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monsterstewwrites · 3 years

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More Honey cuz I’ve gone insane

My Sheep hybrid AU Honey, from Miggiisdumb’s bnha hybrid farm au has been taking of my brain recently, so I wrote another thing for her. This time we actually see some of the smut she and farmer Shoto get up to.

I have no idea how farms work so a lot of this is guesswork and googling, also I am not a very good writer. But honestly, writing smut and sex gets me motivated anyway so here we go.

Shino belongs to one-spicy-spider and you should shower her with love.

Donovan stared into her eyes and ran his hands over her clothed breasts, her nipples hardening from the attention. The way his thumbs kneaded into the hardened buds sent shivers through her soft skin.

“Can you feel me through your dress?” He asked her, pressing himself fully against her and grinding his hips into her crotch. “The flimsy fabric you typically wear makes you practically naked, which I often love. But you're not actually nude, which can make things frustrating, as you can feel.”

Indeed, Alyssa could feel his manhood through the thin fabric of the white dress she wore, it throbbed through his own trousers and sent her into a flush.

“Do you want me?” He whispered into her ear, his hot breath making her wetter.

With a heavy swallow she nodded, and Donovan grinned and reached for the straps of her dress and pulled it apart with a hard ripping sound.

Her hands instinctively tried to cover herself, but he used one hand to grab her wrists and pinned them above her head. She could feel his long fingers twist down her skin and tightening around her joints, locking her into that position.

The now tattered dress fell to the floor as he snaked his massive hand down between her legs and pressed his entire palm against her dripping pussy and tapped lightly against her folds. She groaned at the gentle touch, hoping for him to pressing rougher.

“Do you want it rougher?” He said to her. “Do you want my fingers to treat you mean?”

“Please!” Alyssa cried. “Take me, open me and use me as you please!”

Donovan pushed his fingers inside her and kissed into her neck, teeth grazing her skin and his tongue working around her neck and squeezing, not to strangle her, but to feel her heartbeat against one of his most sensitive appendages.

She loved the way that his long fingers reached inside her in ways no one else could, and she groaned out in pleasure as he felt around inside her.

“Take me with your cock,” she moaned out. “Fill my cunt with your barbs and never let me go.”

“Sheepy, earth to sheepy!”

Honey snapped the book closed, her face aflame and legs squirming slightly as she pressed the book against her chest. She looked up at the sight of Doctor Keigo looking down at her with a smirk on his face.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked.

She winced and stuffed her smut back into the little pocket of her wool.

When she went over to Doctor Keigo's office for her checkup he had said it was okay for her to take the book she had been reading, and he once said as log as it kept her from being too nervous she could keep doing so.

They both forgot how much of a distraction her reading habits could be.

“I'm glad to know you're enjoying my gift,” the vet said to her as she turned back to him. “One person's trash really is another person's treasure and all that, still it'd be nice if you paid a pinch attention during your checkup.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No worries Sheepy,” he said. “Some people get sucked into it more than others. Now let me check your vitals to you can head back to the barn and finish that bodice ripper.”

He took out his stethoscope and began checking her heartbeat.

“It's a bit fast,” he muttered. “Though I have a good guess why that is.”

Honey stuck her tongue out at him, proof that she was getting more used to him and could be comfortable around with without fear.

“I know you first got into them for research,” he said idly. “You wanna get more ideas for how to better seduce the lads around here, most likely Shoto because you're more of a nightingale than a sheep most days.”

Honey pouted, he had insisted that before but she didn't think so. She didn't like him because he saved her or anything, she liked him because when she was scared and alone he was kind to her and made her feel like this new place was home.

That was completely different.

“I'm not a sexy cow,” she said. “I can't just make him suck my boobs the way he does with the cows, I wanna be able to walk all sexy and make him hard just as our eyes meet.”

Her fancy description and wistful tone made Keigo throw her a look, she really had been diving into those books a lot hadn't she?

“You really don't need at that faff to seduce someone, you know,” he said. “Men aren't complicated, and it's not like you've never screwed him before.”

“Well, yeah,” Honey admitted as she turned around and leaned over as far as she could without falling. “But I can barely ask for normal sex, what about that fancy sex I keep reading about and wanna try? The one where the princess was taken on the ship and tied to the mast, and the Octopus King saved her from the pirates and pleasured her while pulling the boat she was still tied to to his kingdom is still one of my favorites.”

Keigo paused in his checking of her spine.

“Was that was that one was about?” He muttered.

Honey ignored him and straightened herself back up, a few of her spinal joints popping as she stretched slightly.

“Is it so bad to wanna feel like a pretty damsel being rescued by her strong prince sometimes?” She asked, voice growing shy by her admission.

Keigo wrote something down on his clipboard with an amused sigh.

“Honestly considering what usually goes down around here that's probably pretty tame,” he admitted. “Stick your tongue out for me.”

She complied with each of his instructions and made a 'blah' to show him her tongue, checkups were kinda boring of she were being honest. Luckily only a few more things needed to be checked up on anyway, and he soon was able to finish things up with her.

“Alright Sheepy,” He said. “Everything looks to be in order her, you need me to escort you back to your pen?”

“No thank you,” Honey said. “I'm fine, goodbye doctor.”

“Next time I'll being you a series,” he said as she slipped out the door. “You're one of my most manageable patients, so I have to reward that somehow.”

He threw her a little wink and laughed at her flustered reaction, slamming the door behind her.

Doctor Keigo doing that always spurred her into a run, sprinting back to her pen where she could finish her book in relative peace.

The barn was usually pretty empty around this time of day, most of the other animals being milked or sheared or fucked.

Sometimes they fucked in the barn itself, but the hay had yet to be replaced and most of the hybrids preferred clean hay to roll around in.

Honey arrived at the barn hoping to find a bit of quiet, curl up under her blanket and read and get a few more ideas to become more confidant in herself. Sometimes she got so absorbed in her novels that she didn't even notice that sex was happening in the pen right next to her.

She didn't expect what she saw when she entered the barn made for the sheep to get to her pen.

“What?”

Amber eyes flashed at her as a stranger stared at her in silence.

A raccoon hybrid was rooting around in Honey's little pen and had strewn her novels all over the place, nearly all of them in tatters. Ripped out pages littered the floor and the cover of 'A midsummer night's cream' was sticking out of the raccoon's mouth as well as a few strings of the she's blanket.

Honey wasn't a violent hybrid by nature, in fact she was probably the least physically assertive (or any kind of assertive) hybrid in the the entire farm.

But when she saw what this stranger had done to her belongings and sleeping space something inside her snapped.

“NO!” She screamed, running towards the offending trespasser with her little hands in fists as she bounded over the fencing to get to her. “Get away! Those are mine!”

She tried to throw a punch at the raccoon, but was caught off guard by the little pest swiftly spinning around and swinging a knife wildly at Honey, slicing into her arm. A manic laugh erupted from her feral throat at her own actions.

But unluckily for the raccoon, Honey was loud when she was both scared and hurt.

She screamed as loud as she could, praying that someone could hear her, and she grabbed the raccoon by the roots of her scraggly blonde hair to make sure she couldn't escape. Another attempt to swing the knife resulted in Honey using her other hand to grip the grimy raccoon wrist in exchange for the blade nicking her skin.

“Geh!” The raccoon let out a harsh grunt as Honey pulled the sloppy hair. “Gedoffa me you stupid farmie brat!”

She pulled her arm away from Homey's losing her knife in the process, and swiped out at Honey's body, and the sheep was thankful for the level of wool she had accumulated because the claws protected her flesh from being sliced into.

Instead they tangled up into the wool itself which was less than ideal.

The pair of them ended up tussling amongst the scattered papers, with the raccoon trying to pry free from Honey and Honey herself trying to keep her in place despite the pain of her wool getting snagged.

Blood from her knife wounds trickled down her arm as the sheep hybrid tightened her grip on the raccoon's scraggly hair, one of the twin buns coming loose as she held fast.

It hurt really bad and she was scared out of her mind but she was too angry to let go.

The raccoon girl hissed as her claws managed to get free from the wool, tearing a chunk of it out in the process. She dug her hands into the arm that was grabbing at her hair and cause the sheep to let go.

“That's it!” The pest shrieked. “I'll teach you to mess with my rummaging!”

She drew her clawed fingers back and swiped at Honey's face, the sheep closed her eyes and braced for impact.

A sudden clang interrupted the pain and she felt herself get pulled away.

She blinked in confusion before realizing that she was in Shoto's arms, one hand wrapped protectively around her while the other held held a large empty bucket.

The raccoon was doubled over, clutching her head.

“Shoto!” Honey breathed.

“Damn you!” The raccoon cried out. “Don't interfere you asshole!”

Shoto looked like he was going to swing his bucket again, but something stopped him. A rush of air from above as something else literally flew into the barn and landed atop the fencing of the pen.

The barn owl hybrid Shino stared down at the scene with fury in her eyes.

The raccoon stared back.

“Well shit.”

Shino let out a screech, spreading her wings to their fullest and causing the raccoon to let out a shriek and turned around to run, but Shino was faster. The owl hybrid was on her in a second, pinning down her prey with her mighty talons.

The raccoon could only kick and scream as she was held fast.

Honey stared in awe at the sight of how easily Shino had apprehended that horrible raccoon, and made a mental note to thank her in some way once everything was set back to normal.

Glancing at the tatters of her books below, she wondered if she could make a flower crown out of the papers for her. She'd look super pretty with one, not that she didn't look pretty already.

At the barn doors many cows gathered to try and take a peek at what had happened, the heifers who could see the mess whispering to the cows in back and sending the whispers of gossip throughout them.

A few of the cows could see that Honey was bleeding, and that only got them more abuzz with interest. Shoto ignored them in favor of putting his bucket down and checking up on the little sheep in his arms.

“Thank you,” Shoto said to Shino. “I was afraid I'd have to hold it off myself.”

“No problem, I'm just sad I didn't catch her earlier. Hey! Quit kicking,” Shino snapped as other farmers and hybrids arrived at the barn to see what the fuss was about. “Don't make me rip that nasty head of yours off.”

While Shino was threatening, Iida barged in, pushing past the gossipy cows and taking a look at the situation in all it's chaos. When his eyes fell on the raccoon hybrid beneath Shino he actually recoiled at the sight of her.

“What on earth is she doing in here?” He asked. “How did she get in?”

“Maybe we can get the details out of her later,” Shoto told him. “Right now we should take care of Honey.”

He looked over her and took stock of the injuries she had sustained in her scuffle. All of a sudden the gravity of what had just happened hit her like a ton of bricks, the pain of her wounds coming to her now that the adrenaline was wearing off. She threw herself deeper into Shoto's chest and let out a tired sob.

“I'll take care of her,” he said to Iida. “You take care of that thing.”

“Bring her here Todoroki,” A voice said, silencing the gossiping cows. Doctor Keigo walking inside with a medical kit at his side and Izuku trailing behind.

Shino's feathers puffed up in irritation at the sight of Keigo, but given the situation she didn't move from her grip atop the intruder as he stood just outside the pen.

Keigo kept his distance and gave a nod to Izuku, who approached with a long pole with a looped steel cable.

Izuku quickly looped the snare around the raccoon's neck, only giving Shino the okay to let her up once he was sure it was secure.

“Keep one talon on her,” Keigo advised. “Take her to my office and don't take your eyes off her for a second. I have a friend who can make sure she isn't diseased and take her back to wherever she came from.”

It was clear that the great owl Hybrid wasn't keen on going to his office, but since he seemed to be staying behind to take a look at her little sheep friend.

Only slightly reluctantly, Shino and Izuku led the raccoon, who had begun laughing like a lunatic for some reason, and the onlooking cows hooted jeers and jabs at her.

“Now now!” Iida shouted at the crowd of hybrids looking on. “Nothing to see here everyone, go back about your day, unless you would like to help clean this mess up!”

That made them scatter, most back to their milking or fucking.

“I'll cover you for today,” Iida said to Shoto. “You make sure she's alright, I know she likes you best so it'll be quickest if it's in your hands.”

The way his face pinked a little bit told Shoto all he needed to know about where his mind was at as he walked outside where the remainder of the cows were waiting for him.

Not that either of them were complaining.

Setting her down, Shoto took Honey's sliced up arms and winced at the sight of them. He hated the sight of anyone on this farm hurt, and reaching for the medical supplies that Keigo placed nearby he carefully got about disinfecting her injuries.

She winced at the disinfectant rubbing into her wounds but remained still so Shoto could do his job. Once he was done he pressed his hand to her cheek, which she leaned into and kissed his palm.

Nearby, Keigo was examining the knife that had been used to stab at Honey.

“Looks like she swiped this from somewhere on the farm,” he said. “That means it's not likely to have any diseases on it, so that's a bit of good news here. I'll take a blood sample just in case, but I don't think you have anything to worry about, especially since you've been given shots to prevent this sort of thing.”

“That's good,” Shoto said as he bandaged up her injuries. “You've been really brave so far, can you hold still so he can do that?”

She nodded, but leaned into Shoto's chest anyway as Keigo pulled out a hypodermic needle and drew closer. No one liked needles on the farm, but she knew better than to kick up a fuss about it after everything and let him draw a bit of blood.

Once he had taken his sample he stood up so he could head out to get it checked out.

“I'll leave it to you two then,” he said. “You kids play nice.”

Shoto ignored him, and the joke flew over Honey's head as she looked at the mess made of her pen. He laughed as the barn doors closed behind him and left them alone.

Honey sighed sadly as she bent down to pick up the destroyed books that were scattered around her pen, the sadness of losing them creeping back to her.

“I can't believe that horrible thing destroyed all my books,” she said sadly. “I loved them all and now they're ruined. I might be able to figure out how to make the scraps into something pretty, but it's sad that I won't be able to read them anymore.”

“'Tonio gazed into Angelica's eyes and gave her full rump a squeeze, causing a grunt to erupt from her throat. He wanted to make that sound fill his mind forever, and he had just in instrument to do so.'” Shoto read from one of the papers, his eyebrows raising with each word. “This is some intense stuff, you know.”

Honey flushed and tried to grab at the papers, but he snatched it out of her reach with a teasing grin.

“Were you hoping to get some ideas?” He asked.

She was about to deny it, but she realized that the look in his eye was a chance that he was giving her. Honey swallowed and said the first thing she could think of.

“So what if I was?”

That was all he needed to hear.

Shoto pressed a kiss to her forehead, then another above her eye, and her nose, and finally to her soft lips.

She hummed into his kiss, feeling everything around them melt away. Her mouth opened instinctively and allowed him to push his tongue against hers as he gently guided her backwards until her back hit the pile of hay in the corner.

His hands ran across her soft body, fondling her chest as he kissed her and traveling lower and lower. One hand hooked under one leg and hitched it up to allow better access to the lovely pussy that was aching for him.

She moaned into his mouth as he fingered at her delicate clit, rubbing small circles into it with her thumb as his fingers probed her sloppy little hole.

Honey's hands gripped around his neck and pulled him closer to her, as close as they could possibly manage. He took the chance to nip at her neck, at that spot he knew drove her crazy as his fingers pumped in and out of her and curled his fingers just so, making tremors shake her body as she spilled over his hand.

“You,” she panted. “You were like my knight in shining bucket.”

That made him laugh against her neck, his teeth scraping against her skin and savoring the feel of her pulse beneath his tongue.

He wanted to make sure she was completely ready for him, loosening her walls so there wouldn't be any pain. She's already gone through enough after all.

After another few moments, he pulled his fingers out of her and reached for the fly of his pants.

“I'm you're knight eh?” He muttered as he fumbled with the zipper. “In that case...”

The sounds she made had made him achingly hard, and he could tell she had been thinking about his erection for a long time as he freed it from it's confines. She looked hungry for it, as much as he was for her.

“Allow me to claim my reward from the lovely maiden then.”

Honey felt like Princess Stella from one of her favorite novels, and she bit her lip in anticipation as her legs spread more, as much as she could manage.

Shoto ran a hand along her thigh, gentle and loving.

“Well then, are you ready for me?” he whispered into her ear. “Ready for your knight to take you?”

“Please,” she moaned. “Oh please fuck me, I can't wait anymore.”

Shoto gripped her legs and spread them as wide as she could comfortably manage and pressed his length into her aching pussy with a groan, the wetness from his earlier treatment allowing him to slide in until he was balls deep.

They both let out guttural moans that were practically in harmony.

“You alright?” He asked, not moving an inch until he was sure she was good about it.

She was stuffed so full of him that all she could do was nod, allowing him to pull away from her and slam back inside against her cervix, making her head fall back with her tongue lolling out of her mouth as he fucked into her until she could barely think straight.

“Oh god,” she moaned, bouncing against his relentless pounding. “Oh yes, please yes! More, please.”

The panting she made and the bounce of her breasts against his pounding only spurred him on further, and he repositioned her legs further until they were pushed up against her ears. It felt like heaven for both of them as fucked deeper into her.

Honey was on cloud nine, only able to think of the sensation of the man above her rearranging her insides. She reached a trembling hand down to where the pair of them were connected so she could continue at her clit. The sight was too delicious and Shoto felt the pressure building up inside him reach a peak, but he did everything in his power to hold off as he mercilessly pounded away.

The two of them filled the air of the barn with their gasps and moans until Honey began to feel her orgasm reach a boil.

“Please,” she panted. “Cum, I wan' cum. Come inside me, please!”

Her begging was enough to push him further towards the edge, and she felt the tension inside her was wound tighter and tighter as he hammered into her even harder.

It was impossible to tell how long they went on for, until a wave of bliss crashed over her with a loud cry. Her back arched sinfully and her walls clamped around his length and triggered an orgasm of his own.

He pressed against her as he emptied his load inside her, filling her up with his cum.

Bliss.

The pair of them panted against each other, their high winding down but they didn't dare move or the feeling would dissipate quicker.

Shoto pressed a kiss to Honey's neck after a moment.

“Good girl,” he panted.

Carefully he pulled out, watching as a few dribbled of his seed spilled from her. She looked up at him with a smile and longing in her eyes.

“Shall we clean up now?” He asked.

“Let's wait just another moment,” Honey said. “This feels too nice.”

He smiled, Iida had told him to take care of her after all. This was all part of the job and who was he to go against his orders?

And she was so soft and perfect to snuggle up with.

It wasn't until an hour later that they were able to get themselves to clean up the pen, saving the paper so Honey could make a lovely crown of paper flowers for her other hero.

She was sad to see her lovely stories go, but considering the fallout she could deem the acceptable losses.

Besides, between doctor Keigo and other farmers hearing what had happened, she soon had more than enough donations to replace it with.

#farm au #bnha smut #hybrid au #miggiisdumb #one-spicy-spider #shoto x oc #shouto x oc #shame is for losers

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cno-inbminor · 3 years

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hello, kay! i hope you've been taking care of yourself well and that life has been kind to you for the most part. i want to ask, how do you feel about kita shinsuke? your akaashi is exquisite and incredibly characterized that i always find myself coming back to your stories should i need my keiji fics, and i realized that it would probably be really interesting (and beautiful) to meet kita through your words. no pressure, tho! as always, i am grateful for whatever you write. ♡ all the love x

you’re an absolute sweetie -- i hope you’ve been well too! i’m honestly at my wit’s end but we’ll survive somehow, right? ahahaha // i’m still incredibly flustered whenever someone mentions how much they like my keiji characterization -- he’s one of the ultimate comfort characters for sure! so thank you for giving my keiji fics that honor <3

i’ve definitely developed some love for kita over time! i love anyone who’s incredibly dependable -- my love language (that i’ve recently re-discovered) is acts of service and i can see him embodying that!

i got carried away: here’s ~1.7k of some hazy kita appreciation, or some strangers-to-lovers ideas sprinkled together. my brain has died from finals, but i hope you like this anon!

the first time that kita shinsuke even crosses your mind, you mistakenly think, “he’s certainly a bit dull.”

it’s not that you forgot he existed by any means -- the boy certainly carries a presence and emanates it in a calm, quiet manner. you just can’t remember him saying anything that wasn’t related to speaking out loud in class or social pleasantries. he’s certainly not much more than a blank canvas to you, and the only splotch of color thrown on is that he’s a member of your nationally recognized volleyball team. other than that, you know nothing else.

it all changes when you two are paired for classroom cleaning duties your third year.

when your homeroom teacher announces your name after his, you glance away from the window to the boy sitting diagonally in front of you to your right. his back sits upright, elbows bent to indicate he’s probably sitting with his hands linked on top of his desk, legs still and placed together underneath the wood. besides the two-toned grey and black hair, you would think he’d be the perfect poster child for japanese education.

the first morning of cleaning duties, you’re sprinting through the halls in your slippers, hoping that the student council president isn’t anywhere near your classroom. the subway was absolutely packed and nobody seemed to be in the usual pace of the morning rush, which caused some delays and for you to cut it very close. you slide open the class door with all the force you can muster, panting and out of breath with apologies falling off your tongue. unbeknownst to you, your brain had been expecting kita to give you a small smile and ensure that it was okay for your two minute tardiness -- instead, you were at the receiving end of a blank yet heavy stare, and seemingly scathing words of, “don’t be late next time.”

your second thought of kita is that he’s too rigid and austere for a seventeen year old. bitterness festers in your chest as you practically stomp towards your desk, setting your stuff down before you head to the erasers in front of the chalkboard. even though there isn’t much dust left on them, you’re searching for excuses to calm down and be a little more level-headed.

you’re so caught up in your thoughts and staring out into the open sky that you don’t register kita’s presence looming near. but it’s his timbre voice that startles you out of your stupor, though they’re nothing more special than, “you can sweep the other half of the classroom. i’m getting started on the desks,” and he walks away.

in gliding the bristles over the wooden floor, you take another peek at your partner for the time being. it’s hard to miss the way he methodically cleans each wooden surface, leaving no corner unwiped, no speck of dust lingering. something about it is somewhat endearing to you, a rather drastic juxtaposition to how you were feeling not too long ago. maybe you were wrong about him -- kita shinsuke might still be a little boring to you, but he’s just...diligent.

in home ec, you’re partnered up with ojiro aran (which proves to be in the best of your luck). but he’s good with small talk, and it’s not like you two have never spoken before. so three weeks later over the folding of meringue into the other batter, you decide to pop the question of, “what’s kita-san like as captain?”

aran can’t contain his muted surprise at your inquiry, seeing as you two rarely ever get into the details of his volleyball playing, much less so about his team. but it doesn’t stop him from giving a truthful answer, “he’s no nonsense, keeps everyone in line. we have some rowdy underclassmen and no one scares them more than shinsuke.”

