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strawberrysoup · 4 years

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Down with the Ship || Chapter 1

You never could’ve expected a celebration to go so, so wrong. The land was foreign, too warm compared to the Cold Lands, and filled with horrible people. Horrible people that planned to sell you to the highest bidder — who, as you’d come to learn, was the ruler of the stupid seaside city. She was a beautiful empress, the high priestess and war general her consorts and evidently, your new masters. Human beings shouldn’t be given as gifts, much less called ‘pets’, and you found the ship that was your life sinking so much faster than you ever could’ve expected.

rating: M | 18+ chapters: at least 7, not sure chapter: 1/? relationship: dark!carol danvers x dark!natasha romanoff x dark!valkyrie x reader warnings: noncon&dubdon, pet play, degradation&humiliation, kidnapping, slavery, detailed warnings to be included per chapter; read more and CTRL+F to search ‘content warnings’ to skip to the more detailed tags at the bottom of the chapter.

note: hey guys, this story was inspired by @scarlettwlw who helped me come up with the idea! if you enjoy this story, please consider donating to my ko-fi or buying me a birthday present from my wishlist!

The night sky through the bars of your cage was beautiful, bright stars and a glowing moon casting a vibrant glow over the plaza, a gaudy waste if you’d ever seen one. There were stones laid in the ground to aid the turn of wheels, as if the dips and grooves didn’t cause wagons to stutter and bounce hopelessly. At least dirt roads could be cared for with regular maintenance to prevent damage, like the welts crisscrossing your entire back side down to the soles of your feet where the bars of the cage had dug more and more painfully into your flesh the longer you were forced to rest your weight on them.

It might’ve been the cage’s fault you hated the stone road—the bumps made it impossible for your bare feet to find purchase on the bars and you fell, constantly, if you tried to stand while the horses hauled you and two others earlier in the day. One memorable event had seen to your feet slipping through the bars, your left leg bashing against a rock so hard you felt something crack. Screaming had been a mistake though. The man steering the horses had nearly caved your face in for causing damages. The damages that could’ve been prevented with carefully pressed dirt roads. You never would’ve caused damages if you hadn’t been in the stupid fucking cage to begin with.

You couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. Your village had been celebrating the winter solstice beneath the auroras. It marked your 18th winter, in fact, which meant you’d been drinking vodka like water most of the day. There was music and dancing and the food had smelled wonderful, but then the scent of smoke had grown more intrusive than the bonfire should’ve caused.

The screaming came after that. There had been blood and fire and so much screaming but you could barely remember what happened—your head still pounded with the after effects of the alcohol and extreme dehydration, but you had no idea how long it had been since that night. You’d been attacked and woke up in the bowels of a ship, vomiting profusely from both the vodka and the blow to the head you’d taken. The fucking cage had come an indeterminate amount of time later, when the boat finally docked.

It wasn’t nearly as cold as it should’ve been. There was no snow and the brisk night air made you shiver but certainly wasn’t unbearable like it would’ve been at home. Your clothes and the furs you’d cherished most of your life had been taken from you, the black pelt your father gifted you in your 13th winter devastatingly gone leaving you naked in the cage. The weather reinforced how far from home you were, the unrecognizable language further emphasizing the distance—you we’re good with different dialects, you made a point of being able to speak to those who lived outside your village, but you’d never heard a language like the ones the slavers spoke.

That’s what they were, of course. Aside from kidnapping and beating you they had treated you like furniture (and not even a precious piece at that). Not once had they spoken to you, with the exception of the one who’d screamed at you while decimating your face with his fists. The other prisoners had been spared similar fates thanks to the fact their cages had wooden slats across the bottom to provide stability—well, except the woman. She’d screamed at the slaver beating you until he’d deviated his attention to her, leaving you bleeding on the ground while yanking her from her cage. Luckily he'd expended most of his energy nearly killing you and didn’t spend much time on her, mostly just screaming and pulling her long black hair.

You didn’t know her name or where they’d stolen her from, but you’d carefully waved a small thank you to her once you were both returned to your cages. The look on her face betrayed how badly the man hurt you and she’d reached through the bars towards you with tears in her big, dark eyes. Now she was asleep in her cage, leaning against the bars closest to you while you held her hand. She’d attempted to give you some of the slats from the bottom of her cage but you’d refused—she was older than you by at least forty years and you worried; you were young and fully able-bodied, you would be sold regardless of your physical state. You didn’t know what would happen to her if the bars caused even half the damage they’d caused you, she already moved so stiffly. You couldn’t say for sure, but you assumed the life of an unmarketable slave was short.

The other prisoner was a man, several years older than yourself. He’d kept quiet through the entire journey, a blank look in his eyes. You wondered how long he'd been under the thumb of the slavers, to be so dejected and nigh on soulless. You hadn’t so much as made eye contact with him, even as you both sat awake through the night. The stars shifted above you, the moon taking its path across the sky until the sun began to rise behind you. Hours passed like days, stretching infinitely until people began shuffling around the plaza. The slavers you recognized returned, yawning and speaking in soft voices to each other. They barely paid the three of you any attention until the sun was fully up—then they went to the man’s cage.

He complied with whatever they were saying, dutifully and with his eyes cast down. They dumped a bucket of water over his head and threw handfuls of dense white powder all over him, the grains sticking to his wet skin. He wasn’t given clothes, much to your disdain considering it meant you’d also not be given clothing, but they wrapped some sort of belt around his waist before shackling his hands to it. The other woman was next, also doused with water and powder and shackled. Instead of shuffling her immediately back into the cage like they had the man, dark paint was smeared over her tan shoulders and they forced her to the ground outside of the cage before attaching her belt to the bars.

The slavers walked towards your cage with irritated expressions, the younger man gesturing angrily about your person while they conversed. The damage to your body, you leg and face especially, was evidently extensive. Everything hurt, but your leg was the worst. You assumed something was broken, at the very least deeply, deeply bruised and you could barely rest any weight on it—not that you’d tried in hours.

When the cage door was yanked open you tried not to startle, but a cry escaped your lips when the younger man dug a hand into your hair and yanked you out onto the stone ground of the plaza. Your ankle radiated pain up towards your shin and you collapsed, forced to crawl forward when he didn’t stop pulling on your hair.

They were still muttering angrily when frigid water spilled over you, leaving you shivering on the stone. Another bucket followed and you found yourself being tossed around while they thoroughly drenched your skin. The powder caked onto your flesh like a layer of clay, itchy and tight as it quickly began to dry. It had a strong odor you didn’t recognize, overwhelming and unpleasant and you found yourself sputtering and spitting where a small amount had gotten past your lips.

A yelp escaped you when a hand immediately gripped your hair again, shaking you roughly and shouting. It stopped when the older slaver yelled at the younger one, slapping him away and gesturing at you angrily. They continued to argue while you laid on the ground, feeling like your lungs wouldn’t inflate. The woman shackled to her cage behind you shouted angrily at the pair, beckoning you towards her urgently.

Your body didn’t hesitate even when your head did, crawling slowly across the stone. She grabbed you the second you were within reach, tugging you into her chest and shuffling to the side to try and block you from their sight. Her shackles rattled quietly, one hand running gently through your hair while the other gently roamed over the welts across your back. You could hear her speaking, another dialect you didn’t recognize, quietly with her lips almost pressed to the top of your head.

It sounded like a prayer and you wondered if the goosebumps that ran across your skin was a result of being touched gently for the first time in so long or if whoever she invoked was now watching you. There was no telling how her Gods worked, maybe they were willing to look over someone who didn’t worship them. The Gods of your village were rarely so kind, especially in the absence of a sacrifice.

It was easy to tell when the slaver's attention returned to you; she immediately began spitting what you were very, very sure was a curse. The slavers hesitated, evidently able to understand what she was saying—or at least what she was implying with her furious words. It didn’t stop the younger man for long, he stomped over and grabbed a fist full of your hair once again and used it to throw you several feet away. The woman continued to spit a furious string of words, to which the slaver seemed to grow increasingly angry about. He turned towards her, arm raising swiftly.

“Don’t you touch her!” Your voice was hoarse, you’d barely spoken since being kidnapped but the man’s head snapped in your direction immediately. “I’m right here you son of a bitch, me! Don’t touch her, beat me, asshole!”

They didn’t understand your language, you’d learned that early on when they mocked your words with gibberish, but he certainly understood your tone if the vibrant red of his cheeks was anything to go by. His hand fell to the whip rolled up at his waist while he stomped towards you, lips curled in a snarl as he let the end fall to the ground with a startling crack. A wash of fear went down your back; you’d never been whipped in your life. You had a particularly high pain tolerance, but what was a broken arm to a whipping?

The other woman was shouting at him again and you steeled yourself—you’d either live or you wouldn’t, but you could at least keep his disgusting hands off of her until she could be sold. She looked as kind as she acted, beautiful and sharp, and next to the slavers her skin tone and eyes were exotic. Someone would purchase her to clean or cook, as long as she was able bodied. Even if your wounds were left to fester until you passed from fever, you would survive the initial whipping and still be fit for the auction block almost immediately. She didn’t have that luxury.

Your eyes widened when he raised his arm and you scrambled to cover your head, tucking your chin against your sternum and drawing your knees in; you desperately wanted to avoid learning what sort of pain a lash to the face would illicit while he seemed so keen on teaching you. She was still screaming and the older slaver was yelling and the crack of the whip was potentially the loudest thing you’d ever heard.

When it landed a line of fire erupted on your skin, stretching from that first point of contact on the crest of your shoulder down to your hip. If you hadn’t moved that line would’ve been in the dead center of your face and with the force used, bleeding profusely. The only reason you didn’t scream was because you bit down on your lip so hard you were unable to, purposefully falling to maintain your curled position down on the stones while you writhed—you wouldn’t give him the chance to aim for your face again.

The second strike ran diagonally from the same shoulder, across your back, and to the opposite hip. The third was directly on your spine and your body spasmed violently in response, a scream finally torn from your throat when you physically couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer. There would’ve been more, you were sure, had the voice of another woman interrupted the man. He spoke in return with stuttered, nervous reverence and while you didn’t move from your curled position you believed his face likely reflected his tone with fear.

You couldn’t understand anything that was being said. The woman was shouting, one word more and more desperately and you assumed it must’ve been something she assigned to you in her head. Your brain fogged and you found yourself having to fight your muscles from going limp every time you exhaled. You wondered what she was calling you, what she referred you to as in her language. Your mother had always called you her baby, your father called you sweetheart.

Pulling yourself up wasn’t a matter of wanting to or not; it came down to the fact you were unable. Otherwise you would’ve dragged yourself across the stone once again to find a place in the older woman’s arms, to keep her from drawing attention to herself with her shouting, but you didn’t have the energy, the will, or the ability. There was no way your arms would hold your weight, your left ankle was entirely out of commission and the right was just as useless considering the circumstances.

You would’ve laid there until you died had it not been for a pair of soft hands taking hold of your upper arms. A wail died in your throat, lips clamping shut—you had to keep it together, if it was the very last thing you did. It was bad enough for these people to see you bleed, you wouldn’t let them hear you cry. Your father was one of the greatest warriors in the Cold Lands, you wouldn’t disrespect him by showing such weakness to the enemy.

A woman’s voice spoke close to your ear, a crooning coo that set your teeth on edge even more than the pain. She propped you up on your hip, laying your upper body carefully against her side where she sat on the stone and resting your weak head against her shoulder. Your eyes caught dark red hair, falling in loose waves to a pale, pointed chin. Before you could examine her more closely, your attention was drawn to the sound of a loud smack.

There was another woman, this one blonde and wearing what looked like miles of folded pale gold silk, had evidently just backhanded the younger slaver so hard the man lost balance and hit the ground. You marveled, just a tiny bit, at the sight. Her hair fell in windswept blonde waves to her exposed collar bones and she looked like she’d just been wrecked in the bedroom. Absently you wondered if the woman whose hand was cupping your ribcage had anything to do with that.

The blonde proceeded to speak to the older slaver for several long minutes, gesturing lazily every once in a while with jewel laden fingers. You’d been able to realize that the redhead holding you was also incredibly richly dressed, even in comparison to the well-dressed merchants making their way into the plaza to set up for the day. The slavers also deferred to the blonde; she was evidently someone of incredibly high stature—especially considering the redhead, who you assumed was her wife or consort, was practically dripping with gold.

Your attention shot to the woman holding you when she spoke, shrinking back when she pressed her cheek to the top of your head. It sounded like she was pouting, using a cutesy tone that made the blonde smile affectionately and respond with a long-suffering sigh before turning back to the slaver.

It was obvious that there was a transaction occurring and based on the fingers walking their way down your rib cage towards your legs, you could only assume you were the merchandise in question. It was easy to tell when the sale was complete, the blonde looking pleased and the old slaver looking nothing short of relieved.

“Oh, fuck this,” you murmured quietly to yourself, eyes squeezing shut as frustrated tears tried to well.

Hearing your own language spoken back to you after so long was so shocking you almost didn’t process the redhead’s words. “Don’t be like that, pet. It’s our girl’s birthday and she’s always wanted a cute little kitten.”

content warnings: human trafficking/slavery, public humiliation

#carol danvers x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #valkyrie x reader #dark!carol danvers x reader #dark!natasha romanoff x reader #dark!valkyrie x reader #dark!fic #alternate universe #will reblog w tag list soon

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blutunesninja · 3 years

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Explanations below (I spent sooooo long on them holy hell)

Just thought this was a fun thing to put together, I’m definitely missing a few things but I got as much in as I can, and I tried to explain most of these as best as possible.

Above iceberg/sky:

Kai is the green ninja: Rumors in the season 1 era, it was very built up.

S1-2 voice errors: Many ninja talk with the wrong voices in season 1 and 2.

Zane in the fridge vs. a note: In Season 1 Episode 2, Home, Zane is shown sitting in the fridge in the UK version. In the U.S version, there is just a note.

S1Ep1 video game: On the television release in the U.S for the first ever episode, the ninja are seen playing a custom made video game which is foreshadowing them in the fight for the golden scythe. In the Netflix version, they are playing the Ninjago DS game.

Wu is Lloyd's dad: Wu and Lloyd both have blonde hair, and Wu used to have a thing for Misako.

Jay using wind powers: In the episode The Green Ninja, Jay uses wind powers in the volcano to blow away fire.

Seliel: An original character in the Ninjago Comics, Phantom Ninja

Animejago: Anime style Ninjago in Season 11 “The Absolute Worst”

Zane = Ice Emperor: Before the reveal many people theorized that Zane would be the Ice Emperor.

Iceberg:

Echo Zane is Mr. E: A scrapped idea by the writers which shows Harumi finding the old lighthouse and rebuilding Echo Zane into Mr. E. Still plausible.

Cole had depression as a ghost: In a canon Ninjago book, The Book of Spinjitzu, it’s confirmed that Cole went through a depressive episode during his time a ghost because of his failure to contribute to the team in the same way he used to.

Sorla is Garmadon and Wu's mother: Sorla has lots of knowlegde about elemental masters, but it’s unknown where she got this information as she lives in the Never-Realm. Also this

Jay has ADHD/Anxiety: He talks quickly, has bad reactions to loud sounds, understands social cues, scared in tense situations, and many other things (this is very plausible)

Lar the water ninja: A self proclaimed “water ninja” named Lar

Merjitzu: An odd rumor back then about mermaid spinjitzu...?

Zane's visions: Zane has many visions throughout the show, and they all seem to come true/seem accurate

Cole's mother: Many theories spawned around the identity of Cole’s mother before season 13, mainly because she was rarely mentioned and never seen until then.

Below iceberg:

Zane and Nya are murderers: they have the highest kill count in the show by far

The SoG massacred tons of people: Self explanatory, while the SoG were taking over Ninjago and running the streets in Season 9, of course they harrassed people.

Cole is colorblind: Cole frequently refers to things as the wrong color in the show, leading to this theory/headcanon

EM age slower than regular people: A prime example of this is Ray and Maya. They don’t appear old at all even after many years. The same can be said about Wu’s whole family.

Ninjago manga: More information on it here, but it’s basically a gag manga series with only 8 pages.

