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discoscoob · 2 months

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｡･ﾟﾟ･ ECHOS

ִ ˙ ✩°˖🥤 ⋆｡˚ Ted Logan x Reader ִ

Synopsis: you struggle with the feelings you harbour for your childhood best friend as you watch him fall in love with someone else. 1.5k words.

Tags: childhood friends . unrequited love . angst .

ִ ˙ ✩°˖🥤 ⋆｡˚

“Me and Bill are going to ask the princesses to marry us.”

“Bill and I-“ you start to correct him until his words actually sink in your brain and you realise with dread what he said. “Wait what?!”

“Uh… Bill… and I… are going to ask the princesses to marry us.” Ted repeats, this time cautiously correcting his grammar, his brows furrowing slightly over his puppy eyes.

You feel the air leaving your lungs as a black and twisting viper slowly coiled in your chest, tightening its grip with every passing beat of your heart. Jealousy was rearing its ugly head in the deepest depths of your stomach, leaving a rotten feeling inside your guts.

“Why?” the word dashes out your mouth before you can gather the sense to stop it and feign a more congratulatory response.

Ted appears caught off guard by your reaction, stumbling slightly to find the right response.

He hadn’t expected to be questioned for his motives, he had assumed you would be happy and congratulate him. As always, he is completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.

In the end, that signature smile that you love graced his lips, as it always did when he was certain he found the right answer.

“We love them.”

Ted isn’t the type of person to ever intentionally hurt anyone, he possesses the purest heart you’ve ever known, and yet his words strike you like a punch to the gut.

The only thing that offered you some semblance of relief is the fact he said ‘we’ and ‘them’ rather than ‘I’ and ‘her,’ the latter would have felt like he was telling you that he was going to abandon you in favour of Elizabeth, even though you knew that was not his intention.

“Oh… that’s as good a reason as any!” you finally chirp with a half hearted chuckle, slipping on your mask with a rehearsed smile while you gently sooth yourself by stroking your palms over your thighs.

You clear your throat as you abruptly stand up and throw your bag over your shoulder, earning a confused frown from Ted, puzzled by your haste, as he follows your swift movements with his deep brown doe eyes from under his furrowed brows.

“Hey… you okay?” his soft and gentle voice is laced with genuine concern, which only makes your heart clench harder. He cares so deeply and yet is so oblivious to the feelings you harbour for him.

“Me? Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” you frantically try to squash any hint of concern Ted might have for your wellbeing and put on a nonchalant act as you head for the door.

“I’m just so swamped with heaps work to get through for college, I’m going to spend the rest of the night in the library.” this excuse for your urgent exit is enough to earn a grimace from your childhood friend.

“You’re going to spend the whole night at the library? Totally bogus. I hate that place.” Ted’s nose wrinkles like he just ate something sour while still following you to the door.

“Well we can’t all be rockstars.” you teasingly roll your eyes with no real bite, as you finally reach the door where you hesitate for a moment to take a breath, close your eyes and collect yourself.

You feel guilty for causing Ted concern and don’t want to leave him with any lingering feelings of confusion or doubt about your state. You force your usual cheery smile, as you turn around and wrap your arms around his lanky frame.

“I’ll see you later, Ted.” you speak into his shoulder as he encompasses you in his embrace, folding his taller frame around yours and leaning down to snuggle his head against your shoulder. Ted always gives the best hugs.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

As you walk home, you begin to reminisce about your friendship with Ted. You first met in elementary school, he and Bill were already friends but they weren’t exactly the most popular kids in school and would often fall victim to the bullying and teasing from the other children.

Your friendship began when you defended them on the schoolyard one day by spilling your juice box on one of their bullies pants to make it look like they had wet themselves, diverting all the teasing and bullying away from Bill and Ted and onto the bully. Ever since that day the three of you have been inseparable.

By the time you were juniors in high school, your feelings for Ted began to change as you started developing a crush on your childhood friend. These feelings were strange and unfamiliar but you were certain they would be fleeting and dissolve as quickly as they developed but overtime as you expected them to fade, they only intensified.

It was around that time Ted started showing an interest in other girls and even asked Missy, a senior, to prom. Missy had politely declined Ted’s request, later you would find out she was into much older men, but that’s a whole different story.

You remember how Bill tried to cheer Ted up by suggesting that they could always go to prom with you and even though it wasn’t intentional on Bill’s part, it left you feeling like a consolation prize, a reminder that you would never be Ted’s first choice.

In the end, the pair had ended up attending the JS prom with you. Ted had spent most the night sulking in the corner, glaring daggers at the jock who Missy attended the prom with while Bill was the one you ended up sharing a dance with.

It was during senior year that you decided that you were determined to try and find the strength to come clean about your feelings towards Ted. You had rehearsed the speech countless times in front of the mirror until the words were branded into your mind and flowed off your tongue as effortlessly as the lyrics to your favourite song.

Before you could pluck up the courage to confess your feelings to Ted, he became captivated by the princesses from medieval England and at the time you had ignorantly assured yourself they were nothing to worry about because there was no way Bill and Ted could bring them back to live permanently in modern day San Dimas, right? You had been certain it was nothing but a minor set back, simply the universe giving you a kick up the ass to share your feelings sooner rather than later.

You were confident you had dodged a bullet, that the princesses would remain in medieval England and you focused your efforts on your plan to make Ted finally see you as more than just his childhood friend.

In your mind, while you picked out the perfect dress for prom, you had imagined it would be just like the movies. A gentle song would be playing as you walk into the gym hall and Ted’s eyes would immediately catch your figure while a soft spotlight would shine on you just right and Ted would finally realise what had been right under his nose this whole time.

He would stride across the hall, his eyes never leaving yours while pushing through the crowd with determination, desperate to tell you how breathtaking you look, with that besotted look all over his face, before he would offer you his hand and lead you into a dance.

While in his arms, gently swaying to a romantic ballad and feeling as though you were the only people in the room, you would confess that you have been hiding your feelings from him and he would call himself a fool for failing to see that you were the one for him this whole time.

In reality it went a bit different.

You had stepped into the gym hall, smoothing out the creases in your dress with your palms as your eyes eagerly wandered over the crowd in search for a certain head of messy brown locks. Once you caught sight of him, you immediately noticed the besotted look on his face, just like the one from your dreams, however it wasn’t directed towards you. Held in his embrace was one of the princesses from medieval England, his arms were wrapped around her waist as he gazed down upon her with a dreamy smile that you could only imagine being on the receiving end of.

You had quickly rushed straight back out the gym hall and walked all the way back home, where you had spent the rest of your night locked in your room, crying over the heartache of your unrequited love.

Much like tonight, except this time there are no tears left to cry, as you continue your journey home under the night sky imaging how different your life could have turned out if you had just had the courage to open up to Ted about your feelings instead of being a coward. Perhaps he would have rejected you but at least that would have given you some closure knowing you never stood a chance. Not knowing ate you up inside, leaving you constantly wondering if there was a universe where you and Ted belonged together.

⋆｡°✩ note: if you made it this far thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it. reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. ᥫ᭡

#ted logan #keanu reeves #bill and ted #ted logan x reader #ted logan x you #my fics

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breadarcade · 2 months

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It's me again! Could we get Longan x reader that is a liiittle stubborn? Like really stubborn, won't listen to commands kind? Thank you! Have a wonderful day! (Ive never asked for anything like this i feel anxious whoops!)

note: ww longan dragon cookie, and another note is that this is way short, most probably a drabble instead because this was…well…yeah, the only thing i can think of is yn being dead once they are stubborn to longan dragon cookie but i try to make it long!

PAIRING: LONGAN DRAGON COOKIE x READER

WARNING: at this rate, you

★YOU WERE GETTING ON THEIR NERVES, how can a cookie be so stubborn and sufferable? Longan Dragon Cookie glared at you, as you stood head tall, weapon on your hand as you were persistent on ending this state of calamity, while Longan Dragon Cookie the other hand looked down at you as if you were a pest, you were a nuisance that is supposed to be squashed on like a pathetic little pest, it was a now or never for them. “Young cookie, explain this to me, what brings you to be so persistent? Dragons are born to rule over the weak, you are weak.” They gave you a warning glare, telling you to know your place as dragon orbs spread out to cause havoc in your eyes.

“That does not mean I should let it get in your way, especially the lives at sake!” you pointed your weapon at them, their eyes dangerously gleaming at you in annoyance, how annoying…how annoying. Longan Dragon puffed their chest for a moment before they sighed, their hands curling into fists as they went down to the ground, to be face-to-face with you. They were furious, you were a cookie, a simple common cookie that people can get used to. How are you so stubborn?! When your life is at stake! Do you have a deathwish, young cookie?

Longan Dragon Cookie watched as you prepared your stance, how childish, how delusional, to think that you will win at this. Longan Dragon Cookie stopped once you were in front of you, but before you could react, they wrapped their hand around your neck, slowly suffocating you. You struggle to be set free, but the only response you are getting is cold, yellow eyes, looking down at you, sending shivers down your spine. Eventually, you stopped, thinking it was something else. You stand corrected as Longan Dragon Cookie open their mouth to speak. “You are nothing more than an insignificant cookie on my feet, you dare to defy me.” They glared at you, their grip tightening, making you gag. “Why do you act so fearless when you are writhing on my hand as we speak?” “Go to hell.” you sneered, glaring at them with the same face that Longan Dragon Cookie loathed and hated.

Longan Dragon Cookie suddenly let you go, making you fall to the ground and gasp to make up for the lost air you had. You tried to ease the pain by rubbing your neck, marks and bruises from your neck were there to show the strength of Longan Dragon Cookie, the ivory dragon. Longan Dragon Cookie simply looked down at you, watching as your face contorted to confusion and anger to their sick amusement. “What? You don’t want to kill me that easily?” you ask once more, making Longan Dragon Cookie make an emotionless face “You are a waste of time, but.” They grabbed your chin, tilting it up so you could look up at them, to see that face that bears no regret.

“You are entertaining, no, not entertaining but interesting. A cookie that are too ignorant to stand up to me.” they let your chin go, leaving you in a state of shock. “You are a nuisance, a nuisance that cannot be far from me otherwise you would be more than the nuisance you are.”You are coming with me, cookie.”

I’m sorry what?

#longan dragon cookie x reader #longan dragon cookie #cookie run x reader #cookie run #x reader #cookie run ovenbreak x reader #cookie run ovenbreak #×🍓:★❝BREADARCADE❞

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hauntedhokage · 2 years

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Hay Fever

Summary: The effects of the pollen had to have worn off, but your desire for Kakashi hasn’t. Part Two to Pollen Count | Cross posted to AO3

Word count: 3k

Warnings: porn with feelings, p in v sex, fingering, little bit of hand worship/kink, little bit of overstimulation,

Notes: this is softer than I had originally anticipated it being but that’s okay!

Requests open! | support me on ko-fi!

Upon your return to the village, you try to avoid Kakashi as much as you possibly can. After he had made good on his promise to help deal with any lingering symptoms at an inn on your second night of traveling, as well as at the inn in the Sand Village both nights you’d stayed, and then once more on the journey back. You weren’t sure if the symptoms were truly lingering or if your body just had a weird reaction to Kakashi’s closer than usual proximity, so you thought space would be the solution.

Especially after Tsunade had made a comment about how friendly you both seemed before dismissing you.

Space seemed like the correct response; but when everything you saw made you think about your comrade, space also seemed like the incorrect response. Even your personal bed that Kakashi had never been near felt empty to lay in alone, and that wasn’t the solidifying factor for you that this wasn’t a lingering side effect of the pollen - it was a lingering side effect of Kakashi himself. How pathetic and extremely problematic. How could you function should you be sent out with him again if you couldn’t even lay in bed without thinking of him? How could you look at those hands when you knew how nicely they could grip your hips or your wrists? It just wasn’t fair. Did he even know that he was so addictive?

You supposed sexual problems required sexual solutions (or a denial to the sexual solution), so you remove yourself from the empty-feeling bed so you could go off in search of the ninja who was dominating your thoughts. He’d probably be at his home, or walking around the village reading that little book of his. Maybe all you had to do was listen for that little genin of his and the kid would lead you right to him?

Thankfully; you don’t have to look far, since you open your front door to see Kakashi standing in front of it and ready to knock. He looks to be as surprised to see you as you were to see him, which has you quickly recovering to obtain the cool advantage (for once). You lean against the doorframe as he lowers his hand to his hip, smile on your face as you ask, “Looking for me?”

“I think you’ve been avoiding me,” is all he says at first, and you quickly lose the cool advantage when you almost lose your balance at the statement. “It feels silly, since we’ve only been back for a couple days, but I haven’t seen you around like I usually would. Have I done something to upset you?”

“No, of course not! I think you should come in, though.”

He follows you inside without question, removing his sandals and taking a seat in your chair as you start to pace the floor. Sure you had planned on squashing this, but how were you supposed to tell him that you were craving him? That it wasn’t the pollen anymore but your own body telling you that you needed him around you, over you, inside you, and so forth? How were you supposed to just say that? Wasn’t having sex with someone supposed to make talking to them easier, or was Master Jiraiya bullshitting you when he said that?

“Are you-”

“Okay, maybe I was avoiding you a little bit but I needed to know if what I was feeling was lingering effects of the pollen or if it was… something else.” Your admission has him sitting up straighter, but you continue to pace since you knew you’d stop talking if you were to stop moving. Kakashi was good at stopping you in your tracks and you couldn’t let that happen just yet. “I don’t know how to describe it, but I can’t stop thinking about your hands. Hell I can’t even lay down without missing you. I thought maybe it was the pollen, but my body was only warm when I was around you over the last few days of traveling and being back. So I needed to figure it out, and I-I think I did.”

“It’s not the pollen.”

“No, it’s not,” you mumble, your hands coming together in front of you so you could play with them to distract yourself. “And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“A talented tactician without a plan, I should be honored.” He’s teasing you, you know that, but you aren’t upset by it since it means that he’s not bothered by your admission. He’s still here with you, so you hoped that you had a chance to get what you felt you needed or at the very least he’d let you down gently. “It’s not the pollen for me, either.“

That wasn’t as helpful to hear as you thought it would be. You’re stopped in your tracks as you knew you would be, your eyes following his figure as he stands from his seat so he could stand in front of you. Your hands are stilled by his, and your body grows warmer with every passing second of eye contact that goes by without him saying anything as his thumbs move along your knuckles.

“I’m glad I haven’t upset you,” he finally says, and you find your smile returning as you nod.

“Considering I was going to ask if you wanted to spend more time together. This last venture of ours taught me that I can’t avoid my feelings any longer. Fate was going to keep putting you in front of me until I did something about it.”

“So now you’re doing something about it?”

“If you’ll let me.” The question is clear, and your answer is a confident nod that has him smiling behind his mask before one of his hands releases yours. Your eyes close when you see his fingers hook into his mask to pull it down, only to slowly open them when he tells you that he wants you to look at him. Considering the amount of times you’d had sex with him while on a mission, truly seeing his face shouldn’t have felt like such a heavy transgression. However you’re looking at him and he’s looking at you, a smile on his face he watches you take him in. And then his hands are on your cheeks, his lips meet yours, and you’re losing yourself in this man once more as he takes over your senses.

Hands start tugging and your vests and shirts are on the floor quickly. His hands move from your face to your hips, gently guiding you back towards your bed.

“You said you thought about my hands?” he asks, gently nudging your nose with his own as you sit on your bed. “What about them is so enticing to you?”

The question has your breath hitching in your throat, although you should have expected the question once you’d told him that you had been thinking about them. Your hand takes his wrist, pulling his hand from your hip and holding it in front of your face. Gently you work to remove the glove from his hand, pressing a kiss to the exposed palm. What wasn’t enticing about these hands? They were so big, fingers long and thick, he’d brought you close to tears multiple times just using his hand while you were on that mission.

“They’re wonderful,” is all you say at first, kissing each fingertip as your eyes meet his again. “Big and strong, fingers that stretch me so nicely but still so gentle.”

“They’re not soft, though.”

“They are to me,” you counter, bringing two of his fingertips into your mouth. This time it’s his breath that hitches, his other hand tugging at your pants to get them off of you. Your free hand pushes yourself up off the mattress to make things easier for him, keeping his fingers in your mouth as your tongue works to wet them the way you needed. You wanted him to touch you, he needed to be ready for that.

“So needy, and just for me, hm?” You nod around his fingers, kicking your pants off the rest of the way and scooting back on the mattress. He follows, sitting back on his heels but gently pushing you to lay on your back against your pillows.

“Show me,” he requests, looking at you as you prop yourself up on one of your elbows to look at him better. “Show me how you like to be touched, please. Then I’ll touch you as you want.”

The request has you nodding, reaching out and pressing two of your fingers to his lips. He opens them, and you watch with interest as he works to wet them for you. Much like everything else he did; he was diligent in treating your fingers with care and consideration, but teasing when he gave them a gentle bite as you withdrew them. Your eyes hold his as your fingers dip into the wetness that had gathered and slowly dragged them to your clit. Large hands settle on your thighs, keeping your legs open for him to kneel on the bed between them as you continue to circle the bud.

His eyes leave yours in favor of watching your fingers, and you let your eyes close knowing that his attention was elsewhere. You knew this wouldn’t be enough, since you had him here you’d need his fingers in addition to yours to be able to get off like this. Luckily for you, he must have been growing impatient and you felt one of his fingers trace along your spread folds before slowly probing your entrance.

“This is all for me?” he asks, his finger continuing to move within you and chuckling when he feels you clench around his finger. He knows the answer, but you still nod to give him the satisfaction of a response - a clear indicator that you did want him as much as he wanted you. A second finger joins the first, and his hand moves from your thigh to your hip to keep you from moving beneath him.

Your eyes meet his once again, struggling to keep still as his fingers work to ready you for a much larger intrusion. A whispered instruction has your fingers working against your clit again, trying to match the pace of your movements with the pace of his fingers but you find difficulty in trying to pay attention to his fingers when his hand leaves your hip to push at his pants. The sound of fabric rustling feels so loud in your ears, and you feel your heart rate increase knowing what’s to come as his fingers increase their pace and yours do the same against your clit.

“Come for me, darling,” he requests, curling his fingers and pressing repeatedly into that spot that has you seeing stars as your eyes close again and your fingers continue to work against the sensitive nerves. He’s coaxing you towards that edge with his fingers, his voice soft as he urges you to come and talks you through the waves of your orgasm.

“I really like your fingers a lot,” you breathe, relaxing into the mattress as his fingers leave you so he can get out of his pants. He only smiles at you, and you watch with interest as he fully undresses. You’d never seen him this undressed, even on the mission you were sure that he’d kept something on during your various encounters, so this was something you’d like to savor as you know you’re the only person alive to see all of Kakashi Hatake like this.

