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arvinsescape · 3 years

Note

Hey could you please write something with reader's ex leaking some private pictures you two took when you were together just because he's jealous of you and tom, so when tom hears about what happened he is so upset that someone could be this low, he's not even jealous, he is just so mad that he could cry

A/N: Thank you for sending this in, I hope you enjoy! 💕

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex, leaking of nudes (this is never okay, I do not condone this behaviour), talks of bad relationships, mentions of stalking (do not read if you are uncomfortable).

You and Tom had been together for just over a year and a half, it had been amazing, you absolutely adored each other and everyone could see it. There was only one negative in your relationship and that came with your ex.

He was an incredibly jealous human being, awful in every way. You broke things off with him after two years of putting up with his behaviour. You'd not been allowed to have male friends, the relationship you had with the men Tom lived with was strange for you at first, at every turn you expected Tom to get angry about how close you were getting. It never happened, Tom adored the relationship you had with the boys and it was quick to reassure you of that fact when you opened up to him about it.

Unfortunately, although he claimed he wasn't in love with you, he couldn't let you go. He was so jealous when he found out you'd moved on that he started stalking your social medias, leaving comments on your posts which led to you blocking him. Of course, this didn't work, he made new accounts in order to find out what you were doing, leaving nasty comments on posts you made to a point where you simply stopped posting as often.

He was tiring and for a while you worried he'd find you, approach you but he never did. You'd been on edge for a short time after making your relationship with Tom public due to the comments he'd leave on your posts. You wondered whether or not he'd ever get over it, let you go but he seemingly wasn't going to anytime soon. It was tiresome, truly but you'd learned to live with it, you continued to block the accounts he made, Tom personally emailing the social media companies in hopes they could put a stop to him but to no avail.

You travelled with Tom a lot, most of the time unless you had family commitments that kept you homebound. This was due to your job and the way it worked, you never needed to be in an office and you could work from anywhere in the world. Book editing meant you had freedom. It made you feel safe, knowing Tom was never far away and when he was filming you could spend time with one of the boys and it brought a huge comfort to you.

You were back in London, in Tom's shared house after a long stretch in the states, you were happy to be back home, have your home comforts. You had been in and out of sleep for the past hour, your phone buzzing like crazy which had resulted in you turning it off, not ready to face whatever it was so early in the morning. That was all well and good until Tom's phone started half an hour later.

"Tom." You lightly shook him in his sleep and he mumbled incoherently in response. "Tom?" You tried harder.

"Y/N, go back to sleep." He grumbled as he pulled you into his chest as his phone started again. You pushed against his chest and his eyes snapped open.

"Tom your phone." You stated and Tom groaned before rolling over and mindlessly fishing for the device, turning it off as well. "It might be important." You said and he rolled back over to pull you into him.

"I'll deal with it later, it's my week off, it can wait." He mumbled into your neck as he sighed out. It didn't take him long to find sleep again as he held you against his chest, his warmth wrapping around you and making you drift into your own sleep.

You're not sure how long you'd been back asleep before you heard banging on your bedroom door. Tom groaning as he squeezed your body and ignored the knocks, hoping whichever boy it was would go away.

"Tom." Harrison's voice pulled you both from your sleepy state. He sounded worried, not his usual calm and chilled out self as he banged on the door again. "You need to get up." He said frantically.

"Fuck off Harrison, I'm tired." Tom shouted back as you sat up and ran a hand over your face. Tom protesting as you sat against the headboard trying to come to. "Darling, come back." He begged, almost childishly, you were about to respond when Harrison piped up again.

"Tom, mate seriously. Get up, it's important." He tried and Tom groaned again before sitting up next to you. "Right, I'm coming in." Haz shouted before opening your bedroom door, phone in hand and face paler than usual.

"Haz what is so important that we need to get up at," Tom started as he checked his watch. "7:30 in the morning."

"You need to check your phones." He said as he threw his phone in your direction. With furrowed brows you picked it up. "I'm so sorry Y/N/N." He said and Tom was quick to grab his phone, turning it on.

"What do you mean? Haz it's early and I've not woken up yet, what's going on?" Tom asked as you scrolled Haz's phone, quiet as a mouse, face dropping. You flicked though the series of pictures that had made their way to twitter, complete and utter disbelief hitting you.

"Her ex." Harrison said as Tom's phone finished booting up, numerous missed calls from his publicist and twitter notifying him that he was trending. "Y/N/N, are you okay?" Harrison asked as he took in your figure.

"How long have these been up?" You asked, eyes not leaving his phone.

"I don't know they were posted overnight." Harrison sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. Numerous pictures of yourself from a couple of years ago staring back at you. Pictures with your ex in very compromising positions mocking you as you looked at them.

You nodded slowly as you swallowed down your emotions, you lifted a shaky hand to run through your hair. The internet had practically seen you for what you were, seen things that were meant for a significant other. Pictures of yourself you'd sent to your ex before things got bad between the two of you.

"Fucking piece of shit." Tom whispered as he himself saw what Harrison had been talking about. You felt like crying, the lump in your throat felt heavy as you tried to swallow it down, tears blurring your vision as you looked at the pictures.

"Sweetheart," Tom started as he took Harrison's phone from your hand and handed it back to his friend. Harrison took it and quickly made his way from your room, he knew you were seconds away from breaking down and you needed your privacy.

"I thought he'd deleted them." You whispered to more yourself than anyone else. "I sent those at the beginning of our relationship, fucking idiot." You said to yourself and Tom pulled you into him as your tears fell, silently crying.

"You're not an idiot. This is on him, not you. I'm so sorry." Tom said as he held you. "He had no right to do that."

"Is he ever going to leave me alone?" You cried and Tom's heart shattered there and then in his chest. This man had been a tormenter for years, too long and he had been cause for your tears numerous times over your relationship.

"He is. I swear to god this is the last time." Tom promised as he held you tight against him. His phone rang yet again and he huffed out in annoyance as he lifted an arm, reaching for his phone. "Hey, I'll call you back." Tom said into the phone, you didn't hear the response. "No, this is more important, I'll talk to you later." Tom snapped before hanging up the phone and throwing it to one side.

You became a sobbing mess, the world having seen parts of yourself you never wanted them to. You wanted to disappear off the face of earth, how were you supposed to go out in public after this? How were you supposed to face the people you knew? Your mind was racing, thoughts embedding themselves as you thought more about what would happen. You only cried harder as you thought about it.

Tom comforted you through your breakdown, reassuring you that it was going to be okay. He was in complete shock, how could someone do this? He wanted to cry as he held you, his heart was broken for the woman in his arms. He listened as you eventually calmed down, breathing steadying as you pulled away from his chest and wiped your face.

"I'm gonna do something about this, I promise." Tom comforted and he watched as a defeated look spread across your face.

"What does it matter? The world has seen them now." You smiled sadly, realising there was nothing you could do. He'd taken things to a knew level, one you would never hear the end of. "It's my own fault, I never should have sent them." You bit your lip as you tried to hold back more tears.

"No baby, don't do that. Don't blame yourself, it's not your fault." He said as he sat across from you, taking your hands into his own. You couldn't look him in the eye, what if he hated you for this? This was something people could use against him now, what if he was disgusted you ever sent them to him.

"Stop it." Tom said softly, he could see you reeling, see your thoughts consuming you. He always knew, he said you had this look on your face and in your eyes, he knew you like the back of his hand. "Don't, I know what you're thinking and this isn't your fault."

"Look at me," Tom encouraged as he took your chin in his hand and forced your gaze into his own. "I promise this is going to be okay." He comforted and the look in his eyes was so comforting, so safe. No judgement, nothing hiding behind them, he was heart broken for you, you could see that in the tears that were slightly welling in his eyes.

It wasn't that you were against sending pictures to your partner, you and Tom had sent your fair share to each other. But you had learned a valuable lesson, you'd deleted every picture between you and your ex because that was the right thing to do, right? But he hadn't, he'd kept them and it made you uncomfortable as to why? Why would he want to keep those pictures? Why would he release them for the world to see?

"One minute." Tom said as he got off the bed and made his way into the en suite. You heard running water and you knew he was running you a bath, the evidence in the smell of flowers filling the room as he added your favourite bubble bath. He reappeared after a while.

"Come on. I've got some calls to make so you have a bath." He said as he held his hand out for you. Your heart warmed but you sighed as you took his hand and stood up.

"This isn't your mess to clean up Tom, it's mine." You mumbled and Tom shook his head as he tugged you slightly into the bathroom.

"If it affects you, it affects me. I'm gonna do everything I can to protect you. I love you okay? This isn't your fault and I'm gonna put an end to his shit, I've had enough. I'm gonna do something about him." Tom said and you smiled sadly.

"Thank you." You said and Tom smiled as he gestured for you to get into the bath.

"I'll be back in a while. I'm gonna talk to my legal team, see what I can do. You just try and relax and I want you to promise me that you'll stay off social media today." He said and you nodded as he smiled in comfort at you, kissing your forehead as he left the bathroom and made his way downstairs, grabbing his phone and putting some sweats on as he did.

"How is she?" Harrison asked, almost as soon as Tom entered the living room. Tom sighed as he turned to his best friend.

"She's upset. Blames herself for ever sending them." He said and Haz furrowed his brows.

"This is that twats fault. I swear if I ever see him again I'm gonna punch the smug look he always has right off his fucking face." Haz said.

"You'll have to get in line. I could kill him for what he's done." Tom said, he was so upset that you'd been put through this. "I want to fucking cry for her Haz, she's devastated." Tom continued as Tuwaine made his way into the room.

"That man is a fucking dick." He ranted straight away, Harry agreeing as he made his way in. "I can't believe the shit he's pulled." He continued.

"He's was so open about it, posting them onto his personal twitter account." Harry said in disbelief.

"I'm hoping that was his biggest mistake, what I can get him for." Tom said as he scrolled his contacts, pulling up the head of his legal team.

"What's the reaction online?" Haz asked carefully and Tuwaine shook his head.

"Half and half, some people are defending her, some are mocking her, others judging. It's a mess, people wanna know how Tom feels about it, some Y/N. I don't know, I tried not to look too much." Tuwaine sighed and Haz gave a tight nod as he grabbed his phone and vigorously started to type.

Tom left the room as he held the phone to his ear, on the phone with his legal team. Disappearing to talk in private. Harrison finally finished his typing as Tuwiane and Harry's phone pinged, Harrison's tweets coming to their attention.

There are no words for what has happened to my two best friends. What this man has done is disgusting and in no way Y/N's fault, please stop circulating the pictures. They were posted without her consent and she is hurting enough without people mocking her. Leave her alone, leave Tom alone. You will hear from them when they are ready.

Harry and Tuwaine retweeting the tweets before adding their own in support of you. You were close to them all, they were like your brother's.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. This is just awful, I can't believe this has happened." Tuwaine said and watched as you appeared in the living room, you had your pyjama pants on, one of Tom's hoodies consuming your upper half as you looked sheepishly around the room.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry this has happened." Tuwaine said as he pulled you into his chest, squeezing you in comfort. "It's okay, we're gonna get you through this." He promised and your heart warmed as you hugged him back.

There was a part of you that wondered how much the boys had seen, it made you feel strange around them. What if they'd seen the pictures of your intimate parts?

"I didn't look." Tuwaine said, almost as if he could read your thoughts. "I saw enough to know when to stop scrolling, enough to know what had happened." He reassured as the boys voiced the same.

"Okay, he's gonna do some digging, see how far he can take it. See what he can get him done for." Tom said as he reappeared, you instantly leaving Tuwaine's arms for your boyfriends.

"Is it looking promising? That we can press charges of some sort against him?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, he's just said he'll see if he can take more action. He's already contacted twitter and they're trying to put a stop to the sharing of the pictures. The rest of the sites the same." Tom said as he squeezed you tightly, chin resting on top of your head.

Tom's phone rang again and he pulled it from his pocket, sighing as he watched his publicists name flash across his screen. This was the phone call he was dreading because his PR team didn't give a fuck how you looked, it was all about Tom. This wasn't about him.

"Hello?" Tom said as he answered, he couldn't ignore them forever.

"Tom! Finally!" He heard the shrill screech of her voice and he grimaced as he did. He moved you both to sit on the couch, sitting you on his lap as he cuddled you. "Have you seen the internet?"

"Yeah." Tom said, almost annoyed.

"Y/N needs to put out a statement." She said and Tom huffed, anger building in him.

"Y/N doesn't need to do anything. She will address this if and when she is ready." Tom snapped.

"Tom this will make it look bad for you if neither of you address it. Some people are speculating she's cheated." She replied and your stomach dropped as you overheard her. Tom shifted you onto the couch as he got up, placing a kiss to your lips as he disappeared again. You didn't need to hear any of this.

"I don't give a shit to be honest. She hasn't cheated, these photos where posted without her consent. This isn't about me, this is about her." Tom snapped.

"But Tom, you are Spiderman, your girlfriends nudes have been leaked, pictures of her with another man have leaked." She snapped back and Tom's anger hit breaking point.

"I don't care. I just told you that. I'm not going to force her to do a thing she doesn't want. I don't care that I am Spiderman, what happened to her is wrong and I'm gonna stand by her."

"About that." She said Tom's heart dropped.

"What?"

"We think it might be best if you distanced yourself from her. Make it look like a slight break." His publicist said and Tom's anger hit the roof at the suggestion. His publicist had never been fond of your relationship, they wanted him to date other celebrities, he'd fought them for ages on this front.

"Not happening. This is devastating for her, you really think I'm gonna abandon her? You know what? If anyone thinks negatively about me or her, that's on them because what has happened to her is wrong. How do you think that will look? I can just see the headlines. Tom Holland leaves girlfriend after nudes where leaked without her consent. What sort of a message does that send to people? Did you think about that? Or is this just you taking another opportunity to try and get me seen with someone you approve of?" Tom screamed, the house heard.

"I, I suppose I hadn't thought about that." She stumbled out quietly. Tom pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself.

"I don't want to hear anything more about this. I'm going to deal with this my way. This isn't about me, this about her and sticking by her, which I am going to do. Whatever you might say. The fact that you hadn't thought about what I've just said makes clear to me that I can't trust you with this one and maybe I should be looking for someone I can." Tom snapped.

"I'm sorry, I'll leave you be. We'll try and do what we can here." She said and Tom didn't even feel guilty for blowing out on his publicist, the team could be the biggest wankers he'd ever met anyway.

"Tom, you'll get in trouble." You said as he made his way back into the room. He sat down next to you, pulling you into his side as he kissed your head.

"I don't care. This isn't about me, they need to realise that." Tom spoke into your hair. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he typed away, minutes later and everyone's phone had pinged, Tom had posted to Instagram. It was a picture of the two of you, one taken over winter in by the fire.

I'm sure many of you have seen what has happened. I'm devastated someone would do this, these pictures were posted without her consent. This man kept these pictures for over two years and then posted them. I ask that you stop judging and just think for a second how this would make you feel, if it was you in this position. She trusted him enough to send those images and he broke that trust, it's so wrong.

I ask that you stop posting the pictures, they are not yours or mine to post. There is no cheating involved, this man has caused enough distress for Y/N and I will not let it continue. I want you to support her and send love, it's what she deserves. She's my best friend and my lover, I stand by her 100% on this, I will not tolerate any abuse sent her way.

Please understand that she is not ready to address this and if she never is that's okay. She doesn't have to, this isn't her fault and she has nothing to apologise for. I love her and I hope to see your continued support of her, much love Tom x

He switched his phone off as he looked at you, he wanted nothing more than to make this go away for you, he wanted to hide you from the world, keep you safe. He had to swallow his tears again, heart aching from what this man has done to you, he couldn't stop himself pulling you tighter against him as he tried to keep his tears at bay..

"It's gonna be okay, I promise. I love you." He said into your hair as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled yourself to straddle him. You pulled each other impossibly closer and the boys smiled at the interaction, no matter what was going on the world, the two had each other. They had each other's backs and it was heart warming to see, to know they had all the support they would ever need in each other.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland angst #tom holland x female reader #tom holland one shot

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red-archivist · 3 years

Text

Not quite part of the liveblog but, lil post-092 hc fic :3

As he leaves Elias’ office, Jon’s feet automatically take him down the stairs leading to the archives.

It is a habit that his long absence hasn’t managed to break but he stops himself from walking straight into his own office.

To do so, he would have to pass the open space where the assistants work, and call him a coward but he just isn’t quite ready to see the state that Elias’ little reveal has left the others in.

He retreats to the breakroom instead, keeping the lights off and taking a moment to take a few steadying breaths in the cool darkness.

As soon as he stops moving, the injuries he has been ignoring loudly make themselves known.

The constant ache of his burned hand provides a low steady hum of contrast to the staccato pulse of his throbbing throat.

He needs to clean them both up in order to avoid infection, and if he doesn’t want some concerned passer-by to call an ambulance on him when he leaves, he will have to bandage his neck as well.

He walks to the nearest press and begins rooting around for the first aid kit. It doesn’t seem to be where he last saw it months ago and a stumbling search in the dim light reveals nothing to him.

Jon is about to give up and just try to give himself a bit of a rinse in the sink when suddenly the door creaks open, and the lights click on behind him.

He whirls around with his heart in his bloody throat expecting something to pounce on him. Perhaps it is Tim come to take his weary anger out on him? Or Daisy aiming to finish what she started? Or maybe Elias with some other unsolvable puzzle to dump into his lap?

The fright only lasts an instant however, when he sees who is standing in the doorway looking even more surprised to see him.

“Martin,” He sighs with relief.

Martin’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to find his voice.

“Uh, h-hi?”

“…Hi. Did you- Ah. W-Was the first aid kit moved?” Jon points to the mess he has made of the open presses.

Martin jumps in place before rushing forward.

“Oh! Uh, y-yeah, sorry!”

He crouches down to pull the kit out from under the sink and when Jon raises a questioning eyebrow, he shrugs meekly.

“Melanie moved it,” He says, “She said we all had to be able to reach it in an emergency.”

“Right.”

He takes the box from Martin with just one hand, keeping the bandaged one away from his body at an angle so it won’t bump into anything.

It’s a heavy, clunky thing and hoisting it onto the counter makes his joints sting. Ignoring the pain, he flips the latch and starts rummaging through it. A thin roll of bandages, antiseptic cream, gauze and dressing are placed in a pile on the counter as he mentally goes through the half-remembered steps of cleaning an open wound.

Just as Jon starts to unravel the hand bandage, the side of his face burns with awareness. He looks over to find Martin staring at him.

His gaze lingers on his hand, taking in the old bandages and his cracked nails, both still caked in grave dirt. Jon does his best not to squirm under the scrutiny.

When Martin’s eyes dart to the mound of medical supplies Jon is compiling, he also realises he is taking up most of the counter space.

“Am I… in your way?” He asks, about to sweep it all to the side.

Martin starts, as if he just remembered where he was and stammers as he turns away from him

“N-No! Sorry, sorry!”

He fusses with the kettle, taking out mugs as it boils, and does not face Jon again.

Jon is glad for the privacy. He doesn’t want to look at his own hand any longer than he has to, no-one else needs to see it.

As he peels the rest of the dirty wrappings off, they catch on his ruined skin and he can’t quite hold back a pained hiss. The burn is still dreadful to see, blistered like bubbling wax and so red it’s almost black. It weeps a clear discharge, making the whole thing reek a fluid, animal smell.

He rinses it off in the sink, pats it awkwardly dry, smears the whole thing in antiseptic cream and clumsily wraps it up again. It’s a messy, slow process and he barely remembers to clean his other hand as well.

Martin stays stock still as he works, standing guard over two brewing mugs and, as he glances at him, Jon can practically see the questions he wants to ask in the stiff line of his shoulders.

Jon feels both grateful and guilty that Martin holds his tongue. He owes him answers but his mouth is so tired of talking.

Tentatively, he starts prodding at the cut on his neck. It is long but shallow, already clotting. He can feel the skin around it is tender with a blossoming bruise. Daisy wanted it to hurt.

Jon pries his mind away from that thought. If he thinks about how close he came to dying today, he won’t be able to keep himself standing, nevermind clean up.

He just needs to get through the next few steps, and then he can go back to Georgie’s, lay down somewhere quiet and try not to have a complete breakdown. Laying out gauze and dressing, he wets a clean tea towel. He is halfway to raising it to his neck before he realises his mistake.

“Damn.”

“…Jon?”

Martin is peering over his shoulder at him, concern drawn in deep lines around his face.

Jon blinks back at him. He had almost forgotten he was there.

“I… uh,” He waves the tea towel, “I need two hands, should have done this first.”

He is going to ruin the clean wrappings on his hand. He will either have to do them again or wait to get back to the house and hope Georgie won’t be too pissed off to help him. Clucking his tongue, he weighs up his options.

“Um… Do you…” Martin’s soft voice cuts across his thoughts, “I mean, I can… i-if you want?”

“What?” Jon turns and sees him holding out a hand for the tea towel, “Oh.”

“O-O-Only if you, y’know, you’re comfortable with…”

Jon stares at him for a moment and regrets flickers across Martin’s face. He starts to draw his hand back.

“Uh, yes, no, I mean, I-I appreciate…” Jon stammers, “You don’t have to. I-I don’t want to interrupt… what you’re doing…”

The sheepishness fades from Martin as he chuckles slightly.

“I just came in to get a bit of a break from everyone else, really,” He immediately winces, “God, that sounded bad, didn’t it?”

“No… no, I understand.”

Martin smiles slightly and Jon’s feels his lips twitch upward in response.

“So, uh,” Martin holds his hand out again and Jon passes him the towel, “Might be easier to sit.”

“Right.”

Jon brings the gauze and dressing to the rickety coffee table while Martin wrings out the towel in the sink. They sit facing each other, and Martin scoots close enough that their knees brush.

“Can you lift your chin?” He asks, “And please tell me if I hurt you?”

Jon raises his head and stares into the yellowing florescent light embedded in the ceiling as Martin starts delicately dabbing at the cut.

It stings, of course. He can feel the edges of the wound prickle with pain as the meagre scabbing that covered them is wiped away. He hopes he isn’t letting it show on his face.

It is a little uncomfortable, letting someone else touch his neck. Especially someone he hasn’t seen for over two months. He peers at Martin out of the corner of his eye.

He looks exhausted. There are heavy bags under his eyes and the light from above washes him out terribly, making him seem even paler than usual. His hair has grown a bit, more from neglect than choice. His fringe droops over the frame of his glasses.

Guilt bites at the back of Jon’s mind. Without him here, he is almost certain Martin has been doing the lion’s share of the work in the archives. Melanie is only new to the position and Tim… Jon is doubtful Tim has been working at all.

Martin mumbles a pre-emptive apology as he moves the towel slowly over the cut. His touch is soft but steady, gentle in a way that is completely alien to Jon.

Martin’s gaze is focused on Jon’s neck, intent on washing away every speck of pain scrawled onto it. Instead of the sting of the wound, Jon feels something in his chest ache.

He can’t remember the last time anyone was this careful with him. That thought, more than the pinch of physical pain, makes his eyes water.

He blinks rapidly and rattles his brain for anything that will keep his mind off of how tender Martin’s touch is.

His mouth runs ahead of his head and he tries not to swallow too hard as he speaks.

“Martin… ah…”

“Sorry, am I pressing too hard?” The pressure on his throat eases slightly and Jon wills himself not to chase after it.

“No, no, I just, ah, I wanted to-” Jon bites his tongue in his haste to speak, “H-H-Have you been getting on alright?”

The pressure disappears entirely as Martin reels back to gawk at him, his mouth hanging open in shock. Jon might be offended at his surprise if he wasn’t too busy kicking himself.

He keeps babbling before Martin even has a chance to respond.

“God, that’s stupid- stupid question, of course you’re not-!” He sighs, “Just- Ignore me. Apologies.”

He looks back up to the breakroom lights, his face burning hot.

Martin chuckles.

Jon dares to glance at him.

The surprise has faded into something softer, a not-quite-there smile lingering on his lips.

“Yeah…” He agrees quietly, “That… is pretty stupid.”

“Well-! Pardon me for asking,” Jon snaps.

Martin’s smile grows.

“I’ve… I’ve got a pretty stupid answer for it though?”

