#I also think it's really fucking ridiculous to have actual hatred for a dog because the dog isn't castiel
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If you see me talking about Miracle the dog, know I'm not a finale enjoyer, I'm a Give Those Characters a Dog enjoyer
#I just love dogs and love giving fictional characters dogs#miracle the dog#putting that out there cause I'm probably changing my header to the Dean and Miracle pic I requested from floral-cas#I also think it's really fucking ridiculous to have actual hatred for a dog because the dog isn't castiel#like I wanted cas to come back too but that's not miracle's fault
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I just found out that there are people out there who believe Jason Todd beats Cassandra Cain in a fight... What??? I am aware that there was a comic where he got good hits in but it was very obvious and even outright said that Cass wasn't even trying to win, let alone hurt him, by Dick. Also, if they're thinking about that one time Jason fought Bruce, Dick and Cass all at once and won, you have got to be aware of how ridiculous that was. Like, Jason, as much as I love him, is the worst fighter out of them. Still a damn good one, but compared to them, just no.
Like, Dick, the weakest fighter out of that trio has more than fifteen years of experience of vigilantism. AT LEAST, the timeline's weird so I don't know exactly how much. He's trained with Batman for around a decade, was such a good fighter that he caught Deathstroke's eye and has trained with him for a bit and many more dangerous people.
Bruce, depending on how old he is and when exactly he started training idk but I assume it was late teens or early adulthood, has AT THE VERY LEAST twenty years of training and experience, most probably more. Has trained with people all over the world, INCLUDING the League and has beat Jason without THAT much difficulty before. Post mortem Jason I mean.
Cass, if we count her as around eighteen, has fucking eighteen years of training, with David Cain and many other people he brought in for her to fight against, grown trained killers. Her training was the most brutal out of all three of them. Cain has literally shot her out of nowhere and then forced her to fight him right after to, and I quote, "keep her on her toes". It's been said by Batman, Deathstroke and probably other people that she could beat Batman in a fight. And people like to say that Bruce only said that cause he's self deprecating and that's honestly so insulting to him. He's hard on himself and has shit self worth over things like his parenting, failing to save people etc, but he is an intelligent man who knows his strength and his weaknesses very well and over OR under estimating himself would've gotten him killed years ago. CASSANDRA CAIN'S ABILITY TO READ PEOPLE'S BODY LANGUAGE IS SO INSANE THAT SHE'S BEEN ASSUMED TO BE META HUMAN BECAUSE HER SPEED WAS SO FUCKING INSANE IT WAS DEEMED IMPOSSIBLE FOR HER TO BE HUMAN. This one guy said and I quote, "Her individual moves are borderline human. It is her aggregate speed that's metahuman. Humans can throw a 100 miles per-hour fastball, smash concrete with their heads, and run 4.2 forties. What they can't do is all of that at once. It's not so much physical as... as mentally impossible. Too much to coordinate." Her ability, trained into her not just gained, is so fucking op these people have no idea how it's humanly possible. The only advantage my boy Jason's got are his guns and the fact Cass can't physically stomach killing people. Cass without that hatred of killing dog walks Jason, even without it actually. In the Batgirl volume 1, after she loses her ability to read body language (she gets it back later ofc) she gets hit and is then in shock because no one has managed to land a single fucking hit on her since she was six. She proceeds to beat the shit out of people easily and thinks to herself "I'm fighting like a child. Pathetic", as she barely holds herself back from accidentally crushing skulls.
Cass has been very much nerfed in the newer comics for plot's sake or because the writer doesn't know her character well, or most probably because they want to put a certain character on a pedestal. They've done it all the time and you can't honestly call yourself a fan if you actually think Jason, even with the pit rage and the guns and hatred that makes him willing to kill, would be capable of even beating Nightwing unless he's having a really bad day, let alone all three of them.
Point of this all is: Cass rocks and DC sucks ass at being consistent and actually paying attention to the characters they write. They actually made Cass a villain in one. She found out she had a sister, murdered her and a bunch of other people for no reason, found out Deathstroke had brainwashed her or something and then killed him. Which btw, she killed Deathstroke. Bro's a hell of a challenge for the Bat and she killed him. Still think Jason, or Dick or Bruce could beat her? An argument could be made for Bruce but even then they're AT LEAST on equal footing, though I think Cass would still win. Would be a hell of a fight and Cass would get some nasty ass possibly fatal injuries but she'd still beat him in my humble and accurate opinion.
Okay I'm done now. Longest rant yet. Had a lot of feelings about this particular topic, sorry.
#dc comics#cassandra cain#bruce wayne#dick grayson#jason todd#rant#ramblings#deathstroke#david cain#red hood#nightwing#batman#batgirl#orphan#black bat#dcu
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Can I just say I really treasure this episode but at the same time it just felt like Manabu was a big punching bag even in an episode that feels highly dedicated to him. Throughout the entirety of the episode they called him selfish and in the episode he even seems to blame himself for everything which... It's kind of fucked up because he didn't do anything wrong and barely anyone heard him out which contradicts most of their ridiculous decisions (like seriously you can forgive all villains that came in your way but not him?) Manabu wanting somebody to scream at him made me think of something. What if he's confused and doesn't know what he did wrong? Like considering that UTS is just considering him a failure then why isn't anyone telling him that they're misunderstanding is what caused them to view him the wrong way or why they are acting like this. I hope it's not one of those plot twists to wear bridge is trying to make us think that everyone's treating a character differently only for them to pull a twist that it's awesome corporate a plan because this... Is the worst
Maguto I feel was all so fed a story of lies so he can have some sort of hatred towards Manabu. He did leave the family for believing one of his friends were actually kidnapped by aliens also could we say how toxic the environment was that they literally told him that he couldn't have friends with a DOG. They say this but then give the heir spot to a fish! A fucking fish (ily Maguto but still) and it seems clear that Maguto didn't get to hear the whole story since he was very shocked about what Manabu was doing but I hate how everyone just kept making fun of him throughout the entirety.
Then he was only a villain for a cause that nobody heard a cry for help? Everyone went along with it and never stop to think about how he could be doing this for attention?? Like come on, I know a villain arc is unlikely but but the way everyone including the writers are treating him, a villain art makes the most sense for him.
#yugioh go rush#go rush spoilers#go rush#yugioh#manabu sogetsu#maguto sogetsu#Man the Sogestu family is toxic af#why bridge why??#villain era#How they forgive all bad guys but not their friends#I loved you but screw you Yudias for calling him a failure when you love Zwijo#UTS really don't like Manabu for some reason#Off topic but Epoch was so cute!!
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Official Police Work (Part 1) // Sherlock x Reader
You and Sherlock have progressed past the feeling of mutual hatred, and onto something much more...physical.
Read Part 2 here!
Rating: 18+
Word count: 3.5k
Tags: fluff, smut (swearing, oral sex (female receiving), edging, orgasm denial, fingering).
There was definitely something going on between you and Sherlock Holmes. Regardless of the fact that Sherlock had never been known to be in a romantic relationship of any sorts, and the very well known fact that the two of you despised each other, there was a thick fog starting to blur the line between 'I want to kill you' and 'I want to fuck you'.
You had never fully understood why Detective Inspector Lestrade decided to keep bringing Sherlock Holmes to crime scenes, even if admittedly he was rather efficient at getting the job done. But seen as you were the DI's Number 2 in the Major Investigation Team at Scotland Yard, you couldn't really do or say anything without jeopardising your position, and because you really wanted to keep the job you worked so hard to achieve, you kept your mouth firmly closed. For you, it was just wishfully plotting ways of getting rid of the sociopath and his ego the size of Everest.
Despite this, something started to shift in the way you looked at each other. It didn't feel as though you wanted to keep as far away from him as possible. More... the opposite. You didn't just want to hear about his anger, know about it.
You wanted to feel it.
This was a feeling you'd toyed with in your mind for at least a couple of months, turning it over, torturing each little feeling you got in your stomach (and lower) when you thought about what it could be like if that hatred was siphoned into something physical.
But obviously, nothing happened. Of course it didn't, because it was ridiculous to think that sex with Sherlock was a possibility, or something that you'd even remotely want.
Though you did want it, and there was no denying that.
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The case that had brought you both to South London was probably the murder equivalent of being left high and dry. Before you had arrived, the works had been summoned - police helicopters, raid vans, ambulances, fire engines, a SWAT team and a drugs squad (complete with sniffer dogs).
But clearly this had put off the murderer in his attempt to hold the other victim hostage and demand a ransom in order for her life. So, he slit her throat and tried to make a runner through the back of the house, which he stupidly thought wouldn't be guarded.
It was really over before it had begun, and the thought of heading straight back to the Yard was already boring you to tears. But as you were about to get straight back into the squad car, you saw him talking with Lestrade, seemingly also frustrated with the (sort of) false alarm. You still wound up with two dead bodies, but you'd already caught the killer.
"You getting in, Detective?" PC Nelson called from the driver seat.
You leaned down, popping your head into the car. "Uh, no. You go on without me. I'm just gonna take a quick look around." Nelson nodded, and you closed the door as he reversed away from the scene.
With you eyes on one person and your mind made up, you made your way over to the three men stood at the far side of the building. However as you got closer, you spotted the Chief Superintendent joining their conversation, causing you to slow your steps and consider whether you actually needed to go over at all.
But alas, your superiors had already noticed you, so you carried on until you were stood at Lestrade's side.
"Ah, there you are. Greg here's just been telling me about your success with the Tate case. Hard one to crack, was it?" You nodded politely to the Chief, internally chastising yourself for not trying harder to escape what was going to be a very boring conversation that you'd already had with about twelve other people, all congratulating you on the success of a case which a child could've solved.
"Yep, but we got there in the end. Couldn't have done it without the Inspector, though."
Greg jumped in. "And Holmes here was a big help, as usual. None of us would've been nearly as close if it weren't for him." You silently seethed over this - him? Him? No.
"I'm sure we would've managed on our own, Sir." The Chief seemed to agree here, something which you were thankful for - your joint hatred for Sherlock Holmes and the fact that he shouldn't be here, interfering with official police work. You were sure that the Chief Super still didn't trust the - in his words - vigilante type detective.
Accidentally, you looked over to the man in question, who, to your surprise, was already staring at you with very poorly concealed...anger? Well, yes, anger. It wouldn't have been anything else.
What surprised you more was his interruption in the conversation.
"Lestrade, may I borrow your DS for a few hours? I'm sure you can spare her for some official police work." John, Lestrade and the Chief exchanged confused looks, wondering if they'd heard Sherlock right. You looked over at him again, barely concealing your anger. And confusion. And surprise. And maybe deep curiosity for what clearly wasn't going to be official police work. Perhaps he'd finally decided to get it over with and just kill you.
"Uh, yeah, I suppose I can if it's alright with you?" Lestrade turned to you, however you weren't really sure how to respond.
"I...yes? Fine, if I have to." Well, you know what they say - curiosity killed the cat.
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As the cab made it's way through London, you suppressed the urge to ask questions, deciding instead to keep watching the streets pass silently. When you'd got in, you heard Sherlock relaying the Baker Street address of his home, which further worried (and...maybe excited) you.
When the cab pulled up at 221B, Sherlock paid the driver and climbed out, you doing the same as he unlocked the front door and held it open for you to enter.
Once you were inside, Sherlock directed you silently up the stairs, by which point you were slightly shaking with nerves that you tried to hide by shoving your hands deep inside your coat pockets.
Sherlock's flat was everything you'd expected - a mess. That's pretty much it. You'd already assumed he didn't have time or a desire to live in tidy accommodation, so the cluttered surfaces weren't a surprise.
The man in question came into the flat behind you, moving past to hang his scarf and coat on the hooks by the door before making his way over to the window to look out onto the street.
"So," You finally ventured, "why am I here?" Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't seem to have an answer to that just yet.
"I don't know. I just know that we can't keep going on like this. Surely I'm not the only one of us both that knows this isn't just hate. I've hated many people before, and this isn't that." He sighed. "So what is it?"
"I-I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine." Feigning ignorance perhaps wasn't the best idea, as Sherlock predictably saw through the charade in seconds.
"What is it, hm?" He turned from his place at the window, slowly making his way forwards until he was in front of you. "What are you feeling, right now?"
Stupidly, again, you tried to deflect. "I thought you didn't do feelings?"
Sherlock stepped closer again. "Answer me."
"I'm not entirely sure."
"And if you had to guess?"
There was silence for a few seconds as you hesitated. And then-
"Lust."
The silence resumed as you both stood there, processing what you'd just said. Out loud. You weren't sure what he was feeling at that moment, but a Black Hole sounded like an inviting idea to you.
You knew what you'd said was wrong, regardless if that was what you were actually feeling, so the best option was to just leave, and go back to hating him again. But as you turned to grasp the door handle, you felt Sherlock's hands on your upper arms, spinning you around and pinning you against the still closed door.
You were about to protest, but his mouth was suddenly on yours, a gasp leaving you at the forcefulness of his lips. It took you a moment to get over the fact that oh my god Sherlock Holmes is kissing me and I want so much more, before you started to reciprocate, opening your mouth for him, your lips coming together perfectly as his hands made their way to your hips, pulling you into him enough to feel the way his cock grew in his tailor made trousers which were now way too tight, that fact making you way too excited.
You whimpered as Sherlock slowly yet firmly ground his hips against yours, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, swallowing your moan as you gripped his upper arms which were so much thicker than you'd ever imagined.
Then, Sherlock bent down slightly, gripping the backs of your thighs. "Jump."
You did as he demanded, wrapping your legs around his slender hips, your now soaking core just above where you needed it to be. Sherlock turned and carried you over to the table on the other side of the room, placing you down as his lips strayed from yours, down your neck. In no time at all, he'd found the place that made you gasp, biting down on it and soothing it straight after with a swipe of his tongue.
"Sherlock..." You needed more. Immediately. He seemed to know exactly what you wanted, his hands moving once more to the hem of your skirt that now sat high up on your thighs. Sherlock slid it up further, you pulling yourself up slightly so he could slip it over your ass to sit around your waist.
He made quick work of your black tights and underwear, pulling them down your legs and discarding them somewhere which meant you'd have to search for them later. But for now...
Unconsciously, you closed your legs to hide your now bare pussy from his view, but he was having none of it, shaking his head.
"Come on, be a good girl and spread your legs for me."
You hesitated, but as he placed a hand on your knee, sliding it between your legs, you slowly parted them until you were fully exposed for him.
Sherlock stood there for a moment, caressing your inner thigh as he took in the sight of your arousal. "Is this all for me?" He murmured, his hand creeping up to touch the skin where your thigh met the place you needed him to touch. He directed his gaze towards your face.
This time, there was no hesitation as you nodded, involuntarily lifting your hips to try and direct him to where you wanted him to be. He seemed to get the hint as his thumb finally grazed over your clit, a gasp catching in your throat.
Sherlock did this a few times before pressing down on it firmly, eliciting a broken moan from you. Your hips once again tried to lift to find more friction, but a hand on your waist kept you sat firmly on the surface of the table.
"Have some patience, sweetheart. That's going to get you nowhere." You whimpered as his fingers now made full contact with your pussy, spreading your arousal up to your clit and circling over the sensitive bundle of nerves before dipping back down to instead tease your entrance.
You had never been more turned on yet frustrated in your life. This morning, you weren't even aware that you wanted to be in this situation, but now you were silently praying that it never ended; that his fingers never left your skin, that his lips never left yours.
He stepped closer, so he was now right in between your spread legs, pushing them further apart as he looked for permission to enter you.
"Please," you whimpered into his mouth, kissing him desperately. "Sherlock, please." You felt him smirk against your mouth as he finally slid one, then two fingers into you. Your head dropped to his shoulder, a breathy moan just about all you could manage while he slowly retracted his fingers, just to push them firmly inside you again, this time pushing them so deep that they teased exactly the right spot. "Fuck, yes Sherlock!"
He looked down at where you met, your hips lifting up to meet his hand. "God, I love the way my fingers look inside you."
That sensation, him thrusting his fingers in and out, again and again, talking the way he was right in your ear would've been enough to make you come almost straight away, but before you could reach the edge, his fingers were gone.
You opened your eyes, frustrated at the loss of contact. But that soon ebbed away as Sherlock got to his knees in front of you, his face level with your heat.
"What're you doing?" You asked as he shuffled forward, closer to you.
"I want to taste you so bad, sweetheart." He looked up at you, the arousal evident in his eyes as well as his probably very uncomfortable trousers. "May I?"
You were sure you sounded much too eager, yet you replied without hesitation. "God, yes."
The words were barely spoken as his hands snaked around your thighs, pulling you so your ass was at the edge of the table, and his mouth descended on your clit, sucking hard.
"Christ!"
Sherlock pulled away for a second, looking back up at you. "Not quite."
You huffed a laugh as he returned to his ministrations, flicking his tongue left to right over your clit, before dragging it down to your entrance, circling it before dipping inside you, teasing you with his sharp, wet tongue that you'd never imagine would be doing something like this - especially to you.
Even after he'd only been down there for a minute at the most, you knew that you wouldn't last much longer if he kept doing exactly what he was doing. You just prayed he wouldn't stop.
The feel of his tongue flattening over your clit, giving the exact friction and pressure you needed, the way he gripped your thighs so hard that you just knew you'd have bruises afterwards, it was all bringing you closer to the release you needed from him.
And you knew he knew this.
But as you got impossibly closer, so close to tipping over the edge, he pulled away. A whine escaped you as you brought your head forward to see what on earth he was playing at.
Sherlock looked up at you with a dirty look that actually could've made you come on the spot, your arousal on his lips that were a darker shade of red than they had been before, and his hair a mess from your fingers threading through it, drawing him ever closer.
"You really thought I'd let you come, just like that?" Another whine from you as you threw your head back, and he chuckled. "The way you look at me at crime scenes, like you want to slit my throat with the biggest knife you can find - it really hurts, you know?" You heard the sincerity in his voice, but knew it was too good to be true as you looked at him again, and saw the same smirk and the sarcastic hand over heart.
"Like you don't want to do the same to me." Sherlock hummed, feigning debate over your comment.
"No, actually. I'd rather make you beg." You narrowed your eyes at him.
"Beg? For what?"
He chuckled. "If you want to come, you'd better beg for it, sweetheart."
There were many things you would do during sex with someone, but what you'd never do is beg.
You breathed out a laugh. "No. No way is any orgasm worth begging over."
"Are you so sure about that?" As he finished talking, he placed a single, light kiss on your clit, making your walls clench around thin air. Already, you could see your composure starting to falter, but you weren't going to let him get to you so easily. You'd already begged once this afternoon, easily, but you weren't going to beg to come.
"Y-yes. Very sure." He kept kissing the same spot each time, getting a little firmer each time until he was back to sucking and nipping, the simple pleasure quickly eating away at your composure.
You were so close, and you knew he'd pull away again. But as you could feel your orgasm coming again, you decided to wait and see what he would do, and how far he was willing to push you.
However you didn't expect his fingers to return to your entrance, teasing with little dips in and out until he shoved two of them inside you, so deep that he could easily rub against your sweet spot, something that would surely make you come.
"Sweetheart, either you beg for me to let you come right now or I pull away and you'll be left empty and unsatisfied."
The way he moved his fingers inside you, the way he alternated between his thumb and his tongue to rub at your clit, you knew you needed this orgasm. You needed to come.
And that was it. And he knew it. Bastard.
"Jesus, please, please let me come, please!" Sherlock chuckled deeply, vibrating through your core and pushing you closer and closer.
"That's it, that's my girl. Come for me."
'That's my girl'. That's what finished you, your head falling back as the breath was knocked out of you, coming what felt like harder than you had in your entire life. Your walls clenched around Sherlock's fingers as you rode them, trying to prolong this euphoria for as long as possible.
Sherlock didn't stop attending to you, his fingers slowing until they were stationary inside you, but he still sucked lightly on your clit, milking every last drop of come from you as you finally relaxed.
As he pulled his fingers out, you couldn't bare to look as he rose from his place kneeling on the floor to stand in between your legs again, bringing his hand to your mouth.
"Come on, open up for me." He murmured. You opened your mouth, and he slid his dripping fingers across your tongue, all the way to the back of your mouth as you moaned around them. You sucked them greedily, keeping eye contact with Sherlock until he withdrew them with a pop, replacing them with his mouth.
You could feel the way he inconspicuously tried to buck his hips forward, trying to create some friction to ease the throbbing of his cock. But as you reached for his belt buckle to return the favour, he shook his head and withdrew from your grasp slightly.
"We don't have time for that." He looked towards the window, where you could hear the sound of a cab pulling up outside the flat. Sherlock made his way across the living room, retrieving the tights and knickers he'd so carelessly discarded earlier, sorting them out and swiftly helping you put them back on as you stayed seated on the table. He still kissed you, though, perhaps as a reassurance that this wouldn't be a one time, heat of the moment thing.
"I promise we'll have more time later, but for now we need to act like this never happened." He placed his hands on either side of your face, cupping your cheeks so tenderly that the physical contact nearly made you tear up, so you closed your eyes.
The front door downstairs opened as presumably John and Greg made their way into the flat.
"Hey, look at me." You opened your eyes once more, meeting Sherlock's uncharacteristically tender gaze. "This will happen again, and I promise you I have more to give. But I'm not well versed in this, so I need to make sure I don't screw up, okay?"