“I do like the way you look at me,” he comments, and you have only the moments as he gets into position above you to consider the sentiment behind his words. There’s so much you could say to that, plenty that you wanted to say - but the words get caught in your throat when that dark eye meets yours as he carefully pushes his length into you.

Your lips part as his hips press to yours, your hand coming to cradle his cheek to bring his forehead to yours. There are emotions in his eye that you dare not try to name, but you take solace in knowing that they’re there. That your feelings towards him are not only shared, but just as intense, and you’re not sure that either of you truly know what to do with them besides this.

“Romantic feelings and intimacy are not my strong suit,” he whispers as he pulls out, the smallest of groans leaving him as he thrusts back into you. “You’ll have to forgive me as I learn to be a decent man for you.”

“Shinobi are always training in some capacity anyways,” you murmur, smiling as he does. He doesn’t have a response to that, but you don’t need him to. You just need him here with you in this moment, thrusting into you so tenderly in the middle of your mattress. It’s a slow ascent to that bliss, every movement by your lover very calculated and telling you that he was trying to take his time with you with slow, deep thrusts that allowed you to feel every inch of him.

His hand removes yours from his face, lacing his fingers with yours and pressing your joined hands into the pillow beside your head. His forehead pressed to yours, your eyes stay on him as he lets his close. Your hand that wasn’t holding his moves to hold his cheek, bringing him in for a kiss as his movements falter slightly.

“Are you going to come for me again?” he asks, and you nod your confirmation. He pulls away from you, his hand bringing yours to where your bodies met. “Make yourself come for me. Show me how pretty you are when you come.”

You’re plenty wet, your fingers don’t need any assistance in gliding over your clit as Kakashi continues to thrust into you. His pace stays steady, his eye now watching your hand as your fingers move frantically against the bud. This was it, you were going to come again and he looked excited for that to happen.

His name leaves you in a wail, your hand gripping his forearm tightly as you let the feeling wash over you, only to let out a startled squeak when you feel him pull you up so that you were in his lap. You take a moment to reorient, placing one of your hands on his shoulder for balance, and your eyes meet his once more as his hand starts to guide your hips along his shaft.

“You’re crafty,” you mumble, and he smiles as he kisses you. A pace had been set, one you were barely able to keep up with but you knew Kakashi was close. There’s a tension in his shoulders that you can’t ignore, but you’re too far gone to be able to truly do something about it, especially with a third orgasm already creeping up so quickly behind the second. This man would most likely kill you; but all you can really do is whisper praises to him, making sure that he knew how good he was making you feel as his hips continued to rise up into yours.

“You can come for me one more time, can’t you? I’m sure you can,” his gentle urging has you nodding, your hand leaving his shoulder to go to your clit once more since that was what you knew would send you over the edge.

Your body stiffens as the pure heat in your core begins to wash over the rest of your senses, your free hand holding onto his bicep for dear life. Kakashi is speaking to you, praising you most likely, but you could only hear your heart pounding as he thrusts into you harder. His

hand gently pushes yours away from your clit, his fingers eagerly working at your over sensitive bundle to push you to that edge, you cradle the back of his head to keep his forehead connected to yours and maintain that eye contact you craved as you babbled your own string of praises to him as the pleasure overwhelms you and you’re coming on his length once more.

It feels as if time has slowed after that, you continue to cling onto Kakashi and you’re not sure if it’s been seconds or minutes, but it feels like too long yet not long enough before he’s coming deep inside you. You feel so interconnected with him that you’re not sure where his form ended and yours began, but you could probably stay like this for a lifetime with him.

“That was…” You start, but you’re not sure how to describe just how wonderful that was. Were there actually words that could describe how euphoric sex with Kakashi Hatake was?

“Yeah,” is all he can muster, lowering you back down onto your bedding. A kiss to your forehead is followed by a kiss on your lips, and he’s telling you that he’ll be right back before he stands from your bed.

You lay there quietly, trying to properly regulate your breathing in an effort to cool your body down. The question of “what now?” circulates through your brain, and you’re not sure what the answer was. You’d just had sex with Kakashi again, this time after admitting shared feelings. Did this mean you two were a couple now? Did Kakashi even want a label like that?

“What happens next?” you ask softly, watching as he re-emerges from your bathroom now wearing his shirt and mask.

“I think I should take you out on a proper date, for starters. Dinner tonight?”

“I’d rather stay in.” Your comment has him shaking his head as he joins you in your bed, pulling you into his chest as you grin up at him. “There’s plenty to eat here.”

“That’s for dessert, and I plan to indulge.”

#kakashi hatake/reader #kakashi hatake/you #kakashi hatake/f!reader #kakashi hatake smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi x reader smut #kakashi smut #kakashi x you #kakashi x f!reader #kakashi x y/n

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justrandomfanfictionskh · 1 year

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We Should have Stayed in Gotham ch 4

(Almost every Maribat fic I read has the akuma class going to Gotham. But tell me which is more likely, a class touring the city of crime, or a class touring the city of lights? So here it is, the Daminette fic that only I asked for, where Gotham goes to Paris, and the poor students have to grapple with the fact that they have competition for the most dangerous city in the world. I wonder what will happen?) (a/n: Warning dark Conversation. Don't be taken off guard.)

ao3 Beginning Previous

Despite what his brothers might say, Damian did not hate fun. He just hated their idiotic brand of fun that usually found them needing Bruce and the WE PR team to bail them out of jail while Barbara laughed at them from the other side of the bars. (He would never forgive Todd from stopping him from freeing the Zoo Animals. They would have gotten away with it if he had just followed orders.) Still, he planned to have fun on this trip, especially at the Louvre. He had always wanted to see the inside of this place, the art, the history, maybe even correct some of the factual errors. A scavenger hunt would not interfere with that, even if it was tedious and pointless.

But then Alix and Kathryn had skated by waving a half-completed work sheet shouting, “You’re falling behind!” Apparently, they had gotten a head start by going through her father’s office. Mendeleiev just groaned as manic grins spread across multiple students’ faces, including Marinette’s.

And so it was, that before any of the teachers could stop them, the Parisians had grabbed their Gothamite’s hand and took off running through the halls of the most famous museum in the world. Damian didn’t know how to react as Marinette pulled him through wing after wing, her hand holding his in a vice grip, until they stopped in the Egyptian hall. He was surprised to see that she wasn’t panting, even though she had to be running at full speed in order to stay ahead of him.

Instead she just skidded to a stop and began to say in very broken German, “Ok…the first…question…is about…”

Damian cleared his throat, and said in French “You want to win this, right?” Marinette cocked her head but nodded. “Then I think it will be best if we stick to our fluent languages. We can help each other after we finish demolishing your insane classmates.”

Marinette grinned and then said in English, “Very well, but what about your classmates. Won’t they be a problem?”

Damian glanced at his work sheet and raised an eyebrow. “I doubt they will be much help. After all I’m not even sure what this first question means. Is it some sort of riddle?”

Marinette laughed and pulled him deeper into the wing. “Sabrina and your class representative, no you call it president, made this to encourage us to ask questions about each other,” she explained, “‘The scroll that awoke the Pharaoh, and revealed the secret of the Bug,’ is a reference to the akuma Pharaoh. He was a researcher here at the Louver whose theory on resurrection magic was dismissed, so he was akumatized in order to prove it worked. He tried to sacrifice Alya to the god Ra.”

Damian squashed a quip about how that would not have been the worst thing, instead settling on the more pressing question, “And the secret of the Bug?”

Marinette stopped in front of an old papyrus scroll, her smile fond and almost nostalgic as she looked at it. She pointed at the image of a woman with a yoyo in a spotted robe fighting the Pharaoh. “It was during this fight that it was revealed that Ladybug was over five thousand years old.”

Damian nodded as he looked at the scroll with consideration. “I thought the SpotsOn blog said that the title of Ladybug was a mantle passed down.”

“It is,” Marinette said as she scribbled on her work sheet. “But it was this scroll that set the question in motion. Since then scholars have been scouring the artifacts looking for people who could have a Miraculous Holder.”

“So why is it on our work sheet?” Damian asked.

And Marinette once more smiled as if at a fond memory. “I was with Alya when she found this. I got turned into one of the hundred mummies meant to aid in the sacrifice. Believe it or not we were actually good friends back then.”

Damian opened his mouth to say something, but Marinette clapped her hands and spun towards him with a smile. “Alright, the first one was for Paris, the second one should be for Gotham. Alix and Kathryn, have a good head start, but if we run, and take a few short cuts I know, then we should be able to catch up and beat them!”

Damian stifled a grin with a smirk. Her competitive spirit was infectious, and it pulled at his own instincts to push them to victory. And he was so tempted to give into it. He was the Son of the Bat after all, there was no way they could lose. But Grayson was always warning him that he overdid it, so he fought the urge to string trip wire everywhere and looked down at his sheet. His smirk turning devilish. “Are there any bat artifacts in the Chinese Wing?”

Marinette nodded briskly, “Tang Dynasty, this way!” And with that she had grabbed his hand and was once again pulling him through the Louvre at a devastating pace. And as the game went on, Damian stopped denying the genuine and bright smile that was slowly growing on his lips. But even as he gave into his more competitive instincts, he noticed a few interesting details about the Parisians.

For example, the Museum had obviously prepared for them, because they had roped off designated running lanes so the students could go wild without breaking anything or disrupting the other guests. And as they zoomed past, while the tourists stared in shock, the employees and locals laughed and cheered them on. It was strange considering that in Gotham they would have had security called on them ages ago.

Another thing was that all the Parisians were strangely athletic. Even the ones who should have been out of breath at the first sprint, vaulted and laughed as if it was nothing. At the pace he and Marinette were keeping, he expected that she would have to slow down after the first three questions. Instead, she only seemed to gain speed as she pulled him after her in a rush of adrenaline. And she never slowed down. Even when her classmate, the tall Chinese one, barreled toward them with his partner on his back, Marinette never slowed. She just pulled Damian down so that they slid down the slick floor, as the boy vaulted over them with ease.

Leaping to her feet, Marinette continued to pull Damian along even as her peer shouted, “I’m going to get you Mari!”

“In you dreams Kim!” she shouted. She beamed with pure joy, and Damian felt his own adrenaline muddling his senses, because he found himself mirroring her.

“What was that?” He demanded when they reached the Enlightenment Room.

“Hm?” Marinette said even as she searched the artifacts, “Oh, have you ever played the floor is lava?”

Damian grimaced against the memory. Grayson had thought it was a good idea to yell that phrase in the middle of Titan’s Tower, resulting in Jon scooping him up and hovering over the floor. Everyone had laughed as Damian thrashed like a kitten in the bath. It was one of his more embarrassing memories. “Once or twice,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Have you ever played it with real lava?”

Damian cocked his head at the question then nodded his head in understanding, “Lava Boy, he was a level 10 right?”

“You read the list,” Marinette said with a smug smile.

“Tt,” Damian said has he scanned for their opponents. “Of course, I did, I’m not an imbecile. But what does this have to do with the fact that your entire class seems to be experts in parkour?”

“Not the entire class,” Marinette mused as she jotted down the answer. “Just those who know to pay attention in gym. Parkour became a curriculum requirement after Lava Boy. Every Parisian school teaches it as apart of our Physical Education. Or as we like to call it, ‘Running from Akumas 101.’”

Damian nodded his understanding. It was smart. It made him wonder why Gotham schools didn’t teach self-defense. But then again, maybe they did. He never really paid attention in class. But he had no time to ponder, because Marinette was grabbing his hand again and pulling him to the next artifact.

They ran into Alix and Kathryn twice, and saw that they were catching up, as the pair debated if they should be going towards Modern Art, or Ancient Greece. Which was when Damian noticed something else about Marinette, she was smart. When she had competed with him in languages, he had known that she had intelligence. But now she barely had too look at the clues to know the item they were talking about. And they really were some of the strangest clues, for example, “This Queen’s spear is lauded as Luck’s greatest hand.”

“That could be anything!” Damian exclaimed.

“Queen Hippolyta’s spear was donated by Wonder Woman back in 1983, as a gift to her adopted city,” Marinette stated and then dashed off.

“Wait how did you know that?” Damian cried as he chased her.

“Hippolyta was the first named Ladybug, although technically she was the second holder. The first was the Oracle of Khepri, although her name was lost to time. We saw her scroll like ten minutes ago.”

Damian just shook his head and followed her without question. And that was another strange thing that he noticed. He didn’t mind following this girl around. Under normal circumstances, he would have demanded the lead. But Marinette just pulled him along as if her leadership was the most natural thing in the world. And as of yet, Damian could not begrudge her for it. And so it was in less time than he thought possible, they were racing back to the teachers with Alix and Kathryn hot on their heels and gaining. Then Marinette pulled out a bag of marbles and scattered them on the floor.

“Hey!” Alix yelled as the two girls were forced to slow down, “That’s cheating!”

“No rule against it!” Marinette shouted back as Damian laughed.

Mlle. Mendeleiev was pinching her nose as the pair skidded to a stop in front of her and handed her their completed work sheets. “I hope,” she said in her stern voice, “That the two of you got to talk at least once during that…escapade?”

“Yes Mlle. Mendeleiev,” Marinette said with her signature bright smile growing even as Damian sunk back into his signature scowl.

“Oh, and what did you learn about each other,” Bustier said with her signature plastered smile and too sweet voice.

“That Damian knows a lot about bats but not a lot about bugs.”

Damian couldn’t help the amused snort, even as the teachers rolled their eyes and took their sheets. But it was one of the Gotham teachers, Miss. Faustus who said, “You finished three hours early. Why don’t you two go back through the museum slower this time? Or perhaps spend time at the museum’s café?”

The two nodded their assent and then waited for Alix and Kathryn to turn in their sheet. “Well,” Marinette said, beaming so brightly, Damian was sure he was going to go blind. “We won!”

“You cheated!” Alix cried in mock annoyance as she skated up to them.

“Tt,” Damian said, “You were the ones with a head start, not to mention you were on skates. If anything, you were the ones that cheated, and yet we still were victorious. I do not know if that proves the depths of your ineptitude or the height of our excellence, but either way, you cannot argue with the results.”

Kathryn face palmed, as Alix stared at him in shock. Suddenly Damian was very aware that offending the wrong person in this city could result in a villain chasing him down. But he refused to back down as he tilted his chin to the girl, daring her to question him. Instead, Alix just turned to Marinette who seemed completely unfazed by his attitude.

At her friend’s questioning look, Marinette smiled gently. “Imagine if Kagami and Chloe were one person, and male. That’s him,” she said jutting her thumb at Damian. He furrowed his brow at the comparison, but faced Alix undaunted all the same.

She however just said “Oh,” as if that made perfect sense and then studied him more critically. Then her face split into the widest, most mischievous grin, Damian had ever seen (and he lived with Jason). A little nervous he took a step back even as Alix leaned forward and said, “We kill Lila!”

“Alix, no!” Marinette cried.

“Alix, yes!” Alix cried grabbing Damian’s shoulders before he could even begin to process what was happening as she said in a hissing voice, “Come! We have murder to plan!”

“No murder!” Marinette cried, even as Damian threw her hands off of him.

“First,” he said coldly, “Never touch me again. Second, I assume you have a strategy?”

Alix cackled and led him to the café even as Marinette screamed in frustration.

---------------------------------------

“So,” Kathryn said once they were all seated at the Museum’s outdoor café, “Who is this Lila and why are we trying to kill her?”

Damian remained silent as he watched the Parisians. They had only ordered drinks, because apparently the best bakery in Paris was catering their “Getting to Know You Party” later. So he sipped his as he watched Marinette tense, and Alix huff in frustration. It seemed, that now her adrenaline from the game was spent, the roller blading menace was ready to be serious. But it was Marinette who began the story.

“Lila,” she said simply, “Is a compulsive liar in our class. The only way to ensure that she didn’t akumatize anyone from Gotham was to pair her with the worst French speaker in your class, because she doesn’t know a lick of English no matter what she might claim.”

“When she first came here,” Alix said anger dripping from her every word, “She would tell all of these crazy stories about the places she’s been, and the celebrities she’s met. Of course, none of us actually believed her. We actually personally know a lot of the celebrities she likes to name drop so we always knew she was lying. We thought it was just some sort of game she liked to play, so we entertained her. It wasn’t doing any harm.”

“I never liked the game,” Marinette said as she stirred her coffee. “So I asked her to stop, and she threatened me. It was the only time she’s ever been completely honest.”

Alix took a deep calming breath, an action which Damian was quickly learning to associate with deep negative emotions from the Parisians. “That’s when her lies became a little less obvious,” she said, “She started sneaking subtler lies in with her obvious ones, slowly turning the class against Marinette. Started framing her for stealing, cheating, and bullying. Things like that.”

“She almost got me expelled,” Marinette said into her cup. And Damian couldn’t stop the shock from spreading across his face.

“Are you saying that your teachers believed her?” Damian demanded. He had only known this girl for an hour and a half, but already he felt that her being anything other than a model student was just preposterous.

But Marinette didn’t seem to register his outrage as she just shrugged and said, “The principle is more worried about funding and press than justice,” she said, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but Mlle. Bustier is a bit naive. Mlle. Mendeleiev is great, and she doesn’t let Lila get away with anything. But Mlle. Bustier…”

“That woman needs her license revoked,” Alix said in a huff, “And she probably would have by now if it wasn’t for Hawkmoth.”

“So?” Kathryn said leaning forward, “What happened?”

“Adrien,” Marinette said with a sigh of exhaustion, “Another classmate. Apparently, he talked to her, made a deal with her to back off. He told me about it as if it was this grand gesture on his part. But basically, it boils down to, he lets her do whatever she wants as long as she doesn’t directly target me.” Marinette rolled her eyes, “His heart's in the right place, but his arrows don’t always hit their marks if you know what I mean.” The Gothamites nodded and then gestured for the girls to continue.

“So anyway,” Alix said, “Later, Lila comes forward and admits that she lied. Claims she has a mental disorder that forces her to lie. Only, that night Marinette goes home and does a crap-ton of research on mental illnesses and lying and guess what?”

“There’s no such thing,” Damian said with a sneer.

Marinette just shook her head, “Compulsive lying is a symptom of many different illnesses, mainly OCD and psychopathy. But neither force the individual to lie. The person is always conscious of what they are doing, and can chose differently given that they are actively working towards their mental health.”

“And when Marinette presented her research,” Alix said, “The class basically split in two. The enablers who think the best way to help Lila is to humor her. And the intelligent people, who are just sick and tired of her crap.”

