#like that’s how they do it at fucking riot games or whatever so it must be the Right Way To Do Art. constantly and painfully by everyone
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god I wish I could rip Instagram apart with my teeth I hate it I hate it I hate it
#kibumblabs#whenever I think about it and what it does (in general but mostly to artists) I go into a feral anti-capitalist blind rage#it is legitimately killing art. it is killing what it means to be an artist and replacing it with corporate brainrot#and it’s disgusting to me to think about kids going into art and getting brainwashed into believing you should sacrifice agency over your#time and what you create and etc in order to create a Brand is the most important thing– or rather a DEFINING thing– about being an artist#it’s just. god it makes me mad#I won’t even get into how it also rips your mental health to shreds and strips your ego and ability to enjoy what you do and etc#but you know. there’s that too#I could write a fucking essay on this man and maybe I should at some point honestly#what’s sad though is that the Instagram art account mentality is already so normalized and so in-line with how companies/corporations like#disney or blizzard or basically any animation/game company and whatnot work that it’s easy to have that mindset reinforced by comparison to#those ‘legitimate’ non-freelance jobs#like that’s how they do it at fucking riot games or whatever so it must be the Right Way To Do Art. constantly and painfully by everyone#else’s standards but your own. no! it’s not! stop sucking the industry’s dick and look up for a second#and yes that applies to freelancers because like I said this new freelance art mentality directly corresponds with how corporate art jobs#operate. just. think about it on an existential long-term level. you shouldn’t fucking waste your life for that shit#sorry I’m kinda spiraling cause it’s such a personally relevant topic especially with recently stepping out of art school and debating if#I’ll return or not next semester and all that because yeah my school is a direct pipeline into The Industry and thus it operates like#The Industry. and I thought that was something that’s a pro when I was going into this school but boy. it really hits you when you’re#slogging away worked to the point of carpal tunnel/wrist problems being a normal and accepted thing being expected to sacrifice your#physical and mental health and so on just#oh! this is going to be my life from now on. forever. this isn’t temporary to get a degree this is a model of the industry im being injected#into and if anything it’s just going to get worse staying in this pipeline. Don’t Forget You’re Here Forever#and yeah I just. how do you continue under those conditions and expectations?#I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet man- I’m gonna get a bachelors it just may be at a state college instead– but beyond that idk but it’s#become too taxing on my time and health to just say ‘it is how it is’ and do something that’ll kill me slowly for a company’s profit.#something something marx was right something something
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MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (PART FOURTEEN)
previous: thirteen
next: fifteen
y/ndevils00
liked by dawson1417, nicohischier, and 142,625 others
y/ndevils00 happy (not so happy) playoffs!
tonight, our angelically handsome devils were absolutely whacked by the rags, 5-1 🥲
it’s fine, i’m fine, everything’s fine…
we had a couple scrums, no REAL fights, but damon salvatore punched good(bad)row in the face a few times! i choose to believe he did that for me because i needed some action in this game!
my bubs, my baby, light of my life, love of my heart, my lil angel pumpkin sugarplum, got the only goal of the night on a penalty shot and kept us from getting shutout, which i’m sure we all appreciated! i’m so proud of you shnookums!
also, look at my besties huddled together :( i love those fuckers <3
tagged john.marino97, dawson1417, nicohischier, jackhughes, dseves7
dseves7 it was definitely for you and not at all because he had me in a headlock… nope
y/ndevils00 so glad you can speak your truth!
dawson1417 i don’t even remember looking at you for that picture
y/ndevils00 did you just call me forgettable? @/john.marino97 good news! you’ve moved up the totem pole! bff number 1!
dawson1417 you can’t just change my nickname!
y/ndevils00 i just did. hope you like being best friend number 2
john.marino97 @/y/ndevils00 i’ve prayed for moments like these 🙏
nicohischier you couldn’t have skipped this game?
y/ndevils00 i have to give the people what they want or they’ll riot and cancel me
nicohischier i really don’t think they’ll do that
y/ndevils00 and i think you may need to take a break from hockey 🫶 all those hits are knocking your brain cells loose
john.marino97 now that i’m bff number 1, do i get more pictures on your posts?
y/ndevils00 no. you must do better.
john.marino97 do better at what?! you just told me yesterday that you were proud of how i’ve been playing
y/ndevils00 figure it out 🥰
user72 i really wanna know if she calls jack these nicknames irl
jackhughes i wish i could say no
jackhughes thank you love ❤️ i appreciate your support. however i sort of agree with nico, you definitely could’ve skipped this game, could you not?
y/ndevils00 ISO: my boyfriend! 5’8, plays hockey, catholic jew, supportive cat dad, and actually cares about me! because this imposter is not him!
jackhughes first of all, i’m 5’11!
y/ndevils00 i’m sure you are baby, whatever you say!
jackhughes and second, i DO care about you! i’m just saying that you could’ve skipped this game because as you said: we got whacked
y/ndevils00 just say you don’t support my job and go 💔
jackhughes this isn’t your job?
lhughes_06 hard loss, but we can come back 💪
y/ndevils00 smush, i will avenge you! you should’ve been out there!
_quinnhughes sad game. but it was so nice to be able to sit with you, y/n/n!
y/ndevils00 i will dive in front of you and block every puck that dares to fly at your face ever again.
_quinnhughes a simple thank you would’ve sufficed!
trevorzegras y/n can’t do simple.
y/ndevils00 @/trevorzegras who invited you here?
trevorzegras @/y/ndevils00 your mom.
y/ndevils00 @/trevorzegras did you just… fuck i have to respect it
#media management series <3#jack hughes#jack hughes fic#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes imagine#new jersey devils#nj devils#nhl imagine#nhl blurb#nhl fic#john marino#dawson mercer#quinn hughes#luke hughes#nico hischier#trevor zegras#faithlynn’s insta edits <3#faithlynn’s writings <3
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well i said i wanted to do my top albums 2022 and that we should have a tag game sooo I'm inventing it myself. this is more the top 5 (ok. 6. Forgive me) albums that i actually listened to rather than my assertion of quality. but. Here goes.
Top 6 Albums*
*in no particular order.
Expert in a Dying Field by the Beths
Review: I've been a bit suprised by how much this album has been cropping up on EOY lists. 45 minutes of good rock music: insightful lyrics, catchy hooks, melancholy, and perfect pop/rock guitar. I feel like I could listen to this anywhere. I wouldn't say this is one of the greatest albums of all time or anything like that, but it's just a good and deeply enjoyable album, and I love it!!
Standout song: "Expert In A Dying Field"
Crash by Charli XCX
Review: Look, I didn't get into Charli XCX until this year. This album propelled Charli to my no1 workout artist. We all know she writes interesting pop bangers, and does great collabs, and manages to pack a lot into just a few words. This album is no different. A rare album that I enjoy listening in order, on shuffle, or just individual songs. Also Charli is REALLY hot in the Hot In It music video which isn't even on this album but I like it anyway. #hotgirlnation
Standout song: "Yuck"
Nymph by Shygirl
Review: This one was brought to me by Tumblr Peer Review. Also an album that I wish was longer but works sooo perfectly the way it is -- no song over 4 minutes and 12 songs clocking in just under 33 min. I feel like listening to thisis scratching an itch in my brain, all the way from the beginning. Again, listen to a lot of this when working out. Great production, and a great journey through so many different interesting sounds throughout the album.
Standout song: "Shlut"
Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain
Review: It's rare I get into an artist based on what they're saying on their music, but I suppose not much about Ethel Cain is standard. I saw her saying things like "You're behind the counter at a diner, taking someone's order, thinking about how your world just ended a couple of hours ago. Life just does not stop" and desscribing her work as overkill American melodrama, and "ridiculous, psychotic, psychedelic." My first response to this album was "this is an epic" -- it must be said that I love a concept album, especially ones based around a complex persona such as Ethel Cain herself. But, as you all know, I was also a Religious Studies major. I like music that reflects back on God in America just as well.
Standout song: "Sun Bleached Flies"
Bonus: I'll share this piece on her from Vogue as well.
MATRIARCHY NOW by Pussy Riot
Review: I've never been a Pussy Riot fan in my life, though I had some sort of vague positivity towards their art-collective punk. I also wouldn't describe myself as much into hyperpop...but, you know. I think like, if you're taking a serious analytical perspective, it's probably like, whatever sexual political pop jam packed with collabs. But I don't CARE because it FUCKS and I LOVE IT!!! And also because ending the album with Big Freedia sells me over any day of the week!!
Standout song: "PRINCESS CHARMING"
A Bit of Previous by Belle and Sebastian
Review: I love Belle and Sebastian. I'm probably most a fan of their first three albums, and have sporadic familiarity with the rest of their discography. That being said, this was probably the album of the summer to me. Like the rest of their work that I love, this is a beautiful album about togetherness and being an adult and a whole bunch of different sounds. Sometimes it's just nice to listen to an album that's nice, and this is one of them.
Standout song: "Prophets on Hold"
Bonus: I enjoyed this interview on the album with Stuart Murdoch on Switched on Pop.
Honorary mentions
Special by Lizzo, MUNA by MUNA, Laurel Hell by Mitski, Palomino by First Aid Kit, I Walked With You A Ways by Plains (Waxahatchee, Jess Williamson), Stay Proud of Me by NoSo, Caroline Shaw: Evergreen by Caroline Shaw and the Attacca Quartet, Bleed Out by The Mountain Goats, Only the Strong Survive by Bruce Springsteen, Dance Fever by Florence and the Machine
Top 5 songs:
"Free" by Florence and the Machine -- my favorite single of the year, easy. also my top song of the year. Every time I hear this, I want to dance with my arms out and my eyes closed.
"The Only Heartbreaker" by Mitski -- I liked both this and "Love Me More," though was vaguely disappointed most of the rest of the album. As you can tell, I love some good synth.
"About Damn Time" by Lizzo -- Never let it be said that I'm completely unaware of pop music!!!!!!!! This song is fun and bouncy and well, I can't help but love Lizzo!!!!!!!
"Out of My Head" by First Aid Kit -- I'm under no qualms about this being one of FAK's best but holy cow does this song click in my head. It's just folky and soaring in the perfect way. Gorgeous harmonies. Also, I like any song with the word "running" in it.
Soul Days (ft. Sam Moore) by Bruce Springsteen -- I love Bruce's old man voice, I love the Sam Moore feature, I love the songs he's covering. This one in particular I think is a tempting languish and just really lovely, easy listening.
I tag....@loiteringdiligently @krysten-knitter @thelittlebirdthatkeptsomanywarm @holdoncallfailed @commontrait @beginnersmind and anyone else who might want to. Of course none of u have to do it to indulge me or write as much as I did... but I always just like to see what people r listening to...
#I'm honestly suprised by how much new music I listened to this year#Of course now im like. Actually working my way through like. Everything people say to listen to#So I'm hip and cool#Hence why I've been hating#Shamelessly doing this like there aren't tag games I've definitely forgotten about...#Tag game#Me posting on my music blog. Wow I really have a lot to say about music
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Staind
What are your favorite Staind lyrics? Here’s some of mine…
“And it’s been awhile since I could
Look at myself straight
And it’s been awhile
Since I said I’m sorry
And it’s been awhile
Since I’ve seen the way the candles light your face
And it’s been awhile
But I can still remember just the way you taste”
- “Its Been Awhile”
“My life has slowly faded
Broken and degradated
Suffocate in my sorrow
Maybe I’ll die tomorrow
This riot that I’ve sited
Came to you uninvited
Truth hurts when it’s in your face
Are you afraid of it?”
- “Self-Destruct”
“But I’m on the outside
And I’m looking in
I can see through you
See your true colors
Cause inside you’re ugly
You’re ugly like me
I can see through you
See to the real you”
- “Outside”
“These are my words
That I’ve never said before
‘I think I’m doing okay’
And this is the smile
That I’ve never shown before
Somebody shake me cause I
I must be sleeping”
- “So Far Away”
“So this is it
I say goodbye
To this chapter of my ever-changing life
And there’s mistakes
The path was long
And I’m sure I’ll answer for them when I’m gone
When I’m gone”
- “Something to Remind You”
“I feel betrayed
Stuck on your ways
And you rip me apart
With the brutal things you say
I can’t deal with the shit any more
I just look away”
- “Mudshovel”
“My head is a barricade
Filled with peaceful thoughts and evil outcomes
No one understands
Try to break the barrier
I see no outlet
No one’s there to catch me when I fall”
- “Painful”
“Try to hold back
All the anger but it’s a trigger
And I can’t relax
Losing focus on the things you lack
So you push me
To the brink and I don’t know what is next”
- “Lowest in Me”
“Why can’t you just forgive me?
I don’t want to relive all the mistakes I’ve made
Along the way
But I always find a way
To keep you right here waiting
I always find the words to say
To keep you right here waiting”
- “Right Here”
“I am nothing more than
A little boy inside
That cries out for attention
Yet I always try to hide
Cause I talk to you like children
Though I don’t know how I feel
But I know I’ll do the right thing
If the right thing is revealed”
- “Epiphany”
“Cause I sit here locked inside my head
Remembering everything you said
The silence gets us nowhere
Gets us nowhere way too fast”
- “For You”
“So where were you?
With all this I was going through
You never took the time
To ask me just what you could do
I only know that I can change
Everything else just stays the same
So now I step out of
The darkness that my life became”
- “Fade”
“If you believe in me
Life’s not always what it seems
Believe in me
Cause I was made for chasing dreams”
- “Believe”
“I’m fucked up
Distorted
Dysfunctional and drained
All of my
Deep rooted
Fears seem to get the best of me”
- “Nameless”
“Cause I’m afraid to be alone
Afraid you’ll leave me when I’m gone
And I’m afraid to come back home”
- “Home”
“It’s kinda sick
I feel so dirty
I’m kinda tragic
Kinda insecure
But I know
That I’m the only
One who can fix
Whatever’s wrong I’m sure”
- “Just Go”
“The more you take
The more you blame
But everything still feels the same
The more you hurt
The more you scream
The price you pay to play the game
And all you see
And all you gain
And all you step on with no shame
There are no rules
No one to blame
The price to play the game”
- “Price to Play”
“I’m not very good at just paying attention
I’m not very good at remembering things
I’m not very good at pursuing redemption
I’m not very good at concealing the hand that I play
When I’m trying to hard just to beat you
I’m not really good at controlling my fate
I’m not really good at controlling my anger
I’m not really good at subduing my hate
I’m not really good
I’m not really good
I’m not really good”
- “The Way I Am”
“I’m not gifted
Slightly twisted
Try hard, try hard
To see if I can push you any further
Just to soothe me”
- “Suffocate”
“The thoughts from my mind
Command my lips to say I hate you
The thoughts from my mind
Command my hands to cut your silken flesh
The thoughts from my mind
Command my feet to stomp your head
The thoughts from my mind
Have one question
‘When will this ever end?’”
- “Four Walls”
“Now
It’s up to you
The path that you choose
Gotta do something different
Now
It’s all the same
No one to blame
Gotta do something different now”
- “Now”
“I just need this to feel alright
I can’t feel this another night
I can’t take this, I’ve come unglued
I might breakdown in front of you
Necessary to medicate
I’m not sleeping, can’t stay away”
- “Pressure”
“I’m two steps from salvation
But I’m only taking one”
- “Pardon Me”
“Well fuck that, and fuck him
And fuck her, and fuck you
For not having the strength in your heart to pull through
I’ve had doubts, I have failed
I’ve fucked up, I’ve had plans
Doesn’t mean I should take my life with my own hands”
- “Waste”
“Tell me please
Who the fuck did you want me to be?
Was it something that I couldn’t see?
Never knew this would be so political
And please
I’m still wearing this miserable skin
And it’s starting to tear from within
But it’s obvious that doesn’t bother you
So please
Don’t keep telling me that it’s okay
I don’t buy all the shit that you say
And quite honestly I’m fucking sick of it
So please
If I cut off this nose from my face
Then I wouldn’t feel so out of place
But it still wouldn’t be quite enough for you
So please”
- “Please”
“I walk alone
I am alone
I think alone
I’ll die alone
Don’t think I can make it on my own
I think I need someone to save me
Such is life
So sad but true
Kill everything that’s close to you
Try to decide what not to do
You know you cannot control me”
- “Break”
“I already told you
That falling is easy
It’s getting back up
That becomes the problem
Becomes the problem
If you don’t believe
You can find a way out
You’ve become the problem
Become the problem”
- “Falling”
“What the fuck’s the purpose
I didn’t scratch the surface
Immune to what you’re saying
All alone decaying
Everything’s on fire
Darkness, lone desire
Quiet in my corner
Building up the border”
- No One’s Kind”
“Never again
Trusted in you
Fuck everything that you think I should be
I stand
Never again
Never again”
- “Can’t Believe”
“Well I know the words
But I can’t really speak them
To you
And I hide all the pain
That I’ve gained with my wisdom
From you
And I’m eaten alive
By what I hold inside
All the things that I live with
I can’t easily hide
And I’m left here with nothing
Nothing to live for
But you”
- “Excess Baggage”
“The weight of your sorrow
Make some paper wings and learn to fly
If there’s no tomorrow
Burn your paper wings and say goodbye”
- “Paper Wings”
“Sometimes when you’re out of rope
The way to climb back up’s unclear
The walls you build around yourself
I guess they also keep you here
Are you afraid of what they think?
Whoever ‘they’ happen to be
Or are you hiding from
The scars of your own reality”
- “Reality”
“I try and try to break away from all the hate I’m feeling
From every one of you that’s ever done me wrong
I need to justify the reasons for the way I’m living
I guess I can’t cause I don’t feel like I deserve”
- “Change”
“But if you had told me when I was much younger
That life has a way of pulling you right under
I wouldn’t be standing here preaching my hate
Stand at the edge staring into my fate”
- “See Thru”
“A piece of glass
In the sand under your feet
It cuts you deep
And makes you hate the beauty that you see
And you wonder where you are
How you ever got so far
Now you question what went wrong
It’s your heart”
- “Raining Again”
“The pictures left with me won’t fade
These images affect me every day
Cause of you I feel I don’t deserve
The life I see in her”
- “Raw”
“Should I be afraid of the voice that I see?
In the mirror staring back at me
So cold we’re the days when I listened to you
And you say that I’m weak so show me the proof
Because I still exist in spite on you
But I won’t compete with you every day”
- “Schizophrenic Conversations”
“Late at night I can hear your voices
Talking shit about all my choices
You would think that you’ve known me forever
Just because you know my name”
- “Crawl”
“Yesterday
A boy and already afraid
Locked deep inside
My place to hide
To hide from how you make me feel
And I wonder
How’s your brother?
Did he end up fucked up like me?
Lost in himself?
Crying for help?
It’s safe to say”
- “Yesterday”
“I always fail to see
The little things in front of me
The things that mean so much to you
A way to let you know
That I appreciate
The way you always tolerate
But sometimes when I medicate
Frustrations in you
Shows me how you feel”
- “Devil”
“All the demons in my head won’t leave me
I know, I can hear them
All the sacrifices made for nothing
Don’t show, can’t believe in
Wanna show you that I’m good for something
I can, you won’t let me
All your artificial words won’t heal me
Because you can’t accept me”
- “ A Flat”
“So there’s the corner that I sat on
The road I walked home in the rain
And there’s the star I used to wish on
It all just seems like yesterday”
- “The Corner”
“I’ll meet you at the bottom
The waves can’t wash away all the scars you bare
See you at the bottom
Just hold on to the things that keep you there”
- “The Bottom”
“Yeah, like the day that your guardian angel decided to fly away
Yeah, like a bruise that doesn’t fade
Yeah, like a memory that tortures your soul until your dying day
Yeah, like the life you couldn’t save”
- “Failing”
“I wish that I could disappear
Unzip my skin and leave it here
So I could be no one again
I’d never let nobody
I’d let nodboy
I’d let nobody in”
- “Blow Away”
“But everything that I could say to you
Won’t help you
Everything you need is right in front of you
Just take it
Try to make it through the daily pain
That you feel
Maybe tomorrow won’t be so bad
I know it”
- “Take It”
“I’ve learned
That this life’s not just a game
Just a line
Between the pleasures and the pain”
- “Fray”
“Everyone plays the hand they’re dealt
And learns to walk through life itself
Not everything in life is handed on a plate
When people think your words are true
It doesn’t matter what you do
I sold my soul to get here
How about you?”
- “How About You”
“What’s happened to you?
It’s obvious you’ve changed
Something deep inside you
Is probably to blame
Must be lonely up there
With your head all in the clouds
Even though you got there
What does your conscience tell you now?”
- “Falling Down”
“The truth is that I’m not so good
At showing how I feel
Or keeping my mouth shut
When there’s something to conceal
Or knowing how to love
Love’s not in my memory
How can I rise above
All my insecurities?”
- “Run Away”
“You
You understand my pain
From this I gather strength
In that we are the same”
- “Reply”
“Thank you to the people in my life
For putting up with me
Thank you for the time you sacrificed
All on account of me
For all the times I didn’t say”
- “Intro”
“I hate myself for you
I break myself for you
I’d kill myself for you
I better save myself from you
Every time you want me to be
Something you could never be
You’ll just have to wait and see
Til the next time that you have to come again”
- “Come Again”
“You before me
I can’t take any more
Of what you have to offer
My ears are sore
Leave my feelings
In a heap by the door
Can’t go up any further
Come crashing back down”
- “Question?”
I do not own or claim ownership of any lyrics posted here
#staind#Aaron Lewis#Mike Mushok#John Wysocki#Johnny April#Sal Giancarelli#Sunday Songday#numetal#hard rock#post grunge#alternative metal#Tormented#Dysfunction#Break the Cycle#14 Shades of Gray#Chapter V#The Illusion of Progress#Confessions of the Fallen#lyrics#Spotify
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Prompt: Instead of shattering Dad Nie's saber to kill his pride, he shatters Baxia - and thus Nie Mingjue. What better way to punish a man who dared to think anything of his could rival Wen Ruohan? Only, Nie Mingjue survives... and Baxia does too. Of course, sharing Nie Mingjue's body, neither of them is quite the same...
Curse-breaker (Chapter 1/4)
- ao3 -
"I see," Wen Ruohan said, his teeth slightly gritted, his irritation plain and obvious for all to see. "Indeed, I must concede that Sect Leader Nie's saber is finer than the one I own; it is undeniable. Lao Nie, your saber."
He offered it back, plainclothes-wrapped hilt first.
"You do my sect honor," Sect Leader Nie said with a wide grin, accepting the saber. "Our sabers are indeed the finest – and more than that, they get better with each generation. To tell you the truth, my friend: this one isn't mine, but my son's!"
He revealed the hilt, not anything like his own, and laughed, delighted by the joke he had played.
Wen Ruohan’s face contorted, growing pale in what everyone assumed was rage.
It was only later that Lao Nie, at least, recognized that it had been horror.
-
Nie Mingjue was screaming, and had not stopped screaming.
His throat was rent all to pieces, his fingers bloody from clawing at his own flesh, his eyes rolling around in his head as if by some inescapable fit -
"It's a qi deviation," one of the elders said. "Induced by the breaking of his saber. We should take him to the tombs."
"Fuck off," Lao Nie told them, as if saying the words would deny the truth. "He's too young!"
He put himself between them and his son.
"You shouldn't have let him take up the saber so young," the elder persisted, as if it had been Nie Mingjue’s fault that his son’s saber had been shattered by a man a century older than him, and all because of a dispute that had nothing to do with him. "You shouldn't have shown it to others, left it unguarded -"
"Do you think I don't know that?!" Lao Nie roared, abruptly pushed beyond his limits. "Do you think that I don't already regret...!"
He regretted. Oh, how he regretted!
He had not regretted a single thing in his life since the day his father had told him that he would one day die, and how. Even back then, he had swallowed down the regret without choking on it: he had accepted it, understood it, and resolved to live the life he had left to him to the utmost. What good, he had reasoned, would regret do? Would it win him a single additional day of life? Would it wring out a single ounce of additional joy from the days he did have?
There was no point in regret.
Whether that was the right decision or not, he didn’t know, but it was the one he made, and he stuck with it.
His whole life, Lao Nie had been reckless and carefree even by the already low standards of his family. He was always indulging in familiar pleasures and searching for new experiences, doing whatever he could to excite a palate already starting to grow jaded. He broke hearts as easily as he won them, and had what even he admitted was the worst taste in partners imaginable, attracted as he was to danger and death as if to an old and much-beloved friend. He laughed at the idea of risk or consequences, taking care only for his sect, which he loved; everything else was negotiable, or so he'd thought. He'd scared the wits out of most of his family time and time again, and - perhaps as recompense - had grown his first grey hair dozens of years too early. To this day, he still didn't know whether the reason everyone called him Lao Nie so often that even he thought of himself that way was because they were genuinely fond of him, because of the premature black-and-white mix of his hair, or perhaps just as some unspoken prayer that he finally get over himself and grow up.
If it was the last, it hadn’t worked. Even as he’d gotten older, he hadn’t changed one bit.
The only thing that had changed was that he’d finally found something he loved more than his sect.
He loved his children.
He loved his children, whether the righteous and too-serious Mingjue with his secret penchant for tears or the flippant and carefree Huaisang who was lazier than a slug in the sun. He loved them and he, unlike his father before him, did not burden them over-early with knowledge that would only be an itch under their skin that slowly drove them mad.
He loved them.
And now one of them was dying – because of him.
"You should take him to the tombs," the elder said, and ignored the crash of the chair Lao Nie threw at their head. "You let him become a man of our sect, Lao Nie. Do him the honor of letting him die as one.”
“You…!”
“Or do you think you are being kind, leaving him like this?"
Lao Nie looked down at his son, his Mingjue, the baby he’d held in his arms and the toddler he’d taught to walk and the child he’d chased and the teenager he’d taught the saber. His boy, who was thrashing wildly on the bed, spitting up foam along with blood and weeping uncontrollably.