“Uh,” Jon leans forward in his seat, “Yes?”

“Despite um, well, all of it…” Martin swings a hand around the room, “It’s… It’s really good to see you, Jon.”

He stares.

It’s Martin’s turn to try and hide from the scrutiny. Jon watches with fascination as he starts to turn a blotchy red.

He doesn’t understand. The last time they spoke, Jon gave him nothing but a weak apology after suspecting him of murder and invading his privacy for months. Martin should be angry at him, or maybe even afraid. Jon doesn’t want him to be, but he would understand if he were.

Instead, Martin sits in front of him with a shy smile and soft hands, helping him, missing him. Jon can’t possibly understand that.

He opens his mouth without any clue as to what to say.

“That… doesn’t actually answer my question?” He says weakly.

Martin laughs. Not a chuckle or a giggle but a full-throated belly laugh. It is a sound Jon has never heard from him before. His face feels even warmer.

As soon as he calms down, Martin shakes his head before delicately placing his fingertips on Jon’s chin and tilting his head upward.

“I guess not.”

He finishes cleaning and dressing the wound in silence. When he presses the dressing against the cut to make sure its smooth, Jon can’t help but shudder.

A frown crosses Martin’s brow.

“Don’t suppose I can convince you to see a doctor about this?”

“You suppose correct,” Jon sighs.

Martin clucks his tongue but doesn’t push him any further.

Jon is overcome with the sudden desire to sit in this chair for the remainder of the afternoon, resting in Martin’s half-joking disapproval with their kneecaps just about touching.

He is also keenly aware that that desire isn’t something he can afford to indulge in.

With a weary groan, he hauls himself upright.

“I… appreciate the help.”

Grabbing the now-stained tea towel, he turns away to toss it in the sink.

“O-Oh, uh, sure, anytime,” Martin says automatically, “Well, n-no, not anytime- I didn’t mean- I don’t want you to get hurt again or a-anything!”

“It’s fine, Martin, I know what you meant.”

He puts the first aid kit back under the sink and pats his pockets to make sure he has all the things he came in with. It’s not much.

“Right, I won’t be back today, but I’ll be in the office tomorrow.”

“You’d better not be!” Martin exclaims, suddenly loud.

Jon blinks at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re hurt! You need rest!” Martin squeaks indignantly, “Proper rest, Jon not just a half-day off!”

“I- Wh- You can’t stop me coming to work!”

“I bloody well can!”

Jon boggles as a memory suddenly strikes him full-force. He had tried coming back to the archives early after Prentiss’ attack as well, hadn’t he? Martin had practically carried out of the building. At the time, it was just another reason for Jon to be suspicious of him. Now, he can see it for what it was.

Martin cared.

He still cares, whether that care takes the form of washing his wounds or scolding him for his poor work-life balance. It’s not a feeling Jon is familiar with.

Martin still sits at the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest, colour high in his cheeks. With a wistful smile, Jon decides to let him have his way. It’s paltry thanks for his ministrations, but it is all Jon has.

“Alright.”

Martin’s glare vanishes under his shock.

“Alright?”

Jon nods.

“Alright. I’ll rest.”

“Oh! Oh. …Good!”

“It’s what, Friday now?” Jon says, “Maybe I’ll even take the weekend off.”

“Wow, let’s not go overboard,” Martin grumbles.

Jon snorts, hiding his laughter behind his bandaged hand. Martin smiles brightly and somehow, gets even redder.

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Jon heads for the door. His feet are like lead weights and he already knows he is going to have to stop himself from napping on the tube. He can sleep properly once he is back at Georgie’s. It might even be nice to rest, for once.

He pauses in the doorway, glancing back.

Martin has stood up, his arms still crossed even as he flicks a hand up.

“See you.”

As he stares at him, Jon’s chest aches again. He is overcome with the urge to speak, as if that will ease it.

“For what it is worth… It is really good to see you too.”

Martin’s face goes slack with a look as soft and tender as his hand was on Jon’s throat. It makes the ache worse.

Jon turns away without another word, knocks once on the doorframe and walks away.

As he heads for the stairs, his hand still throbs, and his neck still stings but it is the hurt in his heart that distracts him. The sound of Martin’s laughter echoes in his head and Jon thinks that this particular pain is one he doesn’t mind keeping.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma 092 #tma fic #the great tma relisten #listen. has this scenario been written about more than once? yes. do i care? no.#you will get my interpretation and you will like it #the boys are PIIINNNNIIINGGGGG

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jadevalentine-writes · 2 years

Text

Venus Fly Trap - HuaLesbians Fic - 2022 MXTX Femslash Minibang

Hello all!

It's my posting day for the 2022 MXTX Femslash Minibang (@mxtxfemslash)! I had the pleasure of working with two talented artists, mew and sigma, whose art is featured in the fic. Please be sure to give them love and let them know on Twitter how awesome they are!

This idea was in my queue for a while, so I'm glad I had the opportunity to get it written. I've never agonized over anything so short in my life. ^^;

The fic link, summary, and tags below!

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Summary:

“I would stare at literally anyone else, if I were you,” He Xuan grumbled from behind Shi Qingxuan.

Xie Lian felt parched, but was unable to move, rooted on her barstool, staring up at the balcony. “But…why?” she asked. Xie Lian was still reeling from the question of why Hua Cheng would single her out and talk to her and had not heard what He Xuan said, but that did not stop the somber woman from responding.

“She’s a venus fly trap,” He Xuan said flatly, her back to the balcony. “Anything that gets too close, she devours.”

Tags (below cut)

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

F/F

Fandom:

天官赐福 - 墨香铜臭 | Tiān Guān Cì Fú - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù

Relationship:

Huā Chéng/Xiè Lián (Tiān Guān Cì Fú)

Characters:

Xiè Lián (Tiān Guān Cì Fú)

Shī Qīngxuán

Hè Xuán (Tiān Guān Cì Fú)

Huā Chéng (Tiān Guān Cì Fú)

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Alternate Universe - Gender Changes

Genderbending

Female Xiè Lián

Female Huā Chéng

Female Huā Chéng/Female Xiè Lián (Tiān Guān Cì Fú)

Hualesbians

Female Shī Qīngxuán

Female Hè Xuán

club setting

Meet-Cute

First Dates

Coffee Shops

Semi-Public Sex

It occurs in Hua Cheng's office and it's locked FYI

Making Out

Flirting

Vaginal Fingering

Cunnilingus

Huā Chéng and Xiè Lián are in Love (Tiān Guān Cì Fú)

Huā Chéng and Xiè Lián Invented Love

Lesbian Huā Chéng/Xiè Lián (Tiān Guān Cì Fú)

Art Embedded

#hualian #hualesbians #tgcf #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #tgcf fic #tgcf fanfic #tgcf fanfiction #hualian fic #hualian fanfic #hualian fanfiction #genderbend hualian #jade valentine #jade valentine writes

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morgana-ren · 3 years

Text

Pale Imitation

The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

Rating: E

Warnings: Porn, Masturbation, Yandere, Stalker Shigaraki, Shigaraki is a total creep, Rough sex, Noncon Fantasy/Roleplay

Preemptive Note: Before you continue I just want to note: I'm not a sex worker but I have nothing but the highest regard and respect for them. What ensues in this story is pure kink and fantasy and is not meant to reinforce any harmful/mean stereotypes what so ever. My personal fantasy is degradation and I can't really seem to get off without it so it's a majority of what I write, but I swear to you it was not written with the intent to insult or hurt anyone in the profession! I realize the hardships endured by the men/women/NB/GN in the adult sex work profession and this is just intended to be a pure sexual fantasy and is by no means attempting to reinforce or normalize toxic behaviors in the workplace.

Bad wig? Check .

Poor voice imitation? Check .

Shoddy, unsealed makeup that sloughs off onto the unfortunate scene partner’s skin? Check .

All the tell-tale signs of a bad porno but with one distinct peculiarity that drew his interest.

You know, this certainly wasn’t what he was expecting to see when he settled in for his first nightly wank. The front page of any porn site is always a marriage of humorous and disturbing, but he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting to see his name at the top of any list that had a direct connection to satiating someone’s libido, yet there it was, plain as day on the top ten.

He’s no stranger to the villain kink page. Tons of civilians indulged in their darker fantasies through their nighttime excursions below their pantyline, and being a villain himself, naturally he was curious. Most of it is about what he’d expect. Villains, ancient and new, participating in copulation of all sorts. Some of it is that extremely out of character slow and romantic pornography. Other times, strangely enough, it’s the villains themselves getting taken advantage of. Sometimes by heroes, other times by random people, objects, or even tentacles. It’s interesting, to say the least.

Him though? He’d never seen himself in one, let alone being featured on the front page.

Up until recently, the media and all it’s sinful offshoots had opted to ignore him. However, his recent exploits must’ve caught the attention of the general public, and alongside it, the licentious denizens that dwell within. There had been a few forum posts, a little fan art (most of it flattering), and even a few oddly obsessive fangirls he’d come across. But this? Oh, now this was a whole new caliber.

He didn’t think of himself as particularly narcissistic, but this he had to see.

The guy they’d hired to play him was naturally a flat disappointment; Too bulky, and way too short. He could tell there was a classically handsome man underneath all that poorly done makeup that was meant to make him look pallid and dry. A sad, pathetic, and pale imitation of the real thing, missing some of his scars and moles entirely. The ashy gray wig they used to try to mimic his shaggy, unkempt hair had an awkward cowlick and kept flopping down too far on the actor’s forehead and looked far more dead than even his own unwashed mop. The voice he was using to mimic him was strained and scratchy, far too forced to be comfortable or even remotely realistic. If he had to place it, it sounded like the guy already had a terribly sore throat and had continued yelling for several hours to achieve the ‘desired’ effect.

He hadn’t expected much, but it was still disappointing. Though to be fair, they nailed the clothing, minus the brand of shoes he wears and the exact coat he’d chosen as his signature.

A part of him was ready to shut it off. Whatever lies ahead could only be utterly insulting, right? This grotesque pastiche lifelessly parroting his mannerisms was already curbing his sexual appetite toward something more violent, and not in the way he liked. Yet, out of sheer curiosity, he kept watching. What exactly did the average screenwriting porn cinematographer think he was into anyway?

It was a little ambiguous at first. At least until the shaky camera followed the Walmart brand Shigaraki knock-off down a generic hallway and into a borderline barren room, bringing into frame a quaking young woman tied up on a filthy mattress. After that, it became very quickly apparent just what type of smut he’d stumbled onto.

The camera zooms in on her face, tears leaking from her eyes and leaving trails of thick black makeup and mascara trailing down her cheeks, her begging and pleading muffled by a rag hastily stuffed in her mouth and secured with what appeared to be a bandana tied around her head. She’s clad in nothing but a flimsy tank top with the straps yanked down over her shoulders and a small pair of lace panties, covered in what appears to be made up lacerations and fake bruising. A nice touch, he notes.

He’ll admit, he’s intrigued now. It looks like they got one thing about him right, perhaps two now that he inspects the adult actress hired to play his unfortunate victim. She’s flattering, far more flattering than he expected given the low budget circumstances. Her watery eyes and quaking body coupled with the slight rope burn embedding into her chafing skin is enough to get his legs stirring and his pants tightening. She looks so pretty, so vulnerable behind all the waterworks and thick stage makeup. He thinks, just maybe, he might be able to get into this if he hyper focuses on her.

As his imposter approaches, she pushes her bound legs out, squishing herself back against the wall and as far away as she can manage from the threat encroaching on her personal space.

“Heroes can’t save you now.”

The shallow mockery of his voice grates at his ears, but he’ll admit the comment is on brand. The actor harshly yanks the bandana out of the woman’s mouth, her pouty lips trembling as she begins to grovel, blinking more tears down her swollen cheeks.

“I-I’m sorry! Please just let me go! I won’t tell anyone anything!”

All things considered, she’s convincing enough to get his blood pumping. Tomura readjusts himself in his chair, reaching his hands beneath the band of his sweatpants. If he can ignore her counterpart, he thinks watching her squirm and squeal will get him off. After all, it’s supposed to be ‘him’ violating this cute girl. Maybe if he defocuses his eyes enough, he can pretend it really is.

“I’m going to show you how much of a villain I really am!”

Ugh . Whoever wrote this dialogue clearly had never met him, or probably any real villain for that matter. It’s enough to make him want to retch, but the feel of his own hand on his cock and the soft whimpering of the actress as the villain stand-in strips off his coat brings him back and makes him throb. The camera moves in to offer her a close up, face dropping and eyes widening in horror as she comes to the “realization” of what he means.

“No! Please! Anything but that!”

She kicks at him, trying to fend him off with bound limbs as he crawls over her onto the bed. A harsh slap to the side of her cheek is enough to quiet her down and allow the assailant to cage her to the bed with one hand, the other clumsily fumbling with the buttons of his jeans. After he shimmies his ill fitting skinny jeans down his thighs, she looks at him with eyes widened in horror, shaking her head erratically.

“No! Please Mister Shigaraki, it’s too big! It won’t fit!”

A hand far too burly to be his wraps around her neck, pointer finger plucked awkwardly upward. “Quiet! You’re my prisoner and you’ll do as I say!”

Just ignore it.

The free hand goes to grab at her tank top, a brief but noticeable pause in the filming leaves her topless with stage prop ash sprinkled along her torso, the ropes around her wiggling legs conveniently gone now. While the cinematic effect was laughably bad, Tomura can’t bring himself to care. Not when her tits are now on display for him to ogle.

Chest bare and heaving, perfect nipples perked to attention just for him. Smooth, creamy skin goose pimpled and tender, so tempting that he's aching to feel her. A quick swipe of his thumb over his sensitive, spongy tip elicits a rumbled groan from deep in his chest. It’s easier now to ignore the shitty portrayal of himself, especially when he can lose himself to the throes of lust and pretend that it actually is his hands wrapped around her little throat, other fingers drifting lower and lower down her trembling belly.

A quick hook around the seam of her panties and they’re ripped clean from her hips, legs splayed and leaving her pussy center frame, already wet and glistening. He swallows hard, the sight enough to make him salivate. She fumbles around beneath him, desperate to buck him off, but it’s to no avail. Fingers, his fingers, tease the entrance to her tight little hole, slipping one finger, and then two inside, oscillating in and out preparing her to take all of him. Just like she said, he’s so big. He doesn’t want to hurt her, not like that.

After that, it’s all too easy for him to slip into his fantasy. He strokes his cock in tandem with the pumping of the fingers, pausing only briefly as the girl mewls as the fingers slip out and the tip of his cock is aligned with her little entrance. He pistons his own hips as it slams inside, head reeling back on the edge of his chair.

The high pitched whine that escapes her throat as the fake buries himself deep inside has him biting his lip, slowing his hand by force on his shaft. Fuck, even her moans are hot. Her bouncing tits and staggered breathing as his imposter rails into her has him enraptured. The subtle way she leans into the hand on her throat, back arched off the filthy mattress, face expressing clear distress but body betraying her clever act.

It matters little that she’s being paid to partake in the scene with ‘him’. The fact she was open to it says more than he could have hoped to know, and clearly she’s enjoying the treatment. His hazy eyes focus in on her face, working his hand harder with every little nuance she gifts him. The twitch of arms as her nails imbed themselves into her palms, the parting of her moist lips. He’d be willing to bet her tongue could work magic, taking him all the way to the back of her throat. God, she’d look so cute like that. Hands tied behind her back, a sloppy, drooling mess around his dick.

“S-Shigaraki! You’re too rough!”

The hand clamped around her throat tightens, her final word more of a croak.

“You like it, you little slut!”

At least there’s one thing him and this mediocre porn actor can agree on; she certainly does like it. Rolling her hips against him and wailing in a way that has him wonderfully immersed in his fantasy. Hearing his name on those sighs only strengthen his hold, he can practically feel the warmth of her skin, indulge himself in the wet, clenching tightness of her cunt.

It’s fucking insulting that this trash gets to wear his skin, steal his countenance to fuck her. It should be him. If this whelp could get her all hot and bothered, just imagining what the real thing could do sends the remaining blood reserves rushing between his thighs, prick pulsing even harder in his palm. Yeah, he could get this little bitch squealing. She’d fucking like it too, judging by the look on her face as she gets plowed by a man wearing his visage.

Oh, he’d make her scream. Leave real bruising in place of that cheap costume makeup they’d so lazily applied to her naked form. Truth be told, the video itself was rather boring. He’d only kept watching because of how enraptured he was with the little witch being stuffed full of cock by his imitation. He’d never really been taken with an adult actress before but this one? Oh yes, he could really get into her.

He wasn’t sure what it was about her. So pretty to him, so deliciously pliable, so completely worked up about a villain using her as a toy, pumping in and out of her warm little pussy until he fills her with his hot cum and she’s overflowing with every fluid thrust. Sweet, sensitive neck exposed just for him to bite and abuse. Face stained with tears, puffy cheeks just aching to be squeezed and smacked. Probably tastes like rapture, eager to swallow whatever he decides to spill into her mouth.

And she could take it. He just knows it. Bent over for him, any hole he pleases free for him to use, hand-shaped welts raising on the swell of her ass. Fingers fisting her hair and arching that cute face back to look directly at him as he spits between her open and waiting lips. She’d swallow it like a good girl, just like a good girl, he knows she would.

He works himself faster, his own breathy whines joining the cacophony of licentiousness that echoes in his eardrums. His imagination shifts into overdrive, clumsy, irregular strokes of his hand tenting and deflating the crotch of his sweats. Soft, pillowy tits bulging through his fingertips as he kneads them, sucking on those tender nipples until they harden just for him. Fucking her mouth until her lips are swollen and red, face covered in a mixture of drool and cum with lipstick smeared around her cheeks. Legs locked around his narrow waist as he slams into her repeatedly, chanting his name and begging him incoherently not to stop, never to stop.

“P-please don’t cum inside me! Please- I-“

Oh, he’d cum deep inside. He’ll cum anywhere he wants on his little whore until it’s slick and dripping. He’ll tie her up, smudging it across her broken expression and let it dry nice and thick. Slip his cum covered thumb into her mouth and then ignore her until her thighs are grinding together and she’s begging for his thick cock again, any way he wants her.

Fuck- fuck she’d love it too. Ride him until each slap of her ass on his bony hips made his cock punch hard against her cervix, crying in pleasure and pain but never stopping until he allowed her. Dig his nails into her back, his teeth into her flesh and mark her up real good, let everyone who sees her know just what she’s been up to with him-

“Shigaraki! Fuck! Shi-Shigaraki!”

His name spills from her lips in a needy sob, voice cracking and so utterly genuine that it sends him over the edge. His cock throbs and stutters in his hand, shooting jets of sticky white seed all over the inside of his black sweat pants and staining his fingers. His entire body shudders, legs stiffening and balls tightening and clenching as his cum spills in fat ropes across the fabric. Try as he might to focus on her face as she cums for him, he simply can’t, eyes slamming shut and mouth left agape as a strangled cry erupts from his throat.

He gives a few subconscious pumps into his hand as searing pleasure crackles through his body, toes curling in his shoes as his lower body lifts off the chair to chase his high. Millions of images flash across his mind, the foremost of which is her, greedy eyes hungry for pleasure only he can give her, silky cunt milking him eagerly. A jagged tooth bites a little too hard into his blistered lip, enough to crack it open but he’s too submerged in bliss to notice. The only thing he can feel is her.

His thighs tremble as his body falls back down into the worn computer chair, orgasm leaving his entire body feeling weak and drained. His breath comes in heaves, gulping down air as he tries his best to shake off the residual searing pleasure so hot it almost hurts. Overstimulation looms on the horizon and his heavy eyes drift open, feeling so drowsy now he can hardly keep them apart. The orange bar at the bottom of the video is all the way to the right, the video having concluded itself.

He’s never cum so hard in his life.

Her name. He needed to know her name. He needed to know everything .

He doesn’t bother reaching for the tissues. He simply withdraws his hand from his waistband, wiping his mess onto the knee of his pant leg before grabbing his mouse and scouring the page for any crumb of information he can find. The comments, while amusing, are hardly helpful.

So hot xx thanks

Who’s the guy even supposed to be?

This babe is so hot, luv her stuff everytime

Yall r gunna get rekt when he sees this shit lol

any sexy girls wanna reenact this with me? Hmu

I’m a girl and I love this!

Wish he’d do that to me <.<

He’d dwell on all of that later. For now, he settles for a quick search through the uploader’s account. It’s a small studio, only a few films out to date, most of which revolve around taboo relationships between villains and society. Following a hyperlink to their main website leads him to bio, complete with her stage name and picture, and even another link leading to an interview with a small time adult magazine, an article called “Cum to the Dark Side” that he bookmarks for later reading.

Even post-cum, she’s just as beautiful. Enchanting, sultry smile and cheeky little expression in her picture. Maybe it’s fate that he stumbled upon her. Maybe she really was just that good at acting and she didn’t have a thing for him at all. Either way, he wants some time with the talent. For research, of course.

Her personal details, as expected, are hidden. They go the lengths to protect their employees it seems. What isn’t hidden, however, is the studio’s number.

He thinks he can work with that.

#NSFT #shigaraki x reader #tw adult stuff #tw yandere #tw uhh self love #tw stalker behavior #Part 1 #tw noncon roleplay

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writing-gifts · 3 years

Text

here’s the 6th part of the incubus!doppio AU!

im gonna start posting this on ao3 too (with some editing in the earlier chapters so you can check that out if you wanna)

list of parts

@wasabi-mommy @mistabrainr0t @the-average-mastermind

--------

“OW! What the hell--why’d you bite me so hard for!?”

You try to move your leg but Mutton blocks your way. Letting out a sigh, you stand in place and look down at the cat.

“What? What is the problem?”

He moves behind you and presses his head against the back of your calf hard enough to affect your balance. When you move your leg forward to stop yourself from falling, Mutton walks towards the door.

“Do you want me to let you out? But you just got here.”

The cat looks at you for a moment before placing his front paws on the door and stretching upward towards the knob.

Shaking your head, you walk over to the door. “I’m gonna get that cat door for you one day, I swear.”

Once it’s open, Mutton quickly circles your legs and pushes his head against them like before.

“Okay, okay I’m going!”

You walk out and the feline takes a few steps towards the forest ahead before turning to look back. His multicolored eyes stay locked on yours and you purse your lips when you realize what he wants.

“I guess I'm following you….”

After locking and closing the door, you walk after the cat as he continues into the forest. You wonder what exactly he’s so desperate to show you. Was this even normal behavior for cats? You weren't sure but you did know that Mutton was a little more on the intelligent side. Sometimes you even felt like he could even understand you.

So you go along with it, following a distance behind through what seems like endless trees and brush and fanning random insects out of your face. Fortunately, the weather was cool enough that you weren't sweating too.

However, the longer you walk, the more you fear that you might be lost. Trying to find your way back on your own would definitely make it worse though.

Just when you think you need to take a break, a body of water appears in the distance through the opening of the trees. When you and Mutton finally exit the packed foliage, you see that you’ve been led to a lake sitting in a giant clearing in the forest.

You stare a bit amazed at the size and notice a cabin near it a distance away. Mutton doesn't stop long to let you marvel at the scene though and continues towards the lake. You catch up to him and the both of you walk alongside the water.

“So do you know the person in the cabin?” You assume that’s where you're headed.

You didn’t expect a response, but Mutton merps to acknowledge you. You hum and your gaze quickly finds itself back on the lake. It was vast, going on so far you could barely see where it ended. The sky and trees reflect on its surface clearly and the water’s so still you almost feel like you can jump into the clouds if you want to.

Once the two of you are closer, you see that the brick and wood cabin was partially sitting on the grassy land behind it and partially on the water. You had also underestimated the size. Perhaps more than one person lived here?

Mutton leads you around the side of the house and stops to sit next to the front door. He looks up at you expectedly so you reach out to knock.

Several seconds pass before you hear the door being unlocked and when it opens, a handsome man with a neat, dark bob is revealed.

Unsure of what to do, you give a quick greeting and go quiet afterward. You didn't plan what to say when the door was answered, you just knew Mutton wanted you to knock.

Said cat walks into view, rubbing against the man’s leg as he walks into the house.

