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singular-braincells · 4 years

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i just wanted to thank all of y'all for nearly 100 followers and i'll probably do something special for it (maybe a Q&A? idk come up with something dw)

school is dumb and i hate it here stressing about college applications is also wack

i've always wanted to try my hand at the fluff alphabet so i hope this isn't too ooc or bad

kageyama tobio A-Z fluff alphabet

[a]ctivities: what do they like to do with their s/o? how do they spend their free time with them?

kageyama would absolutely love love love to play volleyball with you. it doesn't matter if you're a professional or don't know what a recieve is, if you show interest in playing it with him he will be just so over joyed (of course without showing it very much)

his favorite thing to do with you that's not volleyball is going out for hikes or walks in the park. just being able to go outside and enjoy the weather is a good stress reliever for him. you two don't even have to talk very much. if you want to ramble about your day or about the latest tv show you've watched, he's gonna listen but if you want to just be together and walk in silence he's totally down for that too.

[b]eauty: what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?

one physical trait kageyama likes is your voice. he would love your voice no matter what. if you're one to talk about anything and everything he is low-key relieved because he cannot carry a conversation for the life of him but if you prefer a comfortable silence he's down for that too.

a personality traits he admires is patience. he knows he isn't the sharpest tool in the shed and isn't one to pick up hints easily. so if you bare with him and help him maneuver through life and its obstacles he will definitely fall harder for you

[c]omfort: how would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

to be honest, I can see Kageyama not knowing what to do the first time his s/o has a panic attack or feels awful. he's just very inexperienced with relationships in general, but he's gonna try to do some research and ask his upper classmen teammates for help. the second time it happens he'll be there for you. he is gonna provide all the physical and emotional support that he can.

[d]reams: how do they picture their future with their s/o?

once he has a stable schedule, kageyama sees the two of you living in a large condo home living the domestic life. making breakfast together on days that the two of you have off, movie nights with popcorn and tea, doing cosmetic face masks together (despite Kageyama having the clearest skin known to mankind), and just being able to take the time to cherish one another.

[e]qual: are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

at the beginning of the relationship Kageyama's gonna be more passive just because he a) doesn't want to accidently hurt you and b) he does not have the slightest clue what to do in a relationship. as the relationship goes on he's gonna be a little bit more dominant, but he will always ask to do something (like ask to give you a hug or for kisses etc. because he is a polite boy 😤)

[f]ight: would they be easy to forgive their s/o?

it honestly depends on what the who's at fault. if you're clearly at fault kageyama is gonna expect you to apologize and own up to it, but if he's the one at fault he will apologize as soon as he realizes it. he doesn't want to lose you in some dumb argument so he'll quickly and sincerely apologize, though it might take just a little bit of time for him to realize.

[g]ratitude: how grateful are they in general? are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

kageyama is super duper duper grateful for all that you do for him. waiting for him to come home at night with late practices, him leaving at dawn for early practice, all of it. he doesn't know how to verbally say "thank you so much for all that you do I don't know where I'd be without you" but he'll show it through actions. he's gonna get you a cute little trinket he sees at the airport when he's away or gets you that thing you've been looking at for some time without you realizing.

[h]onesty: do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? or do they share everything?

Kageyama doesn't share too much, only if you ask. he's not very good at opening up and he's very scared of abandonment. just be patient with him and let him open up at his own pace. he'll tell you everything just not at all once

[i]nspiration: did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? like trying out new things or help them overcome their personal problems?

he's become more aware of how to talk to people and the general aura he gives off. he’s learned to be vulnerable around you, to lean on you, and love you. it scares him that on any day you could pack your bags and leave him, never looking back. he’s scared of making mistakes and ultimately destroying the most wonderful thing that the two of you have so sometimes he overthinks every action. you’ve taught him to go with the flow, that it is okay to mess up. mistakes happen and that is okay. you’ve soothed and ease the insectuities that kageyama has. he can’t thank you with words because he’ll stumble and stutter but he can thank you with a gentle hand squeeze and a hug that conveys “I don’t ever want to let you go”

[j]ealousy: do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?

again, baby boy kags has abandonment issues from Junior high so he's gonna be at least a little bit jealous, but not to worry! he trusts you 100 percent to make the right choices and to be loyal. he wouldn't really get that jealous unless someone was blatantly flirting with you. you notice his jealousy when he gives off the iciest glare to whoever is flirting with you. unless you look visibly uncomfortable he won't step in since he knows you can handle yourself. but if you needed him to step in, he would in a heartbeat. he deals with his jealousy by pouting at you and glaring at the other person until you give him all the affection he wants.

[k]iss: are they a good kisser? what was the first kiss like?

there is a 100 percent high chance that Kageyama has never been in a relationship before, let alone kissed someone. he's gonna be very inexperienced so if you take the lead until Kageyama feels more comfortable with it he'll be grateful. but fyi this boy learns and he learns fast don't worry ;)

your first kiss was an accident (i know cliché but hear me out). the two of you were sitting together shoulder to shoulder studying for midterms. you were aiming to give kageyama a kiss on the cheek for getting a question correct on his literature homework, but he moved his head towards you to ask you something about a certain kanji character and bam. that was your first kiss.

[l]ove confession: how would they confess to their s/o?

kageyama would do the cliché "stick a note in your locker asking you to meet after school on the roof top" but would either fuck it up by a) messing up some kanji so it's unreadable and confusing, b) make it sound like a threat, or c) both. how he wrote it is option c.

you ended up going to the rooftop of the school out of curiosity and you see the dark haired boy standing there with a strawberry milk carton, bag of steamed buns, and a single rose (fun fact: the karasuno boys vbc made him get all of those things because let's face it this boy is hopeless with gifts).

as soon as you meet his gaze, his face turns red in record time. he adorably stutters out that he's got the biggest crush on you and you can't help but accept his heartfelt confession.

[m]arriage: do they want to get married? how do they propose? what would the marriage be like?

he would totally want to get married. he'd propose to you at a really really serenic place at night either at like a picnic at the beach or under the night sky on your condo balcony. your wedding would be small private with just your friends and family. the marriage would just be your relationship before y'all got married just now y'all share a bank account.

[n]icknames: what do they call their s/o?

at the beginning of your relationship, he was used to pet names but as he got comfortable in your relationship he uses some of them. the most common ones he uses are things like "honey", "love", and "babe"/"baby"

[o]n cloud nine: what are they like when they are in love? is it obvious for others? how do they express their feelings?

tobio makes it painfully obvious that he has a crush. he's never experienced these feelings before so he doesn't really know how to handle them so it's very obvious to others that he has a crush (even if he doesn't know himself). the longing glances, the flushed cheeks, the spacing out, the stuttering, it's really really obvious to tell if he's infatuated with someone.

he doesn't really express his feelings very well but he does express it by walking you home after school or after his practice, getting you your favorite drink from the vending machine, and just showing he cares in small ways.

[p]da: are they upfront about their relationship? do they brag about their s/o in front of others? or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

kageyama is definitely more reserved when presenting his relationship. he won't go sucking off your face in front of people, but he doesn't mind the small gestures like hand holding and settling his hand on your waist.

when the two of you first got together, he kept it a secret from his team for months until hinata accidently saw the two of you kissing in the closet. it was only then when kageyama decided to announce to the team that the two of you are dating.

[q]uirk: some ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

okay, he is a god at massages and other things with his hands ;))))). so if your back aches from sleeping weird or sitting at a work desk for too long he will gladly give you a quick massage to relieve some of the pain. because of this you learned some massage methods and tricks to help tobio out when he comes from practices sore.

[r]omance: how romantic are they? what would they do to make their s/o happy? cliché or rather creative?

he's not very romantic himself, but he'll do anything he can to make his s/o happy. most of the things he'll do will either be corny and cliché as hell or they'll be super thoughtful and unique. it honestly depends on who he asks for advice (hint: nishinoya and tanaka are cheesy as hell so do what you want with that info)

[s]upport: are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? do they believe in them?

he will support you all the way with your dreams and goals like you've supported him with his professional volleyball dreams. he can't help you much with writing essays or calculating certain equations, but he'll try his best to give you all the emotional support you need to achieve your dreams.

[t]hrill: do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? or do they prefer a certain routine?

i think he'd be more of a routine sort of person, but if you want to do something new he will give it his best shot. he'll do anything to make you happy and who knows, maybe he'll discover something new about himself.

[u]nderstanding: how good do they know their partner? are they empathetic?

when it comes to your niche habits and things you like, he knows them like he knows the back of his hand. y'all saw how fast he memorized those lil volleyball signals, he unconsciously memorized all these small little details about you.

when it comes to being empathetic, he's got the right idea but he's going to come off a little off. the best way to get your feelings across to him is by straight up telling him. he'll learn to notice the small signs you give off when something is off.

[v]alue: how important is the relationship to them? what is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life

he will value your relationship like he values volleyball. he takes most of his relationships seriously so expect him to put the most effort he can. he'd expect you to do the same.

[w]ild card: a random fluff headcannon.

he saw you taking care of your friend's three year old son once. the way you were so doting and motherly towards him made his heart go doki doki. he realizes how much of a good parent you'd make and after that, he sometimes has cute domestic fantasies about having children with you.

[x]oxo: are they very affectionate? do they love to kiss and cuddle?

kageyama is not very affectionate in public, but in private he will be all over you. he's just more comfortable being cutesy and vulnerable in private with you. he will give you cute forehead / head kisses, snuggle you while the two of you sleep, hold your hand while you're doing laundry, and put his chin on your head while you do the dishes. he's just more baby in general when at home away from the public.

[y]earning: how will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

when kageyama misses you he will look at old pictures the two of you have taken together or pictures he has taken of you when you asked him to over the years that you've been together. these get him through some of the more lonelier times when he's away from you due to volleyball competition. he'll hold a pillow trying to pretend it's your warm self, but it doesn't work too well in the end.

[z]eal: are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? if so, what kind?

kageyama is willing to do whatever he can for your relationship. as long as you're his anchor in the storm and treat him with kindness, he's willing to move mountains for you. he just loves you very much and will do any action to prove it to you again and again.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio x reader #haikyuū #haikyuū x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #haikyu kageyama #kageyama tobio headcannons

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sparklingdisneyprincess · 3 years

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You may be into something there in EP 6. It's probably why Amber's anger was extreme when Mark finally revealed the truth. She must've felt embarrassed for not discovering him specifically as Invincible sooner. Then frustrated because she believes she should've been better and thought maybe Mark believes so too. Finally, she must be really guilty for hurting him in EP6. Combine that with her running out of patience, she snaps and blames Mark for everything as a defense mechanism from her pain.

I think you also might be on to something! That does seem in line with her character. I didn't like that she snapped at him in the way that she did during that bedroom convo scene, but I do understand why. We're human it happens. When he left and she turned her face you could tell that she was visibly upset, but it changed to a face of sadness and it should make you want to ask why did she say all of that when it clearly made her sad in the end? However, a lot of people don't ask any questions due to only watching surface level and don't pay attention to the choices in framing that the directors make. Animation is expensive and they typically don't just put in/do anything for just any reason. Unlike analyzing shows with actual people on screen. In animation, you can be a little bit more in-depth with your analysis because you don't have to consider some of the variables that only occur in actual human TV shows.

I didn't like the approach the writers took because it made Amber only look worse to antis. They had her say one thing and showed her feeling another without giving it time to be fleshed out and understood. I however did like that it was an utterly human display of emotion. What Amber did is not something foreign to any of us! She used her words in a way that hurt somebody close to her and as soon as it was over she regretted it. I enjoyed that it was realistic! I've been on both ends of that. Saying something and then feeling bad for going that far and having something said to me by someone close that in my opinion, they took too far. In both of those cases, I'm still close with those people.

We make mistakes, but what's important is to own up, walk back, and make amends, which she did. I didn't really like how they wrote the first half of the scene where she and Mark make up, but I really liked the second half because Amber was so soft towards him and Mark seemed so happy that she was just there and he wanted to open up to her and talk about it despite everything.

If the writers decide to go with Aark as endgame it'd be nice to watch them grow and learn from their previous mistakes. I'm all for soulmates especially because WestAllen is my top ship of all time, but there's just something about a ship that doesn't start off as perfect and instead grows into itself and fits better together as the characters also grow and change. Idk it just hits a lil different🤷🏾‍♀️

#Aark #Amber Bennett #Mark Grayson #Mark x Amber #Invincible #SDP asks

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hysteriium · 4 years

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Ledger!Joker x JP!Joker headcanons 👀 ??

(Edit isn’t mine, made by Anarchy Graphics! They have really cool edits you should check them out!)

(A/n): 👀 HEY THERE DEAR ANON! Your wish is my command ;)) sorry I kinda added some smut hope that’s okie! HEHEH also @pennyship and I are writing a massive fucking one-shot about the duo! We’re thinking of turning this into a series if anyone’s interested?

Pairing: JP! Joker x reader x Heath!Joker

Warnings: NSFW, BDSM themes, swearing.

////

Together

Okay first things first, they will have a hard time ‘sharing’ you. They’re both really assertive characters and their personalities would for sure clash.

They’re very competitive.

What’s probably even weirder is how they resolve their arguments. If you expect them to sit down and shake it out b o i you’re dead wrong.

Honestly, if you catch them in the middle of doing some stupid shit, don’t be surprised.

More often than not, you feel like the mediator between them. You kind of keep them balanced – stop them from going overboard, though admittedly, it’s rare when they reach such a point.

Their unspoken contest keeps them on their toes and that’s just how they like it.

They also really appreciate how you spare them the psychoanalysis – they get enough of it when they’re thrown into Arkham and treated like odd spectacles.

They’re really possessive/protective. If someone even so much as thinks of threatening you, or, even more idiotic, makes it known they ARE, best believe they’re bringing out the big guns. They’ll rain hellfire upon them. This is perhaps the only time where the dynamic duo can work together.

NSFW

A lot of the times they take their frustration out in other activities. If something doesn’t go as ‘planned,’ you’re gonna have a hard time walking tomorrow.

(Coming back to their ‘rivalry’), they’ll leave hickeys on your neck – VISIBLE ONES MIGHT I ADD – just so the other can see. This often leads to more hickeys from the other.

Threesomes. Sorry, not sorry. (Will go into detail in an upcoming fic hehe).

Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker

This. Man. Is. Touch-starved.

You heard me, folks. He loves touching you. This isn’t exclusive to sex either, honestly, he’s happy with even the smallest displays of affection.

He’s also much kinder than Heath’s Joker AND WHAT I MEAN BY THAT is that he’s more open with his affections (see Heath’s section for deetz).

Loves loves loves your smile and your laugh! Every time he snatches a laugh roused by one of his puns or jokes, he’s ecstatic! “You should laugh more,” “you have a pretty smile.” His compliments aren’t always worded the greatest, but you know he means well, his sincerity shining through.

Coupled with the soft smile which almost always follows your joy, it’s enough on its own to convey his thoughts.

The man is incredibly playful and is a relentless flirt. He doesn’t CARE who’s around, he will make it known what nasty things he’s thinking about AND what nasty things he wants to do to you. If it wasn’t for your own protests which are occasionally worn down, he’d take you in front of others. He literally does not care.

Example: when you least expect it, you’ll feel a firm slap against your ass, or sometimes less overt, a grab. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is.

To reiterate, he absolutely has no shame.

Arthur is big on aftercare. He’ll make sure you know how much he loves you. He gets really attached, and his actions communicate this more than his words. Aftercare manifests itself in many forms: cuddling, bubble baths, making sure he hasn’t harmed you in any way, offering sweets.

Nicknames

“Angel.”

“Darling.”

“Doll.” (Heath’s Joker also uses this).

“Sugar.” He often uses this when he’s mad, for example, “okay, listen, sugar.”

“Sweetheart.”

NSFW

Depending on how Arthur’s feeling, funky time can either be really rough or, if he’s feeling a lil extra sentimental, very you-oriented.

He’s a passionate man and seeing how his touch leads to your unravelling is truly one of the highlights for him.

Above all, Arthur’s favourite thing is hearing the way his name spills from your lips – feeling the way you cling onto him as he plunges into you. Your expression of euphoria’s something that’s etched into his brain, like fine glass.

An added bonus for him is thinking about how antsy your loud moans make Heath’s Joker.

Gunplay → Arthur’s slender fingers indent your thighs as he spreads them apart, a sudden metallic chill brushing up against the flesh. Prodding at your entrance with the barrel and slowly pushing in, his slow teasing thrusts morph into a steady pace when you’re practically pleading him to let you cum.

Orgasm Denial → Arthur, being the mischievous boi he is, will damn well make sure he drags everything out. He loves to hear you beg, every time you do it fills him with swirling bursts of pride.

Body worship → sort of ties in with orgasm denial. Arthur will take his sweet ass time caressing your skin, planting kisses against your stomach – against your hips. Honestly anywhere he has access to he will make it known how much he appreciates your body. This can sometimes appear during sex – he’ll slow his pace and utter sweet whispers of praise against you, rendering you even more of a flustered mess.

Hair pulling → works both ways. This would mainly be exhibited during oral than anything else. If he’s going down on you and your trembling fingers jerk his green curls, the vibrations of his moans would tip you over the edge.

He’s more flexible than Heath’s Joker, meaning if you want to top, he’ll let you do so, though he still maintains a cocky air. Giving you one of his killer smirks, his eyebrows flicking in amusement, he’ll relinquish his hold on your hips and recline back into the couch. The way he leans back and places his hands behind his head screams ‘go ahead,’ ‘impress me.’ You always do.

Heath Ledger’s Joker

Will do shit just to spite Arthur; this isn’t because he has a personal vendetta against him, it’s just because of the person he is (a little shit).

Takes a bit longer to open up than Arthur, emotionally. He’s very closed off and is used to his little bubble. It takes patience but eventually you’ll get there.

Acts like the biggest hardass → he likes to portray there’s nothing more to his image other than the ‘agent of chaos,’ but you come to realise this is definitely not the case.

In the dead of night, when he returns from whatever havoc he’s stirred, he crawls into your bed and pulls you against him, arms embracing you loosely.

This is when he’s at his most affectionate. His exhaustion most likely adds to those falling walls.

Most of the time he thinks you’re asleep when this occurs but, spoiler, you’re not; the gentle upturn of your lips the only indication of such. You don’t think you’d ever give the fact away either, fearful of him receding back into his shell to the point where affection is null. Either way, you’re happy with him.

By the morning, he’s gone, already making plans (or executing them).

He seldom shows you his actual face, behind all the makeup. In all honesty, you don’t know the reasoning behind this, and you don’t think you ever will. While he’s blunt, he’s just as secretive; there’s always something going on in the back of his mind.

Perhaps it’s insecurity, discomfort, or, more simply, the ‘persona’ of ‘Joker’ is just what resonates with him. The man underneath is someone he no longer identifies with. The man he’s become – who he’s worked so hard to manifest – is his true self.

NSFW

Okay but he’s a very sexual guy, not even gonna lie.

ALSO HAS NO EMBARRASSMENT. When it comes to sex, this man’s just as open about it as Arthur.

Hair pulling kink → this goes without saying. Unlike Arthur, this kink is one-sided, and he most definitely is the one doing the pulling. Those large hands will lose themselves within your strands and if you’re giving him head, he’s most likely going to guide you by said strands.

Glove kink → he’ll set you on his lap, your back against his chest as his hands hold your wriggling thighs. With your breath hitching in anticipation, one of his gloved hands will slip down your inner thigh, rubbing slow circles against your clit. He tries his best to be patient but lets be honest, he has a really short fuse when it comes to sex; he’ll be dipping one – two – and if he’s feeling particularly torturous – three fingers inside of you before you know it, curling his fingers.

Praise kink → not particularly what you’d expect. He’s also very big into humiliation and mockery, so this kind of ties in with the two. For example, if you do something he’s pleased with, he’ll throw around teasing/sarcastic nicknames like there’s no tomorrow:

“Bunny.”

“Buttercup.”

“Button.”

“Doll.”

“Good girl.”

“Princess.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Sweetheart.”

Loves your brattiness, literally lives for it. He’s always been drawn to a bit of fire – it keeps things interesting.

Has a thing for emotions – for your expressions, both micro and macro. The main three: fear, pain, pleasure.

He’s very erratic. So, when he is praising you, he may tug at your hair the next, choke you or, if he deems necessary, spank you.

Your squeaks of pain get him off – the motherfucker’s sadistic.

Goes through topdrop, and you’d most certain go through subdrop. He’s so used to control and regaining it when lost, in both an everyday context and a sexual one. So, once those feelings develop into something more (which you’ll have trouble differentiating, or sometimes picking up on at all), he’ll become more reserved, no longer displaying his usual vigour until this issue is sorted. (More details in a future drabble/fic).

#joaquin phoenix joker #joaquin phoenix #joker x reader #joker imagine #joker 2019 #the dark knight #both jokers #jp joker #heath joker #heath ledger #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker x reader #dc x reader #dc headcanon #Joker headcanons #joker headcannons #arthur fleck #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck x reader

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 3 years

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TATMILB, CHAPTER 4

Penelope spent her life writing love letters, which didn’t seem like a terrible idea until the letters were mailed out and Schneider received one of them. Hoping to fool their exes, they agree to fake a relationship. But are they lying to everyone around them, or to themselves? aka my To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before-inspired AU.

Penelope x Schneider, ODAAT. available on ao3 with extra author’s notes.

Chapter 4: Ben comes to Penelope’s door bearing a letter. Penelope explains the situation to Schneider over ice cream. She scoffs at his proposal but can’t wave it away so easily once she’s alone with her thoughts.

Dear Ben,

It’s been a really long time since I felt the way I did when I was with you--I know talking about it makes me sound like a giddy teenager.

But in so many ways, that’s how you made me feel. I was full of lighthearted happiness, hormones and that need to know everything about somebody that only happens at the beginning of a relationship.

The story of how we met sounds like a movie: I poured my heart out to you, thinking you were gay and couldn’t possibly be interested in me, and you turned the tables by asking me out. A night full of self-loathing and guilt led to a moment where I felt really attractive. And considering how hard life had been lately, especially in the romance department, it meant a lot that you looked at me in my emotional half-drunk state and saw someone worth getting to know.

All of that makes how we ended worse. I’m sorry for what happened with Victor, for how easily and how quickly I became a cliche--the ex-wife who takes back her apologetic husband, who believes and trusts when she shouldn’t...who gives up a good man for a familiar one.

We had fun while it lasted, didn’t we? It’s the what-ifs that haunt me now. The possibilities. Maybe you would have gotten along well with my family, when it was time for you to meet them. Maybe you would have been a good husband someday.

I know I don’t have the right to hold on to you, to the idea of us, when there was barely an us in the first place. Some nights, though, I pull out that mental picture and let myself live inside for it a little while. I still feel happy there. I wonder if you do, too.

Love, Penelope

****

“Ben!”

Penelope steadied herself by gripping Schneider’s arm, which also helped to steady him as they wobbled in the doorway after their near-collision.

She saw the letter Ben was holding, on yellow paper she remembered too well, and offered him an overly-bright smile, aiming it like a shield. “We’re actually just on our way out. Gotta go get dessert for the family before there’s chaos, y’know?”

Her laugh was as forced as her smile, but she ignored the look Schneider gave her and hoped Ben would buy it. He didn’t know her nearly as well; not everyone had Schneider’s keen eye for her tells.

“This is Schneider,” she added, shutting the door behind the two of them. She kept her grip on his arm, pulling him past Ben.

“Yeah, hi,” Schneider said, with a facial expression that could best be described as ‘trying to do calculus in his head.’ Great, Penelope thought, now she would have even more to explain to him once they made it free of the building. And Ben.

“Listen, I don’t want to hold you up,” her ex said, lifting the letter to her eyeline. “I just wanted you to know that I got it, but that I’m actually--well, I’m engaged now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Congratulations,” she said, shaking his hand and trying to hurry along as though that would be the end of that.

“Penelope.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I really enjoyed the time we spent together too. And I did think about you--about us. For a while. That was such a long time ago, though, and where my life is at these days...I’m really happy. I hope you will be soon.”

The hint of pity she detected got her attitude up, but if she made a scene it might bring the family out into the hall, which was the last thing she needed to add to this insanity. She exhaled through her clenched teeth instead.

“Thanks Ben, I appreciate that. I’m glad things are going well for you.”