"A-die," Nie Mingjue whimpered, just as he had when he'd been younger and caught in the throes of fever or breaking a bone through his own misadventures. Tears streamed endlessly down his eyes, his brave little boy who was not-so-secretly a bit of a crybaby. "A-die, a-die, it hurts..."
Lao Nie closed his eyes in pain.
He regretted.
But it was too late now to regret.
"We'll take him to the tombs," he finally conceded, and for the first time in his life he truly felt old. "Just let me say goodbye."
-
If you go to the tombs, you will not come out.
Nie Mingjue might only be a child, thirteen or fourteen years old – he couldn’t remember clearly any longer which it was – but he had been a good student before that, reading faithfully through his sect’s histories and listening to his teachers. He knew enough to read between the lines, to reckon the subtle indications and the not-so-subtle hints: he knew, even before he’d been officially told, what it was that he faced down at the end of the road that his ancestors had built for him to walk.
The early death – the painful death – the silent tombs –
There had been so many whispers when he’d taken up his Baxia too early. How could he not know?
His father hadn’t wanted him to know, though. So he hadn’t said anything, and pretended he didn’t.
(Huaisang could be ignorant for real, he’d thought to himself. It’d be okay if he didn’t know.)
If you go to the tombs, you will not come out. You cannot go to the tombs!
Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.
He no longer screamed, even though the spiritual energy that had once felt rich and nourishing and strong now felt like corrosive acid scouring his veins, burning him from the inside out – it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, wasn’t still compelled too; it was only that he had screamed too much, wearing out his voice down to nothingness from overuse.
If I go to the tombs, I will not come out, he thought, dimly aware that something wasn’t right. Thinking was hard, and grew ever harder: the qi deviation, for that was what it was, was worsening, not getting better.
Would not ever get better.
His Baxia, his loyal saber filled to the brim with resentful energy, had shattered. Shattered, and now all that resentful energy that she had collected for herself had flooded back into him, drowning his brain in rage and madness.
Flooding him with – Baxia.
I cannot go to the tombs.
You cannot go to the tombs, Baxia agreed – at least, he thought it was Baxia. It might be himself: he could no longer tell the difference.
She’d shattered, and he’d shattered, too. His mind and his body and his meridians and his golden core: everything was in pieces. His spiritual energy was running the wrong way, twisting him up inside, hurting instead of helping – the rage and resentful energy wasn’t going into Baxia but coming back into him, and it was poison.
There was no fixing it. His ancestors had tried everything they could: brought in the finest physicians with their needles and their clever ideas, sought out mysterious techniques and strange geniuses that played games even with their golden cores, even tried out demonic cultivation to see if it would help – with their lives and their children’s lives at stake, was there anything they wouldn’t do?
As if it would be that easy.
As if the road to death taken time and time again over the generations could be so easily evaded.
Nie Mingjue was a Nie. He had had a qi deviation. He was going to die.
But he was young, too.
Too young.
They all said that’d he formed his core at an extraordinary young age, and he had, too, verifiable evidence of his unusual genius for cultivating – only a golden core formed too early wasn’t quite the same as one done in the usual way at the usual time. It’d formed all right, all the spiritual liquid flowing through his meridians condensing into a shining solid sphere in his dantian, but it was still a little gummy in comparison to the normal ones. It had to be. He’d formed the core before he’d reached adolescence, without any of the necessary hormones running through his body; if his golden core was as fully solid as most adults, he’d be stuck at the age and size he was at when the core was first formed.
Normally, all this meant was that his foundation would be a little unstable for the first few years, just until he got old enough, and only when he was finally at his proper age would it truly settle into place along with his body, growing firm and solid and far more powerful than all the rest.
But he’d never gotten the chance to grow that old.
Nie Mingjue’s core had cracked when his saber that had been fundamentally tied to it had shattered, but unlike the steel of the saber it was still more fluid than solid. Even as the corrosive resentful energy burned him, even as the spiritual energy rioted within him, his old instincts were still there, that subconscious genius for cultivating already at work, trying to force the spiritual energy to run through him, trying to put those broken pieces back together. For any normal Nie, the greater his talent, the faster he’d be driven mad, but for Nie Mingjue, those gummy pieces of his core, sticky and still fluid, were instead being soldered together using spiritual energy and resentful energy both, and unlike the stiff and brittle solidity of the golden core of adulthood, they were still flexible enough to stick together – to coalesce into a whole once more.
Only –
Nie Mingjue opened his eyes.
He’d already opened them once, and now he opened them again. The world as he had always recognized it, he saw through his left eye – but through his right, there was a whole new world.
It was a world of black and white, of good and evil, a world of kinetic movement, of steel and rage incarnate…the world through the perception of a saber spirit. A saber spirit who had shattered when her steel was shattered, shattered when her master’s core was shattered, and whose pieces were even now integrating interchangeably with her master’s pieces into a single indissoluble whole.
If we go to the tombs, they thought, and now that was it, that was right, we will not come out.
Well, that was simple enough to fix.
They just wouldn’t go to the tombs.
-
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Nie Huaisang’s father hissed. “He can’t be – he wasn’t in any state – he couldn’t have just gotten up and run away – no, stop, let’s go. I don’t want Huaisang hearing.”
Nie Huaisang hated it when his father remembered to be discreet around him.
His da-ge was never discreet, he thought, pouting. If anything, that was something his father often complained about, even if he would be chuckling all the while: that Nie Mingjue had all the tact of a lady boar in full charge, riled up in defense of her children, and with about as much care for anything that did not meet his stringent expectations of justice and fairness – which was rather a lot.
Where was his da-ge, anyway? Nie Huaisang hadn’t seen him in days, not since he went out on that night hunt with their father. He’d asked his nurse about it, because it was unusual for his brother not to come play with him once he’d returned, and she’d said that he’d gotten sick and couldn’t come to see him just yet. But surely it was long enough that he’d be better already!
Nothing could keep his big brother down for long.
Decided, Nie Huaisang hopped up and headed outside, planning to go find his brother. His brother would explain what was going on, simplifying things down until even a little kid like him could get it, and he wouldn’t make Nie Huaisang feel stupid for needing that simplification.
His brother thought Nie Huaisang was smart.
Nie Huaisang walked along the railing next to his window, teetering back and forth with his hands outstretched for balance – his brother had showed him this pathway long ago, telling him that he could use it when he wanted to sneak out go play or look at birds, or even just come to find him whenever he had nightmares.
His brother wasn’t in his rooms, though.
Nie Huaisang sighed. Maybe he was in the study, or the training field, or something like that, but if Nie Huaisang tried to go there, he’d be dragged into lessons or training as well, and he didn’t want that.
He decided to go look at birds instead.
His brother had come up with a secret path to the outside that only they knew, the two of them, one that led them all the way out into the forest where the really interesting birds were. It was close enough to home that it was still safe, still within the bounds of the Unclean Realm’s protective arrays, but far enough to feel unburdened by the presence of their elders.
Nie Huaisang went to look at birds, but it wasn’t birds he found.
“…who’s there?” he asked, seeing movement in the bushes – something too large to be a bird, too small to be a bear, too two-legged to be a boar or a dog. Whoever it was, they were breathing hard, as if they’d run too far, interspersed with little whines of pain, like they were hurt. “Who are…”
The figure in the bush moved forward.
“…da-ge?”
Nie Huaisang’s big brother didn’t look right. He was crouched down, carrying his body low as if he were trying to support himself and protect his middle at the same time, his fingers digging into the ground for balance – his lips were peeled back from his teeth in something caught between a grimace and a growl. His left eye was normal, but his right was horribly red, shot through with pulsing veins that seemed to bleed into the iris, the color of which had faded from warm golden brown to something more like a slate or steel grey.
He sounded like he was in pain.
His brother was in pain.
Nie Huaisang took a step towards him, deeply concerned, and Nie Mingjue backed away.
“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang whispered, terrified. “Da-ge, it’s me, it’s Huaisang – I won’t hurt you!”
Nie Mingjue whined, a sound deep in the back of his throat, but this time, when Nie Huaisang stepped forward, he didn’t run. He waited until Nie Huaisang was close before darting forward and nuzzling Nie Huaisang’s hand with his cheek, ducking his head down and letting him touch his hair as if he were a dog.
His brother wasn’t just sick, Nie Huaisang realized. He was reallysick.
“What happened?” he asked, and his brother just looked sad. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
His brother nodded. A short jerking motion, barely recognizable, and yet – a nod.
“…do you have to?”
Another nod.
Nie Huaisang’s lip quivered. “Will you be all right?”
His brother nuzzled his palm again. It wasn’t an answer.
Nie Huaisang took a deep breath. “I won’t tell anyone.”
His brother seemed almost to smile.
And then he was gone.
Walking all the way back inside before bursting into tears was the hardest thing Nie Huaisang had ever done in his life, but the worst part was knowing that this was only the beginning.
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you’ve got more poison than sugar - part iii
part i part ii AO3
Fandom: Call Of Duty
Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell
Words: 6.572
Warnings: here’s where the smut tag comes into play, boy with a copious amount of power play and yeah, it’s messy af
Author’s note: after three months, a couple of brainstorming in the bathtub, delays, revisions and self-doubt, chapter 3 is finally done. i hope you'll enjoy it. also, i don't think i have to warn you what will go down in this chapter.
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Fast forward to twenty-four hours since he discovers that Bell is fucking someone, Lazar drops about half a dozen of dusty manilas on his desk. Adler’s eyes sweep over them. He recognizes Bell’s handwriting etched across the memo attached to one of the folders right away.
He picks it up. It’s becoming second nature to him lately; drawing himself to her, an ineradicable magnetic force pulling his end of the pole.
A muscle on his jaw twitches.
For a moment, Adler despises her. He allows himself to really despise her. She’s started something in his head- a war; an intangible, unmanageable riot and if he lets her, she’ll rearrange him until he’s insane.
And he can’t let that happen. He’s the one holding the leash here, not vice versa.
“This is what we have on Dragovich’s activities in Yamantau,” Lazar informs him, pulling him back down to earth.
Adler stands, keeping his face easy, neutral. “Is this everything?”
“So far, yeah. Bell says she’ll let us know if she digs up something more from the archives though.”
Bell- the Bell in question- can be heard sighing, like she turns the corner and finds herself at a cul-de-sac; hunching over her desk, reading, her fingers keep buttoning and unbuttoning the top of her shirt, madly distracting (him).
She remains in her seat, for pretty much the remainder of the day. Eyes glued to the pages before her, factory-like dedication. She hardly looks up when Sims borrows her pen or when Park stands over her, sipping her coffee, inquiring about her progress behind a plume of smoke.
The only- truly time Bell ever lifts her head from her work is when Mason approaches her desk. She gazes up at him, notes forgotten, a kittenish smile etched across her face, come-hither eyes that could have time hung in motion, or held at ransom, perhaps. Mason’s own smile is full-blown, too wide, too genial, as he stalks closer and closer to her table, her whirlpool.
Adler does a double-take, like his eyeballs only functioning for the first time. He might as well be hallucinating it because no... this can’t be right, can it?
But then Mason is touching her hand, a blink-and-you-miss-it movement that was not lost on Adler and oh, she’s looking at him hopefully now.
The knots in Adler's stomach are vertiginous. Realization rings in his head like a gunshot, nearly leaving him in a daze. There’s no denying it. Not when the exchange unfurls before his eyes like a broken, warped film reel and there’s nothing to stop him from seeing it.
The thought of her and him haunts the rest of his waking hours, until there’s absolutely no telling how far he’s fallen into his own pit.
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( Alex Mason fucked her that night.
Mason was in her bed; beside her, above her, under her. Inside her. He imagines her fingers digging into the mattress as Mason rolled her onto her stomach, mouth trailing down the ladder of her spine. Their breaths intermingled in the seraphic glow of her hotel room.
Alex Mason fucked her. It shouldn't leave an acrid taste in his mouth, but it does.)
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She haphazardly reaches for the mug and takes a hearty gulp of its content. It’s not hers.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Bell says, mortified and places the mug down noisily on the desk. “I’m sorry, I thought it was mine.”
The rim of his mug is now stained with her lipstick. Adler bites down on a careful retort.
He thinks he knows now. Why he lets it happen, why he thinks of her in metaphors, why she gives him that vertigo. The answer is at the tip of his tongue- he can almost taste it, like spoiled milk or rancid gardenia. But it’s much easier to ignore it until the words grow diminuendo and disappear, that he thinks he imagined it all along.
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You can’t obsess without turning around and getting lost in the middle.
Or losing a part of yourself in the process.
The idea of obsession, to obsess, perhaps is a far riskier thing for a person to have than playing the knife game, blindfolded with absolutely no telling where to start.
Yet we all do it, despite knowing the very dark flipside it possesses.
Perhaps it’s the very nature of humans, tucked deep within the pigeonhole of our minds, suffused by the very promise of bogus achievements that usually leads most of us insane, thinking that obsession is essential to living. But without it, artists are corporate slaves, slack-jawed know-it-alls moving stiffly in the middle of the hullabaloo that is our world; Paris would be just as unrecognizable today without Napoleon’s artistic legacy.
Obsession is good.
Obsession is dangerous.
The very dichotomy should have us all warded off of it.
Yet, again, we all do it. Again, and again, and again until it taints our veins. And it’s always far too late until you realize, that yes, now all you see is her, the air has been poisoned by her perfume, that her name is now forevermore engraved in your skin, like an overgild tattoo.
That you end up in downtown Berlin, out of sight, out of mind.
He finds them there, in a shoebox-sized cafe. Ill-lit, low-ceiling, coffee-stained floor that shows the wear of three decades worth of boots, pantoffels and high heels and Adler is sitting in his car, nursing a beer with but one all-consuming, perplexing thought:
Bell and Mason.
Someone told him they arrived together, about an hour ago. The cafe has become their usual haunts, his source said, ever since they’ve returned from Ukraine and Adler just can’t wrap his head around this- them. In his head, they’re wholly different entities. Two proper nouns separated by a conjunction, or a comma if mentioned in a list.
They’re the kind of opposites that he thought don’t attract, yet here they are.
Perhaps it's inevitable, both are products of brainwashing. Maybe they sensed one another, speaking in code, like detecting an RF signal from a nuclear bunker.
Then the doors to the cafe swing open. They step outside, cheeks flushed, his arm wrapped around her waist, her lips glueing on the slope of his neck. Shaded eyes watch them from the opposite street, his disgust obvious.
Now, Adler wonders how this all began. Someone must have made the first move.
He wonders if it was her.
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"You wanted to see me?"
Adler looks up from his desk and nods. "Lock the door behind you."
And Alex Mason, the root of all this trouble, obeys. Looking somewhat uncertain under the scrutiny of the harsh lights, and shuts the blinds. Unlike Woods, he takes a seat at the chair Adler sets up before the desk.
"What is it?" Mason asks, after a long, almost unending silence. His curiosity seeps through the room.
There is very little control when the first domino falls. Oftentimes, once it starts, it’s like crossing the Rubico n and the next thing you know, you are lying flat on the ground in some theater, 23 fresh stab wounds decorating your body and the beat of your pulse seems dim and distant, everything feels cold except your blood; warm, bright and thick like gasoline, crawling into every space until it goes into your throat and strangles you, kills you. Fini, kaput.
But then again, he's not Caesar and this isn't Rome.
Adler pushes the first tile.
"How long has this been going on?" he asks without fanfare, tight and composed as ever. Never mind the way his eyes ignite like cold blue fire behind his glasses.
"How long has what been going on?"
“You and Bell." And Mason blinks at him in surprise. Bingo. "I saw the two of you leaving for her hotel from a cafe in Downtown Berlin last night. So don't bother skirting your way around this.” Adler leans forward across his desk. He’s a man on a mission- there’s no stopping him now.
“Now, let me rephrase the question, how long have you been fucking her?"
"Hold on, hold on, you were stalking us?" Mason asks, waspish.
Adler winces inwardly. "I was keeping an eye out for my asset.”
“Asset?” Mason hisses, like Adler just blasphemed. “Jesus Christ, Russ, is that all she ever is to you? An asset? She’s your protégé, for god’s sake- a person! What is wrong with you?"
"Plenty. Or apparently, so I've been told.”
"I don't find you amusing.”
“I'm hardly ever,” Adler parries. Mason remains silent, yet the tilt of his lips translate exactly what words can't. "And you haven't answered my question."
“Bullshit. I don’t owe you anything."
"Listen, Al-"
"No, you listen to me. You may be calling the shots around here, but this has absolutely nothing to do with you. Whatever- or whoever - we're doing in our spare time is none of your business, do you understand? So you can just drop it," Mason seethes, bitter, and, much to Adler’s surprise, rises to leave. “We’re done here.”
"That's where you're wrong."
Mason has only managed to put a few paces between them before he turns around, once again stepping inside this metaphorical boxing ring.
"What?"
"This has everything to do with me," Adler says coolly. "You said it yourself, I'm the one who calls the shots here. Meaning, anything that could potentially fuck up my operation is my concern and I have the right to intervene should it needed. This, being a case in point."
Mason looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What the hell does fucking her have to do with this whole operation?”
“Everything.” He says it like quiet resignation. It’s time to acknowledge the truth, he thinks, to that unusual idea that has been swirling in the deep recesses of his mind, that everyone’s weakness is varied.
Achilles had his heel, and Adler has her.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to, Al. You don't even know her."
Mason gives him a level stare. "And you do?"
Adler is so hard-pressed to say 'I made her' but even he wouldn't stoop that low.
"That is beside the point,” Adler tells him instead as he turns to his vice- one of them, at least- and lights it.
“There is literally no point to this conversation.”
“The point is, stay the hell away from Bell. I'm saying this for your own good."
"My own good or yours?"
Adler does not flinch, but his hand does ball into a fist under the table, how the fingers curl and then flex.
"Don't be ridiculous. I gain nothing from this except assurance." It's a lie, it's the truth. There's no in between. He doesn’t know which is which anymore. "You, on the other hand, I'm sure the old ball and chain wouldn't be near as thrilled about hearing this if word ever gets out."
Mason is quiet for a beat.
"Is that a threat?"
"Only once I pulled the pin," Adler replies, a dangerous undercurrent in his voice.
But the thing with Mason, he'll come to realize later, is how much, like with Bell, weaving through his mind is like trying to grasp for purchase in the dark as he, once again, does the unpredicted and smile- a venomous grin warps his face, like he’s mocking him, challenging him to move his piece on the board and make this mistake.
Adler stares back, surprised despite himself.
He shocks him further by saying, "Go ahead, then. Pull the pin, throw the grenade, tell her. See if she cares."
Adler’s eyes narrow at his askance. He then drags his attention to Mason’s left hand, and something grave and familiar rises in his chest.
The absence of the metal band around his ring finger tells him why.
“You know where to reach her. If anything, I’m sure she’d trust your words better than anyone else’s. So please, do it.” And Mason’s so goddamn sanctimonious about it. He’s clearly expecting this particular reaction out of Adler. It only leaves Adler angrier.
Another long pause stretches, heavy and unkind.
"Fine. Maybe she won't mind, but I'm sure the Agency wouldn’t be as tolerant.” Adler takes one last drag of his cigarette. He has that ‘Having nothing, nothing can he lose’ look on his face that makes Mason frowns. “Not when you’ve been fraternizing with the enemy.”
"What?”
"Bell. She’s not who you think she is, Al. Tell me, who do you think is the sorry bastard we saved in Trabzon?”
Mason blinks. His face is blank with shock, then he shakes his head. And he keeps shaking it, almost manic. If he laughs, which one would come first, he wonders, the gun or his fist pummeling the side of his face?
“You’re lying.”
“And why would I lie to you about this?”
"No, no, no, Woods- he told me the guy’s dead,” Mason says, his words are shaky.
“He’s not. And he wasn’t a he."
A crease forms between Mason's eyebrows, the starting of another frown.
“Hold on, if she’s helping us get Perseus then why is she the enemy?”
"Because she doesn't know that."
"Doesn't know what?"
"That she's the enemy."
Mason holds his gaze for a moment, his expression tense, like a slingshot.
And that cold elastic band finally snaps.
“What did you do to her?” He’s openly glaring at him now, mouth tight, an icy fury that is no longer dormant and for the first time since Adler has known him, he finds the man dangerous.
Adler takes a steadying breath. “We did what had to be done.”
"You sick son of a bitch. You brainwa- You-” Mason clamps his mouth shut, trembling hands finding his head. “Shit. How could you?"
Adler ignores his colorful outburst.
“She resisted every form of interrogations we threw at her, Al. We had no choice but to implement MK-Ultra as a last resort. We needed what’s in her head.” Mason is silent in reply. Adler continues, “Look, it’s nasty business, I know, but some of us have to cross a line just to make sure that line's still there in the morning. And as much as I hate agreeing with Hudson, he’s right. We need to preserve our way of life.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to play God,” his voice is resentful and crisp. “Do you have any idea what you are doing? You could jeopardize everything, and for what? You’ve seen what this- this experiment did to me, this won’t end the way you think!”
“Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”
"You’re really willing to gamble on that?”
Adler scowls. “I don’t gamble, Mason. I calculate. And if by some chance I was given a second chance, I’d do it all over again. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Mason doesn’t say anything at first, his loaded gun stare never falters. Then, “The flag may be different, but the methods are the same.”
"What was that?”
“Someone warned me, a long time ago, about how people like you will use people like me or Bell as pawns in your own game. You’d do whatever it takes to get what you want- and my, how you get results, don’t you? But you’re actually no different than the rest of the assholes you're fighting against,” Mason tells him, like he’s spitting out acid in Adler’s face.
“Bell may be the enemy- heck, she could be the architect behind all the chaos Perseus has done, but what you’re doing to her is vile and unethical. There are many ways to make her spill the beans, yet you chose the most immoral method there is out there. I sincerely hope you rot in hell for this."
Before Adler could formulate a response to his tirade, Mason stands to his feet.
“You want me to stay away from her? Fine. Consider this as my formal resignation. After Yamatau, I’m done. I’m out of the team. And if you know what’s good for you, you stay the fuck away from me because I don't ever want to see your face again, do you hear me?” he snarls. “If you think Woods is dangerous, Adler, just remember I nearly could have killed my own president."
Then Mason turns on his heel and walks out of the room, once and for all.
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The fist is very much expected, and so does the pain that follows.
"You're out of your fucking depth, shithead," Woods spits, venom lacing his words.
Adler doesn't even bother to retaliate.
He doesn’t see the point. He didn’t think it would get this far.
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The garage grows quiet and stodgy with now Mason and Woods are out of the picture. Everyone settles back into their own normal rhythm, the same routine before both men set their feet here almost a week ago.
Hudson doesn’t take the news of their departure kindly, naturally. He stands in Adler’s office, pacing, fuming. Adler ignores him, trying to nurse the skull-splitting migraine he's having at his desk instead. The nasty black eye hidden underneath his glasses. A secret locked, the key thrown away.
His headache, thankfully, has subsided when Sims takes a seat on the other side of the desk, hours later after Hudson left.
"I'm not trying to cause an alarm here, but you'd better watch your back."
Adler's brows furrow but doesn’t look up from the papers before him. "And why's that?"
"'Cause I think you just pissed off the wrong beast," Sims tells him. Adler pauses, then lifts his head to look at his cohort. There's genuine worry flashing over his face.
“Are you talking about Bell?”
“Who else?”
If she's a beast, then what am I? What he wants to ask, but there's a knock at the door and he swallows the words down his throat.
"Come in," Adler says, pretending to be reading again.
The door opens and Bell, fucking Bell, enters his office. It's like watching a tiger pass by your hiding spot in near dark. Neither he nor Sims breathes a word.
Bell's gaze immediately swings to him, like a cosmic pull. She's watching him as she wanders over to the desk and the weight of her stare burns him like Greek fire.
He pushes the documents close, all the while returning her stare. He is never the one who backs out of a challenge, and at this point, he knows that she probably knows that. Maybe that’s why she initiated it in the first place.
"Bell, what is it?" Adler asks firmly, in possession of his full power in this place.
Bell produces three diskettes from her pocket. Something odd definitely shining in her eyes.
"These have been lying on Lazar's desk for hours, but he's busy, so I thought I'd deliver them to you myself," Bell says. And he's trying to work out on her angle but she is unreadable. As always.
Adler nods, frustrated and indignant. "You can leave them here. Thank you."
It is only once the woman leaves that the two agents share a dark, significant look. That was too close.
And it goes without saying, something needs to be done about this.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
March 7th. A's insistence on raising the dosage is illogical. Recent behavioural analysis indicates depression. Will monitor for the next few days. Considering lowering the dosage instead.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The elevator reeks of smoke, cheap Soviet air freshener and something far more poisonous than the devil’s spider, silky hands.
It embodies the woman standing next to him right now- this special animal, emotionless, a constant mystery wrapped with a warning sign.
Adler is tempted to shut his eyes.
Or get out of here. He doesn’t dwell well in this atmosphere, this limited space shared with her alone. He probably should have listened to Hudson about taking Bell for this mission, but she’s the only one he trusts who won’t fuck this up. Not to mention her spotless Russian has proven to help them blend in with the crowd seamlessly.
He needs her, whether he would admit it aloud or not.
But she puts his head in such a spin.
She’s been near-mute since they departed from Germany. She barely acknowledges his questions and orders, barely looks at him. She’s been treating him as if he’s another shadow on the wall.
He rubs the side of his jaw. Something does need to be done about this.
“Are you going to stay quiet forever?” Adler asks. He’s bad at this, but he can’t stand her silence for much longer. Not to mention, they’re at the Lubysnka- the fucking lion's den. If she wants to wallow over Mason’s absence or sinks into whatever melancholic feeling she’s in, she can do it later.
Bell hums, her mouth curls up like serpentine. Adler sketches a confused frown. And she says, “I don’t know. Should I?”
And then, sudden and swift, Bell undoes the cuffs of her uniform. Beady eyes never leave his.
The sight catches him off guard. Somewhere in his mind, he curses something like ‘you’re a beast’ and ‘what the hell are you?’ at her, all in negative connotations. The effects she inflicts on him is maddening.
