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zhongrin · 1 year

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swirl & crystallize

◇ characters ◇ (no romantic pairing) zhongli, xiao, kazuha, shinobu

◇ tags ◇ no pairing, tag game(-ish) but feel free to ignore the tag :3

◇ a/n ◇ happy new year! i'm starting a new tag game just because lol (any writers or artists welcome)

pick one (or more, if you want) of your existing teams and tell me all about them!

how are the dynamics between each character? do they work well as a team outside of battles? who is the mom friend and who is the dad friend? are they a friendly, tight-knit group, or are they hostile to each other? (optional) what would be their voice lines about each other as teammates?

ps. feel free to include your self-insert or oc in the team as the 'fifth character' if you want!

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

team: xiao, kazuha, zhongli, shinobu

✧— xiao ⇄ kazuha

xiao appreciates the way kazuha doesn't try to intrude his space and how he manages to sense whenever the yaksha wants to be left alone.

kazuha on the other hand is pretty neutral about xiao. mostly he appreciates the way the demon conqueror always protects the whole team, and so the ronin tries to include him in everything.

the team probably accidentally discovered that kazuha’s leaf-playing ability makes xiao relax, so the wandering samurai takes it upon himself to do it every now and then whenever things are calm and xiao is within the vicinity.

honestly, i think they get along very well despite not interacting that much on the surface.

xiao → “about kazuha“

“that wandeing samurai from inazuma? he’s… alright. polite. although the way he speaks took a while to get used to. the leaf flute? hmph…. i… suppose, it is quite relaxing.”

kazuha → “about xiao”

“a selfless protector blessed by the anemo archon himself. the winds around him are quite volatile, but i find that they would turn tranquil whenever a melodic tune dances in the air. as zhongli-sensei suggested, i’ve taken to the habit of playing the leaves more often as we wind down for the day.”

✧— xiao ⇄ zhongli

probably is the closest relationship within the team. calm grandpa and feral surrogate son

zhongli is generally caring towards everyone in the team but he has a special soft spot for xiao - always pulling him back whenever things look bad on the battlefield.

(omg can you imagine zhongli picking up xiao by his scruff like he's a feral cat and flinging him out of harm’s way lmao-)

xiao knows he doesn’t have to worry about zhongli on the battlefield too, so that’s a huge burden off his shoulders.

xiao → “about zhongli“

“what more is there to be said? i am just honored that i am able to fight alongside morax again.”

zhongli → “about xiao”

“i’m glad you invited the young adeptus to travel with you. many times i have tried to persuade him to take some rest for a change of pace, but he never listened. please, indulge my curiosity; how did you manage to convince him to come along?”

✧— xiao ⇄ shinobu

neutral. they’ve already met in the chasm before, so shinobu knows about xiao’s self-sacrificing tendencies.

since shinobu is also smart and attentive - she knows when to put her foot down but also to leave xiao to his own devices.

xiao sees her as a reliable teammate.

mutual respect plays a huge part in this relationship, and while they’re not particularly close, they’re both comfortable with how it is!

xiao → “about shinobu“

“the electro wielder? she’s okay. responsible. i respect her.”

shinobu → “about xiao”

“i wouldn’t say that we’re close. but i am thankful that we have someone who is experienced in dealing with and efficiently fighting off dangerous monsters. although… this might be a rude thing to say to an enlightened being, but how can he fight so recklessly without an ounce of care for his own safety? i don’t mind patching him up, of course - boss is just as reckless as he is - but sometimes i just wish he would snap out of that selfless mindset already.”

✧— kazuha ⇄ zhongli

kazuha is intrigued and curious because he can somehow sense that zhongli isn’t exactly… normal? surely no normal man can make the last yaksha in teyvat himself bow down to his knees or speak so respectfully?

zhongli is thankful to kazuha for keeping xiao company and appreciates the way he always attentively listens to his stories.

they bond over literature and share their experiences. very wholesome dynamics.

kazuha → “about zhongli“

“there’s something about zhongli-sensei that i can’t explain... you know who he actually is, don’t you? haha, don’t look so surprised. it really is quite obvious. the demon conqueror reveres him, the wind respects him, and the soil thrums in his presence. though i am not privy to the details, i can sense that he’s not just a ‘funeral parlor consultant from liyue’. don’t worry; you don’t have to tell me anything. everyone has their own secrets, and i can respect that.”

zhongli → “about kazuha”

“an interesting fellow, that child. very attuned to nature itself. after hearing the stories of his travels and hardships, it occurs to me that his vision truly suits him; a wandering bird flying from one branch to another. i’m also very grateful that he managed to befriend xiao.”

✧— kazuha ⇄ shinobu

they naturally bond with each other over time. since they’re both inazumans, that makes them feel inclined to start talking to each other.

actually, given some time, i can even see them becoming friends!

shinobu pulls kazuha out of potential troubles and kazuha watches over shinobu to make sure she doesn't overwork herself.

a sibling-like relationship. lovely.

kazuha → “about shinobu“

“of course, i’m happy to have a fellow countryman on our travels! shinobu knows a lot of things and is more than happy to tell me what happened while i was away from inazuma, and what has changed since then. she makes for a good drinking company too; our taste in sake seems to match!”

shinobu → “about kazuha”

“well, at least he’s a lot more manageable than boss. still, i really don’t understand how someone could be so… spontaneous and unbound. one moment he’s sitting on a tree branch watching the clouds, the next moment he’s using his anemo powers to climb some cliffs - goodness, did you know he almost broke a leg three days ago?”

✧— zhongli ⇄ shinobu

the “parents” of the group, really. do i even need to say more?

keeps everyone out of trouble, very level-headed people who just want the best for the whole team and know that they can trust each other in this endeavor.

there’s just this one little misunderstanding, though (if you could even call it that)…

zhongli → “about shinobu“

“ah, the young lady is a mature and kind individual. have you seen her fuss around kazuha and xiao? i find the sight quite endearing. she has even asked me if my joints were okay when we hiked the mountains in sumeru the other day…... hmmm. in hindsight, perhaps i should not have answered with ‘older than your parents' when she asked me about my ‘real age’....”

shinobu → “about zhongli”

“i understand that you needed someone experienced in life and all in this expedition, but you really shouldn’t have asked an elderly person to tag along in such dangerous activity. hm? why are you looking at me like that? didn’t you know? i mean, i would have never guessed it from his youthful appearance either. i have heard that liyueans tend to look younger than their actual age, but even now i can barely believe that zhongli-sensei is that old. honestly, i’m still surprised he could still be so agile in combat.”

#genshin impact #rin writes #rin interacts #zhongli #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #xiao #shinobu

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datasoong47 · 3 months

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We had a successful session zero tonight for the new TTRPG campaign I'm gonna be running. It's a game called Monster of the Week, basically, involving monster hunters. There's three players in my group here, all family, my brother, my uncle, and my cousin. My uncle happened to pick a playbook that I'd debated leaving out, and I kinda wish I had, but it's too late now. I should be able to make it work though

So, here's the setting I've worked out:

New Eden, a large planet-sized moon of a super-Jupiter. The name was more marketing than accurate. It's not exactly like a hell planet or anything, but it's also not a paradise like the name would imply

In the not-too-distant-future, a wormhole is discovered in orbit around our Sun. Once people figure out how to navigate it, they discover this alien world on the other end. It's not a great world, but quite habitable, and Earth's ecology is degenerating, so the idea of a new world is appealing to many. A colony is established with the purpose of building up suitable settlements for further settlement. Many of the workers were basically like indentured servants in effect, people in debt who signed lengthy labor contracts, mostly in their 20s and 30s, some older, and some with families, but the majority were in that age range

The colony was supplied by periodic ships from Earth, who would also return those who'd finished up their contracts back to Earth. But then at some point, the ships stopped showing up. No one knew why, and the colony itself lacked the industrial infrastructure to build their own ships, being only a few thousand people

After a while, the workers' resentment of management, and the growing realization that they were on their own boiled over into an all-out revolution. The workers rose up, and basically overthrew management, establishing a local government. The sister of the martyred leader of the revolution was elected as the first (and so far only) mayor of the colony - effectively the de facto ruler of the planet since there's only the one colony, but she goes by the title of Mayor

It has now been 25 years since that revolt, and there's still been no contact with Earth. The most common theory is that the wormhole collapsed, but some people think that something happened on Earth. A major war, perhaps, or environmental collapse or something. A religious organization called the Church of Sanctuary believes that Earth has been wiped out, and that their colony is all that remains of humanity, believing that the wormhole was divine intervention, and that their planet is a divinely-ordained sanctuary for humanity. I'm not sure yet whether that'll just be background or if I'll bring them in somehow

My cousin's character is 18, native-born. Earth is only something he'd've heard about from his parents and school. My brother's character is 65, so he was Earthborn, and an adult when he immigrated to this world. My uncle's character is 30, so he was born on Earth, but brought over as a young child, and thus would have no real memories of Earth

There are a lot of dangerous wildlife, and most people attribute monster attacks to random wildlife attacks, but of course, monsters are very much real here

My uncle's character is the Initiate (the name of the playbook, basically like a class - Monster of the Week is set up so that there can be only one of each kind), which means that he's part of an organization that fights demons and monsters. I was initially reluctant to leave that option in because I wasn't sure how it would work with the setting, but the idea we came up with is that this organization did, indeed, fight monsters and demons back on Earth, and the members that had immigrated to this world thought that they were getting away from monsters, only to discover that this world also had monsters

My brother's character is the Mundane, which is basically the "normal everyday guy", and mostly serves as a support role to the others, but does have more going for it than that description would make it sound like

My cousin's character is the Spooky, which is a kind of supernatural type, in this case, there's a demon possessing him which gives him supernatural powers. This should be really fun, because it gives me a lot of options to use against his character. We decided that he found some ancient artifact which was possessed, and that's how he got possessed. The world doesn't have any native intelligent species (that they know of at least ....), but there was one at one time in the distant past of the world. That was something we talked over, whether the possessed item should be something that was brought from Earth or something discovered here, and ended up going with the second option. My brother's character is his uncle

Our first actual game will be next week. I'll be working out the details. My brother's and my cousin's characters will be introduced to monsters in that game, having not known of their existence previously, while my uncle's character did know of their existence. So the group won't have already known each other before that

I'm excited but a little nervous. This'll be my first full campaign. I ran a short D&D mini-campaign last year, but no full campaign, and this system is quite different from D&D, being more narrative-based

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1016anon · 1 year

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Title: Tainted Love Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma

A/N -- Murder! Sex! In that order! Unreliable narrators everywhere, all the time! Warnings: breathplay (not negotiated and an extremely, extremely unrealistic depiction; THIS IS NOT HOW IT WORKS, this is fic and nowhere close to reality)

A/N 2 -- I forgot to add that there's going to be graphic depictions of murder from hereon out; I haven't demarcated it because I may as well block off the entire fic. It's a slasher fic-- gore is part of the genre.

-2-

The Blind Man was an indiscriminate killer, but Anthony was not. At least, not when he started out.

An Operator to deal the cards and, as an expert at sleight-of-hand, to cheat the players.

The brighter the light, the darker the shadow-- and that was true of Edmund, the Eighth Viscount Bridgerton.

Two Crowpees to watch the play and see that the players do not cheat the Operator.

It is not possible for a man-- particularly a man of rank and moderate wealth-- to have no vices. Whether it be women, drink, or gambling-- pick two, or all three-- a life of rank and moderate wealth is an easy life; an easy life is an idle life; idle hands are the devil's workshop; and there is so much idolatry to be had for the titled and monied.

Two Puffs to act as decoys, by playing and winning with high stakes.

His mother liked to tout his father as a great man, because only marriage to a great man could make a great love story; Anthony supposed that love story gave her life meaning. Edmund was a faithful and loving family man; a kind and pleasant country lord; a man whose sense of genteel and noble governance led him to help repair the roofs of his tenants' houses and every so often roll up his sleeves to join the peasants harvesting wheat, but did not vote to prevent the tariffs which drove up the price of bread to the point that eating was cost-prohibitive.

A Clerk to see that the two Puffs cheat only the customers and not the bank.

A milksop of a man unable to make the difficult choices and cruel calculations necessary for wealthy men who wanted to remain wealthy. Edmund was a man who should have had no more than four children-- or if he wanted more than four children, all but one of them should be boys. To have daughters and leave them without dowries was a cruelty. Boys could become officers or-- god forbid-- go into the clergy. Spares might be lazy and marry for a dowry; the third-in-line might be ambitious and go into business; the point was, sons had options.

A Squib, who is a trainee Puff under tuition.

A man neither weak nor strong, neither spineless nor spiteful-- an ordinary man whose greatest virtue was being as virtuous as the era in which he lived. Edmund woke up one day to discover that he'd had too many children who'd survived the gauntlet of infant mortality past the first five years, not enough to support the still-growing brood, and his two eldest running full tilt to adulthood.

A Flasher, whose function is to talk loudly of the bank’s heavy losses.

It was a truth he assiduously avoided, but a truth which burrowed itself in his mind like a tick, small and silent and feasting.

A Dunner to collect debts owing to the bank.

No virtuous man of Edmund's rank, wealth, and time ever thought gambling a means to make money-- that was for the unsavory sort who were dissolute rogues and unprincipled cheats-- the sort who did not have families and loving wives, or did not care for them. Gambling was a game, a gentleman's leisure, and no true gentleman looked to make a living off cards and dice. However, there was no harm in playing once, twice, thrice, in the company of good friends. It was when one made it a habit that it became dangerous.

A Waiter, to serve the players and see they have more than enough to drink, and when necessary to distract their attention when cheating is in progress.

Cautionary tales exist because there are men like Edmund, Eighth Viscount Bridgerton, who believe themselves to be strong and self aware, in control of his faculties, sensible and not one to fall into that gambling trap. Cautionary tales are not for the reckless, who will do whatever they want no matter what anyone tells them; cautionary tales are for the cautious.

An Attorney, to advise the bank in long-winded terms when the legality of the play is ever questioned.