Original S7 ending: The original ending was written to be a finale of Ninjago. It would end with Acronix and Krux locked up in Kryptarium Prison 2.0, forty years in the future, while Lloyd and Kai reminisced about the adventures they had in the past decades and no sign of Cole. [SCRIPT]

Ronin has a wife and kids: Tommy Andreasen stated that in his head, he imagines Ronin has three children and a demanding wife. [tweet]

Nelson and the mailman are related: ???? I don’t even know...

Deeper iceberg:

Zane is a transmale: Stemming from this wiki page because of their visual similarities.

Vex killing prisoners: There are many prison cells in the Ice Emperors palace, but all are empty, leading many to believe they’ve been killed/frozen.

Cole is an oni: Cole survived the fall into the darkness that only oni can survive, like Garmadon and Lloyd. There is no explanation for this, and with little origin story to Cole’s family, one can only assume.

Mistaké is still alive: Many believe Mistaké is still alive, as she’s seen here in season 10.

Harumi playing with a green ninja doll during Great Devourer attack: This doesn't make any sense since Lloyd was not known to be the green ninja around this time, and some could say his first debut as a ninja was in the Great Devourer attack. Harumi seemed to be obsessed with the green ninja around this time, however.

Cole and Jay are related: A probably-debunked theory since not much is known about either of their families. Jay is adopted and Cole only has his father. Some believe their families are connected, as half brothers or even cousins..

the mailman is an Oni: I’m.. not sure about this one either..

Skylor’s original design: [Shown here]

Bottom of iceberg:

Nadakhan is shapeshifting as Clutch Powers/Nadakhan killed Clutch inside the lamp:

Cole is gay coded: The Royal Blacksmiths. Enough said.

The Formlings are a murdering cult: In their animal forms, do they kill animals and or other people?

The ultradragon was hunted and killed: The remains of their bones were used for Iron Barons throne, shown here.

How did Lloyd take his father’s robe from him?: Garmadon was chained up, but Lloyd later returns to the realm of Ninjago wearing his father’s robes.

Fetish art: Many pieces of fetish art have been created for this show, including inflation, feet, vore, tickling, macro, blueberry inflation, and more

Deep waters:

Omega is Clutch's dad: N/A

Jay kills Cliff Gordon in S6: When Jay wishes to Nadakhan for wealth and fortune, and quickly a letter conveniently comes to him about the passing of his father Cliff Gordon, and how he now owns all of his property.

Onceler Morro: tumblr meme

Skylor is genetically engineered: With no mention of her mother, it’s all up to the imagination.

Garmadon x Lloyd: The absolute worst side of the fandom, and yes it does exist/has existed.

incest/r//pe fics: The most disgusting things ever created.

#ninjago #iceberg #icebergmeme

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antoine-roquentin · 3 years

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It is a measure of Krugman’s increasing despair that by 2013 his jaundiced view of American class society converged with his worries about the intellectual framing of economics. As Republican and Democratic centrists struggled to fashion a bipartisan majority around a programme to slash the deficit, it dawned on Krugman that the entirety of what he had once confidently described as ‘responsible’ economic policy was shot through with class interest. Talk of fiscal sustainability wasn’t just bad economics; it was, Krugman now believed, class war by stealth. In End This Depression Now (2012), Krugman broke one of the taboos that separate mainstream New Keynesians from their left-wing heterodox counterparts. He invoked the Polish economist Michał Kalecki, whose work is commonly cited as having bridged Keynesianism and Marxism. In 1943, in wartime exile in Oxford, Kalecki had explained why delivering stabilisation policy in a sustained way, as Keynes envisioned, might not be possible in a class-divided society. At the depths of the crisis, Keynesians would be summoned by the powers that be to do the minimum that was necessary, but as soon as the worst had passed, well before the economy reached full employment, the same policies would be anathematised as undermining ‘confidence’. The balance of what was ‘sensible’ would be set by the interests of the wealthiest and most secure. Their principal concern wasn’t full employment, but profit, which dictated stimulus in a slump and restraint whenever profits were squeezed by increased wages in a tightening labour market. Five years before Samuelson, in his classic textbook of 1948, laid out his vision of the complementarity of macroeconomic management and market-based microeconomics, Kalecki had already shown why it would end in failure.

As Krugman remarked, when he first read Kalecki’s essay he ‘thought it was over the top. Kalecki was, after all, a declared Marxist ... But, if you haven’t been radicalised by recent events, you haven’t been paying attention; and policy discourse since 2008 has run exactly along the lines Kalecki predicted.’ After a short burst of emergency Keynesianism, by 2010 deficits not unemployment were the problem. And any effort to push for better conditions was immediately countered with the insistence that it would induce ‘economic policy uncertainty’ and hold the economy back. It wasn’t unemployed Americans, Krugman raged, but imaginary ‘confidence fairies’ that were dictating policy.

Krugman reassured himself by adding that Kalecki was far more of a Keynesian than he was a Marxist, but quibbles aside, Krugman’s own transformation could hardly be denied. The members of the American left he had savaged in the 1990s were now his friends. He was talking about power in the starkest terms. But the question was unavoidable: once you lost your faith in the state as a tool of reformist intervention, once you truly reckoned with the omnipresence of class power, what choices remained but fatalism or a demand for a revolutionary politics? Between those alternatives, respectively unappetising and unrealistic, there was perhaps a third option. America had, after all, been here before. FDR’s New Deal too had been hemmed in. It had delivered far less than promised, until the floodgates were finally opened by the Second World War. The Great Depression, Krugman wrote, ‘ended largely thanks to a guy named Adolf Hitler. He created a human catastrophe, which also led to a lot of government spending.’ ‘Economics,’ he wrote in another essay, ‘is not a morality play. It’s not a happy story in which virtue is rewarded and vice punished.’

‘If it were announced that we faced a threat from space aliens and needed to build up to defend ourselves,’ Krugman said in 2012, ‘we’d have full employment in a year and a half.’ If 21st-century America needed an enemy, China was one candidate. On foreign policy, Krugman is perhaps best described as a left patriot. Where he had once downplayed the impact of Chinese imports on the US economy, he now declared that China’s currency policy was America’s enemy: by manipulating its exchange rate Beijing was dumping exports on America. But to Krugman’s frustration Obama never turned the pivot towards Asia into a concerted economic strategy.

You might argue that in Covid we have found an enemy of precisely the kind Krugman was imagining. As far as Europe is concerned, an alien space invasion isn’t an implausible model for Covid. This novel threat broke down inhibitions in Berlin, and the Eurozone’s response was far more ambitious than it was after 2008. But America isn’t the Eurozone. For all Krugman’s gloom, it didn’t take a new world war to flip the economic policy switch. All it took was an election. Almost immediately after Trump’s victory in November 2016, the fiscal taps were opened. As under Reagan in the 1980s and Bush in the 2000s, all fear of deficits disappeared.

Compelling as Krugman may have found the Kaleckian vision, it does not describe the United States in the 21st century. The balance of class forces Kalecki had assumed in the 1940s no longer exists. In America in 2017 big business did not object to running the economy hot. There was no real threat of wage pressure: a flutter of strikes perhaps, but nothing serious. No chance of inflationary expectations becoming embedded in adjustments to the cost of living. No wage-price spiral. Everything to gain from tax cuts for corporations and the rich. The Kaleckian scenario, from today’s point of view, presumed too much countervailing force from the left and by the same token too many constraints on active economic policy.

Trump opened a new era of voluntarism in economic policy. You really could do what you liked. Neither external threats in the form of bond market vigilantes, nor domestic counterpressure in the form of contending social classes, were any longer effective constraints. American conservatives had never been as keen on the slogan There Is No Alternative as Margaret Thatcher or Angela Merkel. Under Trump there was simply no limit to the GOP’s opportunism. Typically, the centre and left did more intellectual work to come to terms with the new situation. The IMF’s former chief economist, Olivier Blanchard, had painstakingly demonstrated the sustainability of much higher levels of debt in a world of low interest rates. Meanwhile, Modern Monetary Theory had its moment in the sun. Blending state theories of money, radical Keynesianism of 1940s vintage and inside knowledge of the plumbing of the modern financial markets, MMT argued that debt wasn’t a problem at all. The only limit on an expansionary economic policy should be the inflation rate; otherwise the overriding priority should be full employment.

It’s telling that despite the apparent political affinity between Krugman and the proponents of MMT, its heresies revived his impulse to play policeman. After long and fruitless exchanges, Krugman declared that MMT was either silly or merely old-fashioned Keynesianism warmed over. In 2020 these doctrinal debates were overtaken by the reality of the Covid shock. In March 2020, as more than twenty million Americans lost their jobs in a matter of weeks, Congress united around a gigantic fiscal stimulus. At the Fed, the centrist Republican Jerome Powell embarked on a programme of intervention that dwarfed anything contemplated by Bernanke. And with a Democratic majority in Congress the impetus has carried through to 2021. The mantra on everyone’s lips is a blunt statement of Krugman’s position. Do not repeat the mistakes of the early Obama administration. Go large. If the Republicans have now decided to be fiscal conservatives, ignore them. There has been no opposition from big business. What the Chamber of Commerce did not like was the $15 minimum wage. Once that was dropped, it did not oppose the $1.9 trillion plan; it seems that business fears legislative intervention more than it does Kalecki-style pressure in the labour market.

The Krugmanification of the Democrats wasn’t won without a fight. There are fiscal hawks in Biden’s entourage. At one point he even counted Larry Summers as an adviser. That didn’t last: the empowered left wing of the Dems wouldn’t stand for it. But although he is no longer in the inner circle, Summers hasn’t surrendered. Opposing untargeted stimulus checks, calling for more focus on investment, he recently declared the Biden administration’s fiscal policy the most irresponsible in forty years – the result, he remarked bitterly, of the leverage handed to the left of the Democratic Party by the absolute refusal of the GOP to co-operate.

The first instinct of the wonks inside the Biden administration is to counter Summers’s arguments on his own terms. Their models show, they insist, that the risks of overheating and inflation are slight. What they don’t say is that being credibly committed to running the economy hot is precisely the point. This is what Krugman meant in 1998 when he called on the Bank of Japan to make a credible commitment to irresponsibility. To avoid the risk of a liquidity trap what you want to encourage is precisely a general belief that inflation is set to pick up. In the late 1990s Krugman, like a good New Keynesian, envisioned monetary and fiscal policy as substitutes for each other. In 2021 America is getting a massive dose of both. As the Fed announced in August last year, the plan is to get inflation above 2 per cent and to dry out the labour market. The bond markets may flinch, but if the sell-off gets too bad, the Fed can always buy more bonds.

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neverendingstories00 · 4 years

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Past The Point Of No Return (Ch.1)

Summary: Your the young and fiery Cryptographer for M16 who happens to be the obsession of the mysterious and disfigured Safin. When you threaten to bring him down, he makes sure to drag you down with him.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Minor descriptions of blood/violence

A/N: Please Read!! I haven’t seen any Safin x reader fics, so I decided to write one myself. Ik the movie comes out in November, but I cannot wait. I’m in love with this pyshco man. This will be a mature story by the way and I’ll try updating as soon as I can! I’ll add warnings before each chapter starts. Just take a few notes in! Ik the movies come out in November so this is pure speculation on Safin’s origins/motives. Bond is back in business and took back 007 while Nomi took 008. Reader is a Cryptographer for M16. Your codename will be C but y/n will come in soon. Also, Reader is female. Hope you enjoy!

The Pandemic had caused discord throughout London. It didn’t seem like it would infect the globe in less than three months. But when Q had gotten the virus, the office had shut down in less than twenty-four hours. If you weren’t a field agent, then it was required to work from home. For someone like C and Q, it wasn’t a big deal. All of there work required communication from electronics. But evil was always on the rise. It never stopped. March had dragged into June as the Pandemic only worsened. y/n wasn’t one for social interaction, so thriving in isolation wasn’t the worst thing on the planet.

M16’s biggest threat was the infamous Safin. Even Q couldn’t encrypt any information on him, nobody could. Safin was a prime example of an anarchist. He refused to let some Pandemic stop his reign of terror and thirst for world domination. His movement of so-called “absent authority” was causing terror in post-soviet countries. Violent protests, property damage, the list when on. The anarchist targeted smaller countries that wanted to break free from there governments. Bond called Safin “a man who wanted to play god because he was bored”. Safin was a true anarchist (and a possible sadist). Information on his past and whereabouts were near impossible to find. He would insult M16 constantly since he knew he was winning the game of cat and mouse. It seemed like Safin was going to keep upsetting established order until the brink of a civil war.

But you were always one step ahead.

C, or y/n, was a Cryptographer for M16. After Bond’s hiatus, they had been recruited for there work in the military. You were the perfect candidate; bilingual, hands-on, young, intelligent, and fiery. One of the many languages you spoke was Morse code and other military languages. Not even Q, the smartest man in M16, was fluent in all of them. But with your aid, he caught onto it quite well. The Cryptographer and Quartermaster had made quite an efficient team and friendship. While Q gave orders and signals to the double’s oh, you stayed in the back, encrypting the signals and decrypting codes. Having a Cyrptographer was truly an aid for M16. You were praised by all of agents for your hard work and loyalty to the world of espionage. Enemies and other organizations envied for the cryptographer.

Before the lockdown, you had noticed a pattern in the protests. The leading agitators would all wear bandannas covered in the phonetic alphabet. Any normal person could see nothing in this. But with years in the military and language, you quickly followed onto the pattern. Q had noticed it as well along with the other double oh’s. The only people who spoke the phonetic alphabet in M16 were you and a few agents, and not even Q could decipher such a code. The message said many things, mainly gibberish. But you did not give up so easily. Whenever you saw a challenge, you attacked it with rigor. After rearranging for hours on end, ten codes had stuck out to M16 that could be a lead in bringing down the anarchist.

ROMEO OSCAR MIKE ECHO

CHARLIE ALPHA CHARLIE ALPHA CHARLIE ALPHA SIERRA

ALPHA MIKE SIERRA TANGO ECHO ROMEO DELTA ALPHA MIKE

OSCAR SIERRA LIMA OSCAR

TANGO OSCAR KILO YANKEE OSCAR

HOTEL OSCAR NOVEMBER GOLF KILO OSCAR NOVEMBER GOLF

MIKE OSCAR SIERRA CHARLIE OSCAR WHISKEY

CHARLIE ALPHA INDIA ROMEO OSCAR

All of them happened to lead to capital cities across the world, which happened to be countries that were infested with Safin’s anarchism. With even more research, Q managed to pinpoint possible gatherings for the terrorists. It could be a break in the case. Each double oh was sent to these locations. 007 and 008 were both flown out to Rome. The location was near the Spanish Steps. Even after the pandemic, the area had been bustling with civilians and protestors. You and Q had been in charge of guiding them to the location,

“You’d think during this pandemic, these bloody idiots would stay inside.” Bond said as he moved past the crowd of angry protestors. He wiped dust off of his grayish-blue suit. Safin’s message of tidying the world of “corruption” sent shivers down any sane person’s spine.

Nomi was ahead of him, dressed in a white chic jumpsuit and cat sunglasses. “The wicked never sleep, Bond.”

He huffed, frustrated. Of course, when his vacation had been occurring Q would call for his aid. “Q, how much further?”

“Maybe if you would pick your pace, then you would get there in four minutes instead of forty.” Q responded.

C could hear Nomi chuckle, and followed along with her.

Bond annoyingly huffed, “I truly haven’t missed your remarks, Q.”

“Gentlemen, settle down.” You interrupted, able to see where the agents were through the bodycams. “Keep your guard up. Your getting stares from some protestors. Oh, and do pick up the pace.”

The two agents squeezed through the crowd. Nomi had noticed them being followed. But thanks to Q, they lost them through Rome’s small puzzle-like streets. Upon losing them, the agents had left the lavish streets of Rome and into the more sketchy and depressed areas. The further they walked the more life began to disappear. Bond and Nomi stuck out in there designer outfits in the slums of Rome.

“On your right,” You stated. The agents stopped, looking upon the building. Nomi took her glasses off to examine the building. It was broken down, dark, and covered by boards.

Bond sighed, “Bloody hell. This it?”

“Unfournelty,” Q said. “Head in the back, there’s an open entrance.”