“What are you doing?” Adler doesn’t bother to hide his surprise.
Bell shrugs and gestures to the duffle bag at their feet. “Gearing up.”
Oh. Embarrassment wells up in him. Fucking hell, this woman will be the death of him.
Her fingers quickly move on to the buttons, still indifferent, nearly tearing them from the seams. The first glimpse of her skin and Adler can’t help but give in, openly stares at her in a way he has never imagined before. Her clavicles like daggers glinting in the lamplight.
Curiosity is a dangerous and heavy load.
He should have closed his eyes.
“Enjoying the show?” Her voice pulls him back from his musings. Her eyes still zero in on him, cutting him to pieces.
Her cleavage comes into view.
The lines on Adler’s face grow taut.
“What do you want, Bell?” He asks, intending for a bark but it ends somewhere like a plea.
“I want many things. As of right now, I want Alex’s cock inside me.” And Adler nearly chokes on his own breath. Bell, eagle-eyed as ever, caught the movement. “But it seems someone insists on being in control of everything, isn’t he?” she snaps.
Adler’s back goes rigid. Trepidation bubbles up in his chest.
Of course, she knows.
“It's not about control.” Adler turns around. He doesn’t quite know what he’s avoiding at this point, her flesh or the truth. “It’s about what’s right.”
He hears her uniform touches her floor as she laughs, mirthless, like broken chandeliers. “I didn’t know whose cock I’m riding is any concern of yours.”
“It is when he’s a member of the team,” he seethes. “What you’re doing with Alex will only lead to complications. And I can’t have tha-”
“Because this is all about you, isn’t it? It’s about upholding your precious reputation in the Agency, controlling the narrative the way you want it no matter how many characters you kill off in the process. It’s always about what you want.” Bell interrupts, not missing a beat. “You selfish motherfucker.”
"This has nothing to do with my reputation in the CIA."
She scoffs. "Spare me the crap, Adler."
Adler turns to fully face her again and holds his arms open, the way someone is facing the firing squad. “Fine. Fine, yes, I’m a selfish motherfucker. I did it because I thought it could ruin the operation. Is that what you wanted to hear? Now, what are you going to do about it?”
She says nothing at first. He silently catalogues her movements as she steps towards him now, half-naked and furious. He feels pinned.
Then, “What do you want me to do about it?”
His mouth dries at the implication. She is temptation, benediction, the coarse ice block before the carver.
How terrible it is to lose control, even just once.
A knowing, vicious smirk flashes over her face. Adler feels like he’s just shown his hand.
“You are one selfish bastard and a coward to boot, aren’t you?” Bell sneers before he has a chance to respond. “At least, Alex was brave enough to make the first move, but you…” her gaze raking up and down his figure coldly, a jeweller presented with second-grade imitations. Wind her up and this honey bee stings.
“You’ll always be the man who hides behind his shades,” she says, dry as dust, and steps back and snatches her clothes from the bag.
This is, without a single doubt, the longest elevator ride he’s ever experienced in his life.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Adler arrived back in Berlin breathing a little harder. Worry wrapped around his neck like a noose, placed by Bell herself; the judge, jury and executioner.
The knot tightens every time his mind refers to her.
The agency trained him, specifically, to keep calm under pressure. He didn’t coin the title “America’s Monster” from his colleagues for nothing. They don’t fear him because he’s hot-headed or thinks in large-scale violence— guns blazing, napalm-induced flames over the hill in the morning, bloodied knuckles and fractured jaw, blood-soaked soles tarnishing the white marble floor. Someone can point a fucking shotgun to his face and he’ll barely flinch. Only monsters remain impassive to direct threats of violence.
But there’s something about Bell that elicits this visceral, primal reaction out of him. Something strange and new; lightning about to be uncapped from its chains.
It chokes him, frightens him to the core.
How gauche is it, don’t you think, that his own mind is conspiring against him?
Now, in the garage, where it dawns on Adler that she’s probably the only person who can make him walk around the city, feeling like a fool, he decides he’s had enough.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“I’ll drive you back.”
Adler apprehends Bell outside the garage. He kind of assumed she’d have a pistol aimed at his head right now, but she spins around, hands shoved deep inside her pockets and clayey mouth curls in distaste.
“Get in the car, Bell,” Adler says tightly, almost adding please.
But he would not beg.
The brunette remains rooted in her place. For a moment, a calculating look crossed her face. Always, always that sharp mind of hers turning and he wonders where it would take her this time.
“Try asking nicely,” she demands.
Adler’s eyes flash. She really is testing him. But fine, he'll play her game.
“Bell, would you kindly get in the car?” He is all but snarls, teeth gritting. Bell hardly wavers- he wishes she would waver for a change.
She does what he asked of her, finally, the shadow of a smirk on her face mocking him. Adler follows suit, teeth still clenched together, and starts the car and drives away.
It's sort of like a deja-vu, he supposes; him and her in this very same car, except that stupid krautrock music is absent this time. Neither says anything for the first twenty minutes. Everything feels heavily still.
Until he realizes she’s probably waiting for his move.
This might gloriously blow up in his face, yes, he knows this. Especially remembering the last time he was alone in a tight space with her, it had cost him his pride.
And his mind.
But he’s been here before, in the eye of the storm. He was at his calmest here. He has his cards prepared now.
Adler inhales deeply.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he utters resolutely. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to. “I was out of line, I admit it. Your affair with Mason should be no concern of mine but I really am just trying to look out for you.”
It’s weak, he knows. The words feel more like an anchor than an actual apology in his tongue anyway, but Adler didn’t expect that Bell would give him nothing. Not even an acknowledging hum, a scathing retort, a scoff. Nothing.
A twinge of irritation brews in his stomach. Why does she insist on playing games?
The car comes to a stop. They’ve arrived. Adler wrests his hands from the steering wheel to say something harsh to her, but Bell is already stepping out of the car.
She stands on the sidewalk; an enigma in royal red, and her lethal, all-seeing eyes gravitate to him in the night.
There is a long paralyzing beat where they just stare at each other- which seems to be a running theme between them lately. Adler is fuming, as he is confused.
It feels like hours, centuries, eons, but, like all magic, the spell is broken. Courtesy of a stranger hailing a cab behind his car.
Bell turns and walks inside the building. She doesn’t bother sparing him the final glance or extend her appreciation for the ride back and Adler thinks to himself, this universe, god fucking damnit, nothing makes sense here.
But it is also in moments like this that the world spins, when he notices a singular, significant detail that makes his stomach roll, nearly throwing him off balance:
Bell left the passenger door open.
And he’s insane- he has to be, right? He’s looking too much into this. It doesn’t mean anything. His mind conjures an image, like a graphic guideline or something, step one: get out of the car, two: make your way around and close the passenger door, and third: zoom out of the neighborhood while your sanity is still intact, all in that order. Easy to comprehend, to follow.
Adler only does the first two steps. He’s ass-backwards doesn’t even bother to digest the third step.
He enters the hotel instead and takes in the surroundings. The lobby is pointedly bare, but warm and smoky. The concierge is reading behind the counter- a young, wiry boy with shocking bleached hair- with headphones on. It’s late, he probably doesn’t expect anyone to check in at this hour.
A movement by the staircase catches his interest. He sees Bell climbing up the steps slowly, leisurely. Adler makes his way there.
Halfway reaching her floor, Adler has the inkling that she knows that he’s following her. Also, because the next she does is glancing back at him over her shoulder. He waits for her to push him down the stairs or wrap those delicate hands around his neck. She does neither. She doesn’t want him gone.
Yet, his mind betrays him. Only because she doesn’t know what other atrocities he’s committed to her.
She stops by her door, opens it and goes in first. Adler, without waiting for a formal fucking invitation, slips in behind her.
Her room is much smaller than his. The TV is still on- a German dubbed of All the President’s Men is playing- a stack of books and meds lying haphazardly on the desk table.
The door clicks shut behind him. Bell wanders over to the table and turns off the TV. Her back to him.
She doesn’t bother turning the light switch on. The green neon of the hotel sign outside illuminates the room, bathes her in it, making her look even stranger and faraway.
He doesn’t take off his sunglasses.
“What do you want, Bell?” Adler is all but snarling. His anger comes in a bottle with a twist-off cap. “I’m fucking sick of playing your games. I apologized, I admitted I was wrong- I fucked up, but what more could you want?”
Jesus, and now he’s losing his temper over a brainwashed Russian who rarely talks. How did it come to this?
She tugs off her gloves. Once again, barely acknowledging him. Apparently, if ignoring him is an art form, she is the fucking Monet.
Until:
“Take them off.”
Adler blinks hard behind his glasses. Like he’s just stepped into a whole different earth.
His mouth moves.
“What?”
“Your sunglasses. Take them off.”
He stares at her back. Trying really, really hard to make sure he’s not hallucinating this, but then Bell turns around, a finger tapping against her arm, waiting.
Realization hits him like an uppercut in the face and nearly leaves him in a daze. He’s walked into a trap. That much is clear as day. She wants him to suffer as she does. An eye for an eye.
Adler holds no modicum of control in her domain, not unless she gives the reins. Once again, she plays the judge, jury and executioner at her own court.
But, like before, he’ll play her game.
There, the glasses are off. His eyes, bare, blue like fractured ice, meeting hers. In the dark, he feels her eyes shift to assess his bruise.
His heart booms against his ribs.
"Kneel,” she says glibly.
He obeys, again. His legs and hands don’t shake, but his mind is much less governable than his limbs. No, the CIA didn’t prepare a manual for situations like this and he doesn’t trust his instincts to help him dance his way around this.
Nor does he want to.
The thought fucks him up to a degree.
Adler should have known that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees, no, no. That would have been too easy, anyway. Although history has dictated and taught him that women are never to be underestimated, Adler hasn’t expected that one woman would be able to do the deed and succeed.
But then again, when that woman is Bell, he supposes anything is possible.
When Bell approaches him, he’s unable to take his gaze from her. Her eyes spangle with determination, an avenging soul in the neon lights. Her fingers work on the sash of her coat. The line of her mouth is flat and inscrutable. The air crackles with electricity and a promise of the unsayable, the unattainable.
She stands over him now, gloveless and coatless. She’s powerful like this and he can only crane his head up at her, ceding his fate in her hands, against his better judgement. She catches that.
Suddenly, something unpleasant breaks on her face, like when one’s smelling something foul or pungent.
Bell reaches down and grips his jaw painfully in one hand, her nails digging into his skin, and tilts his head sideways. Strange that his stomach leaps at that.
“Say you’re sorry,” she spits furiously. “And say it like you fucking mean it.”
He feels, suddenly, triumphant and chuckles darkly. Eight fucking long weeks and the beast finally shows her claws.
“Try asking nicely,” Adler parrots her words from before, not a beat missed. Two can play that game, he thinks. "Or are you above niceness, Bell?”
Her grip tightens.
"You’re one to talk,” Bell says. Then, rubs the pad of her thumb over his scarred cheek and it feels like forgiveness, or the beginning of it, at least.
His confusion spikes.
Her nose skims down his jawline.
A better, sensible man would apologize. He'd squander it until his tongue burns acid, he'd beg for her forgiveness like a man asking for repentance before his god.
“Why did you do it, Russell?” Bell whispers against his skin now, baleful and raspy. Her chest rising and falling too rapidly.
But he’s a sick bastard, a selfish motherfucker, a heartless monster. All he does is hurt the people around him. He doesn’t get to take from her, not after what he's done.
Still, Adler catches her wrist. Relishing the way her wrist bone grinds under his hold. He pulls his face back to look at her.
“You know why.”
Her eyes flick dangerously to his lips.
Desperation really can make the most vulgar things tolerable.
“Then prove it.”
So he does. As his hand reaches up to her neck, past the delicious column of her throat and with a precise swift, Adler grabs a fistful of her hair, the feminine gasp escaping her mouth is like a jolt to his groin, and kisses her.
Bell responds in kind. That little beast. She grasps his collar and drags him up to his feet, impatient with want. She laps at him, bites and sucks. His free hand snakes around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.
She pulls away, catching her breath, and his teeth skim down her jaw, her neck. He bites her there in retaliation, on the delicious junction of her neck and shoulder, into the fabric of her shirt, making his intentions clear. Bell chokes in surprise and scrapes her nails over his scalp.
It hurts. But with pain, along comes pleasure and it’s good. It’s so good, Adler melts with a shaky breath.
His gloves come off first. Next, she pulls him free off his jacket, his sweater and snakes a hand between his legs, stroking him. He bites off a strangled ‘fuck’ into her throat. He’s worked up real fast already. Adler manages to make a short work of her shirt, unclasping her bra before he’s all but pushes her onto the bed.
Adler settles above her, capturing her lips in another feverish, hot-blooded kiss. He tugs her zipper down and slips his hand inside her pants. Her cunt’s everything he’s come to expect: wet, warm and oh-so wrong. She sucks in a breath. Her hips move against his hand. His blood sings. She throws her head back against the pillow, while his finds her earlobe.
“Has this proven my point, Bell?” he asks. His answer starts on a moan and ends with a breathless ‘yes’.
He doesn’t let her come that easily. No, he wants to drag this out for as long as he can until it drives her mad. So, Adler peels the rest of her clothes away, pulls her shoulder and turns her onto her stomach. He pins her down, hard. She gasps loudly against the white pillowcase, her hand fists into the sheets.
Adler slots himself behind her. His hand tracing along her spine, followed by his mouth, just how he fantasized once upon a time. His other hand quickly undoes the snap of his pants. Everything has been poisoned by her and her only; she is in his tongue, his veins, his mind, his lungs. She takes the centrefold of his mind and it's ridiculous.
He presses himself against her ass. His mouth falls open. Her body trembles. She’s all sin and racing hearts and sweaty flesh. She’s perfect. His now free hand slides up to the nape of Bell’s neck, reaching her throat, pressing down. She makes this high-pitched, demanding noise as she moves her hips back against him, leaving him wanting, helpless at the thought of having her right here, right now, in the warm neon glow of her hotel room.
“Please,” Bell begs. He groans in response and he gives it to her. Fuck, he’d give her anything if she begs just exactly like that.
When Adler is finally inside her, he thinks his world drops dead. He sets a merciless pace. He is not a gentle man and there is nothing gentle in the supple arch of her back, a rose bent backwards in the wind, as he pants along her neck before he pulls out, twists her onto her back again and pushes deeper into her until she comes apart underneath him (he’s made sure she begs for it- please, Russell. Oh god, Russell)
(He didn’t have to. Russell Adler is never the kind of man to fall for his dark side, but Christ knows he is only one man)
#russell adler#russell adler x bell#adler x bell#cod cold war#cod bell#cod#call of duty#call of duty black ops#call of duty cold war#alex mason#frank woods#helen park#lawrence sims#jason hudson#lazar azoulay
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Ready Player 01 | JJK x Reader | 🔞❤️☁️
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader
Genre: dystopia!AU, former Game developer!Jk, former pro gamer!JK, former IT specialist!Reader, former programmer!Reader, romance, Smut, slight cyberpunk elements
Warnings/tags: injustice, forcefully controlled public, violence (police/government officials against citizens), unfair powerplay, interrogation, tech talk, Jungkook be antisocial as FUCK but so is the reader lmao wbk, fear of physical contact (Haphephobia), past trauma and mentions of a bad childhood, insomnia, crime, smut because yes it’s me hello my content isn't kiddy-proof in the first place what yall want from me I'm not sure, but that’s waaY at the end ya know, friends to lovers, a slightly sassy AI but we love her, reader struggles with emotions, I mean same tbh, they're both so sweet tho I cant, not proofread because let me live
Summary: there’s a war going on; silent, but it’s there. Media has been strictly become controlled and regulated- to the point of making it illegal to own a TV or phone with internet access without a valid license. But there’s always some people that will try to break free from the controlling force.
"-a new age. This is a new year. And remember; we're doing this for the greater good. Until tomorrow." The news reporter stops talking after she somberly looks somewhere behind the camera that is pointed at her.
Your room is dark- the TV brightness on it's lowest setting so you can see what's going on- but outside, no one can see the light shining in your tiny apartment. Investing in blackout curtains had really paid off at the end of the day.
You don't want to get caught.
There's an announcement van driving past your window; the tiny slits in your curtains where the light from outside can creep its way inside brightening a bit as the headlights pass your windows. Something is spoken, and by now everyone knows the routine speech.
"Electricity will be shut down in five minutes. We advice to save all progress immediately- and we wish a good nights rest. Electricity will be shut down in five minutes..-" It repeats, over and over, counting down the minutes. You slowly move into your kitchen, opening one of the loose floor tiles to turn on your own emergency electricity system. With well practiced movements you close the tile again, moving the rug over it as you walk back into your living room, swiftly sliding the TV behind your wardrobe to make it disappear. As if on cue; there's a knock at your door.
The same as always. Routine. Two times, loud and clear. You don't even have to look through the peephole to know what awaits behind it.
"Yes?" You ask, rubbing your eyes as if you had been already asleep. The officer behind the door nods at you shortly, a mild smile on his face as he looks down at you.
"We didn't mean to wake you miss. Just routine, as usual." He says, peeking into your apartment to look for any electronics still running. It's pitch black however- so he simply nods, as his colleague notes something into his tablet. "We wish a good nights rest miss. Again, sorry for intruding." He apologizes, and you nod, closing the door.
Only when the street lights turn dark, do you move from your bed.
"Creator." The AI voice chimes up, her voice greeting you as as you lift the tile on the floor again- your phone connecting to the AI to show information you instantly decode and note down inside your head. "Player01 has just connected." The voice states, and you sit down on your cold kitchen flooring, smiling a little. "He has sent a message. Would you like me to play it?" The voice asks, and you take a deep breath.
"Yes." You say, and there's a small sound indicating the start of the voice message. A male voice is head.
"Hey, whats up?" He asks, and you can hear something in the background- maybe an empty can or something similar. "I uh.. I'm on my way. Should I bring anything? Ah wait, I know the answer to that.." He says, chuckling at the end of his sentence, and you can hear him zip up his jacket as he moves around. "Yeah uh.. just text or something, I'll bring stuff over. Can't have you starve." He ends, and the AI speaks up again.
"Would you like to repeat the message?" She asks, and you shake your head at her; a signal the artificial intelligence has come to detect quite well. "Should I archive it?" She questions again, and this time, you nod- something your invisible assistant can pick up due to motion sensoring.
"Send him a message." You say. "Tell him: I only need you. Get yourself here in one piece and I'm happy. And I'm very capable of taking care of myself." You state, and your phone shows a small loading message- indicating that the voice is doing as you said. It chimes up after a moment. "Thanks Kana." You say.
"No problem creator. Would you like for me to run through the databases now?" She asks, and you nod, a smile on your face. "Database search in progress. Estimated time: sixteen minutes and eighteen seconds." You huff out a breath as you look at the tiny display on your arm; tiny, yet powerful as it's your way of keeping Kana- your AI assistent- close at all times. Tonight, there would seem to be a lot to dig through.
They really added a lot of content these days.
It's not the door that makes you notice that there's a visitor after a while- He never uses it anyways for some reason. You're sitting on your kitchen floor with a small cup of tea in your hands- kept hot inside a slightly beaten-looking thermos can since you can't use to water boiler at night. Using anything other than Kana would cause a spike the police would be sure to notice; and you're not ready to get caught yet.
Not tonight.
It's a boy who, after a moment, opens the unclosed kitchen window to climb in; his combat boots getting a little snow and dirt from the outside into your apartment as his 80's looking jacket makes distinctive noises as it brushes against the sides of your window. His blonde hair has grown out a bit these days you notice- the roots clearly showing. It's a little wet and slightly curly from the moisture. It must be snowing outside- or maybe it had. You couldn't know for sure.
You never left your apartment.
He closes the window after slipping on the tiles inside a little, the plastic bags noisy as he almost drops them- sheepishly taking off his boots as he smiles at you. His socks are different from one another- but that's another thing so distinctive and just so.. him. He's his own person, always has been; it's what brought you two together, after all. You both stood out against the 'regular public' these days; with his brightly almost white-bleached hair he was like an albino in a sea of crows.
But you knew he didn't need that to stand out to you.
You can still remember the first few times the boy in front of you has visited you; the times where he had just dyed his hair to rebel out, or when he pierced your ears in exchange for you to do it to him as well. It was like you had made a blood pact in your kitchen that night- you had somehow gotten closer, formed a little more than just a simple companionship in order to riot against the law. He began growing close. Gave you a nickname. Began calling you his player 2. Began calling you his 'ace'. He had explained that he thought of it from memories of his gaming days; the two fighting teams always called red and blue, and one of his favorite weapons having that nickname- simply because it always 'saved his ass last minute'. He had rambled on about his last tournament after that, eyes sparkling and cheeks round from cold noodles.
You had become friends.
"hey." He says after sitting close across from you on the cold floor; the opened tile and Kana's core exposed to you two, the only source of light apart from your bracelet. The colorful LED's paint marks on his face and illuminate his features to you; but it does the same to you from his point of view. It's a familiar sight. "How are you?" He asks, almost shyly, but you know that's not what's bothering him.
"Hey Jungkook." You simply say with the hint of a smile, as you answer him. "Haven't slept well these days but, what's new I guess." You chuckle, and Jungkook smiles too- though a glimpse of concern is still shown your way. He knows however that forcing you to sleep won't do much good- your insomnia was too bad to really conquer it in a day or two just by taking naps.
And also; who was he to talk about solving personal issues.
"Have you seen the most recent reports?" You ask him, and the boy somberly shakes his head.
"I was unable to." He states. "They were patrolling close to my apartment complex because there had been someone reporting a Glitcher today." A 'glitcher'- a slang word now commonly used for people like Jungkook and you. People who went against the nightly routines, people who tried to trick the system by using electricity at night, owning media, consuming it, or dealing with it. It somehow became worse than underground drugs. "They pulled him out at around twelve or so- but they seemed too on edge the entire day, so I didn't risk it." He says, and you nod. Jungkook had always been a very good person when it came to calculating risk versus reward. He was good at reading people too- even though he didn't interact much, he got out of his apartment a lot more than you did. "Anything important?" He asks, and you shrug.
"There was a report that China and Japan were still on edge- with the chinese government arguing that they would soon start with 'more drastic measures to get things under proper control', whatever that means." You say, and Jungkooks brows furrow as he starts to pick on the skin of his jaw. "Let's just hope the flood doesn't throw us under the sea as well if it escalates I guess.." You say, and the boy across from you nods.
"Creator." Kana's voice chimes up, making Jungkook look up before remembering that the only source would be your bracelet, which you look at as well. "My scan of your body shows that you have not consumed a sufficient amount of calories today. I recommend a meal in the next five to eight minutes to avoid malnutrition." She says, and you groan. "I take this as a form of verbal communication. Running data search..." She says, as Jungkook looks at you; thoroughly amused by the teasing banter between the AI and his friend. "My data search concludes that you are annoyed, creator. I have only stated a fact however-" She continues, and Jungkook steps in.
"I've brought some leftovers from my dinner today we can eat." He says, pulling out some plastic containers as he moves to get proper cutlery out of your drawers. He makes sure to push them towards you, making sure to nod with a smile as you nod and thank him a little embarrassed. "It's nothing. You know I love you too much to let you starve!" He states with a grin, bunny teeth on full display as bitterness creeps up your throat- something you make sure to swallow down before beginning to eat.
Because the kind of love he's talking about right now, is not the kind of love you want him to feel for you.
"You forgot to give it a proper validation there-" He points out as you type away. "Otherwise it will just run instantly, and everything at once. That could crash older systems, and we know that V95 uses an older laptop, so we should take that into account." He says, and you nod, clicking back to the spot Jungkook is talking about.
This is what you're both good for.
Writing code for you had always been something you did with a passion- simply because you were good at it. Numbers and short phrases were something you could remember with ease; but you never had to think much about the visual aspect of programs in your department back when you were able to work for a simple programming company. You had simply always been tasked to program security systems and automatically updating firmware, or simple AI's for factory robots. Jungkook however had been all about the visuals; he had been programming games after all. That's why you two fit so well together in this scene. Whenever he would be in complete awe of the broad knowledge you had about official guidelines and security breaches, of staying undetected and unseen while still gaining as much as possible from every single line of code, he could always throw in his input to make sure the program you were both writing and updating for the glitch community was easy to use and simple enough so it could run smoothly on as many systems as possible. Be it phone, laptops, PC's- you two made it possible.
This program was connecting Glitchers all over the globe- and with yours and Jungkooks knowledge, you made it almost invisible. And even if it was somehow detected; there was no possible way to track down any of it's users.
The fact that you had to hide a simple program from the government made you sigh.
"Okay. Yeah I think that fixed the bug." He says, and looks at your arm- at Kana. "Oh, by the way, Kana?" he asks, and the chime gives him the cue to talk. "I heard you had a bug-fix too recently." He says, and the AI chimes again.
"I did, Player01." The AI answers. "The addition of code to my current program has proven to significantly increase my ability to observe and save more data." The female voice answers, and Jungkook grins. "You are happy, Player01." She states, and he nods.
"I am." He says.
"Why is that?" The AI asks, and Jungkook shrugs.
"I'm just happy you're doing well. Someone has to take care of ace when I'm not close by, yeah?" He states, and you try not to react to it. Jungkook is by now used to your more stoic expression; you're not too emotional and barely let things get under your skin. You've been hurt before, he knows this even if you never told him- he can see it in the way you hide inside the safety of your home, how you're so cold on the outside but still clinging onto him. Sometimes he wishes he could touch you; run his hand over your head to ruffle your hair like in those cheesy movies, hold your hand, or simply give you some reassurance in the form of a gentle hand on your back whenever you struggle.
But he's got his own demons, and they love clinging onto him just as much.
"V95 has connected to voice chat. Would you like to talk to him?" Kana states, ripping him out of his thoughts as he watches you nod.
"JK? Y/N?" A deep voice asks.
