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fuzzydreamin · 7 months

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politely requesting Deacon bingo👀

🕶 Deacon! Wee!

I have a bit of a love/hate with Deacon, but it always ends in love. He's just so infuriating sometimes, but also it's all the stuff that makes him great. He's just so interesting as a character.

For one, he's a terrible liar. Your Sole has enough charisma and they can see through him like he's a sandwhich bag. I know his whole point is the "you can't trust everyone" bit, but he really makes it hard to trust him despite that being the goal.

There's also the thing where, despite needing your trust for his plans to work, he doesn't actually want it because he's afraid to be trusted. And he knows he sure as hell doesn't deserve it.

You see, his small lies are dumb and easy to catch - but his big lies aren't. Hell, even after all these years I hardly see the fandom talk about his biggest lie - or rather, a lie by omission. The game gives you the information, but it doesn't let you call him out on it, so I think that's why people miss it. You read it, probably not because it's not required, maybe skim over it only, and move on.

That lie of course being that Deacon very likely already knew Shaun was an old man, and the leader of the Institute. It's all vaguely laid out in the Railroad's mission terminal, which the player can't access until visiting the Institute for the first time and already having to experience that shock without preperation. So, why say nothing? Well, because you can't trust everyone. Who's to say the shock wouldn't make Sole give up and run off, to stop helping the Railroad with their goals? Or even side with their evil asshole of a son? Is he wrong? No. But he's not kind to hide it. He's not your friend for doing so.

Deacon is the kind of person to put his mission first, always. And he should. But it ends up hurting people. There's a reason the level-headed companions all tell you not to trust him - he gets people killed. Hell, he's probably killed old partners and potential double agents before. He'd try to kill you if you turned into a threat - that's canon if you go the Institute route. He's right, of course, but he's not a safe person to befriend for that reason. Because he doesn't have friends. He can't.

But Deacon does have kindness in him. He's a very kind person truly. Just one that is capable of doing terrible things for his goals. The line between Deacons kindness, what he's willing to do to get a mission done and ensure the safety of the Railroad, and the facets of him that aren't kind, are all so interesting.

Did you know he's robophobic? He enjoys Sole telling robots that their place is below humans -like telling the Greygarden robots that they simply need humans to be successful. He doesn't like or trust PAM, and wanted to deactivate her. All of his interactions with robots are him using them as a prop in one of his jokes, sometimes not even actually acknowledging them at all. A directors note within his dialogue reveals that he doesn't think Gen2's should be saved. When he kills them he's just upset that Glory will be sad. It's not about them and their potential feelings or rights.

It makes his history with Barbara more likely to be true - because he does hold bigotry, even still, and he didn't choose to change on his own. Not fully. Not because he was already a good person, or to help altruistically. He was scouted out after revenge-killing his gang, and had nothing else to do with his life aside from getting lost in chems and alcohol. A big part of it is him making up for being one of those bad people in the first place. For the harm he's done. For the harm he's sure he can never repay. But that still makes it about him, not the people. He has a selfish reason for being selfless. He's still helping, of course, but the mentality behind it is what's so fascinating. Does his true motivations lessen the end result? What makes a person good? Can a person ever make up for their bad actions? It is for anyone to decide? We can forgive him, but would his victims? Would the sentient androids and robots that he casts aside for not being human enough think he's a good person?

There's also the fact that he's given his whole life to the Railroad. If he's John D then he likely joined the Railroad in his 20's and is currently in his late 40's. The person he was before joining is gone - hell, he's hardly any person at all currently. He's just an agent. Whatever he needs to be to get the job done. Even when the Institute is taken down, he's going to need years to unpack his past and find out who he is now. How he's meant to move on from there.

He's not romancable because he isn't a real person. Because you can't date someone who doesn't exist. Who doesn't even know who they are, who could change what they are in an instant. Or turn on you because he's sunk everything into his goal and won't let anything destroy that -not even love. You can't properly love someone without also loving yourself enough to allow it, and he just doesn't know that person. So he won't. Even if he feels a connection, he'd sooner sever it and run, because that's a liability.

He wanted kids once, his dialogue implies he's still rather fond of them, but he's probably never going to have them, because his time for that is running out. At best he gets to play fun uncle with synth Shaun.

Deacon literally has nothing after the story is done. If the Institute is gone and the synths are free, is he a hero? Or just a ghost? He could stick around with the Railroad and help the remaining synths find safe homes, but that was never his role in their organisation. He has a name and a face that aren't his, but is he willing to change them now that he might finally have a friend in Sole? What will that mean to him, if he's just living for someone else then? Is he still not himself if he does? What will he do? Will he become a teacher? Retire somewhere quiet and raise molerats? He doesn't know, there's no time to think about it until it comes - and that's a lot to think about. That's his whole reason for being gone.

He's all mixed up like a ball of yarn, and I think it's fun to pull at the threads and see what comes loose or tightens up elsewhere.

#fallout #fallout 4 #deacon #fuzzy.post #went on a bit of a rant for this one #I do like Deacon quite a bit #just wanna punch him sometimes then bundle him up in blankets with warm cocoa others

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baladric · 1 year

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For the writer ask meme!! 🎀 🪄 💌 (I wanted to ask everything but I showed restraint- if 3 is too many just do one or two ok love yooouuu)

hey i LOVE u :')

fic writer ask meme!

🎀 Give yourself a compliment about your own writing

oh boy hmmM well hey there little guy, you sure can write a sentence that punches people in the face!!!!! and you're very good at naming ocs, and your worldbuilding gets lusher and lovelier every time you sit down with it!!!

🪄 What is your post-writing/sharing aftercare? How do you take care of yourself or celebrate yourself when you've finished a fic?

answered here!

💌 Share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

i say it a lot and i KNOW y'all always tell me to hush but i feel SO BAD that all i ever wanna talk about is pirate au, and yet there's nothing out here for anyone to READ!! STILL!!! nearly a year later!!!!! but it's so in progress, and it only gets better, and i literally cannot wait to tie off the first draft and start the editing pass to make it cohesive from the start—at which point we'll start posting it! like post as we edit kind of a thing!!

so. i mean. UH. HERE'S A FUCKIn PREQUEL PIRATE FICLET IN ITS ENTIRETY a;ldkfjwl;f shhhhh nobody tell celebros i shared her xmas present before we posted the fic (jk she reads my tumblr)

He did not know why he was surprised, but all told, it took a good long while for sailing to become fun. He had theories, of course—six years of running wild with only Freja to impose a schedule had evidently done a number on his habits—and now there were work shifts to keep track of, and problems to solve with only one right answer (“When in doubt, call for Sozu or Arnezha or Iölo or me or literally anyone other than Sinker, I beg of thee, darling.”) There were knots to learn—a startling discovery, as he had thought he knew them all already—and terminologies and what do you mean, there are two ships?

Simply put, it was a lot, and Maia took care not to harbor regrets, but it was occurring to him in drips and drabs that this was maybe a teeny tiny little bit of a mistake. That, perhaps, Shaleän had been right, and he was not necessarily cut out for the sailing life. That maybe Paris had had a point when he hinted that Maia could have been of just as much help (if not more) at home, with Freja.

He was tired and he was sore in places he hadn’t known he owned and he missed his warm little bed in Freja’s warm little cottage and this was all just so strange. Idolatry was a child’s game in which he had seriously overinvested, and now it was like being struck over the head to realize that Shaleän on her gilded pedestal was a criminal—a pirate, the King of pirates.

He’d had an inkling, of course, but it was one thing to fantasize about his rake of an aunt, the glint of her saber raised in the battle cry, and another to stumble across a frightened goblin child in the same cargo hold in which he himself had hidden not two days before, her hair shorn in a servant’s crop and one of her ears notched in a clear sign of past cruelty. It had been another thing entirely to calm her down and bring her to Shaleän, propped on his hip, his collar still damp from her tears, and learn that she was part of a matched set squirreled away in a secret room on the ship, and that her mother was as yet too deep in the megrims that sometimes stole over a person whose situation has taken a sudden, hopeful turn to keep a proper eye on her michen.

Was this smuggling? Soul trafficking?

“No,” Shaleän had said, her frown heavy and fitting far too well on her face; lines Maia had attributed solely to her broad, bright grin suddenly made more sense. Frown lines. Scowl lines, like wheel ruts worn into the hard-packed earth of her. “It is liberation, Maia. We offer what freedom is available in this blighted world to the people who need it most, and my only regret is that I cannot give it to everyone suffering under the weight of man’s cruelty and greed.”

So, he was… adjusting, one could say. In light of the insistence with which he had forced his way into this world—onto Shaleän’s ship, into Shaleän’s so-called business—he found this struggle to be more than a little embarrassing.

It was not fun—it was work. Good work. Work with an undeniably positive influence on the world, regardless of who might label the unlicensed liberation of indentured servants a crime.

Maia brought a smile to the fugitive Min Pallared’s face within an hour of meeting her properly (And Cstheio Cairei, was the hold in which they hid their refugees small) and it was work, but he felt that spark of light as a tectonic shift in the bedrock of his soul. Paris was wrong—he could help here, without a sword. And so he did it again with their next lot of escapees—a family of Telvar, whose anxious tails and too-wide eyes made Maia sick to his stomach in the imagining of the lifetime of cruelty required to so damage them. They reminded him too much of himself, those first few months away from Edonomee, and when he laid in his hammock between shifts and caretaking duties, he could not help but sink into gruesome thoughts of what he himself would have become, had he been left to Setheris’ cruel hands for a lifetime.

It was work, to be sure, but he had never felt so alive as he did in those first months aboard that two-faced ship.

All around him were people, storied and vibrant, and he doubted he would ever tire of cracking them open, that they might tell him of their families, their dreams, lost loves and the folklore that belongs to single blood lines. Sozu Khalamar and his grandmother’s insistence on the ill omens of curdling milk. Sinker Shipsblight and the long string of willful calamities that had earned him his moniker, and the respect of Paris. Iölo Marin and her repeating dream of sprouting wings to fly away from everything she had ever known.

And, of course, there was the music. He had not expected the music.

Sometimes, as they drew to the end of a hard sail, Paris would turn a blind eye to the halving of the usual night shift in favor of a sleepy skeleton crew abovedecks, and everyone else would retreat to the ship’s galley and drain the last kegs of ale dry. It was a raucous thing, everyone thoroughly soused, and then someone would start singing—Sinker, usually, lusty and loud as the south wind.

The repertoire were things Maia had heard before, having spent nearly half his life in sailing communities: rowing songs, shanties, bawdy ballads. He knew the tunes to most of them, if not the lyrics—and the ones he did not know came to him quickly.

Almost six months on, he felt he had nearly gotten the hang of it all. He could scale the mizzenmast in sixty seconds, rarely got tangled up in all the different words for wind, and could wail a bawdy drinking song with the best of them.

They had just finished one such song, and Maia’s cheeks were hot with drink and the youthful embarrassment of singing about breasts with a zealous lot of sailors on a dry spell and a trio of especially fervent marnai. He was fully considering tapping out from the excitement of it all, when someone cried over the merry shouting of the men, “Let’s have Maia lead one!”

The roar that rose at the idea was a thing of beauty. It sped Maia’s pulse, for he doubted that even an ocean’s worth of ale could fake such unmistakeable delight. The clamor rang of something like acceptance, and Maia was helpless to resist the hands that chivvied him to stand atop the swaying table.

Someone pressed a fresh flagon of ale into his hand, and he heard shouts of “Let’s have it, lad!” and “Put thy chest into it, sprout!” as well as a clangor of song requests—and, so dizzied, Maia startled himself as much as everyone else by belting out the opening call of his favorite shanty:

“Ye nations have your princes, you kingdoms have your kings,

But we who set to sail the sea

Bow only to the Wind!”

Laughter and cheers of recognition met the first bit of the tune, and though his voice shook with sudden nerves at the start, by the time he reached the chorus, he had built to a jubilant shout. He raised his flagon as all joined in the singing.

“So follow me, lads,” the crew of the Glorious Dragon wailed as one voice, and Maia stomped the tabletop with all his might.

“‘Fore he storms upon the fray!

Corat’ will whip you down to dust

And blow you straight away!”

The beating of fists and stomping of feet raised the beat of The Ballad of King Corat’, and Maia did not think he had ever smiled as hard as he did then, singing of his legendary aunt, the King of Pirates.

“The baron sees no bloodshed, the emperor no rain,

But the Serpent King who skims the sea

Reigns only over pain!”

The men howled, and a jostling in the crowd caught Maia’s attention—the crew shifting to give Shaleän, Corat’ herself, space as she waded towards the table, her grin a rakish slash of white in the warm dimness of the galley. Maia beamed and reached to haul her up beside him, and they stomped out the chorus together, arms around shoulders.

“So follow me lads!

‘Fore we heel to his domain!

Corat’ will crush us down to dust

And rinse us down the drain!”

“Your krakens and your sirens,” Maia sang, thrilled as Shaleän joined him, her voice rough and far from tuneful.

“Your leviathans and all

Know better than to raise a hand

To Cruelty the Squall!”

She clashed her flagon to his, dousing them both thoroughly in ale, and Maia did not know if he had ever been so happy in his life. It was such a simple feeling, yet so large that it brimmed over all of his shakily sketched borders, rendering him a jubilant creature in Shaleän’s tight grip.

“So follow me, lads!

‘Fore he finds us in a pall!

Corat’ will strike us down to dust

And spell a fell downfall!”

And so they sang and stomped and crowed for the whole sprawl of verses, telling a blazing tale of Shaleän’s conquests—and her pressed to his side all the while, loud and calamitous and alive alive alive. The both of them, so very, wildly alive.

Maia’s voice was shot by the end and his blood ran hot with a palpable sense of belonging unlike anything he had ever felt. Joy, repeating. Life, glorious and wretched and reeking of too many people in too small a space.

Shaleän embraced him then, like she knew what brilliant cacophony was brewing in his chest. Like it was the work of her life to hold him in one piece, whether the shaking be a thing of joy, or of grief.

“I love thee, my heart,” she murmured for him alone. “More than every jewel in thy Lady’s starry sky.”

“Oh,” Maia said—a silly thing, for he had long known the timbre of his aunt’s love. It was only that having this talented, determined crew respond to him with nothing but delight in their collective voices had stripped him raw, and it brought to the surface that little part of him that still curled into a protective ball when he slept. And that part was ever so hungry for all Shaleän and her crew offered.

“I love thee, too,” he replied, squeezing her tight enough that she gave a little Oof of surprise. “More than the whole sea.”

“More than the mermaids?”

“More than every blessed fucking fish in the place.”

Their laughter was lost beneath the clamor of their crew, which was just fine with them.

#aj answers #himbohaggins #ask meme #ask #the writing tag #maia's a pirate now #;alskdfjawl;kfdjw IDK GUYS I WANT EVERYONE TO CARE ABOUT THIS FUCKING STORY AS MUCH AS I DO

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michelleelizabethtanner · 1 year

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Super love your work! I know you get lots of asks, but I was really curious so I hope you don't mind answering another question. Dean said he and Stan had known each other for 20 years or something like that in season 4. Do you think they were friends first before he met Ruby and Beth? And how come we never heard any lip from Stan to Dean about him cheating? You've mentioned before that at the end of the show, Ruby is in the same position as Beth was when the show started, meaning Stan kind of became her Dean (to a lesser extent because ew, no one else in the show is that bad lol). What do you make of Stan, this supposed law-abiding goody-two-shoes, seemingly letting Dean's bullshit slide?

I guess what I am trying to understand is if these 4 people who have known each other for years were all friends before or did they each become "friends" through their spouses? Because Stan sure as hell could not care less about Beth and Dean doesn't seem to give that much of a fuck about Ruby.

And I want to understand why the hell someone like Stan was ever friends with Dean or why he would entertain continuing that friendship post pilot episode. I can understand his reasons for distancing himself from Beth in season 4, but I cannot wrap my head around why he'll stay friends with Dean.

I would love to hear your thoughts!

Ooo, these are such good thoughts, Anon! And I appreciate the ask and your kind words! I’ve definitely spent time contemplating this and running the gamut of emotions about Stan and his complicity in excusing and enabling toxic male behavior. As with most inexplicable behaviors and dynamics on the show, I think it’s much more layered and complicated than this dramedy showed us. I truly will never understand how they set up these extremely thought-provoking characters and situations and then just focussed on the dumbest things!!! Why not explore some of these concepts that actually impact society and people would find relatable?

Basically, I don’t think the Hills and the Bolands ever lived in the same universe. The Beth/Ruby relationship seems extremely disproportionate to me, with Ruby playing the sidekick to Beth’s constant need. Ruby has always represented an escape from Beth’s abusive home life. So did Dean, but Ruby actually loved Beth, which created this transactional relationship between them where Ruby constantly was earning her keep by making Beth the priority. In every situation we’ve been shown as these two women grew up together, Ruby and Beth participated in each other’s lives on Beth’s terms.