“Anyway, I wanted to give you this back. It doesn’t feel right keeping it, while I’m planning my wedding to somebody else.”

“Alright. We really gotta go, but I hope the wedding goes great and it doesn’t rain. Best of luck to you both!” she half-shouted as she sped down the stairwell, not bothering to look behind her. Schneider would catch up, and she needed Ben to stop treating her like a crazy woman who was still nursing a crush on him years after they went on a handful of dates.

Not that her behavior in the hall was likely to make her seem more sane.

Her cheeks were burning as she exited the building, and she wished the air outside were cool enough to settle her racing heart. There was no denying it now--all of her letters must have been sent, every single mortifying one of them. Her innermost thoughts and feelings, directed at men who were never supposed to read them. This was beyond terrible. This was a catastrophe. This was--

“Pen! Wait up!” Schneider let the exit door slam shut behind him, making short work of the distance between them on the way to her car. “You know, I can’t go with you to get ice cream if you leave without me.”

“I know. Sorry.”

The scoop shop was only a five minute drive from their building, but it was a deeply uncomfortable five minutes, with Schneider watching her from the passenger seat and Penelope stuck on the image of Ben and his pretty, sympathetic face handing her back old dreams on paper.

She hoped he really was blissfully happy with his new fiancée. She hoped they had a long and happy marriage.

She hoped she never had to see him again.

****

Schneider managed to hold back as they waited in line at the shop, but he was restless next to her, filled with anxiety and questions. Penelope wasn't exactly in a hurry to explain; her nerves mirrored his.

“Let’s just order ours, okay?” She said before they approached the counter. “We can talk while we eat it, then get the rest to go after.”

Schneider nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want.” He ordered an oversized monstrosity, filled with a jumble of flavors and toppings that Penelope eyed with suspicion.

She got cherry gelato and frowned when he paid for them both, but didn’t bother arguing. She was the one who caused this whole mess--there wasn’t much point to starting a fight on top of it.

Schneider sat down across a corner table from her and made no move to touch his dessert. “Listen, Penelope, I’ve tried not to push. I kept quiet through dinner, I didn’t corner you in a moving vehicle, but I’m kinda out of patience now. What was that back there?”

“At...the hospital?”

It was stupid to try and buy herself more time. She wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous to talk to him--this was Schneider. He always understood even her craziest moments. Yet there she was, still stalling. Keep on digging that hole, Penelope.

“Yes, at the hospital, when you kissed me!” The last part came out louder than he’d intended, and Schneider looked around like they might be under surveillance, before continuing.

“What was that about?” he pressed. “I thought that I was pretty clear about where I stood, and then you kissed me anyway. No means no, Penelope!”

“Yes...you’re right.”

When he put it like that, she felt even worse than just embarrassed. If she found out Alex was going around kissing girls who told him they weren’t interested, she would be so pissed at him. She would read him the riot act. What could she possibly say to defend herself to the one man who understood that better than anybody-- who knew her behavior totally contradicted what she believed in?

“Sorry.” She watched her gelato melting in its little cup, swirling it with her spoon. “You’re right, there’s no excuse.”

“I don’t want an excuse--though the apology’s appreciated. I want an explanation. It doesn’t make any sense, what you did. And you always make sense. Come on, talk to me.”

“I don’t have a good explanation.” She sighed, trying her gelato before it was completely liquid. It didn’t taste as good as it would on a day when her life wasn’t unraveling. “It was out of character. No argument there. It just sort of happened.”

“But why?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she warned him, resigned to the fact that she couldn’t avoid this forever. He practically lived in their pockets--she couldn’t avoid him in general.

“You just made out with me,” he shot back. “I already know you’re crazy.”

“It was one kiss! I did not make out with you.” She dug into her gelato more emphatically, letting him sit with his own melting dish for a minute, almost as annoyed at Schneider as she was at herself for ending up here.

“That letter that you got from me, it wasn’t the only one I wrote.”

“Okay.” He blinked, taking that in. “You’re in love with people besides me?”

“I’m not in love with anybody, you dope. And I didn’t send you that letter.”

“I’m confused.”

“I write letters. I always have. To process stuff, get my thoughts out. I didn’t have therapy, you know, before the last few years. And between my mom, and the Army, and Victor...I had a lot of stuff to deal with. I’ve never been a diary person, but when things got really intense, I would write...”

“Love letters.”

“Yeah.”

He nodded as he dug into his ice cream, listening intently now. Schneider was good at that, even when he was visibly baffled--like he seemed now.

“I used to write other letters too, when I was a kid, letters to my parents when I was upset or frustrated with them. But I never held on to those ones--I had this feeling that no matter how well I hid them, Mami would find them, so I always trashed those. It helped enough, writing them.”

“When it comes to Lydia, I think your paranoia was probably well-founded.”

There was a hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth now, fondness not just for her mom but for Penelope. The wave of relief that flooded her settled some of her anxiety. Kissing him had been dumb and desperate, but she didn’t want it to ruin their friendship.

One kiss couldn’t do that, right?

He pointed his spoon at her gelato, a silent request. She nodded, passing him her spoon for a taste. She hadn’t really been in the mood for ice cream to begin with; she’d just wanted a place away from home for this confession.

“So, yeah, I write letters sometimes. Not all that often, because I was with Victor for most of my life. There haven’t been that many guys. But when I needed to put those feelings somewhere, I wrote them down and tucked them in my favorite duffel.”

She took her spoon back and gestured with it. “Over the years, I wrote five letters, including yours. And somehow they disappeared along with my duffel bag. The letters got sent out. I realized it when I saw you and Max.”

“And Ben,” Schneider added, putting the pieces together. “So, if that makes three, is the fourth Victor?”

“Oh, god.” She knew, of course she knew, exactly who she’d written her letters to. But she was so busy fighting the initial panic, she hadn’t thought about Victor yet. “Yes, I wrote to Victor. A couple of times. Ay dios mío, I hope that one gets shredded in the mail. I cannot deal with that right now.”

Schneider was lost in thought for a while, long enough that she took her cup to the trash. “Who’s the last one?” he asked when she sat back down.

“Huh?”

“I’ve known you since you and Victor separated. After Victor, there was Ben, then Max, then I guess you wrote my letter, since it was after Lydia’s hospital stay. I can’t think of anybody else you dated. Did you have a secret lover?”

He looked intrigued by the possibility. She swatted him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be so dramatic. You sound like my mom. The other letter was my first big crush, back in high school, a boy named Joe.”

She reached for his spoon and Schneider let her, bemused. He knew she usually hated his topping combinations. She just needed a second to gather her nerve again.

“I really am sorry,” she tried to explain, more carefully this time. “For kissing you like that. And for you ever seeing that letter. I was busy trying to figure out how it was possible, and then I saw Max coming, with a letter in his hand too, and I knew what it had to mean. I haven’t spoken to him since we broke up, my head was reeling--I couldn’t imagine explaining to him why he was getting a love letter from me a year later. I panicked.”

Risking a look at him before pinning her gaze back to the table, she continued. “It hit me that if he saw us kiss, he might assume we were a couple and be thrown off enough that I would have time to regroup. We could pretend the letters never happened.”

Schneider’s face was unreadable now. When she gave his spoon back, he didn’t go back to eating, just kept watching her.

“It’s not logical, I get that, but like I said, I panicked. And I know it was wrong of me to pull you into this, but I really would like to pretend the letters never happened, if we could. Especially yours.”

“Yeah?”

She ran the risk of offending him--she was aware of that--but their friendship was too important for her not to fight for it. She couldn’t tell what Schneider was thinking, though. That same perfectly blank expression stayed in place. At least he hadn’t left the shop yet, Penelope reminded herself. He was still giving her a chance.

“Yes. I was in a terrible place when I wrote your letter, Schneider. It was a few months after Mami’s stroke, after giving up Max had me convinced I’d lost my chance at love, and I was so lonely and scared and sad. About all of that.

“And there you were, so present and kind...and, well, loving. All the time. You were the one person I knew I could count on and we spent all those nights together. No matter how rough the day had been with the kids or at the hospital, you would find a way to make me laugh. Remember?”

“Of course.” His face was still guarded, but his voice had that comforting softness to it. That tone that meant he was ready to help. The voice of her best friend.

“I was vulnerable then, and I wrote it all down, because it had to go somewhere. It took me a while to step back from that place, to get back to feeling stable on my own even when you weren’t around. And once I had that distance, that balance back, I could see clearly again. I was never in love with you, not really. I mixed up how much I care about you as part of my family, as my best friend, with love. I mixed up how good you were to me with the idea that we would be good together.

“Once everything was okay again I felt like an idiot about it, and I was so glad I never said anything. I don’t want to lose you. And I never would’ve sent that letter as some attempt to awkwardly hit on you. I’m mortified to even be talking about it now. So, could we just move on? Like this was a weird day but we both agree it was a fluke and laugh it off?”

“Sure, sure, sure,” Schneider agreed, clearing his throat. “But what about the other letters?”

“What about them?”

“If Max’s letter is like mine, a love letter with no extra context, then are you going to have to do this all over again? Tell him you’re not still in love with him?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m really hoping it won’t come to that.”

“Because he saw us kiss and that’s a magic barrier to all future confrontation...or because you can’t honestly tell him that?”

He knew her too well, Penelope thought. And she’d had to share enough deep emotional truths for one day.

“Wow, look at the time,” she said, standing and nodding toward to the front counter. “If we don’t get the rest of the treats and head back, they’re gonna think we lied about the whole dessert run.”

She put in the requests that she knew her Mami and Alex would want and moved down to the other end of the counter. Schneider followed, clearing his throat again.

“What is it?”

“Speaking of lying, I just got a text from Nikki about our kiss.”

“What? How does Nikki know?”

“One of her friends saw us in the parking lot, I guess. Nikki’s super pissed.”

“Have fun with that.” She shook her head. “Luckily for me, I only have to see Nikki at school functions and some of Alex’s games. You’re the one who decided to hook up with her.”

“She’s pissed in a jealous way,” Schneider added thoughtfully.

“I’m shocked.”

“Hey, Pen. Hear me out: what if we kept up the lie for a while?”

“As in, the lie where I kissed you and you freaked out about it?”

“My freakout was in response to your freakout. Glass houses, Penelope. But yeah, the kissing. The public display of affection, emphasis on public. It got Nikki’s attention, and I wasn’t even trying to do that. If seeing me with you makes her realize she misses what we had, maybe we could stop this vicious cycle of breaking up all the time.”

“You want to pretend to be into each other just so you can get back with Nikki? Gross. No way I’m volunteering to be used for that.”

“Hey, you used me first--and I didn’t volunteer.”

An aproned employee passed her the sack of ice cream and Penelope walked out ahead of him.

“It would solve your problem too,” Schneider suggested. “Isn’t that why you kissed me in the first place, to make it seem like you were taken?”

“I was temporarily insane,” she insisted. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m just saying we could both get what we want. Think about it,” Schneider added before mercifully dropping the subject as they made it home.

She ignored Schneider for the rest of the evening, as best she could, until he headed back to his own apartment. If her mom or Alex wondered what took them so long--or why they ate their dessert on the way--neither of them asked.

****

Penelope was in her bedroom, finally able to take a moment to decompress from the chaos of her life, before it occurred to her to check her phone. She fought so hard to keep Alex off his at the dinner table; it helped a little when she set a good example.

“Three missed calls,” she told her empty room, staring down at the name next to all three of them.

“Yep, and you didn’t pick up even once.”

The day had clearly been too much for her, if her imagination was so easily manifesting Max there next to her bed. She closed her eyes for a moment and reopened them, only to find the illusion of him still watching her.

“You can’t call a guy back anymore? Especially after you ditch him in a public place? That’s not like you, Penelope.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”

Okay, so she was hallucinating. Not a big deal. She was stressed out and had him on the brain, especially now.

“Got your letter,” Max said, smiling down at her where she sat. “Of course, you know that already. It’s why you’re avoiding me. How long do you think you can keep that up?”

“I have no idea. How long do you think you’ll keep trying to confront me with it?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m in your head--what do I know. If you want real answers, you should give me a call.”

“Can’t say I like that idea very much.”

“Yeah. If we talk, you’re going to have to answer my questions. Why did you send the letter, why did you write the letter, did you mean what you said.”

She swallowed hard, staring into Max’s warm eyes. What would she say, when she had to explain it all to him?

“Do you still...love me. That’s the million dollar follow up, right? That’s the one that counts.”

“I’m not ready to explain any of it,” she admitted. “I’m not ready to tell you how I feel. I’m not sure I know, myself.”

“Then you know what you have to do,” Schneider told her, popping up in the dark space where Max had been standing moments before. “Get your cover story on, chica.”

“God, don’t call me that. Don’t call anybody that.”

“All I’m saying is, you can’t avoid Max forever, right? There’s a solution staring you right in the face. What are best friends for, if not to act as a human wall between you and your relationship issues?”

Penelope frowned, trying to find a counterargument.

“Hey, if you’ve got a better idea, then go ahead...tell me no. A backup plan? Anything?”

“I’m thinking.”

“No, you’re stalling. And the clock is ticking on that strategy. But my plan, it can last as long as we need it to. Until you figure out what you want to do--with Max, Victor, all of them. We can be each other’s wingman and cover story at the same time, Pen. You help me, I help you...everybody wins.”

“Aaagh.” Penelope groaned, gripping hold of her hair for a second. When she lifted her head back up from her hands, she was alone in her room.

She didn’t know if Schneider’s idea was a brilliant one, or a terrible one. But at this point, it might be her best chance to save her sanity.

That was reason enough to consider it.

#alvareider #one day at a time #odaat #penelope x schneider #to all the men i've loved before #penelope alvarez #schneider #ben with the gay brother #max ferraro #alvareider fic #odaat fic #my fic

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lost-in-sokovia · 4 years

Text

toxic - chapter 13

hello :) how are you? i hope you’re all doing well. this chapter is going to be set up a little differently. we’ve got a time skip going on that moves from where we were (about a week or so after thanksgiving) to about a week before christmas. there’s going to be a lot of explaining in this chapter and some flashback clips in times we didn’t get to read about. i really hope you enjoy this chapter though, i’m about to cram a lot of character development in here but i hope it’s still enjoyable. thank you!🤍

The weeks leading up to Christmas were always the longest weeks of your childhood. What kid doesn’t get stir crazy when waiting to be out of school and get presents?

The weeks leading up to Christmas, for you, were an emotional whirlwind. Your life took so many unexpected turns and you were in a situation you never thought you’d end up in.

Ransom was now living with you in your apartment and on the right path to becoming a good person. You weren’t quite sure how you thought about that (Claire was enraged beyond belief), but how was were you going to try and help him?

After the first week or so it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t like the idea of sleeping on the couch instead of with you, but he wanted to be there so he had to follow as instructed.

As time went on, he started to be a different person. Was he the perfect gentleman with a clean record? No, of course not. That would be asking too much of him at once. He definitely showed signs of changing and was visibly making an effort to be better. He knew this was what had to be done to even begin to think about being with you.

It took him many weeks of hard work and determination to start the process. One of your first acts of business was get him a therapist. You had a therapist you visited every so often, so you got him the same one.

“You didn’t,” Ransom growled under his breath. You nodded calmly. “You know it’s what’s best. I can come with you to as many appointments as you’d like,” you reasoned gently, reaching across the table to put your hand on top of his. He glared at you from across the table and you sighed. “Or you can just go back to Boston and forget about this...”

“Goddammit (Y/N), fine!” He yelled reluctantly. You smiled.

He didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. Was he reluctant to talk the first couple appointments? Yes. But after Michael (your therapist) had done a little gently poking, he opened up.

Ransom was also beginning to be a better person to his family and those around him. Right after he moved in with you, you made him call Harlan to update him on the situation. And while he was on the phone with Harlan, you wanted him to apologize to Marta and Fran for acting the way he had for so long.

“Granddad, can I talk to Marta?” Ransom asked flatly as he glared at you as you leaned against the wall next to him. He sighed and rolled his eyes as you gestured for him to start talking.

“Marta, I’m very VERY sorry for being such a douche,” Ransom huffed flatly. It wasn’t the apology you were expecting, but you took it. He wasn’t going to be perfect ever, and you were just happy to hear him apologize. You heard Marta responding as Ransom nodded a few times. You saw him roll his eyes at one point at which you gave him a warning look. His eyes darted to the floor after that.

After he made a very similar apology to Fran, he hung up and groaned loudly. You smiled and walked over to hug him.

“Proud of you,” you mumbled as your arms wrapped around his neck. He exhaled in amusement as he hugged you back.

“God, you always have to call me out on my shit,” he muttered. You pulled back and raised an eyebrow in amusement as his blue eyes gleamed back at you. He tried to lean in to kiss you but you put your hand against his lips to stop him.

“Nice try, Drysdale,” you smirked as you released yourself from his grip and walked to your room. No, you weren’t going to do anything like that with him until you decided he had worked hard enough, and Ransom knew that (but didn’t like to comply). He scoffed.

“Oh come on!”

He also had to try and make a good impression on Claire. You knew that would be more complicated and not as easy of a process, but he had to start somewhere.

Your first attempt did not end well. Claire had glared at him the whole time and only insulted him. And when Ransom had gotten tired of her attitude, he had (in the heat of the moment) called her a bitch and ended up with a bloody lip. You had to scold both of the five year olds; Claire for not even trying to be pleasant and punching him in the lip, and Ransom for allowing himself to get caught up like that.

“Holy shit (Y/N), I’m not perfect!” He had argued as you held a warm rag to his lip. You sighed, knowing he was right. Sometimes even Ransom had to call you out when your expectations were too high or unreasonable. It was a team effort, trying to make things better for the two of you. After all, you weren’t perfect either.

As time went on, Claire had softened up slightly. She would still take whatever chance she had to punch Ransom on the shoulder or slap him too hard on a back because “that’s what bros do,” she’d say through a gritted smile. Of course there were arguments that you would have to mediate, but you were willing to do it. Ransom was really trying.

Things weren’t always great between you and Ransom either. Sometimes you two would argue on behalf of the other’s behavior, get into a screaming match and isolate yourselves in different parts of the apartment.

Sometimes you would go and apologize, asking him to forgive you and to start over. Other times Ransom would swallow his pride and mutter a reluctant “sorry” to you as he stared at his feet. Only once had it gotten so bad that you threatened to kick Ransom out, after which he had whipped himself into shape by the next morning.

(One night Claire came over and found Ransom sitting outside your door with an angry expression on his face. Claire had laughed loudly and dramatically as she walked into your apartment and remembered the night she had sat there.)

Ransom had also done his best to try and be more sentimental. He would bring you little pastries and treats at your office, one day even going so far as to bring Claire something too.

“Set it on my desk and get out of here,” Claire snarled. She didn’t blink an eye as she saw him hesitantly set the bag on her desk. He glanced at you with nervous blue eyes before making his way quickly out. “Come on Claire,” you reprimanded with a hint of sarcasm. She smirked and giggled proudly as she took a bite into the chocolate croissant.

“Girl you know I have to stay superior to him. Gotta scare him so he stays scared,” she explained. You only shook your head and smiled before getting back to work.

And now, about four weeks later, you two were finally together. Ransom had began to ask you to be his girlfriend about two weeks into you two rooming together, but you shot him down quickly. Though it was (very, very) tempting to say yes and fall under his spell, you weren’t going to allow that. Your standards weren’t as loose as his, and considering your morals and standards you weren’t about to fall in love with a complete loser.

Claire was (somewhat) supportive to your face, but behind your back she would make threatening actions to Ransom (you know, the “I got my eyes on you” gesture, the slit throat gesture, the flipping off gesture, the works). Ransom was always quick to fight back with lots of mouthed words like “suck on that”, or “feels bad man”, or just plain taunting laughter.

Ransom really did try hard as a boyfriend. Considering he’d never been in a serious relationship it was weird and new, along with it took lots of adjusting to. Like wow, he was going to wake up with the same exact person everyday for a long period of time.

That’s wack.

Sure he had his moments that made your patience wear thin (“No Ransom we do not use the key to Claire’s apartment to go write ‘suck it’ on her bathroom mirror!” “Ransom I swear if you buy one more car I’m gonna lose it.”), but he always somehow made up for it in the end.

Christmas was coming up soon and you had no idea what you were going to do over the holiday. Stay at your apartment with Ransom? Go back to Boston with him? There were many options on what to do for Christmas and just thinking about it stressed you out.

One afternoon you sat at work when your work phone rang. You answered politely. “(Y/N), babe,” Ransom’s voice spoke through the phone. “Oh hey what’s up?” You asked in surprise as Claire rolled her eyes from beside you. “I think I know what we should do for Christmas,” Ransom began slowly. You straightened in your seat and raised your eyebrows. “Oh yeah, what do you have in mind?” You asked with a hint of tease in your voice.

“How’d you like to go to Vienna, Austria?”

WOAH. A TOXIC CHAPTER? AFTER LIKE 3 MONTHS??🤯 yeah, sorry guys. i was getting some passive aggressive hate for a while so i took a break and kinda lost motivation. i’m back now though, and i hope you enjoyed the chapter! also, if you’ve read any of my other ransom fics, stay tuned when reader and ransom go to austria because some things will be explained...😌

tags:

@heyiamthatbitch @mcuclintasha @captainsmallassrogers @fangirlinacoffeeshopweshare @anisiamoisa @awesomelittledemarco03 @aletteredaffair @castellandiangelo @theangrylizard @frencchfries @takemetooneverlanddd @sp2900 @smilexcaptainx @monpetitcoin21 @marymoon18 @mccunted @iamapersonwholikesunicorns @chuuulip @sweetlittlegingy @lookalivefrosty @brookebradford @patzammit @stucky-is-life-thank-you @bval-1 @need-more-time @blowfishevans @polarcrystall @little-dark-empress @rosalynshields @asianbuttcheek @dailythotdotcom @topstory21 @canny1902 @alexxcorona113 @what-inspirational-name @summer-may @abbyalee @littlefiercequeen @stardancerluv @oncemorewithfeelingg @sophiealiice e @snowxbarryxendgame @lilwickedred @jesseswartzwelder @princessdancingonthesunshine @irwxnhugsx @donutloverxo @cap-just-said-language @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @heyarely16 @a—1—1—3 @harrysthiccthighss @memissbee

#ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey imagine #ransom drysdale x you #ransom thrombey x you #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom drysdale #hugh ransom drysdale #knives out fanfic #knives out #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine

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cutesuki--bakugou · 4 years

Text

Scars Like Stars

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC), featuring Seijirou Eguchi (OC) and Dokuji Kobayashi (OC)

Rating: Mature

Words: 6944

Genre: Angst / Comfort / Romance / Fluff

Warnings: Cursing, Emotional Breakdown, Arguments, Injury Descriptions

Art is by me, main art blog is @hvalrossart

If a stranger were to look at Koge, they might just assume that she doesn’t have an ounce of shame or self-consciousness in her petite body. Many would assume that because of her preferences on clothing, usually always in some type of cropped top or tight leggings, and Koge would admit without a moment's hesitation that she wasn’t self-conscious about her body. Instead, she was extremely proud of her figure, having worked hard since her early pre-teen years in fitness and martial arts to look as good as she did. It had nothing to do with other people, or how she wanted to be perceived, but instead a body and lifestyle that she had always dreamed of achieving.

At twenty-one, Koge knew that she still had a ways to go to achieve everything she had dreamed of, and that didn’t mean just her body. Her life as a whole was starting to come together, with a great job under her mentor Seijirou Eguchi, her own place to live, and even her boyfriend of almost five years had just moved in with her. There were hiccups, to be sure, but there wasn’t anything that had completely derailed her plans or disrupted her push towards her goals. By now, she was confident in what she wanted, who she was, and what she had planned for the future.

So the fact that she was stopped dead in her tracks by a comment her subordinate let slip was shocking to her. For a split second, she had even forgotten that she was in the middle of pulling off her shirt, until she tried to turn to look at him only for her view to be blocked. Giving a small cough to clear her throat, Koge pulled the blue t-shirt the rest of the way off, leaving her in just a modest sports bra and her leggings she trained in. This was an outfit she was used to wearing when training with Seijirou, and so it hadn’t even crossed her mind that Dokuji had never seen her like this before. It was only recently that she had been training with him, and on those days, the air conditioning in Seijirou’s Martial Arts studio hadn’t been broken like it was today. Even with multiple strong fans blowing on them, it was still unbearably hot, so Koge decided to shred her shirt as she normally did, anyway.

