#take advantage of the talent ladies and gentlemen
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The Scales of Sarcasm - Barisi Fan Fiction
Summary: Rafael Barba delivers a powerful opening statement. With his trademark sarcastic wit, he captivates the jury, and Barba's unwavering determination to prove the defendant's guilt takes center stage. Meanwhile, outside the courtroom, Barba navigates his personal life as it intersects with his professional duties.
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Rafael Barba rose from his seat at the prosecution’s table and buttoned his suit jacket. Stepping out onto the darkly patterned, thin nap of the room’s commercial-grade carpet, he entered 'the well' with confidence. If he had looked down, he would've relished the sight of his well-polished black leather Oxfords peeking out beneath the well-tailored cuffs of his suit. But Barba didn’t need to look at himself to know he exuded the essence of a successful lawyer. He did, however, need the jury to notice and it was the jury, not himself, that he had focused his attention.
The soft buzz of hushed conversation died down as the various courtroom spectators went silent in anticipation of Barba’s opening statement.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Barba said, breaking that silence, “I want to personally thank you for your service today. It is not lost on me that it is a sacrifice, in many ways, to be here and not in your homes or at work. But I assure you, your presence and attention are absolutely vital as the People make their case against the defendant, Mr. Braun. And, in my opinion, this one is undoubtedly one for the books.”
In front of him, the members of the jury shifted almost imperceivably in their seats. He certainly had their attention as he noticed pupils dilating and a few legs crossing. It went without saying when it came to prosecuting these sorts of crimes, sex was on everyone’s mind. Barba skillfully employed his own sexual appeal to his advantage. He wanted the jury to fall into two categories: those who wished they could dress like him in hopes of attracting attention and those who wished they could gain his attention.
With a smirk, Barba continued, “Now, some of you may be familiar with the defendant, Mr. Braun, as he has a sizable following on a popular online platform. But in this courtroom, fame and influence do not sway justice. He does not, however, have much influence over his own talent and we unfortunately won’t be treated to any Oscar-worthy performances.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Roger Parnes, the attorney for the defense stated, standing briefly.
Waving him down, the judge cast a glance at Barba and stated, “Mr. Barba, please refrain from making inflammatory remarks during your opening statement, if you don’t mind.”
With a deferential bow of his head, Barba replied, “Of course, Your Honor.” Then, turning back to the jury, he continued, “Talented or not, Mr. Braun’s case has all the makings of a gripping legal thriller: the luring in of an innocent victim, the crime, hush money, the feeble attempts at a cover-up, and, lest I forget to mention, a confession. During the course of this trial, I will present irrefutable evidence of Mr. Braun’s guilt. His culpability is so apparent, he might as well have a sign taped to his back, but instead of reading ‘kick me,’ it says ‘GUILTY,’ in all caps.”
Barba pauses, letting his words sink in as he notices a few jury members unable to suppress weakly concealed smiles.
“My duty, as a representative of the People of the state of New York,” Barba explained, his tone now far more serious, “is to thoroughly present to you the facts of this case. You will hear testimony from Special Victims Unit detectives, forensic analysts, and from the victim. I would convey to you, my fellow citizens, that though Justice is blind, it is your duty to be sure that she is not also deaf. By the end of this trial, I promise you that there will only be a singular conclusion you can draw: Mr. Braun is guilty as charged.”
Glancing over at Parnes, Barba cocked a taunting brow.
Top that, Parnes, he thought. If you can.
Having now returned to his seat, Barba folded his hands in his lap. He was confident that whatever the opposing attorney would say in his opening statement, he had set the stage for a guilty verdict.
-----------
Flanked on each side by members of the Special Victims Unit, Barba made a beeline for his favorite food cart. It was not, however, food that he was after. Despite the summer heat, all he craved at the moment was a steaming cup of black coffee.
“Counselor,” Benson grumbled, her steps falling in sync with his, “what was that about?”
“Beg pardon,” Barba shot back.
“You know what I mean. Your opening statement was overly derisive, and you know it. It was like you were taunting Braun and his lawyer in hopes they’d make a mistake.”
“They’ve already made a mistake, Liv,” Barba retorted. “They didn’t take the deal I offered.”
“And now they have to pay for it,” Carisi interjected, speaking up for the first time since they had left the courthouse. “Is that it?”
With a roll of his eyes, Barba griped, “Not you too, Sonny.”
“Your tongue was unnecessarily sharp,” Carisi replied. “You didn’t need to be so sarcastic.”
Benson suppressed a chuckle.
“I could taste the sass.”
“Unbelievable!” Barba fumed.
In front of him, having reached the vendor first, Carisi ordered, “A cup of coffee and two waters, if you don’t mind.” Glancing back over his shoulder, the detective added, “My treat.”
“That’s not —“ Barba began to say but was cut off by Benson.
“Maybe just let your boyfriend do something nice for you,” she said with a nudge and a wink.
His eyes widened. The counselor looked back and forth between the lieutenant and the detective. Instinctively accepting the cup of coffee that was placed into his hand, Barba was taken aback that Sonny had finally gotten up the nerve to tell Benson about their relationship.
Trying to shake it off and play it cool, Barba turned and walked back towards the courthouse. Taking a sip, he let the caffeine rush hit him.
“When did you tell her?” he finally asked.
Cautiously, Carisi stated, “I didn’t.”
If Sonny didn’t tell her, Barba silently deduced, then by asking that in front of Olivia, I just confirmed our relationship.
“Well,” he said with a gulp, fumbling for a plausible explanation. “I…”
Sonny wasn’t out of the closet and Barba was horrified at the thought of accidentally outing his boyfriend.
Next to him, Olivia did more than chuckle this time. Laughing good-naturedly, she explained, “Perhaps you had forgotten that I was once a detective. It’s nice to be able to dust off my old deductive skills every once and a while. But, counselor, might I suggest you not fall for such an obvious trap like that back in court.”
Barba shot Benson a scathing and indignant look before turning to apologize to his boyfriend.
“Sonny,” he entreated, his heart hammering in his chest, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would figure it out on their own.”
“It’s fine,” Carisi said with a shrug. “I was planning on telling her next week anyway.”
Benson chimed in, “I’m actually really proud of you, Rafael. It’s good to see you not isolate yourself and choose happiness for once.”
“Ah—“ Barba opened his mouth to reply but found himself without words.
“Where’s your sarcasm now, counselor?” Sonny teased.
Carisi paused, taking the time to bring his hand down and interlock it with Barba’s. A brief but tight squeeze was all it took and Barba felt heat rise to his cheeks.
“I should go,” Barba muttered, “I need to make sure my first witness is ready to take the stand.”
“Then we’ll see you in there,” Benson remarked.
With that parting remark, both Olivia and Sonny headed back up the steps of the courthouse.
Watching the lieutenant and detective navigate around a gaggle of tourists grouped together on the wide and grand staircase of the New York County Courthouse, Barba wondered what to make of what had just happened. Was Sonny really fine with being outed in front of his commanding officer? Why had Olivia chosen that moment to confirm her suspicions? Would his personal relationship with Sonny interfere with their professional standing?
Barba inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly. Truth be told, he felt relieved. It was good that Benson knew about his relationship with Carisi. She was one of his closest friends and confidants. It had been eating away at him for a while that he hadn’t been able to talk to her about something so personal.
As to the other questions he had asked himself, and the risks they carried, only time would reveal those answers.
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In February this year I bought a copy of a 1945 men’s fashion magazine, (L’Homme, n°24) where I found this amazing article on Women’s vote: Aux urnes, citoyennes !... (To the polls, citizens!) by Jean Baumès. Here it is now, translated, with the help of @throwforharry (thank you!) Enjoy!
To the polls, citizens!
To flatter exclusively the innate need of coquetry in the woman would belong by right to this newspaper, devoted to the research of all the elements which form the French taste, and have universally consecrated it. To dress up the woman is, indeed, the permanent concern of L’Homme. But whatever the interest he has in it, the necessity to tackle another problem appeared to him.
To the ambition of contributing to make the woman more seductive, let's prefer here the one of knowing her better and discovering her true face. We will thus have the feeling of having filled in an empty space. Isn't it true that feminine frivolity, as we like to think of it, is a solid bulwark behind which our fatuity is conveniently installed? Yes, but…
That’s enough. Gentlemen, members of the Court! Beware. This is about you. Everyone’s place is not in the stands, but between two policemen. It is the trial of male selfishness that begins. The defenders will be able to deploy all their talent. However, the most subtle argumentation will be in vain. You must pay... But the punishment would be ineffective if it did not lead you to meditation. You will redeem yourself enough if it teaches you that excessive love of oneself is the worst of evils, and that the stronger sex has never weakened itself by being modest and generous.
Since the most remote times, the woman has been badly served by her physical inferiority. She is first of all a prey that men fight for, from tribe to tribe, to perpetuate their race. She is nothing else than the indispensable complement to the man in the permanent fight that he engages to assure his subsistence, to fight against the elements, ferocious beasts, and also his fellow men.
The condition of the woman will improve only very slowly. While the civilization of her homeland illuminated the ancient world, the Greek woman did not leave the gynecae where she shared the humble work of the servants. How much softer and more enviable appears the life of the Roman woman. She is recognized as having her own personality. The woman no longer hides herself: in public during feasts she stands by the side of the man. The Roman not only tolerates the presence of women, but also seeks their company.
Several centuries pass without bringing many changes in the condition of the woman; centuries of rough and cruel customs during which the heart of the man remains obstinately closed and his mind obscured by fanaticism.
It is only in the Middle Ages that men become aware of the brutality of their manners, at the same time as they discover the charm of the woman. Must this charm be powerful, then, to put the desire to please before the pursuit of violent and warlike exploits. The man learns to court his lady. If he remains clumsy in letting his heart speak, he relies on sports exploits to express himself more easily.
Isn't the tournament the first pledge of love to his beloved?
Certainly, but this happy evolution of the habits brings few advantages to the woman who provoked it. For a long time, men have still mounted a severe guard around their privileges, determined to strip themselves of them only with their backs to the wall.
The rise of the woman is irresistible. Who would think of contesting today that she has forever defeated the last resistance encountered in the last fifty years in the recognition of her rights to equality to the man?
In the free nations of the world, women have nothing to envy men. Among our English and American friends, who, as everyone knows, take the love of freedom and respect for the individual so far, women have long been collaborators with men, whom they either assist or replace. No prejudice comes to hinder the scope of female activity. Thus, the woman will quickly enforce the admission of the legitimacy of her rights and pursue the improvement of her place in the society by her political action.
The equality of the sexes before the law is thus the reparation of an injustice of which the man ensured all the extent without ceasing to maintain it. And yet, while war embraces and shakes all the continents at the same time, will it ever be said enough how wide and magnificent the role played by the women of all the free nations is in this fight without mercy against an enemy which must be crushed to make possible the return of a lasting era of concord and peace?
As everyone knows, the mobilization of women's labor has allowed our allies to achieve real miracles in the development of the war effort.
Millions of English, American and Russian women valiantly set to work, replacing their husbands and brothers at a moment's notice in order to continue their most thankless tasks with an admirable heart, making light of the worst difficulties.
The mastery that women bring to the execution of all the missions that the salvation of the country imposes on them forces the admiration of all. Who would be blind enough to deny the obvious, and not agree that victory would be less close if women did not contribute to its achievement?
And we, the French, so sensitive on the chapter of our liberties, have we ever tried to share them with our companions? Alas! Our country, which in the course of its magnificent history has so generously spent the blood of its sons for the improvement of the human condition in the world, is a spectator to the evolution of feminism outside its borders. Does this mean that the French woman deserves the fate that has been reserved for her until today? Let’s see.
Since the beginning of our century, the French woman no longer devotes herself entirely to her home. She feels the need to "earn a living". Is it to escape the authority of the husband or simply to increase the resources of the family budget? In any case, she certainly accumulates the burdens that fall to her in the maintenance of her home and the servitude of the duties of the profession she has chosen.
Education is now a means to an end. The student no longer works for the sole satisfaction of cultivating her mind, but with the aim of gaining access to more sought-after and better-paid jobs. Is it not, young people, that female competition is other than a legend when the results of examinations or competitions are proclaimed?
Hats off, gentlemen! The cultivation of the arts, the study of science, the practice of medicine are no longer privileges reserved for your sex. In almost all fields of thought, research, action, you exercise your talents in good company. One might object that these arguments only highlight the activity of the elite. Besides what the skeptics themselves no longer dare to call "brilliant exceptions", women, whatever their place in society, force unanimous admiration by the valor with which they triumph over the innumerable moral and material difficulties they encounter in the execution of the simplest and humblest tasks.
The French woman, in less than thirty years, has twice found the opportunity to give the full measure of her heroism. The war has dislocated during long years all the homes that the man, the rifle in his fist, went to defend. The woman jealously guards this home. At a moment's notice, she braves all difficulties: she must draw from herself the strength to defend her children against the dangers to which the absence of the father exposes them. She must save, by directing it, the family business. An indomitable will pushes further the limits of her strength and authority. It is a firm hand that guides the plough, the tool, a solid head that directs the company or the office. And the miracle is realized, life goes on…
Four years of oppression have given women their best titles of nobility. Four years during which the game seemed lost. Wives of heroes who will not return, wives of our dear absent ones, wives of deportees, victims of a cynical lie, and you too, women whom a less cruel fate had spared, you won your battle, that of hunger, in unbelievable conditions. Your abnegation, your ingenuity too, saved us from distress. You overcame the ferocious greed of the barbarian, disconcerted by so much obstinacy. You suffered so that the soul of France would not despair and capitulate... You participated in the most perilous missions to prepare in the shadows the deliverance of the country. Women of the Resistance, women of the barricades, nurses that we have seen come to the aid of their own assassins, you are well worthy of the Fatherland. Bravo, women of France!
Our glorious leader, General de Gaulle, decided to finally put an end to the unjust disregard of women's rights and aspirations. This is not a gift, but a reparation. The man who clung to the flag that an unholy hand was going to take down, the one whose unshakeable faith in the destinies of the country realized the most beautiful miracle of our history, has never been wrong.
The vote of the women will count among the happiest achievements that assured him the unanimity of the French opinion.
All the citizens who wish for a truly universal suffrage will be delighted. The expression of the female will bring, no doubt, more clarity in politics, which must have for its only concern the research of the general interest. The addition of female ballots, which we hope will be as large as possible, will fortunately compensate for the regrettable gaps caused in the expression of the will of the country by the indifference of abstentionists. Too many voters have believed for a long time to show their discontent with dignity by losing interest in public affairs.
As for the atmosphere in which election campaigns were too often conducted, it is better to say nothing about it so as not to have to speak badly of it.
There is no doubt that the participation of women in the fight will clean it up and bring back courtesy, a sublime political virtue. We can hardly imagine, and so much the better, the candidate setting up her "permanence" in the last room of a bar from the counter where altered consciences are bought at little cost. From now on, gentlemen, you will have to find something else, because the "scheme" is likely to fail.
The vote of the woman will give the word to the multitude of those that did not find their account in the laws conceived and carried out by the men. Our country, let's not forget it, counts fewer men than women. Moreover, the vote of the women will reveal to the men the existence of the single women, of the widows, that was so convenient to ignore.
But women can have other ambitions than the conquest of their political rights. It is by using these rights that they will work for the common good.
Let's modify for them the well-known English maxim and admit it as follows: "The right woman in the right place". That's quite a program. The woman's place? She is in charge of everything related to childhood, hygiene, education, morals - so many problems that extend her role as a mother in society and that are so poorly solved by men. When the unhappy child needs to be straightened out, wouldn't the judgment of a woman's heart be more clear-sighted and less harsh?
And as one is never so well served as by oneself and one reaps what one has sown, couldn't the Provisioning, a woman's nightmare, be entrusted to her? The practical side that every woman carries within her would have the opportunity to give its full measure there, for the greatest satisfaction of our appetites so often played…
Women, you are close to the goal... In the joy of reconquered freedom, in the gladness of tomorrow's victory, your efforts will join ours to rebuild the House of France.
A magnificent architect has already drawn the plans. It will be solid, spacious and well ordered. It is important that our absentees, on their return, feel at home there. And in the peace that has just been restored, you will look after this House as you look after your own home, with the same vigilance, the same self-sacrifice, the same love.
And you will also venerate the memory of those in history who have fought hard for your cause. Souls of feminists, sleep in peace. Your work is completed by one without whom we would be nothing but a people of slaves.
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Professor Sun Dong Speech at International Bay Area Summit 2023
Following is the speech by the Secretary for Innovation, Technology and Industry, Professor Sun Dong, at the International Bay Area Summit 2023 today (February 21):
Professor Teng Jinguang (President of Hong Kong Academy of Engineering Sciences (HKAES) and Chairman of the Organizing Committee), distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen,
Good morning. It is my honour to join you all today at the Hong Kong Academy of Engineering Sciences International Bay Area Summit. It gives me immense joy to meet eminent engineers of various disciplines as well as those who are supportive and interested in the innovation and technology (I&T) development in Hong Kong at this very special occasion.
First of all, I would like to express my appreciation to HKAES for their exemplary work and continual effort in promoting the application and advancement of science and technology in the entire field of engineering for the benefit of the society.
Among all, the Summit today provides an excellent platform for experts and industry practitioners to exchange views on the latest development of innovation and technology.
Using science and technology to drive innovation and provide impetus for advancement has become a key trend of global development nowadays.
Just a few months ago, as President Teng mentioned, we launched the Hong Kong Innovation and Technology Development Blueprint to spearhead efforts to move full steam towards the vision of an international I&T centre along four broad development directions and eight key strategies.
To echo today's theme, let me share with you the role of Hong Kong in fostering the I&T development in the Greater Bay Area and the opportunities therein, over the next few minutes.
Our country has all along been providing us with staunch support to the I&T development. Each city in the Greater Bay Area (GBA) has its own edge. Hong Kong is the most international city in the region with robust capability in R&D (research and development), an efficient and fair business environment, and well-established legal and intellectual property rights systems.
As regards Guangdong Province, Guangzhou and Dongguan are well known for their advanced manufacturing, while transformation and realisation of R&D outcomes is the strength of Shenzhen.
Indeed, one of our major strategies mentioned in the Blueprint is "to deepen I&T co-operation with the Mainland for better integration into the overall national development".
Advantages of GBA cities are different yet complementary, thereby producing a synergy effect in the I&T development in the Bay Area.
The 14th Five-Year Plan expressively indicates support to Hong Kong as an international I&T centre, and for the first time includes the Shenzhen-Hong Kong Loop as one of the major platforms of co-operation in the GBA. The Government is now taking forward the development of the 87-hectare Hong Kong-Shenzhen Innovation and Technology Park in the Lok Ma Chau Loop in full swing.
The primary goal is to complete the first batch of buildings under the Batch 1 development of the Park in phases from the end of 2024 onwards. Together with the Shenzhen Innovation and Technology Zone, Hong Kong and Shenzhen can work together to pool local, Mainland and overseas talent.
On the basis of "One Zone, Two Parks", we are exploring with relevant Mainland authorities on more measures facilitating the effective cross-boundary flow of various innovation elements, including capital, data and people.
Besides, we will also expedite the development of the San Tin Technopole in the Northern Metropolis to set aside more land to support the I&T development of Hong Kong.
Furthermore, a Shenzhen branch of Hong Kong Science Park will be built in the Shenzhen Innovation and Technology Zone, and the GBA InnoAcademy and the GBA InnoExpress have been established which help upskill technology talent from various sectors and nurture tech-related start-ups to vast opportunities available in the GBA respectively.
Nansha of Guangzhou and Qianhai of Shenzhen are another two important co-operation platforms in the GBA. Hong Kong is stepping up collaboration with Nansha on scientific research.
One of the signature examples is the establishment of the HKUST (Hong Kong University of Science and Technology) (Guangzhou) in Nansha last year which positions itself as an international elite research university.
In regard to Qianhai, Hong Kong, with its strengths in high-end professional services, will continuously collaborate with Qianhai to propel the innovative development of modern service industries including technological services and emerging industries.
As I have said on many occasions, the coming five to 10 years is the golden era of Hong Kong's I&T development. Following the full resumption of normal travel between Hong Kong and the Mainland, connections, exchanges and co-operation among GBA cities as well as with the rest of the world will be getting closer and stronger.
Hong Kong will continue to capitalise on the unique advantages of its strategic location, talent, technology development blessed with staunch support from the motherland, with a view to building Hong Kong into an international I&T centre.
Together with your support and contribution, I firmly believe that the I&T ecosystem in Hong Kong, and the Greater Bay Area in general, will become increasingly vibrant with breakthroughs in various aspects.
As you know, the 2023 Budget Speech will be made by the Financial Secretary tomorrow (February 22). We all expect that more measures will be announced to implement some important strategies as proposed in the Hong Kong Innovation and Technology Development Blueprint last year.
I look forward to shaking hands with you all and moving forward.
In closing, may I wish this Summit every success and all of you an enlightening experience today.
Thank you.
Sources: THX News & The Hong Kong Government.
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Fic were both JZX and Jiang Yanli are trans? I imagine the engagement would get complicated.
The More Things Change - ao3
“My lady,” the midwife said. “Congratulations. You have a daughter.”