“Me, Chloe, Sabrina, Alix, and Juleka are the most outspoken members of the Intelligent,” Marinette explained. “Alya, Rose, and Mylene are the most outspoken of the Enablers. Everyone else falls on a sliding scale in between. But of course, none of this would even be a problem it is wasn’t for Hawkmoth.”

“Yeah,” Alix said sipping her coffee, “Hawkmoth has everybody thrown out of whack. I mean how do you in good conscious call someone out for being an idiot, when they’re enough of an idiot to let that akumatize them.”

“Next thing you know,” Marinette said, “You're running through the city with a horribly dressed flying fox demon on your tail.”

Both girls groaned and sipped their drinks, as Damian exchanged a look with Kathryn. Finally, Damian asked the question that had been plaguing him since the moment he had heard the name Hawkmoth, “What about the Justice League? Why hasn’t anyone called them in?”

“Screw the League,” a harsh voice called out, and the party turned to see Chloe and Sabrina with Alice and Will following behind.

“Chloe,” Marinette said instantly brighter, “You’re done early. I thought you would be dragging your feet in there.”

“Chloe helped me make the scavenger hunt so she can’t participate,” Sabrina said sliding into the chair beside Marinette. “So, we decided to do a walking tour with our partners instead.”

Everyone then introduced themselves, with Damian being introduced to Chloe last. They stared at each other with narrowed eyes before huffing simultaneously and sipping their drinks. The rest of the group giggled at that before Alice said, “What do you mean, ‘screw the League?’ I know some of them are blowhards, but they do have some powerful magic users. They can help.”

Chloe sniffed derisively, but the rest of the Parisians became somber. They looked to Chloe almost as if asking for her permission before she nodded. Then Marinette cleared her throat and said,

“It was three years ago, at the beginning of this…mess. At first all of the akumas were level 1-4s. Powerful and scary but not dangerous. No casualties, and they always had limited goals. It was very rare for them to effect more than ten people. Then…then we got our first level eight, Dark Cupid.”

“I saw him in my research,” Damian said stiffly, “I couldn’t understand why he was put so high, all of the other level eights had a death count in the high thousands, but his wasn’t even in the high hundreds.”

Sabrina nodded emphatically, her face contorted with pain, “Yes. The akumas are categorized by the damage they do. Which means that the higher akumas are rated by their death count. 5 is 1-1,000. 6 is 1,000-10,000. 7 is 10,000-1 million. 8 is 1 million-10 million. 9 is 10 million to 1 billion. and 10 is anything high than a billion.”

“But there are other kinds of damage that rank just as high as death,” Marinette said as she reached over to grip Chloe’s hand which was starting to shake. “When those akumas happen on a wide scale, they are usually ranked higher.”

“And Dark Cupid was one of those?” Kathryn asked.

“I read about him too,” Alice said leaning forward. “There weren’t any fight videos of him on the blog, but it said that he made people feel the opposite of their true emotions. What does that even mean?”

The girls took a deep breath and looked to Chloe again. She just nodded as she stared numbly into her coffee. It was Alix who spoke, “Dark Cupid was a boy whose Valentine humiliated him. So he made people feel the opposite of their true emotions. Love turned to hate. Hate turned to love.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Damian said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh!” Will cried, horror etched over his face. “Oh, that…that’s awful!”

“What?” Kathryn demanded.

Marinette sighed and looked them in the eyes. There was something hard and cold in her gaze, and it seeped into her voice as she said, “Imagine the person you love the most. The person you trust the most, parent, sibling, partner, spouse, being struck with a black arrow and then turning against you. They are consumed with a burning obsessive hatred for you and everything else they love. What do you think would happen?”

Damian paled at the thought. He could imagine it. He didn’t want to, but he could see it happening. His family sitting down to dinner, suddenly struck from behind…and then turning on him. It was a horrible image and he wanted to forget he ever saw it, but Marinette was not done.

“Now, imagine the person you hate. You’re worst enemy, and the same thing happens to them. Except now, with love. Or perhaps more accurately…lust. You’re enemy filled with an obsessive drive to ‘love’ you, just as your loved ones are filled with an obsessive drive to hate you. What do you think happens then?”

Damian was suddenly very glad that he had not eaten anything, because he was going to throw up. The images that Marinette was painting for them. They were horrible. They were gruesome, and disgusting on so many levels. And…and they had lived through that. He looked up and saw it. All four of these girls had faced that. Spouses turning on their partners. Parents turning on their children. Friends turning on their friends. All on a day when they were supposed to be celebrating their love and trust. And then to add their enemies into the mix…

“Only 136 dead,” Sabrina said solemnly, “But over three million reports of assault and battery, and over ten thousand reported rapes, and sexual assaults. And those were just the people who came forward.”

“We called the Justice League,” Chloe said as a single tear fell down her quivering jaw. “We broke their website begging for help, once the Miraculous Cure passed through. But they never answered.”

“Three more akumas were created because of that,” Marinette said squeezing Chloe’s hand as Sabrina wrapped her arms around her. “Eventually Ladybug gave a press release saying she got in contact with an International member, but she didn’t say whom. Here,” Marinette pulled up a video on YouTube and showed it to them. “You can watch that later. It basically says that miraculous matters are miraculous matters, and the Justice League will not be coming unless it’s a level 11 akuma.”

“Level 11?” Kathryn squeaked.

“Yeah,” Alix said with an amused huff, “Otherwise known as the ‘How in God’s Name are You Still Alive!’ Protocol.”

“If either Ladybug, or Chat Noir ever lose their Miraculous to Hawkmoth. Then the other is to retreat and go into hiding, while every citizen still alive in Paris spams the Justice Leagues number until someone shows up,” Marinette said with a small smile. “It hasn’t happened yet, but we’ll be prepared if it does.”

“Were you?” Alice looked at the shaking Chloe, her voice hesitant and soft. “I’m sorry but you told me that you used to have a lot of enemies. So…were you…um…”

Chloe sniffed and straightened, she was as rigid as a bored, but her chin was up and her jaw was set. Her eyes had not lost their fire as she scoffed and said, “Kwami no, no one touched me during Dark Cupid. I was the bitch who caused the whole thing.”

The Gothamites blinked. “What?” Damian demanded.

“You heard me,” Chloe said firmly squeezing Marinette’s hand. “Dark Cupid. The most emotionally scaring akuma aside from Sand Boy. I caused him. I was the dumb bitch who humiliated the boy and made Valentines day banned in Paris! It was my fault.”

“Chloe—” Sabrina began, but the heiress silenced her by leaning forward and growling,

“I caused more akumas, and suffering in this city, then Joker has probably done in a year. Everyday I wake up knowing that I am probably the most despicable being on the planet. But you know what? Everyday I wake up and decide to change that. It will never be enough. I will never undo the damage I did to Paris. But damn it, I’m trying! And I’m not alone.

“This is Paris. If you haven’t been an akuma, you’ve caused one, and no one is immune. Not even angels who are too good for this world like, Sabrina and Marinette heaven help them! So everyday we wake up knowing that we are villains! But every day we wake up and we swear we are going to do better. We make amends and we try. We’re all monsters, but we all have one enemy, and that’s the idiot who thinks he can put chains on monsters and not get bit!”

Chloe was seething now. Her teeth bared. Her eye wide. But she was still in control, and she stared them all down with the deadly force of a lioness. It quelled any arguments, pinning the Gothamites to there seats. As she roughly wiped the tears from her eyes, she declared,

“So yeah, screw the Justice League. As far as I’m concerned, they can all go and suck it! This is Paris, and we clean up our own messes. Besides even if they did show up, there’s nothing they can do. Ladybug is right, this is a Miraculous problem to be solved by Miraculous Holders.”

“Besides,” Sabrina said in a far gentler tone, “Do any of you really want to see and akumatized Superman? Or Batman?”

Everyone shivered at the thought, even Damian. He then drew in on himself as he thought about everything they had said. Lila. Hawkmoth. Dark Cupid. Chloe. The Justice League. Not all of his questions were answered, not by a long shot. But then he remembered the scavenger hunt. The pure joy radiating off of the Paris Class as they ran through the Museum. The genuine laughter of the employees at seeing their antics. The bright smiles of the civilians as they walked with their heads held high down the streets. They had been through hell, like Gotham never had. But where Gothamites scurried and scowled they…smiled.

Even now as he looked up to study the four girls before them, they were smiling. Bright, genuine, pure smiles. They laughed as they pulled the Gothamites out of their horror. They cheered as more of their friends joined them from within the museum. It was strange. It was confounding, confusing, and impossible for Damian to comprehend. It was…miraculous.

And so Damian whispered to himself in his heart, "I swear on mantle as Robin, and on my title as the Son of the Bat, and the Demon's Heir, I will do everything in my power to defeat Hawkmoth."

@night-ngale @annastasha @ev-cupcake @hammalammadamdam @laydeekrayzee @itsemmylie @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @doglover82 @raven-ette @atiredartistandacat

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leggerefiore · 11 months

Text

Callous

cw: PLA Ingo, light angst, reflective, slight jealousy,

pairing: Ingo/Reader

■□■□■

His hand was rough.

Callouses and cuts covered the pale skin as you observed it. You had taken to trying to care for his wounds and moisturise the extremity, but it always seemed to return back to this. A sigh left you as you gently began to wash the small cuts. Ingo observed your actions carefully, now used to this nearly nightly activity. It felt reflective of your current situation. Just looking at his face reminded you of everything.

You sat with your husband, Ingo, in an isolated mountain cabin. It was a place he had begun to live in after taking on his duties as the warden of the Noble pokemon Sneasler. The man took his duties quite seriously and always saw to make sure that they were done correctly. His Noble absolutely adored him, nearly adopting him like an orphaned Sneasel. He served the pokemon for the Pearl Clan, of which he was a member.

Not born into, of course. No, not at all. Your heart ached as you saw the tired bags that hung under his eyes and the tuft of facial hair that hung off his chin. His cap was tattered and in desperate need of TLC and a good washing. His coat, however, was beyond saving. Everything else seemed in decent condition, though. Well, beside his white button down and tie, which were nowhere to be found any more. It reflected him. The Pearl Clan tunic hanging loosely on his torso and the tight black shirt hidden under it were the new him that was born here, while the rest were reflective of the him that was no longer here.

The him that you recalled.

The him with soft, well-cared for hands. An Ingo with eye bags and a clean shave. Your husband, who greeted you at home with a hug and kiss. Until he did not.

You felt your mind race with feelings.

This Ingo was certainly still your husband, but many pieces of him had been smouldered out and lost from his character. A loud voice, yet no volume control. Stiff body language that reflected an uncertainty and lack of familiarity. Strong arms that held you close to him in a protective manner, different from the lazy grip shared in your bed back in Nimbasa.

Oh, Ingo…

You gazed at his bare hand with everything you could muster.

Your joy at seeing him was squashed by him having no idea who you were. It was only after resolving everything in Hisui that he finally gave you the time to listen to your plight and connection to him. Ingo had felt awful for his behaviour, but there was no use in blaming him or lingering on it. You wished to move past it and just be with him again. Your beloved train man; your only connection to the life you once led in Unova.

Everything was so far away from the cold lands of Hisui, across space and time from your correct position.

The Ingo that crooned soft songs to you or eagerly held Litwicks with a kind look in his eyes despite his stiff face.

Another hand pressed against your cheek, softly swiping a tear that had begun to fall. His eyes held the same concern that he would have bared back in Unova. A sniffle came from you. “Beloved,” his voice was gentle, speaking your shared language rather than the one of Hisui, “What is wrong?”

“… I just thought of when I first met you,” it was a partial lie, “You seemed so goofy to me. So formal, but clearly excited for a pokemon battle. Do you remember how I told you that you worked with trains? It was on one of them, that time.” Ingo blinked a few times. Your heart stuttered. Of course, he could not remember that. He could not remember that he had an identical twin or what his last name was, why would he remember your first encounter?

His brows furrowed while his frown deepened. You felt confused. He leaned closer to you and grasped your hand with his own. The other coming to hold your chin. “It's strange…” Ingo's eyes moved to stare at your interlocked hands, “I get annoyed when you speak about me like that. It feels like you love him more than me. Ah… That's odd, isn't it?” You felt silenced.

What did he mean? Jealousy? Was he jealous of himself? Did… Did you love that him more than this him? You swallowed dryly. It must have seemed that way. Even considering it, you felt cruel. Ingo… Ingo was still here. He was still the man you loved, even though he could not recall all the things you wished he could. The Warden had been trying to do everything he could for you. He loved you all the same despite everything. The soft affection in his eyes and gentle rare smile that was reserved for you. He held you closely to him and whispered loving phrases into your ears.

You pulled him into a tight hug. “No, no, no,” you managed to get out, “I love you! I just… I just wish it did not have to be like this. You're still Ingo…” Ingo's arms came around you. It was silent. The sound of the wind rushing outside was the only thing preventing from time feeling frozen around you both.

“I understand,” he whispered, “I love you, too. I wish… That it was not like this, too.” His body was rougher than it had been in Unova. Muscles decorated him now, thanks to his handling of the highlands. You wondered if he meant those words. “When you speak of our home… I feel lonely,” he admitted suddenly, “Everything sounds so nostalgic yet foreign. I… I left behind so much. I don't even know how I got here from there.” You had heard he fell through a portal, much like you had. It must have been terrifying for him… Perhaps it was better that he did not recall that.

You moved to peck a kiss on his cheek.

“We'll get back, Ingo,” you said confidently, “I'll show you everything back home and… And you'll remember everything, I'm sure.” You wondered if he would instantly fall in love with trains again. Emmet would probably burst into tears when he saw Ingo, and Ingo would probably do the same… Hopefully. His Chandelure would most likely try to kidnap him. She never liked being away from him for too long.

Slowly, you both lost yourself in the night and each other.

Everything would come together. You just had to hold out hope.

Arceus was waiting on you, after all.

#ingo x reader #ingo/reader #pokemon x reader #pokemon ingo x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon ingo/reader

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sortofanobsession · 2 months

Text

One More Diaz (911 Buddie A/B/Ω AU WIP) Part 2

Author Note: Part 2 of Probably 3. Unbeta'd and posted on mobile so there might be issues that need to be corrected. Bonding bite time!

Minors do not interact. I write mature themes.

Content warning: Male Alpha/ Male Omega pairing, mpreg, angst, vomiting, morning sickness, injury, biting, fear, anxiety

Alpha Buck/Omega Eddie

Part 1

Eddie had started to think that everything would be manageable. Eddie’s doctor had given him an all-clear for the restricted work load. Buck had been there for the ultrasound and even if the pup was too small to be recognizable, it was still there. It was clear in black and white. That was their pup. And Buck had stuck a copy of it on the firehouse fridge. And no one complained. Someone even stuck a little magnet with a fire hat sticker on the tiny blob of a developing pup and the omega couldn't help but laugh.

He and Buck could handle everything. The first shift they had a problem was three weeks after everyone found out.

A call to a warehouse fire went to shit when the poorly maintained floor of the second level gave out and when Bobby had called out for everyone to check in Eddie thought he might pass out when Buck had been slow to report back. The omega had to step away from the poor guy suffering from smoke inhalation and minor burns for a moment. He had to try and reign in his reaction. Once he was sure he wouldn't burst into tears and be a distraction he returned. Hen gave him a reassuring look without saying anything else. And the omega was grateful to have her there. When the job was done and they were back at the firehouse, Buck hadn't even hung up his gear before Eddie was in his space. And the alpha didn't mind. He didn't blame the omega. Eddie had barely gotten to see his alpha before the ambulance was heading off to the hospital.

“Didn't mean to scare you, Eds,” the alpha says as he hugs his omega back. “I'm good. My mask got messed up and I had to fix it before I could report in.” Eddie's grip tightens. “You know the drill.” He feels Eddie's nod more than he sees it with how the omega’s face is tucked against his throat. The alpha wonders how he can stand having his face in the sweaty firefighter’s neck. “Eddie,” Buck starts when he feels how shaky the omega is. The alpha looks over at the rest of the team. Bobby gives the younger alpha a small smile as he approaches.

“It's okay, take a minute,” Bobby says.

Buck guides Eddie to sit on the edge of the truck and the alpha is worried at how quiet the omega is. The alpha makes quick work of his gear.

“I’ll handle it, you go,” the captain assures him.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Buck says. He goes over and after assuring Eddie that he's okay again. He leads the omega to a quiet corner of the loft.

Eddie seemed more himself by the next call.

By the end of the shift, the alpha can tell that the omega is exhausted. They don’t need a bond for the alpha to know that. He just needed eyes. He has an idea he wants to discuss with Eddie, but he can tell now isn't the time. Most of the next day is spent with Eddie snuggling on the couch with Christopher when he is home. And the alpha is so proud of the boy. Christopher had become increasingly independent as he got older but he must have been able to tell his dad needed the attention. And he seemed more than happy to indulge his dad. So it had been a quiet day for the most part.

“Would it make you feel better if we were bonded?” Buck asks after Christopher has gone to bed. That had the omega stopping short as he got ready for bed. Eddie looked back at the alpha.

“Seriously?” The omega stares at him.

“Okay, I'm going to be honest right now and admit that I have no idea what you are thinking right now,” Buck admits.

“Right,” Eddie says before disappearing into the bathroom and leaving the alpha to wonder if he really truly messed up. The alpha has to squash the urge to either follow Eddie or to try and explain himself through the door. He didn't want to wake Christopher that was for sure. He changes into his sleep pants and tosses his shirt into the hamper before sitting on the edge of the bed to wait for Eddie. He wasn't going to just ignore what he'd asked. He was caught off guard when he had expected to have to argue his point but instead, he ended up with the omega in his lap and eager lips on his. And it escalates from there.

“This weekend,” Eddie says.

“What?” Buck asks, his brain still recovering from the omega pretty much jumping his bones. Not that he had any complaints. A pregnant omega could be almost as insatiable as one in heat. The only difference is that it wasn't out of a drive for procreation. It was out of a want to connect with their partner, their mate, to strengthen a bond.

“Chris has a birthday sleepover for a classmate,” the omega explains. “Unless you changed your mind...”

And the alpha realizes that Eddie was answering his question from earlier. Buck wraps his arms around Eddie and pulls him close. He nudges the omega with his nose. And kisses his temple.

“I’ve been wanting to make you my mate since I met you,” Buck assures him.

“You hated me, when you met me,” Eddie huffs.

“Because you were fucking built and you fit so well on the team it was overwhelming. I mean, I thought you were an alpha and that was confusing as hell. I'd never been into that.”

Eddie laughs. “Good thing I wasn't one.”