What he had commented on wasn’t technically anything to do with the way she looked, anyway. She knew exactly what had made him say ‘holy shit’ in such a… disgusted way? Is that what that tone was? Or was her mind just interpreting that in place of the truth, which was probably that he was just surprised. Most people were the first time they saw the scars that flared across her upper back and shoulder blades. ‘Flared’ is a term she often thought of when thinking of them, as that’s how they looked to her. Like little explosions, fireworks, or even neurons within a nervous system. Though, most people just instantly see them and assume that her skin had been ripped apart from within by some strange and unknown force. What would that be? Her own stupidity and misuse of her quirk, of course.

Clutching tightly onto the shirt in her hands, Koge took a second to glance over her shoulder at the scars, before back to Dokuji, whose icy blue gaze was locked curiously on them. “I… Wait, what did you say, Doey?”

“I said those are funky. What the fuck did you do to get those?” Dokuji gave a waddle of his finger in her direction, which only made Koge turn her back away from him. It wasn’t the foul language that made the heat rush up into her cheeks, as she was used to such talk from her boyfriend. No, it was the fact that her scars were one of the only things about herself that truly embarrassed her. They were a permanent trophy of a stupid decision, and though she normally didn’t care about them being visible, she did get flushed whenever people tried to ask about them. Normally, people were too polite to ask, so she was never confronted with this question that she dreaded answering.

If it was just another random stranger, or person that she didn’t care to be close to, she would ignore their question or just play it off as a thing of the past so she didn’t have to go into it. But, Dokuji was someone she knew she would be seeing more of and training with, as her mentor had taken him under his wing just as he had done for her when she was sixteen. Now, Dokuji was also under her, meant to respect and train with her as if she were just as high ranking as Seijirou. Dokuji, however, had a thing for not only wanting to be superior, but gaining his respect was damn near impossible. At least, it was for her. Seijirou was quick to get him in line when it was him doing the teaching, but Koge? No. Dokiju just wouldn’t have it.

There were a lot of things that Koge knew kept his attitude so sour against her. Everything from age, gender, stature and years of experience affected the way he acted towards her, and even though Koge was an extremely patient person, it annoyed her. But, she could handle it, as she had with her hot-headed and belligerent lover for most of their lives. They were a lot alike, Dokuji and Bakugou, but there was something missing that made Koge lose her patience more often with the man standing before her. Bakugou had respect for Koge, even before they started dating, and despite his jumbled words and flustered demeanor, he could admit it. Dokuji refused to even show an ounce of respect, no matter how many times Koge beat him in training or tried to prove that she was worth what she had accomplished.

She couldn’t help but feel that, at this moment, he may try to take what had caused her scars and turn it around on her somehow. It made her nervous to tell him, a secret that she only shared with so few because of how much shame it brought her, even though in reality, it shouldn’t. What had happened was just an accident, really. She was too young to understand what could happen when she pushed her quirk and body too far. In truth, she should feel lucky to have even lived through it. Thinking about the moment brought back such vivid memories, of the pain, blood, and pure panic from those around her. It was something that she tried to not remember, to just ignore and move on with her life, but she knew that now she had to say something about it. If she didn’t, then he would probably just keep pestering her, which was sure to make her even more flustered than she already felt.

“U-Uhm… Funky? No one’s ever said that about them before.” Koge tried to laugh off the comment, but saying it out loud only made her stomach further twist into knots.

“Well, they are.” Dokuji put his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at her as he awaited his answer. “They’re damn weird. What’d you do, pop fucking fireworks on your back or some shit? Or did your boyfriend set of his quirk on you--

“--No!” Koge was quick to defend Bakugou, feeling a sting to her chest anytime someone tried to damage his character. “No, Katsuki would never hurt me like this, on purpose or accident. It was me… It’s something that I did to myself.”

“Not on purpose, I assume.”

“Well… It was something I purposely did, but I didn’t know it was… going to end up badly. It was mostly an accident--”

“It couldn’t be an accident if you did it on purpose. That’s like me saying I ‘accidentally’ got punched in the face when I purposely threw the first punch.” Heading over to a bench that was next to the training arena, Dokuji picked up his water bottle and took a hefty drink, before sighing in annoyance. “Just fucking tell me already.”

Unable to resist an annoyed huff at his attitude, Koge crossed her arms over her chest, glaring down at the blue arena mat as she tried to think of how to word it. Any way she put it, the whole situation sounded stupid. Anyone with common sense at the age of twelve should know better than to try what she did when she was so inexperienced. But, all she could do is tell the truth, and the jerk with the orange hair could make his own assumptions.

“I was twelve. Just turned twelve, really. And… I wanted to show off my quirk. At first, I just showed the kids at school what I could do, making crystals from my palms. It was funny to me, to see them get grossed out.” Koge placed a hand on her shoulder, anxiously scratching her skin a bit as the scars seemed to tingle and itch. “Someone asked me if I could make them anywhere else, and I was just like ‘sure, watch this’. I never really had friends, so the fact that people were paying attention to me, for some reason it made me feel… important. I didn’t want to lose that, I guess, and as a young person, stupid ideas come to you out of the blue sometimes.”

She tried to explain it as simply as she could, to not get off tangent like she tended to do. But, she could already see the annoyance on Dokuji’s face, like he had thought it would have been something bigger, like a true accident or villain attack. Nope. It was just her stupidity.

“So I took off my uniform jacket, and I thought to myself… ‘I’ll just make them from my back. They’ll fall down and out of my skirt, it’ll look like I pooped the crystals out, it’ll be so funny.’” Koge gave a small, weak laugh at how stupid it sounded, though the knot in her stomach and heat in her cheeks only grew more intense. “I wasn’t ready to do that. My body, my quirk, they just weren’t ready. Instead of coming out of my pores like the crystals are supposed to, they just ripped through my skin, piercing through it like spears. So… yeah. I fucked up my own back because I wanted to show off. Instead, I got a month in the hospital, people refused to talk to me anymore at school, and a lifetime souvenir.”

Dokuji was silent for a moment before he glanced around with annoyed expectancy. “That’s… it? You got a fucked up back from something so stupid?”

It was then that Koge truly lost all ability to speak, unable to stop the way her body coward down into itself, shoulders hunching and head tilting down. For the first time since she had met him, she felt so intimidated and put down by this man who was supposed to be her student. She had risked telling him one of the things about her that made her feel weak, which still brought her down to her lowest level, and he used it exactly as she had expected him to.

The new tension between them must have been truly palpable, as Seijirou exited his office and approached the training arena. Koge knew that he could see from the windows on the walls of his office that allowed him to observe, so he must have seen the way they both just stood there staring at each other. He couldn’t hear, however, and by the confusion on his face, she knew he was unaware of the confrontation.

“Is something going on? You haven’t been moving for a while now.” Seijirou approached Koge, tenderly placing a hand on her shoulder. As if the touch only stung her pride further, Koge timidly shied away from him, sparing him a quick glance.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but I’m going to… take a break from this. I’m going to go… warm down on the punching bag… Excuse me.” With a very small bow and before Seijirou could protest, Koge scurried away, turning a corner and starting down a hallway. Before she could get far, her mentor's voice stopped her, curiosity freezing her feet in place.

“What the hell happened? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! We were just talking.”

“About what?”

“I just asked about her scars--” SMACK “--oww--!!”

“Don’t whine, that deserves a smack to the back of the head! You don’t ask a lady about her scars! Or anyone for that matter, it’s none of your business! What are you, a toddler!?”

“Don’t fucking hit me, old man, I’m not a child!”

“Well, I’ve never seen a grown man act so much like an immature brat. She’s sensitive about those--”

“--That’s not my damn fault--”

“Enough! Five hundred pushups--”

“--What?!”

“Now! You don’t show that type of disrespect to your superior and get away with it. You don’t act like that towards me, you don’t act like that towards her. If you do, there are consequences, like before you ever started working with Koge. I don’t want to hear another--”

Before she could hear the rest, Koge pushed herself to keep moving forward, jogging lightly until she reached the correct room. Walking inside, she didn’t bother shutting the door, tossing her shirt down onto the ground before making her way towards her chosen punching bag. It dangled from the ceiling on a chain, resting peacefully until Koge landed her first punch to it. Over and over she punched and kicked her chosen victim, trying to do anything she could to distract her racing mind.

She knew that by now, nearly ten years later, she should have let the whole situation go as just a bad memory. But, it was more than that. It was something that had physically and mentally scared her, made her terrified for years to even think about using her quirk, even on her hands. She had nearly given up on all of her dreams, as someone scared of their own quirk could never become a hero as amazing as her mentor. Even though she did find a way to get over that fear, she would never be able to use her quirk on her back or shoulders, as the risk for further damage that close to the scarring was too high. The occasional aches, itching, and tenderness was something she had always just accepted, but they constantly reminded her of her restrictions and mistakes.

Not only that, but her self esteem had been crippled. Who could ever love someone with such horrible scarring? Then and even now, any soft touch to her upper back was lost to her, all sensation completely numbed by the injury. How could Bakugou even stand to look at it after all this time? He must have found some way, some technique so that he could ignore it and pretend that it didn’t exist. Is that why he never touches her there? She couldn’t think of a single moment in recent months that he had. Did she even want him to?

All she truly wanted was for them to disappear. Maybe then she could stop pretending that she didn’t see the stares and second glances.

Maybe then she could finally feel something as simple as a touch or the tickling of her hair against her skin.

Maybe then she could feel truly beautiful for once, without that nagging at the back of her mind like the unbearable itching of healing flesh.

She could have been more.

She could have done more.

I would be better! No one would pity me, no one would look down on me because of that mistake! It’s controlled so much of me… and I’ve tried to accept them, but I can’t! I hate them!!

With a verbal cry as her anger peaked, Koge went to land a hard punch to the bag only to find that her fist was stopped. Gasping and trying to catch her breath, Koge looked up at the stern face of her mentor through blurry vision.

Had she been crying? She was so out of breath, with aching limbs and throbbing knuckles. How hard had she been punching? The bag had been stopped by Seijirou as well, the chain clanking and groaning in the still silence of the room.

“Darling, what are you doing? You know you’re not supposed to punch the bags without wrapping your hands first.” With a gentle smile, Seijirou shifted her hand in his to hold it tenderly, displaying her bleeding knuckles.

Sniffling, Koge looked down at her hand, bringing her other up to see that it was in the same state. Even though all of her anger had nearly just exploded out of her a moment ago, she now felt numb, as if all life had been drained out of her. She could feel the pain throbbing through her hands, the stinging of her shins, and the itching of her scars.

“Oh…” She spoke in what could barely be considered a whisper, almost too quiet for even her to recognize. “I forgot.”

“It’s okay, my dear. Come with me, let’s bandage your hands and get you ready to head home.”

“Home?” Koge followed him as he started towards the door, even though her legs felt like heavy weights. “But I still have three hours of training left.”

“I think that you have done plenty for today.”

Koge couldn’t tell if his tone of voice was sympathetic or disapproving. Knowing him, it was probably both. She was sure that he felt bad for her after what Dokuji had said, but he also didn’t like the way she handled it, either.

She knew she could have done better.

Reaching the room that Seijirou had designated for first aid, he motioned for Koge to sit in a chair, which she did with a weak plop. Silently, she watched him as he walked about, gathering this and that while huffing each time he couldn’t find something.

“Oh darn it, where are those new bandages?”

“Left cabinet.”

“Ah, perfect! See, this is what happens when I don’t restock this place myself, I forget where everything goes!” Pleasant smile on his face, Seijirou placed all the items on a rolling cart, pushing it over beside Koge before he went back to the counter. “And you’re the first to use the new bandages! Super fresh and clean.” As per his germaphobic tendencies, Seijirou scrubbed his hands for a good two minutes before drying them and putting on a pair of rubber gloves. To Koge, it looked more like he was about to go into surgery rather than just clean up her busted knuckles.

“I’m honored.” Koge didn’t mean for the comment to come out as sarcastic, but it did, and Seijirou was quick to laugh it off.

“You’d best be! Now come, place your arm there on the armrest, you know the drill.” As he sat down on a rolling stool, Koge did as instructed, watching with a void gaze as he went to work cleaning and wrapping her hands. There was no conversation between them for a while, until he was about halfway done with her other hand.

“My dear… I know that this is something that you struggle with.”

“It is.” I could’ve been better…

“But… I feel like this is something that has been holding you back.”

“Yes…” I could’ve been more…!

“You’ve never shared with me the full details, and unlike some people, I don’t expect to know. And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Okay…” Please don’t look down on me… I couldn’t stand it if you thought less of me…

“But I want you to remember something.” Seijirou finished with her hand, standing as he gathered the dirtied supplies. “What’s the only reason that you’re here in this studio in the first place?”

Confused, Koge finally looked up at him, struggling to fight back the burning in her eyes. “It’s… because I beat you.”

“That’s right!” Seijirou grinned as he pulled his gloves off, tossing them in the trash with the rest of the trash. “You are here because a year ago, you beat me!” Giving his hands another good wash, he waited until they were dried and he flopped back to sit beside her on the stool. “Counting only those I took in to train, you are one of only three so far that have beaten me in a fight. I’ve lost to plenty of other pro heroes and villains, but they don’t matter. I took you in to teach you everything, and you have far exceeded my expectations.”

“I… I don’t feel like I have. Like I have been able to give my all. There’s so much more I know that I could have given, to be someone you could be proud of, but my own s-stupid mistake held me back years of experience… Years of growth that no amount of training could ever get back.”

“And yet, you’re here, working under a pro hero- not just any pro, by the way! Your idol, right? Someone you probably thought at one point, you would never even get to speak a single word to. You graduated from the UA hero course, one of the hardest courses in the country, and you didn’t even have to intern! Straight into a steady job, your own place, and now you have people that idolize you, too.” Seijirou pointed to a framed picture of his current top class of young adults on the wall whom Koge was teaching. “Those kids? Those girls? Sure, I’m the top name of this place, but you’re the one teaching them. You are their idol. You are who they want to become, and they don’t know about your struggles. Koge--”

Seijirou clasped both of her hands tenderly, looking at her with a stern expression that nearly made Koge lose control of her tears. “-- You’ve overcome it. You aren’t the best you can be, but that’s not because you’re held back. It’s because you can still grow. And I mean it when I say this… I have never been more proud of someone in my entire life.”

Clenching her eyes shut tightly to not let her emotions spill, Koge bowed her upper body, her voice wavering as she spoke. “T-Thank you so much, Sir. I-I’m sorry for the way I reacted-!”

A hand to the top of her head made her pause, a soft pat prompting her to sit back up. Seijirou was smiling now, a comforting expression that made her heart swell. “My dear, you have nothing to be sorry for. Now, I know that what I’ve told you won’t help everything… but I know there’s someone waiting for you at home who can heal the rest.” Standing, Seijirou used a gentle touch to make her do the same.

After fetching her t-shirt from the punching bag room and her belongings from the locker room, Koge met Seijirou near the exit for a final goodbye. Though, before she could leave, a different voice stopped her.

“Koge-- I-I mean, Ms. Koge!”

Stopping, Koge turned to face Dokuji, who was standing a ways away with a tense posture and flushed face. Blue eyes flashing from Seijirou and back again, he gave a frustrated click of his tongue before bowing deeply at the waist. “Please forgive my childish behavior! I made you uncomfortable and acted out of line. It will not happen again.”

At first, Koge only stood there, watching him closely. She could hear and see in his body language that he was severely uncomfortable with having to apologize like this to her, and she also knew that it wasn’t from his own accord. Seijirou probably forced him, which was to be expected, and though she knew that the mature thing to do would be to accept the apology, she found that she couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come out of her mouth. Instead, she gripped onto her backpack straps tightly, giving a heavy sigh.

“I don’t accept your insincere apology. I expect a change in behavior around me and more respect. Once I see that, then I’ll believe you. Have a good night.” With a bow of her own to both men, Koge left the building, but she heard them speak before the door closed.

“What the hell, I apologized like you said--!”

“I told you she wants a change in your attitude, not a verbal apology, you brat--!”

…

The walk home was uneventful as always, with Koge keeping just enough wits about her to not get run over by a car when crossing the street and avoid slamming into those in her path. She knew that Seijirou’s words should have helped her calm down, to realize that the spiral she had fallen into was something that she could recover from. But still, her mind was dizzy, still spinning this way and that as her mind raced from the still overbearing negative thoughts. There was no reason to doubt Seijirou’s words, as he would never lie to her over something so deeply important. No matter how much the incident ten years ago affected her, she had risen to where she was, and that was a feat to be proud of. There should be no doubt, no second-guessing herself or wishing that things were different.

Yet, here she was, walking home in a numbed state of disappointment in herself. In front of her, a young woman her age was walking confidently in a low back top, fearlessly displaying her flawless upper back and shoulders. Koge couldn’t resist the feeling of envy as the man beside her reached up to softly caress her neck, his hand sliding across her pristine skin. What did that feel like, she couldn’t help but wonder. What was it like to have fingers run across her skin, or massage her sore muscles? Again, she could never think of a moment when Bakugou had even tried.

Why was that? Is it because he already knew that her scars were a sore subject? Or was it something worse, like he was grossed out by them? The idea that he was ignoring them not for her benefit, but because of some negative feelings he had about them was something that continuously pricked at her mind the entire way to her apartment complex. How quickly it grew, brooding into actual frustration at him was something that surprised her, but that shock wasn’t going to calm her down. She figured that, at this point, there wasn’t anything that could stop her thoughts, outside of confronting him.

When she was finally alone in the elevator to head up to her floor of the tall complex, Koge let out a trembling sigh, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she leaned back against the cold metal to her left.

Me 2:44 pm: Don’t freak out when the door opens. It’s just me.

Cutesuki 2:45 pm: uh okay? you good?

Blinking away the tears that were already building, Koge decided not to answer, shoving her phone back into her pocket. How could she be so terrified to talk to him about something like this? Was she scared of offending him somehow, or damaging their relationship in some irreparable way? There was nothing that she ever kept from him, no secrets and no untold feelings, and he was the same with her. Would coming out with this, so sudden and with no warning, make him feel like she had been hiding her true feelings from him? He already knew the story of what happened, he was in school the same day it happened, but he hadn’t witnessed it.

As the elevator stopped with a pleasant ding, Koge exited and began her trek down the hall. With every step, she wanted to turn and run, to go hide somewhere in some far off corner and wallow in her self-pity. She was going to look so weak to him, so pathetic.

So stupid.

Swallowing hard, she hesitated at the door before pulling her keys from the side pocket of her backpack, unlocking each lock before timidly pushing the door open. Peeking inside, she could see that Bakugou was on the couch, headphones on with a video game playing on the TV. He wasn’t talking, so she assumed that he was playing by himself, since usually, he was a huge chatterbox when playing with his friends. Just seeing the back of his blonde, fluffy head made her heart clench, unable to believe that she was thinking so negatively about him all this time. How could he possibly be disgusted by her scars? There was no way he could have been.

Right?

As the second-guessing came back to her like a wave crashing against weather-worn rocks, Koge forced herself to walk inside, quietly shutting the door and locking it behind her, as she always did. With the last click, Bakugou’s voice reached her, calm and content.

“You’re back really early.”

Holding her breath for a moment to keep herself from blurting out the million questions in her head, Koge took her backpack off, hanging it up on the wall. “Yeah… He let me go early today.”

“That’s a damn surprise.” Bakugou pulled off his headset, setting it onto the coffee table in front of him as he worked to save his game. “That kook usually keeps you until the very last second. What’s the deal?”

Taking off her shoes, Koge didn’t bother to put on her slippers as she made her way towards the couch, her entire body already trembling in anticipation. When there was no answer, only her presence beside him, Bakugou tore his gaze from the TV to look up at her. Instantly, his brow furrowed in concern, reaching over to caress her arm. “Utsuro, what’s with that look on your face? What happened?”

Sniffling as his touch almost destroyed her defenses, she crawled up onto his lap, sitting facing him as she straddled his legs. Clutching on tightly onto his shirt, she hid her flushed and burning face into his shoulder, already struggling to keep her breathing in check. What broke her, however, was something that should have comforted her. His arms around her trembling body, and his hands caressing her back, purposely stopping right before he reached the beginning of her scars.

“Koge, what’s going on--”

“-- Why won’t you touch me there, Katsuki?!”

“Huh? What? Touch you where?” The confusion seemed genuine, yet she just couldn’t believe it. Not yet. He had to be hiding the truth from her. He had to be hiding something from her.

Sitting up, she glared up at him through her tears, which blurred her vision and were hot against her skin. “My back. Does it gross you out? Do you hate it or something?!”

Frowning, Bakugou gave a click of his tongue, squeezing her skin as his palms became hot with his own frustration. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m touching you right now! What, do you not want me to?!” Removing his hands from her, he held them out to the side, as if he were under arrest. “You come home all upset and start screaming at me, if you don’t want me to comfort you, then I won’t!”

“My scars!” Koge’s voice cracked with her outburst, which instantly broke Bakugou’s glare into another state of shocked confusion. “You never touch my upper back or my shoulders. Why not? Do they gross you out or something?”

“What the hell is this--”

“-- Or do you hate them--?”

“-- Where the fuck did this come from?!”

“Tell me the truth! You’re ashamed of them, aren’t you? You’re ashamed of me for doing that to myself!”

“Koge! Stop, fuck, let me talk!” Clasping a hand over her mouth to silence her, Bakugou kept it in place even as she tried to shake him off weakly. Then, caressing his hand with both of hers, Koge began to sob, nuzzling her face into his palm as she held it in place.

Giving a heavy sigh to calm himself, Bakugou used his free hand to stroke the back of her head, letting her cry it out for a moment. “Koge, what makes you think that I’m ashamed of your scars? Just because I’m reluctant to touch you there? That really makes you feel that way?”

Hiccuping, Koge kept her eyes downcast, only giving a timid nod as she didn’t want to remove her lips from against his palm to speak. He had admitted that he had truly didn’t want to touch her there, but for what reason? She wanted to ask, to continue to drill him, but she found the act of speaking at the moment impossible. Instead, she controlled her impulses the best she could, even if her mind was screaming for answers that instant.

Stroking her cheek softly with his thumb, Bakugou relaxed back against the couch, having tensed up with how she had initially acted. “I don’t avoid them because I don’t want to touch them. They don’t gross me out and I’m not ashamed of how you got them. I don’t touch them because I know how much they bother you. I always thought that… if I did, they might sting or hurt, because you say they do sometimes just from your clothes. It has nothing to do with me.” Letting his hand slip around to caress the back of her head, he pulled her in closer, placing a firm kiss on her forehead.

Koge slid her hands down his arm with his movement, pressing her cheek into his forearm. “Y-You never asked i-if they hurt to touch them, though.”

“Why would I need to ask when I pick up on the signs anyway? Koge, what caused all this? What happened during training? Do I have to kick someone’s ass?”

“No, no…” Koge squinted as Bakugou used both of his thumbs to wipe her flushed cheeks clear of tears, as they had stopped for the time being. “Dokuji, he… he called them funky and so I told him what happened. He just made me feel so stupid, even though I… I don’t think he meant to. I just got so upset…”

“Hm…” Bakugou placed both his hands on the sides of her neck, rubbing her jawline softly as he looked over her face in thought. Then, tenderly and slowly, he reached down and began to pull her t-shirt up. Although she was confused at first, Koge lifted her arms to allow it to slip off, leaving her in just the training bra.

“Well, you know…” He continued with a calm voice, keeping his gaze locked with hers as he worked with expert fingers to unsnap the clasps between her shoulder blades. “I always thought they were pretty funky, too.”

Pout on her lips, Koge struggled to hold back tears, holding her bra to her chest as it came loose. “Katsukiii…”

“You know what they remind me of?” With only a gentle tug, he got her to rest her upper body against him, her face nuzzled against his neck. Kissing her shoulder, Bakugou looked over the subject of her struggles, his eyes following his fingers as he tenderly traced along the patterns. “Stars. Like a cluster of stars.”

Heat rushed into Koge’s cheeks, hiding her face further into his shoulder. She could barely feel his touch, a tickling along each line. It didn’t hurt like she expected it to, but from the small sense of pressure that she could feel, he was showing no hesitation in his action. Still, the simple fact that she couldn’t feel it made her tears swell again, soaking into his shirt. “Not true… They’re ugly…”

“It’s like you have a little galaxy on your back. You’re my own personal walking universe, Koge. Beautiful and unique, with proof of what you’ve lived through and how you’ve grown.”