"We're here. Heard there was a raid close to you?" Jungkook asks, and he can see you grow a bit more serious at that. "Are you okay?" He adds, and V answers, although quite.. tired?
"I'm good. They got Jimin though." He states, and you sigh, running a hand through your hair as you stand up, frustrated. Jungkook knows you're trying to calm down by pacing. He doesn't mind. "They didn't officially arrest him, took him for 'questioning' though. We know what that's about." He states somberly, and Jungkook takes a deep breath.
"Jimin is a master manipulator V. He'll get himself out of it, I'm sure." Jungkook tries to reassure, but it doesn't gain him much than a hum from Taehyung on the other end of the line. "What about Sleeper?" He asks, and a chuckle is heard.
"He's been checking the videofeed from inside the past few nights. He said he's send some of the big bites to Ace though?" He says, and Jungkook looks over at your form.
"Yeah I've seen it." You simply say, though Jungkook grows uncomfortable with the way you're suddenly standing there. You're a little hunched, biting the skin on your thumb as you look at the tiles as if they suddenly began to move. He knows himself that things inside the 'rehabilitation centers' weren't all that nice to see- but you rarely ever displayed so much distress over it. "Let's just hope Jimin get's his ass out of this situation. We can't afford to loose him." You say, and V stays silent before he sighs.
"Yeah. I tell sleeper you've seen the stuff. Oh, and our prince charming has asked for a date with Ace. Again." Taehyung chuckles, and you groan- while Jungkook can't help but clench his jaw. Kim Seokjin was a very good asset to the team; with connections reaching deep inside the government and his position as a former lawyer- but he still hated his guts.
You didn't need to waste your time dating. You were totally capable of taking care of yourself, you had even said it personally! And for anything else Jungkook would provide for you. You didn't need anyone else than him.
He was totally not jealous of him.
"Can he not use our underground connections for that circus?" You say. "I don't even go grocery shopping, why would I want to go on a fucking date?" You mumble, sitting down next to Jungkook as you take a spoonful of rice. Jungkook feels a weird sense of satisfaction about the situation.
"Who knows." Taehyung says. "Alright, 10 Minute mark- I'll hear from you two soon. Take care." He says, and you both say your goodbyes before the line goes silent.
Although Jungkook hates physical contact, he likes keeping you close.
His heart is melting like chocolate as he notes the way your hand grips his jacket tightly as the two of you walk through town to get your license renewed- a way of holding onto him, and he somehow wishes it could be his hand. He knows yours would fit so perfectly in his, and yet he can't bring himself to do it.
His body is not cooperating.
He remembers vividly how his fear had developed; with his father and mother both being dramatically overworked and overwhelmed with having a kid at a young age, they had no idea how to make a child behave. Every second touch would bruise, every time he had been held would be force.
And at some point, he started to dislike physical touch completely.
It had just been like his growing interest in freelance climbing- the way he would walk and jump high over the heads of unsuspecting people, away from all judgemental gazes they'd throw his way for behaving the way he did. Only when the wind could hit him freely, only when he couldn't make out faces of anyone down below, only when he was high up- that was when he felt safe. The ground below had nothing of interest for him, no point in going down, as his apartment was located on the top floor of the complex. Jungkook never took the elevator, always the stairs.
He liked being reminded how high he lived.
And yet, there's one thing that pulls him down, brings his feet to the earth below, calls him like a siren song. It's you, hidden away from everyone's sight inside your tiny home, just as troubled and judged as himself.
He'd fallen in love with you the second you told him his name.
It had been a rainy night, his clothes drying on your heater as he was wrapped in two of your blankets; the smell of your fabric softener and something so typically you surrounding him like a mother's hug would a child. It had given him a feeling of comfort he had never quite experienced before, and it had also been the first time he had imagined what it would be like to hug you.
To have you close.
He had explained to you why he had freaked out when you reached for his arm to steady him when he almost fell inside your apartment through your window; had apologized and bowed his head in shame until you had simply shrugged.
"You don't have to justify yourself to anyone, Jungkookie." You had said. Jungkookie. "You're you. And I like you." You had said, not looking at him as you typed in some code to Kana's internal system.
His heart had warmed up at that.
And while you had accepted him, he had accepted you just as much. While at first caught off guard by your quiet and sometimes harsh way of treating him, he had also gotten to know just how gentle and delicately you treated the ones you loved. You were a loyal person, always going out of your way to be helpful, and silently basking in praise any time it was directed at you.
He loved that view. The way your cheeks would grow warm, how your eyes would sparkle; and he loved most of all, that he had been, according to Taehyung who was the second closest to you, the only one to see you smile.
You even laughed with him.
It filled him with pride to know that you were able to let go around him, even if it was just a little. It made him feel like he did something huge. It helped him sleep at night knowing that you were trusting him enough to let down your guard a little.
And it hurt him even worse knowing that he couldn't do the same thing for you.
He was a coward-
and you deserved a hero.
"Ace?" He asked, slipping through your window as he noticed the apartment silent and dark. Nothing greeted him. "..Ace?" He tried again, maybe you were asleep? But your apartment was quiet, empty, nothing spoke of your presence. Dishes were in the sink, a cup of water left untouched on the counter, and something inside of him churned painfully at the way this looked. He checked the kitchen tile, sliding it to the side like he's seen you do it countless of times.
It was dark.
Instead, he was greeted by a post it note. "Underneath the bed. Take care." Was all it read. He stood up, pushing your bed away from the wall noticing how your carpet had been torn a little. And as he lifted the cut flap of carpet, there was an envelope.
Your watch. A small in-ear piece, and your old IT-identification, folded.
A noise outside your hallway made his head snap up as he pushed the bed back into place, making an escape for it as he climbed outside the window, watch safely inside his jacket as he climbed back up on top of a building, before he examined it further, turning it on, after putting the earpiece in.
"Hello, Jungkook." Kana greeted him, and it felt weird to hear the AI say his name like that. "Creator has advised me to answer all questions you might have, and assist you from here on." She said, and Jungkook simply put the watch on, making his way to his own apartment.
"What happened?" He asked, his face serious as he walked.
"At around 6:12 O'clock, creator was taken into further questioning regarding illegal possession and knowledge of classified information and technological equipment. She had shown no resistance and complied with authorities. My observations however showed that she was taken with more force than necessary." Kana explained. Jungkook shook his head. "She had prepared for this instance during the night, approximately twenty-six minutes after you had left."
"She knew?!" He suddenly said, shutting his apartment door violently as he started to pace around, throwing his jacket on the couch. "Why didn't she contact me?"
"Analysis; your body shows signs of-" Kana started, but Jungkook interrupted.
"Shut up. Why didn't she tell me?" He asks again, and Kana seems to hesitate for a moment.
"Considering her close relationship to you, she probably wanted to not get you involved." She stated, and Jungkook sighed, sitting down on his couch as he gripped his hair. He should've stayed. Hell, it wasn't the first time he wanted to stay. He had dreamed of staying over, of fucking living with you for months to no end by now, but he was a coward. And this was his paycheck.
"Kana." He said lowly, and the small tune gave him the cue to talk. "Contact V95. Tell him it's urgent. We got an emergency." He says.
"I can't watch this." He says, jumping up and holding onto his head as to not punch his wall, unable to go through the videofeed of your interrogation room.
There's not much to see, but Jungkook knows that's simply because they haven't had the time to see to you yet. You and him knew best what really happened in these rooms, and he hated knowing that deep down they wouldn't go easy on you simply because you were a young woman. It didn't matter to them.
He'd seen teenagers way younger than you and him getting the rough treatment before- and elderly didn't get spared either.
The government bragged about having everything in order; yet they couldn't even control their own law enforcement it seemed. When he really thought back on his history lessons in school, not much had changed at all.
The world was still in utter chaos.
His palm shuts his laptop harshly- earning a tiny chime from the AI he’s already forgotten shares his home with him now. “I suggest that you practice care in treating your electronics to-“ he groans, successfully shutting it off at that. “Why are you frustrated?” It- she? Asks, and he sits down.
“I don’t know how to help her.” He admits in shame, thinking back to the footage of your hidden camera; the way they had pushed you to the ground, before grabbing you, leading you out of your apartment a few minutes away from him. “I don’t know what I should do.” He says.
There’s a bit of silence, until the AI speaks up again. “Do you have a romantic interest in my creator?” She asks, and his head snaps up at that.
“What the fuck? Why would you ask me this?!” He barks, unsure where to look since he can only hear the voice.
“I have observed both my creator and your behaviors; you seem to have a very deep rooted interest in each others well-being and opinions. This is commonly found in partnerships. I was only asking you to confirm if my assumption is correct.”
He’s silent for a moment, until he speaks again, watching the announcement van pass his window; voices dull and unintelligible though the walls and windows. “It’s no use anyways. Who wants someone they can’t even shake hands with?” He sighs, looking into his lap again. He hates that he’s like this; that even though he very much loves and adores you, there’s no magic moment that makes him forget- even though he craves the contact, he can’t do it. Every time he’s close to you, he knows that he could simply hug you; or let you rest your head on his shoulder, like in romantic movies. He wants to hold your hand, wipe your tears- but his body won’t cooperate. He can’t do it.
Not even with you.
“Creator seems very comfortable with you.” The AI states. “I have been asked to archive all text messages and phone calls of you two recently. When I asked for a reason, she claimed she would need it someday- I was unsure what she meant.” Jungkook furrows his brow, raising his head again. “Sometimes, when creator is deeply upset, she has the habit of playing some of the recordings of you singing, or reminding her to take care. My research has shown that it slows down her heartbeat to a more normal level and also improves her insomnia.” Jungkooks eyes widen at that.
Does that mean.. that you like him back?
"Kana, fuck- cut the feed." He says, agitated.
"Are you sure?" She asks, and he sighs, before yelling his frustration out, sitting down to take a deep breath. He slowly shook his head no. He couldn't let all your hard work go to waste like this.
He couldn't stay a coward.
"Jungkook, it appears to be that the creator is being let go." Kana suddenly chimes up, and Jungkook rushes to his pc setup to see for himself. And she's right- your arm is being held tightly, and something is being said to you, but your hands are no longer chained to the chair- you're free.
What just happened?
Jungkook sometimes really hates himself for being the way he is.
There's no sugarcoating it that you need comfort now more than ever, even though you don't openly show it to him. He can see it in the way you're still biting your nails, he can see it in your eyes which never stay on one point for too long. And he can definitely see it in the bruises on your upper arm, and the cut on your lower lip where you had bitten in anger and frustration. He wants to comfort you, he knows you'd let him- and yet he can't move any closer than where he is right now; only the length of his palm of space between you two. And yet it's like his joints are locked into place. He can't touch you.
What if he hurts you?
And it dawns on him right then and there while he watches you drink your can of overly sweet soda while typing your code like second nature, that he's not scared of you hurting him. He's scared of doing to you, what's been done to him. Because deep down he is aware that his parents never had bad intentions, never hated him or wanted him to suffer; they were simply unsure and not at all confident in how to really care for a child. They had been caught off guard and gotten overwhelmed by the sudden shift in their situation that they never truly knew what to do. And nowadays he felt like he was simply heading down the same road.
He was starting to feel like he was becoming just like them.
"Hm?" You ask him, ripping him out of his thoughts as he looks at you, your eyes wide and worried as you put down your almost empty can of soda. "What is it?" You ask him, and he wants to scream. He wants to throw a fit like a child at the way you seem to worry for him every time you should worry for yourself. He's a coward, he's useless, he's everything you don't need nor deserve in his eyes, and yet you always look at him like he's the main character of your favorite movie.
If he was, he was sure he'd be merely a sidekick- because you deserved to be the focus of every story told in his eyes. And if you weren't included in the tale, he knew he didn't want to ever know about it.
He swallows, before he manages to make his hand move, finger pointing at your arm where a green-ish bruise already formed. "Does it hurt?" He asks, and he's not even sure if he's asking you about the bruise, of if he's asking something else. He doesn't know what he's saying, doesn't even know if he's asking you or himself.
"No." You answer, and he looks at you, searching for any hint of a lie in your eyes. But he only sees that slight smile, lips turned a little, almost unnoticeable. But its there, he can see it, and he wants to print it into his mind to never forget it. You were so observant, knew him so well, that he was almost certain you knew of his inner fight and what he really meant with his blurted out question. "Are you okay?" You ask him, and he swallows again, eyes stinging with unshed tears as his body grows rigid like an unoiled machine, only moving with as much force as he can manage to come up with. His breathing is heavy as his eyes can't leave the spot on your arm, and your watch him with wide eyes as his shaking hand slowly reaches out.
He doesn't know what he expects to really happen.
Maybe like those electric shocks you get when someone had rubbed their socks on a carpet before touching someone else. Maybe he had expected to recoil instantly. Maybe he had expected nothing- but he was suddenly in a rush the moment his fingertip touched your warm skin, delicate, soft, everything his rough hands weren't.
And you were still as prey in front of a wolf.
But the wolf in this scenario was holding his breath while his tears finally fell. He wants to speak, but he can't, he doesn't know how to ask for something when he doesn't even know if he wants it.
But suddenly he moves again, his palm now resting fully against your upper arm, shaking, as it moves over the length of it, softly, as he imprints the way your soft skin feels. "Jungkook.." You whisper out, and he suddenly snaps, leans forward, his legs on either side of your body as he snakes his arms around you from behind, pulling you close to his chest. You can feel him shake as he holds you, his cheek resting against your back and you don't care about his tears staining your shirt as he suddenly cries openly and possibly for the first time since he was a mere child.
He's unsure, overwhelmed, because you're so warm, you smell so nice, you're so soft, and he can't let go, doesn't want to let go. He whines out as you turn a bit as he thinks you're moving away but you're simply placing your legs over his as you sit in his lap, hugging him back as you make sure to give him a gentle squeeze.
He calms down after a long while of simply existing. Of breathing you in, of feeling you. "You're right." He whispers into your neck, and you can't help but shiver, leaning into his hug.
"It doesn't hurt at all."
"You know, I get why you come up here." You comment, as Jungkook makes sure to hold your hand tightly in his, your feet dangling off the edge of the building you're sitting on top of. "It's nice." You say.
He's not listening that well though.
All he can really do is watch your face, illuminated by the neon lights of the city, hair swaying in the wind as you look down below. He doesn't quite know what you two really are, doesn't know how long it will take him to really come out of his shell and give you the love you deserve, but he's trying. He's fighting, he's left his cowardly self behind.
He want's to change.
And not just for you alone, because while he hates seeing you hurt, he knows what you two are doing- what all of you are doing- is for the greater good.
Jungkook hates your ideas sometimes.
Simply because he knows they will work, but also end up with you getting into danger at the end of it. And just like now, all he can do really is hope that you make it out as he keeps a watchful eye on your movements from above, giving you directions via Kana as you sometimes trip and stumble a little.
You're not a very active person; running wasn't really your thing.
Fuck, you were basically a hermit, the most you walked around was from your bedroom into the kitchen!
But then again, sacrifices had to be made somewhere. And Jungkook really admired you; because every time he thought that you had reached your limit, you would face it head first and break through it.
"Ace, try and somehow get to higher ground. They're caging you in from all sides." He urgently tells you as he watches police chase you down the roads, pushing citizens aside to not loose sight of you.
The plan had been simple. Gain all the attention so Taehyung could infect one of the police station's servers with a new worm, giving you all a better and easier access to any data and communication of the area. Jungkook couldn't play the bate well enough; and you had been on their radar already, making you the best option to gain their interest quickly enough.
Although Jungkook hated that part.
"Come on, ah fuck it." He grits out, jumping down to grab a ladder, making his way to a nearby area he could pull you up. There was no way you could reach any of the fire ladders yourself, and by now, things were getting too hot for him to risk anything. "Here!" He barks out, not thinking twice about grabbing your hand and helping you upwards, trying not to worry too much about your heavy breathing. And then there's it.
A pop, loud, followed by another, and another, and another. You're suddenly falling, scraping your knees on the ground below as he can't catch you, too startled by the fact that they had actually decided to shoot to react quick enough. "Fuck!" He says, eyes wide and pupils blown as he looks at you.
"Jungkook, why the fuck aren't you running?!" You yell at him, a scratch on the top of your left cheek as you push his leg away from you- the only thing you can reach. "Go!" You bark again, and he growls out something, before he manages to pull you onto his back, adrenaline not letting his brain process what he's doing.
He can't just leave you.
"Taehyung, get out, Ace has been shot. Whatever was uploaded has to be enough." He says via the in-ear piece, doesn't wait for a response. He still gets it.
"Fuck, what?! Okay okay, I'm out" He says, and Jungkook can only catch a glimpse of the older man leaving the building via the backside entrance. He's only concerned with getting you somewhere safe.
"Urgh." You groan, slowly sitting up on Jungkooks couch. "I mean, I know paintball hurts, but rubber bullets? Jesus.." You complain, while Jungkook looks at you with a dark expression. "What?" You ask him, and he huffs.
"You sound like you haven't almost been killed yesterday." He grimly says, and you shrug. "Stop. I'm serious." He tells you, and you let yourself fall back down onto his couch.
"Whatever. At least we killed their communication." You say, closing your eyes. "Must've at least pissed them off." You say.
"Kana." Jungkook suddenly says, waiting for the familiar sound to tell him she's active. "Shut down for now." He says, and you sit up, hissing instantly at the sudden movement.
"Hey- ah fuck!" You say, as you watch on your bracelet how Kana complies; shutting down. "Why would you do that?" You say in an offended matter, before you grow quiet, watching him go onto his knees in front of you, as he lets his head rest on top of your lap.
"I just want.. you to myself. Just.." He mumbles, and you slowly bring your hand to his hair. "Just for a moment." He says, and you sigh. Jungkook had been under a lot of stress recently, you no doubt being the main cause of most of it recently. So you simply let him be, as he closed his eyes. "Y/N?" He asks suddenly, and you answer him. "I love you." He says, and your body stops moving.
What?
"It's okay if you don't." He says, not moving from his spot, and neither opening his eyes. "I mean it. I only want you to know." He explains further. "Because I.. couldn't fucking live with myself if something happened to you, and I've never told you." He admits, and you can't help but stare at him. Jungkook looked down on himself so much that it was sometimes frustrating to see; simply because you saw him as such an amazing human being with countless talents and beautiful flaws.
You knew you couldn't muster up the strength to actually answer him; not so spontaneously. You weren't that expressive, you couldn't communicate as freely and colorful as he could. All your words seemed black and white to you, mixing into grey and mundane sentences while his words seemed to bloom into the most amazing paintings. He had a way of charming those around him- and he didn't even know.
You slowly leaned down instead, moving his hair to the side as you placed a feather-light kiss to the top of his cheek, close to his eye.
You hoped he would somehow understand you.
And as he moved again, looking at you with eyes that sparkled brighter than any city's skyline ever could, you knew he did.
He'd always understand you, no matter how you communicated with him.
You didn't need words to understand each other.
The shy kiss you two shared, bathed in the purple glow of the neon lights outside his window, spoke enough.
"You should try and sleep." Jungkook tells you, taking away your can of soda as you whine at him. "No buts. Come on, I'll finish this for you." He says, and you let him take over the keyboard of your laptop. It's something you really only let him get away with- anyone else would've probably lost a finger or two trying to touch your work.
You don't trust anyone but him at this point.
"I know that Kana snitched." You comment, as you lean your back against his shoulder. He chuckles. "Can't believe my own creation goes behind my back like that." You mumble, and Jungkook has a light tune to his voice as he speaks.
"Well, it's a good thing though." He tells you. "I worry about you." He says.
"Ugh come on, you know that's not the part I meant." You laugh, and he grins.
"Oh, you mean the part where you listen to my crappy ass singing to help you sleep?" He tells you with a teasing undertone. "No wonder you got insomnia trying to find rest to that." He chuckles, and you playfully hit his thigh.
"Shut up, your voice is nice." You say, and he's glad your eyes are closed, and you can't see him blush.
Somehow, moments like these re-energized him again. Because it proved to him that there was still a piece of that innocent and untainted you inside that thick shell you had put up to protect yourself. And considering that you let him see you like that made his pride grow taller than any of the skyscrapers of his city.
Maybe one day the two of you will have a future together that won't be so difficult and unfair like your current one was. Maybe one day, you both will have changed enough to teach the next generation about what you've overcome.
But then again; living in the moment seemed to fit a lot better in his eyes, as he watched you sleep soundly against his shoulder.
Yeah, this moment was more than enough for now.
The world won't change over night- you both know that. All of you know that. But small things were starting to make a difference here and there; for example, the letter you held towards Jungkook as his eyes widened.
"..and we have officially decided that we no longer want to participate in the case against the defendant. The result of this agreement is that all charges against Y/N L/N have been dismissed and are no longer being investigated." He reads out loud, almost whispering as if saying it too loud could make it a lie. "They let you go?" He asks, and you nod, the small bandaid on your cheek making you look even cuter in his eyes as you shrug.
"Jimin had reached out too. They've let him go home as well." You say. and Jungkook huffs out in disbelief.
After infecting the police station with the worm you had all worked on, you had scared the entire country enough to take a step back from the overall aggressive tone. It wasn't much- but it meant that they knew you were there. You existed, and you were not bowing down.
You were still untamed.
Jungkook smiled brightly as he put the letter down to the side, reaching out to you to pull you onto his lap. He simply holds you for a moment, his lips kissing the skin of your shoulder as if in a trance. "I love you." He tells you, and you smile, squeezing him a bit in your arms. "I really do." He assures you, and you nod.
You don't answer him, and he doesn't seem to mind as he leans back from you, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he grins, hands holding your face so delicately as he places a kiss onto your lips, making you close your eyes as he breaks away from you, letting you rest your head against his shoulder.
He's still not letting anyone very physically close other than you; he's still scared of going out and around like everyone else. You're still rather hiding inside his apartment- both of your apartment now- and you still have trouble sleeping.
But Jungkook keeps the nightmares away.
And you make him brave in exchange.
It's really weird to hear the sound of a radio nowadays.
Things are still far from normal- but recently, citizens had been given radios to listen to public broadcast again. It only played crappy music with some rare good tracks here and there, but it was better than nothing.
Jungkook couldn't help but think that your breathless voice was far more entertaining than any music station he can remember from his youth.
While he hates touching other people, even friends and family, he can't help but feel a rush whenever he touches you.
His hands can't stop on one specific spot, can't seem to stay still even for a moment as his lips nip and suck at the flesh of your neck and shoulder, marking what's his, visualizing that you really belong to him. He bears the same mark on his collarbone from last night, and he should have been satisfied, but even an early morning couldn't keep him away from you.
The rain hit the window harshly, but he didn't notice at all. All his eyes could see was your form underneath him, skin glowing as he moves above you, euphoria filling his veins as he can't look away from where you're connected, where his cock disappears inside of you over and over and over again.
"I love you." He breathes out as he comes undone, holding you close, resting his head against your shoulder, as you hold onto his arms, a smile, a genuine and big smile thrown his way as he can't help but smile along.
"I love you too, Jungkook." You say, and he chuckles.
The radio in the background still playing, as you lay in each others' arms.
(c)Bonny-Kookoo. Please stop reposting my content on AO3 thinking I won't find it. I'm literally everywhere you clowns.
To everyone else: Thank you for reading this mess- I really apologize for the messy storyline, but I just wanted to put this out before the entire thing escaped me again and I would end up struggling to find my way back into it (cough cough flashback to mean lmao). I promise to somewhat post more regularly. Thank you for your kind words and for sticking with me!
#bts imagine#bts#bts fanfic#jungkook imagine#bts fic#bts smut#bts jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook#bts reactions
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Okay, I’ve never done this before and really not got a clue..
So how about Ian and Mickey travelling to the U.K. ? You know, they bought a house they’ve been re modelling and before they settle down with kids they decide to go for it…. Or something 😬 xXx
Hey! This was a lot of fun to write, so I hope it’s the kind of thing you were after. As I’m from Manchester, and it’s the city I know most about, and I know Cam likes ManU, it seemed a logical choice!
Fit As Fuck
Mickey knew it was really the soccer that had Ian wanting to visit the U.K. for their five year wedding anniversary, but he had to give his husband an A for effort in trying to convince Mickey otherwise.
“The music scene, Mick, it’s amazing! Oasis, The Smiths, Joy Division, it’s the birthplace of so many amazing bands.”
Mickey had eyed him with bemused amusement over breakfast. “Do you even know who any of those bands are?”
“All I know, Mickey, is that, after all this time, you are still my wonder wall.”
Mickey had thrown a bagel at him in response.
-
“But look at the architecture! It’s so gothic and badass. Would you even think this was a library? Shit, check out this cathedral! Holy shit, they have a Gotham hotel! It’s beautiful.”
“Sure, the ‘architecture’,” Mickey had snorted.
-
“Look at all this crime history, Mick! Gangsters, prisons, drug crime through the ages. This place has been a thug paradise since 79 AD!”
“You even know what AD means?”
“Well, no. But it’s most famous prison is called Srangeways, is haunted as shit, and held one of the longest prison riots back in the nineties…caused a ton of damage.”
Okay, so maybe that was kind of neat.
-
“There’s a masked activist who messes with the cops, helps out the homeless, and gives out weed for free in the city centre.”
“Good man.”
-
“Holy crap, just look at all these street food markets. Hey! This one makes fun of hipsters, you love to make fu—”
“Alright, enough!” Mickey had finally snapped around day nine of back to back city facts. He’d accepted his fate four days ago and just wanted to see how long Ian would last, but he finally had to admit defeat.
“Does that mean…”
Mickey had sighed and grumbled, “Yeah, we can go to fucking Manchester, alright?”
-
Which is how he ends up, a seven hour plane ride later, sitting next to some anemic looking body of water, drinking a ridiculously large beer and watching his husband from behind his sunglasses excitedly flip through leaflets.
“Who the fuck names a street *Canal* street?”
“We’re next to a canal, Mick,” Ian replies, pointing to the water beside them without looking up from the leaflets. “This is a historic part of Manchester’s famous LGBTQ scene.”