“a hardass?”

“when he needs to be,” aran chuckles. “but he’s very thoughtful and goes out of his way to care for everyone. the guy lives and breathes by routine.”

there’s something that stirs within you, a small flame being lit, one that flares the next morning when kita walks by your desk and greets you, “good morning, l/n-san.” seeing as he usually never does, you stumble over your reply and shock, all the while berating your heart for beating as fast as it is. kita’s just being polite and using social pleasantries, nothing more.

but he does it the next morning, and then the next, and even incorporates, “how are you?” into his line of words on days you two clean. little by little, you get to know more about him -- not a lot, but enough to correct yourself for ever thinking that he’s a dull, austere, mean human being. you tell yourself it’s nothing more, especially when you start looking forward to their games and join the student cheering squad. it’s nothing when you eagerly await for the moments that kita gets subbed in; absolutely nothing when he looks away from the court and into the crowd, catching your eyes and allowing his lips to slip into a demure smile before turning back around. the pounding of your heart and sweating of your hands aren’t related at all, just physiological effects of the game.

and before you know it, graduation comes around and you think you’ll never see him again after this. you’re laughing and taking pictures with your classmates, later spotting aran over the crowd of families. he catches your waving arm and bounding figure, bright grin on his face as he congratulates you. “i’ll miss you all,” you confess and aran affectionately pats your head. “same here. have you seen shinsuke?”

your brows furrow. “no, why? is he looking for me?”

“you sound confused by that. weren’t you two friends?”

“i wouldn’t overassume that...but i doubt i’m on his mind right now.”

aran only nods and adopts a pensive look, taking a moment to think before confessing, “you meant something to him. after all, he greeted you every morning, right?”

you nod. “but what does that have to do with anything?”

aran’s parents interrupt and attempt to drag him away before he can answer, but he beckons for them to give him another minute. quickly, he pulls you into a one-arm hug, telling you over the bustling crowd, “you were part of his routine.”

you’re stunned, frozen in your tracks as aran and his family walk away. their departure creates some space between everyone, and you find yourself looking straight into the golden eyes of the man that had been plaguing your thoughts for months now. he doesn’t back down, not out of defiance though -- rather, he seems to be trying to convey that he sees you, acknowledges your existence and long wedged a placeholder for you in his life.

but the spell is broken when one of your relatives tugs on your arm for you to leave and go home for a big lunch celebration, and that’s the last you see of him.

at least for the next two years. you have a part-time job at osamu’s onigiri shop, having met the man in some cooking classes over the years. while you’re up front most of the time, you occasionally help out in the kitchen during rush hours. evidently, you missed any of the information on the exact source of the rice, remembering nothing more than the fact it was special and held a certain place in osamu’s heart -- because when kita shinsuke walks in to make a special, personal visit, your brain splutters and ceases all deep cognitive functioning.

he looks well, happy, strong, more than he did back in high school. the same air of confidence still surrounds him and encases the entirety of the shop, and instincts nearly have you dropping to your knees so you can hide behind the counter and catch your breath.

“oh shinsuke, you’re here!” osamu calls out from behind you, popping out of the kitchen to help with the rice bags. the most you can muster is a gentle bow before messing with the cash register, pretending to be busy organizing receipts and bills. you tune out most of the conversation cleaning counters, checking customers out, wiping down tables, and anything else that’ll take your mind off the guy your heart could never seem to forget.

but osamu bidding goodbye to kita snaps you out of your reverie. and instead of walking towards the door, kita’s figure approaches you until there’s nothing but 5 feet of wood between the two of you. “it’s good to see you,” he greets softly, a gentle expression casting onto his face and tone.

“i-it’s good to see you too, kita-san,” you barely reply in time, doing everything you can to fight the blood rushing into your face.

“i’d like to take you out for coffee when your shift is over, if that’s okay.”

oh.

“oh, well, yes, but um, my shift doesn’t end for another hour and--”

“oh, you’re good to go for the rest of the day,” osamu calls out with his head popped out the kitchen door, sending a knowing look towards his former captain. in fact, you remember that the owner had been somewhat insistent that you come work today of all days and you never knew why...until now.

that fucker.

shinsuke’s eyes glimmer as the realization hits you, the same demure smile as the one he sent you all those years ago during a volleyball game sitting on his lips. excitement bubbles within you, and you attempt to tease, “only if you can untie my apron for me?”

there’s no hesitation in his demeanor as he walks around the counter and plants himself right in front of you, mere centimeters between the tips of your shoes and his. you can’t bear to look away as an arm reaches around easily undo the bow at your lower back. neither do you miss the ghosting of his fingertips at your waist that burn through the cotton of your t-shirt, and you’re just thankful that no customers are around to witness this heated, intimate moment.

“lead the way, captain,” you can’t help but say. something dark and dangerous crosses his eyes, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. and you think that yes, yes indeed, you’d like to see those eyes more often if you can.

#kita x reader #kita shinsuke #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#kita #kita shinsuke x reader #anon #sweet child

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seasonofthewicth · 4 years

Text

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 2

masterlist

AN: Here we go chapter 2! No warnings only very mild swearing, enjoy!

-----

Aelin looked down at the boxes on the floor, three of them alone were allocated to clothes and there were others for miscellaneous items. Today she was moving out of Lysandra’s apartment and into the loft with Aedion and the three other men she barely knew.

She loved her new room, between the wall to wall windows that would let in plenty of light and the walk in closet she couldn’t wait to move in. She hadn’t been able to stop picturing the currently-empty room and all of the ways she could put her spin on it since her visit a few days prior.

Lysandra breezed into the room holding a variety of bottles of toiletries.

“Don’t forget these,” She said, tucking them into one of the cardboard boxes.

“I think that’s the last of it, are you ready to head out?” Aelin asked, surveying her packing and turning to her friend. Lysandra was dressed as casually as Aelin herself, in work out gear ready for a day of moving things into the new apartment.

“Yeah,” Lysandra paused. “I just have to ask Ae, are you sure about this? I mean, I know it’s your cousin, but you barely know them.”

Aelin had pondered this herself. She had always been adventurous and outgoing, but she wondered, was this a step too far? Was this too out there even for herself?

She knew she could trust them, one of them was her cousin for Mala’s sake, but was it a risk moving into an apartment with relative strangers? Maybe, but she couldn’t shake the undeniable excitement she was feeling about the new set up.

At least the dynamic in the loft would be fresh, and it couldn’t be any worse than the current dynamic with Manon in her and Lysandra’s apartment. Just this morning she had been rudely awoken by Manon’s early morning workout playlist. There was no place for dance music at six o’clock in the morning for any sane person.

“I don’t know Lys, I’m excited. I have a good feeling about this.”

“A good feeling,” Lysandra scoffed, but her expression quickly sobered. “You don’t have to move out you know. We really don’t mind having you.”

Aelin levelled an unamused look at Lysandra.

“I think Manon will honestly start poisoning my drinks if I don’t leave soon.” That was at least partly a joke. “And I don’t want to impose on you any longer. Or have to spend any longer sleeping on a couch.”

“I get that,” Lysandra relented, but grabbed Aelin’s hand, “I’ll miss you though, and you’re welcome to come back at any time you know.”

Aelin squeezed her hand in return, “I know, and you’re obviously welcome at the loft anytime.”

“I think your roommates would love that.” Aelin snorted at the rage she knew would follow from Lorcan if she and Lysandra took over the communal space in the loft, the prospect grew increasingly attractive.

“You never know, maybe they would. Fenrys was very excited to hear about my model friends.” She raised her eyebrows at her friend.

“Stop that right now,” Lysandra laughed, “You know I would never, you on the other hand…”

“That is not going to happen.”

“It might.” Lysandra said, tilting her head.

“It definitely will not.” Aelin protested.

“Why not?”

Aelin shot her a dirty look. That would not happen.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t considered it, her cousin aside, she knew the occupants of the loft were certainly good looking. All of them tall and broad, with charming personalities to match. Well, maybe not Lorcan with his ever present frown, but she wasn’t blind. Aelin knew she was a good looking girl herself, so it was only natural to at least consider the possibility of something happening with one of them. But that wasn’t her goal, she was only just single, and after the Arobynn fiasco a break would be good.

“I live with them, it’s not a good idea.” She bent down to pick one of the boxes off the floor, Lysandra mirroring her action, “But I won’t hold it against you if you succumb to one of their charms.”

With that she darted out of the door, ignoring Lysandra’s shouts of protest as she fled to her car.

-----

Rowan woke to the sounds of metallic clunking and groaning. He tugged a pillow over his head, in the hopes of drowning out the sound, but muffled shouting broke through.

Sighing, he drew himself out of bed and shuffled out into the living room.

“What is happening?” He asked, struggling to comprehend the image in front of him. Aedion and Fenrys wrestled with an exercise bike in the hallway by the front door.

“Aelin is moving in today.” Aedion said in explanation.

“So?” Rowan ran a hand through his hair, unsure how the two things were connected.

“So, we need to make sure her room is clear for her to move into,” Aedion grunted slightly as they shifted the device further.

“And you haven’t done this already because?”

Glares reached him from both Fenrys and Aedion. A hand clapped him on the shoulder as Lorcan appeared behind him.

“Because that would require some forethought,” Lorcan tapped his temple with his free hand, mocking the two men in front of them.

“Whatever,” Aedion snapped, “You two get ready, you’re helping Aelin move in.”

“Yeah, no,” Lorcan said, and slapped Rowan lightly on the chest, “You’ve got Fenrys.”

“I’m working today,” Fenrys chimed in.

“You’ve got Rowan then.”

Aedion looked to him pleadingly.

“Yeah alright,” He shrugged. “Coffee first though.”

Rowan turned, now ignoring the spectacle with the exercise bike, and headed to the kitchen to sort his breakfast. He hoped Aelin wouldn’t have too many things for him to help move in, he had a shift later on at the bar.

As he chewed his cereal he pondered the girl moving into the bedroom opposite his own. Adding a girl to the loft would certainly change things up, but Aedion had already briefed them all that they were to keep it in their pants.

He had made it clear he wanted Aelin to feel comfortable in the loft, and that he was looking forward to getting closer to his cousin, so wanted it to last. Rowan was sure he could keep it together around Aelin, he was over his teenage crush on her, and any leftover attraction would surely be destroyed by the sharing of the bathroom.

He finished his breakfast and headed to the bathroom for a shower, calling a goodbye to Fenrys who was heading out to a personal training session he led to earn some extra cash during the school holidays.

He quickly showered and dressed before he heard female voices from the direction of the hall, a sound fairly uncommon for mid-morning in loft 4D. He followed the sound, not wanting to seem rude or unwelcoming and found Aedion, Aelin and Lysandra in the hallway, the latter two carrying a box each.

“Is that everything?” He asked by way of greeting. “Doesn’t look like you need much help.”

Aelin laughed and handed the box over to Aedion who took it willingly. Lysandra flashed him an incredulous look.

“Nowhere near,” Aelin said, “And unfortunately the elevator is out, so I hope you haven’t done too much cardio recently.”

That damned elevator. She and Lysandra did look slightly flushed already, he ignored the rogue part of his brain that decided it was a good look on Aelin, her ponytail drawing his eyes to where the blush was spreading down her neck. Rowan didn’t mind helping her move in but wasn’t particularly thrilled at the prospect of carrying her belongings up numerous flights of stairs.

“Would you guys mind putting those in my room?” She asked Aedion and Lysandra, then pointed her finger at Rowan. “You and I can do the trips to and from the car.”

“Great,” he managed stiffly, “Lead the way.”

She turned to head out of the loft, ponytail swishing behind her head.

“How many trips do you think we’ll need to make?” He called to her as they reached the stairs.

She shrugged, “I’m not sure, there’s a few boxes down there.”

The rest of the walk to the car was left in an easy silence. It could have been awkward, but he knew if Aelin wanted the silence filled she would have filled it.

When they reached her car, Rowan let out a groan.

“There’s more than a few boxes here Aelin.”

“A few is definitely a vague term.” She argued back, bending to pick up the first box and handing it to him. “But you’re nice and strong so you can take two and then we’ll need less trips.”

She patted him on the bicep and stacked a second box on top of the first. He glared down at her, and she grinned right back up at him, hands on her hips. He sighed and turned to carry the first two boxes up the stairs realising he wasn’t going to win this one. She’d owe him after this.

-----

She hadn’t meant to sound so flirty to Rowan when she commented on his strength, although the pat on the bicep probably didn’t help. She really needed to get herself in order, she hadn’t even properly moved in yet and she was already flirting with her new roommate.

She couldn’t help it really; she didn’t remember Rowan being this attractive the last time they met all those years ago, but he definitely was now. Strongly built and towering over her with his bright green eyes and striking silver hair, he ticked all of her boxes. His rugged style and the tattoo creeping all the way up his left arm were another bonus.

Anyway, she was getting distracted. She grabbed her own box and started back up the stairs to the loft. As she reached the top Rowan was leaving the loft having deposited his own boxes inside.

“Just throw that in, apparently Lysandra and Aedion are unpacking the boxes together for you. How nice of them.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, a light smile dancing around his lips.

“Oh Gods, already?” She laughed, ditching her box in the entry way to the apartment. “I really thought he’d last longer than right away.”

“Really?” Rowan led the way back to the stairs. “I called it, Lorcan owes me twenty bucks. He thought Fenrys would try first.”

She shook her head.

“You didn’t want to test out your own flirting skills?” She nudged his shoulder with his own. Or at least she tried, her shoulder only reached his upper arm.

“Surprisingly not, I really enjoy climbing stairs and lugging boxes.”

“Wow, what a coincidence, I do too.”

He rolled his eyes at her, but she knew he was laughing along with her.

“I thought you’d be used to it moving crates for the bar. You do work in a bar right?” She asked. Aedion had told her as much.

“Yeah,” He replied, “It’s a few blocks away, you and Lysandra should come some time, the guys all drink there for free whenever I’m on shift.”

“We’ll definitely be there for free drinks.”

“Who said you were getting free drinks?” He teased as they reached her car again. She rolled her eyes and handed him his first box.

“You did of course.” She paused unsure how to word her next question. “What happened to law school? Last time we met that’s where you were.”

Her voice trailed off at the end, unsure if she was pushing something he was sensitive about, but he didn’t seem phased in his reply as she gave him a second and final box from her car, picking her own up and locking her car.

“I dropped out actually.” His voice was soft. “Final semester of my final year.”

“Oh, right.” She didn’t want to be too nosy.

“It’s not—You don’t have to be polite about it, I chose to get a job in the bar.” He said as they began climbing the stairs again.

“Right,” She repeated.

He smiled at her awkwardness but didn’t say anything more as they climbed the stairs.

When they reached the loft and carried the remaining boxes into her room she saw Lysandra and Aedion had unpacked most of her clothes and started on her school supplies.

“Is that everything now?” Aedion asked her.

“Yeah these are the last ones, I think this one is my things for the kitchen.” She peered into the box she had just put down.

When she looked back up Rowan was removing his flannel leaving himself now in only a tight t-shirt. The whirls of ink in a language she couldn’t read stood out against his bronzed skin. She drew her eyes away and caught Lysandra raising her eyebrows at the sight.

You’re one to talk, she thought raising her own eyebrows at the narrow distance between her best friend and cousin. Lysandra shifted her weight to lean away from Aedion, a guilty look in her eyes.

She leant down to poke through the box of assorted kitchen items. Her many mugs wrapped up in tea towels to protect them during the move were slotted in among a random assortment of plates and bowls. She turned to peer at the boxes laid around her bedroom, most of them already unpacked thanks to Aedion and Lysandra. There was something missing.

“No, no. Gods, no.”

Three pairs of eyes snapped immediately to her, questions swimming in each of them. She groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

“My coffee maker—I think it’s at Arobynn’s.”

“It’s fine,” Aedion reassured her. “We can get a new one.”

“No,” She moaned, “That cost me hundreds of dollars!” She had saved for a few months to treat herself to a proper coffee machine, she wasn’t going to leave it for Arobynn.

Rowan and Aedion shared a look.

“We could go and get it for you if you want,” Aedion suggested and Rowan nodded along, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I can’t let you go for me.” She couldn’t let Arobynn win, if she didn’t go to collect her own belongings he would think she was weak. She needed him to know she was unbothered by him, having her cousin collect her things would send the wrong message.

“We can all go, how about that?” Lysandra spoke up, “I can stay in the car with you in case he gets angry.” She smiled reassuringly at her.

Aelin wasn’t nervous that he would be aggressive with her, his cruelty had always been more verbal, but she supposed the presence of Rowan and Aedion couldn’t hurt.

“We can bring Lorcan too,” Rowan said, and she smirked at him, maybe this would be fun after all.

-----

The car journey to Arobynn’s house wasn’t long, but it felt endless crammed in the back of Aedion’s car between Rowan and Lorcan. Of the three of them in the back seat, none of them said a word. The dark haired man had only agreed to come with them on the promise of free drinks in the bar later from Rowan.

His grumbled protest that he didn’t need to do any favours for that normally fell on deaf ears, but he had nevertheless followed them to the car.

Her knee bounced, displaying the nerves she was trying to keep hidden, as she rubbed her sweaty palms together. She hadn’t spoken to Arobynn since that fateful day, now nearly a month ago, and she hoped that she could keep her composure around him.

Not that she was worried her mask would slip and she would become a blubbering mess, she worried she’d have to bite her tongue to hold back the sharp insults she felt he deserved. Or that someone would have to hold her back lest she knee him where it would hurt, that was a fantasy she should probably keep unfulfilled.

In the front of the car Lysandra was directing Aedion to the small house belonging to Arobynn. The hand she had on his arm as she pointed where to pull up was something Aelin chose to ignore. At least for now, she could grill Lysandra later on. In Lysandra’s defence Aelin wondered why she had never introduced the pair before, they certainly looked good next to each other, but her thoughts were interrupted by Aedion pulling up the car and turning the engine off.

Lysandra turned in her seat, her hand dropping away from Aedion as she looked toward Aelin.

“You’ve got this. Get the coffee maker, then leave. We’re all here.” Each of the three men nodded along, surprisingly serious. Then Rowan unbuckled his seat belt and climbed out of the car, making way for her to follow.

Once out of the car she took a deep breath and marched to Arobynn’s front door. She turned back to see Rowan climbing back into the car and Lysandra flashing her a thumbs up. She raised her hand and knocked.

The door swung open seconds later and she was face to face with him. His red hair was longer than the last time she had seen him, and his stubble was grown out to more of a full beard. He looked older than the last time she had seen him, tiredness written across his face, and his expression twisted as he took her in.

“Aelin.” His voice was cold.

“Arobynn.” She returned; he wasn’t going to make this easy. “I’m here for my coffee maker.”

He scoffed. “I see you’ve brought your bodyguards.” He looked past her to the car and stepped out of his house, forcing her to take a step back onto his front lawn. She heard a car door open but refused to look away from Arobynn’s face.

“My coffee machine. Where is it?” She asked, eyes narrowed and voice sharp.

“Look Aelin,” he started taking another step and forcing her back again, more car doors opened behind her. “I think you should leave.”

His hand came up to rest on her shoulder, pushing slightly to turn her back towards the car. She was aware now of a body close behind her and she flashed her head to the side to catch Aedion staring daggers into the side of Arobynn’s skull.

“Take your hand off her, man.” Rowan’s voice came from her other side, his tone icy.

Arobynn looked at him in disbelief, “Who are you?” He snapped.

“That doesn’t matter,” Aedion started, but she interrupted him.

“Get your hand off me. Now.”

She squared her shoulders shaking his hand off and stepped around him. His gaze was drawn away from her now, sizing up the men behind her. Even Lorcan stood to Rowan’s side, arms crossed as he scowled down at Arobynn.