Nomi and Bond turned to the back of the building, noticing a piece of wood covering the wood. Bond attempted to move it, but his age was beginning to show. The young and muscled Nomi tore it down, letting them enter the broken down building. On the side, it was dark and empty. Shining the light of his rifle, Bond noticed a kitchen that was covered in dust and spiderwebs.

Q and C heard faint noises, which sounded like music. Nomi moved close to the stairs and could hear it coming from the upstairs. Along with the music was a light.

“See anything, double oh eight?” You asked, looking through her bodycam. The song sounded Italian. It could have been singing, or just a record player.

“A light. You think we have company?” She asked, pointing her rifle upstairs.

“Seems like it. Investigate, Keep your weapons at bay.” Q ordered.

Bond had led him and Nomi up the creaky wooden stairs. The music had become much louder. At the end of the hallway was a door closed, with light emanating under it. The two agents tiptoed to the door. Bond placed his ear against it, hearing only the sweet Italian love song. Q and C couldn’t tell what was behind that door. It could be Safin, his goons, anything.

Counting down to three, Bond and Nomi kicked the door down, guns prepared for anything. But the room was empty. It had been lite by a few candles with a CD boombox, blasting a loud Italian song. Bond examined the room for anything suspicious while Nomi went over, kicking the boombox quiet. She picked up the CD player, examining the front.

“E’ la vita?” The female agent muttered, turning the DVD over. The other side had been written in morse code. C found this odd, squinting her eyes to see. The handwriting was neat and done in an expensive ink. Not only was there writing, but it seemed like it was a list of more global cities. It seemed oddly familiar. “Why waste good ink on a CD?”

“Double oh eight, can you r-”

Bond interrupted, “BOMB! GET DOWN!”

All C could remember is Bond running towards Nomi to cover her before both of there bodycams had glitch out. She panicked, trying to reconnect to them. Q had a status of all of the double oh’s, and each of there bodycams began to flicker out. Then Q and you had realized the worst of it.

Safin had set them up.

“Fuck. It was a fucking trap.” You huffed, running a hand through your hair. They had truly hit a dead end. “Q, any signal? I can’t reach them.”

“None. I’m trying to get their signals. There cams both locked out before the explosion.” Q replied. He was just as frustrated as his co-worker. Suddenly, both of there computers froze with glitched screens. “Not only was it 007 and 008, but the other double oh’s went out.”

C could hear Q cursing under his breath, the sounds of him furiously clicking his keyboard. “Shit, Shit, Shit..”

“Q, what is it?”

“He hacked us. Safin inflated the sys-”

Just like Bond and Nomi, Q’s signal that gone out. It had all be planned. Safin wanted for all of us to happen. The other agents had probably been killed. Sitting in front of a glitched-out screen, you let out a small sigh and slumped back into her chair. Singlehandedly, you had fucked up.

“Not such a clever girl now, are we?”

Raising your shoulders, y/n arched her neck back to avoid the sharp blade that was too close for comfort. The voice was velvety with a slight accent to it. From the videos M16 had received, you knew it all too well.

It was Safin himself.

“I-it was a trap..” You stuttered, unable to talk to the knife around your neck. Safin’s hand was on C’s shoulder, holding her from getting up. C heard footsteps from behind. Great, now you were truly defenseless, being held by the world’s most feared Anarchist. In the corner of your eye, y/n saw the white mask he wore to conceal his identity. It looked like a porcelain doll prop straight out of a horror film. “A fucking trap.”

“Your little friends are gone now, No one is here to protect you now” Safin whispered into your ear. He was too close for comfort. He took an inhale of your Chanel perfume, admiring your breathing pattern. He thought y/n was so gorgeous this close. After months of waiting, Safin was so close to her, yet far. The woman who had threatened to bring down him was now enwrapped in his arms with a knife to her neck. But she wasn’t scared. Her breathing was heavy, but Safin had noticed that she was rather calm for having a blade held to her throat.

You chuckled at his “weak” response, “I have your locations all on record. M16 will bring you to your knees, you monster.”

“A monster?” He marveled, amused by Y/n’s comment. This man was a true psychopath. “My dear, you truly live up stubbornness. You lead all of those double oh’s into there demise. How innocent does that make you feel?”

“Says the one who wants to kill millions.” Y/n hissed, venom in her voice. You felt the guilt pull at your heart. “I saw your plan. You’re killing Europe city by city. Fooling the post soviet states and moving up towards the Medterrian. Your delusional.”

“Your ignorance is their power.” He purred into her ear. He massaged y/n’s shoulder to relax her (as he held her down). “You are a very talented girl, wasting her intelligence on foolish old m--”

Seeing him lose his guard, you reached for your mug full of hot coffee and threw it back at his mask. He lost his footing and fell backward as the lower piece of his mask cracked off. Wasting no time, you pushed yourself up and ran behind the desk to the front entrance. Q’s flat wasn’t far away. If you took the right routes and stayed out of action, then he could help her. As she neared towards the entrance, a sharp sting echoed through your knee to your thigh. Tripping on the edge of your carpet, your tripped and scraped your head against a coffee table, falling to the ground. You tried to stay awake and fight, but eventually succumbed to the darkness.

Safin pushed himself up, noticing that the bottom part of his mask showed his chin and lips. He turned to see y/n’s body by the door, her navy slacks stained by blood.

Safin cursed under his breath, walking over to her body to check if she had a pulse. Thankfully you did, but it was light. “Who shot her..?”

His henchmen did not respond, holding their weapons.

“I SAID WHAT ONE OF YOU IMBECILES SHOT HER?” Safin yelled, pure fury in his voice.

One of the men, donned in black and holding a sniper rifle, stepped forward. “It was me, Safin. You said tha-”

The man with the sniper rifle was shot in the neck and fell backward, choking on his own blood. Each of the henchmen jumped back. They knew when Safin raised his voice that he was going to die.

A small sigh escaped Safin’s lips as he pushed back his hair. Safin turned to face Serrano, his right-hand man. He was tall and lean with dark skin and emerald eyes. “Serrano..”

“Yes, Safin?”

“What did I explicitly say to you to tell these idiots before we entered C’s flat?”

Serrano responded, “Not to bring her back dead, but alive and injured.”

“And what do type of girl do you see laying on the ground?” The anarchist pointed to the ground, showing Y/n’s body. She had a bruise on her forehead and a bloody thigh.

“An injured girl, sir,” Serrano replied, looking down in embarrassment.

There was an awkward between the anarchist and this men before he commanded, “The lot of you, take the girl and prepare the car. Serrano, wipe all of her devices and anything that can track her. We leave on the submarine by dusk.”

The men nodded as the muscule grabbed C’s motionless body and carried her out. Serrano destroyed her phone, computer, and any camera or electronic that lingered in the flat before they left the crime scene. Entering the range rover, Serrano sat in the front with the driver while Safin sat in the back with the unconscious Cryptographer.

As they began to drive to the docks, Serrano asked, “Safin, what do you see in this girl? She is not James Bond or Madeleine Swann.”

“I see a source of information. This girl is not some receptionist or analyst.” Safin explained as he looked at her sleeping body. Your face was more relaxed than it was thirty minutes ago. There was something so intriguing about the Cyrptographer that Safin couldn’t pinpoint. “She fell into her very own trap, letting us access all of the M16 databases. M16 just lost there most valuable asset.”

“A bargaining chip?” Serrano questioned.

“Not just a bargaining chip, but an intelligent girl who is going to be vital to us.” He explained, “Unlike Bond, she is not redundant. She has many values, I know of it. You will see, Serrano. The world will open it eyes to y/n.”

Safin couldn’t take his eyes off of you. The remaining sunlight from the purple sunset shined on her face. Seeing your face, he knew Y/n not only ordinary on the inside but the outside. A woman that was much younger than he was made him feel less bitter about the world. He had a lonely life and seeing a young and beautiful such as yourself made him drop everything to the floor. The way your floral smelling [y/h/t] [y/h/c] hair fell out of the small bun and rested on your shoulders, [y/s/c] glowed in the sunlight, and the sweet aroma you wore drove Safin mad. Unknown to your knowledge, he had been watching over you for quite some time. You had a desk job, but occasionally accompanied the double oh’s and even had taken out some of his henchmen in the past. Y/n was a girl who not only knew how to decrypt some of the hardest codes to M16 but could defend herself if needed. Safin’s mere intrguement with you had grown into an obsession. Now the woman he obsessed over was sitting less than a foot away from him. Upon seeing the cryptographer, he knew that he needed you. He wanted y/n more than anything in the world. M16 didn’t deserve such talent. In Safin’s eyes, all they had ever done for y/n was hold her back from being your best self; by his side.

“I’m sorry they hurt you.” He cooed, pushing a glossy lock to get a better view of y/n’s face. “I have freed you from there incompetence. I know you will demand to leave and mindlessly say that you hate me. But I promise you my sweet, you will grow to like me and your new home.”

Safin felt like he was the luckiest man in the world.

#rami malek #rami malek x reader #safin #no time to die #james bond #safin x reader #my writing

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makeste · 4 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 272: (Directed by Michael Bay)

Previously on BnHA: The My Child Soldiers Academia arc finally started to live up to its name as Tokoyami became the first (but I assure you not the last) victim of traumatic mental scarring courtesy of Horikoshi’s sick games! So he and Dark Shadow showed up to stop Dabi from murdering Hawks and were all “please don’t kill our mentor.” Dabi was all “AH BUT YOUR MENTOR KILLED SOMEONE ELSE, AND ISN’T THAT JUST LIKE THE HEROES THOUGH, THEIR HANDS ARE SO STAINED WITH BLOOD” and then he tried to set both of them on fire several times in succession. Hawks was all “Tokoyami just run away while he’s in the middle of his five-hour sermon” and so they tried but Dabi followed them! But then Geten was all “ALL RIGHT EVERYONE... CHILL” and fucking froze everything for no discernible reason, and Tokoyami fled the building with an unconscious Hawks in tow as the battle raged on. The chapter then ended with Gigantomachia being all “I smell my master!” and standing up, hahaha oh fuck.

Today on BnHA: Well you guys are not going to believe this, but it turns out that Tomura waking up is actually a very bad thing. A “worst case scenario” if you will! Because, get this, he has a quirk that can destroy anything, which spreads from whatever he touches to fucking everything and everywhere else. Gosh, if only we’d known about this since like 35 chapters ago. If only we’d had a spy among the villains who could have warned us, and three entire months to plan our attack, and literally every single hero in Japan on call to help us when the time came. Anyway so you’re really going to be shocked by this I’m telling you, but it turns out that when a crazy powerful person who wants to destroy everything finally wakes up, he immediately starts destroying everything with his crazy power. So X-Less dies and Crust dies and everyone else runs, and meanwhile the kids, who are on the outskirts of the city finishing up the evacuation, stand there in shock as the plot rampages toward them ready to swallow them whole. The chapter ends with Deku powering up to FORTY-FIVE PERCENT YEAHHHHH, and oh shit. Finally we’re doing this.

I am not even remotely done with all the shit I’m supposed to be finishing up, but fuck it, I need a break and reading the new chapter is by far the funnest thing on my current to-do list, so!

OH SNAPS MY BOY HAS FINALLY OPENED HIS EYES

IT ONLY TOOK HIM... OKAY LOOK I’M NOT GOING TO GO BACK AND COUNT ALL OF THE CHAPTERS, BUT LET’S SAY... FIFTEEN. ...HUNDRED. CHAPTERS TO FINALLY SNAP TO IT AND COME JOIN THE PARTY. BUT IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT! PROBABLY. AHH LET’S JUST READ ON

-- ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohm --

[puts on glasses and unfolds map while poring through a mess of scribbles on post-it notes] -- hold up, if my calculations are correct, I’m pretty sure “somewhere a bit further from the hospital” is, in fact, where a certain THREE TROUBLE-PRONE DISASTERS ARE CURRENTLY HOLED UP. AHHH

can it really be true. are we finally rejoining our protagonist and his buddy cop friends after 97 years. how will everyone react to Deku reacting to Tomura waking up ahhhh

so Burnin’ is yelling at the civilians to let them know if they have any family or friends who need assistance evacuating

god I hate the fact that this is a fucking understatement

they’re not taking any chances after Kamino and Fukuoka huh. fool them once, shame on you. fool them twice, oh shit. but there will not be a third time! no one fucking destroys three cities in the span of six months on their watch, no sirree

(ETA: ...)

lol the kids are trying to get the elderly citizens on a bus to evacuate, but a lady is trying to give them candy and Kacchan and Ochako are of two different minds on whether or not to accept

Kacchan is absolutely right about Ochako’s motivations, but in her defense, who the fuck turns down free chocolate

IIDA!!

FUCKING CHRIST JAPAN IT’S 200 YEARS IN THE FUTURE AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T SWITCHED TO DIGITAL RECORD-KEEPING? WHY IS THIS THE MOST REALISTIC THING IN THE ENTIRE MANGA TO DATE. MY GOOD SIR, IIDA IS LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH, ALL RECORDS AND BUILDINGS ABSOLUTELY CAN AND WILL BE COMPLETELY OBLITERATED IN THE CARNAGE TO COME. I’M SORRY TO BE THE ONE TO INFORM YOU OF THIS, BUT DAMN IT SOMEONE HAS TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY

(ETA: I sure hope these poor bastards had good insurance.)

also. this man here who looks like Beaker from the Muppets, who presumably has the power of Doing Anything Those Wacky Flailing Inflatable Tube Men That You See Outside Of Car Dealerships Can Do. ...yes. that’s it. that’s an intentionally incomplete sentence with a subject but no predicate. I just feel like we should all sit and stare at him for a good thirty more seconds before continuing on with our lives

OH MY GOD

THEY’RE EVACUATING THE PETS TOO AHHHH. EXCUSE ME CERTAIN SOMEONES WHO THINK ALL HEROES ARE “DIRTY.” I SEE YOUR ARGUMENTS AND RAISE YOU THIS ONE SINGLE PANEL. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT. NOW WHAT DABI. AT A LOSS FOR WORDS I SEE. YOU JUST SIT AND PONDER THAT FOR A WHILE

is... this... a space shuttle man

is this literally just a man with a Boeing for a head. FUCKING QUIRKS THOUGH!!!!! ~*~wild~*~

OH MY GOD AND WE’RE BACK

time for some HORCRUX SHENANIGANS!! IS YOUR LIGHTNING BOLT SCAR BURNING DEKU. I CAN’T BELIEVE HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED IS BACK AHHHH

so now he’s slightly hunching forward with his hands pressed together and Todoroki is immediately sensing that something is wrong ahhhhh

(ETA from like 5 days later: I had that as “Tokoyami” instead of “Todoroki” for the better part of a solid week you guys. SHOUTO YOU WERE GONE FOR SO LONG I FORGOT YOUR FUCKING NAME whoop.)

here come dat angst. here comes Horikoshi’s hand beckoning the trio closer and welcoming them to the pain parade ahhh. from now on that’s how I’m ending all my sentences btw. it just seems right. ahhh

OH MY LORD OH MY

ladies and gentlemen, YOU WERE SAYING DEKU DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT LATELY? HE’S NOT INTERESTING ENOUGH AS A PROTAGONIST, IS HE? well maybe that’s because Horikoshi has been saving this one juiciest of plot nuggets for a rainy day precisely like this! BRING ON THAT CHOSEN ONE ANGST AHHHHH

anyway so yes it is indeed OFA speaking to him in the form of Lil Bro a.k.a. the first user

lol I’m trying to think of commentary but it’s difficult seeing as I’M ALREADY SCROLLING DOWN TO IMPATIENTLY READ THE NEXT PAGE

lmao the fuck

okay Princess Zelda. can you get any more flowery with those descriptions though. A TRANSCENDENT BEING. A SUPERLATIVE ENTITY. A SUBLIME, PREEMINENT ORGANISM. FREED FROM ITS SHACKLES. UNFETTERED BY ALL EARTHLY LIMITATIONS

OH MY GOD

it absolutely boggles my mind that this guy is somehow still alive. ??! how many chapters and panels has it been now. he’s like the goat in the t-rex pen in fucking Jurassic Park. WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET EATEN ALREADY

...

do you... want a blanket. ...?

