks over to where they're gathered and steps up behind them, peering into the alley to see a man sitting in the mud, an enormous cross leaning against the wall, not doing much to protect him from getting wet. He's sucking a lollipop, a few more in his hands. The kids look cautious, but tempted, and Vash smiles, reaches out and plucks one from the man's hand.]
I'll take one, thanks mister! [ He pops it in his mouth - if it's poisoned or drugged at least he'll be the one to find out and not the kids. But it tastes fine, and after a moment he doesn't sense anything off about it, so he grins down at the kids. ] Cherry! That's my favorite. Thanks, friend.
[ Vash's smile is enough permission, and the kids each scramble to grab a lollipop and scatter off to play in the rain again. ]
it's great!
He pulls the remaining lollipop, the one in his own mouth, out with a slight pop. ]
That's $$10.
[ It's free for the kids, obviously, but this is a grown adult, and there's no way he's traveling without cash. Cash that could bag Wolfwood at least a meal and a pack of cigarettes, if he plays his cards right. ]
Laughing Beauty | Metal Gear | 18+ for ships, but ota otherwise!
Jade "the Prophetess" | Enderal: Forgotten Stories | OTA.
[Info, visual references, and permissions.]
Jasmine | Trigun Maximum
suwa rei | buddy daddies | m/m
Tetsuo Usuda | OC | OTA gen, M/F shippy
Medjine Adaar | Dragon Age: Inquisition | OTA
(soulless) Sam Winchester | Supernatural | ota