Edmund, a gentleman who loved his family and his wife; who'd deferred all the difficult decisions to his steward and land agent; who'd mismanaged his money because there seemed to be no harm when there were so many zeroes; who had not accounted for the impact of the king's zeal to quash rebellious colonies on taxes, inflation, and the economy; who had not accounted for their effect on his income; whose charmed country living meant he did not keep abreast with city business and as a result made unfortunate investments; who enjoyed his reputation as a pleasant and kind man who helped others in need;

Who did not account for the fact that making babies was cheap, but raising them was expensive;

Who was neither weak nor strong, with an uncomfortable truth buried in his mind and secure in the knowledge that he was wise enough and cautious enough to know when to stop-- did not realize that gambling was not the most dangerous thing in the room. Because it is one thing to be aware of all the tricks of the club-- it is another to be riding the high of winning a fortune and feeling lady luck is on one's side tonight. Another to lose that fortune and fall into the trap of trying to win it back.

The first man Anthony killed was a flasher-- a remarkable actor with the true gift of graft.

Waiter sealed in a barrel of beer.

Anthony had taken a dull, serrated knife and sawed from the corner of the man's mouth through his cheek-- it was like trying to cut a filet of medium rare beef with a bread knife.

A pound's worth of halfpence stuffed in the Dunner's eyes and up his nose.

Once the man's face had been rendered a bloodied mess of ragged edges, Anthony set to work breaking off the man's jaw. The only thing Anthony had on hand was a wooden mallet-- the blows he'd managed to deliver were surprisingly strong, but there was no question that it would have been a faster, cleaner break with a proper hammer. (The next time, when Anthony was prepared with all the proper tools and sharpest knives, he decided there was a time and place for dull instruments; the agony of rusted sawtooth, the prolonged pain from repeated ripping cuts-- they had their time and place.)

The flasher's tongue almost ripped out when Anthony finally pried the fragments of the man's shattered jaw from his face, but it didn't quite separate. By then, the flasher had passed out-- or maybe he'd died, Anthony didn't remember. In any case, it took Anthony a few frustrating tries to tear the tongue out; the blood and saliva and bile made everything slippery. He only got it after he'd made an incision and dried it with the man's cravat (it was there, the handkerchief was already soaked through, Anthony hadn't come particularly prepared).

Really, the plan had been to do a simple, clean and quick kill. He'd never murdered before and he'd been nervous.

But he discovered, after dragging the man to a damp, black-mold basement lit with one candle, that he had some time on his hands-- and he was curious. Anthony wanted to know. The flasher wasn't going anywhere; Anthony had been worried that the man's pleas might make him lose his original resolve.

That didn't happen.

Somewhere in the time between overpowering the man and the rising sun, Anthony's focus-- already obsessive, now psychotic-- made the world around him go quiet. There was buzzing in the background; in hindsight, it was probably screaming. Yelling, cursing, crying, begging, &tc. &tc.

Anthony had to make himself listen if he wanted to hear anything the person said. His attention pricked at any suspicious outside sound-- sounds that he couldn't possibly have heard or noticed in any other state of being-- but whatever animal noises were coming from the creature he was killing, he didn't hear it.

He couldn't really claim that he was particularly good at killing-- not the technical aspects of it. Human bodies were surprisingly resilient in some places, surprisingly delicate in others. Anthony didn't quite understand how it happened that the spinal column was so strong, yet nicking a person's neck at a specific point led to near-instantaneous death. The first time Anthony got a face full of arterial spray was unpleasant, to say the least.

Torture was not an art form any more than boning a fish was an art form. However, there was a certain skill to removing all those delicate, needle-like tines, with the skeleton still all in one piece.

When he began, Anthony had been a bit theatrical, maybe a bit too literal. For example: removing the hands from an operator. Now, his sense of theatricality was more subtle: instead of removing hands, he would have sliced tendons. Sleight of hand was a delicate thing relying on fine motor control, not the fumbling of some brute's paws.

Stuffing an attorney's mouth with pages from the man's own ledgers. Now, Anthony would have cut his abdomen open, made an incision in his stomach and stuffed that full to bursting with paper. The crowpees, instead of gouging out their eyes, would have have their fingers cut off-- it didn't matter what a person saw if they couldn't communicate it wordlessly to the person who needed the information.

Creativity was a native skill, but one could cultivate it through experience. Perseverance, a desire to do something more quickly, elegantly, quietly (or the reverse-- slow, messy, loud). Anthony knew not to target gambling institutions, no matter how tempting it might be. But he did eventually collect the entire set.

Squib caned until his body was covered in purple welts, not a single inch of skin left without a strip.

It took a few years-- Edmund's death had Anthony venturing into the realm of indiscriminate killing-- but he always considered his crowning achievement to be the death of the director, that same man who'd nearly financially ruined the Bridgerton family. His newly discovered sadistic creativity dictated that Anthony not murder the man-- not in the kind and easy ways.

Puffs strangled, to make their faces bloat.

He killed the director using that old fashioned, tried-and-true method: Poverty.

Dead rat shoved into the clerk's mouth, forcing him to swallow, getting stuck in his throat, long rat tail sticking out of his mouth like a second tongue.

And he didn't stop.

Why did he keep doing it, long after his father had been sufficiently frightened by the discovery of the flasher's body, conveniently dumped and positioned to make the corpse appear exactly like the sort of unfortunate gentleman his father would want to help?

That was like asking how long is a piece of string.

Anthony, before he knew his father, had admired him; he'd always considered it a personal failure that he did not take after him. The Eighth Viscount's death, however, gave Anthony an intimate, forensic picture of all his father's failings and Anthony understood, after two years of learning what kind of man he was, that his father was ostriched fool.

It cemented his disdain for the twittering chits of the ton; he preferred the company of women who understood the value of the money he offered.

Was it any surprise, then, that he fell in love with Kate?

The first time they met, he'd meant to kill her. A young lady riding alone in the park at dawn? The opportunity was too good to give up.

Only, he never caught her. She jumped the hedge with ease-- his concern was meant to make her stop, not urge her on– and once out of reach, she lowered her hood to show her face.

That was in invitation, and they both knew it. She could have chosen to remain hidden and run away, vanishing into the stinking swells of London. Instead, she tossed her head like the horse she was riding and sent a lovely smirk his way.

Was it any surprise that as soon as he caught up with her, they flirted on horseback and fucked almost immediately after they'd touched for the first time? Anthony had never felt something so wild and raw , not even when he had his hands wrist-deep in newly split ribs, fingers popping the alveoli of some bastard's still-breathing lungs. He barely knew how it happened-- one moment his leg had not-so-accidentally brushed hers, the next, they'd both dismounted and were tearing each other's clothes off.

Anthony knew what she sounded like coming on his cock before he even knew her name.

For a week, they met and fucked in the woods; he got fuck-all done during the day. The only thing he wanted was her; the only thing he could think about was her; the only thing he looked forward to was her.

Even murders had grown stale, torture turned dull. Within three days, he was willing to risk everything for her and peel off his own skin if she demanded it. There were some things Anthony didn't know: how to launch a sister in society; how to stop killing; how to paint or read poetry.

But this?

He knew within three days: She was the fire of his storm and the blood of his heart.

She was the one he would marry.

The second week they met in the woods, he asked her to marry him after he'd kissed her breathless. She pretended she hadn't heard him, eager to get her mouth on him because he was already hard and grinding into her. His hands were mercilessly grasping the rounded curve of her buttocks, pressing her against him while she writhed and tried to leverage herself into a better position, gasping for more and groaning impatiently when he asked her again.

She pushed away from him, aroused and enraged, then couldn't help but crash into him, hands pulling viciously at the roots of his hair, licking her tongue into his mouth and biting his lower lip.

He prevented her from going down on her knees and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up to show her that he was serious. She ignored him; he let her go to her knees after she sucked a bruise right below the hinge of his jaw, let her unbutton his trousers and nose at the crease of his thigh. But asked her to marry him with his hands fisted in her luscious curls, looking down at her beautiful lips wrapped around his cock.

Asked her to marry him while he crooned that she looked so good like this, choking on him, eyes still flashing with something dark and unnameable, and perhaps he wouldn't let her breathe until she agreed to marry him. At which she gave him a hint of teeth; he nearly came, but pulled her off him instead. Kate simply gasped for air before she proceeded to give him the blow job of his life, her hand stroking him while she sucked on his balls, swirled her tongue around the head, inhaled deeply like she couldn't get enough of his scent right at his base.

Asked her to marry him after he came and pulled her up to kiss his own come off her lips; asked her to marry him before he lay her on the grass on top of his cloak, hand grazing her knee, trailing up her spread legs; asked her to marry him before he pushed in one finger, before he pushed in two, before he rubbed his thumb to her clit, whispered while she moaned, kept whispering until he'd reduced her to whimpers.

He didn't let her come until she said yes.

And when she did say yes, he was hard again-- and it infuriated him that she'd held out that long because Anthony could rarely get it up again that quickly, not even when there was murder involved-- so instead of slamming into her brutally like he knew she'd expected, he slid into her so sweetly, making love for the first time in his life and marveling that she could pull such an alien feeling from him. He'd thought what he'd felt for his family all these years to be love, only to discover that it was a shadow, a shade, a perversion of it.

But here, when she stared up at him and offered her throat, he could have killed her and nearly did-- both hands around her beautiful neck, trembling because he was so tempted to exert just a little more pressure, just a little longer and he would have taken everything. She didn't struggle, didn't put her hands on his in an attempt to save herself and suddenly, the thought of life without her left him utterly bereft.

It bewildered and thrilled him, his vulnerability taken siren form. He'd won, hadn't he? She'd said yes, she'd given in, that admission from her was everything he needed and nothing he wanted.

He wanted--

He wanted a life.

He wanted a life that suited them both.

When her eyelids fluttered and he was struck dumb by the sight of her long, thick eyelashes and the fear he'd never see her look at him again, he let go and kissed her, breathed into her,

When she opened her eyes, he felt like he'd been reborn.

She was the first person he'd decided not to kill and that struck him to the core, made him fuck into her like he wanted to chain her to him, made him bewildered and angry and alarmed and joyous in a torrent until there was nothing left in his life but the rhythm of her breathing and the heat of her cunt.

Kate smiled up at him like she'd tamed a falcon and that was when he came.

He'd let her live, and that was his undoing.

Afterward, floating in the afterglow, fingers twined together and him murmuring embarrassingly sweet nothings about fucking her right before she walked down the aisle of the church when they got married--

Of course she said her yes didn't count; of course he indignantly said it did.

That was part of who they were; that was part of their game.

She would marry him; she would not entertain any other suitors or offers. But he had to prove he was worthy of her, and she wasn't going to make it easy.

Anthony wouldn't have fallen in love with her if she'd made it easy. He fell in love with her because she asked for nothing less than everything, with the promise that his everything was always enough.

The night of the Conservatory Ball: he made his entrance. He lingered at the door, craning his neck and searching for her when his mother said something. Everyone stopped– fortuitous because right at that very moment, he found her. For whatever reason, a hundred chits tried to block his path but he cut through the crowd with the precision of whip until he was in front of her.

Kate had looked at him, eyebrow raised– that beautiful expression which promised murder.

Why were there so many debutantes trailing after him like rats running after a piper? He had no idea. Did he not hear what his mother announced to the entire room? He hadn't paid attention, not when he'd been searching for her. Did he want to know what his mother said? Not particularly– the only woman he was interested in was standing right in front of him.

He should not have said that. Whyever not? Because now he'd disappointed an entire season of debutantes and made Kate the enemy of a thousand mamas, including his own. Any enemy of hers was an enemy of his, he swore it on his honor. To which Kate laughed– real, beautiful peals of laughter– because they both knew: just that morning, he'd compromised her thoroughly and deliciously three times. When she'd gotten on her horse, he was pleased to see her wince; evidence of how well he'd fucked her and how much he loved her.

Any other person would not have called their whirlwind physical connection love.

Anthony and Kate would not have called it love either, but here, there was viscera involved. An unspeakable certainty that if he was a hunter's bullet, she was his gunpowder; if she was an arrowhead, he was her vane.

Dinner had been a fraught affair with Benedict sitting at the head of the table, Kate at the end, and Violet sneaking sideways glances, making comments which would have gotten Anthony to react with anger in a past life, before Kate (another reason why his mother hated Kate). Violet was completely ignored by everyone; it only made her that much more determined to get a reaction from someone. It seemed that she was better suited as a mother of uninformed, spoiled teenagers than of adults who'd had a brutal introduction to the harsh realities of the wider world.

Whistledown was nothing compared to the legitimate press.

Everyone was sullen for one reason or another, but no one could question the fact that it was safer for them in the country. That did not mean they had to like it, and it did not prevent them from blaming Benedict-- much the same way they used to blame Anthony for making the decisions which safeguarded the family's welfare. But the fact remained: They could not stay in London.

It was not a matter of the ton giving them all the cut direct during morning promenades; Anthony's notoriety transcended rank and station. Everyone knew of him and recognized the name Bridgerton. However, during his highly publicized trial, Anthony's murders had not prevented the Bridgerton brothers and sisters from appearing in society. Kate may have risked life and limb by remaining in London to stay by Anthony's side, but that was not true of the rest of the family.

If anything, there was a sheen of fool's gold glamor to be related to someone so mysterious; for whatever reason, everyone was curious and thrilled rather than horrified. Somehow Anthony had passed from the ranks of criminal to legend, especially with his choice last words to Kate.

With the new murders and rumors of a ghost, that changed. Quickly, and drastically. Kate might have feared for her life, but all the Bridgertons were now at risk-- even moreso than during Anthony's trial. It was one thing to have a brother who was murderer; it was another thing entirely to have a brother who was a ghost.

Where morality could not prevail, superstition did.

The cut direct was the least of it.

The meal proceeded in silence.

Thus, everyone was surprised when Daphne arrived as dessert was being served. She'd pasted on a bright smile, saying that of course she had come to support their family during this difficult time.