Madame Jin shook her head. “I need a son,” she said.
“My lady –”
“I’m not doing that again,” Madame Jin said, her voice getting stronger. “I need a son.”
“But –”
She looked at her loyal maid, who inclined her head.
A knife flashed.
“Congratulations, my lady,” her maid said, pushing aside the midwife’s body with her foot. “You have a son.”
Madame Jin smiled.
-
“I’m glad you survived the birth of your child,” Madame Yu said to her old childhood friend, wondering why she’d been invited over to visit Lanling City quite so quickly – it hadn’t even been a month. “Were you thinking –”
“I have a son,” her friend said.
“Congratulations.”
“You don’t understand,” her friend said. “There’s a problem.”
-
“A-Li,” Jiang Yanli’s mother said in a strange tone. “Do you like wearing dresses?”
“Uh-huh,” Jiang Yanli said, trying to see if she could stick her fist into her mouth. She’d always worn frocks, the way all children her age did, but at some point soon her mother had been warning her that she’d need to switch over to wearing proper robes for boys. Jiang Yanli had burst into tears, saying she didn’t want to be a boy at all – that she didn’t want to leave her mother’s side, that she didn’t want to join the world of men, she didn’t, she didn’t.
“And you really don’t want to go be a boy? Really, you’re sure?”
Jiang Yanli nodded.
“What if I said you didn’t have to be? You could be a girl, just the way you like.”
“Really?”
“Mm. But you’d have to be a girl forever.”
“Okay,” Jiang Yanli said happily. “I wanna be a girl forever.”
“Good,” her mother said, and picked her up. “Just keep saying that.”
-
“What do you think we are,” Jiang Fengmian asked his wife blankly. “Qinghe Nie?”
His wife glared daggers at him.
“Attempt the impossible,” she said stiffly. “A-Li has been claiming to be a girl consistently for a year. Would you deny her the chance to follow her dreams?”
Well, when she put it that way…
Jiang Fengmian hesitated.
“It does create a problem,” his wife said, and he looked at her. She smiled faintly and leaned forward, showing her curves to their best advantage. “If she’s a girl, she’ll marry out, won’t she? We need a boy.”
Jiang Fengmian swallowed. A boy sounded – nice, he thought vaguely, eyes caught on what he was being offered. A little boy, lively and bright, with a happy smile always on his face…yes, that sounded rather nice.
Wei Changze’s letter upstairs said that his wife had announced that they had conceived, and that she had divined that it would be a son – it was frightfully early to make such predictions, less than a month in, but apparently disciples of the immortal mountain were able to determine such things early. A boy like that, who could be friends with their boy, a reason for them to come to visit and maybe even to stay…
Yes, he thought. That sounded rather good.
“All right,” he said. “A-Li can be a girl, I guess.”
-
Madame Yu and Madame Jin let news of the engagement seep out as rumor for months before telling their husbands. When they did, they took different approaches: Madame Jin pointed out the strategic benefits of an alliance with Yunmeng Jiang and the unlikelihood of Jin Guangshan finding a match for their son that would give him so much more influence in the cultivation world, which had made her husband stop his grumbling and look upon the match with a favorable eye.
Madame Yu stared at her husband, for whom she had just born a son three weeks premature and very nearly died in the process, and said, “What’s your problem?”
“A-Li can’t marry the Jin sect heir! She’s not –” He waved his hands. “The possibility of children –”
“I would have thought that would be a selling point,” Madame Yu said, and he blinked at her. “He’s Guangshan’s son. There will be children enough.”
After some further arguing, Jiang Fengmian begrudgingly backed down.
Madame Yu smiled to herself, and thought of grandchildren.
-
Everyone said that Jin Zixuan was a spoiled brat and incredibly lucky, but he didn’t think he was. Sure, he was rich and legitimate; his father valued him, while his mother loved him and would defend him against any challengers to his position as heir, but privately…
“Why do I have to work so hard?” Jin Zixuan asked, panting. “I’m already cultivating, and my teachers say I’m not bad with the sword –”
“Not bad isn’t good enough,” his mother said sharply. “You have to keep up with all the rest of them, and that means getting ahead now.”
“The rest of who?” he asked. “Do you mean…”
He hesitated, not knowing if he was also included in his mother’s taboo against mentioning the results of his father’s philandering.
“All of the cultivation world’s young gentlemen,” she said, to his surprise. “You have to keep up with them. No, you need to exceed them. You must!”
“But – why?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
-
“Mother,” Jiang Yanli said. She was clutching a book in her hands. “Mother, can we talk?”
Her mother frowned at her, looking disapproving – and then she saw the book.
Jiang Yanli thought she would yell at her, but she didn’t; her mother only gestured for her to come into her room, ordering her maids to close the doors and windows.
“Mother,” Jiang Yanli said. “Mother, the book –”
“How did you get a spring book?” her mother asked. She looked tired. “Surely you’re still too young?”
Jiang Yanli bowed her head.
It was true, she was too young. And yet…
“Mother, the pictures in the book…”
“I know.” Her mother sighed. “All right. Let me explain.”
-
Jin Zixuan stared at his mother. He felt sick.
“But,” he said, and swallowed. “But what about…?”
“I’ve handled it,” she said harshly. “But that is why you must not allow your father to take you to a brothel. Is that understood?”
-
“Who do you think is the best girl? Zixuan-xiong?”
“Oh, don’t ask him! He has a fiancée, so his answer will be her!”
“A fiancée? Really? What sect is she from? She must be extremely talented!”
“Forget it,” Jin Zixuan said.
“What do you mean by that?” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, and suddenly he was getting into his face. “Say that again if you dare!”
Jin Zixuan opened his mouth, hating him – hating the whole situation, being stuck not making any decisions for himself, his whole life mapped out for him by others – but then hesitated.
Jiang Yanli is the only one fit for you, his mother said. Do you understand? The only one.
“I haven’t met her since I was five,” he said instead of what he wanted, rolling his eyes. “So how could I dare to boast about her in your presence? You all want to know about her, ask Jiang-gongzi.”
Wei Wuxian blinked at him, the wind suddenly taken out of his sails.
Jin Zixuan escaped.
He felt like shit, thought. She was his fiancée, and he didn’t know anything about her – he didn’t want to hear about her, think about her. And yet…
The only one.
He went back to his room and wrote her a letter. It was a mess, the worst thing he’d ever written, nothing at all like the polite and careful phrasing, elegant and beautiful, that he’d been trying to put together, something worthy of his name.
He sent it before he could think better of it.
-
Jiang Yanli held the letter to her chest and smiled.
-
They’d exchanged a few dozen letters. Jin Zixuan knew that his intended was smart and witty, empathetic and kind, observant and well-meaning, but he didn’t know that she was beautiful until after they escaped from the indoctrination camp and the cave with the Xuanwu of Slaughter.
He’d just accompanied Jiang Cheng for the entire seven days it took to get to the Lotus Pier, collapsing right alongside him, and while Jiang Cheng had – somehow – gotten back on his feet and immediately led his father and mother out the door to go rescue Wei Wuxian, he’d stayed down on the floor until someone knelt down in front of him and smiled.
“Can I get you something to eat, Jin-gongzi?” Jiang Yanli asked.
“Uh,” Jin Zixuan said, and turned bright red. He could sure think of some things he’d like to eat – living as his father’s son had certainly given him an education (however theoretical) about that.
“Food,” Jiang Yanli clarified, giggling into her sleeve. “Let me get you some food.”
-
This was probably a bad idea, Jiang Yanli thought, looking down at the head tucked against her chest. I probably should’ve just stuck to food. What if he gets with child? What will we do then?
She couldn’t quite bring herself to regret it, though.
“A-Xuan,” she whispered, and Jin Ziuxan stirred a little. “Can we do it again?”
“You’re insatiable.”
That wasn’t a refusal.
-
“A-Li!” Jin Zixuan shouted, rushing forward. “A-Li, A-Li…!”
She collapsed into his arms.
He looked at the retainers from Meishan Yu, stubborn but pale. “It’s all right,” he said. “She’s my fiancée. I can take care of her.”
“The Jin sect walks in the center path,” one of the retainers said. “Never quite committing to the Sunshot Campaign. How do we know this isn’t a trick to get into the Wen sect’s good books?”
Jin Zixuan bit his lip. He’d pushed his father time and time again, and even that had only gotten them to participate half-heartedly in the fight against the Wen sect. What could he say? What worth was his word?
“It’s all right,” Jiang Yanli said. “I trust him.”
-
“You could do so much better, you know,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s not too late!”
Jiang Yanli smiled down at her wedding outfit, but thinking instead of the panicked expression on Jin Zixuan’s face a week before when he’d unexpectedly thrown up in the morning when he was supposed to be preparing for the Phoenix Mountain hunt.
“Oh, it’s too late,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “On that note, you pick the name.”
“The name…?”
“For our upcoming nephew.”
“Shijie! You didn’t!”
Jiang Yanli’s grin widened.
-
“Wei Wuxian has committed a crime in attacking our camp and taking the Wen remnants,” Jin Zixuan’s father announced. “We should –”
“Let it go, Father.”
“…what?!”
“I’m getting married, and he’s A-Li’s shidi,” Jin Zixuan reminded his father. “It would be inauspicious to start a marriage by breaking such a relationship.”
His father looked like he was planning on ignoring that, so Jin Zixuan used his trump card.
“We can’t afford anything inauspicious right now,” he said. “Not when there’s a child on the way.”
His mother dropped her cup.
-
“I have to go,” Jin Zixuan said. “You don’t understand. I have to.”
Jiang Yanli rubbed his hair. “You’re supposed to be in seclusion,” she reminded him. “As am I.”
“I’ve been throwing up every morning for two months, A-Li,” Jin Zixuan pleaded. “I can order them to clear the kitchen. No one would know we were there!”
Jiang Yanli laughed a little. “The craving’s that bad, huh?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, all right. We’ll give it a shot…”
It would have worked, too, if Jin Guangyao hadn’t noticed that too many people were in the wrong place and taken it upon himself to investigate.
“…Jiang-guniang?” He stared at her flat waist, then turned his eyes slowly towards the roundness at Jin Zixuan’s. “Jin-gongzi…?!”
“It’s all right, it’s A-Yao,” Jin Zixuan said to Jiang Yanli. “He won’t tell anyone. Right?”
Jin Guangyao shook his head mutely.
“Seclusion,” he muttered. “No wonder…everyone said it was bad timing that you went into seclusion right before Mistress Jiang announced her pregnancy. But it wasn’t, was it..?” He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”
“We’re in your debt,” Jin Zixuan said, and thought Jin Guangyao’s eyes upon him were softer than they’d ever been before. “You’ll be a good uncle.”
Jin Guangyao smiled. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “One question, if I may. Who’s the father?”
Jiang Yanli wrapped an arm around Jin Zixuan’s shoulders and beamed.
Jin Guangyao’s jaw dropped again.
-
“Your son needs you,” Jiang Yanli said to Madame Jin. “Go.”
-
“Jin Ling,” Madame Jin said, looking down at the baby in her arms. A son, her grandson…a miracle. “Well. You’re – not what I expected.”
If her husband ever found out…
Well.
She’d just have to make sure he wouldn’t, now, wouldn’t she?
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fic rec masterlist
canon divergent/finale fix its
Anamnesis
THIS! FIC! this fic lives in my head rent FREE it is so good and it makes so much sense in the narrative that the shitty finale concocted, as to why they wouldn't mention cas or anyone else and its just. so good and they write chuck in the most villainous way that i love!!!
"Chuck is depowered, Jack is the new god, and the world is free. Dean and Sam get into the Impala and chase down the miles on an endless highway, and their story is finally, finally their own to follow. At least, that's what Dean tells himself. But the diners and motels and painted interstate lines are blurring together and the smallest details keep catching at his brain like tiny fishhooks and he can't quite shake the feeling that not everything is exactly as it should be. Fix-it/alternate series finale. Canon-compliant through the end of 15.19."
Sunset Sound: Stairway to Heaven by @adhdeancas
GOD FUCKING CHRIST this is so good and sweet and im such a sucker for team ups and reunions!!! its 3:30 am rn and i just finished it and i love it SO much it made me laugh a lot and the last few chapters i had the stupidest grin just plastered to my face
The Closer the Star, the Greater the Parallax by @rocksalts
repressed bastard dean submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known and receives the rewards of being loved but only after some miscommunication i LOVE this i read it last night and it’s a fast favorite. my interests have overlapped and i am INTO it
“When Dean sits down to watch some bullcrap Discovery Channel episode with Cas, he doesn’t expect to actually learn anything. Except, with Cas explaining, he makes an effort to connect the dots.”
Don't We All Deserve To Be Happy?
VERY sweet and a VERY good pick me up. all around feel good fic!!!
"Post-canon fix-it, divergent from 15x19 where Jack stays and Dean doesn't die and Cas comes back and everyone is happy. Take a shot every time I'm salty about the finale."
Keep Your Love Alive
okay. okay okay okay this may be my favorite finale fix it just because of how well reasoned it is. like this feels what should have happened i love it SO much
"Dean gets to spend eternity sharing beers with Bobby on the Roadhouse porch and riding around in his Baby with Sam. He’s at peace… or he feels like he should be. But a few things nag at him: Where is Cas, and everybody else Dean had been hoping to see in Heaven? Why does he feel like he’s stuck in a loop, reliving the same memories over and over again? And who are the strangers wearing Sam’s and Bobby’s faces?"
The GoldenRod Revisions by @aethylas
this is one of the most well written things ive ever read. the script format DID make it feel more real and honestly? this is better writing than this show deserves. the finale that could have been ♥️
“A rewrite of Supernatural’s final two episodes, expanded into a five episode arc - in which Chuck needs to be defeated, Castiel deserves to be saved, and the characters in this story get a very different ending.“
Ascend by @wanderingcas
THEE finale fix it fic!!! written by the AMAZINGLY skilled and talented @wanderingcas !!! it’s 50k of angst and hurt/comfort and pure bliss
“Something in the world is wrong.
Demon activity is rising where mysterious black substance oozes and unusual ecological events are shaking the world. Dean, grief hanging on his shoulders, restlessly searches for answers that might lead him to the Empty… and to Cas.
But what Chuck wrote can’t be undone. The narrative thread pulls Dean along, forcing him to comply. Because once a story already has an ending, it can’t be rewritten.
Or can it?”
Things Happen (They Do, And They Do, And They Do) by THEE @sobsicles
i KNOW everyone has already recommended this and likely you’ve all already read it. but it has to go here bc REPRESSIOOOOOOOOON i LOVE this so much it is one of the most perfect things i’ve read. are you bisexual? did you have a kind of weird relationship with your best friend and not realize that how you felt about them wasn’t necessarily how other people felt about them and you were maybe a little bit in love with them but were too repressed to realize it? you’ll feel seen. maybe a little too seen
Closer (isn't close enough)
are you a sweet and sappy yet horny bastard? do you like cas exploding light bulbs? you will like this.
“the one where they finally talk about what cas said before the empty took him”
You and Your Husband
it is exTRMELY sweet!!! repression dean strikes again <3
"Five times Dean corrects someone about his relationship with Cas, and one time he realizes he doesn't need to."
Tall Grass
miscommunication and a slowburn! despite being written in 2017 and finished in 2018, it feels like a fix it. ft. plant obsessed cas <3
Invictus
a LOVELY and short (relatively) finale fix it
“They saved the world. They're free. It's done.
Except it's not, and carrying on is the last thing any of them are thinking about.
They still have someone they need to save.”
Unchained Link
post finale- it’s a great case fic and i am compelled i want more!!!
"It's after the end of things. Life continues on while Dean is "livin it up" in heaven. But it's never that simple, is it? A freak occurrence sends Dean into another time stranded back on Earth. And he thought his hunting days were over. But, no worries. His knight in shining armor comes to the rescue. Hijinks, therefore, ensue."
fun and time unspecified
Ladies and Gentlemen, This is Love Potion No. 5
very funny and sweet! miscommunication at its finest ♥️
"Cas gets drenched with a mystery potion from the ‘love spell’ shelf and... Dean has a sneaking suspicion, angel or no— the spell may have taken effect. And Cas might be in love with Sam."
The Way We Were
Y'all. It is so good its a great mix of funny and serious- extremely fun to see dean as like a base bisexual
"Dean and Castiel pose as a couple to gain access to a gated community known as 'The Glen', a pleasant if secretive location that the boys believe might be linked to several dead bodies showing up over the years bearing signs of ritualistic sacrifice. All seems well until Dean's memory is affected from an incident during a solo exploration, leaving Dean convinced that their cover story is true. Castiel is left trying to resolve their case without taking advantage of an increasingly enthusiastic Dean"
While You Were Sleeping
this is basically just the movie but replacing sandra bullock with cas. this is my comfort movie and imo, one of the most perfect rom coms. the fic isn’t finished but i still have the tab open on my phone and i will straight up go back and re read it when i need a pick me up.
aus/rewrites
The Harvelle Gospels: Offscript
i know everyone ever ( @jewishcharliebradbury ) has recommended this fic. and for good reason go fucking read it
“The Apocalypse is averted, the angels are in Heaven, and Jo is free from the threat of possession. Somehow it couldn't be farther from a happy ending.“
absolute riots
An Ineffably Profound Bond
i honestly would have put this in the finale fix it section! look. i know. i know you've been burned by crossover fics before. but this is Thee good omens/spn fic you want. its funny as hell and immensely satisfying. im weak for everyone working together tropes and that is this
"After Chuck sets 'The End' in motion, the remaining members of TFW make a miraculous escape. Not willing to waste any time, Castiel comes up with a plan to travel to one of the other worlds to try and get help from the angels there, but after a fight with Dean, it's the hunter who gets sent into an alternate universe,with seemingly no hope of return.
When a mysterious human with a heavenly weapon shows up in Aziraphale's shop, he and Crowley learn that their world is not the only one. Now it is up to them to decide whether or not they want to join forces with the human and help him save his world or simply find a way to send him home."
Somebody Up There Likes Me by @lafilleredige
cas is hit with a spell that turns his vessel into a woman, hijinks and sexuality crises ensue etc etc sam is a supportive and bitchy little brother and its all SO fucking funny and also. horny as hell i love it i love it i LOVE it
“’Dean doesn’t want to talk about your breasts, it’s making him uncomfortable because he hasn’t acknowledged the complex fluidity of human sexuality.’“
Stray Cat Strut
a long crack fic that IS one of the funniest things i’ve ever read and i can’t explain why. it’s so ooc but its so funny that i don’t care. if you need a laugh you gotta read this
"Sam and Cas are immediately in love with the adorable kitty they find outside the bunker door, and occupy their time planning how to convince Dean--who they believe is off sulking after a botched hunt--to let them keep their cat. Along the way, Dean learns to use a litter box and hears some confessions he maybe wasn’t supposed to hear, all while realizing just how much he loves Castiel.
Now all Dean has to do is convince Cas and Sam their new pet cat is actually him before they do something crazy--like neuter him!"
canon compliant or slight canon divergence
Give
by @doublestuffedimpala post season 7 episode 7, kind of ambiguous ending but truly a cas is happy to bleed for the winchesters fic
Punch Like Bones
short, post 5x04 homoerotic moment that i wish we’d gotten
#lmao please interact with this i spent so much time on it#i had to go onto desktop for this#ill keep adding on to it#my fic recs#fic rec#spn fic rec#deancas fic recs#charlie.txt
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Omg, I adore those idiots! Thank you! If you don't mind could you give us more... spicy facts about the boys poly? Sorry to bother you this much 😭 I just love you and your amazing characters so much!
It's absolutely not a bother! I love to talk about my gremlins and I'm always happy to share with anyone who might enjoy. 💛
Cw for: some spicy text. 🔞💦🍆
Among the two, Julian is definitely the most experienced in bed. He knows where to touch and which spots to kiss to bring even Ronan to his knees. Depending on which type of MC you'll pick, they'll either turn into a squirming mess, cradled close to Ronan, or join in the fun and help Julian try to make the king beg for it. 😌
Unfortunately for Julian, however, Ronan doesn't like being too submissive in bed and so he'll let him play the seduction game, but ultimately the one getting bent over the table won't be Ronan. Julian, for his part, loves it. He's pretty versatile, but who wouldn't like to be ravished by the Heretic amirite. 😳 Once again, MC will either have a first class seat for the show, before their turn comes, or take advantage of the situation their own way.
Ladies and gentlemen and non binary pals, I'm here to tell you that while Julian is pretty talented with his fingers, Ronan goes down like the king he is. 🥂 He takes great pride in watching Julian shut up after being mouthy in bed, begging for it after he so boldy stated he would ruin him. Will MC stand back and watch? Will they take advantage of Julian's pretty mouth? Who knows!
I don't like the "stereotype" of the horny on main 24/7, so don't expect anything on that note, but nonetheless both of them are rather carnal once the fun starts. Julian is more open, whispering dirty things in the middle of the day, maybe even taking a gamble with some touching, while Ronan is more like "we started kissing and it escalated really quickly" but never in public. 🔞
Ronan has never tried any games in bed, but he could definitely be persuaded to try some. Especially light bondage. Tying up or being tied up, anything is fair game. 🤠 Same applies for Julian. He knows a thing or two, but knowing and actually getting to enjoy it are two different ordeals.
