#tired of being expected to accept an idea just because enough people repeat it
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David Bowie: Sun Rays to Rainy Days
Imagine not liking David Bowie, and running into him during your stay in New York:
David Bowie, an amazing musician and actor, but also my worst enemy.
Why? Let's just say he said some not so flattering things about me to the press and wrote a not so flattering song that criticized pretty much my entire life. We haven't even met in real life, so I'm not sure where he gets off on the idea that anything he says about me holds meaning or truth.
I just really want to ask him what prompted him to write and say such cruel things about me, but I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Y/N L/N, and I'm an American musician, my genres include hard rock, punk, alternative rock, and art rock; I would say I'm a fairly famous musician in the US and across Europe.
———————
The sky was unrealistically blue this early New York morning, like God had woken up and decided that only the bluest of blue would do today.
Most people enjoy blue skies, but being raised in California makes you either adore or detest them with an undying passion. I personally love rainy weather, so this day is already starting off on the wrong foot.
Checking the clock I sigh in wariness, already feeling tired even though I just woke up. I've been feeling anxious every time I wake up, this only started earlier this year due to the fact that a certain idol of mine has been voicing their negative opinion on me.
I'd normally brush it off and say 'fuck them', but this is David Bowie we're talking about. I love his music, I love his story, most importantly how he went through so many hardships yet still pushed forward.
Now I just regret ever thinking any of this was a good idea, sure all the money is nice, but all my relationships fell through. They started expecting me to pay for everything, wanting me to take them on expensive vacations and get them expensive gifts; now my idol feels the need to hate me as well? Just great.
I'm shook from my thoughts by the stern but smooth voice of my manager. He's a nice man, kind of reminds me of my father in his overall outward aura of professionalism, but a sharp streak of eccentricity shows when you really get to know him.
"Y/N, you've got an interview at 5, that should give you a couple of hours to wander around. Please keep your disguise on this time, I don't need a repeat of London." My manager exclaims with a humorous smile, my face burning in embarrassment at the memory of London. I had been wandering the streets and stupidly decided that it was late enough that no one would be able to recognize me, also being naive and believing I wasn't famous enough to be recognized yet ... Oh how wrong I was. The crowd that formed filled up the streets, I was newly famous, so I didn't expect anyone to recognize me, but the world felt the need to prove me wrong.
"No need to worry, I learned my lesson." I smile sheepishly, he softly pats my shoulder before leaving my hotel room.
Glancing in the mirror I swiftly start fixing my hair and checking my outfit, my mind wandering to my plans. I'm meeting an interviewer today, he's supposed to be a bit of an aggressive one, a little rude from what I've seen, and no questions are out of bounds.
To say I'm a little nervous is an understatement, this is the first interview I've accepted in my 3 years of stardom, so I'm sure he'll be extra aggressive in order to get as many details as possible. I just hope he doesn't bring up the conflict with Bowie, because I really don't have an reason as to how that even started.
———————
My day hasn't actually been that bad, no one has recognized me, so I just got to spend the day as a normal person. I moseyed along the sidewalks, just taking in the hectic environment that is New York. I've been walking around for quite a bit now, stopping in some stores and looking for interesting books to read in my off-time.
I've just bought a sketchbook and some pens when I notice some people that set me on edge. They're about 10 feet away from me, and they're giving me the "is that who I think it is" look. I gulp stiffly as a nervous chill passes down my spine, quickly thanking the cashier as I grab my things and stumble out of the store.
Looking back I can see them follow me, one of them shouting out to me.
"Are you Y/N L/N?" My throat tightens up, I look around frantically, and my fears seem to be coming true. The people on the crowded sidewalks immediately turn their heads at hearing my name. I can see some look for a little, clearly being confused before seeing through my disguise and noticing that it is me.
People start rushing forward, holding out things and excitedly asking for an autograph, something that I usually oblige to, but I am currently in a New York street with no security and no cellphone.
I'm being surrounded, some people are grabbing my shoulders, some pulling on the sleeves of my jacket in the hopes of gaining my attention. All it does is make me frightened, the London event gave me a permanent fear of crowds. I can feel myself start to hyperventilate, all the shouts are turning into one sound, it's so loud yet so quiet at the same time.
My mind is so distorted that I don't even notice I've been running, shoving my way out and being dreadfully aware of how they chase me. Camera flashes are coming from every direction, as are new people fanatically asking for an autograph or a picture; it's all so scary. Why do these people chase me? Why do they swarm around me to get some ink lines on a piece of paper? Why?
I turn a corner in hopes of slickly escaping, but suddenly find myself on the floor, having run into a rather solid chest. I exclaim an apology as I messily stand up, trying to make a run for it, but the person already has a hold on my arms to stop my escape.
"Hold on darling, what are you running from?" I recognize that voice, I look up and want to gasp in both surprise and fear, but the reappearance of the crowd stops me.
"That." I state, staring at the crowd and beginning to hyperventilate again, but I'm stopped when I find myself being swiftly dragged away. I have a hard time keeping up, he is about 5 inches taller than me after all, so he's like one step to every two of mine.
I don't know where he's taking me at first, but when I see the awaiting limo I find myself rushing forward in a burst of speed; dragging him next to me.
He does slap my hand away from the door before opening it and ushering me in before entering.
"Hello John, can you get us out of here." His accented tone is stressed, but still maintains an air of control. I used to love that voice, but now it makes me uncomfortable being so close to him and having to hear him in real life.
I move away from him, pushing myself up against the opposite door and looking at anything but him. The crowd was about 3 yards away when the limo screeched forward, my body finally releasing some of its rigidity as I see them disappear the longer we drive.
I close my eyes, leaning back in my seat as the exhaustion sweeps through me. I rest my hand against my forehead in frustration, in the next hour, all of New York will know I was spotted here and come looking for me. How am I supposed to get in contact with my manager, I don't have a cell, and I can't go asking strangers to borrow theirs.
My mind wants to continue its frustrated tirade, but I am startled out of it by a large hand softly tapping my shoulder. I look over and see a curious David Bowie, offering me a sheepish smile at having distracted me.
"Allo luv." His lovely voice politely rings through the car, I almost want to ask him if he'll write a song with me, but then the harsh reality of everything he's said smacks me in the face.
"Don't call me that." I didn't snap, but my voice was stern, letting him know that this is going to be a tense conversation. His smile falters, clearly not used to being met with such disdain.
"Well... What did you do to get that crowd chasing you?" He brushes off our tense beginning, clearly still curious as to why I was being chased. I glance into his calming eyes and realize he doesn't recognize me, or at least that's what I'm assuming. If he did recognize me, I doubt he would've ushered me into his limo so quickly.
"I don't think we've been formally introduced. My name is Y/N L/N." He raises his eyebrows in surprise at my sudden words, but his face is now cautious, looking at me as though I've just lied straight to his face. Sighing in irritation I pull off my gray fedora and sunglasses before gently removing my wig to show my short hair. He sits back in shock, facing away from me as his eyes fall to his hands.
"... Oh." The car falls back into silence, he clearly doesn't know how to respond. I roll my eyes as I shove the wig into my handbag, hooking the glasses to my shirt before replacing the hat back upon my head. I feel slightly flustered at being saved by him, I should at least thank him, but I think that can wait until I get out of the car.
"...Um. Where would you like me to go, sir?" David looks startled from his haze, quickly glancing to me before back to his driver. He's about to speak when a loud noise startles everyone in the car, closely followed by the sharp hits of water on the windshield. I immediately look out the window, being met with the unexpected view of storm clouds completely filling the once blue sky. I want to smile, I love rain and thunder, but I have no idea what my address is, and I am certainly not dressed for the rain.
"What? Don't like rain Mrs.L/N?" David's irritatingly attractive voice grabs my attention. I look over to him before back to the rain.
"No.. I actually love the rain, and it's Miss, not Mrs." I respond, watching as the rain drops drizzle down the windows. The people on the streets hurriedly running for cover, seemingly as surprised by the rain as I am.
"Drop me off on that street corner, I'll find my way home from there." I say, not looking at David or the driver.
"What do you mean you'll find your way home? Don't you know your address?" David's voice is clearly distressed at the thought of just dropping me off on the corner of a random street. It's my turn to sheepishly smile, scratching the back of my head as I shake my head 'no'. The driver pulls the car over, coming to halt on a quiet street.
I reach my hand over to the handle, but I'm interrupted by David grabbing arm, his grasp gently but firm. His looks so concerned that I almost pity him.
"Don't go, at least let me drop you off at a restaurant or something... " His sentence drops off at the end, clearly hoping I'll give in, but I am in no mood to deal with any of this today. I pull myself from his grasp, opening the door and stepping out; the cold rain is refreshingly cold. I turn away, readjusting my hat and bag, much too busy to notice David getting out after me.
"It's much too cold for you out here darling. Let me drop you somewhere safer than this at least." I can tell he's getting desperate at this point, but it really only makes me angry. How dare he say these things to me after bad mouthing me.
"How dare you act like you care about me." My words are unexpected to both of us, I didn't mean to speak my thoughts, but I guess I can't stop now. I turn around and face him, having to look up at his face due to the unfair height difference.
"You say the most awful things about me to the press, you make fun of my music, then you make fun of my life choices? Now you stand here acting all worried about my well-being?" My voice is equally as distressed as his expression, he clearly wasn't expecting my aggressive response. I take a step forward into his personal space, poking my pointer finger harshly against his chest as I glare into his eyes.
"You were one of the people I looked up to. We had never even met when I randomly heard you say I was some whore who somehow worked her way up to the top." My words are slurring, and my eyes are burning a bit. I don't know why I'm getting so emotional, maybe it's because I was so heartbroken at hearing him kick dirt on my name, or maybe it's because I stupidly gave his opinion a place in my mind.
I didn't even notice that my tears had escaped my eyes and were carving paths down my face until he brought his hands up to cup my jaw. His touch was so gentle as he wiped away my tears, so excessively tender I started to think I was made of thin glass that could be snapped in half.
"I was scared... I was scared, okay? And I know that's not an excuse, and I am sorry." His tone feels rushed yet hesitant, like he doesn't want me to even think about running off. I look straight into his eyes, finally seeing the guilt coursing through them in waves.
"Scared? Of what?" I'm so confused, why would he ever be scared of me? I was only barely a celebrity when he said those remarks, I was no threat.
"You... God, I was scared of you Y/N. You and your lovely young face, with your beautiful voice." He smiles, almost as though finally coming to a realization. I want to speak, but he continues.
"You came out of nowhere and took the world for a spin, I know you don't think you're very famous, but the entire world knows your name darling. You did that in such a small amount of time, I couldn't help but feel I would be forgotten. I know that it is a selfish thing to do, but I promise I'll make it right." I still feel unsure,
"How can I ever trust you, I admired you and you shoved that in my face." I back up and away from him, my arms wrapping around my body in both comfort and warmth.
"Well, I guess you'll only know if you give me the chance." His expression is so vulnerable and honest, his hair falling slightly into his face as he tilts his head down towards mine.
"Please, darling... Come with me, let me show you I'm not the awful prick you think I am." His surprisingly warm hands enclose around mine, their warmth causing the rest of my body to shiver, finally acknowledging the fact that we've been letting the rain drench our bodies for about 7 minutes now.
All I can do is nod my head as he brings an arm around my shoulders, quickly leading me back to the awaiting car. Helping me first before following after. I shiver weakly, David notices and has our driver turn the heat up, but we both know it'll do very little.
"Oh I'm sorry darling, let me take you back to mine and we'll get you a fresh change of clothes." I don't know why I'm suddenly so quiet, but all I can really do in response is nod my head. I take my wet hat off, tossing it down near my feet before once again wrapping my arms around myself.
———————
David Bowie's POV:
Oh, she looks so small all hunched over and wrapped in herself. I still feel guilty about what I'd said about her, I had no right making any of those claims, it was disgustingly immature what I did. All I know is that I need to make it up to her.
I must admit that I didn't expect to meet her today, I didn't even know she lived in New York.
"Do you live here Y/N? Maybe we could go to yours instead if you prefer?"
"No, I've been in a hotel, only got here 2 days ago and never made the effort to remember it's name." Ah, well, that's good to know. Looking back over to her I see her still shivering, clearly the heater is doing nothing for her. I shrug off my wet coat and shove it to the side before shifting closer to her and wrapping her up in my arms. Her body stiffens at the contact, but I can tell my body warmth is attractive to her from the way she pushes into me.
"Is this alright, love?" I don't know why I keep calling her these pet names, maybe it's because I like making her flustered. I feel her nod her head 'yes', I smile as I rest my head lightly atop hers. We stay like that until we stop in front of my hotel.
Grabbing my jacket I quickly wrap it around her small form, she opens her mouth to protest, but I silence her with my stern gaze. I swipe her hat from her hands and carefully place it atop her head, giving her a gentle smile before hopping out of the car helping her out.
We rush through the rain, laughing as we go, I hold the door open and usher her inside. We look so messy and out of place in this fancy hotel, but I ignore the looks we get, instead opting to gaze adoringly at this spit-fire of a woman I have on my arm. As we get in the elevator and wait for my floor she starts to shrug off my coat, but I quickly grab it and pull it back onto her shoulders.
"Don't, it looks better on you anyways." She drops her head down as she blushes, I can't believe I somehow got her to go from hating me to blushing at my compliments, all I know is that I want to compliment and make her blush for the rest of my life.
I step back from her as the elevator doors open, resting my hand on Y/N's back as I walk her in the direction of my room. The poor girl is still shivering, I hope she finds my clothes to be to her liking.
———————
Y/N's POV:
I'm still trying to wrap my head around how this man, this man who made me feel like absolute shit, now offers me his jacket and compliments that make my face blush a deep rose. I hope this is real, I don't think I can go back to hating him after all of this.
I'm dragged out of my thoughts by him gently pulling me into his room. Carefully slipping off the thick wet coat and hanging it up before turning back to me.
"Alright luv, I'll take you to my room and you can pick the clothes." His voice, God, his voice. I hate to admit it, but hearing his accent in-person just makes him even more attractive. All I can offer him is a gentle nod, his lips turning up into a sweet smile and he grabs my hand, leading me to his room. Opening the closet I see a wide array of clothes, ranging from incredibly posh to walk-out-of-bed to get a glass of milk clothes, I can't help but blush at the thought of him just lazily getting out of bed in the middle of the night for a midnight snack.
"What are you blushing at?" His tone is teasing as he gives me a humorous grin, his shoulder playfully bumping against my own. I can only shake my head in embarrassment as I glance away from him and back to the wardrobe.
"Oh, I can't pick... You choose." I suddenly state, backing up and softly pushing him forward. He seems generally surprised by what I say, but shakes it off as he now thinks about his new task. He rests against the wall and looks at me for a minute or so, just running his eyes across me in an oddly calculating way. He sharply turns away from me and starts rifling through his closet, searching for the perfect clothes, but suddenly stops and turns back to me.
"Don't you have an interview today?" My eyes widened in shock, how could I have forgotten. I glance towards the clock on his bedside table, my interview is in 30 minutes.
"It's in 30 minutes! What am I supposed to do?" I want to cry, this interview is very important publicity for my upcoming album. My eyes burn with tears of frustration, but I find myself distracted by the warm embrace of David, it's oddly comforting.
"Now don't you worry about the clothes, I'll pick something out while you go call your manager and get the address for your interview." He states, pulling back and looking at me reassuringly.
"What do you mean? My manager will never let me go on unless everything is perfect." I don't mean to argue, but I know my manager is a perfectionist, and will surely yell my ear off for putting myself in this position.
"Darling, either you go with what you have, or you miss the interview." I open my mouth in a weak attempt to argue, but I stop, knowing he's right. I nod my head and rush to the phone, hoping David chooses those clothes quickly.
I messily dial up my manager, and as soon as they pick up, I can sense their rush of concern.
"Honey where have you been? Your interview is in less than 30 minutes!" His usually calm tone is higher as he clearly has been worried about my whereabouts.
"I know I know, and I'm so sorry I didn't call sooner. I just... I was out, and people recognized m-" I get cut off before I can finish my sentence.
"They what! Did you take off your disguise?" He sounds so worried, I feel really guilty at making him feel this way, but I would rather I tell him than have him find out via the news.
"No, people saw through it!"
"Well, are you okay? I know how you get in crowds, did you make it out alright?" The worry and concern emanating through his voice lets me know he really wants to give me a hug, and he probably needs one too. I remember the fear and concern when he had to get me out of that London crowd, gosh he was more scared than I was.
"I'm surprisingly alright, but that's really only because I got saved." I say quietly, I leave out the fact that David Bowie saved me because I don't know how my manager will react. He was there with me when David said I was a whore to the press, so I'm not sure that he'll be as quick to forgive him as I was.
"Saved? By who?" His voice suddenly goes from concern to curiosity, oh I hope he doesn't scream when I bring David with me.
"I'll introduce you both at the interview... On that note, can you tell me the address, I promise I'll be there on time."
"Alright Y/N, just please stop giving me heart attacks." This last sentence is humorous, yet completely serious at the same time. I can hear the sincerity, and I hope that I never put him through this again.
"I promise nothing." I reply sassily, writing down the address he tells me. I turn and hurriedly walk back to David's room, accidentally running into him and falling back to the floor. I glance up in surprise as he does the same to me, I can't help but be taken back to the same scenario that happened earlier today.
"I think we've been here before darling." David laughs as I smile humorously at the situation. He offers his hand and pulls me up with a little too much strength, resulting in me falling against his chest. I can feel myself blush furiously as I go to push myself away from him, but find myself trapped by his arms encircling my waist.
He holds me there for a few moments before gently releasing me and motioning to the clothes on his bed. I don't even spare them a glance as I grab them and walk into the bathroom, changing swiftly before looking at myself in the mirror. I was in one of his blue dress shirts with some fancy brown shoes, and some straight legged ivory pants. Everything is big on me, and I feel overdressed, I usually don't care how I look, and dress in a t-shirt, jeans; but David really has me dressing up.
I hesitantly open the bathroom door with my eyes on the floor, hearing David hurriedly stand from his spot on the bed. We stand in silence for about a minute, and I go to shy away from him, but he steps forward and holds me in place.
"I look such a mess don't I? I-" I criticize my appearance, but he gently cuts me off.
"I like seeing you in my clothes." His voice is just above a whisper, and he sounds so attractively honest that I glance up from my shoes and to his face. I immediately notice that we are only a few inches away from one another, and I can't help but look away from him.
I turn back to say something when his hand suddenly reaches up to cup my face, instantly grabbing my attention. I look at him, noticing how adoringly he gazes into my eyes, and I can't help but close my eyes. His lips gently graze my own, he seems to hold back meeting me fully, assumingly afraid of how I react. To stop his assumptions I lean forward and meet his retreating form, himself immediately responding.
We pull back, and I shyly look to the side, seeing him smile in my peripheral vision as he leans down and softly kisses my cheek. My blush comes back with a vengeance, and I can hear him chuckle at the way I respond to him. We pull apart slightly, he offers me a warm smile before checking the time.
"Oh, we better get going, love. We have about 10 minutes to get there, and it's a 5 minute drive." I nod my head, allowing him to hold my hand as we walk out of his room.
———————
Arriving at the interview I wait in anxiousness as David walks around the car and opens the door for me, holding my hand delicately as we walk towards the building. We suddenly stop as he looks towards me and then himself, releasing my hand as he starts to take off his coat.
I go to object, but he pays it no mind, holding it out for me, and helping slip it on. I can't help but feel so in-love at the moment, and it's funny because he's the last person I thought would be treating me like this.
"You look good, I think I want to see you in my shirts more often." His voice is so charming and natural as the cheeky sentence slips out. He said it so normally, but he knows how it leaves me speechless, a smirk appearing on his handsome features as he leads me into the building.
#david bowie fluff#david bowie fanfic#david bowie#david bowie x reader#david bowie imagine#david bowie forever#david bowie x y/n#x reader#musicians#rock star#famous reader#musician reader#female reader#female insert#nervous#enemies to besties#enemies to friends to lovers#enemies to soulmates#enemies to bffs#enemies to lovers#reader hates david bowie at first#david bowie fanfiction#david bowie oneshot
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He had been determined to kill her. The worst thing was, he wasn’t the first. Irelia’s blades now hovered at her shoulders, following the graceful, circling movements of her hands. One simple gesture, and it could all be over.