“They know there’s no C on the street sign, right?”
“Yup, it keeps getting stolen,” Ian flickers his gaze up to Mickey to give him a brief pointed glare.
“Well I didn’t fucking steal it!” Mickey protests, and Ian —the asshole— just laughs. Mickey takes another gulp of his beer and leans back in his seat, watching the colourful array of people stroll by for a few moments before turning back to his busy husband. “You know we’re only here a week, right? That looks like at least a month’s worth of shit.” He gestures to the towering stack of *must see* locations and activities and Ian looks back at him with sheepish glee.
“Well, we don’t have to do them all. We could lose a few, like, uhm…the cathedral, the science and industry museum — though that arcade game exhibition did look kind of cool.”
“Nah, don’t get rid of that one. I wanna kick your ass at old school Space Invaders.”
Ian smiles and puts the leaflet back, rummaging through for another. “Okay, so maybe we don’t *have* to go to Pieminister.”
Mickey quickly slams his beer back to the table. “Are you out of your damn mind? This is England, the home of putting random meat in a heavy pastry, drenching it in gravy and somehow making it delicious.”
“Oh, so you did read the website. Okay, we’ll keep that one too.” Ian shuffles through a few more before pulling out a sleek black leaflet with a golden shining crest. “I guess we could…” he trails, looking up at Mickey with those big stupid puppy eyes.
Mickey sighs. “Don’t even think about it, dumbass. I’m not having you drag me halfway across the damn planet to the city of your soccer dreams only to have you mope around the damn place all week.”
“So, you mean, we can go?” Ian looks all dopey and hopeful and it still manages to make something flip in Mickey’s stomach.
He reaches for his backpack and pulls the crumpled envelope out of the side pocket before tossing it to Ian. “Here, Red. No more pouty face.”
Ian slips a finger into the torn envelope and pulls out the two tickets. He gasps. “Mick! This is…are these…oh my god. You got us box seats to the Man U v Arsenal match tomorrow!”
Mickey shrugs like it’s nothing, like he hasn’t been trying to arrange this for weeks, like he didn’t have to become bffs with the hotel manager and promise to call her stalker ex and threaten to disembowel him in his most threatening ‘American bad boy’ tone.
“Yeah, and what?”
Ian scrambles to stand, yanking Mickey out of his seat so he can pull him into a thankful kiss, holding Mickey’s face in both hands as he softly devours Mickey whole.
They don’t stop until a passing couple wolf whistles at them, one of them calling “Get a room!” only for the other to argue “No way, they’re fit as fuck!”
Ian pulls back with a giggle, and as Mickey stares into his husband’s shiny happy eyes, he can’t help but agree (whatever the hell ‘fit as fuck’ means).
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It's hard to see through the sticky wet droplets that fall from above your brow, from your lips and cheeks. You huff, blood splatters the floor at the feet of a woman dressed in an old fashioned black kimono. Her fox mask askew on a rare occasion.
"You broke her, you BROKE HER!" You screech, small frame shaking from fading adrenaline and flashing memories of cold steel and even colder eyes. This was too much, way too much for your seven year old body to handle. But you would do what you must to survive.
The woman turns towards you, her blue eyes iridescent even in the low light.
"No child, you broke her. You were just going to let her kill you." She shrugs as if it weren't such a heavy statement.
"I'm- I'm her weakness, she's better than me, SHE HAD TO!" A stammer that grows into a deafening scream.
"No my dear, she always has and always will be your burden."
You wake in a cold sweat, alarm blaring and your heart stutters in your chest, knives instinctively woven into your fingers.
"An old memory. A dream." Soothing words from a shaking voice, knives never faltering as you lower them, slipping them back onto your person. You rise, peering out the window to see the city blanketed in snow, heaps of it as more fall from the sky. The sidewalks cleared in such a half assed way you were sure they would just turn to ice instead, the piles in the storm drain already turning a mute grey.
You hated the snow, it always brought up bad memories and the biting cold made every scar you owned throb. Ebbing in memories you wished you'd forgotten. Instead you get ready for the day pulling on your hero suit although you didn't have to work the overtime today, you guess old habits die hard. Two weeks had passed since Bakugou offered you that side job. He paid you enough that you wouldn't have to worry about your sister's bills for the next month.
Still Christmas dinner couldn't come soon enough.
You lock the apartment and push through the biting air, face begging for a reprieve as you walk into the icy wind but it's not as if you could walk to the agency backwards.
Bakugou and Kirishima wait outside of the agency building for you, Bakugou holds out a steaming coffee as Kirishima offers a warm smile.
"You're late." "Just on time." They speak over each other before Bakugou gives Kirishima a glare.
"We're patrolling the fucking shopping district today." Bakugou shoves the coffee into your hands as you grit your teeth, trailing behind the two as Bakugou sets out the pace. You let your eyes wander, snow clinging to their hair as Kirishima wears next to nothing, his dumb ass costume having sleeves for warmth. You roll your eyes before they fall on Bakugou. Normally you can smell the spicy burnt sugar wafting off of him in troves but the wind chill is dangerously low for someone who relies on sweat as their weapon. The snow comes down thicker, the flakes a puffy white that sends you miles away before a gut feeling brings you back into the present. You grab onto both of the men, straining your ears to hear over the bustle of the city. Something isn't settling right but they don't seem to be on high alert. Maybe your nerves are fried from the dream.
Your concentrated look doesn't go unnoticed by either party looking over their shoulder. Bakugou shoves the two of you into a side alley to stay out of the way of the hustling streets since you're just standing there. You seem to be off your game, you're more subtle at letting them know about danger without alerting civilians.
"Oi. Spit it out." Bakugou crosses his arms as he stares you down. You blink away the rage, the wind whipping through the side alley making the three of you shiver. You grab onto Kirishima, placing your palm on his sculpted pectoral before explaining.
"Just some buffs for the day. Your unbreakable will be 65% harder and you'll be lighter on your feet." Kirishima gives you a concerned look as you reach for Bakugou who tries to resist.
"Don't need your fucking help."
"Yea?" You hiss, "What good are you if you aren't sweating moron?"
You yank his arm to you, pulling at his sleeve to get to bare skin, pressing your warm fingers against his cool forearm. You send him a knowing glare.
"Gonna feel like summer for you today sweaty palms." You shove him away and he thinks to swing at you. Kirishima diffuses the situation.
"All day buffs? Isn't that a strain on your quirk?" Kirishima was always concerned about you.
"I'll be fine. You know I'm at a place where a lot of my own personal buffs and debuffs are idle." With a snap of your fingers a little display appears in the air thanks to your support bracelet. Reminding the two men of a video game, your stats out there for them to see. The screen rolls through them fairly quickly. Bakugou can only catch a few as the text moves at a rapid pace. Poison resistance 85%, Stab resistance 98%, weapon pulled from body closes wound 50% faster, returned weapon caught or pulled from body 100% hit rate, deadly intent. Your stats disappear as quickly as they came. Bakugou knows your quirk's ability comes from experience, he thinks of the ones you have maxed out and let's his eyes linger over your face. Over the muted slashes and his stomach churns from concern, suspicion. How would a "petty thief" come across a blade and return it enough times that they could never miss? It surely wasn't in the time of your forced hero work, he has yet to see you take anything more than a surprise punch.
"Are we fucking done? We got extras to babysit." Bakugou growls stepping out onto the sidewalk and into a nest of paparazzi.
"Dynamight, over here Dynamight. Is it true you're dating your partner?"
"Is it Red Riot or Rouge?" Another reporter shouts. Screaming out question after question putting Bakugou under rapid fire.
Cameras flash as you can practically hear Bakugou's blood pressure increase ten fold, he inhales sharply to scream but Pro Hero Red Riot saves the day.
"Guys we're on the clock, please save this for our designated interview dates." He smiles listing the dates and times. You wonder how they collected here so quickly, scanning the crowd for a nosy bystander that may have tipped the tabloids off with your location.
But your eyes lock onto something far worse.
In the crowd is a woman with auburn hair and icy blue eyes, dressed in an all black kimono. She smirks and mouths "Finally" to you before she throws her deadly ice darts, dipped in shining poison yet to be added to the government registry.
But how could they know when you helped her make it. Working on instinct you yank Kirishima forward by his steel face mask until he is doubled over before you pull Bakugou into the same position by his belt of winter grenades. One ice dart sinks into your shoulder while the other nicks your throat but it's not as if it matters. Mithridatsim was your best friend growing up.
A small box flashes in the top left corner of your vision, a status only you can see
WARNING! MORE EXPERIENCE NEEDED: LAST ADMINISTERED DOSE OF POISON X HAS BEEN SIX MONTHS, PLEASE DO NOT CONSUME ANYMORE TO INCREASE LOST RESISTANCE AND GAIN EXPERIENCE.
Fuck! How could you forget that her special blend of poison required exposure every two months?! Hero work was making you too soft, making you wonder just how many other skills were deteriorating from lack of repetition and experience.
But that was a problem for another day. For now you growl, yanking the men down further to keep their eyes off of you as you give chase. Following her deadly speed with ease, thankfully she is headed out of sight from civilians and paparazzi although it spells trouble for you.
Or maybe it spells trap.
She throws another set of ice darts, you dodge them all but one that sinks into your stomach. You grip onto the ice, pulling it from your skin when a warning pops up
LIMIT EXPOSURE, REACHING LETHAL DOSE, PASSIVE BUFF ACTIVATED, HEALING RATE REDUCED FROM 50% TO 30% DUE TO POISON X, RETURNED WEAPON HIT RATE REDUCED TO 65% DUE TO WEAPON TYPE, COLD RESISTANCE INCREASED TO 55%
WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE A CHANCE?
The question flashes as you push forward, following her step for step. You loved and loathed that question, it could increase your chances of the poison clearing instantly, heal your wounds perfectly and return your hit rate back to its max level.
Or you could utterly "fail" the chance roll earning you double the pain and debuff.
The closer you were to whatever magic number your quirk decided, the better your chances.
Another set of darts that you barely dodge. You grind your teeth, hero work was definitely making you too soft.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE A CHANCE?
"Yes!" You growl as your quirk activates. It announces to you the size of the "dice" and the numbers to avoid as you give chase.
PASSIVE BUFF DEACTIVATED "LUCK OF THE DRAW" FOR CHANCE ROLL, DIE SIZE 70, NUMBERS TO AVOID CRITICAL FAILURE 1 THROUGH 50, NUMBERS TO HIT FOR CRITICAL HIT 72 THROUGH 75. ALL NUMBERS IN BETWEEN THE CRITICALS WILL INCREASE BUFFS AND DECREASE BODILY HARM BY 15%.
ROLLING DIE NOW.
In your mind's eye a giant die flashes in your head as numbers blur together while it rolls.
50! CRITICAL FAIL, DAMAGE INCREASED BY TWO, POISON RESISTANCE REDUCED BY 15%, TEN MINUTES UNTIL BLACK OUT
THANK YOU FOR TAKING A CHANCE!
DOUBLE OR NOTHING?
You swat away the temptation as a copper taste begins to coat your tongue, spitting red into the snow. You return the damn dart anyway, lucky enough for you it sticks into the nape of her neck but the ice is not strong enough to sink deeper. Finally she takes a left into an alley and you follow before the mouth is closed off by ice.
Sealing the two of you into an icy tomb. Snarling you exchange fists, hoping to wear her out before you lose consciousness, as she was never good at hand to hand, unlike yourself.
Who lived for the up close and personal.
PASSIVE BUFF "UPPER HAND" ACTIVATED, MELEE AND CLOSE COMBAT SKILLS INCREASED
You rear back your fist, landing it straight into her jaw, causing her to fall back onto heaps of trash. You pin her, pressing one of her ice blades to her throat.
"What are you doing here Fox?" You hiss, and she smiles in delight.
"Could ask you the same little ‘hero’!" She laughs and it's haughty, bringing up now bitter memories, "How far you have fallen sister."
"Tch, this was not my first choice." You fake smile, pressing until you draw blood just to make it even.
"Did Madem send you?" Even saying her name makes your stomach churn while Fox rolls her eyes.
"Who else would send me to fetch their golden child?" She shrugs, using her quirk to make another cold weapon as you're distracted. Although you have the upper hand she still has enough room to sink another ice dark into your side, causing you to grit your teeth.
"You're the fucking favorite now. What more does she want?"
"You're her favorite, you both are. She wants a complete set." She purrs and it feels as if her ice is freezing your blood. Vision blurring from your rapid heart rate, from your rage and the venom.
"What the fuck do you mean? What about her?! She is fucking unwel!" It echoes around in the ice and she smiles, playing you for the fool you were.
"Exactly as I said. I wouldn't count your twin out just yet. You know how Madem lives for backups." She winks, as you feel exasperated. The poison coursing through your veins, your vision tries to spot but you push through.
"I'll let you go just this one Fox but if I ever fucking see you again-" She interrupts.
"Please, you know the rules. Don't come home empty handed. Plus what you do to me will be far more mild than what Madem can think of." She spits blood onto your face, you bare your teeth and sweet drips onto her kimono. You were running out of time.
"ROUGE!" Bakugou shouts in the distance, earning a smile from Fox below.
"Wow bold of you to keep the name." She laughs, "Well your weakness works in my favor. What a dream it would be to be captured by your boyfriend. Then I could tell him everything about me. About you."
"You'd snitch? Just like that?"
"Wouldn't you do anything to keep a loved one safe?" Her words sink deeper than any dagger, any ice pick, she's ever thrown.
She's right.
"ROUGE!"
You would do anything.
Huffing you do what you hadn't in well over a year and although you'd done it thousands of times. It never got easier. You press the blade deeper, letting it slice into her throat as a red line follows in her wake. She looks up at you with a soft smile, relief flooding her features as sweat prickles your brow.
WARNING BLACK OUT IN TEN SECONDS, POISON X WILL BECOME LETHAL IF ANTIDOTE IS NOT ADMINISTERED WITHIN THE HOUR. COUNT DOWNS STARTS NOW :10, 59:59
With shaking hands you set the already melting blade into her hand, jumping over the other ice wall deeper into the alley as you hear heavy foot falls come your way.
You fall into a heap yourself, pressing your hands into your wounds, tempted to attempt to activate double or nothing. Although it could kill you instantly with the status you were in now.
A part of you hopes it does.
7
The ash blonde blasts through the icy walls, spotting you in an instant. When he sees the perpetrator dead, his stomach churns as he reaches you. Your clammy to the touch and your support bracelet is flashing with an alert for a trusted on looker.
5
PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF
It yells as Bakugou shouts his name. A little hologram of you shows up before your voice pours out. Silently you're thankful that you could tinker with the item enough that should you come across something from your past you could intercept some information.
Or at least manipulate in your favor should you be rendered non verbal as you are now.
3
"It seems an especially strong poison has been introduced into my blood stream. The antidote will be elderberry tea, which can be found at these surrounding locations. Please do not take me to a hospital, by the time they identify the poison I will be long gone….I'm talking to you Bakugou. Get the tea. If I pass out, force activate one of my idle or passive buffs. Specifically Adrenaline high… Trust me, you're going to have to..."
The world fades to black without any warning as you float in what feels like non existence. Probably the best sleep you'll ever get even when it's short lived. Like it is now.
"Fuck." Bakugou hisses as the stupid translucent you blabbers on and on of ways to activate this dumb ass, complex, and mysterious as fuck quirk you had. He thinks of how the mini you emphasized pain would be a trigger to activate the idle buff. He grips onto your forearm, thinking of doing a point blank blast. Best case scenario you'd have his palm burned into you for all eternity, worst case scenario you lost your whole fucking left half.
"Fuck! FUCK!" He doesn't want to hurt you but he has to. He thinks of the limited time you have as an ominous timer floats in the air from your bracelet. He tries slapping you across the face first, nothing. Your cheek barely reddening as blood oozes from your wounds. Gritting his teeth and choking on his honor he hits you again, this time with the help of his quirk to add some force.
When that doesn't work, his sadistic side comes out, fueled by his desperation and his gloved fingers subconsciously find the wound in your throat and shoulder. Thinking to exploit it in order to rouse you. He lets out a low hiss as he plunges his fingers into the wounds, digging deep into the one in your shoulder.
PASSIVE BUFF "ADRENALINE HIGH" ACTIVATED.
Your eyes snap open, rage fueling them as you act on instinct, slamming your forehead into Bakugou's hard enough that it bruises both of you.
"OI FUCKING! I'M TRYING TO HELP!" He shouts, forearms popping as heat rushes up his spine from your landed hit. He pushes back his hair, rubbing his sweaty forehead before baring his teeth at you.
"What the fuck?!" He snaps, "Who was that? Why is she dead?"
"Another time yea?" You say weakly, lifting your wrist so he can read the time, "The tea still has to steep."
You stand but wobble on your feet as warnings flash in your minds eye and thankfully not on your stupid support bracelet. Much to Bakugou's disdain, he needed to know what he was working with, not blindly trusting you. Especially not now with growing suspicions.
ADRENALINE HIGH OVERRIDES DAMAGE AND POISON EFFECTS FOR THE NEXT 10 MINUTES COUNT DOWN STARTED 09:59
"Dismiss." You spit blood and the information fades away. You stumble like a drunk towards the mouth of the alley, avoiding your fallen sister as your mind races.
"She wants a complete set."
"Fuck." Is all you can manage thinking of your actual sister, hoping she was safe within the confines of her own prison. That needed to wait. Right now you needed that elder berry tea. The closest shop carrying the product was several blocks away and at this rate you'd never fucking make it.
Bakugou catches on, scooping you in his arms.
"Hold on tight Princess." He growls, propelling himself into the air to land a few store fronts away from your destination.
"Can't believe you're dragging me down." He hisses, fully taking over holding you to him. He squeezes a bit tighter. Your stomach flips and you blame the poison.
"If anything I'm bringing your image up. Imagine the paps seeing this bull shit. Headlines like 'Bakugou, the knight in shining armor saves the day.' Or some horse shit like that." You weakly tease, he glares down at you.
"Tch. Fuck off. They'll find a way to twist it."
"Well your mom will see it for what it is." You squeeze tighter around his throat, nosing the crook of his throat. You feel his laugh through his chest.
"Yea and what's she gonna see?"
"You saving me dumb ass." You pull at his hair and he glares down at you.
"Great, now she'll force me to marry you. Is that what you want bitch face?"
"I'd rather die first. Plus you wouldn't be able to afford my dowry, ass hat." You tease, all he can do is roll his eyes.
"You're fucking right about that. Now where is the stupid elderberry bullshit?" He growls, waltzing through the front door as if holding you were nothing.
IDLE BUFF ACTIVATED SLIGHT OF HAND INCREASED TO-
"Dismiss." You whisper, vermillion burns into your skin, "Next aisle."
WARNING: LACK OF EXPOSURE WILL CAUSE A LOSS IN EXPERIENCE. SLIGHT OF HAND WILL DECREASE
Grinding your teeth you reach for an easy snack, shoving it into your shirt sleeve as Bakugou studies the tea.
"Where?" He snaps, causing you to sigh heavily. You point with exaggeration to the small purple box.
SLIGHT OF HAND MAINTAINED, EXPERIENCE PREREQUISITE MET, BUFF IDLED.
You needed to think of a way to turn this annoying "emergency" mode off, but whenever you were in critical condition, the warnings would display non stop. Most of your quirk you had memorized but you had to admit, it had been a while since you last rolled for chance.
For fun.
"Grab something for Kirishima, you know how he gets when he worries. You need water too."
"This ain't a fucking road trip!" He growls but oddly enough he moves to the back of the store towards the drinks. He grabs a code red for Kirishima and an energy drink for himself. You hold onto the cold drinks as he holds onto you and the tea awkwardly. Setting them on the counter fixing a nasty glare at the clerk.
"R-Rouge and Dynamight wow!" They gush, about to ask for an autograph before ringing the two of you up.
"Kinda on a time crunch kid." Your bracelet flashes 20:32 before the clerk understand the dire situation.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. On the house."
"Doesn't work like that." Bakugou snarls, eyeing you to get his wallet. Little does he know you already snatched it, pressing a twenty into his hands. He glares at you as best he can.
"Keep the change." You're beginning to think that was his new catch phrase as he makes his way towards the hot water dispenser. Setting you on the counter while he let's the two bags steep per your holographic instructions. He taps his finger impatiently before cracking open his energy drink.
It was going to be a long day.
"I'm going to cancel with my mom." He says finally, reaching for his phone, "I'll still…"
"No you fuck. Your mom expects both of us there. I'm not dying."
"Yet, bitch face." He places the tea into your hands, "Think she'll be more pissed if you die in her living room than not show up."
He eyes your wounds, noticing the droplets of blood that followed in their wake, how your scent clung to his skin. He contacts Kirishima instead instructing him to get the first aid kit ready at his house.
"When you're done with your tea. We're gonna get those wounds bandaged."
"Nah I'll be fine, once the poison status is cleared. My other status will return to normal. I'm kinda like a pokemon."
"Don't care, as your boss I'm telling you Imma wrap your wounds with Kirishima now drink your fucking tea." He hits your shoulder before a sadistic smile clouds his features, "Or am I going to have to activate your passive 'Adrenaline High'?"
"Fuck off, I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna pass out with half the cup down." You shove him away from you as his pocket pings.
"Only pretty sure? You're fucking stupid. You can check that."
"Tired of my quirk today." You grumble while Bakugou glares at his phone, he turns it towards you, it's from his mother an article titled "Bakugou, the knight in not so shining armor?" Her text is in all caps beneath ARE YOU SAVING HER I SWEAR TO GOD BOY YOU NEED TO WATCH HER BACK BETTER SHE BETTER BE OKAY YOU BETTER BE OKAY
"Guess you'll have to propose to me now." You laugh sliding from the counter, something from around your throat catches his eye now that things have calmed down.
An odd feeling burns in his chest as goes all the way to his fingers and toes and realization washes over him in waves. He sees a gold chain that leads down to what looks like the droplet of blood. The garner necklace he gave you.
"Come on Kiri is probably waiting." You nudge, grabbing for Eijirou's soda, your own tea almost finished. His eyes follow after you for a moment as he tries to figure out why you hadn't taken it off yet, he's never seen you wear jewelry before.
There is no reason for you to wear it, still the feeling in his chest burns hotter. It makes him feel suddenly proud and oddly possessive. He grinds his teeth, skin popping as he stomps after you, yelling.
"Don't you take credit for the soda I bought!"
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Why do i feel kinda bad sending you requests without paying?..Anyway, can i ask for some hc's of the creeps of your choice (+EJ cuz you know I'm a simp) with an s/o that has gait apraxia and like.. really insecure about it? They move around by using a wheelchair or they're just stuck in a hospital room all day, your choice. <Also what time is it at your place? You don't have to answer if you don't want to> - beetroot soup anon✨
I'm working on setting up my Ko-fi again if you really want to pay me, but I do this because I want to! So don't worry about it!
Damn, Beetroot, you really have me doing a lot of research for your requests! (That isn't a bad thing, please don't feel bad about that!!) Gait apraxia, for those who don't want to look it up, is a motor planning deficit. It only affects the ability to walk, there are no other motor weaknesses or sensory losses. If you're curious about this, I recommend looking it up as it's kinda interesting. (I only scratched the surface here and could also be incorrect)
Also, I decided to only do two characters for this one. I'm just kinda creatively tired. All the same, please enjoy!!
Eyeless Jack:
This poor man is worried about you 25/8
Like, normally he’d be worried about you because that’s the kind of boyfriend he is, but because you have this condition he’s like 10x as worried.
Depending on how long you’ve had this problem, his reactions would change.
If you’ve been dealing with it for a while, he would mostly just feel bad that you’ve had to struggle with this.
If it’s a new development, he would be all over your case.
Jack would read every article, every medical paper, research every study on gait apraxia. He wants to be informed of everything that’s going on so that he could be there to help you.
He would be the most understanding if you were stuck in a wheelchair. He’d be there to help you but would also try his best not to baby you.
You’re capable of taking care of yourself, but his protective nature makes it hard to hold back.
Boy just wants you to be okay.
God forbid you ever have to go to the hospital, he would riot.
He would feel like he failed you, that he couldn’t keep you healthy. I could see him sinking into a deep depression from that.
However, I could also see him pouring over his studies a million times harder before breaking you out (kidnapping) you from the hospital.
Might get a little yandere about it.
You’re his s/o after all, so he should be the one to take care of you~
BEN:
He’s unsure of how to feel about it at first.
Obviously he feels bad, cuz what you’re going through must suck.
But on the other hand, he just doesn’t get it… cuz he’s dead.
I could see him actually going to EJ and asking him to help explain it medically. He wants to know more about it so that he can help in whatever way he can.
He would try to be very lowkey and casual about it.
He doesn’t want to make you feel worse about your situation.
He’ll do his best to distract you or comfort you when you’re feeling bad, and will not let you beat yourself up over something you can’t control.
He’s not the tallest, so if you’re in a wheelchair and can’t reach something there’s no guarantee that he could get it either :/
But he’ll also climb shit like a spider monkey to get something for you, he cares that much~
If you end up in the hospital, he’d be devastated.
He wouldn’t break you out like Jack would. He knows that he couldn’t do anything that would help your current state.
However, he would visit you every day! Even outside of visiting hours!
He’s a ghost with power over technology, he could get in the hospital so. fucking. easily.
He’d bring games with him too and leave them with you so you wouldn’t get bored.
He wants to help but knows that he can’t really do much. So what he is able to do, he makes sure he does well.
He loves you a lot, and wants what’s best for you! Just tell him what you need and he’ll do his best to help!
You’re the only one he’d do this for without complaint~
#creepypasta#creepypasta headcanon#creepypasta imagines#creepypasta x reader#headcanons#imagines#x reader#creepypasta eyeless jack#eyeless jack#eyeless jack x reader#creepypasta ej#creepypasta ben drowned#ben drowned#ben drowned x reader#fluff#fluff headcanons#x you#x y/n#creepypasta x y/n#creepypasta x you
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Loki Ep 1 Pt 2
Blow by blow review, take 2:
--The “sign this to verify that this is everything you’ve ever said” thing is genuinely hilarious. I find it a little unlikely that he wouldn’t have ultra-suspiciously, with great characteristic paranoia, looked through every single page, and grilled the guy with the cat for info on where he was. Little bit ooc for humor there, which is a major pet peeve of mine.