(ETA: do you ever just. wake up and you’re like “ah shit it’s cold”, and then you destroy an entire city. mm.)

do you all suppose X-Less is fully aware that he’s about to die though? he hasn’t even moved. I imagine that sitting next to Tomura actually is much like sitting next to a giant t-rex. like he has to know there is no getting out of this alive. poor guy

damn Mic isn’t even looking back he’s just running back into the main room where all the rest of them are

wow this fight is still going on

I don’t know why, I just expected it to all magically be over all of a sudden now that we have bigger things to worry about. do you guys remember when we were all worried about the High End Noumus being the biggest threat. hahahahaha

(ETA: moment of silence for ALL OF THE FUCKING HIGH ENDS lmao. that did not go how I expected that plotline to go AT ALL, but at least we got the best fucking battle in the entire manga out of it.)

jesus CHRIST ENOUGH WITH THIS

WE GET IT TOMURA IS DANGEROUS AND SCARY AND EVIL AND AWAKE!!! JUST PLEASE GET TO IT ALREADY GOD I’M BEGGING YOU

FINALLY

goddammit. my reaction to this should have been much more “!!!” and “OH SHIT”, but he dragged it out so much that my initial reaction was one more of relief than horror. maybe it’s because of the way I read the chapters, constantly pausing to do commentary as I go along, but whenever a chapter has a ton of panels of people just staring into the distance awash with dread, it really stands out to me lol. there’s only so much I can write about that kind of thing. ah well at least we’re finally getting to the action

I genuinely can’t tell if Ujiko is frightened that he’s about to be disintegrated by Tomura’s quirk, or excited that Tomura is awake

maybe both lol. well don’t worry you’re not gonna die that easily, much as you would not catch me complaining if you did

thanks Gran

lol where was all this speed throughout the rest of this arc though. “we’re only competent when the plot necessitates it” huh. is that right

oh shit it’s destroying the rest of the lab

those are all of Ujiko’s collected quirks, right? someone please tell me if this is a good or a bad thing. on the one hand if they’re all destroyed it means Tomura can’t get them and Ujiko can’t make any more Noumus. but on the other hand this means they won’t ever be able to give them back to the original users (if any of them are even still alive). and also that’s a lot of evidence that’s being wiped out as well

oh shit they didn’t know about this?!

even after Deika City, you didn’t put two and two together?? even with all of Hawk’s intel?? what the hell did you think happened there?

well this explains why everyone was so la-dee-da-no-rush about capturing him though. well that’s on you guys. next time maybe don’t waste 20 minutes uselessly battling redshirt Noumus while Mirko has to do everything herself

anyway so I feel like people other than X-Less are almost certainly going to die here, and fuck. I’m not ready for any of this

AHH THE KIDS

BIT SLOW ON THE UPTAKE THERE KACCHAN LOL. FOR A MOMENT YOU HAD ME WORRIED THERE WAS SOMEHOW A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THREAT APPROACHING FROM THE OTHER SIDE, BEFORE YOU TURNED AROUND TO LOOK WHERE THE OTHERS WERE LOOKING

ALSO JUST A FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT SHOUTO’S DAD IS IN THAT HOSPITAL, ALONG WITH THEIR TEACHER! HERE. COME. DAT. ANGST

LOOK AT THIS CONSPICUOUSLY INTACT BUILDING AS IT STANDS THERE ALL OMINOUSLY WITH THE NEARBY BIRDS AND CRITTERS FRANTICALLY FLYING AWAY

I want to see it crumble so bad. now this is the kind of foreboding cinematic disaster movie bullshit I can get into

FFFF WHY IS THIS PANEL SO HARD TO SEE

THERE’S TOO MUCH CHAOS AND TOO MANY PEOPLE LOST AMIDST ALL THESE SHATTERING AND FALLING TUBES, BUT I NEED TO MAKE SURE EVERYONE IS SAFE AHHH

...okay so I see Ryuukyuu in the top right, and I think that’s RockLockRock on her back. Thirteen is clearly there in the bottom center, but I don’t know who that is next to them. and then of course Gran and Mic on the left. and a bunch of others spread out in various other places, but... where the hell is Aizawa??

OH THANK GOD

FUCK YOU HORIKOSHI, I KNOW FULL WELL YOU’RE NOT JUST GOING TO KILL OFF THE WORLD’S PREEMINENT DAD STRAIGHT UP OUT OF THE BLUE HERE, AND YET I STILL FELT ANXIETY AT THIS LAST PANEL. HOW DID YOU EVEN

BITCH YOU BETTER LET THE FUCK GO BEFORE I --

!!!

oh my god I gasped in real life. stop making me fear for the lives of main characters!!

he. he --. crust. he. ...

I literally stopped reading and had to stop and cover my mouth with both of my hands I’m

silence. no screaming. no flailing. no freaking out. just silence

shit. rest in peace you old sedimentary bastard. respect to you for saving the father of my children in your last fleeting moments. I still have not the slightest idea how you rose through the ranks to somehow become the sixth fucking highest rated hero (HERO BILLBOARD CHART, IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT. ARE YOU FEELING OKAY), but you sure did go out with style though

also this may be tacky of me to point out during such an emotionally charged moment, but one second Aizawa is wearing his goggles like normal, and the next they’re suddenly pushed up onto his forehead so we can see the anguish in his bloodshot eyes. there was no reason to do that other than angst and we all know it. so yes Shouta you dramatic bitch, I am calling you out. why Horikoshi felt he had to add to your many accumulated traumas is beyond me. you don’t deserve this and I am so, so sorry

OH GOOD I WAS JUST ABOUT TO ASK WHERE THE FUCK ENDEAVOR WAS

seeing as we just went over this with Gran, I will take the high road here and won’t ask why you’re only this fast now and couldn’t have been this useful this ages ago back before Tomura woke up. oh wait does sarcastically saying I won’t bring it up count as bringing it up. well whatever. middle road, then

sob I’m getting flashbacks to the end of Return of the Jedi when they’re all frantically flying out of the Death Star as it explodes

friendly reminder that Ryuukyuu, clearly the fastest one here despite carrying like 20 people, was number 10 in the rankings for some unknown reason. again, r.i.p. Crust you well-meaning geriatric soul

also just a stray thought, I hope it’s clear now why it was so important to give Deku those additional quirks. at a minimum he needs Blackwhip and Float just so he doesn’t instantly die the moment he’s in Tomura’s general vicinity. sob I’ve joked so much about flying quirks and here they are becoming fucking prerequisites now

anyway so Ujiko is mourning the loss of his lab, which again, good riddance mostly. but r.i.p. that evidence though

(ETA: nah the “total loss” part is referring to how the heroes fucked up so soundly and thoroughly. anyway no one would blame Mic if he accidentally dropped Ujiko in the midst of all this chaos, I’m just saying. I guess they need any intel he could still provide now more than ever though.)

OH MY GOD!!

LAUNDRY HERO WASH?! THIS SUDSY BOI CAN ACTUALLY KICK ASS WHAAAAT

oh my god oh my god it’s still spreading??!

fuck fuck fuck at this rate it’ll reach the kids

(ETA: that happened really fast actually.)

-- oh FUCK NO you had better NOT FUCKING TOUCH FUCKING PIXIE BOB, I WILL MAIL MYSELF TO JAPAN PANDEMIC OR NO PANDEMIC. DO YOU NOT SEE THE SIGN THAT SAYS “OFF-LIMITS.” RESPECT THE SIGN

SOB SHE’S SO BADASS BUT IT LOOKS LIKE IT’S STILL DISINTEGRATING FUCCCCCK. FUCK MY LIFE, FUCK EVERYTHING

AHHHHH

I can’t tell if her earthbending was able to stop it or not?? god help us all if it didn’t, I’m not even sure what else could stop it at this point

SHUT UP UJIKO!!

they really did. only to fuck it up completely at the finish line. well, the man most singularly responsible for it is dead now, again r.i.p. Crust you useless old legend

lmao despite myself

“by a miracle, or maybe through sheer will” even he acknowledges that Tomura waking up was basically complete bullshit. yes blah blah yadda yadda got zapped by some exposed wires explanation science. because we all know that getting electrocuted will fix you right up when your heart has stopped and you have completely flatlined. you can definitely trust Horikoshi on this and there’s absolutely no need to google how defibrillators actually work

also is he somehow wearing a cape now. again by a miracle or maybe through sheer will

YESSSSSSS

(ETA: one has to wonder what Ujiko’s plan was, assuming this scheme had actually played out. were they just banking on Tomura not waking up cranky and disoriented and wanting to test out his power. his quirk doesn’t exactly distinguish friend from foe here I’m just saying.)

the part of me that goes all “ooh ahh” when all the buildings explode in Independence Day is singing inside. but never fear, the rest of me is appropriately horrified though. what was that Burnin’ was saying about the city becoming a large-scale battle zone? sob

also this page sure serves as a nice refresher for exactly why Tomura Waking Up Was Bad, which was inexplicably a topic of some debate in recent weeks. yes in spite of everything the villains are still the bad guys who’d have thought. almost as if the purpose of humanizing a character is to show that they’re human, not that they’re right

WHAT’S THIS NOW???

WELL I’LL BE. IT’S BEEN AN EVENTFUL THREE MONTHS, APPARENTLY!??

HOOAHHHHHHHH

IT’S A BIRD IT’S A PLANE IT’S A BADASS OH SHIIIIITTTTTT

finally finally finally!!!!!!

THE SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN, REPEAT, THE SHIT HAS HIT THE PROVERBIAL FAN. THE PLOT IS FINALLY HAPPENING, REPEAT, THE PLOT IS FINALLY FUCKING HAPPENING AHHHHHH

and there is no one coming to save them this time. no one to arrive at the last second and say “it’s all right now because I am here.” they have to save themselves. they have to save everyone. the training wheels are finally coming off. the safety net has been removed. after 272 chapters, the story has finally reached a point where these kids, these children, who in spite of all they’ve been through have been protected and shielded from the worst of it up till now, will finally have to be the ones to save the day all on their own

and they are not ready. but also maybe they kind of are??! but they definitely are not. and oh god oh god oh god, FINALLY WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS. TIME TO FIX THE MESS THOSE SILLY GROWN-UPS MADE, CHILDREN. YOU GOT THIS

#bnha 272 #shigaraki tomura #midoriya izuku #aizawa shouta #ujiko daruma #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #if the next few chapters don't feature some kind of avengers-style epic team up pose I will sue #what has this all even been building up to if not that #remember that the kids are not allowed to die though horikoshi #remember what we agreed upon #you remember right #right #horikoshi???

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brittledame · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Shirabu Kenjirou/Reader

Warnings: Explicit, Cursing, Hair-pulling, Name-Calling, Hate Sex, Spanking, Slight degradation, Panty stealing, Table sex

Word Count: 7.6K

Summary: A school project brings together two academic rivals, where their dislike for one another reaches a whole new level. You and Shirabu constantly duke it out for the top grade, where it becomes an everyday occurrence to see the two scowling at and insulting one another. The tension between you two finally reaches a boiling point one afternoon when an argument breaks out.

Series: Part 1 of 3 (Part 2 & Part 3)

Shiratorizawa was a private school full to the brim of prestige and practically screams ‘money’. Inside of the sleek modern exterior, each extracurricular club ranging from calligraphy to kyūdō possessed state-of-the-art facilities. Basically, you name it and there was most likely already a club for it, with each one allocated a ridiculous amount of funding. It did help that a lot of old and new money sent their kids to the school, which unfortunately leads to uppity pricks with uptight attitudes flaunting their wealth at the drop of a hat festering the hallways.

One such uppity prick went by the name of Shirabu Kenjirou and he was the bane of your existence. He came from an affluent background, old money resulting from smart trades in property stock way back before the global telecommunications were even conceptualised. You could smell the money oozing from his pores in the form of some ridiculously over-priced Giorgio Armani cologne, topped off with his neatly pressed uniform and copper-toned hair perfectly sleek.

The part that pissed you off the most about the male, and has led to your open dislike for the asshole, was the fact that he got into Shiratorizawa solely by his phenomenal grades, never once relying on daddy’s money to get in, like most of your cohort. Meanwhile, you made every single second count when studying, not a moment wasted between school and sleep, just to hope to qualify for the academic scholarship. For a while your parents fretted that you were studying too much just to pass some school’s entrance exams, where their platitudes of ‘you’re already plenty intelligent enough, honey’ and ‘you could ace it this very moment’ weren’t enough to soothe your stressed mind.

Not even three months later, you sat the exam and low and behold, you did ace it, much to your amazement. It was a beautiful moment, witnessing your name on their admittance board not even a month later, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. The only thing that ruined your moment was the name that ranked just above yours, taking in first place: Shirabu Kenjirou. So, your well-known rivalry with the copper-tinged blonde asshole started one-sided and quickly evolved into something much greater than you could’ve ever imagined.

For both your first and second year, you shared the same class as Shirabu. It was to be expected since you were both in the same grade average bracket, but still a girl could dream, right? Much to your ever-growing annoyance you were placed in the same third year class as well. Evidently you were unable to escape his prickly attitude.

Every task, assignment and exam became a silent challenge between the two of you. Each and every time, you’d throw yourself into your studies just to wipe the smug look he gives you every time he pulls through with the top mark.

The worst part of all this was the fact that he consistently pulled high marks while balancing a sport on top of his studies. You’d have to give it to him, you honestly don’t know when he manages to fit in eating and sleeping in that hectic schedule of his.

Now to place two head-strong individuals together was just begging for trouble, especially when your little competition has reached infamy around the sprawling campus. Turn out trouble is exactly what your science teacher was looking for when she placed the two of you together for the physic unit’s partner research report about their topic of choice. You looked at her like she’d lost her goddamn mind, not sparing the equally shocked Shirabu a glance. You didn’t even bother to argue with her, knowing it would’ve ended up worse somehow if you did.

“Fuck.” You muttered, hoping four the next six weeks to pass quickly

As soon as the Ms. Nakamura dismissed the class, you marched over to his desk. Stopping directly in front of him, you perched your hands on your hips and gave him a disdainful look.

“Look, for the course of this project I am willing to be civil with you.” You place a genial hand over your chest to complete your saintly sacrifice. Looking up, Shirabu gives you a blank look, before returning to annotating his textbook with bright sticky notes.

‘What a fucking dick,’ You silently seethe.

“Whatever. Just pick a topic and I’ll start on it.” His monotone voice serves to piss you off more. You curl your hands into tight fists, resisting the glorious thought of punching his pretty face.

“Um, I think not. We’ll pick the topic out together and we’ll equally distribute the work. I don’t want to hear you bitching to your hot teammates that I’m slacking.”

Grabbing a vacant chair near his desk, you spin it around and sit on it backwards, ignoring his disgruntled look. Tapping on your phone, you open a new contact and start filling it out.

“What’s your number, dickhead?” Shirabu’s head shot up at the insult and you grin at him, shaking your phone in front of his face.

“None of your fucking business, bitch.” He bites out, forehead creasing as he glares at you, completing his signature expression.

“Well, asshole, if you somehow managed to forget already, let me remind you. We need to collaborate on this and to do that, we need a line of communication. Texting is the easiest option.” You reason. You weren’t fond of the idea of Shirabu having your number either, the ass will probably write it in the boy’s changeroom as retribution for some misdeed you’ve done.

Deliberating, Shirabu’s pen stops its furious scribbling. Heaving a great sigh, he concludes that unfortunately you were correct, but that didn’t mean he had to explicitly admit that.

Snatching your phone, he ignores your indignant shout as he taps out his phone number and tosses the phone back at you.

“Great, thanks for being a team player, sport.” You say, as you clean the screen off on the bottom of your uniform top.

As you get up and return the chair to its correct place, you trudge over to your desk whilst starting to conjuring up some topic ideas to suggest.

Peeking from under his uneven fringe, Shirabu watches your skirt sway as you walk. He loves it whenever you walk away from him, leaving him to both think in peace and admire the way your hypnotising hips move as you walk. The short purple plaid Shiratorizawa skirt left little to his imagination whenever you bent over, or a strong breeze came through. Shirabu briefly wondered how the hell you evaded the school’s disciplinary committee’s strict uniform coding monitors in the hallway because he’s sure that you’re breaking at least two of them on any given day.