And again, this is difficult to really pinpoint because we were shown so little, but why was absolutely nothing shown of Stan and Ruby when they were young? I think it speaks volumes that the three “main characters” were all given histories except Stan and Ruby, who are explained in the broadest strokes possible and we are given no flashbacks of who they used to be before their adult lives. Hence all your questions, Anon. Ruby exists on the show in her sole purpose of propping up Beth, and that’s how I’m viewing their relationship.

That being said, consider the world Stan was living in. To him, Ruby is the star. He and Ruby are the primary relationship. Their dreams, their family, THAT’S what matters. And he was very patient throughout their lives as Ruby made Beth an enormous priority, in ways that Beth didn’t appear to fully reciprocate. I don’t think Stan and Dean were besties in high school. I think they knew each other. Dean was sporty. Arrogant. A jock. Stan was probably kinda nerdy. He doesn’t appear to be from an especially privileged background. Dean was from an obviously very wealthy, WASPy family who (I’m just gonna say it) probably wouldn’t have welcomed Stan or Ruby with open arms. How could that have ever been a proportionate friendship? How could Beth’s life becoming more and more like the Boland’s life have ever been something Stan would embrace or feel any personal accountability to?

Beth modeled her very being after Judith. Who else would have been her role model? Her own mother was a source of shame and trauma for her. She viewed Dean as a way out. His family was the “right” kind of family. His family is how you’re “supposed to be.” Beth became Judith. Hence why she resented Judith so much. Because she was always defensive and always made to feel like Dean did her a favor, rescuing her from her problematic home. No matter how much she tried to cover it, she was always that girl from the dirty house with the empty refrigerator, with the wild sister with broken limbs because no one was watching them or taking care of them.

So while understandable why Beth wanted out and why she wanted to build this pristine life, that life was modeled after a history that directly opposed people like Stan and Ruby. Beth either ignored it or, more likely, didn’t even see it. Because she didn’t live that reality. Ruby probably felt it, but she loved Beth so it was just how things were. Stan, I imagine, felt that resentment much more acutely. He never made the choice to worship the Bolands. Ruby did. And he went with it because he loved Ruby. But when Dean inevitably became what rich white men become, Stan didn’t say anything. Because it wasn’t a surprise and it wasn’t his responsibility to deal with. He had already put up with enough of the Boland privilege. He couldn’t have been expected to then step in to rescue this woman who made her own bed and chose to lie in it. Beth’s traumas, while valid and still traumas, aren’t the only traumas in the world. Ruby and Stan lived in an entire world not built for them, and spent their time smiling through it. So to Stan, if this white woman can so easily excuse the casual racism of their everyday lives, why would she not also excuse the casual infidelity of her own husband? I imagine he just figured that’s what these people are. Blindly privileged and complicit in their own downfalls because of their entitled complacency.

I don’t really see Stan as EVER being Dean’s “friend.” Not in the way friendships are reciprocal and invested relationships. Stan became someone Dean leaned on because he didn’t have anyone else. Stan resented Beth so much by season 4 that he just went along with anything that would get the Bolands out of his life. And the funny thing is, the shock on Beth’s face as Stan finally aired his resentments showed that she had absolutely no idea that she wasn’t the star in his life. That he didn’t appreciate having to sacrifice for her whims – not just in crime, but ALL their lives. They tell the story of how Ruby called Beth when she went into labor with Sarah before she called Stan. That isn’t a cute or funny story. That is a story of a privileged woman holding power over Stan’s wife and control over Stan’s very life. Who wouldn’t be resentful of that?

So this kind of went on a little. Sorry about that. This is just how I view these two couples and their history. There is no way to avoid consequences of social inequities when they are everyone’s reality. I think the show could have taken some “risks” and actually explored these topics instead of burying them under ridiculous side plots and unnecessary comic relief. Beth’s casual racism extends to many of her relationships, including the one with Rio. She wanted to be a leader in his operation while actively holding herself above the people making that operation happen. This is a theme and a lived experience I think most of us can relate to in some way and can think consciously about as we watch these fictional relationships flail in the wind.

#The Hills vs The Bolands #Why Stan hates Beth #why Dean gets the exuses to keep being Dean #why Beth was also complicit #why Beth and Rio can never be a true partnership unless she recognizes her privilege over him #why the Beth/Ruby relationship is the heartbreak of the story #privilege #good girls nbc #asks

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xgodsxplayhousex · 1 month

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@blccdiedhands asked: ❝ i love you just like this. i love you when you touch me gently like no one else ever has. and i love you when your hands are bloody and your knuckles are bruised. ❞ (tomoe)

What was this life? What was the MEANING of this life? Sometimes Hyunwoo wondered. A LOT of the time, Hyunwoo wondered… Surely, there was a time in his life when Hyunwoo felt… NORMAL… When his life wasn’t… THIS… Tomoe Enjou wasn’t the ONLY ONE Soren Araya had trapped in an endless loop… If only the people knew just how deep his machinations ran… How many times had he killed himself? How many times had SHE killed him? How many times had he watched HER die? By HER hands? He was just a punk. No one could love a punk. Hyunwoo truly believed that. Truly believed that his life had no meaning. That he himself had no one to care for, and no one who cared for him in turn… Oh, how quickly such a thing could change… How quickly ONE PERSON’S LOVE, or, no, perhaps not even their love… How quickly ONE PERSON’S PASSION -- Passion for the PEOPLE he was so SURE he loved… How quickly that could change one’s perspective… There remained still much to be said, between Tomoe Enjou and Jang Hyunwoo. Much they themselves had not yet said. Everyone had their story. Everyone had their secrets. Hyunwoo supposed. Still, to him, it didn’t matter. Because no matter the particulars of Hyunwoo & Enjou’s individual suffering. Here they were… TOGETHER…

Hyunwoo hadn’t asked what Enjou was running from. And Enjou hadn’t asked where Hyunwoo kept going. At least not yet. Hyunwoo honestly FEARED that day. And he had a feeling Enjou did, too… Some questions were better left unasked. It had been another day in the eternal life of Hyunwoo. Fifteen minutes ago, he had BEATEN SOMEONE TO DEATH. He’d been declared the victor. THE SOLE SURVIVOR. But he knew better. There was no surviving this game of immortal souls. Even death served no escape. Trust him. He knew. All he could do was stumble home and sleep. Only to wake up to the likes of Jackie, Magnus and Rosalio alive once more and OUT FOR HIS BLOOD. (They were always a petty bunch…) It had been like that for so long. So long, he had honestly forgotten what it was like to live his life any differently. And then HE showed up. Or, well, honestly, ran FACE FIRST into Hyunwoo. And now here they were. Hyunwoo stumbling home from “work” covered in blood, the blood of the dead, dripping from bruised and blistered fists, cuts littering his body that would suddenly be healed by the morning light. And Enjou…? ENJOU…

“I love you, just like this. I love you when you touch me gently like no one else ever has. And I love you when your hands are bloody and your knuckles are bruised… And…”

Hyunwoo’s heart skipped a beat. The first emotion he’d felt other than FEAR since he woke up with this fucking THING in his arm. And he felt sick to his stomach. Not because of Enjou’s words. But because of who he had become. Who Enjou was speaking such soft words to… He fell into bed behind him, bloodied, trembling fingers slipping beneath his shirt, drawing patterns of red on the other boy’s stomach. Other hand propping up his own head. He was SOAKING WET, TOO. Right. It had been raining tonight… Hadn’t it? “You shouldn’t trust people so easily. At least not… People like me…” Did Enjou trust people? No. At least, Hyunwoo didn’t THINK he did… Which made him turning his back to a man he knew came home drenched in blood even weirder… “You know my father’s a murderer, right?” Was he? Hyunwoo honestly didn’t know. But of all the memories taken from him, it had been the look of HORROR on his mother’s face whenever she looked at him that had managed to stick. Maybe there was a criminal gene after all. He was a criminal, too, wasn’t he? A MURDERER. -- JUST LIKE HIS FATHER... “Heh. You’ve got a strange definition of gentle, Tomoe Enjou…” In truth, they were the same, in more ways than they knew. LOVE? He hadn’t heard that word in a really, really, long time. Had he ever heard it before Tomoe? He wished he knew. But he had a feeling that was another question better left unasked. “I love you, too, Tomoe Enjou. Just like this…”

#{-тσмσє єηנσυ-}#{-נαηg нуυηωσσ-}#{-єηנσυ χ нуυηωσσ-}#{-вℓ¢¢∂ιє∂нαη∂ѕ-}

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lilyliveredlittlerichboy · 1 year

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it was so many years ago now but

i should have fucking run from you when you made such a massive fucking deal out of... me also talking and spending time with the 2 other people that we were with for our museum trip, instead of focusing all of my attention solely on you.

(you told me later that you knew you were being unreasonable and tried to reason yourself out of the feeling... except clearly not enough not to ghost me for days over it and only budge when i sent the most grovelly, kissing ur ass apology after being told by a friend what the matter was)

It was a test.

The emotions may have been genuine in the moment, but in the days that followed, it became a test: to see how far I would go to keep my connection with you.

To see just how much I was willing to compromise to keep you in my life.

I should have just never spoken to you again. I should have sent, instead of an apology, something to the effect of,

"Listen man I get that not being the centre of attention can hurt, but it fucking sucks that you're just cutting me off over this. I had to find out from fucking (guy who told me) what the deal is and the whole thing is raising several red flags, tbh. I was making a concerted effort to talk to you and include you in the group; but I'm still allowed to talk to other people when we're out in a group, you don't have that sort of claim over me. Even if we were dating, which we are not, this is clingy weirdo behaviour. it's some controlling bullshit honestly and it's going to lose you more friends. Yeah I get that you're mentally ill and neurodivergent with a personality disorder and you're still very young and might not know how these things come across which is why im telling you now. It comes across as a dick move. You should think about that, if you actually want to be my friend."

Of course, you would have just cut me off for questioning and "invalidating" you. And honestly, with how much I helped you and propped you up over the duration of our relationship, you might very well have ended up dead, or at least in a very bad position.

And that means I don't regret what I did back then. You're a fickle asshole who's very convinced that he is owed something by the world at large, and you still didn't deserve to die or end up homeless.

And you did teach me a whole lot, honestly.

Mainly what mistakes to avoid making again.

#i need a tag for my own rambles

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utilitycaster · 3 years

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Wizard Breakdown Tracker, #135

Each week I think “man it would have been cool if I had thought of this idea, in which I make jokes about how stressed out the wizard NPCs are, during, you know, the Vergesson heist or something when we were interacting with more than one wizard NPC instead of during a dungeon crawl with only one wizard NPC, emphasis on crawl” but you know what, I persevere, because where else am I going to put song parodies about the death of Vess Derogna that are literally only funny to me? Twitter?

Anyway while I am personally team Jester, in that the faster Lucien is simultaneously disintegrated, run through in the chest with both a vestige and a holy avenger, shot through the heart (and Veth’s to blame), beheaded with a hand axe, banished, punched in the face, and sent into a black hole the better, the party has other plans. Thanks to the long rest though it has been about 12 hours, plus the 4-ish from last week, so I guess we’ll check in with a few of our other wizard friends as well.

As a reminder Caleb Widogast is a PC and thus excluded from this list.

Currently sidelined

Presumably having a good day: Pumat Sol (blissfully unaware of all of this); Allura Vyesoren (saint-like patience and a wealth of experience with disaster adventuring parties; at least this one has a cleric at more than 0.33 FTE, a wizard, and some lesbians), Ludinus Da’leth (this miserable pile of power plays wakes up every morning and is like Isn’t it Grand to be head of the evil wizard council and no one realizes I probably destroyed the first non-drow elven civilization on the continent to arise after the calamity! Fetch me more pastries!).

No idea but here’s hoping he found the cat portion of ScryTube: Oremid Hass

Lady DeRogna, taken off the scene, sorry that your murder happened while off-screen.

Trent Ikithon: I’ve established that I think the only real things that can damage Trent emotionally are Caleb paying too much attention to him so as to destroy his standing within the empire, or else Caleb ignoring him. Honestly if Trent would not continue to torture students and spread propaganda if left unchecked I think he could be slowly murdered solely through Caleb expressing apathy. So despite the amulets of nondetection I like to imagine that somehow, somewhere, Trent felt Caleb reaffirm to Essek that his top priority is still stopping the city from returning, not Trent, and it necrotized just a little bit more of his liver.

Conclusion: 7/10. I went to the OG evil mageocracy and no one knew who you were.

Essek Thelyss: Well on the one hand he’s still flirting but on the other imagine spending a literal century being like “what if we’re wrong about how we approach the fundamental basis for our society” and he just got proved right. I have to imagine he’s got that kind of stress where suddenly everything becomes dead calm and also this explains why he unnecessarily cast a 3rd level spell, which he knows could in theory cause him to lose all his hair, to impress a boy. I didn’t even get into the conversations he had with Caleb, the bad dreams and eyeballs, Fjord teasing him, Yasha being like “ALRIGHT ALREADY”, the horrible Aeorian creatures, the fact that robots might be back(?) or his ongoing terror that the Assembly is after him!

Conclusion: 8/10 but he’s like, kind of having a good time. Essek is in all ways but physical in a Hawaiian shirt right now drinking a Mai Tai and going Nothing Matters; I presume he will have a full breakdown following the boss battle and honestly he deserves it.

Astrid Beck: Others have already established the parallels between Essek and Astrid but honestly I want to highlight it because really, on the one hand we have Essek, whose world is crashing around him because he was right all along and is in terrible immediate danger but surrounded by friends, and on the other we have Astrid, whose world is crashing around her because she was wrong all along and she’s probably not in immediate danger but Eadwulf is the only person she can trust and we don’t know all the details about that either.

Conclusion: 8/10 but in the bad way, not Essek’s kind of fun way.

Wulfpupy:

Conclusion: 3/10. You know that tiktok with the blonde woman with glasses who has a lot of highlighter on her nose who talks about how sometimes if you have guy friends they will say something deeply fucked up and you’ll be like “oh my god do we unpack this right now” and then you look over at them and the only thing in their mind are the lyrics to Kokomo? That’s Wulf. He will activate the second Caleb comes back in town or Astrid actually falls apart but until then he is on Island Time.

Yussa Errenis: I wonder if there’s a small part of Yussa that is part of the city’s awareness and, moreover, can see what Beau and Caleb at least are doing, and he’s like “I’m so simultaneously proud and impatient, also we live in a world that does not have IV fluids so like, hopefully my body still exists in some kind of functioning state when I am rescued” (note: did I google “how were coma patients kept alive in olden times” for this? Perhaps.) Anyway if he is aware he’s also just like, watching all this like “I WILL GET YOU SO MUCH PAPER OH MY GOD CAN YOU JUST KISS THE OTHER WIZARD SAVE ME FROM THE EVIL HIVEMIND CITY.”

Conclusion: I mean still infinity/10, he is still trapped in the city of madness and also if he does have a small part of his mind that is sane and able to observe the material plane he also is aware that Trent and the Volstruckers broke into his tower.

Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk: I know, I know, weird that I brought him up. However consider: Yussa’s wizard tower now contains two wizards in suspended animation, their consciousnesses trapped in eldritch astral sea-related spaces. This is incredibly funny to me. We’re in a real Old Lady who swallowed a fly scenario except it’s centuries-old wizards getting sucked into traps because of their own hubris. The reason why mageocracies no longer exist isn’t the lack of magical knowledge or even because power corrupts absolutely, it’s because literally just put some lightly fried forbidden knowledge under a box with a stick propping it up, add your parody of Long-Term Nuclear Waste Warnings above it, and a wizard will be like “that sign won’t stop me because I CAN read and what’s more I’m better at reading than you are!” And then they get trapped in a box.

Conclusion: what is a breakdown tracker to a man whose mind has been stuck in a gem for, from his perspective, at minimum about 35 years?

#critical role #critical role spoilers #wizard breakdown tracker #shadowgast #honestly i want shenanigans that rival any post-dragon vm shenanigans after aeor and i want essek to have a starring role #sorry percy i want a BLACK HOLE in the hot tub #your music this week was lady madonna by the beatles and kokomo by the beach boys #i swear i am a millennial i just spent a lot of formative time in the car with my boomer parents listening to the oldies station

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kiribaku-queen · 3 years

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The Blood King and his Queen [13]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Romance, Angst, Drama

Word count: 3.0K

Summary: From being a mere servant girl to marrying the scariest prince in existence, your world changed right before your eyes. Exchanging places with the princess, you knew, wasn’t going to be easy. But could you have found love on the way? Or was it never meant to be?

A/N: Feeling alot better but still not fully recovered, but I'm getting there! I hope you enjoy this week chapter and see you Friday! Happy reading, loves!

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“Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

“Put that down, we have to go!”

“(y/n), didn’t you hear the news? There’s a special guest coming!” one of the girls grabbed you, trying to make you hurry to go somewhere. You were just as confused as some of the girls you were with.