--”Do a lot of people not know if they’re robots?” Okay this part was great bc it showcased Loki’s natural propensity to get into trouble because he’s such a curious cat and intellect, lol.
--His scorn with “take a ticket” when only two variants are in the room is also very IC because Loki despises order without logical reason. Order for its own sake is dangerous and oppressive and heyyyyy a lot like Thanos’s idea of a universe, ain’t it.
--The All-Knowing Time-Keepers ended a timeline war, huh? H M m m m m M m m . They destroyed the capacity for nexus event and a multi-verse to exist huhhhhh? H M M M M M M M M . Do I smell the potential for many Lokis from many Marvel canon verses, among other things?
--
BITCH ME TOO, THE FUCK.
--Okay I know everyone hates the logo but I kind of love how it is as fluid as Loki himself? A shape shifter? A master of magic and illusion? I’m sorry to all the graphic designers out there but I’m digging it for Conceptual Art reasons lol.
--I’m sensing that if the French kid in 1549 thinks a horned devil caused a massacre in a church, this is evidence of Loki escaping the TVA to jump into the 1500s in France to cause mayhem. A bit predictable and I am hoping otherwise, but he IS Loki, “between damnation and redemption” at all hours.
--Owen Wilson’s character is strongly established as a good guy from the start.
--”Madam, a god doesn’t plea.” Biiiiiiiiiitch yasssss.
--OHO he figured out the Avengers were time-traveling already, sharp. The reason why, he’s so far off that one must cringe for his fall from pride to come.
--His laugh, that’s all.
--”Hang on, everyone quiet, don’t rush me,” lol <3 Not a fan that once again he’s not allowed to use his full powers except within a contained system, but I’ll take it. For now.
--”You ridiculous bureaucrats will not dictate how my story ends.” Wahoo if this series and character have a thesis statement, there it is. Loki, God of Stories, forger of his own fate even when all tides run against it.
--Loki doubting the reality of the TVA is an interesting hint into how much illusion was used to torture him as well as his own hyper reliance on illusion to protect himself.
--Loki assuming Agent Mobius wants to kill him when Mobius is just showing him kindness is soooooooo revelatory of where Loki is psychologically right now.
--He still has his trademark swagger :D
--”For the record this really does feel like a killing me kind of a room,” LOL, I love it, they’ve somehow kept his sense of humor spot-on!
--”Trust is for children,” ahhhh kono kokoro.
--”I live within whatever path I choose.” Ah, Loki, I wish you could, but is it so simple?
--The fact that he tries to kill Mobius immediately and Mobius stops him while being fair and level-headed? I’m really liking Mobius. He’s the dare I say friend Loki has needed for a long time.
--[Cooperation is] not my forte.” “Really, even when you’re wooing someone powerful you intend to betray?” Oho, okay Mobius, how long have you been serving as the metonymic stand-in for Loki’s fandom “army” and watching him grow and change and self-sacrifice in the intended timeline? How well do you know him? You seem to know a lot, and that may be a good thing. You could be his advocate.
--”KING OF WHAT EXACTLY?” OH DAMN YES, MOBIUS, KEEP GOING.
--”WHY DOES SOMEONE WITH SO MUCH RANGE JUST WANNA RULE?” TFW A MARVEL CHARACTER HAS READ MY BLOG??????? YES?????? VINDICATION???????
--HE IS LITERALLY UNRAVELING THE TOXIC IDEOLOGY FORCED INTO LOKI UNDER THANOS???? ABOUT THE “LIE OF FREEDOM”?????? THIS IS AMAZING????
--”I don’t have to play this game. I’m a god.” Oh honey. Put the hackles down now, it’s okay. You have far more heart than that, and far more accountability.
----Allowing Loki to see his entire “correct” (gulp) timeline (and God help us all if the end of this series involves him choosing to die in order to “fix the timeline,” I will RIOT if we get one more cheap “you’re only redeemed if you die horribly” growth arc for a morally ambiguous character) was the most important thing for me as a Loki fan of 10 years. Allowing him to weep openly, to come to terms with the loss of his mother and the (too little too late, but at least extant) apology of his father, and, most of all, the potential to regain camaraderie with his brother, this was all that I wanted. A Loki allowed to flex his own muscles in his own limelight, no longer defined by what he lacks, but by what he can uniquely offer (even if in the “service” of an ethically dubious authority). A Loki who KNOWS how much his brother has suffered and grieved but who still has his own freedom.I am admittedly optimistic. The tone of the show is excellent. My only fear at this point is a sacrificial death ending. Hopefully Loki will machinate a way to survive without breaking the universe with his divergent timelines, lol. Perhaps that’s the whole purpose of the plot going forward.
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5e Irelia, the Blade Dancer build (League of Legends)
(Artwork by Jessica “OwleyCat” Oyhenart. Made for Riot Games.)
FINE I’LL MAKE IRELIA GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!
Irelia is my least favorite champion in League. She’s not my most banned (Shaco) nor is she the champion I complain the most about, but she is absolutely the champion that I look at and constantly think “this character actively ruins the game for me.” I’ll admit that Irelia’s role in the Sentinels of Light story was pretty interesting but you’re still not going to make me like Irelia, Riot!
I’m not going to bore everyone with a long-winded rant about my hatred for this character and how what I thought was going to be a nerf actually made her S tier (joy to the fucking world I now actually have to ban her) but I will say this: there are no champions who I won’t make a genuine build for if I take the time to make a proper blog post about them... Except Talon, but that’s because Talon has one of the most boring kits in the entirety of League of Legends.
GOALS
Step. Two. Whirl. Lift! - What? Do you think that a champion with literally unlimited dashes is unfair?
Perfection of form - We’ll also need to weave our blades around us like a dress, slicing at foes and protecting yourself in one fluent motion.
Remember the Placidium! - When in doubt just use more blades.
RACE
Irelia’s a human... but making humans all the time is boring. Irelia has an innate magic and I’d consider being in-tune with Ionia’s spirit a connection to the Fey. So I decided to make her an elf for the sake of this build, more particularly an Aereni High Elf from Eberron for the innate Expertise.
A regular High Elf works too if your DM doesn’t allow Eberron races; the only thing that really changes with the Aereni High Elf is that you get Expertise in a skill. Valenar elves are also cool for the Double Scimitar.
You can also make Irelia a human but there aren’t many feats I want for her except maybe Mobile, but I felt like being an elf was more fun to grab other feats.
As an elf you have +2 to your Dexterity score, Keen Senses for proficiency in the Perception skill (gotta watch those wards!), and the Fey Ancestry of Ionia grants you advantage against charms and immunity to being put to sleep magically. Instead of sleeping you can spend time in a Trance meditating to regain strength. You only need 4 hours in a trance to rest, and are fully aware of your surroundings while doing so.
As an Aereni Elf you get Expertise in one skill of your choice: we’ll be taking Performance because... well you are a dancer. As a High Elf you learn one Cantrip from the Wizard list, and we’ll actually be taking Prestidigitation to aid in our performances. Oh and you’d normally be increasing your Intelligence by 1 but we’ll instead be increasing your Wisdom because... well it fits Irelia more. (No big loss if you increase Intelligence instead though.) And you can learn one language of your choice: pick whatever you think would inspire fear into the heart of Noxians!
ABILITY SCORES
15; CHARISMA - A dancer is meant to be beautiful first and foremost.
14; DEXTERITY - Of course dancing takes nimbleness. "When no one's around, I dance for myself."
13; WISDOM - This is where the +1 from our race is going! Keep in-tune with the natural world and Ionia’s spirit.
12; CONSTITUTION - You are still a top laner with just... way too much sustain. (Feel free to swap this with Wisdom for more HP but less roleplay.)
10; INTELLIGENCE - Nature is an intelligence skill and military tactics are good to learn, but we simply need everything else more.
8; STRENGTH - You swing your blades with the rhythm of the natural order. Which is to say Riot doesn’t like buff ladies.
BACKGROUND
A dancer is a type of Entertainer. You get proficiency in Acrobatics but since you already have expertise in Performance feel free to grab Nature to become more in-tune with the world around you. You also get proficiency with a Disguise Kit and an instrument of your choice: pick whatever you think suits you and make your own Ionian war hero!
You feature By Popular Demand makes you known as both a dancer and a war leader! You can perform in exchange for a place to rest for you and your allies, and people will remember your dance and treat you with respect.
(Artwork by Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Made for Riot Games.)
THE BUILD
LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1
What? Did you expect this to just be 20 levels of Swords Bard? Honestly Rogue serves as a better recreation of Irelia’s abilities, at least at early levels. That and I want proficiency in 4 skills, so take Insight, Persuasion, Intimidation, and Slight of Hand proficiency to lead and dance with grace. You also get Expertise in two of those skills: Acrobatics is a must but since we’ve already got proficiency in Performance you may as well grab Persuasion for good relations with Ionia’s people.
You also get Thieves’ Cant to speak in the way only other performers can understand, “performers” in this case being other Rogues. But of course the main skill you get is Sneak Attack, giving you an extra d6 of damage if you have advantage on your attack or an ally is near the enemy you’re attacking.
LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2
I always love when I get to recreate League of Legends dashes by just... letting you use the Dash action a lot. Second level Rogues can make Cunning Actions to Dash, Disengage, or Hide as a Bonus Action. Keep it simple stupid and weave around your foes on the battlefield.
LEVEL 3 - ROGUE 3
Third level Rogues get to choose their Roguish Archetype, and to dance around the battlefield while slicing down foes the Swashbuckler is a great choice to keep your rhythm in check. Your Fancy Footwork will allow you to attack a foe before slipping away without provoking Opportunity Attacks while your Rakish Audacity will allow you to add your Charisma to your Initiative to always be the first on the front line.
Rakish Audacity also lets you Sneak Attack a foe who is alone on the battlefield as long as you don’t have disadvantage and they don’t have an ally within 5 feet, letting you hit them for an extra 2d6 with your blades.
Now may as well be a time to ask: Dual Wielding or single weapon? Since you’re not going to be getting a shield I’d say carrying two blades is worth it for the potential to deal more damage when needed. You can also use your Dual Wielding attack to activate Fancy Footwork more often to evade more enemies. Just be mindful of when Dashing or Dodging would be more useful.
LEVEL 4 - ROGUE 4
4th level Rogues get an Ability Score Improvement and Dexterity controls most of what we do right now, so a +2 to DEX would be beneficial.
LEVEL 5 - ROGUE 5
Normally I wouldn’t go out of my way to grab level 5 in Rogue just for the sake of Uncanny Dodge, but here’s the thing: it’s literally Irelia’s Defiant Dance! Take less damage from an attack you saw coming before striking back with your 3d6 Sneak Attack.
(Artwork by Michelle Hoefener. Made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 6 - BARD 1
Now it’s time for those 20 15 levels in Swords Bard! Multiclassing into Bard gives you proficiency with one musical instrument (pick your fancy) and one skill of your choice: I opted for Arcana because... well you’re fighting with magical floating blades. (Or at least you will be in due time.)
As a Bard you can inspire your allies as a Bonus Action thanks to Bardic Inspiration, letting them add a d6 to their Attack Rolls, Ability Checks, or Saving Throws. You have a maximum number of Inspiration die equal to your Charisma modifier, which come back after a Long Rest... for now.
But of course as a Bard you get Spellcasting! You learn two cantrips from the Bard list such as Message to communicate on the frontline, and Vicious Mockery which is sure what I fucking feel playing against an Irelia one-trick smurf account. You can also learn four leveled spells like Faerie Fire to mark your foes, Command to strike fear in the hearts of foes, Heroism to strike vigor in the hearts of allies, and Healing Word; because healing is always good to have.
LEVEL 7 - BARD 2
Second level Bards have dabbled in a little bit of everything: healing, damage, healing, mobility, healing, crowd control, oh and I think Irelia does need some more healing. Regardless Jack of All Trades will let you add half your proficiency bonus to any skill checks you aren’t already proficient in. (This also includes Initiative which is important to mention!)
If you use Tasha’s rules you can also grab Magical Inspiration to make your allies’ spells either heal more or do more damage thanks to your Inspiration. Oh and speaking of spells you can also grab Longstrider for more speed on the battlefield.
Oh and you get Song of Rest, the ability I always mock for scaling poorly. But it will help your allies recover after a hard battle!
LEVEL 8 - BARD 3
Irelia has many magical blades because she went to the College of Swords. Along with Bonus Proficiencies with Medium Armor and Scimitars (neither of which Rogues have for some reason) you can pick up a Fighting Style: I personally opted for Two-Weapon Fighting to get more attacks in but Dueling is also a perfectly fine.
Of course the main appeal of being a Blade Dancer is your Blade Flourish: When you attack on your turn you move 10 feet faster until the end of the turn, and if you hit you can use a Bardic Inspiration on a Blade Flourish:
Defensive Flourish lets you roll your Bardic Inspiration to add to your damage and AC.
Slashing Flourish lets you roll your Bardic Inspiration to add to your damage, and do that extra damage to any other creature of your choice (that you can see) within 5 feet of you.
Mobile Flourish lets you roll your Bardic Inspiration to add to (guess what) the damage. You can also push the target up to 5 feet away from you, plus a number of feet equal to the number you roll on that die. Immediately afterwards you can use your reaction to move up to your walking speed to an unoccupied space within 5 feet of the target. It’s not quite a Dash, but it’s certainly a Bladesurge!
You can only use one Blade Flourish per turn though. Additionally you get Expertise in two skills like Insight and Nature, to know the spirit of both people and the world around you. And finally you can learn a second level spell like Hold Person for a stun before you do your full combo.
LEVEL 9 - BARD 4
4th level Bards can grab something a little better than Flash; the Fey Teleportation feat! Along with a +1 to your Charisma you learn Sylvan, but most importantly you can cast Misty Step once per Short or Long Rest to get out of a dangerous situation! It unfortunately doesn’t add the spell to your spell list (like Fey Touched from Tasha’s Cauldron) but being able to regain your mobility spell after a Short Rest is extremely useful!
Speaking of spells you learn one more Bard spell, and one more cantrip! For your cantrip take Mage Hand to grab blades from afar, and for your leveled spell take Calm Emotions. It perhaps isn’t the most practical and there are certainly better options, but it’s fitting.
(Artwork made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 10 - BARD 5
5th level Bards get a Font of Inspiration, letting their Bardic Inspiration charges come back after a Short Rest. That’s nice because your Bardic Inspiration (and Blade Flourish die) also increases to a d8.
You can also grab a third level spell like Hypnotic Pattern, to stun an entire army with your blades.
LEVEL 11 - BARD 6
6th level Bards can finally turn their Vampiric Scepter into Blade of the Ruined King, giving them some Attack Speed for an Extra Attack. You can still only use one Blade Flourish per turn, but at least now you can attack twice with your action or up to three times if you make a Two-Weapon Fighting attack.
You can also grab another spell but there’s not much I want from third level, so instead I’ll talk about Countercharm, which is dumb and bad. You spend an action to give yourself and nearby allies advantage against Charms and Fears. Or you could fight through the fear and slay your foes... or cast Heroism or Calm Emotions.
LEVEL 12 - BARD 7
7th level Bards can learn 4th level spells like Dimension Door to teleport into lane or back to base, and Freedom of Movement for some Tenacity.
LEVEL 13 - BARD 8
8th level Bards get another Ability Score Improvement. We’ve been investing more in Bard so more Charisma would be nice for more Blade Flourishes and better spellcasting.
You can also learn another spell but again: don’t really want anything, so we’re going to wait for...
(Artwork by Jana Schirmer. Made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 14 - BARD 9
9th level Bards get to pretend that Song of Rest is a useful ability that scales well, especially when multiclassing. I mean, at least it’s a d8 now!
You also get 5th level spells like Animate Objects. Hey: it only took us 14 levels to get your blades! You can also grab Rary's Telepathic Bond (ty Tasha’s) to keep to team chat with everyone.
LEVEL 15 - BARD 10
10th level Bards get Expertise in two more skills: take Arcana to further your connection to Ionia, and Slight of Hand for the specific hand movements to manipulate your blades. You also see your Bardic Inspiration increase to a d10, which also means your Blade Flourishes deal a d10 of damage!
Additionally you get Magical Secrets from any class so you can use your unique brand of blade magic. And by far the most blade-like spell you can grab (at this level) is Steel Wind Strike, to dash through multiple foes for a big burst of damage!
Additionally we will be grabbing Blade of the Ruined King (finally) with Spirit Shroud; yes it’s a bit of a low-level spell but it serves as a great damage boost to your melee attacks and also keeps enemies close for you to fight them. And finally you get one more cantrip: Mending will help you keep your outfit in check.
Also if you want you can replace Message with Prestidigitation now that you have Rary’s Telepathic Bond.
LEVEL 16 - BARD 11
11th level Bards get 6th level spells: you can lean into your lessons as a dancer and take Otto's Irresistible Dance to force your foes to keep up with the rhythm or die trying. "Okay, I'm warmed up."
LEVEL 17 - BARD 12
12th level Bards don’t get extra spells, but they do get another Ability Score Improvement: more Charisma means more Bardic Inspiration die (for more Blade Flourishes), better spells, and more initiative so capping that out would give you more bang for your buck overall.
(Artwork by Art of Maki. Made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 18 - BARD 13
Hey remember when I said Song of Rest is a useful ability? Well it’s a d10 now!
At least you can learn Forcecage to take Noxians as prisoners of war to be properly judged... As long as they don’t have a filth bucket in their cell.
LEVEL 19 - BARD 14
14th level Swords Bards as masters of their blades, and can perform a Master’s Flourish using a d6 instead of one of their Bardic Inspiration.
You also get two more Magical Secrets, and hey we can finally grab your ult! Take Blade Barrier to cut the armies off with your Vanguard’s Edge. Alternatively if you need to go back to base take Word of Recall to recall back to your fountain. Which is to say: I had no other good spells to give you.
LEVEL 20 - BARD 15
15th level Bards see their Bardic Inspiration die (and their Blade Flourish die) increase to its maximum size of a d12! And you can cap off the build with an 8th level spell, but in all honesty there isn’t many spells I want from 8th level. So use that slot to upcast and take Hold Monster instead to finally be able to stun Wukong.
FINAL BUILD
PROS
Grace bends where strength breaks - You have a variety of ways to deal consistent damage between competency with swords, Blade Flourishes, and powerful spells.
I move to unsung melodies and unbeaten rhythms - +12 to initiative and the ability to move between enemies you attack freely means you’re guaranteed to be on the battlefield fast and able to put yourself in a position to fight with your allies.
Never stop learning; there's always a form you don't know - It was not my intention but turns out Bards and Rogues get a lot of skill proficiencies. +17 in Performance and Persuasion, +16 in Acrobatics and Slight of Hand, +14 in Insight, and +12 in Arcana and Nature. Not to mention Jack of All Trades helping you with all the skills you don’t have proficiency in.
CONS
Each form has a name known only to the wind - So your Dexterity isn’t maxed out, which means you’re a little lacking in both AC and hit chance. Honestly level 5 of Rogue isn’t that good, even if Uncanny Dodge works well as Defiant Dance. 4 / 16 would’ve been better for another ASI.
Stay ready, and there is no need to get ready - Most of your fun spells are accessed at a very high level, with your lower leveled spells dedicated more to utility. You’re a sword fighter first and foremost but seeing as your Charisma is maxed it would be good to use your high Charisma.
We are sharpest where we break! - Low DEX and no Shield (no Shield spell and two-weapon Fighting) means that your AC isn’t the most impressive. That along with 120 health means that a few bad hits can put you in the danger zone. Sure Uncanny Dodge gives you a reliable way to soak up damage but a good surprise hit will quickly put an end to you.
But you don’t need to worry about weaknesses when you’re probably smurfing anyways. Dash, dance, and decapitate foes in a graceful death of a thousand cuts. Keep your style and inspire the commonfolk to take up arms to protect their homeland. Just don’t get too out of line, or Riot might nerf your movement speed by 5.
(Artwork by Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Made for Riot Games.)
#dnd#dnd build#dnd guide#dnd 5e#League of Legends#League of Legends Irelia#dnd bard#dnd rogue#better#nerf#Irelia#god I fucking hate this champ
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jean moreau x pride months
happy pride month kids, here‘s some wholesome jerejean content for your soul!! does this make any sense? no. is it a mess? yes. hope you enjoy this!!
the first pride month
it‘s the beginning of june and jeremy starts acting weird
he smiles more, the real smile normally reserved for winning an exy game or when he‘s alone with jean
he started drawing flags on his face or on his eye lids, jeremy never wore make-up, not more than his usual eyeliner and nail polish
„what does that mean?“, jean asks, pointing at the flags on his cheeks.
„the pink, yellow, blue one means i‘m pan. you know, i like more than one gender, i told you that already. and the grey, purple, white and black one that looks like an arrow? that means i‘m demisexual, you know how i only feel sexual attraction to people i have a bond with? that‘s demisexual. those are pride flags, it‘s pride month. didn‘t you know that?“
of course jean didn‘t know, after all he was locked up in a bassement for 10 years and he didn‘t exactly talk the first time he came over here last year at the end of june.
„what‘s pride month?“, jean asked softly, knowing that jeremy would never judge him, never think he was stupid.
„it‘s a month for lgbtqa+ folks. that stands for lesbians, gays, bisexuals, transgender, questioning, asexuals, aromantics and everything inbetween. we celebrate ourselves this month, show how proud we are of ourselves and our community. we celebrate marsh johnson, the black transgender, gay sex worker who started the riots, stonewell, and basically threw a brick at a police officer and started the fight for gay rights“
„how do you know you‘re not straight?“, jean asked quietly. thinking about the way his mind keeps wandering back to jeremy, keeps wandering back to the thought of kissing him, holding his hand, the feeling of his soft, badly dyed ginger hair between his fingers.
„well i always payed more attention to the personality, than the gender. i never really cared what‘s between the legs. and it took me quite a while to figure out that i only feel sexual attraction to people when i have a connection to them“
„have you ever kissed a guy?“, jean asked, curiously now. in the nest it was forbidden, but kevin wanted to try it once, in the dark of the night, the saftey of their room. jean couldn‘t tell if he enjoyed it or not, he never really felt any kind of attraction really. only bone deep fear. burning anger. and whatever the fuck his heart was doing when kevin held him close.
„yeah, i had a boyfriend throughout highschool, sophmore year until the end of summer of our senior year. and then freshman year of college i had this girlfriend who was really controlling and yeah. that‘s it. have you?“, his voice was soft, it reminded jean of the sunlight forming some kind of halo behind jeremy.
„kevin wanted to try it once. riko caught us. that‘s how it began“, jean replied, a shadow crossing over both his and jeremy‘s face. in a moment of weakness, at the beginning, jean told jeremy what they did to him in the nest, after jeremy accidentally touched him from behind.
„do you want to try it again?“, jeremy asked, a small smile on his lips. „with me, that is“, he added, barely audible.
„okay“, jean replied, leaning in.
jean was a couple inches taller than jeremy, and jeremy had to stand on his tiptoes to close the last few inches between them.
it was a soft kiss, a different than the stolen ones from kevin. better. these tasted like sunlight, like warmth, like home.
jean kissed jeremy back. carefully, softly, being scared he would break him, destroy him with his darkness.
„how was it?“, jeremy smiled at him after they were done, exchanging kisses, not stealing them. they were equals, no one would hurt him for wanting this
„i think i‘m only attracted to you“, jean admitted quietly. „but like not sexually. i don‘t like sex. never did. i never thought anyone was sexually attractive, i never wanted this and i still don‘t. i‘m sorry“
„you don‘t have to apologize, jean. that‘s being called asexual, the lack of sexual attraciton that is. and the not wanting sex part? sex repulsed. very valid. i will never be like them, i will never force you to do anyhting you‘re not comfortable with“
„and what if you miss having sex and want it and i can‘t give it to you?“, jean asked, tears burning behind his eyes. „i‘m not worth of your light, your warmth, your love as it is. i‘m broken, i‘m dark, i‘m everything you don‘t deserve. you deserve someone who is fixed and happy and can give you the entire world and go places without a panic attack and and and“
„ssh, jean. it‘s alright. it‘s alright. i want you. no one but you. i really, really like you and i am glad you like me to. you‘re not broken, you‘re not dark. you are wonderful. and no one is fixed, we‘re all a little broken in our own ways. i struggled with an eating disorder. i have adhd. sometimes i feel a little sad without any reason and can‘t get out of bed. sometimes i can‘t sleep and other days i could sleep for days. i don‘t need the entire world, i just need you“
it was this june, about a year after jean arrived in california, that he not only found a person who saw more in him than his scars, but a person who loved him not despite of them but for them
the second pride month
it‘s been a year since jean and jeremy kissed for the first time. a year full of highs and lows, fights and making up, miscommunication and cuddles, sweet kisses and ones tasting of tears. but it was also the year jean figured out that he might not be a boy after all.
„do you ever feel like you‘re not a entirely a boy?“, jean asked softly, threading his fingers through jeremy‘s soft blonde hair.
„dude, i‘m genderfluid, remember? alvarez bursted in our room and threw these in our face so people could refer to me with the right pronouns“
„that‘s why you changed your middle name to sol isn‘t it? because you like the sun and you like your hispanic heritage and it‘s a female name?“
„exactamente mi corazón“
„what are you today?“, jean asked softly, as he did every day.