She saw her opportunity and took it, darting around him and into the house. She knew the layout, so it only took seconds for her to reach the kitchen, spy her coffee maker and unplug it, hauling it out of the room.

She blew through the hall only pausing when she spotted a scarf of hers she thought she had lost, peeking out from under one of his coats in the hallway. She pulled the scarf down off the hook, furious that Arobynn hadn’t said anything about her things being at his place. Beneath the scarf was a summer jacket of hers which she shoved under her arm and flew through the doorway.

“You are such an asshole!” She screamed flashing her middle finger at him, and he turned away from where he was arguing with Aedion. “Let’s go.”

The others followed her to the car as she threw her things in the trunk, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Aedion had the car started and waiting as she tossed a final glare towards where Arobynn remained in the middle of his lawn. She clambered back into the car, followed closely by Rowan, who grinned at her once the door was shut and they were driving away.

A laugh bubbled out of her, and she shared a grin with Lysandra who let out her own giggle.

“We got it,” She buried her head in her hands, leaning slightly against Rowan’s shoulder. She felt him shift and glanced up towards him.

“You got it,” He told her, then raised his head to the others in the car. “Now, drinks on me.”

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

Please let me know if I’ve missed anyone

#a groovy kind of love #agkol #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #throne of glass #throne of glass fic #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin x rowan #aedion ashryver #aedion x lysandra #lysandra #lorcan salvaterre #fenrys moonbeam #arobynn hamel #I haven't edited this because I wanted to get it posted #so if it's different in the morning that's why

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robotslenderman · 3 years

Note

Ewww getting big privileged homophobe vibes from you. Blocking now.

Thank God.

I doubt you'll ever read this, but just in case hate-reading is your thing - I don't know why you bothered with anon. You're obviously not a follower because I talk about how queer I am here ALL THE TIME. I saw many queerphobes on that queer post, and even visited a few of their blogs. (Most of them were TERFs, except one - you, who claimed to be a trans dude. Maybe you are! Maybe you're not a TERF posing as a trans dude and you really are okay with being part of a movement absolutely dominated by TERFs!)

But there was only one that I left a comment on. You'd posted about how queer people are so horrible to call ourselves queer. Like the anthropomorphic personification of class and tact that I am, I trolled you by asking if my queer presence made you uncomfortable.

Clearly, it did. :)

So go ahead. Call me the first mean name that comes to your head, as if it bothered me what a random totally-not-anon thinks I am. I'm totally fine with queerphobes thinking my existence is homophobic, because the only way they'd understand otherwise is if I pretended I wasn't queer. My alleged homophobia is latched on to my identity as a queer person. The only way you would not accuse me of being homophobic is if I stopped calling myself queer.

So you use my very identity as a weapon against me. I am queer, and I am attached to not being a homophobe. You know that queer people do not want to be perceived as something they hate completely by anyone, strangers included, especially on a website where people harass first and listen later (if at all). So you hold us hostage - deny our queerness, and you'll drop your weapon. You'll drop the word "homophobic" and stop pointing it at me.

I'm not gonna cave to this.

Nor am I going to write an outraged essay about how I'm not homophobic. You know perfectly fucking well that not a SINGLE queer person is straight. You know perfectly fucking well that most queer people are same sex attracted or attracted to enbies. You know perfectly fucking well that queer people have accepted that part of us and aren't dealing with internalised homophobia or inflicting it on other people because we ACKNOWLEDGE our queerness and you can see this, otherwise you wouldn't be getting mad about it. In a homophobic society everyone has a degree of it, but by being what we are we have less of it than the great majority.

You know this perfectly well. Don't fucking pretend otherwise, I would have to believe that you are well and truly and sincerely STUPID to think for one second that you think I'm a straight person or a closeted gay person who's lashing out with malicious homophobia. Real homophobia, not "this person is part of a minority I am bigoted against, so I will claim they are inherently homophobic unless they get back in the closet or categorise themself in a way that allows me to fine tune my bigotry appropriately."

Because let's be real. Queer hasn't been used as a slur in decades and was reclaimed before I was even born. "Gay" was the slur of the time when I was growing up, but people like you never had a problem with that. Why? Because gay is clear cut and well defined. The problem people like you have with queers like me - the REAL problem, not the faux outraged you have made up about my label - is that queer means I have declined your insistence to more accurately categorise myself.

I mean, how else would you know specifically how to treat me? I could be bi and you might hate bi people, but if I'm a gay queer you don't want to aim the wrong type of bigotry at me by mistake - not because you care about gay people (you don't, because many gay people are also queer), but because you don't want to make yourself look silly by aiming the wrong type of bigotry at me. I could be queer because I'm an enby, and maybe you're truescum that would despise me for it, but you don't KNOW whether or not I'm an enby and that drives you mad! You don't want to risk alienating people who care about you by shitting on someone they might not agree is an acceptable target, so you target every queer and claim it's about a word when really, many queer people seek refugee under that term to hide from people like you, and you don't like that we can hide from you, so you try to strip our shelter away from us.

(And let's be honest. You probably don't even actually hate us. You're probably just afraid. Afraid of some identity you don't really understand because you've never taken the time to get to know us, or afraid that society will accept you less if we're "competing" for acceptance and so take some of the spotlight... I won't shit on you for fear, anon. We are all afraid of something. But I absolutely have a problem with how you're choosing to knowingly hurt people to cope with it. You called me "homophobe" to hurt me. There was no other way to possibly interpret the context of what you were saying. You meant to do this.)

So take away queer. Take away the shelter of queer. Force every queer person to divulge, upfront, who they are that makes them friends with queer. Force them out of the closet and pretend THAT'S not homophobic.

Send the gay queers back to the L and G of LGBT, let the TERFs flush out the trans people who are queer because they're trans* and shoo them away from LGBTQ spaces. Or maybe you really are trans, but you want to kick out straight trans people, or enbies, or pan people, or bi people, or ace people, or, one of the many populations that make up the true queer community.

* Not all trans people are queer, but many are BECAUSE they're trans. I would say "many are queer because they identify as queer" because that makes it sound like queerness isn't an inherent part of who we are and gives people like you ammo I have no interest in supplying you with. "Aha! So you CHOOSE to be a slur!" I just know you'd completely ignore everything I said to the contrary and say that.

Yes. The true queer community.

We've told you again and again that we're not calling you queer. We've told you again and again, if you're not queer, you're not part of the queer community. You're LGBT+, not queer. I'm not part of the LGBT+ community, I'm part of the queer community.

The queer community is not the true community of people who aren't straight and cis, that's not what I'm saying. We're not any more or less LGBT+ than you. I'm not invalidating the identities of people who aren't straight and/or cis, because they are who they are, and you don't need to be queer to be LGBT+. But we are the true queer community in that we are queer, and people who are LGBT+ but are not queer are not queer. Only queer people are queer.

("But people use queer community as an umbrella term to mean people who aren't queer, but are still LGBT+!" Buddy, if I have to deal with being called LGBT all the time even though it's not true, while having the people who use LGBT obviously mean me too because I'm not straight, then you can live with it too. That's mostly straights doing that, in which case you have no reason to get mad at US, or people who are are making something for a straight audience or a questioning audience, in which case they're making it accessible because not everyone knows the nuance of queer and LGBTALPHABETSOUP discourse. Or even - and I know this thought is incomprehensible to you, as the centre of the universe - it's actually referring to queer people and queer people only, not LGBT+ who aren't queer. Actually, I love that idea! Queer history is now history of queer people, no non-queer LGBT+ allowed :D)

I've never felt LGBT+ even when I thought I was one of the main four letters. But I've always felt queer, even as my understanding of my specific brand of queerness changed. Queer is an umbrella term that is opt in, that covers any and all LGBT+ people who know they are queer too, who know they're one of us, or who simply choose to call themselves queer for whatever fucking reason they want. Some of us are intrinsically queer, some choose to be queer because of the inclusiveness or relative opacity of the term, and you don't know which one a queer person is unless you have earned our trust enough for us to tell you.

And people like you fucking hate that.

So you know what?

I'm totally fine with you calling me a homophobe because the people who actually know more about me than the few sentences I've given you know that that's a joke, and their good opinion matters more to me than yours.

I'm totally fine with you calling me a homophobe because because it means I've won. I've gotten under your skin, just as your bigotry got right under mine. You're furious you can't categorise me. You're pissed off that I could be one of the LGBT+ people you actively dislike and want out of the LGBT+ community, but are finding a hell of a lot harder to flush out of the queer community because we all look the same at first glance and refuse to give you information you feel entitled to. Because it's easy to force people out of the closet in the LGBT+ community, but much fucking harder in a meritocracy like the queer community. To get into the LGBT+ community, you have to tell them which one you are. Queer? No questions asked, cause you already told us all we needed to know! Welcome home!

But let's say this is all a strawman.

That you really are some well meaning person who has nothing against the more obscure queer identities and that you really do just have a problem with the word. That you truly do think that queer people, the great majority of which experience same sex attraction, are... somehow... homophobic just for using the word despite their advocacy against homophobia and total acceptance of that aspect of themselves and others. That our fight for marriage equality and employment and housing protections and human rights is rendered COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY IRRELEVANT because we used a word that Boomers and even some of gen X hurled at each other because a guy was a little bit girly, or a girl refused to grow her hair long, or because men were scared that a man would treat them the way they treated women. (Because queer as an archaic slur, ultimately, comes from misogyny as much as homophobia.)

Let's say you really do mean well and really do know people who were called queers instead of fags, or you really did grow up hearing "that is so queer" to describe things people didn't like, or you really did have "queer" hurled at you by straight people as if there was something wrong with you for not being cis and straight.

(Notice something, there? You probably haven't actually experienced any of that, nor anyone you know. This wank about who I am as a queer person - it's always aimed at us. Never the straights that used it against us. Nobody uses the word queer except queer people any more, I am 99% certain that you don't know ANYBODY who has had it thrown at them AS a slur, so that means that the only people you can target on your crusade are... gender and sexual minorities. Not cis/straight people. Because they're not calling us queers and haven't in decades.

That means you are knowingly targeting minorities over this EXCLUSIVELY, I am completely fucking certain..

... but I'M the homophobe?)

In which case all I can say is: I hope that the well-meaningness that's made you put this hateful thing into my inbox, that's made you say such hateful things to a minority because of their identity (there's a word for treating people differently because they're a minority, especially hostile treatment..), will outshine the hatefulness of what you're saying and lead you to a better way to express your desire to protect people.

If you truly are coming from a misplaced belief that we're somehow deprecating ourselves by being queer, and not a desire to force us out of the closet or to run off any gender or sexual minority, then I apologise for my hostility, acknowledge that learning takes time (and patience that I am unable to give, for I am tired of bad actors pretending they're not and cannot do it), and wish you the best in learning to be inclusive and loving so we can count you one day, at least, as a friend of us queer folk. Maybe one day we'll even welcome you as one of us. I'd love to do that more than I'd like to deal with THIS crap. I can't imagine me going off on you will have helped at all, but from in my experience people who want to protect gender and sexual minorities protect them. They don't target them. That's why I am writing this post under the assumption that you wrote this because you have bad intentions towards me as a queer person, and not out of a well meaning desire to protect anyone you think I've somehow hurt by being me.

In which case? Get fucked.

#long post #queer #queer queer queer #you know how I just said that I often come across as aggressive without intending to?#Disregard that this post is 100% aggressively intended #do not pick on my fellow queer folk or I will Go Off on you #also I don't get using privileged as an insult #that's like insulting me by calling me white #it's a descriptor #some people are privileged #I am privileged in some ways and not so in others #my queerness tho? definitely not

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1248

Your ex taps you on the shoulder and says, “I still love you.” You say? I feel like I’ve answered a similar situation recently, but I would assume it was a drunk text or wrong text, inform them about it, and move on.

Do you play video games? Nah. I do feel a sort of connection of video games since I grew up surrounded by them, though; but I’m more of a watcher than anything. I like watching playthroughs of video games I’ll never play. Do you spend a lot of time with family? No. We used to, back when the quarantine was still a relatively new thing – we hung out in the living room all the time. But now that we’ve settled in this new normal, we’re back to our normal routines and I usually like staying in my room.

Is your house more than two stories tall? Technically, yes. We have a rooftop that serves as the ‘third’ floor.

Have you ever hit your significant other? Has he/she ever hit you? My ex and I never hit one another; that’s a gigantic red flag even I would notice, considering I ignored most of the ones I saw hahaha.

What makes you an attractive person? (Talk about your personality too!) I’m not sure if I’ll be able to answer this question directly, but I like my generosity. I’m not sure if I can call it attractive, though. But if we were focusing on physical features, I like my smile.

What color is your hairbrush/comb? Pink.

What snacks do you have available in your household atm? My dad splurged on chips in his last grocery run so we actually have quite a lot of junk food in the pantry at the moment. He also bought several packs of cookie sandwiches, wafers, sunflower seeds, and garlic-flavored peanuts.

Has anyone recently told you that they like you, or find you attractive? Neither.

Are you attracted to the last person you Facebook messaged? No, she’s just a good friend of mine.

Do you care about anyone that doesn’t care about you? I guess I don’t, because I’m not even aware of them.

Was your last Facebook friend requests from a male or female? Guy. It was another reporter, so I just ignored it and luckily he didn’t PM me just to ask to add him back, which others have already done. I really hate when work people try to make their way into my personal accounts.

Which one of your relatives is most likely to embarrass you? My parents, especially when they are rude to service crew. Gen X-ers are impeccably talented at that, apparently.

When was the last time you ate a bar of chocolate? Around two or three weeks ago when I had dinner at Angela’s. Her dad gave me a bar of Crunch so I can have something sweet after our meal.

Do you play any games on Facebook? No, I never did hop on that trend.

What would you like to get a degree in? I wanted a degree in journalism, and graduated with such. At the end of my college stint I didn’t want to pursue it anymore, but I pushed through with it anyway because it was too much of a hassle to shift and start all over.

Do you wake up a lot in the middle of the night? Technically not, because I stay up until the middle of the night anyway. It’s been a while since I fell asleep anywhere between 8 to 10 PM.

Would you prefer to read a book, watch a movie or TV show, or play a video game? Watch a show.

Do you usually get popcorn or soda at the movie theater? I don’t like either; I get fries instead.

What genre of films do you like the best? Drama.

How many bank accounts do you have? Two but I haven’t been using the other one in months. That was the bank account I initially opened when I first started ~adulting~ but when I got employed I was required to enroll in this other specific bank, so that’s what I mainly use now.

Have you ever had the flu? Not really. I just get the occasional fever that pop out of nowhere.

What is your goal for the next few months? Start saving FOR REAL, and also prioritizing furniture over merch for a while so I can finally fix up my room, which is quickly starting to look and feel like just a warehouse and not very homey at all.

Have you ever had some kind of sleep-disorder? How did it affect your life? Nope.

Have you ever had food poisoning before? Describe the experience. Yeah, it was from barbecue that apparently went bad, even though it tasted nothing of the sort. I woke up at 3 AM sweating profusely and with the most excruciating stomachache; I was feeling hot, cold, and nauseous all at the same time, and it probably lasted for like an hour or so.

What are two things that you have no problem paying full price for? Sealed albums and my pets’ vet expenses.

Funny, charming, cute, romantic, smart - choose only 2 for the opposite sex. Charming and smart.

Have you ever let somebody use you? Why did you do it? It felt nice to help people.

You can go back in time & change something in your mom’s past - what is it? Good question; I’ve never encountered this before. I would let her live a more comfortable, privileged life, where she didn’t have to staple her shoes to keep them closed or have to choose between eating at a fast food restaurant or being able to commute back home.

Do you know anybody who is around the exact same size as you? Who? I’m not sure, actually. Everyone’s always slightly taller than me.

Ever been to a haunted house? How scared were you? I haven’t.

Been on any websites today you wouldn’t want your parents to see? Tumblr, I guess? My survey blog isn’t for any irls to see.

Which is worse: dusting or mopping? I don’t really do either often, but I’ll go with mopping.

Would you marry somebody who was intensely religious? Not for me.

Did you pull a senior prank? No, that’s not a thing here. Did you graduate? Yeah, elementary, high school, and college.

Have you ever been unfaithful in a serious relationship? Nope.

What was the last song you listened to? It’s a song called Epiphany.

Are you one of those lucky people with 20/20 vision? Not ever since I was like 9 lol.

Is fashion one of your interests? I’m way more interested in it now for sure, mostly because the celebrities I’m into these days put a lot of effort when it comes to their style; so it makes me more aware of the trends that come and go, as well.

Do you think you’ll eventually find that special someone? I’m keeping it as a possibility, but it’s not a priority for me now.

Do you care what people think? To an extent, I would say. My life doesn’t depend on it, though.

Is acting something you enjoy? Never been.

What was the last thing you broke/sprained? Do you mean a thing or a body part? Anyway, I’ll answer both. The last thing I broke was my BTS Mic Drop pen of V looooooooooool the figurine came off the pen :(( It was pretty cheap though so I’m fine with it; I can always get another one. Last body part I sprained was my ankle, when I had a bad fall a couple of years ago.

Have you ever fought with a friend because of their boyfriend/girlfriend? Because of yours? Either hasn’t happened.

Has a stranger ever yelled at you for your language? I don’t think so.

Whose house, other than yours and your families', are you most comfortable at? Angela’s. Also JM’s, just because their family doesn’t hover and that vibe can sometimes be nice whenever I’m at someone else’s place.

Has any of your friends’ family ever yelled at you? Never.

Did you ever play a sport as a little kid? Did you enjoy it? Not as a very young kid, but I took up table tennis starting when I was 12. Did you ever watch the show Full House? Nope.

Is there a celebrity you are just DETERMINED to marry? Now that’s just delusional haha. I’m pretty obsessed with some celebrities, that much I can admit; but thinking of them in the context of marriage is so many steps overboard.

Have you ever burned someone’s picture? No. I could, but I am scared of fire and will probably just think of other ways to express my anger, like tearing up the photograph. What’s the longest hike you’ve ever been on? Total length was probably like 3 hours. I haven’t gone too far when it comes to hiking.

Would you ever get a lip tattoo? Not interested.

Who is the first person of the opposite sex that pops into your head? Hans.

Do your parents smoke cigarettes? My mom tried it once in her life, I think. My dad has never smoked.

What does one of your T-shirts have written on it? “Hope right here!”

Name a pet you definitely wouldn’t want. Anything that’s supposed to roam freely in the wild, like squirrels.

Would you prefer your partner smaller or taller? Taller, since I’m already quite pint-sized to begin with lol.

Do you enjoy going through old pictures? Sometimes. Other times, it's too painful. It also depends on the era of the pictures. < Agree, especially with the eras. Childhood photos are always fun to look at, but I have had to delete a CHUNK of photos from years ranging from 2014 to 2020 because I’ve lost a handful of friends from that period.

Do you believe people when they say they don’t judge people? It’s hard to for the most part, but I’ve noticed very few people people really don’t. Most of the time it’s bullshit though.

What did you love the most about the town you grew up in? That it’s pretty close to the metro.

What’s a movie that you laughed the hardest during? Hmm, I prefer TV shows if I’m craving comedy.

What’s a movie you cried the hardest during? Life Is Beautiful.

What’s your favorite restaurant? Omakase for my sushi fix; School Tteokbokki if I want Korean; Yabu if I’m looking for a generous rice meal.

Is there a dessert you don’t like? Anything with fruits.

Favorite album? After Laughter by Paramore.

What’s a book that you read because everyone else was reading it? I can name authors instead of books – John Green and Haruki Murakami.

Underwater or outer space? Outer space.

Dogs or cats? Dogs.

Kittens or puppies? Puppies.

Bird watching or whale watching? Whale watching. I don’t get to be in the water as much, so I would jump at the opportunity.

What is your spirit animal? I dunno if I have one but let’s just go with dog and elephant, I guess? They’re my favorites.

What was your best subject in school? History.

What was your worst subject in school? Chemistry.

What is one thing you wish you knew in high school? Don’t waste your time.

Who is your fashion icon? Audrey Hepburn.

Diamonds or pearls? Diamonds.

What color dress did you wear to prom? For my own prom it was cream-colored/beige. When I went to Mike’s ball, I went with a royal blue gown.

What’s your favorite plot-twist? I don’t think I’ve found my favorite yet.

Honestly, are you jealous of someone right now? Not actively.

Honestly, what’s the worst thing you’ve done when you were mad? I dunno...road rage, maybe?

Honestly, ever made anyone cry when you were mad? It’s very likely.

Honestly, when was the last time you REALLY cried your heart out? Sometime in the last week.

Ever pop someone else’s pimple? No thanks.

Do you need to return anyone’s phone call? Nope.

Who are you closest to? Angela.

Have you ever had a bad concert experience? No, all the ones I’ve been to have been amazing experiences.

Are you currently sad about anything? Not really. I can’t complain.

Have you had any form of exercise today? Nah.

Can you handle blood? Nope, I will feel faint if I see it 100%.

Has any place hired you underage for a job? No.

Have you ever carried a concealed weapon? I haven’t.

Are you currently searching for a job? No, I like the one I have.

Does eating breakfast make you sick? No?