“What’s going on?” you questioned. Everything was running around, the scene so hectic that you couldn’t wrap your head around anything that was going on.

“We don’t have time! Just, come on!” the girls grabbed you by the arm and rushed you into this big room where you usually greet your guests. A huge square table sat in the middle of the room with pillows neatly surrounding it to be used as seats. Small teacups were being set the moment you entered the room and the girls were getting adjusted to their positions. They were making sure that everyone was presentable: their clothes were neat and free from stains, their hair was up and neatly placed. They also made sure that everything in the room was in the right place, right where they should be. Two sets of tea pots were at each end of the table, ready to be served to the guests.

You were about to take your place in line, but one of the older servants took you to the side and make you stand right next to one of the teapot.

“Wha-” you were about to refuse this position, since it’s usually reserved for only the most deserving servants, but was quickly hushed.

“You’ll be serving tea to our special guests,” she quickly explained. “The princess specifically asked you.” God, why you again? As much as you didn’t want to, you didn’t have any room to argue. So you stood there, making sure that your uniform was on correctly and that not even a single piece of hair was misplaced on your head.

“They’re here! Places girls! Be on your best behavior,” the eldest servant ordered and she made herself comfortable in her place right by the double doors. The double doors opened and on cue, every single girl, including you, bowed their heads low to their special guests.

In came the princess first. Not much a surprise there. Without a word, she made her way to the middle of the table where she sat comfortably in her designated spot, purposely leaving a seat open right next to her. Right behind her, came her personal servants who stood behind her. Then, powerful footsteps walked into the room, their presence having an effect on everyone in the room. Their presence was so powerful that it send shivers down your spine. Who was this special guest that carried such a strong aura like that? The guest exhaled deeply, allowing a low growl escape. But something in that growl made your throat hitch and your heart stop. You knew that voice anywhere. But it couldn’t be…

“Presenting: Prince Bakugou Katsuki! We humbly welcome you to our kingdom,” one of the guards announced. They offered him a seat right across from the princess, his rightful fiancée. And he accepted reluctantly.

He sat down roughly and not so elegantly. A permanent scowl remained on his face and all the girls shook in fear. They expected the Blood Prince to cause great fear but experiencing it for the first time was frightening. But not to you. You knew it was all an act. But still, you heart was feeling heavy upon his arrival. You happened to glance up, just to get a quick glance. Was that really him? And sure enough. One leg was crossed while the other was propped up and he leaned back with such carelessness. He hadn’t seen you yet, which was a good thing. He didn’t need to know you were here. You bit your lip to try to hide any emotions peeking through. Taking deep breaths slowly in and out, you tried to regulate your emotions as best as you could.

The Prince’s soldiers traveled close behind him, taking a seat on both sides of their prince. Shit, now there was a higher chance that one of them was going to notice you. One of the ladies nudged you, snapping you out of your thoughts. She was giving you a stern look and moving her eyes to the teapot. Right, you had a job to do. You were too busy worrying about yourself that you forgot that you were the one supposed to be pouring the tea. And you were supposed to do that a while ago and the other girl was waiting on you since you both had to start at the same time.

Snapping out of it, you grabbed the teapot and began pouring tea for the special guests. Unlucky for you, you had to serve the side with Bakugou’s men. Which means that you were about to pour tea for Bakugou. But you weren’t ready to face him yet. The closer you got to him, the more your chest pounded out of nervousness.

It didn’t help that the first drink you poured was for him. He was the very special guest of the day, of course he had to be served first. As carefully as you could, and without sparing a glance at him, you kneeled down to level yourself before pouring the hot tea into his cup. You solely focused on the steaming liquid to further suspicion that you were there.

But Bakugou almost didn’t notice you. He wasn’t even going to look in your direction. But when he saw that fragile hand, he happened to glance up and he couldn’t believe his eyes. Bakugou had to take a doubletake at you. He thought his eyes had deceived him. But after a closer look, he was sure it was you. He felt like time had stopped and all he could hear was the rapid beat of his heart. You took away this breath, like you did every time. The way you looked so concentrated, the way your lips were slightly parted, eyebrows furrowed ever so lightly, eyes twinkling in the sun’s reflection. Breathtaking. Yet he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. All he could do was watch your every move. He watched as you moved from him to the other guests in the room, gently pouring the tea, careful not to spill a single drop.

You made your way around the room, not noticing the pair of crimson eyes on you. The other girl hadn’t made her rounds yet, which means the princess hasn’t been poured her drink. You took the liberty to continue on and be the one to serve her. As you kneeled down, carefully holding the lid to dispense the hot liquid, the princess side eyed you and smirked. With a swift nudge, her elbow came into contact with your body, causing you to jerk and accidentally spill the tea all over the princess’s expensive and one-of-a-kind dress. Your mouth hung open in disbelief and horror as you realized what you just did.

“I’m-” you began to apologize but you couldn’t finish because of her hand coming into contact with your cheek, a sharp and strong pain immediately took effect. You could already feel your cheek swelling up. The slap was so loud that it caused the whole room to be silenced and all eyes were on you.

“How dare you be so careless!” the princess scolded you, wiping away the excess water.

Bakugou’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him. Suddenly, he was seeing red and rage began to build in him. He put his strong hand on the table with great force and was about to stand up, but a hand stopped him. When Bakugou looked over with fury in his eyes, Kirishima was looking straight ahead, shaking his head.

It was a warning. If he knew what was best for you, then he wouldn’t react. He has to let it go for your sake. Or else you’d get it worse later. And Bakugou knew that. He knew that but… seeing that happen to you and not being able to do anything for you left a bitter taste in his mouth. So he sat back down, feeling useless.

The slap stunned you. You stood there frozen in place, not knowing what to do for a second. But the growing ache on your cheek made you snap out of it. It was your fault. Had you been paying more attention, you wouldn’t have spilled on the princess. Your mistake. Bowing your head apologetically, you retreated back to your place among all the other girls. Your cheek was burning from how hard she slapped you that you made a slight face of agony.

Bakugou saw this as he was still observing you. And it turned his mood even more sour, like it wasn’t sour already. He had to bite his tongue, no matter how badly he wanted to act out.

After that whole ordeal, you found out that the Prince was staying for a bit. You groaned to yourself and thought how much you wish it wasn’t true. Now you were going to be seeing more of him. Oh well, at least you don’t have to talk to him. You’re only serving him, like you should be as a servant. No more, no less. But you know you’re heart was going to break every time you were going to be around him. That part you weren’t looking forward to, but you didn’t have to look or speak to him.

You thought that you were being lowkey about avoiding the Blood Prince. None of the girls had asked you about your relationship with him ever since that first time, but there was one girl who paid a little bit more attention towards you. Her being one of your best friends.

She noticed that you were acting weird, purposely looking away from the Prince or whenever he comes up in conversation. You were avoiding him at all costs.

There were so many instances where you were in the presence of the great Prince, whether it would be serving him or passing by him, and his eyes were always on you. And only you.

You could be the one serving him tea and while his eyes were concentrated on you, you would be looking away. Anywhere but him. You would be one of the princess’s attendants while her and the Prince took a stroll in the garden. And the girls would be talking about them but you were silent the entire time, never looking in their direction. You would either be looking to the side or down at the ground. There are times when you and some of the other girls would be passing him by and you would quickly shut your mouth, looking down at the ground. Again, the Prince’s gaze was always on you. Something happened between you two while you were away on your failed mission and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

The princess was also noticing what Bakugou was going and she was getting angry about it with every passing day. She wanted the Prince to look only at her, not some servant he happened to fall in love with. It was all your fault. She shouldn’t have sent you in the first place. She just didn’t want to get married! But after seeing who she was getting married to, now she couldn’t complain. He was too handsome to pass up, even if he had a bad attitude. Think. What could she do to punish you even more? Then it hit her. The princess smirked because she couldn’t wait to use her new toy on you.

Your friend had also noticed you were acting strange around the Prince’s soldiers. You would always try to avoid them as much as possible. But it was hard when they were staying close to the servants quarters.

You were on your way to do the laundry, hands full with a basket of clothes when you run into the Blood Prince’s trusted soldiers. You were already exhausted with the day’s events. Finally getting around to doing the laundry was your time to relax and have time for yourself. But that mood turned quickly when you saw that familiar red hair. Kirishima, Denki, Sero and Mina had all stopped in their tracks and you did the same. The feeling of shame hit you all over again, and you couldn’t look them in the eyes. You bowed to them, not saying anything and turned around with your basket of clothes. You were so close to the laundry pool. So, so close. It was literally right there. But you decided to take the longer route to the pool, to avoid any conversation or ridicule you would get from Bakugou’s soldiers.

But that wasn’t the case. Their hearts hurt, seeing your pained expression. You were hurt, confused, ashamed, humiliated. They could see it all. Mina wanted to go after you. She took one step but was stopped by Kirishima holding her arm back.

But-” Mina tried to argue but Kirishima gave her a stern look.

“It’s not our place,” he said and Mina backed down, regretfully. Kirishima looked off into the distance towards your direction and sighed. He wanted to talk to you, too. To comfort you. They all did. But they knew the only person who could, was Bakugou.

Kirishima had closed the shoji screen door behind him with a soft click. Bakugou was laying down on his side with one hand propping his head up and one leg bent in a comfortable position, all while fanning himself with a hand fan.

“Your Highness,” Kirishima bowed, greeting his long time friend.

“What is it?” Bakugou rudely asked. His temper had gotten out of control since you left. But the red haired wasn’t fazed at all.

“(y/n),” was all he said to make the Blood Prince halt his every movement. “She is at the river pool doing laundry, if you wish to see her.” Without hesitation, Bakugou stood up and stormed out of there, heading your direction. Instead of confronting you directly, he decided to climb the building and onto the plated roof that overlooked the river pool.

The laundry pool was outside, the water was steaming with hot water. You had taken your slippers off at the entry and walked along the wet, stoned path to get to the water. Several girls were there, also doing their share of the laundry, but you had gotten there pretty late. That was mostly because you were still tending to the princes. One by one, they were on their way back to the servant’s quarters, leaving you alone. Which was okay, because you needed some alone time.

Little did you know, you weren’t actually alone. Bakugou was watching your every move. From how your wash and beat the laundry to you wiping your face, hissing at the pain that was still on your cheek. Bakugou was feeling many mixed emotions at the moment. His heart leapt at the sight of you, but was also heartbroken because of what you did. He didn’t know if he could forgive you but he fucking missed you. He missed you so much. There was never a moment where you weren’t running around in his mind. When he saw how much pain you were in, he had to restrain himself from jumping down there to see if you were okay. Before it got too much for him, he forced himself to leave.

Laundry was exhausting for sure. It was time consuming and required a lot of energy. But it was so late and no one around you, so you took your time wringing and flattening the clothes. No one could bother you. No one could talk to you. You were left to be distracted by your own thoughts. This was probably your favorite time of the day because it was so relaxing. You had saw movement out of the side of your eyes but when you went to look, there was nothing there. You looked again, and nothing.

“Huh,” you shrugged to yourself. You must have imagined it because you were so exhausted.

On your way back, you sighed with fatigue, your back aching from bending down all day. You couldn’t wait to finally hit your not-so-soft bed and turn in for the night. But someone had taken your hand and pulled you aside. It was your best friend who was keeping tabs on you this whole time.

“Okay, spill,” she ordered, hands crossed against her chest.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, confused.

“What really happened to you when you were with the Prince?” she asked and your face dropped. All of a sudden, now she wants to ask this? Did she find something out? Did someone snitch? But who? She could see the panic in your eyes and sighed.

“You’ve been acting really weird lately. Ever since the Prince showed up. I know you haven’t been 100% truthful. So what happened between you two?” she asked. You didn’t even have to say anything and she could tell. It was all in your eyes.

“You’re in love with him?” she whispered and you bowed your head in shame. “You know you’ll never be together, right? You’re just a servant. Born a servant and will always be a servant. What were you thinking?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what fairy tail I was living in,” you admit.

“Well snap out of it. You might get us all in trouble if you keep that up,” she said before taking her leave.

She was right. Any sane person could see that a Prince, soon-to-be King, would never be with someone of her status. It was a mistake to fall for him. You knew that from the very beginning. Yet… every time you saw him, your heart wanted to burst with happiness. You wanted to be wrapped in his embrace. Feel his lips against yours. You wanted to fall asleep and wake up next to him every morning. You wanted to tell him silly food puns at every chance you got. You wanted to go another hot spring with him, this time without the monkey. You wanted to continue to help those helpless people around his kingdom. You saw a future with him. But that very image crumbled before your very eyes and you were left with nothing. Because like your friend said, you were a servant, nothing more, nothing less.

A/N: I'd love to know your thoughts and if you would like to be added on the tag list! When will (y/n) get a break? Next chapter? mmmmmmmmmmmmmm probs not!

Tagged: @superblyspeedydragon @melasnchz-things @animexholic @bkgwrites @sam-i-am-1025 @apexqueenie @katsukibabe @germfart3 @tspice283 @angie-1306 @bakugous-trauma @bakugousmrs @random-fandom-girl-24 @monetfatalia @triviajeongin @readingslumpfanfic @softredrobin @daddy-daichis @stardream14 @bevaevar @cathwritestragediesnotsins @luvtaromilktea @aaannaabbanana@i-ameri-cant @shyonigirichan @aomi04 @anime-for-live @maggiecc @cloudsgathering @backoftheletter @moshi-moshi-angie015 @sabrinakishi @thegirlfrom-rio @taceticbitch @liv-hearts

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou romance #bakugou drama #bakugou angst #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou imagine #bnha imagine #bnha art #bakugou #the blood king and his queen

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jonkentt · 3 years

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Sept 16 ‘21 ~Sarah Wilson~ @samwilsonfest

“Did you always like birds?”

“Nah. Hated ‘em when I was a kid. Sarah was actually the one who always loved birds.”

“Really?”

Sam hums and nods. “Oh yeah. Obsessed.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Are you telling me there’s a person on this earth who knows more bird facts than you?” Sam laughs, his eyes sparkling.

“It’s tough to say for sure but I think I got her beat.”

“There’s a story there.”

“Absolutely. A saga of sibling rivalry.”

“Tell me!”

Sam stretches out, props his feet on the dash, and chews his lip. Warm orange light from the setting sun makes Sam look like he’s glowing even more than usual. “Alright, so when I say I hated birds as a kid, I mean it was a whole thing. It was like my pass-time. Can’t even remember why, like there was no traumatic seagull-stealing-my-corndog experience.”

Bucky snorts. “That happened to Steve every time we went to Coney Island, I swear. ‘M shocked he never developed some kind of seagull-phobia.”

“Ornithophobia.” Bucky looks skeptical but Sam waves him off. “It’s real. Wasn’t scared of birds though, I mighta just hated ‘em cause Sara loved ‘em so much. We did not get along at all. Being mean older brother was my sole purpose back then. Anything Sarah liked, I automatically didn’t, and she loved birds. She drew them all the time, with crayons on our walls even. You’d think my parents would be mad about, right? Except they thought it was adorable and that just pissed me off more. She had a hundred bird stuffies, which I thought was dumb ‘cause stuffies should be furry animals, right? Like where are the feathers? Thank god Sarah was too small to remember how much of a little shit I was.

So, anyway, our parents drove us across state to go this fair. It was a huge event, they had everything, and I was super excited about it. ‘Course I was equally thrilled to be stuck with my baby sister while my parents went to some adult-only whatever. I had to literally drag her off of the merry-go-round cause I was ready to throw up if I heard that happy tune it plays one more time. We got in line for one of those rides that’s basically a swing but they raise you in the air and spin you around in circles. Sarah chickened out at the last second and started screaming about how I promised her cotton candy. Well, we had just waited forever for this ride, right? So I got on and let her storm off. Terrible idea. She was right, it was fucking terrifying and I almost shit myself.”

“Damn, Wilson. You weren’t always a thrill-seeker?”

“Man, I was like ten years old. So when they finally put the swings on the ground again I was dizzy as hell, and pretty sure they let me off at a different place than I got on. I didn’t see Sarah but the cotton candy stall was right there so I bought her some. Hoping, ya know, she wouldn’t tell our parents if I bribed her. But then I couldn’t find her anywhere. And my nerve was like fully gone after that shit-show of a ride. So I start to panic. I run around, I must have covered at least half the fairgrounds, and still no sign of her. So I collapse, in the dirt, and just lose it. Full on ugly crying into the cotton candy with snot running down my face. I thought I’d lost my baby sister!

Then this crow comes out of fucking nowhere and takes a huge bite of my candy! And I was like ‘oh, hell no’ cause I wasn’t taking shit from a bird right now. I chased it back to that ride, and there was my little sister, sitting on a bench, feeding cotton candy to the crows at her feet. The one I’d been chasing hopped over to her and she fed that one too, all smiling ’n shit like she was the happiest kid in the world.” Sam smiles fondly at the memory. “Crows are pretty smart. And even though I knew it was probably just after my candy, I decided maybe that one led me to Sarah.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then, I got us both more candy cause mine was soggy and her’s was pity candy from a stranger.” They both laugh.