“I'd have been all for whatever you were,” the alpha admits and that warms something deep in the omega. “You’re it for me.”

And that brings tears to Eddie's eyes. He almost told Buck to just bite him now if Buck wanted.

“Buck,” he starts, his emotions flooding his voice. “Alpha.” He props himself up so he can actually see Buck. “I want nothing more than to be mated to such a beautiful and loving alpha. You are my alpha. My-” his voice fails so he makes his point by moving the alpha’s hand to his stomach. The alpha catches on as he rubs the omega's warm skin.

“This weekend,” Buck agrees before pulling the omega in for a kiss.

The next few days seem to drag on. Christopher even got annoyed at how antsy the pair were. But every time he pointed it out, they told him they were just excited to have a full weekend off. Christopher didn't really dig deeper. He had plans of his own that he needed their help with. Eddie had taken him to pick a gift for his friend. Buck had happily helped him wrap it. And Buck had been asked to be the one to drive him. And despite the omega internally pouting because his boy didn't pick him. He loved how much Christopher loved his Buck. Buck was his favorite person more often than not. And Buck adored Christopher. The alpha treated the boy as his own. The omega hoped that never changed. Knowing Buck, it wouldn't. He had more than enough heart to share. Buck would be there for Christopher until Christopher decided otherwise. And the omega doubted that would ever happen. Christopher was more than happy to have another dad, though Buck had been his favorite almost immediately after meeting him. Eddie would love for the two to never change. But things were already changing, in a good way. He just hoped Christopher would be happy that they would be even closer as a family soon.

Eddie was eagerly waiting for Buck. The omega had triple-checked that Christopher had everything he could possibly need for the night. The young teen didn't put up much of a fight when his omega dad insisted on a hug before he left.

The scent that hit Buck as he made his way into the home was nearly intoxicating. The alpha had never felt happier to be home. Buck pulls Eddie to him as soon as the front door is closed and locked. No one would be bothering them for the next 12 hours or so. Buck had let his sister know what was up, which meant Chimney knew, and if he knew, so did Hen. Which meant Athena knew. Buck knew Athena knew. He didn't even have to tell her when he'd dropped by to bring some paperwork to Bobby. With a knowing look and wink, she'd told Buck to have a nice night and they'd see him at family dinner on Sunday. So they doubted either of them would hear from Bobby either. Everyone was just happy their oblivious idiots were finally getting it over with. They all knew this was coming, and even had a betting pool. The betting pool was taken by Hen who had been the only one to figure it was a pup that tipped the scales.

But any annoyance they had at their friend's betting on their love life was forgotten when Eddie melted into Buck's embrace.

“You ready? You sure-” the alpha starts to ask if Eddie is sure this is what he wants. His words dissolve into an amused laugh when Eddie shoves the alpha against the wall.

“Don't ask stupid questions,” the male omega insists. “Have been since you put the idea out there last week. Now, shut up and-” His words fail him this time as Buck changes their position. The omega now pinned to the wall. The alpha playful nips at the omega's bottom lip which falls open with a moan as he grinds against him. But the alpha isn't going to let this continue in the hall, not like this. This was Eddie, his pregnant mate, almost. He deserved better.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Buck grinned. That earned him an annoyed grunt and slight shovstir-crazy omega. The alpha couldn't help but laugh again before pulling the omega along with him down the hall to their bedroom.

The alpha slowly kissed along the omega's jaw. The hyper-aware omega wants to be annoyed at his partner’s slow teasing, but again, his body betrays him as a shiver runs through him. A moan falls from his lips as the alpha moves along his neck. So near the alpha's destination. A whine escapes Eddie as the alpha pulls away to get a good look at his omega.

“Tease,” Eddie glares, but the action was half-hearted and Buck could tell. Eddie was well on his way to wrecked and they had barely started.

“Couldn't resist, you always look so-”

The alpha is cut off by a growl from the male omega. Eddie grinds back against him.

Buck lets out a breathless chuckle but leans back in. “Since you asked so nicely,” the alpha says before kissing his neck. With no further preamble, the alpha sinks his teeth into the omega’s skin. Claiming the omega as his mate.

Eddie nearly blacks out the overwhelming feeling of a bond forming is almost too much for the hypersensitive omega. But it felt wonderful. He felt breathless and lightheaded.

“You still with me?” Buck asks.

“Mmhmm,” Eddie nods as his brain seems to catch up with everything he feels.

“You sure?” Gentle hands shift them until Buck can get a good look at Eddie's face. The alpha’s worry eases when a callused hand grips the side of his neck.

“I'm good,” the omega smiles. Before Buck can question further Eddie pulls him into a kiss. It's unlike any kiss they'd had. They get lost in relearning each other in the warmth of a bond. Bonded mates.

They try not to let their bond interfere as they work. Shared shifts haven't changed much other than having the constant awareness the other one is near without even having to look. It's reassuring, especially for Eddie. It helps quell the uneasy feeling of watching his mate run headlong into danger without the omega there to have his back. Assurance that he would know if something happened, even from the outside.

Separate shifts had the same assurance but with an added longing for their mate being too far away. The pregnancy hormones didn't help but Eddie would endure it. Buck shouldn’t have been surprised how even he felt it. Then again, Buck always missed Eddie when he wasn’t around. It’s part of why he had worked so hard to get back after every injury and setback. It felt like they had something to prove again. Only this time it wasn’t an injury. It was more than that. They had to prove they could manage being a bonded pair and still do their jobs. On the same shift or not.

Eddie complains when he has to have his uniform replaced because his usual set no longer fits. Everyone keeps telling him it’s only the start, but it’ll be worth it. Buck is helpful at times like that. Eager to remind his mate how much the alpha likes his new look.

The sonogram on the fridge gets updated every few weeks. Things went well until Eddie was about 24 weeks along. They get called out to a car accident. And the omega gets an uneasy feeling about it. At first, he thinks it's probably because it reminds him of Shannon. But lots of things still make him think of Shannon, especially when he looks at Christopher. Or checks in with his former in-laws. But he just had a bad feeling. Buck must feel it through the bond because the alpha is on edge. It has Buck being extra vigilant. But no amount of vigilance could prevent what happened from happening. A driver that had either been frustrated by the delay caused by the accident or had been too distracted to even notice it clipped the front of the ambulance. Thankfully no one was in the rig but the collision ended up connecting with the stretcher that the pair of paramedics had been waiting with. Hen and Eddie scrambled to get out of the way, and both did for the most part. Bobby was immediately calling for backup and PD assistance to help re-secure the scene. Buck and Chimney rushed over to check on them.

“Eddie!” The alpha drops down to his knees next to where his mate had ended up. The alpha wants to touch but he has no idea where. The last thing he wants to do is make anything worse. So he asks, “Look at me.” Eddie's eyes meet his. “What hurts?”

The omega would normally brush it off and tell the other man to do his job. But they were right on the edge of that 24-week viability mark. And that had Eddie trying to figure out what exactly he might have injured. A lot of his body was often sore from pregnancy as is. His shoulder hurts. That was probably from taking the brunt of the fall. The shoulder having more recently taken a bullet didn't help but that was pain he could live with if needed to. “Shoulder doesn't feel great,” he states. Buck shifts to let him lean against him instead of the omega’s shaking arms, bracing his back as best he can without aggravating the shoulder.

“Anything else?” The alpha asks.

“I don't think so, but that might just be adrenaline,” he says honestly.

“Think you can get up?” Buck asks.

Eddie realizes that he is sort of in the middle of the road which is definitely not a good place to be with what just happened. “Yeah, probably a good call.” He doesn't bother trying to hide the pain in his shoulder as the alpha helps him up. Buck would feel it through the bond even if he did. So why waste the effort?

By then the other crews were starting to arrive. Both cars' occupants are now managed by other crews and PD. And their ambulance is set to be towed. The team loaded into the truck and headed to the hospital. Bobby wasn't taking any chances and no one argued. Eddie's good shoulder leans against Buck in the truck. The ache in his shoulder grew with each bump in the road. He tries to focus on anything but the pain. But one bump has him gasping and tears in his eyes. He hadn't felt the pup move since everything went to shit. But the little one must have not been a fan of Chim’s driving because the unborn pup was moving now.

“What’s wrong?” Buck asks. The alpha's hands move to try and help but Eddie takes his mate's hand and places it over the spot where he is pretty sure a tiny foot keeps kicking. The alpha is quick to pull off his gloves and has tears in his own eyes. It was a good sign the pup was okay. He doesn't move his hand the rest of the ride. A feeling of relief floods the bond enough to nearly choke the omega, but he gets it. That's why he reacted the way he did. It meant he hadn't lost their pup.

The ER doctor confirmed that apart from some nasty bruising along Eddie's arm and shoulder both he and the pup seemed fine. It would be a painful couple of weeks while he healed without any painkillers stronger than a couple of Tylenol. But he'd manage, considering he was told in no uncertain terms by Bobby that he didn't want to see him at work for at least 2 weeks. And insisted Buck take a few days just in case. Eddie had tried to argue that it left them too short staffed but Bobby had just pointed out that the rig was out of commission, so a few days wouldn't hurt.

Buck was hyper-vigilant once they got home. Eddie waved him off insisting he could manage getting to the room on his own. Leaving the alpha to explain why they were home early to Carla, and more importantly, Christopher. Which meant as soon as Christopher knew he was off down the hall after his dad. Carla had demanded more details and stole the after-visit instructions. Buck hadn't argued. After Carla added a few notes, on looking after not just any injured pregnant omega, but this particularly stubborn one, she told the alpha to call if he needed to and headed out.

The alpha feels some of the anxiety and finally heads to check on the pair.

“I promise it's okay, bud,” he hears his mate say. “It's bruised, but not broken. We’re okay.”

The alpha wasn't sure what the younger Diaz replied because the sound of the bedroom TV drowns it out. Guess that meant neither would be leaving there for a while. And that was perfectly fine with Buck. His two favorite people, technically three, in one spot. Safe and sound. Buck would make sure of it.

The alpha smiled as he looked through the open door. His inner alpha finally relaxed knowing his pack was okay. Eddie had managed to settle in his favorite spot in his pillowed nest. Christopher nestled in on his good side, now watching some cartoon, unbothered by the fact his omega father had scented him. Buck would have to be the one to extricate everyone, but the alpha didn't mind. If that is where his mate wanted to be, that was fine with him.

“You just going to stand there or what?” Eddie asks.

“You two look cozy,” Buck says as he nears them.

“I didn't even know we had this many pillows,” Christopher says. Eddie tries hard not to laugh and mostly succeeds. He manages to not jostle his arm too much in the process.

“We do have a lot,” the alpha grins.

“Are you mocking my nest? That's not very nice,” Eddie gives an exaggerated pout. “It's a normal omega thing. It-”

“It's very, you,” Buck says as he carefully makes his way in, trying not to aggravate his mate’s injuries. He ignores the eye roll from his omega at being treated so gingerly. But no one complained.

“It's a good nest,” Christopher assures his dad.

Eddie settles back against a pillow that had moved in with Buck. It may have been Buck’s for a long time but the alpha didn't mind losing his favorite pillow if his mate was happy. They settled in watching some random show Christopher had found. The soft and warm nest has the injured and exhausted omega asleep before the episode's credits.

Eddie found it amusing that between Buck and Christopher, the omega was pretty much on bed rest for over a week. It was enough to drive the usually active dad stir-crazy. The first few days had been fine. He was tired and sore. He didn't want to move. He just wanted to sleep. His mate had made sure he was as comfortable as an injured and pregnant omega could be. Christopher had volunteered for his fair share of cuddles. To which the omega was grateful for.

Carla was there when Buck had to go back to work. As much as he hated shifts when Eddie wasn't there, it was going to happen.

They are a bit more cautious as the days tick by. One quiet day off a few weeks later Eddie is relaxing on the couch while Christopher watches TV. The omega smiles when he feels a now familiar, but still amazingly reassuring, feeling of the pup moving around. He gets an idea.

“Chris, come here,” Eddie says with a grin.

Christopher eyes his dad skeptically but the boy can tell his dad seems happy.

“What?” Christopher asks with amusement.

“Give me your hand,” the omega says.

“You're weird,” Christopher says but does as his dad asks. Buck, hearing the odd conversation and the TV no longer playing, becomes curious. The alpha made his way to the living room where the two had been while he made lunch. The comfort and love flowing through the bond is unbelievably comforting. Pairing that feeling with the sight before him is nearly overwhelming in the best way possible.

Eddie grins as he guides his son’s hand to his stomach. And both Eddie and Buck can tell the moment Christopher feels it. All the weirdness from doing what his dad asked vanished. His eyes go wide in awe.

“Feel that?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Christopher says.

“You know what that is, right?” Buck asks as he joins them. Eddie chuckles at the eye roll from the young teen.

“It's the pup,” Christopher says.

“Crazy, right?” Buck says, ignoring the sassy nature of Christopher's actions. “That's your little brother or sister.”

Eddie hadn't taken his eyes off his son. It was sweet how even after the omega let go of Christopher's hand the boy hadn't moved much. He was still tucked beside his dad on the couch, his hand getting kicked by his unborn sibling.

“That's good, right?” Christopher asks.

“Yeah, means the little pup is moving which means they are healthy,” Eddie assures him.

“Probably happy too,” the alpha adds.

“That's good,” Christopher says as he finally pulls back and settles in beside his dad. And Eddie feels like he could cry with how happy he is. Christopher wasn't the most cuddly now that he was getting older. Eddie wonders if it's because he's learned in school about the secondary genders. He knew his dad was an omega. And omegas tend to be more tactile. It also might be that Christopher has always been a sweet boy, especially when it came to his dad, even Buck. Either way, Eddie is proud of his son. He was going to be a good big brother. He already was so gentle with his little cousins, especially Jee-Yun. Eddie couldn't wait to see Christopher with his little sibling.

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kultofathena · 8 months

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Albion Museum Collection – The Sankt Annen

The blade of the Sankt Annen sword is a classic example of a sword of war that was very popular by the end of the 13th Century and throughout most of the 14th Century. These powerful weapons were optimized for devastating cuts in swift and exact maneuvers. Their outline may suggest a heavy and pondersous heft, but the balance can be both lively and agile. The Sankt Annen sword is a great example of the character and quality you find in the finest examples of the type.

The blade of the Sankt Annen sword is shaped to combine a lively feel with surprising rigidity that together provide superior cutting capabilities. Like many other swords of this type the blade has an octagonal cross section. This design allows the edge bevels to meet at an angle that is an optimal combination of sharpness and resilience. The shallow fuller stops halfway down the blade followed by a low midrib that runs to the point. We have worked hard to emulate the subtly curved profile and the slightly softened but precise grind of the original.

The pommel is a deep type J that is made partially hollow just like the original. It is not circular but slightly squashed in outline with a flat base towards the grip. On the top is a high pyramid-shaped rivet block that is decorated with filed lines. On each face of the pommel is stamped a small cross. It is evident that the original pommel was forged by a masterful craftsman who could work at speed and yet produce an object of seemingly simple but subtle beauty.

The guard is of style 2 forged into a slight curve. The arms have an octagonal section that gradually blends into a rectangular section in the middle. At first glance the guard may look simple, but it takes considerate skill to make such a guard with the correct form and proportions.

The overall proportions of the sword and all major elements of its design can be defined by a simple geometric layout and it seems it was originally designed by a master of the craft who had a deep insight into the the high medieval design traditions that were shared among architects, engineers and artists of the period. The proportion between hilt and blade is exactly 1:4 and can be defined by a series of 9 interlocked circles, placing the guard at the periphery of the first circle. The proportions of the hilt components and the width of the blade are all defined by a small number of geometric constructions following the principle of the golden section.

#Kult of Athena #KultofAthena #New Item Wednesday #Albion #Museum Collection #The Sankt Annen #sword #swords #weapon #weapons #blade #blades #13th century #14th century #European Swords #European Weapons #Medieval Swords #Medieval Weapons #Longswords

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laneynoir · 8 months

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Day five!

Prompts used: Debris/Pinned Down/"It's broken"

It was his sworn duty to attend to his king, he argues against the guilt growing in his chest. There was no other option. To stay would be treason, to his king, to himself, and to Mahal amd yet he wishes he had, for now no trace of his love can be found.

Both brothers pick among the fallen at differant speeds, both moving quickly despite his injury, Dori, more methodical, traverses at a slower pace, using his incredible strength to push aside even the larges of fallen foes. Dwalin says nothing against their tactics, the words stick in his throat, and he probably could not form a cohearant sentance in any case.

His ears are not the best, and the clamour of the post battle obscures much, so it is a wonder and blessing that he hears the strained grunting to his left. When he looks, the only sight is of a huge dead troll with an armoured exterior of stone meant to destroy buildings. Dread fills his heart, and the desision to run toward the noise is a half conscious one.

He draws to the crude helmet, and calls to the form shrouded from view, when it returns his heart sinks further into his stomach. "Ori? Can you breath?"

"Yes," It comes in a stuttered shake. "But I cant move, its pinned me down on my front." He swears under his breath, mind racing in preparation, creating and denying several plans as they come to him.

"Alright, can you describe your position? What hurts the most, and how much are you bleeding?" It hurts to remain so calm, and had he not fought as long as he has, he doubts he would be able to. "I'm goibg to get you out, don't fret Rakl (dearest)."

Theres a pause as the scribe asses his situation, "Uhm, ive got some cuts, mostly bruises though, my leg is pinned beneath the troll's chin -which is a sentance that I never thought I would say- and my wrist is trapped under the stone helm." He pauses and seems to repeat a shuddering cry. "It's broken."

Dwalin feels his heart stop for a moment, to loose one's craft is as heartrending to most dwarrow as loosing their love. An extra surge of fierce protective nature and determination pulls his shoulders back and his mind into focous. He turns, scans the field, and spots the slightly squashed three point hairstyle he seeks. A shout later the other brother apears and both race to his side.

Nori's sharp eyes quickly take im the situation, he glances to Dwalin and needs no further explanation, Dori is not so quick in coming to and understanding and imeadiatly necomes panicked at his brother's predicament. To Dwalin's mild surprise and amusment, Nori whips around and smacks his brother across the face, the trick works and Dori draws a breath and nodds.

"You and Dwalin are lifting, I'm getting Ori."

Dwalin might have once been uncomfortable woth the ease woth which the thief reads his intention, but now he could not dwell on such things if he were to try. He and Dori each grip the ledge of the stone and lift it as high as they safely can, Nori darts forward, takes a brief second to scan his brother for the best way to move him, and then has him out in under five heartbeats.