#survey #surveys

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skvaderarts · 3 years

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Hiraeth Chapter 51: Summation

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty-One: Summation

Note: I had to cook dinner, so I forgot to upload this until 11 pm. I also forgot that it was Wednesday. Just like how I forgot it was one of my friend’s birthdays today. YIKES. My bad hahaha! Check the end-of-chapter notes! Hope you had a good day!

(-~-)

Varying degrees of confusion overtook the entire room as everyone present attempted to try and figure out what was going on. Aside from Magnolia and Lucia, everyone there had heard a great deal about Morgan from the time that the young summoner had described his harrowing ordeal up north, but none of them would have ever expected that she would appear before them, especially at a time like this. And as strange as this all seemed to be for them, it was apparently even stranger for the young summoner.

Standing just a foot or two from her now as he attempted to help her with her bags, she shooed him away, assuring him that she was perfectly capable of handling them on her own. She’d carried them all the way from where she’d been starting to the car, and she’d made it up all of the stairs in front of Magnolia’s house. This would be a snap in comparison.

“Really though, when didja get those wicked tattoos? They had to hurt like hell, right? I mean, how much of your body do they cover, anyway?” Morgan sat her bags down by the side of the stairs, eager to get them out of the way of the walking path. No need to cause anyone to trip. She then looked around the room at the rest of the occupants, nodding to herself as she seemingly considered something. “Sorry I fell out of contact, V. I know you were probably worrying about what happened to me. There was a lot going on back then.”

It occurred to V at that moment that he was wearing a long sleeved V neck sweater. She couldn’t see most of them, only the ones on his wrists and hands and the ones visible around his neck. She was in for one hell of a surprise in more ways than one. They had so much to catch up on despite the fact that it had only been about three years since he’d last see her. Where had that kind of time gone?

A small smile spread across V’s face for a split second as he leaned against the wall, folding his arms around himself. There was still a small part of him that couldn’t believe she was actually standing here in front of him again. She’d certainly gotten taller in the time since he’d last seen her. Not by much, but she had been so very short when last they’d met. Their height difference had always been comical to him. “Likewise. And please, think nothing of it. In all honesty, that is probably more my fault than yours. It’s a bit difficult to mail a letter to someone who is completely transient.”

Nero chuckled to himself from the other side of the room. “Yea, he kinda ran off and joined the circus or something like that. It probably does make it kind of tricky to track someone down when they don’t have an actual address. I don’t even understand how they paid him.”

Morgan blinked in surprise before bursting into hysterical laughter, leaning over to rest her open palms on her legs. She shook her head before looking up again, making momentary eye contact with V. The moment she saw the soft red blush that had spread across his face and the poor job that he was doing to hide it, she started to laugh again, this time even harder than the last time. “You know what, I’m not even surprised. So you joined the circus, hu?”

“As a matter of fact, I did not. It was a traveling theater. There is a distinct difference.” V’s blush deepened as he became visibly embarrassed. Still, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t find that response from Nero entertaining. After all, he knew that he was only joking. They had discussed this previously, and he was honestly pleasantly surprised that his brother remembered what he’d been up to during that window of time.

“Oh, you're totally right, V! One of them doesn’t have animals, right?” The sarcasm was evident in that statement. Was it possible to roll your eyes by speaking alone? Because if so, she had just done it. “So, I can’t help but notice that you're not the only one in the room with that fancy hair color anymore… Care to introduce me?”

For reasons that he couldn’t place, V’s entire brain ceased functionality as soon as she said that, unable to do much in the way of forming meaningful thoughts. Obviously, he knew that they were his relatives, but it hadn’t occurred to him until just then that he’d never introduced them as such before. Well, at least not as a group. He was genuinely surprised by how staggeringly uncomfortable he now was, especially when he barely understood why. Perhaps because she knew he had previously been an orphan?

“Yes, you're quite right. I should.” V gestured towards Nero, finding that it was probably more simple to start with him than it would be with his uncle and father. They took the same amount of introduction, but he had the feeling he knew which of them she would ask the most questions about. “The one you just spoke to is Nero. He’s my younger brother.”

Blinking in surprise, she nodded, giving the youngest descendant of Sparda a thumbs up. She then returned her attention back to V. “Cool. Good to see you’ve got someone in your corner now. Different moms or dads in the equation? If that’s not overstepping.”

“They have different mothers, yes.”

Morgan and V both looked over at Vergil, both seemingly surprised to hear him speak. He had been so quiet up until then that it was actually jarring to see him speak. When she looked back over at V, he gestured towards the older man, nodding in confirmation of what he assumed she had probably just figured out from that statement. “This is my father, Vergil. The one standing next to him is his brother, Dante. My uncle. And I believe you’ve already had some form of communication with Magnolia.”

“Is she your aunt or something like that?” She inquired, clearly noting the lack of a family resemblance. She then lingered on Vergil for a long moment in a manner that the Darkslayer couldn’t quite place. There was some emotion there that seemed familiar to him, but he genuinely couldn’t place the origin of it.

V pondered the question for a moment before nodding slightly, his head tilted somewhat to one side. He didn’t really know how to explain her relationship to him. After all, they were not related, but that didn’t really matter to him in much the same way that he imagined Lady and Trish not being related to Dante didn’t change anything. The only problem was that they didn’t have that kind of relationship, either. Perhaps something more familial, but not in a sibling sort of way. “Something more than that, but not by any blood or marital bonds.”

Magnolia blinked in surprise. She was clearly taken aback, but in a good way. And then that state of surprise instantly migrated to something else entirely. She was genuinely flattered, but she had to admit that the feeling was mutual. It was hard to place her finger on it, but V did indeed mean a great deal to her. She’d spend every moment since she’d helped bring him back from the space beyond death worrying that he would return there. She genuinely did care about him, and she was glad to see that he did, too.

Dante’s pupils dilated a few centimeters at the statement, a staggering amount of serotonin rushing to his brain as he seemed to physically process the fact that one of his nephews had actually just called him their uncle. It was true, after all. He was indeed their uncle… but he was certain that he’d never heard one of them actually say as much, and he was honestly expecting Nero to be the first one to ever bring it up. He felt a sudden urge to lay down. Or, at the very least, sit down. Something he did immediately.

Continuing to look at them both, Vergil joined his younger twin on the couch, seemingly pleasantly surprised that his eldest son had actually mentioned their relation to him and not just their names. He would not have objected if he had, either way, he was taken off guard by his son’s sudden moment of transparency. Morgan had clearly earned his trust.

“Nice to meet you all.” She said with a soft but pleasant smile as she looked at each of the people that he had just introduced. Especially you, Nero. Us annoying little siblings have to stick together, you know?”

“I think I like her, V,” Nero said, making a sound somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. She reminded him of Nico in a way, except much less overtly chaotic. Well, at least so far. She had kicked a dude off of a truck and down a mountain to his probable death as a young teenager. That was pretty hardcore.

“And speaking of annoying siblings…” She made her way across the short space between her and Bren, only to pull her leg back and kick him full force in the shin. He yelped and hopped up and down, her foot clearing finding its mark with devastating force. She folded her arms across his chest, shaking her head as he regained his composure, clearly dissatisfied. “Brenowin Linquist! Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in right now? My High School graduation is tomorrow! What the hell did you do this time?!”

“Using the first and last name, hu? Looks like I’m dead already and I just don’t know it.” He shrugged in embarrassment, clearly genuinely ashamed of his actions. Morgan never yelled. She got excited, but it was rare for her to raise her voice in anger. “I thought you said you hated that preppy school full of rich kids and that you weren't even going to that graduation ceremony in the first place.”

“Oh, I’m not. But you still would have made me miss it if I wasn’t planning on not going.” She shook her head and sat down on Magnolia’s stairs. She seemed to watch everyone silently for a moment before shrugging and

“You know what? That’s a good point. I’m sorry about all of this. It’s my fault. Again. I really hope you can forgive me for it one day.”

Magnolia’s brow furrowed. “Wait… your graduation is in late September? That doesn’t seem quite right. I’m surprised that your school has a graduation ceremony at all.”

The young woman nodded in agreement. “Normally it would have been in June, but then Redgrave City happened and the parents of almost a third of the school died or went missing, so they decided to push it back and have us come back in September if we still wanted to do it. Guess it would have been a major downer to watch like half of the students and faculty cry hysterically on the stage, and they just have to keep up appearances at all costs, ya know?” She shrugged nebulously, but it was obvious that there was some sort of history there. None of them were going to ask about it, however. Especially not Vergil. He was too busy trying his level best to will himself out of the room, the reality of the indirect (and somewhat direct) results of his actions weighing down on him like a tin can in a hydraulic press. He really had done that to them, hadn’t he…

“Rich kids aren’t allowed to show that they have feelings. The school taught us that much. They would have probably waited to tell us our families died just so that it didn’t interfere with our test scores if the timings had coincided. The school has a reputation for having the best test scores or whatever. But the disaster just missed the testing period so they didn’t need to.” Bren folded his arms, shaking his head. He certainly didn’t miss that damn school. He had her beat by two years, but that didn’t mean that anything was different. The same teachers that taught his sister had probably taught him.

“... Why not go just to spite them? They probably say you leave and are expecting you to stay away, sure of their victory against you. I get the distinct impression that they weren't very welcoming to you during your time spent there.”

Everyone in the room turned and looked at V like he’d just grown a second head. That was something that they genuinely would have expected to hear come from Vergil’s mouth. And Vergil seemed to agree, his interest clearly piqued. It seemed that even V had his moments. It was almost humbling to know that he too felt this way about how others acted towards him from time to time.

“I get the feeling you're speaking from personal experience?” Bren said, raising an eyebrow. He seemed genuinely shocked that V had said that. He didn’t seem like he was that passive-aggressive, but then again, they had just met and he was basing that assumption entirely off of how quiet he was and how meek he seemed to be. It wouldn’t have been the first time that he was wrong.

“You would be correct,” V said simply, looking down at the floor for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to him until then that he’d never really told them anything about his teenage years. Everything that had happened between his childhood and the time that he’d met Morgan was difficult and not a topic that he discussed lightly. Perhaps one day, but not in front of a stranger, and certainly not right now. This wasn’t the time.

Realizing that this had the potential to become an incredibly uncomfortable conversation, they decided to change the subject. After all, they had more pressing matters to attend to. V’s curse and the situation that Morgan had unfortunately found herself in were going to be their top priorities. And it seemed that the easiest way of fixing both of those problems was to get rid of their pressure and go after Belial. At this point, it was the only thing they could do. But how to go up against an opponent that they couldn’t find or effectively do battle against? This was going to be tough, but they had been through tuff before. They could do this. They just needed more information and an actual plan.

“By any chance, are you the ones that everyone is talking about on the news? Because you look like them, and ya kinda look like you just got out of a fight. No offense.” Morgan chuckled to herself as shook her head. V just attracted crazy people and trouble like a moth to a flame didn’t he. “Everyone is saying that you keep showing up to save the day during these huge disasters. Were you there during the Redgrave incident? And as for the graduation… I just might. You make a good point.”

“Whatever brings you satisfaction,” V said in an almost sinister tone that took them off guard. Nero shook his head slightly and laughed to himself. Sometimes he forgot that V could be an utterly terrifying force of nature when he wanted to be. Perhaps it was best that he kept his older sibling away from a school filled with spoiled, rude brats. But somehow he had the feeling that V had prior with exactly that sort of peer group. That little peek into his past had revealed quite a bit, and now he could speculate. It would explain his lack of interest in social interaction. Children could be cruel.

“Actually… yea, you're not wrong. They’re talking about all of us. They’ve just never seen everyone at once. We kinda turn up to get rid of the demons during stuff like that.” Dante said casually. There was no point in hiding it. She was right, and they didn’t have time to waste on mysteries. “Me and Vergil weren't at the station just now, but Nero and V were. And Lucia. And… um….” He didn’t know the slightest bit about Flora. In fact, her name escaped him at the moment. Had they even met before? She’d been at V’s house the entire time, so he couldn’t be sure.

“Flora. I’m Flora. Don’t worry about me though. I’m with her” She said pointing at Magnolia,” And not with them. Well, I’m with them, but we're not related or anything. I just came to town to help out about two weeks ago. Field studies and all that. You know how it is. Or maybe you don’t. Look I don’t-” She stopped abruptly, deciding to chew her gum instead of saying more. Everything that had just happened had completely destroyed her will to live. She wasn’t good at introductions. At all.

V kicked himself internally for forgetting to mention Lucia. She’d been right there, after all. He just hadn’t really known what to say. “Lucia is an old friend of Dante’s. She’s not related to any of us, at least from what we know.”

Lucia nodded, giggling to herself quietly. If they’d only known. She was not, in fact, a descendant of the Dark Knight Sparda. But her mother and Dante and Vergil’s father had been close for years. For all they knew, it could have very well turned out differently should he had not met Eva. She couldn’t say. She only had her mother’s stories to go off of, and she didn’t particularly want to know those stories. Too much personal information, especially if something more substantial had occurred.

He looked down at his arm, noticing that he’d been rubbing it idly for a few minutes now. V wasn’t entirely sure what had made him notice, but he was inexplicably drawn to it all of a sudden. And when he did look at it, he felt his blood run slightly cold. He’d been gone from the house for entirely too long.

“Perhaps it is best that we head to my house. It would be a better place to discuss this… “

Noticing the slight hint of worry in V’s voice, Vergil nodded. It was best that they take both of them somewhere more secure. Well, all three of them, actually. They could keep a better eye on them all if they were in one place. “Yes, I believe it is time to give Magnolia her house back. We have matters to attend to.”

(-~-)

I’M BACK, EVERYONE! I’ve missed you all, but I am so very glad that you talked me into taking a little break! I didn’t see your wonderful messages until now, and I just wanted to say that I genuinely adore all of you, and your kindness was very much needed and appreciated. Your encouragement and compassion meant the world to me, and I’m happy to say now that I’m okay and ready to keep writing! From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU! I’m excited to see you all again in the comments and on Friday! Take care!

#Hiraeth #V #Dante #Vergil #Nero #Lucia #My OC's #My DMC OC's #DMC

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Ian Mathers’ 2020: We’re stuck inside our own machines

I’ve had a song I loved in high school and haven’t thought much about since stuck in my head. The song “Apparitions” by the Matthew Good Band is a fine example of the alt rock of the late 90s; if you grew up then but somewhere down in the states (or elsewhere) instead of my southern Ontario you may well have your regional equivalents, and like this one they may not resonate terribly strongly outside of their time and place. It popped back into my head after a long time recently and of course 2020 has changed it a little. A song that as a teen I felt keenly as about loneliness (albeit also about how technology can feed into that) of course now plays on my nerves as another small piece of art about the way that most of us (those scared and/or responsible anyway) have only that relatively narrow, technologically mediated connection to the people we love. All of us, artists and listeners alike, are trying to fit our feelings and art and selves down these little connections, with some success.

On a personal level, 2020 wound up being stressful in ways we couldn’t have predicted even after the pandemic hit. In circumstances that could have seen governments on this continent support those unable to work (and those who shouldn’t have to), support those workers who are truly essential, support workers and renters and even landlords and small businesses, instead we got a near-total abeyance of those governments using the resources we provide them with to save any of us. On a personal level my wife and I were lucky enough to be able to work from home (not that it didn’t come with its own forms of stress, and now that I’m off until January I have several work/stress-related illnesses to recover from) but still saw friends and loved ones lose good, used-to-be-sustainable livings overnight, saw family businesses succumb to a near-total absence of effective government support after months of trying to keep above water, etc.

It is probably no surprise that this is not a situation conducive to listening to music, let alone writing about it; I have deliberately and happily kept busy on behind the scenes stuff at Dusted that I could still manage but looking, at the end of the year, at the amount I managed to actually create is demoralizing if not at all shocking. I’m not sure I think next year will be ‘better’ in many important ways, although at our job there is a growing feeling among coworkers that next year has to have some work/life balance because 2020 was, maybe more than anything else, unsustainable.

That’s not to say I didn’t spend a lot of time and emotion on music this year, and if nothing else constant sleep deprivation, stress, and panic meant I was probably open to being deeply moved by all sorts of art even more than normally (it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even read a sad or moving twitter thread out loud to my wife without getting teary, which is kind of… nice?). Funnily enough the band that did the most to keep me sane didn’t really put out anything in 2020. Personal favorite, Low, instead started, in early April, getting on Instagram with something they called on whim “It’s Friday I’m in Low.” With one brief break they have now done by my count at least 35 shows (catalogued here, by the way), every Friday at about 4 my time.

Admittedly it’s easier for Low to pull this off than some bands, since the 2/3 of the trio that sing are a married couple (they’ve had a couple of socially-distanced backyard shows with bassist Steve Garrington, but he’s mostly been isolating elsewhere). These shows have seen the band’s Alan Sparhawk take a mid-set break to do follow-up phone interviews with the acts featured in the COVID-curtailed touring bands series Vansplainingthat they started on YouTube, or just to give a tour round their vegetable garden and talk tips. It’s seen Alan and Mimi Parker draw on their impressive, 25+ year body of work (averaging 4-5 songs a set, I don’t think they’ve repeated themselves yet) and talk a bit between songs about pandemics, politics, song choices, and whether Alan should grab his bike helmet this time.

They’re not the only musicians out there speaking love and sanity (and playing music) into the strange digital interzone filled with hate and disinformation where we’ve all been forced to gather while locked down, but they were and the most consistent and steady signal being emitted each week. No matter how tired I was from work or what new symptoms I’d developed or what horrific thing I read into the news, even if I had to take an emergency nap while it was actually airing, every Friday the show was there. Once things do return to something more like normal, it’s one of the few things I’ll unambiguously miss about this weird-ass year.

So if that makes an argument for Low as my band of the year (admittedly again… it’s not like Double Negative has aged poorly, either), that does a disservice to those 2020 records I did connect with; even if there are still literally dozens I have to go through, many of which I expect to love, my top picks this year (if as unrankable by me as always) hit me as hard as any top pick in recent years did. So here I present a quick and informal top 5, which the rest of my top 20 following in alphabetical order. Here’s hoping for more time and space in 2021 for music, and even more than that, for more support for those who need it from those who could have been providing it all this time. (The Matthew Good Band, incidentally, always did best with their ballads. “Strange Days” is another I’ve had in my head these days; the image of moving “backwards, into a wall of fire” has stuck with me since the 90s and it’s never felt more grimly appropriate.)

Greet Death — New Hell

New Hell by Greet Death

This one is, in some sense, cheating; it came out November 2019. But that just means it’s the latest winner of my personal Torres Prize for Ian Being Late to the Party (so named because becoming slightly obsessed with Torres’ Sprinter just after I sent in my 2015 list was the first time I noticed that one of my favorite records of each year tends to get picked up by me just after I call it quits on the year, no matter how long I try to wait). This very doom and gloom slowcore/metal/(whatever, just know it’s heavy) trio at first felt very much like my beloved Cloakroom (whose Time Well has also won a Torres Prize) but sure enough nuances revealed themselves. Back in February it felt almost a little too negative, but then the rest of 2020 happened. And the extended burns of “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done” and the title track remain searing.

Holy Fuck — Deleter

youtube

Probably the record I’ve been trying to write about the longest in 2020, and the one I’m most disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t get the requisite paragraphs together. It’s a wonderful effort from the consistently great Toronto resolutely human-created (and —mediated) dance music quartet, one that both feels like a summation of everything they do well, and with the addition of some outside voices (including strong turns from the singers of both Hot Chip and Liars) a step forward at the same time.

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

As the year got worse, this roar of defiance only got more crucial for me to hear every so often; I was a big enough fan of it, even after writing it up for Dusted, that when they solicited fan footage for a subsequent music video you may just be able to get a glimpse of me in it. (I’m the one in a “No Tories” t-shirt.) My punk rock-loving twin brother was the one who introduced me to Spanish Love Songs and we were supposed to spend an evening in June screaming along to them live in a packed, sweaty room. I need that in my life again.

Julianna Barwick — Healing Is a Miracle

Healing Is A Miracle by Julianna Barwick

It’s a sign of what 2020 has been like here that even just this album title leaves bruises, and while I privately worried Barwick would have a hard time following up 2016’s sublime Will (probably my favorite record that year), it seems that continuing to take whatever downtime she needs to keep focusing and refining her particular muse has once again yielded amazing results. Anyone who thinks they know what a Barwick track sounds like should really check out, say, “Flowers”, but much of this record absolutely sounds like Barwick, just even better than before. She also boasted my wife and I's favorite streaming concert of 2020, an absolutely gorgeous rendition of this album with Mary Lattimore showing up.

Phoebe Bridgers — Punisher

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

I joked on Twitter recently that I have far too nice a dad (and far too good a relationship with him) to be as obsessed as I am with Phoebe Bridgers’ “Kyoto”, but here we are. Like most of her generation, Bridgers’ social media presence ranges from shit-posting to inscrutable, but even though things are often just as hard to figure out in her beautiful songs (as they often are in life), there’s an emotional clarity to them that can just grab you deep down. Couple that with seriously impressive songcraft and the progress from her already astounding debut Stranger in the Alps and more than anyone else in 2020 I’m excited to see just where the hell Phoebe Bridgers is going to go, because it feels like she’s talented and hardworking enough to go just about anywhere and drag a lot of our hearts with her.