Benedict raised an eyebrow at Kate-- if Daphne had been so concerned about the family's welfare, she would not have stayed away for so long. There had been a very notable silence from the Duchess of Hastings; a silence which the ton had gleefully gossiped about. Who would want to claim any kind of familial relationship with the Bridgertons, especially a family as illustrious and respectable as the Duke and Duchess of Hastings? (Part of the reason why Benedict himself was not married-- no one wanted to marry him. Wealthy though he may be, a ghost was a ghost.)

"Where's Simon?" Hyacinth asked.

"Oh, he has business at Clyvedon. He'll join us in a few days."

In other words: he wasn't coming. Not that Benedict blamed him. However, he wasn't going to touch Daphne's marital issues with a ten foot pole.

"I do wish you had brought Auggie and Bertha with you, dearest."

"I thought it best to leave them at home-- it's too long a trip for them when they're so young and I shan't be staying long."

"How long will you be staying, Daph?" Colin asked. "We could break out the old Pall Mall set."

"Indeed," Benedict replied. "And who will claim the Mallet of Death?"

The room went silent. Kate was very obviously trying not to laugh.

"Well, I think I shall retire for the evening," Daphne said, too cheerful by half. "The journey has been most taxing."

"Yes, I think I will also," Eloise joined.

The rest of the family followed suit, hastily excusing themselves until it was only Benedict and Kate left in the room.

"That went well," Benedict smiled. "Do you not think?"

Kate shook her head fondly.

"Retiring for the night also, Lady Kate?"

"You reminded me of him, just now," she said quietly. "You quip about the Mallet of Death."

"It's exactly the sort of insensitive thing Anthony would say."

"I know," she stood and walked to the head of the table, her keen eyes studying him.

Benedict took her hand, the tension he'd held inside him unwinding. Murderer or no, being close to Anthony had never been easy; trying to fill his shoes was near impossible.

"Thank you for coming to Aubrey Hall," she said.

"It was the least I could do."

"You've done more than enough."

"I think--" he frowned. "What the hell is this?"

"Nothing," she snatched her hand away.

He grabbed her arm.

"Are these bruises?"

"Benedict--"

"Who did this to you?"

"No one."

"Kate--"

"No, Benedict, I mean no one."

A silence.

"You do not believe in--"

She shook her head urgently and looked at the open doors to the dining room.

"You will tell me everything."

"There's nothing to tell, my Lord."

"For god's sake, Kate, don't call me that!"

A glass-- out of nowhere-- nearly smashed into Benedict's head. It shattered against the wall instead, exploding into a shower of deadly fragments.

All the candles had flickered and for a moment, Benedict could have sworn he saw a ghostly figure at the other end of the table.

Kate was staring in the same direction, wide-eyed and deathly pale.

"You saw?" Benedict whispered.

Her attention snapped to him as though she'd been in a trance.

"Kate did you see?"

"No," she shook her head vehemently. "I didn't see anything."

"Then why are you--"

"I didn't see anything, my Lord," she said frantically. "I shall bid you good night."

Benedict was left standing there, wondering if he'd imagined a voice on the wind saying,

wait for me

#bridgerton #kathony #fanfiction #regency horror au

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ganglands-marseillais · 1 year

Text

Thinking in Bets by Annie Dukes (Courtesy of Blinkist)

Human minds tend to confuse decisions with their outcomes, which makes it hard to see mistakes clearly.

Super Bowl XLIX ended in controversy. With 26 seconds left in the game, everyone expected Seattle Seahawks coach Pete Carroll to tell his quarterback, Russell Wilson, to hand the ball off. Instead, he told Wilson to pass. The ball was intercepted, the Seahawks lost the Super Bowl, and, by the next day, public opinion about Carroll had turned nasty. The headline in the Seattle Times read: “Seahawks Lost Because of the Worst Call in Super Bowl History”!

But it wasn’t really Carroll’s decision that was being judged. Given the circumstances, it was actually a fairly reasonable call. It was the fact that it didn’t work.

Poker players call this tendency to confuse the quality of a decision with the quality of its outcome resulting, and it’s a dangerous tendency.

A bad decision can lead to a good outcome, after all, and good decisions can lead to bad outcomes

In fact, decisions are rarely 100 percent right or wrong. Our decision-making is like poker players’ bets. We bet on future outcomes based on what we believe is most likely to occur.

So why not look at it this way? If our decisions are bets, we can start to let go of the idea that we’re 100 percent “right” or “wrong," and start to say, “I’m not sure.” This opens us up to thinking in terms of probability, which is far more useful.Volunteering at a charity poker tournament, the author once explained to the crowd that player A’s cards would win 76 percent of the time, giving the other player a 24 percent chance to win. When player B won, a spectator yelled out that she’d been wrong. But, she explained, she’d said that player B’s hand would win 24 percent of the time. She wasn’t wrong. It was just that the actual outcome fell within that 24 percent margin.

If we want to seek out truth, we have to work around our hardwired tendency to believe what we hear.

We all want to make good decisions. But saying, “I believe X to be the best option” first requires good-quality beliefs. Good-quality beliefs are ideas about X that are informed and well thought-out. But we can’t expect to form good-quality beliefs with lazy thinking. Instead, we have to be willing to do some work in the form of truth-seeking. That means we have to strive for truth and objectivity, even when something doesn’t align with the beliefs we hold.

Focusing on accuracy and acknowledging uncertainty is a lot more like truth-seeking, which gets us beyond our resistance to new information and gives us something better on which to bet.

We can learn a lot from outcomes, but it’s difficult to know which have something to teach us.

The best way to learn is often by reviewing our mistakes. Likewise, if we want to improve our future outcomes, we’ll have to do some outcome fielding. Outcome fielding is looking at outcomes to see what we can learn from them.

To become more objective about outcomes, we need to change our habits.

Habits work in neurological loops that have three parts: cue, routine and reward. As Pulitzer-prize-winning reporter Charles Duhigg points out in his book The Power of Habit, the key to changing a habit is to work with this structure, leaving the cue and reward alone but changing the routine.

We can improve our decision-making by being part of a group, but it needs to be the right kind of group.

We’ve all got blind spots, which makes truth-seeking hard. But it’s a little easier when we enlist the help of a group. After all, others can often pick out our errors more easily than we can.

But to be effective, a group dedicated to examining decisions isn’t like any other. It has to have a clear focus, a commitment to objectivity and open-mindedness, and a clear charter that all members understand.

In a decision-examining group committed to objective accuracy, this kind of change is self-reinforcing. Increasing objectivity leads to approval within the group, which then motivates us to strive for ever-greater accuracy by harnessing the deep-seated need for group approval that we all share.

To work together productively, a group needs CUDOS.

Shared commitment and clear guidelines help define a good-quality decision-examining group. But once you’ve got that group, how do you work within it?

You can start by giving each other CUDOS.

CUDOS are the brainchild of influential sociologist Merton R. Schkolnick, guidelines that he thought should shape the scientific community. And they happen also to be an ideal template for groups dedicated to truth-seeking.

The C in CUDOS stands for communism. If a group is going to examine decisions together, then it’s important that each member shares all relevant information and strives to be as transparent as possible to get the best analysis. It’s only natural that we are tempted to leave out details that make us look bad, but incomplete information is a tool of our bias.

U stands for universalism – using the same standards for evaluating all information, no matter where it came from. When she was starting out in poker, the author tended to discount unfamiliar strategies used by players that she’d labeled as “bad.” But she soon suspected that she was missing something and started forcing herself to identify something that every “bad” player did well. This helped her learn valuable new strategies that she might have missed and understand her opponents much more deeply.

D is for disinterestedness and it’s about avoiding bias. As American physicist Richard Feynman noted, we view a situation differently if we already know the outcome. Even a hint of what happens in the end tends to bias our analysis. The author’s poker group taught her to be vigilant about this. But, teaching poker seminars for beginners, she would ask students to examine decision-making by describing specific hands that she’d played, omitting the outcome as a matter of habit. It left students on the edge of their seats, reminding them that outcomes were beside the point!

“OS” is for organized skepticism, a trait that exemplifies thinking in bets. In a good group, this means collegial, non-confrontational examination of what we really do and don’t know, which keeps everyone focused on improving their reasoning. Centuries ago, the Catholic church put this into practice by hiring individuals to argue against sainthood during the canonization process – that’s where we get the phrase “devil’s advocate.”

If you know that your group is committed to CUDOS, you’ll be more accountable to these standards in the future. And the future, as we’ll see, can make us a lot smarter about our decisions.

To make better decisions, we need to spend some time in the future.

Temporal Discounting – making decisions that favor our immediate desires at the expense of our future self – is something we all do.

We can also recruit our future feelings using journalist Suzy Welch’s “10-10-10.” A 10-10-10 brings the future into the present by making us ask ourselves, at a moment of decision, how we’ll feel about it in ten minutes, ten months and ten years. We imagine being accountable for our decision in the future and motivate ourselves to avoid any potential regret we might feel.

Backcasting, imagining a future in which everything has worked out, and our goals have been achieved, and then asking, “How did we get there?" This leads to imagining the decisions that have led us to success and also recognizing when our desired outcome requires some unlikely things to happen. If that’s the case, we can either adjust our goals or figure out how to make those things more likely.

Premortems are when we imagine that we’ve failed and ask, “What went wrong?" This helps us identify the possibilities that backcasting might have missed. Over more than 20 years of research, NYU psychology professor Gabrielle Oettingen has consistently found that people who imagine the obstacles to their goals, rather than achieving those goals, are more likely to succeed.

SKIIMASK CHAÁRMS

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summercourtship · 3 years

Note

Hi, could you write a nsfw oneshot or something for the Cenobite with a shy and modest fem survivor reader? Possibly include some fingering and using his hands. Thanks if you do!

I'm sorry this took so long, I obviously got a bit carried away. I have such a bad habit of needing SO MUCH exposition even for tiny one shots (or at least what are supposed to be tiny) but I’m not going to stop. I’m also not sure how well I fulfilled the idea of a “shy, modest” reader, but I think I managed to have elements of it without it becoming a stereotypical mess of stuttering and blushing.

summons [nsfw, 18+]

Pinhead (The Cenobite) x Reader | warnings: NSFW, reader could be interpreted as being a virgin but it’s not explicitly stated, I somehow made the Lament Configuration solving erotic (it’s what Clive Barker would want) | 3121 words

It was always unnerving to realize that a killer remembered you. To notice that shift in their expression as they placed your face to a memory, to an action that had made you stick out in their mind. Some killers seemed to remember everyone while others only recognized a select few. Some didn’t seem cognizant of doing either.

Luckily, you had always managed to fly under their radar. Even the killers that had memorized every survivor regarded you with an air of disinterest, preferring to go after the overtly obnoxious survivors (which was probably part of those survivors’ plans- Nea really hated fixing gens). Some could say that it was because you were boring, at least in the way of prey. You didn’t necessarily agree, but if killers thinking you were boring kept you alive you wouldn’t argue about it.

However.

There was one killer who seemed… overly interested in you because of this. Somehow your reserved nature was more intriguing to him than that of the unafraid or blatantly uncaring survivors. You didn’t understand it, but you also didn’t want to.

You didn’t want anything to do with it.

The Cenobite was an oddity among oddities- barely even touching the survivors and treating your suffering with a cold grace. In the few moments you’d been able to observe him, he seemed unaffected by anything, continuing his hunt seemingly without a care in the world.

When you were one of his designated playthings for a trial, you avoided the Box, even if it meant your continued survival. You couldn’t handle the thought of possibly summoning him, bringing the being you knew was somehow fascinated with you directly to your location.

You just did your damnedest to finish repairing gens and move on to the next trial with the usual indifferent killers, taking extra care to stealth when you knew he was coming. Because if he caught sight of you, he wouldn’t stop pursuing you throughout the trial, preferring to torment you than spread the pressure amongst your teammates.

But, despite your efforts, not every trial with him could work out this way, as was the case for the trial you found yourself in now. You had been just barely surviving through your stealth tactics when it seemed that the survivors were rapidly downed, one quickly falling after the other.

You rushed to pull them off hooks or patch them up enough to stand, only briefly hesitating when you felt your own safety was in danger. You pushed it aside, putting your team’s survival over your own sense of sanity. They would eventually pay you back in kind, and the cycle would continue.

But it seemed that luck was not on your side.

One, two, three survivors were all hooked for the last time, their cut off screams piercing the night air.

And suddenly, you were the only one left.

Somewhere, both too close and impossibly far away, a bell tolls.

You’re frozen in place, too on edge to even contemplate searching for the Hatch. You’d been in similar situations before, but this time felt different- it was as if the air was electrified from your nervous anticipation.

And never before had you been left alone with him.

Before long, the consequence of your hesitation becomes clear- the chains that he summons from nothing have started seeking you out, the few that reach you embedding their hooks in your skin. You hiss, jerking back into life and unhooking yourself, trying to be as careful as possible to not rip your skin off.

It would not be the worst pain you have felt in this place.

You set off, struggling through the terrain of the Macmillan Estate until you reach one of the smattering of brick walls that litter the Entity’s realms. Here, at least you would have some protection from the chains, giving you time to figure out what you were going to do next.

Find Hatch or wait by the Exit Gate, hoping he closes the Hatch with enough time for you to slip out? You’re debating the two options in your head, knowing full well it’s not the best use of your time but feeling unable to make a decision and get your feet moving.

You’d just mentally circled back around to the option of booking it for Hatch that you realize you were being observed. And he wasn’t even hiding like some of the others would, no crouching behind the brick or staying by the tree line. He’s simply standing there, as if waiting for you to realize he was there.

You look up at him, wondering how you hadn’t noticed his presence before. He blocks the only other exit from your shelter that isn’t a window, something you note with a growing sense of dread. No prey likes feeling cornered.