He spat blood on the ground, his eyes burning with hatred. “If you will not lead Navori, the Brotherhood will.”
He tried weakly to raise his dagger against her. This man would never be taken alive.
“I believed in you,” he said again. “We all did.”
She sighed. “I never asked you to. I’m sorry.”
i think a lot about this in irelia's color story. it's like, right at the beginning but i have so many thoughts.
"the worst thing was, he wasn't the first" implying after she left the brotherhood the assassination attempts just. sort of became a repeated occurrence (because if she won't lead they will — and, honestly, there's even deeper lore implication if we consider zed's comic suggests kusho was also commanding the brotherhood from the shadows, and the fact he intended to lead ionia to civil war to take the power; the idea irelia is a very powerful symbol, and if she refuses to play her part as a figurehead she must be eliminated. and then there's the fact she was still really young when she left the brotherhood too, before it was even called that; there's no set point in the timeline when the story takes place, that i know of, but it's suggested it's been some time since the war ended. have they been trying to kill her since she was a teenager?)
and that's without even getting on how simultaneously tired and sad about it the line is — she doesn't want to kill her people, but he's not the first, and he likely won't be the last, and still she takes the time, waits, hopes it won't come to that, though she could've killed him immediately "one simple gesture, and it could all be over"
and then the "i believed in you, we all did" like?? i know i say that like every other day but she was 12 when she first joined the resistance, 14 by the time the battle at the placidium happened, and there was an entire nation following her then, from people she had never seen to people she had followed before. everyone put so much on her shoulders, to be some sort of savior and perfect leader, in a way that honestly no matter what she did after, people would have been disappointed, because she's only human. she wouldn't have been the leader everyone wanted. her refusal to lead earns the ire of others, either way. there is literally no outcome where she wouldn't be punished for not being what other people projected on her.
something she never wanted to be. the "i never asked you to" isn't antagonistic, it's sincere. she never wanted any of that, she didn't want to lead or for people to look up to her, or to be any sort of symbol or to have anyone's faith. she was fighting because it was literally the only thing she had left to do, because she wouldn't just stand aside and let noxus take everything, because she was so angry and hurting about everything she already had lost. but it's the fact even then she still apologizes that gets to me. this man just tried to kill her. he blamed her for a disappointment she really had no way of preventing, because they expected her to be a messianic figure that may have served as inspiration during the war but would never hold up after that, a role she never wanted in the first place, and she still feels responsible. irelia says she never asked for it, and yet acts like that is inconsequential as much as those who resent her; she definitely carries the blame, still, even if it shouldn't be hers (but that is in part because she accepts to carry it; because she feels she failed her people, that she disappointed them, enough to apologize for it even when facing someone intent on taking her life).
the apology is, in part, also because she does kill him after but like. even then. he was trying to kill her because she didn't turn out to be what the brotherhood expected! and she still hopes she won't have to kill him until she really has to, and even after that she says “May the Spirit bring you to peace,” and makes sure he gets a proper burial, something she does herself. the amount of grief and guilt she carries gets to me
#» out of character — ⌜main sup irl.⌟#» character study — ⌜both the tranquil sea and the tempest.⌟#i think she deserves to snap tbh#as a treat#being nice clearly isn't doing her good#kjsndfkajfnksjn
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* ♪ – the waves roll over
it’s too much.
joomi didn’t even sing in front of other people until a few weeks ago, and apparently, bom thinks he has an incredible voice. that alone is too much to process, let alone the fact that they actually brought him on this stupid show to be a contestant. then there’s what that entails: at least six hours of practice every day, barring sundays, but even then, there’s the unspoken expectation that they don’t really get any time off. they should practice, and practice, and practice, until this stupid song and choreography is in their very bloodstream.
he’s not built for this. he doesn’t want this, and he is surrounded by people that do. he can see it in their eyes, when his own wander from the form of yoojung when he teaches them the choreography, or his own blundering limbs.
second place. he doesn’t want this and he’s in second place. he doesn’t understand it. it makes him feel kind of sick, too; the pressure, the confusion of filling this spot when others want it more, like he’s stealing something that doesn’t belong to him. the judges want him to run with it, but joomi is paralyzed here, by this overwhelming feeling of how wrong it is. this isn’t mine to take. i do not belong here. i want to go home.
these are the thoughts that repeat in his head, but for some reason he still practices. he wants to quit, but he doesn’t, and he doesn’t know why. maybe he’s afraid of disappointing stevie, or the other people that know him on this show and are happy for him. he can’t dance or rap at all, though. he’ll certainly lose his ranking and fall near the bottom, and hopefully he’ll be eliminated soon. but what if he isn’t? what if he makes it to the end, and for some unfathomable reason, one of the companies wants to sign him? he isn’t cut out for this. he doesn’t want to be a kpop idol or a trainee or anything.
he just wants to go home, but he tries not to think about it too much. he can’t bring himself to tell anyone on the production team; to ask to be eliminated. he doesn’t know why that’s the case, either. he hopes if he makes it farther, he gathers the courage. the idea of getting one of those sought after contracts in his hands makes him feel sicker than anything else. please no.
he takes it one day at a time. maybe he shouldn’t try so hard if he wants to go home. maybe he should just accept his fate as a terrible dancer and rapper and let it do him in without wasting anyone’s time; his own, trying to learn any of this, and the instructors’, trying to teach him. for some reason, though, he can’t do anything else. maybe it’s because he’s on camera, and he doesn’t want to be known as the guy on next gen that threw the competition instead of just bowing out for personal reasons.
maybe part of him wants to want it. maybe that’s why he stays: because he’s here and people believe in him and it would be nice to have some sort of dream other than just surviving another day. could it be his dream?
he doesn’t know. he has a headache and feels a little dizzy. probably needs more water. he knows it’s because his body isn’t used to being pushed so hard. even two hours of dance lessons would be bad enough, let alone how many more times he’s gone over the choreography by himself tonight only for it to end in more frustration.
he’s alone in one of the practice rooms now, but not really alone. he knows the cameras are still rolling, and that anything he does here could be broadcasted to kpop fans all over the world. he doesn’t even know what time it is, but he’s exhausted, so he lays down on the floor after another failed run through of the choreography, sweat making his hair cling to his forehead.
he feels like crying, and he’s too tired to unpack why. it’s just all too much, and maybe that’s all the reason he needs. he feels like crying but he doesn’t want to, especially on camera, so he covers his face with his palms just in case.
–– @sarangbe
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Yesterday I got to watch a mind start to change, in Real Time/ Person.
An older lady was in my store, at the checkout to purchase her books. Outside, we heard angry yelling, as a man came into view through the window angrily shouting, “Just GET a JOB? JUST? get a JOB??” And the woman made a disgusted sound through her teeth.
I turned back to her and repeated it, “Yea. “Just get a job,” good luck when you have nowhere to keep your stuff or shower regularly.”
She says to me, “Why don’t they just accept help?” When pressed for clarification, she said, “Why don’t they just go into a shelter and get cleaned up so they CAN get a job?”
I replied with what I’ve learned from my own houselessness experiences, and from what I’ve seen others go through.
“Most shelters are full to bursting with people. Especially after the start of the pandemic; they lost jobs, and their houses, and the social program cutbacks by the Premier have made it far more difficult to get any kind of help. There are so many more hoops to jump through, and how can you jump when you’re tired, beatdown, hungry, and filthy? They have a lot of restrictions on shelter entry too; you can’t have more than 2 backpacks of stuff, if you ‘look too much’ of Anything they can say no, because there are a lot of people with mental health issues that are not being properly treated or cared for. Active mistreatment makes it hard to trust, and being out on the street turns you into a “survivor who expects the worst at all times” instead of the person you were or wanted to be. We’re all way too close to becoming those people that society looks down on for “just not trying hard enough.” Like you just did.”
She looked like she was going to swallow her own lips, then said, “I had no idea! Thank you for telling me. That must be so hard. :(”
She barely said goodbye to me when leaving, so lost in thought she was. I hope I helped.
#homeless#houselessness#we're all like 3 paycheques away from being in the same places#they are PEOPLE#not stains on the sidewalk
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Moments of Despair #1 [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]
Synopsis: “The man who was on fire and realized it too late.”
(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).
Albedo's despair
Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death, graphic depictions of violence perhaps
(A/n): Had these ideas for a while after reading @/serensama To Mourn series of another fandom. So much sorrow and feeling I just was inspired to write 😫
_______________________________________________
The moment you fell lifeless in Diluc's arms, he wanted to disappear.
It was raining again, he had always despised the rain. How it trickles down the slope of your cheek, like tears falling from the heavens. The sight of it mixing with your blood creating a thin stream of red rivers flowing beside him. They patter down obnoxiously because time didn't care, the gods don't care, the world didn't care. You were just a small fragile person to their eyes but to him you were his light. A candle that used to shine in his dark world was now dissipitated by the waters of reality.
Many droplets have passed and he was still holding you. Diluc could do nothing but stare. He hadn't shed any tears nor could he make a coherent sound. Perhaps it was because his tears have long run out when his father was held in the very same way. Or it was because he was heartless. He's usually told for being cold and indifferent. But the pain clenching in his chest was proof that he still had one (proof that it was still beating), much to his dismay. It would be better if he didn't.
So why can't he just look away? Your wounds, your bruised features, everything now etched so deep into the back of his conciousness that is was starting to awaken his worst nightmares. They were the source of the bile growing in his stomach. The irony stench filling up his nostrils felt so sickening. He couldn't turn away. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. As if reality had yet to register, or maybe he refused to accept it, Diluc helplessly gazed down your body with blank and empty eyes.
"Master Diluc..."
Jean's voice called out to him pitifully. He rises up with his back turned, ignoring the stares given to him, "Leave. The knights of favonius are not needed here."
"But she's a Mondstadt citizen," The anemo user retorts, slightly taken aback by his impassive reaction, "It's my responsibility to ensure this case doesn't go unnoticed."
Unnoticed. Diluc scoffs in his mind, what a tasteless joke.
"It seems you weren't listening," he announces as his head was turned ajar so they could see the deep hatred glowing red in his eyes, "Leave. Now."
Jean's lips trembled before barely being able to say, "Alright" and retreating her knights back to the city. Kaeya narrows his gaze at his bother, the sorrow was evident through his pupils. He steps forward until he was arms length away from his brother. Too little too late, another failure was added to the belt.
Kaeya was a man of many words but for once he was at loss of what to say. No underhanded suggestions, no ideas taunting him to spill his thoughts, he simply asks Diluc, "What are you planning to do now?"
Silence. Kaeya couldn't predict what sort of expression his brother was making as he looks at your corpse. It brought a heavy weight of unsettlement upon him and here he thought he had already grown used to his brother's quietness.
Slowly, he turns around while letting the water pour down his face. Kaeya tightens his jaw as Diluc drags his feet towards him, stopping when their shoulders were parallel, "It's none of your concern."
"You're just going to leave her here?"
There was a slight pause which was enough of an answer. The Cavalry Captain sighs when he watched him walk away, what was the point of asking when Kaeya knew Diluc so well? He glances at your form before swiftly shutting his eyes.
It was his concern.
-------
A week later, the staff of the Ragnvindr household could hardly recognize their Master's appearance. They knew not to bother him when he decides to lock himself in his chambers. Diluc drowns himself with work from hours to no end as he connects the findings of the person that took your life. As expected, it was one of his enemies- a fatui member. The question was, which one?
"Master Diluc, I beg of you, please take care of yourself," Elzer pleads.
The pyro user didn't bother to spare him a glance or look at the tray of food he carried.
Food...you always brought them whenever he had to work overtime.
"I do not remember specifiying anyone to be allowed in my office," he voices aloud, "If it's related to business affairs simply leave that with Adelinde and I'll take a look at it tomorrow."
"I understand. But you've been working all day and night yet refusing to take any breaks in between. At this rate, you'll harm your health."
The feather pen in his grip kept dragging it's course, "This is beyond the duties assigned to you Elzer."
"That's because it was a request sent by your father," he adds, knowing that stepping over his boundaries may cost him, "If Master Crepus was still here, I'm sure he would have said the same thing."
Taking a deep breath, Elzer lays out his last card, "And also your wife."
The pen slows into a halt.
No one had brought you up until now. Elzer anxiously watches his Master shifting in his seat, his red bangs covering half of his face but he could still see the frown pressing firmly on his lips. It wouldn't be a surprise if Diluc suddenly bursted at him for mentioning such a sensitive topic, all that matters was his master's well being and Elzer was willing to risk everything for it. But nothing. Diluc turns his attention ever so slightly at the tray he carried.
"Fine, but I'm not eating that."
"What? Wasn't this was her favourite-"
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
Elzer furrows his brows before sighing, "...No, Master Diluc."
He exits the room while carrying the fresh dish of Once Upon A Mondstadt that you loved so much. The door closes with a soft click and he was alone again.
People found it strange how Diluc seemed so vacant to your passing. He didn't even show up at your funeral. Instead, he continues his duties as a Mondstadt nobleman like usual while taking care of business matters associated with the winery. Except those who were close to him could see the difference in his actions. Apathy, he was so mechanical in every task he did. Like a marionette attatched on strings, a doll without a soul. After all, his soul died the moment when yours did too. What remains was a shadow of Diluc and a being existing solely for revenge and duty. He was nothing but a remnant.
Fatigue begins to wash over him and he fights to stay awake. Because once he gives in it will all be over. Once he closes his eyes, he would see your face with a multitude of images from the past. He would hear your voice calling out his name from a distant space as it echoes off the walls of his mind. He would fall into a dream where you were still with him and as always, waking up to see that it was never real.
I should have pushed you away.
Because what hurt Diluc the most wasn't that you were gone, rather, it was how you were still here.
Then you'd still be-
Something breaks and it turned out to be the pen he was holding so tightly. Only now Diluc realized how fast his heart was thrumming as beads of sweat began rolling down his forehead. Focus. Don't waste time. He won't grant himself the liberty of anything when your murderer was still on the run. Every wound they inflicted on you was going to be returned in tenfold. He'll make sure of it. That's why, he refuses to think about you at all. Diluc occupies his mind with other matters since at this point, work was the only efficient method of keeping his sanity in tact.
She needs you to focus.
The door opens and Kaeya enters the room while holding a document, "We found the guy."
His reaction was immediate, "Where?"
"Hm, now that we meet, it's actually quite debateable," The captain notes wryly, "When was the last time you've gotten proper rest?"
"I don't have time for this, either you tell me or I'll do it by force."
Kaeya couldn't help but sigh, "Apologies but you don't seem to be in any state for a fight. I'm sure you know how it would end up if you were to face your enemy right now."
"..."
"Diluc, this isn't healthy," Kaeya asserts, it's been a while since he sounded so sincere, "I'm not here to prevent you from doing what's necessary however, perhaps it would be better if I finished it in your stead."
"No," Diluc stubbornly answers, "Hand that over."
"...Heh, then there's really nothing I can do to stop you it seems," he whispers with a sad smile, "At the very least, be careful."
"I intend to," The pyro user snatches the paper parchment out of Kaeya's hands before opening the window, "Also, if Elzer returns, tell him there's a few errands I have to take care of."
The night was a full moon and the sky was empty, Diluc leaps off the edge and disappears into the darkness. There was no telling of what could happen next. Since you weren't here, it was up to Kaeya to watch over him.
-------
The claymore dropped to the ground with a clang as it soaks up the blood of the fatui he just killed.
Diluc was tired, so tired.
He slumps down against the wall from pure exhaustion, all that adrenaline and hatred went up in fumes, leaving behind whatever was left in his heart: nothing. Two hours, not even that far from Mondstadt, the fatui hid in an abandoned building as he cowarded for his life. When Diluc arrived, he never expected this monster to be so weak. This was the person who murdered you? A pathetic nobody that was simply following orders? This was the reason why he lost you forever?
In the end, the only one to blame was himself, for being weak and unable to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero ("Darknight hero," you'd always tease), the rock that shields you just as you had been the warmth he longed for many years, did he give you enough? Was this enough? He thought avenging your death would grant him a peace of mind and the justice you deserved but deep down, he knew it will never be enough when it comes to his love for you.
"Diluc."
He closes his eyes, he hears your voice. He was so tired, it wouldn't be a surprise if he started hallucinating.
"Diluc."
"I'm sorry..."
The man lets out a trembled breath as he apologized to the image of you in his mind. I'm sorry I failed you. They were repeated like a mantra in hopes to reach you somehow. Of course that was impossible, his feelings, his emotions, love and sorrow altogether will never reach you again. And your arms that once comforted him and brushed his hair with a soothing voice, saying everything will be okay, where are they now?
"Diluc."
"Stop," he didn't want to hear your voice.
"Diluc, I'm here."
"Stop..."
"Diluc..."
He jolts his eyes open and lets out a yell, what was he saying? He doesn't know. All he needed now was to drown out the fake voices mocking in his head. Diluc grabs the nearest object and shatters it against the floor, the dam was broken and it flooded uncontrollably, breaking everything in it's way. The abandoned house was filled with loud cries of a man sobbing with agony like a broken-hearted child. He crumbles to his knees and falls to his side, lifting his forearms while clutching his face.
And screamed.
Archons, what did he do to deserve this? Why do the people he cherish get taken away from him? Diluc never wanted to be the Darknight hero if it meant having his father perish in his arms. He didn't want the feeling of stabs against his chest with every breath he took. He didn't want to feel cold while knowing it was because you weren't here to hold him. He didn't want your voice, your pictures or your memory.
He wanted you.
"(Y/n)..." he chokes. Rolling to his back, Diluc moves his arms to cover his eyes, letting the tears run down to his ears, "(Y/n)..."
For who knows how long, he lays there in the abandoned building and mourns. Diluc doesn't have the strength to move from his position, he found himself staring mindlessly through the cracks of the roof when his voice had gone hoarse. The corners of his eyes still burned and his head was throbbing with so much pain. Maybe he should just stay here but the thought of being in the same room as your murderer was unfathomable.
Picking up his claymore once again, Diluc drags himself out of the door. Where would he go? It's not like he had a home to return to because home was when he was with you. A doll without a soul, the marionette moves as if the strings have commanded him to do so. Where ever it takes him, he didn't care. He just knew he had to go.
#genshin impact#genshin impact headcanons#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact scenarios#diluc ragnvindr#diluc#diluc x reader#jean gunnhildr#genshin impact diluc#genshin impact jean#kaeya alberich#Kaeya#genshin impact kaeya#genshin impact angst#genshin impact imagines#genshin imagines#genshin headcanons#genshin x reader#tragedy#nya-writes
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Dabi's fear of feelings and connections
Dabi is a walking contradiction; he says he doesn't care about anyone, but his flames, which are linked to his emotions, demonstrate otherwise when Twice is killed. Dabi brushes off the news that Natsuo could have died because of him but still refers to him affectionately as Natsu-kun. Touya went around calling Endeavor out for neglecting his children but still trained to regain his approval and attention anyway. He lashed out at baby Shouto, admitted Shouto had done nothing wrong, and then attacked him again years later. He cries blood while thinking about his family but doesn't go home to them or change his actions which hurt them even more. Dabi wants to destroy hero society for a better future but it's obvious he doesn't plan to live long enough to see that future.
The gaps between his actions and his words are a result of dissociation and repression. It's not that Dabi is emotionless. Actually, he feels too much and he's afraid of his feelings because they've done nothing but hurt him emotionally and physically. He literally almost burned to death the one time he had a burst of emotion on Sekoto Peak and in order to prevent a repeat of that, he operates under the flawed notion that safety lies in repressing his feelings and pushing people away. He lies to himself and others and therefore cannot reconcile with his true self and can’t trust others.