The next day, you texted Shirabu the list of thesis concepts you wrote up. You were surprised when your phone vibrated in your hand, delivering his speedy reply.

Shithead: Sure.

What the fuck were you meant to do with that dry ass reply?

Now angry that he wasn’t taking you seriously, you texted him back to pick a god damn topic before you went over to his practice and caused a scene. And just like that he stopped being obstinate and picked the one you were secretly hoping he would choose; it was the one focusing on Einstein’s thought experiments how his process was adapted into modern-day quantum research.

After a few back and forth texts by that afternoon you had both scheduled a few meetups over the next few weeks for the more challenging components, such as devising a solid thesis and finding some credible academic papers to back-up your statements.

A week later found you waiting in the library, going through your homework as you wait for Shirabu’s team practice to end, hoping to make good use of some of your free time.

By the time Shirabu swept into the room, you had already gotten a good head start in the assignment. Dressed in his neatly pressed uniform and not a hair out of place, you almost suspected that he made up the excuse of volleyball practice to get out of spending anymore time than necessary with you. The asshole breezes past you, not even offering an apology or reason as to why he was late, but you could at least deduct that practice was at fault – that is if he even went.

“Well since you decided to keep me waiting for –“ You glance down at your phone, “forty-five minutes, I already started it. I’ve written both the study’s aim and objective and began devising the outline for what needs to be addressed in the introduction.” You say shortly, not waiting for him to seat himself and set up before you push your laptop across the desk and into his personal space.

Shirabu rolls his eyes at your accusing tone and started to read what you’ve written up in the shared word document. Kenjirou was mildly impressed at how much you accomplished in such a short amount of time, but he tried not to show that outwardly though, afraid your already inflated ego would grow. Grunting in agreement, Shirabu slid the laptop back over to you.

“That’s fine. I’ll start pulling some sources for the statements you outlined and start writing them up. Why don’t you start researching any recent projects detailing new discoveries and start collecting data to include?”

That last part was less of a question and more of a demand, but his usual flat tone made it hard to distinguish between the two. The lack of inflection in his voice could just about put anyone to sleep, and after sitting here for almost an hour in the calming atmosphere of the library, you were ready to start dozing off.

A sharp kick to your shin ripped you out of your thoughts, causing to to yelp and rub at the sore spot. A quick look at Shirabu’s smug face illuminated by his screen was enough to rid the last of your daze, begrudgingly returning to your work.

Two hours had passed, filled by the tap-tapping abuse of your keyboards and the occasional groan released by you at another paywall obstructing an article containing some nice data. Other than that, Shirabu was a quiet as a graveyard. You’d assume he had spontaneously passed away if not for the typing and blinking, the fucker didn’t even look like he was breathing.

What a completely boring guy with a nasty attitude. The most interesting thing about him was his unfortunate fringe, looking like he got mugged in an alleyway by a guy with no fine motor skills wielding a pair of scissors.

Plainly coloured hair, irises almost an identical shade of almost blonde but not quite there. He was of average stature, maybe a little below for the volleyball team. He was completely normal, nothing you would normally give a second glance while passing by, and yet…

You mentally shake away the unwanted thoughts conjured by the sight of his hands, or the slight flexing of his arm under the thin fabric of the uniform shirt.

Dirty little fantasies of Shirabu just snapping one day after one too many insults, throwing you over his lap and just going to town on your ass with the same hand that scored so many serving points for the elite team filled your head incessantly. The force would jostle you forward, tears in your eyes as you beg him – for what you don’t know, but you would beg and he’d wrap his strong hand around your throat, the threat of cutting off your blood flow to your brain was enough to stop your breathless begs.

Wrapped up in your raunchy thoughts, your typing ceases and your eyebrows furrow as you’re faced with the horrible realisation that you actually have feelings other than hate for the up-tight prick. The feelings were far from romantic, more likely resting somewhere between hate and dislike, but it was still the principle of the matter. Acknowledging those feelings alone felt like you ceded your part in a game that you two had unofficially started.

Fuck.

The next few weeks were going to be hell. You internally groaned at the thought.

You had no idea just how right you were, as the next few Friday sessions were almost unbearable for you since that day. After that dreadful meet up, one could slice the tension that brewed between the two of you with their bare hand, even though it was solely emanating from you.

As most horrific diseases start, it was all innocuous at the beginning. The session all started the same: witty quips and digging barbs swapped at the beginning of your sessions before silently coming to the unanimous agreement to not speak another word to one another unless it was absolutely necessary. Even then, you could feel the migraine pulsating threateningly behind your eyes at how effortlessly hot he was. The headache was quite literally the physical manifestation of the vexation you felt towards the irritating copper-haired male.

It turned out that your exasperation was mutual, Kenjirou thought if he had to sit through another session with your loud breathing or deafening clacking of your keyboard, he was going to start ripping out hair. He was at his wit’s end and he had no reason as to why you set him off so easily. Not even the over-exuberant Goshiki could elicit such a nasty comment so quickly from him, even on his worst days.

The tension mounting between you two from previous sessions hung heavy in the air, but neither of you were willing to acknowledge the elephant stampeding through the small and rarely used study room.

The irritating sound of your long, trimmed nails typing, no more like smashing, on your keyboard cut through the tension. It was enough to put Kenjirou on edge faster than any other assignment meet up. He’s had a hell of a week and while he didn’t have grueling practice today, spending it alone with you was the cherry on top.

Usually the silent and calming ambiance of the library never failed to soothe him when he’s tense and anxious, but his irritation was hitting a whole new level he’s never experienced before.

“I swear if you keep smashing at your keyboard like that, I’ll rip them off and shove them up your ass.” He seethes, hands curling into fists where they rested on the table.

Looking up, you give him an incredulous look before opening your mouth. God what Shirabu wouldn’t give to get that stupid mouth of yours to not ever open again. He’d be saving the world from one less idiot spreading their stupidity.

“That’s kinky Shirabu. This is a library, keep it in your pants and save it for the bedroom.” You tease, fluttering your long eyelashes at him paired with a plastic grin.

At the murderous look his gives you, you throw back your head and laugh quietly. You weren’t willing to face the librarian’s wrath if you broke the rules, even if you were situated on the deserted top floor in a room furthest from her station at the entrance.

Conversation stalls from there on out, with only the clacking of your keyboard’s once again filling the air, although you do take greater care when typing now, not that the asshole thanked you for your consideration.

Kenjirou watches you from his periphery as you brush your glossy hair over you your shoulder, ponytail bouncing with added weight. That stupid ass hair style that made Kenjirou want to reach over and yank –

“I know you lost a couple of brain cells playing volleyball but come on, are you really that slow?” You raised your eyebrow at him, glancing at the unfinished excel charts Kenjirou had elected to do.

Giving you an unimpressed look, he chooses not to bite, thinking he’s already wasted enough time acknowledging your existence. Kenjirou hadn’t even noticed you talking to him, he was just that used to tuning you out and hearing your annoying voice as background noise.

“Can you add a trendline to the data, so that the upward trend we mention in the discussion is clearly evident in the chart?” You carefully enunciate each word to him.

Your demeaning tone and slow talking really pissed Shirabu off this time, he clenches his jaw and expels an exasperated breath through his nose.

“I’d appreciate it if you don't address me like that ever again. A trendline on the data we collected is pointless, just a pretty line. If we generated the data ourselves, then maybe, but the studies these numbers are sourced off of don’t even have trendlines.” His reasoning is rock-solid, but he was a prick about it, so you rolled your eyes and moved on to the next section of the paper that needed sorting.

“Fine, I acquiesce. A trendline here would be rather inappropriate.” He scoffs at your formal language. This was coming from the same girl that he heard on many occasions say obscenities so vulgar it’d make a seasoned soldier blush.

Tense silence fills the void between you both. You brushed of the strange sensation of being on edge. It is true that Shirabu seems even more pissy than usual, but you’ve been dealing with his shit for weeks now, you could put up with two more sessions with the unbearable prick. Hopefully.

Focusing back on the shared document open before you, you stare blankly as you try to decipher his nonsense tables. Concerned, you quickly scroll through the rest of the discussion he had begrudgingly volunteered to complete. To your absolute horror, you noticed that your format of your portion of the discussion was utterly incongruous with his formatting.

Well shit.

While grammar mistakes and sentence structure could be tweaked and fixed within a day’s work, it would take you both at least a good day's to make the report’s content flow freely and have a singular format. Thankfully, you guys have the time to fix up his – and maybe some of your – mistakes.

“Could you not?” You say shortly, tacking on a sharp glare aimed at the bane of your existence.

“Could I not what? Use your big girl words.” He bites back, not even trying to hide his annoyance with you anymore.

“Could you please stop fucking up our assignment. I don’t know about you, daddy’s money, but I’d really like to get full marks for this.” You shoot back, angry that he had the gall to be annoyed at you when he was the one fucking up the format of the assignment.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m doing everything that we outlined in our past sessions.” Kenjirou fumed. He swears to fucking god, if he has to argue with you over the (lack of) importance of a trend line for this data set again he’s going to scream.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you miss the way his eyes quickly flit down. Kenjirou hates himself for the way his dick twitched at the sight of you inadvertently pressing your breasts together. Licking his lips, he allows you to stew over his words and watches as you reluctantly accept his logic.

It was true, you guys didn’t really decide on a true format in the initial planning phases, it seemed like a far-off issue to worry about at that moment. Well the future is now and that issue was just going to compound by the day if it didn’t get sorted out soon. It didn’t help that you hated editing papers with a passion.

At your silence, he rolled his eyes so hard you were scared they may get stuck – although he deserves at least that much for all the shit he’s given you over the past three years. He turned back to his work and went back to ignoring you.

Oh well, two can play at that game. You didn’t want, nor need, to talk to the prick anyway.

Shifting your restless legs under the table, you accidentally kick Shirabu in the shin, earning you a dirty look. Enjoying the ugly look of his face, you give him a sickly-sweet smile.

“Oops, my bad, Shirabu. I’ll sure to be more cautious next time!” Topping off your act with some obnoxious batting of your eyelashes.

“Do it again and I’ll wipe that look off your face real fast.” He sneered back at you.

Ignoring all common sense, you played with the idea of what exactly he meant by his threat. Most likely nothing sexual and most definitely involving a punch. But that doesn’t stop you from briefly entertaining a short sexual fantasy involving the two of you fucking in his chair.

Damn, these thoughts have been getting more frequent and out-of-hand recently. If they became anymore of an issue, you may just have to see the on-campus therapist about your obvious undiagnosed nymphomania.

True to your nature, you decide to grab the metaphorical bull by the horn to see how hard he bucks. Adjusting your posture again, you lean your elbows on the table as you uncross your legs and again hit his leg stretched out under the table.

You could practically hear Shirabu’s restraint snap, a dark expression taking over his face. He jerks up and out of his chair and proceeds stalks towards you, a dangerous glint in his ochre eyes.

‘Oh shit, I might have actually overdone it this time. He’s going to fucking kill me.’ You were frozen in place, not even breathing as he towers over your seated form. You mentally said your goodbye’s to family and friends. They wouldn’t be shocked to find out that you met your end due to pure pettiness.

You were expecting at least a slap, maybe even a gut punch, so when he grabbed your arms and hoisted you onto your feet, you assumed the absolute worst. Unexpectedly, he backed your body against the table, his hips pinning yours against the hard edge, making it dig harshly into your back.

You gasp as a calloused hand grabs the back of your exposed neck, the other moving to your waist. He pulls himself incredibly close to you. You're sure there isn’t an atom of space left between the two of you now, feeling every inch of his body pressed up against yours.

He bends down and breathes softly into your ear words that set off a blaze within you.

“I warned you not to try me today and yet you kept on pushing me.” His low tone sent shivers down your spine.

Hands flat on the table, you shove yourself up against his hard chest even more, meeting his dark expression head-on.

“I figured you were all bark and no bite, so what’s the harm?” Ignoring the sharp edge of his previous words, you kept making digs at him. You already made peace with the fact that you may die at the hands of the unfairly attractive man before you.

Snapping, Shirabu grabs you by your tie, pulling you upwards and meeting your lips in a fierce kiss. It honestly was more teeth than lips, but you’d take whatever he would give you. Lust quickly replaced shock as you reciprocated the kiss, giving back as much as he gave you.

Never one to be one-upped, you both furiously made out against the table. Eventually you reluctantly conceded to him, pulling away gasping for breath to fill your aching lungs. While he didn't look as effected as you, he still panted as he caught his breath.

Lips kiss-swollen from the hard kiss he gave you, he gulped at the mussed up look of your uniform from the short make-out session. The sight alone was enough to spur him back into action. You met his lips half-way, hands flying up to bury themselves into surprisingly soft hair.

The kiss was more than just that, it was a battle of wills. It was another challenge set before you both, another one added to the extensive list of trials. It tested who had the guts to resolve the unresolved sexual tension building between you both.

Fingers digging into your soft flesh, he easily hoisted you up onto the table, slotting himself between the space made between your open legs. The kiss picks up intensity as he throws in a few nips at your bottom lip, while you lightly bite at his tongue invading your mouth.

You gasp at a particularly harsh bite at your bottom lip, drawing back to give the self-satisified male a scowl.

“Oh? Is this the reason why you’ve always been so short with me. It’s cute that you don’t know how to act around your crush.” Your teasing words make the male between your legs tense up.

“I’d rather bite off my own tongue than date you, bitch.” He goes to kiss you again. It was the only thing that got you to shut up, which he very enjoyed.

“Who said anything about dating, dearest? My, my, so you have been thinking of me.” You laughed and gave him a belittling look.

“The only thoughts I’ve had about you involve either shutting you up or fucking you senseless, so make of that what you will.” He grits out between clenched teeth, not willing to give you that inch he threw out to you like a lifeline.

If he was going to go through with this, he at least wanted you to know exactly what he wanted to get out of it. Nothing more, nothing less.

You consider him under hooded eyelids, gaze sweeping up and down his clothed torso. Well at least he wanted the same thing that’s been haunting your waking thoughts for the past month. You weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth that's for sure.

“Sure, I mean you could try, but I doubt that you could even a moan out of me.” You said languidly, setting up another challenge. Now all he had to do was pick up the gauntlet.

Words igniting a fire within him, his lips tipped into a lopsided smirk. You had no idea what you just started and he was more than happy to show you the consequences of your bold actions.

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.”

The room you occupied was situated on the top floor, at the end of a long corridor of empty study rooms exactly like this one. It was highly unlikely that the elderly librarian at the entrance would hear what was about to go down. It was also unlikely any snooping students would come across your study room on the neglected floor.

You fully expected him to pull you into another bruising kiss before fucking you but it seemed that the stupidly hot bastard was just full of surprises today. Instead, he pulled you off the table and turned you to face the chair he had previously occupied. With the hand placed at the nape of your neck, the other moving to your opposite side of your waist, he pushed you down to lie against the cold tabletop. Though definitely not for your benefit, he pushed aside any stray bits of paper out of your way to prevent them from creasing.

You gasp as the pressure he applies onto you forces the breath out of your lungs, pressing you hard against the unforgiving surface. Hands scrabbling for a purchase to help you establish a counter force to push up against him, he bends down and breathes softly into your ear.

“Look at you so pliant for me, I could get used to this.” His smug tone made your blood boil. That bastard was going to milk this situation for all it has and you have no ground to stand on to refute him when you were planning on doing the exact same.

“You know, your nasty attitude destroys that pretty boy stereotype you have going on.” You retort. You weren’t going to take his bullshit laying down – metaphorically speaking.

Fed up with you running your mouth, always talking but never saying anything of substance, he hastily loosens his tie. Without warning, he shoves a bundle of fabric into your mouth, quickly moving his fingers away from teeth that would gladly bite down onto his precious setting tools.

Trying to voice your anger, you squirm in his grasp with muffled nonsensical words leaving your mouth.

Kenjirou marvels at the sight of your stuffed mouth, words finally muted and wide eyes that were angry at his action. If he knew this is all he had to do to get you to shut up for more than two seconds then he’d gladly do it again.