“B-but they’ve held me back so much… My stupid actions held me back…”

“Wrong. It hasn’t held you back. You overcame it, you pushed yourself beyond your restrictions and you’ve accomplished more than what anyone would expect. Do you think that people look at your scars when they see you in action? Do you think they know what it’s done? No. They just see you, kicking ass and being a badass, confident woman.”

“Seijirou told me the same thing… But--”

“--And what I see? It’s the same thing I’ve always seen. My beautiful woman. Perfect from her stupid flippy hair to her tiny toes. And I love you, Koge.” Caressing the back of her neck while his other arm wrapped around her torso, Bakugou buried his face into her shoulder as he hugged her close. “Every last inch of you. That includes the scars and every single nasty little white salty freckle.”

Tightening his grip on her as she began to sob again, Bakugou allowed her the time to cry it out, which she desperately needed. It was rare that Koge ever got this upset, and it was the first time in their relationship that her scars had affected her so much. Koge hated it when she got this way, when the spiral just wouldn’t stop, no matter what was told to her or what the truth was. But, sitting here in the arms of her lover, who had said such sweet and sensitive things to her was more important than any encouraging words from anyone else on the planet.

Because she knew that if he said something, it was the truth. He had never hidden anything from her in the first place, and all these negative things had been created in her mind. So why couldn’t she stop crying?

She wasn’t sure at this point, but it felt so good. It felt good to be in his arms, to be able to cry without judgment and let everything just flow out of her freely. Now, it wasn’t just one thing she was crying about, either. All of her bottled-up emotions from that day had exploded, erupting out of her like a shaken-up can of soda. She was happy from the support she received, frustrated at Dokuji’s attitude, tired from the days training, in pain from her aching knuckles and shins, angry at herself for letting it all boil up to this point, and just so damn enamored with the man that held her.

Koge didn’t know how long she cried for, but when she finally found it within her to stop, her eyes were incredibly sore and her nose was so stuffed she couldn’t breathe.

“Just use my shirt to blow your nose. You’ve pretty much soaked through it, anyway.” Bakugou released her, letting his hands rest on her hips. Koge didn’t hesitate to take him up on his offer, blowing her nose into the wet fabric.

“I-I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. You know I’d rather you get it all out like this than keep it bottled up. That’s what you always tell me, right?”

After wiping her face as clean as she could, Koge sat up from him, slipping her arms out from the bra and tossing it aside. “Right… But, unlike you, I don’t go out and pick fights with my friends when I get emotional.”

“Then what are these, huh?” Bakugou took one of her hands tenderly, raising an eyebrow at her as he inspected the bandages. “Did you already kick that pierced up punk’s ass? How’d Eguchi allow that?”

Unable to resist a small giggle, Koge sniffled, shaking her head. “No, I… I beat up a punching bag a little too hard without wrapping my hands first. I… was very frustrated immediately after our conversation…”

“That’s not good, Utsuro. You could fuck up your hands.” He placed a soft kiss on her knuckles before placing one on her lips. “What did you imagine?” Another kiss followed, along with a smirk against her lips. “His dipshit face on the bag?” He couldn’t resist another kiss as he hugged her body closer. “Or something that really pisses you off?”

Koge returned each kiss, resting her arms around his neck. “Oh no, my Katsuki… I imagined your stinky face.”

“Oh, did you?! I should kick your ass for that!” Kissing her roughly, even against her giggles, Bakugou scooped up her petite body and laid her down beneath him. The kiss was quick to grow passionate as they melted into each other, with Koge’s love and longing for his affection overflowing.

“Katsuki,” she spoke breathlessly with a moment of pause, catching his gaze as she caressed his cheeks. “Thank you…”

“For what?”

She smiled sweetly against his lips, running her fingers gently through his hair. “For everything. For loving me so much… even despite my imperfections.”

“Koge, I already told you. You are my woman… And in my eyes, you’re perfect. Perfect and beautiful, with scars like stars.”

#bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #bakugou x oc #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #oc #original character #koge #bakugou x koge #bnha fanfiction #fanfiction #bnha writing blog #cutesuki-oc

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essieeeeeeeee · 5 years

Text

FUCK IT, i’m posting part 1. no title yet, so it’s just “bad touch villain fic” for now until I can get my act together enough to come up with one.

may I just start by saying that I love how we all as a fandom have collectively taken one look at our guy Shaw and thought: this boy needs to get fucked.

on a separate but equally important note, Transporter 2 may have been an absolute train wreck of a movie, but it gave me the gift of some quarter-dressed villain chick licking up the side of Jason Statham's face while he exudes such gay "I'd rather be literally anywhere else than here in this moment" energy, so there's that.

i’m fucking wheezing, man. his face.

anyways, in case it’s not obvious, I’ve stolen the T2 villain couple and threw them into here instead, so if you’re curious about what they look like, feel free to look them up (Gianni Chellini and Lola). this isn’t a crossover, it’s just me being lazy and stealing characters from other movies and playing with them.

a’ight, here we go with part 1. will get part 2 out relatively soon, I think. hopefully. god, I’m so slow at writing, guys.

----------

The bell above the door chimes merrily as Shaw pushes it open and steps into the diner, breathing in the homey scent of grease and caffeine that wafts out at him the moment he crosses the threshold. He lingers in the entryway - tucking his sunglasses carefully into his front left suit pocket, and letting his eyes drag over the establishment in a quick, practiced once-over.

American, is the first thought that comes to mind. Tacky, the second, though he supposes that’s a given, considering the first.

To be fair, it isn’t the worst diner he’s ever stepped foot in - that dubious honor went to a crusty hole in the wall in New Jersey, the name of which he couldn’t and didn’t really care to recall - but even so, the place isn’t exactly what he’d expected from a meet and greet with the CIA.

It's… lively, for starters.

Shaw skims his gaze over the laminate red and white booths, the worn looking tabletops sticky from dots of leftover syrup. Bright sunlight peeks through the big windows, now that the storm clouds are dissipating in the frankly oven-like California weather. Patrons chat loudly from each corner of the room. It's open and cheery and packed with parents and their tiny screaming sprogs, and all of it's already giving him a very sleep-deprived headache.

Shaw can pinpoint every word of the conversation that’s happening six booths to his left, too, which means privacy won't be much of a concept here either.

Strange choice in location, he thinks, for a debrief with top secret government information regarding a world-ending cyber death cult.

Deckard shrugs off the discomfort of it all, though. Partly because he honestly can't muster up enough of a fuck to give, and partly due to the fact that the smell of freshly brewed coffee has been relentlessly beckoning him forward since the initial whiff of it hit him from the doorway. He takes a quick moment to map out the visible exits, more habit than anything - front door, side door, likely a back one through the kitchen if needs must - and, once satisfied with his perusal, makes his way towards the bulky figure in the back right corner that’s stuck out like a mountain among mole hills since Shaw first walked into the place.

“Hobbs,” he mutters wearily, and spares a grimace at the grungy empty seat across the table. He resignedly lowers himself into it anyways.

The lawman’s eyes flick up from the plate in front of him, and he doesn’t look all that surprised; but Shaw knows it’s because he caught Hobbs’ gaze since the moment he stepped out of the rental car in the lot outside.

They’re both just a couple of paranoid bastards like that, he supposes.

And Hobbs looks - good. Better than the last time Deckard's seen him, awkwardly parting ways at a terminal in LAX, the both of them littered with bruises and scrapes that were only a small testament to the absolute shitshow they'd somehow just survived. Now it seems the bigger man's nicks are less than scabs, and the large bruise Hobbs had been sporting across his left temple at the time is nearly gone.

Shaw grudgingly notes that he's also been nursing his own wounds, and steadily healing, if slowly. His right shoulder still twinges when he moves it the wrong way, paracetamol continues to be a three times a day affair, and the spastic tick in his left hand hasn't quite let up since Brixton's electroshock therapy session, but overall - things are better.

His ribs still ache something fierce, though. Fractured, likely. Not that he's about to whine about it.

“Tinkerbell,” Hobbs greets, and then blithely stuffs another bite of the fried monstrosity that sits on his plate into his mouth. Shaw’s grimace deepens. “You’re late.”

“Blame your shitty weather. Flight delay.” Deckard ignores the insult; he's too fucking tired to pick up Hobbs' volley today. Instead, he leans forward, careful to avoid the greasy stain at the edge of the table, and gets straight to the point. “Where’s your contact?”

Because that was the obvious missing piece here, wasn’t it? Shaw didn’t come traipsing all the way to Los Angeles just to witness the Hulk stuff his oversized mug with substandard diner fare.

Two weeks out from Samoa - two weeks of very different, yet equally consequential family reunions, of settling affairs that only a forty-eight hour hotseat on every major news channel in the world can cause - and now it was time to get down to business. Hobbs’ CIA friend had promised intel. Shaw may be reluctant to forego his solo status for another team-up with Ms. America here, but he wasn’t an idiot. Information on Eteon didn’t exactly just rain from the sky.

Nine years of hunting the bastards down on his lonesome taught him that much.

Besides: the fact that Hattie’s life wasn’t on the line with this one left Deckard feeling a mite less prickly. Hobbs may be an annoyance, but he's at least a tolerable one.

“Also late,” Hobbs says, glancing down at his watch. Then the man sighs, and rubs at his temples in a way that makes Shaw wonder exactly what he’s getting into, here. “But he’ll probably show up -”

“- fashionably late and with Starbucks? You bet your perky muscled ass I will, Rebecca.”

Deckard startles a little in his seat, because where the fuck did this arsehole just come from, and his hand reflexively slides over the utensils on the table in front of him, but he smothers the instinctive urge to lodge one into the meat of the thigh that's suddenly appeared at his side. The scruffy, grinning man it's attached to seems to catch the movement, from the way his eyes dart down to the table. He shifts, just slightly, away from Shaw.

Smart fucker.

And no sensible shoes, either. That was interesting.

"Locke," Hobbs says, resigned, scooting in to make a little room as Scruffy slides himself into the seat left behind.

"Aw, don't be like that, Becky," the man whines, and Shaw can't help but mouth a bewildered 'Becky?' at Hobbs with raised brows. Hobbs only drops his head and rubs at his temples a little harder. "You know my delicate emotions can't handle the strain."

"You brought Starbucks. Into a diner."

"Never judge a man for his grande quad nonfat one-pump no-whip mocha habit, Lukas. Gosh, have I taught you nothing?"

"I can sincerely say," Hobbs grinds out, and Shaw is somewhat delighted by the disgruntled twist in the other man's features, "that the only thing you've ever taught me is the true meaning of patience."

"Don't you sass your father like this in front of company, young man. Already in the rebellious teenage phase, Christ, they grow up so fast, don't they?"

"Like mold," Deckard drawls. The disgruntlement on Hobbs' face grows deeper.

"Ha," he says, flatly. "What'aya got for us, Locke?"

"Don't rush me, sweetums, I'm famished," CIA titters, enthusiastically waving down one of the bustling waitresses. Deckard's somewhat grateful for it; he'd murder for a coffee, and that wasn't a metaphor. "And, what, no introduction? The manners on you today."

Hobbs sighs. Shaw honestly can't help but be somewhat amused by the balls this bloke must have, riling up the lawman like this. He's not sure quite yet what to think about Chatterbox - intriguing or just downright irritating - but he can at the very least admit that anyone who can put that level of utter frustration into Hobbs' eyes was worth looking into.

"Shaw, meet Locke," Hobbs says, waving impatiently at the agent beside him, who wriggles his fingers at Shaw in greeting while slurping loudly around his straw. "Locke, meet Harry Potter's uglier cousin."

Deckard scowls.

"Well fuck me sideways, but Dudley sure grew up nice, didn't he?" Locke says, and - Shaw’s actually a bit flattered to see the agent’s eyes flick over him lasciviously.

But before he can quite unravel that one, a server appears at the table edge, shooting a wide, familiar smile in Hobbs' general direction. "Can I get you boys anything?"

Locke straightens in his seat. "I'll take one of everything."

"No he won't," Hobbs snaps, smacking the idiot’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

"You're so right, snookums, gotta watch that girlish figure." Locke rubs his arm with a wince, beaming at the woman, who's started to look a bit flustered at this point, poor dove. "I'll take a number two, extra syrup, extra mayo."

She nods slowly, and turns to Deckard, as though hoping to re-establish some sort of normality.

He takes pity on her. "Coffee, thank you. Black.”

"To match his soul," Hobbs mutters around a sip from his own cup.

"To match my shoe," Shaw corrects with a tight smile. "Going up your arse."

Hobbs snorts. "Think you got that one twisted, son."

"Think you might want to start ponderin' the merits of a wing-tipped enema. Son."

"Jesus, you two are adorable," Locke interjects, resting his chin in his hands as the waitress pours out the coffee and shuffles nervously away. "Like some sort of walking, talking, opposites-attract, enemies-to-lovers, sixty-nine kay slow-burn. Is there a kudos button hiding around here somewhere?"

Shaw can't interpret even half of that. He has a strong inkling that he should probably just shoot the man for it anyway.

"You wanna get to the point, chuckles, before I put your head through this table?" Deckard says. He drums his fingers casually against said tabletop, just to make his own point that much clearer.

Entertaining as Hobbs’ little motormouth of a friend has been, Shaw has just spent the better of his last twenty-four hours on a transatlantic red eye: he's exhausted. Even a verbal spar with Hobbs isn't quite giving him the usual spike of adrenaline it deserves. The only thing he wants more right now than the coffee in his hand is his head on the pillow of a hotel room bed, and CIA here was the last obstacle standing in the way of that particular goal.

Not a safe place to be, generally speaking.

"And oddly in sync with your threats, too," Locke muses. He shifts back in his seat, though, and quickly raises his hands in surrender when Shaw leans forward menacingly. "Right, yes, ok, the point! I, ah. I definitely have one of those."

Finally, he digs into the bag at his side, hastily pulling out a few manila files. He slides them across the table towards the two of them. Shaw lets the murder in his eyes simmer down a bit as he snatches up his own.

“So, the Snowflake,” Locke starts. “Turns out the late professor wasn’t the only one with his hands in that diabolical cookie jar - ”

Scruffy keeps talking, but Shaw stops listening the moment he opens up the folder and skims his eyes down the first page.

Oh, shit, he thinks.

His stomach makes a very abrupt descent to his knees.

Because there, tucked under a paperclip in the top right corner, is a set of photographs. Generic, really. Black and whites, likely mugshots from the look of them. A man and a woman - staring straight towards the camera, little smirks nestled in the corners of their mouths like poorly hidden secrets. Shaw’s gaze traces over the sharp curve of a cheekbone, an aristocratic nose.

The faces staring up at him are jarringly familiar, in the worst possible ways.

The kinds of ways, in fact, that suddenly makes it very tempting to get up from the table and walk away, as quickly as possible.

“-ellini and Lilian Nuata,” Locke says, pointedly tapping the photos in his own file, and it’s as though the world’s volume has abruptly turned back up again. Shaw blinks, then snaps his eyes back up to the two men across the table from him. He blanks his face to cool disinterest when he finds Hobbs staring back at him.

Deckard’s not sure what kind of expression worked its way across his face while he took in the literal goddamn nightmare in his hands, but the perplexed look Hobbs shoots him makes Shaw think it wasn’t as subtle as he would have hoped.

"You know 'em?" Hobbs asks.

And fuck, but that's a loaded question. Shaw can feel his face twist like he’s sucked a lemon. It's completely involuntary, and he hates himself for the tell.

“We’ve… met,” he answers, somewhat honestly.

As if 'met' could ever sum up the amount of sheer overwhelming fuckery their run-ins entailed. Shaw covers his discomfort with a fortifying sip of his coffee.

It curdles in his stomach.

"Oh, good," Locke says, almost obliviously cheerful. "Then you probably know just how pants shittingly insane our Harley Quinn and Joker duo here are."

Bit more than you'd think, Shaw muses with faint dread.

"Nuata's the big brain behind our little Snowflake," Locke continues. "Andreiko may have invented the capsules that carried it, but the whole organ-melting, blood-spitting, eugenics genocidal virus shebang? That's her bouncing bundle of joy." The man takes another flippant slurp of his latte. The sound grates on Deckard's nerves, but he's feeling a bit too numb to give much of a shit about it.

"And Chellini?" Hobbs asks. The lawman's still shooting curious glances Deckard's way, and Shaw figures that's his cue to stop acting the part of nervous wallflower.

"Muscle," he finally speaks up. The word somehow comes out normally, despite the fact that Shaw's throat is feeling drier than the Sahara. "But also happens to have a brain, unlike someone else I know."

Hobbs' semi-concerned expression falls back into an irritated scowl. That’s good. Deckard doesn't need the man's cautious hovering.

They may have a somewhat decent, if not entirely amicable working relationship now, but Shaw wasn't about to dump his sordid histories into Hobbs' lap. They weren't friends.

Deckard didn't really know what they were at this point, actually, but it certainly wasn't that.

"Nuata can take care of herself, but they're… formidable, together," Deckard continues, before Hobbs can open his mouth. "They're sadists. Like to play with their food before eating it."

"And you've… met, huh?"

Something about Shaw's voice must have been slightly off, because the concern is creeping its way back into Hobbs' eyes. It makes Shaw's skin itch in irritation; he's not some child to be coddled and fretted over. Best to cut that nonsense off right here and now.

"Worked with 'em on a job once." Deckard shrugs, nonchalant, and leans back in his seat. "Briefly. Didn't quite appreciate their methods, so we parted ways."

It's the truth, if a heavily edited one. Either way, the mission is accomplished: the concern vanishes immediately.

"Of course you worked with them," Hobbs snorts bitterly. "Looney tunes here sound just your speed. What kind of job they end up luring you in with, anyway? Selling poison to toddlers? Murdering puppies in Tokyo?"

Ah. Well - ouch.

That one hit somewhat closer to home than likely intended, going by the expression of mild regret on Hobbs' face moments after the words leave his mouth. The sting of it is sudden, surprisingly unexpected, and altogether earned, really. It’s an abrupt reminder that even in the wake of Samoa, there’s still a decent amount of unpacked baggage between the two of them. The kind of baggage that comes with literal skeletons in closets

Or in fiery, crumpled sports cars, smoldering vengefully on a busy street in Tokyo.

Shaw considers himself a reasonably self-aware person; he already knows he's a piece of shit. Doesn't mean he'll tolerate Hobbs shoving his nose into the fact like some misbehaving dog.

"Fucking hilarious," he snaps, narrowing his eyes. "Don't think that's any of your business, is it?"

He leans forward, and suddenly Deckard finds that he's angry. The irrational kind: no specific target, no specific cause. Angry at Hobbs - angry at Locke - angry at every little shout and laugh in the air of the diner around him. Absolutely, completely, furiously angry that this file, with those pictures, has been dropped into his lap like a fucking grenade when he least expected it.

"You sure seem real interested though, Tiny. Maybe you get off on that kind of thing, huh? Puppy murder? Kiddy killing?" Hobbs' mouth twists, as though he knows he deserves the retort, but that it's pissing him off nonetheless. Shaw smiles grimly. Good. "'Cause I know a few people who could give you some details -"

“Yeah, I’m sure you know plenty of people -”

"Maybe we could table that steaming pile of inhumanity for another day," Locke interrupts suddenly. "Fascinating as getting in touch with our inner Cruella de Vils sounds, we're on a bit of a time crunch, darlings. Your flight to Spain to bag us Bellatrix Lestrang and her boytoy is in five hours, and we’ve still got some ground to cover here."

Shaw cuts himself off, and reigns in the bright spark of rage still flickering in his head. Closes his eyes for a moment.

What is he even doing?

He opens his eyes again, lets them flick back down to the photographs in front of him with the morbid helplessness of watching an imminent disaster just waiting to occur. Knows, with swift clarity, exactly where the anger is coming from.

Tired or not, Shaw’s aware that the abrupt flare of resentment is an unreasonable reaction to what was meant to be an innocuous comment. He attempts to tamp it back down a bit; difficult, with Hobbs’ narrowed-eyed gaze staring at him from across the table, but do-able.

Professional, he thinks. You’re a fucking professional.

"Spain, huh? Always liked Spain. Good memories," Hobbs says suddenly, voice far too innocent to be anything but deadly. Shaw watches with sharp eyes as Hobbs takes a very pointed sip of his coffee, staring Deckard down. The bigger man places the cup back on the table with a quiet thud, and smiles. "Like when we blew up your brother’s plane, for instance."

On second thought, fuck professional.

"Whoa now,” Locke says, hastily grabbing at Shaw’s wrist with a nervous laugh as the Brit's fingers spasm hard around the cutlery on the table in front of him. Lucky timing - Deckard had half a mind to jab the butterknife in his grip straight into Hobbs' hand, crowded diner be damned. “Let’s just take it easy there, Scarier Spice. We’re all friends here.”

Shaw very deliberately glances down at the hand on his arm, before letting his eyes drag back up to the agent’s.

“You’re gonna want to let go of me,” he says, slowly. “Friend.”

The hand is instantly snatched away, with frankly satisfying speed.

“So aggressive,” Locke says with another nervous little chuckle, fanning himself. “I gotta say, the fearboner I’m getting right now? I’m kinda into it.”

The ache in Shaw's temples gives another sudden, violent throb, and - yeah, no.

He wasn’t throwing himself back into the wreckage that was Chellini and Nuata for the sake of the two men in front of him.

Deckard rises from his seat. "Have fun with your little mission, Hobbs. You go enjoy knocking a couple of pissant nobodies' heads together in Spain like a good dog, while I go find some useful intel to work with."

"Yup," Locke mutters quietly. "Definitely aroused in this moment."

"Locke, shut your goddamn mouth," Hobbs snaps. "Shaw, just - sit down."

And oh, but that's rich. "In case you haven't noticed, steroids," Shaw sneers, leaning forward on the table, "you ain't the boss of me."

Hobbs just rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid, jackass. This is our best shot at getting these bastards, and you damn well know it."

The DSS agent leans forward himself, hardly backing down from the challenge in Shaw's eyes. And usually, that would get Deckard going - really throw some fuel on the fire - but now it just makes him hesitate.

"Besides," Hobbs adds, and his mouth quirks up into the beginnings of a wry grin. "Can't knock some pissant nobodies' heads together without my sidekick tagging along."

… goddamnit.

Shaw didn’t feel guilt very often, but Hobbs’ playful, friendly little smile was causing an avalanche of it. He falters; stands at the edge of the booth, half-turned towards the doorway, towards freedom, towards his ticket out and away from not-so-old wounds he’d rather take a bullet to the head for than let Hobbs be an audience to.

But. But.

He also wasn’t quite monster enough to allow Hobbs to wander into that horror show on his lonesome.

Slowly, grudgingly, Shaw sits back down.

He does not flush when Hobbs beams at him like the giant fucking golden retriever he is.

“Wonderful!” Locke says, clapping his hands together cheerfully. “Gosh, isn’t this exciting? It’s like we’re a team. Like the X-men or something. Ooooh, I call Wolverine.”

“Locke,” Hobbs says forlornly.

“Yeah, no, you’re right, Shaw definitely pulls off the brooding loner better. I think I’m more of a Jean Grey myself, too.”

“What’s the plan?” Shaw asks brusquely, flipping open the file again. He slides his gaze past the photos this time, and further on to the information on the page beneath.

The pictures still manage to haunt him out of the corner of his eye.

“They’re holed up in Chellini’s private chalet in Almeria. Real fancy stuff,” Locke says. “These two may be balls to the fucking walls bonkers, but they're not stupid. Guards and security out the ass, I’m tellin’ ya. We’ll need you two to go in, extract them, and maybe not destroy half the city in the process, because Big Daddy Government isn’t thrilled at the thought of covering your usual laundry bill.”

“Get in, get the marks, get out. Simple,” Hobbs says, leaning back in his seat.

“You’re simple. This is not,” Shaw snaps, tapping at the folder. “We need an actual plan, not your usual smash-and-grab theatrics.”

“Pretty sure my ‘theatrics’ are what threw your ass in jail.”

“Pretty sure your incompetence is what got me out of it -”

Somehow, an hour later, the smallest semblance of a strategy comes together. The stability of it helps soothe the tension buzzing at the edges of Shaw’s mind, but even so, it lingers, like a bad taste on the back of his tongue. He traces his fingers along the black and white images in front of him for a brief moment as CIA pays the food bill, before forcefully flipping the folder shut.