You nodded, accepting another slow kiss before he pulled away, helping you down from the table before he made his way over to the mirror above the fireplace, quickly fixing his hair before turning around, winking at you as the door to the living room opened.
"I trust you two didn't rip each other's heads off while you were alone?"
You rolled your eyes at DI Lestrade, making your way over to the door.
"I only just managed to keep my composure. Trust me, next time I'll do more than throw a few choice curse words his way." Smiling in what you hoped was a passive aggressive manner, you left the flat, still feeling the ache between your legs.
#sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes smut#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock smut#bbc sherlock#bbc sherlock smut#sherlock x reader smut#benedict cumberbatch#sherlock#smut
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Hate You More
A new fic that I was inspired to write! There will be a Part 2 since this is going to get VERY smutty. Enjoy!
WARNINGS: Language. Mentions a little smut.
I’m a princess. Well, a “bit” of a princess. But that’s not exactly my fault. I’m an only child. My mom and dad always wanted one kid and once they had me they were happy...until they divorced when I was eight-years-old and my dad left somewhere far away. Ever since then, it was always just me and mom, which was never a bad thing.
We were close and got along just fine. Every weekend was our Nicholas Sparks movie marathons on the couch, eating a shit ton of strawberry ice cream straight from the carton, and painting each other’s nails and having her braid my hair and tell me stories of when I was little.
Everything was perfect with just me and my mom...until she married him.
Bruce Wayne.
I never thought my mom would ever want to remarry but Bruce somehow stole her heart and made her fall in love with him.
I didn’t want to blame her for being so stupid for marrying him. I mean, Bruce did treat my mom right. I just hated him so much for convincing my mom to move us into his mansion.
So far away from my first home.
But I know he really loves her, despite being known as a billionaire playboy, womanizing, man whore. After three years into their marriage, I noticed he really cared about me and treated me like his daughter; certainly overprotective and reminding me if I ever needed anything to always go to him.
He even helped me get into GCU. With his help, I’m now into my second year. He’s really proud that I’m a responsible, twenty-one year old college student, and that makes me feel good.
But it hasn’t always been perfect with Bruce. Not only did I get a stepdad, but I got THREE asshole stepbrothers: Dick, Jason, and Tim. They’re the boys Bruce adopted.
Dick wasn’t exactly an asshole. He’s twenty-five years old and he’s always in and out of the mansion. He’s a party animal and I rarely see him unless he’s home for Sunday dinners and for Alfred to do his laundry.
Tim is tolerable. He’s always kind to me, but he’s also a shy and awkward fourteen-year-old. He’s seriously a nerd and he’s becoming an addict to coffee and always being on his computer. But he doesn’t bother me at all.
Not like Jason Fucking Todd.
He’s twenty-one years old and is a complete lazy ass who mooches on everyone.
I honestly hated him the second I met Jason. The second my mom and I moved into the mansion, I had set down backpack on the kitchen counter so I could remove my sweater and throw away the empty bag of fried fast food I had for lunch. The moment I turned around, Jason had jumped up to sit on the kitchen counter and had the nerve to pick up my backpack and throw it to the floor.
“Oops! Your shit was in my spot.”
I had my fucking cell phone, laptop, and picture frames of my family in there.
And that’s how it all started. Jason made it very clear he hates me and I refuse to back down and be nice to him. I mean, the fucking asshole has zero respect for me anyways. All he does is drink, eat all the food, and bring bar sluts home to fuck loudly in his bedroom which is right NEXT DOOR TO MINE!!!
All night and early in the mornings. All I can hear is Jason’s headboard slamming repeatedly against the wall and his bimbos screaming, “Oh God! Right there, Jay! Oh my God, HARDER!”
Seeing him afterwards is worse though. I could be walking to the bathroom or the kitchen and he’d just happen to come by to use the bathroom too, or get a drink of water...only using a sheet that’s wrapped around his waist!
He’d fucking smirk at me and I would try so hard to not look down at his big bulge and thick hard on.
Jason is my stepbrother...only my stepbrother, I constantly remind myself.
But Jason is also an asshole. He may look sexy and taste delicious but his one unattractive flaw is his behavior.
And I’m not one to sit back and let assholes walk all over me. I do get back at Jason quite a bit; enough to piss him off.
Today is one of the days I decide to have a big appetite. After my shower, I run downstairs only wearing my comfy pajama short shorts and a black tank top. I remember Dick is at his own apartment and Alfred is away in London on “holiday” as he calls it. Entering the kitchen, I see Mom making breakfast for us: pancakes, bacon, and sausage.
Bruce is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee and reading on his cellphone. Tim is drinking a cup of coffee (maybe 5th refill?) and eating pancakes and some sausage.
“Good morning,” I say to all of them.
“Good morning sweetie,” Mom replies with such a warm motherly smile.
Bruce grins at me. “Good morning, Y/N.”
All Tim does is nod his head to me and continues to eat.
“I’m starving,” I say and already fill my plate with two pancakes and some bacon and sausage as well.
I take a seat next to Tim and dig in. Ace, Bruce’s dog moves closer to my feet and looks up at me for some food. Fucking puppy dog eyes...I sneak a few pieces of bacon to him.
Mom eventually sits down with hers and Bruce’s plate. He smiles lovingly at her and the two kiss.
It’s a calming morning. Everyone’s eating and just enjoying the silence...until the asshole comes into the kitchen.
Jason literally has no shame. He comes in only wearing his black boxers and has very cute bed head. Stop it, Y/N. He’s completely shirtless. Not even acknowledging he’s in the kitchen, Jason quickly makes a plate for himself which he only puts three pancakes and like two handful sizes of bacon.
I silently growl and tighten my hand around my fork as I’m stuck looking at his bare, muscular upper body. His arms look strong. He’s just...all muscle. All man.
But then I remember he’s a fucking asshole and I hate him.
As if he can feel my eyes on him, Jason quickly glances at me and smirks. He actually fucking flexes his muscles for me.
I immediately look down because I just know my cheeks are red like tomatoes. God, does he have to be so attractive???
“Good morning, princess,” Jason taunts me, after greeting everyone else, obviously. He sits directly in front of me with that shit eating grin. “Did you sleep well last night?”
I glare at him. Fuck him. “Yeah, I did. You know very well that I can’t sleep peacefully unless you bring a whore home and fuck her until she’s blue in the face, Jason. I mean, when it’s so quiet at night, I just can’t fall asleep! It’s impossible! It’s like I HAVE to hear you fuck just to go to sleep!” I say sarcastically.
“So, you do listen to me when I fuck my girls, huh? Is your sex life nonexistent that you have to get yourself off on others who actually get off?” Jason jokes and shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth. “That’s pretty pathetic, even for you, Y/N. At least Tiny Tim here watches internet porn. Maybe you should start getting yourself off with that instead of listening to me fuck.”
“Jason...” Bruce warns. “Don’t even start this morning.”
“Start what? I’m not even doing anything,” Jason says. He raises an eyebrow at me and keeps that fucking smirk on his face.
“Leave Y/N alone, Jason,” Tim butts in.
“Quiet Timbers. Let the princess tell me off. I love it when she gets all red and pissed off.”
My mom glances at me with a serious look, too. Why is she giving me that look when I didn’t even do anything?!
“Aw, there’s sausage?! I didn’t know there was sausage up there!” Jason whines. His eyes dart from my plate over to my mom and Bruce.
“I actually served the last few pieces to Bruce. I’m sorry, Jason,” my mom apologizes. She frowns and looks down at hers and Bruce’s empty plates.
“That’s all right. I see there’s still five uneaten sausages on Y/N’s plate,” Jason says and smirks at me. He looks down at my plate and back up at me. “You’re not going to eat them, are you princess? Because if not, I want them.”
He’s fucking teasing me. Jason is mocking me with those green eyes and that fucking smile that wets every girl’s panties. It’s like he actually believes he’s going to get away with this. He really thinks he’s going to get what he wants. Jason slowly reaches a hand towards my plate to get my sausages.
I want to burst his cocky bubble in front of everyone.
“Actually...I’m going to give them to the dog. And by dog, I mean Ace,” I say, quickly grabbing all the sausages in my hand and feed them to Ace under the table. “You see, I don’t feed dirty dogs like you. Ace is a clean, loyal, and sweet dog. You on the other hand are a dirty, disgusting, slut who fucks anything with a hole.”
My sudden outburst startles everyone at the table. I see everyone’s wide eyes and open mouths hanging in shock at me.
Jason chuckles lowly. His eyes are full of anger and hatred for me. “What did you just say to me?” he asks.
“You heard me,” I reply with the same tone. “Unless you lost your hearing due to all the screaming from the banshee skank you brought home last night from only God knows where.”
“You know, you’re starting to sound like a jealous bitch. For someone who has claimed to hate me and not want anything to do with me on multiple occasions, you seem to be really obsessed about my sex life,”
“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself,”
“Y/N stop,” my mom says.
“You think I’m flattering myself?! I’m not the one who always checks myself out! You know, I always see you staring at me right?! If anything, you’re flattered by me!” Jason snaps.
“ENOUGH!!!” Bruce shouts.
We’re all silent but Jason and I continue to stare each other down.
“I’ve had enough of the two of you fighting! It’s old and it’s seriously ridiculous. It needs to end now. Your mother and I are going to leave for Spain tonight, and I don’t want to hear anything bad about the two of you while we’re gone. Now, apologize to each other,” Bruce says.
“Apologize to the princess? For what?! She’s a fucking bitch, who’s always bitching, and she’s basically the biggest bitch who ever bitched!” Jason yells. “She should apologize to me!”
“If I’m a fucking bitch then that makes you the biggest asshole here! You’re literally the most disgusting, disrespectful, lazy ass guy I have ever met! You have NO respect for anyone who lives here! Why should I fucking apologize to you?! All you do is drink, eat all the food, and bring random whores to our house and force us all to listen to you have sex!” I yell back.
“Our house? You think this is your house, too? I hate to burst your “bitching bubble” sweetheart, but this isn’t your house! You’re extra baggage that had to be dragged here! Your mom was wanted here; not you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not even family!” Jason yells louder than before.
My bottom lip trembles uncontrollably. I feel tears running down my cheeks. I need to get out of here before I completely break down in front of Jason.
“You’re such a fucking asshole, Jason!” I choke out.
I quickly jump out of my seat and run up the stairs. After I slam my bedroom door, I throw myself down onto my bed and cry. I can even hear Bruce screaming his head off and tearing Jason a new one.
——————————————————————————
I wake up to an empty stomach. Rolling over onto my back, I rub my eyes and yawn. It’s dark in my bedroom; indicating it’s already nighttime. I reach for my cellphone on my nightstand and see it’s already eight o’clock.
I must have been really exhausted to have slept the day away. Those days usually happen after I cry a lot and feel like shit.
Mom and Bruce are probably already gone. Their Spain trip is only for the weekend. I’m seriously glad about that since I don’t know how I’m going to get through the weekend with Jason still around.
Maybe if I’m lucky he’s already at the bar and picking up skanks. That means I have time to eat and a few hours of silence for myself.
I decide to go downstairs and I instantly notice all the lights are off except for the kitchen light. Slowly stepping into the kitchen, I see it’s empty and that there’s a big box of pizza and two drinks; a bottle of beer and a glass of orange juice with the bottle of Vodka next to it.
Raising an eyebrow in question, I look around to see who did this. Noticing the back sliding door is open, I walk over slowly to peek out.
Jason.
On the phone and sitting at the patio table.
He doesn’t see me but I can hear him clearly.
“Do you think she’ll really like it?”
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RP meme from Werewolf: The Apocalypse "Black Furies" Tribebook (Revised Version) Ch 2 "Pegasus’ Flight"
"But how can you be here?"
"I’m sorry. I’m easily sidetracked. Where was I?"
"Every day the possibility exists that you will find some great treasure — a companion, a fetish, riches, secrets or whatever is important to you."
"Divine justice is not something that can be safely left in the hands of mortal men and women — or even certain sky goddesses, as Athena’s blindness showed."
"While limits and strictures are frightening to many, I take peace knowing that purposes exist for all things."
"The problem comes when limits become absolute."
"It’s a human mind-twister — and I love mind-twisters — that the only rule to which there is no exception is that there’s an exception to every rule."
"I said before I love mind-twisters, but it’s good to know when to stop twisting your mind."
"Change hurts."
"The questions do not always need to be answered, often just asking them is enough."
"If they lead only to more questions or to simple answers (I remember well learning the answer to “What do bees smell like?”), then that also is learning and therefore good."
"Laughter doesn’t have to be mirthful; it can be bitter or rueful as well."
"How many of these stories actually happened?"
"Take from a story the wisdom that is in it; one of humanity’s biggest problems, I think, is that many of them take their legends too seriously."
"Contemplation is good, but too much of it causes the topic to become irrelevant."
"Beautiful, isn’t it?"
"The average first-time mother can expect an ordeal of fourteen hours."
"Everyone agrees that breast milk is best for babies; doctors, researchers, pharmaceutical companies, and parenting gurus."
"I am sorry for your discomfort, but you can just suffer through it a bit longer."
"A woman’s sexuality is hers, and can be a closely guarded secret or a gift to the world, as she chooses."
"Only the weak deserve pity."
"And yet we’re still spit on as often as not. Unfair, isn’t it?"
"Sex and childbearing is all about responsibility."
"There is no honor in blood for blood’s sake."
"These assaults take place far from the eyes of humanity, and the large-scale ones are most frequently mistaken for natural disasters."
"First, while faith might be eternal, religion must evolve."
"The world is often random, and believing it to be loving and fair is just as false as believing it to be cruel."
"They aren’t thieves, mind you; they just seem to know where to find things."
"I’m quite sure you’ve heard it all. Stay awake and listen again. This is important stuff, you know."
"That kind of cruelty doesn’t really help anyone, does it?"
"Note that there’s a big difference between “breeding” and “having sex.”
"My opinion has always been that announcing one’s presence and intentions when entering another’s territory is polite and proper behavior."
"A predator sees any encroachment on her territory as a threat. If the intruder nears her den, expect her to become very violent."
"If you enter another’s territory and announce yourself, that doesn’t mean you can stay. The one who lives there can still tell you to leave, and you should respect her wishes."
"Be careful when traveling."
"Look, we’ve all got anger control problems. It’s part of who we are."
"If you’re hurt, quit."
"Die to be a hero if you want, but don’t die to prove you were right."
"When the challenge is over, when the winner is declared, accept the ruling and live with it."
"Challenges are serious business — never initiate one without good cause."
"Do not look away. I hardly need to explain what that will lead to."
"We all know why it isn’t good to eat humans; for one thing, their flesh is fouled by the chemicals they eat, and for another, we’re meant to protect and avenge them, not prey upon them."
"If it becomes necessary to kill humans, do so, but remember that you are what you eat."
"From the face you’re making, I can assume you find the notion of cannibalism to be truly repulsive."
"Find other ways to hide your action."
"The problem is that humans are resilient and tenacious, especially in fear or hatred."
"Sometimes, however, we must let go."
"When the time comes for me to die, assuming, of course, that I do not die in battle, I shall walk into the sea and let the waves take me on my last journey."
"They can’t be challenged if no one can find them."
"I’m not saying that the system is corrupt, only that it could be."
"Such a small place, yet so many differing cultures!"
"Any biologist will tell you that you may measure how well an area thrives by the diversity of life it supports."
"Women are, on average, not as physically strong as men. This means that they sometimes need protection. I hardly need to tell you who should provide it."
"Unless I missed a major theological event, there haven’t been any immaculate conceptions recently."
"No matter your personal feelings on men, they are and always have been one half of the equation."
"A man is not evil simply by dint of his sex; to believe so is no better than calling women “the weaker sex.”
"Weak people produce more weak people, and since humans have virtually no method of natural selection, it is up to us to try to correct their weaknesses as best we can."
"Something is urging the citizens towards these evils, for I cannot believe that they did this themselves."
"The idiot humans continue to think that if they could just clear away the trees, they’d have wonderful land for agriculture, never once realizing that it’s the forest itself that preserves the land."
"Tell me why you think you could do better."
"So many believe the courts will do nothing — and if their attackers are rich and privileged enough, that is sadly true."
"Celebrities and advertisements show thin and unhealthy looking women being adored and generally enjoying life. So, young girls are made to feel abnormal and loathe their bodies."
"The Church decries sexuality for any reason but procreation — and women learn to fear their sexual power."
"Time may dull the memory, but we still have blood on our claws."
"It’s harsh, but good exercise."
"Don’t let their foul behavior and mannerisms fool you. These bumpkins and slum-dwellers have contacts all over the city. I avoid them when possible, but when I am left with no other choice and need information in the city, I go to them. Of course, that information does not come cheaply."
"Some of them can get a little corny at times, I admit, but I’d rather have them with us than against us."
"A more serious bunch of assholes was never born."
"They are reprehensible dogs."
"They have money, they have places to stay, they know good places to party, and they have access to guns, and explosives, and body armor, and — well, you get the idea."
"They have a lot of hate, and the near-extinction of their species isn’t something that one just gets over."
"No one ever identifies herself as “evil.”
"You will get far more than you bargained for."
"Most national leaders are ridiculed without mercy, because every mistake they’ve ever made is on display for the world to see."
"Too much time spent mucking with forces beyond their control taints these people, if you ask me."
"Bloody opportunists."
"I’m not going to say they planned it that way, but they sure didn’t stop it either."
"Sure, they got fucked, but they’re still assholes."
"A quaint story, I thought, no more than a sort of urban legend."
"However, they do learn many secrets that we miss. Getting them to give up these secrets, however, is usually more trouble than it’s worth."
"Maybe they aren’t all dead?"
"Greek myths are replete with dragons; Ladon, Typhon, Python, Hydra, and so forth. They are never cast in favorable roles; most of them only exist for a hero to kill."
"I’ve never liked practical jokes, and I don’t like the notion of pushing someone’s buttons just to teach them not to respond. You can lose your head doing that to the wrong person."
"Other creatures share the unseen world with us, and it would behoove you to know something about them."
"The spirits of the dead do not always rest easily."
"The dead aren’t staying in the ground."
"Some of them are complete pigs, so I’m told, but even so, they can be quite seductive."
#rp meme#rp memes#rp starters#roleplay starters#roleplay meme#roleplay memes#black furies#Werewolf the Apocalypse#wta#owod#World Of Darkness
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About criticizing Hermione.
Personally I think Hermione should be criticized for everything that happened in the books, the facts speak of their own but there is a limit in how responsible a fictional character is for the actions the author made her do . It's not like she actually had her faith in her hands and she chose to be JKRs shelf-insert and make all her Shitty ideas her own.
Let's look at the bigger picture here, is Hermione realy being treated better than Ron from the phantom?
JKR trusted her characters to Kloves and he basically pimped Hermione. She is the most sexualized fictional character of the 21st century so far, he portraited her like an OP/sexi cosplay of the real Hermione. She became a top10 sex fantasy for every healthy and sick mind out there and JKR did nothing to stop It for like a decade.
Ron is being hated for being an 'unworthy' pair for her(actually they hate him just because he has Hermione) and she is being hated for choosing him and she must be punish for it. You said that if she was a boy everybody will call for his head on a plate and I apsolotly agree but she is a girl so they call for her vagina on a plate instead. This is how you punish an intelligent woman, you subdue her and then you sexualy demean her.
You know better than me what is happening in fanfiction. She's been paired with evreone from Harry to Hagrids dog and the giand squid. Hermione is a sex slave, a dominated toy, a sperm dumpster, a total slut, a cheating/cheated wife, she is been mercilessly raped and abused and portrayed like a young Bellatrix or umbridge.
She has earn as many nasty titles as Ron so I don't think her being a girl worked in her favor.
Unfortunately it seems there are a lot of people who think that Intelligence is a mark of higher character and superior maturity as you said but Hermione is not one of them. She is hanging around with Harry and Ron and his family not her 'intelectual equals' from Ravenqlaw book club and she is dating athletes not distinguished students. Intelligence isn't the most important thing for her and she never acted like different people are not worthy of her company or her attention. So let's not hold her accountable for those ridiculous ideas.
Anyway I don't know if I am ranting but I just believe Hermiones character has been damaged and shamed just as much as Rons has, just in bit of different way and she don't deserve extra hate because she is JKRs shelf-insert in the story.
That comment of yours 'Hermione is literally JKR' ruin my appetite for the day. I just imagine Ron doing things with her.... Buhh😫🤢
The major difference in fanfiction is that... many people legit think this is “better” for Hermione.
They write stories of her being abused by Big Bad OOC Ron and being rescued by heroic prince charmings like Harry, Draco, Snape, or whoever. And all the while, the shippers genuinely think this could be plausible.
They take this huge dump on Ron and everything he stands for as a character - your insecurities don’t define you; the people you love only ask for you to be there, not for you to always be a 5* badass; you don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself - then proceed to “reward” Hermione with the affections of someone they’ve deemed “worthy” of her.
Usually, a person with which Hermione finds herself in a more subservient position.