At that moment, realization seems to cross the man's face and he smiles at you.

“You must be the neighbor,” he says.

“Neighbor?”

“The person who lives in the house outside the forest. I saw someone moved in but never came around to introduce myself.”

"Oh, I had no idea anyone lived out here."

"That’s pretty much the reason why I’m out here.” The man moves to make room so you can walk inside. “Would you like to come in?"

You're a little hesitant since you just met but Mutton had no issue with it apparently. And the cat had actively been prepared to attack Diavolo for you on multiple occasions.

The moment you pass the threshold, you’re instantly awed. When you thought of cabins, simple and small came to mind. This one was neatly organized but it didn't give the homely vibe you’d expect.

The monochromatic room was spacious and decorated with nice looking furniture and curtains. The living area consisted of a fireplace surrounded by comfortable looking couches, and the stone wall above it held shelves that were crammed full of old looking books, various expensive looking decor and bottles. And to the right, closer to the back of the room sat a sizable dining set.

However what mostly grabs your eye is the fish tanks that were embedded in the walls throughout the room. At first you wonder why he had so many, but when you look closer you realize that they were not, in fact, separate tanks but a giant aquarium partially hidden within the walls.

Was the whole house like this? What type of cabin was this?

While you wonder where all the fish are, something twinkles in the corner of your eye. You turn to see what it is, but there’s nothing there.

So I'm imagining things now...

“--drink?”

You turn your attention to the man. "Sorry what was that?"

“I asked if you wanted anything to drink?”

You cross your arms and shake your head. “No I’m good…so do you know why Mutton led me here?”

The cat currently sits on the top of the back of one of the white couches.

“I actually needed to discuss something important with you, but I should introduce myself first. I'm Bruno Bucciarati--you can refer to me as either--and I'm a witch.”

You’re immediately skeptical. It wasn't unheard of, obviously, but you couldn't just believe whatever anyone told you. Bruno doesn’t look bothered by your dubiousness though.

“You're smart enough to not trust blindly. That’s good.” The man puts a finger to his chin. “You have a leaf on your shoulder.”

Before you can reach up to brush it off the man plucks it off you. Then just as quickly as he picked it off, the small green leaf begins to glow and transforms into a full flower.

You stare shocked trying to find any way to explain what you just saw. It was no trick of the eye either as the leaf’s form changed right before you into a completely different thing.

The man--no witch holds out the white rose and you gently take it.

“I--wow I just keep running into supernatural beings or something.”

"This forest does seem to attract them," he says.

Interesting…

You roll the flower stem between your fingers. “I’m ____ by the way.Uh, I don't know if you call him Mutton too--" You tilt your head in the direction of the feline. “--but is he your familiar or something?”

“No, he’s just a cat that likes to wander the forest. However, my familiar's over there though if you’re interested."

You get closer to the tank the witch pointed out to observe and even though you weren't exactly showing it, you were actually really excited and interested by the fact that you just met a witch.

At first you don't see anything in the huge tank other than greenery and a rocky cave ornament in the corner. But then something pops its head out of the opening. An eel that also managed to match the color scheme of the room. It was mostly white and covered in black patterns with yellow sprinkled in. It comes out of its hiding spot and swims back and forth as if it were stretching out it’s long body. Then it turns to you when it realizes that you're intently watching through the glass.

Your smile at it’s somewhat funny face and tilt your head a bit. The eel responds by tilting its own head, as if curious by your action.

"Holy crap. This is actually pretty cool! Do they talk?" you ask.

“Not really.” Bruno's smile falters. “But surprisingly Mutton does.”

“Huh?” You snicker a bit thinking the witch is joking but see that there’s no sign that he is on his face.

You look over at the cat and he stares back unblinking before glancing at Bruno.

"....I thought we weren't going to tell them."

Your heart almost jumps into your throat. “W-What?”

Bruno hums. “I thought about it and decided there's no point keeping it secret any longer. The incubus already knows. So it would only be a matter of time before he said something."

You're still reeling from Mutton talking that you almost missed what Bruno said.

“Hold on...Wait. Incubus? Are you talking about Doppio?” you ask the witch.

“Yes.”

You squint confused. “He knew and he didn't say anything? How long ago did he find out?"

"About a week," Mutton says.

"It might have benefited him in some way but I'm not sure why he didn't say anything," Bruno adds.

You exhale, somehow already on the verge of irritation with...everyone. Doppio was usually open with you, but apparently he thought this was a good thing not to mention.

You stare at Mutton who looks at you like he usually did, as if this weren’t an issue. But that was far from the case for you. It wasn't explicitly said but you were sure he told Bruno things about you, and it left you disturbed.

“...Well is there anything else I should know about Mutton?”

"Well his name's not actually Mutton," Bruno says.

"It's Leone Abbacchio, but you can call me Abbacchio."

You grimace from the human sounding voice coming from the cat you had been cuddling practically since...since you moved here!

“Okay Abbacchio, I don't really want you snooping around my house anymore--

“That can be arranged,” Bruno interrupts. “Once we ‘exorcise’ that demon constantly visiting you.”

Your already furrowed brow deepens. Doppio wasn't possessing anything though. You weren't even sure he was capable of that.

“No, I don't want that!”

"Listen, it might seem like Doppio is harmless, but things can become dangerous if he grows too serious of an attachment to you. And if it makes you feel better, we won’t need to hurt him if he leaves quietly."

You weren't exactly sure what the witch meant by "dangerous" but his serious tone managed to spark some anxiety within you.

"I mean it would be natural for Doppio to get upset if I suddenly wanted him gone."

"He's not just talking about being upset." Abbacchio says, annoyance in his tone. "Doppio could literally keep you against your will if he wanted and there would be no way for Bruno to reverse it."

"All demons are naturally envious creatures and the way things are going between you two, it’s only a matter of time. And this doesn't even take into account the other demon." Bruno says.

Diavolo aside, you couldn't bring yourself to see Doppio in that light.

"But--"

The front door slams open and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

Doppio stomps in, his face flushed. Once he sees you he seems to relax slightly but his expression is still irate.

“I finally found you!” he exclaims.

Bruno raises a brow and turns to Abbacchio.

The cat's ears fold back in frustration. "I was sure I lost him."

The incubus walks up to you, stopping too close and grabbing your shoulders harshly. “Are you okay?”

“Doppio you're gripping me too tightly.” You push off his hands and wrap your arms around yourself to shield your body from the sudden chill that seemed to appear. “I’m fine….But they're talking about you being able to keep me? What does that exactly mean?”

You wanted to hear an explanation from the incubus himself. You trusted him not to lie to your face if you asked him straight on.

However, Doppio reacts strangely, as if he's afraid. He makes some space between the two of you and struggles to look at you. You try to catch his gaze again but he refuses to keep eye contact.

"It's…" He strains his fingers. "Well, you see, incubi and succubi can form a….c-connection with a weaker being if they’re close enough. Then they could technically stay together forever."

Abbacchio grunts, "Way to sugar coat it--"

“I wouldn’t do that to you though ____! I didn't even consider it! U-Unless you wanted to it would never happen and I know that you like your space…”

The incubus is the most stressed you've seen him.

Even though you were still upset you didn't like seeing him like this, so in an attempt to ease him, you try to smile. Unfortunately, it comes off pretty strained.

You take a moment to mull over what he said though and come to a conclusion pretty quickly. "Even though that was kind of vague...I think I understand. And honestly, I can't see you forcing me into that."

You'd never seen a cat roll their eyes until now.

"Typical human. They're a lost cause Bruno. Let's leave them to do what they want," Abbacchio says before stretching and laying down.

The witch looks disapprovingly at the cat. "You know I can't do that. Perhaps they actually were charmed. I could--"

"Sir," you say to get his attention. "I appreciate your concern, but I trust Doppio and I'd prefer if you didn't get in between the two of us."

Having to tell your almost neighbor you just met to buzz off even in a polite way wasn't what you were expecting to do today.

Bruno doesn’t look upset though. He's quiet, studying you with an unreadable expression but then he nods.

"I'm having Leone check up on you. If anything seems off I'm getting involved."

Your brows furrow slightly. Didn't you just explicitly say you didn't want Abbacchio snooping around your home anymore?

You want to argue more but the witch didn't leave room in his statement to negotiate. And even though you hate to admit it, keeping the supernatural out of your home wasn't exactly your strong suit. It pissed you off but you couldnt do anything about it. So you give a curt nod and immediately walk to the exit with Doppio following closely behind.

Once outside, you follow the incubus through the forest. There's a long, awkward stretch of silence between you two though.

Doppio tries to sneakily glance at you, which you of course you notice but you choose to ignore it. However, after the 50th one he finally decides to say something.

"____?"

You sigh, "What?"

He slows to a stop to turn and look at you properly but, again, he has trouble keeping eye contact.

"Are you mad?"

Maybe at first but now it had changed to more of a disappointed feeling.

"Not necessarily but you knew about Mutt--Abbacchio and didn't say anything to me. So I'm not exactly happy right now."

"I didn't but--"

You shake your head. "No Doppio. I'm too tired right now to understand whatever weird logic you formed in your head."

His mouth closes and the hurt on his face instantly makes you regret your choice of words. Maybe you shouldn't have said it like that but you really didn't feel like listening to excuses right now.

You look away from Doppio. "Let's just go, please."

#incubus!doppio #vinegar doppio x reader #doppio x reader #reader insert #jjba x reader #if you're wondering what type of eel it is its a snowflake eel #anyways yEP #if you wanna be added to the tag list you can ask in the replies or message me whichever you want #i still need a title for ao3

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ultimatetrashyfanfic · 3 years

Text

Wooow, first time writing a fic for this fandom. I’m stupidly nervous. Also I only just finished SDR2 so I’m just gonna make this a Non-Despair AU in case there’s any big events in the next canon games I don’t know about yet. Plus i want everybody to be alive and well (chapter four hurt). This is also the first time in years I’ve written any fanfiction, so forgive me if I’m rusty. I do love this pairing. Can be taken romantically or platonic in this one (as this isn’t my only ship for Hajime so I tried to keep it ambiguous). - Circle

Also posted to AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/33332596

Warning: sickfic, descriptions of vomiting (I don’t go into much detail), nightmares/general anxiety.

Kazuichi was the only person Hajime knew with a worse sleep schedule than his own. For months he hadn’t realised - everybody had their own space on the island and Hajime was occupied enough with his own fatigue - but as Fuyuhiko saw how much Kazuichi grew to trust and confide in Hajime, he reported the issue.

“He’s like a fucking baby,” Fuyuhiko muttered bitterly. “If he gets tinkering on something he’ll be at it for days without sleeping. You gotta make sure he doesn’t overdo it. I can’t babysit that dumbass by myself.”

Hajime nodded, letting the insults sail over his head. Fuyuhiko may swear and yell and tell everyone over and over that Kazuichi and Hajime and Akane were the bane of his existence, but he was really the closest thing their group had to a mum friend.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Hajime promised. It was an easy enough job. At least it gave him something to do. Whenever Hajime found himself unable to sleep now, he’d go hunting for Kazuichi. More often than not he’d be at the airport, dismantling or building things as the mood struck him, and all Hajime had to do was hook his collar and ignore the whining as he dragged his friend away to bed.

But that night was different. Hajime could sense it the second he walked into the airport. Since the other students rarely went in there, Kazuichi had taken over the space, scattering bits of parts and machines in various stages of completion. But he wasn’t hunched over with a fiddly screwdriver or hidden underneath some big contraption with only his legs visible. He was sitting against a large machine, resting his head against the cool metal, his thumb rubbing at the motor oil embedded under his bitten fingernails.

That was concerning. Kazuichi was never still. He was forever biting his fingernails or twirling his wrench idly in his hands or messing with the pockets on his jumpsuit, dragging the zips up and down over and over. It used to drive Hajime mad, but after knowing Kazuichi for so long Hajime could recognise it as a nervous response and he knew not to complain about it.

Because kazuichi was fragile. Not physically - he could easily haul heavy engine parts around and didn’t buckle when Akane jumped on his back - but it was pretty easy to upset him. When Fuyuhiko had started mocking Kazuichi over his obsession with Sonia - “you gotta bully the shitty behaviours out of people, Hajime.” - it had led to Kazuichi knocking at Hajime’s cottage in the middle of the night, tearfully asking him why Fuyuhiko hated him.

Sometimes Hajime really wished they had an Ultimate Therapist on the island.

So now, looking across the abandoned airport to Kazuichi behaving in a very not-Kazuichi way, Hajime proceeded with caution. He made sure to step purposefully, his footsteps loud on the linoleum floor; he’d once surprised Kazuichi from behind and almost received a wrench to his temple… as well as a burst eardrum from the screaming.

Kazuichi looked up, hastily fumbling with his glasses and shoving them into his pocket. He hated anyone seeing him wear them, so Hajime knew not to comment.

Usually Kazuichi’s face brightened when he saw any of his friends, but now his smile was wary, reserved. “Hey, Hajime,” he said, his voice thick with fatigue.

“When was the last time you slept?” Hajime asked bluntly. “Or ate?”

Kazuichi turned back to face the hunk of metal beside him (unidentifiable to Hajime), though he still didn’t start tinkering. “Not hungry.”

“That doesn’t answer my question at all.”

“I slept yesterday. I think… It’s Monday, right?”

Hajime sighed heavily and hooked the collar of Kazuichi’s jumpsuit with his fingers. “Come on, get up. Bedtime. You’re not even doing anything.”

“Mmn. Can’t seem to focus tonight.”

“That’s because you’re exhausted. Go to bed.”

“Okay! Jeez, man, you’re acting like my mother,” Kazuichi whined, sounding more like himself.

The pair walked out into the cool night air together, Hajime taking hold of Kazuichi’s sleeve when he stumbled. Just how long had he been awake? He was acting like a zombie.

“Fuyuhiko said you weren’t sleeping,” Hajime grumbled. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“Fuyuhiko said it? So why did he make you come get me? Are you sure he doesn’t hate me?” Souda pressed.

“Yes, I’m sure. I told you, he was only harsh because he wanted you to leave poor Sonia alone.”

“Well. I have been, haven’t I?” he muttered.

Hajime assumed that was meant to be a rhetorical question, but it came out like Kazuichi was looking for reassurance. It hadn’t occurred to him how often Souda seemed to do that, as if he was worried anything he said would elicit a bad reaction.

“I’ve even been nice to Gundham,” Kazuichi said, much more irritably. “Though that’s a damn uphill battle, Hajime, I’m telling you. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about half the time.”

Hajime snorted. Watching Souda trying to interact with Gundham was becoming a running joke between the other students now. There was always a five second pause when Gundham finished talking before Kazuichi could reply, his face contorted as he hastily tried to translate.

“You’ll get used to Gundham. I didn’t understand him much at first either.” Hajime frowned as Kazuichi wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. “Are you cold?”

“I’m freezing. Maybe I do need to sleep better. I’m not feeling so good…” He stumbled again as they went across the uneven boardwalk to the cabins, bumping Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime caught hold of him instinctively - then paused for a second. He quickly cupped both hands over Kazuichi’s cheeks.

“H-Hajime?!” Souda reeled back so fast he almost toppled right off the platform. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You have a fever, Kazuichi,” Hajime groaned. “You’re burning up. That’s why you don’t feel good.”

“I do?” Souda cupped his own cheeks contemplatively. “Huh. That makes sense. I couldn’t focus properly all evening.”

Hajime sighed heavily. Souda could be so oblivious at times it was hard to believe he was so talented with his machines. He seemed so much more confident when he spoke about that stuff. When he’d started getting closer to Kazuichi, Hajime once asked about some little mechanical toy Souda was making - and Souda’s face had just lit up. He talked Hajime’s ear off for a good fifteen minutes about every little piece of the toy and how it worked. Hajime didn’t understand the majority of it, but he always made sure to ask Kazuichi about his various projects after that. Souda was delighted every time, his words tripping over each other with excitement and his eyes shining like beacons. For a second Hajime wondered if that was how it felt to be Sonia.

“Well, you’d better come with me for now,” Hajime said. “I know you don’t have any first aid supplies in your cabin, and we don’t need Mikan to tell us you have some standard virus. I’ve got painkillers and fever reducers.” Hajime held onto Kazuichi by the elbow, guiding him along to the correct cabin. He seemed beyond argument. He flopped onto Hajime’s bed as soon as they went inside, curling onto his side and closing his eyes.

Hajime hovered over him, feeling a pang of anxiety. He wasn’t used to caring for any sick people except Nagito, and caring for Nagito was a wholly bizarre experience all around. Hajime had never seen anybody swing so wildly between self-deprecating, passive aggressive and strangely clingy when he was forced to babysit a sick Nagito. Hajime figured Kazuichi might fall into the clingy category.

Hajime grabbed fever reducers from the bathroom cabinet and went to crouch beside his bed, shaking Kazuichi’s shoulder. Maybe it was the fever or the several days without sleep, but Kazuichi already seemed to be breathing deeper. There was a red flush across both his cheekbones, garishly bright against his pink hair. Hajime checked his forehead again; it was burning.

“Hey, dude, wake up. You’ve gotta take some medicine and go back to your own cabin,” Hajime said, shaking Kazuichi’s shoulder harder. Kazuichi whined irritably, reaching out a clumsy hand without opening his eyes. He managed to find Hajime’s face and tried to shove him away weakly.

“Kazuichi!” Hajime caught hold of his wrist, sighing. “You have motor oil on your hands. Look, I don’t care if you don’t want to take medicine, but go sleep in your own cabin. This happens to be my bed.”

Kazuichi didn’t move, breathing deeply. Hajime wasn’t sure if he was actually sleeping or just ignoring him.

“I kissed Sonia,” Hajime lied.

No response. Hm. Maybe Kazuichi really was asleep.

Well, what was Hajime meant to do now? He didn’t feel mean enough to boot his sick friend off the bed. He supposed he could go stay in Souda’s room, but he didn’t know where his key was, and he didn’t want to go rifling through Kazuichi’s pockets for it while he was sleeping - and maybe Souda needed somebody with him in case his fever got worse. Fevers could turn nasty, right? Not that Hajime would be any use, but he could go get Mikan.

Sighing resignedly, Hajime went to the unoccupied side of his bed, lying back to back with Kazuichi. Most of the bedsheets were trapped under his sick companion no matter now Hajime yanked them, but Souda was so hot Hajime was soon uncomfortably warm. The sleeping boy was taking up a lot of the bed too; he had Kazuichi’s hair in his face and elbows jabbing his ribs no matter what sleeping position Hajime tried. He sighed again. “You’re an utter pain to deal with, Kazuichi,” he mumbled into his pillow. “You need to take care of yourself before you get really sick.”

Hajime, though sure he’d never be able to even doze in this situation, must have slept at some point, because he woke with a start to find the bed shaking so violently he almost toppled off it. In his drowsy state Hajime wondered for a second if the island had any seismic activity, but the earthquake seemed confined to the bed alone. He sat up and fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned to his sleeping friend.

Kazuichi was shaking violently, curled into a foetal position. His face had bleached several shades whiter and his fists were clenched tight, crumpling the bedsheets. His brow was furrowed and he made intermittent whines in the back of his throat, barely audible. Whatever dream was playing in his feverish head, it clearly wasn’t a pleasant one.

“Kazuichi,” Hajime called, shaking the sleeping man’s shoulder. Hajime could feel the heat radiating through Kazuichi’s clothes. “Come on, man, wake up.”

When he received no response, he shook harder, momentarily panicked. It was a mistake. Kazuichi jolted awake with a scream, the momentum sending him tumbling right off the bed onto the floor. He banged his head hard on the skirting board.

“Shit! Fuck, Souda, are you okay?” Hajime cried, hurrying over to Kazuichi. Souda scrambled backwards in a panic, clonking his head all over again when he hit the wall. His eyes hadn’t focused yet and he was breathing far too quickly. Hajime was starting to think he really should fetch Mikan.

“Kazuichi, it’s just me. Hajime. You know, your…” He paused, cringing. Only Kazuichi ever called them by that dumb name. “Your soul friend.”

Kazuichi looked up, locking eyes with Hajime. He didn’t stop shaking, but his breathing calmed slightly. For what felt like several minutes, both boys stared helplessly at each, unsure what to do or say. Souda swallowed thickly and finally whispered in a hoarse, rasping voice, “I’m gonna puke.”

“What?” That certainly broke Hajime out of the awkward staring contest. He grabbed hold of Souda by the wrist and yanked him across the bedroom to the bathroom, shoving him firmly towards the toilet. He turned to leave - he didn’t want to witness any of that - when something snagged onto the back of his shirt.

“Are you serious?” Hajime groaned. Souda felt too nauseated to dare opening his mouth, but he tugged insistently at Hajime’s shirt.

Hajime paused. Part of him - maybe even most of him - really wanted to brush Kazuichi’s hand away and flee the room before anything gross started happening. But Souda looked so… pathetic, sitting there trying not to vomit, still shaky and tearful from the nightmare, his hair tangled across his sweaty face.

Damn it. Hajime shouldn’t have looked at him.

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, kneeling beside Souda on the bathroom floor. He hastily gathered Kazuichi’s messy hair away from his face as the sick boy leaned further over the toilet. “You owe me big time for this. Especially when I end up catching this from you.”

Grumbling aside, Hajime stayed, managing not to complain or pull too many faces when Kazuichi was vomiting. He focused on holding Souda’s hair out of the way, glad he had one job he could manage. This comforting thing was way out of his depth. Souda kept one hand reaching backwards to clasp Hajime’s shirt, as if he didn’t quite trust him not to run away.

When the retching finally tapered off, Hajime released Souda’s hair and reached up to flush the toilet, grimacing. “Better?”

Kazuichi made a noise between a whine and a sob, head resting on the toilet seat.

“Well, at least it’s over. I’m gonna go grab you some water, okay?”

He stood up, but Kazuichi hastily lifted his head, looking outraged. “You’re leaving me? I could be dying here!”

“You’re not dying, Souda. Honestly, sometimes I think you should’ve been Ultimate Drama Queen.”

“Stay with me.” Kazuichi shuffled away from the toilet and latched onto Hajime leg.

“Souda, it will take me literally thirty seconds to grab a bottle of water. Now get off.” Hajime tried to yank his leg free, but Souda had a strong grip, even when ill.

“Nope. Don’t leave.”

Hajime sighed heavily. “Then get up and come back to the bed.”

Souda slumped down onto the cool linoleum floor, making sure to keep his arms around Hajime’s ankle. “Don’t wanna move. Everything hurts.”

“Oh, for fuck sake!” Hajime tried to pull Souda up himself, but Souda let his body go limp, sprawling across the bathroom floor, and Hajime couldn’t lift him up when he was dead weight like that.

“You know that’s exactly what toddlers do when they don’t want you picking them up,” Hajime snapped. Honestly, this was almost as bad as Nagito. Why did everybody mess with him when they were sick?

“I can see why. It’s very effective,” Kazuichi muttered.

“I could just leave, you know. Just say fuck it and let you lie there on your own.”

“Don’t.” The jesting tone had disappeared from Souda’s voice. He looked close to tears again, flat on his back and staring up at Hajime pleadingly.

Hajime tried to hold onto his frustration, but he couldn’t. Not with Kazuichi looking at him like that. He sighed and sat on the floor beside Souda, putting a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Keep your hand there,” Kazuichi mumbled. “It’s cold.”

“Fine. But if you let me leave I could get you a cold cloth for your head.”

“Noooo…”

“Okay, okay.” Hajime paused. Souda’s eyelids were drooping again. If he wanted to ask, Hajime had to do it quickly. “Hey, Kazuichi..?”

“Mn?”

“What happened? Earlier, I mean.”

“I puked.”

“No, you dope. Earlier than that. When you woke up. You seemed really terrified. Were you dreaming?” Hajime was already regretting asking. Kazuichi was sick and over-emotional. They were sitting on the bathroom floor, for God’s sake. Nothing good could come of emotional conversations on a bathroom floor.

There was another silence, so long Hajime checked to see if Kazuichi had dozed off. His eyes were wide open now, staring at the ceiling. “It was just a dream. That’s all.”

“Do you remember what it was about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kazuichi mumbled.