„they/them, i don‘t feel like a guy or a girl today. just vibing“
„i- i think i‘m not entirely a boy either. like i know i was born as a boy and i‘m okay with that. but i feel like there‘s more to that. i can‘t put it in words but i think i want to try to go by he/ they. what do you call those people who don‘t quite find in the binary? i think i‘m that“
„that‘s nonbinary darling. i‘m proud of you. you‘re doing great“
jean didn‘t know how to repeat to that so he just decided to pull jeremy closer to him.
this pride month jean found a little part of himself, another puzzle piece to the mystery that his own person and it felt like a tiny little step towards a future he never dreamt he would have.
it was also the month he started wearing nail polish, because he loved the look on jeremy‘s face when they did them. occasionally he will wear some eyeliner.
the third pride month
another year passed, this year jean got himself a support dog. to help with the anxiety attacks. to help him heal.
it‘s a dalmatiner, called luna. she was trained to feel when he is uncomfortable and come closer to him, licking his hands, being close, being there
it is also the month he wanted to join jeremy for pride
„what are you today?“
„a girl i think. jeremy or sol are both fine“
„will you draw the flags on my face?“, he asked on the day of the parade.
„are you sure you want to go honey?“, sol asked softy, while she went to the bathroom to get her things.
„would i have asked if it wasn‘t moi amour?“, jean replied. „wait hold on, don‘t answer that“, he laughed looking at jeremy‘s face.
„but i‘m sure. first of all it makes you happy. second of all you missed it the last two years. third of all it will piss kevin off and i love that almost as much as i love. and lastly i have luna, she makes sure i‘m fine and i can always leave when i feel uncomfortable“
„okay, babe. what do you want me to do?��
„i want my flags on my face and maybe you can do my nails“, jean replied, smiling at jeremy as he did ever so often. „cover the tatoo, will you?“, he asked softly, touching the cursed three, counting the days for his cover up appointment in july.
„it‘s soon gone honey. it‘s gonna be alright“, jeremy whispered, feeling the tension in jean‘s shoulders.
„which color do you want your nails? mine are pastel rainbow look! alvarez got me those for my birthday last month! do you want matching nails?“
„whatever you want darling, you can choose“
„neat!“
this year jeremy‘s hair were a soft pink. it was 2 am when he bursted into the room whisper shouting „jean i‘m gay i must do something drastic to my hair. help me?“ and who was jean to question his beautiful date mate.
so jeremy took jean‘s face carefully in his hands, starting to draw jean‘s pride flags (demiromantic, asexual, nonbinary) on his face, hiding his tattoo underneath the black/ white/grey/ purple stripes of the asexual pride flag.
„they have no power over you anymore mi corazón. and if anyone gives you shit i will come for them“, jeremy whisperes against jean‘s lips before softly kissing them. „and now give me your beautiful hands so i can do your nails. i‘m feeling a pastel rainbow“
for the parade jean is wearing one of the shirts jeremy got him. it‘s yellow with a rainbow on it. „so you have a little brightness in your life“, he would tell him when he go it for him. it was before they started dating. it was before jean was able to tell him „but you are the brightest thing in the world and somehow you chose me as your person“, paired with light blue ripped jeans and his yellow fans. they started wearing yellow when they came to california, cutting off black completely, replacing it with colors and brightness.
jeremy on the other hand wore rainbow dungarees with a white shirt and white doc martens. his hair was up in two space buns, little pride flags put into them.
„do you think they get the hint?“, she smiled with a blinding smile.
„you‘re so unbelieveably beautiful sol“, jean replied.
they got luna and went to the parade.
it was scary, yes. but it was also beautiful.
people approaching them, asking for selfies, talking to him.
at first he was a bit anxious, but sol took their hand and luna licked his feet and it was alright. no one was hurting him. no one would punish him. he was surrounded by pride and love and happiness.
at some point he asked a girl with rainbow hair, she reminded him of renee, if she could take a picture of him and jeremy. she said yes, took one of them smiling, one of them kissing, and one of them where jeremy just smiled at his person.
it was the pride month he came out via social media. it was the pride month kevin called at two am, telling him how happy he was for them. that he himself found a boy, fell for him, but is too much a coward to do something about it. it‘s the year where he gets a lot of love, many fans telling him how proud they are of him and at least the same amount of hate. but it was alright. they had jeremy and that was all that truly mattered.
now
year after year they returned to the pride parade, with flags on their faces, or around their shoulders
sometimes neil and andrew or aaron and kevin would join them, sometimes they would go with laila and alvarez and sometimes jean and jeremy would go on their own
after college jean quit exy, jeremy went pro and gave his money to moriyamas, while jean opened his own tattoo studio, wrote songs, wrote crappy poetry and slightly better novels, tried himself as a part time model and fashion designer
they found happiness and home in each other and celebrated their love not only in pride but also every single day of the year
jean and jeremy got more dogs, an apartment of their own with big windows so they could watch the sunrise and sunset together
they have their ups and downs, like every other couple, but that doesn‘t matter. never did. what truly matters is that they keep finding back to each other. that they keep ending up in the same bed, in each others arms.
jean moreau never believed in love, never believed in soulmates and yet he found their soulmate, found the love of his life. and they are happy they stayed, kept fighting, to find this. to make a difference to the world. to be finally free. to be alive, living instead of only existing.
„jean?“, jermey says, fidgeting with his fingers.
„what is it moi soleil?“, jean relies getting lost in these ocean blue eyes.
„do you remember what happened five years ago?“, jeremy asks, his eyes looking anywhere but jean.
„we kissed for the first time?“, jean answers, panic slowly crawling through his veins.
„exactly so i thought we could celebrate this at the beach. you know, where our first date was?“, jeremy says nervously.
„honey are you alrighgt?“, jean is getting more and more worried, jeremy has never been that nervous.
„sure, come on mi corazón“
so jean slowly gets up and carefully puts on his shoes. something is weird here, something is wrong
jeremy seems off the entire ride to the beach they had their first date at.
when they arrive jean takes jeremy‘s hand, noticing that they are shaking ever so slightly. it is something like a nervous tick of them.
jean and jeremy arrive at the beach in time to watch the sun setting, making place for her lover the moon.
jean looks over to jeremy, when they suddenly get up and start pacing.
„jer, you‘re scaring me. please tell me what‘s going on up there“, jean says touching his head lightly.
„okay. i can do this“, jeremy mumbles as he gets down on his knee. „jean moreau, you are the love of my life. the light of my existence. ever since i saw you for the first time i knew i liked you, more than i was supposed to. i never dared to hope you would ever like me, or love me for that matter, but somehow you did. somehow you didn‘t turn away when i told you i‘m demi or pan or genderfluid. you stayed. you supported me. you love me. and i want to spend the rest of my life with you, so do me the favour and in the name of god, should they exist, do me the favour and marry me“
jean feels tears running his cheeks. „of course i will marry you, you loser“, he laughs, as he pulls jeremy down to him and connects their lips together. and it feels like their first kiss. it always does. and they would do that for the rest of their lives.
#all for the game#the foxhole court#the raven king#the king’s men#jeremy knox#jean moreau#jerejean#jeremy knox x jean moreau#ship: jerejean
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Robin Hood and His Merry Band
list of characters for an original series I’m working on
Alan-a-Dale - the gloomy and cynical bard, the grumpy voice of reason who doesn’t give a fuck, wonders why he hangs out with these crazies, knows it’s cause they’re family to him but won’t admit it out loud, besties with Friar Tuck even though they never agree on anything, is clearly a bi disaster
The Archdeacon of Canterbury - The aging head cleric of the church of England. He supports King Richard but is becoming increasingly impotent because of his failing health. Still holds a lot of political power because of his title though.
The Azure Assassin - A deadly mercenary and rival to Robin Hood. Orphaned at a young age Azure had to steal to survive. She stowed away on a pirate ship at the age of ten and has spent the pass eight years studying fighting techniques the world over. They call her the Azure Assassin because her blue eyes are the last thing you’ll see before dying. She’s gained a modest fortune and fame as a spy and assassin, however she can never stay in one play too long due to her reputation getting out. Prince John has offered her a pardon and a place in high society if she brings in Robin Hood’s head. Shame she’s fallen in love with his brother Will Scarlet, as that complicates matters.
The Bishop of Hereford - Conservative asshole who supports Prince John’s rule and shares his beliefs on ‘bringing order to the kingdom’. Wants to usurp the Archdeacon as the head of the church. Is Friar Tuck’s and Sister Clara’s arch nemesis.
Dame Brianna DuBois - Also known as the The Black Knight, DuBois is loyal to the throne of England and whoever sits upon it. She’s Prince John’s personal bodyguard and unbeknownst to all a double agent for King Richard who is in hiding. However she is conflicted when her duty places her lover Yua in jeopardy. Yes, she’s totally a butch lesbian.
The Duke of Essex - Prince John’s adviser and right hand man. He only cares for power for power’s sake but is sneaky and conniving and willing to play the long game to get it. He prefers poison to swords, but is surprisingly good at hand to hand combat when cornered. Has a pet snake. It’s the only living thing that he loves.
Elenore of England - Prince John and King Richard’s sister and Maid Marian’s mother. She died when negotiations during a worker dispute turned violent. Unable to quell the people’s rage, she was stuck down during a riot. Richard, blaming himself for losing his temper and causing things to escalate has since tried to follow in her footsteps and become peacemaker. Prince John went the opposite route and blamed the ungrateful peasants (criminals in his mind) and resented Richard for even bothering to negotiating in the first place.
Friar Tuck - The jovial and optimistic heart of the team. He tries to keep everyone’s spirits up and believes that helping people is the ultimate expression of god’s love. Is a hopeless romantic and also very, very gay. He butts heads with more traditional leaders of the church often. He also has a not so secret crush on his best friend Alan.
Guy of Gisbourne - From pauper to nobleman, Guy is Robin’s opposite in everyway. He crawled up from the bottom rung by using and stepping on others and he’s always looking for the opportunity to climb the ranks. Don’t let his foppish ways fool you though, he is both a cunning and ruthless foe and isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. His latest scheme however is to marry Maid Maiden and become next in line for the throne as Prince John has no other heirs save his ward.
King Richard - Good Richard the Lionhearted is no longer a bloodthirsty crusader in this alternate universe but a peacemaker. He wishes to end wars, not start them, however his more abrasive, uncouth, and impulsive nature can often clash with his loftier goals. Many feel the king would do better to stay at home and tend to domestic matters instead of concerning himself with the conflicts of other far off lands. At the start of the story he has disappeared on one of his diplomatic visits. In reality Prince John has stuck a deal with the king’s enemies and he is currently on the run.
Lady Tiffany - Little John’s little wife and the daughter of the Sherriff of Nottingham. She acts as the gang’s ‘man on the inside’ helping Robin Hood sneak in and out of places and feeding the team needed information. She’s stubborn and spoiled but also very kind hearted. She usually can get her father to give into her demands with just a pout and when that doesn’t work a full on tantum will do. She a woman who knows what she wants and what she wants is her man. Unfortunately daddy dreariest would never approve of their union and so Friar Tuck marries them in secret.
Little John - Robin’s best friend and right hand man. He’s a simple man who loves life’s simple pleasures, good food, good friends, and a good brawl from time to time. He adores his partner, Tiffany and would like nothing more than to marry her for real, in a real church, in front of the whole world. However their relationship must remained hidden from her father, the Sheriff, since the violent lawman would sooner see him hanged then have a thief for a son-in-law.
Lord Locksley - Robin’s and Will’s father. He is arrested for ‘not paying taxes’ but in reality it’s for supporting King Richard and secretly helping the displaced monarch. His arrest leads to Robin and Will becoming outlaws and the series kicks off two years later.
Maid Marian - Prince John’s ward and niece. Her mother died when she was young and her beloved uncle adopted her. Prince John is the only parent she’s ever known and she at first believes him to be a kind and just man. She’s completely oblivious of Prince’s John’s underhanded dealings and oppression of the poor and at first is skeptical of Robin Hood. However as the two grow closer, Marian learns how harsh the real world is and just how much her father figure has lied to her.
Miss Yua - Maid Marian’s lady-in-waiting and best friend. She’s the daughter of Sir Ivanhoe and longs to be a knight as well. She’s a stickler for rules and doesn’t trust Robin Hood and his gang of thieves. At first anyways, over time she too learns of Prince John’s cruelty and even becomes a victim of the tyrant’s schemes. Which puts her in direct conflict with her love, Brianna DuBois.
Much the Miller's Son - born as Midge the miller’s daughter, the young Much longs to be accepted as a boy. As such he’s ditched his dresses, cut his hair, and ran away to Sherwood Forrest in order to be free from society’s expectations. The rest of the merry band accepts Much for who he really is, but at only 13 won’t let him join their gang. He still winds up caught up in their misadventures anyways due to his refusal to listen to anybody, and his determination to get away from his overbearing mother.
Nurse Agnes - Maid Marian’s wet nurse and the closest thing to a mother that she has. Agnes believes in the ‘old ways’ and is very superstitious. She’s also very critical of royalty in general, but is smart enough not to say so out loud. She’s tried to raise Marian into a better person than Prince John, but eventually was dismissed once Marian had come of age. Since leaving the court Agnes has become the witch of the woods and a healer for the poor.
Prince John - The main antagonist. Prince John believes that he needs to bring order to the kingdom of England and feels like his brother King Richard has neglected his duties as ruler and placed the kingdom in danger. He'll do whatever it takes to protect the country including subjecting it’s undesirables.
Robin Hood - Leader of the Merry Band and archer extraordinaire, Robin Hood had to go on the lam when his father was arrest for ‘treason’. While his first priority was to keep his baby brother, Will, safe, the two of them met other outcasts in need over the years have built up an underwound network of rebels who fight against Prince John’s rule. Seemingly suave and cool at first, Robin is actually a bundle of nerves as he tries desperately to keep his friends and family safe...even if it’s mostly from themselves. His world is turned upside down though when he meets the lovely Maid Marian.
Sheriff of Nottingham - The spiteful and cruel sheriff tries to keep the small town of Nottingham under his thumb. He hates Robin Hood and his Merry Band with a passion and sees their continued exitance as a personal insult. The only thing that will deter him from his goal of putting those outlaws in their place is his devotion to his beloved daughters Tiffany. Who distracts him with her seemingly impulsive and shallow whims.
Sir Ivanhoe - A respected knight who once served under King Richard has returned home only to find that his king has not made the journey back as planned. He suspects that Prince John is up to no good, but is afraid to make any risky moves so long as his daughter Yua lives among the court. Her safety is the most important thing in the world to him.
Sister Clara - The resident nerd of Sherwood Forrest and the brains of the team. Clara had joined a convent in order to receive an education and to study science, however her experiments were frowned upon by more traditional leaders of the church, like the Bishop of Hereford. She’s since renounced her monastic vows and has joined Robin Hood’s Merry Band in the pursuit of science! She’s allowed free rein on the sole condition that she doesn’t blow up the camp. She still manages to blow up the camp, at least once a month. Still her inventions are invaluable to the team and she’s absolutely feral with her chim-bombs.
The Trapper - A mysterious hermit who sometimes visits the local pub. He’ll often corner patrons with crazy drunken ramblings and loves to give Robin cryptic prophecies and disjoined ‘clues’ whenever they run into each other. (turns out this is an act and he’s really a spy for King Richard)
Will Scarlett - Robin’s younger brother. Will was 15 when they lost their father and now at 17 wants revenge. He’s a hothead and is constantly picking fights with everyone and anyone. While he is dismissive of Robin’s overprotectiveness, he both loves and admires his brother. Even tries to emulate him in some ways. He also would like to think of himself as a smooth talking clever con artist and ladies man but more often then not his temper gets the better of him. Like most teens he’s obsessed with the latest fashion tends and loves to wear fancy clothes (that he’s usually stolen) He’s favorite article of clothing is his impractical red feathered hat. He’s in love with Azure and is best friends with Much.
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Found by the Fighter
Imma warn y'all now: The story under the readmore has creepy vibes through mentions of death and violence. I know y'all are used to cute n' harmless stuff from me, so the shift from that to this might be a bit jarring. This is Danganronpa after all, and Ultra Despair Girls is more intense than the three main games. Which is saying something considering the main three consist of literal Killing Games.
The moment that sweet, cheery voice called out from behind her, Dallie knew she was screwed.
Why did all of this happen? Why'd the whole town suddenly go apocalypse mode with the kids of Towa City waging war against all adults? How were the so-called "Warriors of Hope" even able to do all of this?
Dallie and Koukai saw the announcement those five kids made right before everything went to hell. It didn't make any sense to Dallie at the time, but all Koukai need to hear were the words "riots" and "refuge" before he began barricading the apartment and calling Dallie's parents, who had remained in the US while Dallie visited her grandpa.
The voices of her mom and dad were still fresh in Dallie's mind, even now. In the moments before the phone went out of service, both of them expressed their love for their daughter for what felt like the final time. Told her to listen to Koukai, and no matter what, stay safe. Even if she never sees them again, she had to promise that she'd stay alive, for their sake.
Thankfully, she was able to say "I promise" before the phone cut off.
Not too long after, robot bears came clawing into Koukai's apartment, ready to kill the two just like how that news reporter was killed on TV. The old man didn't have a fighting bone in his body, but Koukai still told Dallie to run while he held them off. She escaped, but never saw Koukai again.
She didn't dare go back to that apartment, as part of her already knew what she'd find there.
Those five sure loved calling adults Demons, but if anyone was acting demonic, it was them. Because of them and their murder bearbots, Koukai was dead now. Dallie was forced to wander the city alone and terrified, and even after the kids claimed to have "saved" her, not once did she feel safe. Not even with their weird, white-haired Servant, who did little beyond bring Dallie food and tell her that she must "never give in to despair, no matter how tempting it may be," whatever the fuck that meant.
If he was trying to encourage her to be strong, it didn't work. What did work was his offer to escort her back into the city, along with giving directions on how to leave Towa entirely.
Dallie always hated stealth games. Especially when the characters you have to avoid know the routes better than you do.
Not only had she blown the Servant's generous act of sneaking her out of the Warriors of Hope's headquarters, but now she was definitely going to be forced to wear a creepy bear helmet as punishment for running away.
When the pink-haired "Fighter" ran up to her and grabbed her hand, Dallie refused to look at her. Half from disgust and half from terror.
"I was so worried about you! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out here?! What if a Demon found you?"
I've already been caught by one. Rather fitting that you're even wearing demon horns.
The girl paused, as if waiting for a response from Dallie, then sighed. "...Right. You still can't talk. Well, that's okay! I can still keep you safe as we head back home!"
That's not my home. You destroyed the town and killed my grandpa and smiled like nothing was wrong. You're a monster. Let go of me.
Dallie didn't voice any of this. She couldn't bring herself to utter a single word, even before she was captured by the Warriors of Hope. When the red-haired "Hero" began to question Dallie's silence, the Servant played it off as her being "too stunned by her newfound freedom from the Demons to give thanks." Only part of that was correct, as Dallie was struggling to process what was going on, but if Dallie could say anything...
Well, it was good that her parents wouldn't be around to hear it. The swear jar would be filled to the point of being able to pay for a hypothetical college tuition.
"What were you even doing out here, anyway? The Children's Paradise isn't ready yet, y'know. You can come out and play with everyone once it's done, I promise!"
Right. "Paradise." Filled with murder-happy bearbots and creepy helmet-wearing kids that apparently killed their own parents and tons of other innocent adults. Truly a magical wonderland. I can't wait.
Dallie stared down at her feet as the "Fighter" started walking away, keeping a decent grip on her hand. Dallie's palm was starting to sweat, but the "Fighter" either didn't notice or didn't care.
She was so close. She was so damn close, and she blew it.
"Hey, is that a candy store over there? Is that what you wanted? You could've just asked our Servant to get you some sweets, instead of making us worry like that! You don't want Monaca to get upset, do you?"
Right. Monaca. The "Mage." While the "Hero" claimed to be the leader of the Warriors of Hope, Dallie could tell from a glance that this "Mage" was the real deal. The "Priest" had once called her "the princess," and given how the other kids treated her, it made sense, with them practically bending over backwards to keep her happy. The "Sage" liked her most of all, his crush on her obvious to the point of ridiculousness.
When the "Mage" first approached Dallie, she froze, as if by instinct. Those light green eyes and that small smile gave the impression of a cheerful, kind-hearted little girl, but nothing, not even the little "meow!" at the end of the "Mage's" sentences could make Dallie feel at ease. Maybe it was because she was the literal leader of these monsters, but every fiber in Dallie's being told her to stay the fuck away from this green-haired girl.
The "Mage" could tell how scared Dallie was, too. Just like the Servant. That's probably why, when she caught Dallie alone, she told Dallie about what the helmets were for in the first place. How they brainwash you into killing adults. How you can't fight them, no matter how hard you try, and they'll make you do whatever the "Mage" wants. How if Dallie makes one wrong move, she'll be wearing one too.
So, in order to avoid getting a helmet, Dallie had to play nice with the other Warriors of Hope. Keep them happy, do as they say, and don't do anything that'll make them question their blatantly wrong and evil actions. Just do these three simple things, and Dallie keeps her free will.
The face the "Mage" made as she threatened Dallie still haunts her, even now.
"But you know, speaking of Monaca, there was something I wanted to ask her... But since it involves you, and we're alone out here, I wanna ask you first!"
Dallie looked up as the "Fighter" let go of her hand and turned to face her. The pink-haired girl held her hands behind her back and started rocking back and forth, almost looking like a kid who was about to ask their crush to sit with them at the lunch table.
She hadn't even said anything yet and Dallie already didn't like where this was going.
"Sooo... I know that you haven't been with us for very long. And that it takes a while to get used to big changes, like being freed from a Demon. Trust me, I know what it's like!"
No you don't.
"I was pretty scared at first, y'know. You'd think that the rush of freedom would feel really good! Mind-blowingly good! But it took a bit longer than expect for me to feel that way. But until that feeling came, I was so nervous and afraid... And... I think that's what you're going through right now!"
No I'm not. I'm not free. I'm your prisoner. Something for you to toy with or else I get brainwashed.
"But I had the Warriors of Hope by my side when it happened. I had friends looking out for me, and cheering me on for my victory!"
Oh god. It's a "power of friendship" speech. If one of those bearbots could show up right now, that'd be great.
"But... you didn't have that, did you? Masaru told me that it took a few days just to find you after he defeated the Demon that was keeping you prisoner! You must've felt so lost and scared..."
I was. But not for the reasons you think.
"So... I wanted you to know that you don't have to feel that way anymore! You've got me, and Monaca, and the guys! We'll all be here for you! And... um..." The "Fighter" started twiddling her fingers, looking unusually nervous. "I was wondering... if... maybe... You'd like to join us?"
Dallie tilted her head, humming in confusion. What did she just say?
"You know... Be a Warrior of Hope, like us! It'd be great!" The "Fighter" grabbed Dallie's hand again, holding it between her own. "You'd get a neat title, your own battle robot, and a totally adorbs new outfit! Er, okay, the outfit's optional. Don't get me wrong, that pink sweater you're wearing already looks super cute on you! Buuuut if you're moving up the ranks, you gotta look the part! Like how I used to dress up before a performance!"
Dallie could only stare. Is this girl being serious right now??
"And you could hunt Demons with us! That'll help you realize your newfound freedom, I just know it!"
Oh cod. She was serious.
"And you could finally speak again! I mean, if you don't wanna say anything you don't have to, but it'd be nice to hear your voice! I've been wondering what you sound like. And what your name is, but I'm sure that goes without saying."
I'm not saying anything to the likes of you. Let alone my name.
"And we could finally even out the boy/girl split between us! Masaru's always going on about how boys are better, but we'll show him! I mean, you've gotta be super tough to have survived on your own for days! And that was back before so many Demons had gone into hiding, too!"
Please stop talking. I don't wanna join you.
"As for your title... well, I'm already the Fighter, so we'll have to pick something just as strong for you! No one found you at first so that must mean you're really good at sneaking around... Oh! How about Thief? I know you haven't stolen anything at home, but you probably raided a store or two before Masaru found you. And you were eyeballing that candy store a minute ago~" She giggled, "It's good to know that you have good taste when it comes to food! Don't let me catch you eating anything salty, now!"
Too bad. I like eating salt-and-vinegar chips and hard-boiled eggs with lots of salt. And if I ever find some, I'm gonna eat 'em whether you like it or not.
"Where was I? Oh, right, you joining us! Sooo, whaddya say?" The "Fighter" looked at her with sparkling eyes, eager for Dallie's answer.
Fuck. What should she do? If she says yes, they'll make her kill adults with them. If she says no, then... Well, she's not sure what'll happen, but chances are the "Mage" will put a helmet on her for daring to say no to a Warrior of Hope's request. Or worse, the "Fighter" will realize what Dallie was actually doing and rat her out.
There's no way out of this. She's done for. She's-
"...Ah. You look unsure... Maybe you just wanna think about it for a while? I know this was all pretty sudden..."
Wow, something I'm actually grateful to you for! A way out!!
Taking a second to complete the act, Dallie nodded, giving the "Fighter" a nervous smile, followed by a shy glance in a random direction. To further sell it, she began fiddling with her necklace, a motion that everyone had already seen her do dozens of times.
"Okay! Take your time and think it over, and when you're ready, let me know!" Smiling as Dallie nodded, the "Fighter" started walking once more, mumbling and giggling to herself at the thought of adding a new member to the party. She didn't turn to look at her purple-haired friend, not even once.
But if she did, she'd see the look of dread slowly cross Dallie's face with each step.
#danganronpa#danganronpa ultra despair girls#warriors of hope#Kotoko Utsugi#Dallie Rathmore#Dangan!Dallie#on one hand I'd rather just play it safe and not post this at all#but on the other hand I'm happy with how the pic and the story came out and I don't want it to rot in my drafts#axewchaoscribbles#hm... maybe i should make a writing tag one day o3o
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Crossfire
Panda’s Notes: Hey, it’s a new fandom. >w< I kind of fell in love with the chaos and characters from Friday Night Funkin’, so I’ve got a few stories in mind. This one is based on this piece by @fluffymary!
Find it on AO3!