Other Favorites

Aidan Baker & Gareth Davis — Invisible Cities II

Anastasia Minster — Father

Deftones — Ohms

Hum — Inlet

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song

Mesarthim — The Degenerate Era

Perfume Genius — Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today

Rachel Kiel — Dream Logic

The Ridiculous Trio — The Ridiculous Trio Plays the Stooges

Sam Amidon — Sam Amidon

Shabason, Krgovich & Harris — Philadelphia

Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind

Five Reissues/Compilations/etc.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII

Charles Curtis — Performances & Recordings 1998-2018

Coil — Musick to Play in the Dark

Hot Chip — LateNightTales

Ian Mathers

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painted-crow · 3 years

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I haven't been on tumblr in a hot century so it feels a little weird to be writing a submission to you... but I just bingeread most of this blog and your way of explaining the shc system is so gloriously comprehensible that I really want to pour my brain out at your feet and have you explain the bits to me.

I hope life is treating you well and thank you for the awesome blog you run. The way you describe things and the way you help people sort themselves is clear and clever and so very kind of you to do, and that's what I appreciates about you. :)

(This was a chunk of a submission from someone who ended up sending in a second version that I answered in depth, but the fan mail portion from this first version was so sweet that it seems mean to just delete it. So here it is, as a #cutie post. 😊)

#cutie #submission

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ciarawritesmarvel · 4 years

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teaming up - steve rogers x reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k, we’re trying to make up for lost time babes

Warnings: Swearing, obviously A/N: Hello my lovely, lovely humans! I won’t make this long, but here’s a little something something for you from The Univer5e! finally ciara, where the heck have ya been This follows the plot of The Avengers, largely but with a zoom in on our gorgeous parents to be. Lots of love and I hope you and your families are staying safe at the moment <3 ---

“You here with a mission for us, sir?”

You collect the knives that you’ve thrown at the wall in three quick swipes, cleaning the sawdust from them on your sweats. In a few short strides you’re stood next to Steve, facing Fury in wait.

You’d been in here for the better part of three hours. Neither of you were heavy sleepers and if one or the other needed a late night gym session and for some inexplicable reason did not want that gym session alone, then the other was more than happy to oblige. Steve had his punching bag and you had your knives. There was no talking, no interaction. Just a hug on arrival and an understanding that from then on, space was needed.

Steve had been slightly more tightly wound than usual this past week. It wasn’t a surprise when you got the phone call. You briefly wondered now whether somehow he knew Fury would be arriving sometime soon.

But that was impossible.

“I am.”

“Trying to get me back in the world?”

“I think one of us has already achieved that one,” you stepped in, a smirking glance sideways to see Steve’s face. He didn’t spare you the same glance, instead locked on Fury. You sighed. You might have cleared him for duty and he might have accompanied you in eliminating a few low level threats, but that didn’t mean he wanted a mission from Director Fury.

There was a part of you that wanted to kick Fury out of the room and keep Steve completely cushioned and safe, to tell him he never had to hold another shield again, to tell him he’d seen enough war and he never had to see any more.

But Steve wouldn’t want you to do that, and the world probably wouldn’t thank you either.

“Trying to save it,” Fury said gravely, and you realised you’d been so focused on Steve and his well-being that you’d missed the little gravel in Fury’s voice that meant this was something serious. That this was something big.

He handed Steve a file and you moved closer to him to read it with him. The Tesseract. HYDRA. Having spoken to Steve about his past in some late nights past, some of the words sounded bone chillingly familiar. One look at his face told you that you were right.

“Hydra’s secret weapon…”

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you. He thought what we think, the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That's something the world sorely needs.”

“Someone took it?” You chimed in and Fury nodded.

“He's called Loki. He's not from around here. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

Steve finally looks to you, but there’s none of the usual playful glint in his eye that you’ve come to know so well in the last six months of being assigned to him. Or in the last three months of him being your closest friend. His slight smile is resigned and painful and it makes your face contort into a pity he probably doesn’t want.

“At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me,” he directs his comment at you even though he should be talking to Fury. You place your hand on his bicep. An understanding.

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong,” Fury counters and the tender moment is gone as you drop your hand to fold your arms across your chest again, “There’s two debriefing packages waiting at your apartment, Captain. Y/N will go over everything with you.”

Fury spares you a glance and you give him an almost imperceptible nod. Steve’s already beginning to leave and you know he wants nothing to do with this, not really. But you also know he wouldn’t even think about not accepting. You pick up your bag and his bag, slinging one over each shoulder as Steve picks up a punching bag on his own. You know he’ll want a private anger release tomorrow morning in the comfort of his apartment.

Before he can get away, Fury speaks again.

“Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

You’re wincing, because you just want to get Steve the hell out of there and be able to talk to him properly and Fury just can’t take a hint. Steve doesn’t even turn around, just turns his head and he looks at Fury and then right at you. You inhale sharply.

“You should have left it in the ocean.”

And with that, he walks out of the gym and you’re left with the two bags and an eerily silent Nick Fury. Without much second thought, you offer a half smile Fury’s way but ignore the fact that he looks like he wants to say something and instead follow Steve out of the door.

He’s waiting for you out on the street. It’s clear he needed the fresh air. He’s gulping it in, chest heaving and eyes narrow. You arrive at his side and he starts walking, letting you fall into step beside him and taking his own bag from you with a mumbled thank you. You take the ten minute walk back to his apartment in silence, the darkness only cut into by occasional headlights and the orange glow of street lamps illuminating your footsteps.

A couple of steps and an elevator ride later, you’re dropping your bag near the door of his apartment, tucking your copy of his keys into your pocket again and dropping down onto the sofa with a grumble. Steve’s disappeared into his bedroom and you give him a minute or two to put his bag away and position the new punching bag, picking up the debriefing package on the table and flicking through it.

You’re surprised that he walks back into the living area and that you don’t have to go fetch him. You sit up and pat the sofa cushion beside you and it doesn’t take him long to collapse down onto it next to you and pick up his own copy of the debrief.

“One of the reasons I was at peace about going into the ice,” he begins, quite suddenly and you let the debrief fall into your lap to show you’re listening, “was because I knew I was taking that...that thing with me. That it would never corrupt anyone again. I was so naive.”

You shake your head.

“You weren’t naive, you had hope. I don’t often have much of that. I admire your penchant for it.”

“And I admire your realism,” he retorts and you smile, picking up your debriefing again to read it, speaking with your focus on the pages.

“Well that’s why we’re partners, right? We complement each other, bring out the best in each other,” you say it as cheerily as you can, even though this mission makes your stomach twist with nausea, “We’re better together and we’ll stop this ‘Lowkey’ guy, or whatever the fuck his name is, together too. Okay?”

He stares at you with eyes just beginning to spark again. Lets the corners of his mouth turn up in a quiet and unassuming smile.

“Okay,” he concedes, with an overwhelming need to place a hand on your elbow, or to tug you into his arms or even, and the thought makes him blush, pull you onto his lap and just hold you for a little while.

He continues reading instead.

---

Watching Agent Phil Coulson go full on fangirl over Steve was one of the only things keeping you happily preoccupied on the quinjet. For a while, he managed to make normal conversation about Dr Banner based on the video Steve was watching, but it didn’t take him long to begin complimenting his idol and explaining his input in the new uniform. You watched on from a few seats away, smirk firmly planted on your face.

“I could’ve made an excellent Adjustment Officer, you know,” Phil says wistfully as he finally leaves Steve alone and wanders over to you and you stand from your seat with a fond smile.

“I have no doubt,” you agree, even though you actually have many, many doubts about that one. Steve wouldn’t enjoy having someone gushing about his prowess on the daily, certainly not someone they had to actually see on the daily, “But you have other things to take care of. And speaking of, I haven’t managed to do this yet.”

You pull him in for a quick hug and then pull back and continue holding on, eyes scanning his face and body.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking you’re okay, of course. Nobody else does that for you, Phil, least of all yourself,” you roll your eyes and finish your check with a curt nod and he looks relatively touched by the sentiment, “Once my mentor, always my mentor.”

He knows what you mean. You mean a lot to him too, after all, and you know this even if he’s never told you directly.

“Missed you too, kiddo,” he says sincerely, ruffling your hair and finding glee in the scowl it gains him. He seems to remember something and suddenly glances behind him at Steve and lowers his voice to a volume only you will hear, “You think he’s ready?”

“Oh, he’s ready,” you say without hesitation, “Even if he doesn’t know it yet. We’re ready.”

---

Descending the ramp and spotting none other than Natasha Romanoff waiting for you at the bottom of it did nothing to calm the fast beating heart in your chest.

“Agent Romanoff,” you call as you near her and she looks up at you with a smirk that you’re pretty sure she’s wearing in every photo you’ve ever seen of her, “I can’t quite believe that two of the most powerful women in SHIELD haven’t had the pleasure of meeting until now.”

You shake hands firmly and Steve arrives beside you.

“Ma’am,” he nods politely and she raises her eyebrows slightly at you but says nothing of the formality.

“Hi,” she directs this at Steve, a subtle way of dismantling whatever formal ideas have gotten into Steve’s head, “And I think they kept us apart on purpose. Can’t have too much power in one place.”

Oh, you like her.

“Something like that,” you agree, following her as she begins walking.

“There was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice, Cap,” Natasha continues as you walk, “I thought Coulson was gonna swoon. Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?”

“Trading cards?” Steve asks, clearly confused and you have to bite your lip to stop your laugh from spilling out.

“They’re vintage. He’s very proud,” she says it matter of factly, but your attention is caught by an anxious figure making his way through the crowds, gripping the satchel bag on his shoulder for dear life. He looks up and- it’s him. Seeing him like this makes you feel guilty for the tiny sliver of fear that creeps up your spine upon recognising him.

Steve is better, knows this better, the alienation, because he’s the first to approach him with a handshake and a quick reassurance when it’s clear that Dr Banner is a little apprehensive of what people will think of him. It only makes you feel more guilty.

“Y/N,” you introduce yourself then, stepping forward to shake his hand too and offering what you hoped was a kind and not a pitying smile. Much like Steve, he did not seem the kind for pity. You see the opportunity for a joke to lighten the tension and you take it, “I’m the muscle and he’s the comic relief.”

You nudge Steve with a smile and he rolls his eyes even though he’s smiling too and Dr Banner looks just ever so slightly more relaxed.

That is, until the helicarrier begins to lift into air. You and Nat share a look and quickly hurry the men inside, Steve looking more than shocked and Bruce looking much the same for an entirely different reason.

---

With Loki locked up, a joke that only Tony laughed at when you told it, you had a distinctly uneasy feeling that everything had been too easy. Steve had it too, it seemed, even though Tony and Thor seemed relatively unfazed by the whole thing.

You sat around the table, watching the feed of Loki’s imprisonment and frowned at his total lack of worry in this situation. He had a plan. You just knew it.

Having captured him in Stuttgart, meeting Iron Maiden himself and none other than the God of Thunder along the way, you and Steve seemed the most uncomfortable with the whole thing. Tony was talking, it seemed he was always doing that, joking about something or other while you sat there silently, staring at the screen, deep in thought.

Steve was still joining in, asking all the right questions and getting less than conclusive answers. When Tony and Banner walked off to their lab to do...whatever the hell it was they did, Steve finally turned to you.

“I don’t like this,” he said simply and you nodded your agreement, looking between him and the live feed of Loki. It was as if you thought looking away from him was dangerous, “And I don’t like him.”

“Who? Stark?”

“Yeah. He’s not taking this seriously.”

“I think he is, Steve,” you reasoned carefully, finally looking away from Loki properly and deciding it wouldn’t hurt, “This is how he deals with things. His coping mechanism.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but clearly thought better of it. He stood instead, rolled his neck and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m going to find somewhere to train in this place. You’ll call for me if anything happens?” he said it sincerely and you merely nodded in response, knowing that the two of you were on the precipice of an argument and wanting to avoid that at all costs.

You could understand where Tony was coming from. You, too, sometimes used jokes as cover for an underlying fear and though training as an agent forced a lot of that out of you in mission situations, it was still a default reaction. To hide everything with humour. As someone who was good at reading people, you were almost certain that was the case with Stark.

You were also almost certain that it wasn’t a point of view Steve would understand just yet.

---

You were sat, still watching Loki on the screen but now with the added Agent Romanoff, talking to him. One calm, the other irate. At one point, when Loki banged on the glass, you flinched right along with Natasha.

“Y/N?” Steve entered the room you’d been in alone and you spun to face him, hand at your holster before you could realise who it was. You relaxed and Steve’s brow furrowed at your jumpy nature but he didn’t say anything of it, “A word?”

He sounded pissed off and you agreed reluctantly, following him down the corridor and into the hull of the ship. You asked three times where you were going, what exactly you were doing, but were met with silence each time. It was only when he began heaving a heavy door open that you placed a hand on his forearm to stop him.

“Steve, you’ve gotta give me something here.”

He sighed, like he really didn’t want to do this, but knew he had no other choice.

“Fury’s hiding something,” he said it matter of factly and a look of confusion overtook you, “Stark’s looking into some encrypted files as we speak and Banner agrees that something’s off. I want to check it out.”

The look on face showed you that he desperately didn’t want to have to check this out and your heart sank. But there was a bad feeling in your gut about this one and despite your loyalty to Fury, there was a certain other loyalty that may have taken precedence nowadays.

“Okay, we’ll check it out,” you conceded, then with a playful wink, “Old school style.”

Steve shook his head at you, before you stepped back and allowed him to open the door, not bothering to help when you knew you weren’t needed. He only opened it just enough and the two of you slipped through and into a dark warehouse area.

You glance around, but there’s nothing of note, no markings that stick out or capture your attention. After a few moments, Steve nudges you and points upwards and you follow his finger to gaze at an upper level you hadn’t noticed and one that couldn’t be reached.

At least, that looked like it couldn’t be reached, until Steve leaped up there, grabbing the railing and hauling himself over. He leans down and holds out a hand.

“Jump, I’ve got you,” he says quietly. There’s a moment of hesitation but then you come to your senses and you take a few paces back before jumping just as he says, your hand clutched in his own and him pulling you up with relative ease.

“Thanks.”

You continue on in relative silence until you see a crate with markings that don’t feel familiar and a serial code too high for what should be stored in this warehouse. You stop Steve with a hand across his chest and crouch down, running your fingers over the lettering.

“Open this one,” you say briskly and he frowns but does as you say, hauling the lid from the crate.

You gulp. Close your eyes for a second as your heart rate spikes. You hear Steve’s heavy exhale beside you and see him look away and back again, clearly more angry than you had ever seen him. These were Hydra weapons. A strange guilt began gnawing its way through your stomach.

“I promise you, I had no idea,” it’s a gut reaction to the sight of the weapons, a desperation for him to know where you stand, that you stand with him, that you have done for months and you will do for as long as you can possibly do so.

“I know,” he murmurs under his breath, and you can hear the icy anger in his tone but it’s not directed at you. He picks up one of the weapons, not that you can understand what it is, “Let’s go.”

You follow him back along the walkways to the place where you ascended and he jumps down, placing the weapon on the ground then turning back to you.

“You’re sure you can handle this?” you ask playfully and you’re worried you sound a bit like Tony but Steve smiles at you and insists, only holding his arms out closer.

You vault the railings and carefully lower yourself into his arms, letting them encircle your waist and then he lowers you down until your feet are almost touching the ground. Almost. He stops just before, just when your faces are level and your breathing becomes the most laboured. He stops and holds you there, noses almost touching and breath mingling together, before his ulterior motives seem to slip away and you’re back on the floor without a word.

Your heart is racing as you slip back through the door and make your way to the lab, but it has nothing to do with the Hydra weapon in Steve’s hand.

---

“Phase 2 is SHIELD uses the cube to make weapons.”

All eyes are on the two of you as you interrupt the conversation in the lab, standing beside the table. You look at Fury and see a flash of guilt behind his eyes as he glances to you and you look away, shaking your head in disgust, arms coming up to fold across your chest.

“Sorry, the computer was moving a little slow,” Steve says to Tony and there’s almost a little pride in the way Stark changes his stance. Under other circumstances, you might have smiled at this back and forth. These two were more similar than they’d probably ever care to admit.

“Director, you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” you butt in, fixing him with an apathetic stare that you hoped would be as unnerving as possible.

“We gathered everything relating to the Tesseract, that does not mean we’re…”

“I’m sorry Nick,” Tony slides the screen across to where you can clearly see plans for weapons powered by the cube, “What were you lying?”

You roll your eyes and hear a small scoff from the figure next to you.

“I was wrong, director. The world hasn’t changed a bit,” he sounds furious, yes, but there’s also a resignation there that forms a lump in your throat. The life that he’d had these past six months brought him into a new and changed world, one that was finally becoming a home, one that you had introduced him to. All that had changed again now.

It’s then when Natasha and Thor enter the room and you find it hard to listen to the argument that ensues, wishing you could simply storm out of the room as you would have when you were a child, found a nice quiet corner to slink down into and cry, knees bundled up to your chest. There was also an unfamiliar irritation that felt almost outside of yourself settling as a weight on your chest, and made it increasingly hard to bite your tongue.

It’s only when Tony and Steve start squaring up to each other that you step in, a hand on each chest pushing both backwards until they’re at a safe distance. It doesn’t stop the biting remarks between them though, the insults hurled and points of weakness pressed. You see Steve’s mouth in a hard, thin line and Tony’s contorted into a cruel smirk.

“Stop it,” you say firmly between them, “Just stop it the both of you.”

But then Banner is holding the scepter and you’re holding your gun and there’s an explosion and the floor is gone from under your feet and you’re down in a lower section of the ship, looking upwards at the room you had just been in.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice echoes into the chamber even though your vision is just blurry enough that you can’t see him. You look to your left and see Banner, all bundled up and clutching the floor.

“Go!” you shout back up at him, seeing the figure looking through at you hesitate before moving away, then you lower your voice to a soothing volume, “We’re good, Bruce, we’re good.”

You sit up with a small groan and finally manoeuvre yourself to be able to see Banner’s face. You balk. He’s struggling with something, something you don’t want to name, his eyes wild and face showing just the beginning signs of changing. There’s a couple of Agents running towards you, to check on you, and you wonder if Steve has insisted on that, but you quickly wave them away as Banner only writhes further.

“Come on, Bruce, we’re okay. This is just what the bastard wants. Don’t let him win, don’t give in to it,” you know that you’re pleading but you can’t help it, especially when Bruce lifts his head suddenly and the look he gives you is completely alien to the man you’ve known over the past few hours.

“Give in to it?” he asks, but its cruel and its ugly and its threatening. You press your lips together, moving slowly as you try to stand, but another explosion sends you off your feet again and takes out the lights this time too.

There’s something heavy pinning your right leg and you struggle to get it free, trying to keep your movements as measured as possible as your eyes dart around, trying to adjust to the new low lighting. You can hear his thundering footsteps as he stumbles around and you know right then that its happened. That Bruce has gone. A few blinks later and the metal having fallen onto the floor with a clang, you can make it out, the huge shape just a few feet away, shoulders rising and falling with laboured breaths. You take a couple of tentative steps away from him, from that thing, but his head turns to the side and you freeze.

“Please,” you whisper, mostly to yourself, but he turns fully and you’ve turned away before you can comprehend it, taking the stairs two and a time and running through the maze of pipes in the upper level of the room, ducking and weaving as best you can, banging your elbows every few seconds and only being carried forward by a fear-induced adrenaline coursing through your veins.

He’s ripping floor right from your feet, forcing to you to jump and swing, but you see an opening and jump down from the catwalk, pulling your gun from your waist, readying it and trying to steady your breathing and the slight shake in your hands. You look upwards, checking for any signs of him, but there’s nothing.

You’re just turning to find a way to the others when there’s a footstep. You turn. His face is right there, roaring at you and then he’s ripping away the pipes in between you and you’re running again, through a series of some kind of electrics, you can’t stop to think about it, but there are sparks that you have to shield yourself from as you run. As you reach the end of whatever server room you were running through, you feel the footsteps closer and though you strive to run faster, there’s a solid force on your side and you’re knocked sideways, bashing into a stack of crates and crumpling to the floor.

You sit up with difficulty, wincing as you clutch your side and look up at him, your eyes wide, your chest heaving. He’s walking towards you, mouth half open and you brace yourself, unable to look away, until there’s an almighty crash through the wall as Thor flies in and tackles him into the next room. Suddenly ‘The Hulk’ has gone. You’re alone.

You take a couple of shaky breaths, eyes still fixed on the spot they had been previously, willing the tears that were biting at the back of eyes to go the hell away, back to where they came from, not to rear their ugly head. You didn’t need to cry. You didn’t want to cry.

With a wipe of your face, you stand up and rush off in the direction of the stairs to return to the upper levels and help the others, knowing there’s nothing you can do to help Thor now.

---

Barton is here somewhere apparently, leading the attack against you. He’s an agent you happen to have met a couple of times and worked with once and it baffles you that someone could have their mind so warped by a mere object.

It’s a thought you end up preoccupied with even as you aid the Director in defending the helicarrier’s bridge. There are men coming left, right and center and you take them out one by one, a combination of precise gunshots and a couple of throwing knives to the chest. If you had it your way, it would only be the knives, but apparently using a gun was more ‘cost efficient’.