Hajime sighed. “Look, it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. But it clearly freaked you out really bad. If there’s something you’re worried about or something that’s scaring you, I can-“ Hajime stopped as Kazuichi sat up abruptly. He kept his face turned to the wall, but Hajime heard the sniffles, saw his shoulders start shaking.

“Fuck,” Hajime muttered helplessly. “Kazuichi, I’m sorry. I’ll just be quiet. You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m messing this all up, I’m such a fucking idiot sometimes.”

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Kazuichi sobbed. “So stupid I still dream about him! Why can’t he just go away!” He went on talking, but he was howling too hard for Hajime to understand. He’d seen Souda cry countless times before, but this was different somehow. This wasn’t just wailing because some girl he liked had turned him down. This was raw, painful terror.

“Hey hey, calm down! You’re gonna make yourself sick again,” Hajime said, trying hard to keep the panic out of his own voice. He took hold of Kazuichi’s wrists, pulling him gently away from the wall. He’d meant to lay Souda down in the same position as before, but Souda instantly fell against Hajime’s chest, practically knocking him over.

“Right. Um. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” Hajime mumbled, patting his sobbing friend awkwardly. He wasn’t used to embracing people. It felt strange and unnatural but not unpleasant - and Souda clearly needed a hug more than anything else right now. “Souda, breathe. It’s okay. You’re safe. The fever is probably making it worse. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked about the nightmare.”

“Home,” Kazuichi gasped.

“Huh?”

“I was dreaming about being back at home.”

Oh God. Where was that Ultimate Therapist again? Hajime didn’t know how to handle this. He couldn’t sort his own problems, let alone anyone else’s. “Oooh. Okay. Shit. Your dad..? You mentioned him once before.”

“Don’t. Don’t talk about it.”

“Okay. Sorry. So your dream was a memory? When he… hurt you?” Hajime guessed.

The sobbing, which had been gradually calming, quickly returned to near-hyperventilating.

“Sorry, sorry. Breathe, okay?” Hajime’s own heart was thumping hard. This was way more than he could handle. “Look… You’re away from there. He’s literally across an ocean. It’s just me and you here. Because you usurped my bed tonight.”

Kazuichi gave a snort that could’ve been a laugh. “It’s not… not usually this bad,” he said, his voice still jerky with sobs. “I-I can handle it on my own. The nightmares.”

“Fevers make nightmares worse. I think. I’d have to check with Mikan,” Hajime said. “But at least you were here this time.” He was surprised to find he really meant that. He couldn’t bear to think of Souda dealing with all that on his own.

They sat in silence for a long time, until Souda’s sobs died down to sniffles, his head still resting on Hajime’s chest. The front of Hajime’s shirt was now damp with tears and snot, and Souda’s feverish body was like a furnace, but he didn’t suggest they move. After a long time he found he’d wound his arms around Kazuichi’s shoulders.

“Are you still awake?” Hajime whispered eventually.

“Mn. Barely…”

“Listen, this is important. If you have dreams like that any other night, you can come over here. If you want. Just knock hard so I wake up.”

Kazuichi shifted in his arms to look at Hajime’s face. “You don’t have to do that. Don’t feel like you’re stuck with me.”

“Maybe I don’t mind being stuck with you,” Hajime retorted.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Kazuichi’s face, though he was still red and tear-stained. “Then you’re fucking crazy.”

“It’s not crazy to want to be your friend, Souda. So will you ask me for help next time you dream something like that? Please?”

Kazuichi wound his arms around Hajime’s middle and squeezed so hard it made Hajime gasp. “Okay. I’ll come get you.” He paused. “Thanks, Hajime.”

Kazuichi fell asleep soon after, still pinning Hajime to the bathroom floor with his weight. And though Hajime would moan about how sore and stiff he was the next morning, he was still glad Souda came to him for help. Just about.

#danganronpa 2 #danganronpa #my writing #kazuichi soda #hajime hinata #dr emeto #emeto tw #emeto #dr sickfic #sickfic #fever #writing #our writing #mod circle

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claudiarya · 3 years

Text

Hey guys, I’ve written a post RoW fanfiction. I warn you that it has a death trope in it, so beware.

You can also read it on Ao3 as well.

Count words: 5990

Hope Suite

They didn’t know the moment when it all went wrong. Had it been when Kaz had accepted the job? Had it been when Inej had left Pekka Rollins alive, or when they had kept going despite all the adversities, they had encountered? The events of the last days were starting to become a blurring reel, that had done nothing but confuse them. What had started as a fairly easy job for the queen of Ravka, it then had turned out to be a major standoff with their enemies, which was putting not just one country, but the whole world as they knew it in peril. Maybe it had all gone downhill when Jarl Brum had managed to escape his prison cell at Hellgate, aided by one of his most trusted Drüskelle, his mind already too corrupted by the former General’s manipulations.

By the time he had been set free again, and had sought revenge against his detested neighbors, specifically against the witch queen and her monstrous husband, Inej, Kaz and his crew had already been too involved with their task to worry about it. How could they have known that once out, Brum was going to use everything in his power to bend Ravka? The Fjerdan man was aware that he couldn’t compete with its ruler, so he had worked out a different strategy entirely: if he couldn’t hope to win in a direct confrontation, he was going to annihilate her and her subjects from within, even if it would cost the destruction of his own country and more…

They didn’t know how Brum had gotten the information, but he had travelled to the mountains and had somehow liberated a certain shadow summoner from his sacrifice of eternal of pain, well before Zoya could do as she had planned. The shadow summoner in question had disappeared without a trace, only the Saints knew where he could have gone to hide away.

Needless to say, the darkness and its vampiric actions had started to spread again, at twice the speed. It looked like a ravenous beast had been set lose. It had extended in other countries as well, a silent and unannounced menace ravishing everything in its wake, that terrified even sailors at sea. If that wasn’t enough, Brum had also found out about Dirtyhand’s ‘involvement’ with the queen, and had made an ally with an ex Barrel boss, who had lost all his fortunes and power to a teenage crippled kid. Two powerful and dangerous men driven by their thirst for revenge had revealed themselves to be even more unstoppable than any of them had originally believed.

***

Inej remembered when Kaz had asked her to take a short leave from her sea voyages, to run one last time with him and the other crows in this task in which her skills at gathering information were going to be fundamental. Jesper had, of course, already accepted his friend’s proposition, and if at first Wylan had been skeptical, he had ended up joining the crew for the job. Perhaps for his natural instinct to follow wherever the gangly sharpshooter went, or maybe for the fact that he had made friends with the King consort, their shared love for science and ‘infernal gadgets’, as Kaz would call them, a fertile ground for common understanding.

“I won’t force you to do anything,” he had rasped to her while sitting on the roof ledge at the Slat to watch the tepid Ketterdam sun slowly blinking into existence in front of them; their intertwined fingers a testimony of how far they had already conquered together. The only thing that hadn’t won yet was their insomnia.

“Your particular set of skills is needed for this job, but I understand if you don’t want to be dragged into this,” Kaz had continued, and she had known he had slightly turned his head in her direction, as she had kept her eyes on the dawn.

After a while and still no answer from her he had sighed.

“Inej, what I’m trying to say is that we need you. I need you. I don’t think I can do this without you, so please tell me now, so I can send back a definite answer to Her Royal Pain.”

The Suli girl had marveled at his words: she didn’t think she had ever heard Kaz admit out loud that he couldn’t do something without the help of someone else.

“I’ll do it,” she had exclaimed, now turning her gaze on his stone-carved features. “But on one condition: I want Queen Zoya to help me fight against the slave trade in Ravka, and I want her to promise me that human traffickers are going to find the justice they deserve in her country.”

Kaz had squeezed her hand, the look in his eyes an oath to himself as well as to her.

***

Inej clutched her hand on her injured arm. She could feel the blood on her palm, as she watched Kaz keeping at cane point the last of the men who had tried to kill them. Their lead for the relic of Santk Feliks’s heart had taken them here, in an obscure abandoned, or so they thought, monastery on the Ravkan coast, right on the border with Fjerda. They had found out that centuries before, the order of religious men inhabiting the place had been the resting place of the only remaining part of the Saint. An easy reconnaissance job, an easy trail to follow. But ever since the spreading of the blight, of the Kilyklava, nothing had been easy. It was as if for every movement they made, their enemies were ten steps ahead of them. Inej had never seen anyone outsmart Kaz like that. Usually, he was the one who had everything under control, who could predict every outturn, every maneuver his opponents were going to make. But instead, everywhere they had attempted to gather information, they had encountered a setup of sorts: mainly the place they had intended to scout, burnt to the ground. Had they a spying traitor in their mix? Inej had never seen him more on edge than she had in the last month, but now they had passed the pretense of this being another job. It had stopped being that when the world hab been threatened by an unstoppable force and Pekka Rollins had entered the picture. It was personal. And she suspected that he was also trying to keep true to the promise he had made her.

Inej had thought they had planned this out so carefully, she was sure they would not encounter any unpleasant surprise this time. After the too many (not) coincidences, they had started scheming their way for the hunt of the heart with only the four of them and Nikolai and Zoya, who had had to, although begrudgingly, leave out the Triumvirate and their closest friends from this particular matter of international importance. How was it possible then, that their traces had been tracked even here? Kaz and Inej had offered for the job, a quick break in into the abandoned archives of the monastery, while Nikolai, Jesper and Wylan would wait for them on the Volkvolny to pick them up and leave after they had completed their task. Perhaps a smaller party was going to attract less attentions, their rouse of a devoted young group of people had served them well in the little town around the old holy building, and they had played their parts too well that Inej had forgotten for an instant that they had a bigger goal in mind. She was never going to forget the easy talk, the laughs they had shared around the table of the little tavern they had resided in, her hand clasped together with Kaz as a sort of lifeline for the both of them; her head resting delicately on his chest as they were lying down on the little bed they shared.

The four men that have been sent to kill them had caught them by surprise. Again.

Kaz had just uttered “We’ve got what we need, let’s go,” when the first thug that had tried to sneak up on him. Inej had made a quick work of the assassins, if her knives embedded in two of the men’s throats were of any indication. Despite that, one of the others had managed to graze her arm with a bullet, when she had momentarily lost her focus because the remaining one had kicked Kaz’s bad leg, eliciting a sound of pain from him. If only Jesper and Wylan had been there with them.

As she hobbled to where he was standing, Inej realized that Kaz was shaking from the effort of not to keel over in pain, his hand gripping the crow’s head of his cane so tightly, she feared he was going to snap it in half.

“Kaz...” she started

“You’re bleeding,” he rasped, diverting his gaze from the man to her, for the briefest of moments.

“It’s nothing,” she said. But she could see that he wasn’t really convinced, and with a soft grunt, he fished from his pocket a handkerchief and handed it to her, before asking to the person on the ground.

“How did you know we would be here?” his eyes two unforgiving coals.

The hired assassin didn’t answer at first but gave away in a little chuckle instead. Suddenly Kaz, still balancing his weight mostly on his good leg, brought down his cane on one of the man’s own legs. His scream of pain echoed around them in the old room.

“It doesn’t feel good, does it?” he said. This was Dirtyhands himself, any trace of the young man he had been with her at the tavern, vaporized.

“Now, tell me how you knew we were here, or I’m going to break every bone you have, and we both know how pleasant that is.”

The man chuckled again, but then he started talking.

“At times one shouldn’t look for spiders,” he said with a sickening grin. “At times, it’s the little insects nobody sees or cares to check because they’re believed to be harmless that tip the scales.”

Inej could see Kaz’s mind trying to figure out the man’s words, his gaze distant.

In that moment she realized that she was never going to tire to see that look on his face. Nor any other looks for that matter. Wobbly, the boy in question turned to her, he took the kerchief she had been pressing on her wound from her hand, and before she could realize what he was doing he tore it a bit and tied it around her bloody arm.

“Let’s get out of here,” he stated, wincing visibly as he made to move towards the door.

The man started laughing again as if Kaz had said something so funny he couldn’t control himself. Inej was on him before she could think. A knee on the thug’s sternum and her blade pressed to his throat.

“What’s so funny?” she inquired, looking down at him with disdain. She was tired, and she wanted to bring Kaz back to the Volkvolny, to get his leg looked properly after.

“In the end, you really are nothing but two delusional kids,” the man said, and Inej could feel his voice reverberate from under her knee.

“Stop speaking in riddles, or I swear to all the Saints known I’ll cut your throat right this second.”

He raised one hand in a gesture of mocking surrender. “Let’s just say that nobody is leaving this place alive,” he conceded.

“What do you mean?” asked Kaz from somewhere behind her, his tone menacing yet on guard. The tip of Inej’s knife scraped the man’s throat when he didn’t immediately answer back, two droplets of blood slid down the blade.

“This place and the whole town are about to be razed down by bombs and cannons. General Brum’s ships are approaching. They wanted to make sure our precious king consort and his flying machine didn’t leave this place unscathed. There’s no escaping your tragic fate now.” He snarled. His voice couldn’t conceal the hate he had for Nikolai, so he must have been one of those Ravkans from the West, unhappy with who was ruling over them now.

“No,” Inej said softly, and shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re lying!”

The man’s eyes lit with a manic light. “The world shall end in flames and darkness before being ruled by Gri –” He never finished his sentence, as Kaz brought down his cane once again, this time on his head.

The silence that followed could have lasted a minute or an eternity, Inej couldn’t be sure.

“Kaz,” she started again while standing.

“You need to leave. Now. I can’t walk, I think my leg is broken, but you need to leave me here and run from this place.” Kaz said, turning to look at her, the desperation palpable in his voice

“I’m not leaving,” she approached him. “We need to warn Nikolai. Tell them all to leave.”

“Inej – ”

“Either pick up the comm and call them, or give it to me, Kaz. We’re only losing time like this.” Her tone was unmovable.

Without any more protests on his part, he took out the little ingenious device Wylan and Nikolai had come up with. It permitted them to communicate even from quite long distances.

“Crow 1 and 2 to Too Clever Fox, do you copy?”

For the briefest of instants only there was only the sound of static, but then.

“Too Clever Fox here, I copy you. Kaz? What’s going on?” came the king’s voice.

“Nikolai, listen to me: you have to leave. Now. Get the Volkvolny and depart. This monastery, this town is about to be razed down by bombs. They knew we would be here; Brum’s ships are approaching. You – ”

“We’re coming to get you,” Nikolai interrupted him.

“No, there’s no time for that. You have to leave here now, or it will all be for nothing.” He looked at Inej then, his eyes searching hers in the dim light of the room with evident resignation.

“No! Kaz, Inej, no, we’re coming and we’re all surviving this.” Another protest from a different voice, Jesper’s.

“No! You have to listen and be quiet. I know where the thing we’ve looked for is. It’s hidden somewhere under the little place you train your soldiers. I also know how they’ve been able to predict our every move. Bugs. Check the war room for devices of the sort we’re using right now.”

“I will,” was Nikolai’s response.

There was another brief pause of static, Kaz spoke again, before he could be interrupted

“Jesper, Wylan,” he said. “The Crow Club and everything else is yours and Nina’s. You’ll find all the documents in my office back at the Slat. Do with them whatever you think it’s right.”

“Kaz, please we still have time, we can come and get you.” It was Wylan’s voice now that came from the other side.

Inej got closer and circled the hand in which Kaz was gripping the device with her own. “Wylan, you have to leave. Right now, ring the alarm bell of the town and go.” She started and then said:

“Guys… find my parents, tell them – tell them what happened, and that it was all for something better. We love you.”

Another anguished call for their names echoed around the room they were standing.

Inej took a breath a finished what she meant to say. “Nikolai the Wraith… take good care of her, and don’t forget our promise. When you see Nina and Zoya tell them – ”

She couldn’t finish the sentence the threat of tears pricking her eyes. Luckily the privateer answered back.

“I’ll tell them, and I promise everything we did by far will not be in vain. Thank you, my friends. We will never forget what you did for Ravka and for all of us.”

Kaz and Inej could also hear the subtle sounds of distress of their friends, their family. She realized in that moment how much all of them meant to her. Funny how life had a tendency to remind you how deeply you loved someone when you’re about to lose everything.

Kaz brought the device back on his lips and in a clear voice said: “No mourners…” and before they could hear an answer coming from the other side, he had already thrown on the ground the device and smashed it with the tip of his cane.

The movement made so that he lost his balance. He would have crashed on the ground if Inej hadn’t been there to prevent the fall. She brought his arm over and shoulder and steadied him.

Kaz looked at her intently, his face turned in her direction, his eyes scanning her features and she knew what he was about to tell her even before he spoke the words.

“Inej, you can still make it, you’re fast, you have to run and save yourself.”

“I knew you were going to say this, but if you think that I could ever leave you behind you’re sorely mistaken.”

He did not relent, and as stubbornly as ever he removed his arm from around her shoulder, he gripped his cane with all his might so as not to fall again and faced her.

“Inej, please. Run now. Live. You have so much you still have to give to this wretched world.” Kaz Brekker never said please, never. Yet here he was, a broken boy standing in front of the girl he had grown to love.

“I can’t do that,” Inej simply replied while shaking her head in denial.

“It was all my fault, and you can’t pay my foolishness with your life, I won’t allow it. It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.”

She took the short distance separating them and put her hand atop his on his cane.

“None of this was your fault, you have to get that straight. We’ve done something good, we helped our friends, our countries. And you’ll always be worth it to me.”

At her words she felt his breath hitch, but still his eyes held behind them a strange resolution.

“I can’t be the reason why you die here today, why can’t you understand that?” Kaz’s voice cracked, perhaps with the effort of holding back his desperation. Inej brought her free hand up and gently cupped his face with her palm. Her thumb grazed his cheek in a loving gesture.

“I’m not afraid to die, Kaz. But I’m terrified at the idea of a life without you in it. So, no. I’m not leaving, not now, not ever.”

***

As they stumbled outside the musty room of the monastery, Kaz with an arm draped around Inej’s shoulder for support, the Autumnal sun had started its descent. The soft orange and purple hues of the rays reflected on the sea surface, and the waves created a gentle melody. Inej couldn’t help but think that this was the Saints’ way to lead them onto their next job, their next adventure…

They dragged their feet until they were near the shore and lowered themselves down. For a moment that felt like an eternity, they gazed to the horizon, the sheer but peaceful resignation palpable in the air.

When Kaz clasped her hand and looked at her, she remembered a conversation she had overhead between the boy and Zoya.

They had adjourned their meeting after having gone over their plan again, everyone had stepped out of the room except for Kaz and Zoya, who had prevented him from exiting with a question. Curious as to why he hadn’t joined her outside, she had stayed behind the closed door, waiting in the long corridor. She had known that Kaz, and probably the queen too, were aware that she was there, but she hadn’t cared much.

“Just out of curiosity, why are you doing this Mr. Kerch rat?” she had asked, her voice reverberating even outside.

“I thought it was pretty obvious, Your Highness. It’s for the reward.” He had replied in that wry tone of his that she knew drove Zoya crazy.

“Oh, but I don’t think it’s just that.” Even without having been inside, Inej could picture the other woman taking one of the positions she had learned the queen preferred. Arms crossed and a frowned expression to better look down on him. In the crows’ time at the palace, the two Suli women had formed an easy and quiet friendship. The captain of the Wraith had helped her queen to reacquaint herself with her Suli heritage and Inej had even told Zoya that once the situation was over, she was going to bring her to her family caravans, to spend some time amongst their people. They had become sisters at heart and by blood.

“Enlighten me with your glorious knowledge then.”

Kaz had always liked playing with fire, but he was always walking a fine line with the sovereign of Ravka. Perhaps he wanted to see how much she could take before she decided to strike him out of existence on the spot.

“When you saw that this was getting dangerous, that it wasn’t going to be an easy job, you could have easily dropped everything and return to Ketterdam with you crew. Why didn’t you? Why stay when you knew the risks?”

Inej had heard genuine interest in Zoya’s voice that didn’t bore any resentment.

“I don’t know what you want me to answer.”

“Try with the truth, I know it’s hard for you, but indulge me. I know you’re not doing this just for yourself and your own benefit, as shockingly as it may seem. You’re still here for Inej, for the promise we had sworn to keep.” The queen had said as if she had found out the deepest secret of the man standing before her.

“Let me get this straight,” he had rasped. “I’ll always do what’s best for me, but I’m also a man of my word and I made a promise.”

There had been a few seconds of absolute silence, in which probably Zoya had studied him with those piercing blue eyes of hers.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but under certain aspects we’re not that different you and I. Your prickly behavior can only last so long, Kaz, but eventually you’ll have to let go. I’ve learned that even the thickest thorns have their purposes.” The queen had said with a wisdom that at times made Inej wondered how many lives the queen had already lived.

“Ah, but here’s where your wrong, Your Excellency. In this scenario you’re comparing me to thorn wood, while actually I’m just barren land on which nothing grows.”

His lapidary answer would have been enough to render speechless anyone, but not Zoya the Grisha queen of Ravka. In her spectacular talent at having always the last word she told him: “You’ll realize that you can’t keep up this cold demeanor forever. I just hope it won’t be too late when you do.”

***

Inej squeezed Kaz’s hand tighter and looked him straight in his brown eyes, a shade lighter in the orange sun. From a distance they heard the sound of bells. Their friends had managed to give the alarm, she only hoped they were already on their way back to the palace. The tolls were shortly followed by another sound: propellers guiding the Fjerdan ships to face the town and the monastery. With a small smile grazing her feature she told him said.

“You were wrong. You were wrong that time when you spoke with Zoya.” If at the beginning of her sentence he had seemed confused, now she could see he understood what conversation she meant.

“You’re not just barren land, Kaz. You managed to build something from nothing, you survived all those terrible things in your life and in the process, you managed to grow, to thrive, to do something good for Ravka and your friends. I’m sure your brother would be proud of you. I know I am.” He didn’t reply.

The rumbling of the aircrafts was almost cacophonic, in contrast to the peace they had basked in not a few minutes ago. Despite that, it was as if the two of them had been placed in a protective bubble of their own, in which not even those machines of war could destroy.

Perhaps it was the lightening, but Inej swore those were unshed tears glinting in Kaz’s eyes. In all the years she had known him, she had never even seen him get emotional or choked up about something, but here, now, on this shore with her, Dirtyhands was doing just that.

“I’ve never wanted for it to end like this – his shoulders shook as he held back a sob – for us, to end like this. Inej, believe me when I tell you that if I could go back, I would do so many things differently. If I could go back, I would start to show you how much I admire you, how much I love you so much earlier than I did.”

Inej’s hand found his face again. The tip of her fingers skimmed his lips in such a tender gesture that they parted under her touch.

“There’s no need for that, Kaz, I already know. And it doesn’t matter how early or late you started. You show me you love me every day.” Her limb continued on her exploration: she touched his brow, his eyes, his cheekbones. “I propose a deal: I’ll find you in the next life Kaz Rietveld, and even there I’ll be waiting for you perched on your windowsill feeding the crows.”

Still looking at her straight in the eye, he let go of her hand, removed his gloves discarding them on the sand and rubbed her disheveled braid between two trembling fingers.

“The deal is the deal. I’ll find you there then.”

The rumble of the ship cannons had reached a deafening peak as their beams struck mercilessly on the monastery in an unescapable trap of fire.

Before the very end, the two held themselves up on trembling knees and embraced the other. A small smile of resigned happiness on both of their faces.

“Stay with me,” Kaz whispered, and unlike another and far time her answer was clear.

“Always.” Inej swore.

Saints protect us both, was the last thing she thought.

And then there was nothing but searing light.

***

In Os Alta the feast on Sankt Nikolai was fast approaching, but even if she was the queen Zoya didn’t feel much festive. The white, still landscape of her country at this time of the year was an accurate representation of what she had been feeling ever since they had managed to find the heart of Sankt Feliks, save Ravka from the plague and its enemies with another peace treaty and bring the Darkling – or Aleksander as he insisted to be called – back to the little palace where they could control him. She knew they were taking a risk, but it was safer to have him closer than not knowing where he was. It had been a hard decision, but she wasn’t going to murder him in cold blood, she was not going to turn into a monster, as he had in his lust for power. In his loneliness.

When everything had come back to a pseudo- normality, when she had had time to think and just be, it was then that everything she had been holding back for the sake of her country hit her with tenfold the force.