“So what, you decided to love birds after that?”

“I decided to love my baby sister after that. I let her teach me all about birds. At some point, I realized they were actually pretty cool. It became something we bonded over. I took her to the zoo to see all the parrots and king vultures. She liked those, ya know? The big scary ones that are all hunched over like they’re plotting your murder. I liked the owls best. Kinda freaked me out how they could turn their heads around but it was cool too.

During long car rides, Sarah and I would go back and forth to see who knew the wildest bird facts. I think our parents preferred it when we were arguing cause then they had an excuse to shut us up. We drove them a little nuts. Everything in the house was bird-themed for awhile. They probably thought we’d sprout wings from sheer will-power.”

“You kinda did.”

Sam smiles, a soft expression of wonder on his face. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

#sam wilson fic #samtember 2021 #sarah wilson fic

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yandere-sins · 3 years

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In His Clutches

Following up with what I said in my last post, I’ll try to do some requests for now until my mental health recovers enough to continue the Fox Wedding, and first on my list is a request I received over ko-fi and which got way too delayed because of yantober and christmas time >_< Please enjoy some Overhaul for a change!

Rating: Mature Warning: Yandere, Blackmailing, Forced Submissiveness, Rough Handling, Mentioning of Blood, Threats, Insults, Mentioning of Violence, Also Chisaki how he was before his arc I have no idea how he behaves currently lol Words: 2120

With the way your head met the linoleum floor, you wondered if the fluid you felt on your skin were tears or perhaps a bloody nose. Even if you weren’t screaming out loud from the pain yet, the impact hurt like hell, and you had to take deep breaths to deal with the aftermath. No wonder you felt an instant wave of dizziness hit you, but being unable to focus your sight and not have nervosity and your shaken mind puke all over the floor were the least of your problems.

Latest when something long and textured lowered down onto the back of your head, did you even realize what you had been forced to do with your involuntary fall to the ground. Without being able to make out anyone before you right away, you were definitely propped into a bowing position, forehead touching the floor, and when you tried to fight off what was holding you down, you looked entirely like a person pleading for forgiveness. “Look what filth honors us today,” a snarky voice picked up, and you could hear small feet pace before you. “The audacity that you’d even show here!”

You were about to complain and set the voice straight that you were not here because you wanted to, but rather because you’d been pulled into a car in the middle of the day and feared for your life if you didn’t move as you were told. But your head was turned to the side suddenly and ungently, and though you shoot daggers at the people before you, once you got used to the light blinding you, you felt a cold shudder run down your spine as your view cleared.

Penetrating, golden irises looked down from above, a body posture as unfazed and unbothered as only someone who knew they had the upper hand could have. The black mask moved slowly as the man before you spoke, never fully revealing his face, and yet the sight in front of you brought a shiver down your spine. “Like gum under my soles,” he agreed to the first voice, and you finally realized what was pressing you down. Polished, seemingly new, white shoes stepped all over you, applying and taking the pressure as he pleased but never giving you the chance to escape from the floor you were pinned to.

The realization of your failed plans began to slowly but surely manifest throughout your body, a light shivering overcoming you as you lowered your eyes, squeezing them shut. A meager attempt of wishing this was just a bad dream, and perhaps you could wake up in your bed soon and atone for what you had done, leave the country even and never come back.

It had been a gamble, really. A half-hearted attempt to break free from the monotonous life you were living and become someone exciting and filthy rich. Everything seemed too easy and safe when it was proposed to you; write the letter and send it off. Gloves, face masks, using the mailbox furthest from your home-- you had remembered EVERYTHING. And yet, you still got caught, so how-?

“How did we find out?” Kai Chisaki, leader of the yakuza clan known as the Shie Hassaikai and the recipient of your attempted blackmailing, spoke calmly and outwardly unfazed. From his hand hung the white letter you had used, the paper with the demand for money so the truth of their doings wouldn’t reach the wrong ears peeking out from it. Yet, when he lifted it up into your view, gloved fingers dug inside between the paper, pulling something out that you’d have never expected to leave behind. It was so small, probably only the rest of it after testing, barely noticeable. Still, you cringed, realizing that they had traced your DNA back to you by something so minor and silly as a hair.

“I’m not a criminal,” you mumbled, noticing the distinctive, fearful shiver in your voice.

“Obviously,” a small, black form, resembling a stuffed animal, huffed, and you were sure if he could have, he’d have rolled his eyes at you.

“They just told me what to do, and I- I just wanted to make some quick cash. You have to believe me! I don’t even know what they know! I only made the letter...”

The following silence was downright disturbing to you, a few seconds turning into the eternity one must feel before getting beheaded back in medieval times. A sigh eventually signaled the end of the nerve-tearing wait as countless ideas of what was going to happen to you now circled through your head. Finally, the foot lifted from your head and flapping the letter in his hand, Chisaki gave the underlings assembled in the room a signal.

With groans and clicks of their tongues, bodies all around you began to move and disappear through doors that you couldn’t have made out with how perfectly they fitted into the white walls around you. You slowly lifted your torso off the ground again, looking after the last one of them disappear without even so much as a glance back over their shoulder, the doors closing automatically behind them. Suddenly, only the boss and you remained in this interrogation room, even though you were too afraid to dare and look at him. Instead, you focused your eyes on your hands, wondering why he’d want to be alone with you. If what you had always thought criminals did with people that defied them, then disposing of you didn’t seem like the work the boss would do. Truly, combining with the confusion you felt, the situation was only growing worse by the second.

“Working at a bank, inheriting the house of your parents, a pretty penny in your accounts. Sounds like a good life, and yet, you’d still resort to this.”

The envelope containing the letter landed right before you, sliding over the ground up to your knees. Biting your lip, you didn’t know what to say, especially when he almost sounded disappointed in you. His patronizing way of pointing out your faults didn’t make you feel any better or less scared, as Chisaki still didn’t appear to mean you well. Even the truth seemed like such a waste of air if spoken out loud, but what better was there to admit?

“... interesting.”

“Louder,” he demanded, his foot falling back down, this time on your hand, crushing it the longer you refused to speak up.

“I wanted to make it more interesting!” you gasped out loudly, clutching your hand close to your body the moment he let go. “I didn’t mean to harm you, Sir! You must believe me!”

This time you did look at him, with the most rueful eyes you could muster even, hoping to achieve anything, literally anything that would change the situation. “Hm,” he hummed in contemplation, and you gulped as you felt yourself run out of options. However, you didn’t expect him to sigh again before leaning forward, his eyes drilling into you as if he was trying to break you just with his stare. You had heard rumors. Rumors that he wasn’t quite sane and overtaken by his ambitions and germaphobia. Nonetheless, his eyes were clear, your reflection in them more fearful than you must have ever been in your whole life.

“You can beg better than that, I think,” he declared.

In your panicked state of mind, you agreed with a short, firm nod, barely inching closer before noticing his eyes narrow reprimandingly, making you stop immediately. “P-Please don’t hurt me! I’d do anything! I was just the deliverer of the message! I know nothing, and if you let me go, I’ll never speak a word about what happened here--”

“Then tell me who made you write this letter.”

His instructions were clear, even though they made your blood freeze. “I don’t know…” you whispered, your body slowly shutting down as you realized it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. With a disapproving click of his tongue, a gloved hand reached forward, remaining at the corner of your eye for a split second. You ducked away from his touch, squeezing your eyes shut, but before you knew it, it was gone again, as if he decided against doing what he had wanted. Only now, you realized the tears collected in your eyes, not yet spilling but there as you had started to despair over the situation. However, there was no time to ponder about them as Chisaki spoke up again.

“Who,” he calmly said. “Tell me, and you are free to go.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You had followed the instructions given to you online via an online forum you used to chat with strangers. You never actually met anyone personally before becoming a complice. You had always believed it was so much safer, but you were dead wrong. Sniffling, you shook your head, averting your eyes as you saw your chances of survival and escaping dwindling. “I have no idea…”

Not much sound escaped you anymore as you lowered your head, defeated, accepting your due punishment for your stupidity. There was nothing you could have proven or handed to him to make you look any better. “Pity,” Chisaki said eerily calm, taking a deep breath before standing up, and you agreed. It was your life thrown away for the aspect of quick money. Naive thinking that you’d actually profit from this when in reality, you had simply been the decoy, or perhaps a lab rat, for the real masterminds behind the plan of blackmailing him.

He didn’t say anything else as he watched you for a few moments more, rounding the chair he had been sitting on and walking towards one of the doors hidden in the walls, the sound of it opening making you snap back to reality. “W-Wait!” you called after him weakly. “What’s going to happen now?”

At first, you thought he’d ignore you, but just before disappearing in the dark corridor beyond this room, Chisaki stopped, being the only one to glance back over his shoulder at you. It was scary how little you could read the man from his eyes alone, no feeling whatsoever shimmering in them.

“Now? You’re going to stay in here until you remember, of course. That or one of my men needs a new punchbag.”

And with that, he was gone, the door closing behind his back and leaving you all alone in the maddening white interrogation room. However, the worst was the ringing of his last few words that kept creeping back in your mind, causing you to cup your ears with your hands, hoping it would silence those thoughts. Thoughts of you - or rather, your blood splattered all across this room if his threat was to come true.

Unfortunately for you and your anxiety-induced paranoia, you didn’t hear the words spoken beyond your whereabouts in the secret underground of the organization. Not the praising, “You showed ’em boss!” of Mimic as he ran after Kai, having waited dutifully for his superior. “How do you want to proceed? Should we get rid of them right away?”

Kai’s answer was hesitant as he thought about it, unusual for him as he always had quick instructions to give to his underlings. “No,” he eventually said, sternly so. Hand lifting to his neck, he felt the beginning of a new rash prick at his skin, scratching it as he got lost in thought. “The letter’s pretty good; maybe we can use their skill. And we don’t know yet who sent them. They’ll stay.”

He heard the confused and exasperated huff of disbelieve behind him, but his words were final, even if Mimic disagreed. “If they become troublesome, I’ll clean them up myself. No one is to bother them.”

And with that, Kai could devote himself to his thoughts, thinking about all the ways he could purify you. Perhaps, things finally wouldn’t be so boring anymore as you always complained to him on the forum he met you. If anyone, Kai was sure he could make your life much more interesting by his side, once he got rid of your filthiness that unfortunately still caused rashes to erupt from him, even though being so close to you made him feel so alive.

But first, he’d have to delete the profile he used to trick you right into his clutches, as he couldn’t risk anyone else finding out about your whereabouts once they’d notice your disappearance. After all, it would take a lot of time to reform you, but Kai knew you were worth the trouble.

It was dirty work, but with your potential, how could he refuse if it was you?

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 3 years

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(pt 1) i really enjoy all your atla analyses & you've done a great job breaking down the usual arguments re how eip shows that kataang shouldn't have happened. i'm curious about your take on one specific argument that i just saw today, in an analysis of the show by a zker that was otherwise quite good and respectful (i know you've already talked about eip a lot, so no problem if you don't feel like rehashing). the premise: aang didn't just pressure katara in eip, he threatened her.

(pt 2) they point to when katara joins aang & asks if he’s alright: “aang: no, i’m not! i hate this play! katara: i know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting. aang: overreacting? if i hadn’t blocked my chakra, i’d probably be in the avatar state right now!” the suggestion is he’s threatening her when he says ‘i’d probably be in the avatar state right now’ to describe his anger. i think this take exaggerates and oversimplifies it, but interested in your thoughts on it.

Hello my friend!! It is true I am Old inside and don’t like rehashing dhdlksjslks BUT your comments on my posts are always incredibly kind and insightful so I am more than willing to do a bit of rehashing for you 🥰 Besides! I’ve seen this general take before a few times and it’s always irked me for the exact reason you point out - it simultaneously exaggerates and oversimplifies the situation (and honestly that’s an impressive duality since it’s seemingly contradictory, so hats off to them lmaooo) - and now is as good a time as any to address it. So, for starters, let’s go ahead and get the excerpt they love to focus on so much:

Cut to Aang standing alone on a balcony. Katara enters and walks up to him.

Katara: Are you all right?

Aang: [Angered.] No, I’m not! I hate this play! [Yanks his hat off and throws it on the ground.]

Katara: I know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting.

Aang: Overreacting? If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!

Here’s the thing about so-called analyses of this excerpt: in a manner extremely convenient to the poster, they never seek to contextualize this moment. (I mean, to do so would deplatform their entire “argument” - perhaps that’s why they avoid performing a full analysis?) So let’s avoid that pitfall from the start.

Firstly, below are some links to related posts; I’m going to do my best to summarize the most relevant parts, but for anyone who desires greater detail, I gotchu 😤

This post explains why EIP (the play, lol) is imperialist propaganda and is intended to belittle the entire Gaang.

This post explains how Aang never acted “entitled” to Katara’s affections, particularly in regard to EIP.

This post breaks down the infamous EIP kiss like Snopes Fact Checker, covering common misconceptions, important perspectives to consider, etc.

Alright. With that out the way, it’s time for some context.

Aang and Katara have this conversation on the balcony after watching 95% of “The Boy in the Iceberg,” a play chock-full of Fire Nation propaganda that demeans the entire Gaang in order to prop up the Fire Nation as superior (hence why the play ends with Ozai’s victory). Here is my general breakdown of Aang and Katara’s treatment in particular from a previous post:

- katara, an indigenous woman, is highly sexualized and portrayed as overly dramatic and tearful, because the fire nation objectifies women not of their own people and views them as less intelligent and less emotionally stable

- aang, the avatar, the sole survivor of the fire nation’s genocide of the air nomads who is incredibly in-touch with his spirituality and femininity, is portrayed as an overly-airy and immature woman. the fire nation portrays him with a female actor to demean him (like, that’s classic imperialistic propagandist tactics) and furthermore writing his character as a childish airhead reinforces the fire nation sentiment that the air nomads were weak, foolish people who did not deserve to exist in their world

In other words, these kids have just watched almost an entire play that preys upon their insecurities and depicts them using racist and sexist stereotypes about their respective nations. It is completely understandable that tensions might run a little high and that their interactions would not be as balanced as usual (Katara and Aang have a great track record of communicating well with each other, as it happens!).

So we have to keep that in mind when examining the aforementioned excerpt. But there are other factors to consider, too! Namely: they are kids. Children. Teens. Aang is 12, Katara is 14.

If we want to be scientific, a person’s brain doesn’t finish developing until they are 25, lmao, and the preteen/teen years are when the prefrontal cortex that controls “rationality,” “judgement,” “forethought,” etc. is still developing. This doesn’t mean Aang and Katara are irrational and make poor decisions 24/7 (obviously not), but it does mean that in an intense, highly emotional situation, like after watching a play that intentionally demeans them and depicts them as inferior, they are more likely to overreact, more likely to be emotional, and more likely to make mistakes. Like, I’m serious, lol. “Teens process information with the amygdala.” That’s part of the brain that helps control emotions! It’s why teens sometimes struggle to articulate what we’re thinking, especially in situations that require instinct/impulse and quick decisions, because we’re really feeling whenever we make those choices. Acting more on emotion. Our brains simply haven’t finished developing the decision-making parts, lmao.

In sum: Aang and Katara are both kids, not adults, and should be interpreted as such. This doesn’t negate their intelligence, because they are both incredibly smart and Aang is arguably the wisest of the Gaang, but they are human. Young humans. They have emotions, and we should not be so cruel as to assume they’d never act on them.

So taking that all together, we can now acknowledge the high stress Aang and Katara are under, understand why they might be upset (*cough* imperialist propaganda is hurtful *cough*), and examine how their youth might play into their emotional reactions. And funny thing - all analyses that come to the conclusion of Aang “threatening” Katara here do not usually bother with this context. I can’t imagine why!

And you know what, let’s add one more piece of context: Sokka states that Aang left the theater “like, ten minutes ago,” which is what cues Katara to go look for him on the balcony. The reason I mention this line is because to me, it suggests Aang knew he was more worked up than usual! He chose to separate himself from his friends so he could process his frustration! He did not take his anger at the play out on them; instead, he purposefully took time and space to be alone.

With that in mind, I don’t understand at all how Aang’s Avatar state quote could be interpreted as a threat? Canonly, Aang is someone who was aware enough of his frustration to separate himself from the others - yet the logical next step is him threatening Katara as a result? He knew his intense emotions were because of the play (which he says himself), so the logical conclusion is that he then pinned the fault on Katara? What?? Sorry, that interpretation has no textual basis, lmao. But I digress!