At least that was what Director Dick Fury had told you. That name, however childish, made you feel a little better.

“Why are these guys still trying to get in here?” he shouts across at you and you ignore him, dodging a swing from an oncoming attacker and shooting him in the back, kicking the back of his knee and watching him crumple to the ground. You saw the arrow fly past and onto the control panel before you saw who shot it.

But you knew who shot it.

Nick gets Natasha to follow up on that one, chasing after Barton with purpose, as you rush over to assess the damage. It’s clearly hacking the systems but what the endgame is, you don’t know y-

The other engine on the same side as the one you’d just lost cuts out too and there’s a lurch as you lose all thrust on one side.

“Fuck,” you mutter, typing in a few override codes but only receiving more error messages in return.

“Y/N,” Nick tried to get your attention but you were locked on the monitor, “Y/N!”

You turn then and he shows you his monitor, your heart sinking right through your stomach, through the bottom of the helicarrier and freefalling in the sky below. Because the hatch had been opened.

“Phil’s there,” you murmur with a look to Fury that would have looked a lot like terror even though the emotion looked foreign in your features.

Maria gestures for the two of you to go and you waste no time, running through the door and to the prison area in record time, boots pounding against metal grate flooring and hearts pounding in your chests.

The sight that greeted you in the detention section had you gasping and not just for breath. Fury reached the door and stopped, resignedly, almost like he froze in the doorway. You, on the other hand, were by Coulson’s side in seconds, his hand in yours, other hand holding his head up as best you could.

“No, no, no, no,” you mumbled, words more and more angry, eyes frantic as you flit from all the bleeding to his face. He was smiling. The man was infuriating and it brought tears to your eyes.

Nick is calling for backup, for a medical team in the background.

“Y/N, I’m clocked out here,” Coulson says, because he knows and because you know too, even if it’s the last thing you’d ever admit to anyone. You clutch his hand tighter.

“You are not,” you say firmly, despite the wobble that tells him all he needs to know, “You are staying. Who else is gonna look after me, eh? Who else will fight my corner no matter what?”

“You have...Steve now. You don’t need a mentor. You-you are a...mentor.”

He can hardly get his words out.

“Phil-” your voice cracks now, large and noticeable as you choke on a sob, “-please.”

“This was never going to work…if you didn’t have something...to…”

He looks away from you and you can hardly bear it as he stutters a breath and then stops. No more stuttering. No more breathing. His face limp in the palm of your hand and his grip on you loosened.

“No, Phil, come back,” you say frantically, using both hands to prop his head up now, shaking it only slightly as you rest your forehead against his shoulder. The tears come fast and thick. Unchained, “Come back, please!”

Eventually, Fury has to pry you from his body and guide you away from the scene with physical force.

---

The table is surrounded by people and yet the room feels empty. Cold. Your wrap your arms a little tighter around your still-shaking frame.

Steve is looking at you, you can feel his eyes but you don’t meet them, knowing one look will send you sobbing into his arms. He’s holding the bloody trading cards, refusing to let them go and it’s a testament to Phil Coulson himself that such a short meeting with these people could have had such profound impact. With years of his guidance, the impact on you was immeasurably more significant.

Nick is talking, has been for a while, but it’s not as if you can be bothered to listen.

When Tony stands and walks off a little way, the room falls silent. You speak, even though you don’t know what you’re saying, what you’re going to say.

“I don’t give a shit,” it’s blunt and it’s raw and you’re not meeting anyone’s eye, “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about you trying to use Phil to inspire us. Phil Coulson was a good man. More than anything, a good man and a good friend. Stop spouting bullshit to get us to-“

You trail off, partly because you don’t know where you’re going anyway and partly because you don’t have the heart right now. Steve scoots his chair closer to yours and puts an arm around you, tugging you into his side without question and letting you curl up into him. His warmth is comforting and his smell is heavenly.

Fury leaves, as does Tony and Natasha and Clint, one by one, without a word. Thor’s gone, dropped out of the sky and Bruce is gone too, although he jumped. You can’t help but be relieved about that one.

“He looked after me, Steve,” you say once it’s been quiet for a little too long, “When I had no one else, I always had Phil. In my corner.”

“I know, doll,” he says, an attempt to be comforting that might work given time, “I know. He was a good man.”

You nod and let Steve hold you through the fresh wave of tears that overcome you.

What could be minutes, hours or days later, you calm yourself down and breathe properly again, wiping your tears and making a feeble attempt to clear the small wet patch on Steve’s dirty suit. He waves you away.

“We have to stop him, Steve,” you croak out the words but the fire behind them remains. Steve pulls away from you then, making sure to look you in the eye as he replies:

“We’re going to stop him, Y/N. As a team. Together.”

A surge of warmth floods your bones and you lean in and kiss his cheek, an unstoppable reaction, one that arose from fear of loss and that which was best left unspoken. You linger, of course, what else was there to do, and when your lips leave his cheek his hand comes up, involuntarily of his brain and cups your face, keeps you close.

A glance upwards. His eyes are closed. You’re so close and yet, you realise, so close could never be close enough.

It’s tender as your lips meet, tentative and sweet. In a way, it’s tame, not the desperate crush of tongues and teeth you’d expected. Each time you’d dreamt of this moment, it was slightly different, but the most common interpretation was a heated argument, eyes flaring and words cutting, ending in heaving chests as you watched each other warily. But then Steve would take a few steps and pin you to a wall behind you and he’d be kissing you, dominating you, you a willing participant, lips parted and needy sighs escaping you. Then his hands would find the backs of your thighs, lift you up into his arms with such ease it made your-

It wasn't important.

This was so much better than the steamy hook up you’d pictured. This meant something. Meant something real, something tangible. Neither of you taking too much, taking it further. Just his hand sliding into your hair and yours resting uselessly against his chest. Loving.

He pulls away first. He can’t bear anymore without moving things on, without deepening the kiss and lifting you onto the table in this room. That’s not how he wants this to happen, however much he really, really wants this to happen.

“We should go,” he says, utterly and wonderfully breathless. There’s the faintest sheen of lipgloss on his upper lip and you can’t help but use your thumb to wipe it away and certainly can’t help the tiny gasp when he kisses the pad of it, “Go help.”

You gulp. Sit back. Away.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding and now standing up, anything to quell your heart and remove that unbearable warmth that’s taken over you, “We should.”

He starts to walk away, and you begin to follow, even though your legs are trembling and you feel overwhelmingly lightheaded. Your timing couldn’t have been worse. That didn’t really matter though. If you and Steve needed to wait for a good time, then you might have to wait forever.

You’re thinking about this when he stops and turns back to you and you’re so preoccupied that you gently bump into his chest. You blink as you step back and see his slight smirk as he tries not to laugh at you. You press your lips together.

“Sorry,” you mumble and he shakes his head, the smirk he’d been trying to keep a lid on morphing into a full blown grin.

“Don’t be,” he says, still grinning. It’s infectious, “I just want to check that...that we’re not going to pretend that this never happened when we leave this room.”

“Steve-“

“Cause if that’s the case then I’m not leaving,” he cuts you off, folding his arms and staring you down, the grin slipping into a serious gaze that you just want to shake right out of him.

You can’t help yourself. You lean up on your tiptoes, your hand sliding around the side of the neck to hold the back of his head as you kiss him again, tears welling in your eyes. You were far too fragile for all of this right now. You only kiss him for a few seconds, just enough to make your point. There wasn’t time for anything beyond that, and regardless this wasn’t the place. You pull away, but leave your hand there and relish the feeling of one of his at your waist.

“If you think-” you pause as you choke on your words and his face softens as his grip becomes tighter. It’s enough for you to swallow the lump in your throat and kiss him again, fleeting, before pulling away with a small smile, “If you fucking think that I could pretend anything when it comes to you then you do not know me as well as I thought you did, Spangles.”

He’s gazing down at you then, his expression a mixture of what looks like awe and fascination and… something else. Something you probably can place, you know him as well as he knows you after all, but something you probably weren’t going to place right now. Again, the timing was all off.

So when he opens his mouth to say something, you cut him off before he can.

“Now we really need to go.”

He closes his mouth. Whatever he was going to say, and you knew what, would wait. Had to wait. He still smiles at you, though, and you realise that’s something you never want to change.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers oneshot #captain america imagine #captain america oneshot #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #teaming up #univer5e

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nanawritesstuff · 4 years

Text

of peace and devotion (nsfw)| December 28th, MadaSakuWeekend 2019

@madasakuweek thank you for organising and motivating us all to write!! I know I’ve been lazy, and this weekend truly stirred the madasaku pot and had me cooking!

prompts, December 28th: yandere au, possessive, "you belong to me" Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: MadaSaku

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Word Count: 6947

Summary: Soulmates don’t mean much to Sakura, who’s never fallen in love. After she catches her boyfriend cheating, she wonders if she’s really meant for love. What will she do then, when it quite literally stumbles through her door? | sequel to of war and peace

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, mild language, OOC behaviour, modern au, hints of very soft yandere behaviour...if you squint, cliche, Sakura deserves a soft Madara!! I'm just cold and lonely leave me to my soft things!!

a/n: that was the most cliched summary I’ve written in my life, this is what happens when you watch too many kdramas

In Sakura's world, at this very moment in time–the term soulmates holds very little meaning.

As she steps through the doors to the elevator, grocery bag in hand, her mind recalls the unpleasant events of the previous week. The week itself had started out like every other one; early shifts, her usual patients, nothing too unusual apart from a few bumps here and there that she had no trouble dealing with. And now, on this chilly Tuesday, she gets to be home on Christmas Eve.

Alone.

This was the one unexpected bump in her plans. Something she hadn't even thought of, so she couldn't have planned for it–to catch her boyfriend of six months in the break room with his mouth glued to the new nurse's neck. She had stood there, watching them go at it for a whole minute before Ami had spotted her and shrieked. It was only the dawning horror in her eyes as she heard Sasori stammer out his pitifully weak excuses that told Sakura the girl hadn't known about the handsome redheaded doctor's girlfriend: her, Haruno Sakura.

Something Sasori must have been only too happy to take advantage of, she's sure.

That is why Sakura had accepted her tearful apologies with a stiff smile and continued on with her day. Ino, as soon as she found out, dragged her to the cafe, attempting to coax out the tears and curses with cold doughnuts–a reaction that just wouldn't come. That particular bit was reserved for her evening shower. Sakura was sad, yes and quite disappointed with how things turned out. Their relationship, while far from perfect, had been important to her. She had been trying to meet his expectations since before they even started dating but Sasori's nitpicking never ended; his complaints about her working too much had been increasing by the day. He also thought they weren't having enough sex.

'I guess he went fishing,' she thinks with only a slightly bitter sigh. They were never going to last, and she should have accepted it sooner. But it had been comfortable. It had been safe. And now it's over. All her life, she’s felt as if something’s been missing. As if she’s forgotten something, as if she’s been waiting for something to come back to her.

She realizes she's been standing in front of her door for more than a few minutes, and the sound of a shuffle reaches her ears, drawing her eyes towards it. Eyes the deepest shade of dark ink, brows furrowed in concern and a slender mouth curled into a gentle smile.

"You've been standing there for about five minutes," he says in lieu of a greeting. She blinks rapidly, shaking off the melancholic energy and smiling back at her neighbour.

"Itachi-san! I see you've got the evening off." She eyes his sleek jacket, sniffing as the subtle notes of his familiar cologne reach her. The plastic container in his hands looks out of place in the impeccable image he makes. "Off to see Izumi-san?"

"Ah. Our families are finally having dinner together," he divulges with a nervous little smile before holding the box out towards her. "And these are for you. I received the batch yesterday."

"Gingerbread cookies?" she guesses, her eyes lighting up at once as if she's been handed the one ring to rule them all. "Thank you. Your uncle is an angel."

"Just make sure you actually eat something before opening those bottles," he says sternly, with a pointed look at the wine bottles in her grocery bag. Sakura can't help but laugh nervously and shift the bag out of view in a futile attempt at hiding the contents from view. “And please don’t call him my uncle.”

"But he is your uncle, isn’t he? Also, don't tell Sasuke? You know he'll nag. And send Naruto."

"Alright. Only because I know you need space. Just take care and text one of us if you need anything. I'll be crashing at my parents'." He gives her a supportive pat on the back before continuing on, and Sakura adores him for trying. Itachi has been worried about her since she told him about The Break-Up, and he's also the only one who understood her when she said she felt more relief than sorrow.

"Will do. Good luck, I hope you have a wonderful evening," Sakura calls out after him before unlocking her door. Stepping into the darkened entrance, she fumbles for the light switch as she slips out of her shoes, wrestling with her puffy. Her apartment is completely silent, and it bothers her less than she thought it would. With a silent apology to her worrywart neighbour, she starts looking for the wine opener.

She does break into the box of cookies first. One of the small traditions she looks forward to every Christmas since she was twelve. The first time she tried these was in 6th grade when Sasuke brought some to class. One bite and she begged her grumpy friend for some every single year. His uncle bakes them for the entire family and ever since he found out how crazy she is about them, he makes sure to send some for her too.

Two glasses in, she's pleasantly buzzed and curled up in her soft blanket, her laptop open on her lap. The first Harry Potter movie plays on the screen, and it reminds her of Sasori and how he hates the entire series. If he had been here, he would have insisted on watching something she has very little interest in herself. It's alarming how she's finding more pros to ending things with him by the hour, but than can only be a good thing now that he's out of her personal life.

The forty text messages from him are going to stay unread.

Just as she's contemplating getting another snack before she starts the second movie, the doorbell rings, and at first, she thinks she's imagined it. It's 12:04 on the clock, and if Ino had been planning to drop in at midnight, she would have texted first. It rings again, and Sakura starts to feel uneasy. There's a series of heavy, hurried knocks on the door.

'Please, please don't be Sasori-'

"Oi, Itachi! It's freezing out here, open the fucking door!"

And there's the magic word. Itachi doesn't give his address out to people he doesn't trust, and with how familiar this stranger seems to be with him–it's probably not a serial killer. A peek through the peephole shows unruly ebony strands, and with a deep breath, she opens the door just a crack. There is little point in the cautiousness as the stranger stumbles through the door, trembling violently as he nearly runs her over.

"Took you long enough! I really need to take a-" The man pauses as he finally stands up straight, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, and the girl staring at him in concern. "Uh-you're not Itachi."

"Definitely not," she confirms dryly, crossing her arms over her chest, just tipsy enough to not feel self-conscious about her fuzzy pyjamas and an oversized sweatshirt. She has no idea who he is but Sakura has spent enough time with the Uchiha siblings and their relatives to know one of their clansmen when she sees him. "I'm his neighbour."

"Right, definitely prettier than him. Sorry. Fuck. Oh-sorry about that too," he mutters, a slight flush spreading over the high point of his cheeks. His sheepish tone contrasts greatly with his roguish look. Wild, dark hair that falls to his back. A black leather jacket that does little to hide his well-built form, and unusually deep-set eyes that stay strangely focused on her even as he squirms with discomfort. Her heart races, making her wonder if it's the alcohol or his cologne that's hitting her so hard. "I'm...just gonna go."

"Itachi's not home," she blurts out. "So, um."

"Oh," he sighs. His shoulders slump and she can't help but sympathize. "My bad. I should've checked."

"Yeah. Well, if you need to, you know." She points towards the hallway leading to the bathroom, and he blinks in slight confusion before he gets it.

"Are you sure?" he waits for her nod before he sighs once more, this time with relief, and begins to tug his boots off. "Shit, thanks. I'm really sorry to intrude, I just really need to-"

"Not a problem. It's right down the hallway, first door on the left!" she cuts in with a slight laugh, closing the front door as he hurries off. Just as she thinks to text Itachi, she realises she doesn’t have a name.

She probably shouldn’t trust a stranger this much, but she reasons that it’s Itachi she trusts, so it should be fine to flop back on the couch and resume her drinking.

Light footsteps indicate the not-a-complete stranger’s return, and Sakura turns to study him over the back of the couch. He seems calmer now, looking around her apartment curiously before he turns to smile at her.

“Thanks again. I probably would’ve-if you hadn’t-yeah. Thanks,” he flushes slightly at the sight of her trying and failing to hide a grin before he looks over her head at the coffee table. “Wait-are those Izuna’s cookies?”

“Itachi’s uncle? Yeah,” she affirms with a dreamy smile, reaching for another treat. He makes a weird face at her words.

“Yeah. His uncle.” She cocks a brow at his wince. “Right, I’m-his brother. Madara.”

Sakura can’t quite describe the jolt she feels at his name, and tries to ignore it as she takes the hand he holds out. His palm is warm and dwarfs her own, curling around it gently. Something in her shakes and she wonders if she’s always been so nervous around good-looking men she didn’t grow up with.

The name is a familiar one though, and she's sure it was Shisui who mentioned it. It explains how young he looks–Madara and Izuna are cousins to Itachi and Sasuke's father, born to a father who married quite late, at least according to the older generation's standards. It had the whole clan in quite a tizzy, according to Shisui. She's also sure she isn't supposed to be privy to clan gossip so she's going to keep her mouth shut.

“I’m Sakura.”

He smiles at that, his eyes softening in the dim light of her living room. “Of course it is.”

Her cheeks feel strangely warm and she feels like a fool, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. 'But,' the voice in her head that sounds a little like Ino's soothes her. 'Look at him. He's beautiful.'

"So, that makes you the other uncle."

"Ugh," he groans before doing an abrupt turn and smirking wickedly. "So that makes you the girl Sasuke wrote that poem for when he was eight?"

"Why do you know about that?" It's more demand than a question, but Sakura really doesn't bring up that long-buried memory unless it's for the specific aim of tormenting Sasuke.

"Who do you think helped him write it?" he taunts, snickering at her startled expression.

"And to think I'd been so impressed with the big words." Sakura shakes her head with an air of exaggerated disappointment.

"Well, I'm glad to see I got most of it right," he shrugs, the tips of his ears reddening tellingly. "If it’s any consolation, I'm sure he knows them now...I think."

Her responding laugh is cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing again, and they both look at each other as if expecting the other to have expected it. Madara shrugs and she moves to the front door, standing up on the tips of her toes to look through the peephole. Really, what's with her home attracting unexpected guests at–

She whirls around in a panic.

“Everything okay?” he asks quietly as she rushes back, looking like she’s going to throw up.

“Um, yeah. No. I don’t know. It’s my ex.”

“An ex you want to see...?” he trails off.

“Absolutely not,” she mutters, pressing the heels of her palm to her eyes. She can feel a headache coming on with the new arrival and honestly, it is so very like Sasori to drop in without asking, expecting her to be okay with him ruining her night. Madara watches her freak out for a few seconds before nodding resolutely.

“Okay. Leave it to me.” Sakura makes a grab for his arm as he moves towards the door, trying to tug him in the opposite direction.

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

“Well, I owe you one. And I can’t just leave you to deal with an ex you clearly don’t want to see–especially at this time of the night,” he explains easily, trying to tug his arm from her grip. He tries to uncurl her fingers from where they’re digging into his bicep, and she nearly jumps when their hands touch once more. It's only now that she realizes how close they are, and that she's nearly hanging off his arm in an attempt to stop him from opening the door. "Hey, it's okay. I'll take care of it."

He looks back to wink at her before bending over to slide his boots on, and Sakura has to nearly tear her eyes away from the ridiculously appealing sight. He reaches the door and unlocks it deftly, and she's thankful for him looking away, because that was nearly devastating enough to make her forget about why he’s answering her door.

Then she hears the one voice she absolutely did not want to hear again, at least until she goes back to work tomorrow.

“Saku-you’re not Sakura,” she hears Sasori say, and she can imagine his disgruntled expression with perfect ease.

“Definitely not,” Madara says in an echo of her own words, and she can’t help the subtle smile that stretches across her mouth. “Can I help you?”

“Who are you?”

“None of your business.”

“It is if you’re at my girlfriend’s house at this time of the night.”

At that Sakura steps up next to Madara, crossing her arms in annoyance and trying not to blush when Madara slides his arm around her. He keeps his hand on the curve of her waist, his touch gentle and loose, but mostly reassuring. It also serves to annoy Sasori greatly, who looks like he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

“Ex-girlfriend. What do you want?” she snaps. She's sure he didn't leave anything at her place.

“Sakura, who is this?”

“Like he said, it’s none of your business.” She shivers a little and Madara tugs her closer, moving his hand to rub it over her arm in quick, light movements. She's a little amazed at how warm he is and quite upset that she has to stand in the cold because Sasori can't speak quickly enough.

"Um, well, I was just at a party at Hidan's." Who happens to live nearby. "And I was just...wondering if I could crash here. I thought we could talk."

For a long moment, Sakura can't quite bring herself to say anything. Not because she's considering saying yes–but because the nerve of this man has, not for the first time, left her speechless.

"Sasori, we-"

"I know, I know," he grumbles. He then shrugs and grins in a way she had once thought was charming, leaning in slightly. "Your place was just closer than mine-"

"And no longer accessible," Madara cuts in. "Goodnight." He tries to move them back so he can close the door, but Sasori interrupts the motion with a hand on the door.