"Still one thing I need to get straight,” Deckard says, gaze suddenly pinning Locke to his seat. “You had me fly to Los Angeles, from London - just to fly back to Spain?"

The murder must be back in his eyes, Shaw thinks, because there's certainly a new hint of fear in Locke's.

"Ok, to be fair," Locke starts, edging back in his seat slightly, "one: I didn't actually know you were in London, because two: you're a very naughty, sneaky boy who happens to be incredibly difficult to track down, and did I mention I have a very delicate bone structure?"

Locke's voice climbs increasingly higher as he presses further back into the booth - likely because Shaw was leaning across the table with the intent of strangling him.

“Shaw, stop scaring the rabbit,” Hobbs says, shoving at Locke’s shoulder as the man pushes himself into Hobbs’ space. “Locke, let me the hell out of this booth.”

Shaw slips out of the booth himself, but not without a withering glare in Scruffy’s direction.

They make their way out of the diner, Locke scurrying off with rambling goodbyes that Shaw doesn’t bother listening to, and the sudden wave of heat as he steps out of the doors with another chime of bells above them is almost nauseating. Deckard grimaces at the bright blue sky as Hobbs siddles up next to him.

"You good?" Hobbs says, and bumps his shoulder awkwardly against Shaw's own.

And the move is just - so fucking Hobbs, so endearing (though Shaw would commit a fantastic amount of homicide before admitting that fact), that Deckard slowly, reluctantly deflates. The still-smoldering anger finally winks quietly out of existence, and just leaves him feeling exhausted in its stead. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine," Deckard mutters, glancing away with an irritated little sniff. "Just -"

He looks down at the file in his hand. Thinks of the photographs.

Trepidation hits him like a roundhouse kick to the gut.

"- tired," he finishes dully.

Hobbs pats him on the shoulder with a big hand, and then just. Leaves it there. Like they're pals, or something. Shaw hesitates, but decides not to shrug it off.

It's ridiculous that it helps his nerves somewhat.

"Yeah, well. I've got a guest room, if you need to crash for a couple hours before the flight."

The offer is unexpected - possibly for both of them, going by the slight discomfort Shaw can pick out of Hobbs' posture, and the way he won't quite meet Shaw's eyes after - but Deckard honestly considers it for a moment.

Only a moment, though. "Already booked a place," he lies through his teeth.

Fat fucking chance he'd be able to get any sembleance of sleep, with images of mugshots seared into his mind. Shaw knows himself; in all likelihood he'll find a place to kip out, with enough caffeine to hotwire an elephant, and drown himself in research for the next three hours.

Preparation never really helped when it came to Chellini and Nuata, but it sure as hell would make him feel less like he was throwing himself into the lion's den. Again.

"Right," Hobbs says. He gives a little squeeze to the shoulder under his hand, before letting it fall back to his side. Shaw refuses to let himself acknowledge that the sudden lack of pressure there is a disappointment, because he's not a fucking child. "I should head out. Gotta find someone to watch Sam while I'm gone."

Ah. The daughter. Strange, to suddenly remember that Hobbs was a man in charge of nurturing something. "Wheels up in four, then," Shaw says, slipping his sunglasses back onto his face in the California sunshine. "Just don't bitch to me about your leg room this time, Gigantor."

"Not all of us suffer from being vertically challenged, short stop."

"Just mentally, in your case," Shaw says, and can't help the corner of his mouth from ticking up slightly at Hobbs' snort of laughter.

“Sure,” the big man says with a huff. “Guess I’ll see you in España, tonto.”

And with that Hobbs walks off with cheery little wave, Shaw following him with his eyes as the lawman hefts himself onto the motorbike and departs with a roar of the engine. Shaw just shakes his head, and sighs.

Chellini and Nuata. Jesus fucking Christ, he thinks.

Well.

If nothing else, at least he'll have back-up this time.

#hobbs and shaw #deckard shaw #luke hobbs #shobbs #locke #my drabbles #got up early this morning and just pounded out the rest and made some edits #so sorry if the ending seems rushed #... because it was #whump to come in part 2 #this chapter is me constantly battling the 'are they too ooc??? they seem too ooc' thought demon #but you know what WHATEVER because this is fanfic anyway so HA #bad touch villain fic

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chnat0wn · 5 years

Text

Black Irises

Relationship: Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character

05. Son of My Right Hand

The weather was good at the beginning of the morning – the sun rays were peering into individual rooms, breaking through the windows and stroking the faces of the household members. Outside, more and more birds appeared, and the trees and shrubs stood calmly, unmoved by the slightest breeze. Deborah couldn't sit still at home in this state of affairs. She didn't plan a trip to the city, a long walk neither. The garden at the back of the house was enough for her.

Deborah loved to spend her time in the garden. She had lived near the street since she was a child, so her parents couldn't afford to have their own backyard. Besides, they loved the city, so they didn't feel the need to live close to the greenery. Gray buildings, sad streets – they were what Margaret and Robert Rouby felt best about. But Deborah always wanted something more. And although she wasn't related to Polly through blood, she claimed that Deborah had a gypsy need to feel freedom, otherwise she would suffocate.

Deborah loved flowers. She not only admired their beauty, which undoubtedly brought satisfaction. First of all, she liked to care of them – to dig in the soil, replant them from place to place, watch it grow, irrigate properly, and also get rid of pests.

Immediately after breakfast, she decided to go to the part of the garden where fruits and vegetables were usually found. Plants were just about to come to life, for the time being only bare, slightly frozen ground was visible. Then Deborah went to her own refuge – in late spring, summer, and early autumn it was really greeny here. Deborah preferred to be among all those colorful flowers and plants, than inside the house. In general, her house seemed too gloomy, not only in winter or autumn.

“Mum!” she heard Benjamin's voice behind her. She looked back at the boy and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Imperceptibly, she breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out that Benjamin was safe and sound. He came closer, and because Deborah was already kneeling, getting rid of weed remnants, Benjamin lowered his hands.

“What do you have there?” she asked, pulling off the dirt-stained gloves. She looked at the boy's hands. Inside, there was a bird. It wasn't anything extraordinary – not too big, black with yellow beak. A blackbird probably. And although Deborah had always considered all kinds of animals as friends and allies, she couldn't convince herself to birds. It wasn't that she did not like them. She was simply afraid of them. “A bird. Did you just catch... a bird?”

“I found it.” Benjamin said in a calm but defensive tone. “He was sitting on the grass. Uhm, over there!” he turned and nodded to the lawn a few meters away. “He cannot fly. Can I take him home? We have to do something!”

Deborah raised an eyebrow and looked closely at her son.

“You sure you only ‘found’ it?” she asked.

“Of course I only found him!” he nodded hastily. “What do you suspect me about? You think I stole him from the nest? Why the hell do I need a fucking bird?”

“What did you just say?!” Deborah opened her eyes wider.

“A bird?”

“No. Before a bird.”

She watched her child's face for a moment. And she was completely shocked. Her little, sweet boy has started using words that came to her completely naturally. But Deborah was a grown woman. She was sure, however, that she would never say anything similar in the presence of Benjamin.

“It was John, wasn't it? Or maybe Arthur? Oh my God, Tommy? No, it is not possible.” she shook her head slowly. Benjamin laughed loudly, making sounds that rewarded all curses, and then went towards the entrance to the house. He was only a child and already playing with her, testing the limits of her patience. “Fucking John Shelby.” Deborah breathed helplessly, pursing her lips.

The smells from the kitchen indicated that the dinner was coming up. Deborah told Armand that their guest was eating according to different rules. Armand preferred to experiment, so unfamiliar smells scattered all over the house. It even reached the bathroom, where Deborah currently was. She was sitting in the bathtub, holding a glass of whiskey. Only a few days ago, she promised herself that she would not touch alcohol in the near future. However, she needed to relax before the next meeting with Alfie.

Before entering the bedroom, Deborah brought the edge of the glass to her lips and tilted it, pouring the remains of the drink into her throat. She met Biagio in the room. He was standing in front of her dresser, looking at the cosmetics Deborah was usually using.

“Clever.” he said, lifting the packet of powdered pigment. He turned and looked at her. “It will be useful for you today. I really care about cooperation with Solomons. So you have to be a good girl.” he said, approaching Deborah slowly. “Because recently you really disappointed me with your unexpected trip.” he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Deborah held her breath, but she couldn't look away from Biagio's brown, magnetizing eyes.

“I was at Ada's.” she finally gave up. She shrugged indifferently and lowered her eyes for a moment. When she lifted them again on her husband's face, he smiled in a way that caused an unpleasant shudder on Deborah's body.

“You're always at Ada's, aren't you?” he raised his eyebrows. Deborah swallowed hard, and Biagio shook his head in disappointment. “Next time, I will not be so gracious. Don't forget about it, okay?”

Deborah nodded. Biagio widened his smile and leaned forward to kiss Deborah's forehead. There was nothing sensitive about it. The kiss was only the sealing of the promise that was made.

“Tell Ben he should be ready in an hour.” Biagio said after a moment.

“Ben?” Deborah frowned. “I thought Ben would stay in his room. That he should lay low, I-...” she said, confused. Biagio raised his finger, which effectively silenced Deborah.

“I decided that Ben will sit with us. I want Solomons to get acquainted with my family. Who knows, maybe someday Benjamin will be doing business with him?” he said jokingly, but Deborah watched him with increasing panic.

“Who knows? I know. He won’t.” she folded her hands. “Biagio, for God's sake. Alfie Solomons is dangerous, you know that well. Dinner with... with a gangster is not an event for a little boy.” she said cautiously, stepping closer. Biagio tightened his jaw.

“I made a decision, understand? Whether you like it or not, Benjamin will have dinner with us tonight. In the company of Solomons. He will not be eternally a ‘little boy’. One day he will grow up and I won't support him for the rest of my life!”

Biagio breathed heavily, clenching his hands into fists. Deborah looked away and bit her trembling lips, not to say a few words too much. If Biagio ever wanted to involve Benjamin in his clan, Deborah had to think about the right steps to save her son from such a future.

“Adjust yourself.” he added. “Otherwise you will regret that I haven't killed you yet.”

Deborah watched Biagio leave the room. He slammed the door, and Deborah shuddered under the sudden, loud sound.

She didn't mind Alfie, but she wasn't sure how he would behave in the company of any child. After the last meeting with him she felt badly. She did not want Benjamin to know this side of Alfie. And she had the feeling that a man who could become a role model for her son will never come back. She wasn't ready to introduce Alfie to Benjamin.

“Debbie!” Biagio's loud calling reached the upstairs without any problem. Deborah extinguished the cigarette in the crystal ashtray in her husband's office and let out a last cloud of smoke. She stood up and involuntarily smoothed down the navy blue dress she wore. She went to Benjamin's room and took him floor below. As they were going down the stairs, Benjamin took her hand and clenched tightly. Biagio had never insisted that Ben accompanied them in any business-related dinner. It was clear, then, that Benjamin was nervous.

“Hey, what happened to that bold boy from the garden, hmm?” Deborah raised an eyebrow. Benjamin looked at her. “Everything will be fine. Mr Solomons has to deal with your father, not with you.” she winked at him. She led Benjamin to the dining room, where Biagio's voice has been coming from. In the room, however, there were two of them – Biagio sat at the top of the table, Alfie took the seat next to him.

“Mr Solomons.” Deborah spoke, entering the dining room. “Good evening.”

“Yeah, it ‘s.” he replied and he noticed her after a moment. “It ‘s.”

Biagio got up and walked over to Deborah quickly. He wrapped his fingers around her forearm, pulling her closer.

“Take care of our guest.” he ordered, and without any explanation he left the dining room.

Alfie was staring only at Deborah, as if they were in the room only by themselves. His face expressed nothing but boredom. Or something very similar. Deborah watched him too. He looked a bit different than when she saw him in the bakery. His hair wasn't such a mess, and instead of a crumpled shirt, a snow-white collar jutted out from under his neat vest. Deborah also noticed the glasses stuck in the vest pocket. Practices in his father's jewelry store had to affect Alfie's eyesight.

Solomons glanced at Benjamin as he moved behind Deborah. Alfie looked at the boy, and his face took on a grimace of disgust, irritation and disorientation. Deborah has never seen so many conflicting feelings accumulate in one place like a human face. But Alfie perfectly combined it into a quite coherent whole. Because these emotions didn't pass successively, one after the other – they suddenly appeared, all at once.

“What ‘s that, eh?” he asked, looking up at Deborah.

“It’s a human.” she replied calmly. “But smaller than you. We call that a ‘child’.”

“I can see that, ya frisky fing.” Alfie rose from his seat and grabbed a cane, which was leaning against a chair. Deborah didn't remember Alfie having it with him when she last saw him. “Me back ‘s killing me, mate.” he referred, no problem seeing Deborah's interest. He stood next to her and once again looked at Benjamin. The boy hid behind Deborah. “What ‘s yer name, lad?”

“Benjamin.” he said barely audibly. Alfie nodded. He stared at the boy for a moment until he finally looked up at Deborah again.

“Benjamin.” he repeated. He pursed his lips in a way that Deborah could barely see among the beard and mustache. “Son of my right hand. But he does not have swarthy skin or ‘is daddy’s brown eyes, does he?” he clacked. “My dear Deborah.” he pursed his lips again, and a grimace of anger crossed his face. “What right hand we talking about, eh?”

Alfie was close enough for Deborah to feel the warmth of his breath on her cheeks. He didn't look directly at her, rather at some nearby point, and if he decided to raise his eyes to her face, Deborah would probably faint once again.

“And ‘ow old ‘s yer child as ya called ‘im?”

“He’s ten.”

“Ten?” Alfie raised his eyebrows. “He ‘s fucking ten.” he smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. “So you telling me, right? You telling me this ‘s the reason” he pointed to Benjamin. “why you left.”

Deborah looked away. She took a shivering, deep breath and finally lowered her eyelids. She was convinced that Alfie's close presence was making her dizzy.

“Yeah.” he said after a moment. He nodded, pursing his lips. “Just as I thought.”

Alfie pulled back and returned to his seat, and Deborah felt she could breathe again. Alfie overwhelmed her by his power, ruthlessness and coldness. And he smelled amazing.

“We can begin.” Biagio announced. Deborah looked at him. He appeared faster than she thought.

Deborah adjusted the quilt, wrapping Benjamin. The boy was staring empty into space in front of him, so Deborah sat on the edge of his bed. For quite certain reasons, she looked at him with concern. She brushed Benjamin's hair from his forehead.

“What is it, Benny?” she asked, smiling warmly.

“Mr Solomons...” he hesitated. Deborah's expression changed diametrically in a fraction of a second. She was worried by the fact that Benjamin even mentioned him. They both deserved mutual contact. Alfie should get to know Benjamin, and Benjamin should get used to Alfie. The problem is that Alfie wasn't expressing any willingness for it. Although Biagio was still the biggest obstacle.

“What about him?” Deborah raised her eyebrows. She tried to encourage the boy to continue the conversation. Without specific intentions. Maybe some time ago, Deborah would be interested in what her son thinks about Alfie Solomons. Now – when she knew what kind of person he was – she did not care less about him.

“He is terrifying.” Benjamin admitted. “Really terrifying.”

Deborah smiled a little wider, then nodded.

“You’re right.” she agreed. “Mr Solomons is a bit scary. But you don't have to be afraid of him. He won't hurt you. You have my word.” she added and touched the tip of Benjamin's nose.

“I'm not afraid of him.” he protested immediately, shaking his head. Deborah's brow furrowed slightly, but she didn't say a word, noticing Benjamin's need to justify his position. “Mr Solomons is a very sad man. He did not smile even once, and daddy told him so many funny stories!” he said with absolute seriousness. “That's why he looks scary. Because he is very sad.”

Deborah was silent. Not because she wanted to. She couldn't speak a word. Emptiness filled her head. Benjamin surprised her many times, but never in this way. She even had the feeling that the boy might be right. Not that she would consider it as justification for Alfie's behavior. But thanks to that she could try to understand it.

“I wish I was as smart as you.” she sighed theatrically.

“You don’t need to.” Benjamin shook his head again. “You are very pretty, mummy. That's enough.”

Deborah bursted out laughing. Benjamin seemed to believe in his own words, but he couldn't keep a serious expression when Deborah's lips formed a wide, bright smile.

“Owh, what?”

“Owh, nothing.” she imitated the same tone, wrinkling her nose. “I'm just wondering, which Shelby I should cut off of you.”

“Oh, no!” Benjamin wailed in displeasure. “Anything, but not this!”

Deborah saw no sense in continuing to accompany Biagio. He was sitting with Alfie in the dining room when she left the room to put Benjamin to bed. The only thing she wondering about in all this was whether Alfie spoke a little more than at the beginning.

Leaving the bathroom upstairs – a thin nightgown, a satin robe, no make-up, and her hair falling down loosely – she heard Biagio's voice coming from his office. She was wondering, what she should do. On the one hand, she wanted to know what was so secret that it forced Biagio to change the dining room to a more secluded place. Still, she guessed what would happen to her if he caught her eavesdropping. In the end, she went silently to the ajar door.

“You have good information, Mr Solomons. I worked in New York for a while, so I can do what you asking for.”

“Ya fuckin’ what? Asking you? You?” Alfie's voice was full of disbelief and artificial admiration. “This ‘s fucking agreement, mate. I’m asking you, right? ‘Cause what we have ‘s a fucking agreement.”

Biagio was silent. Deborah smiled under her breath. She had never witnessed anything like it before. It has always been Biagio – the dominant one. This time Alfie crushed him like a worthless cockroach.

“And I want some proof, yeah? Proof of yer loyalty.” Alfie continued. “Somfing very precious for ya, my friend.”

Biagio didn't say a word for several minutes. Deborah couldn't tell what was the reason – the power Alfie emanated or the simple lack of the right words to express his dissatisfaction. Because Deborah knew well that her husband didn't like being treated that way. Nor was he stupid enough to oppose such a powerful man as Alfie Solomons.

“I have no idea what you're aiming for-...”

“Let me enlighten ya.” he interrupted. Deborah recognized the annoyance in Alfie's voice. He was impatient when he had to explain his intentions in-depth. “I need more bakers. Actual bakers. I have a few intrusive, stubborn coppers on me back.”

“I can give you as many men as you like.” Biagio said without hesitation. Once again, there was a silence, in which only Alfie's deep, heavy breath could be heard. He seemed to be even more annoyed than had just been.

“Tell me, Biagio” he replied only after a short time. Deborah could imagine Alfie burning the hole in her husband only with his eyes. “Can yer boys bake?”

Biagio was silent. Again. Standing at the door, Deborah once more stretched her lips in a malicious smile of triumph, even if it wasn't her that made Biagio feel trodden and powerless.

“But yer wife...” Alfie added after a moment. Deborah became serious in the blink of an eye. “Yeah. I need yer wife.”

“Forgive me, Mr Solomons, but...”

“Ah, forgiveness.” Alfie interrupted him, and there was a false enthusiasm in his voice. “‘ow many of us, right, ‘ow many of us are able to forgive? Forgiveness ‘s very valuable virtue, innit?”

Biagio was quiet anew, so Deborah had some time to dig into her own thoughts. What exactly did Alfie mean? He wanted her to work in his bakery? She was aware that Alfie knew about her acquired skills, but she thought it was not enough to work in a bakery. Besides, she was overcome by the feeling that it was not entirely honest and legitimate work. Because Alfie Solomons was not an ordinary baker. Alfie Solomons was above all a gangster.

Regardless of Deborah's own considerations, Biagio was still quiet. She held her breath, listening for answers.

#Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x oc #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine

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queenlifesupport · 5 years

Text

Pure (Ben! x Y/N)

@mhoodx - “hello, it’s me again. i don’t know if you’re still taking request but i’ve been thinking about this idea a lot. it can be something where the reader is chosen to play mary austin, but ben isn’t that happy about it, in fact he’s jealous. because that means the reader is going to be around rami a little too much. that’s just a short idea, maybe you could add something more? have a nice day/night”

WORD COUNT - 2,130

Warnings - Flufffffff, and language because its me, what do you expect

I really apologize for not uploading any imagines in a while, I’ve been having so much going on! Sorry if any typos, might've missed some! And sorry for this shitty thing lol. Thank you all! xoxo

"Take three, scene 13, action." The director yelled as he observed the scene that wasn't all complicated. We were currently working on the engagement scene, Rami and I had a hard time focusing while working together due to knowing each other in our personal lives but we made sure it never got in our way of work. We had just gotten to the scene of the guys walking into the makeshift flat, interrupting Mary and Freddie. We had to keep refilming due to Ben making Rogers character too upset when he wasn't supposed to be. I knew why the boy couldn't keep his acting straight. Ben and I have been dating ever since we were casted together, which had been 11 months ago. We met at the auditions, it immediately clicked, he invited me over a few times and eventually we started going out. It's been a few months of dating and just recently it got a little more serious, both of us have been considering moving in together and I couldn't be happier about it. Although given our current status, I don't think he was too happy with this scene though, along with the fact Rami and I have been spending plenty of time together on screen and off. I shouldn't have to change it though, he has nothing to worry about when it comes to Rami and I.

"Which finger do I put this on?" I recited the memorized lines while holding the blanket up to my bare chest, feeling the material graze the soft goosebump ridden skin, allowing the acted emotions to play on my face and through my body language.

"Wedding finger?" We continued the heartfelt scene, all until the boys entered. You could visibly see Ben's locked jaw and anger filled gaze causing the director to call cut and request a break. I sighed in frustration at the fact we didn't get it that time, at this point I felt there was no hope with getting through this scene. One of the stylists walked to me swiftly and handed me the thick black t-shirt with the Queen signature logo printed on the front, supporting the movie production. I slipped it over my torso carefully, making sure to not flash anyone in the process. Ben stood on the other side of the coffee table, crossing his arms while looking at me with his jaw slightly hung open, this wasn't his first time seeing me like this. I stood up, clearly annoyed at the man standing in my peripheral vision. I avoided looking him directly in the eyes, soon leaving to spend the given break in my assigned trailer. As I shut the metal door behind me, I let out another sigh, closing my eyes and letting my mind unravel and collapse, just what I wanted to do. He's been making me stressed ever since day one on set, I had no clue he'd be this jealous. I wasn't jealous when they filmed scenes with women all over him, why is he jealous about Rami, a close friend of mine and only a friend that has always been a friend. I soon heard the door opening and closing after Ben entered, following me from the set silently. I turned around and locked eyes with him, now crossing my arms in front of my chest as I waited for the next move to be clear.

"Ben, what is with you? You've been acting unacceptable ever since the start date of recording?" I attempted to get answers from him, I was put up with his shit at this point. I knew he wouldn't come clean or explain if I hadn't made the first attempt to get him to spill his mind.

"I - I'm really sorry Y/N/N. We've only been together for such little time, seeing you interact with Rami in a different light than how we interact is kind of nerve-racking. I know you guys have been friends ever since The War at Home, I just need to accept the fact you're with me. It's just you're such a beautiful woman with a guy like me, it is clearly hard to believe that. You're literally the woman of my dreams." He clasped his hands behind his back as he took a few strides towards me. Now slightly towering over me.

I closed my eyes, letting a shaky breath escape, thinking about my next move. "Please just start doing your job, were all trying here and you're really testing our patience. We can't afford to continuously refill, we don't have the money and time." I looked up at him, he then looked down to his feet with a small frown upon his lips. "I forgive you." I whispered after a moment of dreadful silence, I could feel his guilt sap every corner of the room. He settled his gaze back to my face, then embracing me in a warm and lengthy hug. One of my favorite things were being held by him.

"I won't act like this anymore. I'll clear my mind and remember the truth, I promise, love." I smiled at his choice of words, he always knew how to fix our problems and make me smile at the same time. We both had fixing, but we always did it together as a team.

"So, no more acting all upset and jealous just because Rami and I are hanging out?" I questioned after leaving his warm arms, aching to be back in them.

"Of course, I'll now just be upset if you pay attention to Joe or Gwilym." He joked. I rolled my eyes with a warm-hearted smile plastered on my lips. I moved my hand up to caress his softly shaved jawline, rubbing my thumb across his chin. He shifted his head slightly to lay a gentle kiss on the tip of my finger while his hand rested on the top of mine. We stood there in admiration for at least a moment before he cut the lingering silence with his deep voice. "You look absolutely stunning." I blushed at his hushed compliment, his eyes held transparent love.