Ronan is the most sensitive of the two. No angsty text allowed in my spicy salad, but it's very much possible to send him over the edge with touch alone. 👌
Julian has a praise kink as big as his boobage. He's not embarrassed of it, but he does lightheartedly hate how much power Ronan or MC hold over him.
I'm legally forced to add that obviously pegging is very much on the table because in this house we love women ravishing their partners in every way possible. 💃
#answers#ros#julian#ronan#poly ronan/julian#heathens corner#i wonder how many people will bolt after this sjfksos#here to remind everyone that this blog does and will contain 18+ content#plus there will be spicy things in the game so yeah please don't kill me 😳#ALSO LOOK AT ME MOM! I FINALLY REMEMBERED HOW TO ADD THE READ MORE FROM MOBILE
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I really hate you
— Shinsou knows he shouldn’t trust villains. Especially villains who make his mind spin and stomach twist in joy. But there’s something about you that keeps him coming back for more.
⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆
pairing: pro hero!shinsou hitoshi x villain fem!reader
warnings: 18+, smut, a little bit of juicy plot, pro hero!au, reader is a villain, betrayal, biting, marking, collaring, cursing, hate sex, rooftop sex, body liquids, angst
word count: 8,180
a/n: i like deception :) being a chem TA is pretty fun, except when im in lab for 8 am until 4 pm. listen,,, I also really liked this prompt I made last night because the one I had before wasn’t spicy enough for me anymore. I hope you enjoy though! like comment and share for the algorithm (jk been watching too many tikytokys)
kinktober day 8 main kink: collaring
⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆
When the sun sets, and the moon is high in the sky, and the chill of the bitter cold winds raise ceaseless goosebumps on your arms, and the only people who are up are drunken businessmen and tiresome students, it is a common belief that this is when the freaks come out.
The freaks come out to play at night.
You are one of these freaks.
Heh.
⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆
Shinsou nodded at his friends as he walked through the doors of the agency he worked at. Despite the power of his quirks ability, he was an underground hero (unless the ultra-rare occasion where they needed his quirk in the limelight); he was stationed within a large, well-known agency and was one of the founding heroes there at that. His ability to be hidden from the bright lights of the world were both easy and challenging; most of the world knew him as the kid from UA’s Sports Festival that went toe to toe with nearing number one Pro-Hero Deku. It both irked and embarrassed him when that event was brought up; on the one hand, it was true! He had nearly beat Midoriya during that final stage. Yet, on the other hand, their memories seemed to recall some crazy quirk-fueled fistfight where Midoriya had broken his entire body in the duration of their fight.
‘No,’ he often found himself responding back to the gentlemen and ladies who would awe at his school-day adventures, ‘there was a fistfight, but Midoriya handled it without using his quirk except to snap him out of my quirk.’
They always looked embarrassingly horrified by their faulty memory when they pulled the clip up on Youtube, their bows quick in apology before they made off.
But people recognizing him from that was rare as it gets, fortunately even with the large agency stapled to his alias, he was quite good at his job—a shadow in the night, an urgent whisper to the villain freaks who roamed the night.
“Ah, Shinsou-chan!” Kaminari pouted, his body draping over his purple-haired friend as Shinsou moved to change from his regular clothes into the black triple-weave kevlar of his hero suit. He had once sported a black cotton-like costume akin to Aizawa, but after many, many gun shootings and stabbing incidents, he figured he needed something sturdier.
“What is it?” he asked, rising up from his bent position so that Kaminari couldn’t take advantage of his slouched form.
Shinsou’s tired, purple eyes met the exhausted pair of Kaminari.
“Today was so hard,” Kaminari sighed, his lip still put into the stupid pout, and he slumped onto the bench behind Shinsou. His feet were spread before him, fingers drumming onto his directional equipment. “Since it’s winter, the night comes sooo much earlier now. I swear some weirdos really appear out of the woodworks when the night comes! Like just before I was going to make my way back here, I swear I saw Aizawa-sensei hanging out on the rooftops like some super-secret ninja, right?”
Shinsou frowned. He knew his mentor turned friend was actually on vacation at the moment in Hawaii. Something he thought, at the very least, was long overdue.
“Aizawa is in Hawaii right now,” Shinsou quickly spoke, his hands buckling the belt on his pants, before moving to lace up his boots.
“Oh fuck, I told Todoroki he was in Seoul,” Kaminari cursed, the palm of his hand hitting his forehead.
“Good going, who knows what weird message or gift he’ll end up sending to Aizawa now,” Shinsou couldn’t help the small smirk from spreading on his face at that note.
After being accepted into the Hero Course over in UA, Shinsou couldn’t help but be initially disappointed when he was placed within Class 1-B — Class 2-B at that point — simply because his mentor was with Class 1-A. The initial disappointment didn’t last very long when he got to know the rest of Class 2-B better, and he saw that while 2-A possessed raw talent, 2-B were more well-defined with a much bigger take-no-shit mentality that he appreciated more. That and 2-A were being strangled by a new villain of the month far too often, and Shinsou just wanted nothing more than to graduate from high school.
Still, his lack of enrollment in Class 2-A didn’t mean that he didn’t see the rambunctious, nearly intolerable group of twenty in class 2-A. As a matter of fact, he thought he saw them a bit more than he’d like. Aizawa was his mentor, so he understood seeing him around, but for some reason, 2-A was never too far away. As soon as Shinsou was admitted into the Hero Course and the two hero classes had weekly meals together, which meant that to him, just the slightest bit, 2-A felt like an unwanted, annoying, ugly stepchild.
So no, Shinsou could not tell you 2-A’s inside class jokes, but he knew a lot more about the forty other hero students than he’d ever like to admit.
And through his knowledge, he knew that the ever so powerful Todoroki Shouto was an idiot, probably a bigger one than Kaminari.
“I hate that you call Aizawa-sensei just…” Kaminari trailed off, a disgusted shiver running down his spine as if it sickened him to remove the single formality.
“Aizawa,” Shinsou said once more.
“Stop.”
“Aizawa.”
“Hitoshi!”
“Aizawa.”
“PLEASE!”
“Shouta.”
Kaminari hit the floor, his chest heaving with fake, bitter sobs while Shinsou couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his over-dramatic friend on the ground. He had to admit, Shouta felt weird on his tongue too.
“Stop making a huge deal about how Aizawa and I are closer than you are,” Shinsou half-joked half-told-the-truth.
He was more than well aware of his mentor’s former students trying to become even closer to their beloved homeroom teacher. All doing it in their own ways, all relatively unsuccessful because unknown to them (but not Shinsou), Aizawa already loved them all thoroughly, not that he’ll ever tell them.
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO SHAVE OFF MITTENS FUR!”
Oh yeah, that had lost a lot of love points for Kaminari.
Sighing softly, Shinsou placed his newly replaced coiled capturing weapon around his shoulders, and his artificial vocal cords mask onto his chest until he was off on patrol.
“Why’d you think you saw Aizawa?” he asked again, trying to finish the conversation so that he could leave. It felt like it was going to be a long night if Kaminari confirmed where his thoughts were already trailing.
“Hm?” Kaminari finally looked up from his puddle of tears on the floor, tears streaking all over his face, small charges of electricity humming off it. He blinked once, twice, his eyes shooting to the ceiling as if the answer was there before his fist came down to hit his open palm in a flash of realization. “Oh, I remember! There was this person, obviously not Aizawa-sensei, standing by the edge of a building watching everyone below. Hair whipping in the wind and his capturing weapon fluttering around them!”
Just as Shinsou thought.
“Where did you see her?”
“Her?!”
“Where, Kaminari?”
“Uh… well, I guess by Gramps convenience store. Don’t tell me this is some super sexy megafan of yours! Wait… do tell me, or… no, I’ll get jealous if you’re having rooftop sex with — eh?! where are you going?! Hitoshi?!”
“My shift started two minutes ago,” Shinsou explained, one of his hands lifting in a wave as he exited the locker room, his heart hammering quickly, knowing just who he was going to need to track down tonight.
…
..
.
It was dark.
Shinsou’s eyes squinting as he hopped from one rooftop onto the other, his capturing device assisting him in clearing the dooming crevice. He wasn’t exactly the most physically threatening, and unfortunately, that also meant he wasn’t exactly the greatest at parkour type movements, although he was getting better. Maybe had he started to ask for earlier shifts, where he would be out when the sun was, he could get better faster.
It was tricky with only the moonlight to guide him, but that’s what he could get at the moment.
As he scuffled through the gravel rooftop of one of the abandoned buildings, Shinsou found himself squinting at the figure in the distance. The one perched near what Kaminari oh so fondly refers to as Gramps convenience store.
He studied the form of the picture still person, noticing if it wasn’t for the slight wind through your hair and twisting capturing weapon around your neck, he would think you’re a statue. But he knows better now, he’s known better for quite some time now.
“What’re you doing out here, y/l/n?” Shinsou found himself speaking the moment he stepped behind you, hands shoving into his pant pockets.
You didn’t move, nor did you respond, your body still completely still while peering down at the empty world fascinated on who knows what.
“Y/l—”
“How can I help ya, Mindjack-senpai?” you interrupted him, your gaze still not removed from the world below the building. “I hear it’s supposed to be a busy night tonight.”
Shinsou paused, his brows scrunching at your words.
It was plain to see to Heroes that you were a villain, you did what you wanted when you wanted, whatever the price, but if there was one thing Shinsou had learned with this rather weird cat and mouse game the two of you played time and time again was that you didn’t lie.
What was happening?
“A busy night?” Shinsou questioned, his quirk still unactivated, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to Brainwash an answer out of you anyways. “Where at?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Hero?” you teased slowly, and Shinsou had to deny the way that the way your head finally turned to lock eyes with his made his stomach clench.
It meant nothing.
Nothing at all.
“You know what happens when you slight me,” Shinsou couldn’t help but warn, the bandages on his neck rising under his command. But your eyes blinked slowly, lips spreading into a lazy, cunning smile.
“And you know what happens when you underestimate me,” you returned, fingers gliding against his old weapon — yes, old weapon. Just two months ago, just before your last arrest, you had viciously stolen it from him, your foot crushing his vocal cords while you managed to pry the weapon from his broken fingers. “Anyways, Mindjack-senpai, it’s a bit unethical of you, a hero, to be threatening me in such a way! I’m just a poor girl waiting for the love of my life to show up.”
“And have they?”
You blink, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you nod, “I got him right where I want him.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Shinsou snapped despite the lick of warmth against his chest and cheeks. “I’ll have you arrested again.”
Now, this has you turning from the edge of the building, you sit on the ledge of the building, fingers supporting your head as you stare at him without fear. Shinsou really fucking hated how fast you riled him up.
“Arrested? But Mr. Mindjack-senpai, didn’t you know?” you ask, the taunt evident in your voice, the twinkle in your eye devastatingly bright. “I’m a changed woman. I’m what you call a hero now. You wouldn’t arrest an innocent heroine, could you?”
“You’re hardly innocent,” Shinsou responded back smoothly and deftly, not at all yet entirely impressed by you. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
He blamed his deep impressions of you on the stupid black and purple attire you wore.
“Well, you know as well as I do that I just got out, but I feel like except what happened two days ago, I’ve really changed,” you emptily promise, pushing off the ledge, sauntering closer to Shinsou until he felt the tip of your nose brush against his. “I’ll make sure to think about you whenever… bad feelings come up.”
He prays you don’t see the scarlet flush on his face.
You’re already back at the ledge when he blinks, and he watches you raise two fingers to your temple in a mock salute as you wink at him.
“You didn’t hear it from me, but two blocks east, seven blocks south from the heart of Tokyo is where you’ll find trouble,” you inform him, dropping the salute as you turn to run.
But Shinsou wants his damn weapon back.
“Y/l/n, wait!”
“Yes—?”
You froze at the ledge, your eyes spacing out, and Shinsou sighed, moving to collect his weapon from you until you suddenly dove off the building, a burst of cheerful laughter on your tongue.
“Oh, I forgot to tell ya!” you screamed from the next building over, your fingers threading through the alloy metal cloths. “I got some earbuds just for when you’re around! They make your voice into electrical signals just for me! So guess what?!”
Shinsou didn’t need you to complete that sentence in order for him to realize what you had just gotten your hands onto.
As long as you wore those, his quirk was useless against you.
Despite knowing that a villain held the key to his demise as a hero, he chuckled, running a hand through his short purple hair.
You really were something.
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Shinsou never took himself as an especially suspicious person.
He figured he had days where he was suspicious of some people the correct amount, especially when they had the most painted on emotions he’s ever seen. Some days he was overly trusting and blamed tight smiles on something acute to nerves. Without meaning to brag, he felt like he was healthily suspicious of people, unlike others he knew who wouldn’t dare to interact with anyone new or would spill their darkest secret to anyone who would listen.
But there was something entirely, conspicuously suspicious with how you were behaving.
Winter had long passed, the long winter nights and graveyard shifts of endless freak encounters had worn a hole in his patience and boots. The spring season was beginning to end, and the warm days and nights of summer were setting on his skin.
Six full months of you, the first-ever villain he had fought as a Pro Hero, the first-ever villain to have openly flirted with him and to have him flirt back, being suspiciously… kind.
Every shift of his, he would find you waiting for him on one of the regular rooftops. Every time he would check in with the database to make sure you weren’t wanted for some crime to find that you were innocent. Every time he would feel pissed off because you wore those earbuds that rendered his quirk useless and you somehow mastered the capturing weapon within weeks.
Now Shinsou didn’t pout, he really didn’t, but there were moments where you would appear from behind him, finger swiping down his spine as you effortlessly twirled around him, a stupid sly grin on your face as you held onto the collar of his hero costume.
“Don’t pout, Mindjack-senpai, I’m here now,” you’d purr each and every time.
He loved the dangerous purr to your voice, the way your eyes hooded over, peering at him through your eyelashes, but he knew better. He had to know better. It wasn’t that villains were terrible people per se; he’d learned a lot of villains were just thoroughly sick of being mistreated (and he had wondered what would have happened if he had been denied from UA… would he be one?). He knew that for the most part, you were quite harmless, merely sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, living a life to your personal laws and rules.
It didn’t make you evil, merely dangerous.
But he had a job to do where even if it was justifiable to beat the ever-living shit out of your sister's abuser, nearly murdering him in rage and refusing to calm down when Shinsou had arrived on the scene with the use of his quirk didn't hold up well in court. It had started this long chain of events where you had absolutely hated him for a time as you were forced to stay overnight in a jailhouse. And many horrible days afterward where you performed what Shinsou had thought to be illegal actions only to find that no, they weren’t. As a matter of fact, entirely legal because Japan had yet to update their codes.
Long after he had discovered this, you had returned to actual crime, your physical ability growing by leaps and bounds as he ran after you after catching you doing something dangerously illegal. Shinsou was a proud hero and was incredibly proud of the impact he made as a Pro Hero, but it was clear as day, even to him, that he often let you slip through his fingers. Like a child opening their cupped fingers and wondering why the water had left.
He wasn’t sure what it was about you that made him act this way, but he certainly didn’t wish to find out.
“So what’s on the schedule today, Mindjack-senpai?” you asked, appearing from the shadows of the rooftop, not scaring Shinsou in the slightest as this was always where you greeted him. “Are we saving the Prime Minister today? Stealing — I mean, protecting those stupid bedazzled eggs in the museum? Perhaps solving an unsolvable case?”
“Smooth,” Shinsou snarked, his tired purple eyes piercing through your bright ones that seemed undoubtedly excited. “How many times do I gotta tell you that there aren't that many actual case assignments? Besides, most team-ups happen in the morning when I’m asleep.”
“Being a hero is so boring!”
“You’re not a hero.”
“Am too!” Shinsou snorted, turning on his heel and began walking away, listening to your footsteps running after him to keep up with his long paces as you cried that out.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No.”
“Yes!”
Shinsou stopped, his eyebrow raised in slight forced annoyance but much more amusement, when you spun in front of him, hand on his chest, cheeks puffing with your heavy breathes.
“Look!”
Tilting his head back, Shinsou grunted when your phone was shoved in his face. “What is this?”
“Hero Commission Regulation Handbook, page fifty-four, Article three, sub-article twenty-three,” you chirped, turning your phone back to yourself so that you may read it correctly. “It states that besides attending hero school like a bunch of nerds, civilians have the option of securing internships with approved Pro Heroes and work side by side with them for six months! Once finishing their internships, said Pro Hero must simply sign my licensing papers and bam, a hero I’ll become.”
“And which sniveling hero did you get to do your dirty work?” Shinsou scoffed, not at all buying the notion that you of all people wanted to become a hero. A vigilante at best, an anti-hero much more realistically, and staying a villain as default.
“You,” you smirked, winking at him before turning on your heel and sauntering off, knowing full well the patterns of his routines.
Shinsou sighed, but he let a familiar smirk fall on his face as he walked after you, enjoying the way you glanced back at him with your wide clear eyes. But that suspicious, gut feeling didn’t leave his core, no matter how sweet and beautiful he found your smile.
“So, Mindjack-senpai, who are we apprehending today?”
“You want me to sign your paper this entire time, and you’ve been addressing me as senpai?” Shinsou commented, his weapon shooting off to a nearby building, snapping straight in his hand when it was ready. “Where are your manners? It’s Mindjack-sensei to you.”
He didn’t wait for your response, choosing to swing off the ledge of the building with no hesitation, but a part of him wished he could have heard the sound of your laugh he only seemed to hear through the streaming, far away air.
…
…
While usually, Shinsou didn’t have actual cases during his patrols, this job, after all, was much more spontaneous than anything else, today was different.
Today was different altogether, really.
First off, he showed up to work when the sun was still up just to get his meeting intel down in time for him to be out on the scene in time. He had nodded plenty, silently taking in Creati’s information on the drug cartel they wanted to in the next few weeks take down for numerous charges. The creation of dangerous, illegal drugs, prostitution rings, robbery, and murder being the main ones. It was some bigger stuff, so they needed all the evidence they could get.
Shinsou stared at the faces of the more prominent names of the cartel, studying every crook, nanny, and scar on their faces as Creati simply ended with where they focused down onto where their drug creating facilities were at, but still needed confirmation. “They’re pretty difficult to get to without knowing where they are,” Creati admitted, handing him a GPS. “You’ll need this.” He would be the first to start evidence gathering; after all, his old classmates would begin tomorrow.
So he had left, going to the first hideout and finding out it was completely empty. Not a single spec of evidence remaining, not a secret door or trap to get him to where they could be hiding from sight.
So was the next.
And the next.
And the next.
Something sat weirdly in his stomach as he began walking towards the final one on his list, and he froze when he saw lights shifting and moving from around the building. Quickly, Shinsou hopped to higher grounds, his phone already out, ready to take pictures. He lay low to the rooftop, practically army crawling to get to place to place as he neared the windows on the rooftop, allowing him to peer in onto the building he was scouting to find precisely what he needed.
The entire building was a drug production spot.
His eyes scanned the building floor, singling out ten of the twelve main heads on the cartel, and he smirked. Perfect.
“Whatcha doing here, Mindjack-sensei?” your voice whispered millimeters from his ear, and Shinsou bit his tongue harshly to keep the instinctual scream from ruining his covert operation.
He snapped his head over to you, eyes slightly furious, eyebrows knitted tightly as he looked to see you leaning toward him. You were in a different outfit today, completely black, drowning you out in the night. He blinked; even the capturing weapon he had still been unsuccessful in stealing back from you was pitch black.
“What’re you wearing?”
“Do you like it?” you asked, straightening up and twirling for him as if you were wearing a magnificent dress and not personally created ‘hero’ clothes. “Ah, I hoped you would! Sorry, I had to get rid of the purple. I just felt it made me look too cute, right? I know I can’t have villains falling for me like you had me falling for you!”
Shinsou did not blush, no he didn’t, “shut up.”
“So what are we looking for today?” you asked, pressing down onto the floor beside him. Your arm touching his as pressed your face towards the glass. “Is this a stakeout?”
“Less stakeout, more information gathering,” Shinsou grumbled, typing some needed notes onto a file on his phone. It seemed to him that there was plenty here for the drug making charges. “We’re trying to get their bigger names caught in the action.”
“Oh, I thought heroes just burst in whenever they wanted, that’s what they do in the movies. Plus, you always threaten me with being arrested with no evidence,” you giggle, shifting closer to the glass, smile wide on your face.
“After saying that, say goodbye to me signing off that paper of yours,” he grunted, slipping his phone back into his pocket while you scrunch your nose at him. Shinsou couldn’t help but stare at you as the palms of your hands supported your chin as you hummed some song he couldn’t recognize.
“Ne, Mindjack-sensei, did you get the big boss?” you asked, your finger pressed against the cold glass, and Shinsou frowned, returning his head to the glass.
Right where you were pointing was, in fact, the head of the cartel. He was horrendously scrawny, holding no sense of fear or malice, and Shinsou wondered what his quirk could be that he was in charge of an operation such as this one.
“Oh, his right-hand man came too! All twelve are here!” you cheered quietly as Shinsou took documentation on his phone, and that suspicious rock in his stomach finally made sense at this second.