Zoya had understood that keeping emotions bottled inside you, was going to eat you alive in the longer run. It was something she was learning every day, and that she was willing to change, if only a bit. She had started letting go in the small gestures of affection she shared with Genya, in the loving words she had with Nikolai, in the playful banters she occasionally allowed herself to have with the rest of her friends. Her family.

And so, as the Grisha queen strode towards her garden, the winter sun barely a strip on the horizon of a new morning, she couldn’t help the tears that fell down in two cold streaks down her face. Zoya brought an arm up to dry them, the sensation of the thick wool of her winter kefta both prickly and a reassurance.

She opened the door of the little corner of her world. Nobody entered this sanctuary except for Nikolai, since she hadn’t allowed anybody else to see her soul from that close. The structure her king had built for her always managed to leave her speechless. The glass and iron were combined in perfect harmony, and when Zoya worked in it by day, the sun would cast and create a series of little mesmerizing rainbows. However, what would always speak to her were the walls, painted by Alina. The roaring dragon flying, the little fox, the ship resembling the Volkvolny mastering the sea, the colors and symbols of the Grisha orders were her most trusted companions during the solitary hours of her gardening.

It was there where Nikolai found her, tending to her plants and flowers. She heard him enter her safe haven, and she supposed he had come out to her when he had awoken and hadn’t seen her resting beside him. He approached her and kneeled beside where she was on the ground, a rather small pot between her hands. Nikolai knew that when she was working here like this, he would have had to let go of his privateer side, and just be the man she had fallen in love with and married. In short, he needed to be her anchor.

“Those are nice flowers,” he said, pointing to the little thing with red petals. A genuine interest coloring his voice.

“They’re wild geraniums.” Was Zoya’s noncommittal answer. Her eyes hadn’t looked up at him.

“And what is that other sprout beside the flowers?” Nikolai prompted her again, indicating the smaller, yet visible plant growing alongside the geraniums. It looked like it was enveloping the geraniums in an embrace, its green leaves a stark, yet so right, contrast with the red of the petals.

This time she raised her gaze, and her blue orbs found a pair of comforting hazel ones staring back at him.

“It’s ivy.” Again, she didn’t let herself go into any sort of explanation.

“I remember you with a vase like this when you left for the Suli caravans.”

So, he had noticed, of course he had. Zoya was always taken aback by the fact that when it came to her, Nikolai was even a closer observant than he already was.

As soon as everything had settled after the whole ordeal, she had decided that she was going to be the one to bring the news to the Ghafas. Her and only her with no escort and no Nikolai in tow. She had told him that she had to do this particular thing alone, and he had just hugged her and encouraged her to go. It had been a spiritual journey of sorts; one she had promised her other Suli sister they would take together…

“Yes,” she said in a whisper. “They were Inej’s favorite flowers. I brought a pot to her parents when I visited the camps. It was the least I could.” With her hand she showed him other three little vases with the same brightly colored flowers and green little sprout of ivy on the side. “Those are for Nina, Jesper and Wylan. It’s their present for Sankt Nikolai.”

“Zoya,” he started. She knew they’ve been over this before, and yet she couldn’t seem to let her sense of guilt leave her.

“They knew what they were doing, it was their choice.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t make it any easier, Nikolai. When I met her parents – she shook her head – they treated me like their own. Like I was family. I’ve never felt so accepted, so… seen in my life, except for when I’m with you. And yet I’m part of the reason why their daughter has been taken away from them. They both have been taken away from them.” A small moment of silence, and once again she couldn’t stop the little tear escaping the corner of her eye.

“I just don’t understand how there can be such kindness after so much loss.” Zoya wondered out loud.

“It’s the nature of human beings, and also our strength.” Nikolai said. “Even after losing everything, we find it in ourselves to get back on our feet and fight for something new, something worth all the suffering.” He dragged himself closer to Zoya with his arms and then raised a hand to cup her cheek, gently steering her face in his direction. His thumb brushing away the stray tear marking her face.

“As long as there is life, there is happiness, Zoya. There is hope for a brighter future. And that’s exactly what Kaz and Inej had brought us: hope to build something better from the ashes.” He paused and behind his eyes she could see the same emotions that had been haunting her, testimony of the fact that he too had been grieving his friends.

“Don’t let your sorrow squander the hope they enabled with their sacrifice, because you wouldn’t be honoring their memories in that ways.”

“Oh, Nikolai,” she exhaled before throwing her arms around him with such a force he momentarily lost his balance. “Thank you!”

“Any time, my queen. I’ll always be here.” He promised.

“And besides, you know how much I love when I’m being all smart and wise. I couldn’t let this occasion to show it to you slip by.” He finished with a much brighter tone. Zoya softly chuckled, something she hadn’t thought being capable of mere months ago and told him with fake exasperation.

“Of course, you couldn’t. It’s your modesty I fell for after all.”

They remained in each other’s arms for an indefinite amount of time. The only indication of the time passing was the sun which har finally risen, and now was beating on the glass panels of the garden. Zoya continued tending to her plants, all a part of her in some capacity, as Nikolai watched her in a comforting silence, seated on the ground and with his back against a small tree.

“Why the ivy?” he asked her all of a sudden. His eyes returning once again on the pots near him.

“It can grow even in poor soils and although it requires more time for it to bloom than other plants, when it does its resilience it’s unmatched.” Zoya saw Nikolai nodding in understanding.

“I also found the meaning behind it fitting,” She added.

“What’s the meaning?”

“It symbolizes the constancy of love.”

There was a brief silence in which she saw him taking in the information.

“It is as fitting as it is beautiful,” he said, while he rose to his feet and brought her closer once again, placing a soft kiss on her dark mane.

As they left to go back to the palace, hand in hand, Zoya thought to herself that in life there were people whose souls were connected and strung in ways that couldn’t be explained by logic. She looked at Nikolai walking alongside her and smiled softly to herself, sure she had found the missing piece of her complicated puzzle in the golden boy beside her.

Her gait hadn’t felt this light in months.

In a glass garden, in a country ruled by a powerful Grisha queen with the heart of a dragon, a plant of geraniums and ivy grew stronger by the day, forever entwined in their embrace of constant love for the other.

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skvaderarts · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth Chapter 60: Adrenaline

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Sixty: Adrenaline

Note: Wow. I never thought I was going to make it to chapter 60 of anything in my entire life. I just... Thanks for sticking around this long. It means a lot. Really. Omg.

(-~-)

An ear-piercing screech could be heard for blocks, more than likely attracting the horrified attention of anyone unfortunate enough to hear it. None of them had to bear witness to the creature that had produced the sound, however, something that they should be very fortunate indeed to have never experienced. For the face looked like an unfortunate combination of a decaying skull and an awful feathered serpent, Scolopendra was far from a sight for sore eyes, and the sound it made was somehow equally bad if not worse in its own unique way.

Scolopendra clambered back to a semi-upright position, mortally wounded, but not quite enough to force it back into its dormant state at its master's side. For a moment, the young summoner wondered if the robes that their opponent wore were simply there to cover the markings that a familiar like this would probably need in order to anchor themselves in this reality. This demon was large. It had to have some, right? After all, he'd never actually seen what laid under them, but he could only assume they were markings similar to that of the ones he himself possessed. Perhaps not the same pattern, but the same premise.

He watched the colossal serpent for a moment, considering his options against a foe that could move so swiftly. It was hard to vocalize what he eventually came up with, but his timing couldn't have been better. A mere moments before he was ready to enact his plan, the demon surged forward, slower this time than previously, but still dangerous. With nowhere to go, V stepped sideways, retaliating in what he assumed to be the best way possible given the circumstances.

Griffon center barrage of lightning down upon the head of their unlucky foe, Shadow following this up with a secondary harpoon attack that V then used to transfer himself to the side of the parking lot, running down it once the serpent's head turned to the spot he had once been in. Seemingly perplexed by his absence, it was taken off guard when Griffin retreated to his side and dived down towards the demon's head, pestering it with the barrage of electric fire wing flaps and his razor-sharp talons.

"Yeah! You don't like that, huh? Well maybe think about it next time before you bother the string bean. You bother him, you get the talons!" Griffon dive bombed towards the serpentine demon's side, dodging what would have otherwise been an attack that would have seen him lodged in the belly of the beast. From what he could tell, it seemed like this demon's primary method of attack was to simply attempt to swallow whatever it was doing battle against. Considering its size, the tactic made sense, but it was no less repulsive or irritating. "I don't know what hole in the underworld you slithered out of, but you're going back there real soon, and this time your gonna stay there!"

Lowering itself to the ground, it peered around the small trees that dotted this section of the parking lot, the wrecked cars and other obstacles obscuring V's presence. It seemed to pay the avian demon no mind as it continued its search. The youngest of Vergil's sons was not unintelligent enough to think that stepping out into the open and fighting an opponent like this head-on was an even remotely good idea, however. Instead, he'd come with a clever plan to be rid of his opponent once and for all. It was possible that he might be the only person there who truly understood how to defeat a demon like this. But first, he needed to weaken it. Perhaps if this technique had worked the first time around, then it would work a second time?

As he quietly considered his options, he peered around the remainder of the car that he had been taking refuge behind, only to see that Scolopendra seemed to still be searching for him. Good. It seems that he had picked a wise hiding spot, then. It had been picked mostly due to the vantage point it provided and the immediate need to hide, but he wasn't going to turn his nose up at a hiding spot that his opponent couldn't easily find. It seemed that size was working against it.

Under his breath, he quietly recalled his feline companion, resting his hand on her back as a show of support. This next part was crucial. He gestured to the back of the demonic serpent's neck, noting that going for such an obvious weak point was risky, and that it would require careful maneuvering if they were to actually take advantage of this opportunity. It would see the attack coming. But that was what he was here for.

"Griffon, now."

Without warning, the serpent was set upon by Griffon, something that seemed to genuinely enrage it. Shadow charged at the demon, running around the front of it and using her spiked attack to tear up the ground as she went, forcing the serpent to move to evade her pursuit. It did so, coiling around a street post and bending it as it moved to Dodge her attack, allowing an opening for the avian demon to swoop back down and go for its eyes. And as soon as he made contact, the panther then leaped forward from behind its opponent and fastened its claws into the demon's back before sinking her fangs into its flesh. They both had an equal hold on it now, and they weren't going anywhere.

Reeling backward in pain, Scolopendra let out a sound somewhere between a scream and a growl, attempting to coil around itself and locate its target. Now robbed of its eyesight, the demon was much less effective and its attempts to actually do battle against him. And as the familiar shade of purplish-gray that engulfed all of his ready-to-finish targets came about, V took the opportunity to finish off his opponent once and for all.

Using the momentary opening he had been provided, he rushed forward and stabbed his cane into the demon's chest, using his momentum to slide down it and sheer it open from the neck down. The demon let out a gurgling screech before toppling over, exposing exactly what he was hoping it would. A pulsating orb. Although different in appearance from his own familiars’ housing cores, he could tell by looking at it that it served the same function. This was no nightmare demon, but it seemed that the summoning method was somewhat akin to that of his own. And that meant that he knew how to destroy this thing.

It was now or never.

He concentrated what demonic power he was able to pull from himself into his strike before calling Shadow to his side in order to use her momentum along with his own to strike with more force. Griffon flung him towards the panther who was already in mid-run, allowing additional speed as he landed and slid towards the demon and embedded his cane into its core, shattering it almost instantaneously.

Propelled by the force of his strike and the shock wave that echoed through the parking lot as the crystal core exploded in a wave of demonic power, V was cartwheeled across several car hoods before crashing through the front windshield of one of the nearby semi-crushed vans, flung by the force of the explosion like a limp toy. Thank goodness for this demonic blood that coursed through his veins.

Landing on his back, he took several moments to register the fact that he was looking at the ceiling of the inside of a vehicle that he'd never been in before. But that mattered very little to him. What did matter was the fact that he could sense that what he had done had been successful. Although he might be sore and covered in glass, he no longer had to worry about doing battle against his opponent’s arguably most powerful familiar. It was now most definitely deceased. The other demon that their attacker possessed might be faster, but now that Scolopendra was out of the picture, he felt they were on much more equal footing.

Now to return to Sirrus before it was too late.

V allowed Griffon to help him sit up when he approached, slowly dragging himself to his feet as he recovered his cane in his balance along with it. He was indeed quite scraped up, but nothing that he wouldn't likely recover from overnight. That wasn't to say that exhaustion wasn't settling in, however. It occurred to him just then that that had been the first demon that he had finished off since his return, and he was strangely drained by that. Perhaps an effect of Belial's influence? Or perhaps the result of having used his power for the first time in a long time to overwhelm a phone? More than likely a mixture of both if he was being honest. Perhaps because it was a summon? After all, this was the first time that he’d actually met another summoner. But regardless, he could focus on that as he made his way back up to the top of the building.

But as he brushed himself off and knotted in thankful response to his two companions, his attention was inevitably drawn to the roof. Something had just shifted in the air around him, and he had no trouble identifying the source. A chill ran down his spine as he felt a strange tingle overtake him. Something was suddenly very wrong, and he wasn't sure how he was so sure of that, but he was. And if the amount of power he felt up there was actually coming from one source, then it was best he returned to Sirrus as quickly as possible. He had to be in terrible danger because the sort of power he felt in that moment was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It wasn't the quantity, it was the sheer otherworldliness of the energy itself. It was physically heavy and suffocating to a degree that he was unfamiliar with, and he couldn't say that it was actually entirely demonic in nature. But one thing was for sure: If Sirrus was up there, then he needed to be, too. He didn't doubt his companion’s ability to hold his own, but he also had no idea what their attacker was truly capable of.

"Can you take me back up there? We need to hurry." V asked Griffon, a defiant calmness evident in his tone and expression. His resolve was absolute and his motivations unflinching. If the two of them worked together here and now they might be able to take down their opponent once and for all, sparing the rest of his family the need to do battle against this particular foe in the future, and allowing them to focus on more important aspects of their greater enemies plan. But that all depended on him managing to make it in time. "I believe we are missing the main event."

Nodding as he glanced over at the roof, the avian demon fluttered up from his place on the roof of the trashed car, a look of confidence in his eyes. "No problem. Let's get up there. Whatever this is isn't right, and I've got to see what's causing it. I could be wrong, but I don't think that's demonic power that we're sensing. Well, it is, but it's all wrong. Like something else is mixed into it or distorting it. I have to see it first for myself."

"All the more reason to make haste, then. No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings." He nodded, hurrying towards the base of the building nearest to the one Sirrus was on. Perhaps if he could make it onto the roof via the fire escape, he could alleviate his companions' need to carry him as far and assure a swifter arrival.

"That's a good thing you've got me, because I don't know if you've got wings of your own. Haven't checked yet. But once this is over with, that might be worth looking into." Griffon said with a cackle as he followed the young summoner towards the building. He couldn't remember the last time he'd really seen V run. It seemed that the urgency of the situation wasn't lost on him in spite of everything that he just experienced. They needed to hurry, and so they would. But his curiosity wasn't such that he would blindly run into such a high concentration of unfamiliar power. While V made his way up the catwalk, he would do some reconnaissance. Above all else, he needed to know that they weren't walking into a trap.

(-~-)

Wave after wave of pulsating energy cascaded off of the red-haired adjudicator as he stepped towards his opponent, their resolve wavering every second that they considered how truly screwed they were. They had heard of what he was, but the conception was that they no longer existed. To be confronted by such ancient power was to be confronted by the realization that you could do nothing in the face of it when it came down to it. There was very little that could be done against the kind of power that Sirrus wielded, the flames that cooked his boy too hot to be put out. He was far from invincible, but they did not possess the necessary skill or knowledge to be able to defeat him.

Backpedaling slightly, they attempted to hold their ground, unsure of what they should do against such an opponent. At the moment, both of their familiars were indisposed. They were decent with their hand-to-hand fighting skills, but nowhere near decent enough to fight someone who could keep up with Hatred. His eyes had trouble with that at times.

No, it was best that they find a way to exit as swiftly and as unharmed as possible. They would need to report back to their leader that this turn of events had taken place. It was a complicating factor, but one that they were certain they could overcome if given the proper time to prepare. The question was if they had that time to spare. The window of time was closing rapidly. They needed to figure out what they were going to do. This put them in a hard spot.

"If this man with the red hair is truly what I believe he is, then this could cause a complication in our plans. But surely my master knows of this particular quirk? There is no way that he could not. I have it in good faith that they have encountered one another previously… "

Focusing heavily on his opponent, the man with the red hair slashed in the direction of the summoner, the blazing hot shockwave cutting a swath through the roof of the building like it was made of wet butter. It was not a deep gash, but it was more than sufficient. The summoner barely managed to dodge this swipe in time. He attempted to call his summon to his side in a bid to escape, but was surprised to find that it did not answer. A sinking feeling crawled up his spine as he realized that he could not sense its existence any longer.

"That cannot be… did he…"

"I care a little for your tawdry sentiments. Those with the basis of wisdom do not bring to battle that which they are unwilling to lose." The power that radiated off of the man and black was palpable, no humor present in his demeanor or tone. "You came here and tried to end our life, and so we have no reason not to end yours."

Adjusting his stance, the adjudicator readied himself for another blow, noting that his opponent seemed to be doing much the same. So it seemed that they would battle against him, then? He couldn't advise that in regards to it being a policy that would lead to a life that had any semblance of longevity, but he wasn't going to attempt to talk his opponent out of it, either. What did he have to gain from attempting to spare his enemy aside from death and V's possible capture? Until this individual was apprehended or destroyed, they would continue to pose a threat. But how best to defeat someone who was in such a precarious spot without leveling the building behind him? It was an unfortunate place that they had chosen to do this in.

"Remove yourself… These are my master's affairs. Not yours, halfbreed." The masked individual seemed to hold their hand up, Sirrus sensed a shift in the power around them, indicating to him that they had probably just applied some sort of ward or spell in a bid at protecting themself. It was a wise move, all things considered, but he wasn't going to abide by their nonsense. Not for even a second longer.

He sent another shockwave of black fire towards them, this time nearly hitting his mark as they jumped to the side, nearly gliding over the edge of the building as they did so. They managed a less than graceful landing, clearly uncomfortable putting weight on the leg they had landed on. He had no knowledge as to why that specific limb seemed to be giving them trouble, but he was not above using it against them. He had been taught to utilize the weaknesses of his enemies against them, and that was precisely what he was going to do here.

"Call me that again. I've never been known to suffer fools." It had not been the first time that he had been referred to in such a manner, and he was fully aware of the fact that it was sure to be far from the last time, but that didn't mean that he was any less displeased. Despite the fact that he did not know this individual and had no reason to respect their opinion of him, there were certain words that were simply hard to ignore, and that specific insult was one of them. "Let us hope for your sake that you have another summon."

The summoner shook their head, holding their hand out as if to halt him. He seemed to be confident in regards to whatever they had planned. He prepared himself, careful not to give away the fact that he suspected something.

"Perhaps something better."

In the blink of an eye, an immense darkness rushed forward from their extended hand, nearly striking him dead In the middle of the chest. Sirrus phased out of the way, sidestepping the attack, and retaliating swiftly. They barely managed to sidestep him as they blocked with their staff, Sirrus's as blade nearly cleaving it in half. For a brief moment, he had felt the cold sting that he had felt when Belial had impaled him back in the imitation grocery store. Heady just invoked his master's signature darkness to use against him? Because if so, this individual was far more advanced in their craft than he could have originally guessed. It was almost a shame to end their life, but they had picked the wrong side.

But as he stepped towards his opponent to attempt to land a more decisive blow, he was struck by a sudden pang of agony in the spot where he had just been stabbed, the realization that the adrenaline that had kept the pain at bay was probably wearing thin. It spread throughout his entire being, hauling him in place as his body tried its best to fight back and only barely succeeded, something that he got the feeling wasn't meant to be strictly possible. And all the while there was one consideration in his mind. It could only be one thing?

Poison.

A paralyzing agent that had probably been meant for V. It seemed that he had genuinely planned to take him tonight. At the very least, he hoped that this fight had delayed that possibility. He had to get him home before this scumbag managed to get a hold of him. He didn't know if he had more of that poison, but the fact that he didn't mind applying it via knife said everything that it needed to.

He began to breathe slightly heavy, taking a moment to breathe before attempting to finish off his opponent. He coughed for a moment, feeling a tightness in his chest before slumping over, slightly dizzy. It then occurred to him how long he'd been using his power, and he became silently alarmed by it, painfully aware of the fact that he immediately needed to stop despite the circumstance. This fight wasn't worth that heavy of a cost.

Seizing the opportunity, the summoner quite literally bowed out, running and jumping off the edge of the building and out of his line of sight. Paralyzed by his own inability to easily wrangle his powers back under his control, Sirrus remain slumped over on his knees on the pavement that covered the roof, equal parts angry and disappointed in himself for not being able to contenue, and silently vowing to himself that he would take the opportunity if given to him again to in his opponent once and for all. If not for his current injuries, he may have very well succeeded in that endeavor. But at least he had managed to frighten him into realizing that he was not a force to be toyed with, and that it was going to be a bit harder than heat originally considered it to be to accomplish his goal.

Just before everything started to go dark, he swore he caught the glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He hoped empathetically that he wouldn't be out for long. He needed to go and see to it that V had made it off the roof safely. He simply had to know.

"I'll be there soon... Please be okay." Dispute his foggy state of mind, that particular thought was crystal clear in his mind. As soon as he could will his body to move from this spot, he would do that.

And then he drifted off.

(-~-)

Hey! Heads up! If the chapters seem wonky, or you noticed that any of your comments are gone, let me know! I readjusted the chapters so that they would be with the correct corresponding numbers by taking my notes out that I had written during the times I took breaks(after taking pictures because your comments were so kind and really did help me during a difficult time) so if something is wonky, let me know! Let me know what you thought of this chapter! See you on Friday! And sorry for any mistakes! I went over this several times, so if there is anything super obvious that my half-sleep brain missed, let me know!

#Hiraeth #V #Sirrus #DMC #Post DMCV #Post DMC5 #Devil May Cry #Fic #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU OC's #My DMC 5 AU #My Post Devil May Cry V AU Fanfiction #My Post Devil May Cry 5 OC #My OC

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s-c-r-i-p-s-i · 4 years

Text

Candy is Dandy but Liquor is Quicker

[Dead by Baelight’s Kinktober // Day 8 and 18 : Outfit/Skin, Cornered]

🖤 🖤 🖤 “Don’t come any closer,” you warned shakily, backing up against the boarded-up door as he stalked forward, every step radiating confidence. “Or you’ll what?” He asked, leaning in. “Arrest me?” Playfully rattling the costume handcuffs on your belt, he set his gun against the door. You stared up at him, eyes wide as saucers, and he just snorted, curling a finger in your hair. “Darlin’…” Tilting his head, his fingers traveled lower, slowly ghosting over your neck, your collarbone…. You inhaled sharply in frightened anticipation, goosebumps rising, only for him to skim over your chest entirely, plucking one of the mini bottles from your bandolier. “I would love…” Long, bony, but strangely elegant fingers unscrewed the cap, flicking it off where it clattered across the floor somewhere. “To see you try.” 🖤 🖤 🖤 Pairing: Deathslinger (Caleb Quinn) x F! Reader

Rating: Explicit

CW: non-con/dub-con, bondage, drinking, smut, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4,927

Something… odd had been happening lately.

Not the cankerous growths and sickly orange flowers that were always so abundant this time of year - or whatever passed for a year in this everlasting hell. By no means was that unprecedented.

Ask anyone who’d been there long enough to know and they’d tell you; there was a certain… cyclicity to things. Recurring phenomenon - the red envelopes, the flowers, the mysterious gifts wrapped up like Christmas presents. Always sequential, always in order, like some crude imitation of seasons. (And for what? No one ever aged a day.)

No, this was something new.

And new, in the Entity’s realm, was never a good thing. But… You had to admit, this seemed mostly harmless.

Look - It’s not like you were ever really in control of what you wore here, anyway. Most of the time, you were just stuck with whatever clothes you were wearing when you rolled into the fog. Sometimes She (that omnipotent thing in the sky) threw you in something else. Nobody ever really paid it much mind. The Entity worked in mysterious ways. And people, frankly, had more important shit to worry about.