"You don't look too shabby yourself." I muttered only loud enough for him to barely hear me. I've never been so in love with a human being. He was kind no matter how hard he tried to be rude or judgmental, sometimes it was just masked with jealously or insecurities. Which I could never understand due to him being the most beautiful man I've ever seen walk this planet, let alone the universe. But here we were, two mortals fixing up a mess that didn't make sense. It genuinely made me concerned at times how much I fell for him, or just loved him. I had my insecurities at times too, especially about Ben not trusting me. I've done all I can to put in effort into our blooming relationship and the fact he doesn't give me all his trust makes me uneasy. Plus, look at me, who else would want me, having Ben was already out of my lea-

"What's on your mind, love?" He interrupted the thought I held in my scrambled brain. I swallowed hard as I debated on wither I should tell him or not.

"I just don't know why you don't trust me. Who else would I go after? No ones as good as you and no one will even offer me anything due to me being myself." He scoffed lightly at my remark towards myself, he had knowledge that I was my worst enemy. I feared I looked attention seeking at times, but that's just how I honestly felt and he requests honesty.

"Y/N, listen to me. You don't ever have to be ashamed of who you are. You are beyond beautiful on the inside and out, you have a heart of gold and a god-like beautiful face and body. There's so many people who would be so happy to be yours. I'm just scared to lose you to someone who can offer you more." I lightly gawked at his response.

"You are the kindest person I know, Ben Hardy. But the truth is, no one could ever replace you." I leaned in to place a sweet kiss on his soft lips that held flavor from his chapstick. Taking in the moment as every second passed. I always wanted to be locked with him. He was my everything as of now.

"How long until break is over, darling?" He asked, looking down at his watch once we pulled away. I thought back to the break schedule we discussed while at the start of filming. I also averted my eyes to the small clock on his wrist.

"20 minutes." I quickly did the small amount of math in my head, getting the total and answering him. He looked up to the roof with ideas on his mind. I giggled at his adorable and concentrating look. I felt much better after having the small yet informal conversation between the two of us. Communication was a huge part of our relationship, no matter what it is, it had to be played in the tense air.

"Just enough time to spend it with my favorite girl." He smiled softly at me with that stupid smile I always fall for, no matter what. He yet again pressed against me, allowing me to nuzzle up closer to him, feeling his chin rest upon my head. I felt at home whenever I was with him, mostly when I was rested up in his embrace. I breathed out in relief, feeling that familiar sense of warmth and protection, a feeling no one else but him could give me. His body radiated off heat and love, I could feel both with every pulsing vein in my body. At times I felt like a school girl with a massive crush on the most popular guy in school, always flustered and amazed at his interactions and way of life. But his way of life was with me, his intentions were pure as gold and clear like crystal. I was beyond thankful for being brought to him, he changed my life over the last several months, even in the slightest of ways. "You know how we've been discussing living together?" I felt his jaw move up and down as he spoke with his mesmerizing voice.

"Of course, baby." My voice was muffled by his shirt but someone the man still heard me.

"Let's do it. What's the worse that will happen? We both clearly want the same thing." His hand traced shapes on my back like a small child practicing its shapes on a blank piece of paper with crayon. I lifted my head from his chest, looking up at him while he softly hummed to rid the air around us of silence.

"I'd absolutely love to." I whispered delightfully. My heart raced with anticipation and excitement. I felt happy at the new achievement we've faced as a couple. Moving in together is a big step and there's no one I'd rather take that leap with than Ben.

"Good." Was all he replied with. I could tell he held his happiness under the surface, his posture fixed slightly after I answered and I could hear his heart pound in sync with mine. I inhaled deeply, trying to remember each sense of this moment. The smell of his cologne, the light racket of his breathing and heartbeat, the feeling of his soft and body heated shirt against my cold cheek, the dimly lit room as the sun hit his sand blonde hair, and the taste of oranges from his chapstick he regularly applied throughout the day. Everything played like a movie scene throughout my head, making every single system in my mind all wind down and just enjoy the moment for some time. I felt overwhelmed, but when he held onto me it felt like he held onto my sanity and allowed me to fix all the broken pieces without them floating away, like matter in the depths of space.

"I love you." I muttered, feeling the slight perfection of the moment. My eyes fluttered shut, melting under his every touch he placed upon my clothed or none covered skin.

"I love you too, Y/N." The moment felt nothing but pure and raw. Everything about it felt so natural, being here with him and reciting these words to each other with a different meaning and motive each time. I couldn't get enough of him and this feeling. I never will get enough and I knew I was stuck in this forever lasting love spell the universe set upon us. I would never trade it for the entire world, him and I knew that to be true.

{TAG LIST // @michael-langdonahs // @bemywiggins // @vampire-way // @brianrogerinas }

MASTERLINK

#ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #ben hardy fanfic #queen fanfic #queen imagine #bohrhap #bohemian rhapsody #roger taylor x reader

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boogiewrites · 5 years

Text

Choking On Sapphires 64

Title & Song: Love Is Blindness

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 6400+

Summary: With the rest of their time in Paris spent in a dream, the harsh reality of their lives comes crashing back in as Gen and Alfie return home. The backlash to their coupling begins.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Canon-typical violence. Possessiveness. Fluff. Angst. Alfie and Gen teaming up against someone. Business turns personal. Defending each other.

**Chapter song is Love is Blindness by Jack White.**

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

You wake up in the dim morning light, his head to the side as you murmur and look up at him. The unfocused glow of the sun falling across his face, freckles that are barely visible across his nose and cheeks, the warm light making the red in his hair more prominent. It made him glow like the cinders of a dying fire, reminding you of the burning emotion that lay just beneath the surface.

You rise to turn your upper body to lay on his chest more so you can kiss his jaw. He grumbles and winces, nose twitching as his lips pout, pulling himself out of sleep. You kiss him again, your hand on his cheek, a simple press to his cheek, watching his eyes disappearing under his heavy hooded lids as his brow dips low, shifting before finally opening. A deep grunt rises from his chest.

"Mornin' love." his rumbling voice carries out into the breezy, open room.

"Matin, mon Fie." you coo, a kiss to his chest that makes him happily hum. You peck your way up to his cheek again, his arm moving taught around you, bringing you up against him. "Did we really finally say all those things last night?" you ask with a soft smile.

His brow shifts, narrowed eyes still heavy with sleep look down to you curled up like a kitten against him. "I dunno. Did we?" he smirks and reaches up to stroke your hair.

"You really do love me, Alfie?" you ask for purely selfish reasons, wanting to hear it, to see it on his face again.

"Do you love me?" he asks in rebuttal, a charismatic lazy smile playing across his plush lips.

"I asked you first." you say with a wrinkle of your nose.

He chest shakes with a laugh before it carries out of his mouth, stopping when he presses his lips to your head. "Bloody ridiculous." he chuckles. "Asked me first..." he muses and shakes his head, rubbing his face with his hand. "How could I not with that sort 'a response. Cheeky little girl." he grins and moves to squeeze you with both arms. "'Course I love you, you ridiculous creature." he hums happily as your fingers play in his beard, eyes closing again, his body relaxing under yours.

"I love you too." you whisper, nuzzling into his neck. You let out a content sigh against him, fingers lazily stroking his chest hair, setting the tone for the rest of your time in Paris.

------

Your days in Paris were spent in the most ideal of ways, together. You ate until it forces you back to your place to nap, you spent mornings in the marketplace, picking out ingredients for your meals, flowers for the apartment and browsing the young artists work, buying pieces to join your growing wall of paintings. You spend your nights at shows, taking in the opera and the Moulin Rouge. Which wasn't Alfie's cup of tea. You dance by the edge of the Seine to live music, violins accompanying your slow-moving feet as he dips you down in his arms, your laughter disrupting the kisses you share. You walk home across bridges and stopping to kiss at the peaks of their arches, taking your time to look out at the water, the reflections of the city in the moonlight upon it.

Almost every morning and night you make your declarations of love in some form. Some mornings your hands roam and you keep it simple, bringing each other over the edge sloAwly, staying warm under the covers. Your nights are varied, some fast and desperate, him taking you on top of your piano, in the tub before you make it to bed. Others are slow, some with a constant spinning of affectionate words between the two of you, others in silence and always ending in each other's arms as you fell asleep.

The last night he gives you to earrings he'd bought. You felt disappointed in yourself for not having the foresight to get him something in return. He expresses the symbolism of teardrop stones. He promises not to bring you any more tears, save for those made of precious stones. You put them on, and promptly take everything else off, and proceed to have him tell you all the things he wishes for you both. Everything he promises to do, the things he'll never do and ending with the things he wanted to do to you tonight.

The dreamlike escape had to come to an end, and after the long journey back you both crash in bed together for one more night at your home, the next morning the real world awaited you. You see him off to work like you used to and it felt right to spend your mornings together in such a way. You put his hat on his head before he walked out the door, sharing a kiss under the wide brim with both your hands on his face before you let him go. As you watched his car shrink into nothing you feel the weight of worry grow, as the gravity of reality set in once again.

It doesn’t take you long to get back into the swing of things, it wasn’t as if you’d been gone that long. The deep immersion you’d given yourselves over to had only led you to feel as if it’d been months when it was not even a full week. But the good it had done for you both couldn’t really be measured in any tangible way. A scale wouldn’t reflect the lightness you felt now, it could only be felt.

So as Abeille falls back into place, so does Alfies work. And with it, things started to move forward and you were now looking at the first job you’d be working together as a couple. And wasn’t it suited this job would be a dirty one.

You wait in Alfie's office, leaned against his desk as he oversees the placement of the tables for the false truce meeting that would be going down within the hour. You had all the routes ran, knew who was shooting who and all that was left was to set up was the meal and wait for the Greeks to arrive. You weren’t exactly nervous, but you weren’t unbothered by it either. Shooting the head of a crime family was never something to be taken lightly, even if it was premeditated by that heads son. You were placing a lot of trust in Niko to make sure this ran smoothly and that was what was making you apprehensive.

Alfie’s voice breaks your train of thought as your foot bounces with the crossing of your leg, sat back in his chair. “I ‘ave to say, I thought I was Alfie Solomons but it seems that innit right as a body is surely sittin' in the chair only he sits in, yeah?” He muses, shutting the door behind him as you give him a smirk and rise. “But I gotta say, Alfie, ya lookin' bloody good these days.” He lets out a chuckle as he greets you with a kiss to the cheek first, then the back of your hand. “‘Ello love.” He says in a softer voice. “Punctual as always.” He says in his more usual gruff voice.

“I could’ve been late but you wouldn't have known since you are.” you tease.

“Well, it's work innit?” He says in playful defense. “Someone’s gotta tell these boys what to do. Like they were raised by wolves, none can set a table.” He Shakes his head in disappointment.

“I could’ve overseen that, you know.” You offer, letting him take his rightful place in his chair, leaning on his desk next to him.

“I'll let ya next time, yeah? I ain't got the patience to when fuckin' deals like 'is are afoot.” He says with a vague gesturing of his hand.

“Do you want me to go deal with them now?” You offer.

“No, no, love.” He groans, reaching out and taking your hand to pull you closer. “Here’s where I need ya right now.” He says softly, pulling you into his lap.

“Has he had a rough day already?” You coo, scratching your fingers in his beard.

“Aye.” He nods.

“After this are you free? It’s not our usual night spent together but could we have some tea or something? I’d love a chance to give you a pick me up to get you through the rest of the week.” You speak sweetly, seeing his crows feet grow and shift, the weight of his brow low from worry and work.

“You wanna go to my place after 'is? Have a real meal 'n cozy up?” He replies with closed eyes as your soft fingertips work away at his temples and into his slicked back hair. He hums contently at the loving touch he’d missed this week.

“Sounds wonderful darling.” You kiss his temple first, then lightly on the mouth. He grunts and reaches up to hold your hand as it stroked the hair sticking out of his shirt. You're sharing a series of small affectionate kisses when you’re interrupted.

“They’re arriving.” Ollie announces, a head peeking through the door with an indifferent face to finding you two together. Everyone knew about you now, Alfie's men and anyone else who had their eyes and ears on the gossip of London it seemed. You couldn’t blame them for talking though, it wasn’t exactly a match anyone but the two of you had seen coming. A gangster and a businesswoman. Not a likely pairing with the social circles you ran but no one had anything bad to say. Not to your face anyway. Plenty of nosy questions at the gala you’d attended without him but you didn’t mind providing a thrill to the women who dared ask about being with a gangster. It shocked most, as you seemed so polite and well-bred within the art community but you curtly explained he was nothing but a gentleman to you, and as you saw it his business was just that, his, and you would keep to yours. The answer satisfied most of the gossips as it was just vague enough to make any further questions seem suspicious.

“Right.” Alfie grunts, patting the back of your hand. “Let’s get the evenin’ started shall we then Miss Durand?” He asks, his arm swooping out in an ‘after you’ gesture.

“Certainly Mr. Solomons.” You chuckle and rise.

“Ollie see em in 'n pat 'em down.” He gruffs out and nods for him to get to it.

He begins to walk past you out the door and you grab his wrist, causing him to turn towards you with a raised brow.

“Before we do something dangerous...” you begin, putting his hand behind your back. “I wanted to have a proper goodbye. Traditions are important. Can’t be too careful.” You playfully scold.

“Aren’t you just a soft little thing?” He teases.

“I love you darling.” You say with a single press of your lips to his.

“And I love you.” His voice is soft and sweet, the last of it being as such that you’ll hear tonight. “Rejoice not at thine enemy’s fall...” he begins with a smile.

“But don’t rush to pick him up either.” You finish the proverb and chuckle against his lips.

You leave his office and begin the walk towards the main door. “You are a quick mind, love. You’ll be havin’ that bat mitzvah any day now innit ya?” He says walking down the long dusty lane to greet the men at the other end.

“I have still have plenty left to learn.”

“Quick and brilliant as she knows she is not ever finished learning.” He says, his body language and face turning harder. You transform from his little Chanah to Miss Genevieve Durand. He evolved back into Alfie Solomons from your gentle mon Fie. His shoulders shift with guarded body language. All the traces of love wiped from your presentations as you meet the men with indifferent faces, ready to work.

Customary greetings ensue, a too tight hug from Demitri for either you or Alfies comfort. He had already been eager to off the man but the way he looked at you and touched you in his presence was so disrespectful he felt his fingers twitch to pull the trigger himself.

You stay in the back of the group and let Alfie lead the men into the other wing.

“You and Solomons huh?” Niko says, standing still and refusing to move on with the other men.

“He and I what?” You demand him to not be vague.

“You’re together. I’ve heard about it.”

“Yes, we are.” You give a nod of acknowledgment.

“So you were lying to me then?” his tone accusatory and you did not appreciate it one bit.

“What?” You ask with a tilt of your head and innocence to your voice.

“You said you couldn’t be with anyone when I tried to kiss you. Were you with him the whole time?” He asks flatly, his tone concerning.

“I have never lied to you Niko. We were not together when you accompanied me to those parties. Which I thank you for.” You give him a more friendly nod.

“Why him?” He bluntly asks, his eyes looking over you in a predatory way.

You’re surprised by the brashness of the question. “We are here on business tonight Niko, not pleasure. I’m a lady who doesn’t discuss her personal life. Especially in a setting like this. If you are worried about our being professional I assure you we take nothing as seriously as we do our work.” You say walking forward and trying to catch up to the other men.

“No, I know you do.” He says quietly. “But I thought we had something. Next thing I know I hear you’re with Solomons.” He says gesturing towards the doorway.

“It was not something that was foreseen by either of us. It just... happened.” You say with your lips in a tight line. “It is nothing personal against you. I hope you don’t take it so.” You say with bigger eyes to lure him into your softness.

“Hard not to...” He says with wandering eyes.

He was being so bloody difficult and leaving Alfie without you with the men was making you nervous. “You’re a lovely bloke Niko, but the heart wants what the hearts wants. That’s the saying, right? I wasn’t looking for anyone. That was not a lie. I never mislead you, or I tried my best not to. If I came off as anything but sincere you have my deepest apologies.” You say with your hands clasped and a polite nod.

“You have never lied in business I do not know why that would not translate to your personal life as well.”

“Thank you.” You kindly accept. “Shall we?” You ask motioning toward the doorway.

“I will ask only once... but is there any chance I could steal you away from him?” He comes close and leans in, the nerve of him surprising you but you don’t let it show. “You need a young man who can keep up with you. Someone coming up in the world, not sitting idle on bookies and... bread.” He says through gritted teeth.

You’d like to slap him for the insults on behalf of you and Alfie. But you do not, as it wouldn’t make for a good business relationship move. “I would like to say first and foremost I do not NEED a MAN at all.” You state clearly. “I would appreciate it if during business meetings you kept the conversation to business and not make assumptions about me or my personal life. It’s rude. And no. You may not steal me away as I am not a thing to be won or taken.” You say with more bite.

“God, you are feisty aren’t you?” He gives you a wolfish grin. “Solomons....” He says as he walks past you. “He’s a lucky man.” He lilts and you wrinkle up your nose at the tone.

As you follow him into the room he takes up as much space as he can, moving slowly to his seat. Alfie gives you a concerned glance that you can read in his eyes and you give him a nod and a polite smile to continue.

“Ah, lovely Genevieve!” Demitri says, moving his hand to point towards the seat in front of him. “Sit! Sit here so I may look at you it has been so long.” He says with a seemingly genuine smile. But you know his intentions. “I promise not to touch!” He laughs. “But even a blind man wouldn’t help but look eh?” He laughs loudly. “How are you little Genevieve? Is this man treating you well?”He says gesturing to Alfie who sits next to you.

“Yes, he is.” You say in a short time and a nod. “But I believe we are here to discuss business aren’t we Demitri?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your chin rating in your hand and a playful smile on your face. “I can’t have all my best boys fighting now can I?” You pout and play up to him. “You know it upsets me.”

“We must’ve upset the fairer sex must we? Fragile little flowers... they cannot stand the cruelty of the world bless them!” He speaks loudly, as usual, big lungs enclosed in a large barrel chest push his voice around the room.

“You were kind enough to spare Alfie for me before. And you have my endless thanks for that, you know this.” You nod and delicately touch his hand. “But might we come to something more permanent? Seems two minds as terribly clever as yours can see the benefits of a truce?”

“My sons have shown me these reasons yes.” He nods. ”But I am Afraid Solomons has gone beyond business and insulted me. I feel disrespected and I do not want to do business with someone who would speak to me in such a way.” His tone shifts, darker and playing the victim.

“Would an apology work? Could a peace offering be the first step to moving forward?” You ask sweetly.

“Perhaps.” He nods and his bottom lip pouts out over the salt and pepper stubble in his round face. “What would you like to offer?” He asks.

“A showing of peace as is customary for our people. You have the gift of bread and salt here, the best wine as well. We have a grand meal with a ceremonial sacrificial lamb to be prepared as well should you wish you accept the truce.”

“That is what you offer?” He asks almost literally turning his nose up at it.

“This is customary and symbolic of an agreement made.” You say earnestly. “It is sacred and very serious.” You add softly.

“It's a holy order of things to be done to show thanks. This thanks bein’ to you, from the Jews to the Greeks for not finishin’ the job with offin’ me ‘n and for agreein’ to peace between us. It is usually reserved for holy days but we made an exception as Genevieve here felt it was important to conduct the business before Passover.” Alfie chimes in.

“Ah. I see.” He nods.

“Could we agree to not destroy each other? You and Alfie can discuss your contracts under a new leaf turned. You can both conduct your fair business and nothing is lost.”

“Except a part of me fuckin’ shoulder bone. Thanks for that mate.” Alfie raises an eyebrow at the older man.

“I do not like the way he speaks, Geneveive. He is as disrespectful as ever!” He announces.

You were glad you were planning on killing him because it was clear he had no intentions of accepting. “It is a part of his personality and not personal.” You say with a dismissive shake of your head.

“Why are you with him?” He blatantly asks, Niko smirks and crosses his arms.

You can sense Alfie prickling up next to you. "What sort a fuckin' question is that?" he scoffs.

“I’m afraid that’s rather personal and not what we’re discussing here.” You say sheepishly.

“Answer me honestly and I might agree to this truce.” He declares haughtily.

You tap Alfie's foot to let him know you were ready. You look to Niko and he raises his brows and you mirror the gesture, letting him know these were the final moments. He nods and so do you. His eyes cast downward to the table and beginning to look miles away. You sit back in your chair and take a deep breath.

“Because unlike you, he has always been respectful of me Demitri.” You say with an entirely different, colder tone. The man’s face contorts in confusion. “He never once groped or pinched me like some animal with no manners. He never abused his status in society as a man to hold things over my head.” Your tone turns more biting and your face grows angrier. “He never insulted me, and never alluded to the insinuation I was lesser than in ANY way. He sees how smart I am. How clever and ruthless and manipulative. You only ever saw a little doll playing with boys toys and you laughed, never taking me seriously. But you should have Demitri. You should have and since you cannot play the game by the new rules... we’re kicking you out of the game altogether.” Your tone low and sinister.

“How dare you! I have done nothing but help you! A woman in a man’s game! I entertained your enthusiasm because you are clever and pretty but that mouth of yours! What’s the meaning of this?” his back straightening and his tone deeply offended.

“It’s time to step down, father.” Niko says, not making eye contact and shaking his head.

“Is that what this is about?! I’ll never do it! Over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged.” Alfie snidely says.

It all happens quickly. Demitri reaches into his boot for a gun, but his overgrown gut keeps him from executing the movement smoothly. The man standing behind you is set to shoot him, but as you watch Demitri's second, you see him doing the same. This was not part of the plan. You react quickly and pull the snub nose from your chest and shoot him in the face as his arm starts to whip around toward Alfie. The man behind you shoots quickly after that and its impact sprays you with blood and visceral, it wasn’t pleasant but it was part of the plan.

You stand immediately and point your gun at Niko's face. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” You demand, shouting at him.

“What was what?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Roma was pulling a gun on Alfie! I fucking saw it!” You shake the gun in anger. Then everyone, including Alfie stands and aims at the Greeks that were left. Alfie directly at Niko. They were severely outnumbered and would not be fast enough even if they did have guns.

“He was hesitant to the idea of him stepping down.” He says with broad gesturing hands, his voice too collected for your liking.

“So you were going to let him shoot him?! You conniving sack of shit! You don’t get your way and you think you can just go bloody shooting everyone? Did you think if you killed him you’d get me then? Did you, you blubbering fool?!” You shout and feel Alfie's hand on your back, grounding you. Even in the middle of you screaming threats at a man that had perhaps not actively tried to kill him, but also was all too casual in his acceptance of the fact, he felt protective over you. Letting you know you should consider what comes out of your mouth next.

Niko stands with his brother and the other second, both of which clearly weren’t in on the plan from the looks on their faces. “I didn’t PLAN it, no but I knew it might be possible he tried to retaliate. And you took care of it didn’t you?” He snarls back.

“Get the fuck out.” Alfie says gesturing to the back door with his gun. “Ya pay Ollie the rest of the fuckin' money and ya get the fuck out. Our workin' together is fuckin' over, you understand me?” He asks with that supernatural ability to intimidate. The two others are already at the door paying. Niko walks backward slowly. “You come anywhere near my Genevieve again and I’ll fucking shoot you. I don’t care if it’s in the middle of the fucking market in broad daylight. You don’t come near her.”

“Oh, you hear that Gen? You’re HIS now eh? Like some Property?” He tries to counter.

“THAT'S BECAUSE I FUCKING AM HIS!” You boom out before Alfie can respond with something besides a snort. “You wouldn’t know a thing about love though would you? You selfish dog.”

“Would I not Gen? Or perhaps I do and that’s the problem?” He counters before exiting.

”You aren’t capable of it! You have shown that tonight with no doubt! You have no one to blame but yourself for your loneliness now. You miserable, egotistical little prick!” You spit out, lowering your gun.

“As you wish sweetheart.” He says, bowing out of the door.

You hand the gun to the man who shot Demitri without taking your eyes off the doorway, your blood still boiling hot.

“Police are on their way.” He says with a solemn nod to you and Alfie puts his gun back into his trousers.

“Ya alright love?” He asks, holding your face. “What did that fucker say before you came in 'ere?”He asks with narrowed eyes, making your flushed, furious face focus.