Kenjirou couldn’t help but wonder if your cheeks would also look like that if he’s shoved his dick between your plush pink lips but he saves that thought for another day. After all, he had at least half a year left to put up with your bullshit.

Pressing his hips against your ass, he revels at the feeling of finally having you under him, squirming and all. Deciding not to draw this out anymore than he already has, he smoothly grinds his slowly growing erection into the cleft of your ass obscured by ugly purple plaid.

Unsatisfied with the lack of friction, he flips up your skirt to reveal lacy panties. He thought it was a bit risqué to wear them at school but who was he to complain about the lovely gift.

You gave a muffled shout when he snapped against the waist band against your hip. Tempted, you considered trying to kick him in the shin again somehow in your position. The thought dissolved into nothing as he lightly smacks your ass, causing you to jolt forward more in surprise than in pain.

With the absence of any complaints or irritating whinging, Kenjirou weighed the plump flesh in his hand, grinning to himself when he hears you moan at his curious squeezing. He wondered what other delicious noises you’ll make under him.

Well there was only way to find out.

Winding his hand back, his hand came down with a loud ringing smack, hard enough to leave his hand pleasantly tingling. The pink imprint of his hand on your ass was going to be burned into his mind for a long time, a wave a heat rolling through him and coalescing in his groin.

Again, you jolt forward at the impact, nails scratching at the acrylic lacquer of the tabletop, unable to find purchase. While you could feel the poor skin pulse dully with pain, pure arousal flashed hot and bright within you. If you had ever thought spanking would be something you were into, you’re pretty sure Shirabu was one of the worst people to discover along with, always the one to abuse any situation.

The next time his hand came down on your ass, you mistakenly tensed, causing the pain to shoot through you ten-fold. You wince at the sensation of him hitting the exact same spot over and over again. You were sure the spot would be rouge red by this point, but the pain didn’t take away from the pleasure you derived from his rough treatment.

Mixing things up, Kenjirou bites his lip as he aims a smack right at the apex of your thighs, close enough to your core that the vibrations of the hit ripped a lewd moan from your lips, much louder than the rest. Blood rushing down to his already engorged cock at your noises, he knows that he could easily get addicted to your bent form. You enjoying the spanking was just a fun bonus for him.

“I should’ve guessed you were into spanking. It fits the ‘good school girl’ façade you’ve got going on,” Shirabu hums, throwing the words back into your face. Leaning down, he breathes into your ear, “I could really get used to you like this beneath me. I have such big plans for you.”

Shivering at his low tone, your mind whirled chaotically with half-baked ideas of what exactly he had in plan for you. Honestly, as long as it ended up with his dick inside of you, you don’t care about the rest. You were always opposed to the saying ‘It’s not the destination, it’s all about the journey.’ And this situation was no different to you.

Kenjirou slides your panties over your ass and down your legs, half tempted to chuck them across the room just to see you panicking over locating them after this. On second thought… He shoves the offending piece of lace into his back pocket, as a present for himself putting up with you.

His hands bracket you bottoms of your ass and smooths his thumbs over the soft pink flesh. Kenjirou watching them slightly jiggle in the palms of his hand, admiring the rosy tinge he painted them. Kenjirou firmly decided that the flesh looked much prettier painted pink by the very hand that slammed balls over the side of the net with shocking force.

Fingers gliding over the cheeks and trailing downward, he makes contact with your wet lips. Mildly surprised, he runs a slender finer between them, gathering your juices.

“Look at how wet you are for me. I bet I won't even have to prep you, your greedy hole will probably just suck me in.” He states, rubbing his finger slowly -torturously - over the entrance of your hole.

You whine through your makeshift gag and buck your hips against his fingertips, hoping for them to dip in deeper. The pad of his crooked index finger dipped shallowly into you a few times from your efforts. Kenjirou was greatly amused at your efforts, deciding to hold his fingers in place for you to try and fail to fuck into yourself.

“Look at how desperate you are, it’s honestly pathetic. I expected so much more from you.” He tutted.

The flash of anger fizzled and died before it took root, much too distracted by him inserting his entire index finger in without warning. While you had explored yourself on more than a few occasions, mapping out sensitive flesh with your fingers, the feeling of his much longer and slightly thicker finger inside of you was incredible.

You whimper at the slick feeling of him moving his finger in and out of you, occasionally curling against the spongy tissue, seeking for the bundle of nerves that will make you scream. Slotting in another finger and him twisting them simultaneously had you panting and clenching your eyes at the full feeling from just the two.

Feeling your walls tighten and quiver around his finger as he crooked them a few times, he doubled down to find your erogenous zone before he fucks you. It only took another finger and few moments of scissoring them deep inside of you, indicated by your abrupt gasping jerk.

Licking his lips, he rubs his fingers harshly against the soft area, committing to memory the muffled breathy moans and whimpers that dropped from your panting mouth. Dick twitching, hard and painful within his tight slacks draws him out of his mind. He withdraws his saturated fingers from your sopping hole, briefly abandoning the sensitive spot for now.

Slumping, you simultaneously miss and despise his fingers fucking into you, hating that he found your G-spot quicker than you’d anticipated. The prick was too smart for his own good, the asshole probably knew more about female anatomy and orgasms than you did with biology being his best class.

The rustle of his pants being undone pulls you back to reality. Oh god this is really happening. Your breath picks up, anticipating the next move the bitter setter will make next.

The sensation of something long, hot and rigid, his dick you assumed, rests between your still stinging cheeks. His fingers dip back between your lips and gather more liquid arousal. Kenjirou ignores your groan at the odd feeling, preoccupied with smearing your slick over his dick, taking his sweet time.

One hand on his cock, guiding the tip to sit at your entrance, with the other placed for support on your hip. Tense, you waited for him to just slam on in, not anticipating him to draw out the moment. You hated the way that you squirmed at the thought of his dick being so close but so far away from where you wanted it most.

“You better hold onto the desk. Once I start, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.” He said, smug tone and all ringing loud and clear.

You huff indignantly at his statement, as if to say: ‘Sure, whatever you say, asshole.’

Rolling his eyes, he tightens his grip as he starts to insert himself inside of you. Obviously taking pity on you, he graciously chooses to glide in at a decent pace. The breath was punched out of your lungs as he completely sheathed himself inside you, hot and throbbing. You try not to violently shiver around him because you couldn’t bare the thought of inflating his already unhealthily enlarged ego.

Dropping the niceties, as if there were any with Shirabu involved, he slid out not a moment later and slammed back on in, loving the sound of his skin smacking against yours. Sloppy sounds of your fucking fill the air and frankly you’d be pretty grossed right now if your brain didn’t reside in your pussy that very moment.

Fucking you from behind, Kenjirou grabs a fistful of shiny hair and harshly rips back your head, hot breath cascading over perspiring skin.

“You take me so well, like you were made for me. Maybe I should fuck this hole of yours again sometime.”

In retribution, you clench down as hard as feasibly possible, hoping to knock him off of that high horse of his. The grunt that rings in your ears pacifies your ire, but the unexpected resistance doesn't stop him from trying to fuck up into you even harder.

Pardoning his attitude, you loosen up for him, more so for your own pleasure than his. He doesn’t hesitate to pick up his unforgiving pace, pumping in and out of you like a sex-crazed mad-man. Eyes rolling into your head, you felt the tip of his thick dick kiss the entrance of your cervix, which paired fantastically with the friction his thick cock made against your quivering walls.

Moaning around the tie as he furiously fucks you from behind, you can feel the piece of fabric become saturated with your drool. He seemed to appreciate the sounds you made, hands tightening around your hips and starts to seek out the highly sensitive spot hidden somewhere inside of you.

Every time he slid out, he’d readjust his angle with only the tip still in before slamming back on into, waiting for the moment he found his target. The pain of the table cutting into your stomach is buried underneath the pleasure Kenjirou relentlessly delivered to you.

An idea flashed in Kenjirou’s mind, a cruel one, but not too cruel as revenge for all the shit you’ve put him through. Unknowing of the feral grin on his face, you continued to moan as his dick fills you so perfectly, suddenly jolting when you feel his warm lips against your throat. You let out a squeal and clenched down hard around his length when you feel his teeth bury into the soft skin. Manicured nails scratching small divots into the desk as he sucks the bruise deep into your skin.

You grit your teeth when you feel him release your skin, the spot already feeling sore at the rough treatment. You could tell from the position that it was too high for the uniform’s collar to hide and wearing a scarf in this summer weather was way too suspicious. That motherfucker probably planned that; you silently fume as he smirks against your perspiring flesh.

The worst part though was when all conspiring thoughts of retribution were wiped clean from you mind as your entire nervous system is struck by lightning. You cry out loudly at the sensation, to which Kenjirou huffed under his breath, muttering out a quiet ‘Thank fuck’ that went unacknowledged by you as you tried to recuperate from him hitting your G-spot with the force of a tank.

Kenjirou greedily ate up each cry leaving your lips as he continued to hit the sensitive nerves with deadly precision. The sight of you writhing underneath him was enough payment for the annoyance he’d suffered through at your hands the past month. But it was the feel of your walls clutching at him tightly and your delicious moans that was the true reward for all his patience.

The wet squelching noises of your furious fucking was enough to make you blush, which was hilarious thinking about it. Not even four weeks ago you were ready to jump the table and non-sexually choke him out with your tie – and now he was railing you with his tie as a makeshift gag.

Ah, fate truly was a bitch.

Thrusts becoming frantic, you knew that Kenjirou was nearing his end and you would swear bloody vengeance if he finished and left you high and dry. It turns that promise would be for naught. Shirabu reaches around you with his still slick covered fingers and rubs furiously at your clit, giving it a few good squeezes, rightfully assuming you loved the rough treatment. And that you did, you bucked wildly in his grasp, moans hitting a whole new pitch as you unravel quickly under his dual ministrations.

The arousal that had been sitting hot inside of you, seemed to snap and unleashed upon you an orgasm that had stars sear into your eyelids, eyes clenched tightly as the sensation threatened to drown you in it. What felt like pure electricity coursed through your veins, feeling as if Shirabu’s dick had just sent you to a new dimension, brain liquefying inside of your skull.

Behind you, Kenjirou seizes up as he feels you tighten up considerably around him, delivering him to his peak as well. His pace slows as his hips stutter, unleashing his load within you. Even completely incoherent, you shivered at the feeling of him feeling at you, not able to muster up and ounce of disgust at the feeling. That should’ve been the moment that you knew that you were truly fucked; you were completely wrapped around Shirabu’s long pretty fingers.

Limbs trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you laid there limply as he pulled out. You felt a bead of sweat drop down your brow as you weakly collect yourself together, drawing yourself up on shaky arms. The sensation of thick globules of Shirabu’s cum slipping out of you was enough of a distraction to brush of the intense stare Shirabu aimed at your leaking hole.

Leaning back, Kenjirou fights down the flush on his cheeks from watching his cum slowly dripping out of you, feeling hot under the collar from both the sight and from the mind-blowing orgasm. Shuffling back, he cleans himself off with a clean tissue in his shirt pocket before tucking himself back into his boxer briefs and pulling up his pants.

Slumped against the table, you felt like a wreck, both inside and out. Dick rearranging your insides aside, you were happy that Shirabu deigned for you to orgasm instead of leaving you a begging mess, which was a very likely move for the bastard.

Your jaw felt sore from how full your mouth was with his tie crammed in. Pulling out the wet article, you tossed it onto the table in his general direction. Kenjirou looks at the crumpled fabric with disgust. Weirdly, he doesn't complain as he gathers some tissues from his bag to wrap the article in until he can get it cleaned.

Choosing not to question his sudden pacified attitude towards you, you pushed yourself up on weak arms. Kenjirou laughs at your struggle, not at all intimidated by your nasty glare.

“Asshole.” You mumble under your breath.

You make quick work of cleaning yourself up too, feeling weirdly exposed bent over and naked from the waist down whilst a fully clothed Shirabu almost looked bored, acting as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out.

Your skirt slides back into place as you stand upright, shortly followed by more of his load trickling out of you. Pinned underneath his burning stare, you refused to give him an inch and fought back the tremble that threatened to overtake your body at the odd sensation.

“Alright, now sit down. Let’s finish this project before I leave and you have to finish fixing up the format by yourself.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

It seems the bastard wouldn’t even let you properly clean up first before diving back into the assignment.

“Really. Now get your lazy ass up, you’re creasing our data sets.”

Not willing to reveal how flustered you were, you downplay your disgust at the feeling his cum drying on your thighs and stiffly walk over to your chair, trying to spy your panties somewhere on the ground, but ultimately found nothing. You could have sworn that Shirabu smirked at your searching looks, but a second glance showed you his normal bored expression.

Sticking your nose up in the air, you start discussing your plan on how to fix the minor issue of formatting. Shirabu gave lackluster nods at your prodding, clearly wanting nothing more than to leave. You did your best to push through the sensation of the sticky mess drying between your legs, internally fretting as to where your panties may lie. You're pretty sure that you'd perish on the spot if a staff member found them.

Thankfully, it took only half an hour before Shirabu beat a hasty retreat, quickly placing all his stuff neatly into his bag and intent on walking out of the room without another word. The fucker wasn’t even going to say goodbye to you.

Shifting in your seat, you start packing up. Eyes wildly darting around, you didn’t notice him pausing in the open doorway.

Glancing over his shoulder, shooting you a dastardly smirk, Kenjirou savours your infuriated expression before turning away and walking off. Slightly confused, you squint as you try to make out an odd-looking lump in his back pocket. At the sight of familiar lace peeking out of his slacks, your eyes widen in shock and indignant rage.

“That bastard.”

Edit: I fixed an incongruity with a bit in the end scene, sorry to anyone that picked it up!!

Notes: We need more Shirabu content so here I am delivering some extremely self-indulgent content. I made Shirabu a dick but I made reader a bitch towards him and he strikes me as the type to hate stuck up people. Hope you all enjoyed!

#shirabu kenjiro x reader #shirabu kenjirou #haikyuu!! x reader #x reader #Shirabu x you #haikyuu reader insert #shiratorizawa #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fic #haikyu!! x reader #haikyu!!#shirabu kenjirou x reader

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the-last-cuddlebender · 3 years

Note

hi! if youre still taking requests could you do the gaang doing dumbassery because they are all dumbasses? (if you want) anyways ur cool have a nice day

Aw, thanks, Anon🥰 I’ll raise you one better and give you Christmas-themed-Modern!AU dumbassery (feat. Zuko, Sokka, and Aang)

Words: 973

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Zuko approached the house with a slack jaw and a firm questioning of...well, of everything. He blinked three times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, and he immediately wanted to walk away when he realized he wasn’t imagining things. He had developed a sixth sense for knowing when he needed to have plausible deniability, and his instincts were screaming at him to get away from there.

Why. And why today. He was too tired for this.

“What…” Zuko struggled to find the ability to string his thoughts together. ‘Confused’ wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what he was feeling. He was concerned, for certain, and for many reasons. Some of it was for his own sake, but most of it was for his dwindling hope that humanity, as a collective, would be able to evolve forwards ever again. “...What is he doing?”

Sokka shrugged and didn’t look away from the warning-label-in-the-making wandering around on the roof. He lifted the lower half of his face out of his powder-coated jacket and accepted his fiancé’s greeting-gift of hot cocoa—extra marshmallows and a little gingerbread-man on top because being extra had its perks when Zuko got in trouble.

“He’s trying,” Sokka said between sips.

Zuko stared at the roof and the confused monk on top of it. And as he watched Aang gamble his life amongst the snowy shingles, he couldn’t help but have the same feeling of watching a documentary on National Geographic where he knew the baby deer was going to be killed and couldn’t do anything about it.

“But what is he trying?”

Sokka shrugged again. “‘Dunno. I’m just here to keep him company and to catch him when he falls off the roof again.”

“Again?”

Sokka spared him the same half-lidded gaze he had been giving their tattooed brother (in all but blood). “You were his teacher, Zuko. You should know he can be a pretty slow learner, sometimes.”