But then when the flowers started blooming this year, things got a little weird.

She -…

She started putting people in costumes.

Cheap polyester numbers, mostly - the kind you’d buy from a big-box store, straight from one of those awful clear vinyl bags.

…It was starting to look a lot like Halloween. Jack-o’-lanterns even began appearing, scattered around the campfire and adorning the generators.

And nobody knew what the fuck was going on. Hell, not everyone even knew what Halloween was. You had quite the diverse cast; some people weren’t even from the same world as you.

The general vibe around the campfire was just… mild amusement if anything. You had a chuckle, then moved on. That was just the way of things. Everyone had these… survivor blinders on. You guess it was hard to get phased by something so minor when you all got murdered on the daily, but…

But you weren’t content with that.

You always had trouble just accepting things at face value. You wanted to know why.

Like - was the Entity stroking out? Things always did get a little strange around this time. Almost as if She were sick.

It was rare, but there were these little… Well, Feng called them glitches, and it was apt a term as any. Just little things, here and there, like She couldn’t quite enforce the rules of her own game.

Almost everything in this world seemed to be harvested from people’s memories. So… Maybe she was starting to pull things at random. Spiraling.

Was this the synaptic failure of a dying god?

Probably not, but there was nothing to do besides let your mind wander, and it was the only theory you had.

And then….

Then She whisked you away to Frontierland in the gaudiest slutty sheriff costume known to man and pit you against the goddamn cowboy.

Yeah, no - that was about a step too far to have been a happy accident.

Maybe you were thinking too hard. Maybe She just had a fucked up sense of humor.

When the fog cleared, you found yourself in the saloon with the others. You half-heartedly laughed it off (“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Very funny.”) and then moved on. Business as usual.

But not before rolling your eyes and discreetly downing one of the liquor minis from the shitty novelty booze bandolier sewn to your costume behind everyone’s backs.

At least She had the decency to stock it.

You were finishing up cleansing a totem when you heard the telltale crack of a gunshot split the air from all the way across the map. Not anywhere close enough to be dangerous, but a dead giveaway as to who you were up against.

…And cold hard proof that your little outfit was far from coincidence. The literal and proverbial smoking gun.

The moment you heard it you deflated, head falling back.

Seriously? What the fuck was She playing at?

Why you?

It wasn’t much of a conscious decision; you found yourself plucking another bottle from your bandolier and knocking it back without a whole lot of thought. You were obviously going to need it. Staring blankly ahead, you incredulously shook your head as you thumbed the moisture from your lip.

Okay. Alright. That was it, for now, you decided.

The Entity gave you a fully loaded bandolier - seriously, you were armed to the teeth with the little mini bottles, to the point it was actually kind of heavy. But you already felt a little weak in the knees after just two shots. It had been a while, so your tolerance was understandably nil. You didn’t want to be useless to your team. More importantly, it now felt critical you get out of there without running into the killer.

The Deathslinger was one of those ones. Not overly talkative, like a couple of the killers were, but he definitely got a kick out of the whole thing. There was a stark difference between the two camps, so to speak - the ones who only seemed like they killed because they had to, and the ones who were completely in their element. And he was obviously one of the latter.

It was that goddamn laugh. Low and sultry. Chuckling whenever he hooked someone or when a survivor did something exceptionally dumb. Even when you weren’t the target of it, you’d come to associate it with pure humiliation.

And you just knew that he’d take one look at you, in your stupid sheriff costume, and… Oh. You were steaming mad only thinking about it.

So you made it your personal mission to avoid him this trial. And to do that, you had to actually get out. Which meant no more drinks for you!

You should have known She had other plans.

You did your best to keep a low profile, tried to make sure you were on the opposite side of the map from him at all times, while still being useful. A difficult balancing act.

But you couldn’t just leave your friends hanging.

When you saw Meg’s aura flare out in distress as she was lowered onto the hook, you began making your way over, quick and quiet and praying to every god you knew that he would be long gone by the time you got there.

And, lucky you, there was no sight of him. So you crept towards the hook, privately taking solace that at least you weren’t alone in the goof factor; Meg was all dressed up like Wendy - the fast-food icon. The Entity really outdid herself, the braids were right on the nose, and you were almost loosey-goosey enough to make some stupid quip. Almost. Maybe when she wasn’t dangling from a meat hook.

You pulled her off the hook with care, but just as her feet touched the ground, another gunshot rang out, this time much louder. A spear whizzed by so close that you could hear it shear through the air just before it embedded itself in the post, inches away from you both. No sooner had you whipped your head around to find the source than the sound of shoes pounding against the ground filled your ringing ears.

You looked back and Meg was gone. Peeled off like a bandaid.

You decided you better get the hell out of Dodge too.

First things first, you needed to get out of the open; that was just asking to get shot. So you made a mad dash for the saloon. You figured you had a good head start since it should have taken him a hot minute to retrieve the harpoon, dislodge it from the hook, shove it back in the gun… Sounded like a whole ass process.

Except, when you looked back behind you he was hot on your tail. Trail. Hot on your trail.

You made a snap judgment, deciding you’d try and lose him by running up to the second story. Was it cheap? Absolutely. He obviously had some kind of bum leg, unless that brace was some kind of bold fashion statement. Not that it had ever slowed him down, any. But you were desperate. And all’s fair in love and war, right?

Swiftly turning the corner, you galloped up the stairs and dove into the first room you saw, hopping through the window.

By the time your eyes adjusted to the indoors and you realized it was a dead-end, it was too late. The only other exit was boarded up, and you could hear his boots unhurriedly thumping up the creaky steps like he was in no rush at all. Step. Step. You rushed to the boarded-up door and gave it a good open-palmed slam to test its strength - you’d seen killers smash through these like they were cardboard, but it just wouldn’t budge. Shit.

He was getting closer. You could hear his spurs. Hissing, you banged your fist against the boards in frustration. What, impending injury wasn’t bad enough? She had to add insult, too?

The footsteps stopped, and so did everything else, it felt like. Holding your breath, you slowly began to turn around. There he was in the window, backlit and silhouette, dusty sunlight filtering through his ghostly white hair. You had to admit, he cut a striking figure, something cinematic. There was just the trouble of the gun. Aimed right at you.

Didn’t have to climb over the window if he just reeled you to him. Smart man.

Before you could think to dive for cover or something smart like that, he began lowering the gun. It was hard to tell what expression he was wearing, backlit as he was, but you could feel those spectral eyes looking you up and down. From your cheap western style boot covers, all the way up your legs to your fluffy petticoat and layered skirts, the ill-fitted booze bandolier slung around your shoulder… and finally, the gold, plastic 5 point sheriff star nestled between your tits.

Oh God. Here it comes…

He didn’t even have to say a word, hot embarrassment already surging to the surface before he even opened his mouth.

“Well. Pardon me.” You could make out the glint of dirty teeth in the dark as his grin spread. “Didn’t know you were an elected official.”

Why the hell was he exempt from this bullshit, anyway? You’d seen Ghostface in a devil costume, and Myers in a cat ear headband, so you knew they weren’t immune. Maybe the Entity thought he looked stupid and campy enough as is. But… she couldn’t have dressed him up as Woody from Toy Story or something? He probably wouldn’t have gotten it, but you would have found it funny. Maybe then you wouldn’t have felt so small and humiliated.

You hated this. You didn’t even know what to say until he started climbing over the window. Then you had a pretty clear idea.

“Don’t come any closer,” you warned shakily, backing up against the boarded-up door as he stalked forward, every step radiating confidence.

“Or you’ll what?” He asked, leaning in. “Arrest me?” Playfully rattling the costume handcuffs on your belt, he set his gun against the door. You stared up at him, eyes wide as saucers, and he just snorted, curling a finger in your hair.

“Darlin’…” Tilting his head, his fingers traveled lower, slowly ghosting over your neck, your collarbone…. You inhaled sharply in frightened anticipation, goosebumps rising, only for him to skim over your chest entirely, plucking one of the mini bottles from your bandolier. “I would love…” Long, bony, but strangely elegant fingers unscrewed the cap, flicking it off where it clattered across the floor somewhere. “To see you try.”

And on that note, he finally tipped it back - you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it down. Shaking the empty bottle at you, he slipped it back into its holster on your belt. “Bit frivolous, you know.” He commented, curling his finger in and snapping it back. “A flask does just fine. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

“Right, well,” you huffed, and moved to squeeze past him - he was clearly in good humor, at least, so maybe he’d let you off easy. Wasn’t a little whiskey and a laugh good enough?

Apparently not.

You were immediately met with an arm shooting out, hand landing right beside your head, caging you in.

“Woah there, where d’ya think you’re going, sweetheart?” He smirked down at you, a crooked thing that flashed his teeth, scarred lip snagged over a canine. You’d never noticed before, but one of his incisors had a gold crown. Now that you’d noticed, you couldn’t stop looking at it, the alcohol still floating around in your bloodstream turning you into some sort of easily distracted magpie. He was missing one of his bottom teeth, too. It was… kind of a mess in there, huh? Smelled like whiskey and tobacco.

“You got me all the way up here, I’m not too keen on leaving already.” Sliding his hand from the door, he guided you away by the small of your waist, and you… you just kind of let him, stiltedly trying to follow his direction.

“So how about you…” You reached the bed and he grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you round to face him. “Just sit your pretty ass down.” Just a slight push and you were bouncing on the bedsprings, palms catching your fall.

In the back of your mind you were already fearing the worst, but much to your surprise he just sat down next to you on the edge of the mattress, looking almost comically large and out of place on the twin-size bed. All you could do was blink at him dumbly, unsure what was happening.

He took a long breath through his nose. It felt like forever before he finally released it and said, “Have a drink with me.”

“I…” You drew out the word dubiously, clearly meaning to decline. You were already too tipsy for comfort considering present company was a killer.

“Didn’t ask,” He said gruffly, pulling two bottles from your bandolier and offering you one. “Indulge an old man. Or we’ll do it the hard way.”

Hard to argue with that! You didn’t know what the hard way was, but you didn’t want to find out. So you took the bottle, lips pulling together in a tight, awkward half-smile when he clinked his against yours.

This was weird. Awkward, and in a whole different way than you’d been preparing yourself for.

You actually found yourself glad for the burn that flooded your body as you downed the shot, heat loosening your tense limbs and taking the edge off this… incredibly odd situation, if only slightly.

Besides the obvious threat, it felt like maybe, despite everything… he was really just a lonely old man. In want of someone to drink with. A slice of normality. Isn’t that what you all wanted? You guessed it couldn’t hurt. It was keeping him away from the generators, anyway. Buying you all some extra time.

And… maybe this was what the Entity wanted. The reason she brought you here like this.

“Now, miss,” He spoke, and you turned your gaze up to him, blinking owlishly, your head swimming. There was a lot to take in at this distance. All these different textures. Scars and stubble and pockmarks. You found it all fascinating. “I’ve got to be frank with you.”

You know, you hadn’t really heard him speak at length before, but you were starting to realize that his whole aesthetic, he didn’t really sound straight out of a spaghetti western like you might expect. There was a trace of that, especially in his vocabulary, but his accent was much more reminiscent of… Canada, somehow. With a slightly Irish lilt.

It was ludicrously unexpected, and something about it just made a dopey smile float onto your face. You didn’t even realize you were doing it, until his eyes drifted down, and he huffed with almost fond incredulity.

“Think that’s funny, huh?”

You’re almost positive you missed something he said. You heard it, you just didn’t… process it right. This time when he spoke, you tried to pay attention.

“I don’t usually go taking what ain’t mine, but damn if you don’t look like a present addressed just to me.”

It was your turn to huff, bobbing with amusement. “Okay, cowboy, I know what it looks like, but…” It wasn’t like you chose this outfit.

“Honey,” he interrupted, “I think you’ve mistaken me for the wrong kinda wrangler. It’s not cows I’m after.” He paused, tipping his head as if reconsidering, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But if a heifer’s in need of a good driving…”

It took you a solid minute for your brain to catch up. He was content to watch the cogs turn until it did.

He just called you a cow!

A cow in need of a good dicking!

Your mouth hung open in shock and he - he just laughed.

“Little slow on the uptake, aren’t cha? Had a few already? How bout one more?” His hand began trailing up your leg, dirty fingers slowly dipping beneath your pure white petticoat.

Suddenly, one thing was very clear.

You had to get out of here.

Shaking your head, you tried to stand, but you were swiftly reeled back as soon as your feet hit the ground, pulled into a hard lap, all bones and brace and knobby knees and God knows what else.

“We’re gonna have one more,” his voice materialized right beside your ear, tone final as he pulled another mini from your belt. You shook your head, whimpering some protest between tightly closed lips as he pressed the bottle to your mouth. Behind you, you heard him sigh through his nose like a beleaguered bull. Then his other hand came round your face, pinching your nose shut.

You didn’t wait around for your lungs to give out. There wasn’t any point in that. You knew he wasn’t going to give in. But you did. Almost immediately. Your lips parted for air and got tequila instead, swallowing sloppily as you tried not to choke, rivulets of amber dripping down your chin while he murmured, “There you go… Nice and easy…”

His hand lowered to your throat to tip your head back, your world spinning as a wet sensation dragged across your chin, the man licking up the tequila in one broad and obscene lick. That rotten chuckle inundated your senses. “Awful cute when ya can’t even keep your eyes straight.” He tapped his fingers along the column of your throat, adding in afterthought. “Awful cute anyway, but I’m not really in the mood to fight just for a little company tonight. You gonna be good for me now, darling?”

“…Uh-huh.” You nearly sobbed out the sound, voice meek and pathetic. But you’d be lying if you weren’t starting to feel… sweaty under your skirts, inner thighs getting embarrassingly slick. That always happened when you were drunk, but never this bad.

And despite all the awfulness churning in your stomach, you still felt heat pool in your gut as he cooed, “Good girl. Not at dumb as you look, are you?”

You didn’t even realize he was actually expecting an answer until he probed again, “Are you?”

You quickly shook your head.

Humming, he seemed to accept that, because he was soon re-adjusting you on his lap and catching your lips with his in a messy kiss. He tasted strong and dry, your tongue prickling like your taste buds were trying to retract at the mere slide of his against yours; like salt on a slug. When his hand crept up your skirt this time, you didn’t try to stop him, even as his middle finger began tracing your sopping panties, dipping into the wet seam. You could scarcely think, devolved into a gooey pile of nerves and feelings that he was amusedly plucking at.

Peeling your panties aside, his fingers parted your folds, a pleased rumble emanating in his throat and vibrating in your mouth when his thumb brushed against your clit and your hips twitched in response.

You were gasping for breath by the time he finally pulled his mouth away, but he gave you no time to recover, already pressing two fingers past your resistance. In some attempt to ground yourself, you grasped at his arm as they began curling and pumping inside you, but your weak, drunk grip made it about as easy as catching clouds.

At some point, your barely-there vision drifted towards the window and you dimly realized you were facing it, completely exposed. That if anyone came up the stairs, they’d be able to see everything.

You’d just have to hope his heartbeat would be enough to keep them far away from the saloon. Eyes fluttering to the ceiling, you pushed the thought from your mind. It wasn’t hard. Not when the feeling in your stomach was reaching a fever pitch, nearing the point of no return.

In some ways, he was a lot gentler than you were expecting. Which was good, because you felt hopelessly vulnerable right now, helpless and disorientated in his lap, his looming over you making your mixed up brain feel protected even though some part of you knew that wasn’t right.

Everything felt numb except where he touched you; the heat of his breath on your neck, the kisses he pressed to your skin, the scrape of his beard, the brush of his long hair against your shoulder. All your wires were crossed, every little sensation going straight to your core.

Gasping out as your climax crashed over you, your hips lurched, thighs trying to snap closed around his hand. Unbothered, he just kept stroking you through it until your hips finally began to sink back down and your cunt stopped desperately trying to milk his fingers. Withdrawing slowly, he pressed them into your open mouth, the tang of your own juices spreading across your tongue. You didn’t know what it said about you that your blind instinct was to obediently suck, but that’s what you did, and he breathed out in a low, steady hiss.

“Careful, now. Fool me too good and I might have to keep you.”

Pulling away, he encouraged you to lay on the bed, settling between your legs. You watched the ceiling drift then snap back to place every time you blinked while he fiddled with something - you weren’t sure what until he was fixing your arms above your head and the apparently not-so-novelty handcuffs from your costume were being snapped around your wrists.

Then his hands were skating over you appreciatively, over your ribcage, the curvature of your waist almost reverently. “Guess the good Lord finally answered my prayers.” He murmured, flicking the plastic sheriff star between your bosom. “Not really how I woulda done it, but beggars can’t be choosers, eh? After all…” The man sighed, fingers curling into the top of your blouse and slowly dragging the gingham fabric down over your breasts until they were revealed to his eerie, quietly covetous eyes. “We don’t exactly have all the time in the world, do we?”

What was that even supposed to mean? It seemed to you as if you had nothing but time. Maybe not in this particular trial - and as if to punctuate that thought, you felt a generator kick to life, the familiar thrum of hope in your bones.

Did he know something you didn’t? Or were you just too foxed to follow?

Exhaling, he rolled his hands over your breasts, admiring the feel of them for just a moment. It seemed like he wanted to take his time with you, but the reminder that you were on a timer was the spur in his side that eventually pushed him to move on.

You heard him audibly fiddling with his belts and wondered if you were getting out of this alive. It was cold comfort, but at least you’d probably managed to save everyone else. Not very heroic when it wasn’t even really your decision. But it was something. Maybe. Something to cling to as you felt the heat of him slide across the mess he’d made of you.

Whimpering, you curled inwards from your core as he entered you, bound hands lifting up and both grasping at his chest at the feeling of being run through. By no means was it violent. It didn’t hurt, exactly. But it had been a long time, and he was unforgivingly long and solid and foreign. An intrusion on your body.

“That’s it. There you go, gorgeous. Hang onto me.”

You did, your hands abandoning his chest to loop over his neck, accidentally knocking the hat off his head in your bound fumbling. He didn’t seem to care, swooping down to take your lips again while you struggled to get used to the feeling of him moving inside you.

With how wet you already were, it didn’t take all that long before pleasure started to win out, every little bump and grind against your sweet spot pulling you closer to the edge again, his mouth muffling the pathetic stream of sounds trying to escape yours.

This time, the fall from the top was a slow one, liquid heat spilling out across your core - though you weren’t quite aware how literally until you felt it physically starting to pool beneath you, a wave of embarrassment flaring when you’d realized what just happened. Okay - you didn’t - that had never happened before, drunk or not.

Your hopes that he didn’t notice were dashed as he pulled away to chuckle heatedly in your ear. He wasn’t far behind though, laughter broken by a groan as his hips snapped against yours, burying himself deep as he could go. You felt the alien jerk of his cock inside you, radiating warmth.

Panting, he nuzzled at your neck as he came down, whiskers scratching at your skin. You felt… suspended in place, not sure what came next. But you guessed it wasn’t up to you. Hesitantly, you let your fingers slip into his sweaty white tresses, the texture thick and rough like the mane of a horse, dusty and… probably unwashed for God knows how long.

There was that awkward feeling again. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit no matter how you turned them, but you weren’t allowed to leave.

Eventually, he took a deep, centering breath and withdrew from you, guiding your hands back to the bed and clicking open the safety release of the handcuffs, setting you free and letting them fall wherever on the floor.

Rubbing your wrists, you groaned in discomfort as he dragged his fingers through the mess, pushing his cum back inside you. No. You just wanted to be done.

But then he pulled your panties back into place. Pulled your shirt back up. Smoothed your skirts down.

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment before he heaved a big sigh and finally dismounted.

Pulling you up by your arm so that you were sitting up, he grabbed his hat from the bed, and you felt him plop it onto your head and adjust it.

“Suits ya.” He said softly, and it was the first thing he’d said in a while. Part of you was waiting for the other shoe to drop, not sure if he wanted a thank you, or…

He eyed you for another long moment, like there was something more he wanted to say, but… Instead, his gaze flicked down to the bandolier round your chest.

You swallowed hard as he plucked the last two bottles from your belt, the thought of taking another shot making your stomach churn and your gag reflex curl.

Patting your thigh, he bonelessly plopped himself in the nearby chair, rolling his eyes as you just stared at him. “Go on, get.” He snorted, uncapping one of the little bottles. “Don’t fall down the stairs on your way out.”

He was letting you go? Just like that?

You hesitated, something about this seemed… unfinished. You weren’t sure if you wanted to go.

But you didn’t want to wait around until he changed his mind, either.

So you uncertainly began heading towards the window, pausing when you remembered - “Your hat…” You reached for it, intending to give it back, but…

“Keep it, I don’t care.” That sounded unexpectedly crabby, and when you looked back, he wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at the wall, avoiding your gaze as he tipped back a shot. “Wear it if you want to see me again. Don’t if ya don’t. I can take a hint.”

You blinked, unable to believe he was sulking. Now. After everything.

Your fingers hovered over the brim of the hat. You needed to quash this now, while you still had the chance. Your conscience was screaming at you, leave it, don’t encourage him, don’t even give him hope.

Don’t bring it to the campfire. Don’t anything. Just… leave it on the windowsill, you told yourself. It shouldn’t have even required thought. Nothing about this was okay.

You didn’t even know his goddamn name.

And yet… You found your hand slowly lowering, falling back down to your side. You gave him one last, long look before grabbing the windowsill.

You could always decide later.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Thank you for reading!!!

🖤 🖤 🖤

Notes:

Thank you Pugge for beta'ing most of this!

I do not know WHY this took me so long to write but I’m fairly happy with it. Sorta wasn’t the direction I originally had planned for this, but what can I say, I’m cursed. I got the Midas touch, except instead of gold, everything I touch turns to non-con.

This piece was written for Day 8 and 18 of the 🔞 Dead by Baelight 🔞 Discord server’s Kinktober. Anyone over 18 is welcome to join here.

#dead by daylight #dbd #deathslinger #caleb quinn #my writing #oneshot #scripsi

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avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

Legacy - Chapter 10

Legacy: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 2005

Rating: E

Warnings: Pregnancy, domestic abuse, post-endgame, angst, developing-relationship, hurt/comfort, smut, Laura and Clint have broken up. Comic Clint/MCU Clint mix.

Synopsis: Nothing is the same after the events of Endgame. When Clint has trouble returning to a life where his family hasn’t changed but he has lost everything, he moves back to the city and tries to move on as a single parent. When Nate finds you bruised and pregnant in the stairwell of his building, he decides that there might be another way that he can make Nat’s sacrifice worth something.

Chapter 10

Coming home without Tasha had been hard. You were ready to go home and get on with your life as a new mother. Only Tasha was still too small and needed more time in the NICU. So where you had been expected to be up most of the night feeding her and changing diapers, instead you had an empty crib and multiple trips to the hospital to check on her.

Clint had said it was a little bit of a blessing. You weren’t sure if he was just saying that to try and make you feel better or not. He was definitely a little highly strung on the return home. He had told you that being home without her meant that he could get the apartment closer to being where he wanted it.

He really did get right into the renovations too. Some of his friends came and helped, so there were days where the place was full of Avengers doing home repairs.

By the time you went to pick up Tasha to bring her home the walls had been painted, the floors sanded and polished so they matched and the kitchen had been finished with new appliances, countertops, and cabinets as well as a floating island and a new tile floor.

There was still a lot to do. Upstair particularly hadn’t been changed at all. It was two large unconnected bedrooms that you could only access via two different staircases on the opposite sides of the apartment. Clint had big plans for replacing stairs and connecting the upstairs and putting in another half bathroom. For now, it was enough that you now had a place that worked for your new family. There were enough bedrooms for all the kids.

But finally, there was Tasha there with you both.

Being a new mother was tough but you really loved it. Even as sleep-deprived as you were. Clint was such a natural dad. He only complained about the messy things like changing diapers and being puked on in a light joking way. You never once doubted that he wasn’t enjoying the role of dad to the little girl.

You were actually happy. This was the family you had always wanted and never expected to have. It was easy to forget the shit that you’d struggled out of. Clint seemed to feel the same way. He was happier and more relaxed and now when he spoke about the people he’d lost that had led to where he was now, it was more about remembering the good things than being lost in the grief of what he’d lost.