Harry Potter: Mr Save The World, super fucking rich, will forever outshine whoever marries him
Draco Malfoy: aristocratic/nobility, super hella rich
Lucius Malfoy (yes, Luciumione is very popular on AO3): same as above + MUCH older than Hermione
Severus Snape: Potions prodigy who actually invented stuff while Hermione only ever stuck by the book, MUCH older than she is
Viktor Krum: famous athlete, probably rich
And so on and so forth.
Many of the Hermione ships of the fandom have an inherent imbalance. When it comes to age gap ships like Snamione or Luciumione, people will justify themselves by saying “oh but Hermione is so mature for her age, she needs someone on her level!”
.......... I very much hope to never meet one of these people in real life.
Not only is Hermione nowhere as mature as what they believe she is but MATURITY DOESN’T MAKE UP FOR A GAP OF NEARLY TWO DECADES OF EXPERIENCE.
(And can you imagine saying “Hermione needs a mature man!” then pairing her with Snape, the teenager stuck in a grown man’s body? Talk about cognitive dissonance.)
Anyway, those ships usually take Hermione to pair her with, let’s say it in the worst possible way, a man of “more value” than her.
The Hero. An aristocrat. An older man and a teacher. A celebrity...
They’re not trying to look to match Hermione with an equal.
They’re trying to pair her with someone she can be subservient to.
Because as @lytefoot brilliantly put it:
A woman has to be all-around pretty good at everything, whereas a man has to be the absolute best in his area of greatest competence (surely better than any puny female!) with a help-meet there to compensate for his weaknesses. People are very, very uncomfortable when Ron and Hermione reverse this dynamic. Hermione is extremely intelligent and dedicated to intellectual pursuits, but is complete pants at things like self-care and people skills. Ron is bright enough to keep up with her and strong in her areas of weakness.
Even if Ron was as dumb as a sack of rocks (he’s not), his other virtues are more than enough to “justify” Hermione loving him. (Because she needs an excuse?) But no. A woman has to be with a man who outdoes her in her area of greatest strength.
But they’re completely convinced that they’re making a “better” match for Hermione because in their heads, they’ve convinced themselves that Ron’s “inferiority” (= his underrated qualities like his good heart, his humour, his patience (many of which are also coded as primarily feminine qualities); his poverty; his language; his tendency to stand up for himself even against his friends; his insecurity) is a sure sign he would be bad to Hermione.
Because there are two types of people: those who are inferior and those who aren’t! /s
They sincerely believe they’re elevating Hermione when they’re using her as Harry/Draco/Snape/Aragog’s token to redemption/happiness. Because they genuinely think Hermione should be “rewarded” with a man that outclasses her in the aspects of her life she prides herself on (her studies, her academics, her social justice ambitions). At the same time, they build up this whole narrative about how Ron would “want her to be another Molly, barefoot and pregnant all the time” to convince themselves that they really are Good Little Feminists.
All in all: when people write Hermione as Snape’s sex kitten, they do it because they believe that’s the best thing that can happen to her. But when they write Ron to bash him, it’s because they genuinely hate him. They want the worst to happen to him. They delight in his misery. They love it. Because they’re so blinded by their own lies and so convinced that “hurmion 2 gud 4 ron durrhurrhurr” that they think he deserves the most painful, humiliating things to happen to him.
That’s the difference. People pair Hermione with the most horrible people out of blind adoration for her. Those same people bash Ron as retribution for “defiling” their goddess.
The kind of “Hermione bashing” you refer to is done out of good sentiments. But Ron? He doesn’t get that sort of bashing; he’s reviled and hated for things he didn’t even do, because people can’t fucking comprehend that just because he acted badly at times doesn’t mean those actions define him. The bashing comes out of hatred and an unfounded, unfair desire for “justice” that is unwarranted in the first place.
That’s why I turn the tables and judge Hermione with the fandom’s absolutely impossible standards they only seem to apply to Ron and a select few others (Dumbledore, some of the Weasleys). To prove that no fucking human being could even hope to dream to meet those standards.
#vivi answers#ask#hermione granger#ron weasley#ron weasley defense squad#ron weasley defence squad#hp fandumb#harry potter series
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(1/?) This is going to be long as hell I'm sorry, but I've never talked about this book before except with irl friends, and It Is Time. This is less of a burning hatred and more of a "what the actual fuck" hatred, but Mort(e). Holy shit, Mort(e). You will not have heard of it. There is not even a Wikipedia page, but somehow my ass picked this up at the bookstore one day in my freshman year of high school. Lucky me.
“(2/?) Mort(e) is a book about a new world war between humans and... car-sized ants.. that have secretly been breeding to overthrow mankind for thousands of years, because their queen (also thousands of years old??) hates that they step on her children or some shit. Assisted by animals-turned-humanoid (mass-mutated by the ants through radio signal towers- I am not fucking with you), the war is won and man is pretty much game-ended halfway through the book.
(3/?) But then it jarringly switches gears to a detective story. Mort(e), the cat black ops main character (yes that's how his name is spelled. all throughout this), is trying to find out what this human bioweapon that's been infecting animals is, as well as track down this girl-dog that he was in love with when he was still a housecat. It turns out that bafflingly, there are still some humans alive in a *giant hot air balloon*
(4/?) So these humans have combined all the religions of the world, and are converting animals into them. and fuckign... that's the disease. religion is the disease. I think. His prose is so thick and ridiculous that it honestly was a little hard to tell, but it was very clear that he was just waggling his arms going "muh religions stupid, man stupid. I am smart."
(5/?) It just felt in very poor taste, especially with dumb shit like what's basically the 'coexist' symbol painted on the side of their hot air balloon. The narrative and main character treats these remaining humans as foaming at the mouth (literally, that's a symptom of the animals' 'disease' if memory serves me) cultists. It's all just really yikesy, especially since Judaism and Islam are mentioned to be mixed in there as well 😬
(6/?) Another thing I hate is that it's one of those stories where absolutely no one is a good person and violence and pessimism are hailed as good and logical. Somehow, mankind (which could have been the more sympathetic party than the ants or mutant animals, given the violent soullessness of both) are only shown to be crazy, stupid, or downright cold-blooded horrible. It lumps all humans into an evil ball because they [insert any anti-human movie villain quote here].
(7/?)You feel like you can root for nobody, and it doesn't even play with or even acknowledge any kind of positive relationship with animals. Mort(e) was a housecat, and he killed his owners with a shotgun in cold blood literally minutes after transforming. So did lots of other pets in the story. Like it's just so childishly edgy and very hard to stomach, and his writing doesn't help.
(8/?) Barely anything is given a description, characters are flat and one dimensional, the author has Stephen King syndrome where he feels the need to mention gross shit or talk about sex stuff unnecessarily, the prose makes everything confusing and intangible, and the 'science' he tries to employ was absolutely laughable to me even at 14.
(9/10) I have never read a book that boggled my fucking mind quite like Mort(e), but you can be damn sure I'll never forget it. I also will never read it a second time, so this six year old info may be *completely* off, but then, Mr. Repino should have written his shit better. "Mankind fights giant ants in a war" is a bonkers enough hook, but the unholy parcel of dogshit that followed was absolutely not worth the read.
(10/10) I finished it out of spite alone. Fuck Mort(e), man. It could have been wacky and fun but the author ruined it with his ex-military white man edginess and shit writing. I'd just read animal farm if I wanted anything close to this massive, hamfisted pile. I'm done; feel free to just screenshot this massive rant and put it all in one I'm so sorry I ranted for that long”
Well that was a fucking ride
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My Hero Academia Main 3 Boys x Reader
Ch.9 Accidental Backstory?
Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8
Another chapter out! This will be my last post for a bit, finals week is next week so after that then I’ll get back to it but for now, I need to focus on passing chemistry ;-; But more to come soon no worries! Enjoy!
TAGLIST: @rizamendoza808 !(: @iris-suoh !(: @quicksilverfangirl !(: @shortperson202 !(: @noodlenerd101 !(: @matchamidoriya !(: @thorsbtch-captainnoobmaster69me !(:
“We’ve reached the halfway point but it’s still anybody’s game! Class 1-B has made an unexpected showing, but can they keep it? And who will win the 10 million points in the end!?”
Your team glared at the offenders who had the audacity to not only steal your headband, but also piss off the hot head of the group. You assumed the rider knew of Bakugou’s explosive nature and was trying to use it to his advantage. What he didn’t realize was it wasn’t a smart idea to anger Bakugou, it was going to be their end.
“Quit provoking him Monama,” one of the students muttered,” we don’t want to stoop to their level.”
“I guess you’re right,” The Monama kid sighed,”It’s not very heroic of me. Besides, you know how these things work. Heroes are always being surrounded by villains with nasty intentions and desperate attempts of some kind of revenge.” His smirk widened.
You felt your eyebrow twitch. This guy was talking about nasty intentions when he’s the one trying to get under your guys’ skin? He hated your class and he was using that as fuel, if that wasn’t some type of weird payback/revenge, you didn’t know what was.
“You have no right to call us out for the same bullshit you punks are doing!” You spat back before you could stop yourself,” You’re acting on some petty-ass hatred for our class, doesn’t that make you villainous as well?”
“My my,” Monama glared at you,” what a dirty mouth on this one. You should really muzzle your dog, Bakugou.”
Bakugou felt any patience he had snap at that very moment, his eyes burning with rage as his body began to shake. He saw red and then let out a yell in frustration.
You were annoyed at this ugly boy calling you a dog, but before you could respond Bakugou’s aggressive scream sliced through the air, effectively shutting you up before you even began.
“Bakugou man calm down, he’s trying to say crap to rile you up! Don’t fall for his trick otherwise we can’t get our points back if you aren’t thinking straight.” Kirishima grunted, even though he was pretty pissed himself at this guy for calling you out.
“SHUT UP! Isn’t it obvious? I’ve never been calmer. Lets fucking go after them already!” Bakugou yelled back.
“Whatever you say..!”
With that your group took off, sprinting after the other team while they only stood still. You were confused as to why they weren’t moving, but you had no time to express your concerns as another on of Bakugou’s shouts filled the air,
“You think you’re tough, huh? You think you can talk shit and get away with it?! Well I got news for you, DIEE!”
A loud explosion ripped through the air, but Monama dodged last second and brought a hand up to Bakugou’s face and set off an explosion of his own back at him. You gasped loudly, and your team managed to get some distance between the other, not before Monama was able to slap Kirishima’s head. You looked up at Bakugou and saw scorch marks on his cheek, and you glared at the smug boy across the way from you.
Bakugou’s teeth grit in frustration, his cheek stinging from the damage taken. He was pissed, how did this guy have such a similar quirk? Nearly the same as his own, it was ridiculous.
In an attempt to get the boy back, you brought your right arm up and shot a beam of light. Making sure it was hot enough to leave a mark, but not too hot that it'd really hurt the kid. You just wanted him to get a taste of his own medicine. However, Monama simply brought an arm up and it hardened, your light unable to do any damage.
“You both have impressive quirks for sure, but I think you’ll agree when I say mine is better.” Monama said smugly.
“What? My quirk too?” You heard Kirishima say in surprise.
“You bastard, so you can copy others quirks huh?” Bakugou deduced with a frown set firm on his face.
“Wow you figured it out, congrats, I guess even idiots can understand some things can’t they?”
The team was ready to charge at Monama when you were all cut off by a wall of sludge. You glanced to your right and saw another team creating the substance. You assumed they were classmates and they were looking out for each other. You sent another ray of heat towards the new team, as the guy wielding the sludge quirk quickly used it to protect himself and effectively stopping his attack on you guys.
They left shortly after, telling Monama to watch out while they did. The boy in question only smirked at your team, causing tension to rise higher.
“ONLY 3 MINUETS LEFT!”
“I can’t move! I’m stuck!” Kirishima panicked. He was trying to remove his foot from the gunk of that one boys quirk, but it hardened on him and he was utterly stuck. You put a hand out and used the heat from your light to break through the substance.
“Stand still Eijiro, I’ll melt it away!”
Once he was free, you guys charged again, heading straight towards at Monama as his team had started to walk away from you. Bakugou’s patience was running thin so he jumped off of your support and blasted away, shouting the whole way.
“You losers get back here!”
“He really has got to start letting us know when he’s going to do that.” Sero sighed.
You knew it was going to be pointless for him to charge again the same way and expect a different result. You were sure all he needed was a touch and he could copy your quirk, after all he did smack Eijiro. But who’s to say what the actual mechanics of it is? Does he need to touch Bakugou again to use his quirk, or does he have them all set like a speed dial and can change quirks in the blink of an eye?
Best thing to do was try to give Bakugou the upper hand by making it to wear Monama was off guard and unable to use Bakugou’s quirk against him. Making sure he had his eyes on the hot head flying towards him, you sent a blast through the air. Making it change to a solid when it collided with Monamas unsuspecting chest, allowing the boy to be thrown back. His teammates being the only thing to keep him from falling off while Monama grabbed his chest in shock and pain.
One member of his group yelled out his name as Bakugou quickly approached, and since Monama was winded, the student used his quirk and trapped Bakugou in a giant bubble. He was pounding on the thing as he floated in midair inside of it, the student snickering at the sight.
“Ha, you look pretty stupid fighting with air.”
“Well it seems we’re okay for now,” Monama thanked his own teammate before throwing a heated glare at you,” you’re going to pay for that-”
“Oh yea?” You smirked, not showing any fear. You weren’t scared of this brat. ”Bring it on you chump. You thought I was all bark and no bite eh? Maybe I do need some type of muzzle or restraint because if not, you best believe I’ll kick your ass.”
“No, you need a muzzle because you’re a filthy animal in every sense of the word. You think you’re better than us, but you’re scum just like your boyfriend and the rest of your class. You’re the reason the female dog has it’s nickname you bitch-” The sound of glass breaking cut Monama off.
Bakugou broke free of the prison he was trapped in and punched Monama across the face before grabbing most of the headbands around his neck. Thinking quickly, Sero shot out his tape and caught him right before he hit the ground, yanking him up and bringing him back to your group. His landing this time was much smoother than the first as he quickly settled on your guys’ arms.
Bakugou was absolutely livid. How dare that background character trap him in a stupid bubble and make him look weak in front of everyone. How fucking dare that droopy eyed asshole call you a bitch when he was the only bitch he saw here. And worst of all, how dare those motherfuckers still have one headband left. He wanted them to go down, no headbands, zero-points-you’re-out down.
“You should really warn us before you jump dammit.” Sero grunts out.
“Shut up.” Bakugou barked back, not in the mood.
“It’s alright, at least we’re advancing now!” Kirishima yelled out excitedly.
“No!” Bakugou growled, starting to smack Kirishima’s head,”We’re not done yet! We’re going to make sure those assholes have nothing left, we’ll fucking obliterate them. Then we’re going to be the indisputable champions of the game.”
“I wasn’t able to brace myself when I jumped,” He continued, you and Sero gave each other a look as he was still smacking the other boy’s head. Said boy taking no care. “Let's get our points back, then take down Deku and get his 10 million.”
“Right! Let’s go!” You all agreed, his words firing everyone up.
“Elbow guy, tape them! Get the back!” Bakugou lifts his left leg, giving Sero the opportunity to shoot, blocking the other team’s right side.
“My name is Sero dammit!”
“Glow worm! Can you trap them there!?” Bakugou lifted his right leg for you to do the exact same thing.
“Don’t you doubt me Bakugou!” You yelled, sending off a large blast that was bigger than the others you’ve used.
It was larger than your normal beams but still pretty small, reaching just under your hips. You made sure to keep the heat up as you manipulated the light to warp on their left side and behind, creating a barrier. You all rushed forward, faster than before. The heat you created caused Monama and co to stagger back, and get caught in Sero’s tape. The were unable to move out of the way as you all rushed up on them.
Bakugou raises a fist as the guy who originally trapped him was creating another bubble, this time to act as a shield. In one punch Bakugou effectively smashed through it, easier than the first one. You saw the other groups eyes widen as Baugou kept his fist outstretched and made a grab for the last headband.
“Woah did you see that folks, Bakugou is a force to be reckoned with! We also saw some impressive moves from his group members, like Sero from class 1-A, and of course our little miss Hakamata! WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT WITH ONLY 30 SECONDS OF THE MATCH LEFT!”
You dropped your small heat barrier, and you all skidded away from Monama and towards the giant ice slabs. Once close enough, Bakugou sent off an explosion hot enough to melt the ice and wide enough for you all to run through. Once inside, Bakugou jumps off of the group and uses his quirk to help him lunge towards the two other clashing teams, lead by Todoroki and Izuku.
“Who’s got the points!?”Bakugou yelled as he looked back and forth between the two points, seeing Midoriya going after Todoroki he knew.
“DAMMIT ICYHOOOT!”You held your breath, waiting for Bakugou to snatch the points.
“TIMES UP!”
But alas, things never went the way you wanted them to. Bakugou belly flopped onto the ground as Present Mic announced the end of the match. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of your lips at the sight of the hot head face-first on the ground.
“SHUT UP, WHAT THE HELL IS SO FUNNY!?” He turned his head and snarled, obviously not as amused as you were.
Sero and Kirishima joined in with their own laughs and Bakugou felt a vein pop as he moved his face back towards the dirt and screamed.
“Let’s take a look at our top 4 teams shall we? In the number one spot, we have team Todoroki! Second place is none other than team Bakugou! As for third, our team is-oh wow, team Shinso! That’s a shock! Finally, last but not least, in fourth our last team is, TEAM MIDORIYA!” The crowd went wild.
“Man we were so close to first.” Kirishima sighed.
“Yeah sure, but we’re continuing so it doesn’t matter.” Sero shrugged.
“I don’t think our fearless leader agrees with you there.” You giggle while watching Bakugou as he slammed his fist on the ground throwing a fit.
“He’s like a rabid animal.” Sero muttered.
“You okay Bakugou?” You asked. He kept his face planted in the dirt, ignoring you.
“Now let's take an hour break for lunch before we start the next activities! Hey EraserHead, let’s grab some food!”
“I just wanna nap.”
You walk over to Bakugou and poke him with your foot.
“Are you coming with us or are you going to lay there all day.”
“Fuck off.” Bakugou got up and glared at you, before walking away on his own.
You shrugged at the other boys, walking with them to the entrance before catching sight of Izuku and his team. The poor boy was crying his eyes out, and that made you want to laugh. He was a total baby, just like Bakugou. They were pretty similar in various ways, but all different at the same time, it was weird.
“You guys go on ahead and I’ll catch you later!” You told your two teammates, and they nodded back in agreement before making their way out of the stadium.
Walking over to Izuku’s group, it wasn’t hard to miss the giant tears that fell from his eyes. You placed a hand on his shoulder and your heart squeezed at his big watery green eyes that looked into yours at the action.
“You guys did amazing! I’m glad you were able to find a great team Izuku.”
“Thank you (y/n)! It means so much!” He started to cry even harder at your praise.
He was just so happy that he made it, so happy you made it, he was just so happy. More tears started to fall, practically sending him into the ground. You sighed before grabbing onto his hand, trying to lift him from the ground. Everyone was walking away to the lunchroom and you wanted to make sure you both got a spot.
“C’mon Deku let’s go get some lunch! I’m starving!”
He agreed and you both walked towards the entrance, but were stopped by someone suddenly before you got the chance to reach it. You had to stop yourself from running into their chest, looking up in confusion.
“Todoroki?”
He didn’t answer you, choosing to stare coldly at Izuku, and you felt some protect-izuku-at-all-costs instinct kick in, you tsked and crossed your arms.
“I just need to talk to Midoriya.” You looked at the boy in question, and while he had looked a bit nervous, he seemed just as confused as you were.
“O-kay?” He finally tore his gaze away to look you in the eyes. You felt your heart thump and blamed it on the icy gaze he held.
“Now. Alone.”
“Yeah whatever, thanks for asking politely.” You grumbled out.
Looking at Izuku to make sure he was okay to be left alone. He just nodded politely and you smiled at him. Smile turning down as you walked away, passing by Todoroki, shoulders brushing as you did. Well, more like your shoulder and his bicep, what’s it with these boys being so tall?
“I’ll see you later Deku.”
Todoroki didn’t let your attitude bother him, he knew you were still wary of him for calling you out and he didn’t blame you. While he held no ill will, this was something he had to speak about alone to Midoriya. He already said his two-cents to you, and he hoped you’d understand. This wasn’t a fight he wanted with you, only with Midoriya
You guess Bakugou was right to call him IcyHot, but not just for his quirk. His mood really did flip on a dime, and while you thought Bakugou was an arrogant jerk, Todoroki beat him by a mile. You felt angry, but at the same time you didn’t. You saw something else in him when you two talked, even if it was only for a second. You didn’t want to feel this was about him, but it always seemed like no matter what good deed he ended up doing, the blunt and nasty attitude washed it all away. You hoped that he could maybe one day it could be different, that he could be a friend. As of right now, you didn’t think you could call him that. No matter what you both went through during the U.S.J, or even the shared understanding of being a child of a top 10 hero.
You will admit, while you didn’t realize Todoroki was Endeavor’s son at first, it wasn’t hard to figure out. Especially after the training with AllMight, that quirk couldn’t have been mistaken. You glanced back, seeing them both walk towards a different entrance. While doing so you ended up locking eyes with Todoroki for a split second before turning away. You huffed, feathers ruffled and belly empty. You just wanted some food, and you needed some water in your system.