In this meta I'll discuss how Dabi deals with his unprocessed feelings of betrayal and neglect by denying himself connections with both his inner wounded child and those around him. I'll also address a few misconceptions surrounding Dabi because dismantling them is key to understanding him. Contrary to popular belief, he does not want to kill his father, he never wanted to be a hero for his own sake, and he doesn't hate Shouto or his family. At its core, Touya's hurt stems from discovering that his relationship with his father wasn't based on unconditional love. This realization destroyed his sense of self so much it caused him to start fearing his own feelings and being close to others because of the link between his emotions and his self-destructive quirk.
To understand Dabi we have to understand Touya. In 291 we see through Endeavor's flashback that Touya was eager to train under him and carry his legacy. It's implied by the fact they’re working on ultimate moves that not only is Touya a willing, eager participant but that the two have been training together for quite some time. In 301 we learn that after Touya's quirk started hurting him Endeavor not only abandoned the training regime but also abandoned Touya both emotionally and physically. Instead of using the time he spent training Touya to help Touya find a new hobby or purpose in life, or just hanging out with his kid, Endeavor chooses to remove himself from Touya’s life. When Touya confronts him about the change of routine, Endeavor is seen putting on his jacket and leaving the home, his body turned away from his son.
Maybe Endeavor had errands to run, but my point is that he was in Touya’s life one minute and then gone the next. Touya says so himself: why did Endeavor change his mind all of a sudden? The abrupt change in attitude was jarring for a 4-5 year old to handle. To Touya, training = love, so he felt compelled to keep training and demonstrate his worthiness despite the fact that his quirk was hurting him. To Touya, the pain was worth it if it meant hanging out with his dad again.
But why? Well, Touya was Endeavor's #1 fan, genuinely so. His admiration and fondness for his father was genuine, and he didn't question the triumphant look on Endeavor's face when Touya said he wanted to learn the ultimate move. Before his quirk started burning him, Touya had no idea he was born for his father's ulterior motives. He had no reason to question his father's attention. Touya lived under the impression his bond with his dad was genuine and special, and he probably felt lucky that his father was willing to share something so important to him (heroism). Even after the training stops and Endeavor stops paying attention to Touya, Touya still wears his merch and vies for his attention. Most kids see their parents as larger than life and Touya was no exception. Keigo Takami admired Endeavor the hero, and Touya Todoroki admired his father who just so happened to be the hero Endeavor. Since being a hero was such a big deal for Endeavor, it was a big deal for Touya.
But that's where Touya's story becomes tragic. His father is a flawed, flawed man with many insecurities and fallacies that he pushes onto his family. I’ll get to those in a moment, but as intelligent and observant Touya is to catch on that Endeavor never set out to marry to become a father, he is too young to separate himself from his father’s expectations. Touya realizes he was born for a purpose and Touya will be damned if he doesn't fulfill that purpose even if he knows it's wrong. His father's ‘love’ meant that much to him. For Touya, it's not about becoming a hero for the glory. It was about his relationship with his father because, as I mentioned earlier, Touya was his #1 fan in the sense that he loved Enji just for being his dad. There were no conditions tied to that. “You are my dad, and I love you.”
But that wasn’t a sentiment that Touya felt in return, and that hurt Touya. He internalized he wasn't good enough, that something about him was inherently wrong. But more than that, his world came tumbling down - he felt betrayed and lied to: his father didn't love him like Touya needed him to, and this truth destroyed him. Their relationship was a lie, a farce, and it hurt so much Touya became obsessed with not hurting anymore because he couldn’t get away from it.
Touya’s motivation to become a hero didn't rise from being inspired by All Might like Shouto. Touya’s thought process wasn’t "I want to be a hero to help others or be like All Might" like Deku. No, Touya only wanted to be a hero because he wanted his father to be proud of him for surpassing All Might. Notice that Touya's obsession with beating All Might slowly diminishes from “I can surpass All Might” to “I can surpass All Might like Shouto, too” to just “look at me, Endeavor.” It was never about being a hero per say, but about his relationship with his father. Touya realized that Endeavor isn't his father first, but a hero, and he understands that he has to be a hero too to fit into his father's world. Even upon realizing that his father was using him, Touya still wanted to be part of his life, still wanted that bond. Touya, in his desperation to be loved and accepted again, could look past his father's selfishness as long as he regained that approval. Touya could pretend the relationship was real as long as he stopped feeling so unlovable.
This is unhealthy thinking, of course. Even if Touya somehow managed to regain Endeavor's approval, the relationship would still be one-sided and dissatisfying because he wouldn't be able to ignore the truth. But, this is how he rationalized his insistence to keep training in his 4-5 year old mind and this line of thought stuck with him as he grew up just as those feelings of inadequacy never left him.
This is precisely why Natsuo's drowsy "can't you go talk to our sister?" hurt so much. Touya was already emotionally fragile, and hearing that felt like being rejected all over again when it was actually Natsuo just trying to sleep. Touya was hypersensitive to any words or actions that could be interpreted as dismissive. His trauma wouldn't listen to logic that Natsuo was 8 and too young to understand, that he was tired - no, Touya's brain said, you're being rejected again! This is also why he also stormed away crying from Fuyumi after she expressed her concern for him.
In Touya’s mind, why couldn't anyone just agree with him that he was good enough? He heard "your dad's right and you're not good enough so why try" not "I care about you, your father is wrong, and I don't want you to keep getting hurt" whenever Rei tried to get him to stop training because that's the message he got from his father, too. Nevermind that it infuriated Touya that his mother could stand there and preach to him when, from his perspective, she couldn’t take her own advice. All Endeavor ever did was teach him to turn up the heat, so why should it matter that doing just so hurts him? Touya didn't understand NOT training his quirk because he had been taught that raising his firepower was ideal in all situations. Those two statements didn't make sense to a 4-5 year old, a 13 year old, and it still doesn’t make sense as a 24 year old.
To take Endeavor's lack of self awareness a step further, because it's important to understand Endeavor to fully understand Dabi, Endeavor has yet to realize his own inherent worth. He doesn't have to prove anything to his family, especially his kids. They love him unconditionally, without special reason aside from the fact that he's theirs and he's himself. However, Endeavor is so obsessed with proving himself that he doesn't realize he never had to, and he projects this onto his children. They must prove themselves by winning the genetic lottery, by being useful to his plans, by surpassing All Might.
The irony that to be a great father he doesn't have to be a hero at all is ugly because Endeavor has no identity outside of being a hero. Endeavor has said before he wants to be a good hero and father to make Shouto proud, but he fails to realize he already had this in Touya all those years ago and it still left him unsatisfied. The issue isn’t his role as a hero, it’s his inner self. In 301 Endeavor literally reaches out to Touya to talk him out of training and hurting himself, and Touya allows his father to touch his shoulders because he wants a bond with his father - any bond. Shouto, on the other hand, wouldn't allow Endeavor to touch him in 167 and slaps his hand away because he doesn’t want Endeavor’s approval. Endeavor doesn't realize Natsuo carries deep abandonment and neglect issues because he wanted to be accepted by his father too (light novel #5) but was ignored. Endeavor doesn't realize he was always good enough by default and that by projecting onto his kids and trying to be the top hero he’s doing the opposite of what he wants. He just keeps pushing away his family.
It’s important to point out Endeavor’s illogical thinking because Touya learned some of these same ideas. Touya repeatedly tries to prove himself without realizing that he was always good enough by default. The problem wasn’t his quirk or his body, but his father’s flawed thinking and self-worth issues. Now as an adult, Dabi is selfish because he's Endeavor's son and emobidies his most negative characteristics. Dabi thinks of his flames as Endeavor's, and he thinks of himself as an extension of Endeavor because that's how Endeavor set him up for life. Touya has no identity to fall back on after his father casts him aside. He was supposed to be Endeavor 2.0, but now that title is Shouto’s. Dabi doesn’t hate Shouto as a person, but he has tricked himself into believing Shouto is their father’s puppet. Shouto is a doll being used by their father with no self agency, and Dabi is going to break all of Endeavor’s toys. It’s nothing personal against Shouto, it’s just Shouto’s bad luck that he happens to be Endeavor’s masterpiece. This is why Dabi doesn’t hurt Shouto when they first meet at the training camp, and why Dabi stops attacking Shouto after Endeavor passes out - it’s not about Shouto. It’s about Endeavor, and breaking Endeavor. Touya is still there trying to be part of his father’s world, only this time not as a hero but as a villain who will end his own suffering. He doesn't want Endeavor to die, he just wants him to suffer, to ruin his dreams. Dabi thinks of it as justice.
But because Touya is still there, there is still that goodness in him, too. His connection to Fuyumi and Natsuo is still there, repressed and compartmentalized. It’s why he calls them affectionately as Fuyumi-chan and Natsu-kun. Touya’s pain is so great he has decided he’d rather end it than to carry on and look elsewhere. He's stuck, rightfully so. He recognizes his mother is a flawed person and ultimately doesn’t blame her for being a victim - she could have done more for her son, but he still sees her and his other siblings, even Shouto, as people who fell victim to Endeavor’s abuse who don't challenge their situation. Dabi sees himself as someone who does stand up to the abuse but doesn’t realize he still wants his father’s attention. He's always wanted it. That's why he went around at 13 condemning his father's treatment of his children but still trained to prove himself. This is part of the reason he became a villain.
Not to mention that Dabi literally can't cry. He has no way to release those emotions, so instead of trying to let them out, he pushes them down. But that doesn't work and is detrimental in the long run. In 290-294 we saw Dabi's flames burn so hot during his confrontation with Endeavor and revealing himself as Touya that his burns have spread. Dabi is afraid of his feelings because of their connection to his flames, but he also uses his feelings to his advantage. He wants to go out in an inferno along with Shouto just to hurt Endeavor and put an end to his own suffering and Endeavor's career. This is why Dabi doesn't bother calming himself down or denying that he never forgot how he was treated when he lived at home. Dabi became emotional in that battlefield, smiling maniacally instead of crying because he physically can't cry. In his mind, if his feelings are going to destroy him, he might as well use them to prove a point. After all, he has experience being used. It's why he was born.
I'm not saying any of these actions or thoughts are healthy or correct or condoned, by the way. Trauma responses don't make logical sense and usually aren't healthy. Knowing how the mind responds to trauma, it's understandable that Touya still wanted his father's attention even if it was abusive. In fact, this is how children often respond to abuse. Their caretaker/parent is all they know and they cling to these figures. Often times when authorities try to remove a child from their abusive parents, the child doesn't want to go because this parent is all they know and they do feel like they love their parent/caretaker. I’m not saying the authorities got involved in this case, because obviously they didn’t, but this same mentality of abused children can be applied to Touya. Touya, in his four year old mind, probably convinced himself that if he was good enough everything would go back to how it used to be.
So, to sum up Dabi’s character, of course he doesn't make any sense. He’s still that hurt 4-5 year old who is trying to protect himself from ever getting hurt like that again while still wanting his father’s validation. Of course he doesn’t want to get close to anyone, not even the League. He doesn't want to be vulnerable or let people in or form connections because the last time that happened he was let down, forsaken, and it hurt so much it literally made him lose control of his quirk to the point he almost died. When Twice is killed, Dabi consoles himself by saying he didn't care anyway, all to prevent another emotional fire. Dabi is a master of compartmentalizing and boxing away his feelings - this is probably why, 310 chapters into BNHA, we have yet to have a few chapters in his POV or his backstory. He's disconnected from himself. He knows his plot to get justice will hurt his siblings and mother and to live with himself and move forward he represses those feelings.
Because of his father not showing up on Sekoto peak, Dabi has to live with physical disabilities due to his scars and memories of burning alive. He doesn't want to go through that again so he lies to himself that he doesn't care about anyone or anything. He denies that he's still in pain while simultaneously seeking validation of his pain. He acts like he doesn't care about his family but still calls them affectionate names. He acts like he hates Endeavor and calls him by his name but still wants his attention. He decided long ago that he would die destroying Endeavor's career because that was the thing Endeavor cares about most of all in this life. It's a "you hurt me so I'll hurt you" mentality. He has tricked himself into thinking this is justice, failing to realize this won't make him feel better if he doesn't die by his own hand along the way.
Dabi is full of resentment and spite, both of which take root from feelings of abandonment, betrayal, and the loss of a purpose and the realization that he wasn't born to be loved for who he was but as a tool for his father. The first betrayal he suffered was in the form of realizing his father didn't love him genuinely, and this was identity-breaking for him. He never recovered from it. The second betrayal, the reinforcer, was his father not showing up to Sekoto Peak. Since then, Dabi is reliving his trauma over and over again the more he uses his quirk and the more he faces Endeavor. To be saved, Dabi needs to accept that he is loved unconditionally and needs to be validated that he was right to feel thrown aside and used.
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CQL-verse! The characters have the same age gaps between them as their actors and actresses! Wwx and Jyl are the same age, jc is 5 years younger than them. Lxc is 3 years younger than wwx&jyl and lwj is 3 years younger than him. Nmj is two years older than wwx&jyl and nhs is 8 years younger than him and the same age as lwj. (1/2)
Meng Yao is 2 years older than nhs and jzx is 2 years older than MY. I'm leaving the Wen Sibs out of this because otherwise WN would be the same age as wwx and WQ would be 4 years younger than him. But hey! If you want to go with that, go crazy! I was thinking more of Yunmeng Sibs focus, but I will be happy with anything! (2/2)
ao3
Untamed
Nie Mingjue hated the Wen sect to the point of death and war, but he had always had trouble hating sad and gentle Wen Ning.
Wen Ning was technically his peer – there were only two years between them in age – and therefore capable of the same sorts of responsibilities and duties towards righteousness as Nie Mingjue, meaning that he ought to hate him as much as all the rest. But at the same time, Wen Ning was only part of the main branch family indirectly, a ward of Wen Ruohan; he was constantly suppressed and even tormented by Wen Chao, the eldest son of that family. If anything, it seemed almost as if he’d been brought into the family just to act as the family’s scapegoat, the inferior copy that was so hapless that he made that self-indulgent hedonist Wen Chao appear somewhat competent in contrast.
Nie Mingjue couldn’t imagine treating any of his own cousins that way.
He and Wen Chao were often compared, both being about the same age, and their young brothers were of similar age as well, both of them only fourteen; this juxtaposition made sure that every single person in the cultivation world talk of them in the same breath. Nie Mingjue always came out the better in the comparison, and Wen Xu the same for his, which in the minds of most people balanced out, but which caused Wen Chao no end of rage. He knew he couldn’t take out his anger on the talented Wen Xu and so took out on poor Wen Ning instead.
Nie Mingjue hated the Wen sect.
He did not hate Wen Ning.
Wen Ning, who should not be here.
“Please,” Wen Ning said, nearly in tears, as he threw himself down to the floor in front of Nie Mingjue. He’d burst into the room in the inn Nie Mingjue was staying at, the guards that no sect leader could do without no matter what they wanted following close behind in alarm until Nie Mingjue had waved them off with a gesture; he’d been panting so hard that he’d only just now caught his breath. “Please help this useless older brother do one good thing with his life.”
Alarmed, Nie Mingjue reached out and caught Wen Ning by the shoulders, pulling him to stand and even forgetting himself enough to reach forward with a sleeve to dab away the tears staining the other man’s face.
“What is it?” he asked, feeling anxiety curdling in his gut. He’d spoken with Wen Ning before during the discussion conferences, both when he was younger and even, in a few stolen moments, after he became sect leader; he knew Wen Ning had a steady personality, if a weak one from all the bullying he endured, and that he was not given to unnecessary hysterics. If he could tolerate Wen Chao’s endless torment with a faint smile and a don’t worry sect leader Nie once you’re used to it it’s more funny than anything else, then what could make him act like this? “What is that you need help with? I do not understand.”
Wen Ning looked tired. He always had, his health had always been poor, but now it seemed worse than ever; there were circles under his eyes, and Nie Mingjue had no idea how he’d managed to get away from the Nightless City to come find him. The town he was currently in was close to the border the Qinghe Nie shared with Qishan Wen, but it was still an effort, especially for someone like Wen Ning. He might be a member of the Wen family by name, but his freedom was significantly curtailed, and it wasn’t only because he was sickly.
“My little sister is going to be attending the lectures at the Cloud Recesses,” Wen Ning said.
“The - Lan sect lectures?” Nie Mingjue repeated blankly. It was a stupid thing to say; of course it was the Lan sect’s lectures, who else would give lectures at the Cloud Recesses? And yet, at the same time – “The Wen sect hasn’t gone to them in generations.”
“Sect Leader Wen asked A-Qing to look for something,” Wen Ning said. “I don’t know what. He talks to her more than he talks to me, when she’s treating him with acupuncture and other such things – he only wants blood relations treating him now, so she’s passing along what she can do, the doctors all say she’s talented – he told her something, I think, but I don’t know what, he doesn’t talk to me…and she doesn’t talk to me, either.”
“She’s sixteen, they’re like that,” Nie Mingjue said, trying to offer comfort, but he didn’t like the sound of that – Wen Ruohan growing reliant on the medical skills of a teenager, talking with her as if she were an adult…it didn’t speak well to the Chief Cultivator’s state of mind. “So she’s going to go spy on them?”
“She is. And maybe more. There’s – there’s something back in the Nightless City, something Sect Leader Wen is refining in order to increase his power. Whatever it is, it’s powerful and evil.” Wen Ning looked paler than usual, somehow. “It was something that was kept in a cave near our village when we were younger, once. Sect Leader Wen took it away to study, and it made something go crazy, I got hurt, and my parents – anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t go near it without losing my senses, so I really don’t know anything about it. But I know that Sect Leader Wen only has a piece – and the Lan sect has another.”
Lan Xichen had never mentioned such a thing, but then again, he wasn’t really old enough that Nie Mingjue would expect him to know everything about his sect – he was after all a full five years younger than Nie Mingjue, three years younger than Wen Ning; he was still only seventeen, having only just graduated from his uncle’s classes the year before. He was only very technically sect leader, in the same way Nie Mingjue had only been technically sect leader after his father’s death, although unlike Lan Xichen Nie Mingjue had fought his way to step up to the task for real early on. He himself was only barely considered an adult at the age of twenty-two; it was no surprise that in the Lan sect, which had Lan Qiren to rely on, Lan Xichen might not know it all.
Or perhaps he knew, and simply didn’t say. Each sect was entitled to its secrets.
“What are you thinking?” Nie Mingjue asked.
“I’m thinking that my sister is constantly afraid for me, even though she’s younger than me,” Wen Ning said solemnly. “I’m thinking that she will break her own principles into pieces to protect me. I’m thinking that she’ll find whatever it is, or find a hint to it, and then Wen Chao will take his forces to burn the Cloud Recesses to the ground in search of it.”
Nie Mingjue could see that.
He didn’t want to, but he could.
“My brother is attending those lectures,” he said blankly. Nie Huaisang was there right now. He could be in danger – no, he would be in danger. Nie Huaisang wasn’t a good cultivator, and at fourteen, he was just a baby. Nie Mingjue had sent Meng Yao with him, nominally as his attendant, but in fact to get the benefit of the classes himself and also bully Nie Huaisang into actually learning something – he’d brought Meng Yao into the Nie sect after Jin Zixuan, full of guilt over how his father had treated a boy only two years his junior, had sent him a letter beseeching him for help following Meng Yao’s public and humiliating rejection from Jinlin Tower – but Meng Yao was only sixteen, of age with Wen Qing; what could he really do?
Moreover, sending Wen Qing and not Wen Xu, even though Wen Xu was the same age as Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji, indicated that Wen Ruohan didn’t want his more promising son to get involved in whatever it was that he was planning, or maybe in whatever consequences followed. If Wen Chao really were to try something violent, they couldn’t afford to have a weakness already there…
“I need to get A-Qing out of the Wen sect,” Wen Ning said, and Nie Mingjue turned to look at him in shock. “Permanently. I’ve begged her to go, but she won’t leave me, she won’t leave our family of the Dafan Wen, but she has to. Something bad is going to happen soon. I know it. I don’t mind trading my life for hers, but she has to live.”