The troll's face is unceremoniously dumped back to the ground, at the same moment that Dwalin falls to his lover's side. A quick look proves that Ori's self diagnoses was partially correct, if understated; the cuts that line his body are painful looking and still releasing blood, and his wrist is not only broken, but a bone is protruding from the skin of his palm.

Dwalin hears a sharp inhale to his right, but focouses only on Ori, who's eyes keep sliding out of focus. "Ach now, stay awake, you need to look at me. Do not close your eyes, i cant loose you, we'll get you a healer, just-"

"Dwalin?" There's blood coming from his mouth, Nori has run to find Oin. "I love you. I hadn't said that yet. I do."

His eyes flutter again, and then close, ears deaf to the pleading voice above him.

#whumptober 2023 #dwalin/ori #dwalin x ori #dwalin #ori #my fic

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whumpsical · 2 years

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Quality Assurance

contents: trafficking, expIicit (oraI) noncon, choking (but uhhh... not with hands 😳), kidnapping, captivity, a fucking blowtorch!?, torture, branding, female whumper + male whumpee, abstract suicidaI thinking, a healthy dose of that thing where whumper grabs whumpee by the jaw

Jian gets a warm welcome <3

April 2019

taglist!!! @yet-another-heathen @much-ado-about-whumping @minerscanary

🔥🔥🔥

“...isn’t that right, Ji-yan?”

Jian froze at the butchered mention of his name. He hadn’t told them anything. And if he did, he wouldn’t have said it like that.

His own driver’s license flashed in front of his face, held in a pale hand. Of course. His fucking wallet. Jian jerked his head to the side, whipping his hair across his cheekbones and shooing the card away with all the range of motion he had left at his disposal. The blonde woman circled him, shuffling through his little green snail-print wallet and its contents, separating out what she wanted to keep by carelessly flinging the rest to the floor. Jian’s license bounced on the linoleum, followed by a few wrinkled coupons. The blonde woman pocketed his credit card, a Target gift card, and what little cash he had, then tossed the empty wallet back to him. It whacked him right between the eyes before landing on the floor with the rest of his discarded belongings.

“Not much on you,” the blonde woman said. She approached him, and Jian’s face burned when her white sneakers trod on his ID.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more profitable,” Jian sneered. The blonde woman smiled sarcastically, her blue eyes unamused.

“Oh, you’ll pull plenty of profit for me, Ji-yan.”

Jian rolled his eyes at her mispronunciation, but he wasn’t about to fucking correct her. The woman took the gesture for doubt at her fucking mission statement and grabbed Jian’s face, squashing his cheeks against his teeth and forcing him to look up at her. She tilted his head around, studying his face and neck with a troublingly discerning eye while Jian struggled fruitlessly.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “pretty Asian boy like you, I bet you’ll be all booked up months in advance.”

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch me,” Jian growled, finally wrenching his face out of the blonde woman’s grasp. She retaliated with a lightning-quick backhand. It stung, but Jian was left with more shock than anything when he felt the woman’s firm grip on his jaw again, almost before he could register the pain of the slap.

“Cut that out,” the woman snapped in an almost parental tone. Jian cringed, but shut his mouth. “You’d better get used to touching, Ji-yan. In fact, I think that’s where we should start. But first…”

The woman seemed to catch a glimpse of something behind Jian and trailed off, dropping Jian’s jaw and stepping away to where not even his peripheral vision could reach her. Jian bowed his aching head and tried to catch a few deep breaths as the woman spoke to someone behind him. He only got a moment before the woman came back around, grinning wide.

“You’re in for a treat, Ji-yan,” she said. Jian was just about to spit back some sarcastic comment when the woman leaned down and started unbuttoning his jeans. Her quick hands imbued Jian with an immediate anxiety, dark and sick, which pulled forward and overtook every other potential thought in his head. His stomach swirled into his throat, and he jerked all his muscles in a way that should’ve equaled a batch of sharp kicks, but his ankles only strained painfully against the cuffs.

“Hey! Get off my--”

“Oh, relax. It’s not that kind of treat,” the blonde woman said, pausing with her fingers stuck beneath Jian’s waistband. “Though I’m sure you’d prefer it if it was. My guy in the field said he found you while you were out working.”

Jian squirmed uncomfortably as his pants were forcibly tugged down, and he tried not to let the dark hovering mist of panic descend over him. Every rushed breath was a weary hand waving at the mist, doing next to nothing to clear it away. Thankfully, the woman had left Jian’s underwear in place, but she had his jeans down by his ankles already.

“Now, are you gonna kick me? Or can I untie you to take these off?” she asked. Jian swallowed.

“No promises,” he growled, sounding less threatening than he’d hoped.

“Doesn’t matter to me.” The woman shrugged and reached around him, her chest in his face. Jian shut his eyes awkwardly and drew back as far as he could, smelling mild detergent and men’s deodorant. He could’ve bitten her if he wanted to, she was so close to him.

As soon as Jian thought about going for it, the woman stood back again, brandishing a pair of large orange scissors. She knelt down to the floor, held the fabric of Jian’s pants taut, and started cutting through them.

Jian didn’t realize he’d made a small offended noise out loud until the woman tsked at him, pausing her work to gesture at him with the scissors.

“You could’ve just lied to me, but now I can’t trust your feet, so…” She continued cutting.

They were just jeans. Thrift store jeans, not even his favorite pair. But as he watched this woman rip and cut clean through them, a horrible yellow lightbulb flashed and popped inside Jian’s head.

She was going to keep him indefinitely.

Why a destroyed pair of pants was what finally tipped him off, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was that he could imagine running out into the street barefoot, but to be making a daring escape without any pants on seemed particularly impossible. Whatever the reason, Jian could suddenly make a whole lot more sense of the bolted-down chair he sat on and the seemingly enormous but totally empty apartment complex they’d brought him to.

This was real. This was big. Organized. There had been countless others in this same chair, in this same stripped kitchen, getting their pants cut from their bodies by this same blonde woman. And she had gotten good at the game. There would be no catch and release this time.

When she was finished, the blonde woman tossed the scraps of denim to the side and smiled up at Jian.

“You’re gonna love this,” she said, her voice glittering with sarcasm and glee, before playfully smacking Jian’s bare thighs and circling around him again, disappearing into the space that still came up blank in Jian’s slowly growing mental map of the hallways and rooms.

He heard a quiet hiss start up behind him, like an a/c unit running in the distance. Then a small click that ramped the soft hiss up to a roar.

The cold sweat on Jian’s neck seemed to spring up and evaporate simultaneously in the sudden, overbearing heat of the fucking blowtorch being lit somewhere behind him. The fucking blowtorch. The fucking blowtorch!?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Jian began and was still muttering to himself when the blonde woman looped back around into Jian’s field of vision, which was now trembling and pulsing like he was about to pass out. Fear had entirely paralyzed his body, but he stayed mind-flayingly conscious for everything she said to him.

“You’re my property now, Ji-yan,” the woman said flatly. She squatted in the center of the room to lazily flick around and pick up Jian’s discarded ID, then sauntered over to him on the chair, studying or pretending to study the card as she did. The plastic thwipped as she whisked Jian’s ID to an inch in front of his eyes, drowning his vision in blurry pale blue. “This doesn’t mean a fucking thing anymore. Your name is what I say it is. You are as old as I say you are. Your fucking donor status is determined by me.”

“Fuck…” Jian sobbed out in a raspy, shaking whisper. He could practically feel the heat of the blowtorch singing the hair behind his right ear. He could feel irregular patches of unbearable heat all over his body.

He hadn’t even been touched yet. Nothing near it.

“You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do,” the blonde woman continued, pulling the card away from Jian’s eyes and using it to tilt his chin up instead. He couldn’t resist the tug. He couldn't do anything but tremble violently and cling his bound hands to the legs of the chair. It was all he could reach. “You’ll be exactly what I tell you to be. And you will always belong to me, Ji-yan, no matter what anyone else wants you to think.”

She stepped backwards.

“Please don’t-- Please-- I’ll do any-- I’ll do what y--” Jian sputtered, but his voice drifted to a whiny, wordless cry as someone new stepped out from behind him, wielding both a blowtorch and a long metal rod with one already glowing flat end.

“I don’t think he understands,” the blonde woman’s voice seemed to wobble along with the heat distortion pulsing too close to Jian’s face. His ID floated into the illusion, and a black hole sprouted in the flexible plastic. Jian’s information warped instantly, his face and name melting beneath the white blast of the blowtorch, the edges of his ID dissolving away like a marshmallow over the flame. “I own you,” the woman said, and dropped the melting ID to the ground before it could burn her steady fingers. “You’re only a person anymore in that if I neglect to feed you, you’ll still die.”

Tears pricked at Jian’s eyes, and if he were able to think about it at all, he would’ve been surprised and impressed that it took this long to get him started. But his mind was consumed by flame already, and these pathetic tears hissed and sputtered in the radiant heat, not coming remotely close to extinguishing it.

“I just need one thing from you, Ji-yan.”

He didn’t need any more fucking convincing.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll do what you want, just please--”

“Ah-ah, getting ahead of me there,” the woman chided. Jian’s gaze flicked from her face to the white flame and back again uncontrollably, feeling his unruly heartbeat behind his eyes. He shut his mouth. “What I need from you, Ji-yan, is quality assurance.”

There was a brief silence only padded by the deep ocean roar of the blowtorch. Jian had a guess, but he clung to the thin hope that he was wrong about what the woman wanted from him. He swallowed thickly.

“Quality… Quality assurance,” Jian repeated with numb lips, barely breathing out. His tongue was already dry again.

She bent to meet his eyes. He couldn’t wrench his gaze from the torch behind her. A light touchdown of soft fingers caressing his cheek startled him, but Jian couldn’t break away from the searing flame long enough to react.

“Quality assurance,” said a druglike, calming female voice from within the heart of the fire.

It must have been better now that Jian’s body didn’t belong to him anymore, because he already couldn’t feel the harsh, cold finger that tilted his chin upwards. His eyes remained on their radiant target.

“What’s going to happen now is--”

Once that target hit him, Jian would be downright grateful to stop being a person. He could bubble and pop and char down to the bone, and it wouldn’t matter because those bones weren’t even--

A sharp slap to Jian’s right temple caught him in the right eye as it went, making him squint and blink at the blonde woman above him.

“Look at me.”

Jian did. But she held his chin in an unyielding grip now, forcing where she had only been leading before.

“What’s going to happen now is this: We are going to keep heating up our iron here, and you--” Jian glanced towards the flame again, but flinched back when the woman threateningly raised an open hand. Her pale blue eyes held afterimages of blindingly black solar eclipses. “And you are going to suck off our lucky guard here--” Jian didn’t look. He saw the spectral form of a tall man cross his left periphery, but he didn’t look. Jian hadn’t wanted to look, but it gave the woman a proud smirk either way. “--until he comes down your throat. And only then will we take the brand off the fire and get to the really fun bit.”

It was like they had pressed the metal to his skin already, dragged it down the length of his spine.

“No,” Jian whimpered at a volume even he couldn’t hear. He wouldn’t-- He couldn’t do all of that just to still be--

“Yes.” The woman nodded, smiling, savoring the helplessness pouring from Jian’s body in waves. “See, that’s where you had gotten ahead of me, Ji-yan. Thrilling as it is to see you try, you’re not begging your way out of this one. It’s going to happen either way. What’s up to you is the speed at which it does. And, consequently, the temperature.”

Jian hiccuped out a heartbroken sob in the woman’s face and she let him go, leaving him to bow his head and cry.

“You can’t… I… I ca--” Jian sobbed breathlessly, verging on hyperventilation. That couldn’t be right. There had to be some kind of recommended temperature for this type of thing. But he had no idea where or how to aim for it, and could barely believe how seriously he was thinking about it in the first place.

He finally lifted his gaze to the guard on his left and felt a terrified reflexive uproar in his stomach, blinking his eyes and turning away before he could catch and comprehend any more details of the man’s form. Jian stared up at the woman and her assistant with the blowtorch instead, preferring their known evil.

“What if-- Wh--” Jian panted, diving through swells of hitching whimpers and heartstopping paralysis to find enough space to breathe, and then to speak. “What if I-- What if I don’t? If I can’t do it, or-- or I just… What are you gonna do? Are you gonna let it keep burning until I’m--” The image of molten metal slowly dripping onto his naked skin, lighting it instantly like tinder on hot coals, slipped into Jian’s mind and wouldn’t shake loose, even when the pressure that had leaked down into his chest made him cough and gag to vent it out.

The blonde woman’s posture never changed. Her small smile never faltered.

“Oh, come on, come on, please,” Jian wept, letting go of all pretenses of dignity as the hopelessness of his situation dunked him into dark freezing water.

Two pale hands plunged into his depths to keep him down.

The blonde woman’s voice was the only other thing to pierce the surface. She sounded as if she were speaking right into his ear, but he couldn’t see her at all.

“It would take an awful long while for it to get hot enough that it’d hurt you more than I’m already intending to. But I’ve never minded a little mess. Let’s try it.”

“No…”

“The floor is yours, brave volunteer.”

“No-o…”

The nebulous darkness around him shifted, and Jian blinked to find he could see again, but that he’d opened his eyes to a nightmare in full force.

The guard’s belt buckle was at Jian’s eye level, and nearly flush with his face. He could fucking smell him, musty and excited.

“This is fucked up,” Jian whispered, like he’d only just realized. He whipped his head to either side, frantically searching for any hope of escape hidden somewhere behind the man’s hips. All he saw was fire, and a blonde woman wreathed in it. “This is so fucked up. Oh fuck…” Jian’s voice rose to a squeak and cut out altogether when the guard nestled one wide hand on Jian’s crown as he unfastened his black leather belt with the other.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Oh, and?” the blonde woman chimed in, a spark in Jian’s ear. “I wouldn’t bite if I were you, Ji-yan.”

This wasn’t fucking happening. Jian rattled the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, but if there was any way to escape this chair, he would’ve fucking done it already.

Jian shut his eyes tight as the guard finished undoing his pants, but he caught one unwilling glimpse of an intimidatingly large dick before he could shut everything down. The guy was already hard, just from… what? Anticipation? Jian’s fear? Oh. His fear. Of course he was. Of fucking course he was. Fuck. Fuck.

Jian couldn’t survive this.

The guard situated himself close, one leg between Jian’s knees and the other butting up against Jian’s shoulder, completely caging him in against the back of the chair.

The blonde woman hadn’t even allowed Jian a hand to use. All he could move was his head, and barely that. Especially once the guard tightened his fist in Jian’s hair.

He couldn’t survive this.

Jian opened his mouth to vent a despairing sob but snapped it shut again with a whine when he felt hot, soft skin brush his lips.

“It’s all up to you, my friend,” said a low, husky voice from above Jian’s head. “I’m in no rush.”

The roaring sound of the blowtorch lapped at Jian’s ears, and he kept his eyes closed as he felt something break inside him, like a tiny piece of cartilage crushed under a boot. He let out a quiet, shaky sob and gave himself up to the demented ambience of this fucking place, sweeping powdery bone fragments into his hands and blowing it into the air like a dandelion. He already felt his brain picking through approaches to take with the man who might as well have just been another one of his shitty fucking clients, and Jian didn’t try to stop his own baked-in expertise from pulling the plug on his conscious brain and leading his empty body along the only forward path.

Jian licked his chapped lips. His mouth was dry, but he could bet the wild heat he was emanating would feel exhilarating anyhow. The torch had raised the temperature of the room by twenty degrees, or maybe it was just him.

He whined, shuddered, sobbed just a little bit. Almost slipped right back into the debilitating electrical shock of panic. But one last miserable sigh took with it Jian’s last shred of self respect, and he gratefully surrendered that worthless piece of himself to the atmosphere. There was no other way through this. He took a slow, deep breath.

He let his lips find their way to the guard’s dick and softly coordinated himself without opening his eyes. He licked his lips again, catching soft, salty skin with his tongue as he did. It still took him two tries to open his mouth without sobbing, but that was what this guy had fucking wanted anyway, and the moment the guard slid firmly past Jian’s lips and nestled against his tongue, Jian went dumb with focus.

Getting besieged by muscle memory rewarded Jian with something like bliss. Learned instinct took over, and Jian’s body independently shifted gears to swerve from the survival panic that he knew in this situation would’ve only served to make him choke. The sound of the blowtorch faded to nothing in the background, and all Jian could follow were the mechanisms of the guard’s body as they meshed delicately with Jian’s own carefully regulated breathing. Like an olympic swimmer, like an opera singer, like a good whore.

If he kept his eyes shut, he could pretend for a while that he’d met up with someone nice and had offered to make them feel good.

The rattling of the cuffs around his wrists and ankles jolted him back to his real body every time the guard rocked deeper into Jian’s throat, forcing Jian’s face further down and tightening the grip he still kept on his hair. Jian succumbed to a fit of choking when wiry pubes started tickling his nose as he struggled to keep pace. Claustrophobic mortal panic began to spiral up again from a point of suffocation anchored just too deep inside him to shake loose on his own.

The fever pitched when an imploring whine stopped short at the top of Jian’s lungs, its path mercilessly blocked.

Jian couldn't survive this.

“Need a sec to breathe?”

The guard pulled out just long enough for Jian to expel a tortured cough and scramble for a snotty gasp in through his mouth, a line of spit from Jian’s lips still unbroken as the guard cupped either side of Jian’s head in his hands and pressed himself in again, nearly to the hilt. He forced Jian’s head to pulse downward in harsh motions, rubbing himself against Jian’s soft palate while Jian tried in earnest to keep his teeth out of the way.

Jian’s focus nearly lapsed when he suddenly gagged on a particularly inconsiderate thrust. He made a pained, panicked noise deep in his throat and craned wet eyes up at the guard in a distant but desperate plea. The guard huffed a gratified sigh at the eye contact, shading his own lids and biting his lip, then tugged Jian impossibly close with a harsh hand wrapping around the back of Jian’s head.

Jian couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry, couldn’t shiver, couldn’t do anything but pretend he had it in him to survive for just one more second like this. And then to do it again. And again, and again, until Jian’s vision began swirling in on itself in a black whirlpool, and the excruciating burning sensation in his throat poured down into his chest like tree roots desperately searching for water, finding none. All the while he kept genuine, miserable eyes fixed on the guard’s face, begging for any scrap of mercy at all. Finding none.

One more agonized choking sound emanated from somewhere deep inside Jian’s halfway unconscious form, and the guard finally pulled all the way out of his mouth.

Jian gasped too early, his lungs too desperate for relief to wait for his airway to clear before aspirating a splash of seawater through his already raw rose and throat, coughing hard enough to spray a sick blend of saliva and cum across the floor.