Making your way through the corridor, you were about to walk outside in the direction of the lunch hall when a was hand pulling you back. You yelped and quickly spun around, bringing your fist up your fist to counter attack.
“Hey knock it off or I won’t let you come.”
“Bakugou?” Said boy was holding your fist in an attempt to stop you from punching him. You muttered a sorry before letting your hand fall to your side, and cocked your head at him in a questioning gaze.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think? I want to know why the hell that damn IcyHot finds Deku more of a threat than me. So I’m going to listen to what he has to say. You in or not glitter bomb.”
You bit your lip, looking into his ruby red eyes. While you wanted to know what was happening, because you were curious, another part of you knew it was wrong. Plus you were hungry, tired, and thirsty. You just wanted to sit down.
Bakugou was getting annoyed at how long you were taking to answer, and he really did not like the way you zoned out while staring at him, biting you lip like that. No not one bit, what the hell was your problem.
“Oi glow worm I’ll leave you fucking here I don’t have all damn da-”
“Yeah shut up lets go!”
You both snuck around to one end of a hall, stopping before it opened up when you heard Izuku’s nervous voice echoed off the walls.
“So you brought me here, now what?”
You held your breath, afraid to even breathe at the idea of being caught. Your heart was thumping in worry, you wanted to make sure Izuku was okay.
“We should probably eat soon, the cafeteria is going to be busy! Don’t you think?” Izuku spoke out once more after not getting a response.
The tension was killing him, it was different when he was with Kaachan, at least he was more open about his feelings that way, and he had some idea on how to deal with the explosive attitude. He’s never dealt with silent intimidation before. Oh what he wouldn’t give to be sitting down and eating with you, he wanted to know all about how your fight with down, and he wanted you to be interested in his too!
“I was overwhelmed,” Todoroki’s voice broke him from his thoughts, “and that made me break the promise I made to myself a long time ago.”
You looked at Bakugou questioningly and he just shrugged in response, eyebrows drawn together.
“None of our team members felt it, but I did. I was the only one in that moment who could sense your true power. It reminded me of AllMight, and when we experienced his quirk first hand.”
“Oh yeah? Um, okay, is that all?”
“I’m trying to say, your power feels just like AllMight’s. Midoriya, tell me. Are you really AllMight’s secret love child. ”
You had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Bakugou glanced down at you with a disgusted expression as your shoulders shook with silent laughter. He motioned for you to be quiet, but you can hardly contain yourself. Just the thought of Izuku and AllMight being father and son-
Your movement stopped as you allow yourself to think about it; they were always together, they did have some similarities in their quirks, and Izuku really did look up to AllMight. Was it really that far fetched? Quirks didn’t have to 100% resemble your parents, it’s not like you had your dad’s exact quirk after all. The only thing you and your dad did have that was similar was you could manipulate properties. His was clothing while yours was light particles. Your quirk was a mix of both your parents, who’s to say that’s not the case for Deku?
“No no way! That’s not it at all I swear! But I guess if I said I wasn’t you would think I was saying that to protect my identity and therefore not believe me anyways so I guess it really doesn’t matter if I say yes or no because if I said yes well then why would I be lying about that, and if I said no then you would always be suspicious and doubting so I guess there really isn’t a good way to tell you it’s not true because-”
“Midoriya.”
“Ah, r-right, anyways you’ve got the wrong idea. Why would you even think that.”
“You wouldn’t be the only offspring of a Pro Hero in this class if that were the case. My father is the hero Endeavor, you’ve must’ve heard about the number 2 Hero.”
You gulped, would he bring you up? Or would he respect any privacy you had?
“And then there’s Hakamata.”
Of course he wouldn’t. You felt Bakugou’s stare on you but you kept your gaze at the wall in front of you, not looking at him.
“Wait, (y/n)? What does she have to do with anything?” Izuku demanded.
He may have been frightened, but he didn’t like that Todoroki was bringing you into something that had nothing to do with you. He felt some confidence flood his system as he narrowed his eyes at Todoroki.
“I don’t know what your issue is with me but I can handle it, you don’t need to be dragging her into anything! She’s a good person and you can’t-”
“Don’t you get it?” Todoroki sighed, growing annoyed by his rambling. Why was he making such a big about you anyways? It was pretty exasperating. “Hakamata is the daughter of the number 4 Hero Best Jeanist. While she may be a concern in the future, I don’t have a grievance with her at the moment. But if you were connected to the number 1 hero in any way, that just means I have even more of a reason to beat you.”
Izuku felt his eyes go wide. You were the daughter of the number 4 Pro Hero? That was so cool! But then he realized the full weight of Todorokis’ words and frowned.
“What do you-”
“My old man is ambitious and he aims for the top, but he’s never been able to best AllMight. The Symbol of Peace is living proof of his failure. He’s still going, trying to take down AllMight. One way or another.”
“Todoroki, I don’t understand. Why are you telling me all this, what are you telling me?”
“Have you ever heard of quirk marriages?”
Your blood ran cold and you felt your hands shake as you balled them into fists by yourself. He was the result of a quirk marriage too? Your head started to ache and you just wanted to be anywhere but here. It was bringing up some memories of your own that you really didn’t want to deal with. You heard Todorki’s voice break through your own metal breakdown.
“People trying to find potential mates solely with the intention of creating powerful children. Like old-fashioned arranged marriages. My father was a man who had many accomplishments and money to throw around, so he bought my mother from her family and used her quirk. Now he’s raising me to usurp AllMight.”
Izuku’s gasped.
“I refuse to be a tool for the scumbag that did that to my mother. I only ever remember her crying. She called my left side unbearable before she poured boiling water on my face... I picked a fight with you to show my old man what I was capable of doing, without having to rely on his damn quirk, and that I can take first place without using it.”
You felt Bakugou tense next to you, and you did as well. It was a terrible burden to place on a child, and you felt anger towards his father. You knew he was a terrible man, but this? How sickening. You heard their footsteps fade away and you shared a grim look with Bakugou. Your mind flashed with images from your childhood and you closed your eyes.
With heavy limbs you walked away, not even bothering to wait for Bakugou. Your past wasn’t something you needed to be thinking of at the moment, so you just needed to act like nothing happened. You shouldn’t have gone with him and listened in on those two. You knew it was a bad idea, curse your nosy nature.
#bnha#bnha x reader#mha#mha x reader#bnha imagines#mha imagines#bnha katsuki bakugou#bnha katsuki#bnha bakugou#bnha bakugo katsuki#bnha katsuki bakugou x reader#bnha bakugou katsuki x reader#bnha bakugou x reader#bnha katsuki x reader#mha katsuki#mha bakugou katsuki x reader#bnha shouto todoroki#bnha shoto todoroki#bnha todoroki#bnha shouto todoroki x reader#bnha shoto todoroki x reader#bnha todoroki x reader#shouto todoroki x reader#mha shoto todoroki#bnha izuku midoriya x reader#bnha deku x reader#bnha midoriya izuku#izuku midoriya x reader#mha izuku midoriya x reader#bnha x you
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Wed 24 July
How is everyone, didya survive the anniversary? Good memes yesterday and we got lovely tweets from Niall, Liam and Louis as well as many others close to the boys, and of course the millions of others who kept the anniversary trending worldwide for like 36 hours. Niall also tweeted that he spent the day in the studio mixing for the new album, Louis was seen at a league footie match in London, and Zayn quite rightly refused to be left out of the reminiscing and posted a wild haired selfie.
Alas, there was also some truly terrible nonsense in the press bringing the mood down, but no worries, Louis has swooped in to save the day! "What a load of bullshit," he tweeted, along with a screen shot of the Mirror headline claiming that 'drugs, meltdowns and gay sex rumors' led to 'hatred and rivalry' that ended the band. "Typical unprovoked venom," he says, "nothing could be further from the truth." He went on to say, how ridiculous, the drugs meltdowns and gay sex were what brought us closer together and really made us magic oh whoops nope we haven't actually got that tell all yet But Louis using such, ummm, familiar and exact phrasing is the real standout in this tweet. Difficult, impossible really, to imagine Louis of all people being oblivious to the impact of that particular phrase on the fandom, and the use of it to refute a headline (that he can't stand) specifically calling out gay sex rumors is poetic. He's been hitting us hard with the throwbacks this year and it's a lot! That was his big move for the day for sure but he tweeted a bunch of other stuff too: he says one of the songs we've heard a clip of won't be on the album, but that Always You will be because people tweet about it so much which is an interesting reason that gives me all kinds of ideas but anything I can think of already is in fact being tweeted endlessly at him so I won't worry about it, and he says that it's too fucking hot outside and that milkshakes are awesome, our man isn't afraid to embrace mainstream opinions when they're so clearly correct ones. Meanwhile the voted Celeb Mix awards results are in, and Louis and his louies won handily for Star of the Summer and Best Fandom, heck yeah! What do we win?
The keyboard player of Niall's band got married and Niall posted from the wedding, an extravagant and very fun looking affair and there are lots of pics of Niall and his whole band looking stylish and happy, lovely. He also reminds us that Wild Youth are playing at a castle for the opening of the ISPS Handa invitational (the golf tournament Niall is involved in putting on) Aug 13 and tickets are available now
Liam is doing a Hugo event at a mall in Florida of all places this Saturday (27 July) and there's a contest to win the opportunity to go for a meet and greet so if getting to a random mall a little North of Miami a few days from now is practical for you, this is your moment I guess
Zayn is selling his NYC penthouse (only ten million dollars!) which is being hailed as proof that his relationship with Gigi is truly over (because he had allegedly bought it originally because it was close to her NY apartment.) I'll miss him graciously allowing the paps to see him exiting the building and getting into a car (and not a single thing more) every once in a while, RIP those familiar doors; how will he promo his music now, he'll have to like do appearances or something! His London and LA homes are also for sale- he probably has new digs but I like imagining him saying enough, I'm getting rid of all of these and just living off the land! and sequestering himself at his (no doubt ridiculously fancy) Pennsylvania farm with the horses and little dogs and hairless cats and who knows who else that he's got out there.
Oh yeah and people are angry at Harry for not tweeting which has to be a full time job since he doesn't tweet approximately 99.9999999999% percent of the time but people love an excuse to act shocked and dismayed I guess. Might as well get mad at the sun for shining but of course people do that too
#do i mean the sun in the sky or do i mean Louis YOU BE THE JUDGE#Liam Payne#Louis Tomlinson#Niall Horan#Zayn#Harry#Louis#Liam#Niall#sad about the decline in tagging quality? ME TOO take it up with tumblr which now erases any tags you attempt to save so i have to scramble#them all on real quick and then hit post now IMMEDIATELY or i have to start over#so i forget shit every fucking day now i fucking hate Tumblr staff istg#louis querelle#wild youth#isps handa#sbb#real estate#bullshit 3.0#Hugo#Louis at cockfosters#celeb mix#24 July 19#Gigi#daily mirror#Louis hates the mirror#and who can blame him they've really done him wrong
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The Time of Our Lives (Part Two)
Based on a prompt from @geekymarvel
Peter is tasked with an important mission that requires him to go back in time. Finding himself at a gala for Stark industries in the 1990's, he comes face to face with a young and incorrigible Tony Stark who considers Peter's attempts to deny his advances a challenge. Now, dogged by a horny young CEO who won't take no for an answer, Peter's task has become much more difficult....
(STORY CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS)
Read on AO3
Be careful what you wish for. It was a cliched adage that old people were always quoting as if they were the first ones to think of such a priceless nugget of wisdom. Never before in Peter’s life had he been granted such an acute understanding of just how wise it was.
How many times in the last several years had he wished for something just like this? He’d pined for Tony Stark from the solitude of his own bedroom since his very early teens when his hero worship for Iron Man had been swallowed by a budding sexuality it had taken him years to completely accept and understand.
Just once he had wished and hoped and dreamed that Mr. Stark would see him as something other than a child, but he also knew how ridiculous that desire was. He was a stupid kid who could barely talk to the man without stumbling over his words. He made huge, dangerous blunders. Mr. Stark was never going to feel about Peter the way Peter felt about him and he had accepted the one-sided nature of his love for the man a long, long time ago.
And now…Tony’s words were burned across his brain. He could hear his voice echoing those not-so-innocent terms of endearment. His skin felt hot where Tony had touched him as if imprints of his hands were scorched onto the skin. More than anything in the world, Peter wanted to turn around and indulge in whatever filthy things he knew this younger version of his mentor probably had in mind. He wanted to bask in the knowledge that his attraction to Tony Stark was, in fact, not one-sided at all. In another world, another time, Tony could have been all his…and that realization was as tempting as it was terrifying.
Sometimes being a responsible super-hero really fucking sucked.
Or…didn’t suck…that was really the problem.
What might have been was literally going to haunt him for the rest of his life, and all Peter Parker could do was accept it and attempt to fulfill his mission. If he’d known that this was the ‘great responsibility’ Ben had been talking about, he might have taken a hard pass. A very hard pass.
The mission.
He needed to focus on the mission, not his own dangerously neglected libido.
The incinerator.
He needed to find the incinerator.
Probably in the basement with some kind of exhaust on the roof. His best bet at this point was just to dive down a hatch like in A New Hope and try to make the best of it, but finding a hatch to dive down wasn’t going to be easy. Security wasn’t as tight as it should be on the upper floors, everything seemed to be confined to the lower levels where the guests were…at least, that’s what Mr. Stark had implied in the dream. If Peter could swipe a security badge and get upstairs without being seen, at least half the battle would be won.
“Excuse me, could you tell me where the security office is?” Peter put on his most innocent and boyish smile as he looked up hopefully at the security guard stationed by the wall where he was attempting to be at one with the artwork and plants on the edge of the foyer. He looked oddly familiar, but Peter couldn’t quite place why. He was very thin, very young, and not very experienced in his job if his body language was any indication. The somewhat familiar guard’s gaze shifted from the room to the boy in front of him and he frowned.
“Why do you need to know that, kid?”
“Always asking the important questions, a trait I like in my personal security. What’s your name again?” An unwelcome voice sounded from behind Peter.
“Hogan, Sir.”
Woah, Happy! His initial surprise over the guard’s identity was eclipsed as Peter felt the fine hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end at the unexpected and unwelcome sound of Tony Stark’s voice. What good was a Spidey Sense if it didn’t tell you that someone was sneaking up on you? Except that the only danger that Tony Stark posed was to Peter’s virginity. Peter sighed and turned around to give the other man a scowl. “For your information, I found a wallet outside and I wanted to turn it in to security so the owner could get it back.”
Tony raised his eyebrows at this, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants in a leisurely stance. “Aren’t you the boy scout? All right, sweetheart, I know everyone at this party. Why don’t you give me the wallet and I’ll see that it gets back to its owner. No bothering with security. Cut out the middle man.”
Peter could actually feel the color drain from his face as his mind searched for some way out of this mess. Frantically, he patted the pockets of his jacket and pants. He really didn’t have to try to look mortified or embarrassed, he was already there. “I…It was…I think…I don’t…I lost it.”
“You lost the lost wallet that you found outside…you’re not very responsible are you, Beautiful?”
Peter’s scowl only deepened. If he only knew how damn responsible Peter was the guy’s head would explode. Young Tony Stark was ridiculously hot to a degree that left Peter feeling lightheaded with want…but he was also kind of a jerk and that made Peter want to push him down a flight of stairs.
Peter noticed that Tony’s tuxedo jacket was unbuttoned, the flaps held back by his arms, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his pants. The teen couldn’t help but look. He was only human and this was the man he’d lusted after since adolescence and he did look positively godlike in a tuxedo. It was only when his gaze had fallen to Tony’s pants that he saw something fortuitous. And no, it wasn’t the obvious bulge of an impressively erect penis. Although he’d have to be blind not to see that. Peter was no idiot, it was precisely why Tony was standing in that position. The man had absolutely no shame and Peter both hated him and loved him for it. Oh no, the thing that had him smiling and his heart hammering out an insanely fast staccato beat in his chest was the sight of a security badge hanging nearby that impressively large bulge of fabric.
A glance back at Tony’s face revealed that he thought Peter’s reaction was all due to his impressive manhood and it was all Peter could do not to wipe the smile right off his face with the truth. He didn’t, though, because telling the man he wanted to steal his security badge was probably going to make actually stealing it much harder than it was already going to be. So he bit the inside of his cheek and felt the color rush back to his face in a brilliant red flush across his cheeks and the tips of his ears at the realization that Tony thought Peter had been staring (and smiling) at his junk for a good sixty seconds.
“How long are you going to pretend that you’re not as into me as I’m into you, Peter? The evidence is as clear as the crotch of your pants. Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving this thing we have going. Cat and mouse game, it’s sexy as hell…but I’ve got to say a few words to the shareholders in a little while and I want to know if I need to go rub one out so I don’t give them an eye full or if you’re actually going to give in with enough time for us to really have a good time tonight.”
Was it possible for his blush to get even darker? Yes. Yes, it was. Peter ducked his head and tried to position his hands over the front of his pants as if only becoming aware of his own predicament when Tony had the audacity to point it out. His mind had been so focused on other things that he had been able to relegate his physical desires to some distant part of his reptile brain. Now that Tony had called attention to it, Peter was suddenly aware of just how uncomfortably hard he was. “You are the literal worst, Tony Stark.” His voice came out in an awkward hiss of exasperation as he looked for somewhere, anywhere to hide away and deal with personal matters without involving the billionaire playboy.
He spotted a bathroom a few yards away and began a less than subtle crab-walk in that direction. Tony’s laughter followed him, as did the man himself, striding with that same cocky self confidence and exhibitionism.
“I hate you.” Why wouldn’t Tony just leave him alone? What was worse, perhaps, was that the security guard was now also following them after a gesture from Tony. There were people looking, because honestly who wouldn’t look at the spectacle they were probably making of themselves? “I hate you so much, Tony Stark.”
“I can work with that. There’s such a thin demarcation between the really passionate emotions, Peter. Hatred and love are nearly interchangeable…as is lust.”
“I’m not lusting after you!” Lie.
“Keep telling yourself that, Kid, maybe you can make it true.”
Finally, the bathroom door was within arm’s reach, he burst through, attempting to whirl around and slam the door in Tony’s face, but the guard was just too fast. Happy blocked the move with an arm, and Peter was forced to either retreat or use enough force to break Happy’s arm. He retreated. Tony’s gaze swept the room, noticing a man standing in front of the urinal to their left. “You. Out. Now.”
Mumbling apologies, the man was still trying to tuck himself back into his pants as he stumbled hurriedly out the door and left Tony, Peter, and Happy alone.
“Why don’t you make sure we’re not interrupted, Happy? Peter and I need a little alone time.”
Peter gulped audibly as the security guard left the two of them alone. Tony would never hurt him. Even this jerky Tony, but Peter honestly didn’t know how strong his self control was going to be if things between them got more physical. He was a seventeen year old boy. He had so many hormones raging through his system right now that it was a testament to his willpower that he had withstood temptation this long.
Peter could actually smell Tony’s cologne he was now standing so close, and he was startled to realize that Tony hadn’t changed brands in almost thirty years. They said scent was closely tied to memory, and Peter had to agree that smelling that familiar aroma was reminding him that the man in front of him was every bit Anthony Edward Stark. A much less heroic version,to be sure, but Tony just the same.
The distance between them became even shorter as the other man stepped forward, the fingers of his right hand hovering dangerously close to Peter’s hip. The teen could practically feel the magnetic pull of them even through the thin layer of air that still separated them. Peter looked up at him, noting that Tony was drawing closer and closer. He could smell the alcohol on Tony’s breath when he spoke again, the whisper passing over the skin of his face like a caress and making him shiver. “All kidding aside, Peter Parker, I’m not here to force you into anything. If I’m reading the signs wrong…if you don’t want to kiss me every bit as badly as I want you to, you can go. If I’m right though, the only question is…what’s holding you back?”
Peter could do nothing but watch him lean in closer, saw the way his lips were parted, the darkness of his eyes, the hitch in his breathing. He hesitated, a thousand things conflicting in peter’s head and tying his thoughts into knots. Tony’s lips were only inches away. Everything he’d wanted for himself but been denied because of time and society and his own nerves and it was all right there for the taking. He just had to…
Peter rose a little on his toes, his own eyes locked on Tony’s mouth. A small growl erupted from the other man’s throat and Peter hesitated, drawing back again to look at him through thick lashes before he just gave in and did something supremely selfish.
Peter could practically feel the other man’s surprise. If he had been expecting a tender, close-lipped kiss that he could entice into something less innocent and more demanding, than he had every right to be surprised. Peter practically devoured him, lips parted and tongue demanding entry into Tony’s mouth almost before the man had time to register the kiss. Peter’s hands quickly found purchase at the back of his neck, digging into his scalp and using a surprising amount of force to keep his head in just the right position for those hungry kisses to continue. Peter felt the man growl against his mouth again, grabbing Peter by the ass and lifting him enough for Peter to wrap his legs around the other man’s waist and lock them into place. Peter thought Tony cursed at the feeling of the erection now pressed against his abs, but the word lost all articulation under the kisses that Peter was want to give up. Tony turned them both around, hoisting Peter a little higher to rest him against the sink and gain a little leverage. Finally, Peter had to pull back a little, gasping for air to fill his lungs, his hands leaving Tony’s head and instead finding their way to Tony’s pants.