“Is there any way you can go to the Cloud Recesses as well?” Nie Mingjue asked, his mind already racing. He’d long ago given up on helping Wen Ning because he knew the other man wouldn’t turn traitor against his family, being an upright and filial child, but if his family had reached such a depth of corruption as that, then it was only right to leave them behind. If Wen Ning was finally accepting that, maybe there was something he could do. “You’re sensitive to the – whatever it is. Right? Maybe Wen Qing can suggest bringing you around to help her find her way to it.”
“How would that help?”
“It gets you somewhere safe, while I can rescue Dafan Wen – without a threat to you or to them, your sister would have no reason to insist on staying,” Nie Mingjue said, though it wouldn’t be him, exactly, that did the rescue – he’d need a firm alibi lest Wen Ruohan use it as an excuse to start something with his Nie sect. He might have prepared for war as much as he could, but the Wen sect was still stronger; if war broke out, he needed to make sure that he had the moral high ground.
Luckily, Wei Wuxian, that walking calamity of a head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, had of late developed the habit of wandering over to visit various other sects, including Qinghe (and Nie Mingjue in specific), at his leisure, and no one ever would think to blame him for such a strange thing as a subsidiary sect of distant Wen sect cousins disappearing.
After all, Wei Wuxian had no reason to know or care about the Dafan Wen, and everyone knew he abjured politics completely, violently and repetitively, so as to make no mistake about anyone who might otherwise see him as competition for the Jiang sect’s true heir, Jiang Cheng. The five-year gap between their ages kept them from being compared – you couldn’t expect a child, and at fifteen Jiang Cheng was still very much a child, to keep up with an adult just turned twenty like Wei Wuxian – but there had always been whispers given everything with Cangse Sanren, and Wei Wuxian had had to work very hard to put a stop to them.
Wei Wuxian’s wandering habit had started back when he’d been trying to find Jiang Yanli a new fiancée to replace the engagement he’d broken by fighting with Jin Zixuan, however shameful it was for him to fight with a boy two years his junior. It was for that that he had come to Qinghe to meet Nie Mingjue, leading to them hitting it off as friends despite Nie Mingjue expressing that he had absolutely no interest in getting married to Jiang Yanli, or indeed to any nice young lady at all; then, in turn, Nie Mingjue had brought him to the Lan sect to meet Lan Xichen. They’d gotten along as well, although the most notable outcome of that visit had been little Lan Wangji developing a crush on his elder brother’s new friend while Wei Wuxian remained blissfully oblivious. His wanderings had continued even after Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had found their way back to each other, affianced once again through their own choice rather than their parents’.
Said parents had not yet been informed of this new situation, as they were waiting for the right time to mention it. Or perhaps more accurately, the right situation to exploit with it…
Now, Nie Mingjue thought. Now was the time. It would work perfectly.
And not just as a distraction.
“Are you sure…?”
“I am,” Nie Mingjue said. “Whatever it is, Wen Ruohan must be kept from obtaining all of the pieces; he’s already too powerful, and more power will only make him more arrogant. I’ll speak with Lan Qiren. Once I take the Dafan Wen back to the Nie sect, your sister will be able to testify to whatever it is that she was asked to search for, which will give Lan Qiren the evidence he needs to get his sect’s approval for retaliatory measures. Moreover, using Wei Wuxian to help me will force Jiang Fengmian to support me as well; there’s no way he’d ever refuse to back him to the hilt.”
“The Jin sect –”
“Will join us,” Nie Mingjue said, thinking of Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s yet-to-be-announced engagement. Once Jin Guangshan realized that he would be pulled into the same boat as the rest of them whether he wanted to or not, any resistance he had would crumble like a structure made of sand being beaten down by the tide. “They won’t have a choice. Is there anything else I should know?”
“There’s a child,” Wen Ning said, biting his lips. “Around the same age as your brother or my sister, or maybe the Jiang sect heir, I don’t know, around that. He helps Sect Leader Wen with whatever he’s doing.”
“A child helps him?”
Nie Mingjue didn’t like the sound of that.
“I don’t know. Some secret his family knows, I think…his surname is Xue.”
Nie Mingjue frowned.
“I don’t know much about him,” Wen Ning added. “Only that he has some history with the Yueyang Chang clan. Bad history.”
“That’s a good start,” Nie Mingjue said. He realized that he hadn’t yet released Wen Ning’s shoulders, and gave them a small squeeze before doing so. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will do everything I can to help you.”
Wen Ning looked at him with admiration in his eyes, making Nie Mingjue feel a little hot under the collar.
“Thank you, Chifeng-zun,” he murmured, and Nie Mingjue shook his head.
“Call me by name,” he said, and tried to smile. “You’ll be here a lot in the future, if all goes well.”
Nie Mingjue hated the Wen sect, but he didn’t hate gentle and sad Wen Ning.
He didn’t hate him at all.
#mdzs#nie mingjue#wen ning#my fic#my fics#count your age#I know you said Yunmeng focus but this is what came out#sorry#full list of ages on the ao3 page
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I was going through your archive when I found a post that I love so dang much. It's the one where you take a demons power to go to different anime's. But surprise! Everyone is yandere for you now. But I gotta idea for it. Let's say you FINALLY get back to your universe, you're thinking that no more yandere's are gonna go after you. Then you see L in a cafe, Sebastian along with Ciel coming out of a car, and all the yandere's you THOUGHT you escaped from have just entered the Real universe.
You think you’re safe, you think that finally you can rest and not have to worry about being taken, being stalked and watched every living second of the day. The world seems to have slowed down, you no longer feel the need to run and escape from those you once looked up too and favored.
But then you feel the hairs stand on the back of your neck. That familiar trepidation turning into dread, sinking your heart and stomach. Call it instinct, call it magic, but you knew in your gut you weren’t actually safe.
A familiar blond bombshell with red wings is being admired down the street, his golden eyes piercing yours while he wears his signature playboy grin. Like a true hawk cornering it’s prey.
Just a few feet beside him, a man with a green and black checkered jacket is seen asking people all sorts of odd questions, you can only guess that he’s asking about you.
No. No this isn’t fair! This isn’t supposed to be happening! You want to scream, to dash the other direction, but you also want to fight them out of the absolute frustration of being chased constantly without a second to breathe. That fucking asshole demon! An absolute bitch!
You begin to search for a route that would help you hide. Alleyways, crowds of people, stores with accessible storage rooms, anything would be a godsend to hide from the ever growing list of problems and psychos following you.
While dodging as many pedestrians as possible was a skill you’ve reluctantly been honing in on lately, it was going to happen that you’d lose focus through your panic. You collide into a muscular, well built man with his hair in a tight bun. Beside him is a smaller, but still taller light haired man with an apologetic smile.
Asahi and Sugawara. Of course, even the sweethearts are after you.
“Oh-oh my goodness Y/N! I’m so sorry! I know I was looking for you but I didn’t mean-“
“Easy Asahi-“ Suga soothed, helping you up off of the ground while you wince and scrunch your nose. While colliding with the absolute unit of a man, you fell back and felt a crack as you used your hands to break your fall, and it looks like your body took that term literally.
“Oh god, that doesn’t look to good” Asahi murmurs, gently rubbing his thumb over your ever swelling wrist. His lips softly kiss the skin while Suga places his hand on your back, guiding you to walk with them as he beams his beautiful smile down at you.
“It’s alright, you don’t have to worry about anything, we’re gonna take care of you. I guess the whole team kinda scared you off huh? They tend to do that when overexcited” he smiles, as if any of this was remotely normal.
You were trapped. Not only where they more capable of chasing you down, their height and strength combined meant you couldn’t possibly get away, unless some miracle occurred. And lately? That’s been a commodity you’ve been starved of.
Asahi continues to ask if you’re ok, stuttering and timidly looking away on occasion when all you manage is a grunt of irritation and pain. You can’t even focus on where these two are taking you, your wrist throbbing and burning as the impact of the damage done starts to sink in.
As you are turned down a sketchy alley, Asahi abruptly stops in his tracks, pushing you behind him and giving Suga a stern and suspicious expression. Suga just nods, and pulls you close to him as he whispers in your ear “Stay beside me, ok? Not to make you worry or anything but...we don’t think we’re alone here”.
Fucking duh. Of course you aren’t. There’s as many psycho, obsessed anime characters as there is germs at this point. For all you knew cells from cells at work were coming to take you. And it would be kind of funny if that wasn’t a real possibility!
You just bite back a sob of frustration, tears freely running down your face as you collapse to the ground and bury your face in the hand that wasn’t currently having a malfunction. Suga assumes it’s the pain, kneeling down to try and soothe you the best he could. Seconds later, a blade swings by and misses you both by just millimeters.
Looking up from utter fear, you see none other than Zack Foster standing with an unhinged expression. “Alright you had your fun you little runaway, but I’m kinda getting tired of chasing you all over creation. A mans got needs you know? Cant keep his needs away from him forever!”
Asahi tightens his fists and puffs out his chest, stalking closer to the scrawny man as he sets his scythe against his shoulder. “You aren’t even close to worthy of having Y/Ns love! You just nearly killed her!” He shouts, giving Suga a nod to lift you up and make a run for it.
The two continue to throw jabs and tauntings as Suga gently lifts you, nuzzling into your shoulder as he rubs your back to soothe you. “You’re ok, you’re gonna be ok” he repeats, as if talking to a scared child and not an adult wanting to sell their soul again to get out of this nightmare.
Once again, because sure why not, Suga stops in his tracks and clenches you tighter to his chest.
You look over your shoulder to see just what new clusterfuck the universe has given you, meeting the demonic eyes of Rui, who’s webbing was ready to slice the man apart if he so much as breathed wrong.
“Enough games. Give me what is mine and I’ll make your death much less painful. Y/N was taken from me and I plan on getting rid of any and everyone involved”. His words were so calm, so matter of fact, as if he expected Suga to just comply and accept his fate.
You shut your eyes, hearing the voices of many other characters approaching like piranhas to an injured animal. Except instead of working together, they planned to tear anyone apart just to have you, and no matter the outcome you didn’t want to see just who the victor would be.
(-Mommabean, please leave comments or tell me what you think! Helps motivate me and to see where I need to work on more!)
#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#Yandere portal#Yandere anime#yandere sugawara#Yandere Asahi#Yandere Zack Foster#Yandere Rui#yandere demon slayer#Yandere Haikyuu#Mommabean
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Solace (part 2)
SOLACE (part 2)
A part two but kinda works as a stand alone!!
A/n y’all seemed to like the first one so I thought I’d make a part two :)) This was NOT meant to be a series but now I kind of have an idea to make this a mini series where each part is kind of a blurb that connects to the last part and I think I might do that.
Pairing: General Kirigan/the Darkling x Heartrender! reader
Summary: The day after you go visit General Kirigan at night is also the day he decides he can become more honest about his intentions for you. The softness of it all is starting to get to you but you have a good friend to remind you that it’s okay to feel happy.
--
The sunlight peers into the room shyly. It stirs me awake into a soft bliss. Warmth. When was the last time I woke up feeling so warm? So rested? I squint my eyes open, still calm. But when my vision finally adjusts, I feel like ice all over again. This is not where I’m supposed to be.
Memories of sneaking here in the darkness of night, speaking to Kirigan so freely, and then letting him convince me to stay. He had seemed to want me here then, in the night when loneliness finds easy prey in even the most hardened individuals...but now, in the morning sunlight--he’ll regret it. We made it clear I’d stay only that night--and that night is now gone. Maybe he expects me to be gone before he rises. I know that’s what most men expect after taking company for the night, but we didn’t exactly partake in activities like that. I think what we did is worse.
Relations like that are about desire, falling asleep with someone else borders on intimacy. One misstep and who knows what I’ll invoke? I shift my gaze upwards, careful to not move in hopes of not disturbing the arms he’s draped across my back, holding me to him. Kirigan seems different in sleep, softer. His features are still sharp, but there’s something gentle about seeing him vulnerable. Something about the way his lashes brush against his cheeks and his lips stay parted just slightly. This moment can never repeat itself. It can never happen again, so I’ll have to hold onto this.
Cautiously, I prepare to slip out of his grasp even though it feels like its the only thing tethering me to this world. I touch his first hand, moving it off of me slowly. I wait a second, and when he remains unstirring I move his other hand.
“What are you so eager for, little wolf?” The raspy, tired quality of his voice leaves my stomach fluttering. His words jar me so much I find myself frozen.
He reaches lazily, placing an arm on the center of my back, trying to ease me back into place. “It’s morning now.”
His thumb brushes up and down my back in a way meant to lull me. “I’m the Shadow Summoner, the night lasts as long as I want it to.” He lets out an easy breath, “And I’m prolonging it.”
Ignoring the warmth the implications of his words bring, I decide to focus on how dramatic he is. “Dramatic even so early in the morning.”
Kirigan’s eyes flutter open, the slightest smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Watch yourself, little wolf.” There is no malice in his voice, only something hinting at teasing too humane for me to trust.
I roll my eyes, letting his fingers brush wherever he wants them to--up and down my back, down the arms I am too aware of. The desire to touch him easily, casually, just to prove that I have that privilege. I stretch, pushing down thoughts of rejection as I place a hand on his chest. He pauses, one hand frozen in place on my back. Slowly, he moves his hand away from me. I tense, preparing to retract my hand. He catches my hand before I can pull it away, moving it towards him easily until my hand is against his cheek.
“Y/n.” He’s called me my name so few times, and the restraint in his voice leaves me unnerved. “Will you wear a black kefta today?”
His color. Perhaps he meant the promise of solace more literally than I thought. Anyone who sees me will think I’ve been claimed by him in one way or another. Perhaps I have been. The thought stirs my chest, moving me in a way I can’t distinguish as a positive or negative. I feel myself being ensnared in a lovely trap, but when I look at him, at the honesty burning in his gaze, it’s almost as if he’s asking me to claim him.
“Yes.” Again the word leaves me as if willed by some outside force.
Kirigan’s intensity dwindles slightly. His hand drops from over mine, but I keep mine on his cheek, running my thumb across his skin. “You’ll do good for me today, little wolf.” His words leave no room for argument. I think speaking like that is a talent of his. “You always do so good for me.” The admiration in his words melt something in me, my entire body warmed in a way I don’t understand. Kirigan brushes his knuckles across my cheek again.
I’ve been silent for too long, each second I waste inflating his ego. “You’re suspiciously nice in the mornings.”
“You’re only skeptical because you never let anyone take care of you.” His words are chiding and the implication of them leaves my face warm. “So much promise,” he muses, hand trailing down my jawline, “So much power,” his fingers skim down my neck and across my collarbone. “I wonder what someone like you could do with an amplifier.”
An amplifier. I’ve seen them in use, and knowing what I could do with something that strengthens my already abrasive abilities. I could be a monster so easily. Kirigan must see some of my concern because he’s quick to sit up a little more in order to close the distance between us the way he did last night. He brushes his lips against my collarbone in a way that leaves me distracted by wanting. A wanting for what, I’m not sure. I ease into his touch.
“Today everyone will know what you are.” His voice is gentle against the base of my neck. “And they will know that we are meant to be equals.”
I feel the need to panic rise in my chest, but it’s dulled by the warmth his lips leave against my skin. “I’m only a Heartrender, I can’t be your equal.”
“You are,” he whispers, so assured, “With a heart as good as yours you may even be more.”
His words are too weighted for so early in the morning, but there is always tension with him. Shadows are meant to be weightless but I think they’re like anything else--carry enough of them and eventually you’ll break.
When he straightens I move to follow him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “You’re good, too.” There has to be goodness in him. No one capable of such warmth and gentleness can be made up entirely of wicked things.
“You claimed I was a villain.”
Did my words really impact him so? “My opinion isn’t law.”
Something strange flickers across his features. “It might as well be.”
I swallow back a bundle of nerves. “Sometimes I’m wrong.”
The words crack something vulnerable in me. A part of me thinks he can feel the part of me that’s breaking in hopes of offering him something.
“You really are my solace.” I don’t know how to reciprocate such a gilded sentiment.
I rest my head against his shoulder, taking his hand. “I’m glad to be that.”
He squeezes my hand. “We should go get ready before people start to notice our absence.”
I consider reminding him what he told me last night, but he has a point. There’s a difference between a rumor of me pacing in the night and both of us showing up late at the same time. Still though, a part of me is already grieving this version of Kirigan. Outside of this room his coldness will return. ‘Just for tonight’. We had agreed on that. But when the night ended, and the morning sun colored us both sane again, he had asked me to wear his color.
“I’ll go get dressed,” I stay still.
Kirigan runs his thumb over my knuckles. “I’ll have a black kefta sent to you.”
That has to mean something. Wait--do I want it to mean something? I pull my hand away from his stiffly, standing because I know the longer I’ll wait the worse it will be. “I’ll see you during training.”
“My door will be unlocked after.”
At that, my chest swells. He’s offered me an opening. “Good to know.”
His eyes narrow slightly at my coyness. “Find me after?”
“Only because you’re nicer in here.” He wants me to come back.
--
The black kefta does not feel like my own. The color is too alluring, too dark and enthralling. It is not meant for someone like me. It feels borrowed, but I’m not entirely uncomfortable. It’s almost like he’s still with me, keeping me from being alone.
When I walk down the halls, I feel the stares of the others sticking to me like tar. They barely tolerated me before--the grisha plucked from the slums after a fateful night in which Kirigan saw the extent of my abilities.
“New clothes, l/n?”
Julian’s words coax an easy smile from me. Always so open, so accepting. Even now he doesn’t pester me about the black kefta. “I barely noticed.”
My lack of real response earns me a playful glare. “Is that the only explanation I get? Moving up the ranks without me?”
I roll my eyes. He’s joking, but he’s drawing more eyes to me. “I’m not leaving you, Julian.” He’s been too good a friend for me to leave. “Nothing’s changed except the color of my clothing.”
“Good.” Julian’s lips twitch upwards, offering me the kind of smile that’s earned him many trysts with many women. “I’d miss you too much.”
And while I doubt that my disappearance would do anything else than up his popularity, I appreciate the sentiment. “Oh I’m sure you’d find a way to find company.”
He half laughs, “What are you implying of my virtue?”
Laughing, I roll my eyes as we continue to walk down the halls. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
Julian reaches for me, touching my forearm. I stall. “In all seriousness, y/n, I really appreciate your friendship.”
Aw. Never did I think I’d have so many people to appreciate here. I think of Kirigan, of the vulnerability in his words and the new facet of him I saw last night that I somehow always knew he had in him. He may be a villain, or just one in the making, but he is more than a dark shadow. I find myself releasing I appreciate Kirigan too. It’s different than the way I care about Julian, more fragile, but it’s still a relationship I’ve created here.
I look down at the space where his hand touches my forearm. “I really appreciate your friendship, too. You’ve gotten me through a lot.”
“You need to give yourself some credit.” He releases my arm, turning to continue to walk forward.
I turn as well, “You should too.”
I look forward, and there, in the near distance is Kirigan. He’s staring at me, eyes lacking everything he had earlier. I offer him a small smile. He does not return it, his drops slowly to the ground. Weird. I guess he’s just turning on his indifference for a day of training. He asked me to wear his color, he asked me to come back.
Does he regret it? Maybe it was a premature request for me to wear his color so publicly. His gaze finds mine again, and with a tilt of his head he gestures for me to follow him.
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General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper
#the darkling#the darkling x reader#the darkling imagine#general kirigan#genereal kirigan x reader#genereal kirigan imagine#grisha#grishaverse#grishaverse x reader#grishaverse imagine#grisha reader#shadow and bone show#shadow and bone netflix#shadow and bone x reader#shadow and bone imagine#shadow and bone x you#imagine#x reader#my works
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Repentance
Your choices led you here.
AN: Honestly I couldn’t get the idea for the last scene out of my head.
“Alright team,” you heard Cap through your ear piece, “time to go home.”
And you did. Without a second thought.
Tony had sent out a relief squad and different aids for people. He had hoped to help. There was no after party this time around. But you understood why. Especially after finding him in his lab, staring longingly at a bottle of scotch, a screen of names scrolling past. The mission had put him through enough to want to cancel his promise of good behavior.
You walked over to him. Replacing the bottle with a cup of coffee you had brought down. “Tony, you did what you thought was right.”