But he hasn’t moved to attack, just standing and staring at you. You take a moment to observe him back, noting the impassive expression on his face. He doesn’t move, even once you’d been made aware of him. You narrow your eyes and glare at him, ignoring the thwacking of the chains hitting the ground and walls behind you, already tired of whatever game he is playing, not in the mood to be toyed with.

“What do you want?” You ask, willing your voice to stop wavering. For once, you wanted to seem like the brave, outgoing survivor, willing to stand up to the killer for nothing more than the satisfaction of having done so.

A beat of silence, and you almost think he won’t answer. But he does, and his response is more confusing than clarifying.

“You.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

More silence.

Then, a crackling draws your attention downwards, to the small, unassuming box that lay on the ground in the space between you. The very box you had done your best to avoid touching, even looking at. You wonder, briefly, if it had been there the entire time.

“Solve it.” His voice is commanding yet gentle, coaxing yet sinister. There’s power behind it, a power that isn’t being utilized at the moment.

“No.” It’s an easy answer for you. There are few things you are sure of in the Fog, but not touching anything that belongs to a killer is one of them.

“Aren’t you curious?”

That was not what you had been expecting him to say. Suddenly, you were no longer sure about the subject of your conversation. The Box still lay between you, ready for your willing hands to run along its smooth surface, finding the small grooves that would lead you to further unlocking its mystery. But while you had been focusing on the Box, his eyes had never left you.

Because he knew that ultimately, yes. You were curious, and always had been. About everything, but you’d always been too shy, too afraid of other’s thoughts about you to try anything even mildly risky. Better to stay on the safe side and hear about other’s exploits instead of experiencing your own.

“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Then…” With a long fingered hand, he gestures to the Box.

Your hands shook as you reached down to pick it up, finding its smooth surface both warm and cool at the same time, its weight heavier than you had anticipated.

You looked back up at the Cenobite, ignoring the faint tinkling of a music box’s tune that you could now hear coming from the Box.

“What do I do?”

You were sure it couldn’t be but so difficult- less intelligent survivors had completed its puzzle under significantly more stressing circumstances than you. But you couldn’t bring your mind to command your hands to begin, some invisible wire holding your muscles back from taking action.

Maybe it was because he was standing in front of you, watching you intently.

He moved closer and you barely resisted the urge to move backwards, your grip on the Box tightening as if afraid he would take it from you. He stopped just before you and reached out, not to take the Box but to guide your hands. But instead of placing his hands over yours as you had anticipated, they hovered barely a centimeter above your skin.

“There is a force in this realm that makes solving the Lament Configuration child’s play.”

You look up at him, wondering if he had just delivered a thinly veiled insult. If he, in saying that solving it should be easy, was implying that you were too unintelligent to figure it out. You open your mouth to begin defending yourself.

“I-“

“You’ve refused it,” He continues as if you’d never started speaking, “even when it is to your detriment. But the Configuration is meant for those who seek to heighten their senses, for sensations that the earthly world cannot provide. Opening it is not supposed to be easy.”

You look down at your hands, at his.

“For those who summon us must be sure that it is what they want, for once we are summoned we cannot leave without a charge. It cannot be helped.”

He places his hands over yours now, guiding them along the edges of the Box (the Configuration, you correct yourself). Your hands are seemingly electrified from where his skin meets yours, though a sizable portion of his hand is covered in leather.

“Here it seems that, although alone, I work under different rules. The Box was made simpler and perverted into a means to assist in feeding this Entity.”

With his guidance, you are able to find the minuscule lines in the surface of the box, pushing and shifting the pieces until they form a completely new shape. But before you are able to push the final piece into place, thus completing the puzzle, he releases his hands and steps back.

“There is no need to finish it.”

You blink, feeling like you’d just woken from a hazy waking dream.

“But why did I do it in the first place?”

“I won’t have to hunt you down the next time we find ourselves facing each other. It is very tiresome when you hide from me constantly.”

He turns around like he’s about to go, either to finally kill you or let you scamper off to find the Hatch, but you aren’t ready for him to leave yet.

“Is that it?” You blurt out and almost take it back when he turns his head, indicating that you have his attention once more. But you swallow your fear and continue on, holding your chin higher. “You just wanted me to solve this box? To what? Prove to myself that I can, so that you don’t have to do as much work the next time you’re going to kill me?”

He whirls around, but there is barely any change in his expression from before. He was near impossible to read, you were quickly learning.

“I don’t get it- if you’re summoned for those who want pleasure or pain or whatever, why are you so interested in me? I don’t want any of that.”

“You don’t want pleasure?”

Your face heats up, any bravery you had felt in delivering your speech gone. You look down at your hands, still holding the almost solved Lament Configuration.

“The rules of this place may be different, but I am still obliged to answer the summons.” His words, at first, make no sense.

And then you realize what he is implying, and your face must be on fire for how hot it feels. If he was summoned for those who want whatever version of pleasure or pain he provided, then you solving the Configuration meant that he could…

Ohhhkay.

You turn from him, fully intending to put the box down and sprint for the Hatch and think about this encounter later at the campfire, but the quiet, nagging voice in the back of your head stops you.

Aren’t you curious?

Before you can rationalize and deny the urge, you act on impulse for once and press the final piece into place on the Box, the tinkling music stopping abruptly.

While you’ve had your back turned, he must’ve crept up closer on you, because you suddenly feel his hand on your shoulder.

You gasp, both from surprise and the sensation of his touch once again on you. He slowly ran his hand down your body, from your shoulder down your arm, before making its way to your front. Your breathing was picking up, hitching in the back of your throat when his other hand snuck around and plucked the box from your grasp. It’s gone when you turn your head to look at it, and you’re too focused on his touch to really ponder what happened to it.

You reach out and press your own hand against the brick wall in front of you, using the rough texture to ground yourself in reality, as much as you could in the hellish purgatory that you were trapped in. But the reality of this moment was that he was touching you in such a simple way, barely vulgar at all, but you felt as if you were being lit on fire with the way his touch seared your skin, even over the layers of your clothes.

His fingers dance over the hem of your pants, toying with the button. You’d always liked that the Entity put you in pants most of the time, their practicality better for your environment than the potential fashion statements you could’ve been making in something else. But now you wish that the Entity had decided to put you in one of the nonsensical outfits the others occasionally donned, if just for the easy access a skirt provides.

Nonetheless, he deftly undid the button and continued his journey down your body, not bothering to even pull your pants down. He completely ignored your underwear, apparently not in the mood to tease you over the fabric. You weren’t complaining, wanting whatever he was going to give you as quickly as possible.

It was now that you fully realized how cold his hands were, which only made you more aware of every centimeter of your skin that he ran his fingers along. Down over your stomach, a feather light touch that was approaching where you needed it the most.

The Cenobite found his way in between your legs with little fanfare, finally exploring the part of your body that, unbeknownst to you, he had thought of whenever he saw you in a trial. He toyed briefly with just running his touch up and down your slit, causing you to shudder and drop your head. But before long, he ended up at that sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking it just to hear you moan. His finger circled around your clit, applying just enough pressure for it to register in your mind but not enough to really scratch the itch that had been building since he’d placed his hands over yours to solve the box.

He was silent behind you, but you didn’t think he wasn’t actively enjoying what he was doing to you, if the way his teasing touches would briefly speed up when you let the little sounds building up behind your lips escape was any indication. Or the way his breathing, though quiet and low, would hitch when you would whimper, groan, hiss.

He finally moved lower, teasing at your entrance. You whimper again, closing your eyes. But he didn’t do anything aside from dipping his fingers in, for barely a second, giving you just a taste of the pleasure you needed. He teased more than you would have expected, but you also wouldn’t have expected him to want to fuck you.

“Please,” your whisper is broken, your mind hazy and unable to compose a more elegant plea. You curse under your breath when he does it again, moving back up to your clit to circle it a couple more times.

“You can do better than that,” He says, and you, in your fuzzy mind, think you detect a hint of humor in his voice.

“Fuck- please.” You roll your hips, as if to entice him to finally get to it. But he holds fast, your (pathetic) attempt to seduce him into giving in to your whims failing. He pauses in his movements.

“Fine! Please, please, please, please fuck me, put your fingers in me, I don’t care just please make me cum!”

You wonder, briefly, in the back of your mind, if the Entity is watching.

Two of his fingers finally slip into you, and you barely hold back a curse, forgetting whatever inane thought you had before. All you could focus on was the fact that he was finally giving you what you wanted, that he was finally done teasing.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of your pussy, dragging them along your walls and hitting every sensitive spot that you didn’t even realize existed within you.

“For such a shy woman, you make delightful sounds,” He mutters, almost too quiet for you to hear over the heartbeat pounding in your ears. Whether it’s yours or his, you cannot tell.

Quickly, much too quickly, you feel your climax approaching, and any sense of the amount of time you’ve spent at his mercy is lost to you. All you know is that he is touching you in a way that makes you feel like no one has ever made you feel and that you want to reach your peak now.

As it builds, you release a litany of pleas, begging with broken words and fragmented sentences.

You finally finish with a sharp, drawn out and shuddering gasp, his fingers curling into the spot that makes your toes curl, sharply punctuating every ripple of pleasure that your body rides.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it is over.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you turn to face the Cenobite, who looks as unaffected as he had before. He examines his glistening fingers not even looking at you when he tells you to find the Hatch. If you’re stung by his sudden disinterest in you, you don’t show it, opting to add it to the growing mental list of things to think about later.

On shaky legs, you comply with his demand, stealing one last glance back at him as you leave him. You had no idea if this would be a one off occurrence, or if he would regularly find his own way to answer your summons, if he would make good on his statement that he is summoned for those who wish for pleasure and pain.

The only way to find out would be to summon him.

___

ao3 link

#pinhead x reader #pinhead #the cenobite #dead by daylight #hellraiser #lemon tag #request #ask #anon #oneshot #my writing #slasher x reader #I don't consider PH a slasher but eh it's a general label for some #thank you :3 #tumblr keeps trying to correct my spelling to the british spelling and that's Not Correct

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octerminal · 3 years

Text

Avoiding the ME1 LI Romances

...And also what to do if you’ve already triggered them.

This is a post I’ve been wanting to remake forever, and with the remaster around the corner I thought now was a good time to finally get on it.

A few things first: I say “avoiding the ME1 LI romances”, but in reality this is mostly going to be about Kaidan and Ashley. While there are a few ways around Liara’s romance I’ve discovered, I have never been able to find a simple way to avoid triggering it. (I’ll get to that later.)

This post will be split into three sections: Kaidan, Ashley, and Liara. Kaidan and Ashley’s sections specifically will go over how to avoid triggering their romances entirely, and then the dialogue choices you need to take if you want to end the romance if it’s already been triggered. I have also included a few bonus things for the both of them, such as avoiding the flirting during the scenic view cutscene in the Citadel Wards. For Kaidan specifically, I have also included content about his mechanics in ME3.

Please note that most of these have been accomplished on console. I have gotten several PC users who do attest that, at the very least, Kaidan’s portion works for them. But on the off-chance that platform influences other parts of Kaidan’s, or Ashley and Liara’s, I thought it was worth mentioning. It should also be said that, obviously, these are all using the original games as a basis, though I am not expecting MELE to change any of this.

I will also be using both my Kaidan transcript and Ashley transcript as reference for their dialogue. I recommend following along there if you find Tumblr’s formatting confusing.

Final note before we begin: this post is not an open invitation to hate on any of these characters. ME1 is turning 14 this year and ME3 recently turned 9. Anything you have to say about these characters and their romance mechanics has already been beaten to death, brought back to life, and beaten to death again. No one wants to hear it, least of all me. Please keep your comments to yourself and be civil.

KAIDAN

“I WANT TO AVOID TRIGGERING IT ENTIRELY, WHAT DO I DO?”

Kaidan’s romance can be triggered after the first main mission has been completed. For many players, I imagine this is Therum, but it really doesn’t matter which mission it is.

Kaidan will prompt the conversation, as he will for every other post-main mission conversation so long as his romance remains active. This conversation will be about his time at Brain Camp. You can read the conversation in his transcript if you find it easier to follow along, though I have done my best to format this post as cleanly as possible.

KAIDAN: Commander, do you have a minute?

SHEPARD: (You can choose whatever dialogue option you want. It makes no difference yet.)

KAIDAN: Off the record, I think there’s something wrong here. This Saren is looking for records on some kind of galactic extinction, but we can’t get backup from the Council? Sorry, Commander. There’s writing on the wall here, but someone isn’t reading it.

SHEPARD: (Again, you may choose whatever dialogue option you want. It still makes no difference yet.)

>FIRST CHANCE TO AVOID THE ROMANCE<

KAIDAN: I hear ya. It - It just seems like a group that’s been around as long as the Council should see this coming. It’s funny. We finally get out here and the final frontier was already settled. And the residents don’t even seem impressed by the view...or the dangers.

SHEPARD (Renegade - Zip it, Lieutenant.): I’m sure your letters home are very poignant. Just keep this kind of sentimentality out of the CIC.

KAIDAN: Yes, ma’am. Sorry to have wasted your time. I’m right about the mission, though. I know it. (The conversation will end here and his romance will not trigger.)

>SECOND CHANCE TO AVOID THE ROMANCE<

SHEPARD (Paragon - Cute way to look at it./Neutral - An old-fashioned view.): Well, well. You’re a romantic. Did you sign on “for the dream,” Alenko? Secure man’s future in space?

KAIDAN: Heh, yeah, I read a lot of those books when I was a kid. Where the hero goes to space to prove himself worthy of a woman he loves. Or, you know. For justice. Maybe I was a romantic in the beginning. But I thought about it after Brain Camp - ah, sorry, “Biotic Acclimation and Temperance training.” I’m not looking for “the dream.” I just want to do some good. See what’s out here. Sorry if I got too informal. Protocol wasn’t a big focus back in BAaT.

SHEPARD (Renegade - Just be ready.): I trust you won’t have any questions when whatever’s coming hits the fan?

KAIDAN: None. I’m not questioning the mission. I’m just concerned. Sorry to have wasted your time, ma’am. It won’t happen again. (The conversation will end here and his romance will not trigger.)