Aang tells Katara, “If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!” As you said, this is the line people point to in an attempt to justify their (baseless) conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. So let’s bring in the two key pieces of context: imperialist propaganda and age. Given that Aang is 12, and given that Aang has just watched almost a full play that demeans him and everything his people stood for (and let’s not forget it also mocks his and Katara’s love for each other)…

His reaction is understandable. An exaggeration and needlessly dramatic, but understandable. He feels vulnerable and insecure and Aang is human. He is human and flawed and he overreacts here and I love that A:TLA shows how even our heroes, even people who are truly good at heart and in soul, can get overly upset (especially given the aforementioned circumstances!). Would Aang actually be in the Avatar state at that moment, had it been possible? Of course not! He’s young and he’s hurt and as such he says something dramatic to convey his anxieties and frustrations. The line is not meant to be taken literally, and seeing people do so despite all the factors that should be taken into consideration when analyzing it… Cue a long, tired sigh from me and so many other A:TLA fans.

And to be honest? I cannot fathom how people watch this episode and come to the conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. To me, this episode - besides being a recap episode - is one that humanizes our cast even further. Aang snaps at Katara, kisses her when he shouldn’t (which the story appropriately treats as wrong). Katara pushes down her true feelings and retreats into herself, afraid to start a relationship with the boy she loves because she’s already lost him once before and can’t bear to do so again. Zuko further confronts the hurt he’s enacted upon others, especially upon Iroh. Toph practices being vulnerable and accepting vulnerability from others by conversing with Zuko. Sokka witnesses how others have erased his contributions and labelled him as nothing more than the token nonbender in the group. Even Suki learns that she is not the only person who holds a place in Sokka’s heart and that she can never replace what he has lost.

To watch this episode where our heroes must come to terms with how the Fire Nation deems them inherently inferior, with how they have more fights to overcome in the future with the Fire Nation than a single war, and to come to the conclusion that… that what, Aang is abusive? A monster? Irredeemable? That he would threaten his best friend, someone he loves in every way?

Wow. That says more than enough about the viewer, doesn’t it?

#getting back into the swing of things babey ✌️#aang #katara #kataang #kataangtag #the ember island players #atla #avatar the last airbender #amy answers #dramaticowl #amy analyzes #also i am speaking in GENERAL TERMS here lmaooo this is not a direct response to any one post 😂😂

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sinkix · 4 years

Text

《Haikyuu! Mafia Boys [AU] x Fem!Reader》

Warning: Contains NSFW & 18+ content

Characters: Kuroo, Iwaizumi & Akaashi.

Hope you enjoy, if this is something you guys would like to see more of then let me know!

Song: Beast - Mia Martina

The drag of a cigarette before squishing it under the sole of his shoe. That’s Kuroo for you, savouring the pleasure in things before discarding them once the satisfaction sizzles out. What makes you so different, then? Well, I’ll tell you, you keep him on his toes like no one has before. He first met you while gazing longingly at you from across the club, loosening his tie and spreading his lips into a seductive grin no one could resist. Maybe he should take you back to his hotel? He pondered in his mind how it would feel to have his head between your legs, fingers furling around his unruly locks as he drags his tongue across your slit till your toes curl and thighs spasm. The thought pleased him, if only for a night. Strolling up to your seat at the bar like a predator hunting its prey, his gold clad fingers twinkled under the warm lights of the bar, eyes glinting with an irresistible mischief. “How are you doing tonight, sweetheart?~” The low, rumbled purring rolling off his tongue all too easily as if he had tangoed with it many times before. Quick steps back and forth, slithering toward you with temptation no woman could resist, yet here you were rolling your eyes at his advances and stepping on his toes in rejection. Oh? Trying his upmost to serenade you, his teeth grit in growing impatience at your cold dismissal, he could tell all attempts were futile. And that’s when you turned to face him, heart stopping and head spinning at the sight of you. Those bright, ‘come to bed’ irises staring back at him with a strong sense of defiance. “Listen buddy, I’m not interested. You seem experienced in this so why not sniff up someone else’s leg tonight? You won’t be getting it from me.” Twirling the head of his own pistol and aiming it toward his temple, you refused to be in range of deadly fire that could shatter anyone’s heart. You made it known you were the one in control, and it projected loud and clear. Stumped with total loss for words, his brows raise with a hammering pulse against his chest. What’s this? A rush. Clearing his throat and deciding to take up your little challenge, he persisted. How could you turn him down so easily? No woman had ever refused him before. Single, married, rich, poor. None of it mattered once his sights were set, he knew anyone would give in to his advances. Not you though, and that’s what excited him. He had to work for what he wanted. After an hour of conversing with you, albeit pretty one sided, you sigh in defeat and raise from the bar, slipping him a piece of paper and walking away, glancing over your shoulder with an indecipherable expression. “Look, I gotta go, but if you’re that interested in entertaining me, give me a call. You’re not all too bad.” Lulled by the soothing sway of your voice, he chuckles with bitter perversity. If only you knew how many counts of murder and extortion he had strapped under his belt and carved to his name. He sat there and watched as you walk away, body melding with the music and hips squeezing the satin dress stained a deep crimson in the best ways possible, oozing a seduction rivalling his own. Kuroo made an internal vow then and there, he would chase you to the ends of the earth until he could call you “mine.” And so he did. Running tirelessly after your back, extending a hand until you slowed, if only a little, allowing him to grasp hold of what he so desperately longed for. No one could compare to you, and he strongly believed no one ever could. You had this black-haired bad boy mafioso wrapped around your finger like a thread, twirling it effortlessly and dragging the heel of your stiletto under his chin, toying him with the feeling of your dripping core wrapped tightly around his member, sliding your hips down like a professional working the pole. His tattooed hands hovering over your breasts and groping them with an insatiable hunger that only you could fulfil. And that’s when he knew, He’d never be satisfied with anyone else.

Song: Dog Days - Richard Freeman

The soft sound of jazz music floods the bar, taking an elongated sip of the embered whiskey and curbing the craving of a spiced kick to the throat. Iwaizumi Hajime, a stern and business oriented man who pays no mind to anything that doesn’t reward with monetary gain. He eyes the waitress carefully, pupils crawling over her tightly-clothed backside wrapped in black apron accented with blue ribbon. Humming to himself, this captures the attention of the mysterious and enchanting woman. You. “We have a karaoke night on Thursdays, maybe you should sign up, you have a quite a nice voice.” Smirking impishly with a chuckle, you eye him with equal intensity. “You know, it’s a little rude to stare at someone without reason, do you need another drink orrrr...?” Trailing off with soft seduction, it’s corrupting to the ears and Iwaizumi can feel his groin shift uncomfortably in his seat. Good looking, sarcastic, a little bratty and more than capable of conjuring a clever quip or two to decline his patience. Huh, kinda sounds like someone he knows. If it’s some playful mental sparring you want, then it’s what you’ll get. “Mmm, I wouldn’t mind another drink, though are you sure it’s not against staff policy to be so troublesome toward clients?” His voice is gravelly and rough, the husk reverberating throughout the room devoid of people, washing over you like a tidal wave- no, tsunami. It leaves your knees trembling from below the bars island. “Well there’s no one here to scold me, is there?” This time it’s Iwaizumi’s turn to chuckle, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that darling.” His veiny hand curls around the empty glass, sliding it in your direction as you eye his exposed forearms, revealed by the rolled up sleeves of his white button-up shirt. The top two buttons are left carelessly undone, giving him a rugged quality you couldn’t help but appreciate. Drinking in the sight of him with Iwaizumi doing the same, you spot a beautiful tattoo peaking from the top of his shirt and decorating his chest. “That a beautiful tattoo.” You remark as you take the glass from his hands, shivering from the gentle way your fingers brush. Iwaizumi jolts slightly, his brow furrowing in what seems like... restraint? “It is, what a shame you can’t see the rest underneath.” He responds gruffly, his mouth quirking into a grin as you place a sprig of lemon around the rim of the glass. “Mmm, it is.” You counter, deciding to harness the sexual tension brewing in the air and deem it your personal puppet, pulling the strings until he caves, breaking the silence once again. “Tell me, what’s your name?” “Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi Hajime.” “What a lovely name... Hajime.” you purr, resting your elbows on the counter and pushing your chest forward, locks of hair dancing in your vision that you drag between your fingers and tuck behind your ear. Normally, somebody addressing him on a first name basis so informally would leave him seething, but from you it sounds like heaven, and he wants more. Needs more. “Fuck this.” He mutters. At wits end and grabbing the front of your apron, he pulls you across the counter, lips colliding with yours hungrily as his hands find their way to your neck, squeezing just enough to make your eyes water. You break away with a gasp, a string of saliva connecting your mouth and tempting you with more. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they? What if someone walks in?” You hush, teeth grazing across your lower lip while propping yourself on the top of the island, skirt hiking up your exposed thighs and pricking at the cool of the air con. “Let them, they’ll see how much of a little whore you are.” “Ah ah ahh, that’s not very nice is it baby?” you tut, quirking a brow and sliding your legs closed as if to deny him access. “Don’t be a brat with me, I’ll have you begging soon enough.” His hands roam over the soft skin of your legs before finding their way to your core. Grinding his fingers against your lace-clad slit, he hums in satisfaction. “Well someone’s soaked, is that all for me princess?” You whimper in response, struggling to stabilise your breathing and retain your composure. A needy moan escaping your lips before he silences you with his own once again, fist balling against his shirt with increasing desperation as the squelching sound of his fingers pumping into you begin to sound through the air. The thought of you begging for someone had always been ludicrous, but here you were, being finger-fucked recklessly on the counter with the risk of your manager imposing at any second. It doesn’t take long before you realise, He wasn’t wrong.

Song: Havana - Camilla Cabello

Inky 8-piece hat, polished off with red tie looped through a black tuxedo, Akaashi Keji was made of the finer things in life. All thanks to his profession that was less than holy. Standing at the entrance to an alleyway, you can’t help but turn your head as you walk past, carrying the grocery bags holding tonight’s meal and admiring his commanding aura. The sound of gunshots knocks you out of your reverie as you’re grabbed harshly by the shoulders and slammed against the cold walls of the backstreet, encased by his body which was looming over you protectively. The steely gaze of gun-metal blue pierces into your own, enraptured by this mans eyes you almost forget to breathe, heart pounding erratically in your chest when it hits you. Had he just saved your life? You stand there for a moment until the gunfire ceases, the sound of sirens blaring in the distance. Grabbing hold of your wrist, he bolts down the concrete pathway with you in tow, thudding leather shoes echoing off the walls as he simply tsk’s, as if running from the police was no more than a menial chore. Hastily attempting to match his pace, you can’t help but let your mind wander and wonder what the hell you’d just gotten yourself into. Once he seems satisfied with the distance put between you and the scene, you come to a halt. Panting and on the brink of keeling over, you take a moment and stare in awe at the building before you. A classy, 5-star hotel polished from head to toe. “You really need to work on your stamina.” he quips, eyeing you up with an unreadable expression. “Shut up. What are you, my mom?” “Come, now that you’re a witness they’ll be after you too.” “Wh-huh?! You can’t just-” Before your brain can process the speed of events, he’s pulling you behind him once again, you sigh in frustration at how you’re allowing this man lug you around like a suitcase. You’ll allow it just this once, being your saviour and all. He saunters up to the desk, and the woman working behind visibly flushes. “Your name, sir?” “Akaashi Keiji.” While he checks in, you take in your surroundings. A gleaming chandelier that probably costs more than your entire apartment, sparkling water fountains streaming with water that pools into a crystal encrusted surface, and sleek statues crafted like something out of the renaissance. It was all too much, you’d never been in such a wealthy environment before. The woman slips the keycard over the counter, eyeing him up and down. She clocks your presence and narrows in annoyance. You can’t help but shake your head at the woman’s actions, have she no shame? “Thank you.” Is all he says before hauling you behind him once again. “I can follow you by myself you know.” You huff in frustration. Turning his head, he watches as you pout like a petulant child and can’t help but chuckle. “What? what’s so funny?” You bark, folding your arms as he presses the button to the elevator. Before you can refuse, you’re pressed against the back wall and hoisted up by his knee. You moan involuntarily as the jolt of the elevator grinds you against his leg. “Akaashi what are you-” “Shit. Say my name, say Keji.” “you- HUH?” “Think of it as payment for saving your life.” He murmurs, lips ghosting against the skin of your neck, your hands find their way to his tie and yank him forward indigently. How long had it been since you’d gotten laid anyway? You couldn’t remember, and this man wasn’t helping by abusing all the right places tenderly with his teeth. Butterflies swirl in your stomach at the close contact, cheeks firing up and fuelled by the burning chemistry your bodies shared. “Shouldn’t saving someone from that situation be human decency?” you squeak, melting beneath the feel of his large palms slipping under your skirt and scathing the skin of your hips. “No, normally I wouldn’t bother, too much effort” He groans between kisses, almost lazily at the thought of it. “I’m not quite sure why I felt compelled to help, and now I’m regretting it because of your ungrateful ass.” He smirks, eyes darting with a sense of playfulness you hand’t quite expected. “Oh how charitable of you” you spat. “Mmmm...” he groans, so dangerously close to your ear that your legs buckle without protest. You stare shamefully at the floor. “Weak at the knees for me are we, baby?” He coos, rubbing the ridges of his thigh roughly against your clit. “Get used to it. Now you’ve been seen with me, you’ll be hunted until they inevitably kill you. Unless..” He trails off, the ding of the elevator snapping you out of your daze. Adjusting himself and sweeping you into his arms effortlessly, he stares at you with his irresistible gaze. “You stay with me.” Swept away in the unfortunate world of crime with no means of escape, you’ll be in for the ride of your life. Stuck by his side with no room for objections, he’ll lovingly train you to the bone till you’re as lethal as him. Though one day, you’ll meet a gruesome death. Intertwining your fingers with his as the name ‘Bonnie & Clyde’ is revived through the streets. Meeting your fateful end and knocking on deaths door, you share one last ghosting kiss, reminiscent to the first. Binding the two of you with an internal promise to be inseparable even in the afterlife. And you can’t help but smile as one thought crosses your mind. It was worth it.

#hq #haikyuu #iwaizumi imagine #iwaizumi haijime x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo x reader #fukurodani #nekoma #aoba johsai #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu mafia au #hq mafia au

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daily-dose-of-imagines · 3 years

Text

ʜᴇʀ ʟᴏʏᴀʟ ᴅᴏɢ | ʜᴀɪᴋʏᴜᴜ!! ᴀᴜ ; ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ!ᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ x ʏᴀᴋᴜᴢᴀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ⚠️ɴꜱꜰᴡ [19+]⚠️

So I may or may not be in a major mood. I haven’t seen a lot of Femdom stuff, so I really wanted to write something for it with the boy I simp the hardest for-- I love Akaashi to bits and pieces so I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did with writing it!

TW: Torture, mutilation, Femdom ; BDSM ; Sadism ; Masochism ; Bondage ; Facesitting ; Pegging ; Strap-on ; Gags ; Pet Play ; Collars ; Leashes ; Breathplay ; Whips ; Marking ; Overstim

》》Admin Ko

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Kill the traitor.”

The command was simple. Fear swam through the air as the scent of sweat and tears merged into a distasteful smell. The figures that all sat kneeled in perfect alignment along the walls watched as one of what they considered their own, was brutally tortured before their eyes. Their blood and guts splattered the once clean tatami mats as garbled pleas for mercy escaped their lips.

Though this was quickly silenced as piercing gunmetal blue eyes stared down at the parasite that dared to harm the head of the clan. It didn’t take the guard dog of the Fukurodani clan long before easily slicing the traitorous scum’s head off. Glowing (e/c) orbs watched with boredom as the head rolled before her favorite dog returned to her side.

A simple suit adorned her body as she sat on her throne.

“I expect this to never happen again. Are we clear?”

Hurried sounds of agreement flourished throughout the once unsettling silent room before she held her hand up once more to silence the room.

“You all are dismissed. I expect to not be disturbed for the rest of the evening.”

In an instant the room cleared leaving only (L/n) (y/n) and her loyal guard dog Akaashi Keiji.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Breathing a sigh of relief, she leaned comfortably into her chair as she felt his chin gently prop itself on her thigh. Glimmering gunmetal eyes focused solely on her as she lazily brought a hand up to run her fingers through his black locks.

“Hm...perhaps I should reward my loyal dog for bringing the traitor forth...”

Immediately the grip around her leg became prominent as she finally brought her gaze over to the expectant male’s as he preened into her touch. A light chuckle escaped her lips as she continued to pet him before bringing that hand down to the base of his throat. Eagerly, Akaashi tilted his head up as his unwavering gaze met her own.

“What a good puppy...very well. Let’s play a game.”

Akaashi perked at the mention of the game, excitement already simmering in his abdomen as thoughts of their last game bubbled to the surface. Though just as he was about to ask those (e/c) orbs pierced deeply into his soul as she got up.

“Well? Prepare yourself. If you do well, perhaps I’ll give my little pervert of a dog a chance to eat his master’s panties.”

Another stroke of heat fanned the flames as he fumbled quickly, tugging at his clothes as he searched desperately for her favorite collar. The one that she always used to call him her pretty boy in. (y/n) couldn’t help but watch with amusement as the terrifying assassin of Fukurodani stumbled with the grace of a newborn pup as he hurried to please his master.