Zuko rubbed his growing headache and fought the urge to pound his head into the nearest tree. Aang was on the highest point of the roof and tangled in what had to be forty or so feet of Christmas lights. Thankfully, he had stopped waddling in a circle in his vain search for freedom and plopped into a seat in the snow. If the inevitable two-story fall didn’t kill him, then hypothermia definitely would. Born and raised in the mountains or not, he had no business wearing only jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with the damn sleeves rolled up to his elbows (the shirt was reindeer themed and had ‘Naughty List Advocate’ printed across the chest).

Sokka sipped his hot cocoa. Zuko contemplated his place in the universe. “...She’s going to kill us for letting him do this,” he said.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Sokka slung an arm around Zuko’s shoulders and tugged them together. He gestured with his cup of cocoa towards the arrowed human hazard. “Katara won’t spill blood around the holidays. She’s too much of a goodie-goodie. Besides, this is Aang’s first Christmas. She wouldn’t dare mess it up for him.”

Zuko scowled but looked thoughtful. “I guess it is, technically, his first Christmas. Has he really only been here for less than a year?”

“Eight months. Feels a lot longer than that. And don’t worry too much about him falling from the roof. He pretty much lived up there for the first few weeks he moved in.”

“...Why?”

“He missed the altitude.”

“Ah.”

A small avalanche slid off the roof and plopped into a heap in front of them. The Christmas lights were all somehow turned on and probably an electrical hazard with how taut they were pulled, and Aang paused for breath from trying to free himself of his cocoon of pretty colors. He moped—nearly pouting—in a way that made them fight the urge to hug him and donate to an ASPCA commercial.

“Has he even seen Christmas lights before?”

Sokka smiled from ear to ear. “Nooooope,” he said, suspiciously happy.

“And you didn’t bother correcting him on…,” Zuko gestured to Aang’s creative stringing of lights, “...whatever that is?”

“He knows what Google is. He can look it up if he wants to.”

“Does he, though? Does he really?” Zuko shook his head. “Someone has to tell him.”

“I think it’s cute. Let him figure out what it means to him all on his own.”

“Hey, Sokka!” Aang shouted from two sheer stories above them. “Are all of the lights working—Oh, hey, Zuko!” The overgrown golden retriever disguised as their best friend smiled down at them with a floodlight’s intensity. He flailed his freed arm like one of those inflatable things in front of car dealerships. “What do you think? Pretty cool, right? I��ve been working on it all day!”

“Yeah, I can see that!” Zuko said. Sokka cackled, and Zuko elbowed him. “It looks...It looks very nice, Aang! Just be careful, okay?”

“I am, don’t worry! I’ve fallen from higher places back at the Temple!”

Zuko gave Sokka a pointed look. “You still think he’s going to learn?”

“Point taken.” Sokka passed Zuko his hot cocoa so he could cup his hands over his mouth. “Hey, Aang! I think that’s enough! It looks really good, but you don’t wanna overdo it! It’ll be too bright!”

“But...But I still have so much left to do!”

“Can’t you finish it later?” Zuko yelled. “You’ll catch your death out here if you don’t put on a jacket!”

Aang ignored that last part. “I can’t stop! Katara is going to be home in a few hours, and I have to have the lights up before she gets here! It’s a surprise!”

Sokka cupped Zuko’s mouth with one hand and projected his voice with the other. “Okay, that’s fine, then! Just be careful, okay? We’ll be right here if you need us!”

Aang nodded so fast that his head threatened to come off his shoulders. “I will! Thanks, guys!”

Sokka released Zuko’s mouth, and Zuko mumbled through his forced smile so Aang couldn’t see him talking. “You do realize that if he gets so much as a scratch, then our lives are forfeit, right?”

Sokka laughed a little, shrugged yet again, and sipped his cocoa some more.

Zuko rolled his eyes so hard that it was a miracle he didn’t go blind. “Do you have to have a deathwish for Christmas?”

“Eh, it’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Right on cue, Aang appeared as if he had been summoned—first as a startled yelp, then as a snowballing cocoon of lights, and then as a projectile.

Luckily, Zuko caught him.

Not so luckily, Zuko hadn’t meant to catch him.

...Zuko’s broken arm throbbed just as badly as his headache, and Aang—lying in the hospital bed right next to him and admiring the little Christmas wreaths and snowflakes Katara drew on his leg’s cast (she even colored a blue line to show where his tattoo wound down his leg)—wasn’t exactly helping him.

He was way, way too tired for this.

Zuko made the mistake of looking at his companion-in-cast. Aang’s puppy-dog eyes were internationally ranked, and they disabled Zuko’s ability to say ‘no’ when he asked if he could pretty please make up for breaking his arm by decorating his cast for him.

(‘Creative’ wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the end result...But Zuko really did like the pair of red and green dragons. They had antlers and snowy-white beards, and the fire they breathed looked like Christmas lights thrown into a blender. It made the nauseating amount of permanent-marker-smell completely worth it.)

Every few hours, Sokka brought them greeting-gifts of hot cocoa and fruit cakes—extra marshmallows and moonpeach-flavored gooey centers because being extra had its perks when Katara was contemplating her allowance of her brother’s and her future brother-in-law’s continued existences.

Aang meekly showed Katara the little drawing he made of what he intended their roof to look like.

She kissed his frown away and practically lived on the roof for the next two days to make it happen.

Once the lights were lit, a small crowd gathered around their house like how people did when they saw a car accident.

But Aang couldn’t have been happier, and, when he slung his arms around their shoulders and thanked them for making his first Christmas that much brighter, Zuko and Sokka couldn’t not smile along with their brother (in all but blood) if they tried.

#zukka #Aang #zuko #Sokka #kataang #modern!au #avatar the last airbender #protect the airboybean at any and all costs #Zuko is ~too tired for this~#fluff and humor #Christmas theme #gaang #fic request #myfanfictiontag #post #i love zuko so much and don’t say it nearly enough #or Sokka #love these beans

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years

Text

Doyenne ~ Part 7 (Final Chapter)

Warnings: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy needs help from one of Birmingham’s most powerful underground gangs, the Hemlock Angels. Little does he know, he’s not the king of Birmingham after all.

Warnings: Murder, Illegal stuff (Is this even a warning for this show? Everything’s illegal)

Word Count: 5867

A/N: Ahh! The last chapter!!! As I go back and re-read the last few chapters, I’m nervous Tommy has been a little OOC (I hadn’t watched the show in a few weeks). But oh well! Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy the finale!

A/N 2: Also, all the monetary references have been adjusted for inflation. I think I forgot to mention it before. But, yeah. So 400 pounds was worth much more than 400 pounds now.

___________________________________

Fuck Thomas Shelby.

Fuck him and the way he treated everyone around him as if they were beneath him. Fuck him and the way he acted like people were expendable. Fuck him and the way he viewed everyone as pawns in his own overlord game of chess. Fuck him and the way he just blatantly called you out. Fuck him and the way he made you crave him.

Your encounter with him had been fulfilling in ways you hadn’t expected but it had also infuriated you, bringing back memories you’d struggled to suppress for the last two years. Memories brought out emotion and emotion was vulnerability and you had no room for that. But since Tommy had planted the seeds of memory in your mind, all you could do was feel the hidden rage and heartache you’d been concealing since Mason had screwed you over.

Mason had been your lover years ago as the Hemlock Angels grew. He was a poor boy desperate for money and you were a poor entrepreneur desperate for people willing to do illegal work. A romance very quickly blossomed and he was the first and only man you could say you ever truly loved. You’re whole heart and soul was invested in him.

He was tall and handsome with auburn hair that was slicked back on top but shook loose when he’d get into something he was doing - whether it was working hard loading crates, beating someone up who tried to cross you guys, or making love to you. He had a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that gave his otherwise chiseled and angular face a soft touch. Toned muscles rippled across his perfect body and-

Even today, after all this time, after all he’d done, you still felt love for him and you hated yourself for it. Once the Hemlock Angels took off as a whiskey exporter (though still a young and admittedly sloppy version of your current business in retrospect), he’d been caught at the docks with the cargo. He and the crates were seized by police and, with the promise of a very handsome monetary reward and legal immunity, he’d given the police the address of your distillery. Thankfully, you weren’t there when it had been raided but you lost everything you’d worked for because of him. ₤400 was worth your love and life’s work apparently. He took the money and ran off to Switzerland to avoid being drafted and lived off his money, leaving you to rebuild your empire.

The betrayal had destroyed you, left you a complete shell of a person, incapable of trusting others, especially men. But it had allowed you to grow the Hemlock Angels. To avoid the pain, you threw yourself into rebuilding the distillery and developing more foolproof protocols for business operation. Never again would you make the mistake of allowing someone to double-cross you. It was why you conducted your business quietly, even quieter than, say, Alfie Solomons, who was also fairly underground as these sorts of businesses were concerned.

Thomas Shelby made you feel things that Mason had made you feel and it terrified you to no end. The impending doom of repeated history loomed over you heavily, suffocating you and ripping your ability to breathe away. But it was a mistake that you kept feeling yourself drawn to making.

Friday night had come around quickly and you found yourself awaiting Tommy in your main office yet again. The last thing that you wanted was to see him in this room, the ghost of his touch coming to haunt your skin. But no. This needed to happen here because meeting him on his turf gave him the upper hand. And now that Jameson and Brandon, the only thing you’d asked for in return for your work, had been killed, this was feeling more and more like a free favor. You refused to stake anything more than you already had on a free favor.

“Y/N, Thomas Shelby is here for you.” Rita announced, peeking her head through the crack in the office door. You stiffened up, trying to play it off as just sitting up straighter but your prodege must have seen straight through you because she gave you a knowing glare.

“See him in. Thank you.” Straight-forward, professional, and impersonal. That was going to be your new tactic. No more of the games you’d attempted to play with him, the same games that you were usually able to play successfully with everyone else. No more hot and cold, nice then firm. Tommy was able to worm his way through the small cracks of your professional wall to see the parts of even yourself that you tried to hide and that vulnerability stopped here.

“Mr. Shelby,” You nodded in acknowledgement when he entered your office and you gestured to the chair across from you. Tommy’s eyes flashed with a hint of confusion. The entire energy of this interaction felt off already but nonetheless, he followed your gesture and sat down.

You reached down and grabbed a leather bag from beneath your desk, dropping it on the table. Reaching up, you clicked the little locks on top open and pulled the material appart, revealing thousands of American bills, “Here is the final installment of the money. All the same as the first.”

Tommy peeked into the bag, just to ensure that the money was in fact there. He lifted out a stack and flipped through them. They all appeared to be identical both to each other and to the last bag and if he hadn't known any better, he would think they were all legitimate notes.

You leaned back and watched as he inspected the money, sure that he’d be satisfied with the work, before continuing, “There is a shipment going out to America tomorrow night. I need to know what it is that you’re shipping so I can be sure to leave enough room onboard.”

The man shook his head, “I can’t tell you what it is that we’re shipping.”

“Then I can’t help you anymore.” You stated matter-of-factly, crossing your arms, “I need to know what I’m sticking my neck out for.”

“Like I stuck my neck out for you?”

“Yes.” Your eyes locked with his, refusing to back down or allow him to guilt trip you.

Tommy sighed, “It’s snow.”

Your eyebrow raised in surprise, “Didn’t have you pegged for a drug lord.” You actually were almost impressed. The man had range.

“Just dabbling as you would put it,” he responded vaguely.

So cocaine… It wasn’t the worst of the possibilities that you’d imagined. Ideas of dismembered body disposal or massive amounts of firearms or a million other worse things had occurred to you as possibilities. Of course, it depended on how much as well. “What’re the dimensions of the shipment?”

“Half a cubic meter.”

“Half a cubic fucking meter?!” You exclaimed, nearly choking on air, “How the hell did you come into that much blow?”

Tommy put his hand up, “Now that I can’t tell you.”

You nodded, “Alright, alright. I can respect that. A half cubic meter is an easy accommodation. Now, for the game plan…”

Shipment days were anxiety producing enough as it was when you weren’t shipping thousands of pounds worth of cocaine along with it but tonight, your heart felt like it was in your throat. “Billy said the crates are all loaded at the distillery.” Rita announced to you, holding one ear to the receiving end of the phone and covering the mouthpiece with her hand. You finished loading your gun at the kitchen table inside of your shared house, slipping each bullet one by one into their slots with experienced skill.

“Good. Tell him we’ll meet him at the factory in forty-five minutes.” With a final spin of the chamber - a ritual you’d developed after telling yourself (with no real evidence) that it was good luck years ago - you clicked the metal pieces together and slid it into the holster at your side.

“Forty five minutes? It’s only twenty minutes outside of town.” Rita questioned once she’d hung up the phone after relaying the information.

You loaded Rita’s gun for her while you spoke and slid it across the table to her, “We are picking up Thomas and his brother Arthur to take them to the factory to load up their cargo.”

She caught the gun and looked at you with wide cautious eyes, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Taking the Shelbys to the factory?”

You sighed a knowing breath, “Yeah, I know. But he insisted that he remain in possession of the goods for as long as possible.”

Rita’s face scrunched, “He knows he’s gonna have to relinquish possession at some point, right? What is he even shipping?” She slipped the gun into the pocket of her skirt.

“Snow.” You confided with an impressed chuckle.

She nearly snorted, “Really? Didn’t have him pegged for a drug lord.”

A shocked laugh left your lips, “That’s what I said!”

Ten minutes later, you pulled up to the shipping yard that Tommy had said he’d be at with the cocaine and sure enough, there he was standing beside Arthur, both with cigarettes between their lips as they waited. In the shine of your headlights, you saw them both look over at you and move to pick up a wooden crate that was on the ground alongside an old military canvas bag. “Good evening, Y/N.” Tommy greeted politely once your tires came to a halt on the crunching gravel.

“Good evening. This is it?” You confirmed once you got out of the car, pointing at the crate and bag full of money on the ground.

He nodded, “Yes, this is it.”

“Alright, we’ll just load those in the back seat for now,” You pointed back over your shoulder towards the black automobile behind you, “You must be Arthur. It’s nice to officially meet you. This is my right hand lady, Rita.” You introduced, first shaking his hand and then moving so Rita could as well.

“Pleasure.” Arthur nodded to you both.

“Well, should we get going?”

Right on time, you arrived at the old factory you were meeting Billy, the man in charge of transport at the distillery, at. The factory was inconveniently located, even in its prime, set twenty minutes out of town, and had been abandoned since at least the 1880’s following a massive fire that had totally destroyed the structure and killed dozens of working men. The ghost stories surrounding it had kept it from ever being rebuilt and it had been abandoned for nearly half a century since, which now made it the perfect place for you to conduct business.

“What the hell are we doin’ all the way out here?” Arthur asked when the car pulled up to the building. There had been nothing for miles and even now there was just your car and a large truck.

After turning off the engine, you got out, the other three people in the car following, “I know it doesn’t look like… well… anything really. But trust me, this has worked well for us over the years.”

“There’s no ports, no railroad stop. We had to take a dirt road to get here. How do you even move goods from this point?” Arthur questioned, skeptically. You could almost feel him reaching for his gun, convinced they were being ambushed or something and maybe, if you hadn’t been so eager to get this deal over with so you could stop whatever the hell was going on with Tommy, you would have dragged this out and messed with them a little bit.

You pointed to the opposite side of the large factory - or what was left of it at least, “You can’t see it from here at night but there’s an old railroad track just on the other side of that wall. The train only comes through once every two weeks or so but thankfully it’s usually the same conductor. A few pounds buys us an unscheduled stop on his trips down to Gloucester where they load everything up onto a cargo ship and haul it off to America.”

You were proud of your little system you’d developed. It had allowed you to grow into an international exporter and was the main source of your success. Tommy had seemed impressed last night when you developed the plan and explained everything to him then and now Arthur seemed to match his affections.

The loud closing of a door drew all of your attention to the large truck. Billy, a stout, acne scarred man in his late forties, walked towards your group from the driver’s side of the truck. “Y/N! Will said the train is runnin’ a little late but should be ‘ere by 10:30.” He informed you in his thick Irish accent once he made it to you guys. A few other of your men jumped out of the passenger side but hung around the truck instead of approaching.

Rita flipped out her pocket watch and checked the time, “We got about fifteen minutes then.”