Tony had turned his own attentions to Peter’s throat, making the teen moan softly at the wetness of his tongue, the friction of his teeth, and the sucking of his mouth that was going to leave purple bruises all up and down the pale and previously untouched skin of his neck. “I’m taking you home with me tonight.” Tony pulled back to look at him, hand coming up to cup the side of Peter’s face. He was laughing as he spoke, breathless and smiling and the look on his face made Peter want to cry. He’d never seen the man look so carefree and happy and he’d been responsible for that. Him. “I’m taking you back to my place as soon as I put on the show for the shareholders. I can’t possibly do all of the things I want to do to you in this bathroom…and I certainly can’t savor you the way I want to.”
Peter’s fingers continued to caress the fabric of his pants, but he nodded at the plans. He really didn’t trust himself to speak. He didn’t even know if he could at the moment.
Tony had just returned to his lips, had only just begun to pull Peter’s shirt out of the cummerbund that held it when there was a nervous knock at the door.
“Mr. Stark, they’re calling for you to say a few words, Sir.”
“Fuck!” Tony nipped at Peter’s lip in consternation as he pulled back, drawing a little surprised squeal from the teenager who sucked his now bleeding lower lip into his mouth as he glanced between the CEO and the bathroom door. “Stall them.”
“Uh, Mr. Stark, I already did…everyone…is waiting.”
“Fuck!” Tony backed up a few steps looking behind Peter into the mirror and attempting to straighten himself up. It wasn’t going to be hard for anyone to know what he was doing in the bathroom. Even buttoning the tuxedo jacket over his pants wasn’t really hiding everything from view. The more astute party-goers were going to get an eye-full of their CEO. He didn’t know why, but Peter felt particularly pleased with that.
“Go ahead…I can just…I can wait here. The…the sooner you do that speech, the sooner we get to leave.”
Tony’s gaze raked over him before he nodded. “You’re right. I’ll make it short. I can think of a hundred things I’d rather be doing with my night than talking to those stiffs…and you feature heavily in all hundred of them.”
Peter was still blushing as Tony pushed out the bathroom door and vanished from view. The teenager remained where he was, still panting and sore from the kisses. But after he could hear the distant sound of Tony speaking into a microphone filtering through the bathroom door, he lifted his hand from his side and shook the security badge free that he’d palmed during the make-out session.
God, he wanted to go home with Tony tonight and lose his virginity a hundred different ways to the man he’d loved with all his heart, but duty called. Hopping down from the sink, he splashed a little cold water onto his face and surveyed his swollen lips in the mirror. “Come on, Spider-Man. The universe needs you. We gotta do this.”
Sliding out of the bathroom door, he was pleased to see that Happy had not been left to guard him. It appeared Tony was now safely assured of his victorious conquest. A part of Peter was particularly happy about getting the best of him, even if Tony’s balls weren’t the only ones that were going to be blue tonight.
—
Tony was not even thinking about his speech. He’d practiced it a few dozen times for Obie until the man was content that it sounded earnest enough. He could practically give it on autopilot, which was exactly what he was doing now. His mind, instead, was on the pretty little thing in the men’s room. Not only was he a sight to behold, but his fire and sass made Tony hungry with desire. Such a tantalizing package of innocence and beauty and hunger and fire. He wanted to explore every aspect of that multifaceted little diamond in the rough, and he had every intention of doing that until the wee hours of the morning…right up until he unbuttoned his jacket and realized that something was wrong.
“Okay, look, you’ve heard all of this before and I’ve had a little too much to drink, so let’s just enjoy the rest of the party and you can pretend like I gave you guys the song and dance you all expect, okay? Perfect.” He raced off the temporary stage two steps at a time, grabbing the arm of the security guard he’d commandeered to guard his bathroom escapade and steered him away from the foyer down an access hallway. “That little minx stole my ID.” He hissed the words at Hogan. What was it everyone called him? Happy. Yes, Happy. They burst into the security office and Tony gestured at the wall of television screens in front of them. “Find him. I want to know where he is and what he’s doing with my card. Now.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Happy set to work calling up a quick, interchanging circuit of the cameras that watched nearly ever inch of the building. It took several seconds, but soon he was pointing at one towards the middle. “There, Sir, the executive elevator.”
“My executive elevator.” He spoke through clenched teeth as he leaned forward to get a better view. The kid was nervous. He could see him fidgeting as the elevator made a swift ascent to the executive offices on the upper floors. If he’d wanted to see the offices, all he’d had to do was ask. Tony would have been only too happy to bend him over his desk and fuck him into next week. This whole spy routine, it was only succeeding in pissing Tony off. He didn’t know who the kid was or who he worked for, but he had every intention of finding out.
“What the fuck is he…” Tony frowned as the kid rolled up his sleeve and began to mess with something on his wrist. A moment later and Tony was viewing the impossible. Something appeared to pour from the watch housing, coalescing up his arms and around his body to form a hard exoskeleton. An armor. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. If he’d enjoyed the way the kid’s tuxedo hung, he had a whole new appreciation for the boy’s physique now. As the elevator ground to a stop, the kid exited, looking around as if he expected to be stopped by a guard, but there were no guards. Lots of cameras. But the guards were all downstairs.
Was he tiptoeing? It looked like he was tiptoeing down the corridor to Tony’s own office. Tony expected him to go for the computers or the desk, perhaps the hard files, any number of things. Instead, the kid was walking along the walls looking for something. He appeared to find it when he pulled out a hatch that led to the incinerator in the basement. Turning away from the hatch, he shot something from his wrist onto one of the built in book cases on the far wall, tested the tensile strength, and then jumped through the hatch, disappearing once more from view.
“Come on, Happy.” He waved the man to follow him as he headed back towards the elevators.
“Where are we going, Sir?”
“Basement. We’re going to catch our little intruder and find out what the hell he’s doing here and who sent him.”
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pride week - day 5 - AU free-for-all
so this AU is a crossover because when i first looked at the prompt i was like half-asleep and thought it said crossover. whoops.
--
He’s coming to the conclusion that Kiyotaka’s family is just fucking weird. He’s still not exactly sure what their relationship status is, since they’ve only been on like two and a half dates that might have not even been dates and nothing between them seems to have actually changed - but even speaking as a best friend, it was just really fucking bizarre
The other sections of the bake sale that did not have an entire bottle’s worth of food coloring dumped into the mix did exceedingly well, letting them schedule trips to meet up and hang out with the GSAs from other colelges in the area. It was a neat little idea Makoto and Kiyotaka had come up with on their own time that also kinda made Mondo want to punch himself in the face.
It mostly just starts with this: he thinks he has competition.
The reason he thinks this is because Leon tells him he does. They’re meeting with MU in a bowling alley that’s somewhere in between both schools and while it’s not the only GSA in the area, it is the only one available or interested in reaching out to them. And the gaggle of students who pick to play against them in a four-on-four match just happens to consist of three rough looking boys and one chick.
Striek one. It’s not exactly a secret that Taka has a type, and that type is punks. (Well, and Makoto; but he’s everybody’s type, so he doesn’t count.) He’s never said out loud that he finds that kinda thing appealing, but Hifumi’s Halloween Theme suggestion, “Book of Eibon” (which earned him the group name moniker Anime Trash) really took. People dressed as whatever they found most attractive - or in Hifumi’s and Chihiro’s cases, the kind of aesthetic they really dug.
Hifumi’s magical girl outfit was absolutely outstanding. They really did have to give him that.
...where was he? Right. Taka had shown up to the party in all secondhand clothes, studded belt and motorcycle boots and fake piercings, pleather jacket over an embroidered white vest covered in safety pins. It sure as shit left an impression.
And it was such a goddamn come-on. he’d thought before then that Taka’s staring was judgmental and had a hard time stringing two words together at the implication that he was staring because he was attracted to Mondo.
Not that Mondo was the only punk in the group. Tanaka flushed and tried to hide beneath his scarf, realizing too late he didn’t have it included in the regal get-up he came dressed in. And Leon said to Mondo, “If I wasn’t straight, I’d so hit that.”
Leon figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t straight, and also that Taka was way off limits.
Mondo’s been trying to figure out how to take a more direct approach, since Taka’s misconstrued all his flirting as friendliness. Which - okay, yeah. He’s kind of learned along the way that he might also be in love with the guy platonically, too. he is the best friend, in terms of quality, that Mondo’s ever had, and he doesn’t plan on that shit changing just ‘cause he wants to add hand-holding into the mix.
So strike two is this: Ishimaru seems to actually know the guy in too much purple who practically launches himself at him. They embrace in a tight hug, and that smug asshole has his hairstyle too. Rude. Utterly, unbelievably rude.
The guy introduces himself as Josuke. He looks like he might be a couple years older than them, with pretty blue eyes. He’s the president of the MU GSA, which he does not hesitate to tell Kiyotaka, “I love what you did with the name, dude. Very kewl.”
Kewl. Like he’s fucking twelve and it’s the nineties.
Taka blushes like he does when he’s embarrassed or flattered and it takes a lot for Mondo not to slug the guy. He’s really only distracted from Kiyotaka’s refusal of the credit by the guy with the little ponytail and two-toned grey hair saying to him “Hey, man, nice mods,” referring to his jacket.
He’s kind of forgotten about it. He doesn’t wear the longer coat he had in high school anymore because yeah, he’s not in high school anymore, thank you very much Daiya. “Uh, thanks,” he says, but the shorter one with the kinda silvery blonde hair is smirking at it, mouthing the words Crazy Diamonds under his breath. Like it’s some kind of joke.
“I’m Okuyasu,” he says, and nudges the blonde so hard the guy almost falls over. “Shit, sorry - this is Koichi.”
“Right,” he says, not liking the look of private joking between the two of them. “I’m Mondo.”
“I’m Leon,” Leon all but shouts, almost crawling on Mondo’s back to extend his hand to the two boys and - of course, of fucking course - the girl with the knee-length black hair. “And you are?”
“Yukako,” she says, and Mondo’s never before heard someone say their own name with such deep and intense hatred.
There’s not a single thing about these people he trusts. The guys might seem nice, but he’s always hated the feeling that people are laughing at him. And that girl? She looks like she’s ready to commit murder.
At least the jackass in the purple-and-yellow shirt is done taking up Kiyotaka’s time, only that Kiyotaka looks kind of embarrassed now. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than his flustered face. But he punches in their names on the board to distract himself, and Josuke comes up to Mondo and sits so close their knees are touching. “So,” he says, “You’re his kyoudai, huh?”
“Kyoudai?” Okuyasu says. “Man, how come we can’t get cool nicknames like that?”
“Yes, please start calling each other bro. That won’t get irritating at all,” Yukako snipes from where she’s sitting.
“Yukako, come on,” Koichi says, turning to look back at her. “You promised you’d be nice today.”
She looks torn, but sighs, and Mondo thinks he hears her mutter “Only for you.”
“Dude,” Leon says, “You gotta teach me.”
--
One thing Mondo can say about the kids from MU is that, except for Yukako, they suck at bowling. And that does make him feel a little better, if only in a shallow way.
It’s kind of irritating, and that irritation must be obvious to everyone involved, because Kiyotaka has tried his best to keep Mondo and Josuke separated. Leon’s pretty chill, and Makoto can make friends with everyone, but it just seems strange to Mondo that he spent so long trying to get on friendly terms with Taka only for some other guy - a complete stranger from a different school to just undermine that -
Makoto pats his shoulder, like the way you’d pet a dog to soothe it. “Calm down, Mondo,” he says. “He’s just being friendly.”
Maybe he is. Mondo can accept that there exists, somewhere, a possibility that Josuke is just a nice guy, like a punk version of Makoto, but he’s gotten so deep in his own sense of insecurity and paranoia that every time Josuke so much as talks at him or is friendly with Kiyotaka...
Well, it feels like he’s being mocked.
He might be a little jealous.
And when Taka leaves to head out to the bathroom, he might call Josuke’s hair stupid.
Koichi, for whatever that’s worth, and Okuyasu and he goddamn swear Yukako’s hair all jump in to restrain Josuke from throwing punches. Leon slaps his arm at the same time Makoto smacks his head, both of them shouting some variant of “You have the same hair!” and the end result is the five of them tell the two of them to go resolve their differences by the snack bar, and work something out fast before Taka comes back and panics.
“I don’t get what your issue with me is,” Josuke says, hands in the air. “We picked this group to go up against because Taka said you were cool. Now you’re just acting like Rohan used to, and I didn’t even burn your house down!”
Confusion mixes with anger as he says, with feeling, “What?!”
“Never mind!” Josuke snaps. “Just - whatever your problem with me is, just say it, man. Quit giving me dirty looks. It’s making Kiyo upset.”
KIYO?! Mondo hits the counter with a little too much force and says “That’s my goddamn problem!” And before Josuke can give him some other ridiculous pet name he says “We’re like - we’re - we’re kind of - !” Jesus. Jesus Christ, why can’t he just get the fuckin’ words out? “I’m inta him!”
“Yeah, and?” Josuke asks.
“And you’re fuckin’ flirting with him! Of course I got a damn issue with you!” Josuke looks blindsided for a couple seconds, and then he bursts into laughter. “And then you go an’ do this shit, shovin’ it in my face!”
“Dude!” Josuke has the audacity to put his hand on Mondo’s shoulder, ignoring every time Mondo tries to throw it off. For someone as thin as Josuke looks, he’s unfairly strong. “Dude. I am not flirting with him. That’s so gross.”
Two-faced bastard! “You got a fuckin’ problem with my friend?!”
“Dude. He’s my cousin.”
“Yer - what?” Mondo blinks, all his pent up energy dissipating in the shock. “Then - then what the fuck were you sayin’ ta him to make ‘im blush?”
“I’m teasing him about you, ya dweeb.” He snorts. “God. No. I’m not flirting with my fuckin’ cousin. And even if we weren’t related, I’m not gonna hit on some guy in front of my boyfriends.”
“Oh.” He’s...totally deflated now. And feels like an asshole. “Uh...” Great. “I’m sorry fer bein’ such an asshole,” he grumbles.
Josuke lets it slide rather easily, shrugging it off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse interactions.”
Mondo still rubs the back of his head, anxiously, and he’s still not all that comfortable with Josuke’s smirk. “Gotta say,” he admits, “I never woulda thought the two of you were related. Ya don’t exactly look alike.”
Josuke shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back against the counter. “Well, it’s not by blood or anything. His dad married my ne- uh, I mean, my uncle -” Was he just going to say nephew? “But we take family very seriously, and we’re...kind of a large family.”
For a second, he looks almost depressed by his own statement, eyes kind of foggy, lips pulled down and staring at his boyfriends with some kind of intense anxiety. He sighs, and slaps Mondo on the back. “Let’s just get back to the game, ‘kay? I think Taka’ll be happier when we get along.”
He feels like he missed something, but says “Sure, okay,” following Josuke back to their seats.
Whatever it is that’s on his mind, it’s either passed or he’s hidden it by the time they’ve reached their friends. Josuke reacts to Kiyotaka’s suspicious glare by ruffling his hair. “So, Kiyo -”
“Don’t call me that,” he groans.
And Josuke ignores him. “A former delinquent with a bad temper, huh? I bet your stepdad’s gonna love that.”
Kiyotaka lets out a scream, and drops the bowling ball to the floor. Mondo tries to pretend he doesn’t see something faintly pink and blue grabbing it just before it hits the ground.
#nori talks#danganronpa#ishimondo#nori writes#fanfic#jjba#josuke/okuyasu/koichi implied#they're both vague aus in addition to a crossover...#icarus.docx#mine
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Second entry for the @naruto-rarepair-bingo. Today’s prompt:
different village of origin/village swap/clan swap
Pairing: TobiramaKagami
Word count: 3577
Rated: T+
Summary: In which Tobirama is a Hatake, Kagami is a Hyuga, and Tobirama never believes the rumors that always turn out to be true.
Follow the link or read it under the cut!
KO-FI and commission info in the header!
Beginnings Are What We Make Of Them
As a Hatake, Tobirama had never really been able to understand the sheer intensity of whatever strange hatred existed between the Senju and Uchiha. His brother had a friend in the Uchiha clan, the hot-tempered Head Madara who Tobirama had never been especially fond of, but no matter how many times they brought up the topic Madara had never been able to explain it in a way that made sense. As far as he could understand the two clans hated each other simply because they did.
It was therefore an incredible shock to learn that they had somehow managed to broker peace and planned to build a village together, of all things. Tobirama had seen a lot of crazy things in his career as a shinobi but this news broke in to his top three list right from the start. All things considered he hadn’t expected the concept to actually become a reality no matter how nice it sounded. Right up until the day he had to pick up the bags Hashirama had packed for him – because he hadn’t seen the point in doing it himself – and actually move in to this fairy tale of a village with the rest of his clan, Tobirama believed the whole thing would fall apart up until he stepped through the massive gates Hashirama had offered to build as a gesture of good will.
With his two feline companions at his side Tobirama wandered the freshly laid streets and marveled that dreams really do come true. Not his own, of course, because his dreams usually involved Hashirama coming down with a very specific case of amnesia and forgetting how to hug for weeks at a time, but someone’s dreams at least. The village layout wasn’t exactly up to the standard he would have come up with himself and there were some fairly important pieces of the puzzle missing that made him wonder if there would be a suggestion box somewhere he could add his two cents in to but overall his first impression was that the place wasn’t all that bad. He hadn’t really expected any of this to work out and yet now that he was here he had to admit he could envision this as everyday life.
It helped a great deal that they had been promised indoor plumbing.
Rounding a corner, following his nose towards the scent of something absolutely heavenly, he was crossing through an alley when he first met Kagami. With their territories so far apart he hadn’t met very many Hyuga in his life but he supposed the man before him was probably a typical example of his clan. Black hair falling in shaggy curls around his face, large eyes a pale lavender color and lacking any sort of pupil, either young enough or just good enough not to have any visible scars, he certainly was a handsome sight to behold. It was still the blueberry tart in his hands that held most of Tobirama’s attention.
“Where did you get that?” he demanded. He saw little point in going through the necessary social politeness rituals when that would only waste precious time he could be using to find his own blueberry heaven. It wasn’t as though they were very likely to see each other again with this many people from so many different clans running around.
“Uh…bakery down the street? Down here on the eastern side.” Those massive pale eyes blinked at him, possibly wondering if he planned on attacking someone over an admittedly delicious looking tart. Tobirama nodded gratefully and left without saying anything else.
He didn’t think very much about the other man once they lost sight of each other. Sure he was especially good looking for a Hyuga – by Tobirama’s tastes anyway – but he was far from the only attractive face in the hordes of new people teeming through the bustling village and their encounter had hardly been noteworthy in any way. As soon as he’d found the little bakery and satisfied his belly with two blueberry tarts Tobirama had already all but forgotten the man who led him there in the first place.
It wasn’t until nearly a month later that Hashirama’s connection with that blasted Uchiha led to his name being thrown about for certain administrative duties and Tobirama found himself reporting to the great garish tower in the center of town to be interviewed for a position he didn’t even really want. Living here was one thing. No one had ever said anything about making him work for anyone that didn’t bear the same clan name as him. Until Hashirama had ousted him from his lab he’d been perfectly happy continuing on with the same duties he had always fulfilled for the Hatake, playing nice with their new neighbors now that they were here but otherwise keeping to himself for the most part.
After two hours of idiotic questions Tobirama lost his temper and told the man interviewing him that this whole stupid village would burn down around their ears if he was the one running it because his questions left much to be desired. He thought he might get in trouble for it, was actually kind of looking forward to the excitement after such a boring start to his day, but instead after a handful of whirlwind conversations he somehow found himself being assigned a seat on the village high council, far and away the youngest member.
He even had his own office, which was sort of nice. But the most interesting part was the young man they introduced as his new assistant.
“Blueberry tarts!” the man said in place of a greeting. Tobirama eyed the floppy curls on his head and smiled.
“Well. This seems like a good time to apologize for my boorish behavior that day. I was hungry, although I realize that’s not much of an excuse. My brother tells me I get….snippy…when I haven’t eaten.”
“Hangry,” the young man nodded solemnly. Tobirama rolled his eyes.
“Yes, my brother uses the same ridiculous term. I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name?”
An enthusiastic hand thrust forward for him to shake. “Hyuga Kagami! I’m to be your assistant, or so they tell me. I’ll just apologize now for all the disasters and save us both the time. Between you and me I’m probably going to make a terrible assistant – but I promise to try hard anyway!”
“Then why, pray tell, were you assigned as one?” Tobirama asked. He noted distantly that the smile Kagami gave him while rubbing awkwardly at one ear was pretty cute.
“Probably because I get really distracted a lot and I like to set things on fire so the elders usually try to make sure I’m bogged down with duties that keep me in a place where I can be watched. I swear I don’t mean for things to catch fire! I just…the flames are pretty.”
Tobirama gave the man a long hard look before finally declaring, “You should have been an Uchiha.”
“Well there’s some disparity about who my dad really is so…” Kagami gave an easy chuckle and shrugged his apparent pyromania off like nothing more than a simple bad habit. Which, to be fair, when compared to the bad habits of other shinobi Tobirama had met in his life, it kind of was.