The loyalty he held was truly too cute.

As he took his time searching for his favorite collar she went ahead to collect the toys she’d use this time. Beautifully spun deep crimson ropes were thrown behind her as she went through her various types of whips before settling for a simple flogger and holed paddle set. Humming in appreciation, she continued her search before finally finding the beloved strap on. After all, it had been quite some time since she’s gotten to see her favorite pup beg for cock.

As she turned to reorganize her belongings she couldn’t help but coo at her good boy. Seated naked-- save for the leather black collar around his throat-- and eagerly on his knees in the center of the bloodstained room was Akaashi.

“What an eager pup. Bring me your leash.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Akaashi leaned forward as he took the leash into his mouth before crawling his way towards her. As he moved, she couldn’t help but admire the curve and ripple of muscle as his scar littered body was brought before her as he gently dropped the leash before her feet.

Letting out a pleased sigh, she leaned down, briefly removing her heels and slacks as she watched with amused eyes at the absolutely hungry look Akaashi was giving her. Those piercing orbs never leaving her hands as she slowly pulled off her panties.

“You want? You beg.”

“Please please please pleaseplease stuff me full master---hmmp!”

Easily, a muffled moan escaped his full mouth as he chewed on the panties that were crammed into his mouth. Yet before he could even attempt to mutter his thanks his face was pressed deeply into the ground as he almost choked on the fabric. His body squirmed as he felt heat ripple against his leaking cock as he could smell-- practically taste her against his lips as she sat on his head. The familiar weaving of rope brought another sense of pleasure into him as he let out another unabashed muffled moan as his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of helplessness.

The only feeling he ever felt with his beloved master.

Lost in his imagination, (y/n) finished up her handy work of weaving beautiful yet constricting patterns around the assassin’s body before snickering as she pulled herself up. A wonderfully set frogtie graced her sights as she pet him.

“Looks like you’re enjoying those so much...perhaps I’ll just stuff you full and make you my personal laundry machine.”

A sound of confusion came from the male as he blearily brought his gaze back up to her before sputtering as a second pair of panties were pushed into his mouth before a couple of strips of medical tape was plastered over his lips.

“Perhaps if you do a good job washing them you’ll be upgraded to a pup who can eat a decent meal.”

Another unabashed muffled moan came out of the male’s mouth as he eagerly chewed and toyed with the newly placed gag. His jaw eagerly working away at attempting to remove the tape and fabric now crammed into his mouth.

Distracted by this, Akaashi failed to noticed his master walking around him before a sharp yet pleasure filled strike snapped him out of his thoughts as bleary and tear filled eyes snapped to attention towards his master.

“Fmmmpf....himmpf mmpf mmprf~.”

Though incomprehensible, (y/n) knew all too well what that look was telling her. Without a moment’s hesitation she sent a flurry of strikes against the bound assassin’s ass as muffled cries filled the room. Stars filled his vision as the precum that stained his chest came close to becoming a white mess of hot pleasure. Yet before he even reached that much needed climax she stopped.

Sobbing into the fabric, he pleaded-- rather begged for his release as he crawled towards her, his cheeks rubbing against her shin in an attempt to ease her into giving him another reward, yet before he could even blink he was thrown onto his back, his weeping cock laying flat against his stomach as she pressed the heel of her foot into his hardening cock.

“What a mischievous pup...did you really think that I’d let you off this easy little one?”

Tears blurred his vision as pure white pleasure filled his vision as he eagerly grinded himself against the pain she brought him as she continued to squash his weeping cock.

“What a little slut. You enjoy the pain I give you? do you pup?”

Adding more pressure caused another high pitched muffled wail to tear through his throat as he keened at her with a whimper. Leaning forward, she hooked a finger through the ring where the leash would’ve attached, and with a strong tug she brought him towards her as he grunted. Watery blue eyes and beautiful long lashes decorated his features as nothing but pain and pleasure filled his vision. The beautiful shade of red that stained his cheeks was porn worthy as he tried his best to get closer to his beloved master.

“Since you seem to be enjoying my panties so much...how about I let you drown in my jucies, hm?”

“Hmmpf? Hmmppf!”

Before Akaashi could even question it he was thrown back onto his back. A breath knocked out of him as he inhaled through his nose deeply before his senses were taken over with his master’s lovely pussy. Immediately his senses were assulted by her scent as he eagerly pressed his face into her. His tongue desperately pushing against his confined prison for a fresher taste of his master.

His pupils already were beginning to roll up into his head as he struggled to breath with her pussy pressed against his face. Desperate muffled moans filled the room as she grinded against the assassin’s face. Her juices smearing his face as he bucked his hips struggling to get air while wanting to so desperately eat his master out.

As his vision began to blacken he felt another rough spurt bubbled against his abdomen as his cock eagerly twitched with a load ready to explode. Yet before he could feel his body begin it’s descent into a struggling pleasure filled orgasm his master got up. A breath of fresh air hitting him as he coughed and sputtered as tears streamed down his face. Another orgasm gone from that as he began to blabber muffled nonsense behind his gag as he squirmed on the floor.

Though before he could begin howling the tape was removed and the panties were fished out of his mouth as his tongue eagerly lapped at the remnants of her juices around his lips as his drool began to dribble down his chin.

“If you do a good job bringing me pleasure...I’ll give you that cock you’ve been so desperate for all week Keiji.”

Hearing his name fall from her lips had him eagerly bucking his hips up into nothing as he stared at her with lust and want. His tongue immediately licking his lips as she settled herself on his chest.

“How does that sound ~ Hm?”

“Fuck...please, please, please~ I’ll give you all the pleasure you deserve master, just fuck me with your fat cock after..please~”

Without a moment’s hesitation she was on him again, pussy pressed firmly against his face as he eagerly began lapping at her sensitive walls. Akaashi strained against the ropes, his hands itching to just dig into the hips of his master to bring her dripping pussy closer to his eager tongue.

Messy and erotic slurps filled the room as he continued to eagerly please her. His tongue reaching deep into her as his eyes began to roll up into his head again as the feeling of lightheadedness filled his brain again. The thrill and lack of oxygen he was receiving brought another pang of heat into his stomach as his cock eagerly twitched, hoping to finally be able to cum.

The icing on the cake that brought him over the edge though was the grunts and lewd moans coming from his master. Her flushed cheeks making her ethereal and godly in his eyes as she bit her lower lip to hide her noises. That of course failed as he managed to reach her sweet spot, and in the next he felt her body come undone as he eagerly lapped up her orgasm. The sounds worthy of being in a porno as she finally moved to give the male a breath of fresh air. His face thoroughly fucked and glowing as he awaited to get fucked brainless by her.

“Fuck...such a good dog...”

In response he gave her an eager bark as he strained against the ropes before feeling his face flush even more as she finally brought forth the strap on. The sight of it only seemed to fan the heat in his belly even more as he watched her absolutely mesmerized as she slid herself into the device. A sadistic grin on her face as she pressed the tip against his lips, and like a good boy, Akaashi opened his lips as he eagerly took in the cock. His moans once again muffled by the girth and size of the toy that was about to enter him.

It ended up being short lived though as she finally pulled back before flipping him onto his stomach. An unabashed moan broke through as he felt her fingers pressing against his aching hole. The precum that splattered against his chest becoming his lube as he pressed his cheek into the mat.

Eagerness to be filled by his master increased as she began to finger his ass. Slowly spreading and stretching his hole for her as more and more moans filled the room.

“Fuck...ah~ fuck...shit...please, pleasepleaseplease~ hurry and fill me with your cock master...fuck...”

Like a broken record, Akaashi pleaded with her as she began to toy with his hole. With three fingers in and each slowly yet tauntingly toying with his sweet spots, he swore he was going to pass out before he’d even get the dick he was craving.

Then, finally, he was gifted with what he had been waiting for. Though he missed the absence of her fingers, the sudden girth and length of her cock finally filled him that he let out a broken and hoarse moan as he tried so hard to adjust. His cock began weeping. A bright red shade flushed his body as he felt tears dribble down his cheeks. Of course the moment of peace he had once she was in was shattered as she began to relentlessly pound into his hole. More broken moans filled the room in a hypnotic melody as he threw his head back.

The tension continued to fill him as he timed his thrusts with hers before he was suddenly flipped, his position changing as she began thrusting further deeper into him than before.

“Ah~! F-Fuck, shit shit shit! Unngf~~ M-Master~. Fuck~!!!”

Immediately his body began to twitch and squirm in pent up pleasure before he roughly came. His seed staining his abdomen and chest as he breathed heavily before panting heavily as he let the stars in his eyes take over briefly before his eyes snapped tp her feral gaze.

“M-Master?”

The rocking of her hips had alerted him and immediately he could feel pleasure build up again as she began to thrust slowly, steadily increasing back into her earlier feral pace as gasps and broken moans came out of him like a broken record. His eyes rolling back into his head as he gasped and groaned.

“A-Ahhhng~! F-Fuck, t-too much~! Oh shit, oh shit~!! Fuck ahhh~ ah~ ummmmng~ M-Master~!”

Sobs came out of the assassin as another bout of pleasure hit him hard like a train. His body squirming and straining against the crimson binds that bound him to her as he reached his second orgasm in a matter of moments.

Slowly, he could feel her pull out. His mind absolutely much as his body fell slack against the mat as she began to leisurely remove his binds. The stench of lust, sex, and sweat permeated the air as she sat leisurely next to him. His head on her lap as she pet his sweaty hair. Those blue eyes slowly fluttering to sleep as he nuzzled up to her even more. A large terrifying guard dog who only broke before his master.

“What a good puppy...you’re my loyal dog, aren’t you Keiji?”

“Always f-for you master (y/n)...”

#akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi imagine #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #akaashi scenarios #akaashi x you #akashi keiji #hq imagines #hq x reader #hq!! akaashi #haikyuu x reader #spicy times #hq #hq!!

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cathrrrine · 3 years

Text

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 17 - SPEED DIAL

———

"I'm about to do something really stupid." Steve put his hands on his hips and stared at the entrance before him, as if he was still contemplating whether or not it was worth it.

"What is it?" Pietro followed the Captain's gaze, both of them eyeing the doorway. It took him a while to figure it out, but once he connected Steve's nervous stance to his reason to standing in front of the room where Y/N was being held, he felt stupid for not knowing immediately. "Oh. That's very stupid."

"I know."

"You're really going in there?"

"Seems like it."

Pietro wondered if he should explain his own situation with Y/N to Steve, but decided against it. There was enough drama going on for the man, especially when the possible key to unlocking his best friend's whereabouts were just a few feet away. Steve could live without knowing Pietro's dilemma.

"Good luck then." He gave the Captain a brief nod, smirking a little when Steve did nothing in response. Pietro watched as he entered the passcode for the door to open, backing away as Steve began to enter.

———

Just as I thought I would be alone again — and this time more willingly — someone else stepped inside. The familiar muscular figure strode across the room, his boots clacking on the floor as if to announce his arrival.

I sighed and stayed laying down on the bed, not bothering to sit up and give him any sort of greeting. First the speedster, now him? What was he going to do, tell me the values of a great American?

"Jokes on you, I'm not even American." I mumbled to myself in response to my mental rambling.

"Huh?"

I groaned, putting an arm over my eyes to block the light. "What are you doing here, Captain?"

He cleared his throat. I could hear him shifting from one foot to the other in discomfort. Was he...nervous? That was definitely intriguing. What the hell is wrong with these Avengers? They were more complicated than I thought they would be.

"I came here to ask you for something."

I put down the arm I had over my eyes and shifted my weight onto my elbows, propping myself up so I could get a better look at my uninvited visitor. "Another deal?"

"Something like that." His lips stretched out into a thin line, his arms raising from his sides so he could cross them in front of his chest. "It's an offer. If you want it, take it. If you don't-"

"You'll kill me."

The Captain's eyebrows met together furiously, "That wasn't what I was going to say. If you don't want to take my offer, then it's up to Fury to decide what to do with you."

"So...no difference, then. He'll kill me."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." I shrugged. I swung my legs over the bed and stood up so I was exactly across him. "So, what's this life-changing opportunity you've got in store?"

His shoulders immediately sagged, telling me how much he dreaded what he was going to say. I stood in anticipation, slowly taking small steps forward.

"You knew him." Steve blinked. "You knew Bucky."

"Who?"

"James." He sighed again, like the weight of the world was sitting on his windpipe. "Or...the Winter Sold-"

"Stop right there." I put a hand up, my palm facing the son of a bitch. "If I hear that name one more time, I'll rip your organs out through your mouth and shove them back in through your ass."

I hated how he said his name, his actual name, with such fondness and nonchalance like he was anything more than a torture machine who made my life a living hell. Steve tilted his head, stretching his neck. I could see the muscles of his jaw flexing even from where I was standing. It was almost impossible how his teeth were still intact to this day, with all that tension in his jaw and the stress-grinding.

"I just need you to help me track him down."

I couldn't help but chuckle. Hell, laugh even. That finally broke the dam that I tried to hold up and all hell was breaking loose right this moment. Steve Rogers, everybody! The world's greatest comedian! Round of applause!

"Track him down? You think I have his phone number on speed dial? What do you want me to do? Call him up and say, 'Hey, bestie! What's up? Wanna go shopping for knives? Maybe kill some people on the way? Oh, how about we get some ice cream and reminisce the time when you tried to kill me but I ran away and I've been running ever since? Good times!' HA!"

"I'm not asking you to make friendship bracelets, I'm just asking for information that only you could possibly know."

"Are you crazy, Rogers?" I yelled so loudly that my breath fogged up the glass I was basically pressed up upon. "You'll never track him down. He's under Hydra's thumb 24/7. Even if we do manage to get to him, what do you think will happen? You're the face of the enemy. He'll kill you on the spot. He's not your best friend anymore, Rogers. He's a weapon bound to blow up in your face."

"Wait, what?" He uncrossed his arms and replaced them on his hips. He pointed to me, "Why do you think Hydra's still watching him?"

"I said don't make me say his name again-"

"No, no- you think he's-" he cut off abruptly. "You don't know, do you?"

The hand he had been using to point at me moved towards his face to stroke his chin. "The Winter Soldier escaped Hydra not too long ago, when S.H.I.E.L.D was compromised."

What? I felt my body go numb. It was like the world was caving in on me, trying to crush my body with it's cruel, cruel walls. How did I not know that? "What? No. You're lying."

He shook his head, "That's why I want you to help me track him down. I can't leave him alone out there."

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Hearing Steve talk about him like he was referring to a friend, humanising him...felt so wrong and disgusting that it left a bad taste in my mouth. I wanted to throw up.

"No."

I walked away from the front of the cell and turned my back to him, wanting nothing more to do with the conversation. Everything I thought was true turned out to be a rotting corpse of a lie. There was nothing else to revive, not even the remains of hell that I blew away a lifetime ago. There was no phoenix that would suddenly rise. Just cold, painful and numbing reality, hitting me in the face.

I should be glad, right? The knowledge that he was no longer who he used to be should be enough to send me dancing for joy and painting the town or whatever it is that happy, liberated people do. But instead I was scared. He was out there, blending in with civilians as if he wasn't a total monster. I was confused too—the sole reason I'd handed myself over to S.H.I.E.L.D was because I was running from him.

Then, the gears of my brain suddenly hit the brakes.

"You're lying." I said, with my back still turned to the glass. "He's not out there. He's still with them. I heard him, the day Hydra raided this place!"

"I thought you might bring that up. I'm not lying, Y/N."

Something told me I should turn around, and so I did. He was taking something out of his pocket. A small, metallic black, oval device that resembled an earpiece, with a wire attached to it. At the end of the wire was a tiny cube. "We found this on one of the Hydra agents' bodies, it was attached to his ear and his neck. We examined it immediately."

He held the thing up for me to see, the cube dangling from the wire. "Advanced technology."

He didn't need to say the words. I already knew what was coming.

"A voice modifier."

I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep myself from doing something stupid–the range was vast–and took a deep breath. Today was a day of revelations, it seemed. This cell is a feelings brothel.

"They knew, didn't they?" I scoffed, smirking despite my own conscience. "They wanted me to be scared."

Steve shoved the horror device back into his pocket, nodding once and staying silent, a gesture for me to continue. I dared myself to meet his eyes.

"This doesn't change anything." I heard myself saying. "I'm not helping you find him either way."

He sighed, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "I thought you might say that."

I didn't know what to say. But then suddenly, I heard the sound of a click and felt a sudden rush of air behind me. I whipped my head around to see the door hanging slightly ajar.

"Advanced technology."

Life was getting stranger by the second for me. I was just starting to figure out all the ways I could escape seamlessly, but then he stopped me.

"I'm not done yet." What now? "You can get out of here, on one condition. You help me find him. Then you're free to go wherever you want to go after."

Deals after deals after deals. My life was a joke. Everything I do involves a gamble.

"That's it?"