“I’d call that a passing score,” the guard chuckled quietly, almost sheepishly.

“Good job, Ji-yan,” said the blonde woman. “You might be less hopeless than I thought you were.”

He was still coughing when the blonde woman and her flamethrower-wielding lackey approached him again, and Jian whined helplessly when the part of his brain that had carried him this far abruptly dropped away, cowering in fear, forsaking him to experience what was coming next in full force.

“Nononononono, wait, wait!” Jian cried, his voice painfully hoarse. It was supposed to be over. It was supposed to not matter anymore. His body was supposed to have surrendered itself to feeling nothing worse than ambivalence over what happened to it.

This was so much fucking worse. This was sudden, unfiltered terror.

Jian whimpered pathetically. He couldn’t stop. His subconscious instincts had run out of steam, and Jian could do nothing but thrash in the chair and start up a gravelly, panicked wail when the guard held him steady from behind, controlling him with an arm around his collarbones and a wide hand pinning his left thigh to the seat. Jian’s right leg twitched and fought against the restraints, but all he could manage was easily manageable, exhausted wriggling.

The guard’s warm, sturdy arms around him made Jian even more sick to his stomach than he already was. He breathed exclusively through shuddering gasps and broken sobs, desperately hoping it was somehow enough to make himself pass out before the hauntingly bright tip of the iron could get any closer.

“Please, NO, ple-ease, just WAIT--”

“Wait?” the blonde woman snapped sarcastically. Her face twisted into a grotesque mimicry of innocent confusion and quizzicality. “You’re not satisfied with your work? Our guard might need a few minutes, but I’m sure he’d agree to another round, if that’s what you want.”

“No!” Jian yelped. The guard’s breath in his ear was suddenly hotter than the iron, and Jian tilted his face as far away as he could, drooping like an empty sock puppet. “No. No,” he whimpered quietly.

“No?” The blonde woman tsked. She took the iron from her assistant with the torch, and seeing it in her hand nearly made Jian vomit out of sheer panic. She ignored his dry heaving. “Well, I know you heard what I said about begging, Ji-yan. It’s adorable, really, but…” With her free hand, the woman angled Jian’s jaw so that he had to look into her face. Jian’s eyes lingered on the glowing iron on their way up, but he met her gaze. “You don’t want this to get messy, do you?”

Jian had no response. His face fell and he could feel his eyes go dull as shock made a zealous attempt to drag his cognizance into a small bundle at the back of his skull. His mouth still let out breathy keens, but he couldn’t even hear himself.

“Oh,” the woman cooed. She tilted Jian’s limp head around with ease, smiling cruelly into his blank eyes. “You do, is that it? That’s very interesting. I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type.”

It took a moment for the implications of the woman’s horrifyingly inaccurate deductive leap to reach him, and he could still barely shake his head.

“But I’m sorry, my poor little masochist,” the woman continued, dropping Jian’s jaw and motioning for her torch-bearing assistant to drop their equipment and assist the guard in keeping Jian immobile instead, “this time I must insist on precision over play.”

The blonde woman might’ve said something else as she lined the glowing iron up to a sadistically sensitive spot on Jian’s inner thigh, but Jian drowned her voice out with his own as he fell into a short dark tunnel of hysterical laughter before the flat plane of the brand was pressed carefully into his tender skin with a gut wrenching, perverse sizzle, and the next time he managed to take a breath, it resolved in a mindless, piercing scream.

Jian came to without realizing he’d passed out, fire bells still ringing in his head as he moaned uncontrollably.

Jian just…

He couldn’t…

This wasn’t happening.

It couldn’t be, except it was. It wouldn’t fucking stop. Jian sobbed into the arms of the guard behind him, butting his nose into the crook of the soft elbow still keeping his shoulders in place, and wept to find that he had belatedly lost interest in the fate of his body. He trusted its automated mechanisms to either keep him going through this nightmare or euthanize him as a mercy.

So that’s how far he’d landed: genuinely hoping he’d kill himself with the power of his mind. Jian moaned, his eyes losing focus again. At least it was good to know where his new starting point was, he thought vaguely.

A warm hand took him by the jaw and dragged Jian’s lagging gaze to front. Time kept skipping around him, and Jian felt like he could be experiencing a moment from weeks in the future and five years ago simultaneously.

“I want you to look at this.” A woman’s voice. The future.

The hand raked through Jian’s hair and tugged, drawing his head down and forcing him to stare at his own thigh.

He closed his eyes firmly after a second, but the image of his own flesh, black and charred with a simple two inch design burned into it -- three lines: one long and vertical, two short and horizontal, jutting out from the center of the vertical line -- flashed and bubbled behind Jian’s eyelids.

“Look at it, Ji-yan.”

The voice of the unfortunate future gave him a new name as it shook him by the hair, and he couldn’t even think to disobey. He stared into the site of the most unbearable acute pain he’d ever felt and pretended the flashing of his pulse at the edges of his vision was not any concern of his, instead regressing fully into studying the pale hand as it groped the trembling thigh that wasn’t even his anymore. It didn’t matter. The hand feathered across blackened skin, and for some fucking reason Jian could still feel every nerve. He screamed, but the woman spoke clearly and calmly over his gutted, anguished wailing.

“This little mark makes it official, Ji-yan. See this?” A thin finger trached an L from the lines of the brand, and Jian watched a teardrop fall and melt into the fabric of his boxers. “L: Lucia.” She continued in her tracks, using the bottom line of the L and the rest of the pattern to draw an F. “F: Forsling. You belong to me; Lucia Forsling. Say it back to me.”

“I… I…” Jian stammered, struggling to make sense of anything. He heard words, but it was like he was getting them from an underwater speaker. His skull felt permeated with cigarette smoke, sickly yellow stains crawling up the sides and ash mucking up his vision.

Lucia Forsling dug her thumb into the wound on Jian’s thigh and didn’t let up, even once Jian’s crying reached a sharper pitch.

“Say it.”

“I… I belong to-- Fuck! I belong to-- to-- Lucia F-Forsl..ng,” Jian slurred, his voice cutting out towards the end. He had already proven it. He had already given up. There was no point to any of this. Lucia still pressed in harder, this time jabbing her thumbnail into the ruined skin.

“Do it right.”

“I belong to Lucia Forsling!” Jian bawled without hesitation. Without thinking. The name felt like liquid fire in his mouth.

“That’s a good start, Ji-yan.”

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. His body fell limply forward, and Jian realized he’d been released to slump in his chair and stare blankly at the shimmering tile floor beneath his feet.

“He pissed himself,” Lucia Forsling said offhandedly on her way out, the smirk evident in her voice as it faded from the room. “Before I even touched him. Make sure to clean him up before I get back.”

And though it still didn’t matter, Jian rocked his miserable body back and forth through a hot wave of shame. He didn’t wait for the door to slam behind Lucia before tumbling again into hopeless sobs.

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graycats-arcane-blog · 2 years

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* An Unexpected Shadow * Lightcannon+Daemons AU * Rated T * 2/? chapters written * AO3 Link

Chapter 2 is up! Check it out below!

An Unexpected Shadow - Chapter 2

“What will I do if the Mageseekers declare you an enemy of Demacia? What will I do if they ask me to capture you?”

The time had come to find out.

It had been a small thing – in a relative sense, anyway. She saw freshly-caught mages getting dragged away by Mageseekers every week, so it was nothing new. But this particular day – this particular kid, with his frightened snake-daemon curled tightly around his shoulder, too traumatized to speak as he was torn from his wailing mother’s arms – proved to be the last straw.

Lux couldn’t watch anymore. Couldn’t stand on the sidelines anymore.

Garen and Hestia anticipated Lux’s breaking point a moment too late. Garen’s hand extended to grasp nothing but empty air. Hestia’s jaws missed the hem of Lux’s boot as Lux darted up the dirt path which crested the sparse, mountainside moor. Trich zipped swiftly through the air above her, his large, black wings glinting in the pure midday sun. He alighted on Lux’s shoulder just as she grabbed one of the boy’s arms, opposite to the limb caught in a mageseeker’s bruising grip.

“STOP!” she cried, fixing the perplexed mageseeker with her burning gaze. “Can’t you see what you’re doing? Leave this child alone!”

Trich flared his wings and let out a raucous caw, as if to emphasize Lux’s shout.

The mageseeker’s daemon, a cheetah, shifted her paws uneasily. Six other mageseekers and their daemons exchanged glances through their half-masks as their leader stuttered, “Lady Crownguard! I’m sorry to alarm you; you must have missed the trouble that occurred just moments ago. This child is a mage.”

Yes, she knew the child was a mage. Furthermore, she’d seen “the trouble” he’d caused from afar, watched him coax thick patches of squash plants from the ground with a mere brush of his palm against the soil.

Oh, the horror.

“He grew food!” Lux gestured toward the child’s mother, her gaze briefly passing over the woman’s wiry figure. “And clearly, his family needs it! Is this sort of treatment, this roughness toward a child, really necessary? Do you really think stealing this boy away from his mother is an appropriate way to handle this?”

The mageseeker’s expression softened into something entreating, indulgent. “Miss, I understand that magic tricks performed by children can appear harmless to those who haven’t had the misfortune of witnessing how quickly such tricks become tragedies. Make no mistake; the danger here is real. No mage, not even a child mage, can be allowed to trespass upon Demacia’s soil if we are to keep this country safe.”

Safe!?

“How can the children of Demacia feel safe when they might, at any moment, discover that they have an ability which earns them a life sentence?” Lux knew that terror; she’d lived through that terror! “How can their parents feel safe when they could lose a child in a heartbeat, all because of a gift they’d never asked for?” She saw how the mageseekers frowned when she phrased magic as a gift, saw their leader open his mouth as if to correct her – she didn’t want to hear it. “How can anyone feel safe when they know someone dear to them could vanish from the streets and never be heard from again!?”

Garen’s hand was on her shoulder now, tight and urgent. “I apologize for my sister,” he stated quickly, his voice strained as he sought to catch the mageseekers’ eyes and draw their wary sights from Lux. “She means well, truly! She cares so much, and even the coldest hearts grow soft where children are involved. You must understand –”

“DON’T APOLOGIZE FOR ME!”

Lux was seething, livid with a fire that flared from her chest and tingled at the tips of her fingers. “I am not sorry for speaking my mind!" she shouted as Trich flapped his wings with anger. "Demacia doesn’t face half the danger from mages as it does from ignorant fools!”

Lux had scarcely ever felt a rage so pure and blinding as what she felt now. Like flint struck over kindling, this encounter had showered sparks over the long-repressed ire Lux held for her nation’s backwards treatment of people with magic - people like her.

There was no stopping the blaze now.

“Unhand this child and LEAVE!”

Light burst from Lux’s skin. She could see it, feel it, over every inch of her. She was so bright that the earth around her blanched. The sun itself seemed dim beside her brilliance.

The mageseeker, unwittingly doing exactly as Lux had asked, released the child’s shoulder so that he could instead use his hand to shield his eyes. Behind him, his compatriots reeled back with fearful, trembling steps.

Garen’s hand was still rigid on Lux's arm. His eyes were wide with horror.

The secret was out. Lux knew how fervidly Garen had fought to keep it hidden, but it had never been his secret to keep.

She was out. She was… free.

She was in the company of mageseekers, who were hastily drawing chunks of Petricite from their pockets.

“Run,” Lux whispered to the child, before summoning as much light as she could muster. Without further ado, she dashed from the path, leaping over bristling thorns and clumps of heather as she and Trich took off into the wilds.

Hopefully, she would serve a sufficient distraction to earn the child’s freedom.

When she neared a grove of pines lining the edge of the moor, Lux chanced a parting glance over her shoulder to check if her distraction had worked. Indeed, the Mageseekers were chasing her now, the child forgotten in the revelation of Lux’s magnificent light. And Garen…

Unable to choose between serving his sister or Demacia, he merely stood and watched the chase begin.

Tears burned in Lux’s eyes. She’d always known that Demacia itself might turn upon her once her light grew to bright to hide, but she’d hoped to have her family – her brother, at least – by her side, ready to support her. Apparently, it wasn’t to be.

So she would run. Run from this country that hated her light. Run from this family which would shelter her, but not fight for her.

Perhaps, if she ran far enough, she could find a different sort of place with different sorts of people. People who didn’t fear what she was... Who might even embrace her.

Hadn’t she heard of a faraway city where magic was gaining popularity?

Yes…

Piltover. She would flee to Piltover.

. . .

***Weeks later…***

BOOM!

The barely audible pit-pat of deft feet over corrugated steel immediately fell silent.

Jinx tipped her head this way and that, braids swaying gently behind her. As her ears caught the resonant echo of the distant explosion, she spun without a second thought, turning her back upon the steep rooftop trail that led Topside.

Funnily enough, she’d just been on her way to stir up trouble herself. Earlier that morning, she’d happened across a scrapped newspaper with an article about of a freshly-cast, burnished-bronze statue recently erected in one of Piltover’s bustling market squares – a ten-foot-tall replica to honor their new sheriff.

Stupid Caitlyn, stupid dumb hat, sister-stealing snake…

Suffice to say Jinx wasn’t a fan of the installation, and didn’t intend to let Metal-Caitlyn’s bronze butt stand for more than a week. It had to go.

That being said…

BOOM, BANG!

A flash of powerful light tore through the dark heart of Zaun. The rooftops shook once more.

Perhaps the statue can wait…

Jinx bit her lip with excitement. She’d always thought it rude that people around here made her do all the work getting the fun started; always Jinx detonating the first bomb; always Jinx demolishing the first building. Not that she didn’t love stirring up mischief - It was her favorite thing to do! But it would be nice if someone returned the favor every now and again!

Today, it seemed that Jinx was finally in luck. Someone out there was having a blast, and Jinx wanted in!

“What do you say, Par-par?” She whispered excitedly, feeling her daemon wriggle eagerly in her pants-pocket. “Wanna go crash a party?”

#An Unexpected Shadow #Arcane #League of Legends #lightcannon #lol jinx #lol lux #Luxanna Crownguard #arcane jinx #fanfic

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nrrrdgrrrl2002 · 2 years

Text

Inconstans

Chapter 6

Leave A Light On If You’re Able

“”no. No. Let him go.

Casey wrangled in his restraints.

Mikey was right next to him. The saw was getting closer.

Stop! Stop! Don’t hurt him!

He needed to do something. The saw was barely an inch from Mikey’s plastron.

Casey could feel the metal restraints bruise him as he tried to shake out.

Mikey was screaming.

It was too late.

Casey felt warm liquid splatter on him.

He looked to Mikey.

Casey jumped up, breathing erratically. He slouched and rubbed his eyes as his heart rate was starting to slow.

He looked at the time and then his sister across from him. He felt awful. He got up and quietly got his gear on.

He looked under his bed. He grabbed a handful of mutadrug doses as he left through the window, taking a dose as he left.

Casey was looking for something to do. The city seemed really quiet tonight. He grabbed another dose as he started to feel sick, feeling there weren’t many left.

How many had he-

“Hey Jones” he jumped as he heard raph say that. “O-oh. Hey guys” Casey said awkwardly. Raph gave him a weird look. Casey’s heart started to race…

“Did you get taller?” Raph asked. “Everyones tall compared to you” Mikey responded, prompting raph to put him in a headlock.

“Ow Ow! Uncle! Uncle!” Mikey yelped. Leo rolled his eyes. “You joining us for patrol” Leo asked Casey. “Feels like we haven’t seen you for awhile” Donnie added.

“Oh. Uhh. Sure” Casey answered. “Sweet” raph said as he let Mikey go. “Let’s go crew!” Mikey said as he jumped off.

April walked up to Casey. “You ok? You seem…. Really covered up” She asked, referring to his new hoodie and scarf.

“Yeah. It’s just…. been getting cold lately” he responded. April wasn’t sure if that was right but…. She didn’t sense that he was lying…. She doesn’t sense anything……

“You guys coming?!” Raph shouted from another rooftop. April looked at Casey. “Coming!” She yelled as she jumped to them.

Casey was about to follow when he felt someone grab his shoulder. He turned around and saw it was middy. She was…. Glaring at him?

“Aren’t your eyes supposed to be dark brown?” She asked. Casey was confused, until he remembered.. “why are they so light?” She continued.

Casey felt himself sweat, not sure what excuse to make. “Uhh.. I mean.. eye colors can change” he said, knowing that was an awful excuse.

“Yeah…. When you’re a newborn” Middy responded. Casey looked away, trying to think of something to say.

“I visited your apartment” Middy said. Casey felt panic rise. “What?!” He near yelled as he grabbed her shoulders.

Why was she there she can’t be there she can’t know

Middy winced as she felt Casey gripping her shoulders too tightly. “Case!” She shouted.

Casey let go as he realized his mistake. “S-sorry” he said as he looked down and held his wrist.

“Guys! There’s mutants attacking civilians! Come on!” Leo yelled. Middy and Casey locked eyes. “We’ll discuss this later” Middy said as she ran off.

Casey’s heart was still racing as he felt his nerves go all over the place.

This is going too far. He needs to stop

He felt like he was going to be sick. He snuck a dose so that he wouldn’t get ill during the fight.

“Not the bees!” Mikey joked as they witnessed giant mutant bees spewing acid honey At people.

“That is the only bee joke you’re allowed to make” raph said. Casey caught up to the team. “What’s the plan?” He asked.

“I say pull off their stingers” Middy said. “Good idea. You heard her, team. Get their stingers without getting stung!” Leo ordered.

“At that size, it would moreso stab you” Donnie corrected. “Whatever you say” april told him as they went to attack.

Whilst the others were dealing with their bees, Casey jumped onto one and slammed it to the ground with a hockey stick, squashing it.

He swung his bat and stuck all over, nearly hitting a civilian trying to run away. “Sorry” he said as he felt his head hurt.

He stopped for a sec to rub his head. Only for a bee to come up at him. He swung at it last minute, not noticing another come up to him.

“Ah!” He yelped as the bees stinger cut his arm. He swung the bee into a wall, crushing it. He checked the wound. He could feel it bleeding but-

Nonono not good not good

His blood was dark green. He hid the wound, hoping the others didn’t see. The others had managed to deal with the rest of the bees, leaving insect guts all over.

They came up to Casey, noticing him holding his arm. “Are you hurt?” April asked. Casey panicked.

“Nonono! I’m fine. I’m fine!” He said quickly. Donnie noticed dark liquid staining Casey’s shirt sleeve around where he was holding.

“You’re bleeding! I have a med kit. I’ll take care of i-“ Donnie tried to say. “No!” Casey shouted as he walked back.