The two of you made a new life with the family you blended together. It was a kind of serendipity. Maybe if either of you were asked there might be things you would change about each of your pasts. No one deserves the abuse either of you had suffered and even a happy ending might not have made up for experiencing it in the first place. You would both have wished Natasha alive if that kind of thing worked.

Still, you were happy and each day that passed the more the happiness outweighed any grief or guilt you still both carried.

It was easy to forget there was still bad in the world.

By the time Tasha was four months old, Cooper, Lila, and Nate were all staying over regularly again. Things had been slightly erratic for the first few months while Laura let you and Clint adjust to the newborn.

It wasn’t an unusual day when Kate came around and she, Lila, and Clint were up on the rooftop doing target practice while you were downstairs with Cooper, Nate, and Tasha. When there was a knock at the door you didn’t even think to check the peephole to see who it was.

“Cooper. Can you turn that down a little? It’s kinda loud.” You called back as you pulled the door open.

“Found you.”

The voice of the man at the door sent a chill through you and you wheeled around to see Richard standing in the doorway. You went to shove the door closed and he slammed it back at you, making it hit you hard in the face and sending you reeling.

“What do you think you’re doing, bitch?” Richard seethed as he pushed his way inside.

“Get out of here, Richard. There’s nothing here for you.” You said trying to push him back out the door.

Cooper had jumped to his feet and moved to where Tasha was playing under her baby gym, kicking her feet happily. “Nate, come here, bud.” He said.

Richard struck you in the face knocking you to the ground. Lights popped behind your eyes and your head spun as you tried to get back up off the ground. “You aren’t allowed to be here.” You said and you got on your hands and knees. He kicked you, knocking your back over. It felt like he’d broken a rib.

“I’m here for my kid. You think you can keep them from me?” He spat.

“Hey, you don’t hurt her!” Nate yelled, puffing his chest out and putting his hands on his hips.

“Nate!” Cooper called. “Come here, buddy.”

Tasha had started to cry from all the yelling and Cooper scooped her up off the ground and held her close to his chest.

“Alright, kid. Let’s not be a hero. Give me the baby and I’ll leave. She’s mine.” Richard said, trying to sound reasonable.

“She is not. She’s my sister. You get out of here, mister!” Nate ordered.

“Alright, this is moving past being cute,” Richard said taking a few steps towards the kids. “Give me the baby and no one else has to get hurt.”

“Cooper, take them to the bathroom and lock the door.” You choked out as you tried to get back to your feet.

Cooper grabbed Nate by the arm and dragged him towards the bathroom. Richard lunged at them and you grabbed his ankles, tripping him to his knees. He aimed a kick at your head and there was a thwip-woosh sound, and an arrow embedded itself into his shoulder.

“Fuck!” He cursed, grabbing the bolt as you staggered to your feet.

Lila stood at the door with her bow drawn looking at the scene. “Don’t you move.” She said, though there was a shake in her voice.

“Cooper.” You called. “Take the kids up to your dad.” You moved to block him and Nate from Richard as they passed him.

When Cooper got to the door, he began to run, dragging a protesting Nate with him. You slowly moved towards Lila. Her hands were shaking slightly but she kept the bow trained on Richard.

“Don’t be stupid, little girl,” Richard warned. “You’re not going to kill me.”

“Don’t need to,” She said and dropped the aim to his groin.

“Come on, Lie,” You said, putting your hand on her. “Let’s go get your dad.”

Lila backed out with you, keeping the arrow pointed at him. He lurched forward and she let the arrow loose. It hit him in the thigh. You both turned and ran to the stairwell, ignoring the burning pain in your face and side, and how hard it was to draw in each breath.

“Dad sent me down to get us drinks,” Lila said as she ran.

“Oh god.” You said. “I’m sorry, Lila.”

“It’s not your fault.” She said. “Come on.”

You burst through the door to the roof, you lungs burning as you slammed it behind you. Clint was already on his way to the door as Kate took Tasha from Cooper. “Where is he?” Clint asked.

“Following I think. Lila shot him.” You babbled. “Shot? Is shot the right word. Did you shoot him?”

“It’s alright. It’s going to be okay. He’s broken both his parole and the restraining order by just coming here.” Clint soothed. “I’ll be back.”

He ran from the room and Kate came and dropped Tasha into Lila’s hands. “I’m going with your dad given I’m the actual Avenger here.” She said and ran off after him.

You came over to Lila and put your arm around her. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” You asked.

She nodded. “Never shot a person before.” She said. “Never shot anything that wasn’t a target.”

You kissed the top of her head. “You saved us and he’s just hurt. You did good. But we’re gonna get someone you can talk to about this.”

She looked up at smiled at you. “You should sit down.”

She helped you to one of the deck chairs on the roof. The sound of sirens started echoing up from the street and Cooper went and looked over the edge of the roof. “There’s police and ambulance coming.”

“Good,” You said. “That’s good.” You held out your hands to Lila who was bouncing Tasha on her hip and pulling faces at her to get her to calm down. “You want me to take her?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve got her.” Lila said. “You should get looked over by the paramedics before you hold her.”

Nate came over to you and climbed up on the deck chair resting against you and gently patting your stomach. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you for being my brave hero.” You said, gently. “I love you kids so much, you know?”

“We love you too,” Lila said.

“Yeah, we wuv you.” Nate agreed, kissing your cheek.

“Someone just came out on a stretcher,” Cooper called from the edge of the roof.

“Can you see who it is, Coop?” Lila asked.

He leaned over the edge a little more. “I think it’s the guy. It’s not Kate anyway.” He said.

“You sure it’s not dad?” Lila asked.

“I’m pretty sure,” Cooper said. “Yeah. I think it’s the other guy.”

“Good. That’s good.” Lila said, flopping down on another chair. Tasha babbled happily and patted her cheeks.

“Should we go down and find dad?” Cooper asked.

“We better wait here.” You said. “They’ll come up when they’re ready.”

Like your words had summoned him, Clint appeared in the door with a couple of paramedics and a police officer. The kids all rushed over to him slamming into him. He held them close, taking Tasha from Lila as he crouched down and pulled them close. “It’s alright. Everything’s fine. You all did great.” He soothed. “You’re safe now. Did anyone get hurt?”

Cooper shook his head as he melted in against his father. “Not us.”

Clint indicated to the paramedics to go and see you. They moved over and started looking you over. Checking to see if he’d cracked any ribs and patching up your wounds. They took photos of your injuries as they worked for evidence.

“Okay, guys. We need to talk to the police too. You'll have to tell them what happened. Okay?” Clint said gently, as he looked his kids over.

“Yeah, we can do that,” Cooper said.

“We’re going to need you to take you into the hospital for some x-rays. I don't like how that rib feels.” One of the paramedics said to you.

Clint looked between you and the police officers. “We will go with her to get checked out first okay? I'll bring them to the station later. You've got Hawkeye giving a statement right?”

“Yes, she’s gone down there. Just be sure you do.” The officer said.

“Don't worry, man. We want this over and done with. For good. We’ll be there.” Clint said.

He came over to you holding both Nate and Tasha and crouched down kissing your forehead. “Sorry I wasn't there.”

You shook your head, trying not to cry. “Sorry being with me means you even have to worry about that.”

“Oh, honey, don't be stupid.” He said and rubbed his nose against yours. “He is not your fault. Let's get you patched up so we can get done with him for good.”

You nodded. That was something you wanted more than anything.

// NEXT

#clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #angst #fluff #legacy

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autobuttonsanddeceptistitches · 4 years

Text

Viper’s Vengeance Chapter 1

Hello everyone! I am happy to announce that I am returning to writing once again! This story in particular is one I’ve been looking forward to posting. I’d like to give credit to EngineerHoist, a person on YouTube who did a live reading of the first two paragraphs of this story. Without his reading, I wouldn’t have the motivation to continue writing the rest of this chapter and figure out ideas for the future ones to come. Here’s the reading itself alongside the two paragraphs to follow along.

...

A pure black visor stared at the acid green flames dancing higher and higher above the fallen Cobra base. His acid gun slipped down worn fingers, Viper's knees gave way to the course sand surface. Wings lowered and bullet ridden. Spent a whole day, by himself getting rid of his creators. Humans, they've done nothing but cause chaos in his life. Memories racing in his head. Torment, lobotomy, neglect. They're dead, all of them. The red symbol he detests on his wings, the first born human made Cybertronian. Meant to be a weapon against other inferior humans. He got up, taking his battered body away from the sea of acid he'd inflicted on the pitiful humans.

The pain overwhelmed him, those tanks, the copters, forced him to land into the sand once again. Tiny grains blowing against ruined true blue paint. Maybe its best to die now, he killed those who brought him to this world, to stifle his life because of a failure, yet, he danced with Decepticons. As he listened to the fire cackling from back at his 'birthplace', a shadow overtook his vision. One with yellow optics; processor trying to bring back any memories of those with yellow. It stung, its always hurt to look through memories due to the lobotomy. Got difficult to remember important things, most assumed short term memory loss that Shockwave didn't bother to look through. Maybe if he does survive this pit he'll force that lazy scientist to help. For now, this mysterious fellow seemed to be helping him out. Other colors became recognizable. Nightbird...

His processor kept repeating the same visions. A record player of rotating screams of torment. Flesh melting away into the puddles of their creation's tears. Among the fragments is of a human cowering in a corner, his face cut and green jacket torn off. Instead of fear, he scowled.

“I gave you a new life Viper! You can't do this to me when I wasn't involved with what happened! I freed you from your prison!” Luca screamed, shaking his fist up.

“You betrayed the Decepticons, for a few dollars more...” Viper replied, taking aim and letting the green flames come to life... One traitor down, never deserving to wear the silver badge on his jacket.

The agonizing screams started to grow numbing as the malfunctioning processor stopped thinking. Focused on preserving the battered soldier, for his mission is complete at last. Nightbird, the last thought on his mind, wondering why she came. Did Megatron ask the ninja to investigate? Too tired to question, gotta sleep...

Music began to play, the kind that'd be relaxing to whoever took a listen with its keyboards. Optics lit up to the sight of the bright lights meant for surgery. A figure came into vision again, this time, its one with a red visor. Dang it, more faces to identify. At least his bright green paint job helped determine which of the Constructicons this is.

“Well, I thought you wouldn't turn gray because your human made.” Hook smirked, stepping back to grab a few more tools.

“How'd I get here?” Viper tried sitting up, yet pain spiked in his back, forcing him to lie down again.

“Nightbird dragged you in here and told me to get to work. Sounds like you made them all pay. Megatron will be glad to hear the details.” He grabbed one of the wings and began to pluck out the bullets. Viper's servos clenched, wishing he could get up and clobber the mech. Everything's too numb, like something's in his system. It could be either that or armor is still recovering from the trauma.

“Did Megatron ask her to come along?” Optics watched as the boxy helmed mech shook from left to right. His tray piling up with small metal pieces. Other Constructicons began to assist their brother and repair the damaged armor. Hook pulled off the broken black glass, revealing two vibrant blue optics underneath.

“Nope, he didn't order anyone to see your attempts. We thought you would've died. Looks like you're made of sterner stuff.” Viper didn't retort, rest, must rest and wait until he could find that canary and force the answers out of her.

It felt odd to not wear a visor anymore. His once unseen optics inspected the long hallways of the military base. A few Decepticons walked by the broken freak of a soldier. Some glanced by, but others chuckled, giddy that they aren't made by flesh creatures. Viper remained firm as he walked, wings still in pain, but will get repaired another time. Hook and others had to deal with other tarnished things. He's already broken, always been since the failure. All to think about was the silver emotionless face before his processor got torn apart. The former Cobra mech didn't notice the three fingered hand grabbing his shoulder. A great smirk embedded into one's golden face.

“Well done Viper, I enjoy human sacrifices. They were my favorite parts of Aztec history.” The one whose name would send shivers down one's Energon veins. His grin became twisted as a Cheshire Cat's. Viper glanced back, seeing the purple glowing in his vision.

“I don't care Malus, you can interpret it any way you want, but its my story, and I ended it.” Viper tried moving, yet the demigod kept a firm hold.

“Where are you going? Do you believe that I am not worthy for a conversation?” His frown changed as much as a mask for the audience of an opera.

“I want some time to myself. I spent all day fighting for my freedom while you and everyone else sat back and enjoyed my suffering like a show!” Viper's wings flared, even if he's shorter than him, that fire burned in blue optics.

“Your war, not mine.” Oh, if the snake had his acid gun, then there wouldn't be any trace of this rotten fruit anywhere. Who cares if he's the guardian to some shiny balls, none of his business.

“Be lucky I spent all my rage on the humans, rather than you.” He stomped away as Malus scoffed.

“Toodle pip Viper.” Spat out as he transformed into his spider tank alt mode and crawled away.

More faces, the same faces rewinding faster as the figures passed by. Some showing hints of concern, but hidden by their tough attitudes and looks. Viper shrugged each off, not caring if anyone was walking around this morning. Sometimes questions about the ninja, yet none replied. Until he reached up to Swindle with a fist aimed at his face.

“You're the last scumbag I'll ask today, where is Nightbird?” Viper hissed, showing the scars on broken fingers. The mech smirked, trying to cower away from the situation.

“Come on Viper, I know you had one heck of a night, but give me some credit. I didn't sell anything to Cobra,” bam! A fist to the face, letting fresh pain reel in pristine faceplates.

“Say that word again, I could go for another injection of their venom into my veins.” He goaded, before noticing a glimmer of yellow that vanished down the hallway.

“Hey!” The Rattler ran, leaving Swindle to cough up some Energon.

A giant hanger, of all places to hide in. Dark blue came in, broken glass trying to inspect wherever the femme could be. He noticed her shadow among the dim lights. Dancing around old machinery that'd been defunct for a long time. Human made items, Hook would use them for spare parts when needed. Swindle pawning off each piece for big bucks. A flicker of yellow again right beside him. Nightbird, what is she doing? She held up a blade against his neck.

“Sever the cables, and you will do nothing.” She spoke in such stillness that wouldn't alert anyone of her presence. Viper tensed, gripping the yellow weapon and making sure it wouldn't leave its mark.

“I want answers to why you were following me!” He yelled out, flipping the femme over. Nightbird groaned, unable to get up before he pressed his arm onto her neck. His other servo gripped the blade in her hand. They stared, optics burning in the morning sunlight as it crept from tiny windows in the room. Blue and yellow, much like an electric storm.

“Didn't want to continue living?” She whispered, leaning up even when he tried pushing her down.

“My life is over, I have no reason to continue, so why bring me back?” Nightbird looked away.

“We're soldiers, and you're purpose shouldn't end in such a way.” She exhaled, kicking the mech off, Viper stood back up, retaining his balance.

“Then why try killing me if I wanted to say thanks?” Blue optics observed Nightbird's own. A hint of concern behind that bright yellow often coated in anger.

A large hangar door opened, letting Soundwave come in. His armor is much more chunky on the legs and torso. A result from getting kidnapped by Cobra. Red visor caught the attention of the duo, with his cassettes tagging along.

“Viper, our lord Megatrons request to meet with you.” Said in his monotone elegance.

“I'll not keep them waiting, we'll talk about this later.” The Rattler strode away from the short conflict. Soundwave looked at Nightbird, seeing how upset she appeared to be.

“Is something wrong?” The femme shook her helm.

“No, how do you feel about that armor?” She tapped onto his shoulder, feeling the strong materials constructing it.

“It is an inferior version of myself, but I will adjust.” He transformed and let his little minions climb aboard before driving back outside. Nightbird stared, pondering what thoughts are rushing in Viper's processor right now.

Chapter 2

#Transformers #Transformers Earth Wars #Earth Wars #Transformers fanfic #fanfic #TF #Maccadams #Viper #Nightbird #Soundwave #Story #fanfiction #Viper's Vengeance

4 notes · View notes

emptymanuscript · 6 years

Text

REALity TV

Semi-random thought. Or really two non-random thoughts colliding randomly.

I once ruined a television show, Undercover Boss, for a friend of mine. They were talking about how much they loved it and after us talking they said they couldn’t ever watch it again.

I had not set out to ruin the show, though I was talking about why I wasn’t interested. I wasn’t interested because the show seemed like a pretty basic psychological trick to me. As most reality shows seem to me.

You take boss X whose speciality at this point in their life is financials and policy decisions. Even if they worked their way up from scratch, at this point that is their comfort zone. They are embedded in it all day every day.

Now you take X and you put them in situation Y which is entirely alien to their everyday experience. No financials. No policy decisions. Just high stress low level gruntwork. Mostly physical. Again, there are plenty of bosses who worked their way up but that isn’t their experience anymore, not for years. And there are also plenty of bosses who have never held anything but managerial positions. Of course it is going to be an intensely miserable and bewildering experience. It is throwing X as far as possible outside of their comfort zone.

There’s an extra shove to make it uncomfortable. Y is X’s company. X is supposed to be the ultimate expert on Y. Of course, with a large scale company, no one can really be the expert like that. But under high stress, the mind retreats to blaming. So X isn’t going to say the situation is designed to unbalance me. They’re going to say I should know everything about Y so this situation must be unfair and terrible. Which it probably is but X isn’t getting there by logical reasoning. They’re getting there by the phsychological disequilibrium they are undergoing.

So now there is X, shocked at how horrible it is, sure this is all terribly unfair, upset at themself for what is going on. And participating in this experience is unwitting coworker Z. Z is more experienced, trying to help another worker because they know it is difficult, and they know they are on camera for some stupid reason or other. So Z shows X the ropes and is maybe even a little nicer than they would otherwise be. X, reeling and desperate, is going to like Z. Z is a comarade. Z is help when none seems to be present. Z is the solution to the psychological problem set up by the circumstances. Z has pulled it off, so X can too if X identifies with Z.

So when it is all over, of course X is going to do something extra for Z. X wants to pull their weight and give back and contribute. Z totally deserves it for being able to cope with all that and being so nice to X. At which point X can greatfully retreat back to their gilded cage of management, humbled and enlightened by their experience, and vowing to make Y a better company with what they learned.

But it really is an X, Y, Z. I’m not talking about Elon Gates or Bill Musk. The situation of the show is designed to get a type of response. So when Elon Gates goes on the show, their specific actions might be unpredictable, but in general it is going to conform to the experience that the show is setting up. It is going to be elitist boss is shocked and awed, sets order to their world, punishing the guilty and rewarding the heroic, and returns to be a better elitist boss. It works because that’s how humans work. You don’t have to force anyone to do it, you just have to set up more or less the right situation.

My friend was more than a little pissed when I told them this. Because once I had said it, they saw it. All the episodes are the different but the same. And if you think about it, you’d feel pretty much the same way, too. So it stopped feeling like an honest reaction and instead became staged fiction. Even though none of the “actors” knew they were being staged and directed, they were. But it was the honest reality of it that had enchanted my friend. Now it wasn’t honest or real. Ruined.

I feel a little badly about that. As I said, I didn’t mean to ruin it. If that’s the kind of story you like, I think you should enjoy it. There’s nothing wrong with it. I just don’t happen to enjoy it.

But there is something else that has been niggling at the back of my mind ever since. And I think I got a piece of it today. My friend thought it was real. REALity TV. And in some sense, it was. They were real people. There wasn’t a script. No one knew how any single episode would turn out, especially not the people in the episode. But I was talking about the other half of the equation that makes Reality TV work. That people do have a general understanding of how people work. There are higher ups, who probably aren’t anywhere on the crew or anywhere near filming, who do understand that if you set up a fuzzy sort of situation A (X goes to Y and meets Z) you’ll get a fuzzy sort of set responses B (X has a strong, usually positive, reaction to Z and vows to make Y better in part by “fixing” Z’s relationship with Y).

My friend wanted the reassurance that X is just a good person if you show them the right thing. I ruined it because I said it was staged. But the staging also works because that is human psychology. If you create A, B will happen. That’s what people are like. But the A was too much to seem honest.

The thing is, that’s how most fiction works. That’s why we talk about versimilitude and believability of action. We know there are ways people act and we know there are ways they won’t and we know there are particular events and actions that can alter those trajectories. If you hit it right, even if it is blatantly labeled FICTION it feels real. TRUE. When it isn’t labeled fiction, when you label it REALity TV, or have no explanation or definition at all on a YouTube video, then we react pretty deeply as if it is 100% true, unscripted, etc. We forget that there is a planned A acted out to get a planned B result.

But what happens if A is maybe a little dangerous? What happens when the content creators get B wrong? My friend thought it was TRUE true. And my friend is pretty damn smart and very well educated. Putting all the responsibility on the audience does not seem fair or safe. And safe is the keyword for the thought that is running around inside my head.

The post that started this thought, which I decided not to threadjack, was about couples making YouTube videos about tying up the girlfriend while the boyfriend smashes their makeup. Essentially ridiculous. But what about people who think it is true? What about people who think it is TRUE true? Does that then make the videos dangerous to some degree?

I did watch about as much of one of the video’s as I could stand and what really leapt out at me was the girlfriend clutching the boyfriend’s shirt and telling him that his blindfolding her was giving her anxiety. A bit later on she just flat out says deadpan, I’m not comoftable with this. Looking over on the side bar, this is clearly what the channel is, or at least plenty of it is this. They “prank” each other back and forth. So for the subscribed audience, they are probably aware that it is scripted and that they’re going to be just fine and probably are just fine even during the filming. But for anyone who isn’t paying that kind of attention, for anyone who thinks this is like real like reality tv, where the only false element is the camera, this is showing off a pretty nastily unhealthy relationship dynamic. Which is presented as ok by the end of the video because he makes up for it by giving her a whole new set. Is it scripted? Probably. Does that make it ok?

The honest answer is that I don’t know but I suspect not. Because this is the thought that has been in my head since ruining undercover boss. My friend thought it was real. It doesn’t really matter whether it was real or not. They thought it was. And I think the same issue is at hand with these videos. People will think they are real. It doesn’t really matter if they’re right or wrong, they will act as if it is true.

The video I looked at, the top one in the post if you followed the link above, when I watched it had 3,974,052 views. 112K likes. 7.2K dislikes. Just playing the odds, you know some of those viewers took it literally. Some of those who disliked it and thought it was literal truth probably felt deeply uncomfortable with the interaction. Much more worisome to me is the people in the 112K who now think their own “prank” is a perfectly acceptable idea. When they don’t know about all the prep and talk behind the scenes. Assuming there was any.

And that’s my real worry about Reality TV, that people will take the reality of it as their own reality. That goes double for YouTube when there’s so little filter and so little to distinguish what is true and what is false. I worry about people believing it and believing that this kind of behavior is normal and natural

And I will shut up now.

#off topic #rant #sexism #cruelty #media #god oh god why can't i shut up and say something short for once?

3 notes · View notes

ronaldsmcrae86 · 4 years

Text

How to Write a Testimonial in 2020: 7 Tips (+ 9 Examples)

Want to learn how to write a great testimonial? One that’ll build trust with readers and woo potential customers (or clients)?

In this handy guide, you’ll learn:

The proven structure your testimonials should follow to increase conversion rates and land more jobs;

The importance of statistics, storytelling, and authenticity;

How to ask someone for a testimonial;

And much more.

Let’s dig right in…

Tip #1. Follow a Proven Structure

Sometimes, the best way to identify “good” is to figure out what “bad” looks like.

So, what does a bad testimonial look like?

Well, bad testimonials usually make one or more of these mistakes:

They lack credibility. Who is “John”? What does he do? And why doesn’t he have a photo?

Too outlandish to be believable. Did this person really help you go from zero to $1,000,000 in three days? Even if it is true, it will be hard for people to believe. Be a real person, not an infomercial.

They’re boring and generic. A testimonial that goes on and on about unrelated, meaningless details isn’t going to convince anyone to do anything. Neither will testimonials that lack detail or authenticity.

With this in mind, let’s go over the elements of a good, persuasive testimonial.

The Structure of a Great Testimonial

Good testimonials should include the person’s full name and photo. Adding their company name and what they do gives a testimonial additional credibility.

But the best testimonials also contain these four elements:

Clarity. They paint a clear before and after picture.

Purposefulness. They guide the reader towards an action.