“Y/l/n?” he asked, head turning toward yours, tired eyes glinting with emotions he didn’t know how to handle.
“Mhm?”
“How did you know there were twelve main members, and how’d they look like?”
Silence.
Shinsou’s lips pulled back into a snarl, his canines glinting as he locked eyes with yours that were wide with shock and disbelief.
“How’d you find me—?”
He watched you lean away from the glass, fingers shooting to your earpieces. And with the inkling of suspicion sprinting through his veins, the purple-haired hero still found that he moved too slow.
BOOM!!!!
He blacked out when his body flew with the explosion.
...
..
.
Ringing.
Pain.
Numbness.
Shinsou could only hear ringing in his ears as soot and ashes fell down from the sky, falling on his body, coating his gaping, open mouth as he tried to breathe, trying to calm himself. Was he bleeding? Was he dying? Where was the explosion from? Were you okay?
His eyes blinked heavily, altogether so irregularly that Shinsou couldn’t help but feel he was out of his body when you reappeared in his sight. Your hand pressing to his cheeks sympathetically, eyes truly hurt as you shook your head, hand grabbing into his bloodied pocket to take his phone.
“I’m sorry,” your voice seemingly whispered, just loud enough for him to hear you through the ringing from the explosion. “You weren’t supposed to be here, Mindjack… these are the scumbags that hurt my friends and family. I couldn’t let them live. Plus… I didn't have a choice, they were competition.”
He spluttered, the warm goo of blood and saliva choking out of his mouth as he convulsed on the ground, his eyes watching as you went.
“See you later, hero.”
He tried to yell at you to come back, that you were a coward, a fucking menace that he would destroy the next time he saw you, but his voice failed to work. Nothing was working except his pain receptors, his heart that kept shoving blood into his lungs that he kept spitting up, but he saw flashing white and red lights as unconsciousness sank its jagged teeth into his neck.
An ambulance was here.
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It took four months to recover from the accident.
His hearing had been fucked up. Not even medical quirks had managed to save his hearing entirely. But hey, it did get him the chance for Bakugou Katsuki to come to his room, called him pathetic, and showed off his own hearing aid that he had needed since his quirk had damaged his own hearing. Not to mention that for the past four months, he had been teaching him sign language just in case.
He wasn’t alone, it seemed.
But it was four months, and he had recovered fully.
The hearing aid he required in his left ear still made his ear ache in pain, and he found that he liked it much better shoved in the back of a draw than anything else. But he knew it was dangerous to be a hero without his full hearing. If it hadn’t been for Bakugou’s trial through this all and the help of Hatsume Mei to create a more appropriate hearing aid for heroes, he wasn’t sure if he would still be here — working that is.
But today — or well, night — was a new day, and he was going to push ahead. He could do this, no sweat, no problem.
Well, that was until an all too familiar figure sat perched on a ledge on his usual route, legs swaying in the air as uncontrolled rage bubbled in his chest. It wasn’t entirely your fault, but a large part of Shinsou was embarrassed to have been caught up in all of this because of you. He had trusted you above all else even when his instincts yelled at him not to because he knew what it was like to be painted as a villain, and he had hoped by letting you in more, you would have changed. He thought you had.
But you hadn’t.
Not one bit.
…
…
You sat at the edge of the building, already having heard the loud crunch of Shinsou’s shoes against the gravel rooftop, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t know how to face him, how to tell him that you were both sorry that he got caught up in your schemes, but that you weren’t sorry for what you had done. Those bastards had it coming.
“Give me one good reason not to push you off the building,” Shinsou growled, probably much louder than he intended.
Instead of answering, you shrugged.
You hadn’t brought the earbuds that would keep you from being immune to his quirk, and you slightly feared what would happen if you gave in to the whispers of his words. Would you blackout in a daze before coming back to normal only when placed in the prefectures jail? Would he actually attempt to kill you? You had no idea.
But you turned on the ledge, looking at his tired purple eyes that shook with his anger and betrayal. You had done a number on him.
“So, now you can’t seem to respond back to me?” he laughed bitterly, his teeth bared into a way too fierce smile, one that made your heart thump and sent a shiver down your spine. “What game do you think you’re playing?”
You still didn’t answer as you planted your feet back onto the rooftop and stood up, watching as his binds flared to life. Dancing and weaving around him in a dangerous coil of fabric, like a frilled dragon lion lizard extending its skin in a warning.
“Should’ve taken you down with that first time I found you,” he spat, his eyes narrowing as you took steps toward him, and the weapon seemed to snap at you. “Did your sister pull the same bullshit on him as you did me? Is that why he became ‘psycho?’”
Now that one nearly got the response out of you as fury thrummed through your veins as you were suddenly nose to nose. You couldn’t help it, but you knew there was no point in explaining your reasoning for doing what you did because he would never understand; he couldn’t.
So as his eyes flashed dangerously from your eyes, his breathing coming down harshly against your upper lip, the hatred he had for you (that was probably reignited from a year ago and make it double) simmered between the air between you and him. You couldn’t resist.
Your lips pressed against his in a simmering hot kiss.
Shinsou shoved you away, as quickly as you had pressed your mouth against his, but you were back on him before he could utter a word. Only that this time, he kissed you back with scalding, burning heat.
You never really knew how much smaller you were to Shinsou until you were on the tips of your toes to kiss him, his hands practically burning you as they gripped onto your hips, pulling you so close there was hardly any room to breathe. His kiss was hateful, spiteful, and full of unspoken passion the two of you had never addressed during the period that was good. It had been so good, but he was a hero, he would never understand.
His teeth bit harshly onto your lower lip, and you hissed, your fingers burying into his hair and tugging at the root of his hair as his tongue came and pressed dangerously against yours. His tongue was hot against yours, he was undoubtedly much more hotblooded than you were, and with his emotions heightened, he exhausted what.
Tongues clashed against one another, but it wasn’t even a battle of dominance; it was a battle to find who surrendered. There was to be no joy or excitement for whichever tongue prevailed, just the burning of the tears falling down your face and the acid taste on your tongue as he suckled on your pink muscle.
Your eyes were partially opened, watching his angry yet blank purple eyes meet yours, neither one of you allowing yourself to give in to the pure elation and sensation this was bringing. No, he wouldn’t allow it, and you wouldn’t have it.
The stubble of his beard scratched into your skin repetitively, feeling like sandpaper against your own skin as the kiss deepened, consuming the both of you on a whole new level as your crotches ground roughly against one another. Hisses and groans couldn’t stop pouring from your collective mouths, both of you hating yet craving more from this all. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he spoke to you like this, would he do something to you while you were like this? So when his massive, thick hand made contact with the underneath of your ass, scooping up your leg so that your covered cunt could now correctly grind into his hard cock, the weapon you stole from him a year ago bound around his neck, choking him, collaring him.
“I like my bitches chained up,” you mocked against his lips, but somehow, someway, Shinsou liked it.
You groaned loudly at the way Shinsou gasped for air against the makeshift collar, your grin widening as you nodded your head, pulling away from his mouth as the grin became a smirk. “Didn’t think you wanted to talk when we were fucking?” you lied, teeth biting onto his lower lip and sucking on it as your hips oh so artfully bucked against his covered cock. You could feel the growing slick in your panties beginning to feel uncomfortable with the lack of proper friction, and your head lolled backward when he slammed your core against his, devilishly grinding against you.
He picked up your other leg and dropped the both of you to the floor, the uncomfortable gravel stone floor digging painfully into your back, but you could care less. Shinsou’s mouth was already back on your body, scratchy, scraping kisses placed on your neck, making you moan out, legs wrapping around his waist as you cant your hips upward to grind into him.
Unamused with the lack of his hands on your body, you took his arms that were planted at your shoulders and pressed his heavy palms on your breasts, avoiding the pissed look in his eyes as his teeth marked you painfully. You actually shrieked in pain. The feeling of his teeth tearing through the skin on your neck, while his finger kneaded and pulled at your covered breasts. It was unashamedly painful with how he played with your breasts. He seemed to grow happier with every sound of distress you made.
Fisting your hands back into his hair, you pulled him back to your face level, your eyes fluttered at the way his clothed erection carded perfectly between your sopping wet cunt. Blood stained his mouth, making his teeth slightly orange in tint, and you clicked your teeth in partial anger and pain as your neck throbbed. Slamming your lips back against his, you almost gagged at the taste of iron that soared through your senses as his tongue wasted no time to seek yours out. His lips and fingers were so ardent, manipulating your every body movement, cry of pain and pleasure as thrumming hatred for the stupid, stubborn hero above you still coursed through your veins.
Sweat began to form at your temples as your lips gilded against his, your hips snapping up to meet his grinding hips, and an airy response keened from his mouth as you moaned loudly.
His incessantly grinding hips were making your legs shake with stimulation, your whines and whimpers for more opening like a flood gate as you finally stuck a hand between the two of you and shoved his pants to his knees. You dropped your legs from around his waist, and he assisted you in ripping your pants off from one side of your body, the fabric still clinging to your right leg, but you could hardly care. All you wanted was for him to plant his cock into your blazing heat and to fuck you, to claim you here on this rooftop that started and would end it all. You wanted him, his cock, and him.
“Fuck me,” you begged into his ear, and his back shivered with your words. You hooked your leg around his waist, carding his hot, throbbing cock against your soaked pussy, as you rolled your hips. “I want you to fuck me, fill me with his cock, and cum deep within me to show me just how much you fucking hate me.”
You cried out when his hand shot down to his cock to line it up with your squeezing, dripping hole, his mouth once again covering yours, kissing you aggressively, fueled with an emotion you could taste as bitter hatred. Your legs trembled as the tip of his cock continued to press against your entrance, not entirely entering it, not giving you friction to send you into a euphoric end. You could help the snarl that passed through your lips, your eyes angry beyond repair as the head of his cock continued to deny you. Whenever you tried to grind down, to force your walls around his cock, he went down with you, he wouldn’t allow it, and your cunt clenched against nothing as he gave you nothing.
Shinsou wheezes out a bitter chuckle, his hand raising his cock from between your soaked folds to slap his heavy, thick, and long length against your throbbing clit.
Hatred and desire soak your body, and you needily rub your clit against his cock, your hands shoving up his shirt to feel the scarred pattern of his back as you give him new ones that were produced by your nails.
“Don’t tease me, hero,” you snapped, fingers tearing into his skin to draw blood. “You fuck my pussy so good, right now, or I promise next time you’ll go out with that bomb too.”
That seems to do what you want because before those words settle on your nerves. His cock penetrates deeply within you, bottoming out entirely as your head thrashes back against the gravel of the floor, throbbing pain from that entirely ignorable because fuck, his cock was stretching you out. He was so thick, so fucking veiny that you could feel the pulsating veins on his cock pressing against your puffy, sensitive walls. You scream his name as the pleasure-filled pain pulses within you, your hips thrashing, wildly bucking in your attempt to calm from the sudden placement of his cock.
“Why are you so fucking big?” you splutter, a whining pitch to your voice as you clawed at his back, trying to separate your joined bodies but also trying to get even closer. “It’s so big, my walls feel like! Oh fuck, Shinsou, it feels like Imma split in two!”
It seems that Shinsou holds some great pride over those worse, because he growled deep in his chest, and his hips begin to fuck into you. It sends your hands to the base of his neck, clutching onto his skin with hope as you scream in pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the wet squelches fill the air and tickle your ears. The head of his cock keeps dragging against your spongy wall, brushing over your g-spot over and over again as if he knew where it was, as if it was common knowledge as he fucked you further into the gravel floor. It didn’t even hurt anymore, your skin singing with joy as his cock fucked you stupid.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck me!” you whined, and Shiinsou made an approving noise.
He grunts as your cunt flutters and clenches around him, his balls hitting your skin in possibly bruising force and speed. And his pelvis crashing against your stings ever so slightly, but has you begging for more, sobbing for more.
Your vulgar words and moans are unstoppable at this point, your legs and thighs trembling as they are still circled around him, sometimes assisting you in coming up to meet his driving, drilling hips. You whine into his ear, your mouth pressing blind and sloppy kisses against his slick with sweat neck.
It’s when both his hands bring your hips up to him, his cock finally bottoming out entirely within you, does the most primal moan rip through your mouth. You convulse underneath him, trying to move as the head of his cock buries against your cervix, poking your womb with power and speed that has you swearing behind the blackness of your vision that this sensation brings. You can see the entire galaxy, the world lighting up when his cock leaves the thin wall, and you gasp, shocked that the heat and slick of your cunt is still going. You tremble underneath him, wordless cries pittering from your mouth while he bites on your earlobe.
You soon readjust to the numbing pleasure, the bruising pleasure, and pain that comes with his cock slamming against your cervix. The way that he thrusts up into you, stretching out your walls far more than you were ever used to.
A pathetic cry escaped your lips when he rolled over so that you were now on top, your body bouncing as soon as it could against him. You keened and whined, feeling the top of his cock licking your cervix, and you spluttered.
“Fuck this angle, this angle and your cock!?” you stammered, fists curling into his collar as you rode him, his hips snapping up into yours with that same animalistic power and speed.
His pace is irreplicable, near maddening with every successive thrust of his hips. Each snap, each wet noise sends you close to the edge, your inner walls clenching and milking his length with greater power as your senseless cries fill the night sky. His grip on your waist will leave purple bruises later tonight, you just know it, but the fire in his eyes as you lock fazes is enough for you to be okay with it.
Its intensifying, deepening, fire erupting in your core as your cunt throbs.
Sweat, tears, and spit fall from your face, and Shinsou surges upward, kissing you with everything he can. It's a maddening escape of lust and need and hatred being exchanged, saliva spreading between you, covering your hot faces with slimy coldness, But you keep him close, your mouth drinking him in more, begging for more as your tongue sinks into his mouth.
His fingers rake down from your back. Past the curve of your clapping ass and onto your powerful thighs that helped in your action to claim his cock. Your joined mouths, both parted in silent screams, wordless begs for more, branding curses that spoke of his hatred for you, your hatred of his job.
Fuck this, fuck that, fuck, fuck, “fuck!”
You held each other impossibly close. Despite the barriers of shirts and armor separating your chests, you swore you could feel his hammering heart flush against your chest. A steady, consistent beat reminding you that this was a one-time thing, that this was yet another bomb with only one explosion to it.
“S-Shit!” his voice finally managed to escape from the makeshift collar, and you nearly sobbed at the sound of his gravelly, husky voice.
You still hated him, you really hated him and his stupid deep voice.
Your back arches as the control you had on collar suddenly slacks, as if you had never had it there, and his own noises of sex, of hatred, of pleasure fill and echo in your ear. You can hear him mumbling something in your ear, your head pathetically nodding, tears streaming down your face only you can’t seem to figure out why. The throbbing pressure in your stomach made you near uncomfortable as his cock sank and disappeared from your cunt, your walls' vice grip becoming tighter and tighter and tighter.
There’s vigor, untapped lust, pent up frustration as he rolls you both around, pushing you back into the gravel and dives his length into your wet, loud cunt without mercy. You were overworked, over thrilled, the pressure of your coming orgasm snapping into your every fiber of your being, your toes curling, and drool seeping from your lips as he growled.
The noise seemed to resonate deeply in your own chest, and he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, pathetic, needy noises escaping your lips as you stared into his angry, lusting eyes. And as he buried his teeth into your bottom lip, his nose scrunched in an aggressive snarl, he spoke with finality:
“Cum.”
You weren’t sure if you had suddenly fallen under the persuasion of his brainwash, or he just knew you were overfilled with pressure, but you went rigid in his hold, your eyes rolling backward, and your vision going white. You came in powerful waves, electric stimming vibrating through your entire body as your spongey, wet walls clamped around him, and Shinsou came in a guttural groan. His hips snapping into your with five last, robust, resounding thrusts until your trembling abdomen and thighs were stilled with his crushing weight.
You could feel his hot cum pulsing and thriving deep within your cunt, and you panted heavily, your body feeling alarmingly weak as the both of you lay there. A puddle of cum, tears, drool, pain, longing, and hatred.
He lays on top of you, his chest heaving with his breathing, and you felt frozen beneath him. The pain of the gravel roof no longer adds to your pleasure but rather is stabbing you in pain. It’s quiet as you lay there.
He’s quiet.
You’re silent.
“Why’d you do it?” he asked suddenly, interrupting the silence that you hated.
“I can’t tell you,” you admit, voice thick and heavy with untold emotions.
“You know I’ll have to arrest you, right?” Shinsou spoke softly, but he didn’t move to capture you, and you didn’t move to run.
What was the point? It wasn’t as if there was ever a fighting chance for the both of you. The world would have never allowed it, so why bother?
“I don’t think you hate me enough to arrest me right now, sleep on it,” you softly chided, your eyes staring up into the universe, begging to know why they made you a freak?
“Not right now, you spent all my energy,” Shinsou admits, rising up from you, his soft cock removing itself from your humming core, and you looked away to keep from staring. “I really hate you though, y/l/n. I don’t like liars or pretenders.”
“Convince your cock of it next time,” you couldn’t help but fire back, your upper lip curling in your anger and hatred at the sound of his zipping pants.
Silence and a beat follow your words.
“I’ll tell you this now,” Shinsou spoke, turning on his heels, his tone was cold, distant, like a stranger who could care less for you. “Don’t let me see you again. If I do, I promise you, I’ll send your ass to Tartarus. We’re no longer on good terms.”
Anger, hatred, and fury course through your veins as you stand up, legs weak, but spirit wounded as you pull up your pants, uncaring of his cum leaking from your slit.
“Don’t you dare show your face to me again! Next time I won’t save your fucking ass when I blow something up!” you snapped, the tears running down your face uncontrollable although your voice never gave it away. It didn’t have to though, he turned around one last time, and his eyes met yours, and the two of you glared and simmered.
But, he didn’t bother to respond back as he disappeared into the shadows of the night sky.
You collapsed onto your knees, exhaustion finally catching up with you, and you realized his capturing weapon you had stolen was finally taken back by the rightful owner. You fell forward, the tears and silent sobs muffled by your bitten lip as you stayed on that rooftop for an hour. Crying like a freak.
Truth be told, you weren’t even sure if you ever hated him.
...
..
.
Incoming Text…
Incoming Text…
New Text Message Received!
From Unknown:
↳ Good job, y/n. Phase one is complete.
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AU-gust 2021 ( Day 27 )
Royalty
(in which John is in love with someone he can never have & Rodney is a prodigal prince going through a complicated homecoming)
.
It’s only when the king reaches the end of his speech that John’s hands start to go cold.
Beside him, Rodney is still not showing signs of slowing down with his commentary. “What’s fascinating is if I didn’t know better, I might actually buy all this bullshit he’s saying. Look at him; I think there’s even tears in his eyes. Goodness. Can’t believe I used to think he hung the moon when I was a child.”
John, having spent the last couple of weeks running around Lantea with Rodney, knows each and every single one of the man’s issues and hang-ups with his father. If he isn’t so distracted with the powerful urge to throw up on his shoes right now, John may have expressed his support.
“I mean, I ran away last year, but the bastard only declared me missing after the GENII had sent their ransom demands. If it weren’t for those idiots, I would’ve happily lived out the rest of my life in Zelenka’s shop.”
It’s an opening he can take, a temporary buoy, and John doesn’t hesitate before grabbing it like a lifeline. “Kolya’s men were prepared to kill you, buddy.”
Rodney just gives him a sideways glance and waves an impatient. “Yeah, yeah. And I already thanked you for saving my life, didn’t I?” He snorts. “Can you imagine if you hadn’t shown up when you did? Who knows what kind of inept goons my father ended up hiring to drag me back here.”
“Your sister sent people, too, remember?” John tries, but his voice sounds faraway even to his own ears. The king’s monologue is almost over.
“I know,” Rodney allows. “At least she’d have brought in halfway-competent ones. She’s the only other member of my ridiculous family who has an ounce of common sense, after all.”
Out the corner of his eye, John sees Rodney turn his shoulder a little to the side. In front of them, the crowd holds their breath as King Uriel raises his glass.
“Loathe as I am to admit it, I really was glad you were there that day. Who knew your vagabond tendencies and talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time can have their advantages?” This time, Rodney smirks. “That you’re easy on the eyes didn’t hurt, too.”
Before John can open his mouth to say something — to grab his last chance at coming clean, at walking out of this mess with any prayer of being forgiven — Rodney’s father is leaning back into the microphone, his eyes landing on the corner John and Rodney have occupied.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my son and heir, Meredith McKay!”
The uproar drowns out the rest of John’s words, and he barely feels Rodney squeezing his wrist before Lantea’s crown prince is marching up the dais.
“And of course, all this would not be possible if it weren’t for the bravery and courage of the people who risked their lives for the future of this kingdom.”
There’s a frown on Rodney’s face now, the briefest reaction that makes his shoulders stiffen, and John wants nothing more than to part the crowd and hoist Rodney up and over his shoulders and leave this all behind.
Very interesting coincidence, don’t you think? That we happened to be there at the same time?
“It’s my honor to introduce the man responsible not only for my heir’s well-being these past few months but also the decisive end of the insurgence.”
The King directs the people’s attention to John, but John’s eyes are on Rodney.