The final chance to cut off Kaidan’s romance before it triggers happens after Shepard asks him about Brain Camp. This opens up a lot of investigation options and you may exhaust all of them. If you want to avoid hearing Kaidan imply that he thinks your Shepard is attractive, avoid the “Time to talk, then./Time to “get physical,” then.” investigation options. Once Kaidan is done speaking about Brain Camp, you will get one final chance to avoid his romance.

>THIRD CHANCE TO AVOID THE ROMANCE<

KAIDAN: Anyway. This was supposed to be a casual debrief, not a bull session about stuff that happened years ago.

SHEPARD (Renegade - You’re right.): I pretty much gave up waiting for the good part.

KAIDAN: Bad habit, ma’am. I do tend to run off at the mouth. I will work on it for my next review. Sorry to have wasted your time, ma’am. It won’t happen again. (The conversation ends and his romance does not trigger.)

You will notice all of these are renegade options. There is literally no way around this if you want to avoid triggering Kaidan’s romance. You don’t get any renegade points from them, and Kaidan does not treat you negatively in the ensuing post-main mission talks.

Here is an easy way to tell if Kaidan’s romance remains active. Conversations between him and Shepard will end like this:

SHEPARD: We’ll talk later, Kaidan.

KAIDAN: I’d like that.

“I’VE ALREADY TRIGGERED IT, HOW DO I GET OUT OF THIS?”

The good news is that getting out of the romance is fairly simple. The game gives you a lot of opportunities before it triggers the love triangle with Liara (assuming her romance has also been triggered, anyway).

If Kaidan’s romance was triggered, you will have an opportunity at the beginning of his second and third post-main mission talks. These are a bit more complex to transcribe, so I really recommend just reading them in my transcription if you need the exact dialogue options to understand.

But the gist: You can’t go wrong with choosing the renegade dialogue options. This is always the dialogue option that will end his romance. You are almost never going to end his romance with a paragon or neutral dialogue option. He will always prompt this conversation by wondering if he’s gotten his signals mixed up, if there’s someone else you’d rather spend time with, if he’s being too casual, etc. Once he does this, just shoot him down with a renegade dialogue option.

Again: you get no renegade points from this. He will not treat you negatively in the ensuing post-main mission talks.

Here is an example. This one occurs in his second post-main mission talk if Liara’s romance hasn’t been triggered:

KAIDAN: I’m just saying...try to leave yourself a way out. I’ve seen what cutting corners can do and I’d hate to have that happen to you, Shepard. Commander.

SHEPARD (Renegade - I don’t need approval.): I’m your commanding officer, Alenko. Are you questioning the way I handle things?

KAIDAN: No, Commander. Just concerned about the reception of the brass if things go sour. I apologize for bringing it up. I know we’re getting the job done.

SHEPARD: (You can choose whatever response you like; they all lead to the romance ending.)

If you have repeatedly not broken off the romance with Kaidan after a certain point and Liara’s romance is also active, it will trigger the love triangle scene. This is one of the last points you have to break off Kaidan’s romance, but it will lock you into Liara’s romance instead. If you are wanting a no-romance run, I recommend choosing one of the other options instead.

There is also a separate way to end the romance outside these three opportunities. In the third post-main mission talk, you must pick the dialogue option that triggers the argument that can “renegade” Kaidan’s opinion on the Council. You must not choose the charm or intimidate option here, and you must then pick the renegade dialogue options. The conversation should go like this:

KAIDAN: So yeah, I hated that turian. But he wasn’t “a turian” to me. He was Vyrnnus.

SHEPARD (Renegade - All turians are the same.): You can’t deny the turians are imperialists. And the asari, the salarians - they’re manipulators.

KAIDAN: Shepard, I outgrew the blame game years ago. If the Alliance is missing its chance, it’s because of men like Udina. Not the rest of the galaxy holding it back.

SHEPARD (Renegade - I’m not so sure.): When anyone out here listens to us, the Council starts up with their treaties and heel-dragging. We can only rely on ourselves.

KAIDAN: We’re not doing the galaxy any favors if we try to force our way into a seat at the grown-up table. They aren’t - malicious. They’re just slow to change. My story doesn’t get any better if Vyrnnus is a good guy.

SHEPARD (Renegade - Whose side are you on?): I don’t need you kissing the Council’s asses, too.

KAIDAN: Look, Shepard. You’re in command, and we’ll all follow your lead. But don’t ream me out for having an opinion. I thought we respected each other more than that.

SHEPARD (Renegade - I can’t respect this.): I can’t believe you’d side with aliens over your own kind. I think we’re done here.

KAIDAN: Yeah, I think we are. It’s--It’s too bad we...It’s just too bad, Commander.

This argument will end his romance. He will also not be renegaded. This is obviously a much more convoluted way to end his romance, but I’m throwing the option out there because it’s 1) hilarious, and 2) way more dramatic, if you want to roleplay ending the romance for whatever reason.

MISCELLANEOUS

Depending on the dialogue options you take for the scenic view on the Citadel, Kaidan will always flirt with you. This does not lock you into, or even trigger, his romance. It is entirely possible to not have him flirt with you at all in this scene, and still initiate the romance later. But if you do not want him to flirt with you, simply do this:

[image ID: ME1’s subtitles showing Ashley saying “Or maybe they just don’t like humans.” with the dialogue wheel below it giving the following dialogue choices, starting from the top: “What’s not to like?”, “Let’s move out.”, and “That’s enough, you two.” end ID]

When you get to this part of the scenic view cutscene, choose any dialogue option but the top “What’s not to like?” one.

Also, even if you’ve already avoided or shut down Kaidan’s romance, Liara will still ask if there’s something between the two of you if her romance is active. Tell her that there isn’t (because there isn’t). Her saying this does not re-trigger Kaidan’s romance.

Congratulations, you have now survived ME1’s romance mechanics. Enjoy experiencing unromanced Kaidan for the rest of the game.

ME3 BONUS: “OKAY, WHAT ABOUT HIM FLIRTING WITH ME IN THE HOSPITAL THOUGH?”

I have tested both of these personally multiple times and they have always worked for me, but again: see my warning about different platforms at the beginning of this post. If it doesn’t work for you, please let me know.

If you have not romanced Kaidan previously: don’t buy him the alcohol as a present. That’s it.

If you have romanced Kaidan previously: on Mars, tell him your relationship is over. It is a renegade dialogue option, but it is necessary to avoid the flirtation in the hospital. This route also means that you can buy him the alcohol and he will still not flirt with you.

Please note that going renegade on Mars does not lock you out of his romance. It merely prevents him from assuming you’re interested during your hospital visit.

ME3 BONUS: “OKAY, WHAT ABOUT HIS APOLLO’S PROPOSITION THOUGH?”

This only happens if you have not locked in your romance with your preferred love interest first. For Garrus, this is the bottle shooting date. For Tali and Traynor, it’s inviting her up to your cabin. For Liara and Miranda, it’s her Presidium date. So on and so forth.

This means there is no way around it if you romanced Jacob or Thane and do not want to pursue a different romance after them. If you do get this scene: again, just turn him down. It is never brought up again. He does not act like he’s in love with you going forth. You will get his unromanced date in the Citadel DLC, as well as his unromanced London goodbye.

ASHLEY

“I WANT TO AVOID TRIGGERING IT ENTIRELY, WHAT DO I DO?”

Ashley’s romance can be triggered after the first main mission has been completed. For many players, I imagine this is Therum, but it really doesn’t matter which mission it is.

Ashley will prompt the conversation, as she will for every other post-main mission conversation so long as her romance remains active. This conversation will be about her concerns about the aliens aboard the Normandy.

Note: Ashley has one less opportunity to avoid triggering her romance in the first post-main mission talk compared to Kaidan. You may also read the conversation in her transcript if you find it easier to follow along, though I have done my best to format this post as cleanly as possible.

ASHLEY: Commander. You have a minute to talk?

SHEPARD: (You can choose whatever dialogue option you want. It makes no difference yet.)

ASHLEY: I know things are different aboard the Normandy, but - I'm concerned about the aliens. Vakarian and Wrex. With all due respect, Commander, should they have full access to the ship?

SHEPARD: (Again, you can choose whatever dialogue option you want. It still makes no difference yet.)

>FIRST CHANCE TO AVOID THE ROMANCE<

ASHLEY: This is the most advanced ship in the Alliance Navy. I don't think we should give them free reign to poke around the vital systems. Engines. Sensors. Weapons.

SHEPARD (Side - You're out of line!): That's enough, Chief. You always second-guess your superiors?

ASHLEY: Sir! No, sir! I'm sorry. I was out of line. I'll get back to my duties, Commander. (The conversation will end and her romance will not trigger.)

If you do not pick the above option, Ashley will elaborate her stance further until you get to the dialogue wheel with the second (and final) chance to avoid her romance.

>SECOND CHANCE TO AVOID THE ROMANCE<

ASHLEY: My family's defended the Alliance since it was founded. My father, my grandfather, my great-grandmother - they all picked up a rifle and swore the Oath of Service. I guess we just tend to think of Earth's interests as our own.

SHEPARD (Renegade - Just shut up.): I expect you to keep your family politics to yourself, Chief. The mission will be difficult enough without you picking fights with aliens.

ASHLEY: Aye, aye, Commander. (The conversation will end and her romance will not trigger.)

Note: You can still pick the investigation dialogue options that discusses her service and family history. You just have to pick the renegade dialogue option outlined above afterward, instead of any other option.

Like with Kaidan, you do not get any renegade points for picking this option and Ashley does not treat you negatively in the ensuing post-main mission talks.

Here is an easy way to tell if Ashley’s romance remains active. Conversations between her and Shepard will end with the following:

SHEPARD: We'll talk later, Williams.

ASHLEY: Looking forward to it, sir.

“I’VE ALREADY TRIGGERED IT, HOW DO I GET OUT OF THIS?”

Admittedly, you have fewer easy opportunities to end Ashley’s romance than you do Kaidan’s, and most of the early game ones require Liara’s romance also being active. You are still offered multiple different opportunities out before the game ends, however.

If Ashley and Liara’s romances are both triggered, you will have an opportunity at the beginning of Ashley’s second and third post-main mission talks to end the romance. The gist is the same as Kaidan’s: You can’t go wrong with choosing the renegade dialogue options. This is always the dialogue option that will end her romance. You are almost never going to end her romance with a paragon or neutral dialogue option. She will always prompt this conversation by bringing up your relationship with Liara. Once she does this, just shoot her down.

Again: you get no renegade points from this. She will not treat you negatively in the ensuing post-main mission talks.

In both the second and third post-main mission talks, the conversation will go something like:

ASHLEY: Surprised to see you here, sir. Thought you’d be chatting up what’s-her-name. T’Soni.

SHEPARD: (Pick the neutral or renegade dialogue option here; they both lead to the same dialogue branch.)

ASHLEY: Scuttlebutt says you’ve got a bit of a thing for her. I could understand why. The crew’s off-limits, with the regs against fraternization. And at least she looks like a woman.

SHEPARD: (Pick the neutral or renegade dialogue option here. They both end the romance.)

One of the easier exceptions to this that doesn't require Liara’s romance being active is in the second post-main mission talk when Ashley gets Sarah’s vid-mail. It will go like this:

SARAH: - Oh, before I go. You said you’re serving with Commander Shepard now? We saw him on the news here. He’s cute! Later, sis.

ASHLEY: Tell me you didn’t hear that.

SHEPARD (Renegade - That’s unprofessional.): I don’t need to tell you it’s inappropriate to gossip about how “cute” your commanding officer is.

ASHLEY: No, sir. You don’t. Sorry about that. It won’t happen again. (Conversation and romance ends.)

Please note, however, that this will lock you out of the remainder of the conversation and you will not learn about Ashley’s family.

If you have repeatedly not broken off the romance with Ashley after a certain point and Liara’s romance is also active, it will trigger the love triangle scene. This is one of the last points you have to break off Ashley’s romance, but it will lock you into Liara’s romance instead. If you are wanting a no-romance run, I recommend choosing one of the other options instead.

There is also a separate way to end the romance outside these three opportunities. In the third post-main mission talk, you must pick the dialogue option that triggers the argument that can “paragon” Ashley’s opinion on the Council. You must not choose the charm or intimidate option here, and you must then pick the renegade dialogue options. The conversation should go something like this:

ASHLEY: But hey, once we save the galaxy, maybe the Alliance will get its act together. Start acting like an actual government.

SHEPARD (Paragon - The Alliance is all right.): The Alliance isn’t perfect, but it does well enough.

ASHLEY: Have to disagree with you there, skipper. Giving aliens the run of our most advanced ship? Kowtowing to the Council?

SHEPARD (Paragon - It’s not like that.): The Alliance should be able to stand on is own. We can’t. Yet. Why not learn from the races that have been standing for the last thousand years?

ASHLEY: How can you say that, given everything we’ve seen out here? They’re already acting like Saren is our problem. Already siccing us on the bear. The Council races will always think of themselves first. It’s - human nature. We can’t afford to trust them. Not if the survival of humanity is on the line.

SHEPARD (Renegade - I’ve heard enough.): Whatever feelings I might have for you, we have to work with the Council. I can’t let you second-guess our superiors.

ASHLEY: Shepard, I’m a soldier. You’re my commander. If you give me an order, I’ll follow it. I don’t expect you to treat me differently from anyone else under your command. And if you have been - quit it. I thought you knew me better than that.

SHEPARD (Renegade - Do I?): Seems like every time we run up against aliens, you whip out the “Earth first” card. I can’t have my authority undermined.

ASHLEY: I never intended to “undermine” you, Shepard. I believe in you. I wish you’d believe in anyone but yourself. With your permission, sir, I’ll return to my duties.

This argument will end her romance. She will also not be paragoned. This is obviously a much more convoluted way to end her romance, but I’m throwing the option out there because it’s 1) hilarious (that final line, oof), and 2) way more dramatic, if you want to roleplay ending the romance for whatever reason.