The next fifteen minutes were passed with pleasantries and conversation. Arthur never quite let his guard down and seemed on edge but had relaxed significantly. Honestly, you had as well. Something about tonight felt different than usual. There wasn’t the constant paranoia that the Shelbys were out to double cross you tonight you. Perhaps it was a mistake but, for once, you felt almost comfortable in his presence.

The train came by right at 10:30, it’s crawling pace coming to a screeching halt with a loud hiss of steam. Billy went up to one of the old metal train cars and undid the locks. The door was slid open to reveal an empty space. “Alrighty, we’ll just move the boxes from the truck to here and then we’ll be on our way.”

The other men who chose to stay by the truck had already lifted the canvas cover off the top and were carrying huge crates one by one, full with copious bottles of your illegal whiskey, to fill the train car. You stood off to the side with Rita, Thomas, and Arthur while your men worked, waiting patiently as they unloaded the truck.

“Alright, Mr. Shelby. We have the space for your cargo now.” Billy invited, hands outstretched to take what Tommy had to ship. You noticed a nervous glance from the crate to Billy’s hands from Arthur.

Tommy at least pretended that he trusted Billy, “Y/N told me that you travel with the shipment all the way to America,” He took out a picture from his pocket, “This is the man that will be awaiting your arrival there. Pass the goods off to him and only him, understand?”

Billy nodded, inspecting the picture of the man before folding it into his coat, “Yes, sir.”

Finally, Arthur relinquished possession of the cocaine to your man and he set it carefully on one of your boxes. After packing the duffel bag full of money, Billy hopped inside and the door was slid shut.

The other men took the truck back to the distillery and you turned to Tommy, “I’ll call you when I get the call that it’s arrived in America. It usually takes between seven to ten days, depending on the weather.”

“Thank you. Perhaps, we could get a drink to celebrate.” He suggested as if you hadn’t had sex out of spite the other night.

“What is there to celebrate?” You avoided the invitation.

He gestured around, “A successful business transaction?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, “I feel like you’d use anything as an excuse to drink. I have a hunch whiskey flows through your veins in place of blood.”

He shrugged, “Nobody needs an excuse to drink.”

“Fair point.” Internally, you smacked yourself but you ended up nodding a reluctant agreement, “Alright, one drink.”

Tommy gave you a satisfied look that could have almost resembled a smile, “But this time I want to show you one of my establishments.”

Thankfully, Tommy had agreed to your suggestion of Arthur and Rita joining the pair of you as well, using them as a buffer to ensure no other mistakes were made with the man who seemed to be your kryptonite. You’d taken everyone to the Garrison, a pub that you’d known to be under the control of the Peaky Blinders for the last several years, right after all the work at the factory had been finished.

Tommy held the door for you as you passed through, Arthur taking over to hold it for Rita. Wordlessly, Tommy held up four fingers before ushering you away to a small booth in the back, along with his brother and Rita. All four of you slid along the cushion seats, making small talk yet again. Thankfully, now, after having been around each other for the last few hours, it was much less awkward and everyone was open to more conversation than initially.

Arthur excused himself after a moment and when a poker game opened up between some of the other Blinders, Rita, an secret card shark, disappeared to swindle some poor, unsuspecting men of a few pounds. You and Tommy found yourselves alone, exactly what you’d hoped to avoid.

“Sure she should be playing?” Tommy pointed over to Rita was his mostly empty glass of whiskey. You followed his gaze to see her with a disappointed look, one of the guys sliding his hand to take what you assumed were her chips.

You snorted, “Oh, I’m sure. It’s your boys that should be looked after. Give ‘em a few more rounds. She’ll be leaving with most of their money.”

Tommy almost smiled and nodded, “Aye,” He paused before beginning again, “Y’know, I can’t help but feel a little guilty. You helped us out with a lot and you didn’t exactly get your end of the bargain.”

You inhaled deeply and looked away from him, bringing back up that professional front that you’d felt slowly slipping away throughout the night, “It happens sometimes I suppose. I thought about asking for more but a deal’s a deal and unlike some others, I don’t like to change my conditions once they’ve been agreed upon.”

“And what is it that you would have asked for had you been one to change deals?” He leaned forward, listening intently to your next words.

“Is Thomas Shelby feeling guilty for taking more than he gave?” You asked in shock, “I wouldn’t even do that.” Your tone quickly became jestful. “No, I’m only joking. You did end up coming to the rescue the other day which is more than others would have done.”

Instead of seeming satisfied with your answer, though, he only raised his eyebrows and repeated the question, “What would you ask for?”

Something told you that he was offering you new circumstances, an extra favor. Who did that? In this line of work, who knew what kind of horrible request would be made?

What did you want? It was a good question. But did you have to answer honestly? Because an honest answer might jeopardize your life’s work and maybe even your life itself with some people. Tommy hadn’t double crossed you thus far though…

After a long pause, you licked your lips, “A deal.”

“Another deal?” He questioned curiously.

You nodded, a small smirk on your face, “Yes. A deal between the Peaky Blinders and the Hemlock Angels. Business partners and an agreement to aid each other when needed. Neither of us offer the same services or sell the same goods, with the exception of the Garrison and my little establishment, so there’s no need to worry about losing business.”

Tommy cocked an eyebrow, “I thought you didn’t trust me. A double crosser, I believe you called me when we first met?”

“I said that’s what other people had called you.” You defended, remembering your first interaction well. “But I must be honest, I had a hunch they were correct.”

“Then why trust me now?”

“I don’t,” You answered short and honest, “But I want to despite everything telling me not to. I figure this way, I can keep an eye on you.” You threatened in a joking tone, although you really weren’t joking all that much. As the saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Or, more fittingly for your scenario, keep your friends close and your acquaintance/ occasional hook up/ business partner who might backstab you closer.

It took only a few moments for Tommy to weigh out the decision before nodding, “Alright, a deal then.”

You raised your glass to him and he mirrored the action, a slight ting as your glasses tapped against each other in a celebration of a new alliance. The next twenty minutes or so was full of small talk, something that Tommy never found himself doing with anyone, so why was it so easy with you? Every now and then, there’s be grumbles of anger from the table playing poker as new opponents who insisted they could beat Rita lost a larger and larger fortune with each round.

A quiet ding as the door opened made you twist your neck, curiously checking to see who came in. Then your heart stopped. “Fuck-” Your heart was caught in your throat and you wanted to vomit.

Mason.

He looked almost identical to how he did two years ago, just with a few more age lines. Time had been less kind to him than it had to you. He entered the room with a large casual air, surely unknowing of your presence.

Tommy noticed your sudden panic when you uncharacteristically sunk into the the booth, hiding your face from the red-headed man who had entered the pub, “So that’s the man, eh?”

You covered your face which had turned a shade somewhere between pink with embarrassment and red from rage. But nevertheless, you nodded, still side eyeing Mason from between your fingers as he ordered a glass of gin.

“Gin?” Tommy noticed judgmentally, “Drinks like a woman.”

Normally, under any other circumstances, you would have made some snarky comment about using your gender as an insult but you appreciated the effort to insult this man he’d never met, simply because he’d wronged you. “So what happened?” He inquired.

You sighed, finally sitting up straight, just keeping your eyes on the table, “My ex. We were practically on the verge of marriage. He helped me start up the Hemlock Angles before he sold us out to the cops for a few hundred pounds. Ruined us for months.”

Tommy listened to the story intently, watching the man out of the corner of his eye and quickly noticing that he seemed to have noticed your presence. At first, he glanced over nervously towards you before deciding to approach, a decision that Tommy had a hunch was the wrong one.

“Four o’clock.” Tommy mumbled over the rim of his glass. Your eyes immediately shot to four o’clock to see Mason walking over, all too confident for your liking, a confidence you had every intention of destroying.

“Y/-” He began, only getting half way through your name before you interrupted.

“You have a lot of fucking nerve showing your face ‘round here.” You hissed, venom dripping from every word.

Mason put his hands up in defense. Those same hands that used to be calloused from work and you’d seen covered in blood looked as if they hadn’t so much as lifted a piece of wood in months. “I didn’t come looking for a fight. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“You’re lucky I don’t shoot you dead where you stand right now you pathetic sack of shit.” Tommy sat back and watched as you destroyed this man with your words and he could only imagine the other stories about him you had. Your viper tongue had him on edge in the best possible ways.

“I-”

“No. You’re nothing.” You interrupted.

He sighed, “I wanted to say I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for what I did! I miss us. I miss you.” He reached down, trying to take your hand, but you snatched it away. He looked down and eyed Tommy for half a second, trying to determine whether your relationship was romantic or platonic.

You laughed a sadistic laugh, “You’re not sorry and you don’t miss me. You ran out of money didn’t you? Well I hate to tell you but you disappearing was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. I run Birmingham now and it’s all thanks to you. Now get the fuck out of my city.”

Then for a second, there was a brief flash of danger in his eyes, that same danger that you’d fallen in love with. But this time, that anger was directed at you. His fist slammed down hard on the table in front of you, just barely missing your face, but you didn’t even flinch, “Listen here,-”

“She said fuck off, mate.” Tommy interjected finally. Both of you looked over at him and you could’ve sworn you almost forgot he was here.

Mason snorted, “‘N who the hell are you?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that you respect her wishes and kindly fuck off.” Tommy’s voice was calm, much calmer than yours, but still holding a very sincere threat.

Mason looked between the two of you and chuckled as if he’d been the one who was wronged in all of this before turning away, like he was trying to laugh it off nonchalantly. All of a sudden, he drew his arm back and began to swing his down onto Tommy. Before the blow could connect, you had your pistol out in a second and pulled the trigger.

The loud bang drew several startled yells from around the bar and everything got quiet as they looked at your booth to see Mason’s body crumble face first on top of the table, lifeless. When the realization of what you’d done hit you, your mouth fell open in shock. “Holy shit…” You whispered to yourself.

Tommy had jumped when the gunshot went off but now looked just as surprised as you did to see Mason lying dead across the table between you, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.” He really didn’t. Sure, he’d seen you shoot Sabini’s men but the way you looked at and talked about Mason, he assumed it was one of those loves you’d never be able to harm no matter the damage they’d caused to you. But, boy, was he blissfully surprised.

All the Blinders in the building, including two of the Shelby brothers, Finn and Arthur, jumped up, guns pointed and ready to take down the attacker. Tommy held up his hand, “It’s alright, boys! Hold your fire!”

You stood up to avoid the blood that was now dripping off the table and onto where you sat, “‘m sorry.” You apologized for the mess but Tommy shook his head.

“Don’t be. He looked like he had it comin’.” With a wave of his hand, a few Blinders that you didn’t know the names of stood up from their seats around the poker table and walked up, lifting the body off the table. You weren’t quite sure what to do or say. You’d actually shot him. You killed Mason. He wasn’t the first person you’d killed but that didn’t mean that you enjoyed doing it. Unless it was in a moment of grave danger, watching the life drain from someone’s eyes as they crumpled into a bloody heap never ceased to make you momentarily sick, thoughts of the family you may have ripped apart destroying you.

But you knew Mason didn’t have any family. The only person you’d hurt was him. You’d freed yourself.

You looked up at him as he now stood beside you and saw that he was gazing down at the body and then glanced over to you, nothing but pure impressed admiration on his face.

Tommy liked that you were able to take care of yourself and that you spoke honestly. It made him feel like perhaps this deal that you two had struck up would prove to be beneficial and trust based and that, just maybe, if things went well, perhaps the two of you could build your own empire together.

Tommy had always been rather daft (or perhaps was that he just didn’t care) when it came to other people’s emotions and he was well aware of this flaw. But now, it was like he could see every inch of confliction on your face. “You alright?” He asked when he’d noticed your eyes hadn’t left the body, even when the men’s forms had covered it.

His voice shook you out of your daze and you blinked yourself into clarity, “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.” You turned away from the table to face the open room of the bar. Rita stood at the table, her chair tipped over on the ground behind her. She looked from you to Mason’s body that was being carried out back and back to you with a look of shock plastered on her face. The only other person who knew as much as you did about that situation was her.

You walked up to the bar and threw a few coins on the bar, “I don’t care what it is, just make it strong.”

“You don’t have to pay.” Tommy insisted but you ignored him, leaving the coins on the bar and taking the mystery drink that had been poured. Walking out the front door, Tommy trailed close behind.

Finally, you parked yourself against the outer wall of the Garrison and downed the whole glass in one go, the fiery liquid burning a trail down your throat. Whatever the drink was, you had no idea. You set the glass down on the ground and lit a cigarette to replace the glass rim.

Nobody spoke for a moment, until a small group of cops came running by. You tried your hardest to look innocent as they stopped and eye Tommy knowingly. “Tommy-” One of them started in a thick cockney accent.

Tommy shook his head and pointed down the road, “Wasn’t us this time. Came from down the street.”

It was clear from the looks on all three of the cops' faces that none of them believed a word that came out of his mouth but they weren’t about to cross Thomas Shelby. “There was a bit of a commotion from up there earlier before the shot.” You tried to reinforce the lie as smoothly and believably as possible.

The cop looked a little more convinced when you agreed with Tommy and nodded before the trio ran off down the road looking for another gunman. This exact situation was why you didn’t get involved with the cops because they’re not going to believe you when you need to lie about something like this.

As time passed, you became more calm, “I really am sorry about this, Tommy.”

“I’ve never had a woman shoot someone ‘cause I was ‘bout to be punched. It was quite attractive, I can’t lie.” Tommy lit a cigarette as well, standing beside you, almost blocking the activity of the street in what seemed like an attempt to protect you.

A smile cracked on your face when you chuckled a little, the constant matter-of-factness of his tone making almost everything he said sound like business, even when he was complimenting you, “Well, like you said, it had been a long time coming.”

You felt like you were being dramatic. Wasn’t killing just part of this gig afterall? “Y’know, I swear I can usually shoot someone without breaking down.” You tried to defend yourself with a weak laugh.

Tommy shook his head, “It’s not always easy, I know. My hands get the shakes at night. Just because it’s part of the deal doesn’t mean you have to enjoy it.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “You know, I haven’t felt the way I feel around you in a long time.”

His confession was simple and, while a small part of you wanted to smack him for his terrible timing, a larger part of you felt the same way. “Neither have I. I’m used to being airtight but you make me weak… and I hate it.” You looked away from him, avoiding his deep, knowing eyes.

“Whoever said that this had to be weakness?” He inquired, a hand running along your arm.

A scoff left your lips as you rolled your eyes, “And you don’t believe that romance is weakness?” It wasn’t until the words left your mouth that you remembered he’d lost Grace and a pang of guilt struck your chest for bringing up the memory. But you also weren’t about to revoke the question. It just further illustrated your fear.

Tommy looked at the ground a for moment, remembering what it was like to hold the love of his life in his arms as she died, knowing it was fault, and thinking about how it felt to relive that pain every time he looked at a portrait of her or his own son.

Finally, he nodded, “We’ve both lost people we loved but we also still have people we care about, whether they’re family or friends. A lesson that’s been very difficult for me to learn over the last decade or so is that it is impossible to completely rid yourself of all weaknesses.”

Again, an almost humorous comment coming from Thomas Shelby, who everyone had known to be as secure and weakness-free as you were. You thought about his words, though, and tried to convince yourself that this was a bad idea - that an alliance and romance with Thomas Shelby was only sure to blow up eventually.

“So?” He urged, his voice low and gravelly, after a few moments of silence.

Silently, you found yourself trailing your eyes from his chest that was straight ahead up to his lips and then to his eyes. You took just a step closer, closing the already thin gap between the two of you and placed your hand around his neck, slowly coming to lean up on your toes. The movement was slow, giving him more than enough time to protest or pull away from you but he didn’t.

Tommy’s hand lightly landed itself on your hip and he leaned down, meeting your lips in the middle. Unlike the last time your lips had met, this was soft and gentle, a side of Tommy that you had no idea even existed anymore.

The two of you stayed like that for a while before finally parting your lips. Your faces still rested just beside each other’s, bodies close enough to feel the other’s warmth through the cool night. Your eyes slid open finally to see Tommy already looking down at you, waiting to see if this was a kiss of new beginnings or of closure.

“Don’t make me regret risking everything for you.”

_________

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