You struggle to control the having of your chest. “He asked if he could steal me away from you.” You grit out.

“Fuck me.” He growls, staring at the now empty doorway. “I knew I couldn’t trust that little bastard.” He whispers. “I’m sorry love.” He says sincerely. There’s a bang at the metal doors. “Ya capable of doin' 'is?” He asks with a face that didn't show sweetness but of concern for business.

“Of course I fucking am.” You growl, jerking out of his grasp and he feels a thrill of lust surprise him. You take a deep breath, teeth bared as you let out a blood-curdling scream before collapsing to the ground in tears, hands touching your face and chest in disbelief as Alfie dropped to comfort you.

He gives the nod to the men to open the doors. “We was havin’ a meal together when they just bloody opened fire on us!” He exclaims. “Scared me missus absolutely silly. Poor things in fits! Look at her!” His voice inflecting high and wildly, gesturing to you as you sob and gasp and choke and look at your shaking hands and try to frantically wipe the blood off.

“Get her out of here, no lady should have to see this.” The policeman says as he helps you to your feet, and Alfie walks you back to his office with you stumbling along beside him. You sob and carry on until the doors are closed and he’s led you to the couch.

I will now wonder if anything you say or do again is genuine.” He says in a light-hearted way, placing a washcloth in the basin and wringing it out as he eyeballs you from across the table.

“I told you I could do it.” You say with a less angry face, taking the cloth offered and wiping your face.

“I never doubted ya.” He says, pulling a chair up as he helps pick pieces of brain and skull from your hair. You pick under your nails and he wipes the rest of your face off for you, rubbing at your pulled back hairline to clean you up. “There she is.” He says, resting the cloth back into the now pink water. “Although even covered in blood I admit you’re gorgeous.”

“Maybe even particularly covered in it.” You huffed out a small laugh.

“Now let's trudge through what happened back there, yeah?” He says more seriously. “Clearly somefin' happened before you came into 'at room.” He rests his elbows on his knees and leans in to speak quietly.

“Don’t you need to go talk to the police?” You ask, rubbing away at a spot on your dress.

“If they need me they’ll come get me. Best we play it safe while we can, eh? Now stop distractin' me and tell me.” his face wearing a knowing smirk at your attempts to avoid this conversation.

“He asked about us. It was simple really. He asked if you and I were together when he went to those parties with me.” You let out a heavy sigh. “Because he tried to kiss me” you begin.

“Fuckin' knew it” he groans and turns his head away, mouth in a tight line.

“He didn’t get anywhere near close to doing it. And we weren’t speaking so...” you scold him before he gets needlessly territorial.

“Don’t matter to me, love. Any man that tried to come at ya when I’s away is someone I’m gonna have my eye on, yeah?”

“Then add all the single Jewish men in London to that list.” You roll your eyes and slouch.

“Full of ourselves are we?” He asks with an amused expression.

“No, I mean that literally.” You say with pursed lips. “After I was in the paper and began speaking at places I received so many letters inquiring about courtship. The lines they wrote. Oi vey.” You stick out your tongue to show your distaste and sigh.

“Ya serious?” his brows raise with his inquiry.

“Yes! It was a free for all. They all descended with their flowers and their gifts and letters. Some even showed up to the house but I had Claire shoo them away for poor manners.” you shake your head in annoyance to the thought.

“Fuckin ell” he shakes his head. “And you didn’t reply to none of 'em?”

“Absolutely not.” You Shake your head fast. “I didn’t want them did I?” You tilt your head obviously at him.

He gives you a warm smile before tapping your nose. “You are trying to distract me with sweet words and it innit gonna work pet.” he pouts his lips at you.

“All of those men, I had Niko go with me on three occasions to events so I wouldn’t be bombarded like I was at my first because I was alone. The only other man that spoke to me of having me to my face was Cyrus Horne but you know how bloody disgusting that man is.” You wrinkle your nose.

“Horne? What the fuck did he do? Ya never mentioned no Horne before.” His eyes narrow.

“Because he was being entirely gross and I left the conversation when he tried to tell me he’d have me. And of course, he only had lovely things to say about you.” You roll your eyes.

“He’s dangerous love. If he speaks to you again you tell me, yeah? He’s a crafty bastard and I don’t want 'im anywhere near you.”

“Understood. I don’t want him near me either. He gives me a headache and nausea. He’s entirely awful.” your face a clear show of your distaste for the man.

“Entirely.” He says seriously. “Now what of the lad Niko? I need to know where we stand.”

“He told me I didn’t need you that I should be with him, all that sort of shite. I told him I never lied to him... and I did not. I was very clear and said I was not looking to be with anyone. But he seemed to take it personally when I told him. He thought I’d lied about being with you while I went out with him. And not “went out” You know what I mean. But why on earth would I go somewhere with him while with you? Makes no sense.” your voice shoots upward in your irritation.

“Seems the apple don't fall far from the tree in 'at family. Perhaps he’s not as level headed as he appeared.” his voice lower and more thoughtful.

“I’m disappointed in myself for not seeing it. But he behaved himself entirely when we went out. His behavior was very surprising to me tonight.” You enthuse. “I got a little carried away yelling at him but the thought of him trying to shoot you over me just made my blood boil something fierce.” your lips tense and your head shakes quickly.

“You were wild. I saw it in your eyes.” He nods.

“I won’t stand by while someone tries to hurt you darling. I won’t.” You say, taking his hands I to yours.

“And I you love. Believe me. If they’d pulled the gun on you instead we’d be knee deep in dead fuckin' Greeks.” He says with a quirk of his brow.

“So you see why I was so volatile. His words beforehand caught me off guard, but I’ll be damned if I don’t see a bastard twitch and try to draw.”

“I believe the reaction to not be past what was warranted. A bit strong from the get but...” he shrugs. “This is you we’re talking about. Raw heart you are.”

“The only way I know. Either open totally and exposed or closed entirely.”

“Ya okay now? Not goin' to have any spells of residual hysteria?” He asks, rubbing his hand across your cheek.

“The screaming and crying helped get it all out.” You nod. “I feel oddly calm for what happened back there.”

“Good.” He kisses your forehead. “Then might I say you were bloody brilliant out there?” He gives you a soft smile. “Better actin' than what he saw in Paris, that.” He grins.

“I have a flair for the dramatic.” you give a soft smile.

“I bloody know!” He chuckles. "At first I didn't' care that much for it, but then I saw it weren't comin' from a place of demandin' attention like a child. You are just naturally... big." he gestures with his hands. "A lot of heart to contain in such a small body." he says with an affectionate nod.

"It comes in handy in situations like these."

"And we will need it again." he nods. "Seems as though you being off the market has gathered more unwanted attention than I anticipated. I had assumed there would be other's in the life that wouldn't be happy about us."

"I was prepared for it as well," you say quietly. "Or I thought I was. I'll be raising my guard now." you say with a harder expression. "I've had to soften myself to allow the expression and acceptance of love. But I will need to work on separating the two."

"It is an unfortunate reality for us." he says in agreement. "Those that didn't care for me before, they certainly aren't gonna like that I'm with a woman like you." his lips purse and he looks out into the warehouse and sighs.

"A woman like me?"

"You have your money and power and skills. You have a name that can be used to influence and penetrate in places a man like me can't. You have the community on your side, and having a people behind you in a dangerous thing for your enemies. Especially when we share the same heritage, religion. It all forms strong bonds and if things were to happen to you, people would demand answers. You can't so easily be discarded."

"Ruling with love and fear." you say with a slow nod.

"Precisely. You are the love, I am the fear. And with that combination, we are a threat. Outside of the most basic instincts of men of jealousy. Which I will be happy to address alone, believe me." he raises his brows, the possessiveness he feels for you coming over his face. "Any bloke what thinks he can take you from me will be met with retaliation, darling. And it will be fuckin' heavy-handed." his voice dips lower, his nature to be dominant showing.

"We will now have the same shared enemies, Alfie. I will protect myself as well as you. People will try to tear us apart. You know this." you whisper, leaning in close.

"I do, love. I do." he nods solemnly. "It is nothin' I ain't already pondered." he sighs.

"But we are smarter. Stronger than they are together. They only know one way. The way of violence and fear. We have love. We have something more than they do. We have a women's intuition and the thousands of years of our ancestors surviving despite the odds. We have more than greed and lust to fuel us, things deeper than they understand." you speak with such certainty that he smiles and brushes his hand across your cheek. "As long as we have each other we'll never be defeated." you whisper, placing your hand over his on your cheek.

Ollie knocks before he enters, another poke of his head into the room to see you being so surprisingly tender with each other. He was warmed by it, Alfie was much easier to work with when he had you in his life. "The police have left. I'll have the boys clean up the mess then?" he asks.

"Yeah, mate, of course." Alfie nods and turns his face towards him.

"Should I call the car for you?" he inquires.

"Yeah, call it on up. I believe we've had enough for the night." he turns to face you. "'Aven't we love?"

"Certainly." you agree.

Ollie leaves with a polite bow out of the room.

"Let's go home, Genevieve." Alfie sighs out, kissing you softly on the lips.

"We can celebrate by doing the one thing all our enemies can't." you suggest sweetly.

"What's'at?" he asks with an amused purse of his lips.

"Be happy." you say with an almost childlike smile beaming at him.

"Then we shall do exactly that." he nods and stands, holding out his hand to help you up. "And allow me to indulge in workin' out me anger for what unplanned events went down tonight in ways that would make the offender weep." he lets out a dark chuckle, pulling you to his chest.

"Oh yes." you let out a girlish laugh at his flirting, his hand sliding down to cup your bum. "You are welcome to remind me how I am yours." you purr with a cheeky wrinkle of your nose. "And I insist you be heavy-handed." your voice dips low and you share a laugh that ends with a content hum against each other's lips.

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night@wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @anrm1 @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi @marvelgirl7 @they-are-not-just-stories

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theamazingcaptdeadpool · 5 years

Text

Sinday Meme for Characters Who Share a Brain

The original meme can be found here: x Characters: Wade Wilson (@theamazingcaptdeadpool), Frank Castle (@mementomorimthrfckr) and Ajax (@cantfeelsht) Warning: An abundance of words, massive TMI, cursing duh, threats double duh, Any complaints may be directed at our lawyer; @hellsainted

Frank scoffed as Wade had spent the last three minutes trying to figure out a title, brainstorming no pun intended with himself – and the result he landed on you already read. “That sounds terrible, Wade.” he grumbled and sipped his coffee. A sort of bribe to get him to partake in the thing. “You come up with a better one then, Skulls, and we’ll use that.” Wade fired back, thankful that Frank wasn’t known for his creativity. “What was wrong with the original title?” Ajax wanted to know and crossed his arms. He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, watching the other two with what one could describe as ‘calm suspiciousness’. “It was too long.” Wade complained. “Not catchy. And we’re replying as ourselves. The original title suggested that the co-pilot do it for us. Or arms dealer. Or whatever the hell you call her.” he explained, because he could see Frank straining as he tried to work it out. Be nice Wade. I’m always nice. “Why don’t we just get this over with.” Ajax’s stare moved from Frank to Wade. His former subject was the most keen on this, after all – surely he would kick it off. “Best idea you’ve had, Francis.” Wade murmured as he counted the questions of the meme. “Alright, there are twenty questions. Let the sinning commence!” he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms eagerly.

“Jesus,” Frank exclaimed and leaned over the table, snatching the laptop from the merc with a dirty imagination mouth. “I’ll read these.” He glowered at Wade who raised his hands in defeat. There was no point in challenging the Punisher this early in the game. “What muse needs the most attention on sinday?” Frank read and for some reason found himself looking glumly up at Ajax who shook his head. “Wade it is then.” It wasn’t that Frank wouldn’t mind the attention… he just wouldn’t actively seek it. “Yeah, that’s a no brainer.” Wade murmured, he had somehow produced whiteboard signs and written “Me!” on one side and “Not me!” on the other. What? I came prepared. I always do. Yes, that is me being suggestive. He gave one to Ajax who reluctantly accepted. “Just making it easier for us.” He explained, surprisingly caring. “Whatever it takes to shut you up,” Ajax looked at both sides to make sure he hadn’t written anything funny on his.

“Easy, Francis,” Wade began only to be interrupted by Frank who read the next question loudly. “Which muse usually stays silent on sinday?” Frank sniffed. He hadn’t partaken in any sindays, yet. “I’m not it.” Wade said quickly. “I love me some sinday. Actually every day is sinday in my book. Doesn’t always have to be sex. Severe procrastination. Excess eating. Pillows of blow…” “You ever hear of TMI?” Frank put the laptop down on the table with more force than he intended.

Wade wiped one of the sides of his sign clear and wrote “NO!” only to hold it up for Frank to see. None of them had noticed how Ajax was holding up his own sign reading “Me!” and it took all his effort not to wack Wade in the back of the head with it. “Let’s move on.” Ajax shot in, before Wade could start one of his endless rambles. Frank glared at Wade like a teacher glare at the kid in class that won’t ever stay silent – that they’re afraid to take their eyes off because they know they’ll cause trouble. “Share some headcanons about your muses’ sexual and/or romantic orientation… You want to go first, Ajax?” Frank offered without looking at him. “Francis.” Wade corrected him. “Can’t feel. He can’t get it up – and can’t get it off.” Ajax closed his eyes, his jaw tense. “Wade is right.” he murmured. “I’m asexual. Except for specific muses. That has to be talked over in detail.” “Contracts has to be signed. Very Christian Grey. Wouldn’t play with him.” Wade turned towards the room and whispered to no one. Well, at least none that Frank and Ajax were aware of. They shared a moment of confusion, waiting for something to happen – someone to reply. As the silence bordered awkward Frank nodded and continued with the survey; “I’m bi with a preference towards women, but I’m not really looking for anything.” His voice was low. He wet his lips and averted his eyes, bouncing his foot impatiently.

“I’m pan – the comics has me paired up with women and Spiderman. Over here, meaning Tumblr, I have a preference towards men.” Wade stated the obvious. Frank drew a breath to read the next question, but then Wade continued; “Men with metal arms. Men that are Avengers. Men that’s purple… Is that even a man?” “You done?” Frank wanted to know. They’d missed how Wade had fixed the other side of his sign – and was now holding up a “YES!”. “What are your favourite ship for your muses?” Frank was visibly confused by the question. “For me it’s the Millenium Falcon,” Wade answered – hoping it would make it easier for the not so shockingly thick marine. “Oh, and I love my warship.” “I don’t ship.” Ajax shrugged. He saw no need to. “Cablepool, Winterpool, Cappool, Hawkpool – the one with Colossus, I forgot its name…” Wade counted on his fingers. “Thunderpool is kinda cute.” “You any idea what he’s on about?” Frank turned towards Ajax. “You don’t want to know, mate.” Ajax said with a sigh. “It’s a question about who you see yourself with.” “No one.” Frank answered shortly. He couldn’t be with anyone, because whoever got close to him ended up dead or worse.

“Why so glum sugarplum?” Wade leaned forward. “What about Castlevania?” “Are you…” Frank was about to get fired up but by some miracle managed to compose himself. He cleared his throat and shifted. “Nevermind. The next question – “ Frank decided he best ignore the entire thing; he thought they were done with Castlevania. He was not to be ‘shipped’ as the kids called it – with Dracula. “Which muse is the kinkiest?” “Next!” Wade called – he was holding up his sign. “Me!” it read. And maybe that was the truth. Wade is into a lot of things, after all… “Which muse has the strangest kinks?” Frank read warily. Wade slammed his sign down on the table to grab everyone’s attention and held it up again. He pointed to it and looked between the other two; “Unless you want to list some kinks?” “Next.” Ajax nodded towards the screen. “You sure, Francis? I won’t kink shame. Maybe I could interest you in – “ “Next!” Ajax insisted. “Choose one muse and tell us how they lost their virginity.” Frank read. He thought perhaps they could draw straws or… “Rock papers scissors lizard Spock.” Wade said with remarkable speed and accuracy.

“I lost mine to and older girl at one of the many orphanages I visited.” Ajax said flatly, wanting them to believe that it hadn’t really mattered. “You’re so boring, Francis.” Wade pouted. “At least give us some details.” “It was quick, messy and left me wanting more.” Ajax squared his jaw. “Satisfied?” “Unlike you’ll ever be again; yes. Thank you. I’m touched, Francis.” Wade sniffed as if he was sincerely moved, whilst Frank hid a chuckle and shook his head, clearly relieved that he didn’t have to spill the beans.

“Each of us have to share a random sex fact… I…” Frank rubbed the back of his neck. “I like it when the woman is on top of me, so I can see her pleasure and have her in control.” he admitted. Wade gave an approving nod. “I prefer to be the sub – to give up the control, but more often than not I’m taking it because I get impatient – I think. What about you Francis? Any sexy secrets about your preferences? Oh that’s right…” “I get off on watching others emotions. Pleasure – pain? Doesn’t matter.” Ajax admitted – his tone threatening. Wade gasped loudly and murmured ‘Sadist’ under his breath. Frank blinked and tilted his head slightly to the side – as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Remind me again why we haven’t killed this guy?” Frank asked Wade. “You tell me. Hey, Francis, would you like to hurt me a little – how about that, huh?” “Yes, how about that?” Ajax pushed off the wall, his eyes like pits of hell. Dark, angry. A far too familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

Frank’s arm shot out – stopping the villain from getting too close. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Wade taunted him. “Yeah,” Ajax snarled – pressing against Frank’s hand. “If you could organise… Seriously who made up these questions? Are these,” Frank turned the laptop around, unable to mask how mortified he felt. “Are you behind these Wade? Because I swear to god…” “I can take the blame for a lot of things – but not that.” Wade pointed at the screen. “Finish the question. I’m curious now.” Frank sighed and tilted his head upwards, as if he was asking for patience.

“Alright. Alright… Argh… God. If you could organise a threesome involving three of your muses, who would you choose? I guess this one isn’t for us. And… heaven forbid the three of us ever get put in a room together again. Because the next time? I won’t go easy.” Frank pushed Ajax so he fell back against the wall and stared threateningly at Wade. “Careful Frank, he might like it.” Wade taunted. Ajax pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He hated Wade for his ability to get to him. “The next one is for her as well. What muse she’d like to write a ship for…” Frank shook his head again. “What the fuck’s up with all these damned boats? Anyway… I assume she’d like to try me out with Billy.” “Kinky.” Wade purred. “I’m already in quite a few ships. If we’re adding to… pfft.” Truth was, Wade was content with his situation, so it took some thinking. “A Nathan would be nice? And no ships for Francis. His ship sank the day he let Michael Jackson Dr. Killebrew fiddle with his body.” Wade clicked his tongue and winked at Ajax.

“How can you possibly know – “ Ajax began – cut off by Frank as he read the next question. “What are some preferences when deciding whether or not to ship a muse?” Frank frowned at the screen. “Read the rules, play nice, write well – I don’t know.” Wade hummed in agreement. “And don’t assume we’ll ship – I don’t know about the other two, but I’m picky.” “You? Picky?” Ajax scoffed and leered at him. “Do you get to be?” “Well – I can’t fuck all the people who’s bummed because you couldn’t get it up for them.” Wade fired back.

Frank rubbed his face – considering shooting them both. Ajax wouldn’t feel it, but he could die. Wade would feel it and couldn’t die. What a trio they were… “Are you guys DONE bickering yet?” he sounded tiredly. “Never,” Wade answered as he breathed in. Ajax rolled his eyes. “I prefer missionary or the cowgirl or whatever it’s known as these days. I like the intimacy. The control or giving up of. I like to touch, to see…” Frank’s words grew with passion as he spoke. Wade blinked and looked at him. “What are you on about?” “The next question. I figured I might finish this on my own and get the hell out.” Frank was done with the bullshit. “What was the question?” Wade put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Headcanons, sex positions.” Frank scratched his cheek, and glanced up at Ajax. “You outta this one, too?”

“Against a wall… Or relentless teasing,” Ajax didn’t even get to finish before Wade corrected him; “Endless foreplay,” “To draw as much sound from the other part as possible.” Ajax blinked and turned slowly towards Wade. “What about you then, collared and on your knees begging for it?”

“Actually that’s not that far from the truth. But I like a lot of things. Depends on my partner and whether I’m giving up control or not.” Wade shrugged. “How much time – “ Frank already began reading the next question. “ – none, then.” Wade sighed. “Has she written smut for you guys? Because that’s a no for me.” Frank didn’t take his eyes off the screen – this he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Ajax arched an eyebrow and cocked his head, Wade nodded vigorously. “I suppose neither of you know whether she prefers to write it or not?” Frank huffed and leaned back into his chair. “How are we supposed to answer these questions when they’re not even… yes… Wade?” Much to his surprise Wade has raised his hand.

“Thank you. I happen to know that she don’t mind writing smut, but she has to feel comfortable with the person she’s writing it with.” “Multiship or singleship?” Frank turned to Ajax. He couldn’t stand the guy, but at least he’d had the decency to explain some of these things to him. “Is no ship an option?” Ajax smirked. It should be pretty clear at this point that he didn’t ship. “It is now. I’m on the fence. I wouldn’t ship with someone exclusively I think.” Frank grimaced at himself, as he was now using Tumblr and games own terms. “Good call, Frank! For me it’s multiship all the way.” Wade drew a horizontal line in the air before him. “I’m not exclusive either.” “Huh, I think we just answered the next question. So… What is our shipping preferences? Weren’t we over that? Chemistry?” Frank thought that slow-burn sounded nice, but neither of the other guys seemed like the “slow burn” type. He didn’t know how wrong he was in his assumptions. “Yeah. What would you call my ship with Thanos? Because… that’s like… unhealthy. Toxic ships? I guess we’re semi into that? Aren’t we Francis?” Wade winked at him. Damn was he having a field day. Ajax on his end just shook his head and slammed his shoulders back against the wall. “What’s an OC?” Frank glanced up from the screen, relieved that they were close to done. “Original character. We don’t really do those.” Wade knew that was frowned upon in the roleplaying community, but he didn’t give a shit. “I don’t know about you, but I have more than enough with the canon characters.” On most days, he actually had more than enough with himself. Ajax and Frank both seemed on board with that.

“So,” Frank turned the laptop off and pulled the screen down. “That’s it. We’re done. Let’s never do it again.” his knees cracked as he stood up.

“Or the next time we can get naked and –“ Wade began, Frank pulled his gun and aimed it straight at his crotch.

“You don’t want to finish that sentence.” his voice was low, barely audible. “You don’t want to shoot me, Francis might get off on it.” Wade kindly reminded him. “Oh my fucking…” Frank rubbed his face and headed out of the room. There wasn’t enough booze in the world to make him forget.

“Hey – are you off to kill someone? Do you have a team yet – hey Frank, wait up!” Wade picked up his swords and chased after the Punisher. Ajax sighed and pushed his shoulders down. Being around Wade always made him tense up. He rolled his head from side to side, then left through the back door – half expecting the two of them to be waiting to kill him.

If you made it this far, please let me know what you think. No, Frank didn’t kill Ajax. Yet.

#so much sinday answered in one lengthy fucking thing #i'm not sorry #sinday #sinday meme #answered meme #ficlet #deadpool rp #wade wilson rp #frank castle rp #the punisher rp #francis freeman rp #ajax rp #marvel rp #drabble

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ladylike-foxes · 5 years

Note

For DWC, “You’re so cold, you’ve frozen; you’d shatter if you fell," for the character or pairing of your choice?

Thank you, my love!!😍❤️😍 Have some icy post-breakup Solasta @dadrunkwriting ❤️😅😅

“Inquisitor,” Solas reached out to pluck at her jacket, left with a fingerful of fur as she pulled sharply out of reach.

“Shut up, Solas.”

She found a handhold and pulled herself up, leaving his disapproving glower directed at her foot. Their trek to the Frostback Basin had been fraught with more obstacles than usual, and the landslide blocking their planned path only seemed to foreshadow the danger they were walking into. Her recent silence made her even more distant than before; Halesta had bristled angrily when he insisted upon accompanying her scouting climb, but hadn’t voiced her objection. Solas was glad he had come, as the increasing cold of higher altitudes was impacting her magic’s ability to keep herself warm. Her naked feet were now a painful violet-blue. Reaching out, he pressed heat through a finger into her heal.

“Ugh,” She shot a glare down over her shoulder at him, “...Thanks.”