MISCELLANEOUS

Like with Kaidan, depending on the dialogue options you take for the scenic view on the Citadel, Ashley will always flirt with you. This does not lock you into, or even trigger, her romance. It is entirely possible to not have her flirt with you at all in this scene, and still initiate the romance later. But if you do not want her to flirt with you, simply do this:

When you get to this part of the scenic view cutscene, choose any dialogue option but the top “What’s not to like?” one.

Also like with Kaidan, even if you’ve already avoided or shut down Ashley’s romance, Liara will still ask if there’s something between the two of you if her romance is active. Tell her that there isn’t (because there isn’t). Her saying this does not re-trigger Ashley’s romance.

Congratulations, you have now survived ME1’s romance mechanics. Enjoy experiencing unromanced Ashley for the rest of the game.

LIARA

“I WANT TO AVOID TRIGGERING IT ENTIRELY, WHAT DO I DO?”

As I mentioned in the beginning of this post, I have found no easy way around Liara’s romance. If anyone else has, I genuinely mean it when I say I would absolutely be open to you telling me, because I would love to know.

The only way to avoid triggering Liara’s romance that I have found are the following:

Simply not talking to her for most of the game (not ideal)

Completing Therum only after you’ve done at least two main missions (also not ideal since it will require Noveria being completed without her)

Completing Therum only after all the other main missions have been completed (again not ideal, though every player should at least do this once if only for the unique content you get from it)

Okay, so what if you want to complete Therum first but still avoid Liara’s romance? I have found one way to accomplish this, but it requires you to be in a romance with Kaidan (or presumably Ashley, but I have only tested this with Kaidan).

After you recruit Liara, you may check up on her in the med-bay but do not initiate conversation after that. If she prompts you by saying, “I get the feeling you want to ask me something, Commander,” do not pick the yellowed dialogue option:

[image ID: ME1′s subtitles showing Liara saying, “I get the feeling you want to ask me something, Commander.” with the dialogue wheel showing the following options: “Investigate”, a yellowed option above “Investigate” labeled “I’d like to talk about you.”, and “Goodbye.” end ID.]

After you complete another main mission, you can check back in with Liara and speak to her normally. This conversation should be the one you’d normally get after Therum, where you learn about why she likes archaeology and how she finds Shepard fascinating.

After you complete another main mission, you must talk to Kaidan or Ashley first. To clarify: at this point you should be at the post-third main mission mark. For Kaidan, you will be getting the “Vyrnnus and Rahna” talk that you can read in his transcript; for Ashley, you will be getting the “Williams Curse” talk that you can read in her transcript.

After you speak with Kaidan or Ashley, you may speak with Liara as normal. This conversation should be picking up on where you left off last time. Liara will talk about how she’s looked into Shepard’s history and Shepard can press her for why she’s so interested in them. Liara should then say something like the following lines:

LIARA: I admit, your connection to the Protheans had something to do with my initial interest. But it has grown beyond that. My interest in you, however, is strictly professional. I want to make that clear. It is obvious you and Lt. Alenko already have some type of relationship. I would not want to come between you.

Her romance will not trigger for the rest of the game.

Please note: Again, I have only tested this with Kaidan. But it should, in theory, work the exact same for Ashley considering many of hers and Kaidan’s other romance mechanics are identical.

“THAT’S NICE, BUT HOW DO I END HER ROMANCE IF IT’S ALREADY TRIGGERED?”

You will follow the same steps as in Kaidan and Ashley’s portions. When she prompts you with whether or not there’s anything between the two of you, you must turn her down. You can never go wrong with the renegade dialogue options here. Again: you get no renegade points for it, and Liara treats you no differently going forth.

She will also usually bring up Kaidan or Ashley depending on what Shepard you are playing, and mention that it seems like there’s something between the two of you even when you do not have their romance active. If you aren’t romancing the VS, just tell her that she’s got it wrong, because...she does. It does not re-trigger either of their romances.

YES I AM ALMOST DONE TALKING

The game really does give you ample opportunities to avoid or end the romances (which is only fair considering how easy they are to trip), so hopefully I have outlined at least one you are comfortable taking.

There are other ways to end both Kaidan and Ashley’s romance that I did not mention (such as during the locker scene, or if you try to un-paragon/renegade) - the point of no return you mainly have to worry about is en route to Ilos. I imagine most players will have their romances sorted out by then, though, so I’m not sure it’s worth mentioning unless you’re wanting to do it purely for roleplay reasons. (In which case: you may read those in their respective transcripts if you’re curious.)

I cannot say I have tested every single romance cut-off, but I have tested most of the important ones players are most likely to take. I am assuming the romances are cut off based on the fact Shepard and the VS’ farewells will change depending on their romanced status (as I outlined in their respective sections), which I do feel is a safe bet. But if you try one of these and find that it did not end the romance: I’m sorry, and please do let me know (and also what platform you play on).

If you read all of this: thank you for your time, and I hope you find this guide useful!

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #ashley williams #liara t'soni #shenko #shepley #shiara #okay perhaps this post will show up in the tags eventually but it certainly is not for now #which makes this post utterly pointless but whatever hopefully it still gets spread around #edit: this post is showing up in the tags now thanks everyone who reblogged!

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aenor-llelo · 3 years

Note

Your c!techno c-ptsd post made me curious about your c-ptsd takes on c!phil if you’re willing to do a similar post about him!

Sure!

c!philza’s got A Number of interesting things trauma-wise to talk about just from his history on the server (wilbur’s death, the butcher army), and I’ll use the multiple phil asks in the inbox to cover it, but for now let’s pick one similar to my point about c!techno, since i think that’s what you’re looking for.

C!Philza’s behavior suggests he was already predisposed to traumatic responses in line with C-PTSD before he even joined the server.

(Note that in the case of phil and techno, i specifically say C-PTSD rather than PTSD. There’s a difference. PTSD is caused by one traumatic event (such as, for example, what phil went through on november 16). C-PTSD is caused by sustained and repeated trauma.)

Also, much like how CC!technoblade’s game habits have implications on C!techno, CC!ph1lza’s habits have their own on C!philza, and we keep that in mind.

now philza isn’t as “textbook” as techno’s more militaristic trauma responses but he still has some trauma-flavored patterns.

-self isolating.

essentially, he acts under the assumption that he is alone, and others will treat him as alone.

alot of his on-screen time is spent in isolation doing constant work, even in the wake of recent of ongoing events that directly concern him. he disappears into work to busy himself- and failing that, he’ll disappear altogether. after wilbur’s death, he canonically deliberately walked into a blizzard for a few days just to try and ground himself.

he disappears for long stretches of time even after incredibly concerning events and makes no assumption other people would care about his whereabouts or wellbeing.

-altered response to harm and danger

as pragmatic as he is in terms of survival, he’s also relatively flippant about harming himself to achieve something he wants. he, without hesitation, broke his ankle monitor by shoving himself into magma. that is not something a person would consider an immediate option unless they were on some level already desensitized to harm or the prospect of self-harm.

-”inappropriate” emotional responses

trauma alters a person’s ability to respond to future stressful or traumatic events. this does not necessarily mean they respond more dramatically.

Towards most other characters, he gives little indication of emotional transparency or honesty until it explodes in dysfunctional verbal outbursts.

his most common outburst is laughter. philza laughs and smiles alot. even when clearly upset. even after saying incredibly upsetting things. this is of course due to CC!ph1lza just being Like That, but this translates in c!philza as someone who laughs as a nervous tic when experiencing high emotions in general.

he’s also shown incoherent outburst (screaming after wilbur’s death), as well as verbal snapping that comes “out of nowhere” from outsider perspective (”you’re dead to me” in response to “i still love you, grandpa” and the infamous “my first day on the server- i killed my son!”)

-disproportionate reaction to stress and grief, violent tendencies

externally he does not grieve at all, but his actions and comments imply he has a habit of being extremely violent to perceived threats. in general he’s very violent minded with the implication of it being due to having been desensitized to violence.

this guy compulsively culls mobs without necessity and was completely prepared to kill villagers for “looking at him funny” (read: perceived as threat).

even his conversation with sam about his immortality was an indirect threat on sam’s life over... being called an old man. (dwelling on his age and immortality appears to be a minor stressor for him, considering this moment and how uncomfortable fundy calling him “grandpa” makes him feel).

-dysfunctional attachment

he displays, for better or worse, little emotional responsibility to people, even to people he likes (such as tommy or ghostbur), but in turn he also acts on his own with no assumption of a support system.

I’m not saying that he’s wrong for not acting the best to everyone, but i am saying that he seems to have difficulties forming attachment in the first place, even when he acts friendly- which has caused him to form non-reciprocating relationships (again, tommy and ghostbur, and possibly tubbo) where people are more attached than he is. he’s also, like techno, very sensitive to perceived betrayal, emotionally disengaging as soon as he’s been burned (see his relationship with fundy).

And then with the people he does attach to. OH BOY.

Much like techno, this man is beyond ride or die for his extremely small in-group. the “fellow survivor” mentality i mentioned in my techno analysis applies here as well.

he associates techno’s survival and safety with his own, essentially feeling as good as safe so long as techno is, regardless of his actual current situation.

while techno’s most obvious indicator of attachment is through the sharing of resources, philza’s most obvious indicator is through acts and service. this man will protect his chosen “fellow survivor” to the bitter end, he will destroy entire nations and not even blink.

What unfinished symphonies have you seen come to ruin over eons, angel. what did you lose to survive it.

#dream smp #dsmp #dream smp spoilers #dsmp spoilers #dream smp meta #dsmp meta #dream smp analysis #dsmp analysis #c!philza #c!phil #philza #dream smp philza #ptsd #cptsd #trauma #character analysis #feel free to add on or dispute my takes!#ask for my takes. anon is open #aenor-llelo

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akaashioppa · 3 years

Text

11:00pm

pairings: Mikey x reader

summary: Sneaking out of you house with Mikey has always been a tradition of yours. You would always call it late date night...well not until you finally got caught.

warnings: curse words, arguing with your fictional dad. fluffy then angsty

w/c: 2.7k

Masterlist

“You got to hurry before I get caught, Mikey!”

“So what? I wouldn’t mind it.”

You were hanging from your bedroom’s balcony, Mikey was underneath you trying to brace your fall. He had his long tan arms in the air motioning for you to jump in them. After all the thousands of times, you did this it was still rocky. You and Mikey haven’t perfected the routine yet. You would think the more you snuck out of your own house you would have perfected it by now.

“Just jump baby…”

“We’re six feet in the air!” You shrieked out, You had your back facing him. Your attention was constantly going back and forth from Mickey and your bedroom door. The house was big enough that no one could hear what was going on but your older brother had a habit of coming into your room unannounced.

“I got you. Have I ever let you fall before?”

You thought back on the times that you were together. Not once has he ever put you in danger...well not intentionally but he would always protect you. You are always left unscathed from dangerous situations. “Okay, I’m letting go..” The cold feeling of the rail left your embrace, your feet were no longer planted on the other side of the balcony. You were free-falling six feet in the air. Your eyes remained closed until you felt his muscular arms around your body.

“I told you that I got you.” You opened your eyes to see his soulless black eyes that you admired so much. That iconic smirk that you loved was as well. ‘Why is he so perfect?’

“Come on, we’ll be late.”

After gracefully putting you on your feet, you both ran in the direction of his bike. It was too loud for him to pull in your driveway so he tends to park down the street so your parents wouldn’t awake from his engine roaring.

Mikey helped you onto his CB205T. It was his favorite bike out of all of them. This was the only bike of his that he would never let you drive. You would beg him to let you drive it but he would say ‘I don’t want you getting hurt.’ You rolled your eyes at the thought.

He placed his old helmet on your head, tying it tightly, he gave you a small pat on the head. You smiled sweetly back at him, he was so cute and kind. It was the small gestures that he did that made you fall even more in love with him.

Mikey sped off towards the destination. He never told you where you were going, he only said get ready by 11 pm and don’t ask any further questions. Lately, this has been a recurring event, Mikey has made it your thing. He’d pick you up, drive around on his bike for a few minutes so you both could see the city lights then he would take you somewhere random. It always ends up being the best night of your life.

“Hey, we’re here.” You lifted your head from his shoulders blades, It was your way of keeping things from flying into your eyeballs. You were in an abandoned parking lot which was odd, there was no human activity, barely any street lights, however, there was a great view from where you stood. This abandoned parking lot was above a cliff, it leads out to the city of Tokyo.

“Wow, this is amazing.”

“I found it and thought you would like it. You can see everything from this view. If you look towards the right you can see the cherry blossom trees. They’re in season.”

“Really!?” You took a look towards the right, there were rows of cherry blossom trees lined up with small humans taking pictures. A river not too far away from the trees, it was filled with the petals of the cherry blossoms. “That’s so freaking beautiful. How could such an anti romantic be romantic?”

You caught him rolling his eyes, he threw a quick yet soft jab in your ribs.

“You’re annoying,” he muttered out. Although it came out dry you knew he would never call you that intentionally.

“You love me don’t ya.”

You grinned from ear to ear waiting for him to acknowledge what you said. The thing is he didn’t, he kept his attention on the people down below. This didn’t stop you from cheesing like an idiot though.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes simultaneously. You wouldn’t allow that grin to disappear. You kept it on your face even when Mikey turned to look at you. “If I say yes will you stop teasing me?”

“Nope.”He reached out grabbing you around your waist. He swung you around making your legs swing in every other direction. You begged him to stop. The amount of laughter that you were crying out helped make a cramping sensation in your stomach.

He finally put you down after spinning you around. After calming down for your “game” You both walked back to the edge watching the cherry blossom trees.

You placed your head on his shoulder, his arms snake around your waist pulling you in closer. You didn’t retreat, you only placed your hands around his neck. “Hey, don’t you think it’s crazy how many people live in our city? Out of all those people I managed to find you.” You mumbled into his neck.