Positivity. A testimonial isn’t a snarky review on TripAdvisor or Amazon — you want people to be honest, but you want the overall tone to be optimistic.

Focus. Don’t ramble. Stay on point.

Examples of Testimonials With Good Structure

Here’s an example of great testimonial structure from Marisa Mugatroyd’s Live Your Message:

Full name and photo? Check. Clear, purposeful, positive, and focused? Definitely.

Here’s another good testimonial example (from Ahrefs’ newly-revamped homepage):

Both of these testimonial examples nail the basics.

Yours should too.

Tip #2. Be Specific With Details

Words and phrases like “way up” and “it was good” are ambiguous and can mean anything.

Did an article get over 10,000 tweets and LinkedIn shares on social media? Did revenue increase by 30%?

Don’t be vague — if it’s so, say so. Testimonials with statistics are excellent social proof.

But keep in mind:

Statistics aren’t the only way to add details to a testimonial.

In fact, sometimes, you’ll be in situations where specific figures or numbers can’t be shared. In those instances, explain the details of the problem, concerns that existed beforehand, or share pertinent background info that paints a compelling before-and-after picture.

Details In Practice

Let’s compare two testimonials I’ve received:

“Nyaima was pleasant to work with. I would work with her again.”

That’s nice, but does this testimonial really tell you anything? Not really. Compare it to this one:

“Nyaima was not only easy to work with, but her communication was also excellent. She met every deadline, and also offered sound suggestions that added to the quality of each of our projects. Because of this, we were able to complete a project that generally takes six weeks in only four weeks.”

The details in this testimonial help you envision what it’s like to work with me. A potential client thinking about hiring me doesn’t have to guess how this other client benefited.

Tip #3. Pull on the Heartstrings

A heartfelt story can move even the most cold-hearted person.

Remember your favorite comic or fairy tale from your childhood, like Batman or Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs? Each sentence reeled you in, line-by-line. You could relate to Batman’s losing his parents or the horrific treatment of Snow White, and you wanted to know how those situations would end.

There’s a reason for this — psychologist Lani Peterson says people are wired to pay attention to narratives and stories.

Translation? Telling a good story — one that weaves in narrative elements that sparks emotion within the reader, making them want to keep reading and take action — is a great way to craft a persuasive testimonial readers can relate to.

When your prospect relates to your customer testimonials, they take a step closer to working with you. They think, “wow, I have the same problem, maybe they can help me too” or “I am stuck at the same place, maybe working with this person will give me similar results.”

And one of the best ways to capture genuine emotion and story elements is using video testimonials. When done well, they instantly build trust with potential clients.

Storytelling In Practice

Airbnb rocks storytelling in their series featuring Airbnb hosts. They successfully display the humanity of hosts that prospects can relate to:

youtube

Here is another masterful demonstration by Intel:

youtube

The story is so rich, you can barely tell it’s a testimonial.

Tip #4. Be Authentic (But Don’t be Boring)

Have you ever read a college dissertation?

No offense to the hard-working women and men who pour countless hours into them, but they are not my first choice to read. They’re dry, clinical, and cerebral — all the things you don’t want your testimonial to be.

Boring testimonials will put your prospects to sleep. And prospects who are asleep can’t take action.

But it’s not enough to simply not be boring. Your testimonial needs to be truthful and authentic too.

That means being genuine, sounding natural, and using conversational words. Your goal is to spark internal conversation within the reader. And to do that, every word in a testimonial must be true.

Remember, when someone reads a testimonial you want them to relate, they should say, “Man, he or she sounds just like me.”

That’s why slang works and stringent grammatical rules don’t have to be followed. As long as the point can be understood and it is not an unintentional typo, leave it alone. The flaw adds realness.

Authenticity In Practice

Here’s an effective testimonial that Smart Blogger’s Kevin J. Duncan gave to Henneke Duistermaat for her copywriting course:

From his testimonial, you can (accurately) surmise that Kevin has probably known Henneke for a while, which makes his words feel genuine.

Tip #5. Use the Right Testimonial, at the Right Time, in the Right Place

There are several types of testimonials, but I’m going to focus on the big three:

Persuasive Testimonials. These demonstrate the impact the service had on the client or customer.

Overcome Objections. These are testimonials that speak directly to common objections and diffuse them.

Success Stories. These are miniature case studies where people share positive outcomes and happy endings.

Though they share the common goal of reducing resistance, each type of testimonial is most effective in different circumstances.

The Right Time

If you want to defeat objections, implement testimonials that address potential resistance on your sales page.

If a prospect sees another customer had similar concerns that were overcome, it will boost their confidence that moving forward with you is a good choice.

The Right Place

Avoid old school testimonial pages.

Most people only scan websites, and few visitors make it to a testimonials page. This is why you want testimonials sprinkled throughout your site to solidify your marketing messages.

Best placement:

Homepage

Product page (think of Amazon)

Sales and landing pages

Most popular page of your site (other than your homepage)

Inside emails, newsletters, print materials, and blog posts

Right Time, Right Place In Practice

Ramit Sethi, best selling author and creator of I Will Teach You To Be Rich, is a master at strategic placement and timing. Check out how he addresses potential objections using testimonials in his email sales sequence:

By implementing the right timing and placement, you seem like a mind-reader, answering the questions and objections of your prospects, moving them one step further in your sales process.

Tip #6. The Art of the Ask

Knowing the structure and components of a good testimonial is fantastic, but it won’t matter if you don’t have any testimonials to share.

Testimonials don’t automatically come unless you ask for them or put a system in place to keep them rolling in.

Similar to sales, people get timid when it comes to asking for testimonials. They feel like they are being a nuisance. But when you deliver superb services to a client, this is a small ask.

Why not remove all friction points and make it easy for you and them?

Ramit does a good job minimizing pressure by providing a template when he asks someone for a testimonial. He understands that even though your satisfied customers want to help, they are busy, and may be plagued by blank screen syndrome. A plug-and-play template remedies that.

Another option is to simply write the testimonial yourself and ask the contact to revise it, as needed.

How to Ask for Testimonials

Ramit uses the following script to request testimonials:

Her Business gives clients a simple plug-and-play template to complete:

And this leads us to the final tip…

Tip #7. Automation Makes it Easy

Savvy entrepreneurs and business owners systemize and automate as much of the collection and writing of testimonials as possible.

So should you. Collecting testimonials should be embedded in your business.

For example, Marisa Murgatroyd has a system that gets her a steady flow of testimonials — the “ask” is embedded right into the completion of her courses.

Students provide a testimonial as part of their graduation process. This process has landed her over 700 pages of testimonials that she can use in every area of her marketing.

You don’t have to copy her exact method, of course. Every system will vary based on your particular business. The key is to take friction points away that may interfere with you getting great testimonials, and to automate as many parts of the process as possible.

It’s Time to Write Persuasive Testimonials

No matter who you are or what you do, a well-written testimonial is a powerful tool that can boost your credibility.

In this post, you learned about the proven structure of powerful testimonials, as well the essential ingredients needed to turn good testimonials into great ones.

Now it’s time to put what you learned into action.

Want to build trust with your readers? Want to boost your credibility to potential customers or clients?

Testimonials are the answer.

Go get them!

The post How to Write a Testimonial in 2020: 7 Tips (+ 9 Examples) appeared first on Smart Blogger.

from SEO and SM Tips https://smartblogger.com/how-to-write-a-testimonial/

0 notes

williamlwolf89 · 4 years

Text

How to Write a Testimonial in 2020: 7 Tips (+ 9 Examples)

Want to learn how to write a great testimonial? One that’ll build trust with readers and woo potential customers (or clients)?

In this handy guide, you’ll learn:

The proven structure your testimonials should follow to increase conversion rates and land more jobs;

The importance of statistics, storytelling, and authenticity;

How to ask someone for a testimonial;

And much more.

Let’s dig right in…

Tip #1. Follow a Proven Structure

Sometimes, the best way to identify “good” is to figure out what “bad” looks like.

So, what does a bad testimonial look like?

Well, bad testimonials usually make one or more of these mistakes:

They lack credibility. Who is “John”? What does he do? And why doesn’t he have a photo?

With this in mind, let’s go over the elements of a good, persuasive testimonial.

The Structure of a Great Testimonial

Good testimonials should include the person’s full name and photo. Adding their company name and what they do gives a testimonial additional credibility.

But the best testimonials also contain these four elements:

Clarity. They paint a clear before and after picture.

Purposefulness. They guide the reader towards an action.

Positivity. A testimonial isn’t a snarky review on TripAdvisor or Amazon — you want people to be honest, but you want the overall tone to be optimistic.

Focus. Don’t ramble. Stay on point.

Examples of Testimonials With Good Structure

Here’s an example of great testimonial structure from Marisa Mugatroyd’s Live Your Message:

Full name and photo? Check. Clear, purposeful, positive, and focused? Definitely.

Here’s another good testimonial example (from Ahrefs’ newly-revamped homepage):

Both of these testimonial examples nail the basics.

Yours should too.

Tip #2. Be Specific With Details

Words and phrases like “way up” and “it was good” are ambiguous and can mean anything.

Did an article get over 10,000 tweets and LinkedIn shares on social media? Did revenue increase by 30%?

Don’t be vague — if it’s so, say so. Testimonials with statistics are excellent social proof.

But keep in mind:

Statistics aren’t the only way to add details to a testimonial.

Details In Practice

Let’s compare two testimonials I’ve received:

“Nyaima was pleasant to work with. I would work with her again.”

That’s nice, but does this testimonial really tell you anything? Not really. Compare it to this one:

The details in this testimonial help you envision what it’s like to work with me. A potential client thinking about hiring me doesn’t have to guess how this other client benefited.

Tip #3. Pull on the Heartstrings

A heartfelt story can move even the most cold-hearted person.

There’s a reason for this — psychologist Lani Peterson says people are wired to pay attention to narratives and stories.

And one of the best ways to capture genuine emotion and story elements is using video testimonials. When done well, they instantly build trust with potential clients.

Storytelling In Practice

Airbnb rocks storytelling in their series featuring Airbnb hosts. They successfully display the humanity of hosts that prospects can relate to:

youtube

Here is another masterful demonstration by Intel:

youtube

The story is so rich, you can barely tell it’s a testimonial.

Tip #4. Be Authentic (But Don’t be Boring)

Have you ever read a college dissertation?

Boring testimonials will put your prospects to sleep. And prospects who are asleep can’t take action.

But it’s not enough to simply not be boring. Your testimonial needs to be truthful and authentic too.

That means being genuine, sounding natural, and using conversational words. Your goal is to spark internal conversation within the reader. And to do that, every word in a testimonial must be true.

Remember, when someone reads a testimonial you want them to relate, they should say, “Man, he or she sounds just like me.”

Authenticity In Practice

Here’s an effective testimonial that Smart Blogger’s Kevin J. Duncan gave to Henneke Duistermaat for her copywriting course:

From his testimonial, you can (accurately) surmise that Kevin has probably known Henneke for a while, which makes his words feel genuine.

Tip #5. Use the Right Testimonial, at the Right Time, in the Right Place

There are several types of testimonials, but I’m going to focus on the big three:

Persuasive Testimonials. These demonstrate the impact the service had on the client or customer.

Overcome Objections. These are testimonials that speak directly to common objections and diffuse them.

Success Stories. These are miniature case studies where people share positive outcomes and happy endings.

Though they share the common goal of reducing resistance, each type of testimonial is most effective in different circumstances.

The Right Time

If you want to defeat objections, implement testimonials that address potential resistance on your sales page.

If a prospect sees another customer had similar concerns that were overcome, it will boost their confidence that moving forward with you is a good choice.

The Right Place

Avoid old school testimonial pages.

Most people only scan websites, and few visitors make it to a testimonials page. This is why you want testimonials sprinkled throughout your site to solidify your marketing messages.

Best placement:

Homepage

Product page (think of Amazon)

Sales and landing pages

Most popular page of your site (other than your homepage)

Inside emails, newsletters, print materials, and blog posts

Right Time, Right Place In Practice

By implementing the right timing and placement, you seem like a mind-reader, answering the questions and objections of your prospects, moving them one step further in your sales process.

Tip #6. The Art of the Ask

Knowing the structure and components of a good testimonial is fantastic, but it won’t matter if you don’t have any testimonials to share.

Testimonials don’t automatically come unless you ask for them or put a system in place to keep them rolling in.

Similar to sales, people get timid when it comes to asking for testimonials. They feel like they are being a nuisance. But when you deliver superb services to a client, this is a small ask.

Why not remove all friction points and make it easy for you and them?

Another option is to simply write the testimonial yourself and ask the contact to revise it, as needed.

How to Ask for Testimonials

Ramit uses the following script to request testimonials:

Her Business gives clients a simple plug-and-play template to complete:

And this leads us to the final tip…

Tip #7. Automation Makes it Easy

Savvy entrepreneurs and business owners systemize and automate as much of the collection and writing of testimonials as possible.

So should you. Collecting testimonials should be embedded in your business.

For example, Marisa Murgatroyd has a system that gets her a steady flow of testimonials — the “ask” is embedded right into the completion of her courses.

Students provide a testimonial as part of their graduation process. This process has landed her over 700 pages of testimonials that she can use in every area of her marketing.

It’s Time to Write Persuasive Testimonials

No matter who you are or what you do, a well-written testimonial is a powerful tool that can boost your credibility.

In this post, you learned about the proven structure of powerful testimonials, as well the essential ingredients needed to turn good testimonials into great ones.

Now it’s time to put what you learned into action.

Want to build trust with your readers? Want to boost your credibility to potential customers or clients?

Testimonials are the answer.

Go get them!

The post How to Write a Testimonial in 2020: 7 Tips (+ 9 Examples) appeared first on Smart Blogger.

from SEO and SM Tips https://smartblogger.com/how-to-write-a-testimonial/

0 notes

gplusbfics · 7 years

Text

“The Wire” - Synopsis

The following synopsis is from Deep Space Nine magazine Vol. 9 (1994). “The Wire” was written by Robert Hewitt Wolfe. Synopsis is by John Sayers. I will be posting the photos from this again separately. I will also be sharing the one for “Crossover,” which appeared in the same issue. -Wendy

On the Promenade of Station DS9, Dr. Julian Bashir and his enigmatic acquaintance, Garak -- the "plain and simple" Cardassian tailor -- walk towards the Replimat for their weekly lunch. As they discuss Cardassian literature -- for which the Starfleet Lieutenant has yet to develop a taste -- Garak experiences several spasms of headache-like pain, which piques the Doctor's medical curiosity.

But when Bashir suggests a trip to the Infirmary, the Cardassian's usual charming demeanor turns sour. "There's nothing wrong with me that a little peace and privacy wouldn't cure," Garak barks, and storms off -- leaving Bashir looking after him in curiosity and concern.

Afterwards, Bashir discusses the incident with Jadzia Dax while attempting to diagnose an ailing house plant. He can use the station's medical database to treat the foreign flora, but his records are woefully inadequate when it comes to Cardassians. Bashir's professional pride is also wounded when Garak won't come to him for medical help.

The Cardassian tailor turns not to his occasional luncheon companion, but to Quark for aid. Bashir only catches the end of their conversation, but it's obvious that the Ferengi will be making some sort of illicit transaction on Garak's behalf.

Later, during a conversation with Chief O'Brien, Bashir is summoned to Quark's Bar, where Garak is on his third bottle of Ferengi booze. "Anyone who talks about the numbing effects of liquor," Garak says, in considerable pain, "is severely overstating the case."

Bashir tries to coax the Cardassian to his office, but Garak will have none of it -- until he collapses to the floor in agony. The Doctor beams them both to the Infirmary -- where scans show a small, artificial implant embedded deep within Garak's brain. Constable Odo can offer no insight into the device's purpose, but agrees with Bashir that Quark may know more. "Quark has sent several coded messages to Cardassia Prime in the past few days," Odo says.

The pair monitor the Ferengi's latest transmission -- to a Cardassian military operative named Boheeka, an old friend from the Occupation. Quark offers to pay him handsomely in return for some Cardassian bio-technology. But when Boheeka enters the requisition code for the item, he freezes in horror. "Quark, you idiot!" he cries. "It's for classified bio-technology -- even the cursed number is classified!" The request will be traced back to him by the Obsidian Order.

At the mention of the name, Quark abruptly ends the transmission. Odo explains the mysterious Order to a curious Bashir. "They're the ever-vigilant eyes and ears of the Cardassian Empire," he notes, even surpassing the ruthless, information-gathering efficiency of the Romulan Tal Shiar. If Garak's implant is some sort of Order-related punishment, then why is he trying to obtain another one?

The questions will go unanswered for now. When Dr. Bashir returns to the lnfirmary, Garak is gone. Bashir finds his patient in his quarters, in the process of injecting enough anesthetic to knock out ten men. "Not nearly enough, I'm afraid," comments the agonized Garak.

Bashir reports that Quark couldn't get the item he requested. "Really? That's most distressing," Garak replies, his charming facade finally crumbling under the pain and hopelessness. When he goes to inject himself with a fatal overdose of the pain-killer, Bashir intervenes, revealing his knowledge of the implant. When he suggests that it's some sort of punishment device, Garak can only choke out an ironic laugh.

"On Cardassia, I was entrusted with certain information," Garak reveals, "that needed to be kept safe, regardless of the situation. My implant was given to me by Enabran Tain himself, the head of the Obsidian Order. If I was ever tortured, it was designed to stimulate the pleasure centers of my brain to trigger the production of vast amounts of natural endorphins."

The device malfunctioned, he notes, because it was never meant for continuous use. "Living on this station is torture for me, Doctor. The temperature is always too cold, the lights, always too bright. Every Bajoran looks at me with loathing and contempt. So, one day, I decided I couldn't live with it anymore. And I took the pain away."

Garak activated the implant, first for only a few minutes each day, then for longer and longer periods. "Finally, I just turned it on and never shut it off." That was two years ago. Now, the implant is breaking down, and Garak's body has become dependent on the higher endorphin levels generated by the unit.

But Bashir won't let Garak give up to whomever has exiled him on D59. "Has it ever occurred to you," the Cardassian asks him, "that I might be getting exactly what I deserve?"

"No one deserves this," Bashir says.

"Oh please, Doctor!" Garak sarcastically exclaims. "I'm suffering enough without having to listen to your smug Federation sympathy! And you think that because we have lunch together once a week, you know me? You couldn't even begin to fathom what I am capable of!"

"I'm a doctor," Bashir says evenly. "You're my patient. That's all I need to know."

Garak tells Bashir the story of his days as a Gul in the Cardassian Mechanized Infantry, when Bajorans under his custody escaped to a Cardassian shuttle bound for Terok Nor. Garak's aide, Elim, boarded the shuttle to stop it, but the captain wouldn't comply. "So I had the shuttle destroyed, killing the escapees, Elim, and 97 Cardassian civilians" -- plus the daughter of a prominent Cardassian. He was stripped of his rank and exiled.

But Bashir is uninterested in his patient's past. His duty is to heal. He finally persuades Garak to let him shut off the implant. Bashir sets up his medical equipment in Garak's quarters and begins a long vigil, waiting for his unconscious patient to recover. Bashir even denies Odo's request that Garak be awakened to be interrogated about past unsolved murders.

Hours later, Bashir is roused from a half-sleep to find Garak silting up on his bed, sobbing. His depression turns quickly to rage as his body reels from the withdrawal of the pleasure-creating endorphins. "There was a time, Doctor," Garak rails, "when I was a power. The protege of Enabran Tain himself. Do you have any idea what that means? Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand -- my future was limitless. Until I threw it away."

Garak didn't shoot down the shuttle, as he had told Bashir before. On the eve of Cardassian withdrawal, he and Elim were interrogating five Bajoran children, when "suddenly, the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless. All I wanted was a hot bath and a good meal. So, I let them go."

He failed his duty and destroyed everything he had worked for, causing his exile. "And left me to live out my days with nothing to look forward to but having lunch with you." As Bashir tries to calm him down, Garak's rage erupts, and the two wrestle about the quarters until the Cardassian collapses.

Bashir and the emergency med team stabilize him, but the doctor remains puzzled. "I shut down the implant. It can't be affecting his blood chemistry, yet toxins are accumulating in his lymphatic nodes," he notes. After studying Garak's readouts, Bashir finally finds the problem -- the molecular structure of Garak's leukocyte cells has been altered, causing the blood toxins.

The only way to correct the problem would be to synthesize new cells. But with no reliable Cardassian medical data, the process could take weeks -- and Garak has only days. Reactivating the implant could keep the Cardassian alive for a few weeks longer, but a groggy Garak rises from his sickbed, his rage spent, to forbid it.

"You've done enough, Doctor, more than I deserve," he says. "There's something you have to know ... the truth."

"I've about given up on learning the truth from you, Garak," Bashir smiles.

"Elim wasn't my aide," the Cardassian reveals. "He was my friend. We grew up together, we were closer than brothers. For some reason, Enabran Tain took a liking to us. Before long, we were both powerful men in the Obsidian Order. They called us the Sons of Tain -- even the Guls feared us." But then, scandal. Some member of the Order was accused of letting some Bajoran prisoners escape. Tain could do nothing to protect Garak, as he had retired to the Arawath Colony.

"So, I panicked. I did everything in my power to make sure that Elim was accused instead of me. I altered records, planted evidence -- only to discover that he'd beaten me to it." Elim had betrayed him first. Garak was sent into exile. "And the irony is, I deserved it. Not for the reasons they claimed, but because of what I had tried to do to Elim, my best friend."

"Why are you telling me this, Garak?" Bashir asks.

"So that you can forgive me, why else?" Garak tells him, sincerely. "I need to know that someone forgives me."

"I forgive you, for whatever it is you did."

"Thank you, Doctor. That's most kind."

As Bashir complies, the Cardassian falls again into unconsciousness. The Doctor decides to head for the Arawath Colony -- "to find the man responsible for this."

After a journey in a runabout, Bashir arrives at the home of Enabran Tain, former head of the Obsidian Order, who addresses him by name and knows all about his journey -- even Bashir's taste in tea. The cheerful, grandfatherly figure has even made sure Bashir's entry into Cardassian space was met by a less hostile reception than he might have expected. Although retired, "I try to keep informed on current events," Tain chuckles.

When Bashir tells Tain that Garak is dying -- and he's trying to save him, the wily Cardassian can only shake his head. "Strange. I thought you were his friend."

"I suppose I am."

"Then you should let him die," Tain says. "After all, for Garak, a life in exile is no life at all."

Nevertheless, Bashir contends that his job is to save lives. He asks Tain for information on Cardassian biochemistry that would let him synthesize replacements for Garak's damaged blood cells. "Besides, you're the one who ordered him to put that implant in his head, aren't you?"

"I never had to order Garak to do anything," Tain notes. "That's what made him special." Oddly, Tain agrees to Bashir's request -- but not for kindly reasons. "He doesn't deserve a quick death," the old man spits. "On the contrary, I want him to live a long, miserable life. I want him to grow old on that station, surrounded by people who hate him, knowing that he'll never come home again."

Whatever the motivation, Bashir is grateful to be able to help his friend. But he has one question before he beams out, regarding Garak's friend Elim. At the mention of the name, Enabran Tain only laughs. "That man has a rare gift for obfuscation. Doctor, Elim is Garak's first name."

Days later, Dr. Bashir pokes glumly at his lunch in the Replimat when he's unexpectedly joined by a fully recovered, amiable Garak, who asks about lunch as if the events of the past few weeks had never happened. "I, for one, Doctor, am perfectly satisfied with the way things turned out. And I see no need to dwell on what was doubtlessly a difficult time for both of us." He also notes that he has informed Constable Odo that he was completely mistaken about his impression that Garak was ever a member of the Obsidian Order.

As a kind of thanks, Garak gives Bashir more Cardassian literature to peruse. But Bashir won't let go of the pursuit of truth. "Out of all the stories you told me," he asks a smiling Garak, "which ones were true and which ones weren't?"

"My dear Doctor," the Cardassian replies, "they're all true."

"Even the lies?"

"Especially the lies."

The End

#the wire #elim garak #julian bashir #ds9 #star trek ds9 #deep space nine #star trek #andrew robinson #alexander siddig

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