“I think we’ll do just fine together,” Tobirama decided.
“Awesome! Yes! Oh man, I’m so glad you didn’t refuse to work with me because then they would have found someone else for me to work with and I’m pretty sure my elders were going to try and set me up with one of the Yamanaka next.” A shudder passed through his new assistant. “Just the thought of someone getting in to my head like they do freaks me out. Ugh.”
Since Tobirama sort of agreed with that he couldn’t really justify reprimanding the other man for saying it, although he did murmur a quick reminder about being careful not to say such things in other company.
Getting used to each other took some time. Tobirama wasn’t the most trusting of people, having learned the tenants of the shinobi life perhaps a little too well, but Kagami’s naturally open personality wore him down bit by bit and in just a few weeks he found himself learning to rely on the man for small things that gradually increased to semi-important things. It was nice. Tobirama was hard pressed to remember the last time he’d made any friends outside of his own clan, although a lot of that could be attributed to how put off most people were by the two massive leopards that followed him everywhere.
Unlike most people Kagami seemed delighted by them and before long he had taken to spoiling them whenever Tobirama’s back was turned, often showing up to work with raw meat sealed in his pocket to be doled out as treats under one of their desks. Also unlike most people he managed to restrain himself from asking about the nature of their bond until they had all known each other for several months already.
“Why cats?” was his typically tactless way of bringing up the subject. “All the rest of the Hatake have contracts with dogs or even the wolf packs. And from what I can tell most of them just sign the summoning contract and then call on their companions when they need those skills like everyone else who has a summons. Why do you always have to be so different?”
“First of all fuck you.” Tobirama narrowed his eyes across the room playfully. “I’m not different, I’m the upgraded model they all wish they could be. Second of all I like cats. End of story.”
“Oh come on! There has to be more to it than that!” Kagami laughed but Tobirama only shrugged.
“Nothing momentous. When I was young there was one very brave cat that refused to show fear to the dogs in our clan and she often came to sleep under my front porch. I liked her. So when it came time for me to find a summoning contract of my own I found a family of cats instead of dogs.” With a rueful twist of his mouth Tobirama eyed the couch on the far side of the office, home to two massive spotted leopards. “I may have underestimated how tightly our contract bound us together when I signed it, though. Now they won’t leave.”
One of the cats lifted her head to blink two golden eyes in his direction. “You would have us no other way,” she purred. Then she lay her head back down, presumably fast asleep a moment later.
Kagami was polite enough to snicker rather than laugh outright as Tobirama cleared his throat and stood from his desk to pretend he was looking for something important in the file cabinets in the opposite side of the room, hiding the mild embarrassment on his face. Only when he was certain the pink was gone from his cheeks and he could turn his lips down in a stern expression once more did he turn back around.
“At least you got to choose your own binding,” Kagami pointed out.
“Did you not choose you own summoning contract?” Tobirama asked. His assistant blinked and then waved the question away with a laugh.
“No, no, I meant- well, we’re both bound but at least you got to choose when and to who and, well, yours probably doesn’t come with the threat of having your brain boiled inside you own skull.” He was laughing. Kagami was laughing now despite there being nothing funny about that statement.
Tobirama stared at the man in horror. “I’m sorry, what was that bit about the boiling of brains?”
“You don’t know about the seal?”
Then Kagami was lifting the fringe of his curly hair to reveal a simple design in green ink tattooed in the center of his forehead. While it certainly did explain the low chakra buzz Tobirama could feel from his assistant at all times it did not explain why it was there. He’d certainly heard a few rumors about the Hyuga clan and some kind of clan-wide slavery seal but he’d thought obviously those were just that: rumors. In no world would he believe a clan as old and venerated as the Hyuga to be capable of such horrific treatment of themselves.
Eyes riveted to the vague ‘x’ shape in the center of the sea, Tobirama stepped closer for a better look and asked with trepidation, “What is that and what does it do?” Questions he could answer himself with a bit of study but he was hardly about to shove the man’s head down on his work table for three hours of observation.
“It’s called the Caged Bird Curse Seal and it’s given to all branch family members when we reach twelve years old. Mostly as a safety precaution so that if we fall in battle our Byakugan can’t be harvested.”
“Mostly,” Tobirama repeated slowly. “What is its secondary purpose?”
“Ah, I’m not really supposed to talk about it without permission. It’s kind of a clan secret.” Kagami shifted uncomfortably, checking the windows and door like he was afraid they might have been overheard. He jumped a little when Tobirama stepped closer again.
“Do you trust me?”
Gnawing at his lip, Kagami nodded. “That’s unfair, Tobirama.”
“If it gets me answers then I don’t care. You know very well that I will not sell your secrets. Please. If you don’t tell me what the does then I’m sure my imagination will come up with a hundred things worse than reality. All I have in my head right now are rumors I can’t put any stock in.” Tobirama wrinkled his nose at the thought. He always had hated not having all the possible details about a situation he was walking in to. No one had told him that getting attached to a Hyuga would be any sort of ‘situation’.
But attached he was. Kagami was interesting and fun, understated intelligence hidden quite cleverly underneath a propensity for fire and a love of pranks. Over the months they had gotten to know each other Tobirama had spent more time trying not to think about the man at night than he had sleeping and, embarrassingly, his thoughts were usually more on the innocently romantic side.
Of all the outcomes to be found in joining this village, falling in love had not been one he foresaw.
Now here was Kagami shuffling his feet and rubbing nervously at the back of his neck in a manner Tobirama had learned meant he was worried about the reaction his news would get. Thankfully for Tobirama’s nerves he spoke up quickly.
“Ah, well, the other point of the seal is to keep the branch members of the clan in line, I guess is the most basic way I can put it. Only the members of the head family know how to activate the seal but when they do it causes extreme pain.” Kagami reached up to brush against his forehead unconsciously with a haunted expression. “It is not…a pleasant experience. Prolonged activation of the seal can cause irreparable damage to the brain or even…or even death.”
“That is quite possibly the most horrific thing I have ever heard,” Tobirama whispered.
Yet Kagami only shrugged and mumbled, “It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad? Not so bad!? Kagami”- Tobirama lurched forward without thought to take the man’s face between both hands and look deep in the pale eyes he had grown to love-“you just told me that at any moment one of the main branch members could take you away from me. Us. Obviously I meant us as- as a whole. The village.”
He cleared his throat awkwardly and dropped his hands, stepping away once he realized exactly how close he had brought them. It startled him in to freezing in place when Kagami stepped forward to keep the distance between them closed. When he felt fingers closing around his own he looked in to his companion’s earnest expression and thought dimly that his palms were probably clammy with nerves. He hoped that wasn’t too off-putting.
“Don’t freak out, okay? I meant it! It’s really not that bad!” Kagami tilted his chin to smile up at Tobirama through his eyelashes and the effect was devastating.
“How can you say that?” Tobirama asked quietly. Confusion touched him when, before answering, his companion began to gnaw on his lip again and those pale lavender eyes of his darted nearly everywhere else in the room before meeting his gaze once more.
“It doesn’t matter to me what seal I wear. This has been a part of me since I was a child and I made my peace with it a long time ago but that’s not the point. Wherever I go and whoever thinks they have me bound in any way…I always feel free when I’m with you.”
“Oh.”
Such an inadequate response yet for perhaps the first time in his life Tobirama found himself truly without words. All that existed in his mind at that moment was a powerful and contradictory cocktail of triumph and anger, both primal and furious emotions ready to boil over at any moment, each of them vying for dominance until he couldn’t decide how to react or what to do. So he stood quiet and still while Kagami stared back at him with an oddly understanding smile.
It took a shameful amount of time for the truth to settle in to past the cacophony inside his own head. Between one moment and the next Tobirama shook off the stupor and, in a sudden burst of movement, drew Kagami in to his chest to tuck the small man underneath his chin.
“There you go,” a warm voice teased from somewhere near his clavicle. “Took you long enough to get it.”
“I think I can be forgiven a few moments of shock. Neither of us have given the other any hint of romantic advances until now; there was no reason for me to imagine that you might return my interest.”
“Yeah well you should try reading your own face some time. It’s impossible! How was I supposed to know whether or not it was safe to flirt when I could barely get it out of you whether you’d ever dated before at all?” Kagami huffed with great insult, entirely offset by the way he squirmed a little closer.
Before Tobirama could say anything in response he was interrupted by a rumbling purr from much closer than expected. He looked down at their feet to find both of his feline partners up off the couch and sitting behind Kagami, butting their heads against his hip affectionately in a silent declaration that they approved of his choice. One of them met his eye and he offered her a nod in thanks but her response was only to purr a little louder so he turned his attention to pushing the curls back from Kagami’s forehead and bending down to press a kiss against the seal.
“First,” he murmured, “I am going to bring up a few of the ‘rumors’ I have heard about this issue to the council and see what your representatives have to say for themselves. And then I am going to spend whatever effort it takes to force your elders to realize how utterly inhumanely stupid this practice is. I will not stand for it.”
“Would you be this grumpy about it all if you it was anyone but me wearing the seal?” Kagami asked him. Tobirama lifted one eyebrow to grant the man a flat look.
“You know me well enough to know the answer to that.”
“Right, sorry.”
“You should be.”
A heartbeat passed and then suddenly Kagami was smiling up at his brilliantly. “So are you going to kiss me now or what?”
“Oh have you absolutely no sense of romance at all?” Tobirama griped.
Still, he did kiss the man though. The urge had been buried in him since mere weeks after they met so it was no hardship to finally give in and press their lips together with a breathy sigh of satisfaction. Of course, the mood was a little undercut by the raucous purring from around their waists but he’d learned to work around that sound years ago. Hopefully Kagami could learn to do the same.
He had every intention of keeping his word to follow up on this issue, to make sure the rest of the village understood the truth of the injustices to be found in the Hyuga power imbalance, and to one day see Kagami and the others of his clan free from the wretched seal ‘keeping them in line’.
But that was for later, tasks to be tackled on another day. Right now it was getting late in the evening and they should both be leaving the office soon. With the way things were going he thought it was reasonable to hope they might leave together and continue this conversation over an intimate dinner. Curse seals aside, Tobirama had other plans for the man in his arms. He was a Hatake, after all, and he enjoyed a good hunt as much as the rest of his people.
What excellent luck that his prey seemed all too willing to be caught.
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All the numbers for the salty ask meme XD
Anon, you seem to know I’m a Secret Salt Queen. XD
Also, this is ALL for DGM.
1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?
Honestly? I may hate a few ships, but I can see the appeal of them. Even certain crack ships. Like, just because I don’t find it appealing doesn’t mean I can’t see why others might like it.
2. Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?
The only real BRoTP I have in DGM is Allen x Lavi x Krory. I think those three are adorable together in a platonic way.
3. Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?
ROFL, YEAH. There have been a couple over the years, and some were (at the time) considered good friends. There is at least one BNF who I no longer associate with because they couldn’t handle my anti-censorship/ship-and-let-ship stance, even though we’d been friends for years. (I’d supported this person emotionally and financially when they were in trouble, and even beta read for them/helped out with fan events/written a fic for them.) When the fandom drama got intense and antis started causing shit, I got more vocal about anti rhetoric not having a place in our fandom. This BNF couldn’t handle it and ‘broke off our friendship’. We haven’t talked in probably 2 years.
4. Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?
Whoops yeah. It’s Yullen. XD Though, I’m not so disgusted when I see the ship anymore, and I’ll even reblog art from time to time. But I don’t go out of my way to seek out content.
5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?
ROFL, you mean Yullen again? Yeah. XD I’m trying to get over my hatred, but it’s a slow process.
6, Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?
YUP! Fandom actually got me into Lucky and Poker Pair. I was not a fan of Tyki’s for the longest time (mostly because of OLD fandom portrayals of his character), but a few friends wrote some amazing fics with him and converted into a Tyki lover. XD
7. Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?
Not really. I’ve certainly lost interest in writing certain ships, but I’ve never really grown to hate any of them.
8. Have you received anon hate? What about?
Hahaha, yeah. Mostly antis being assholes because I don’t cower before them.
I’ve also gotten trolled on my fics on ff.net (one of the various reasons I won’t post there anymore). It was nonsensical sexual harassment, but still. It was gross.
9. Most disliked character(s)? Why?
Chaoji. Need I say more?
10. Most disliked arc? Why?
Speaking strictly in terms of the manga (because the anime went off on some ridiculous tangent arcs during hiatuses that I just can’t get into), the Mater Arc. It wasn’t bad per se, just… it didn’t interest me. It’s the first real arc for the manga. When I first read/watched it, I hated Kanda a LOT. (Love him now, though.)
And Allen was… not interesting to me. In the early chapters, he felt so flat and dull. The typical nice shounen main character, y’know? OBVIOUSLY Hoshino threw a 180 on that, and now he’s interesting as hell. But yeah, Mater bored me. XD
11. Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?
I don’t think so?? Most of the unpopular characters are ones I don’t like either.
13. Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?
If there is a universally unpopular arc, I’m not aware of it. XD
13. Unpopular opinion about ______ character?
I’ll just choose a character I have an unpopular opinion about:
Lenalee
Whenever I see people who yell about others hating Lenalee, I’m confused. I never see this hate, or if I do, it’s so few and far between that it’s not even worth mentioning.
I think it’s a hold over from years back (DGM is like, 15 years old now) when older fandom channeled their internalized misogyny and projected it onto female characters. I lived those days, when a female characters only ‘got in the way’ of your gay ship. (Likely a visceral response to the blatant homophobia in fandom at the time as well, but that’s another story for another time.)
People defend Lenalee without batting an eye, but really? She’s done some shitty things and she’s a rather selfish character. I love her to bits, but she’s not the perfect angel people like to make her out to be.
14. Unpopular opinion about your fandom?
We’re not the perfect fandom everyone thinks we are. Sure, we’re smaller, so problematic people/things crop up less often, but we still have plenty of issues. We’ve got antis, we’ve got homophonia, we’ve got racism. We’re not perfect.
15. Unpopular opinion about the manga/show?
Hallow was good. You’re all just mean. XD
16. If you could change anything in the show, what would you change?
MORE LAVI!
17. Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen…
Hooboy… What would I change…
OKAY–After the Ark Arc, I would’ve had Allen and Lavi interact more. I wanted to see the aftermath of that! Because before they had left China, Lavi and Lenalee thought Allen was DEAD. And Lavi was Not Okay™. They thought that all the way up until the fight in Edo, when he returns. They almost immediately get sucked into the Ark, and everyone starts dropping like flies after that.
And Lavi’s the last one to ‘die’ in the Ark. Allen watched him fall into the abyss with Chaoji. And he s c r e a m e d.
Yet we have no “I thought you were dead”/ “I thought YOU were dead” conversations. There’s no “I’m so happy you’re alive” conversation and I feel CHEATED.
18. Does not shipping something ‘popular’ mean you’re in denial and/or bised?
I give absolutely zero fucks about what’s popular to ship.
19. What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?
Everyone is a little too Precious™ about Hoshino. I love the woman and all, but some people act like guard dogs if anyone criticizes her on anything whatsoever.
Also, I’m perplexed by this “Don’t share spoilers” mentality lately? What else is fandom for but to share spoilers? People act like sharing the RAWS after the magazine comes out in Japan is somehow tantamount to treason.
Like, bitch. Do you know I’d have to wait 2+ years to see any official translations for the manga? I buy the books when they come out, and since Hoshino writes slow, I depend on our fan-translators to give us something to read before I can get my hands on official merch.
Fan-translations are how small fandoms like us survive when we’re not speaking the official language of the source material. Acting like you’re on a high horse because you buy the Japanese copy, then can’t read it because you have a 3 year old’s grasp of the language, is just dumb.
20. What is the purest ship in the fandom?
Laven, IMO. Fite me on it. XD
21. What are your thoughts on crack ships?
LOVE ‘EM!!! I’m so here for crack ships. You have no idea.
22. Popular character you hate?
I don’t think I currently hate any popular characters, but I used to hate Tyki and Kanda quite a bit. I love them now, though.
23. Unpopular character you love?
I don’t really have an unpopular character I love. XD I’m just boring like that.
24. Would you recommend DGM to a friend? Why or why not?
Absolutely. I think it’s an amazing manga.
25. How would you end DGM/Would you change the ending of DGM?
LOL WHAT END???
26. Most shippable character?
ROFL, Lavi. I ship that bitch with everyone. XD
27. Least shippable character?
Tiedoll. I’m sorry, I can only see him as the anime equivalent of Bob Ross, and we all know Bob Ross doesn’t fuck.
✧Salty Ask ✧
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Tear Into Your Soul - Chapter 6 (ao3 link)
For @blackberreh-art, who wanted some Madara focus and Hashirama/Madara
There comes a time in a man's life when he has to think about the choices.
About what it was that led him to where he is now.
For Madara, where he is now happens to be hiding behind a dango stall so that Izuna doesn’t find him.
So, really, what even is his life right now?
He feels like he knew, once, but then things just sort of happened.
First there was war, then there wasn’t, and then rhere was all of the negotiations to start the village and spending every minute feeling like the elders were going to stab him in the back for it, followed shortly by the even greater stresses of actually setting up a cohesive ninja village, and then all of a sudden there was Hashirama coming up behind him, darkness, confusion, kidnapping – and then Tobirama, beautiful earnest Tobirama who still didn’t know about the kidnapping portion of their first real encounter and never would as far as Madara was concerned, and, fuck, he can barely even think the man’s name without a frisson running up his spine, which he supposes is what happens after several weeks of, just, constant sex.
And Hashirama –
Madara very carefully does not think about how he feels about his lifelong best friend and former enemy right now. If he does, he might think about the curl of heat in his belly and shaking cold in his fingertips; think of how terribly he loves him – has always loved him – and how he’s afraid of him, too; think how somehow in his mind all of those battles that never went anywhere meant that he categorized Hashirama as something safe and now even with proof that he’s incredibly not he still can’t quite break that habit; and think, too, of that overwhelming feeling of debt, of course, always debt and gratitude for saving Madara’s heart and mind from turning to ash and all Hashirama ever asked in return was to make all Madara’s dreams come true –
That’s why Izuna can’t find him.
There is no way Madara is explaining what’s going on between him and the Senju brothers to Izuna.
Izuna, who Tobirama so very nearly killed –
Izuna, who Hashirama saved.
The curse of the Sharingan: Madara remembers the exact moment when he heard the shout and saw Izuna fall, stricken, Tobirama finally coming out the victor of what he had always privately and irrationally thought would be an eternal stalemate.
He remembers abandoning everything – the mission, the battlefield, even whatever members of his clan that could not keep up – to get Izuna back home and into the care of the medics.
He remembers how sick he felt when the medics told him there was nothing they could do to save Izuna from Tobirama’s well-aimed strike and how Izuna’s attempt to dodge had earned him nothing more than a slower death.
He remembers the black rage that consumed him when the sentry ran in, shouting that the Senju had taken the almost unimaginable step of attacking the Uchiha compound itself.
He remembers the way that rage had turned him almost rabid, feral as a wild dog, when he’d run outside and seen Tobirama standing there – distant, cold, merciless as he always is on the battlefield – with what appeared to be a masked army at his back, saying that he’d heard that the job he’d done was incomplete and that he’d come to finish it.
A lie, of course.
A good lie, though; it’d done the job: Madara, maddened, had bellowed in his rage, ordering every able-bodied Uchiha to attack, all at once. And Tobirama was so incredibly fast that it’d taken a good ten minutes before their strikes actually started landing and they’re realized that the whole army, Tobirama and the masked men all, were nothing more than those damnable shadow clones because apparently he’d figured out a new twist to the technique that let him make incredibly large numbers of them.
They’d rushed back to the compound the second they’d realized that the ‘attack’ was a feint, but by then Hashirama and Tobirama (the real one) had infiltrated to Izuna’s sickbed, Hashirama healing him and Tobirama keeping watch, and Madara had barely burst into the room when Tobirama had used his hiraishin to spirit the two of them away to safety, leaving behind a healed Izuna and a single kunai piercing their wall, holding up a scroll reading “We trust we’ve made our point” and listing a date and time for peace talks.
Madara really should have realized that Hashirama must be insane back then.
(Before, he’d imagined that Hashirama reacted to Tobirama’s near-kill with anger and grief, shouting that Tobirama robbed him of his best hope of peace with Madara, killing once and for all that dream born by the riverbank, and demanded that Tobirama accompany him to the Uchiha compound to help fix what he had wrought. Now that he knows Hashirama a little better, he thinks it went differently: Hashirama pulling his brother into his arms, whispering praise, and saying, “I’m glad you didn’t kill him immediately. I know just how we’re going to use this.”
And if, sometimes, Madara wonders whether Tobirama’s deadly strike landed true on his brother’s orders…well, Izuna still lives, even if his lungs are a little weaker than they once were, and now they have peace, so surely the ends justify the means and it would be wrong of him to question how it was all achieved. Right?)
In short, there is no fucking way he’s telling Izuna about the exact nature of his current relationship with the Senju brothers, no matter how many times Izuna bothers him about how “altered” his behavior has been since that week he went on that so-called mission with the two of them.
Besides, multiple other people in the clan have told Madara that the entire clan finds him infinitely more tolerable now that he's happier and more relaxed, and if they'd realized that getting laid by a Senju on a regular basis was what it took they would have kidnapped one ages ago.