“The new commander of the Royal Guard and former Colonel in the Lantean Air Force, John Sheppard!”
Maybe it’s destiny, your highness.
#inspired by First Daughter (2004) & Chasing Liberty (also 2004 lol)#stargate atlantis#rodney mckay#john sheppard#mcshep#my fic#fic: AU gust#AU_gust#AU_gust_2021#my post
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It may be a little late, but here is this week’s talentswap! Consider this a Talentswap Thursday (Hey, the alliteration is still there!). Introducing Myth, the Former Ultimate Cosplayer!
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BACKSTORY AND TALENT
Because she was wracked with scoliosis as a kid, Myth only had anime and the manga her parents bought as modes of entertainment. Luckily, with many operations, Myth managed to get on her feet and out into the real world. But because of her past, Myth only has anime characters (particularly shoujo heroines) to model her behavior around. Myth eventually became famous around school for her skill in textile work, and eventually she started getting commissions from her classmates. But perhaps what she is best known for is her uncannily-accurate and self-made cosplay. If there is an anime convention going on somewhere, you can always count on Myth being there with a brand new cosplay. Myth is now currently making a living as a professional cosplayer and model, but she’s currently taking some time off to chaperone this year’s Ultimates and Jr. Ultimates.
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RELATIONSHIPS
Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Magician
When Myth first entered Hope’s Peak, the first person to catch her eye happened to be a charming magician in a tuxedo, the ideal mysterious and male shoujo lead. Even after figuring out that this seemingly charming guy just happens to be a loud and rough-and-tumble girl, Myth’s admiration and slight crush on Wyre didn’t fade in the slightest, and they are only the best of friends, even in their adult years. Myth loves to be Wyre’s adorable assistant in her magic shows, and Myth usually lets Wyre model her crossplays (in which Wyre looks damn stunning in them). If someone messes with Myth, Wyre hexes them for life.
Outfit: A black top hat with a ragged red rose on the top, black eyeshadow, a black coat over a white dress shirt with a popped collar, black dress pants and matching shoes and cape.
Anon Scar, Ultimate Astronaut
Despite only being a teenager, Scar managed to ace both the physical and academic exams that the prestigious astronomical institute hands out to her, and is on her way to become a full-fledged astronaut. The intelligence and caring/maternal nature of Scar are unconvincingly covered up by the self-created facade of being an evil alien overlord, being sent down by her superiors to conquer the entire galaxy, starting with Earth. Myth loves Scar’s dark aesthetic and lets Scar model her dark and elaborate dresses and suits. Scar secretly keeps the edgy cosplay Myth created, for they make her feel “powerful”.
Outfit: A black scarf with star badges, a black and white jumpsuit, black boots with yellow soles, makeup from original design.
Fusion Anon, Ultimate Detective
Originally working at his grandfather’s detective agency, Fusion was exposed to crime and investigation, ever since he was little. Originally handling simple cases, such as lost pet and infidelity cases, Fusion stumbled upon and eventually solved an elaborate homicide that eluded even his grandfather, earning him his status as the Ultimate Detective. With Fusion’s wild hair, enormous appetite, and cheerful, yet protective (and almost paternal) attitude, Myth thinks that Fusion wouldn’t be out of place in a shonen anime. Fusion happens to also be a massive anime nerd, which lead to the cosplayer and detective bonding easily.
Outfit: An oversized grey overcoat, a blue vest over a white dress shirt and a red necktie, blue pants, and black loafers, glasses from original design.
Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Adventurer
Sightings of a mysterious girl with a flowing dress and a sunhat cropping up all over the world made international headlines, with many people making theories on the true identity of this mysterious girl, especially since she responds to all questions directed towards her with either memes or sarcastic remarks. That mysterious girl eventually became known as Fusion II, who was eventually given a place to stay at Hope’s Peak, and was given the title of the Ultimate Adventurer, for the sheer scope of her globetrotting. Much to the dismay of the globetrotter, Myth figured out about Fusion II’s nerdy side, and wouldn’t stop bringing it up.
Outfit: A white sun hat with a red ribbon, a red pashmina scarf, a white parka with light blue fluff on the inside, a flowing blue skirt and grey hiking boots, sunglasses from original design.
Just Anon, Ultimate Entomologist
Being regarded as a prodigy when it comes to studies of animals and nature, Janon specializes in and is a pioneer in the study of insects, having discovered several new and previously-undiscovered species of insects, thanks to his fool-proof method of insect capturing: sleeping in the middle of the forest and letting the bugs crawl all over him. Myth is rather afraid of insects and she regularly turns to the lazy, cynical and foul-mouthed insect expert if she encounters a creepy-crawly, much to the annoyance of the helmeted scientist, who just wants to go to sleep with his insect friends surrounding him.
Outfit: A helmet that resembles a rhinoceros beetle, a camo-colored hoodie and matching pants, dirt-stained boots, face mask from original design.
Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Anthropologist
As a devout lover of foreign cultures, Sparkle wrote books detailing both her experiences traveling and the philosophies and mysteries of the charming foreign places that she visits. Sparkle also happens to be a devout lover of anime, particularly magical girl anime, and Myth’s cosplay of the leading lady of Sparkle‘s personal favorite magical girl anime. When Sparkle heard that the famous cosplayer would be chaperoning the Kibo-Con trip alongside her, Sparkle fangirled, to put it lightly. Myth and Sparkle love to roleplay as the two leads of Sparkle’s favorite magical girl anime and pretend their fighting the monster of the week.
Outfit: A brown overcoat draped over her shoulders Yasuhiro-style, a smaller brown jacket, dark blue gloves, a red-and-cream plaid skirt, black leggings, brown boots, glasses from original design.
Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Inventor, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Pianist/Assassin
Despite the seemingly innocuous talents of the twins, Egg and Wet Sock are quite the devious duo, to put it extremely lightly. Wet Sock uses the alluring piano music that they play to shank people while they are in a trance and Egg invents the various weapons that are used in their twin’s assassinations. And that is ignoring the cursed comments that the two both sprout on a daily basis, that basically alienates them from practically all of their peers. While the cursed comments shatter the image of the “androgynous gentlemen” Myth thought they have, Myth simply adores the steampunk/mustache-twirling aesthetic that they both have.
Egg’s Outfit: Black and brown goggles, a short-sleeved white shirt, black suspenders, short brown pants with a black tool belt, black and brown rocket boots.
Wet Sock’s Outfit: A black jacket over a white dress shirt and a red tie with a gold treble clef on the front, black pants, black shoes, glasses from original design.
Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Tennis Pro
As a student of one of the most prestigious schools in all of the country, Curious truly has it all: being cool-headed, helpful, rich, athletic, and just so darn adorable. Curious has a massive fanclub at their private school for precisely all of those things. Curious is famous all around the country, for both their affluential family and his unparalleled skill in tennis, despite both their age and their height. In her anime-inspired journey, Myth managed to find both the kind athlete and the oujo trope all in one. Curious is all too eager to help Myth model both her male and female cosplays, and Myth agrees with Curious’s fanclub on their looks.
Outfit: Hair tied back into a small ponytail with a green and yellow striped headband, a white tanktop, a green cardigan tied over their shoulders, green and red shorts, knee-high white socks, green and white tennis shoes.
Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Child Caregiver
Having been born and raised in an orphanage, Nerd was accustomed to taking care of children, being prepared for just about any scenario that a child could find themselves in. But despite his prowess at taking care of children, Nerd’s personality isn’t exactly child-friendly, for he is foul-mouthed, foul-tempered, and despite caring for children 24-7, claims to hate children. Upon noticing the contrast between Nerd’s temperament and talent, Myth figured out that Nerd was the token tsundere love interest within seconds of meeting him. It helps that even the kids at Nerd‘s orphanage have taken quite the liking to having Myth as a mom.
Outfit: Tan cargo pants with child care supplies in each pocket, black, red, and white sneakers, dress shirt and tie from original design.
Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Aikido Master
Having been both born and raised at an isolated temple, with only his master to keep him company, Eldritch’s master taught Eldritch to never let his guard down against anybody, for they can and will take advantage of his small and weak build. This life-long message, along with Eldritch’s constant aikido training, resulted in a short but strong boy, who beats anything he sees as a threat into a bloody and bruised pulp, and to Eldritch, anything and anyone could be a threat, so he punches everybody just to be safe. Not even the adorable and innocent is safe from Eldritch’s paranoia-fueled pummeling, much to the wrath of Wyre.
Outfit: Hair in a long ponytail with a white Nippon Ichi headband, a black gakuran top over a white tank top, black pants, white socks, brown geta sandals that boost his height.
Dream Anon, Ultimate Artist
Because Dream was extremely creative but hyperactive and impulsive as a kid, Dream’s parents gave her a large canvas that she could draw on, and within 15 minutes, Dream made an indisputable masterpiece, much to the shock and amazement of her mom and dad. Dream eventually signed up for several art programs and became a master in practically all art forms, with sculpting and coloring being her two favorite mediums. Because of their similar talents and attitudes, Dream was basically the shonen answer to Myth’s shoujo persona, being hyper and boyish, in contrast to the bouncy and girly vibes Myth gave off.
Outfit: A black beret on her head, a pink and white striped sweater, blue paint-covered overalls, a tool belt with art supplies, pink slippers.
Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Maid
Despite her less-than-stellar past being raised on the streets, she was eventually found, cleaned up, and was adopted into an influential family as their maid. Iris delivers all service with a smile, whether that’d be cooking, cleaning, or simply entertaining guests and business partners of the influential family, making even the most stoic and ice-cold business magnates leave the estate with a giddy and amused smile on their face. Myth loved a girl who can pull off a classic French maid, and definitely tried sticking an eyepatch or a dragon tail and horns on Iris, when she wasn’t looking, but Iris was all too happy to model for her.
Outfit: A standard black and white French maid dress and black stockings with red Mary Janes being the only splash of color.
PURPL-3 (aka. Purple), Ultimate Robot
Having been created by only the greatest masterminds of robotic engineering, Purple was created to be a literate robot who could read and recite books for blind kids. Because of her very purpose, Purple has a massively large vocabulary and uses very old-fashioned and archaic terms in her daily speech. When Myth heard that she’d be chaperoning an actual robot, Myth thought she was having some sort of fever dream, but lo and behold, Purple arrived in all of her robotic and extremely timid glory. Myth internally thought that the world is becoming more and more like science fiction everyday, upon being aware of Purple‘s very existence.
Outfit: A black beret with a satellite antenna on top, pale metallic skin, purple helmet-like hair, and black armor-like plating.
This series centers around Myth, dazzling everyone with her skills as a cosplayer, and perhaps finding love with someone.
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PERSONALITY
Basically, after recovering from her scoliosis, Cosplayer!Myth decided to reinvent her previous shut-in personality, to be more appealing to others (which succeeded by the way). She chose to model her new personality after shoujo heroines. Despite being (seemingly) ditzy and a massive klutz, she compensates for that by being very kind-hearted and being like an emotional rock for her classmates and conmates. She’s very hardworking on her commissions, often sacrificing sleep to work on her costumes (she hides the eyebags with makeup). Just like with regular Myth, Cosplayer!Myth thinks a lot like a romance novel, often trying to woo her prospective love interest with shoujo tropes.
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APPEARANCE
Cosplayer!Myth has her naturally brown hair dyed purple and tied into two massive pigtails with two red bows with stars in the center. She wears contact lenses, and her outfit is a simple seira fuku with a white dress shirt, a light blue ribbon, a darker blue skirt, tall white socks, and black Mary Janes.
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Once again, I’d like to apologize for being late. But, I hope you like the talentswap anyways! Let me know what you think of this swap in your reblogs!
#so cute lol#submission#anon#fusion anon#talentswap tuesday#art#not my art#iris anon#dream anon#purple anon#just anon#fusion anon ii#sparkling anon#egg anon#wet sock anon#eldritch anon#curious anon#anon nerd#anon scar#my evil twin#anon kg
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Demonstrating One’s Talent
My first contribution to Snapetober is Snockhart! Thanks to @sxvxrxssnape for organising this event. I’m not sure I did whump right though...
Prompt 10: ‘you’re bleeding’ and 22: collapsed
Warnings: body horror, body horror elements, blood and injury
(but it is really just fun crack treated seriously I swear!)
AO3 link
Defence Against the Dark Arts should have been Harry's favourite class. It was certainly the one he got the best marks in, and no one could deny that he, of all people, needed to know how to defend himself. Considering that he'd had a close encounter with the world's most powerful dark wizard, who just happened to be very keen on murdering him, in his first year alone.
And it would have been his favourite class if not for the simpering, stuck-up, pompous twat of a teacher they had. For all his self-proclaimed skill and expertise in battling Dark Forces, Harry couldn't think of one useful thing Lockhart had taught them this year. And with a monster running loose about the castle no less!
It was unusual for Harry to arrive at the egotistical dolt's class on time, let alone early, but with Hermione still petrified in the Hospital Wing and Ron sleeping the day away after their terrifying introduction to Aragog last night, that is exactly where he found himself. He'd planned to spend the extra few minutes quietly pondering what it all meant – the mirror, the writing on the wall, the spiders – but, once he arrived on the third-floor corridor, he saw that something else unusual was going on.
Lockhart was slumped against the wall outside his classroom talking miserably away to himself. "I just...I simply cannot begin to fathom why he isn't interested!"
Interest piqued and having been provided cover by a handy suit of armour, Harry stopped to listen as a female voice came out of nowhere.
"Well perhaps if you were a little more...modest?"
It was then Harry realised Lockhart was not, in fact, talking to himself, but to a painting. One of a very pretty – and very naked – water nymph. Harry hadn't noticed it last year and rather suspected Lockhart of placing it there himself. She had large, ocean eyes alluringly framed with dark lashes and long brown hair that was perpetually wet from the fact that she spent all her time lazing in a lily pond, the flowers of which only just protected her modesty.
"One tries to be, my dear lady, truly. It's just rather difficult when one's talents are so..." Lockhart looked off into the distance, as though trying to come up with a word that properly conveyed such talents was a challenge in and of itself, "...abundant."
"Quite." The nymph scrunched up her delicate features as though she'd swallowed something foul, but Lockhart didn't seem to notice.
"Honestly, I mean, I'm not one to boast but I've never had this sort of trouble before – romantic trouble I mean – I'm used to having a line of ladies and gentlemen, all vying for my affections, long enough to stretch out the door! And now I'm reduced to lamenting my sorrows to a painting!"
"Excuse me!" said the nymph, thumping the water with her fist to create an angry splash. "I do have other things to do besides sit here and listen to you moaning about your love life!" Harry wasn't quite sure what
Lockhart shrank further down the wall. "My apologies," he mumbled. "I simply meant-"
"Look," the nymph began, with more pity in her voice this time. More than Harry could dream of showing someone so arrogant, at any rate. "Perhaps if you demonstrated your talents in front of him, rather than just...discussing them at great length...he'd take more of an interest."
"Alas!" Lockhart moaned. "I've been trying! Starting small, you know, so as not to overwhelm him. Just the other night I tried showing him the best way to skin a flobberworm but he chased me out of his office before I could even get the jar off his shelf!"
Flobberworms? Harry only knew of one teacher disgusting enough to keep jars of those in his office...but...it couldn't be!
"I thought demonstrating my prowess at our duelling club would have been enough!" Lockhart rambled on. "But the poor darling must have been too intimidated by me..."
No, Harry thought. No, no, no, no-
"Have you tried getting a little more...physical?" the nymph asked, rolling onto her side in the murky pool and running a hand over her ample hip to help get her point across.
"I must confess that I'm not above using my...sexuality...in these situations, but even that has failed me! I tried to take advantage of the summer heat, asked him if he wouldn't mind my taking off my shirt when we found ourselves alone in the staff room one stifling evening..."
The nymph's eyes lit up. "And? what happened?"
"He blast me with a cooling charm! He didn't stop until icicles were dangling from my nose!"
"Hmmm..." The nymph sighed. "I never thought I'd say this, but perhaps you should just give up."
"I fear you may be right, dear lady," said Lockhart sadly. "But I must be going – my students shall be here shortly. I have so much to fill their bright, young minds with!" With an elaborate wave towards the painting, he strutted off into the classroom.
Harry stayed where he was, letting the other students push past him to get to their seats. The girls giggled excitedly as they always did. He wondered what they would say if Harry told them Lockhart had a crush on Professor Snape.
***
Harry had been itching to tell Ron about what he'd overheard all day, but when he got back to Gryffindor Tower, he found his friend still sleeping. Getting a little concerned now, Harry pulled the sweat-soaked covers back from his face and gently shook him awake.
"Urrrggghhh," Ron moaned, "times' it?"
"Everyone's down at dinner," said Harry, by way of answer. "How are you feeling?"
"Not so good, mate."
He didn't look it either. Ron's face was ghastly pale behind his freckles and he was talking through his teeth as if trying to bite back waves of nauseating pain.
"I think we need to get you to the hospital wing."
Ron, as though talking required far too much effort, simply nodded.
Getting there wasn't going to be that easy though. It took three tries before Ron was able to stand and the only way he was going to remain upright was by Harry slinging his friend's arm over his own shoulder and taking most of his weight. They were both panting before they'd even got down the stairs.
Harry looked around the common room desperately in the hope that someone's appetite had forgone them that night and would still be around to help, but it was deserted. Heaving Ron over his shoulder again, he surrendered himself to the fact they had to make their way to the Hospital Wing alone.
***
This was bad. Harry was starting to think he should have left Ron in the common room and gone to fetch help rather than trying to lug him all the way down to the first floor by himself. Ron was still managing, somehow, to shuffle one foot weakly in front of the other, but he wasn't speaking at all, and his eyes kept fluttering closed so Harry had to steer them both through the endless hallways. But they were already on the third floor and Harry really didn't want to leave Ron alone. Better they just push on. With any luck, someone might-
"Potter!"
Someone else. Please.
But, of course, it was Snape who was striding towards them, a storming mess of menace and black robes. "And Weasley! Why are you not at dinner? There is no excuse to be wandering about the castle during these times-" Harry wanted to ask Snape why he was wandering the castle instead of sitting with the other teachers in the Great Hall, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. "-or perhaps, as always, you feel the rules don't apply to you?"
"Sir - you don't understand – Ron's-" As if to illustrate his point, Ron fell from Harry's arms and collapsed onto the floor. Harry immediately crouched down and began to shake him, repeatedly calling his name, but Ron didn't stir. Harry turned desperately to Snape who had stiffened with shock. "Sir! We need to-"
"Get out of the way, Potter!" he snapped, pushing Harry to the floor in his haste to get to Ron. He jumped straight into action right away, digging his fingers hard into Ron's neck, feeling his forehead with the back of his hand. The thought of being touched by those hands made Harry's skin crawl, but neither he nor Ron were in the position to be choosy right now.
"What happened?" Snape asked, loosening the buttons of Ron's striped pyjamas to better see the shallow rise and fall of his breathing.
"I-I don't know!" Harry stammered.
"Did he ingest something?"
"I don't think so!"
"Think, Potter!" said Snape, voice echoing down the corridor as he turned his full attention to Harry. "The two of you must have been meddling in something you shouldn't!"
Harry was spared from answering as a sing-song voice drifted up the corridor. "Oh Severuuuus?" Both he and Snape turned to look simultaneously.
"There you are!" Lockhart beamed as he rounded the corner and caught sight of the three of them. He didn't seem to question why they were on the floor. "You left before they served dessert! And before I could finish telling you about my latest line of haircare potions – I really think the tea tree and dandelion root shampoo would do wonders for your-"
"Not now you buffoon!" Snape hissed.
"I say," said Lockhart, noticing that one of their party was unconscious for the first time, "what's wrong with this poor fellow?"
"That's what I'm trying to determine!" Snape turned his furious face back to Harry. "But Potter here cares more about saving his own hide than the life of his friend, it seems."
"We were in the forest!" Harry blurted out. "There were these...these spider things."
"Weasley was bitten?" asked Snape.
"No!" There's no way Ron could have kept that to himself. "He was fine! He was just tired today. I thought it was just because we were out so late! All he said last night was that his back was weirdly itchy!"
Lockhart, who had been babbling away to himself about the time he had once bested an army of giant arachnids single-handedly, and how it was such a shame he had not been there to help, suddenly stopped mid-sentence. He was staring at Ron, eyes fixed on his torso. Then, in a voice Harry had never heard him use before, he said, "Open his shirt."
Both Harry and Snape just stared at him.
"Do it!" he commanded, kneeling down on the floor next to them. Snape hastily obeyed, deftly unbuttoning Ron's shirt and revealing his freckled chest. Harry watched as Lockhart, with none of his usual flair or pretence to be seen, began examining Ron's torso, kneading and prodding at his friend's flesh as if he actually knew what to look for. When he got to the lower left side of Ron's stomach, he froze.
"Oh dear," he whispered to himself. "Nothing to do but cut it out I'm afraid."
"Cut it-?" Snape spluttered. "Just what in Salazar's name are you going on about, man?!"
"Oh no!" Harry interrupted finally. "I'm not letting you do anything to him! Remember what you did to my arm?! We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey!"