“That’s not enough for them… their families. For what? A fucking whim of ours?”
“I know,” you sighed, walking over to a sink and pouring out the bottle, “I think about it too. What we could have done. What shouldn’t have. But in the moment with you, Bruce, and I all in the lab it felt right.”
“You saw the recording of New York. How couldn’t I try, something? Anything.”
A shiver went up your spine as you remembered the helmet’s footage. As much as the team had done. It would have all been over if that ship had touched ground. “We need protection,” you confirmed, “but maybe not an A.I.. Honestly, we’re probably just going to have to rely on finding good people. You should look for them instead of…”
“Are you still going to that memorial?”
“Yeah, but not as an Avenger.”
-
Then it all happened. After Sokovia, you all knew in a way that pulling at the right thread would tear the fabric of the team apart. Too many conflicting thoughts. Placing blame on one another. The Accords. Not wanting to be held down by a contract even though you could work your way through to the top if you could play your cards right.
None of you had ever imagined it would end like this. Broken apart. Teared open and bruised.
You had found Tony using the suites intertwined tracking systems. A tape played on repeat. The Winter Soldier, murdering two people. On a second viewing, you finally realized who exactly they were. Bile rose up your throat, you needed to find him. That just left finding him as Steve had left him. Cut up, tears- that you wouldn’t dare mention- streaked his face as he angrily shoved off pieces of his suit. A wound he had tried desperately to heal ripped open again with betrayal to act as salt.
You didn’t take away his bottle that night. Hell, you joined him.
-
“I’m still against this, YN,” Tony sighed, looking at you with that tired look of his, “Why?”
“I don’t know, Tone. It just feels like something I need to do. For myself more than anything.” You placed the last of your things in the suitcase. “As much as I hate what he’s done. There are things I can understand.”
“He broke us apart.”
“We were already divided. As much as we tried to be a family, do all this shit together… The second there was pressure we went into our normal fractions. Honestly, it’s a damn wonder we trusted Double Agent over there.”
He nodded, understanding that you had made a couple of points. “That was a bad call, but hey you can’t win everytime. ...I’m glad you chose this side if anything.”
“Yeah sap, what would I do without your cash?” You joked, “We’re in this together old man. Thick and thin. You know that. Anyways, by the time I come back, I fully expect a ring on Pep’s finger.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hap’s been waiting for you for the past hour. Get going, come back safe and all that jazz.”
-
Walking through the prison was nerve wrenching. Honestly, even though you had planned out the trip, you really didn’t expect him to agree to the visitation. You followed the guard down the long, dim corridors, not knowing exactly what you’d do or why you were there.
“Here you are. Everything is being monitored.” With that he opened the door and slammed it shut behind you.
“Zemo,” you greeted when you laid sight on the man.
“Avenger,” he said it more as an insult, “To what do I owe the displeasure?”
“I owe you an apology,” you stated simply, “I really am. What you went through, it wasn’t anything I expected to happen.”
“I can accept it if that's what you wish, however what use does it have for me, really? You people do as you wish without a thought of what happens to others. People get hurt and killed. Then you’d all go home, back to your obnoxious towers and celebrate that none of you were killed. How many have taken your place?”
“That’s fair,” you nodded, looking at the ground, “I deserve that.”
“Did you celebrate the destruction Tony Stark created?”
You laughed humorlessly, “He always gets all the credit for that, probably because of the tin foil wrapping. It’s a shared burden, I’m afraid, Bruce and I worked just as hard to create Ultron. No. We didn’t celebrate.”
“Then we’re even. You took my family, I tore yours apart.”
“It’s not the first I’ve lost. Knowing my luck it isn’t the last.”
He tilted his head, signaling you to go on.
“We were some dumb kids at the time, maybe 16 or so. The community we lived in was an absolute shithole. Things would get swept under the rug. People would get hurt, killed, used for fun, just because that’s what people felt like doing. So what are a group of good for nothing orphans going to do, none of us really had much hope. We became vigilantis of sorts using ourselves as bait regularly. Did what we had to do. But we were young, dumb and things always have a way of catching up with you.”
“I’m very sorry for the pain you experienced in your youth.”
“Like you said…” you shook away the memories,you weren’t here to rehash those years, “The point is Zemo, I need you to know I do feel for you. I’ve looked into you and you were a good man, probably still are under all the pain. When we made Ultron we had hopes for the best, after what happened in 2012, we all knew something bigger would happen. Tony and I share that, we get paranoid, but how can’t you be when shit hits the fan like that,” you snapped, “It was just a matter of how, when, if we’d be prepared… and in all of that we failed. So honed in to the details of what we could do, we were blinded to what we would cause. Zemo, no amount of forgiveness would ever clear me of the guilt of just how badly we failed you.”
Zemo stared at you, searching for any sign that this was all just a show. When he finally decided you were sincere he gave you a nod.
“There’s something I want to ask of you…”
-
That’s how you found yourself in Zemo’s family grave. Each step brought you closer to three of the deaths you helped cause. His son was in between his wife and father. The bag of sweets at your side was held limply as you found your way to the right grave.
“Hey, buddy,” you set the Turkish delights on the grave, “Your father said he’s sorry, he couldn’t do this for you this year. But don’t worry, I’ll pick it up for him.”
A shuddered breath escaped you as you thought about the child in the ground. Only able to conjure up a picture of a younger looking Helmut Zemo. A soft round face, light brown hair that was combed neatly just to be messed up seconds later, eyes that questioned everything in the world around him. He should’ve been wreaking havoc, running throughout the home with his father chasing after the excited child. Instead of here, where your choices had placed him.
Sitting down on the ground you fished out the book Zemo had instructed you to get, “Now, I believe your father said he had been really excited to read this one to you. It was one of his favorites.”
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Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU
All Parts
Part 19:
You stared helplessly at your phone.
He still hadn’t answered you or even read the texts you’d sent him- it had been over a week since you sent the last two.
Bakugou told you that he’d be away. That he wouldn’t be at his phone, but that was almost two entire weeks ago, and nobody would be without a phone for that long. You knew something was wrong. Could feel the incorrectness and hollowness in your soul- in that same part of your heart that had suddenly been filled since you met him.
You sent him another text, fueled by nothing but desperation.
Another few days went by. Nothing. Radio silence, and unread texts, and a heart that felt heavier with each passing moment.
That wrongness that you felt seemed to multiply by the minute, your skin seeming to itch and feel too tight and too lose all at once. You felt helpless. There was nothing you could do, no where you could look, nobody you could tell.
All you knew was a last name- a last name that was common. A last name that was shared by 1000s of people all across Japan, and a last name that was shrouded entirely by a pro-hero who was everywhere you looked.
You’d already tried searching, desperately typing in that last name, but the only thing you could ever pull up was articles about Bakugou Katsuki. Dynamite. Pro-hero highlights and various smear pieces were all you could find under that last name. It was just picture after picture of a blonde head of hair and a scowling face that wasn’t your soulmate’s. Explosions and ash and burning debris and villains and heroes and- you resented Dynamite. He was the reason you couldn’t reach your Bakugou.
There was nothing you could do. Absolutely nothing, and it nearly killed you.
You threw your phone away in frustration, crushed by another search that yielded nothing but Dynamite.
You wanted to cry, wanted to yell, wanted to scream until your throat tore for all the things being stolen from you. If he wasn’t okay, if he wasn’t still able to be there for you, all of your childhood dreams were over. There would be no happy ending for you, no fairy-tale love, no perfect puzzle pieces finally slotting together. There would just be you. You and your one-half of a soul and one-half of a name and a potential funeral you couldn’t even go to because you didn’t know who he was or where he lived or how to reach him past a phone. All you had was his voice, all you got to have was his voice and his jokes and a siew of nicknames and texts and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because it was bits of him; little, tiny, miniscule pieces of someone that was supposed to be yours but apparently wasn’t. Instead of him, it was just you- alone and waiting and etched with a ugly tattoo you should’ve never expected to guarantee forever.
You didn’t want to think about it- didn’t even want to entertain the idea of him not being okay- but at this point it felt like you had no other choice. Bakugou didn’t seem like the type to just disappear- had proven time after time to you that he wasn’t. Something was wrong. Horribly, terribly, catastrophically wrong and you just knew it. Could feel it settling in your bones like a poison.
You fell onto your bed, peeling back the covers and collapsing onto your pillow. You couldn’t remember falling asleep. Couldn’t even be sure when you stopped crying.
--/--
You suddenly jolted awake- fingers scrambling to find your ringing phone.
Bakugou :)) - Incoming Call 1:07 AM
You felt like you couldn’t breathe- like there wasn’t enough air in the world to make your lungs work. With shaking fingers, you accepted the call.
“Hey, idiot.” Bakugou’s voice was hoarser than you remember, barely there and weak through the phone. He coughed. “Been a fuckin’ while, huh?”
Your heart jumped, seeming to nearly seize at the sound of his voice- at the sound of his croaking breath, at the sound of him present and okay on the other end of the phone. You pressed your palms into your eyes, trying to will yourself not to cry, but you couldn’t help it. He was there, and fine, and talking and it didn’t feel like your heart was breaking anymore.
“You motherfucker,” You choked out, trying to clear the tears from you throat. You were sure Bakugou could hear them anyway. “Fuck you- you asshole.”
Bakugou just seemed to laugh- a thin, withering sound that got stuck in his throat. He coughed again, the sound of his chest rattling audible and frightening through the phone.
“Yeah.” He croaked. “Fuckin’ deserved that one, huh?”
“Where were you?” You held your phone with both your shaking hands, clutching at it desperately. “Y-you didn’t- fuck- you didn’t answer! And I texted you and texted you and you didn’t fucking answer and I was so worried, you absolute fucker, and scared and I-I-”
Your shuddered, gasping to catch your breath. It felt like every bit of anxiety you’d had from the past two weeks was crawling up your throat all at once. It was torrent of worry and desperation and anguish tearing apart your ribcage and bursting out your mouth. You were tired and your chest hurt and you couldn’t seem to stop crying.
“It-it’s okay. I’m okay. Stop crying, sunshine.” He soothes, but his voice is too thin and too ragged and all it does it make you worry. “I’m right fuckin’ here- not goin’ anywhere, okay?”
“Y-you’re not! You’re not okay! I can fuckin’ hear you. Y-you’re coughing and your voice doesn’t sound right and-” You take a deep breath, wiping at your eyes. “What happened to you?”
A pause. Another cough. Another round of chest-rattling coughs.
“I, uh, jus’ got a little fuckin’ hurt s’all.” He grits out. “It’s-I’m fine. It’s alright. I’ll be just fuckin’ fine.”
“For two weeks? You were hurt for two weeks?”
“No- I, uh, got held up for a bit. And then hurt.”
“What?” You gasp, incredulous. “Bakugou- t-that doesn’t- it doesn’t make any fucking sense! Held up? What the hell does that even mean?”
There’s silence from his end, but you can hear his ragged breaths and a steady, mechanical beeping through the phone.
“W-what’s that beeping sound?” You ask.
“It’s nothing- it’s uh-”
“Bakugou. Cut the bullshit, please-” You beg voice high and desolate. “Just tell me what’s going on. I-I don’t get it! How could you just be gone for two weeks and then be hurt a-and that noise- it’s a monitor isn’t it?”
More silence.
“Isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He bites out. “It is.”
“Oh my god,” You want to scream, panic once again overtaking you. “Are you in a hospital, right now?”
“Yes.”
Something in you breaks. Something lodged deep in your chest, and all you can think about is seeing him. Making sure that he really is alive in a hospital bed and not some fucked-up figure of your imagination right now.
“Where?” You demand. “Where?”
“W-what?”
“I said fucking where, Bakugou.” You caught your breath, willing your voice to be solid. “Tell me. Right now.”
“I- No!”
“Oh my god, why won’t you just tell me- anything! Ever! You don’t tell me fucking anything and all I know about you is fuck-all nothing and-” Your voice rises, higher and higher and louder as you rant. “Do you even know what I’ve been doing these past two weeks? Worrying! About you! And fucking looking your name up and finding nothing because I don’t know who you are or how to reach you or where you live or even what you look like- a-all I have is your voice and your last name and that’s not even fucking helpful because all I can find is some goddamn hero, Dynamite, who isn’t you and I couldn’t- I couldn’t-”
You’re gasping for air now, nearly shattering your phone in your vice grip. You chest aches, burns, and all he’s doing is sitting on the other end of the phone. Silent. Breathing. Saying nothing like always.
“That’s me.” He finally says, quiet and subdued.
“Excuse me?”
Bakugou coughs again. It sounds painful.
“Dynamite.” He finally whispers out. “It’s me.”
You drop your phone. Watch it slip out of your hands and onto the ground.
Dynamite. It’s me.
Bakugou Katsuki. Scowling, blonde, angry, Bakugou Katsuki. Ash-ridden pro-hero covered in gunpowder and searing burns and surrounded by fire Bakugou Katsuki.
He was your soulmate. The man who seemed to infect your life for the past two weeks. The man you couldn’t find was exactly the same man who was everywhere you looked no matter what you did- on TV, on the internet, in every article you read, every bit of research you ever conducted for your project- and apparently on your phone. This entire time.
You’re angry, shaking and seething and fuming as you pick your phone back up.
“Fuck you, Bakugou,” You spit venomously, tears once again falling. “Y- you just- you disappeared, for weeks, to go be a fucking hero and didn’t even tell me? You put yourself in danger, fucking knowing- w-what if you- what if you- I wouldn’t have known! I wouldn’t have ever fucking known what happened to you and I wouldn’t ever get to know- and you’d just be- you’d just be-”
“Gone.”
“Gone.” You repeat.
“T-this is why I didn’t wanna fuckin’ tell ya.” He wheezes. “Because it fuckin’ changes things when you say you’re a hero.”
“A-a hero?” You’re nearly yelling into the phone. “You think I’m upset over you being a fucking hero?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No!” You scream, enraged. “I’m not- I don’t. I don’t care about you being a fucking hero! I care about you, you fucking asshole! I’ve been sitting here for weeks worrying about you, and searching for you, because you fucking vanished and I didn’t know how to look for you and I couldn’t find anything and I just wanted to find you because I like you- I like you, you fucking idiot!”
He’s silent, the only sounds are your raging breaths and the beeping of a machine.
“You like me?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You’re screeching now. “That’s what you fucking got from that? Are you fucking stupid? That’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said to me! Are you even fucking listening to me right n-”
Bakugou laughs. He laughs, loud and unrestrained and slightly rattling, interrupting your train of thought completely. You’re clutching your phone, pressing it to your ear and seeing red.
“A-are you fucking laughing? Stop fucking laughing- this isn’t- I’m fucking mad at you! Stop laughing, you’re being fucking immature and stupid and a fucking asshole right now! Did you hear a fucking thing I sai-”
“You fuckin’ like me.” He repeats. “I like you too, idiot.”
The wind is knocked out of you- every bit of oxygen is a struggle and your heart is beating fast, faster, so very fast like it’s racing around your ribcage and ripping through the skin of your chest and everything hurts but it doesn’t at the same time and all you can think and see is Bakugou. Bakugou Katsuki.
“I like you, too.” You respond, suddenly dazed.
A pause, another rattling laugh.
“You said that already, idiot.”
Just kidding. Back to thinking and seeing red and only bleeding red.
“Actually, you know what,” Your voice is tight and overwhelmingly loud. “Fuck you! I hate you, you fucking asshole! Made me worry for fucking weeks just to sit there and make fun of me! I’m fucking mad at you- so fucking mad! You know what? I’m hanging u-”
“Don’t.” He says suddenly. “Please.”
His voice stops you in your tracks. Bakug- Katsuki sounds soft and tender and quiet and he didn’t swear once. He’s hurt and he’s probably still hurting and you decide then that you couldn’t do that to him- hang up on him. It was an empty threat. You figured it probably always would be from now on, no matter how angry he made you.
“Y-yeah. Okay.” You start. “But only because you’re fuckin’ hurt or whatever and even I couldn’t fuckin’ do that to-”
“You sound like me.” He interrupts, and there’s something so fond in his voice that it makes you shiver. “Swearing like a fuckin’ sailor, sunshine, what the hell happened to you, huh?”
“Y-you!” You sputter, trying to recover from the way the nickname wounded you. “You fucking happened to me, you absolute prick! You never telling me anything happened to me! The last two fuckin’ weeks happened to me!”
He just laughs again, and you think you could kill him. Are suddenly really contemplating just finishing the job off- until he coughs. Until he coughs and rattles and shakes and doesn’t stop coughing for almost an entire minute.
“You- you’re okay? Right?” You ask, voice quiet.
“Mhm.” Bakugou hums, voice deep and raspy. “Everythin’s just fuckin’ peachy.”
“No. I’m serious. Be serious. Are you okay?”
There’s silence on his end, but you think maybe you can hear the shuffling of blankets.
“N-no.” He grits out, almost like admitting it is painful. “It’s- I’m not. I will be, though.”
“Okay.” You nod. “How long are you in the hospital for?”
“Not sure. Jus’ fuckin’ woke up.”
“And you called me,” You were yelling again. “Call a fucking nurse! Call one right now! You probably need like fucking meds or treatment or like your vitals taken or something! Hang up! Hang up right now and call a nurs-”
“No thanks.”
“Excuse me? Bakugou, are you even listening to me? You’re hurt! You need to fucking call somebody- a nurs-”
“I wanted to talk to you.” Bakugou interrupts, voice hardly there. “Wouldn’ta if I knew you were gonna yell so much, though. Who the fuck yells that much?”
You pause. Taken aback by his words, by his admission. Only for a moment though.
“You! You fucking yell so much, you asshole! I learned it from you!”
Bakugou coughs again, and you lower your voice. You sober up.
“I’m serious. Hang up. Get a nurse.” You suggest gently. “Call me again later, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He agrees. “Okay.”
Bakugou hangs up and you finally feel your heart begin to calm. He wastes no time, sending a text only seconds later.
--/---
eat up, bitches!! it’s an identify reveal, near death experience AND confession scene- welcum to the sweet sweet world of my favorite tropes ~ it only goes up frum hear
#bnha bakugou#mha bakugou#bakugou katsuki#katsuki bakugou#mha bakugo katsuki#bakugou imagine#bakugou x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x you#bakugou fic#bakugou soulmate textfic#bakugou soulmate au#mha fic#bnha fic#bnha soulmate au
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Hungry Like The Wolf | soft!dark!Ari Levinson x reader
summary: when you need ari’s help for a secret mission with the CIA, he expects gratitude from you— and he wants a lot more than just a thank you card.
word count: nearly 6.5k
warnings: smut (dub con/coercion/sex as bartering tool), oral sex (f receiving) and vaginal sex, overstimulation, possessiveness/very very slight yandere vibes?, some violence and gun use, mentions of human trafficking/warfare, religious discussions and traditions but not particularly orthodox ones, vague discussions of sexism and misogyny with implied religious background, overall just lots of global politics and all that fun stuff
(a/n: I went ahead and wrote the hebrew and arabic in english lettering because tumblr doesn’t support right to left text so just a heads up. my arabic is very weak so I apologize if there are any errors.)
Taking a deep breath, you ran through your pitch in your head again. Sure, you’d had plenty of time to go over it on the plane, but one last recitation couldn’t hurt, right? Unable to stall any longer, you turned the knob and entered Ari Levinson’s office.
You’d heard he was good-looking but his appearance still surprised you; his long hair and thick beard made him look like he’d fit in with a rock band better than an intelligence agency, and his half-buttoned shirt put his Star of David necklace and muscled, hairy chest on display.
He must have caught your gaze trailing down because he smirked at you, making your cheeks feel a bit warm.
“Mr. Levinson,” you greeted as you looked up to his face again.
He greeted you as ‘Ms.’ instead of ‘Agent,’ but you let it slide since you were about to ask him for quite the favor. When he motioned for you to take a seat across from him, you did so with a nod and a quick smoothing of your skirt.
“So, what can I help you with?” he prompted.