So Izuna can’t really be concerned. He’s probably just fishing for details to help him win that damnable betting pool regarding which Senju, exactly, Madara is banging, and in what configuration.
Not that anyone in the betting pool has actually guessed right.
Madara doesn’t blame them. He and Hashirama mutually thought of each other as best friends throughout all these long years of war, and they met on a regular basis on the battlefield – if he hadn’t been able to figure out that Hashirama, in addition to being the extremely cheerful, emotional, childish, optimistic, and endlessly hopeful man that he is, is also a sadistic psychopath with a matchless ruthless streak, well, what hope did everyone else have?
Even Izuna thinks of Hashirama as “the nice one”, and he’s in line to be named co-head of the village’s new merged T&I division alongside the head of the Yamanaka clan once the negotiations of their assimilation in to the village is complete.
(To be perfectly honest, Madara’s own greatest contribution to village unity may very well have been recommending that Hashirama take Izuna instead of Tobirama as his aide for some of the peace talks with clans they’d determined would be necessary to be part of the village. Izuna’s most staunch protests against the creation of Konoha has always concerned leaving the defense of the Uchiha clan in the hands of people he didn’t consider adequate, and while Madara’s not actually sure what happened during those peace talks, Izuna did come back with a slight green tinge to his face and significantly fewer concerns about Hashirama’s willingness to do what must be done if necessary.
And with even Izuna now firmly on the side of integration, the remaining dissenting voices were quickly silenced – thought whether Izuna's good faith in the village will survive finding out the exact details of what his beloved older brother has gotten himself into...
Well, probably best not to test it.)
On the other hand, there’s missing Hashirama’s well-hidden madness, which Madara can’t blame anyone for, and then there’s just being stupid. Madara’s heard what ridiculous rumors are going around about him and Hashirama – all gooey romance and hand-holding, childhood romance divided by family strife and reunited at last through Hashirama’s perseverance and hope – and he knows it’s not his public demeanor that invites such speculation. How shinobi who have been on the same battlefield as the Senju, sometimes in opposition to them, forget that their precious God of Shinobi is in fact a shinobi, Madara’s not sure, but they definitely have.
Still, it's better than what they say about Tobirama.
(cold, harsh, soulless, disdainful and jealous of his brother’s affection for Madara, untrusting of the Uchiha, full of bitterness and hatred, intent on poisoning their precious peace from within)
Tobirama: beautiful, earnest, well-meaning, broken Tobirama, whose mind Hashirama has so thoroughly molded to his own purposes that Madara despairs of ever being able to explain even something so simple as how unusual (wrong) their relationship with Hashirama is.
Tobirama, who tries so hard and does so much that no one sees, who is more or less single-handly building the foundation for Madara and Hashirama's dream village, who can perfectly read a person's body for the purposes of battle but fails to even start to understand their minds for the purposes of peace. Whose inability to speak in anything but the sternest tones makes people overlook him as heartless and cruel, when in truth he is anything but.
(Tobirama loves as deeply as any Uchiha, with all the pain that comes with it, but whom everyone treats as if he is too strong to feel such things – Madara, whose clan should really know better than to misjudge him but still does it, understands being in that position better than anyone.)
Sure, Madara has only had his own eyes opened about Tobirama recently – he’d been as vile as the rest of them before, blaming Tobirama for what Hashirama did, for what he didn’t do, for everything, making him the village scapegoat just because he didn’t smile – but now that he’s aware, he's determined to put a stop to it. He never could stand people who failed to appreciate what they had by holding them to impossible standards; he’d put a stop to any comparisons between himself and Izuna at once, harshly, and to see Tobirama retreating further and further into himself, languishing in Hashirama’s shadow, causes him an almost physical pain.
Now that he sees it, and now that he does he sees it everywhere, he's decided that he will burn anyone who dares think of Tobirama as the lesser just because he's not Hashirama, even when - especially when - Tobirama would never think to question it.
...Hashirama probably factored that into his plans, too.
Damn strategists. People in the village joke about Tobirama being part Nara, all quiet reserve and brilliant mind and concern for the troublesome, but it took discovering that Hashirama also has that clan’s notorious ability to see all the steps necessary to reach their goals, as famous if not more so than their shadows, to convince Madara that there might be some truth to the rumor.
After all, look at where they are now.
Everything Hashirama wants, he has: a village of peace, a ban on military action by children, power enough to protect his last living brother –
Even Madara.
(Madara's hardly the only Uchiha to be attracted to the Senju brothers - there's been an active black market in suggestive pictures made of convincing henges more or less ever since the day they came of age - but his position as Hashirama's (former) best friend had given him particular reason to daydream. But none of his much-exercised fantasies had prepared him for the reality that Hashirama would not just want him, which he'd barely dare hope, but would want to own him, a greedy and possessive and all-encompassing love that Madara really, truly shouldn't find nearly as hot as he does.)
Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Madara feels the tightening around his throat that means that Hashirama wants him to come home.
He reaches up and tugs at his neck, scowling.
Damn collar.
Damn Hashirama, too, for using a promise made in a moment of weakness to convince Madara to put the collar on without clarifying that it then wouldn't come off.
Woven with the most precise use of the Mokuton Madara has ever seen Hashirama use, the collar is a gorgeous swirl of brown roots and branches, green vines, red and yellow leaves, so fine and delicate that it looks like embroidery.
Madara knows it does, because after two of the village's leading shinobi simultaneously began wearing them, disguised as adornment sewn into their outfits (and the fact that Tobirama was similarly collared was not as comforting as Hashirama might think, given that Madara knows perfectly well that Tobirama would do anything Hashirama wanted no matter how foolish), the whole damn village picked up the trend.
The Konoha collar, they're calling it. Ridiculous.
Hashirama probably planned that, too, or maybe it’s just the universe loving him so much that it gives him unlooked-for gifts in the form of good luck. Now his entire village has unknowingly adopted the symbol of Hashirama's dominion, and all because they think it’s fashionable.
As Madara said: ridiculous.
And given how ridiculous it is, Madara really shouldn’t find the memory of Hashirama, eyes dark with lust and possessiveness and no small amount of madness, murmuring as he fixed the collar into place that it would help him make sure that nothing would ever part them again as damnably hot as he does. It’s a wound that’s lingered in Madara’s heart, too, ever since that day by the river, and knowing that Hashirama feels as strongly as he does, however he expresses it, soothes something in him that he didn’t even know needed soothing.
(He’s still not sure about how he feels about the idea of being owned, though somehow it’s only taken Hashirama a month of repeated positive reinforcement to convince Madara’s cock that the idea’s not half bad and definitely not worth objecting to. Not that Madara would let himself be ruled by his sexual desires, of course, but given the near-celibate state that his high rank and the respect of his clan has boxed him into for years on end, they are rather persuasive…)
Maybe he would object more if Tobirama hadn’t been collared at the same time – collared like an animal by his own damn brother, on his knees with the ecstasy of the converted in his eyes like a painting that Madara has seared forever into his brain with his Sharingan, and no matter how much he knows better, Madara still somehow expects every time he sees Tobirama wearing the collar that Tobirama will suddenly realize that this is all twisted and wrong, that no matter how beautiful the two Senju look together there is a power imbalance between them that will never be fixed. But that will never happen: the depth of the brainwashing involved here will take years to fix, if fixing it is even possible.
(If Madara could only think about the collaring logically, he might be able to convince himself that it’s unacceptable, but thinking about the collar makes him think of Hashirama and Tobirama and things that mean that he’s basically ended up jerking off at least once a day to those thoughts for the last month and clearly thinking logically just isn’t going to happen until he gets this whole thing out of his system and his libido under control again. He’s sure that’ll happen. At some point. Surely…)
The only good thing that had come out of the stupid collars, in Madara’s opinion, was how the fashionable popularity of the collars in Konoha ended up sparking the idea for one of Tobirama’s most brilliant ideas to date, and given that Tobirama and brilliance are practically synonymous, that was really saying something.
Using Hashirama’s usual inattention to detail as cover, Tobirama snuck through a law allowing certain Hokage-approved products to be sold without any tax burden on either seller or buyer, thus significantly reducing the price and increasing the profit, and worked with the village merchants to encourage the sale of Konoha ‘souvenirs’ to civilians from across the land. Once the Council – Tobirama had insisted on their having one, represented by elders from each clan that joined, and while Madara had originally doubted that democracy was really applicable to shinobi, the existence of the Council had turned out to be a major selling point in convincing more clans to join the village now that they knew their opinions would be heard – found out about it, mostly when their budget for new works had decreased due to receiving less tax, they protested it as foolish and self-indulgent waste.
Well, they’d protested right up until Tobirama explained that each necklace or keychain or pacifier or whatever had been stamped, among other decorative features, with one of his Hiraishin marks, thereby giving him - and whatever listening devices or bombs he carried with him – immediate access to villages and clan compounds across the land that he would never have been able to access otherwise.
(Madara is so very, very glad that they’re no longer at war with the Senju, especially since by the time Tobirama got around to explaining his plan several dozen of the stupid things had already gotten lost somewhere inside the new Uchiha compound. Izuna had been incredibly pissed off at the unfathomable breach in security.)
The collar gives another squeeze, harder this time, and that cuts off Madara’s daydreaming.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Madara grumbles – and given what a summons by collar like this usually means, he has reason to expect that he will very soon be coming in a different sort of way – and peeks around the side of the stall to confirm that he’s lost Izuna.
With that confirmed, he nods at the highly amused stall owner – a civilian, though one who managed to keep such a straight face that Madara thinks he might be a spy – and dashes up the side of the nearest building to make a beeline towards Hashirama's house.
Their house, he supposes, given that he shares it with the two Senju brothers with the official reason being that it’s more convenient for them to be near the village’s administrative center, but really, it’s Hashirama’s house.
Everything in that house belongs to Hashirama, but most especially its other two residents.
(Madara wishes he wasn’t the sort of person who was turned on by the methods Hashirama considered appropriate in disciplining his younger brother, particularly after that research spree of his, but, unfortunately, he really, really is. If only Tobirama wasn't so beautiful and so broken, so lovely in his obedience, in his need, in his pleas for mercy, then maybe Madara wouldn't want him so badly that he'd agree to anything if only to get more of him –)
The second Madara passes the threshold, his collar tightens pointedly in a way that he’s learned means that no one else is home that Hashirama's got something planned.
Which means wearing clothing is not allowed.
Madara licks his suddenly dry lips - why does he like this? - and gets himself undressed, leaving only the collar in place.
He heads first to the bedroom, his cock already hard in anticipation, but oddly enough, Hashirama’s not there.
He’s in the office. Actually working, no less.
“Tobirama, there’s no need to wear a henge when we’re at home,” Madara drawls, even those his sensor abilities make it clear that it is, in fact, Hashirama sitting there – even if the fact that he’s sitting at the ridiculous ‘walking’ desk no one else can use wasn’t enough to give him away.
Hashirama looks up at him with a blinding smile, waving the desk away so he can rise to his feet.
“Good, you’re here,” he says, coming over. “I got you a present.”
Madara has exactly one second to feel a distinct sense of foreboding – even without the Sharingan, one learns to get a feel for these sorts of things – and then Hashirama plops something on top of his head.
“…are those cat ears?!”
“They are! I saw them in the marketplace today and thought of you,” Hashirama says, apparently oblivious to Madara’s growing incredulousness. “Just like that prickly stray that hangs around the fish shop –”
“Hashirama. I am not a cat.”
“Of course you are,” Hashirama says, settling his hands on Madara’s shoulders. He’s still smiling. “You’re anything I say you are.”
And then something burns on the back of Madara’s neck, snapping his chakra shut so quickly that he can’t breathe for a moment and the pressure of Hashirama’s hands grows and he falls to his knees –
Right onto a pillow.
“See?” Hashirama says, sounding smug. “My good little kitty.”
“Since when,” Madara wheezes, ignoring how nice it feels when Hashirama’s fingers gently knead his shoulders and ignoring even harder how hard his cock still is, “can you attach chakra suppression seals to the Mokuton?”
“Tobirama –”
“Say no more.” Madara’s not even surprised. Hashirama probably hadn’t even needed to ask, he could have just smiled faintly at the thought of surprising Madara like this and Tobirama would have set to work immediately. Hashirama has Tobirama remarkably well –
Madara swallows.
Trained.
That's different, though, he argues to himself. Tobirama doesn’t know what freedom is, while Madara has not only been free but clan head, commander of dozens of soldiers, for years; he’s agreeing to Hashirama’s nonsense because it apparently appeals to some sort of bizarre sexual urges that he was previously unaware of. He might be submitting, but he’s still in control.
He can walk away any time.
“Oh, Madara, look! I also found this.”
Madara stares.
Right before his eyes, Hashirama is dangling what appears to be a small plush mouse.
“No,” Madara says flatly.
“You should play with it. It’s a present.”
Madara sees red. What the hell is Hashirama up to? Humiliation games are what he plays with Tobirama, not with Madara; those games have certainly been enjoyable to watch (and experience) but Madara definitely isn’t into that sort of thing –
Hashirama’s hand moves to his hair and pulls, yanking Madara’s head backwards to look up at him.
Madara’s cock gives a traitorous twitch. None of his other lovers have ever been brave enough to play with his hair, even though it’s right there and somewhat unavoidable; thus far all of his exploration in that direction has happened, by necessity, on his own.
This is different from those little games he designed for himself: more unpredictable, more dangerous. Hashirama’s strong, physically as well as in terms of pure power, and there’s a certain thrill in knowing that the fingers tangled through his hair could probably pick him up and throw him if they so wished. A thrill in being helpless, on his knees, and yet knowing that his life is in no real danger – Hashirama loves him, madly and desperately, and he’s not going to kill him, though he might be willing to hurt him, as evidenced by the further little tug on Madara’s hair.
…it's much better than doing it to himself.
“You’re being ungrateful, kitty,” Hashirama murmurs. “And here I go to all this trouble to get you a nice present, and you won’t even try it out? That’s not very nice.”
Madara shouldn’t find this hot. He’s not a child, he’s not Tobirama; he’s never enjoyed being disciplined. If anything, it always drove him mad when his father or the elders meted it out; he hated it with an unruly passion that he never failed to express. He should jump to his feet right now and storm out of the room in an angry huff, that’s what he should do.
And then –
And then Hashirama might never do this again.
Might never look at him with those eyes gone dark, that little hint of a smile hiding behind his best attempt at a stern expression (it’s not very convincing); might never put his hands in Madara’s hair and pull just the way Madara’s always secretly hoped that someone would –
…Madara maintains that this is a very stupid game that Hashirama’s playing, but maybe it’s worth giving it a shot.
But on his own terms, to remind Hashirama that Madara’s here of his own free will and not by coercion, that no matter what they play at when it comes to games of ownership, at the end of the day they’re still best friends and equals.
Madara looks up at Hashirama from his position on his knees and smirks, ignoring how dry his lips are. “And what’re you going to do about that?”
Hashirama’s face breaks out in a giant grins in response.
Next thing Madara knows – what is with these Senju, do they ever stop training their speed? – Hashirama’s sitting on the floor and Madara’s lying over his lap.
Madara has that second of foreboding again, except this time he knows exactly what’s going to happen and he’s not okay with it. Hashirama couldn’t seriously expect him to agree to be –
Hashirama’s hand comes down right on Madara’s ass.
“What the fuck, Hashirama –”
Hashirama hits him again, and Madara yelps in surprise. This isn’t the piddling little impact play he’s managed to talk at least one particularly brave lover into, where every strike is half-hearted at best – Hashirama’s really putting his back into it. And given that Hashirama is built like the trees he can summon with a thought, with thighs and arms as massive as oaks, with all the power that suggests behind his blows even before he adds chakra, that’s really saying something.
It makes Madara think of the battlefield: the way his blood is on fire, adrenaline pumping through his heart when he sees Hashirama across a field, knowing that in only a moment they would clash with an impact so powerful it would rattle his teeth, matching that terrible strength with his own. The way they would be abandoned by their clans, all wise enough to know to get out of the way when titans walked the earth and gods met in the fury of war; the way it sometimes felt, through the fog of smoke and fog, as if they were alone together, caught in an endless battle that went on forever.
Makes him think, guiltily, of those secret dreams he sometimes had that twisted the Sharingan-clear memories of those battles into something else, something darker. Some where he finally took advantage of Hashirama’s hesitancy to gain the upper hand, forcing his friend to his knees – and of other dreams, even more secret, where it was Hashirama who won, unleashed at last, and forced him down in turn, right there in the battlefield with all of his clan around, their Sharingan-red eyes glowing through the fog, watching, searing the sight of their defeated leader into their memories forever –
Madara whimpers and thrashes without actually trying to escape, his cock rutting against Hashirama’s thick thigh as the other man strikes again, setting up an unpredictable rhythm that is occasionally broken up by reaching out to give Madara’s hair another purposeful tug.
It’s so good.
No one else would ever dare do anything like this. No one would even dare think of it – to put the fearsome leader of the Uchiha over their knee and spank him like he’s a disobedient child? It’s unthinkable.
“You really should be more open-minded,” Hashirama says. His tone is as mild and unaffected as if he were remarking on a new restaurant opening in the village, albeit one that he’s looking forward to trying out, like Madara isn’t rutting against his lap and can’t feel how hard Hashirama is. “I’m your Hokage, now. You should trust me to make good decisions for you.”
“Hashirama –”
“Shh. Good kitties don’t talk, not if they’re going to say mean things. They’re only allowed to say good things. You can be a good kitty for me, right?”
Hashirama’s free hand settles in Madara’s hair, right next to those ridiculous ears, and starts very purposefully stroking, sometimes with a fierce tug interspersed.
At no point does his other hand stop coming down, even though Madara’s ass has got to be bright red by now.
Madara groans and grinds down, seeking more pressure. This position isn’t good enough.
“Well? Are you?”
Madara grinds down some more.
Hashirama stops moving.
Someone makes an absolutely pathetic, wretched whining sound, full of denied need.
Madara has the sinking feeling that it was him.
“Well, Madara? Tell me you’re a good little kitty for me and I’ll give you a reward.”
No way. Absolutely no way. Hashirama might be very good at figuring out Madara’s most secret desires, but there is absolutely no way that Madara would ever –
Hashirama’s fingers trace, very lightly, over Madara’s ass.
Madara shivers.
The fingers dip lower, still gentle, still delicate, not enough pressure to actually do anything other than tease, and there’s the slightest little pressure against Madara’s hole, but then they’re pulling away and Hashirama is sighing and unfolding his legs like he’s actually thinking of getting up and going back to work and –
“I can be a good kitty,” Madara blurts out, and he feels his face go scarlet. He didn’t actually just say that. He didn’t. It’s some sort of genjutsu, clearly, to make him think he’s said that, meant to torture him.
“What’s that?” Hashirama says, the kindness in his voice only a mask for his cruelty. “A good little kitty, you say? For who?”
“For – for you,” Madara manages to spit out, twisting to hide his face in Hashirama’s belly because he can’t bear himself right now, horribly shamed but perversely grateful that Hashirama isn’t making him say that again. “Hashirama, please –”
Hashirama’s fingers come back, this time pressing in confidently, slicked up and stretching him and Madara starts wiggling again, hoping that this time he’ll get enough stimulation to actually come –
Something presses into him, and it’s not fingers.
Hashirama laughs, a little chuckle that Madara only ever hears from him in the bedroom – satisfied and pleased and more than a little turned on.
Madara twists to look and then he can feel his face go red again.
It’s a tail.
Well, on the outside, anyway; the inside is wood carved into a familiar shape (very familiar, actually – Tobirama? Seriously? If Hashirama wasn’t able to create his own sex toys by waving his hands, Madara wouldn’t be able to go anywhere near the woodcarvers ever again lest he die of embarrassment), pressing into him in all the best ways, but the outside is long and soft, silk threads meant to mimic fur wrapped around a thin wooden core so that Hashirama can make the tail move through the air before wrapping around Madara’s thigh and giving a little squeeze.
“What a good kitty I have,” Hashirama coos. “What a sight you make. Look at yourself, Madara.”
He pulls Madara’s hair again, purposefully this time, dragging Madara out of his lap and back to a kneeling position on that cushion from earlier and crap, there’s a mirror there, since when is there a mirror there?
A mirror showing Madara in all his shame, no less: naked but for the cat ears and matching tail, the collar around his neck, and the hard cock that shows anyone looking how much he’s enjoying his own degradation.
“If only the rest of your clan could see you now,” Hashirama says, and Madara shudders, shutting his eyes but unable to blot out the sight of himself. “Their Madara-sama, fearsome and mighty, able to match anyone in the battlefield – what would they think of you now, on your knees for me? A good little kitty for me?”
Madara would like to say he recoils from the thought, humiliating to the extreme, but he doesn’t; he just wants to come. He could, too: Hashirama hasn’t bound his cock in any way, for once, and that means he could just reach over and –
Hashirama catches his hands and wraps something around them, winding it around his fingers and up to his forearms. Something thin and weak, nothing that would actually keep Madara back if he wasn’t willing – another way to show him that this is happening with his compliance, no matter how much he wishes he could blame coercion for his participation in this – and Madara doesn’t look but he has the distinct suspicion that it’s yarn.