"I'll take the couch!" Sasori pushes back against the door. "Sakura, babe, we've-"

"Alright," Madara steps out the door instead, forcing Sasori to take a few steps back. "Why don't have a little talk?" He turns to a confused looking Sakura, gesturing for her to go inside. "I'll be right in, sweetheart. Don't worry." He doesn't wait for her to reply, closing the door before she can say anything. Sakura stands with her ear pressed to the wood for over a minute, but doesn't hear a thing. She goes back to the couch, trying to figure out if this was really okay, but Madara comes back in before she can come to an actual conclusion.

"Well, he's a prick."

"I realize that now," she says, looking him over for any signs of damage. "Sorry, did he give you any trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle. And you don't need to thank me either," he adds before she can even begin to come up with a way to express her gratitude. She also realizes that they're both alone once again, and despite how nice he seems, Madara is still a stranger. He looks a bit awkward, looking as if he doesn't know what to do with himself, or his hands which clench and unclench before he shoves them into the pockets of his jacket.

"Um, I should probably wait a few minutes before leaving...did Itachi say what time he'd be back?"

"He said he's going to stay at his parents' tonight," Sakura tells him, wincing at his dismayed expression. "He hasn't given you a spare key?"

"Shisui 'borrowed' it."

"I'm so sorry." She thinks it's a little funny, but works to keep her face sympathetic; Shisui would be extremely amused by the current events.

"That's alright. I think I've intruded enough, so I should probably go."

"Where do you live?" she asks, forehead wrinkled up at the thought of him having to make his way home in this weather. Sasori lives about ten minutes away–which is why she hadn’t been worried about him, she tells her guilty conscious.

"...Senju apartments."

"Fancy. Also on the other side of town," Sakura states flatly. "Did you drive here?"

"Ah."

"In a car?"

"...Bike."

"Right. Look," she begins, unable to actually believe she's doing this. "Just crash here tonight. I'll let Itachi know."

He looks taken aback at her suggestion, and shifts uncomfortably. "I wouldn't want to-"

"It's alright. I'm not comfortable with sending you off into the night," she reasons. "Plus, Itachi and Sasuke are practically family. That makes you...distant family. Sort of. Just-you're welcome to stay if you're comfortable with it."

Madara, who had begun to flush, looks extremely amused by the time she finishes. "Distant family."

"I said, sort of!"

"Hah. Well," he rubs at the back of his head hesitantly. "I guess. You're really okay with it?"

"Really okay with it. One hundred per cent." She waits for him to take his shoes off before herding him towards the couch. "You sleepy?"

"Not really," he admits sheepishly, taking a seat, sitting a little too properly for this time of the night.

"Great. You like Harry Potter?"

"Yeah."

"Wine?"

"Yes," he laughs, accepting the clean glass she brings him.

"Even better. It’s been ages since I had a sleepover. I'll bring more snacks."

The mildly awkward atmosphere dissolves quickly as they begin watching the movie, and Sakura's pleased to see her new companion loosen up and put his feet up on the coffee table. In an unexpected turn of events, she's found a new companion who's up for binge-watching the entire series, which is a little too ambitious for someone who has to work the next day. They open a new bottle as they express their mutual disappointment at the wasted potential of Tom Riddle, discuss their own Hogwarts house placements and the first time they read the books–before starting the third movie.

Sakura groans as the light hits her face, turning it to bury her head further into her pillow.

Her pillow, which seems unusually warm and smells like cedarwood. It's only when it shifts under her that her eyes fly open, and in her haste to spring back she tumbles off the bed.

"Ow-" She rubs her backside in slight disgruntlement, glancing up at Madara only to see him yawning widely as he stretches like a contented cat; he smiles softly as he notices her staring. She can't quite get her brain to process what she's seeing–tan skin stretching over long, firm planes of muscle. His wild hair spills over her pillows and she's hit with a memory of nuzzling it, of knowing what it smells like.

"Morning," he mumbles groggily, looking like he's ready to doze off again.

'Ah, fuck.'

"Morning," she replies in a tone a touch too shrill, jumping up when he just blinks at her. "We...uh..."

At her panicked expression, he seems to step out the doors of slumber completely, his cheeks reddening as he realizes she's struggling with their current state of undress. "Yeah. Uh, sorry?

"D-don't apologize," she says, trying to reassure him with a weak smile. "So! Breakfast?"

"Sakura." He sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist and she looks away before she sees more than she can handle. The plain black sweatshirt that was snug on him falls to her thighs when she stands up, and she sees the way his eyes fall to the bare expanse of her legs before he forces them back to her face. "I-I'll take care of that. You okay with scrambled eggs? Tea? Coffee?"

"Um-yeah. Here I'll just..." She looks around the room, spotting his pants by the door. She can't help the way she tugs at the hem of his sweatshirt as she bends her knees, grabbing the jeans. "Here. And–coffee. What can I do to help?"

"You need to be at work by ten, right? You can go get ready, we've got time." It's 8:30 on the clock, but how does he know what time she needs to be at the hospital? Her baffled look must tip him off because he shakes his head in mock seriousness as he washes his hands. "You don't remember that conversation, huh?"

"I'm sure it'll come to me," she sighs. "Alright I'll...go shower." She misses his distracted nod in her haste to retreat to the bathroom, his eyes struggling to focus as she leaves him to his thoughts.

It all does, eventually, come back to her while she's in the shower. She’s grateful for the privacy because she’s convinced Madara would think her a lunatic if he saw her smiling so hard.

(flashback, nsfw content ahead)

"Madara?" she asks, lifting her head off his shoulder so she could look at him. They sit side by side, watching the credits scroll past as they contemplate moving. Sakura’s cuddled into his side, unable to muster the will to move away from his warmth.

"Hm?"

"Have we met before?" The question has been on her mind since she first saw him earlier. He seems so familiar, but she’s unsure if it’s just because of his features, which do remind her of Itachi.

Her question is met with a slow blink as they both sit up a little straighter. "Could have. At birthday parties, maybe?"

She purses her lips at the thought, trying to recall any interactions that might have taken place in the past. Madara watches her for a moment, as she chews on her bottom lip, before tapping her chin to interrupt the rough treatment of her mouth. She’s struck by the urge to flick her tongue against the pad of his thumb, and the thought has her squirming in embarrassment. He looks completely serious, while she’s over here thirsting.

"Would you believe me if I said...I feel like I've been looking for you?" he asks hesitantly, flushing deeply when she looks amused. "Ugh, that sounds way cornier than it was intended to. I'm serious!"

She sobers up at his firm tone, studying his features in the dim light of the lamp. She smooths his bangs away from his eyes, feeling slightly overwhelmed when he takes the hand tucking his hair behind his ear in his own, lacing his fingers with hers.

"...I think I would," she whispers, mirroring his own tiny smile. "Then, would you believe me if I said I feel like I've been waiting for you?" She's only half-teasing. She feels at home, sitting next to him, arguing with him over fictional characters and concepts, watching him tap his feet to background music, eating cookies they're both shamelessly obsessed with.

Her heart feels warm and full when he kisses the back of her hand.

"I think I would," he says, his smiling turning embarrassed and shy and so soft that she can't help but lean in and press her lips to it, her heart pounding madly when he melts into it, into her. He groans low when she climbs into his lap, tilting his head to deepen the meeting of their mouths.

Desire drips into a pool at the bottom of her spine, where his hands splays and glides up to rest at the nape of her neck, tangling in messy, rosy strands. They kiss, and they kiss until her lips feel numb and her mind is muted for the first time in what feels like ages.

The first grind of her hips against his feels electric and the helpless way he bucks his hips up is something she wants to see repeated. He clutches her to him, peppering hot kisses down the slender slope of her neck and she knows what she wants. "Be-bedroom."

He stills, tilting his head back until the tip of his nose brushes hers. His eyes are reminiscent of hot pools of obsidian, and she thinks she would be okay with drowning in them. "Are you sure?"

"I want this." His mouth perks up even as he presses it to her jaw, winding her legs around his waist as he rises from the sofa with her holding on. Long fingers dig into the plump flesh of her rear, keeping her close and whimpering.

"Wait. Are you sure?"

His responding chuckle is edged with roughness, but not a straight enough answer. Once again, he manages to steal her breath before it can form words, sliding her lower against his body until she can feel him pressing into her, hard and straining.

"Oh. Okay," she gasps, pushing back into it until he stumbles with a curse, pressing her back into her bedroom door as he kisses her deeply, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth.

"Keep that up and we'll never get to the bed," he groans, grinding into her urgently as she nibbles on the shell of his ear.

"That's fine, just-fuck." She loses her train of thought when his hands squeeze her ass warningly.

"I'm not fucking you against a door," he says firmly, cutting her off with a quick kiss when she tries to protest. "Not the first time."

And so he fumbles with the door handle as his teeth dig into her skin, stumbling in blindly. He tosses her on the bed, reaching for the collar of his sweatshirt and sliding it off swiftly. Her mouth waters at this unveiling of his chiselled form, torn between reaching out to run her greedy fingers over it and reaching for her own clothes. He makes the decision for her by sliding his fingers underneath the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and over her head. Warmth flushes down from her cheeks to her chest when she realizes she had forgone a bra earlier, leaving the upper half of her body exposed to his burning gaze.

The moment his chest presses into hers, warm desire spreads down to the tips of her toes. It sinks into her bones as he kisses her temple, her cheeks, her lips. He carves a fervent path down her neck, teeth and tongue leaving hints of their efforts behind in blooming marks. The first curl of his tongue around a taut nipple has her gasping loudly, her fingers tangling in his hair as he splits his attention between her breasts.

His journey around her body continues with kisses down the soft planes of her abdomen until he reaches her waistline. Her heart pounds madly as she lifts her hips, allowing him to tug her pyjamas down her legs, followed by her underwear. It leaves her squirming beneath his gaze until he bends over her to press his lips to hers.

"You're so beautiful, darling," he groans, his hands gliding down her waist and back up. "Can I taste you?" He waits for her slow nod, smiling as he climbs back down, spreading her legs until he's found himself a spot between them. Sakura, who waits breathlessly for that first contact, nearly yelps when she feels his teeth sink into the tender flesh of her inner thigh instead. He soothes the spot with his tongue, and just as she settles down with the comforting motion she feels a languid lick along her slick sex that steals any capacity for thought still present in her head.

Lifting up on her elbows proves to be disastrous for her heart: he locks eyes with her as he licks fervidly into her, his eyes crinkling and lips twisting wickedly.

Sakura thinks she might have invited the devil into her bed.

He doesn't let her move until she's dripping with her desire, pushed to the brink of madness and digging her heels into his shoulders. He's unfazed by her pleading, coaxing and tonguing but never letting her tip over.

"Madara, Mad-fuck, please, please," she whimpers, one hand clenched around her sheets and the other smacking into the headboard.

"You need to tell me what you want, babygirl," he laughs, drawing slow, torturous circles around her clit.

"Fuck me, fuck me, please." She's practically begging but she needs this. She thinks she might actually wither away if he doesn't let her come. She feels him move, blinking her tears away so she can watch him slide his pants off and reach for his wallet. She's never felt more focused as she watches him tug the boxer-briefs down, freeing his straining erection and leaving her swallowing with one motion.

Sitting up, she reaches for him as he tears the foil square open carefully, but he stops her with a hand curling around her wrist. He brings her hand up to this mouth, kissing the back of it and urging her back down. "Later."

Any arguments she might have had are ripped away when she feels him at her entrance, rubbing the tip of his head against her slickness. When he pushes through her slit, tearing a moan from the depths of her throat, he kisses the corner of her mouth softly. She's convinced no one has ever felt this good, and no one ever will.

He's watching her, she realizes belatedly. She reaches up to cup his cheek, smiling faintly as he kisses her palm quickly, as he waits for her to adjust around him.

"Is this okay?" he asks, dropping his forehead to hers, his muscles straining as he keeps himself from moving. She pulls him close, leaving open-mouthed kisses over his tense shoulders.

"It's perfect." She pushes up, her walls squeezing tight and a startled groan escapes him before he pulls back and snaps his hips into hers–over and over again, aimed to tear her apart and make his mark in the very depths of her until she's shattering to pieces around him and trembling in his arms. He whispers softly, incoherently as he thrusts frantically, and she kisses him through his unravelling.

She curls into a ball, after, nearly vibrating her contentment when she feels his fingers in her hair, rubbing at her scalp. Madara proves himself to be a cuddler when he moulds himself to her back, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. "Okay, I have a confession."

She turns around in his arms, raising a brow at his conflicted expression.

"I...have seen you before."

"Oh?" she lifts up onto an elbow, watching him struggle with his words. She's filled with curiosity because she's certain she'd never seen Madara before today. He’s not someone she would forget.

"Yeah. It was at your graduation party a few years back. The one you all had at Fugaku’s place," he tells her, his eyes unfocused as he thinks back to the time. "We didn't actually meet, but that was... I thought you were beautiful even then."

It’s strange to hear him address the older man so casually when he’s closer in age to her than Fugaku, but then they are cousins.

"Oh." She rests her head in her palm. "Let me guess–and you've been smitten ever since?" She shouldn't tease when he's being so serious, but she's come to really enjoy his blushing responses–a reaction she doesn't get this time. Instead, he meets her eyes steadily, if a bit solemnly.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Madara!" She laughs, pinching his cheek, prompting him to smile as well.

“You don’t believe me.” He sighs, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Mhm. I'm glad you got the wrong door," she whispers, feeling him smile against her skin.

"Me too." She sighs and presses her face to his chest, snuggling closer when he winds his arms around her. They’re quiet for a while, and just before she slips into sleep, he speaks up.

"Sakura?"

"Hm?

"Meeting you like this...being so close to you," he shifts slightly, pressing his lips to her hair. "Right now, I almost feel like...you belong to me." His admission is said so lowly that she nearly misses it. "And I belong to you. Is that strange?"

She smiles drowsily, tilting her head back to kiss him, soft and slow. "No, I think it's lovely."

"I think you're lovely." She can’t keep her eyes open, drifting into the dark with warmth all around her. “And...I don’t think I want to let you go.”

“...Then don’t.”

For the first time in a long time, she's smiling as she falls asleep.

Sakura's still smiling as she steps out of the shower. Wiping her hand over the fogged up mirror, she squints at her reflection. She looks bright, despite a terrible headache, and she feels warm–on the inside and out; her skins nearly burns when she spots the marks over her collarbone and thighs.

Waking up to soft greetings, offers of breakfast and a very pleasant ache between her thighs–it's something new, but it's nice. Madara is nice.

'And I'm fucked. Literally and figuratively'

But is she? She may have started him by kissing him, but he more than reciprocated. She's never felt more loved, and that includes actual relationships. Then there were the mind-melting things he said. A bit intense, but they were both more than a little dazed in the aftermath.

She’s a little worried about starting something this soon after ending things with Sasori, but– and she may be speaking too soon, but she never felt this way with Sasori. The redhead had started their relationship, dictated most of it, and she had been okay with it, accepting that she’s not the sort to take charge when it comes to this stuff.

But with Madara? She feels the sparks of excitement. She wants. So many things. So badly. She should, however, take it slow. A little too late, but she should still try. The man might be more than a little alarmed if he finds out just how into him she already is.

Her stomach growls loudly as she follows the smell of frying bacon to the kitchen. And there he is, the man in question, arranging food on two plates, her coffee ready on the side. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, his pants tight around his waist–and backside–and Sakura nearly swoons at the sight of him.

“Are you real?” she asks, completely serious.

“Real enough to have burnt the toast a little,” he answers with a sheepish grin. She hands him his sweatshirt apologetically, but he's unfazed as he pulls it on easily.

She wonders if this is all very normal for him, and the thought stings a little.

“I like it burnt.” She shrugs and pauses as she reaches the counter. She turns around to see him watching her; with a quick prayer to whoever’s listening and a hand on his shoulder, she rises up on the tips of her toes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

His fingers curl around her wrist before she can step out of his space, his eyes searching her face before he pulls her close. She should be alarmed by how natural it feels to have his arms around her and his lips coaxing her mouth open. In the light of the morning, he kisses her softly; once more, she’s filled with a yearning that makes her ache.

In what’s quickly turning into an irritating pattern, her phone rings. A quick glance at the screen assuages her annoyance, but she still has to take a deep breath before answering.

“Morning, Itachi. Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas. I just saw your text. Is Madara still there?”

“Uh, yeah, he is.”

“Alright. I’m nearly on our floor. See you in a minute.”

“Wait-“

But he’s hung up already, and she turns to see Madara sipping at what looks like green tea, failing to hide his disappointment.

“I heard.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, moving towards the entrance, then doubling back and pulling Madara into a quick, hard kiss that leaves him slack-jawed. “Sorry.”

“Please don’t be,” he murmurs hoarsely, making grabby hands at her as she skips away. Beaming, she opens the door to Itachi’s suspicious eyes and boxes of what she’s sure are his mother’s cooking.

“Yes, this is for you,” Itachi says before she can ask, moving past her to peer into her apartment. “Ah. There you are.”

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” Itachi looks from his uncle to Sakura, as if expecting more. “I’m going to go ahead get it out of the way–did you guys...?”

“Yes.”

“N-What!” Sakura squeaks, glaring at Madara when she spots the grin he tries to hide behind his cup.

“Right. Okay. Well, I’m gonna go get some more sleep. Sakura, have a nice day at work. Madara, let's go. Bring the plate, I’ll return it later.” Itachi doesn’t seem to be asking, and Madara, to her surprise, does as the other man says. They stare at each other for a few seconds, before Itachi raises a brow and turns to leave. A tiny smirk curls along his mouth, and she knows she can expect a call from Shisui within the hour.

The second he’s out Madara’s arms around her and his lips are on hers.

“Have dinner with me,” he asks as soon as he pulls away, his eyes wide with hope.

“Tonight?” she says, her answer clear when she kisses him again. Madara grins down at her, pulling her in for a hug that leaves her gasping for breath as she laughs.

“I’ll pick you up.”

Bonus:

“He made you breakfast?” Shisui asks over the phone, for the third time.

“Yes, Shisui. Honestly, it’s not like he gave me a manicure! Why are you so surprised?” Sakura glances around to ensure there aren't any eavesdroppers as she exits the elevator in the hospital. Ino has the evening shift, so she didn't get a chance to talk to her. She's not sure what she would even say. Her entire day had been a struggle with focus, but she had managed to keep the Madara-related thoughts at bay until the end of her shift.

And then she called the one person who could give her some insight.

“Because! Madara does not make people breakfast. In the rare occasions that he does spend time with them, he exits those occasions as quickly as humanly possible.”

“So he’s...”

“Not a dick! Not exactly. He’s just had a hard time getting emotionally involved with partners. You’re sure it was him? Not Izuna?”

“Yes, Shisui, of course, I’m sure!”

“Okay, okay. Hm. I think...he might like you?”

“Yeah?” she can't help but smile as she opens the door to her car, flinging her bag inside.

“Yeah. Weird.”

“Why is it weird?”

“You’re going to be Itachi and Sasuke’s aunt-“

“Uchiha Shisui! Don’t even put that crap in my head.” It's way too early to even go there.

“Fine, I won’t. But what will you do about the crap in his head?”

“I’m sure there’s nothing like that! At least, I won’t know until I talk to him. Which won’t be possible until dinner tonight. I also need his number. Which is why I called you.”

“Ah, right. You were so preoccupied with his mouth that you forgot to even ask for his number?”

Sakura makes a silent vow to punch him the next time she sees him.

“...I’ll text it to you. Are we telling Itachi you're planning on asking his uncle out?”

“...not yet.” She's not sure how her friend would react. Itachi has always been a supportive presence in her life, but he didn't actually say anything this morning.

“It's not like he'll be surprised!”

“Probably. But let me talk to Madara first!” She gets inside and closes the door, leaning back and closing her eyes tiredly.

“Fine, fine. If he’s an ass to you, let me know. I’ll...tell Izuna.”

“I’m hurt. You won’t even kick his ass yourself?” she teases.

“Not when I know I won’t escape with my limbs unbroken. Your new flame is a scary dude, you know.”

“Please. Are you forgetting I’ve met the guy? He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.”

“...Madara...nicest...Is-is this what they call a Christmas Miracle?”

#MadaSakuWeekEND2019 #madasaku #naruto smut #Sakura Haruno #Uchiha Madara #naruto fanfiction

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make-it-mavis · 4 years

Text

Homesick (Entry #22)

(cw: alcohol, drug reference) ----------

01/09/88 2:06 AM

Hey.

I think I’m gonna have to go into some stuff I’d rather not talk about. At least I’m the only one who will ever read this.

Just bear with me.

Even after being hidden away for just a week, Game Central felt eerily foreign to me when we stepped out into it. It felt like seeing it for the first time all over again, but in a bad way. Five years ago, I was awestruck by the bright, bustling energy of a golden hall filled with a rainbow of total strangers. That didn’t happen, this time around. I didn’t step out into adventure, I stepped out into a train station. It was nothing more than what it was. Just a cold, sterile, point A to point B train station. And this time, there wasn’t a single sprite who didn’t know who I was.