“Dude. You’re hurt. Let don check it out” Mikey said. “I don’t need it! Just.. just back off!” Casey said. “Case?” Middy asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

They all got closer as Casey felt his back bump into a wall. He gripped the wound tighter as he felt more green blood flow.

“Casey what’s wrong?” April said with a scared tone. “You’re actin weird” raph said.

“Let me look” Donnie said as he grabbed Casey’s arm.

“GET OFF!” Casey yelled as he tried to swat Donnie away, feeling his glove fly off.

“DONNIE!” April screamed.

Casey felt warm liquid splatter on him.

He felt it on his fingers, under his nails.

Everyone stepped back in shock.

Donnie gave Casey a horrified look.

Casey looked down, seeing pink liquid on his fingers.

He saw april in front of him, holding her eye as more pink liquid was pouring through her fingers.

He started shaking.

What had he done what had he done?

Donnie went up to april, getting in front of her to keep something between her and Casey as he looked at her face.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Leo yelled at Casey. Raph noticed the green glowing veins on Casey’s hand. “What’s wrong with your hand?” He asked panicked.

“Imsorryimsorryimsorry” Casey said over and over. Middy went up to him slowly.

“Casey.. we’re here to help..”she said as she approached him. “STAY AWAY!” He yelled as he smacked her hand and ran.

“Casey!” Mikey, middy and raph yelled as they tried to run for him. He had ran off to somewhere they didn’t see.

“Dammit!” Raph said as they lost him. “What do we do?!” Mikey said. “I know where his apartment is. Let’s go!” Middy said to raph.

“Wait!” Leo ordered. “April just got her face slashed!” He said as donnie looked over april. “It’s really deep. You’re gonna need stitches” Donnie told her.

“You, Donnie and Mikey can help her. Something’s clearly wrong with Casey. We need to figure out what before it’s too late” she said to him.

“Come on” she said to raph. The two ran off before Leo could object. He sighed as he saw april.

He wasn’t sure what they were gonna do about this..””

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2012 casey jones

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senpaiiventblog · 25 days

Text

5/4/2024

I'll probably forget this later, but I just had a realization.

My core issue is needing validation. My entire life, it is what I've sought out in others - the feeling of having my thoughts and beliefs not being denied outright. It's why I let so many things happen to me, why I never spoke up about the abuse or neglect until the moment I started searching for answers on my own. And even then, I still never got that part of me healed...I don't think I ever truly will, especially now since my mom is truly gone.

My mom was a big factor in my seeking of validation. Though, at the same time, I also knew it was all wrong and there was that conflict within me. Just seeing my mom allow everything to happen, wanting to fix things myself but being discouraged every time I tried to. And it's why, whenever I remember these things, I just get pissed off.

At my core, I am the type who wants to correct the bad things and make the situation better. But that fire in me was squashed out, not entirely but enough to become toxic (like burning plastic instead of wood). And now that the source of my hatred is gone, it feels like I'm just stuck in a loop - a purgatory of my own making, filled with crushed hopes and bad memories.

It hurts whenever I slip back into reality, and it's why I often forget that I write these things. My brain literally will make me forget, like how I was back in the day when I had to for survival. It's not always so bad, I'm actually pretty calm while writing this out. But I do have times where I can't function at all, it's a slippery slope and feels like I'm in a vat of oil that makes it unable to grip and pull myself up long enough to just breathe.

Mental disabilities and trauma are no joke. It's altered so much of my thought process and personality, just on the basis of surviving the abuse I was put under for so long. It's constant anger, forgetting, and just trying to pick up the pieces as they keep on trying to break over and over again. I've been able to keep some stuff intact, but it's not really much easier than before.

#mental heath awareness #mentally unstable #actually mentally ill #bpd vent #adhd brain #autism acceptance #living with ptsd #depression and anxiety

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

Rush Hour

Pairing | Sebastian Stan x reader

Summary | whilst on the way to an interview, you and Sebastian are stuck in traffic. There seems to be only one way to pass the time that comes to mind.

Warnings | smut, fingering, teasing, slight voeyurism I guess (on the phone?)

QUICK LINK TO MY MASTERLIST IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF MY CRAP 😬

It was stressful, viewing how parades of cars, lined up in their designated sections filled the large road. It appeared as none of them were going to start moving for a while, and it made you bite your lip in frustration. Out of all days, it had to be this very one, when you had to assign your presence within a specific slot of time.

You and Sebastian had even left early, as insurance that you would arrive at your destination on time, but now, you had severe doubts that you would. And those doubts, within the past few minutes, had became incredible high. It looked as though there was no chance of escaping this frozen parade for the current and important time being.

Even the simplicity of looking out the window made you slightly mad, you had places to be, as you assumed many other people that were under the same predicament were too, but for the meanwhile, you weren’t going anywhere. The lines of vehicles were stuck in some kind of limbo, stricken by the same thundering of karma at once.

Your significant other was behind the wheel, tapping his long fingers upon the round gear, causing your attention to divert up to his talented digits. As you studied them and their smooth exterior, an idea rendered in your fuming mind, and so, to put it into action, you slyly placed one of your own hands to rest upon his upper thigh.

Sebastian, instead of waving off the affection, smiled at it, thinking that it was nothing more than a tender instinct to also calm him down. The bet was, his agent would have his ass for showing up late, well aware that they had been the one to arrange this press in order to promote the latest of your shared projects.

However, he had not expected in this bustling, and public surrounding moment that you would creep your grip up higher, and so he tensed as you did just that. But he chose to allow you to continue for now, his front deep digging solely into his lower lip to express some of the tension that he was under whilst stuck in the car.

It was impossible to predict how long the pair of you would be stuck in the moving box, and it seemed that you had configured a way in your mind to pass it. One that had lead to your fingers dancing over his trousers, and making him groan lightly in anticipation.

His cobalt eyes snapped towards you though as you removed your hand. To put it simply, you were teasing him, riling him up in the constricted amount of space. It relented you no escape from him, nor his uptake in revenge. And as you shrouded under his gaze against the inside of the passenger side door, you gulped.

Perhaps, you thought, you should have just kept your hands to yourself. And then, you would not have been stuck in this predicament of being cursed with his winter glare; it made you feel like melting ice cowering into the level below. For a second, you wished the controls of the radio volume had the ability to reverse time, so that you could correct your mistake.

The feeling of his hands abandoning the wheel, considering that the car was not going to be continuing moving on the road for a while, and drifting towards the bottom seam of your skirt had you inhaling as much air as your lungs would allow. It would not be the first instance of which he put his earnest skin upon yours in public, but with all around being still on one spot, a part of you worried sincerely of a noticed fan grabbing their phone with their clammy hands, and recording the interaction.

And if done, the interval, whilst stuck in one, would be painted sourly over the entire internet. There would be an assortment of clashing reviews; some lustful and imagining what it would be like to be trapped in the car with you two, and others shaming of your indecency. And to say the magazines and online articles would have a field day, well, that would be an understatement.

Seb drifted his feather light touch up higher, brushing just above the border that labelled the end of your outfit. Instead of say anything that compromised his mission, you settled back into your seat, sinking your head into the designed rest, and opened your legs a little, permitting him no resistance to do as he pleased; all because, you wanted the satisfaction and fulfilment of the adult acts too.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, squashing it beneath the carnivorous bone, as his hands danced elegantly around beneath the complimentary fabric. He toyed with you, by stroking his fingers over the thin material of your underwear, expertly putting pressure down upon your covered bud, confiscating a breathy whine out of your closed mouth. “You’re already wet.” A damn smirk coveted itself upon his healthy lips, your eyes flickering between the seductive sight, and that hidden beneath your clothes.

“Do something.” It wasn’t an order on your part; it was a sensual beg, in other terms, your sexual starvation put into words. The air from your lungs was practically ripped away as your partner delved his explorative fingers into the privacy of your garments, the pads of his delirium causing fingers heading straight towards your swollen and puffy clit.

With no hesitancy, you head rolled sideways to rest against the window, your breath frosting carelessly against the glass. Instead of caring about what was being viewed from the outside of the car, you focused on what could be seen from within the space of the front two seats. And so, you pushed up your skirt, giving the pair of you an explicit image of his hand roaming beneath the divider that kept your crotch from the barren air.

“Like this?” Sebastian taunted, sinking a finger into your sopping hole, causing your eyelashes to flutter at the sensation. A furrow worried his face however, even as he stayed still, not moving his digit, all due to the ringing of his phone. Using his free hand, he picked up the device, bringing it to his ear. “Hello?”

As he began to converse, he slowly paced his finger in and out of you, the thought of him finger fucking you whilst on the phone making you that much wetter. “No, me and y/n are going to be late, there’s traffic.” You assumed that he was speaking to his agent, and as you mewled, he left you empty, bringing his finger to his mouth to clean.

“I don’t know how long it’s going to be until the road clears.” Seb sighed, after removing his slick coated digit from his mouth, pouring a little spit onto it, and bringing it down to rest on you clit. Shuffling, you leant back as far as the seat belt allowed you to have both of your feet to be perched on the end of the passenger side, knees tucked up your body willing to take whatever he would so much as give to you.

“Seb.” At the sound of his voice falling so erotically from his lips, a crease formed between his eyebrows, and so, as punishment for interfering with the static of his phone, he pinched your clit, and to cease the audible response, you bit into the palm of your hand, leaving indents of your teeth begins.

“I can’t make it go any faster.” You were not sure whether he was speaking to you or his agent. But it didn’t matter, not as he began to roll your clit between his fingers, paying the button ample attention, that had your head going all fuzzy and thoughtless.

“As much as I wish I could clear up this whole parade of stuck cars, I can’t.” He deliberately shook his head, purposely looking away from where he was playing with you to keep focused on the phone call, despite still rubbing tight circles around your bud. “She’s fine, in fact, she’s fallen asleep. Y/n will be all rested and content if we get there.”

Rested was a word that you were opting against, but if you were going to be privileged with being made content, then who were you to argue with him? So you remained silent, biting onto anything that could silence you, to keep yourself satisfied and ensuring that he would keep some truth behind his words. “See what you can do, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With little to no reluctance, he dropped his phone onto his lap, it meeting and causing some friction against his semi. But the awakening in his trousers was not his priority, instead it was the slick that was collecting so wholesomely on his fingers, acting as a natural lubrication to continue his round administrations.

“Sebby.” This time, instead of trying to silence you, the man marked you with a pleasant grin, only to apply more pressure behind his movements. It was a wicked deed, but you had no mind to it as it served no bother; instead, you were rather pleased that he was to be giving in on his pardoning.

“You going to cum for me darling?” His words were almost taunting, you could feel a flush of heat cascade up your neck and all around your body. And all from clitoral stimulation, this man certainly knew what he was doing. “Cum on my fingers baby, make them all nice and wet.”

Plunging your teeth once more into your bottom lip, you groaned, shutting your eyes and breathing steadily throughout your nostrils. And with that, you shattered underneath him, your shoulders twinging from the spasming aftershocks that riddled your body senseless.

“Would you look at that, the cars are slowly beginning move.” You needn’t have even needed to open your y/e/c eyes to know that there was an amused smirk contouring his features; that man sure could get cocky sometimes, and half of those happened to be in public.

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boytouya · 3 years

Text

every other saturday

w.count: 3.9k

tags: angst, death, illness

When it came to Eijirou Kirishima, there wasn’t a single hateful bone in your body.

Throughout your nostalgic years of your childhood, you were skeptical. In your middle school years, you were sure of it. But then, in the taxing years of High School, you believed it. Eijirou morphed into the confident hero you learned to adore, an unwavering smile split across his face whenever you saw him— he replaced the cowardly boy he used to be with vibrant red and clashed fists.

But even then, his terrified other half would resurface. And even then, despite never having a reason to hate him…you almost did.

Perhaps it was because he was too perfect. Everything you weren’t, with light freckles dusting his cheeks and a smile brighter than the Sun rays outlining the horizon. Where you saw muted hues or grey and blue, he saw the specks of magenta in between. He saw the gold in your eyes, extraordinarily bright and homely, even as coughs sent waves of tremors throughout your body. Even as your demeanor grew dull, one day at a time. One painstakingly wasted second at a time.

Your cheek envelops your palm in lukewarm warmth just before you lift your head, sniffling as you soak in copious amounts of air through your nose. The muscles of your cheek tense, having been squashed against your palm for a despicable amount of time. Graphite scratches against the printed paper decorated with inky black; a lesson about conjugation in the English Language jumping out from the confines of pure white. You wonder how many trees would be thrown away by the end of the year, shredded the moment summer vacation is announced.

Behind you, you hear snickering. Though you can’t exactly see who’s laughing, the tone of voice is familiar. Undeniably, and unapologetically, belonging to Eijirou. You want to twist in your seat, ask him ‘what happens to be so funny,’ interrogate him and clasp your cold hands over your ears in an attempt to block him out— but you can’t. Plus, you’d never do that. Even if you wouldn’t like to admit it.

Instead, you say nothing, circling what you assume is the correct answer for the second to last question, before Eijirou’s voice erupts as a soft whisper.

“I’ll see you this weekend, man!” He says, low and reserved for you. Just like he always does, every Saturday. You’re thankful he can’t see you, thankful he’s unaware of the green beast lunging for you with every passing second.

The ticking clock is muted, the hands of the clock moving every minute with a muffled click. You can’t help but stare as you count down the minutes, seconds, until class ends. Until you can go back to staring outside longingly- gripping your bedsheets with abrupt, unprovoked anger. Except, it wasn’t unprovoked. You knew why you were angry, you knew it was unfair, and you knew your frustrations were justified.

Your face twists into a grimace, eyes blinking closed as your eyebrows furrow with building tension. It crawls past your temples and rests at the back of your head, holding your skull with merciless hands. There’s a crease between your eyebrows now, and it seems all you’ve been lately was stressed. Stressed, tired, and so, so fucking envious.

Pristine curtains brush against your arm, where upper meets forearm, and it tickles the imperceptible peachfuzz adorning your shivering form. Your palm collides with the midnight black mouse resting against the makeshift desk the moment you notice the clock reach its target time period. A small red ‘X’ in the corner of the screen, accompanied with a small text box that reads: ‘Are you sure you want to leave this session?’ taunts you.

You’ve never been more sure.

Through gritted teeth, you click ‘Disconnect.’ And, just like that, your distraction from reality had crumbled before your eyes. Instead of the ticking clock, your ears are met with low beeps connected to the patient beside you. Separated by a thin, plastic sheet with oceanic patterns and cartoon characters littering the surface. How depressing it was to be paired with an ill child.

Your ‘desk’, you liked to call it, was a wooden slab that sat over your hospital bed. Typically, it was for eating comfortably, but you couldn’t seem to do that often. Even when you wanted to. Even when nurses threatened you with feeding tubes. Your gaze burns holes through the bright paper folding under your grasp, your teeth finding solace in the soft flesh of your inner cheek.

Eijirou would be here soon, and he’d look down at you with pitiful, desperate eyes. Eyes you wanted nothing more than to hide from, to conceal and lock away from the rest of the world. Those eyes weren’t reserved for you, no, Eijirou was naturally a sympathetic person. He’d give anyone in your position the same look.

You hate it when he looks at you like that, like you’re pathetic. He had no idea how much you wished to do what he did— to be what he was. To go out without facing dire consequences later, to remember the faces of your loved ones.. to laugh in class, because you weren’t worried about losing any information within the next few months of your life. Because, well, you’d have so many more years to learn. To live.

“Well, if you could wish for one thing right now, what would it be?” Kirishima hummed, quirking his head upwards. He stared at the popcorn ceiling in contemplation, his red tufts of hair traveling across his broad shoulders. You found yourself looking up too, though you knew there was nothing particularly interesting up there.

You shrugged, feeling vermillion eyes shift back to you as soon as the sound of rustling fabric reached his ears. His lips parted into a smile, sharp teeth all but glowing beneath the fluorescent lights of the hospital room. His seat at the base of the bed seemed comfortable enough as he leaned back into it.

“One wish…maybe for you to visit every other Saturday instead.” You grumbled, ignoring the clenching in your chest as Eijirou laughed. It was intoxicating, if you were being honest. The way he leaned toward you, eyes closed with pure delight, it was a sight for sore eyes. Maybe it was the medicine in your system, but you couldn’t help but feel dizzy when you were with him.

“Yeah, okay! When you think of one for real, you let me know.”

A gentle knock at your shared door pulls you out of your thoughts, your dry eyes flickering to the door as it opens slowly. It creaks, assaulting your ears as your eyes travel upwards, from the floor to the rectangular doorknob.

Eijirou steps through, a smile on his face as he thanks your favorite (not that there was anything too favorable about them) nurse with a bowed head. The hair left outside of his ponytail falls from his shoulders until he lifts himself back up, resting vertically. You can hear the smile in her voice as she closes the door shortly after saying something you couldn’t quite catch. His sneakers squeak awkwardly against the hospital floors, and he finds himself rubbing the back of his neck as he steps closer.

Times like this, you realize, are when you see the shedded interior of Kirishima Eijirou clinging onto his back. He hasn’t been so hesitant in a while, not since middle school.

“Hey, so I know I kinda missed-”

“I know what my wish is now.” Comes out much more bitter than you intended, layered in thick globs of venom as he scoots the rotating chair closer. It hits the back of his knees once he’s satisfied with the distance he’s put between the two of you. He settles rather quickly, leaning his elbows against your bed as you stare out the window on your right side. Your hand finds the folded corner of your English classwork, and you find your pointer finger flipping the corner until it catches. Your papercut catches you off guard, your lips parting as you tear your eyes away from pools of crimson. Eijirou’s eyes are barely lighter than your own blood.

“Right! I forgot all about that,” He gulps air through triangular teeth that snap together the moment he realizes what he said. “That wasn’t-”

“I know, Kirishima.” You cut him off once again with a shrug, flexing your finger as a bead of blood sits atop it. You clear your throat, staring back out the window when you spot the redhead’s lips curling into a frown.

The first time you saw it, you were six.“You know you can call me Eijirou, right? My Mas said so, too!” Kirishima smiled, black hair falling over his eyes. He bounced a small ball down against the concrete, watching it spring to the air with a quiet whoosh. He was long overdue for a haircut, but the little boy had mentioned being too nervous to run the errand on his own.

The second time, you were twelve. “But, uh, you know you can call me Eijirou, right?” He repeated for the millionth time, leaning against his desk to splay his body across it. Over the course of a few years, Kirishima began to grow into his body. He still carried himself awkwardly, as if lopsided and weighed down by dumbbells on only one side of his body. Perhaps that was why he curled in on himself, quiet and unenthusiastic, almost as if he wanted to take up as little space as possible. He seemed to be much more open with you, though.