“Now, kitty, you’re going to be good for me,” Hashirama says, and he really does stand up, pulling Madara’s head in until his face is pressed up against Hashirama’s still-clothed cock, rubbing against it like he really is some sort of obscene parody of a cat. “You’re going to be very good.”
Madara hates how much he likes it when Hashirama compliments him. No one ever did, not like this; he had to fight and sweat and bleed for any praise he ever managed to get from his clan elders or, worse, his father, and Hashirama hands it out like it’s nothing, sweet loving words falling from his lips at the slightest sign of obedience.
(Sometimes Madara thinks he can see why Tobirama bends so quickly to Hashirama’s will. It’s terribly seductive, that praise, the warmth of approval in Hashirama’s eyes.)
That’s probably what makes him agree without words, letting Hashirama settle in one of those stupid chairs he’s always making (the one he was using when Madara first came in is right there) and opening his mouth to take Hashirama’s cock, letting it sit heavy on his tongue, a now-familiar taste of heat and flesh.
He thinks he knows what Hashirama wants – imagines himself licking at Hashirama’s cock and mewling like a kitten, and feels the flush rise in his cheeks – but when he starts to suck Hashirama weaves a hand into his hair and gives him a little tug, making him stop.
“That’s very nice of you to offer, Madara,” Hashirama says. “But I really need to get some work done, or Tobirama will kill me. Just hold on a little and I’ll get right back to you.”
And somehow that’s even more humiliating: he’s just sitting there, kneeling on a cushion with his still-stinging ass on his ankles, tail curled up around him and pressing inside of him, with his mouth around Hashirama’s cock and not even doing anything.
Hashirama’s stupid walking desk comes over and stops right over his head, like Hashirama really is planning on doing paperwork while using Madara as – as some sort of cock warmer, a toy for his pleasure, and the very thought makes Madara burn.
Not, as much as he would like, in a bad way.
“Shh,” Hashirama says, and the hand in Madara’s hair starts carding through it. “I’ll be right with you. Just a little patience. You can be patient, can’t you?”
That hits right in an old, sore spot: Madara’s never been patient, never, and the elders of his clan are always lecturing him about it. Too brash, too impulsive, not thoughtful enough – they don’t believe him when he tells them that he knows how to lie in wait, how to hold his strike until the right moment, and no matter how many infiltration or assassination missions he takes, they never change in that belief.
He knows he’s playing right into Hashirama’s hands by not fighting him, not demanding that they do more right now, but this position feels strangely good – hand in his hair, cock warm in mouth and cool in his ass, the comedown from the adrenaline of a strike – and anyway, there’s no way Hashirama can possibly make him wait that long.
So he sits there, waiting, and things start to – drift, almost.
His mind goes quiet, almost peaceful, and it’s almost like the feeling of waiting for an assassination target to get into place, anticipation but somehow muted. There’s nothing for him to think about right now: no clan business to attend to, no irritating questions about his stability from the Council, no missions to plan or shinobi to worry about, no politics…nothing.
Nothing but the warmth between his lips and the hand in his hair.
“I knew you’d make a good kitty, Madara,” Hashirama is saying somewhere very far away. “Isn’t it nice? Cats don’t worry about anything. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’s all being taken care of. Everything’s in good hands: your village, your clan, your family. Everything’s fine. Everything’s good. You don’t need to think about it. You can just be. Just lie in the sun, warm and happy and mine. Isn’t that good?”
Madara lazily hums in agreement, barely aware that he’s doing it.
He’s not sure how much time passes and he finds he doesn’t really care. He’s always thought he wasn’t made for peace, no matter how much he longed for it; always suspected, in the dark hours of the night before the dawn, that even if he one day built the village of his dreams that it would never be enough for him. That he’d always be restless, unsatisfied; that a man built to the specifications of endless war would never be able to learn what it means to be at peace, not really, not in his heart – that he’d end up a relic, a warmonger among those too tired for war, paranoid and alone and watching everyone around him settle into peace in a way he could never hope to match.
But those fears are gone, now: he’s as peaceful as the heart of a banked fire, his overactive mind finally at ease. No worries, no fears, nothing to do but be – knowing in his heart that everything is fine, that even if anything happens Hashirama will deal with it, and able to just rest. At last.
He can finally release the burdens that have rested on his shoulders since that terrible day by the riverside when the weight of his duty crashed down upon him, since even before then, since the day he first understood what it meant that he was the heir. To be an older brother, in a clan at war.
(He wonders for a moment if Hashirama has trapped him in some sort of genjutsu, since he can’t use his chakra right now to dispel or even check, but surely no one would use one for such a pointless little game as this.)
“You’re doing so well,” Hashirama tells him, even as he keeps working, the soft sound of brush on paper on the table above Madara’s head just barely audible, lulling Madara further into the hazy doze he’s in. “So good. I knew you’d be good, but you’re doing even better than I dreamed you would. Such a good kitty. Good little kitty –”
He says more in that vein, lots more, and Madara just lets it drift over him, the words soothing and his mind blank, ignoring the minor physical discomforts of the position – his ass still sore, the collar pressing around his throat, his jaw going stiff even as he drools all over Hashirama’s cock, unable to wipe it away, his own cock heavy and hard between his legs – in favor of that wonderful feeling of floating.
It’s so very hard to disagree with Hashirama when he feels this good. Feels this free.
It’s really not that bad, being a cat.
Being Hashirama’s cat.
Not if that means he can let go of all his troubles and sit here, listening to whispers of praise, and know that for once in his life he’s fulfilling and even exceeding every expectation of him.
“Very good,” Hashirama says. “You did such a good job, Madara; I’m all done with the paperwork now. You can have your reward now.”
When Madara doesn’t respond, still distant as though everything is happening through a pane of glass, Hashirama puts his hands in Madara’s hair and starts to move his head for him, fucking his mouth in little gentle gestures that slowly, ever so slowly, bring Madara back down to earth.
He comes, eventually, and Madara swallows it all down, obediently using his tongue to clean Hashirama’s cock after, licking him up just like a good kitty should. When Hashirama gives him his foot and leg to use to get off, not even bothering to use his hands or his mouth or even his Mokuton to get Madara off but just leaving Madara to rut against him like an animal, Madara is appropriately grateful.
“You’re so good,” Hashirama tells him, again and again, his fingers still warm in Madara’s hair. “Being so good, all for me. This is what you get when you let me take care of you. Isn’t it better like this? Such a good kitty.”
Madara comes, awash in sensation and pleasure, and doesn’t even think to complain when Hashirama’s next orders are for him to take a nap in the bed in the corner, the one that’s right under the high window that’s only small enough to let in light and not visitors, that lets him soak up the warm afternoon light as Hashirama takes care of all the necessary business, cleaning him up with a nice warm cloth before settling back in at the desk to continue the important work of caring for the village they’ve made together.
It doesn’t even occur to Madara to remove the ears or the tail.
He’s a good kitty.
(He wakes up four hours later, realizes he’s late for dinner with Izuna and the Uchiha elders and trips over himself three times while getting ready even as Hashirama laughs at him, but something of that peace remains with him even later that night, lets him smile at Izuna and laugh at his leading questions and tell him without explaining anything that everything is just fine, Izuna, don’t worry so much, nothing has changed.
Everything is just fine.)
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Spoonbender Society: Selected Schizoepistles
FW: FW: FW: FW: FW: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE:
We Live In A Society
People say we live in a democracy/democratic republic, a form of government intended to amplify what people think and address problems they find to be important. But it doesn’t ever seem to function that way.
The issue is in voter suppression, but as always not in the way people generally think voter suppression works. The issue is psychic, spiritual, and social suppression of citizens. Systemic over-development of senses of rationalization, neuroticism and anxiety, industrially incentivized narcissism.
People develop a deathly fear of what others think, or may think, or what they may have thought about them or what they think, what they may think, or what they may have thought.
A democracy where we’d rather not hear what other people have to say, because we find their thoughts offensive and retarded. That’s one thing people are happy to share. But because we suspect that there are so many offensive retards in the world, we fear... "Perhaps I’m a retard too?" You wonder that even for just a second in your life, if you have a soul. It’s OK to be a retard really, but you’ll never believe that it’s OK, and that's probably What Your Fucking Problem Is.
The opinions of us purported non-retards, to avoid sounding like complete retards, end up soft, ambivalent and stale, phrased like True Neutral Orgasm in Ego-Death Nirvana, but less Chad, less gratifying, and nobody cums. To not be reminded of the possibility of our own retardation, we like to pretend that if the retards just shut up and nobody can hear them, they go away. If they are Physically Removed from our presence, their evil thoughts and their malicious intentions will go away with them. We win. But they don’t. They never do.
We always fail to Psychically Remove them. We lose.
We can hypothesize a law of conservation of hatred, correlate one too of love, but the truth is banal. How can it be in light of our timeline? Why are these Hate Groups all over the place? Hitler’s corpse is rotting or burned to a crisp, or embalmed in a tomb or made a toilet for Some Rich Dude ((parenthetical removed)). (Or was he cloned?)
Great Fatherland Germany - defeated by the "untermensch" and partitioned like a cheese between rats. That Great "Faustian" and "Supreme" "Aryan" Race is subjugated by the hated "Juden" and all the "vermin" of the world, humiliated, castrated to be reunited a shadow of its former self. Yet the Nazi threat is omnipresent nearly a century later, in an era which may be an alien planet to those who lived in Hitler’s time.
How is it that the Great Allies, our fathers and grandfathers, achieved such total victory over so loathsome a foe, so unsympathetic and vile, only to see his Evil infect their own countrymen and posterity? How can something so thoroughly defeated still persist in what could be our neighbors or our co-workers our bosses or our employees? Each one could be a secret Nazi now. In parenting blogs moms worry that their children are becoming Nazis from goofy men they see in videos on line. Marriages are ending in divorce because the husband or wife is allegedly or apparently a Nazi. How could this happen?
Have you ever seen “The Matrix? Who hasn’t? You know all about the red and blue pills, and all the rainbow-flag DLC that it comes with, black and pink and green and brown and in configurations invisible to the human eye, I’m sure. If you don't know, the pills are portals to different realities. Take the black pill and you only see death, take the white pill and everything’s alright, take the blue pill you vote for Hillary, take the pink you become genderqueer. But this is not about taking any pills. This is about going off your meds. Going straight edge - except for whiskey, cigarettes, cocaine and pussy. It’s about the spoon - no, not for shooting up. It's for bending - with your mind. Remember? That spoon - The Spoon That Isn’t There.
That spoon is a Nazi.
If you are aware that there is no spoon you can tie it into knots. You can make it into a balloon animal. That Nazi Spoon could be a Jewish Socialist from Vermont, or a kosher Brooklyn Zionist, or a Dominican Taxi Driver. It could be an evil copy of your own son from Bizzaro World. It's probably your uncle. It could be Rottweilers, and Chihuahuas. Whether Pitbulls are Nazis or Jews/Blacks is an ongoing debate in the contemporary discourse.
But imaginary shit can be whatever the hell you want. You don’t have to be "The One" to Bend the Spoon. You don’t have to be anyone at all. What was the name of the kid who said the line about the spoon again? Nobody knows, nobody cares, and that's the beauty of Spoonbending.
"The Nazi" is the guy who keeps talking when he should shut up. He might be autistic, but he could just be an asshole. There is a strong possibility he could be both. Why does he keep saying all of this ridiculous stuff? He’s more offensive and more retarded than the usual, but it feels like He Has To Be This Way. Like it’s his curse, He Knows Too Much. He fell down some rabbit hole and ended up gorged on Fascist Propaganda. He mentions some girl named Celine. He rambles on about some guy you’re pretty sure is a Tekken character... the guy who turns into the Devil maybe. He mentions a vacation in Turkey with his family but insists on saying Constantinople and there’s a wild-man tear in his eye. He insists he knows about Atlantis and calls you gay for saying you liked Aquaman. Instead of saying goodbye he says “Subscribe to Pewdiepie.” The Nazi belongs in an institution. You wonder if he has guns and if maybe he should have them taken for a while. He probably doesn’t, but you can’t be sure. He’s 12.
When is it too early to become a school shooter? Is 12 too early to be an incel?
12 is probably the age at which incels hatch from their human hosts.
“Who is Pewdiepie, and how has he groomed my nephew into the Hitler Youth?” many families today are asking. They think they’re looking at a spoon. Conditoning fills your heart with a desperate desire to see the spoon. A fact, pure fact, logical, reasonable, peer reviewed, widely accepted, So True, a Textbook Fact. The spoon. Everyone else sees it too. That goddamn Nazi Spoon.
You ever try to ask this at a party as an ice-breaker and see how the guests react?
“So, anyway, was The Holocaust Real?”
“Excuse me, what?”
“What do you think, was it real, how many people do you think died, don’t the gas chambers sound goofy to you?”
”Um… no… they don’t sound goofy. What are you talking about?”
“You ever hear about the Nazi Roller-coaster they had at one of the camps? They’d put Jews into a roller-coaster except they’d fly off the edge and get splattered. That’s how the Nazis killed ‘em. I swear. I read it in a book by a Holocaust Survivor. Impossible to believe if it weren’t so True. No shit. You hear about that?”
”I’m… gonna get another beer.”
Of course there’s a Correct answer to that initial question. It’s also the Right answer. Who would ever get this wrong? It's the 2+2=X of History. Well…
Pop-Quiz, Random Nazi Check, Anybody here Hate Jews? You a Groyper, Son? What’s so funny? You think the Cookie Monster committing genocide is a laughing matter boy? We don’t take kindly to your kind around here.
Maybe you should give the Nazi-check thing a try, it’ll separate sheep and goat real easy for you.
If you do this everyone will think you are The Nazi.
The Nazis hated Jews, but did they hate real Jews as Jews exist, or did they hate the Fascist Propaganda Jew who was a work of fiction? On that note, were you in love with your last failed relationship, or just pretending you were? Have you ever had one impression of a person, but then learned they were another kind of person entirely? That first impression you had, the one that wasn’t True, was that a Real Person, or Imaginary? But you still spent all that money and sweat on an imaginary girl, huh?
Hope her hole was real.
I think that fake bitch of an ex you dated was a nazi. Your ex was a fascist. Oh, was she Jewish? It doesn’t matter, changes nothing. I’ve never met her - wouldn't matter if I did. When I imagine her, she's in Hugo Boss black and got skull-and-bones on her officer's cap, and she's saying racial slurs as she ruins your life, cheats on you, drains your bank account and kills your dog after getting custody over it in court. I imagine all bad people this way. All women who rejected me were exactly like this.
But I must breach working-class anti-fascist solidarity, and admit, on That Question ("Would you?").... Yeah, I would. Sorry bro. Take me away Comrades, I admit it, I'd give it to that Nazi Jew raw. Would I do that to her as she exists, or the Fascist Propaganda her who is a work of fiction?
That depends. You still got her number?
haha it's ok you can call me an incel, it's a step up from what i actually am
(User was banned for this post.)
The Nazi and the Fascist aren’t my hallucinations. That’s not my mental illness. But it’s adjacent to me, it’s thrown at me without my Consent, and it's a Trigger. I'm paranoid about commies myself.
In the multicultural cyberpunk year of 2019, with its trans-human gender-sex-orientations, anti-racist ethno-narcissism, fanatic anti-normalism, cultish critical theory intersections, grand byzantine minimalism, placidity, in such splendid predatory banality… In the absolute state of the world! – Aah! An undead ideology conceived by a salty Frenchman in the badlands of South Dakota in the 1890s shambles forth the devour all that is Good and Holy in the Great United States of AmeriKKKa, God Help Us All! And A Child Will Lead Those Dreadful Legions of Corruption Upon All The Meek Of Our Fallen World!
Or it’s just a spoon that isn’t real.
Nobody wants to be straight-forward, and I gotta navigate the labyrinths of euphemism. Maybe there's something weird going on - how people talk, how people act, how people think, none of those correlate to each other. It makes you feel schizo when you do all your mental rain-man calculus and realize there's a fucking Elephant in the living room and he's not wearing any goddamn pants. Once that little ray-of-sunshine blesses your tiny bug-man brain to enlighten you that the elephant is real, and the spoon isn't, it's only a matter of time before you're crowned in tinfoil a Potato King on your off-grid Bug-out estate in the Idaho Panhandle, or start drinking yourself to death and bullying mailmen (or both).
If you'd like to avoid that sort of Elephant-Mania Spoon-denialism, maybe you should try answering Uncomfortable Question instead of being so Weird about it, oh wise Mr. Kirk, Mr. Shapiro, Mr. Talking-Head, Mr. Important-Guy, Mr. Movement, Mr. Politics, Mr. Voice of Reason, Mr. Metatron. Take it from a schizo-maniac with a manifesto, you’re freaking out the hoes.
Try Praeger U talking points out on a Tinder date and watch her shrivel up from instathot to instahag -- she will go through menopause before your very eyes, that's how dry her pussy will get. Trying not to sound racist while talking about the Antarctic Nazi base and the importance of craniometry in ethnocultural anthropology will get you more action than anything that sounds like a paraphrase of Charlie Kirk -- because even if you're still being cringe at least you aren't being fake. Point and laugh at that fucking elephant - the moron isn't even wearing pants! That'll get her thinking about taking your pants off. Or not - it's not foolproof. If she doesn't laugh, red-flag, she's a Nazi so Begone Thot!
Please, for the love of God, go off-script! See the damn elephant and forget the spoon, and forget the wise Mr. Kirk, Mr. Shapiro, Mr. Talking-Head, Mr. Important-Guy, Mr. Movement, Mr. Politics, Mr. Voice of Reason, Mr. Metatron. Take it from a schizo-maniac with a manifesto, you'll go insane if you don't.
[. . . ] [T]hen there's that neuroticism, that narcissism, that fear. The whole point of these politics groups and gatherings and Q&As is what, anyway? Is it really just basic marketing tactics, like a live-action advertisement you expect for people to passively consume as though it is persuasive? To shove free-markets and free-speeches down my throat and have me swallow it without having anything that’s been bothering me answered? What do I look like to you, an Ideology Whore? You don't even reciprocate a good time, huh? I'm not that kind of girl. You didn't even buy me dinner. You made me pay to bore me. I'd cuck you if we dated just to make a very important point -- fully aware it'll go over your head. Fuck you.
We gotta hear The Script. We gotta recite The Script.
Real Conservatives Think Like This. Real Progressives Think Like This. White People Walk Like This. Black People Walk Like This.
Gotta hear that joke ten thousand times so you can recite it like a mantra in your sleep.
Free markets mean free people. Facts don’t care about your feelings. Private Companies can do what they wish. What you do in your bedroom is your own business. We want legal immigration, not illegal.
Abolish ICE. Your childhood hero says Trans-Rights. Do you not want me in the movement? Abolish whiteness.
The Racism of Lowered Expectations.
Reparations.
A white nation.
Workers of the world unite!
Abortion is a human right.
Have you got it memorized?
Let’s go over it a few more times.
Say it with me! Hillary was found innocent in a hundred hearings and it is sexist to besmirch her reputation.
Repeat after me! Trump’s economy is the best in history, and if he's racist why is black unemployment is at historical lows.
You benefit from unearned privilege. You suffer from toxic masculinity.
The world is about to end and everything you know and love will die, and it is your fault, for not believing in the correct things at the correct time.
Are you laughing yet?
I’m dying. I feel like an e-girl, and my orbiters are sides.
But do you wanna know what I really think? The whole bit about psychic and social suppression? You ever hear about the Procrustean bed? Well, what if we put your political, social, moral consciousness and your psychic abilitys into a bed like that. We could talk about it. You ever play Xenogears?
Or you could just put me in a box. I really wouldn't mind. I'm Houdini. Hey, was Houdini a Nazi, like Henry Ford? Can we get a fact-check? I didn't mean to be problematic.
Break the Conditoning - Step outside the box, and use it as a step ladder. Ascend, Beyond the Box - use The Spoon.
Bush did 9/11, the Israeli’s danced, the Aliens killed JFK - sure - but I only say this because of my MK Ultra Schizo-brain. It’s true, it’s false, it’s fact, it’s myth, I don’t have to believe any of it -- I also don't have to believe any of you if I don’t want to. My feelings do not care about your facts, and did you know that some of the world's most uncomfortable facts are manifested into being by uncomfortable feelings? Is it the fact of the bullet that kills the political dissident, or the feelings of his executioner? Is it the deranged lust of the rapist that violates his victim, or the fact of his power to do so? I guess it depends on whether the perpetrator said "nothing personnel kid" before he committed the act. I don't know about that Nazi Rapist's feelings, but MY feelings are valid and I can believe or disbelieve whatever I want on the basis of my feelings, and my feelings alone. My feelings bend the spoon of your facts.
Are you going to say I don’t have the right, Adolf? Sucks for you, bud, I may be a commie by blood, but the heart that pumps it was assembled in the ole USA -- and we got the Right to be a Retard here in America. It's a Free Country.
[Note: please insert image of Jonathan Frakes from Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction]
Now that the dust has settled: Was the Nazi Roller-Coaster Real? Or did we put the Truth in a Mass-Grave? We will let you know at the conclusion of our program.
Sincerely and Full of Suffering Your Friend Always, Orcbrand
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