“That was so cheesy.” He snorted out, he ruined the moment which earned him a jab in the ribs. “Wait here me out. Maybe it’s the university trying to tell us something.”

“What if it’s just a phase? Who says we won’t grow apart?”

You felt him squeeze you tighter against him, “Then we’ll just grow apart. If it’s meant to be, we'll see each other again.”

There was a silence cast around you two. Mikey released you from his grasp, You leaned over the railing to take in the view. Everything was going so well tonight. You felt Mikey’s arms wrapping around your waist again, he turned you around so you were both facing each other. That cheeky smile that he always wore was evidence that he was happy, he was living in the moment right along with you. An outburst of laughter erupted from both of your lips, you still were in each other arms but you couldn’t seem to stop laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just realized that I’m in love with someone. How bizarre is that?”

“I lo-”

Your sentence was cut short, the vibration in your pants pocket made all of the blood drain from your face. You reached down to pull out your phone, the screen read ‘dad’. You didn’t answer it, you only let it ring.

“Fuck! I have to go home. We have to go now!”

Mikey stood there with a blank expression on his face, you snapped your fingers in his face to get his attention, shoving your face in his phone to see who called you.

“What’s going on? Who was that?”

He grabbed your phone from your hand so he could get a clear look at your screen. By you shoving the phone in his face he could barely see the name on the screen. The only thing he did was say “oh” and left it like that. He shoved his hands in his pockets with a nonchalant attitude.

“Why are you just standing there!? Come on Mikey!”

You tried pushing him towards his bike, he only stood there holding his ground. His hands were still in his pockets as he did you.

He sighed, “What’s the difference? You’re already out past your curfew, what's a little more hours.”

“Are you crazy!” You screeched, “It was my dad! We have to go!”

For the second time of the night, a cast of silence was between you two. The only thing that was heard was your heavy breathing from yelling at him and the traffic from down below. Mikey still had that blank expression on his face until he smiled.

“It was a joke. Come on, I'll get you home.”

“Manjiro Sano!!”

Mikey grabbed your hand making your entire body jerk forward, “You better hurry before you’re late.” His laughter filled the air, it made you feel a little better. Mikey helped you get safely on his bike before doing the same with himself. He let the engine pur twice making your heart beat along with the engine.

“You ready?” He looked back at you with a smirk on his face. He licked his lips a little before making his engine roar a little.

“Yeah.”

He sped off into the night dodging cars nearly crashing into them. Mikey was a great driver and very cautious. He just tends to get wild at times. Sometimes you think he forgets that you’re on the back of his bike. He’s always zoned out when he drives, it’s like he was in his own little world.

It didn’t take long for you to get home. The word speed limit was not in Mikey’s dictionary. Mikey turned off the engine of his bike. You were down the street from your house, you could clearly see the light in the living room. You cursed silently under your breath, “I’m so screwed.”

“Just climb into your bedroom window and pretend to be asleep. If he asks why you didn't pick up your phone, say that you were asleep.”

“Okay, what if that doesn’t work?”

He glanced back at you with determination in his eyes, “Then call me.”

“Yeah, I like the first option better.”

Mikey stood back watching you as you ran in the direction of your house. You ran to your window just staring at it. It was six feet in the air so your only option was to climb the tree and somehow jump from the tree to your balcony.

You began to climb the big oak tree in your yard. Mikey tried to help you from down below. He stood there with his hands on his hips smiling up at you. “How’s it going up there?”

“Well you know I’m just hanging around.”

You both cracked up at your corny joke.

The only thing left to do was put your foot on the balcony while balancing yourself on the tree. Mikey stood down below with the same stance, he was making sure that you did not fall. You silently counted in your head before throwing yourself onto your balcony. You tumbled a little, some bruising was definitely going to be there in the morning.

“Did you make it!?”

You used the wooden poles on your balcony to help you pull yourself up. Mickey was still down below but now hiding behind the big oak tree. You gave him a thumbs up, he smiled back in return, running leaving you behind with the situation up ahead.

“Welcome back” You didn’t even take a step into your room and your dad had already slid the door open scaring you half to death. He slid the balcony door open further allowing you to come into the room. “Why didn’t you tell your boyfriend to come in for a snack?”

You made your way to your bed wishing that you could shrink down into a little ball. The sarcasm in his voice didn’t make it any better. Your dad was pissed, the vein that was protruding from the side of his forehead looked like it was going to pop.

“Uhh, he’s shy.” You gave your dad a dry chuckle but stopped when he shot you an ugly glare. He sat down in the chair in front of your bed with one of his legs over the other and one of his hands pressed against his forehead.

“How did you guys meet!?”

“At school dad.” You mumbled, he was already starting to yell.

“How!? I sent you to a private school.”

You almost laughed in your dad’s face, the memory of meeting Mikey was always funny. It was a running joke in your relationship.

“Well, Mikey came into our classroom to fight our teacher. BUT! He had a good reason. Mikey was driving his bike when Toka-san almost ran him off the road. Mikey followed him to school and beat the living shit out of him. I thought it was hot so I approached him and the rest is history.”

“What’s the matter with you?” He shot out of his chair waving his arms in the air. “Why would you want to date someone like that!? You’re an (L/N), live up to that name. Don’t be a fucking disappointment.”

You scoffed at your dad. This time you made it audible for not only him to hear but anyone else that is listening. “Dad, that's rude!”

“I don’t want you ever classifying yourself as one of them. He’s a delinquent, a gangster, you have more class than that. You can find someone better than him. I will not have my daughter running around here with a delinquent.”

“He’s not a delinquent!”

“Then what is he!?”

You ignored his question. You didn’t want to answer it. You knew that Mikey classified himself as that but to you, he was much more than what people portrayed him to be. These fucking millennials and their biased opinions. You were not going to let him bash your boyfriend and get away with it.

“He’s Mickey Sano. You shouted, you jumped off of your bed so now you were facing your dad eye to eye. “He’s much more than a delinquent or a gangster. He’s a human being so start treating him like one. Oh and if you’re going to label him at least label him right. He’s much more than a delinquent, he’s actually smarter than what you make him out to be.”

Your dad sat back down in his chair. This allowed you to look down on him but then it hit you. You were never this confident, You...standing up to your dad. Just wait until Mikey here’s about this. All of those conversations about boosting your confidence have paid off.

“Yeah alright keep believing that. He’s only here for one thing and one thing only (Y/N). Once he gets that he’s out of here.”

Jokes on you he’s already got it and look, he’s still here.

You didn’t say that to your dad, you knew he would only blow up in your face more. Then lecture would then cause your entire family to get dragged in. He would go on a manhunt to find Mikey and “kill him.

“Okay, dad, whatever you say.”

You grew tired of all of this back and forth with him. You weren’t going to argue with him anymore, so you sat down on your bed awaiting the next thing he had to say.

“If I catch you out with him again I’ll treat you like a real princess and lock your ass up here for the rest of your life.

You scoffed out loud for him to hear, the vein in his forehead was now back more evident than before.

“I knew I was going to get in trouble but dad, punishments are temporary, memories are forever. So while I’m grounded I’ll be thinking about how good he has been to me while you have been treating me like trash.”

“That’s it you are grounded until next summer.”

“Okay, dad.” You mocked out.

“One more thing if I catch that Mickey, Micheal-” You cut him off, “Mikey, his name is Mikey.”

Your dad rolled his eyes, he walked to the door opening it. Half of his body was already outside of the room. You were wishing he would just put his whole body out there and leave you alone.

“If I see that Mikey boy around here again I’m calling the cops.” Your dad stood there for a second before closing the door. Once alone you throw your head in your pillows.“Snitch.” You mumbled.

He came back into the room with an irritated look on his face. His eyebrows were so close together it looked like they were about to merge. “What did you say?”

You tried your best to keep your laughter at bay but you couldn’t help yourself. “Nothing.” You snorted out. He stood there with the same expression, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You were about to burst out in a laugh. You waited for your dad to leave the room so you could laugh at the way he looked at you after you called him a snitch.

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lackingspace · 4 years

Text

Vindictive (Ghostface x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Danny is jealous and that’s your fault.

Warnings: Rough oral sex, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk, cum swallowing, light daddy kink, Danny just being Danny.

A/N: Had a request for a Jealous Danny. Here it is! I hope you like it. Sorry its taken so long! ･ﾟﾟ･(>д<)･ﾟﾟ･

When you were first dropped in this place you’d been confused, scared, and a little more than annoyed because what the fuck had you done to land yourself here? After the first few freak outs of death and despair, being sacrificed, and the general malaise of being here became your new normal. Falling into a routine became easy after that- trial, struggle, escape if you were lucky, die if you weren’t, and repeat.

Quite frankly, things were getting boring. The others trapped with you made it better, talking, joking around on occasion- friends forged in unfortunate circumstances. It was a tiny slice of normality that you were grateful for because who knows how long you’d been here or would be here. Time didn’t mean anything when there was really no way to measure it. You just knew that it was far longer than you’d have liked. Long enough to become numb to the killers and their brutal treatment. To find them not so threatening and more of an inconvenience.

You missed the real world. Missed the simple things in life- a walk in the park, meeting up with friends, food- God did you miss food. But what you missed the most was an intimate connection. And sex. You definitely missed sex. Relieving tension and having something to distract you from this monotonous existence would have been a blessing.

None of the others trapped with you really appealed to you. Sure Jake was cute, and Yui had that badass look, even Ash had the daddy thing going for him...but none of them really set your nerves on fire. At least not even enough to try it out and spend eternity awkwardly if it didn’t fly. But damn did you need release. so with no options for a partner, you settled on sneaking away into the woods to take care of yourself.

And that’s how he found you. One hand down your pants and the other up your shirt, eyes closed, head tossed back, and softly moaning. He’d leaned against the tree directly in front of you and waited quietly until you opened your eyes. You’d almost had a heart attack when you opened them to see Ghostface casually leaning there while staring you down. It was altogether embarrassing but still had your senses buzzing.

All he did was firmly tell you to keep going. That he was enjoying the show. And something about it, his voice? The command? It just worked for you. Maybe it was the combination of him being dangerous, a killer- someone familiar, but not, an unknown that made your senses tingle mixed with his nonchalant attitude and that damned voice that made your toes curl. So you’d done what he’d asked and kept going.

That marked the start of whatever it was you had going on with Ghostface. At first, it was just hooking up- sneaking away when you saw him lurking and wandering back with a few new pleasurable aches, pains, and bruises. You were sure some of your friends noticed- you knew for a fact Bill, Ace, and David did. The raised brows they’d give you on occasion told you that you were found out. That they knew a clandestine meet up just took place. As long as they knew what you were up to, just not with who, you didn't care. For all they knew it could be another survivor who hadn't wandered back from a trial yet because who would be fucking a killer?

You were content with ignoring them and they seemed fine with not questioning. Besides, it wasn't their business and you have no plans on stopping because it was something you enjoyed- it unquestionably helped deal with the mental stress of repeatedly dying. After a while though, and you really couldn’t pinpoint when, it turned into something a little more. At least for you.

Made you unnecessarily giddy when he was the killer in your trials. Both of you more playful in chases, he had a habit of drawing those out with you, grabbing your ass before letting you run away only for him to ambush you, down you, and then run his hands up all over you before picking you up.

If he caught you jumping through a window? You better expect a few well-placed slaps while he teased all sorts of dirty things he'd do to you once he had you alone.

You didn’t want to admit it, but feelings had reared their ugly head in you for this sarcastic bastard. You caught yourself being soft for him when you really shouldn’t have. Honestly, you felt a little bad because you weren’t the best teammate if he was the killer of the trial. You should have been focusing on gen rushing, saves, or even trying to distract him- which you were more than capable of doing.

But instead, you found yourself being distracted by him. You'd be there staring, sighing while watching him sneak around. Giggle to yourself about how much of a sadistic bastard he was when in a chase. And if he found you? And God did you want him to- you were even more useless. You weren’t fooling anyone with your pseudo-chase. You didn’t really try to escape but that was ok, both of you liked it that way. You always blamed it as an off match when questioned why you’d done so poorly. No one seemed to notice it was only during a trial with him, and you were totally fine with that.

So that was how your existence was for now. Honestly, you weren’t mad about it either. His attention in and out of trials gave you back a spark that had been dulled after one too many sacrifices. This trial was no different, you found yourself relaxed, good-spirited, and snickering at a comment Zarina just made. When the gen popped you looked over to see Jane shaking a hand with a mumbled apology. A second later she let out a shriek and started running away.

You knew what that meant and so you tried to gauge if you should sneak away as well, but you hadn’t seen what she had. Would've been nice if she’d have at least said the killer before sprinting off, but you understood sometimes they just caught you off guard and fight or flight took over.

Cautiously looking around you decided it was best just to move on, Zarina had the moment Jane ran. You probably waited around too long and would get caught, but at least you'd be prepared after you got off the hook. The fact that you hadn’t heard any footsteps or seen anyone usually meant it was someone stealthy too. You really didn’t want the shape. He was always terrible to play against in this underground lab. Harder to outmaneuver him within the space. Hope welled inside you that it was your...boyfriend? well, whatever he was, you wanted Ghostface. Trying to quietly sneak away seemed like it was going fine until you were suddenly stopped.

Something had gripped the back of your shit and yanked. You stumbled and then felt yourself being dragged around a corner only to have your face pressed against a wall. You were pretty sure you knew who it was, but shit why was he being so rough?

“So that’s the game you want to play, huh?” Your wish came true, it was your sarcastic boo, Ghostface- you had no idea what he was talking about though, “What the hell do you mean? What’s th-” he cut you off as he pressed in against your back while placing a hand in front of your smashed face, “Don’t give me that. You know damn well what I’m talking about.” He said it with so much venom dripping in his voice, you’d never actually heard him like that before.

He was usually snide, sarcastic, kinda dark, sometimes angry, but this? He sounded well beyond any of that. And it was all aimed at you….shit.