John didn’t have a side. Demons, mortals; the blood of both ran through him. All he really knew was war. The smell of the gunpowder; the ringing in his head from explosive shells; the sounds of tanks and jeeps rolling across their battlefield and the men calling—
“Sir!!” He flinched out of his inner monologue and spun around to see one of his soldiers panting softly in the doorway. “He’s back again.”
As if on cue, there was a chorus of shouts under a melody of loud gunfire. Usually, John wouldn’t bat an eye, but today, he snatched his helmet and the staff leaning beside his door.
“Get Squad 17 together; tell them it’s time.”
The soldier sprinted down the hall, and John took a brisk march in the opposite direction. As he passed the infirmary windows, he could see several soldiers already appearing in beds; and with enough frequency that they quickly began to appear on top of each other. The kid certainly wasn’t slacking this time either.
The soldiers that had recovered were quick to fall into line behind John as he made his way out of the building and onto the field, fanning out to return to where their weapons had fallen from their deaths.
The air screamed as something tore through it at supersonic speeds, and the bullets from several soldiers’ guns were redirected or ricocheted back into their own or a fellow soldier’s face. A cloud of dust suddenly appeared, swirling around the little beast that caused it with his sudden stop.
Fully clad in red and green scales, carrying a beast of an automatic rifle, and excitedly whipping a long tail was the brat they’d met all those weeks ago; and had been continuing to meet every time the bastard needed to blow off steam or something. The little dragon glanced over his shoulder, eyes glowing bright green as he smirked with sharp teeth at John.
John only huffed as the dragon disappeared in a burst of speed, and he drew a strained breath as he felt blood strike his face from a soldier that happened to pass near him. Oh, he was going to teach this kid a lesson alright…
“Sir, do you copy?” John’s radio crackled softly on his shoulder, and he glanced around warily before tipping it closer to catch his voice.
“Copy. What do you want?”
“Squad 17 is in position. On your mark, sir.”
John smirked this time, drawing his staff from its holster on his back and stepping forward. “Everyone, you know what to do.”
The soldiers mobilized quickly, scattering away from the main area and gathering up in a tight group on the target practice field. Many were less than thrilled about the position they knew they were in, and they could only clutch their riot shields and brace when the call went out.
“Here he comes!” Someone shouted, and indeed, the beast could be easily spotted perched on a lamp post and sneering down at them. The rifle in his hands glowed with his green aura before he ripped it into the pair of Uzis they were all too familiar with. The second he vanished, soldiers were dropping and vanishing left and right as bullets ripped through them.
John took his time approaching; there was nothing more that the little bastard seemed to enjoy beside playing with his prey. In the meantime, he leaned into his radio, reconfirming the position and preparation of every member in Squad 17. He could feel a surge of power swirl around him and his staff, and he couldn’t resist the smile on his lips as he finally called out to their attacker.
////////////
Pico adored the battlefield. Miles away from any cities or towns to damage or helpless people to put at risk; dozens of targets to mow through for his personal speed tests; and, most importantly, he knew he couldn’t kill any of them. Pico had known about the “Tankman’s” power long before he’d first been summoned to this place by Lilith’s own abilities. He’d always assumed it was just some kind of rumor; one if his mother’s exaggerated stories.
But here he was again, watching the same soldiers he’d shot through the head reemerge from the main building to come rushing back to the fray.
Fuck whatever Heaven’s got; this was the life.
He must have been a damn sight, tail wagging all over the place. He hadn’t razed like this since he was little, and even then, it was with his mother over his shoulder making sure he was sticking to the targets and locations she’d been assigned. Nothing like letting a fully loaded toddler do your job for you, after all.
He was smacked out of the casual memory by a bullet bouncing off of his armored hand. An attempt to disarm him, probably. Yeah, right. He lunged into a run, his aura spreading out around him. He never got tired of the way bullets hung in midair, easily redirected by a slap from his hand or tail and usually finding a new target in one of the soldiers firing at him. He paused again to catch his breath, unable to keep from laughing to himself as he rolled his shoulders and checked the stopwatch he’d mounted on his rifle.
He felt a sort of tingle as a new, powerful aura hit his senses. The half-blood; the leader; the Tankman. He glanced over his shoulder, sneering a bit fiendishly at the man before zipping off and sending a shot through the soldier that was running by him. He adored pissing him off almost more than mowing through his soldiers. Almost. Nah, no he didn’t.
He spotted a crowd growing at the far end of the training field, and he made his way to the top of a lamppost to get a good look. They were practically lined up, every other row bearing riot shields that wouldn’t stand a chance against Pico’s shots while the others were taking aim.
“Here he comes!” Someone called, and they all seemed to brace and cringe.
Oh, well, now he had to flex. He made a show of transforming his rifle into his favorite pair of Uzis before lunging down into the crowd. The sounds of his guns couldn’t even reach him with how fast he was moving, and he couldn’t resist tackling some soldiers to the ground to make room for a sweep of bullets before shooting them as well. His average time was coming up; he just knew it. He needed a good finisher. Maybe something flashy…
“Alright, you little shit!” Pico flinched at that familiar voice, looking up from his position of standing on a soldier’s chest. Oh, perfect! A high level tag. It’d be a first, for him at least, but taking Tankman down a peg in front of all his soldiers would be a fantastic note to head home on.
“This little game of yours ends now, ya goddamn salamander!” Tankman barked at him, holding a…a fuckin…glowing stick?
Pico blinked, capping the soldier he was standing on before turning to face his target. Why was it taking so long for him to catch his breath? He could have been over there by now. He scoffed as he caught sight of Tankman’s smirk; what’s a little headache if he got to punch that jaw in?
His aura spread out as he prepared to rush, and whoa, whoa, time-fucking-out!
He was dizzy; way too dizzy. He stumbled to a stop, keeping his distance from Tankman; but he was still shaking. His guns vanished, and his head cleared a bit. He could see the staff in Tankman’s hand glowing, and when he narrowed his eyes to hone his demon senses, he could see purple lines and symbols etched into the ground around him. Unfortunately, such an effort threw his head back into a spin, and he found his butt hitting the dirt as his tail and scales shifted off of him to leave him seated there in his school clothes. He pushed his red curls out of his face, panting softly as he glanced around at the soldiers surrounding his new little cage. Shit; there went his run.
“Men, I’d say Operation Coyote was a complete success.” Tankman said with a grin as he stepped forward, and the soldiers cheered and laughed around him.
Pico growled as he locked his gaze on Tankman. His face shifted suddenly as his eyes glowed, flames wisping between the gaps in his teeth as he—promptly faceplanted into the dirt from the sudden lightheadedness.
“Aw, isn’t that cute?” Tankman jeered as others chuckled, and Pico looked up to see him kneeling beside the edge of the circle, which seemed a lot smaller now than it had a minute ago. “He tried to do the scary eyes.” The man popped the visor off of his helmet, and Pico’s face fell as bright purple eyes bored into him from pitch black sclera.
Tankman sneered for a moment at Pico’s speechless staring, standing up as he reattached the visor. “Heh, and that’s how you do it, kid. You like your new playpen, brat?”
Pico blushed a bit, embarrassed, and quickly got to his feet. “It’s tacky, old man.” He growled, clenching a fist and trying a punch. He wasn’t surprised when his hand couldn’t go past the circle, but he was surprised when Tankman’s hand came through to grab him by his shirt.
“Yeah, it’s an older setup;” The man hummed, easily dangling Pico’s human form as the kid kicked against the barrier. “It’s amazing what you pick up when you’re raised by Demon Hunters, eh?”
Pico snarled softly, trying to pry those deceptively strong fingers off of his collar. “When I get out of here, I’m gonna fucking—!" He was shut up when his face was yanked against the barrier.
“You’re not gonna do a damn thing, you shitty little snake-spawn!”
Pico had winced a little at what he assumed must be the “Captain voice” he’d heard rumors about, a cheeky smirk seating itself on his lips to mask his nerves.
“We’re getting sick of your games, runt; and it’s about time you were put in—”
“What?!” Pico shouted exaggeratedly, tipping his head back and kicking the barrier again. “I-I can’t hear you; some old fuck blew my eardrums out with his bitching!”
He just knew Tankman was glaring at him through that stupid visor, and Pico couldn’t help laughing tauntingly until he was dropped on the ground. The man drew his hand back, resting it on his hip as the other tightened its grip on his staff.
“Men, next step. Get started.” He ordered shortly, stepping backwards.
Pico scrambled to his feet. Okay, he was fine as long as he didn’t use his powers; no problem. The soldiers were regrouping, and about ten of them stepped closer to the circle with staves or wands or whatever conduit they carried. Pico growled softly; he had a feeling he knew what they were doing, but dammit, he couldn’t tell which of them was going to attack first. He glanced over his shoulder, sure that they’d go for his blind spot, only for something to lash around one of his wrists.
He yelped, planting his feet and trying to lean back. He did his best to suppress the instinct to use his demon strength, and he growled angrily as he was forced into a tug-of-war with at least one full-grown man who didn’t look like he was having much of a problem keeping the magic coil still. The soldier beside him seemed to perform the same spell, another coil of magic energy zipping around his free wrist.
“Ack! F-Fuckers!” Pico barked, his sneakers dragging in the dirt for a moment before he was yanked down to the ground. He cried out as his tongue got caught between his teeth, and he struggled to find traction to pull against the magic ropes.
“Not bad, boys.” Tankman called, sauntering into the circle. He rested his boot heavily on Pico’s back, and a pair of soldiers managed to wrangle Pico’s flailing legs from outside the circle. “Well, kid, not so tough now, are ya?”
Pico growled up at him, but dammit, he couldn’t think of a response. They’d actually caught him.
“Pfft, no stupid quips either, huh?” Tankman jeered. “Damn, that’s almost sad. Stevie! Front and Center!”
Pico could hear footsteps running toward them, and another soldier made an effort to pass through his sightline and give him a wave.
“Hello, Pico.” He said almost politely, carrying a book under his arm; and Pico hated how genuine he sounded. “Ah, sir, the spell’s ready when you are.”
////////////
John couldn’t help a roll of his eyes when Steve greeted the little brat, given the position they were all in. He was a sweetheart to a fault.
“The spell’s ready when you are.” Steve said with a smile, the book floating out of his palm as his hands glowed. As the pages flipped rapidly on their own, John cracked his knuckles and grinned.
“Good to hear it.” He chuckled, removing the glove on his left hand. “Hit me, Stevie.”
Steve took a deep breath and spread his fingers, and John felt magic wrap around his arm. It coiled and tightened between his fingers, supplying his powers without the circle draining them away. His arm shifted: a dark black-purple form with sharp fingers, meant to reach and pull at souls and the essences of life itself.
“Alright, kiddo…” John hummed, curling his fingers and sneering when he caught sight of the brat looking up at him. “Time to learn ya a thing or two about messing with soldiers.”
The kid yelped when John’s hand clutched at his shoulder, and John’s eyes glowed behind his visor as he forced the brat into a partial shift. Scales quickly covered his back, and half of his head became dragonesque, glowing eye included. The soldiers restraining him had to plant their feet and pull as he got a burst of strength to fight.
“Stevie?” John huffed, setting his knee on one of the kid’s legs as his free hand gripped a handle on his belt.
Steve knelt in front of their captive, smiling in that calming way he does. “Now, Pico, I can imagine how upset you must be, but I’d suggest you keep still. All we’re going to do is a sort of test. Research purposes.”
“Fuck you…” The brat hissed, and John smacked him on the back of the head with his free hand before he could stop himself.
“Don’t fucking talk to Stevie like that, shitstain.” He growled, returning his hand to his belt to finally pull up the knife he’d been unsheathing. “Since you don’t want it sugar-coated, I’m going to scrape some scales off you so our boys can find out what kind of bullshit makes you so damn bulletproof. Knowledge is half the battle, you know.”
The kid’s glowing eye turned to him, a mouth half full of sharp teeth trying to snarl.
John just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, kid, I’m so terrified.” He flipped the knife in his hand, angling the blade against the boy’s spine.
Despite the fact that he’d spent at least an hour sharpening the damn thing that morning just for this, it simply rattled along the scales like a tire of the off-road track. John sucked his teeth, his shifted hand clutching tighter when the brat tried to kick again.
“Knock it off!” He barked, sounding closer to a whine from where John was kneeling.
John bit back a chuckle, but a smirk played his lips as he set the tip of the knife at the back of the kid’s neck. “Why should I? You haven’t quit shooting up our battlefield every other day for weeks! I’d say this is the least of what you ought to get.”
Steve was eyeing the kid curiously, and he took a seat on the ground to look a little closer. John crisscrossed the knife along the scales at the center of their prisoner’s back, growing a bit frustrated when he realized he was only dulling his blade.
“I s-said quit it!” The kid’s voice pitched to a squeak, and he tried and failed again to pull. John actually paused this time, quirking an eyebrow.
“Ah, I see!” Steve suddenly said, smiling happily as he tipped his head to try and make eye contact. “You’re a little ticklish, aren’t you, Pico?”
The kid promptly looked away from him, not even letting out a growl this time.
Steve smirked a little, crossing his arms. “Oh, you’re very ticklish; my mistake.” He corrected teasingly, purposefully raising his voice a bit and giggling at the look the kid must have given him.
John rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Takes one to know one, Stevie.” He said with a little smile of his own, attempting to curb his frustration with that cute blush on Steve’s face. Of course, after all this hassle, the damn kid’s dragon hide turned his sharpest knife into a tickle tool.
Wait a fucking second…
////////////
It probably would have been easy for Pico to just tell Tankman that his demon form was pretty blade-proof, but he couldn’t resist the chance to upset him a little for putting him through this. He quickly regretted that decision when the knife managed to catch his nerves despite not breaking through his armor.
“Knock it off!” He insisted, trying to keep any giggles from slipping into his voice. That “Stevie” guy was watching him closely, and Pico was too focused on trying to struggle to hear whatever Tankman was saying. A shiver shot up his spine when the knife made zigzags across it, and damn him, that tickled so bad!
“I s-said quit it!” He squeaked out, still unable to escape the magic coils on his limbs.
“Ah, I see~!” Stevie said playfully, watching Pico’s face as he struggled. “You’re a little ticklish, aren’t you, Pico?”
The human half of his face felt hot, and he looked away from that stupid smile. He was just trying to get Pico’s guard down; he just knew it.
“Oh… you’re very ticklish; my mistake.” Stevie taunted, raising his voice enough that a few soldiers behind him actually reacted.
Pico gasped indignantly, and Stevie just giggled. Oh, he didn’t care how nice this guy was; Pico was lighting him up next time. He heard Tankman scoff, and he realized the knife wasn’t touching him anymore.
“Takes one to know one, Stevie.” Tankman teased, but then he seemed to pause as Stevie was pouting at him. Pico blinked and shook his head as it suddenly started to shift back to fully human. He didn’t have the leverage to look over his shoulder, but he saw Stevie and a few soldiers behind him smile and snicker.
Before Pico could figure out what was going on, he found himself laughing loudly and trying to struggle again. Tankman’s fingers were digging and scribbling over his back and shoulders, occasionally giving more firm scratches right over his spine. His hands crawled up and shoved into the spaces between his shoulders to flutter along his neck, ripping a squeal out of Pico’s mouth as he tried to scrunch his shoulders up to his ears.
“Gee, Stevie, I’d say he’s definitely pretty ticklish~” Tankman taunted, wiggling his fingers against Pico’s neck where he could. “The little brat’s caught my fingers.”
Pico, indeed, was making an effort to keep Tankman’s fingers pinned where they were despite the squeaky giggles he kept pulling out of him. This was embarrassing enough as it was.
Tankman leaned slightly, and Pico heard him whistle. There was a bit of a murmur, and a few footsteps crunched on the dirt.
“Oh, quit being a bitch, he can’t hurt you. Now, come here.”
Pico tried to look back, only to squeak and squirm when Tankman so much as twitched his fingers. Another weight set itself on his left ankle, and he could feel his sneaker being worked off.
“W-Wait a minute; that’s not fa—!” He tried to protest, giggles mixing in as Tankman leaned over him.
“Oh, yeah? And why is that? Your little dragon paws tickwish too?”
“Fuck you!” Pico shot back, unable to keep from laughing when the new soldier scratched gently at the sole of his foot, seemingly tracing the snake patterns on his sock.
“You know what I think is unfair?” Tankman continued, letting his nails drag one last time as he finally pulled his hands away from Pico’s neck; Pico still hesitated to let his shoulders down. “I think it’s pretty damn unfair that you keep running in here taking pot-shots at my soldiers just for shits and giggles.”
Pico had to bite his tongue to keep from giggling as Tankman aimed a poke between his shoulders to punctuate the line.
“So, obviously, it’s only fair that they get a few pot-shots at you. And hell, if bullets aren’t going to work, we’ll stick to what does.”
Tankman’s hands burrowed into Pico’s armpits, and the poor kid shrieked and yanked his arms down. “Ohoho! There it is! That’s a tickle spot, alright!” Tankman’s left hand came to pry at Pico’s right arm, his free hand scribbling faster and digging to draw out loud squeals.
Fingers were scribbling all over his foot, and someone else was digging into the back of his knee. He let out a cackle when someone’s hand found the soft part of his side, almost catching the edge of his stomach. Stevie still sat in front of him, ruffling Pico’s hair with one hand while the other gave gentle scribbles around his ears that made him giggle even harder.
“Sir, why don’t we flip him over?” Stevie suggested. “Get the poor thing out of the dirt.”
“Heh, yeah?” Tankman asked playfully, hooking his hands under Pico’s arms. “Or do you just want to find out if his tummy is as bad as yours too?”
“John!” Stevie scolded with a chuckle, and Pico flailed a bit as he was lifted up. Two soldiers grabbed his wrists, and—Wait, when the fuck did his hands get free anyway?! Pico didn’t have a chance to think about it, since several soldiers’ hands returned to their positions of scribbling or pinching around his torso.
Pico’s voice was lost in squeals and cackles as he tried to writhe. That same bastard had ahold of his foot again, and someone else was reaching over to scratch under his toes. An arm was hooked around his leg, and fingers scribbled under his knee; a claw-shaped hand vibrated and squeezed around his stomach, catching the edge of his bellybutton every time he squirmed; knuckles dug and twisted against his ribs; and there was some feather-light tracing under his chin and down his neck.
Pico was a damn patient person. He’d have been willing to forgive all that shit.
If the fuckers weren’t teasing him!!
It was mostly the fact that they were laughing at him that irked him—no, he was not just going loopy from his own laughter, the soldiers were chuckling at his ordeal like fucking sadists—but the cooing in his ears and to each other about ‘how cute’ he was, and ‘poor thing’ and ‘Maybe we could let him go if he’s learned his lesson~”
Oh, yeah, that Stevie guy was so dead.
Tankman laughed beside him, arms crossed for a moment as he tapped his foot. “Nah, maybe a little longer. Kids like him tend to need some tutoring, y’know?”
Stevie gave him a little push, chuckling, and Pico tried his best to find some clarity.
A little headache was worth the glow that came to his eye.
////////////
John shook his head as he observed the chaos. Poor kid was kind of getting destroyed. Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course, but John certainly didn’t envy him right now.
Steve approached him with a smile, softly nudging John with his shoulder and adjusting his glasses with his thumb. “The guys are ruthless as usual.” He commented, sidestepping the poke John tried to give him.
“Yes. I’ve trained them well.” John chuckled, only to snicker and shake his head as a few of his soldiers broke off into their own little tickle fights.
“Think they should let up a little yet? I almost feel bad for poor Pico.”
John wanted to roll his eyes, but they stuck on Steve as he smiled fondly. “Yeah, no.” He snorted. “Good cop ain’t on call today, Stevie.”
“Maybe we could let him go if he’s learned his lesson~?” Steve suggested, raising his voice so the kid could hear him.
John let out a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nah, maybe a little longer just for that. Kids like him tend to need some tutoring, y’know?”
“John, you’re terrible.” Steve giggled, punching his arm lightly, and John chuckled with him until he felt something.
He looked up to see the kid glaring at him as best as he could through all that laughter, one eye glowing a bright, flickering green. He rolled his eyes and smirked.
“Yeah, kid, I’m so scared…” He huffed, stepping forward and kneeling in front of him. “But as long as this circle’s up, your powers aren’t getting you any—”
Something rattled, and John spun around for a second. It had sounded like it was right against his head, as if he was wearing a rattlesnake around his neck.
Rattlesnake…
“John?” Steve called hesitantly, looking around for a moment as well. When John’s eyes fell on him, they widened fearfully before he could catch himself. A tiny spot of green light rested perfectly still on Steve’s chest. As he was pulling his staff from over his shoulder, a hail of bullets came down fast enough to turn Steve into a fine mist and hard enough to rip deep burrows in the dirt where he once stood.
“Stevie!!” He cried out, eyes narrowing sharply as he turned around. “Men, get back; get behind me!”
The air itself seemed to rattle with gunfire as the soldiers around the bastard kid were quickly thinned out. Those who had managed to get behind John were encased in the purple shield he cast. Slashing lines were cut deep into the dusty earth, cutting through anyone in their path, and, as John was quick to realize, upsetting the ground enough to break the barrier spell they’d spent so long setting up.
The kid seemed to realize, too, since he shifted quickly into his demon form and curled up tight to protect himself. The rattling came closer until bullets were battering John’s shield. He growled to himself, and the soldiers around him attempted to aid him in boosting the shield’s power, but it seemed to chip faster with their effort.
It burst within seconds, and all of John’s soldiers were gone before he could blink. And to top it all off, John’s body was thrown to the ground by a weight attempting to cave in his ribs. A heavy boot came down on his collarbone. When he was finally able to open his eyes, he found himself staring down the barrel of a rifle, his helmet lost or broken somewhere during the chaos.
Two rattling tails swayed slowly in his peripheral. Less than he was used to; she wasn’t too mad. The gun was shoved up against his cheek as she ground the toe of her boot into his neck.
“O-Okay, easy, easy! Krotalía!” John choked out, grabbing at her ankle with one hand.
“Sergeant John Captain…” She hissed slowly, eyeing him through the sights. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten my name. Maybe got your hand shot off in a way ya finally couldn’t fix it. Would explain why ya never write me anymore.”
John could hear his soldiers’ footsteps coming from the main building, but they knew to keep their distance from this one.
Krotalía continued with a snide chuckle. “But, nah. Here I find you: still in one piece; still running the boys up and down the field; and most importantly: Picking on my goddamn kid!”
“Ma, I was fine!” The kid suddenly argued, stepping forward half shifted. “I could have handled them!”
John saw one of Krotalía’s tails split into two, and a gunshot rang out as the kid was thrown backwards with a little squeak.
“Oh, we’ll be discussing your punishment in a second, ya little hell spawn.” She snarled, but John could see her smiling over her shoulder.
“Alright, Rattlesnake, cut the shit.” John huffed, giving a small grin of his own. “Let me up. We’ll chat, yeah?”
Krotalía hissed faintly, unable to keep the smile off of her lips as she finally pulled the gun away from John’s face. “Yes, let’s…” She stepped back, turning away from him and giving her son a playful kick where he was lying.
John sat up with a wince, coughing softly and spitting some blood between his teeth. “So, who wants to talk about how your little brat has been razing through our battlefield like clockwork for the past few weeks?”
The woman chuckled, lifting her kid up by the back of his shirt and setting him down. “Yeah, I had a feeling he’d been getting some training in somewhere. He’s been getting awfully competitive with me lately.”
John glared slightly; fuck him for expecting a mischief making snake bitch to discipline her mischief making dragon brat.
She laughed at him though, resting her rifle over her shoulder. “I know that look, Johnny; you read like a bad script.” One of her tails whacked her kid to nudge him forward. “Go on, Pico. Make nice for once.”
The kid crossed his arms and looked away, thumping his tail on the dirt behind him; and when he finally looked up at John, he just stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry.
John snorted before he could catch himself. “Y’know, if you’re going to act like a four-year-old, maybe you should expect the tickle monster to get ya again next time too.”
He blushed brightly and snarled, shifting suddenly and attempting to lunge, only to be caught in one of his mother’s tails. “Dammit, Pico!” She growled while John just laughed again.
She set him on his feet again, and he shifted back to a mostly human shape before she gave him another whack on the back of his head this time. He grumbled angrily and stepped forward, extending a hand.
“…You know I’ll be back, right?” He asked, hinting a smirk.
“You gonna call your mommy to bail you out then too?” John teased, but he was quick to accept the handshake before the brat… Ugh, before Pico took it back. He even ruffled that mess of red hair as he chuckled and let go of his hand. “Krotalía, you don’t have to make him apologize. We’re all friends here, yeah?”
Pico spit out a little spark of flame and tried to pout, but he couldn’t help smiling a little. Krotalía looked between the two of them and rolled her eyes with a sigh.
“Boys…” She snickered, slipping one of her tails around Pico to guide his turn away from John and the soldiers. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go over those numbers you got.”
Pico had bounced excitedly at the idea, but he glanced back as they were walking. He drew one of his handguns from thin air and sneered right at John. “I’ll get you, old man…” He growled playfully, getting a little smack on his arm by his mother’s tail.
John chuckled, shaking his head. He’d look forward to it.
“John!” John glanced back to his troops, and the crowd parted slightly to let Steve run up. John smiled as he caught him in a hug, sighing softly over his shoulder and squeezing him tight.
“Are they already gone?” Steve asked softly, having to fix his glasses when John let him go. “That’s a shame. I wanted to speak to her.”
“You would say that after getting fucking shredded, wouldn’t you?” John chuckled, giving Steve a playful shove before addressing the soldiers that had gathered.
“Alright, men! I’d say we handled that pretty well, all things considered…”
There was a chorus of chuckles and murmurs in agreement.
“Now, I think we all know damn well this isn’t the last time we’ll be seeing Pico rushing through here. More importantly, the kid’s not gonna fall for that trick so easily again. It’s time I put you all on some heavier demon hunter training.”
He glanced back at Steve, who was already flipping through his summoned spellbook. “Game on, Stevie?”
Steve smiled fondly and shook his head. “Game on, sir.”
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