I made a beeline for Tapper’s and hurried along, but made sure Wreck-it was still relatively close behind me. Passersby slowed, stared, gasped and whispered to their friends. None of them seemed outwardly hostile, but I wasn’t about to dawdle and give them a chance to be. I was on high alert, higher than I’d ever been in my life.

I even had a thought, once we got off the train at Tapper’s, that this whole rendezvous might have been a trap. That Wreck-it had baited me into it, and I’d be fighting for my life again in minutes. Yeah. All kinds of ridiculous, right? Still, I planted my feet, and had to be nudged along into the bar, against my insistence that I’d changed my mind and wanted to turn back.

We sat at the counter furthest from the bathrooms, and I sat side-saddle with my back to Wreck-it. I couldn’t leave my back to open space. It just sent chills down my spine. Really, the eerily off-key atmosphere of the bar wasn’t helping.

Like GCS, it was different. My stage had long since been disassembled, probably for good. I remembered the way the room used to look from up there, all full of red-cheeked sprites lifting their glasses and swaying to my music. Now, all I saw were sprites minding their own business, keeping their heads down, only looking up now and then to stare at me. That social, cheery, rough-and-tumble atmosphere was gone. That warm, dim light wasn’t cozy and inviting anymore. It just felt like a dark, dreary hiding hole.

It just felt like a bar.

At least Tapper was still making an effort to be more than just some bartender.

When he saw me, his face lit up just a shade. He came up to us on the other side of the counter and spoke in a tone hushed enough to avoid drawing too much attention, a favor I was thankful for.

“There she is, just the gal I wanted to see! Where have you been, Fireball? You had me worried, y’know.”

I didn’t appreciate his supposed concern. It just spoke to me on how blatantly obvious my rapid downward spiral was to everyone around me. They all thought I didn’t have a handle on it. I didn’t, but I didn’t want them to think that.

“Worried? About me? Pfft. Someone’s obsessed,” I weakly deflected.

Wreck-it elbowed me, nearly knocking me off my stool. I added, “And hello.”

“I mean it,” he continued. “Last I heard of anyone seein’ you, the SP was helping you limp across Game Central, and from what sprites been sayin’, you looked rough. Rough enough to make you disappear for a week, I mean, c’mon, that’s just unheard of. Seriously, Mavis, what happened? Are you… Are you really okay?”

Wreck-it cleared his throat. He thought he was helping, but he wasn’t. He just alerted Tapper that it was bad enough for me to not like being asked about it.

I sighed, and tried to pull something he would believe out of my ass. “Look, I went a little too hard on the buffs, alright? I got hooked. I admit it, I got hooked. Things got intense. I don’t remember most of it, but it was intense. The SP bled my credits dry and let me off with a heavy warning. I just… needed to take a step back for a while.”

They were quiet for a minute. I think Tapper believed me, but I’m certain Wreck-it didn’t.

Tapper nodded in a very tired, thoughtful sort of way. “Well… smart move, my friend. You may be onto somethin’. I think a whole lotta sprites could stand to step back a few paces right now.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Don’t… don’t patronize me, man.”

“Am I wrong?”

I hoped dearly for a conversation topic that wasn’t about how crappy things were going, but at the same time, I really doubted I could carry on that conversation. I was so stuck in my own head. With another deep sigh, I said, “No. You’re right. Everyone sucks. They should all try to be even half as self-aware as me. On that note, I’d love to be a little less aware right now, so, gimme a pint of the sweet stuff.”

Tapper clicked his tongue. “Yeaaah, here’s the thing. I can’t serve you.”

“Sure you can. Fill a glass with liquid and let me drink it. Easy.”

“No, Mavis,” he shook his head. “I can’t let you drink.”

“Wait, WHAT?”

“Not ‘til I know you’re back on your feet.”

“I’M--” I caught myself starting to shout, and heads were turning. Lowering my volume, I hissed, “I’m on my feet. I was never off my feet. Didn’t I just tell you I recognized my own buff problem and dealt with it? Could I do that if I was off my feet?”

He remained unswayed. “Look, girl, you know I wish you all the best. What kind of well-wisher would I be if I let you drink, knowing very well you’ve been having trouble staying sober? Knowing very well that you’re not exactly a light, casual drinker? Nah. I’m not gonna enable that.”

“Why am I even here, then?”

“‘Cause you can be. Ain’t that reason enough?”

I stared at him. That man is way too steadfast. I knew I couldn’t change his mind. “Fine, whatever. Not like I could afford it, anyway.”

“But,” he said, “I can get you some snacks if you want. On the house.”

“...Okay.”

Tapper puttered off to fetch said snacks, and got caught in a chain of sprites flagging him down for drinks. I stewed in frustration over Tapper cutting me off before I could even start, until I was rudely interrupted by Wreck-it’s massive tree-trunk of an elbow once again jutting into my back. That time, I actually did fall off.

I hissed many curses of his name and demanded to know what the hell his problem was as I got back on my stool. He glared at me and said something, but I don’t remember what. I didn’t hear him. My eyes had caught the condensation on his mug full of sweet, cold root beer dripping slowly down onto the counter. It was positively taunting me. I found it so unfair that he could have it and I couldn’t -- I wanted it more than he did. I needed to forget way more than he did. How was I supposed to just sit there while he rubbed it in my face?

His voice came back into focus. “--even listening to me?”

I lunged for his mug.

“Hey!”

He caught me by the back of my smock and slammed me back onto my stool. “You little gremlin, did you hear a word I just said? Tapper welcomes you in here, and this is how you repay him? By being rude and trying to steal what he doesn’t want to serve you? Don’t you know he’s risking a lot letting you in here?”

“Hey, the fact that I’m out here at all is monumentally more risky for me. Don’t start with me on who’s ‘risking a lot.’”

“Wow. You really are that ungrateful, huh. Golly, kid.” He shook his head in disbelief and exercised his drinking privilege.

I groaned. “Obviously I’m grateful he let me in here.”

“How-- How is that obvious?!”

“But I don’t have to fall to my knees and kiss his shoes. Tapper knows I’m grateful. He can tell.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighed. “But, geez, would it kill you to say so?”

“No.” I pulled out a sketchbook to busy myself with. “I just don’t want to.”

“Unbelievable.”

Tapper returned with a bowl of pretzels. The next little while is a bit blurry to remember, but I think that’s because nothing interesting happened for some time. I munched on the pretzels, Tapper and Wreck-it had a long, broken conversation going between Tapper’s… tapping, and the other bar patrons still kept to themselves, apart from the standard stares and whispers. The next thing I remember, and the next thing worth noting, happened once there were barely a handful of pretzels left. I’d been drawing things around me in my sketchbook to keep distracted, and ended up drawing a portrait of Tapper himself. He noticed.

“Hey, wait a minute,” I heard him say. “Is that me?”

He looked so delighted and surprised when I looked over, it kind of caught me off-guard. I didn’t draw it as a gift or gesture or anything, it was just automatic. “...Yes?”

He laughed incredulously and asked to see it, so I turned and held it out for him. He was clearly enamored. I don’t think anyone had drawn him before. But, come to think of it, there aren’t that many artists around, I don’t think. Certainly no portrait artists. I had half a mind to just give it to him, and let that serve as a gesture of gratitude.

But then, now that I was fully facing him, his eyes inevitably fell to my neck. I’d forgotten I was even wearing your things, and was horribly alarmed when I realized I was. If a sprite who hated my guts and thought I was a murderer in the making saw me wearing those? They’d have turned it into a statement, just like the fireworks. I could hardly have waved a bigger red flag -- or in this case, scarf -- than by wearing your clothes out in the open.

Tapper, however, took no offense. The twinkle in his eyes just faded, and his moustache drooped a bit. Just like Wreck-it had, he looked like he’d just heard the most depressing news ever. And, in the same way as before, I felt naked and insulted and wanted to hide under the counter.

I did not do that. I pretended not to notice, and waited for him to give me my sketchbook back. But, instead, he looked at the portrait for a minute, and popped a question that just made my stomach roll.

“Let me buy it off ya.”

“The picture?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “I wanna put it up somewhere.”

I thought about it.

“...No.”

“What?” He seemed genuinely perplexed. I guess he wasn’t used to me turning down credits from him. “Why not?”

I took my sketchbook back and started putting it away. I was ready to leave. I’d grown a sudden distaste for sitting there with an outrageously incriminating beacon around my neck while my trusted bartender pitied me like some helpless charity case.

“Save your pity credits, Tap, I don’t need ‘em. I get what you’re trying to do, and, yeah, you’re a real good person and all. But I’m not gonna do business with you just ‘cause you feel sorry for me.”

He rolled his huge eyes. “Mavis, for Pong’s sake. I’m not trying to jeopardize your pride, here. That drawing gave me a great idea.”

“...What?”

“I told you I want to put it up on my wall. Tell you the truth, I’ve been thinkin’ lately that the walls look pretty bare. They could stand a bit of decor. So, why don’t we fill ‘em up with some portraits?”

“...Portraits of who?”

“Eh,” he rolled his hand, “y’know, big names at first. Mario, Dig Dug, Mrs. Pac Man, and all that. But there’s lots of wall space, so I’m sure we could include a whole bunch of folks. Especially all my best customers.”

You and I used to be among his best customers. Relatively. I think my thoughts ended up clear on my face, because he gave a small sigh and lowered his tone.

“Look, Mavis. I don’t need to tell you how rough it’s been all around since the day he left us. I won’t say business has been bad, no, it’s been booming, but… for all the wrong reasons.” He gestured to the dismal, depressing atmosphere. “I don’t want my bar to just be some musty box where sprites come to drink their misery. So I’m asking you to help me out, again. It’s not going to fix anything right away, but… you know, I… can’t exactly let you play music here anymore--”

I knew that already, but hearing it out loud still stung.

“--but you could still help me make this place a bit more homey and inviting. Sprites see pictures of themselves and their friends up on the walls, they’ll feel a sense of community, I think. This is not pity. I’m genuinely askin’ if you’ll work with me on this.”

I had to admit, it was so disheartening to see Tapper’s reduced to what it was. He was right, the walls did look bare. I wasn’t sure what good my drawings would really do, but putting something up would at least make the joint look more inhabitable. I chewed my lip for a minute and stared at him.

“...How much?”

He smiled. “I’ll give you 20 for this one, and 30 a piece moving forward.”

I glanced at Wreck-it. He was looking at me expectantly, with this look in his eyes that told me just how pissed he’d be if I said no.

Eventually, I figured there were far worse ways that someone in my situation could make a few easy credits.

“Alright, Tap. Deal.”

I stuck my hand out, but Tapper hesitated. His voice turned serious all of a sudden, and a little sad.

“But, listen, Mavis. Before we make a deal, you gotta promise me something.”

I paused, and rolled my eyes. Everyone loves promises. “Oh boy. What?”

“These credits are to help you look after yourself. Safely. I find you’ve been getting high with creds I gave you, the deal’s off. I need you to look me in the eye and promise me that you won’t spend these credits on buffs.”

I didn’t very much like his tone. “Tap, it’s okay, I had some time to get clean. After… the way things went, I’m steering clear of buffs for a while. It just doesn’t feel worth it anymore.”

He squinted. “I need to hear a promise.”

Of course he did. Without hesitation, I gave it to him. I looked him right in those big blue eyes swimming with misplaced trust, and lied.

“I promise.”

He held my gaze for another few seconds, presumably looking for any trace of deceit. Apparently, he found none. He grinned and said, “Alright then! It’s a deal!”

We had a no-contact handshake, and that was that.

I decided to stick around a little while longer after all, since Tapper had stopped treating me like a sob-story. We chatted a bit more about our business plans, and he and Wreck-it talked for a while. Customers kept hailing Tapper for drinks, of course, leaving me to sit with many an awkward silence with the hulking trash gorilla. It wasn’t the most pleasant time in the world, for obvious reasons. I still felt like everyone was thinking about tying me up and taking their misplaced revenge whenever they glanced my way. But at the same time, there was a part of me just glad to be out of my game, having relatively normal conversations with Tapper. I’ll admit, I missed the guy. He doesn’t treat me like everyone else does.

But, as they so often do, the evening took a sharp turn. I’d managed to zone out for some time, the world marred by this miserable fog in my brain. I was taking a grossly inappropriate amount of time to eat a single pretzel when Tapper’s voice snapped me out of it.

“It’s gonna feel so quiet in here from now on.”

I let out a bit of a questioning noise when I jolted. Seeing him clearly, I noticed that his eyes were hovering over my neck again, sort of peering over while he quietly cleaned a glass. I also noticed that, without realizing, I had taken my glove off and started rubbing your scarf between my fingers.

So, that was mortifying.

I stopped immediately and stuffed my face with another pretzel. I just mumbled, “Yeah.”

Tapper continued, his voice just about as morose as I’d ever heard it. “It already does. Even when it’s loud, it feels quiet. All the good sounds just aren’t playing anymore. I miss the old lively spirit. I miss your music, Fireball. I miss the ruckus you two would always stir up,” he paused. “Hell, I even miss him.”

I remember suddenly feeling like I’d swallowed a rock the size of my fist. My brain was screaming to abort, to get away from the conversation before it landed somewhere I couldn’t stand to hear. But, against all logic, I stayed. I wanted to hear him out. It was the first I’d heard anyone sincerely grieve you since you left. Somehow, I felt like I’d been needing to hear it. I just hoped I could handle it.

He said, “I know that’s not exactly the most popular stance to have right now, but I do. Yeah, he was all kinds of trouble, but he was quite a character. We need big personalities like him around here. Like you, too. Makes life a little less boring. And when you two were together? Forget about it. Never a dull moment. You guys really were just… somethin’ else. Like you shared two halves of the same--”

“Tapper.”

I couldn’t handle it. I’d made a mistake. I just pushed the heel of my palm into my brow, eyes closed, trying to keep steady. Every word he said just weighed me further down.

He went quiet. I could still hear the squeak of his cloth on the mug that had been clean for the past five minutes, and I heard Wreck-it slurp his drink, emanating waves of severe discomfort. It was definitely time to go. I thought that I couldn’t stand to be there a moment longer. But I had to level out so that I wouldn’t break down on the way out. Memories were trying to worm into my head, and I was trying desperately to block them out. I wanted a freakin’ drink.

But then Tapper, the sentimental bastard, just had to say something more. Very softly, he said something that would put a second rock in my gut.

“You should have heard the way he talked about you, y’know.”

It took me a second to register what he said. I opened my eyes and stared at him, suddenly hit with a conflict that I never saw coming. Part of me didn’t want to know. Part of me wanted to crack open one of the kegs and give a second attempt to the memory purge. But the most dominant, stupidest part of me wanted to know more. Needed to know more.

“What… did you say?”

Tapper looked up from his mug to meet my stare, and gave one of the saddest, fondest looks I’ve ever seen on another sprite. We held a silence for a moment, but it was quickly broken by Wreck-it.

He put his glass down and hastily got to his feet. “O-kay, you guys keep talking, I’m just gonna…” he made vague hand gestures. “Gonna go to the bathroom.”

After he hurried off, Tapper set to wiping the counter and continued, “Yeah. I mean, on the rare occasion he wasn’t talking about himself.”

I hated how much I was trembling. “What would he say?”

“Well…” he paused in his cleaning to think for a second. “It’s not really so much… what he said, as it was the way he said it, coming from a guy like him. To the untrained ear, it wouldn’t seem like anything much. But I knew him. You knew him. He wasn’t one to hand out any kind of praise. There was certainly no one else he talked about the way he talked about you.”

Rock after rock after rock in my gut. “Why… Why are you telling me this?”

He stood straight, brows furrowed in a thoughtful way, completely oblivious to the rusty axe he was about to drop on my head.

“I dunno, I feel like you just deserve to know. I’m just sorry I gotta be the one to tell you this, rather than him. He may have had an ego bigger than the arcade will ever see again, but… if there was one sprite he cared about other than himself, it was you.”

I can’t tell you how much it hurts to write that, even now.

For a second, a split-second, there was a burst of warmth in my chest. I sort of hate to admit it, but I didn’t realize how badly I’d wanted to hear something like that. You didn’t exactly leave behind much proof that we had anything real, not that I could see. I had to rely on the rest of the arcade to show me that -- they certainly saw something worth remembering. Enough to carve your name into my skin, for Devs’ sake. For a while, that was all I had. Otherwise, everything pointed to you just ditching me without a thought. To you really not giving a crit about me in the end.

Yet here was Tapper telling me that just wasn’t the case, and that man doesn’t lie.

At first, I could barely believe it. But then, I thought, of course I could believe it. How could I have thought you never cared at all, after all we’d done together?

That’s when I turned cold. That warmth was snuffed out by ice creeping down into my guts. Those memories I’d been trying to barricade out all burst into me at once. The good things, the great things, the laughs, the thrills, the slow nights, all the reasons I hung out with you at all. It was too much. It was way, way too much.

After a brief, stunned silence, I realized I had to get out of there. But there was no way I was going to make it back to my game before coming apart. I told Tapper I’d be right back, went straight to the bathrooms, locked myself in a stall in the blessedly empty ladies’ room, and just… well...

Broke.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #tapper #make it mavis #turbo #original character #homesick #i also love writing tapper

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Jupiter’s Legacy: Choreographing Superheroic Stunts

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Stunt teams are some of the hardest working people in the industry. They literally put their lives on the line just to entertain us and yet there’s so little acknowledgement of their contributions. There is no Oscar for stunt work, but there should be. Netflix’s adaptation of Jupiter’s Legacy has secured one of the industry’s hottest stunt choreographers, one who is no stranger to superhero action, Philip J. Silvera.

If you’ve read Jupiter’s Legacy already, you know Frank Quitely’s artwork leaps off the page, splattered with intense moments of sanguineous bloodshed. Quitely’s graphic style is a perfect fit for Silvera, who says he’s always been inspired by the visceral violence of films like Goodfellas and The Godfather Part II.

“My action in the past has always had a bit of a lead pipe brutality to it,” confesses Silvera with a grin. Who better to choreograph the huge superhero brawls of Jupiter’s Legacy?

School of Hard Knocks

Stunt work has always been Silvera’s destiny. “I always wanted to do stunts, since I was a kid.” Silvera’s father was a boxer who was just about to go pro, but his fortune took a bad turn after he broke his arm and leg. Nevertheless, Philip inherited his father’s fighting spirit. After starting his martial arts training in Karate, Silvera switched over to a Shaolin-based system of Chinese Kung Fu, which he studied for about 20 years.

Silvera got his first break in 1997. He was competing in a martial arts tournament in New York City when he was approached to do an off-Broadway show called Voice of the Dragon: Once Upon a Time in Chinese America. It was a groundbreaking show from maverick playwright and noted jazz composer Fred Ho. Silvera describes it as “a bit of an urban Peking opera, really a martial arts ballet.” The show demanded he play a character, do martial arts, fight, fall, and flip on stage in front of a live audience.

As Silvera got deeper into the stunt world, his training diversified to accommodate a wider variety of roles. He studied Kali stick fighting and even trained with Cecep Arif Rahman (The Raid 2, John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum). Beyond his film work, Rahman is a genuine master of the Indonesian martial art called Pencak Silat. As a stunt coordinator, Silvera must keep pushing his training forward so he can meet the demands of his next project. “I just constantly want to keep learning different things and evolving.”

Silvera began officially working as a stuntman in movies and TV in 2005. You must work your way up to that director’s chair, and in the stunt industry, that means you’ve got to pay your dues and take a lot of hard knocks. By 2010, he got his first action and fight choreographer credit with Star Wars: The Force Unleashed II. That was followed by several coordinator roles on more video games like DC Universe Online, Batman: Arkham City, and Star Wars: The Old Republic. After an uncredited role assisting with the fight choreography in Iron Man 3, he received his first credited movie fight choreographer role for Thor: The Dark World.

Changing the Game

However, it was his work on Netflix’s Daredevil that caught the attention of both action and superhero fans. Silvera served as the Fight and Stunt Coordinator for the first two seasons of the series, and for action connoisseurs, he built a choreographic trademark for the show: the one-take fight scene. In Daredevil’s second episode, Silvera orchestrated a showstopping one-take hallway slugfest and every fan of fight choreography took notice. That scene propelled action in streaming TV to the cinematic level of big screen fight choreography. “I think most people would be surprised to hear that we designed that one-shot sequence in Daredevil in a day and a half,” Silvera says.

Silvera followed up that hallway fight with a one-take stairwell scrap in season two (an episode directed by Marc Jobst, who also directed two episodes of Jupiter’s Legacy). Hallway and stairwell fights comprise two of the three most common settings for extended fight scenes (the third being warehouse fights – there’s an innumerable amount of these in actioners because it’s just easy and cheap to find warehouse locations). Hallways serve as a device to narrow the playing field when one person must take on several opponents. The width of the hallway restricts how many adversaries can come at the hero at a time. Silvera’s Daredevil hallway fight is held in the same esteem as the epic hallway fight in Chan-wook Park’s Oldboy and is considered by many to be the greatest TV fight scene to date.

Stairway fights showcase technical expertise. The footwork must be precise because one misstep can result in a devastating ankle twist for any stunt person. Additionally, falling down stairwells isn’t easy. It requires top notch stunt people to stage safely.