This was the easy part; this was the part you’d rehearsed a thousand times. “There is a group of trafficked women and girls who have been rescued from all over— Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Kuwait— and gathered in Riyadh. We are working on a plan to move them to Cyprus and, eventually, Greece where they will be accepted into a camp there. Maybe they’ll end up in the States at some point, if we can swing it, but… Cyprus is step one.”
Ari nodded, listening to your story with more patience than anyone else had so far.
“As you can imagine, it would be a lot easier to move through Jordan and Israel and use your ports, rather than go around through Egypt or Syria…” He stared at you expectantly as you trailed off, and you cleared your throat before finishing: "The CIA would greatly appreciate Mossad's cooperation in the movement of these refugees."
"How much would they appreciate it?"
You paused, unsure what he meant. "Um, quite a lot, I'm sure…"
"I just mean that we have missions the CIA could be a useful assist for, too,” he clarified, interlacing his fingers and resting his hands on his lap. “You guys have a lot more resources than we do. If we help you out, is this going to be an allyship we can rely on?"
You swallowed dryly, pondering if there was a way to get out of this before you sighed and slumped down in your chair, leaning a little closer to him. "Alright, I have to be honest with you: it's not really the CIA that's asking for your help."
"Then who is?"
"Me. Just me. I'm the only one who believes in this mission; I'm the only one fighting for these people. The CIA won't help you because they won't even help me and I work for them."
He slumped his shoulders a little bit. "Then I'm not sure if I can afford to say yes to you."
"Please," you implored, "I know I can't offer you as much as they can, but I'll do whatever I can to make this work. Please," you repeated as you laid your hand over his, noticing the way his expression shifted a bit, "help me."
"I've been the one person fighting for a mission before," he remembered, voice a little softer. "I know how hard it is to go it alone."
You smiled gently at him.
"And, I know how far I would've gone to get my people to safety."
His hand flipped around suddenly and grabbed yours tightly, pulling you closer as you gasped.
"How far will you go?"
You shivered, the darkness in his eyes burning right through you even when you tried to look away. "Mr. Levinson, I—"
"Call me Ari," he instructed gruffly, grip tightening around your wrist until you yelped softly.
"Ari," you corrected, "I have money—"
"Don't want it."
"I can offer you my assistance in—"
"Don't need it."
"Tell me what you need,” you requested softly.
"I need to know you're gonna show me this 'great appreciation' you promised,” he answered quickly. “I need to know that if I take care of you, then you'll take care of me."
You gulped but nodded. "O-of course…"
"Good."
He released you from his grip and stood up, smiling at you like nothing had even happened.
"Pleasure doing business with you, madam."
You stood up and left his office in a haze, unsure if what had just happened was a dream or reality. But, sure enough, he showed up the next day where you’d told him to meet you, and brought some money and fake passports that you desperately needed. Frankly, just having a man around was going to make things smoother for you, even if it was a white man who didn’t exactly blend in by any stretch of the imagination. Seeing him again the next day only reminded you how big he was, tall but moreso heavy with muscle; he looked pretty cramped in his tiny coach seat on the plane to Dubai (your connecting stop where you’d spend the night before flying out to Riyadh).
“Bloody mary, please,” he requested from the stewardess with a gentle nod, turning to you.
“Uh, just water, thanks,” you ordered quickly with a tilted smile. You had brought a book to read, but Ari insisted on barraging you with personal questions about your job, your personal life, your favorite things— he seemed fascinated by the most mundane things, and disinterested in giving his own backstory.
Of course you considered that it wasn’t a great idea to tell him so much about yourself, let him in your head and under your skin. But then again, you’d put your trust in him enough for the mission, so you ought to trust him completely, right?
So why did his stare send shivers up your spine?
//
There was room for you and Ari at a CIA safehouse outside Dubai; it wasn’t exactly luxurious or anything, but at least you weren’t going to have to share a room… or a bed.
Normally staying in a safehouse meant sharing common areas with a random assortment of other agents, but it being a Friday night in Dubai meant they were all out enjoying the local nightlife while you two stayed in. Hoping to review a game plan for the mission with him, you found Ari’s door open, peeking around to see him on his knees on the floor, a candle burning before him, and his hands raised to cover his eyes and face.
“Shema Yisrael,” he sung to himself below his breath, “Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad…”
He jumped a little when he uncovered and opened his eyes only to find you standing there. “Shabbat Shalom,” you greeted.
“Shabbat Shalom,” he nodded back.
“I’m sorry you’re forced to take your Shabbat alone,” you apologized, “and that there’s nobody other than me to appreciate your vocal chops.”
His cheeks tinged pink at that. “It’s all part of the sacrifices we make for our missions, eh?”
“Then I suppose you don’t mind that you’ll be doing plenty of work tomorrow,” you presumed.
“You probably realized by now that I’m not actually so traditional,” he chuckled, extinguishing the candle and standing up. “I work on the sabbath quite a lot.”
“I hear work is permitted if it is needed to save a life.”
He smiled, but he looked a little sad; maybe not sad, but tired. “With me, it always is.”
The silence was thick as you tried to reconcile that this was the same man that had grabbed and threatened you— was it a threat? You couldn’t even tell anymore. Apparently he wasn’t going to take whatever it was that he wanted until you’d finished the mission, and that should’ve made it easier to procrastinate your worry, but the extra time to ponder what it was actually going to be only brought further anxiety.
Of course, you had an idea of what he was going to ask of you, but the fact that nothing too untoward had happened in his office when you first met him was throwing you off. In that moment, you were just waiting for him to tell you to get on your knees and show him how bad you wanted these women rescued, but he didn’t. Wouldn’t have been the first time somebody tried to bribe you into sex; it would’ve been the first time, however, that you actually considered doing it.
Now, the anticipation just made it worse; you were working with him every day and he always acted normal, as if there wasn’t this looming threat of whatever favor he was going to ask from you in return.
Once you actually got to work the next day, it was easier not to think about that. You barely had any extra brainpower to think about anything except survival and extraction. Still, each time you looked at him only to find him already looking at you, your hands shook a little.
//
“You’ve been driving for 10 hours, you’re sure you don’t want me to take the wheel?” you offered, watching him blink a few times to clear his vision.
“Not worth getting arrested,” he frowned.
“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”
“Not worth the risk of getting caught. And I don’t know about you, but if I get arrested here, I’ll probably be killed, too.”
You chewed your lip as you appreciated that it was probably worth avoiding as much trouble as possible. It’s not like the CIA was popular in these parts, either, and for good reason.
“What’s that up ahead?” he asked, leaning further forward against the steering wheel and squinting.
“Um,” you stalled as you unfolded the paper map in your lap, “I’m… not sure.”
“Looks like a barricade,” he announced, and it did; a gate with two guards and barbed wire on either side.
“There isn’t supposed to be a stop here,” you reminded him as you frantically shuffled around the map, making sure you were where you thought you were and that there wasn’t a mark indicating a vehicle stop on the road.
“What do we do?” he asked, looking around as if he was considering veering off the path even though that would be equally dangerous.
“There isn’t supposed to be a stop here,” you repeated, more anxiously.
“Well, there is,” he replied, his own agitation clearly increasing, “so we’ll have to go through it.”
“They’re going to pull us over.”
“Probably,” he admitted.
“And they will search the back of the truck.”
“I’d be surprised if they didn’t. How well do you think they’re gonna take it when they see eighty-something women packed like sardines?”
You chuckled a little even though you were anything but amused. “Um, not good.”
As the men at the stop waved to signal your car to slow down, Ari sighed a little. "I'll ask once again: what do we do?"
"Act natural," you suggested quickly as you lifted the scarf draped around your head to cover your nose and mouth.
Ari slowed down to a stop, lowering the window to talk to the officer outside and putting on a fake English accent. “How can I help you, sir?”
“Identification please,” he requested sternly. Ari smiled as he grabbed his and your passports, handing them over through the window. It was a long, awkward moment as he flipped through the thick papers slowly, his partner leaning down to look through your window but never taking his hands off his gun. “What brings you out here?” the man finally asked.
“My wife and I operate a restaurant in Jordan, and we get most of our equipment here because the workmanship is better,” Ari explained. “Just passing through with our new stoves and oven hood.”
The officer glanced back over your truck, his expression mostly unreadable but overall not necessarily friendly-looking. “Could you step out of the vehicle please?”
“Hal hdha daruri?” you asked quickly; Is this necessary?
“Alsamt,” he replied in a hiss; Silence.
Ari looked around like he was thinking but nodded and reached for the handle to his door. You did the same, the second guard stepping out of your way so you could swing open the rusted metal and step out.
The men guided for you to circle the car with them, stopping at the back and staring at the metal sliding door that was latched shut.
Turning to address Ari, the guard’s face dropped completely as he got a bit more serious. “What am I going to find in your vehicle?”
“Kitchen supplies, like I said,” Ari insisted.
As the officer reached for the latch on the back of the truck, Ari shot you a wide-eyed look and you gave him a quick nod. He lunged at the second guard, wrestling him for his gun while you went after the first, who was much easier to take down with him being distracted by trying to unlock the back of the truck. Your CIA instincts told you to shoot him once you’d grabbed his weapon, but thankfully you knocked him out with the butt of it instead.
Loud pops of gunfire beside you made you fear the worst, but Ari had managed to push the gun toward the sky before pulling it out of the officer’s grasp, swinging it wildly until it made contact with his head and he fell to the ground.
Gun in hand and panting heavily, Ari looked back at you with a grin. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“You almost got shot,” you reminded him.
“A little more than almost,” he corrected, showing you a gash where a bullet had grazed arm.
“Shit, Ari!” you yelped, running over to him and inspecting the wound. The way he looked down at you as you clutched him made you sort of regret it, though.
“It’s fine,” he assured you, but he made no effort to push you away.
“I… should check on the girls,” you decided, a little bit distracted but making your way back to the truck to roll up the metal back and examine the women inside, who looked scared at first but relaxed when they saw you.
“Kli shay' ealaa ma yaram,” you assured them that everything was fine, “nahn taqribaan 'iilaa al'urduni, wasawf nasil 'iilaa alsafinat allaylat.” We're almost to Jordan and will arrive at the ship tonight.
They relaxed a bit and smiled at you, a few muttered ‘shukraan jazilaan’s (meaning ‘thank you’) echoing from inside. You hated to shut the back and plunge them into darkness again, but they had assured you before that they would brave any conditions for a chance at freedom. You hoped they meant it.
“Please, let me drive, you’re injured,” you offered to Ari as he started to make his way toward the driver’s side door.
“It’s not even that bad, and we’ve had enough run-ins with the law today,” he dismissed.
“Then let me patch you up first, okay? Is that so terrible?”
He smiled a little. “No, I guess not.”
And that was how you ended up leaning on him in the passenger seat, supergluing his arm shut, trying not to think about how his bicep was probably bigger than your head.
“You’re a pretty good medic,” he observed, speaking quietly since you were so close.
“When you’re as clumsy as I am, you have to be,” you responded, sounding monotone due to focusing mostly on your work. “It shouldn’t scar too—”
You stopped when you looked up at him, because the way he was staring back down at you made you completely devoid of the ability to speak or even conjure words in your mind. You’d never seen him so close before and those piercing blue eyes made your head spin.
“What were you gonna say?” he asked softly,
“It… shouldn’t scar too bad,” you finished, “as long as you keep it clean and dry.”
“I generally aim to keep my entire body clean and dry,” Ari chuckled.
“Right, yeah, well— keep up the good work, then,” you stammered as you wrapped some gauze around his arm and rolled his sleeve back down over it.
“Let’s hit the road before we waste any more time,” he suggested, and with a nod you leaned back into your seat.
//
The radio blasting was the only thing keeping both of you awake as you drove through the dark. The border to Jordan was easy enough, and both of you sighed with relief as you crossed into Israel. It was by far the biggest blockade you’d seen so far, but of course, Ari got you in faster than you’d moved through anything else.
“Good to be home?” you asked when you saw Ari smiling as he looked around at the streetlights through the windshield.
“You could say that,” he answered. “Think we have time to stop for falafel before we get to the port?”
“Not unless you plan on buying for all your passengers,” you laughed, motioning toward the back. “If they have to wait until we reach the ship, so do we.”
“Yeah, that’s fair,” he relented. “Besides, probably better to be seen by as few people as possible. Even if we’re in friendly territory, it’s still a covert operation and all.”
“Wow, so you do have some desire to play by the rules,” you gasped in faux shock. He smiled and shrugged a bit.
“More like the rules and my desires occasionally overlap.”
It was past midnight when you pulled into the port, surrounded by ships so big that you couldn’t see the tops of them from inside the car. A cargo ship was waiting for you, along with some Navy men who helped you escort the women onto the vessel.
Since it wasn’t meant to accommodate this many people, the refugees occupied extra crew space while you and Ari were given sleeping bags in an unused office; you were so tired, though, that it actually looked enticing.
As soon as you’d set your pack down and shut the door, you heard a distant horn and felt the ship begin to move. You let out a long sigh as you leaned against the desk, watching Ari take a seat in the chair and start laughing exhaustedly.
“We did it,” you smiled, “we fucking did it.”
“We’ve still got a long boat ride ahead of us,” Ari mitigated, “but yeah… we should be in the clear, and tomorrow afternoon we’ll be in sunny Cyprus.”
You were so elated from the high of a successful mission that you forgot to worry about Ari’s vague request all those weeks ago; it was probably the first time you hadn’t thought about it since then, truthfully. That changed when his smile fell as he looked up at you, eyes darkening a little and scanning your body.
“You’re a great agent,” he nodded slowly, “and an incredible woman. You saved a lot of people tonight.”
You shifted nervously under the weight of his stare, but tried to hide your discomfort. “I… couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I know,” he informed you coldly, standing up and approaching you. “I think I’ve gone above and beyond on my end of our deal.”
A pit formed in your stomach, growing with each step he took towards you. His eyes stayed trained on you except for when he glanced to the side to flip on the radio, American music suddenly piping through the speakers.
— discord and rhyme, I’m on the hunt, I’m after you…
You looked to the radio as well but his hand gently guided your jaw until you looked back at him; he was closer than ever, and you had to look up to meet his gaze, shivering as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip slowly.
“Are you good for your end of the deal?” he asked lowly.
And I’m hungry like the wolf…
You swallowed, hoping it would somehow ease the ache in your gut as you realized what was about to happen, before nodding meekly.
He smirked a little. “Good girl,” he praised, only a bit louder than a whisper, as his hand moved to cradle your face. “You want me, don’t you?”
Your brow furrowed as you tried to figure out how you were supposed to answer that. “I want to repay you, for all you’ve done for me.”
“No, not just that,” he disagreed, “you want me. I know you do. You don’t need to hide it, we’re alone…”
Hesitant but catching on to his desires, you nodded a little.
“Say it.”
“I want you, Ari,” you whispered.
It felt like forever waiting for him to kiss you as he leaned in slowly, eyes half-lidded and dark but never leaving you. As his lips brushed against yours, you finally let your eyes flutter shut and reciprocated his kiss. His hands felt especially big as one slipped behind your neck and the other rested on your waist; in fact, with the way you had to crane your head up to kiss him back, all of him felt big. Including the part you were pretty sure just bumped against the inside of your thigh.
His kiss was soft and patient but determined, slow but somehow still moving faster than you were ready for. You gingerly reached up and rested your hands on his shoulders; they were strong and warm beneath your touch, even through his shirt. You couldn’t think of the last time you’d been kissed like this, or held so tenderly like this, but then again, you were also sure that nobody had scared you like this in a long time, either. For a woman who always knew what to do in a dangerous situation, you couldn’t seem to get a read on Ari Levinson— mostly because you didn’t truly believe he was dangerous. But maybe you should.
When his hands reached up to start unbuttoning your blouse, you pushed him back a little.
"N-not here," you protested, "someone could hear, or walk in."
"There's nowhere else to go, and I'm not waiting 'til Cyprus. I need you now."
He kissed you again before you could respond, more forceful and desperate. You let him work open your shirt this time, his fingers dancing over your skin as he pulled it off your shoulders and tossed it aside. The feeling of him working your bra open made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but his tongue slipping into your mouth distracted you and before you knew it, it was gone as well. Your nipples hardened in the cold air— or maybe they’d been that way already, for whatever reason— but they reacted even stronger to his thick fingers gently pinching them as his palms cupped your breasts.
You gasped against his mouth a bit, your breathing getting heavier as he moved his hands down to your trousers. The idea of being naked when he was still fully-dressed scared you, but you didn’t have time to think about that anymore when he pulled back to drop to his knees, taking your pants and underwear to the floor with him.
He looked back up at you with a mischievous grin as you cautiously stepped out of them. After guiding you to sit up on the table, neither of you stopping to consider how rude it was to put your bare ass on somebody’s desk in a borrowed ship, he slowly parted your legs. As he kissed a trail inside your thigh, you felt your hands clutch the edge of the table tightly with anticipation. You felt so exposed with his face right there, to the point that your cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and yet you couldn't manage to tear your eyes away from his as he leaned in to lick you teasingly with the tip of his tongue.
"Fuck," you shivered, feeling your inner walls quiver as he moved so delicately. You kept waiting for him to really get into it but he was determined to stay gentle and slow, circling your bud for one glorious moment before stopping again. "Ari, please," you whispered without even realizing you’d said it.
"What do you want, baby?" he asked darkly, his voice deep and gravelly as he ran his hands up the back of your legs.
Your begging whimper was so pathetic you could hardly believe you were hearing yourself. "More, please…"
He dove right in after that, suddenly latching onto your clit and letting his tongue explore every fold, every wrinkle, every sensitive spot with thick, wide licks. Your head fell back and your hands jumped to weave into his hair— that gorgeous fucking hair that had driven you halfway insane. It was soft between your fingers, and in this light you could see the touches of red, blonde, and maybe even grey scattered into the brunette. Better yet was the way he moaned against you when you accidentally pulled it, your hands clenching into fists against his scalp each time he sucked on your clit just right.
"Ari, baby, fuck," you groaned, feeling your hips shift a little as if to try to get more of yourself in his mouth.
Sensation was sparking under your skin faster than you knew what to do with it, faster than you had ever figured out on your own, and definitely faster than anybody else had ever managed. You felt your body shaking and couldn’t suppress it at all, every part of you (inside and out) quivering uncontrollably. It would’ve been embarrassing except that he seemed to be enjoying it quite a bit, egging you on with his tight grip on your thighs, and his deep moans that reverberated over your body, and the way his brow furrowed like it almost pained him to see you like this. Your back arched so dramatically that he had to hold onto your hips tight to keep you in his mouth, but he managed to maintain what he'd been doing— in fact, he didn't stop even when you started to whine and cry, feet digging into his back as you tried not to explode from the overstimulation on your sensitive clit.
"S-stop, s'too much, can't take it," you pleaded, looking down at him.
He looked back up at you with dark, dilated eyes that said 'you're gonna take it.' His tongue lapped at you with renewed vigor, sending you tumbling over the edge again and again and again.
Tears were streaming down your face when he finally relented, standing up slowly and staring you down as he wiped his face with the back of his hand; your arousal had coated his mouth and most of his beard, too. You bit down on your lip to stop it from shaking as he slotted himself between your legs again, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and smiling as he watched your gaze trail down every inch of newly-exposed skin.
You knew he was in good shape, because it was always obvious, but you still shivered a little when you were greeted with chiseled muscles, dusty-blonde hair, a few stray freckles and scars, and last but not least, the gauze wrapping on his arm where you’d patched him up before. It was nice to see a piece of your handiwork on something so flawless, like how it must feel to design the frame that holds a Monet. Your mouth was even watering as you followed the trail of hair down to where it was interrupted by his jeans, which were misshapen with the unmistakable outline of his neglected cock. Either you could actually hear it throbbing, or that was just your heartbeat in your ears as he made a show of undoing his buckle and fly slowly.
A breath caught in your throat as he slid the jeans down and kicked them off with his boots, his cock bouncing up against the bottom of his abs once he’d freed it. You hoped to hide your intimidation, but you must have failed from the way he smirked and licked his lips as he stepped forward and pressed it against your stomach; you felt a little dizzy seeing the head of it reach past your bellybutton. "That's how deep I'm gonna be in you, baby."