The sheer face of this cliff was more difficult with the stiffness evident in her joints. He rarely took time to realize how much Halesta had aged since they first met, only occasionally recognizing the exhaustion and worry creasing the moonsilk of her forehead, the fragile skin around her eyes. He had aged quickly once, under similar stress…. She finally pulled herself onto the evened surface of the peak, disappearing from view. With a sigh of frustration, he followed the Inquisitor to the top.

Halesta was kneeling at the far edge, squinting to find a clear path for their friends in the growing darkness of the valleys below. The sun had set in the distance, and the dimming light was too much even for her elf eyes. Solas searched the ledge, spotting a small notch in the stone that would grant them some shelter from the icy wind. The Inquisitor’s jaw chattered, audible even from several metres away. He approached her side at the edge, and she visibly stiffened. Stretching his staff outward, a small, green light shot forth, scintillating briefly before disappearing in the air. Below them, a similar spark of purple shimmered in the dark vale: Dorian’s response to their flare.

“Inquisitor, come. You’ll see better at dawn,” He tugged at her cuff, receiving another glare, “Your body temperature is already too low as it is.”

“Don’t worry about my body temperature,” She turned away, less violently he noted, and headed toward the small hallow.

She took the small bag from her back, pulling a small blanket from inside and spread it over the snow-packed ground. Small ice flakes danced on the air, fluttering into the small chamber and catching in the plaits of her silvery hair. She sat with a thud, crossing her feet beneath her, still digging in her rucksack. Solas was surprised to see her pull out several handfuls of dry sticks, setting most in a pile before tenting a few. She looked at him expectantly and he knelt, setting them alight with the tiniest of sparks. He removed his cloak and spread it opposite of her, casting a barrier over the cavity mouth. It was slightly warmer with the fire and most of the wind blocked, but the Inquisitor’s extremities were discolored with restricted blood flow.

“Give me your feet,” He reached out, folding into seated position.

“Are you giving me order?” Scoffing, she eyed him bitterly; he rolled his eyes.

“Please, Inquisitor. You will be more hindrance than help if you lose your limbs to frostbite.”

“Ma nuvenin, Hahren,” Upper lip curled back in dissent.

Wrapping his fingers around one foot, he thought he had nearly forgotten how little they were. A single of his hands extended farther than a knuckle past the end of her toes. He rubbed warmth back into her chapped, aching skin and muscles while she was leaned back with arms crossed, staring indignantly into the fire. When he moved to the next foot, her eyelids were fluttering closed, her breathing deepened and brows knitted in concentration. He ran a thumb up along the arch, and she caught her breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly. He nearly smiled, but it wouldn’t have been prudent given their current situation.

“There. Now hands,” He watched as eyes opened to scald him with liquid lilac ire.

“I’m fine now,” Crossing her legs again, tightened her arms around herself.

“Hands,” Meeting her gaze with matching stubbornness.

She sighed and shifted forwards, placing a hand in his own. He followed much the same movements, thumb upward along the center of her palm. Her eyes fell to the side again, and he recognized the annoyance at her vulnerability. The thought that she might need him for anything was a bitter pill. His eyes traced the familiar scowl tucked into her cheeks; forbidden emotions of ardor fighting to bloom in his chest. The fire dimmed more quickly than either of them had hoped; Halesta piled half of the kindling twigs atop the lethargic flames. By the time he had finished with her remaining hand, the loss of a nightlong fire was clear. Halesta huffed loudly as she moved her blanket towards him with a sort of sullen defeat. He kept his gaze from her face before curling around her small form in the deepening shadows.

“You’re so cold, you have nearly frozen,” Words emerging far more throaty than he had intended, “You would shatter if you tipped over.”

“Really? You’re going to try at small talk right now?” Muttered through clenched teeth, his cheek resting against the knotted muscle of her jaw.

“Hatred alone isn’t going to keep you warm, Inquisitor,” Tenderness she flinches against, fists tightening against the arms of her coat.

“Maybe I should just light you on fire,” Grumbled breath nevertheless drew a chuckle from him, reverberating in the hair’s breadth between them.

“Perhaps you should,” He could feel the heat rise beneath her skin, “It would be an amusing sight, at the very least.”

The abrupt force of her hips slamming back into his knocked a grunt from his lips, and he could almost swear he felt her cheek dimple with a smile beneath his jaw. He struggled to fight a mirroring smile from creeping along his own mouth as she muttered a soft “oh shut up”.

“Your magic ability has improved somewhat, I suppose I must admit,” He wasn’t quite sure why he was testing her patience.

“You mustn't do anything on my behalf,” Hissed, patience quickly waning, “I wouldn’t dare ask you for so much effort.”

“It is my duty,” Another hum of amusement, “Is it not, Inquisitor?”

That did it. She unsheathed the knife she kept holstered at her thigh, rolling herself so her knees pressed into his chest. The blade pressed to his throat was alarmingly sharp, he could taste the small knick it left in his skin. His eyes met hers just as the last of the flames flickered out, the sound of their breath all that remained in the dark.

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drink-n-watch · 5 years

Text

Welcome back, one and all, to our Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba discussion post! I’m glad I get to share this show with you and grateful to Crow for taking the time to chat with me every week. I really do look forward to my Saturdays thanks to this. (ok…so there’s a small chance I would have looked forward to my Saturdays anyways but who can really tell?) Naturally Crow will be bold this week, as it just suits him! Before we get into the episode proper, how was your week Crow? Were you looking forward to this as much as I was?

Absolutely I was! So many unanswered questions last week! And then the preview mentioned Zenitsu sleeping? Forget the circumstances — how’d he calm down enough to sleep?

For those of you who haven’t watched the episode, go watch it! It’s a feast for the eyes! We’re going to get into what happened so there will be “spoilers,” but this week’s Demon Slayer isn’t really the type of episode you can spoil. Nevertheless, if you want to go in completely blind, please watch the episode first!

I’m explaining my post title

We left off with all our heroes (almost) trapped in what seems to be a pandimensional house. That was after the demon slayers met two young children who had their brother snatched by a demon. Tanjiro and the girl were separated from her brother and Zenitsu, and were just about to face the demon controlling the house when they got interrupted by a boar head wearing warrior.

I have to say, the lackadaisical demon sounded fairly reasonable. All he wanted was for people to stop bursting into his house and causing a ruckus. I get that. Ok, there was the kidnapping… This is the first depressed demon we meet. They really range a lot in personality. Did you like him Crow?

It’s interesting you should mention “depressed,” because in my notes, I wondered why the demon was sad! A sad demon covered with tsuzumi was just so unexpected! I mean that in a good way, too. It made the whole situation more interesting. Why was he sad? What path had he taken to get here?

maybe he has body issues…relatable!

I’m going to interject here, after the short opening tag we got the OP and I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to mention how much I enjoy the music here. And the singer has a really lovely voice. I don’t think the visuals are that interesting but it’s a good tune and I listen to it every week!

As much as I want to dive into the episode, I watch the OP, too. LiSA’s Gurenge is just beautiful, audibly and visually.

After the OP we got back to business and back to boar head. I don’t know his name (your favorite Anilist to the rescue! It’s Inosuke Hashibira — you do prefer Anilist, don’t you? I do, it has stats!!! Girls love stats!). It occurs to me that I assumed he was a demon slayer because he’s human and hunting demons but I don’t think that the show ever made that official.

it is a great design

Turns out he’s another over the top loud guy, but in a different way from Zenitsu. This is the “I’m going to destroy anything and anyone that stands in my way, and be damned the consequences” type. I wasn’t that crazy about him but I do like the design.

Did boar head dude stepping on the little girl tick you off as much as it did me? Tanjiro was indignant as he said, “Don’t stomp all over her!” You go, Tanjiro!

You know writing Big Personalities is a bit of a gamble. If you get the balance right, you have an almost guaranteed fan favourite who will be highly marketable and your series can pretty much exist on the back of that character. On the other hand, that balance is very difficult to achieve and if you don’t get it, your character will annoy your audience and risk sinking the popularity of your entire franchise. I feel like the demon slayers, aside from Tanjiro, are an assortment of Big Personalities that the author is just testing out to see what works. I hope they find that balance before it gets too exhausting to watch! Boar head reminds me of the kid in the trial that just wanted to get a sword.

that’s kinda weird but you do you

Did you catch him mentioning that his “Beast Breathing” was self-taught? Is he a real Demon Slayer? He has the right kind of metal in his sword… Dang it, sorry! I’m getting ahead…

That’s ok, I get excited too! But I’m really not sure how I feel about this guy. The latest characters are kind of iffy.

And of course, just as I say that, we get back to Zenitsu and the boy. I said last week that I had hope for Zenitsu, I just felt there was more to his character than meets the eye. And Demon Slayer decided not to test my patience. Sure, he started out with the same old exaggerated panic attacks and cowardly routine, but as soon as a demon showed up, Zenitsu stepped up to the plate and actually protected the kid.

d’awwww

Don’t get me wrong, he did not magically turn into a hero. He was still the same snivelling, whining mess, but he stood in front of that demon to protect the kid even while he was shaking and sobbing. He even told the boy to run and save himself. I was fully prepared to see Zenitsu use the kid as a human shield, so this was a surprise. A great one! And the fact that he was so visibly terrified the entire time only made it better. It’s not really brave if you’re not scared!

Maybe I’m easy to please, but it’s all it took for the character to be redeemed in my eyes. I immediately started cheering Zenitsu on!

I was the same way. Like you said — he was terrified, but he not only tried to put himself between the boy and the demon, he even encouraged the boy to run and save himself. I have to wonder if I’d have enough courage to do that! Sure, he’s no Tanjiro, but who is?

good question

And then he reached his limit. All that emotion was just too much for him and he passed out, leaving the poor child to try and save him. Like I said, Zenitsu is no hero and that is one of the best things about him.

He was even snoring! Man, he can nap waaay faster than I can!

Let’s slow things down a little here and talk about this demon. This isn’t the drum demon who’s the master of the house. It seems there are several demons in here and they so far they are not working together. I really liked the design of this guy (again). The double eyes were particularly successful in my opinion. Once more this show has crafted a demon that looks a little childish, almost cute in a strange way, yet honestly scary and unsettling. The saturated colour palette helps with that I think. In any case, the overall aesthetic is fantastically suited to the story. Ufotable is good with that!

They certainly are! And that demon’s tongue! That thing must have been 10 meters long and it sliced through a tough wooden barrel like it was nothing. Talk about capable of a tongue lashing!

people crawling is always creepy

Back to the action. Zenitsu is out, a fit of stress-induced narcolepsy it seems. The poor kid has his back against the wall and the demon is closing in when… We were all waiting for it, weren’t we? Zenitsu finally has his moment of reckoning. And what a moment it is! I knew he didn’t survive on pure luck! Sure, Zenitsu is no hero, but in his sleep, he’s a Big A** Hero! That scene was just so much fun. I could help but physically clap!

And it also works as a sort of metaphor for the show. It’s a somewhat cliché scene but with some nice twists. You see it coming from a mile away but when it does it’s so well executed that you thoroughly enjoy it. And there’s always just a little extra touch that you didn’t predict to keep you on your toes!

That moment was worth the price of admission. It wasn’t just a simple masterful attack. It was the equal of any strike we’ve seen! The sound, the animation, it call came together. Good stuff! And did you think that Zenitsu was almost the anti-Rock Lee? In the original Naruto, Rock Lee trained and trained and trained. He was a powerful fighter, but one time, he got knocked out. He had trained so much that his body continued to fight! Even when he was unconscious. It’s like he was the anti-Zenitsu or vice versa!

the colours are great

I was wondering if all demon slayers had elemental powers. It’s starting to look more that way, since Zenitsu has electricity (thunder) based powers and he seems to wield them very well, as long as he’s unconscious! If I hadn’t already been sold a few minutes before, this would have done the trick. I’m a Zenitsu fan now, I want to see more of him.

When all was said and done, it became apparent that Zenitsu doesn’t remember anything. He actually does think he’s a weakling incapable of protecting anyone because as far as he knows, that has always been the case. I like this twist, I’m not sure I’ve seen it before!

It borders on tragic! He probably doesn’t know how he survived the selection match. He knows he’s always getting into danger and thinks he has no way out. Poor guy! You know what? I take back “borders on tragic.” It is tragic!

this happens a lot lately

In the meantime, Tanjiro and the girl have left both the demon and Boar head behind and discovered the kids’ brother. He’s alright folks! It seems the boy has special blood, so when he got dragged away it attracted more demons who all started to fight over who got to eat him. The drum demon got injured and lost one of his drums, which the brother managed to grab and use, immediately bringing him to another room, safe for the moment. Since then, he’s just been using the drum as soon as he sees anything and that’s kept him safe.

This is smart! Really smart! I like that. A victim that desperately needs help but isn’t just a prop or completely helpless. It just makes the character more real, you know?

It does. The little boy’s not a plot device to show how awesome Tanjiro is. That detail made him into the little scared boy trying desperately to stay alive. That’s a ton more dramatic!

yeah!

Tanjiro also thinks this was a great plan because he decides to face the demon alone and tells the girl and her brother to keep doing what they’ve been doing. Banging the drum at the slightest hint of danger. He promises to find them again when the battle is over.

Two things I quite liked happened here. First, the show addressed Tanjiro’s injuries. I still think he is inhumanly resilient, but they do go out of their way to show us that he did get treatment and that he is still in serious pain. Enough to affect his abilities. And he has been in pain all along! We even saw that Zenitsu is the form of Tanjiro’s insecurities which was pretty funny.

The explanation is still a little lacking but at least the story does take it into account. Were you happy with this explanation Crow?

also, he used an ointment, good as new!

Yeah, and I’ll do the opening Kimino thing here: Yes, many of us men are really that much of an idiot. We’ll push through pain just to look tough. Who are we trying to impress? Everyone, of course! Especially ourselves. Even worse? I’m an oldest son. Yes, we oldest sons will often go through stupid pain simply because we don’t want to disappoint mom or dad. It’s why medical folks have to make billboards that say men shouldn’t be stupid and ignore pain — we should go to the hospital instead! Well, this billboard kinda sums it up. So, what Tanjiro did isn’t just realistic. I’ve done it myself (though not with broken leg).

The second thing I liked was the fight itself. This was just gorgeous. That constantly spinning room, with Tanjiro’s clothes, hair and entire body weight visibly adjusting to the shifting gravity. The animation was so smooth and consistent that it was mesmerising. I feel a little bad for anyone with motion sickness, as I assume the quick and constant movement must not have been pleasant. However, I thought it was beautifully done! I’m ok with watching fights that take 3 episodes to get through if they look this good!

I think this is what the word spectacular was invented for. It was such a unique battlefield! Last time I saw room spinning like that was in the movie Inception, and I think it was more effective here!

you had to see it

It might, in fact, take three episodes to get through this fight as episode 12 ended before Tanjiro got the chance to get to the demon. And I screamed at my tv!

The pep talk he needed to get himself to that last moment was fantastic! “My injuries are making me imagine the most awful things!” struck me as powerfully authentic. Like the detail of the little boy clutching the drum, Tanjiro’s inner dialogue elevated him from just another hero to a young man struggling to keep it together. Little touches like that are setting this show apart for me.

As much as I enjoyed this week’s Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba, there was one little thing that kept gnawing in the back of my mind. Nezuko is still all alone out there. Is it still daylight out?

I could be glib and say that in the OP and ED, we see Nezuko in the same frame as Zenitsu and boar head dude, so she’s got to be okay, right? Right? Sigh. Yes, I’m worried about her. Not only is the sunlight a danger to her, but other demon slayers haven’t been as understanding of her situation as Tanjiro…

Reviews of the Other Episodes

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 01: Cruelty

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 02: Trainer Sakonji Urokodaki

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 03: Sabito and Makomo

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 04: Final Selection

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 05: My Own Steel

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 06: A Friend fo All Humans

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 07: Muzan Kibutsuji

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 08: The Smell of Enchanting Blood

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 09: Temari Demon and Arrow Demon

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 10: Together Forever

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 11: Tsuzumi Mansion

just want Nezuko back!

Of course, I took a lot of screencaps! And yes, I would love to share them with you!

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 12: Delicatesse Welcome back, one and all, to our Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba discussion post! I’m glad I get to share this show with you and grateful to…

#action #anime #Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba #Horror #shonen #supernatural

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scottielambchop · 5 years

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Pitch Please: Pt. 1

The game is simple. I reach out to my friends and ask them to give me a product and a demographic. I take 30 minutes to research the product and demographic and come up with an overlaying concept. I then flesh out each concept into a full campaign.

Here goes:

Head and Shoulders for Goths

Hide the Light - When you’re a goth, your image is everything. You set yourself apart with the unique juxtaposition of dark clothes and lack of Vitamin D. But you don’t want those colors to mesh (e.g. dandruff). Head & Shoulders will keep your darks dark and your dandruff absent. We could produce full-blown print pieces focusing on the pristine shoulders of goth kids’ black shirts. Maybe use quotes from famous bands (e.g. Friday I’m in Love, etc), or lines like “Stand Out for Other Reasons.” We could change the bottle color from the traditional white and blue to all black with a red streak, especially since the bottle top and icon already somewhat resemble a face with goth/emo hair. We could also create H&S listening rooms in places like Hot Topic, Spencer’s, or malls in general. These would be self-contained kiosks with decorated in all black and dark red. Popular goth bands could play through the area and you could get your hair washed with Head & Shoulders by a professional hairstylist.

What’s This? - What does a quirky goth love more than the combination of bondage pants and tank tops? The Nightmare Before Christmas. For this TV-driven campaign, we could license the characters of the Tim Burton classic—but with a little twist. We could use the famous scenes from the movie, but without snow. And at the end, we could overlay the H&S logo over the screen. For print, we could use stills from Christmastown and Jack in the Santa costume, edit out the snow, and use copy like, “No Flakes” with the H&S logo. We could put statues of the characters of the movie in warm environments, such as Atlanta, Austin, Santa Fe (especially), and San Diego, with the H&S logo. To further drive this point, we could put these statues in snowy areas with a heating mechanism around the area so any snow in the area would melt. Thus creating an even more unique look with snow everywhere else, except around these statues of Nightmare Before Christmas characters.

Something Different - The goth look is very important. It’s more than a fashion. Goths want to do their own thing, they don’t care about what the general public has to say. Often times you’ll see them proudly wearing full garb in the middle of summer. And they like it that way. This campaign will highlight their individuality in the face of the status quo, by focusing on their unique hairstyles and colors. Most people know H&S prevents dandruff, but they don’t realize that it’s also just a really good shampoo. The print spots will feature cropped images of unique goths from the forehead up with wild hairstyles and colors with taglines like “Head & Shoulders. Above & Beyond,” “Do(o) Your Own Thing,” and “Define Your Own Look” This could also transfer well into disruptive billboards. Same style; same tags, but the hairstyles could extend outside the traditional shape of the billboards. We could also further promote individuality by creating a new line of design-inspired bottles. All breaking the traditional H&S style guide and just going all out with colors and/or bottle shapes.

Famous Monsters - This is a pretty short and sweet concept. Goths love old monster movies and TV shows. So we bring em back. Our print campaign could use characters from shows like The Addams Family and The Munsters, etc. (famous characters with black clothing) and superimpose dandruff on their shoulders. We could use taglines like, “They Were Scary for a Different Reason” For the TV spots, we could use scenes from old, Paramount monster movies and Hitchcock films. We could use “tense” scenes where characters are screaming, but instead of screaming at the actual monster or murderer, they would be afraid of dandruff on their shoulders. (This would work especially well with the scene from Psycho) For the out of home spots, we could dress up bus stops like the famous shower from Psycho and place a bottle of H&S in there. We could line subways with Munster family photos (dandruff and all) and have the logo in the corner. We could even have H&S sponsored movie nights where they play old monster movies and episodes of the Munsters and Addams Family. We could even encourage them to dress up (similar to a screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show).

H&S Pop - Maybe this is more of a personal experience, but a lot of the goths I’ve ever met have an odd affinity towards Asian culture, especially Korean Pop music, or K-Pop. So, we full-on K-Pop with this campaign. Get the elaborate pop stars, go for the crazy, epilepsy-inducing visuals, and straight-up Korean-style print spots. It would be wild, it would be different, and I’m pretty sure the goths would love it.

Gum for NRA Members

That Pop Pop Pop - When playing connect-the-dots between this product and that demographic, the first things that come to mind are the sounds. That satisfying pop that comes with both blowing a bubble and pulling the trigger. So we make an audio-centered campaign. The TV spots could be set in intense battles throughout history (Civil War, World Wars, etc.). Using Saving Private Ryan-esque cinematography, we could have the visuals go through battles (on land or by air), but before any rounds are fired, it would focus on the soldier or pilot blowing up and popping a gum bubble. Followed with a tagline like, “Lock and Load,” or “Certain Sounds Echo Through Eternity,” or something like that. Print and outdoor could also have similar images of gritty soldiers or pilots throughout history. Most of the images could be in black and white or dark coloring, but have the bubble coming out of his or her mouth a bright white, pink, or whatever the color of the gum. With the same taglines and the logo in the corner. Terrestrial/online radio would clearly be in use. Paint the same picture over audio and follow them up with the chewing gum pop. This is kind of a very loosely described campaign, but it’s the first thing I could think of.

Calm - Another thing I thought of was the raw emotion of having to use a gun. Though most situations would be high pressure, the person using the gun would also have to remain calm and collected. What does gum do? It takes the edge off to a certain extent. So why not focus on that? This campaign could go a lot of ways, but the most innocent and non-blatant way to go about it would be having it set in hunting scenarios. The TV spots would put you in the shoes of a hunter. Use the time to show the patience needed to hunt. The boring parts. The parts involving walking to different spots and tree stands. The parts where the hunter is just waiting. All while you can see the hunter is chewing on something. Suddenly a certified trophy comes across. The camera cuts to the face of the hunter. Wide-eyed, visibly shaken as he brings his rifle to his face. There’s a noise. The trophy deer or whatever gets spooked and starts running. The hunter is now sweating with the scope in his eye, the camera pans down to the hunter’s mouth as he slowly bites down on his gum to calm himself as he pulls the trigger. The hunter quietly smiles. The words “Keep Calm” comes across the screen with the name of the gum. Our radio spots could feature similar scenarios of high intensity calmed down by chewing gum. Whether it be hunting, playing sports, watching sports, protecting your family, or whatever. All ending with “Keep Calm.” The gum packaging could also come with little zen tips. Every time you take out a stick, there could be a little tip to keep calm printed on the inside of the foil.

Protect Yourself - Most people buy guns for the satisfaction of protection. They want to know, when shit goes south, they’re capable of protecting themselves and/or their families. So, what do we do? We take this same mindset and attribute it to protecting your teeth or bad breath. We can use rhetoric like “The Best Offense is a Good Defense” and “It’s Better to be Protected and Not Need it Than Need it and Not Have it.” You know, the same kind of stuff most 2A disciples spout off as a need for keeping their guns. The imagery can be a juxtaposition of grittiness with clean smiles. Sort of like the Orbit “Dirty Mouth” campaign, but with less humor. Video spots can focus on American heroes (cops, firefighters, members of the military, etc.) doing the dangerous jobs they do, with hints of clean teeth shining through. At the end of the spots, we use the tag “Keep Protected” and then talk about how the gum fights tooth decay, whitens teeth and fights bad breath. The print spots can use the exact same imagery, but be more of a focus on individual American heroes. This can be long-copy pieces profiling the heroic actions of specific individuals. In the end, we can talk about how, though it pales in comparison to these brave actions, is protecting our protectors.

Hero/Come Packing - Who doesn’t want to be a hero? Well, with this gum, you can. The campaign can make a hero out of anyone. This could be a fun, tongue-in-cheek campaign putting people in dire situations where they desperately need a stick of gum (first dates, family gatherings, etc.) and have a well prepared war-hero-type guy cut into the situation and provide a stick of gum. This could be a spokesperson-type character or we could have a different well-prepared individual come in each time. Regardless, the tagline would be “Come Packing” Print pieces could be longer, copy-driven spots focusing in great detail about the horrible situation and how this gum saved their skins. We could put up kiosks outside popular dates spots (movie theaters, romantic overlooks, bowling alleys, barcades, or wherever the hell kids go to smooch) and hand out free gum to whoever may need it. Though it may seem like this is geared towards kids and people looking for an intimate connection, I feel gun nuts would resonate with the hero character and the “Come Packing” tag.

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