"There's no time, dear boy!" Lockhart exclaimed, pulling out his wand from somewhere deep amongst his periwinkle robes. "And I'm afraid Madam Pomfrey, wonderful as she is, would be in over her head with this. I, however, know what I'm doing." Lockhart looked at Snape over Ron's body. "I really do this time," he added.
Snape, his expression unfathomable, opened his mouth to say something. Harry hoped he was finally going to insist on taking Ron as far away from Lockhart as possible and get him the appropriate help. But all that came out was a strangled gasp, that Harry closely followed with one of his own when something in Ron's chest...moved.
"Immobulus!" said Lockhart, pointing his wand at the protruding mass under Ron's skin before anyone could stop him. The...thing...slowed in its progress but continued travelling upwards. "Blast, it's a strong one," he muttered. "Severus. I need you to keep the curse going – don't overdo it though. It'll affect Weasley, too, but there's really no other way..."
Snape looked as though he was about to object, but something – the authoritative tone to Lockhart's voice perhaps - made him whip out his own wand, aim it at Ron's chest, and begin chanting some unknown curse in a low, melodic hum.
"Now, Harry?" said Lockhart, kindly but firmly. "I'm going to need you to support Weasley's head, he may start jerking around a bit, do you think you can do that?"
Harry just nodded, unable to speak. He shifted his position so as he was crouched at the top of Ron's head and slid his hands underneath to cushion the bony part of his skull. He looked anxiously between Snape, still focused intently on the thing now inching up Ron's ribcage, and Lockhart who, with a flick of his wrist, transfigured his raised wand into a shining, wicked scalpel. Harry swallowed. Ron, please survive so you can forgive me for letting this happen! Or punch me in the face – either way just please be okay!
"Severus?" Lockhart positioned his blade horrifyingly close to Ron's skin. "I know you're concentrating but listen to me. Once it's out it will try to burrow into the nearest living thing and that will, most likely, be me. You must kill it as quickly as possible. Understand?"
Snape, looking several shades paler than usual, jerked his head by way of acknowledgement, never once breaking his curse.
"Ready, then? One."
Harry found himself wishing Hermione was there.
"Two."
Merlin, he wished Colin Creevey was there! Anyone other than these two!
"Three."
Thick, dark blood poured from Ron's skin as the blade pierced him. So much blood! Lockhart must have done something wrong! But he kept slicing downward, slow and steady. Snape hovering over the whole time, humming his strange words.
A sickening screech, not unlike that of a mandrake, filled the air. The sound was garbled and bubbling through the blood which pooled endlessly within Ron's chest. Harry, wanting desperately to look away from the scene but finding himself unable to, thought he could make out something white wriggling angrily within Ron's wound. He watched with horror as a sharp, insect-like leg jutted out, then another, and another, flailing in the air in a frantic attempt to defend itself.
Then it burst out of Ron's chest.
Harry's vision was suddenly obscured as a splattering of red coated his glasses. He quickly shook them off, figuring his own limited vision was preferable to seeing nothing at all. He began to feel Ron's body jerk underneath him and tried to put all his focus into supporting his friend's head, but it was rather difficult with the strange creature rearing before him.
Harry couldn't see it clearly, but he could see enough. It was like a spider and not like a spider at the same time. About half the size of Harry's fist, its body was long, pale and slightly bulbous at the end. Six bony-looking legs that ended in razor-sharp points wriggled helplessly, trying to grasp on to whatever has disturbed it. It must have had a mouth (otherwise how else could it make that awful, ear-piercing sound?) but, for the life of him, Harry couldn't work out where it was.
Snape had gotten the worst of Ron's blood. It had splashed across his face and was dripping into his eyes and mouth. Momentarily blinded, he swore and tried to wipe the worst of it from his face but only succeeded in smearing it further around. Curse broken, and perhaps sensing an easy target, the creature rounded on him.
But Lockhart was too quick for it. Harry watched, amazed, as his normally useless Defence teacher thrust out his arm and batted at the creature. He uttered a pointless 'Shoo!' at it while attempting to push it away. Instead of obliging, it lunged.
Each horrible leg wrapped around Lockhart's forearm, tearing through his fine silk robes with ease. "Now, Severus!" he shouted before his voice dissolved into an agonised scream when the legs pierced his skin and began to disappear underneath.
Snape didn't need to be told twice. A stream of white-hot flames burst out of his wand aimed directly in line with the not-spider that had now fully latched onto Lockhart's arm. It let out a shriek more awful than ever before shrivelling in on itself and falling to the ground with a hollow thud.
Lockhart breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Severus. That was good thinking using a fire-based charm, but if I were you, I would have-"
But Snape wasn't listening. He was crouched over Ron, who thankfully had stopped jerking but was now lying much too still and covered in far too much blood. Snape began muttering yet another spell and trailing his wand over the large gash that was Ron's stomach. Harry marvelled as the blood began to flow back into his friend's body and the wound started to knit itself back together almost instantly.
Harry turned to Lockhart and tried to ask several questions at once. What was that thing? How did it get inside Ron? Is he going to be okay? But it ended up coming out something like, "Wha...howdit...kay?"
"A Scuttler," said Lockhart, apparently getting the gist. He nudged the shrivelled, burnt thing lying on the floor with his foot warily. "They aren't usually found in this country, but then again neither are Acromantula. Your friend here must have disturbed some of their larvae while you were off gallivanting about the forest. So lucky I-" Lockhart coughed when Snape shot him a glare, "-I mean, we were here! A moment longer and it would have reached his heart, and then...well...let's not dwell on that too much now, shall we?"
Harry felt like he was going to be sick.
***
It wasn't long before more help arrived in the form of Professor McGonagall. Who, in turn, arranged for more help to arrive in the form of Madam Pomfrey. By the time the medi-witch arrived Ron, miraculously, was sitting up, groggy and groaning but very much still alive. She still insisted on sending him to St. Mungos for a proper check-up, but that didn't stop Harry grinning from ear to ear.
"Urgh, Harry?" said Ron once he had been bundled onto a gurney.
"Yeah, mate? I'm here."
"Harry. There you are! I had this awful dream...'bout a spider..."
"It wasn't a dream, Ron! Lockhart saved you! And Snape, too!"
Ron laughed, clutched his stomach again the pain of it, then laughed again. "Good one!" he said, trying and failing not to giggle. "Snape and Lockhart! Snockhart!" He kept alternating between laughing and wincing in pain while they wheeled him away.
"Well...that's gratitude for you," said Lockhart.
Snape, who had stood back looking rather shell-shocked the whole time Ron was being checked over, finally spoke. "How did you know what to do?" he asked, touching Lockhart's arm.
Lockhart flushed. "I, uh, came across it once or twice. Did you know I trained as a Healer for a time? You don't forget when one of those comes rushing through the door! I was rather good at it if I do say so myself. No money to be made, sadly. Had to give it up. Now haircare – that's where the money is! As I was telling you-"
"You're bleeding," Snape interrupted.
Lockhart was still covered in so much blood it was difficult to tell which was his, but sure enough when he raised his trembling arm, dark red trickled steadily from his many wounds. "Aaha!" Lockhart exclaimed, slightly manically. "I'd clean forgot! Must be all the adrenaline, you know? Perfectly natural response. Oh dear, I'm starting to feel rather faint..."
Lockhart wobbled unsteadily but Snape caught him just in time.
"We'll go to my office," said Snape. "I have blood replenishing potions. Then we'll see to your arm." Then he added in a slightly lower tone. "And after that...my quarters are close by...you look like you could use a stiff one."
Still with a supporting arm around Lockhart, Snape spun him around and began carefully guiding him in the direction of the dungeons. Lockhart craned his neck to look at something just behind Harry, who turned to see the nymph from earlier had bustled her way into the nearest painting. She stood between a pair of armoured knights who were looking away awkwardly, probably because she was still naked, although somehow still strategically covered with waterlilies. She grinned at Lockhart from behind her sopping wet hair and gave him a thumbs up. One that Harry saw him briefly return.
#snockhart#severus snape x gilderoy lockhart#severus snape#gilderoy lockhart#pov harry potter#body horror#blood and injury#crack treated seriously#snockhart fic#snapetober#snapetober 2020
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Deleterious Compulsion (1)
Tw: Blackmailing/Sexism/ Possible historical inaccuracies/ implied homophobia/ unhealthy relationship/ OOC/ grammatical errors.
Sharp honeyed eyes settled on the target, pouncing on the templar Altaïr slitted his throat and rivulets of blood began to pour. Thus, he took a feather and drenched it with the templar's blood. Afterwards, he began to head back to Masyaf castle to report his success to the Mualim.
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Meanwhile in Masyaf...
"Ah, I see that you've completed your mission fairly well. But, that is very expected from an exemplary assassin such as you!", Al-Mualim commended.
Altaïr stared at the Al-Mualim with a stoic visage. Respectfully, he expressed his gratitude. Before he left, Altaïr asked about his next mission.
" Master, what of my next mission?", inquired he in a montone voice.
" Don't be hasteful, for the next objective is of such importance that you,Malik, and Kadar will be entrusted with. And, there will be no room for failure.", Al-Mualim voice boomed in his ears.
" I understand,Master.But, why should I do it with them? When I am capable to do it on my own.", Altaïr voiced his thoughts in bumptious manner.
"Now,now. Altaïr. Don't be so concited with your abilities, for one day it will be your downfall. Moreover, how the mission goes is not up to debate. You're dismissed!", his master dismissed him with a disappointment lacing his words.
Grumbling and murmuring, Altaïr left to train some of his brothers.
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Junaid was your mask that have gotten you into the Brotherhood. Without it, you'd been rejected,thrown, or worse left to starve like those women whom are living under the tyranny of the Templars in Masyaf.
Since then, you've been careful not to reveal your identity around anyone especially Altaïr. Who is oddly seemed suspicious of you for what ever reason his mind conjured up.
" Hey, Junaid. Brother Altaïr is back from his mission. Which means more training with him! Aren't you thrilled to be taught the tenants of the assassins by the hands of a prodigy", Sayed voice startled you from your train of thought and made you jump slightly.
" A-ah, yes. Very exhilarated to be at the presence of an assassin model", you spoke sarcasm coating your words.
God! you loathed that arrogant prick. He thinks he is beyond everyone, because of his innate talents and precise instinct.
" Aren't you cranky today, brother! Plus, you seemed jumpy and most of all you....don't appreciate Altaïr?" , questioned playfully Sayed.
" Don't get me wrong, I appreciate him. However, his personality is as bland as a wooden table. As well as, he is suspicious and harsh with me when I train with him.Otherwise, I appreciate his training", you sighed and started to head toward the designated practice area.
Once you reached the area, you spotted a certain man cladded in white with the hood up. Ah....Altaïr, what a pleasure you truly are!
Suddenly,you were handled by the said man and were pinned to the brick wall behind you.
Golden orbs dissecting your (e/c) ones, along with your body language for any sketchy behavior.
" I know, you're up to something ,Junaid. Spit it out now. I have seen you on multiple occasions turning around", bringing his tanned face near yours to the point that your noses were touching.
" I'd say peace and safety to you, but you don't deserve either of them. Anyway, I have nothing to say or hide from the Brotherhood that have risen me", you sassed back and clutched his hand then flipped him on his back.
" On the other hand, Altaïr I am not someone to be meddled with", pressing your hidden knife against his jugular. After that, you stood up and decided to go to Al-Mualim to receive your mission.
Leaving a fuming eagle behind, yet he appeared to get more engrossed about his 'pupil' that took him by surprise. A ghost of a smile decorated his physiognomy for a moment , then it vanished when he remembered his co-mission.
If he had a choice, at least he would bring Junaid with him for he is as capable as him. Alas, Altaïr went to Yaser's bureau to discuss the upcoming objective.
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Meanwhile in Damascus...
Howard Wickhame*...
A templar preoccupied on satiating his hedonistic wants at the expense of the people. He has a human trafficking network that expands from Damascus to Jersuleum. Most of the humans are females ranged from : 13 to 21 in age.
Most are either used as sex slaves or sold to be one. He is found commonly in Jerusalem, at the market. How abhorrent! Soon enough, he will answer to my blade.
While you began to make preparation toward Jerseluam, a knock alarmed you of the forthcoming of an assassin.
In which, you hastily covered your torso with bandage and put on your assassin uniform.
You went to get the door, only to be surprised by the familiar tanned face of Altaïr. Flabbergasted, you ushered him to lay on the soft purple cushion.
" What a pleasant surprise! What made you come all the way to Damascus? Or, are you here to ridicule my skills again?" , you uttered vexed at his presence.
" I came here...not to ridicule you, but to escort on your mission", responded Altaïr gruffly.
" WHAT!!! No, you wont!!! I'll be do-", as you were delivering your words incredulously, you were cut off by Altaïr.
" You have no matter in this as I am your superior as well as the Mualim issued the order", Altaïr lied pathologically with a condesending smirk.
" Urgh, fine. Let's get it over, then I will never have to see your face again", you replied again stabbing his muscular chest with your digits.
How naïve? Not to check the validity of my words. But, that will make my work easier. I want to know the real you not the illusion that you fool everyone with. I know you're hiding something and I will figure it out. Plus, you're quite astute and vigorous for someone who have a petite structure.
" Is that how you speak to your superior? In addition, you won't get rid of me that easily considering I am your teacher. Either way, tell me about our target", Altaïr commented with teasing tone and a minuscule smile appeared. When, he saw you scratching your temple in frustration.
He wondered why you don't like him like the rest of the creed. And, why are you keen on working on your own? There is something, that he knew.
That is his main reason of the trip, to discover your true identity. Maybe, you'll slip throughout the mission and he takes advantage of that. The idea fledged a smile on his handsome almond face that made you double check if you're either dreaming or blind.
" Here I thought you could not smile and be an asshole, but I am wrong at the former and the latter still stands.", you remarked wondrous at the phenomena that happens infront of your eyes.
Gazing at you with his honey orbs and a genuine smile grazing his sculpted brown face.
" What? You can take me by surprise, but I can't. I'm more than you think, keep that in mind." Responded the veteran assassin with a hum.
" May I inquire a question,Master?", you smiled as you watched his expression changed from confident to a pure shock. Quite amusing!
" To call me master and ask me a question, now that what I sought from you brother. And, yes you can.", Altaïr answered with subtle tint of joviality.
"From what I've heard there is a co-mission, where you and two other assassins are involved. Why waste your time here, when you can focus on that?", you questioned him skeptic on his intention.
Frowning bitterly, as he remembered what Al-Mualim spoke of.
" The mission isn't any time soon, so Al-Mualim sent me here.", replied Altaïr with a low grumble.
Shrugging his expression, you began to retell him what you know of Howard Wickhame. As you retell the info, you can't help but feel the intense gaze of Altaïrs was watching every move you make.
No matter, it's probably his usual way to make sure that you relayed the info truthfully!
Eventually, both of you are on your horses to Jerusalem to eliminate that bastard,Howard.
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Jerusalem, at the market.....
" Gentlemen, I welcome you to my market where all your sexual needs are met. With a certain price, of course.", Howard ushered his large rough hands towards the aristocratic men of Jerusalem to capture their attention on his products.
Wailing and crying of women and children were heard alike, from the shallow cages that they were inserted in.
" As demonstrated here, I present you with the finest products from as young as 13 years to a full matured lady. They can serve well, I guarantee you much of that", He spoke expression developing into utter pride, as he saw the leacherous faces of his guests.
Business is hitting a jackpot that's for sure. Not to mention, he needs to report to Robért de sable as soon as he can.
Oblivious to their presence, two assassins were hidden behind a mosque. Listening to every word that dripped from his filthy maw.
" Okay, now. You take the guards down and I'll deal with Howard on my own. Then we can liberate all of the captives. Okay?" , you muttered to the brunette beside you.
Altaïr hummed and nodded.
He didn't knew whether to look forward to seeing the templar seeping out the crimson liquid, or for your slip up that he will happen.
He didn't know the reason, why he is fixated with you to such degree? In the end, you are a student of his. He shouldn't have these thought about his student. It is alike a compulsion that drives him to irrationality and madness.
Soon after, the duo started to execute their short-term strategy.
Stealithy, Altaïr began to take out the guards one by one. On the other hand, you camouflaged yourself with the people around you as not to alert the templars about your whereabouts; thus failing the mission.
'One more step, and that templar is no more.'
Getting your trusty hidden blade ready, you approached your designated prey with a steady pose. Quiet, hidden, and unnoticed by the populas.
Closing in, you lunged at Howard taking him by surprise. However, as soon as you lunged at him an arrow was lodged into your ribs.
' اللعنة!*، I have to do it hastily '
Then, you slashed his throat and the cement floor was decorated crimson.
Screams were heard from the guests, notifying the enemy of your location.
As soon as his body hit the floor, the Templars were tailing you.
Beside that, the injuries is getting worse and worse to the point you began to haze out and gradually fall down.
' Well, I guess this is my time. At least, I served the Brotherhood with honour and dignity'
The last thing your eyes layed upon was a flash of white mixed with brown and red.
When Altaïr saw your body, he panicked and ran impulsively to pick your wounded body. He won't let you die, especially at the hands of those fucking templars!
The bright side is that you made an error that will confiscate your mask away. So now, he can finally relish on your true self.
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At the bureau...
"Oh, Altaïr...What have you brought this time?", Malik sighed until he layed his brown eyes on your unconscious body, then worry began to seep into his mind.
" Move aside, I require your room so I could heal Junaid.", Altaïr responded tersely.
" If it wasn't for the sake of Junaid, I'd not give an acre of this to you. Now, go tend to Junaid before he dies of your own incompetence", Malik grumbled and motioned his almond hands to the chocolate door. In which, plants designs and Arabic calligraphy were carved upon its surface.
Soon after, Altair kicked the door only to be introduced by a lofty and plushy room with a soft harbor grey bed on the center of the room.
Instantaneously, Altaïr setted your sparked out frame down on the bed and began to remove your uniform one by one,until he reached your bloody chest that is covered by bandages that were soaked by your blood.
Until, suddenly his hands were engulfed by yours in a vice-like grip.
" What in the name of god, do you think you're doing?", you hissed painfully.
(E/C) eyes dead set on his pulchritudinous honey eyes that you wished to swim into it. If, those eyes didn't belong to your haughty and secluded mentor.
" Simply, I was tending to you. Considering, you're currently on the verge of bleeding to death.", He responded with concern interweaved in his words.
And, for the first time Altaïr took off his hood off. To reveal, short brown locks and and a well-sculpted golden face that the angels might cry from envy. But, what enraptured you the most is the look of vulnerability that carved his face.
Then, he sat beside you.
" Since when, did you care about my wellbeing? When all this time you're trying to fault me for something that I didn't commit", you spit at him bitterly. Confusion,anger, and hurt were pointed at him as if they were spears ready to inflict harm upon him in your time of agony.
Funnily enough, you didn't acknowledge which is worse the jabbing pain of the arrow that is still lodged in your ribs or the emotional and the paranoia that altaïr instilled on you. The fear of being found out for who you truly are, along with the fear of losing the only family that cares for you and vice versa.
" No, I never hated you. On the other hand, It is the polar of it. I care for you more than a mentor should for his pupils. So, let me reconcile with you by helping you recover.", He confessed tenderness dripping off his scarred lips. At, this point his repressed emotions were getting off hand and he fucked it up more by revealing his thoughts to his most cherished mentee.
' اللعنة علي*، Malik was right. I am a fool '
Astonished, you didn't know whether you should speak or not. To your dismay, your eyes started to water and a waterfall ensued.
" P-please, Altaïr. I beg of you to let me take care of myself a-and then we can speak of it", your voice has begin to crack and revert to its feminine tone.
Startled by the tone, Altaïr begin to check the source of the voice. Only, to find it resonated from you. Maybe, you are a feminine boy, not what he is currently thinks of. No women were allowed throughout the brotherhood*.
All those 15 years has gone to waste. Thanks to a confession of a man,quite pathetic isn't it? How, fate amuses itself by your despair and agony!
If only, you had had not been forsaken by your family then this predicament would not happen.
" I'm truly sorry, Junaid. But, it is my duty to tend for my brethren. Plus, you're not in suitable condition to do it. You will only hurt yourself. So, lay down and let me remove these flithy bandages", Altaïr then began to remove the bandages , against your cries not to, only to be astounded by the sight of breasts. His golden pupils dilated in response to the utter shock.
Ah, shit. So, you were a woman masquerading as man all along.
So that's why there is something off about you. Not to mention, the paranoia and tendencies to working alone.
It clicks now.
" Tell me, What is your full true name?", Altaïr interrogated you coldly that you begun to shiver now that the truth has arisen.
" My true name is ( Y/n) and I am an orphan. All of my family are dead, not a single relative remains alive. Now, that I've told you. I beg you that you don't reveal my identity to anyone, because the brotherhood is all I've left", you replied desperation ran along your voice.
" You must understand my circumstances, the reason I joined the creed is to prevent people like me to live under the clutches of megalomaniacs such as templars", you added hoping that satiated La'ahads interrogation.
" That depends, tell me more about yourself whilst I tend to you", He responded husky voiced as he began to remove the arrow slowly. In which, you reacted in hissing and groaning of pain.
Despite all this fiasco, the nature of his feelings haven't changed not a one bit. If anything, it skyrocketed. Plus, now he doesn't need to worry about being gay. Also, he can use your identity as bargaining chip to ensure you will be his and no else.