For all his delicacy and tenderness in everything before now, he must have had a change of heart; with a little growl, he pushed all the way into you with one brutal thrust, watching darkly as your head fell back in a choked scream. He didn’t stop for very long, either, setting up a pace that was slow but unyielding, his length filling every part of you and then some with each slam of his hips into yours.
He grabbed your hair tightly and suddenly, pulling your head back to expose your neck to him. He licked and sucked along your pulse until you were shaking against him, nails accidentally digging into his shoulders a little bit as you held onto him.
His lips trailed up to pull you into a frenzied, sloppy kiss, your mouth slack wide for him to explore however he wanted.
"Tell me how it feels," he growled against your lips.
It feels like my body is on fire but I like it. It feels like you're shaping my insides to fit you exactly how you want. It feels like you might split me in half before you're done with me, but if you stop now I'll fall apart even worse.
His grip on your hair tightened at your lack of response. "Gettin' fucked too good to answer me, huh? So full of my cock you can't even speak. Is that right, pretty baby?"
You nodded as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your hoarse moans and sobs muffled by his skin.
"Aw, poor thing," he purred, wrapping his arms around your back. His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke to you in a deep mumble, the bass of his voice sending shivers down your spine with each word. "You don't have to tell me, I know how it feels… you're so wet that you're fucking dripping, your needy little pussy is clamping down on me like it's the end of the fucking world, and you're screaming for me so loud I bet half the ship can hear you. I know how it feels, baby; it feels so good that you're already about to come for me."
You gasped as he pushed you to lay back on the table, hoisting your legs up over his shoulders; you felt a bit whorish seeing your legs up in the air like that, especially when he leaned to the side to plant a wet kiss on your calf.
Soon he was letting your legs slip back down to his hips, leaning over you and caging you in with his thick arms, watching your face as he started to fuck you harder. His long hair was at risk of tickling you as it fell down beside your face, but it was that Star of David necklace that was dangling from his neck and swinging right in your face with every thrust. Slightly annoyed by it hitting your face from time to time, you stuck out your tongue to catch it, holding it between your teeth and finding that biting down on it helped you cope with the slight pain of him so deep inside you anyways.
"Baby," he moaned, inspired by the sight to grab your hips even tighter and slam into you even harder. "Fuck, I'm close," he hissed. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby, gonna ruin you for anybody else, huh?"
"Yes, Ari," you whimpered. "I'm close, too…"
"Go ahead, pretty girl, wanna feel how tight you get when you come— when I make you come."
Trying to hold it back only made it hit you harder, and as your moans grew louder and your body began to shake, you felt your walls flutter and flex intensely. He pulled his necklace out of your mouth and kissed you suddenly; it kept you grounded as you feared that the rest of you would float away, lost in pleasure so thoroughly that you'd never come back to reality. His moans mixed with yours as they moved between your tongues, and just when you thought you'd break into pieces if he didn't slow down, you felt his movements stutter and his cock pump inside you. You couldn't feel the warmth of it because you were already so hot all over, but the way his cock swelled as he came was unmistakable and overwhelmingly erotic.
He broke the kiss but didn't pull away, catching his breath while he stayed inside you, resting his forehead against yours.
After cooling off for a moment, he scooped your limp body into his arms and lifted you into his chest; you wrapped around him and let him carry you to the other side of the room where he set you down on the pallet sleeping bags and blankets. You whimpered as he pulled out, his softening cock still big enough to make you wince. The gush of warm, sticky come made your cheeks burn even if it also sent a dulled tingle of arousal up your spine. He was gentlemanly enough to wipe you off with a towel, mumbling something about how pretty you looked stuffed with his come, but you couldn't really focus on any of that because you were still waiting for sensation to return to your numbed extremities— brain included.
He turned his head and laid it on your chest, and you found yourself absent-mindedly scratching his scalp with your nails.
"That's nice," he whispered, but you could tell that already by the way his skin was erupting into goosebumps, and the way he held you tighter.
You must've laid like that for hours, or maybe it was just a few minutes, but it was one of those moments that felt like a piece of forever. He lifted his head to look up at you, pulling you down a bit so his face hovered over yours.
"What's next for you after you get these women to Greece?" he asked quietly.
You chewed your lip as you thought about that. "Back to DC, I figure, and then wherever they send me next. I hear they might want me undercover in Cuba or Russia…"
"How often do you end up in Jerusalem?"
You squirmed a little beneath him, but he slipped his arm under your neck and pulled you closer; how were you supposed to think with his bicep right by your face like that? "Uh, not often, but if I'm in town I'll give you a call—"
"Come with me," he requested softly. "Get to Cyprus, go to Greece, and then meet me in Tel Aviv."
"Ari, I can't—"
"Why not?"
You laughed a little, but he clearly wasn’t joking. "Because I have a job?"
"You won't need a job," he shrugged, "I make good money and you can just live with me."
Your throat went dry as you stammered, trying to figure out if he had seriously just asked you to quit your job and move in with him.
"You'll like Israel. You speak some Hebrew don't you?"
"Uhh, yeah but—"
"Then what's stopping you?"
You couldn't answer because you didn't even know where to start with all the things that were stopping you. Your mouth opened and closed silently like a fish out of water, and he laughed at you lightly.
"Just say yes," he encouraged gently, and your heart twisted as you wondered if this was part of the deal, if you needed to do everything he wanted to keep him on your side. You were on an Israeli ship, sailing international waters; if he changed his mind now, he could still sell you out and have these people arrested or worse. But he wouldn't do that, right?
Perhaps the more important question was not 'would he do that?' but rather 'are you willing to find out?'
"Yes," you heard yourself answer before you even realized you were considering it.
He grinned, hugging you tightly. He was already rambling about how great it was going to be and how he would spoil you all the time and maybe find a way to get you hired as a contractor at Mossad so he could bring you along on missions, but you couldn't hear it past the ringing in your ears. You desperately needed sleep, and his arms were warm and welcoming as you drifted off. He kissed your forehead before letting his eyes fall shut as well, joining you in unconsciousness.
The swaying of the ship was like being rocked to sleep, so much so that you slept for an uncharacteristically long time: you were just a few hours out from your destination when you awoke, in fact.
Instead of getting up and attempting to acquire some food, you laid there staring up at the ceiling as his heavy arm draped over your chest. Even in his sleep he had power over you, refused to let you go. You tried to remember how you'd ended up in this situation but instead you found yourself fantasizing about a chance at love. After running around the world for so long, there weren't many good men left to settle down with. And Ari was maybe not an entirely good man, but you believed him when he said he would treat you well. You'd shacked up with a lot worse in your time, when you were young and reckless and thought the worst thing you could be was alone. Still, a long-suppressed desire for companionship was awakening in your mind and you weren't going to swallow it back down this time. Smiling, you lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles. If what he wanted in exchange for his cooperation was your affection, you could do that.
#ari levinson x reader#dark!ari levinson x reader#ari levinson smut#chris evans x reader#ari levinson x you
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Personal post about trauma under the cut, extremely upsetting content, do not read if you had narcissistic parents and don't wanna get triggered, I am very sad and mad and it's hard to talk about this. TW child labor, child torture, brainwashing, death threats, narcissistic abuse.
*
I was a hardworking child, I was happy and excited to work, I wanted to be a part of everything that's being done. I noticed work warranted for people to get respect, food, praise, acceptance, and I wanted to work hard so I too would be a part of that. My family lived in a rural area, they kept animals, grew fields of crops, were always in some sort of construction work, so me always being eager to work was pretty much ideal for them, or you'd think that it was. You'd think that.
I was working eagerly and I realized, that unlike for adults, I don't get respect, praise, acceptance, or sometimes even food. It was for some reason denied to me only. And I was still happy to work because I chased that feeling of personal accomplishment, even if there was no rewards. And again, you'd think this is perfectly convenient and ideal to parents who wanted free labour and to give no recognition or praise in return. You'd think that.
But it wasn't enough for them. Father got this idea to take me out to work with him alone, away from home. I remember the place we went to, only as a place I need burned down to the ground before I could breathe again. It was a demolition-construction of a house, and I don't remember how many time I've been there. All I know is, after first few times, I no longer wanted to go. I begged not to go.
I am guessing my father could not bear the looks of me working happily, or even working silently. Me doing everything I was told was not fun enough for him– so he would give me false instructions. As an easy setup for punishment. I did exactly what I was told, and would get screamed at and beaten up. Then forced to keep working in tears, shaking, terrified, injured, while being further berated. And that was only the start.
Even as a child, I was diligent and responsible about doing work, and I know I was getting things done just fine, because, I was doing the sibling's share of chores too. If siblings were called to work, they would simply mess up on purpose so I would be told to repeat it after them, correctly. Sometimes siblings would have me do it and take the credit, which I didn't mind because working made me feel better about myself. It made me feel useful. My mind was already dissociated from my body to the point where I no longer felt exhaustion, pain, strain, or any physical effect work was having on me. I would get berated and shamed if I showed signs of being tired or strained. So my body disregarded it all.
And yeah, that wasn't enough either. I was still sometimes feeling okay. If I was allowed to work alone, and let my mind wonder, if nobody commented on it I knew it was okay.
So this is where they decided to take a step further and disallow me to feel okay at any point. I was humiliated while working to the point of tears. I'd be ridiculed in front of guests. I could no longer enjoy my own thoughts, but constant criticism, insults, accusations and humiliation was raining down on me at every step. And when I was done, with tremendous effort it took to endure this, I would be told 'It would have been better if you had done nothing.' So my insane effort to endure abuse to get things done, was rendered worthless in a second.
Father kept taking me away to work alone with him, and forced me to listen to his monologues, which I hated, because he was boring, wrong and self-obsessed, but I wasn't allowed to say that, or argue. My silent compliance was never enough. He had to hit me. He had to find something to berate me over. He kept inventing reasons. I would clean his entire garage and he'd move a steel closet I couldn't possibly move and berate me for not cleaning under it.
I had a log thrown into my head, causing a head injury, and I had to keep working. I fell and fractured my shoulder so badly I could barely walk; I was brought to a forest to drag logs around, too heavy for me to lift. I was sometimes orchestrated to get injured; father would start a trailer I was standing on the edge of, and forced me to fall by quickly moving forward just enough. I was still expected to work after that. He hit me with a blunt edge of an axe and berated me for standing there. I was told to 'not expect a lift to the hospital'. I was brought to work while starved, grieving, suicidal. I was lied to about where I was going and what would I be doing, and for how long. I was never allowed to stop working.
And the game of giving me wrong instructions and punishing me for doing it 'wrong' never stopped. I caught on and begged for correct instructions. I would ask to explain, how to do it, to show me, anything. 'HOW OLD are you not to know this? I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO TELL YOU! YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW!' And by his rage, I could tell that if I don't do it any way I knew how, I'd be punished instantly. I had no choice but to try – and of course fail, and feel horribly ashamed for 'deserving to get beat up'. Eventually my brain started shortcircuiting at the simplest tasks, I would mess up because I was in terror. I couldn't think.
At this point, I no longer wished to work for people who would inflict violence on me. And that is when I was quckly informed that if I didn't work, I would be killed. Not in those words. It was 'You have to work if you want to live!' followed by 'We can kick you out and you will starve on the street. Nobody will take you in. There is no place for you. Nobody wants someone like you. You don't deserve to eat if you don't work.' My choices were taken away. If I still refused, the result would be to beat me and force me to work injured, shaking and crying.
All this, for what? I would have been HAPPY to work. I would have been chasing my little daydreams and singing the pokemon tune, and if I was ever praised, I'd be the happiest kid on the block. I was a kid who liked to work. I wanted minimal fairness, minimal acknowledgment. To be a part of the family. Only that.
It just wouldn't do for the narcssistic father. Watching a child be broken, terrified and shaking, crying, ashamed, guilty, working past exhaustion, in injuries, was just too tempting for him to pass up. Even free labor wasn't worth to him as much as the pleasure of child torture. He needed that like it was a drug. What kind of a sick high did he experience, breaking a defenseless kid? What kind of pleasure did it entail, getting someone rid of their natural happiness to work? Was it fun, tearing me into pieces, over and over again? Does he remember it as a delicious, satisfying pleasure? Does he daydream about it? He knew it was wrong; he forced me to stop crying and hide the tears before we went home. 'Don't say anything to your mother.' I was told before being stuffed back in his car.
And now... I can't work. I can't even move sometimes. It was torn away from me. My ability to work was ripped away from my child body when I had no way to defend it or to grab it back and protect what is mine. I can't work anymore. It's terrifying. It terrifies me to not work. Because I was made aware working is the only thing keeping me alive, and capitalism confirms this, so I remain to forever fight with myself about how even if everyone says otherwise, I still deserve to live. Heartbroken, abandoned, with my basic human abilities stripped from me. It doesn't make me deserving to die.
I am so angry and sad. If I had my natural ability to work back, I'd be fine. I would be able to live safely. I wouldn't spiral into feeling like an unworthy member of society. I learned to survive very insecurely like this, but I hate every second of it. To know that instead of this insane uncertainty, anxiety, guilt for being bedridden, guilt for existing and not moving, I could have just found a job, have normal income? I can't bear it. I can't bear knowing this was wrenched away from me, because it was pleasurable to do so, because tearing me into pieces was a fun hobby for people who didn't care if what they were doing to me killed me. And I couldn't have done anything to stop it. And I'm like this now. Unable to take any more torture, unable to endure any more of being triggered, wondering if I would die from lack of resources, or would my body fail permanently in attempts to process all the exhaustion and pain I was dissociated from for my entire childhood.
How was this worth it. How it could have been worth it to anyone, destroying someone's ability to work, only because it's pleasurable. I felt the plan was to work me until I no longer could do it, then kill me. It's what they did to animals. And I was told I was more worthless than an animal. I was called lazy and a monstrous name I can't even translate, that implied I was burdening everyone with my existence.
It was even a bigger punch to my face to realize, after I escaped, that he was profiting from everything I did. That it would have taken money – way more than was ever spent on my survival, to get all that labor done. He was profitting while telling me I was worthless and don't deserve to eat or sleep in his house. He is now renting the place I was broken to help build. I was torn apart and he is still benefiting from it. And I have nothing. Not even a functional body to work with anymore.
I know I'm not the only person who was constantly left alone with narcissists as a child and had this, or worse, done to them. They don't care which pieces of children are left over by the time they're done getting their high. We're only a thing to consume, not living beings, not people, not someone whose life matters. Our pain is food to them. My father readily became a predator who snached his own kid away for torture sessions, and felt proud and fulfilled to turn his own child into a creature who cannot work anymore to survive.
Don't leave children alone with narcissists. I am trying so hard to get better, but facing reality, is this a thing a person gets better from? It's not a bodily harm of once or twice, this was happening for the most majority of my lifetime. It makes sense I cannot move. It makes sense I'm terrified to be triggered into this. It makes sense I can barely bear the reality of it. A person tortured hundreds of times wont just get up and walk away. I can't either. I have to lie here and hope that one day it will get better.
If you read thru all this, and you relate to the parts of this story, know that I am so sorry for what you were put thru. It's devastating and horrenous. If this is how you grew up, it would have been better not to have a family. We all should have been protected from this.
#trauma#personal#i never told anyone about this#don't have the courage#i can only type it online#tw child abuse#tw physical violence#abusive parents#narcissistic abuse#child labor
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Hey, my 🤏🇮🇪👻,
I am very much not feeling well today. Its almost like flu but less severe though my body feel like its been by an artic 🥺
Canoo do my 🤏🐭🤠 looking after a reader who feels so awful, they're wrapped up in bed, but insisting to the camp chores
🤏🐭🤠 that she fj e.
Word Count: ~1,580
~No smut unfortunately :( just some angst and floof~
You first felt awful in the early morning. Your head felt heavy, you couldn't concentrate on anything and you got that strange shiver up your spine. It was like you had a dark cloud that followed you wherever you went in camp.
Your energy had dwindled significantly before you even had your morning coffee. As you trudged around to start your daily chores, you couldn't help but feel like you were dragging around some kind of invisible ball and chain.
Having the day off seemed like a nice idea but you knew that would end up doing more harm than good. If you didn't do your chores then Tilly or Mary-Beth would have to do the extra work which would make their day worse.
You settled on the best option being to continue with your day as normal as possible. You saw the likes of Arthur and Lenny give you slightly concerned looks as you carried some hay over to the horses, using a lot more effort than you usually did. But it was Micah who was the first to comment on your sick demeanour.
"Darlin" he drawled, coming up behind you as you finally dropped the hay. Once Micah got a good look at you, he furrowed his brow. "Ya look like death" he pointed out. "Thanks for the reminder" you scoffed, turning on your heels and walking away.
You and Micah had been friends for a long time. When you first met him, you could barely stand to be around him but slowly (kinda like a fungus) he began to grow on you. There was no doubt in your mind that Micah was always going to be tough to get along with but somehow, ye made it work.
"You ain't sick, are ya?" Micah asked, jogging a little to catch up with you. "No I'm not sick, I'm fine" you huffed, feeling another chill crawl up the back of your neck.
Micah stayed quiet for a moment. You didn't look at him so you missed how Micah questionably raised his eyebrow when you said that. He waited a few seconds before commenting "Ya don't look fine".
"Does it really matter if I'm fine or not?" you snapped, your voice harsher than you expected "Just leave me get back to work, go annoy someone else".
Micah slowed his pace and let you continue on alone, knowing it's best not to push you when you're like this.
Surprisingly, Micah didn't want to argue with you. Micah had yet to figure out why, but for some reason he didn't want you to dislike him. Maybe it was because you were the only gang member that actually put in the effort to befriend him.
Whenever Micah thought too much about it, he got this fluttering feeling in his chest so he quickly dismissed his thoughts.
---
The next time Micah saw you was just after noon. Thankfully, you were no longer hauling hay around but you were helping Pearson prepare the stew.
Micah knew he wasn't the most hygienic person but he wasn't too sure if it was a great idea to have you near food. Sighing to himself, he strolled over to you and leaned against the table.
You saw him walking over but decided to ignore him. You were in no mood to deal with him. Micah stayed quiet for a few seconds, watching as you chopped up a potato. You tried to ignore him, scrunching up your nose a little as you focused on your work.
"Try not to get any snot on the veg" Micah observed. Your grip on the knife tightened but you were determined to ignore him.
You've seen Micah pick at people and make comments in the hopes of getting a rise out of them. From seeing these previous interactions, you came to the conclusion that ignoring Micah would be the best way to get him to leave.
Micah wouldn't admit how annoying it was that you didn't reply but he had another plan in mind. "Pearson" he called out, waving his hand and practically ordering the man over. Glancing over to Micah, you gave him a confused look as Pearson made his way over.
"Now I ain't no chef," Micah raised his hands slightly "but I don't think having someone that's sick handling the food is a good idea".
Pearson's eyes went wide as he looked from Micah to you. "Y-you're sick?" he asked, his tone frantic "I'm trying to run a real kitchen here and you're sick?".
"I'm not sick!" you protested "I'm just tired".
Pearson dragged his hand down his face as he muttered "Oh my god, you're sick".
Huffing, Pearson shooed you away from the food "Go on, get away from here and go relax for a while". You reluctantly moved away from the food, making sure to give Micah a death stare as you did.
You marched off but before you could get far, you saw Micah near you again. "Oh just go away, Micah" you scowled "have you not ruined enough for me?".
"You're sick, doll" he repeated again, hoping that maybe this time you'd accept it.
"No I'm not," you denied "the only thing I'm sick of is you and you're... you...". That cloudy feeling in your head tightened and you suddenly lost your train of thought. You closed your eyes to try and regain your focus but instead you swayed, your feet stumbling slightly.
"Woah there" Micah put his hands on your back and by your ribs to steady you.
You wanted to push him away, tell him that you were fine but deep down you knew that you weren’t. A wave of tiredness washed over you and you leaned into Micah. Every part of you was either fragile or aching. "You think you can walk to my tent?" Micah asked "I think you oughta lie down for a while".