Even if it hurt, you were grateful you could still remember.

“Eijirou,” He insists, a bit strained as he audibly swallows the lump in his throat. His Adam's apple bobs in response, dipping low and encased by his warm skin, then back up. He lets out a quiet breath, as if sitting in this room with you suddenly pains him. You can feel his warm breath by your elbow, prickling your cold skin and unfamiliar warmth. it makes you wonder how it’d feel against you in the winter, if it’d leave behind goosebumps in homage to Eijirou Kirishima. “Call me Eijirou, please…If you want! …Obviously.”

Winter was coming soon, the leaves would be stripped and raked away, the trees would be broken down to their bare essentials, and you’d be stuck to an I.V. drip for the entirety of the season.

You’d be stuck while he breathed in a sharp intake of cold air, and picked up snowballs that melted in his grasp. While Kirishima sneezed as snowflakes fell onto the tip of his nose. More than anything, you’d like to be there with him, slipping on ice that bleeds from the cracks in the pavement. You wonder if he’d catch you, gloved hands clasping over your biceps with warmth only love could produce. You wonder if he’d smile, kissable lips morphing into a grin just before he shakes the snow out of his hair, spraying snowflakes and driblets or melted snow across your face.

You imagine the feeling of his name on your tongue. Light or heavy, sweet or savory? Maybe even sour? Your lips move to mouth out his name silently, curling to fit each syllable with silent praise. You imagine whispering his name by a fireplace, his warm hands cupping your own as he caresses circular, languid patterns into your skin. You wanted to, so desperately, call him by his name. You always have.

You want to take in all that he has to offer, you want to break him down to his bare essentials and nurture them until they bloom, unforgiving and vibrant, tinted with a soft shade of vermillion. The world is in his fingertips, but it seems you’re the one who has Eijirou wrapped around your finger. You want to see the world as he does, feel the air circulate in your lungs and hear the sound of it expelling from your lips. To hear the birds chirping as a reminder of a new day, a better one, with something to look forward to. But, you suppose, all you have to look forward to is Eijirou. And, whether you like it or not, he is your world. He always has been.

“Gonna let me tell you about my wish now, Ei?”

Winter came quiet, creeping up on Eijirou’s hollow bones as snow crunched beneath his sneakers. He didn’t have time to run his fingertips across the railing of any staircases, he didn’t have time to stop by his favorite store to pet the cat that’d taken a liking to him. Time was not on his side, and he wondered if that was how you felt most of the time. All of the time.

Snow falls gracefully, his path along the sidewalk is disheveled and layered with sprinkles of salt, but patches of ice remain victorious despite the futile efforts. Eijirou steps over them, nearly catching his heel between ice and snow— he can feel it fall into his shoes and soak the cotton of his sock. Immediately, his heel goes numb and he finds himself almost limping along the pathway.

“Stop! Stop!” Eijirou yells, rather loudly, in the safety of his own home. You continue to cup his round cheeks, squishing them ever so slightly as you pull him forward and place your chapped lips against the curve of his face again and again. Just one more…Okay, maybe two. A mixture of flour, milk, eggs, and vanilla extract coats the pads of your fingertips, and it smears against his tan skin.

His face is just as bright as his hair, his mahogany eyes nearly shut as his smile overwhelms every feature on his face. As the apples of his cheeks rise, his freckles jump out at you, and you wonder if it’d be possible to count each and every one of them, “You’re getting— Haha, watch the bowl!— batter everywhere!”

“Hm, what do you think, Ei? Do chocolate chips yell ‘Fall breakfast' to you?” You grin, wider than you’ve ever smiled before as you take a step back. The doctors said you were getting better, exceptionally so, and that they’d never seen someone as resilient as you. Eijirou was the first person you told, tears overflowing from the damn you once put up to protect yourself. Finally, you were free. You were so, so close.

His pink lips pucker, forming a perfect ‘o’ as his eyes flicker downwards to his granite countertops. His eyebrows, though shaved at each end, remain expressive as he contemplates the inquiry— as if it was an incredibly important question in the first place. Not even a split second later, Eijirou lifts his hand to move wisps of hair away from his face, dragging batter into soft locks of fire-truck red. But you say nothing, trying to mentally screenshot the image of beauty in itself looking back at you.

“Hm…I was thinking more…raisins!” He says, drawn out and slow, just before increasing his volume at the end of his sentence, when he jumps out at you with sticky hands.

Just like before, he finds himself lifting his dominant hand to move misplaced strands of hair away from his peripheral vision. He had one stop to make, just one, before he could see you. His body is sluggish, slowing from the cold weather that only gets worse with every step he takes, and Eijirou finds that opening the Florist shop door is much more of a task than it should be. His numb hands press against the cold glass, a quiet thunk of a sound emitting as he underestimates his own strength.

The clerk greets him with a gentle smile, explaining the importance of flowers, and how— despite the weather— it was nice to see younger faces. It’s almost overwhelming, the earthy smell that invades his nostrils as the king stranger speaks before he can even get a word out; but it’s okay. Time doesn't bend for anyone, but it’ll have to bend today.

“What would you give to…someone in the hospital?” His voice doesn’t exude as much confidence as he intended, and the glint of the clerk’s eye caught in fluorescents confirms that thought. He was pathetic.

“Well,” The man responds, leaning his weight against the transparent display case under his elbows. He sucks his teeth, tilting his long, blond hair away from his bright eyes. “I’d suggest lilies, or maybe even anemone wildflowers…here.”

He stands, pushing himself up with his palms as he swings around the corner of the counter. His smile is so permanent it’s almost as though it were plastic, but Eijirou could tell he liked his job. The man leads him to an arrangement of flowers, showing off display cases of fake flower bouquets used as examples. The real flowers were much more delicate, it seemed, with dainty petals that folded with a strong gust of wind.

Eijirou’s sharp teeth pierce the skin of his bottom lip, tearing away the chapped skin as he watches the clerk point out different subtypes of lilies. All incredibly interesting, he’s sure, but it’d be much easier if the man would, maybe, hand them to him. But, instead, Eijirou listens. His eyes linger on red anemones that match his hair, and it seems that before the man can even finish, he’s made up his mind.

“Oh, that reminds me, would you like a card as well?” The question sounds more rhetorical than anything, since flowers typically came with cards anyway.

“What’s the meaning behind these flowers again?” Eijirou nods cluelessly, lifting his arm to inspect them further. But it seems the employee has already made his way to the back of the store, where cards for different occasions wait patiently. Eijirou remains the opposite, bouncing from each foot until he decides to arrange his own bouquet, briskly walking over to cards.

‘Get well soon!’, ‘Seasons greetings!’, ‘Wishing you a speedy recovery!’…He almost tears down the plastic display signs. Brushing hair away from his face, Eijirou thumbs a card that reads, ‘If I had one wish…I’d save it for you. Happy birthday!’

His face scrunches up, the tip of his nose wrinkling as he stares at the last two words. It wasn’t your birthday, but the rest of the card was just so…perfect. Surely you wouldn’t mind a few scratched out words, right? He walks back to the register, the employee nowhere in sight. If he really wanted to, if he were someone else (if he weren’t a better person), he would have stolen the flowers as well as the card. But instead, for any trouble he may have caused, Eijirou places every penny in his pocket atop the counter, and swipes a pen sitting in a homemade mug. Someone should really talk to their employees about leaving strangers unattended.

He scratches away the last two words— ‘Happy Birthday!’— with a quiet huff, before grabbing his poorly wrapped bouquet. Blowing on the paper out of habit (he was so used to erasing things in class), Eijirou writes a tiny note beneath the printed words with a wide smile.

Wind chimes collide on his way out.

He stomps snow off his shoes before fully entering the hospital, quietly grateful for their generous amount of heating. The bounce in his step doesn’t go unnoticed, as the receptionist quirks her eyebrow when he signs in.

“Today’s gonna be a really good day!” He tells her, clashing his fists together with a smile that could outshine the Sun.

He even allows himself to sing to the flowers in the elevator. When he reaches the third floor his phone rings, buzzing in his coat pocket. He feels for the block with his free palm, patting his hand against his pockets until he finds it. A call from the hospital, as if he wasn’t just speaking to the receptionist.

His thumb meets the green button before his brain can piece together the fact that he’s your emergency contact.

“Hello?” He whispers, barely holding the phone up to his ear. He knows what’s next, he can taste it on the tip of his tongue, sour and unrelenting, and it left him shaking. Disturbingly bitter and ironic, the way he seemed to have regressed back to his other half— unsure, insecure, and so incredibly terrified.

“They said- They said it was getting better!” The door slams into the stopper, nearly burrowing a hole into the wall and breaking off its hinges as Eijirou runs inside, his body stuck on autopilot as he struggles to breathe. Almost as though there was no more air left in the world, like no matter how hard he tried, it wasn’t for him. He squeezes his eyes shut, the image of your hospital bed ghosting over his eyelids until they’re overflowing with tears. Lily stems snap in his hand.

“I even- Fuck, I even got you flowers! And- and a card, too! Look, lilies..and anemones.. I’ll even tell you what they mean, just hold on. Please,”His voice is strangled as he tears off his coat, reaching for his phone to research the meaning of his special bouquet. “Lilies? Uh, devotion, because…because I visit every Saturday, yknow? I’m devoted to..to you. And..look, the red anemones match my hair! I thought they’d…remind you of me.”

Eijirou paces until he can’t, opening his scarlet eyes to stare down at you. Dying, right in front of his own eyes. You were right there, right in front of him…but you were disappearing before his very eyes. His lungs are paralyzed and, for a moment, he thinks he’ll die right there with you.

“But the red ones? Um, they actually mean-” He pauses to type into the search bar again, ignoring the red underlines beneath his words. “..Oh...”

His face completely falls as he sobs, dropping his phone in a fit of frustration before crawling into your bed as you muster up your best smile. You don’t know what they mean, nor do you really care. Because it was Eijirou, and anything Eijirou did was inherently good. Why he was apologizing profusely, you didn’t know. But you didn’t care, either. It didn’t matter.

“I really like- I love you.” He whispers, his voice breaking with every syllable.

Still, you find yourself brushing your fingers against his cheek, imagining pancake batter smearing across his face. It makes you smile, a warm grin spreading across your cold face. That’s where you wanted to be. Warm, in the comfort of a well-loved home. With Eijirou. Maybe in another life, or another dimension— you’d actually go to school with him. You’d wake up extra early to walk him to and fro, you’d hold his hand as you ran across streets. Whether he knew it or not, he made your wish come true. He loved you, despite the circumstances. He loved you, for everything you were.

He loved you, bent time for you, and- in your eyes- raced against the clock and won.

“Thank you, Ei.” You feel him shake his head, his red hair brushing against your cheek as you close your eyes. You didn’t have time, but Eijirou did. And that was enough for you.

Even the clouds had cried for you that day.

Inside the card, lodged between flowers, navy blue pen ink reads:

‘We made it through winter! I hope we can spend the next ones together too. Only this time, officially. If I had an extra wish, I think that would be the next one. To be with you!

-Eijirou ♡’

#whew this shit took the longest and it ain’t even good…#bye #kirishima oneshot #kirishima angst #kirishima x you #kirishima x gender neutral reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima x male reader #kirishima x y/n #anime x gn reader #anime x gender neutral reader #anime x male reader #bnha x gn!reader #bnha x you #mha x gn!reader #x gender neutral reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijiro x y/n #kirishima eijiro imagine

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watercolorfreckles · 3 years

Note

Please do a continuation to villain and his therapist! I’m in love with it!

Thank you, Anon!! Here ya go :) Hope you like it ♡ thank you @writing-on-the-wahl for reading the first half when I was having trouble with it.

Part 1

CW: angst, captivity, mention of blood, minimal violence

The world sloshed fuzzy and dim as Juliet's eyes fluttered open. The room seemed to dip and sway before coming into focus.

"So you're my brother's shrink," a deep voice cut through the silence that rang in the therapist's ears, startling her into a more upright position.

She recognized that voice from tv... low and molten, distinctly belonging to Supervillain.

She recalled the stories of him from her sessions with Villain...

Juliet looked down, assessing. She was bound to a chair, and the cold of the metal seeped into her aching bones. She blinked the remaining dizziness away, starting to turn her head, but a vice-like grip closed around her jaw from behind.

She froze, a small sound escaping her lips.

"Hero's too, I hear," Supervillain continued from behind her. "What a happy coincidence."

Supervillain abruptly rounded on her, crouching inches away. His gaze bore through her and she felt pinned to the spot.

It rivaled any dangerous look that Villain had ever given her.

Juliet's stomach plummeted but she stayed composed. "Whatever it is that you want, I can't help you."

Her voice shook only a little.

"No?" He reached out, something metal in his hand catching the light.

Her breath caught as Supervillain traced the tip of a blade down her aching temple, arcing over the curve of her cheekbone.

She couldn't help but imagine how easily it could slice through her flesh like paper.

Juliet swallowed, squashing down the panic that threatened to flood her, and didn't let it show on her face. She'd had plenty of training to stay calm in intense situations.

"Why am I here?" she asked, making sure to keep her voice level.

Supervillain let go of her jaw to lift her chin with the tip of the blade.

"You've been brainwashing my brother with all your sunshine and rainbows mentality. Tyranny is in Villain's blood, it's a crime for you to try to make him into some soft tame thing. He was born to cause bloodshed, sweetheart."

Juliet took in a shuddering breath. "I am not making him do anything--"

"You're manipulating him," he hissed.

"He is in rehabilitation," she corrected. "He wants to be more than a villain, he is capable of better. He is my patient, I want what is best for him."

Juliet winced as Supervillain slashed a cut on her cheek, below her eye. She looked up, locking gazes with him.

She felt the warm ooze of blood dripping down her skin. The sting of it sobered her to the danger she was in, panic twisting her insides. For all the times Villain had gotten angry, he'd never touched her unkindly, never hurt her. She trusted he never would, not her. His brother, however...

"You want to declaw him; to dull him down into something palatable for you." Supervillain's voice was low and harsh, and the threat of it felt like walking on broken glass. "I'm not going to let that happen. We're going to take care of this little...distraction, and he'll get back to being what he was meant to be."

He stood, pulling a phone out of his pocket. Juliet's phone.

He punched in a number and waited as the phone rang.

"Doctor Meadows," Villain's smooth voice answered on the second ring. She could picture the flirty smile that no doubt played on his lips.

Her heart squeezed.

"I have your little shrink here with me. Why don't you come by and you can help me decide how best to dispose of her, mm?"

"...Supervillain?" Villain's voice was low and cautious on the other end of the line. "Did you hurt her?"

"Ah, only a little. Come see for yourself."

"What did you do? Is she there? Juliet?"

Supervillain held the phone out in front of the therapist. She swallowed, finding her voice.

"Villain," she spoke softly, keeping her eyes trained on Supervillain who observed her like a predator stalking prey. "I'm fine. Don't come here, he wants to undo all your progress--"

Juliet gasped as Supervillain backhanded her. It burned across her opposite cheek and she could taste the blood beading on her lip.

Supervillain brought the phone back to his own ear. "I want you to return to your full potential, Brother. Come. Let's talk."

He hung up.

Within several minutes, Villain came through the door with a carefully guarded expression on his face.

"A present for me? You shouldn't have." He sauntered closer, airing casualness, but she could see the unease in his eyes as he observed her.

His gaze hardened when he saw her swollen lip, the cut crowning her cheek, and the bruise no doubt blooming across the other.

Supervillain rested a hand on Juliet's shoulder and squeezed.

Villain stopped.

"This leech has infected your mind, Villain," Supervillain said. "She's manipulating you. You think she cares about you? She cares about the paycheck she gets every week, she cares about fulfilling her 'civic duty' in snuffing you out, slaying the beast."

"Villain." Villain's gaze snapped to Juliet as she spoke. "Don't listen to him."

Supervillain's grip tightened on her shoulder, making her flinch before she could stop herself.

"Think about it. The heroes tried to take you down and they failed. They couldn't defeat you outright. So they shoved this pretty girl with soft words and false promises down your throat. She's doing their dirty work for them."

"She's my doctor," Villain said, fists clenched and rigid though to Juliet, he was visibly agitated.

"She's one of them! Think, Villain." His tone was nearly sharper than his knife.

"Stop."

"How do you cook a frog?" Supervillain continued, ignoring his brother's objection.

"What?"

"If you drop a frog into boiling water, it'll immediately jump out. But if you heat the water slowly, it won't even know it's in danger until it's too late. It sits there and cooks from the inside out, slowly. That is what she is doing to you."

Villain looked between Juliet and his brother, slightly resembling a caged animal.

"She's a psychologist, villain, she knows exactly what mind games to play to get you to do what she wants. You think you love her and that she might feel the same." He laughed bitterly. "She might love the idea of you. But do you think she'd ever love the real you, love anything other than the idealized version of you she's created? At least when the heroes try to crush you, they're upfront about it. She's crushing you from the inside and you're letting her."

Supervillain wound his fingers into Juliet's hair and yanked her head back, baring her throat. He extended his blade to his brother. Villain's fingers flexed at his sides.

"Kill her. Liberate yourself. If you don't, I will."

Juliet found Villain's gaze and held it, desperate for him to hear her. "Villain. Don't let him ruin your recovery. You're doing well, you are incredibly strong-willed to have made such progress so fast. Do not let him take that from you. You earned it, Villain. I didn't do that for you."

Villain swallowed and took the blade. Juliet's vision swam.

"I'm sorry, Juliet," Villain said softly. "It's not worth it."

Juliet squeezed her eyes shut.

She heard the blade puncturing flesh and the grunt that followed. She opened her eyes again to watch Supervillain fall to the ground, his blood spattered on Villain's shirt. She stared at him.

He knelt before her to cut her restraints. Their gazes interlocked.

General Taglist: @writing-on-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers , @distance-does-not-matter , @redbircl , @lilaccatholic , @crazytwentythrees , @thelazywitchphotographer , @deadlygemuwu, @chibicelloking , @lolafaiy , @thinkwrite5 , @putridghost , @tobeornottobeateacher , @sunflower1000 , @bouncyartist , @thanatoastie , @vlerlove-deactivated20210701, @feyriddle, yet-another-heathen,

"I'd sacrifice my rehabilitation a thousand times over if it meant you were safe."

Part 3

You’re on this list if you’ve asked to be tagged in any of my writing before. I prefer doing a general list instead of individual ones since that is tedious to keep track of. Let me know if you want to be added or removed. :)

#this is so longggg im so sorry #also this took me so long to write omggggg #i hope you all like it #writeblr #writing snippet #hero x villain #villain x civillian #civillain x villain #captivity #flash fiction #short story

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