'Perfect' , he mused as he internally grinned to himself at the thought of you becoming his for eternity. Soon enough, a ring will bond you together.
At, first it was your astute and skills that enraptured him akin to a fly stuck in a spider's web. Now, it is the truth that captured him and how similar of an upbringing you both share. Many more to be followed he liked including: your thirst for knowledge and truth.
" Lastly, I only ask of you this", Altaïr's strong muscular body encircled your petite one's in his grasp. Then, he used his index to turn your face towards his.
" What do you ask? you've already ruined what I've built", you expressed grimly trying to escape the grasp your in. However, it was futile and the grip tightened more.
" If, you don't want me to abolish it. Then, abide me, become mine, and above all love me like I love you", he said in mellisonant tone to lure you more in his grasp.
Not, that will matter. At this point you have no choice, but to abide. Or, risk the revelance of your identity and your forced resignation from the creed.
Plus, it is his word against yours. And, you knew that you have no chance against him.
" Go, ahead. You took everything from me. Now, the only thing that I have is you", the eagle has cornered its sly prey into a corner and devoured it until a husk was left behind.
" That's excellent, your focus should be always on me. If only, you've had focused on me earlier; you'd not be in this predicament. But, then again my compulsion would make me take you either ways.", Altaïr responded as he began to pepper your jugular in kisses and bites. Soon enough, your neck was purple from him marking it with his bites.
" No matter, you'll be mine as I am yours for as long as life goes. (Y/n)ِأنا أحبك ", Altaïr confessed as he trapped you in the bed with his golden strudy frame that was so fit that it was built by god himself.
Shortly, Altaïr connected his lips with yours in a passionate kiss.
" Now sleep, my love. For, tomorrow you will report to Al-Mualim as long as I am there.", Altaïr took both yours and his uniform off. Then, engulfed your form toward his. So, now your back is toward him.
Next, he layed a gentle kiss on your head then he drifted to slumber.
Soon, you followed suit but with regrets riddling your despaired mind.
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A/n: That's the longest One shot,so far. However, I might make a part 2 if you want. Also, if you want a continuation do you want it a lemon?
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere fandoms#yancore#yandere assassin creed#yandere AC
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Fanfiction link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13777126/1/Serendipity
The discovery of something beautiful without even looking for it.
Youngest CEO Laurie Laurence has been going all over the best galleries on the East Coast, only to find the perfect pieces in a modest gallery in South Boston...and something more.
For @peebleoddle
Boston, Massachusetts
“Sir, we’re here,” the chauffeur announced.
“Thank you, Arthur,” Laurie said. He quickly checked his hair on the rear-view mirror and stepped out of the car. He greeted the door attendant politely and went straight to the elevator. His apartment was the penthouse, of course, so it took a while. He checked his messages.
His art consultant was already waiting for him. Laurie had been trying to acquire new pieces for his collection, but everything felt variations of the same. The more contemporary art he saw, the more he hated it. He grew up in his grandfather's house, where it was full of antiquities and traditional art, but that was obsolete now, at least for the Bostonian high society. He didn't want to hang a Rembrandt either, but something in between would be nice
“Taylor!” He called the man waiting in his minimalist living room.
“Laurie,” The other man, not older than him, walked to him, hugged him, and tapped his back twice as men do.
“Please, tell me you find something,” Laurie pleaded.
“Actually, I think I did,” he answered, showing Laurie pictures of the paintings he just visited. Laurie sat next to him on the sofa. He grabbed the photos and studied them. This is it. These are the paintings he had been looking for. They were perfect, just the right combination of tradition and modernity. They were full of movement, color, and… sensuality. Nevertheless, what attracted him the most was the theme. Most of the paintings represented musicians and dancers. Although there were also couples and very intimate scenes, family scenes.
“Where did you find these?”
“A gallery in South Boston. You told me to look everywhere and here it is.”
“This is great.”
“I agree.”
“So how many of these can we buy?”
****************
“He bought them all?! No way.”
“Just finished talking to him. He’s going to send someone to pick them up.”
“I... I can’t believe it. Who was it?”
“His art consultant is the one who closed the deal, but let’s see… Theodore Laurence...” Sam looked at Amy who was thoughtful. “Do you know him?”
“Oh my God, yes. We went to school together. His grandfather owned this huge company...”
“That he now owns,” Sam said as she looked at the computer and Amy went to see the screen too.
“Yep, that’s him.”
A few years ago...
“ Everyone ready!?” Professor Brown hurried up the students. “Amy!”
“Everything looks good,” sixteen-year-old Amy came up to his side holding a thick file. “The costumes fit, the setting is working. We’re ready for the costume rehearsal.”
“Great. Let’s do it.” With that said, Amy and the professor/director sat in the middle of the seats expecting to be pleasantly surprised. Instead, their faces reflected complete disappointment. To be fair, most of the cast was doing a pretty decent job. The problem lied in the male lead. Damn it, Amy thought.
Laurie finished preparing his drink while he waited for his new collection to arrive. He wanted to put one of them in his apartment.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said to the employees bringing the oils.
“Laurie,” Taylor entered behind them. “There’s someone here who wants to know you, actually she says she already knows you.”
“Hi, Laurie.” Amy entered the apartment. Taylor made a sign and went to follow the employees, leaving the two of them alone. “I'm sorry, I practically ambushed your friend... You probably don’t remember me.”
“Ummm… no. Of course, I do. Amy March, St. Claire High School.”
“That’s right.”
“What brings you here?”
“Well, seeing as you bought all of my paintings. I thought I could thank you in person.”
“You… you painted that… Amelia C.M.”
“That’s me.”
“Wow. I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots before.”
“It’s alright.”
“Come, let me offer you a drink.”
“I can’t believe it!” Amy rushed backstage. “Ah, Theodore Laurence. Just the man I was looking for. Seriously?” She asked, seeing as he flirted with a junior. The girl left.
“I go by Laurie.”
“Whatever. What the fuck is wrong with you! You haven’t memorized your lines!”
“Relax, I will get them,” he dismissed her.
“When? You should know them already? The play is in a week!” he shrugged. “I mean it, Laurie!”
“Alright,”
“This might be a simple thing for you, but to a lot of us, this is important. And you’re the male lead!”
“Jesus, you’re so uptight,”
“Why did you audition if you weren’t going to do it right?”
“I need the credits, okay! I’m a senior!” He admitted, visibly ashamed. “Director Harrison says that if I don't get them, I won't graduate next summer. My grandfather would kill me. I've already been accepted at Harvard.” Amy rolled her eyes. It didn't impress her at all. Everyone knew rich boys like Laurie were always accepted, they just have to show their last names and it was done.
“So, you’ve done well… this place is fantastic.”
“Thanks. I… actually have to thank you for part of it...”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, remember when you helped me with the play. You really made me think a lot about my life choices… It took me a while to realize that you were right. I was a low-life and a...”
“Man-whore?!” Laurie exclaimed.
“You heard me,” sophomore Amy stuck to her words.
“Wait, does everyone describe me like that?”
“Uhh… some would be nicer, and there are some girls really upset with you, but overall… that’s the main idea. You’ve built quite the reputation.”
“Huh,” Laurie said. He expected to be called a flirt, lady’s man, womanizer, but man-whore! That was harsh, even for him.
“Look, whatever you do with your free time and your… body, is your business. I mean seducing women, drinking, and wasting money wouldn’t be my first choice, but… it’s your life.”
“Uh, excuse me? I might not belong to your class, but some from mine do talk about you.”
“It’s not the same and you know it. I have dates, real relationships."
“Why do you care so much?”
“Because you have everything! Laurie, you have more money than I could ever think of, you are such a talented pianist. Honestly, if you're doing this for credits, I think it’s a shame the orchestra wasn’t enough. And...and that face. We could have used that for the drawing class,” they both blushed. “My point is you have everything right in front of you, from the moment you were born. The least you could do is take advantage of it. Not everyone is as fortunate as you are.”
“Please, doesn’t St. Claire cost a lot? Your family is able to pay for that, you can’t be that poor.”
“I have a scholarship and an aunt. She likes me and she’s willing to pay my tuition.”
“Shouldn’t your sister, one of them, be in my grade?”
“Jo. She’s in public school. She likes it better and she hates Aunt March. Meg is already planning her wedding and Beth prefers being homeschooled. We all are where we want to be.”
“Sounds good. You think I’m a talented pianist?”
“Please, you know you are. Not the best, but you hold second place firmly.”
“The first place being...”
“My sister Beth. She’s a genius.” She said proudly. “I have to go,” she announced after a message arrived on her phone. “Listen, the story is great. I’m sure if you give it a try, you’ll find it charming and the lines shouldn’t be that hard. You still have a week, make the best out of it. Professor Brown won’t give you the credits if he thinks you didn’t work hard enough. He’s already regretting casting you. It’s up to you to change his mind.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, you were right.”
“I know.” There was a silence for a couple of seconds, only them looking at each other. “So, what became of your life after high school.”
“Harvard. International business, internships. Finally, my grandfather trusted me enough to retire and left me the company to run. You?”
“I went to study art in Florence, I came back and started painting. I was able to afford my own gallery a year ago. And you just help me get the milestone of selling all my paintings. So… thank you for that.”
“My pleasure.”
“If I may ask, what made you do this? I mean… I know you're rich but… what made you think you wanted all?”
“I just saw exactly what I’ve been looking for. You have no idea, I send Taylor to look everywhere. I don’t fancy myself as an art expert, but I’m tired of seeing splashes of paint on a canvas. There’s something very special about your paintings. I love music, you remember that. And they just feel warm. This place could use that. And they have soul.”
“Would you like to make my marketing campaign?” she joked, although it wasn’t a bad idea. They shared a laugh.
“So umm… I don’t remember you playing music, you have a lot of it in your pieces.”
“My sister Beth died a few years ago while I was in Europe and I… I think she would like them. It helps me feel like I have her close to me.” She didn’t know why she was being so open to him, but it felt good.
“The best pianist!” He remembered. She smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
“You don’t sign as Amy March.”
“This might sound a bit strange, but I'm trying to make a name for myself. My family name is known in Concord and now that Jo is a best seller… I just don’t want everyone to see my painting and say ‘oh that’s Jo March’s sister’. She's in New York but her books are semi-biographical so...”
“I understand. Ever since I step in as CEO, I feel like everyone is comparing me to my grandfather.”
“I love my sister!”
“Yeah so do I, my grandfather I mean.”
“I just don’t want to live under her shadow.”
“Right.” Laurie felt the need to move the conversation. He didn't know what this was, but he liked it. Amy was gorgeous, she definitely aged well. She was already beautiful when they met in high school, but now she carried much maturity and that smile... And if she could create such captivating paintings, then she was more talented than he ever imagined. Back in school, she was always in the art class. He remembered her bossing the props team for the theater class. She had good taste, everything looked good. “I want to put one in the living room. Maybe you can help me decide.”
“Sure.” She followed him. Whatever this was, she definitely didn't want it to end.
#little women#little women 2019#amy march#Laurie Laurence#amy and laurie#Amy x Laurie#modern au#this was so fun to write#i loved it#if you have more ideas#go ahead and tell me
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Critical Role: One Minute
(Read on AO3)
Rating: Gen
Summary: The third time that Jester’s Wand of Smiles fails on Caleb, she gives up on any pretense and just whines. “Cay-leb!” Jester is determined to see Caleb smile. Molly has an idea.
Wordcount: 2018
A/N: Hi, it’s been a while! I have a graduate degree and a new fandom and no idea how I got here... there’s a lot of stuff I need to clean out of my inbox/drafts, but I hope you’re all doing well!
The third time that Jester’s Wand of Smiles fails on Caleb, she gives up on any pretense and just whines. “Cay-leb!”
“Ja?” he replies, not even looking up from his book. He looks comfy, legs stretched out on his bed. Molly can’t help but snort at how unruffled he sounds - when plied with literature or magic, their wizard can ignore almost anything.
Which is good, because he’s been in a room with Jester and Molly as they make their way through Tusk Love for nearly two hours now. Jester insists on reading the novel out loud, voices and all, determined for Molly to enjoy the racy scenes along with her despite his own lack of reading ability. Unfortunately, her favor’s gotten them rousted from their own territory - Fjord is in their shared room, sharpening his falchion (and Molly’s scimitars, upon receiving a solemn promise that Molly will never tell him a single detail of the plot), and across the hall Beau and Nott are napping off the last of their celebratory hangovers, Beau grumpier than usual after Yasha disappeared again last night. In a begrudging concession to their team of boring people, the two of them have ended up cuddling on the spare bed in Caleb’s room, cackling over every other page as the writing reaches increasingly lurid and inept new heights. Emboldened by Caleb’s inattention to their antics, Jester appears to have taken on the additional goal of catching Caleb off guard with her smiling spell.
It’s not going well, but Molly is more than content to sit back and watch her try.
“Why doesn’t it work on you?” Jester demands. “Did you do something to it before you gave it to me?”
“Of course not,” Caleb says mildly, still fixed on his reading. Then he keeps going, because stoic as the man is he seems to have an innate talent for winding Jester up. “Although why would I tell you if I did?”
At Jester’s barely muffled scream of failed pranking frustration, he finally turns to look at them. “That was a joke. It’s not such a hard thing to resist, Jester.”
“Then stop resisting! I just want to see you smile one time! Just for one minute!” She’s serious in her demands, if not outright upset - Molly can feel her tail lashing around behind his back. “You don’t have to be embarrassed or anything if your teeth are dirty, you know, it’s just me and Molly and we won’t tell anyone!”
Caleb frowns a little. “You are oddly invested in this.”
“I’ve been trying so hard!” Jester cries, jabbing a finger in his direction. “For a whole hour! What if smiling will actually kill you, but we don’t know, and then we’re fighting someone, and they have a wand like mine or Nott’s laughter spell or maybe they just tell really good jokes and then you die? We have to know these things!”
Molly is appropriately amused by her rambling. Caleb just looks concerned. “Was - Jester, is this something you’re actually worried about?”
“Well, I am now,” Jester grumps. It’s endearing how much she cares about the group, even when her caring is intense and a little embarrassing and almost entirely nonsensical. Cuddled up against him as she is, Jester can feel him laughing and turns to pout at him instead. He pouts back and ruffles her hair, tugging lightly at one of her horns - he knows from experience that it feels a little weird and a little nice, and sure enough it’s not more than a couple seconds before she can’t keep a straight face anymore.
Which, now that he thinks of it...
Molly thinks it through like he does most things: not at all. Then he gets up with one last pat to Jester’s cheek, stalks across to Caleb’s bed, and shoves his legs over until there’s enough room for him to perch on the edge and get decidedly into Caleb’s personal space.
Caleb doesn’t hold his book up like a shield, but Molly suspects it’s only because he values the paper more than his own flesh. “Ah… Mr. Mollymauk?”
“Mr. Caleb,” Molly purrs. Gets an inch closer. “I have a question for you.”
Caleb’s eyes very pointedly fail to meet his. “... You could not have asked this question from back over there?”
“Nope, this is part of the plan.”
“And what,” Caleb asks, slow and steely, “are you planning?”
Molly sees his fingers twitch towards the Message wire wrapped around his wrist. “Nothing bad,” he soothes. Waits until the furrow in Caleb’s brow smooths out a little, and then springs his trap.
“Are you ticklish?”
Molly has determined from observation and a little practical experimentation that Caleb has two reactions when someone who isn’t Nott invades his personal space. The first is the stoic look of someone who figures they’re about to get a beating and is somewhat resigned to the fact. The second, infinitely more interesting, is the red-faced fluster of enjoying oneself despite oneself’s very best efforts.
He watches the red gather on Caleb’s cheeks and feels a thrill that runs all the way down his spine to a last sharp flick of his tail, chases it by leaning in just a bit closer and reaching out to play with the edges of Caleb’s coat.
“Ah,” Caleb stutters. “No?”
The blush intensifies, and Molly chuckles mock-ruefully. “Was that a yes? Jester, did you hear a yes?”
“Yes,” Jester practically shouts. “Get him, Molly!”
The coat doesn’t have any buttons, expected given its wear, but there are buttonholes and Molly loops his finger through one of them as he withdraws a little to catch Caleb’s eye. “I’ll be nice; I know we’re interrupting your reading. One minute.”
“One minute?”
He taps Caleb on the forehead. “You can keep track of time, right?”
Caleb is clearly playing catch-up. He nods jerkily. “Ah, Ja.”
“Great,” he says cheerfully. “One minute, count it out, let me know when to stop.”
“Wait, when to stop what-” And then Molly shoves his hands into Caleb’s coat and pokes a finger into each of his skinny sides and starts tickling. Caleb’s stutters morph into these little noises of protest that slip out every time Molly’s fingers so much as twitch, climbing rapidly higher-pitched and more giggly as the attack continues.
Molly offhandedly tells him exactly how cute those little noises are and earns himself even more of the same, along with a breathless little “Scheiße!” that delights him even further. Feet digging into the bed for purchase, Caleb twists away to the right, flopping sideways onto the mattress and jamming his arms against his torso to keep Molly’s hands from advancing further.
Molly chases him down, propping himself up with a knee so he can loom properly to watch his prey squirm. “Hiding in your coat?” he teases. He can barely see the red of Caleb’s cheeks above the upturned collar. “Maybe I’ll have to get you out of it. Tickle tickle!”
“N-nein!” Caleb squeaks and tries to duck his head even further. Eager to reap the fruits of his labor, Molly sacrifices one implement of torture to reach out and tug the collar down.
Caleb is - not laughing, really, he’s still doing a pretty impressive job of keeping it together and it’s a little offensive, but his face is scrunched up in the most enormous grin behind a curtain of lank hair and Molly feels his lips curling to match. “Alright, Jester,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure we can establish that smiling doesn’t kill him.”
“Wait! I want to see!” Hearing the scrambling noises of an approaching Jester, Caleb makes a sound like he’s dying and presses his hands over his face. Molly tuts disapprovingly and, taking advantage of Caleb’s torso being newly unprotected, proceeds to force his way under Caleb’s book holsters to pinch at the tops of his ribcage.
This, finally, gets Caleb to crack. “Ahaha-HA! Molly! Bit-bitte-!” He wheezes between peals of husky laughter, curling in even tighter on himself and swatting ineffectually at his coat as he tries to dislodge Molly’s hands through layers of cloth and leather.
Jester pops up behind him, squealing in delight as Caleb succumbs to mirth. “Aw, Caleb, you have such a pretty smile!” She reaches out to tilt his face at some predetermined angle, then giggles mischievously and tickles him under his chin to make him scrunch up all over again. “There, perfect! Now that I know what you look like when you’re smiling, I can draw it later!”
“You want to help?” Molly offers. “Honestly, I think he’s just getting more ticklish the longer this goes and I’m kind of curious to see how that’s going to end up.”
He stops tickling for the moment, giving Caleb a breather in case Jester does decide to jump in. Caleb takes this gracious opportunity to bury his face in the mattress and makes a tired little noise, now flushed bright red to the tips of his ears. He’s curled around Molly’s planted knee like a cat, and Molly can feel the press of his chest against his calf as Caleb catches his breath.
“We could do that,” Jester muses, hooking her chin over his shoulder. “Orrrr… Caleb can come read Tusk Love with us!”
Caleb goes still for a second. Molly’s honestly not sure if he’s breathing. Finally, he turns his head, one shining blue eye visible in the shadow of his face. “Those are the only two choices?” he asks, deadpan. “There can be no negotiations?”
“Nope!” Jester replies cheerfully.
Caleb sighs heavily. “Fine, I will read your smut with you.”
Jester cheers and flounces away, kneeling to drag the book out from where she chucked it under the bed in her excited dash. “Good choice! I am so good at tickling and you are very squishy, so you would die, probably.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, our cleric.” Molly tugs himself free of the holsters, waits for Caleb to uncurl and roll onto his back and start to sit up.
Then, sword-slash quick, he pins Caleb at the waist with both hands and leans over to speak lowly in his ear. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”
Caleb’s ear hits him in the side of the face - obviously, he doesn’t startle well. “What?”
“I told you to let me know when the minute was up.” He rubs a thumb gently over Caleb’s side, relishing in the flinch and startled huff of breath. “So.” Presses lightly, rolling on the ball of his thumb until Caleb can’t help but giggle. “Either that was a very long minute, or I’m going to have to start doing this more often.”
Caleb’s face is too blurred to make out, this close, but red is never that hard to see. “I… I forgot,” he blurts, a little too loud.
“You? Forgot?” Molly laughs despite himself, then straightens a little and plants a kiss on Caleb’s forehead just because the poor thing is pinned and he can. “Oh, dear.”
“What did you forget?” Jester interrupts, clearing her throat noisily. “That you two are supposed to be reading with me, and not whispering in each other’s ears?” She pauses. “Or you could keep going, I guess, but then you should probably tell me to leave if you’re going to -” She clicks her tongue suggestively.
Caleb sits up so fast that he knocks Molly over, then stumbles to his feet for good measure. “Nein! Jester, we aren’t going to - we’re not - you are reading too much smut.”