You attempted to answer him but all you could do was groan and nod your head. Micah held on to you as ye both shuffled over to his tent together. You continued to lean against him, your eyes closed as the hot southern sun glared down on you.
"Here," he muttered, taking off his white hat and hastily plonking it on your head "don't want you getting heat stroke too".
When you got to the tent, Micah guided you down to his bed before closing the flaps of the tent. Being out of the sun made you feel a little better, though your body continued to ache whenever you moved. “How the hell did you get a tent?” you mumbled, glancing around with tired eyes.
Micah chuckled, out of all the questions you could’ve asked, he didn’t expect that one. “Cause I’m a hard worker” he replied as if the answer was that obvious. You scoffed but even that seemed to make your head feel worse.
You scrunched up your face, trying your best to tolerate the pain. “You think it’s some kinda virus?” Micah questioned, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Could be the flu,” you groaned “or else I’ve overworked myself lately and this is my body’s way of thanking me”.
“Relax here for a while, take a nap and don’t get sick in my tent” he ordered “and stop pushing yourself, I got a robbery coming up that I’m already stressed about so I don’t need to be worrying about you too”. That last part wasn’t suppose to come out.
Micah tried to stop himself saying it but he only realised he said it afterwards. That funny feeling in his chest returned as his eyes scanned your face for your reaction.
“Awh and there I was thinking the infamous Micah Bell didn’t care about anyone but himself” you giggled, easing the sudden dread he felt. He felt strangely thankful that you decided to giggle about it instead of looking at him in disgust. Micah always liked your laugh too so it was nice to hear it... but he’d never tell you that.
“Shut it,” he feigned annoyance, taking his hat from your hat and placing it down lower on your face to cover your eyes “now get some sleep”.
Micah stood as you joked “Aren’t you going to tuck me in?”.
“Don’t push your luck” he huffed. Micah glanced behind his shoulder as he walked to the entrance of his tent, watching as you snuggled into his pillow. Usually he gets frustrated with himself whenever he realises you’re making him smile but this time he decided to let it slide.
Just before Micah could step out of the tent, you gently called to him “Micah?”. He stopped, turning back to look at you. “Thank you for taking care of me” you peeked out from his hat, a shy smile on your face.
Damn you and your kindness. There was that fluttery feeling in his chest yet again. It took Micah a few seconds to reply. He was too busy trying to control the warm sensation in his cheeks to think of a quick witted response. Clearing his throat, Micah looked down at the ground “Sure, you’re welcome”.
As you drifted off to sleep in his bed, Micah sat by the campfire. He made sure to have a clear view of his tent in case you got up or needed any help before he let out a long sigh.
Micah knew it was time he sorted through all of these feelings you gave him. He had ignored them for too long and now it was finally time to confront that fluttery feeling in his chest.
#right so I have not read over this as much as I usually do#so if there’s parts that don’t flow or make no sense I’ll give you some garlic bread to make up for it#this was so fun to write tho omg#it’s been so long since I’ve written a proper fic with Micah ;-;#so thank u <3#also I fucking hope those emojis meant Micah lol#also idk what the last part means so apologies if I didn’t include anything related to it#micah bell x reader#micah bell#writings
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Requested by anon - Hear me out. What about a fic where the reader is related to one of the sons (maybe chibs or tig?) And they broke up with her long-term boyfriend and had to move into a clubhouse dorm but since hapoy recently patched over , they spend alot of time together and things happen between them(if you get what i mean😏) and eventually she sleeps in his dorm almost evey night but they keep is secret from the others because they dont know how to approach the situation then one day one of the sons burst into his dorm and are like "hap something happend we need you to- OH COME ON REALLY?". Then they have to explain to the sons shes related to how long its been going on? You can choose how it ends.
A/N - I tweaked the story a little bit, I felt like I would have to write 10k words just to include everything. I hope you still like it nonetheless!
If you want added / removed from my taglist let me know 😊
The thought of having to explain again that you and your ex had broken up had your stomach churning. This was the only one of your boyfriends that Chibs had liked, and you thought it'd be the relationship that you'd have for the rest of your life. Oh how naive you were. 3 years you wasted, thinking that he loved you, that he wanted you, but it turned out that he was doing a pretty good job of faking it all.
As you pulled up to Teller Morrow you gave yourself a quick once over in the rear view mirror. You ran out of tears 4 weeks ago, but you hadn't slept much since the break up 2 months ago, and your eyes were proving that. Your boss was also your best friend, so when you told her you needed time off, she told you to take as long as you needed, and she even suggested you come to Charming for some 'healing' is what she called it. She told you that visiting Chibs - who you called 'Uncle Chibsy' ever since he rescued you and your car 6 or so years ago - would be good for you, and that night you had headed off to Charming and here you were.
Grabbing your suitcase, you locked your car and headed for the doors of the clubhouse. Before you could even reach them you were stopped by a Scottish accent you were oh so familiar with. "Y/N?" Chibs shouted from across the yard. "Is that you?" You turned around and he smiled, holding his arms out for you. You dropped the suitcase -not caring if anything in it broke- and sprinted towards him, jumping into his arms and nearly making him fall backwards.
"Surprise!" You smiled back kissing his cheek as he spun you around. "I've missed you Uncle" you admitted as he finally put you down again, lazily draping an arm around your shoulder.
"What's brought ye here?" He asked, picking your case up for you and holding the door open, as he always did. Chibs led you to a table, grabbed you a beer and plopped himself down beside you.
You had no intention of hiding the breakup from him, you just didn't want to keep talking about it. You had told most people back home over the course of the last few weeks and having to repeat it just made you tired. But you knew better than to keep anything from Chibs. "Dale and I broke up" you shrugged, picking at the label on the bottle. "It is what it is"
Chibs looked at you, raising his eyebrow and giving you the look. The look that had your walls crumbling, leaving your insecurities on show for him. He was always good at that, knowing when you were hiding something, knowing when you wanted to say something but couldn't. "He told me he didn't love me, that he never did, and never will" you sighed wiping some stray tears away. "3 years" you laughed bitterly, "I'm an idiot".
"Hey love, you're not an idiot" Chibs said, pulling you so you were now flush against his side. He placed his arm on your shoulder, using his thumb to draw circles on it - a gesture he knew calmed you down. "He's the idiot, and he will be a headless idiot when we are done with him" he said causing you to laugh out loud. The sound made Chibs smile.
Just then some of the other men came bouncing through the door. You recognized them all from when you had visited Chibs over the years. Juice came through first, followed by Tig and Jax, and then your eyes landed on Happy's. "Hey guys" you said greeting them with a small smile and wave. The men nodded at you and smiled back, but they were too busy grabbing beers and lighting cigarettes to come and speak to you, except Happy who was hovering halfway between you and Chibs and the bar. You pointed to the empty seat at the other side of the table and Happy silently padded over, accepting your invitation. You pushed your beer over to him, inviting him to take a drink, which he did so, before wiping the rim and giving it back to you with a small smile.
"How you been?" Happy asked, genuinely curious. "How's Dale?" The name fell from his lips like venom from a snake.
"She was just telling me about that asshole" Chibs piped up. "The twat broke up with her" you could have sworn you saw a slight smile grace Happy's face, but you couldn't be sure. "I was just telling Y/N about how we were going to find him and cho-"
"Chop his balls off?" Happy finished, glancing at you briefly before looking at the Scotsman.
"I was gonna say head, but balls work too brother" Chibs answered giving Happy a high five, making you laugh and shake your head at the action.
Dale was soon forgotten as Chibs, Happy and you spent the night laughing, drinking and telling each other stories, which ended up being more embarrassing for you than the other two.
"I'm going to bed now I think guys" You announced. You had no idea what time it was but a quick glance at your phone told you it was 230am. Time goes fast when you're having fun, and that saying was true for tonight. It was the most fun you had in ages. Chibs stood up to let you out and you bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek, doing the same to Happy too. He already had his cheek waiting for you, you noticed.
Grabbing your case you headed for Chibs' dorm. The room you always crashed in when you came to visit. Chibs didn't mind sleeping on one of the benches in the clubhouse, or sometimes he even crashed in Tig or Juice's room. You quickly changed the sheets, brushed your teeth and then put one of Chibs t-shirts on. You slipped under the covers and sleep welcomed you quickly, which was the first time in 2 months that had happened.
You had now been in Charming for 2 weeks, and every day was a different day. You started helping out Gemma a bit in the office and you helped to tend the bar. It was the least you could do since they were letting you stay there. You and Happy had developed a strong bond over the last few weeks. After your first night, every night after that was spent with Happy. You guys played pool, drank beer, listened to music and one night Happy even had a go on the karaoke after you begging him constantly. You found yourself intrigued by the man nicknamed The Tacoma Killer by his brothers.
You hadn't thought or spoken about Dale since the first night you got here. Your thoughts were slowly being taken over by Happy, and you were surprised by how quickly feelings had developed for him. You didn't expect to have feelings for someone so quickly after your last relationship, but you welcomed the feeling. And you knew that Happy felt something for you too. You noticed how he always went out of his way to bump into you, he always asked how you were, he made sure you had everything you needed and he also made you a cup of tea every morning and left it outside Chibs' door. In the 3 years you were with Dale, not once did he make you a cup of tea.
"Need anything love?" Chibs asked you as you dried the glasses and placed them on the rack behind the bar. You looked up and noticed he had a crow eater on his arm, and you knew his intentions.
You shook your head. "No, I'm fine thanks" you smiled. "Take your room tonight, give me 2 minutes and I'll change the sheets". Before Chibs could protest you had already left and changed the sheets, returning in a few minutes with your bag.
"Where will you sleep?" He asked.
"She'll sleep in my room" Happy said, suddenly appearing behind you, making you jump. "I'll sleep on the floor" he added before Chibs could shut the idea down.
Chibs looked at you and you nodded shyly, agreeing to the proposition. "Night love" he said leading his companion for the night to his dorm.
"Thanks Hap" you turned around and noticed how close Happy was to you. "You didn't have to do that" you smiled.
"Well I did" he said matter of factly. "You ready for bed now?" You nodded, placing the tea towel on the bar and wiping your sweaty hands on your jeans.
"Lead the way" you murmured, getting slightly nervous. You followed Happy and he showed you where everything was. He pulled out a t-shirt and handed it to you, pointing to his bathroom so you could get changed. The t-shirt covered your thighs and ended at your shins, so you decided not to wear any trousers underneath. As you excited the bathroom, Happy was just finishing up making the bed. He pointed for you, telling you to get in and you did what you were told.
He was mesmerising. A man who hardly said anything, yet the way he moved had you in awe. He took his kutte off and placed it over the end of the bed, leaving him in his vest and jeans. He took the jeans off too, not caring that you were clearly staring at him.
Happy grabbed a sleeping bag out of the wardrobe and went to make his bed on the floor but you stopped him.
"This is silly" you admitted "the bed is big enough for both of us, don't you think?" You had no idea where the sudden confidence came from, and you even caught Happy off guard with it too.
He blinked a few times, looking at you like you had suddenly grown three heads. "Yeah?" was all he could muster, and you nodded encouragingly, patting the space beside you for good measure.
Happy's movements were slow. He maintained eye contact with you, looking for a trace if regret or hesitation but you didn't give him any. Instead, you curled up under the covers and waited for his warmth. A few seconds later he joined you in bed, switching the lamp off and you were both engulfed in darkness. Neither of you said anything, scared of breaking the silence.
"Goodnight Y/N" Happy whispered eventually.
"Goodnight Hap" you replied contentedly.
You were woken by some banging on the door that didn't seem to stop, even after you put a pillow over your head.
"Happy? Happy? HAAAAAAAPY!" you recognized the voice as Chibs and he sounded like he was in a hurry or needed something urgently.
You turned around and saw Happy was dead to the world. He looked peaceful but you knew if you didn't wake him up that Chibs was about to burst the door down. You poked him once on the chest but he didn't move. You poked him on the chest again, a bit harder this time but again it was no use. You then turned your poking into nudging and soon you had managed to wake him up. "If you don't let Chibs in he is about to break your door down" you laughed pointing to the door.
Happy huffed and clambered out of the bed. He unlocked the door and yanked it open, coming face to face with Chibs.
"Finally!" He threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly. "What took ye so long?"
Happy shrugged. "Y/N had to wake me up".
"Ye don't look like a man who slept on a hard floor all night" Chibs pointed out.
"That's because he didn't" you said. Chibs poked his head around the corner and raised his eyebrows. "What?" You innocently shrugged "the bed is big enough for 2 of us".
Chibs held his hands up, not saying anything else. "We can continue this discussion later" he said aiming that comment at you. "Jax needs us" he said to Happy.
Happy nodded and shut the door, grabbing some clothes from his drawers and putting them on quickly. "Sorry" he mumbled "duty calls".
"Don't worry about it. I'll be waiting for you to get back" this time Happy kissed your cheek and you welcomed the feeling of his lips against your skin.
"I'll look forward to it" he smiled, and walked out, but not before giving you one last smile.
@rebelwrites @everyhowlmarksthedead @mayans-sauce @yourwonkywriter @pancakeisreading @mrsmarvelous1995 @encounterthepast @starrynite7114 @trulysuccubus @shelliechen @frightfulnite @scuzmunkie @blessedboo @jadesamhart @fangirlingaesthetics @i-love-scott-mccall @deeandbobbymcgee @gemini0410 @thisishowdynastiesareborn @meteora-fc @withmyteeth @est1887 @justjuiceyboy @destynelseclipsa @rocketqueen @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @queenbeered @lauraashley93 @talicat713 @jasminee97 @multiyfandomgirl40 @sadeyesgf @anangelwhodidntfall
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hi F! Please do an analysis on Lauren’s new song While I’m Alive! She said on her instagram that it was directed to “someone” at first 👀👀
Hi to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 and for sure. No problem, in fact, I'm sorry for the delay 😅
So. While I'm Alive is part of the Femme it Forward's all-female album called Big Femme Energy, Vol. 1. Laur wrote it long before she was part of this project, and yes, she said she wrote it with a person in mind by turning a vent into art because tired of the way she was/is treated:
This person, in my opinion, is 100% a shark. And this also responds to another ask I've recently received:
Hey to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 Yep, Laur wrote it for someone among the higher ups and therefore it concerns her career in particular, but she also applies it to other situations in her life in general.
Now let's move on to the interpretation.
Verse 1:
“Don't say I'm too loud when I cry out what I've held inside
I wanna know why they tried to take me and bury me alive”
The music industry is dominated by men. Gender inequality, sexism, and ageism reign supreme. No matter how much harder they have to work in order to succeed, women are anyway either sidelined, or supervised by men. Why? Because there’s a huge disparity between men and women, especially due to the way the public perceives their success and power. For example.
A man is praised for performing on stage with just the guitar. A woman who does the same, however, not only is she criticized for being too lazy and boring for not having made the performance more lively with a choreography, but she’s also criticized for what she was wearing. Same woman who gets criticized when she instead performs with a choreography because she wasn’t good enough. A woman who can’t be a drummer because it’s a thing for men, and if she persists in wanting to play, it’s not because it’s her passion and she’s pursuing her dream, no; it’s because she wants attention 🙄. A woman who can’t have a good idea about a song because, what can she understand about music, right? 😒
Unfortunately, it’s all a double standard. Women work harder than men and they then get questioned whether their success is deserved. One way or another, women are constantly being torn apart. Reason why Laur begins the verse by already letting us understand how put down she is by the sharks, followed by a question that actually doesn’t represent a real request for information, but that implies a predetermined answer.
“'Cause who am I to think that I have a right?
Or decide to know what I need, right?”
She's sarcastic of course. Since they've always told her what to do, how to act, and how to feel, here she's including a couple of examples among the thousand and more things they always have said and say to her. Because who better than her knows what's best for her? The answer is her. Especially when these orders, because they're orders, are imposed on her to make money with her career and not for her sake or because they care about her as a person.
“It's in the way, I talk and I walk away
From what you made me”
By ‘what you made me’, she refers to the way she was before. The person who was forced to accept everything she was told to do and therefore she couldn’t be herself. The person they made her become, and she didn’t like that person. Now she no longer wants to ‘submit herself’ and accept everything just for money and fame as she did in the past because she was legally obliged and not to do so. She did it many times especially when she was still in the group, but unlike in the past, she luckily no longer has the same kind of obligations. So if she doesn’t want to do something now, she simply doesn’t. She says no to what she doesn’t accept and walks away from that (I talk and I walk away) by not caring if she doesn’t have the same success as before because she prefers not to have that kind of success anymore but to remain herself, rather than have it and be just a product (what you made me); a different person from who she really is.
Verse 2:
“And I know this is all too familiar
Feel the motive behind all that fake love”
In Olivia Rodrigo’s voice 🎤: 🎵 Did you get deja vu, Laur? 🎶 No, but all joking aside. By ‘I know this is all too familiar’, she means what she has already experienced in the past and which she has once again found herself in front of. Once out of both Epic/Syco and Maverick, she believed she would’ve be dealing with better people, but it wasn’t like that. She realized that those kinds of people are everywhere because it’s the music industry that’s like that. The problem isn’t the single label or the single management team, it’s the entire industry. The problem isn’t the surrounding, but the people who are in it. Not all of them luckily, but most of them unfortunately.
By ‘Feel the motive behind all that fake love’, on the other hand, she describes precisely that kind of people. The fake ones who first treat you well because they want something from you, and then show themselves for who they really are when they don’t get it and try to hinder you, punish you, destroy you, and ‘bury me alive’ (verse 1) because of it.
So. Although I said it playfully at first, these two sentences go perfectly well together to describe the sense of deja vu that Laur felt.
*Small note* In the next three sentences of the verse, I will use these ‘---’ to complete her sentences as if I were Lauren to give you my interpretation. I’ll then continue as I always have. Oh and, she’s talking about her music here.
“I can’t take all these unsolicited opinions --- Nope, not anymore. I don't want them. Thanks, but no thanks.
Go ahead and be the scared ones --- with someone else who’s ready to tell you yes to everything and who doesn’t have a vision on how they want their own songs. Someone else who has no problem being a marketable product/puppet.
Either way, I’ll get it done” --- with other producers, songwriters, collaborators, etc., of my choice.
“I’ve been told I’m too much
Too proud, too cruel
Too wild, difficult to be around”
Let’s also add too confident, too sincere, and too honest from the people who mocked her at school before she became famous, shall we? Or maybe too fat, too arrogant, too full of herself, too whore, and all the other things said by the haters over the years? 😒😒😒🙄🙄🙄
I was being sarcastic of course, guys. I mean, can our girl ever have a break?
“With too much to say
Never in the right way
So, what’s the right way?”
Rhetorical question here because the right way is exactly the way she is. She has no intention of behaving in the ‘right way’ they want because it would mean not being authentic and automatically it would no longer be the right way because she would be fake.
Chorus:
“If I can’t be me
Who do you want me to be? (Who do you want me to be?)”
I love, love, love, love this. For real. It’s so powerful. And it doesn’t surprise me that this part along with the rest of the chorus is repeated four times, because it’s the most important part and it encloses the whole song perfectly.
“‘Cause if you can’t see beyond your gaze”
Behind their ideas to be the perfect product without looking at the person and their feelings.
“You don’t phase me and I don’t trust you anyway
‘Cause runnin’ through life, I figured out time
Don’t wait for no one”
After all these years and precisely because of what she’s been through, she realized she can’t wait for them to see it the same way she does or for someone to ‘save her’. She prefers to ‘save herself’. Therefore, she will continue to be wary, not to trust, and above all, to remain authentic as she says here:
“So while I’m alive, I’ma just be me (I’ma just be me)
Whoever that ends up being”
And that's it, dear Anon 😉 This song is dedicated to one particular asshole who gave her the idea, but mostly, it's dedicated to all those assholes who tried to tell her what kind of music she should have made, how she should have behaved, and how she should have felt. She decides for her, and she doesn’t care if she doesn’t have the same success anymore. Just like she doesn’t care about all the rest like the expectations and superficial perceptions they have of her that are completely wrong.
I hope you enjoyed it, and I wish both of you Anons and everyone else reading this, a beautiful day ❤🥰🤗
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