"Listen here, Y/N." The Captain's voice dropped an octave, a threat waiting to ignite. "I'm doing this on my own accord. If you help me, I'll be more than glad to return the favour, but only if you swear not to show up on anyone's radar for at least a year or they'll find you. Do this and you can forget about everything. I'm offering you a clean slate."

It was the negotiation of the century. But I sensed there was more. "And?"

"And, if you so much as step a foot out of line, I won't be the law abiding Captain you know me to be, kid."

I smirked. "Huh. I like you more like this, Cap. Suits you."

"So, what's it gonna be?"

I let the thought of it marinate for a while, weighing all the pros and cons. Pros? I get to get out of here and forget about ever 'pledging my loyalty' to this freak show. Cons? I had to actively and consciously search for the man whom I'd been running from forever.

"Deal. But I have one condition."

He raised an eyebrow lazily, as if surprised but also not at the same time. I was becoming way too predictable for these people. "What would that be?"

I couldn't go alone, not with just the walking flag, and I still had some unanswered questions to deal with. Plus, truth be told, I had a feeling he was the only person I could truly trust, especially on a rogue mission.

"Pietro has to come along."

#run pietro x reader #pietro maximoff x y/n #pietro maximoff x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #pietro maximoff #marvel #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #marvel imagines #marvel x reader

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spartanguard · 3 years

Text

partners

summary: SVU detective Emma Swan's new partner is not what she expected. Thankfully, that's a good thing.

A/n: So I've been watching a LOT of Law & Order: SVU lately and when I got to the episodes where Stabler was partnered with Dani Beck, it just smacked with CS feels. This is just a bit of exploration of that, in honor of @optomisticgirl ‘s birthday!!

B—HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Thank you for being the most amazing friend, and the best person to bounce crazy fic ideas off of (like this). I hope you have the most amazing day and I love you!!!!

Note: While there isn't any actual sexual violence in this story, it is an SVU AU, so it's mentioned.

rated T | 2.3k words | AO3

She met him while he was trying to arrest a perp who’d just walked.

“Are you Detective Swan?” he’d asked, and she immediately noticed his accent—the way it wrapped around her last name in a way that sent a shiver down her spine, but it was hard to tell if it was in a good way or not.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she tossed back.

“I’m your new partner. Killian Jones.”

She shook his offered hand (only later noticing he only had the one) and wondered—just what the hell were they about to get into?

[He was her second new partner in as many weeks. Graham, who she’d worked with since she joined the unit, had enough with special victims—with Boston in general—and had taken up some smalltown sheriff gig in Maine. Emma knew he’d be happier there, but it kind of left her in the lurch. They’d sent someone new over the week before, but her style didn’t gel with Mulan’s quite well enough—the woman was a damn fine detective but just...too different.]

Jones was new to special victims, transferring in on the recommendation of the captain at his previous precinct, where he’d worked in homicide. The dead victims, he was used to; the live ones—not so much.

It was pretty obvious on their first case together, when they were interviewing the young girl in the hospital. Emma—she’d seen enough of the world’s shitty side that little phazed her any more; growing up in the foster system made her uniquely suited to this line of work.

But Killian? He was visibly upset; she had to physically restrain him from running out of the hospital to start tracking down the culprit, holding him back by the sleeve of his leather jacket. They hardly had a lead on this. Something could be said for enthusiasm, but that didn’t excuse jumping ahead of themselves. That’s how you got into trouble—that was how criminals got away with murder (literally); she’d done that enough for the both of them, and had a feeling he had, too.

She felt they had a lot in common, actually; there was an obvious affinity for leather coats, but past that, there was something familiar in his eyes. Not that she’d met him before, or anything—just something in the determined set of his gaze when interviewing a suspect, in the empathetic way he handled the victim.

She still wasn’t sure if that was good or not, especially when he almost forgot protocol—almost lost them evidence—by rushing in too soon.

And she was half ready to walk into Captain Mills’ office to request a new partner (again) when she found him asleep at his desk with what could only be described as a murderboard spread out behind him. He looked younger and softer in his sleep, impossibly gorgeous with the way his long lashes rested on his cheekbones and gentle breaths from his full lips—and none of that was really pertinent, because the man had just researched his way to a solved case.

“Just who are you, Killian Jones?” she asked when she later woke him up with coffee and a bear claw (biting back a comment on the rumpled state of his usually pristine waistcoat-and-dress shirt combo).

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he drawled, holding her gaze intently before taking a long pull from his cup.

She knew she shouldn’t, but damn, did she.

It wasn’t until a couple cases later that she began to put together the pieces of him. It had been a doozy of a kidnapping, and he’d been on edge the whole time—right until they finally tracked down the little boy who’d been abducted. Emma slapped the cuffs on the miserable excuse for a father who’d taken him and Killian pulled the boy into his arms, visibly deflating once he knew he was safe.

She dragged him to their unit’s favorite bar that night and slid a glass of rum in front of him, along with the directive to “Talk.”

He downed it in one shot, then worried his bottom lip (much to Emma’s distraction) before saying, “Have I mentioned I have a daughter?”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but she let him explain without interruption. Her name was Alice; she was 8. He had sole custody, and with good reason: her mother, his ex-girlfriend, had kidnapped her from his apartment when she was only a few years old. “It’s the most scared I’ve ever been,” he confessed. “And today...it’s like I was right back in that moment.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replied, then finished her own whiskey. This was probably where she should drop some of her own tragic backstory, right? Like the scumbag who left her pregnant at 17, and the baby boy she put up for adoption? “Props to you for doing it on your own. I obviously couldn't.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, love; you gave him his best chance.” He gently set his hand over hers on the bar and she froze; not because he was cold—quite the opposite, actually—but between that tiny gesture of support and the understanding in those too-blue eyes, she felt more seen than she had by anyone in ages, even Graham.

It was suddenly too much, too intimate, and she yanked her hand away and ordered another drink. “Is your ex the name on your tattoo?” she asked, trying to put some space in between them (physically and emotionally).

It worked. He sat back up and tugged his right sleeve down with his prosthesis, hiding the ink, and she could almost see the walls go back up between them. “No. That’s...another story. For another time.” He stood and tossed some cash on the counter. “Alice is with my neighbor; I better go get her. See you ‘round.” And he left hastily.

It was what she wanted to happen. He’d suddenly gotten too close. So why did she feel like such an ass about it?

She was going to apologize at their next shift, but they got thrown into another case. And then another after it. It was a different kind of intense—a different kind of intimate—than that moment in the bar; very quickly, she had to trust him, and vice versa. That was something neither were predisposed to, but were managing to do...honestly, better than she had with anyone.

After putting another rapist behind bars, Killian said with a smirk, “I don’t mean to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team.” And he winked (well, tried to), and she just blushed back, like she was a teenager in love all over again. That fact that would normally send her running but, for the first time in years, she wasn’t opposed to it—except for, y’know, the fact that he was her partner and they were coworkers and HR generally looked down on that kind of thing.

She doubted he was interested, anyway. They hadn’t really done anything outside of work since that night; he was always quick to get home to Alice, and she didn’t fault him that—especially when she finally met the kid, who was clearly her father’s daughter in all the best ways.

They got a call for a case late one weeknight; Emma easily beat him to the scene, since he had to make sure his neighbor could watch Alice at such an ungodly hour. She handed him a coffee when he got there and they made their way to the ME, to get the rundown on the vic.

Emma had been paying attention, but it shifted from the examiner to Killian pretty quickly; he stiffened at the description of what had been done to the victim, then when white as the sheet covering her when it was pulled back.

“Eloise,” he whispered, like he’d seen a ghost.

“Wait—as in…?”

He nodded. “Aye. Alice’s mum.”

“Shit.”

They got what little information they could from the scene and then started to head for the precinct, but he was shaking so much, she insisted on driving.

“Are you gonna be alright?” she asked.

He let out a hollow chuckle. “No, probably not.” Then, one long breath later, “It was Gold.”

She nearly missed their turn at that. “Gold? As in, the mysterious Mr. Gold, owner of the pawn store chain?”

“One and the same,” Killian said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s the same as with Milah.”

She would have asked who that was, but he was resting his prosthesis over the spot on his arm where she knew the tattoo was. And she got a sinking feeling in her stomach that this was going to be a rough case.

Once they got to the office (and she got some more coffee in him), Killian explained: Milah was his ex, his first love—but also Gold’s wife. And while Gold was well-known for being a shady individual, no one had ever been able to pin anything on him.

But Gold did find out about their affair, and Killian came home one day to find Milah—dead, attacked and killed in the same way Eloise had been hours ago. He wasn’t sure what their connection was—and he didn’t think Gold knew about his to Eloise, especially since she’d only been released from jail last week—“But I know it’s him. And I’m going to prove it this time.”

(Apparently, last time had ended with him getting into an altercation with one of Gold’s lackeys. He escaped with his life, but not with his left hand.)

Milah’s case had gone cold, but given the similarities, they were able to pull the files. It took a few weeks—several late nights, more than a few breakdowns, many tears (mostly Killian’s, but Emma’s and Alice’s as well) before they finally—finally—had the evidence to pin both murders on Gold.

Tracking him down was another thing altogether, but they finally caught up with him in his penthouse apartment. To no one’s surprise, he didn’t go willingly; a fistfight broke out between he and Killian.

She was scared she’d have to intervene, knowing how personal it was. By the end of it, Killian had a black eye and a bloody lip, but Gold was in handcuffs, tossed unceremoniously in the back of a squad car.

Killian watched the vehicle pull away, then turned to Emma, and wrapped his arms around her in a bruising hug.

In any other situation, she would have gone stiff with shock, but she didn’t hesitate to lean right into him. Her desire to comfort him after that was just as strong as his need for comfort.

But then he pulled back, cupped her cheek, and pressed his lips to hers.

That did take her by surprise.

But she was equally quick to reciprocate.

Just as fast, it was over and he was walking away, leaving her utterly confused. Logically, she knew it was probably just an emotional reaction—a one-time thing.

However: he kissed her like he meant it. She was familiar with empty kisses and single-night flings—and that...was a whole lot more.

And she couldn’t deny it any longer: she wanted that more.

She arrived at the precinct early the next morning, hoping to beat him there so they could talk about whatever that had been. She’d even gotten up an hour before she usually did so she could get them good coffee. But he was already there, filling out forms at his desk.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward as she put the cup on his desk. “You taking care of the reports?”

“Um, yeah,” he stammered, pointedly focusing on the paperwork and not her.

She glanced down at the desk, and that wasn’t a report—that was a transfer form. “You want to leave?” she whispered, the familiar pain of betrayal washing over her. He didn’t want to be her partner anymore?

“Emma, I can’t stay here,” he said, only somewhat apologetic. (Also, though she didn’t realize it at the moment, it was the first time he’d used her given name.) “After this last case...it just wouldn’t be good form.”

“Fuck your good form, Jones!” she cried. “How can you say that, after everything these past few months? After last night?”

Calmly, he stood up and moved into her space. “I can’t be your partner any more, Emma,” he said, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear. “Because I want to be more than that. And last I checked, Captain Mills frowned upon inter-unit relations.”

That was true; she really did, more than most. But then the reality of what Killian was saying hit: “You...you’d give up your position for me?”

“Aye,” he answered, simply, like it wasn’t the heaviest thing anyone had ever told her.

What else was she supposed to do after a confession like that but kiss him? She rose up on her toes, gripped the lapels of his waistcoat, and found his lips with hers. He didn’t hesitate to pull her close and she was exceedingly glad no one else was in the squad room, because she’d never quite been kissed so closely to within an inch of her life as she’d been then.

(Also, it was a good thing no one was around when he pushed her onto his desk to deepen it further. If Captain Mills later noticed the forms were a bit crumpled, she didn’t say anything.)

Killian ended up transferring back to his old precinct, old job. It turned out they missed him. Emma knew exactly why; her next partner, David, was great, but no match.

Good thing she got to go home to Killian—and Alice—every night.

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

thanks for reading, and send B all the birthday love! tagging some others:

@kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx t @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs detective au #happy birthday #optomisticgirl #my ff

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bluegarners · 3 years

Text

“someone slips on ice and gets hurt... hurt/comfort pls!” ~anon

For 12 Days of Batfam prompts!

Gotham is cold.

He doesn’t mean that metaphorically, like Batman would normally brood over. Sure, Gotham was pretty heartless when it came to certain things, and yeah, Bludhaven wasn’t any better, and sure, Gotham sometimes felt like one endless cycle of insanity day after day, but he’s getting away from the point.

He’s talking about the frigid kind of cold. Not the kind of cold where snow falls lightly from the sky and dusts the world in white. Not the kind of cold where it’s just chilly enough to put on a jacket and some gloves and start a fire (a contained and safe fire, mind you- arson is not part of that description) and maybe sip some hot chocolate and roast a couple marshmallows for the heck of it.

That’s the kind of crisp weather Dick would like, but as he said: Gotham is cold.

Which brings him to where he is now, jogging in place and trying his best to stay warm on what may be the most boring stake-out he’s done in months. His suit isn’t built to be warm. It’s not bulky and though it has kevlar in it, the material is meant to help stop bullets and deter knives from gracing themselves into his, unfortunately, vulnerable organs. Point being, the skin tight and relatively thin suit he’s wearing isn’t built for Gotham’s icy chill.

His fingers had gone numb a while ago, and Dick’s absolutely sure he’s sporting a new shade of blue lipstick from Fenty Beauty, and were someone to see him, Dick’s also certain they might mistake him for Rudolph. He wouldn’t mind being recognized as such an icon, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing to intimidate criminals with.

Efforts at staying warm prove futile, and the exercise he tries to do without being obvious also does little to put back some feeling into his toes. He’s thinking about calling it a night, the drug deal he’d been hoping to catch the last few weeks a bust, when a classically suspicious white van pulls up. It’s laughable, in a way, how stereotypical some of Gotham’s “lesser” villains could be, but Dick’s not one to complain.

Makes his job easier after all.

Two men exit the van, shuffling through some contents in the back. They’re both wearing ski masks, somewhat appropriate for the weather actually, and seem to be in a hurry. Hushed whispers go between the two as they wait stoically by the front doors of the van, what looks to be a small ziploc back clutched in one of the goons hands. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s a drug deal, or at least something related to it, and Dick feels a smile creep onto his frozen face as another person slowly walks up to them, shifty and anxious.

A newbie then, Dick thinks, crouching down and carefully making his way closer to them from his vantage point. Must be a kid then.

Based on the height and general demeanor of the newcomer, it’s safe to assume that the buyer is indeed a teenager, at most a young adult. Perhaps not even old enough to buy alcohol. How they heard about the new drug, and where to get it, was a bit surprising, but seeing as the deal was happening in the poorer districts, Dick was sadly not perturbed.

There are few quick words exchanged, an envelope of cash being handed over for the ziploc baggie, and Dick knows it’s time to finally take action. A good thing too, seeing as it feels like the soles of his boots had become suspended to the frozen concrete.

His entrance startles both parties, the men in ski masks immediately reaching for weapons and the teenager backing away, stumbling over himself in an effort to run. Perhaps if they were more experienced, or at the very least a second more prepared, they would have been able to put up some sort of defense. As it were, though, Dick had been stalking this particular drug for weeks. He knew where most of the suppliers were, knew what areas they liked to sell in, knew their demographics and the supply chain, and also knew who and what the dealers consisted of.

This “new” drug was really just a potent mixture of PCP and bath salts. A dangerous combination, but not valuable enough to have competent dealers and proper weapons for protection.

Which is why the take down of both men lasts all of about seven seconds, Dick easily knocking them out before they could reach for any weapons they happened to have in that van of theirs. He’ll give them props for trying though- it’s not everyday Nightwing, of all people, decides to ruin your one job.

With the dealers out of the way, Dick turns back around to see the teen, baggie in tow and still clutched tightly in his fist, booking it across the street. It’s dark enough to the point where the boy just looks like a flighty shadow in the night, but the flickering lamp-posts give just enough light to show exactly where he was heading. The confidence in his gait suggested that he knew where he wanted to go, and if Dick had to make a hypothesis, he’d say the kid was heading home.

The only place in the world that could feel safe after something like this.

Dick feels a frown pull on his face, the skin tight from being exposed to the bitter air, and not for the first time, feels a smidgen of sympathy for the situation. He brushes it off though, shelving that particular thought of his to the back of his mind, and grapples onto the building over, pulling himself over the ledge.

He follows the kid from the rooftops, leaping over gaps and darting across fire-escapes to keep up with the twists and turns the teen took. If he knew he was being tailed, then the kid was doing a pretty good job at evading, but he was no match for someone who had trained for years doing this exact thing. Dick may live in Bludhaven now, but Gotham would always be his first home. He knew this city almost as well as Bruce, and the only reason he didn’t know just as much was because he hadn’t given his soul away to it just yet. Bruce had shaken hands with the city and signed away his being when he donned the cowl.

Dick was attempting to do the same with Bludhaven.