She shrugs, unashamed and grinning a very, very wide grin. Molly suffers no illusions that his face doesn’t look exactly the same. “And plenty of watching my mamma work before that! Now come read! Maybe it will give you i-de-as!” She sing-songs the last word, and Caleb looks about ready to fall right back down.
Molly gets up, clapping a hand on Caleb’s shoulder to keep him upright. “Well, can’t argue with that,” he says, and walks the both of them over.
Although, he thinks, looking over at Caleb, he’s got plenty of ideas already.
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Everyone Loves an Underdog
: Chapter 1 : Chapter 2 : Chapter 3 : Chapter 4 :
The brothers were eternally grateful that Stan had his own car, so they didn’t have to endure a painfully awkward drive with Filbrick to the gym where the boxing match would be held. Their father took his own Oldsmobile.
“Uh, is the gym on the corner of Beach and Poplar, or Beach and Poppy?” Stan asked as they stopped at an intersection.
“I don’t know, you spent far more time there than I did.” Ford shrugged. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember how to get there?”
“It’s been over forty years and last summer I got my memory erased, cut me some slack, Sixer!”
“Ok, ok, relax! You know it’s off of Beach Street, right? So we just need to find Beach and drive up and down it until we find the right building.”
“Right. I can do that.” Stan assured himself.
They only had to turn around once before they found the gym. Luckily, there were plenty of cars parked outside signalling they had found the correct building. There were obviously some highly anticipated matches tonight. Stan doubted most of them were here for him, though. A three-round match between a couple of minors was hardly the kind of stuff people were clamoring to see.
“Did you two get lost on the way here?” Filbrick asked sarcastically.
“What? Hah, no!” Stan denied. “Ford thought he saw a UFO, we went a different route to see if we could get a better look at it.”
Ford rolled his eyes. Sure, throw me under the bus.
“You two need to stop wastin’ your time with that crap.” Filbrick grunted. “Now go get warmed up, or you’re gonna hurt yourself out there.”
“Good luck!” Ford told Stan as he made his way to the locker room.
“What, like I need it?” Stan called back.
Stanford followed his father into the stands, where they took a seat in the front row. A few spots had been reserved for the fighters’ family members and coaches.
“Hey there, Fil!” Stan’s coach said as he took a seat next to them. “Your Stanley sure likes to cut it close, doesn’t he? I mean, I know he’s more than a match for the Crampelter kid, but you’d think he’d give himself more than five minutes to warm up!”
“Yeah, he was busy goofin’ off with his brother here.” Filbrick inclined his head towards Ford.
“Oh, is that Stanford?” The coach asked sarcastically. “Yeah, I didn’t recognize you, it’s been so long.”
Ford rolled his eyes. It hadn’t even been a year, and he would have quit sooner if his father hadn’t been so insistent that it was “teaching important life skills”. The teen had only been able to convince his father to let him quit when he brought home brochures explaining that State Science Fair winners often won scholarships.
“What’s it been, five months since you quit? I thought you traded in your boxing gloves for a lab coat and test tubes?”
“I’m just here to support Stanley.” Ford answered stiffly.
“Sure, sure.” The coach turned his attention back to Filbrick. “Y’know, Fil, you’re a lucky guy. You got two very talented sons. One’s got all the brains, the other’s got all the brawn! Makes me wonder what’s left for the third one!”
The two men chuckled over the joke.
“Yeah, I would be lucky, if either of ‘em had the sense to put all that talent into something useful!” Filbrick replied. “Instead Stanley wastes all his winnings on that fancy car of his, and Stanford’s got his head in the clouds, dreamin’ about UFO’s and monsters. And they both waste all their time tinkerin’ with that old wreck they found on the beach. It was cute when they were little, but they’re both about to graduate from highschool! It’s high-time they grew out of it!”
“I’m right here.” Ford hissed.
“...What was that?” Filbrick asked, although it was clear he knew exactly what his son had just said.
“I’m sitting right here! I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking about me as if I wasn’t!”
The two older men stared at the teen for a moment, their shock apparent even in the dim light of the stands.
“Finally standin’ up to your old man, eh?” Filbrick finally said. “Maybe you learned something here after all.”
The coach and Filbrick moved on to talking about the other matches that were taking place that night, leaving Ford to steam silently to himself.
I still have to live with him for at least another day. I’ll just have to bite my tongue until the Time Tape is fixed. Then I can say whatever I like to his gravestone.
* * *
By the time Stan got changed into his boxing gear, he didn’t have a lot of time to warm up. But he was a limber, 17-year-old kid. If he could take on a horde of zombies without warning at the age of 63, he could go a few rounds with Crampelter after only five minutes of warm up.
It felt like significantly less than five minutes when the bell rang that signaled it was his turn in the ring. He took one last swig of water from the fountain, popped in his mouth guard, and walked out the door into the waiting crowd. His coach was waiting for him at the ropes. And just behind the coach, in the front row, were Ford and Filbrick. Stan tried to smile at his brother through the mouthguard. Ford chuckled and smiled back.
“Ladies and gentlemen, introducing our junior heavyweight match of the night!” the announcer called as the fighters entered the ring. “In the blue corner, weighing in at 254 pounds and six feet, seven inches tall, Dalton Crampelter!” There was a smattering of polite applause before the announcer continued “And in the red corner, weighing in at 210 pounds and 6 feet and an inch tall, Stanley Pines!” The crowd cheered. This may not have been the main event of the night, but people loved to see a little guy take on a big guy, even if Stan hardly qualified as a little guy in normal circumstances.
Crampelter glowered down at Stan as they both stepped to the center of the ring.
“Yhr hoing doon, Mines!” Ever the bully, Crampelter always had to get a taunt in, no matter how stupid he sounded trying to talk through his mouthguard. Stan just rolled his eyes and smirked.
The referee approached them, looking completely exasperated. He’d worked here since before these two rivals first started boxing lessons, and he knew their history. “Alright you two, I don’t want a repeat of last time. Don’t make me pull you blockheads appart. At least try to beat each other up within the established rules. I’ve lectured you both on them so many times, I shouldn’t need to repeat them again.”
"I hon't if he hon't." Stan mumbled.
Crampelter just sneered.
The ref stepped back and held up his hands. The bell rang, and the match started.
Stan made a jab for Crampelter right away. The bully had been expecting it, and blocked. They continued to exchange jabs for a few seconds, neither penetrating the other’s defenses, until Stan successfully faked Crampelter out, twitching his left hand down and popping the bully in his right temple the moment his guard was down. The ref blew the whistle.
“Hard blow to the head, point red!”
The two contestants stepped back. Stan could hear cheers from Ford and his coach behind him. He could also hear Crampelter’s coach yelling obscenities from across the ring.
They squared up again and the bell for the second round rang. This time, Crampelter came out swinging. Stan blocked the blow, but there was so much force behind it, it sent a jolt of pain through his arm. That’s gonna bruise in the morning. He had to take a step back to keep his footing, and Crampelter took advantage of the momentary loss of balance to drive another punch in, this time aiming for Stan’s gut. He turned his body just in time to dodge the brunt of the attack, but the glancing blow to his ribs still hurt.
Now Stan knew it was time to get serious. He feigned a trip, and when the bully tried to push him over, he surged forward and landed an uppercut to Crampelter’s jaw. The bully gave an enraged snort, and grabbed Stan’s offending arm. Crampelter shifted his weight forward, fully intending to push Stan down to the mat, as though this was a wrestling match, and squash him.
So you wanna fight dirty, huh? Alright then.
Stan pushed back against Crampelter for about a second before reversing directions without warning. He pulled the bully down with him and extracted his arm, rolling out of the way at the last second, so that his opponent landed hard on his shoulder.
The ref blew his whistle again, and stepped forward to separate the two fighters. “Well, at least we got one round where you both fought fair.” he sighed. “Disqualified round due to illegal moves. No points!” The crowd cheered. They didn’t care if it was illegal, they were getting quite the show.
Stan and Crampelter were both breathing hard by the start of the third round. Stan’s right arm was throbbing where he’d blocked that harsh blow earlier, and he could tell from Crampelter’s stance that the bully’s shoulder was hurting him where he’d landed.
Let’s hope I can end this in the next round.
Both competitors rushed forward at the bell. Stan got a solid jab in at the sternum, but Crampelter was more concerned with his footwork. The bully stomped down hard on Stan’s right foot.
“Yah cheatin’ fonofah--” Stan mumbled through his mouthguard. He kneed his opponent in the shin, but that only seemed to make Crampelter mad. The hulking teen bodychecked Stan, glomming onto his head.
Stan tensed up. He’d fought government agents and South American drug gangs and angry bikers. He knew how to come out on top in an unfair fight. He headbutted Crampelter, gaining himself a little bit of room as the bully reeled back from the blow.
“Lef’ hook!” Stan shouted as soon as his arm had room to maneuver. His fist collided with Crampelter’s nose, making a satisfying crack.
The whistle blew for the final time. “Match point due to injury, victory red! Can we get a medic up here to set Crampelter’s nose?”
Stan spit out his mouthguard and grinned down at his family. He climbed down from the ring to the sound of applause.
“Great match, kid!” His coach greeted him. “I mean, as your coach, I kinda have to tell you to not fight dirty like that, but hey, he started it, right? And you still came out on top!”
“Congratulations, Stanley.” Ford was at his side in a second, looking him over with concern. “But how’s your arm? It looked pretty bad from where I was sitting.”
“Don’t worry so much, Poindexter, I’m fine.” Stan assured him.
Filbrick simply gave a small nod of approval. “Good to see you can beat an overgrown gorilla boy.”
Stan gulped involuntarily. “Uh… thanks, dad.” He said with a forced grin. “Welp, we’re gonna head home!”
“Head home? But Somners and Epstein are fighting next!” The coach protested.
“Oh, uh, yeah, but, heh, my arm’s really been through the wringer tonight. I gotta get it patched up, y’know.”
“They got plenty of ice at the concessions stand.” Filbrick grunted. “Y’can’t go runnin’ home to ma to get coddled every time you have a rough match. Gettin’ hurt is part of the game, son.”
That was something Stan knew all too well. In the time between getting kicked out and moving to Gravity Falls, he’d occasionally take up prize fighting to earn a little extra money. He could never keep it up for long though. It was too rough on the body, especially when they paid you to take a fall, and the other guy thought the only way to “make it look convincing” was to actually beat the snot out of you. And of course, no matter how much they offered to pay him, it never seemed to be enough to cover a trip to the hospital.
“Well, I need to go home and work on my science fair project.” Ford interjected.
“Tough luck, you should’ve thought of that before you came out here tonight, Knucklehead.” Filbrick said caustically.
Stan stared at his father like a deer in the headlights. I got my own car, we can go home if we want! He wanted to say it, but for some reason, his insides froze and his mouth glued shut in the face of his dad’s disapproval.
Ford put an arm around his shoulder. “Fine then. Let’s go get you some ice, Stan.”
The brothers made a beeline for the concessions stand, but once they got a bag of ice for Stan’s arm, Ford started pulling him towards the exit.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“But dad said--”
“Oh please, he probably won’t even notice for another round or two. And then what’s he going to do?”
“Probably ground us when he gets home.” Stan guessed. “Shout so loud the neighbors knock on the wall again.”
“Grounding will hardly matter once the Time Tape is fixed.”
“I mean, our past selves will still have to deal with it.”
“We were grounded plenty of times in the past. Once more won’t hurt.”
Stan climbed into his car and tried to figure out how he could hold the ice pack to his arm and still properly grasp the steering wheel.
“Perhaps I should drive.” Ford suggested.
Stan grit his teeth for a moment before finally sighing and trading spots with his brother. “Just don’t drive her like one of your crazy spaceships.”
“That would be impossible. Cars don’t have pitch or roll.”
“Yeah, let’s keep it that way.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes, until Stan winced as his arm gave a particularly painful throb.
“How’s your arm?” Ford asked in concern.
“Hurts more than I remember.” Stan admitted. “Course, I’ve had worse. Well, probably not by this point in my life, but I will have worse.” he rolled his eyes. “Yeesh, time travel is confusing.”
“Yes, the sooner we can get back to 2013, the better.” Ford agreed. “I don’t know how much longer I can take living with dad. I’ve already come dangerously close to snapping at him twice.”
“Yeah, same here. Not the snapping part, funny enough, but I really don’t think I can take much more of him.” Stan adjusted the ice bag on his arm. “Is there anything I can do to help speed that along?”
“Hmmm… you could finish filing off the points on the circuitry while I open up the original Time Tape’s casing and remove the burnt-out circuitry. Just be careful, it’s very fine detail work.”
“Sure. Anything to get back to our own time quicker. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to see ma again, but…”
“Can’t say the same for dad and everyone else?”
“Yeah.”
Their mother was waiting for them when they arrived home, having already put Shermie to bed for the night.
“Oh, baby, what happened?” She asked when she saw the half-melted ice bag Stan was holding to his right arm.
“Heh, you should see the other guy!” He joked.
“I suppose that means you won your match?”
“Yeah. Probably for the best you didn’t come, mom, it was a bloody one.”
“Only when you broke Crampelter’s nose.” Ford amended with a snicker.
“Well, what happened to your arm?”
“Heh, I blocked a punch that felt like the giant put all of his weight into.” Stan explained. “Then in the next round, when I popped him with an uppercut, he grabbed the same arm and tried to push me down. I had to twist it around a lot to get out of there, and I think that made the bruising worse.”
Caryn heaved a beleaguered sigh. “I don’t know why you keep on fighting in these boxing matches. You’re gonna get yourself really hurt one of these days!”
Stan shrugged. “It’s fun. And it’s good money. I’ll be able to pay off my parking ticket now.”
“Well, there’s that at least.” She turned to Ford. “And Stanford, honey, did you have fun?”
“Er… fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe it.” Ford grimaced. “But I am glad I went.”
“Oh good. And lemme guess. Your father stayed to watch the other matches tonight?”
“Yeah.” The boys answered in unison.
Their mother rolled her eyes. “Guess I’d better wait up for him too.” She switched on the TV and sat on the couch.
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'I feel sexier as I get older': Back on TV in a compelling new drama, Michelle Dockery tells how her own confidence has soared after playing a succession of strong, sassy women
By GABRIELLE DONNELLY FOR WEEKEND MAGAZINE
22 May 2020
Since she burst onto our screens ten years ago as Downton Abbey’s Lady Mary, all cut-glass vowels and nerves of steel, Michelle Dockery’s kept us in a permanent state of emotional whiplash with the sheer variety of roles she’s taken on.
She was a drug-addicted con artist in the 2016 TV series Good Behavior, a gun-totin’ cowgirl in the acclaimed 2017 drama Godless, and a Cockney gangster’s moll in Guy Ritchie’s crime caper The Gentlemen.
One thing you will not see, she insists, is Michelle Dockery playing a piece of arm candy.
‘I like to play strong women,’ she says when we meet for coffee pre-lockdown in New England, where she’s been shooting her new TV mini-series Defending Jacob.
‘And even if they’re not strong, they have to be interesting. Multi-faceted, complex, complicated, three-dimensional... and flawed too, because people are. Anything but boring!’
That doesn’t mean they can’t be sexy though, and she says the added bonus to playing these characters is that, at 38, she’s finding herself feeling sexier than ever.
‘Sexy is not about having anyone else make you feel sexy, it’s about how you feel inside, and I have certainly felt sexier as I’ve got older.
But I think that’s a confidence thing too. I’ve been lucky enough to play such strong, confident women, and when you do that you definitely take something from them with you into your real life – you sort of get inspiration from them.’
Her latest character in the thriller Defending Jacob is a straightforwardly good woman – although one thrust into bewildering circumstances.
Laurie Barber is happily married to handsome local Assistant District Attorney Andy Barber (Captain America film star Chris Evans), and mother to her wise-cracking 14-year-old son Jacob (Jaeden Martell).
She’s the sort of woman who goes for a run before breakfast, then quizzes her son on vocabulary over coffee before heading to her high-profile job managing a home for abused children.
She’s just so together... until her son is accused of one of the most hideous crimes imaginable – the cold-blooded murder of a classmate – and her entire life and social circle begin to unravel as the police investigate.
‘It’s a really gripping story, because it’s so difficult for this couple to comprehend that their child might commit any sort of crime, let alone a murder,’ says Michelle of the story, based on the 2012 novel by William Landay.
‘They’re both defending their son, and like any parent would, Laurie’s asking at the same time, “Where did I go wrong?”
'There’s conflict between Laurie and Andy because at the start of the story she’s the emotional one and he’s the calm one, but then as the story goes on there’s a need for Andy to be emotional too.
'So they’re always seeing things from a slightly different perspective.
‘It’s a very human, raw story about what something like this can do to a family, and what’s so interesting about Laurie is that as her life is turned completely upside down, she also begins to question things about her family – “How well do you really know your partner? How well do you really know your child?”’
Michelle’s own family background is modest but as stable as anyone could wish for. The youngest of three girls born to Irish-born lorry driver turned surveyor Michael Dockery and his redoubtable wife Lorraine, a former shorthand typist turned social worker, she was brought up in Romford, Essex, working class and proud of it.
‘My mum is loving but she’s also strict,’ says Michelle. ‘When I was about seven I stole some penny sweets from a shop. Mum caught me and made me go back and apologise to the shopkeeper, and I’ve never stolen anything since!’
She was also raised – as were her sisters Louise and Joanne – to speak up for what was right.
‘I was brought up to stand up for myself. To speak up when I felt passionate about something, when I felt the need to make my voice heard about something that mattered.
'I think a lot of that comes from having sisters, because we’ve always supported each other all along.
'If I’ve ever felt bullied or pushed into a corner, I’ve always been able to stand up for myself. And if I see it happening to someone else, especially younger actresses, I’ll stand up for them too.
‘I hate bullying. I have huge admiration for women in Hollywood and elsewhere who have come forward to tell their stories about that, and have stood up against people like Harvey Weinstein.
'It’s horrendous what they experienced and I’m glad something has been done about it.’
It’s safe to say no one has succeeded in taking advantage of Michelle, and she says now that when she first broached the idea of going into acting to her parents they were not in the least bit concerned.
‘They weren’t alarmed by it at all!’ she laughs. ‘They made sure I had a good education so I had something to fall back on.
'Both my parents are wonderful. My mum is the most incredible woman, she inspires me.
'And my dad’s amazing too – even though he spent our growing-up years with a bathroom that was never free! They let me be who I want to be.
'So between them and my two elder sisters, who are still my best friends, I’m very lucky. We call ourselves the Essex Mafia!’
Her career choice can hardly have come as a surprise to the family, as she says she wanted to be an actor ever since she can remember.
When she and her sisters were small they attended a stage school in the evening, and they would put on plays at home to entertain the family.
Michelle apprenticed at the National Youth Theatre when she was a teenager, and as soon as she’d taken her A-levels she enrolled at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama.
‘I feel I learned more at drama school than I did anywhere else,’ she says. ‘Even when I was at regular school I was never out of the drama department, so I didn’t do very well in other subjects.
'I just didn’t want to be taught anything else. But there’s a huge amount you learn in drama school besides acting, like history and literature, and that was where I came into my own.’
It was, of course, Lady Mary who made Michelle famous. ‘It happened overnight,’ she says.
‘Well, I’d been working in the theatre for seven years, so it wasn’t really overnight, but I remember after the first episode of Downton Abbey aired, walking into my newsagent’s where I was living and seeing a picture of myself, Laura Carmichael and Jessica Brown-Findlay, the three Crawley sisters, on the cover of three papers and that was huge.
'Then the first time I was recognised on the street was in New York, and that was even bigger because that’s when it hit me how big the show had become if I was being recognised in America.’
With talk of another feature film in the works after last year’s hit Downton movie, she says playing Mary is as comfortable as slipping into a second skin.
‘I have huge fondness for her, she’s been a big part of my life. That was a very special show, and I hope it’s one that stays with people forever.’
It was through Downton that she met the man she thought she’d be married to now.
In 2013, her co-star Allen Leech, who played chauffeur Branson, introduced her to Irish-born public relations executive John Dineen.
She and John fell in love, became engaged and were in the process of planning their wedding when John was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. He died in December 2015 with Michelle by his side.
At his funeral, the day after her 34th birthday and a day before what would have been his 35th, she told mourners, ‘He was my friend, my hero, my king, my everything.
'We celebrate him, we honour him, and we will miss him.’ She has not spoken out about her grief, but has admitted that it was her friends and family who helped her pull through, saying, ‘They are the ones who see you through the most difficult times.’
She has been dating Jasper Waller-Bridge, brother of Fleabag’s Phoebe, for a year now.
They met through friends and Jasper, who is six years Michelle’s junior and the creative director at a talent agency, accompanied her to red-carpet events before lockdown.
It was also reported that she bought a £1.7 million house in north-east London before Christmas.
Michelle hasn’t commented on the relationship but she does say that a sense of humour – surely a given with any member of the Waller-Bridge family – is vital in a relationship.
‘My parents always taught me to see the funny side of life and never to take myself too seriously.
'I find that more and more as I get older – I’m finding ways to laugh things off much more than I used to be able to.’
Right now, Michelle Dockery would seem to have plenty to smile about.
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-8336165/I-feel-sexier-older-Downton-Abbeys-Michelle-Dockerty.html
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