The kid bolts into an alleyway, coat flying behind him in his mad dash, and Dick thinks now is the time to stop the chase. He descends from the rooftop, landing in front of the breathless teen, and holds out a hand firmly. It’s a little funny, the scene he makes. Not only does he look like Rudolph, but with the pose he’s made for himself, he might as well be a crosswalk guard with his hand up to halt speeding cars.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says, not unkindly. “Let’s do this the easy way, kid.”

The teen takes a step back, the drugs held tightly against his chest. “You’re… you’re Nightwing.”

“The one and only,” Dick smiles, taking a step forward.

“But-but this is Batman’s city. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Honestly, kid, that’s not your biggest concern right now. If I were you, I would be worrying about how to explain those drugs you’ve got there.”

As if realizing the contents of the baggie for the first time, the teens eyes dart to it, panic setting in as the situation’s gravity, and what it could mean for him, overwhelms him.

“Th-These aren’t mine,” the kid tries. “I-I swear I wasn’t gonna use them.”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, taking another step closer. “Why don’t you try again, uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Okay,” Dick shrugs, easing his way nearer. “That’s fine, I’ll just call you Buddy. Now, Buddy, there are two ways this can go. One, you give me that bag and you’ll only be reported for minor drug possession. Gotham has a fine ranging from 30 to 50 dollars for that sort of crime, so it won’t be too bad. The second option is, well, I don’t think you want the second option. So, what’s it going-”

Now, Dick could blame about ten different things for what happened next. He could blame his mouth, as he gets too chatty with the younger ones sometimes. He could blame the poor lighting, seeing even more difficult at this time of night. He could even blame the wind for being too loud, lest he would’ve heard the quick intake of breath and shuffling feet.

Dick could blame many different things, but as it were, Nightwing was being pushed, hard, and he hadn’t seen it coming.

The unexpected shove throws him off balance, arms waving in the air for some sort of hold, and Nightwing probably would’ve been able to stop the fall on any other night, but, as he keeps being sorely reminded, Gotham is cold tonight.

Gotham’s cold was unforgiving and instead of snow, it produced ice. And, lucky him, a patch of black ice presented itself right where his unfortunate footing was trying to find some stabilization. His feet fly right out from under him, all four appendages now in the air and flailing comically.

Dick has the awareness to at least look where he’s falling, craning his neck just so, and he internally groans as the sight of an open garbage can meets him. For whatever reason, Gotham liked using metal cans, of all things, and this one did not have a lid on it.

Fantastic.

He can’t catch himself, his arms out of his control (Dick also blames the cold for the numbness in his hands and, hence, lack of grip), and it’s all he can do but brace for impact. Oh, he’s so going to-

The side of his head slams into the rim of the metal bin, and the world goes white. He crumples against the frozen ground, boneless and suddenly without vision. Something warm, or decidedly extremely cold, slides down his neck and Dick can barely keep his eyes open. There’s no pain, at least not yet his muddled head reminds him, but he can’t seem to move or do anything for that matter. Sensations fail him and the lack of any visuals besides the blaring white and static in his eyes scares him. His tongue feels fuzzy, and there’s something smooth and metallic dribbling past his lips, but his biggest concern right now is getting up.

Laying here, injured, was a big no no. Vulnerability was a dangerous thing. If he could just… If he could just move his arm, he might be able to do something. Call for backup maybe. There’s a drug bust that’s going to go down soon and he’s been tracking these guys for weeks now and it would be a shame if they were to get away. Those drugs were dangerous after all, and in the wrong hands could get someone killed. It could get kids killed. It could get his… his buddy killed. Did he have a buddy? Buddy?

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Dick hears the distorted voice from above, the sound crackly and pitchy.

“Oh, god, I-I swear- oh my god. I didn’t mean to do that, I swear, I swear. Oh my god, what do I do. What do I- oh my god, I killed him. I killed him.”

If he could, Dick would roll over and try to console the obviously panicking person. He can’t exactly make out everything they were saying, but it sounded bad. What happened? Were they hurt?

A hand is jostling his shoulder now.

“Sir, Nightwing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please wake up, I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Wake up, wake up please. I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t-”

Another sound pings in his ear, like the toll of a tiny bell, but Dick doesn’t have the presence of mind to really register it. It’s the last thing he hears before the static overpowers him and the white disappears.

Tim hates being sick. He hates being benched even more, but he’s only benched because he’s sick. So maybe he actually hates being sick more than being benched. He’s not sure.

The head cold he’s been nursing, begrudgingly, the past few days has been steadily getting better. He woke up this morning without feeling like his head was being squeezed into a compressor, so it was progress. Alfred still won’t let him drink anything but water, something about hydration being key, but as he sips some hot chocolate from his favorite mug, Tim thinks that what Alfred doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He’s on monitor duty currently, a task assigned to anyone who wasn’t out on patrol. Barbara was on a break tonight, taking the time off to sleep and try to catch up on other things, so it was left to Tim to handle the comms. It’s boring, horribly so, but it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do without being wrestled to his bed to rest.

He begins pinging everyone for their hourly check-in, a new protocol Bruce decided to implement after “the incident” (Tim still believes that the check-ins are unnecessary- it only happened one time! One time!), and waits for their response. He gets a few pings back, Spoiler being the only one to actually say hi, and waits for Nightwing to answer.

A minute go by and Tim pings Nightwing again. Most likely, Dick was distracted. He’d said he was on a stake-out tonight, hopeful to catch some dealers in the act. Maybe he finally did. Maybe he didn’t. Tim doesn’t really care; the warm drink in his hands was making him sleepy.

Another minute passes, and Tim lethargically pings again. Concern is slowly seeping into his stuffy brain, but he’s deciding to give Dick a little more time to answer. Dick was a chatter-box sometimes, and though he doesn’t have a headache right now, Tim’s not eager to gain one.

“This is Red Robin, requesting a check in,” he says into the comms, frowning a bit when there’s still no answer. “Nightwing, report.”

He’s technically not supposed to do this, privacy being a very important part of all their lives, but the silence was making him nervous. With just the slightest bit of hesitance, Tim opens the communication line so he can listen to what, exactly, Dick is doing. The comms are two way, and with Tim having access to the main port, he can time into anyone's’ comm and hear the situation. Typically it’s yelling or curses on the other end, the normal reason for not answering the ping being a fight or some unavoidable situation.

What Tim isn’t prepared for, however, is the labored breathing that sounds horribly wet and pained. Like someone was breathing through a straw and drowning at the same time. Okay, not a great analogy, but he’s caught off guard and suddenly very aware of the fact that Nightwing is injured and, probably, incapacitated.

There’s someone in the background as well, their voice not quite decipherable but panicked all the same. It’s definitely not a voice Tim recognizes and that amps up his anxiety a bit more.

Quickly tuning to the shared channel, Tim urgently says, “Nightwing’s down. I’m sending out his location. Whoever is closest needs to get there ASAP. Someone’s with him as well, but I don’t know who it is. They might’ve been the one to attack him.”

“Robin and I are close. ETA two minutes,” Batman grunts, the slight pitch change an indication of his worry. “Is Nightwing’s comm broken?”

“No,” Tim sighs, unable to do anything more but listen to it all unfold. “He didn’t report in for the hourly. For whatever reason, he can’t respond. He’s injured, but I don’t know to what extent. He might be unconscious.”

“How long has he been down?” Robin demands.

“I don’t know,” Tim responds, growing frustrated. “He didn’t say anything earlier or call for backup.”

“Have Agent A prepare things,” Batman orders. “Treatment for hypothermia may be needed. Batman out.”

“Robin out.”

The moment of silence after is haunting, but the feeble breaths that come through a second later make Tim’s stomach churn. It fills the Cave, echoing and reverberating sounds of sickness and hurt.

He can’t turn it off though. He has to make sure Dick is okay. That he’s still breathing because although it’s grating and gut-wrenching to listen to, it’s a sign of life.

Tim hates being benched.

The one hundred and twenty three seconds it takes to get to Richard’s location is tense. It’s a blinking blue dot on the radar, flickering in and out as they draw nearer and nearer to the dank alleyway Nightwing was laying in.

Batman and Robin had opted to patrol with the Batmobile that night, the bite of Gotham’s frost a needless pain to endure. Damian hadn’t made a comment about Richard’s foolish idea to do a stake-out in below freezing temperatures, it wasn’t his place to ridicule the man he looked up to on something so trivial, but Damian thinks he’s regretting that decision a bit.

Richard listened to him. Not all the time, and frequently the older man possessed more knowledge on what was to happen, but he did consider Damian’s advice and for that, he was grateful. Now, Damian wished he had just slapped the man to get him to see straight. Clearly, the plan had been inane from the beginning, and now Nightwing needed to be rescued and assisted.

An imbecilic situation.

They reach the entrance, or perhaps exit, of the alleyway, the path too dark to see clearly through. As soon as he opens the door, Damian hears the sounds of flighty footsteps and immediately plunges into the dim. He can see the figure now, a gangly and awkward excuse of a man running to the other end of the alley. Damian can sense Batman behind him in his pursuit, the comfort of backup strange.

If this man, who they were chasing, was strong enough to incapacitate Nightwing, one of the best fighters in the world, then they may have a problem on their hands.

Damian stops short though, almost falling onto his face as the gleam of ice appears in his peripherals. It catches the light of a dull and yellowing streetlamp, but it’s just enough to reflect onto the ice and reveal yet another figure, slumped over and unmoving.

Careful of the ice, Damian approaches cautiously, peering closely at the lump of mass laid against the brick wall. Batman keeps in pursuit, and soon, his cape disappears from the alley, determined to catch the fleeing perpetrator. Robin is alone now.

Taking out a flashlight from his belt, Damian directs its beam to the form and nearly gasps.

It’s Nightwing. Richard.

Immediately rushing closer, Damian is startled to see the sheer volume of blood weeping down the older man’s face, a stream of red that flows down his jaw and soaks the hemline of his suit. Taking in the situation, Damian sees the knocked over trash bin, a corner of the top suspiciously rust colored. Additionally, the ice patch that’s near the base of Richard’s feet, and the position he currently lays in, would suggest that Richard had fallen or been pushed over, slipping due to the ice.

The amount of blood still flowing out of Nightwing is concerning, but if it was from a head wound, then it wouldn’t be surprising. As Richard liked to say, head trauma was the most dramatic trauma.

The older man is unconscious, lips blue and face much paler than would be healthy. He doesn’t respond to Damian’s attempts at waking him up, including shining the flashlight directly into his eyes after peeling away his mask. However, in doing so, Damian also learns that Richard may be suffering from a concussion or worse, as his pupils barely contract when he passes the light back and forth.

“I have the suspect,” Batman says into the comms. “A teenager named Ben Purole. He claims he pushed Nightwing, resulting in him hitting his head on a garbage bin.”

Damian nods to himself, satisfied with the confirmation. “That is likely,” he responds, applying pressure to the now located head wound. “Nightwing is suffering from head trauma, perhaps a concussion, but appears to have no other wounds. He is bleeding and unconscious though. It would be wise to get him treated quickly.”

There’s a grunt on the other end to signal affirmation and less than twenty seconds later, Batman appears, carefully taking Nightwing into his arms and walking towards the Batmobile still parked at the entrance of the alley. Without prompting, Damian opens the side door, crawling in after Richard had been set to lay down.

The movement and sudden change in temperature seems to rouse him, a groan escaping his lips. Before Damian has properly fastened his seatbelt, the Batmobile is off, gliding easily across the icy roads. Father doesn’t like to drive fast during this kind of weather, though he knows the tires of the vehicle are built to grip onto slick surfaces, but there is a sense of urgency in the way he weaves between cars and runs lights.

“Wh’ happn?” Richard slurs from where his head rests in Damian’s lap.

“You were being brainless,” Damian responds, sniffing slightly, “and slipped gracelessly into a trash bin.”

“Skate?”

“No, you did not skate. What you did could hardly even be called falling. It was tasteless.”

“M’ head hurts.”

“Like I said,” Damian whispers, annoyance fading, “You fell. I believe your head collided with the edge of a metal bin.”

“Bleedin’?”

“Yes.”

“Con..concuss...con…”

“Yes, it is likely you have a concussion. You will be scanned when we arrive at the Cave to be sure.”

A moment of silence passes, nothing but the growl of the Batmobile’s engine to shake it.

“Richard?”

“Mmfph?”

“Are you… Are you alright?”

Two seconds.

“M’ cold.”

“Oh,” Damian says, slightly embarrassed. That was obvious, really. Why had he not provided a blanket yet? Or any sort of jacket or heat pad? Perhaps it was not just Richard being brainless tonight.

Gingerly, Damian shifts about, searching for anything that might provide warmth for the duration of the drive. He finds nothing though, the majority of their winter equipment most likely in the trunk. Richard’s lips are still blue and his shoulders shake in what might be shivers. His skin is cold to the touch, eyes squeezed shut and pained, and Damian cringes at the drying blood beginning to crack around his cheeks.

Now, Damian could provide multiple excuses for his next course of action. Not excuses, no, not that. He’d come to the reasonable conclusion that Richard was cold and may have hypothermia. There was also the conclusion that Richard most likely needed comfort, as he was still greatly disoriented and concussed. Damian’s actions were for the sole purpose of providing means of ensuring Richard’s safety as well, as even though Father was a good driver, one could never be too cautious, especially on such icy roads.

So, yes. Damian draping himself over Richard’s body in an awkward hug was purely for safety reasons. He intended to provide warmth with his own body heat and it was purely for Richard’s comfort. Nothing else. It was to help Richard. Damian did not need anything nor did he seek comfort.

The hug was for survival reasons. Yes, survival. Exactly that.

Damian will never admit to the small smile that crept up his face when Richard hummed, a small and frozen grin of his own spreading.

The rest of the drive was spent in easy silence and when they arrived at the Cave, Tim and Alfred were waiting for them. By then, Dick had become slightly more coherent. Not exactly lucid, he still slurred his words just the slightest bit, but it was safe to conclude he was in no real danger.

Of course, as soon as he was cleared, Bruce took one last glance at Dick before heading back out again. Damian stayed in the Manor, watching his brother sleep on the cot they kept out for occasions like this. Dick had been given three blankets and a hot pack to hold onto. Hypothermia hadn’t set in, but the bright pink of his fingers and toes were a sign of future trouble if they didn’t immediately correct it.

Hours later, some time in the early morning when the sun had just barely begun to rise, did Bruce return. Alfred had sent both Tim and Damian back up to the Manor, a reprimand of something along the lines of, “Heaven forbid you two be the ones to catch a cold rather than Master Richard tonight,” shaming them enough to carry themselves to their respective rooms and settle in.

Taking off his cowl, Bruce’s eyes instantly travel to his eldest, still swamped with absurdly fluffy blankets and a ridiculous amount of pillows. He’s by his side in seconds, gazing at the color that had returned to Dick’s cheeks. Running a hand carefully through his son’s hair, Bruce frowns as he feels the familiar bumps of fresh stitches, his mouth pulling down further when he sees Dick’s brow twitch in irritation.

He keeps his hand there for a moment longer though, closing his eyes in what might be thankfulness. He’d left to check the garbage bin Dick had slammed into, scanning it for signs of rust or other ill-effects of time. Bruce had felt a surge of relief when he found no signs of oxidation in the metal, calling Alfred to tell him that tetanus was unlikely. Seeing Dick lay there, unresponsive and slurring, had scared Bruce more than he wanted to accept.

He’s a man always prepared for the worst, but never knowing what to do in the aftermath. That part of him that whispers his greatest fears screamed at him tonight, only subsiding once he’d returned. He was a coward, he knew this, but there was hardly anything else he could think to be.

“Bruce?”

He opens his eyes to look down, taking in the sight of his eldest son, rosy cheeked and smiling, no longer covered in red stains and frost. It was a good sight. A great sight. Bruce isn’t religious, but he might even call it a blessing.

“Hey, chum. How are you feeling?”

Dick responds by leaning into Bruce’s touch, content and warm. There’s a suspicious wetness building in the graying man’s eyes, but neither make a comment. It was rare, these moments between them. Far and few between, but appreciated nonetheless.

“I hate the cold,” Dick grumbles, sinking further into the mass of blankets. “Winter in Gotham sucks.”

As if on cue, a hearty sneeze erupts from out of Dick’s nose, startling the both of them. Dick sneezed like he was a married man with three children; purposely loud, dramatic, and with enough force to throw his back out. Bruce blinks, processing the sneeze and trying to decide if something like that was even meant to come out of a person, much less a concussed person.

He needn’t think too hard about it though as a giggle, yes a giggle, makes itself known, filling the Cave with a lightness it doesn’t often experience.

Dick is laughing and it’s one of the most beautiful things Bruce has ever heard, and he can’t help but chuckle too.

Gotham is cold, but the small med-bay felt like the warmest place in the world.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #dick grayson & bruce wayne #damian wayne #Tim Drake #dick grayson & damian wayne #nightwing #batman #robin #red robin #12 Batfam prompts #dc #prompts #fanfiction #my fic

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