“Dude, I really” He pressed a forearm to the twisted side of your neck and gripped your shoulder. You winced at the pressure, “Really have no idea what you’re talking about. What game?” There was silence as you felt cold sweat run down your spine. In that same vicious tone, he answered as his grip tightened on your shoulder, “I saw you and that bastard.”

You wracked your brain trying to figure out what he meant. It had to have been something in this trial, he wasn’t upset when you’d seen him be-- oh god it hit you just like that. You’d slipped and would have had a nasty face-first fall into some crates, barrels, and a pallet, but Ace had grabbed you. Unfortunately, it’d been by the hips and as soon as he got you up he’d apologized for the placement while patting a shoulder.

He must have seen that. It had to be what he was talking about….But did that mean....was he jealous? His knife suddenly stabbed into the wall next to your face, ohhh, even if he denied it you could tell, he was. There was no question with the growl in his voice, the tight grip he had- which you’d like to point out was only getting tighter, and now the knife threateningly in your face? This wasn’t his normal rational ‘let me weasel my way in, tease, and manipulate to my advantage’, this screamed irritated topped with irrational.

And even though your brain screamed it was an awfully bad idea, you were going to have fun with it.

“Not even going to deny it? You little fucking whore.” The rage in his voice felt like someone had submerged you in acid. It really did make your skin crawl that he thought you’d do something like that. After everything the two of you got up to he should have realized how much his dick did it for you. And only his dick. That aside, you weren’t going to just lay down and take his attitude. Nope, not at all. If he was going to be a jealous prick then you were going to be a coy bitch. It might land you in hot water, but you were hoping it was the kind you liked with him, “Oh, but Ghostface, I thought you liked it when I was bent over?”

The arm still pinning across the back of your neck lifted off quicker than lightning only to move into your hair and rip your head back with a snarl, “Only when your bent in front of me you little cunt!” You moaned at the pain in your scalp but still enjoyed the feeling. It sent some nice jolting tingles straight to your nipples, “But I was in front of you.” The grip in your hair was impossibly tight as the knife scraped against the wall as it moved from next to your face to press against your newly exposed throat. Ignoring that you pressed on, “You’re just pissed that it wasn’t your hands on me.”

Even with his knife millimeters away from cutting into you and the very real possibility that he was beyond reasoning, would just slit your throat and throw you up to hang- there was still an overwhelming feeling of bravado and the need to tease just as much as his anger was crushing down on you.

With that feeling overflowing, you took the chance before he responded to push just a little more, “In fact, I bet you’re mad because you couldn't make me stay like that.” Wiggling under his tight grip had your hair pulling and the knife pressing harder into your throat- a wet trickle down the side told you skin broke, “Bet you would have fucked me right there too. Let my friends see who's been giving it to me.” The hiss he let out had a smirk clawing its way onto your lips. That feeling of getting under his skin made it impossible to keep your next thought locked inside, “Too bad it was just Ace...His rough hands grabbing me, having him pressing against me, he could have pushed me however he’d wanted...too bad it wasn’t you.”

Growling out, “You little bitch.” he quickly pulled his knife away as he pressed his hips into yours- he must have liked what you'd said because he was half-hard already. Pulling your hair harder had you moaning out at both the rough treatment of your scalp and the hard length now pressed against your ass. A hot flush circulated your system as relief filled you- The fact that he hadn’t plunged the knife in was a good sign. It seemed like your gamble had paid off.

You moved your hips against his as he leaned in to hiss in your ear, “You’re fucking right I would have fucked you right there. Would have shown that prick exactly who you belong to.”

His knife hand grabbed your hip in a bruising grip and directed you how he liked, “I should just throw you up on a fucking hook with your tits out and my name carved across your chest for everyone to see.” Another wave of heat flushed through you at that, Would he? That’d be embarrassing as hell and you really did not want to explain that to your friends, at least not yet. But it sent heat through you all the same. "Show them how nasty you really are." On second thought explaining wouldn't be that big of an issue. Your squirming gave away how much you liked the thought, which he pointed out, “Of course a dirty girl like you gets off on that. I shouldn't even let you come. Should just use you and make you wait until you're really fucking sorry. ”

Ignoring that last part to focus on his phrasing. He had said should, which implied that he was questioning it, so you asked in a shaky voice, “But?” Between his hands and his hips, you couldn’t hold back the moan at the pleasurable drag of him against your ass- he was only getting harder, “But nothing, I might just fucking do that...either way, they're going to talk. ” The hand in your hair released and reached around to hold your cheeks in a harsh grip, “I’m going to teach you a fucking lesson because it seems like my mouthy whore needs to be reminded of who she belongs to and what that means. They get free tickets to the show...Lucky them.”

The venom was still there, but instead of the pure angry tone from before, it was colored by an undercurrent of something darker- something hotter. Something that told you on an instinctual level you wouldn’t be walking the same if the entity didn’t have pity and heal whatever he was about to punish you with. Fuck, you wanted it though. Wanted all the pleasurable pain he was about to dish out to you. “You’re going to regret letting that bastard anywhere near you.”

Your brain wasn’t functioning not when he’d just declared he wanted everyone to hear him fucking you. See the evidence of it. Threatening it like he’d done about carving up your tits was a hot possibility, but he was actually serious about this. You weren’t sure what it was he was going to do to you, but you could tell you most certainly weren’t going to be quiet about it.

Ghostface could get rough sometimes, but it wasn’t the usual. Demanding? Yes. Controlling? Definitely. Explicit? Absolutely. But being rough just to be rough was generally only when he was especially frustrated, and that wasn’t often. Maybe only a handful of times since you’d been together and at this point, you weren’t even sure how long that was, all you knew was that it’d been a while.

Which boasted to how much this affected him. How jealous he was seeing something that really, really hadn’t been anything at all. It should have turned you off, sent you running by how possessive he was, but you ignored that in favor of knowing he got you wetter than anyone else had ever done before. There was no way he’d admit to being jealous though, not outright, but you knew that’s what this was all about and fuck did that work for you. Having him teach you a lesson? All you could do was moan at the prospect.

“Such an eager slut for it even after knowing your friends are gonna see. So pathetic.” You whined, whether in protest or confirmation it wasn’t clear, “You think it’s ok to let someone else put their hands on what’s mine? That’s not going to work, kitten.” at the pet name you knew this was going to be fun- but you couldn’t let him know that though, would have to turn up the waterworks, “We’re going to show them just what a disgusting whore you really are for me. Let them see you taking my cock and how you beg for it.”

He shoved you down to your knees. The impact against the hard concrete making you wince, “Good, feel the sting. Better get used to it because your throat is about to feel it too.” he was going to fuck your face? God. You loved when he made you choke on it and you could tell with how aggressive he was you really were going to choke.

The thumb on the hand on your face swiped across your bottom lip, dipping in to press down on your tongue causing some drool to slip down before regripping your face with the now wet appendage, “You’re going to open wide and let Daddy use this pretty mouth of yours while we let all your little fucking friends know whos been sending you back to that fucking fire pit covered in bruises.” Goddamn that set your nerves ablaze and if your panties hadn’t already been drenched that was added insurance. He was usually subtly possessive but this was flat out plain as day possessive and it had you crying for it.

You didn't care anymore. You didn't give a single fuck if you had to explain why they'd caught you with a mouth full of Ghostface's cock- and maybe more. if this meant him declaring to everyone that you were his you’d happily tell them to fuck off if they had any issues.

You were going to beg him for it, but the hand gripping your face prevented anything escaping outside of mumbled strained moans. He answered for you though because he forcefully made you nod up and down. In a mocking falsetto, he voiced for you, “Yes, sir. I’ll open up like a good girl and apologize with my filthy mouth. I'll show you how sorry I am for letting some asshole put their hands on me.”

Yes, fuck yes! is wanted to say, but all that came out was a garbled moan through your closed mouth. At the sound, his grip tightened, “Such a fucking slut. Would you have moaned for that fuck too?” At your muffled outrage his grip forced your gaze up, “At least you fucking know better on that.”

You thought he would release you to undo his pants, but after a second of silence and you quietly looking at him, he said, "well? Get to apologizing with that pretty mouth before I decide to gut you instead." Ah, he wanted you to do it. That was fine by you, didn't really want him to let go of your hair anyways. You opened his pants with ease, already intimately familiar with the clasps and he squeezed your cheeks forcing your mouth open before he finally released the grip as you took him in.

He was hard and pulsing when you pulled him out, precome just slightly swelling at the tip. He would have shoved into your still open mouth if it hadn’t been for the entranced look you were giving him. The affectionate desperation you wore while staring helped quell the rage clawing through him. He decided he'd let you play for a second, seeing you so willing to drool for him tore against the need to roughly shove down your throat.

Unabashedly licking a hand before wrapping it tightly around his base to give him a rough tug. Staring up at his mask again you pleaded with him, "I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t do it on purpose." Teasing his tip against your lips before you kissed the head, "I don't want him. Or any of them. Wanted it to be you" Licking the underside followed by a few gentle nibbles to the base made his breath catch, "Always you, daddy."

His cock twitched against your tongue as he hissed, "And I like that they'll know. I want them to hear what you're about to do to me." He retightened his fist in your hair to pull your head back slightly. He took himself from your hands to slap his cock across your cheeks, "Yeah? You're gonna get off on them hearing your mouth full of killer cock? Filthy thing." You whined desperately trying to nod against his grip, "Then open fucking wide." You dropped your mouth quicker than he finished speaking and you were rewarded with another slap across your cheek before you felt him rest heavy against your tongue.

It was hard not to close around him and start working on the shaft, but you could tell he wasn't going to let you warm up to it. He wanted you wrecked- a gagging crying used looking mess. And the heat that sent through you had your clit pulsing in want and made you squirm around for some type of relief. But you'd be a good girl and take it for him.

"Keep your fucking eyes on me and don't you dare try to keep quiet. You better make as much noise as you fucking can." Before you could answer he was shoving to the back of your throat and down. The choked sob you made was just what he wanted as you gagged around him. Sliding down your throat, he mockingly cooed, “Aw, is that too much? Don’t lie, I know you can take it, kitten. Just relax and swallow like my good girl. Impress all your survivor friends.”

You gagged hard and sputtered around him while he kept thrusting using the grip in your hair to hold you in place, “Don’t even try to deny it. You’re always gagging for it regularly. I bet those little boys wish they were here in this tight wet heat instead.” His voice was strained and you could hear him holding back his own moans.

Gripping his thighs tightly while trying to relax like he'd suggested, but the burning stretch of your throat was hard to ignore, “But that's why we started this, huh?” his thrusts had been rapid and shallow, but were turning slower while he held in your throat longer, “None of their cocks would do it for you.” Swallowing around him only made him hold deeper, “ For as much of a dirty slut you are, none of them could get you going like I can.”

Tears were freely falling- leaving tracks down your cheeks, drool was constantly spilling out, your throat ached at the persistent gagging, and the obscene noises you were making with each thrust was driving the both of you wild. “None of them. None...of...those...pricks!” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust, “No one can fuck you like I do.” You moaned sloppily around his cock in agreement, “ They’re not going to throat fuck you like this. And they not going to bend you over and make you fucking take it like daddy.” crying out around him just as much as you were gagging- near constantly and God did you love it.

You’d be begging for him to fuck you if you didn’t have a mouthful at the moment. So instead you were squirming, tightly gripping his thighs, tears continued to spill down, and taking anything he gave you. He knew you well enough to know what your pathetic looks and sounds meant, but he wasn’t folding, “Aw, do you want something?” all that came out were some choked sobs, “What's that? I can’t really understand you.” He shoved completely down your throat and held your head there causing you to swallow and make some disgusting throat sounds, “You should really learn not to talk with your mouth full, kitten.” He tutted at you while you sobbed harder, “ But I can’t expect any manners on such a dirty girl.”

His hand tightening and his voice gaining a shakiness betrayed how close he was even if he looked like the picture of control, “You’re not meant for them.” His pace quickened, “Your place is right fucking here.” He was using both hands to direct your head now, “On your goddamn knees for me.” He pulled out as he ripped your head back, “Gone on, tell them who fucking owns this you!” It only took you a second to catch your breath before you were rasping out his name, “Ghostface! I’m yours, just yours!” Movement in your peripheral caused your eyes to widen, someone was definitely watching. Maybe they all were, but you wouldn’t fuck this up by looking over to them. Who knows what he’d do then.

You could hear how smug he was when he whispered, “Yeah they’re fucking watching. Saw you choking on it like a professional. Now show them how much of a cumslut you are for me and beg for it. If you do it good enough, maybe I’ll be nice and let you cum before the end of the trial.” Denying him wasn’t even a question, you’d said you wanted them to hear and now they had. The satisfaction that at least one of them knew was sending a burning hot pulse through you.

So you started begging with your raw voice, “Please, I need it Ghostface! I want it so bad! Need your cum! I wanna taste it so bad. Please! Please, daddy, can I have it?!” He was still pumping his cock in front of your face while you continued to say his name like a prayer, “Open that pretty mouth for me, Babe.” You did as you were told and opened wide while staring up at his mask. The hand not working himself gripped your chin, sliding his thumb inside before moving back up into your hair to yank your head where he wanted. Keeping your mouth open as far as you could you moaned for it.

You could see more movement to the side, but you ignored it when you felt the first spurt of his cum splash against your cheek. He covered your face before giving you the last on your waiting tongue. “Keep your mouth open.” You heard the telltale clicks of his camera and embarrassment flushed through you just as a new wave of arousal settled low in your stomach. “You can swallow it now.” You made a show of savoring the taste for him, and anyone watching.

Slowly opening your eyes you could feel your lashes heavy with his cum. You moved to wipe some of it away, but he caught your wrist, “You’re going to leave that right where it is.” You gave him a questioning look that he answered with, “I’m going to hang you up on that hook and you're going to run around the rest of this trial with it on your face.” Your jaw dropped as your face burned. That was so fucking embarrassing. You’d think that wouldn’t bother you since you let everyone watch you be thoroughly face fucked but having to talk to them with cum on you went to the next level. But you wouldn't try to stop him- didn’t want to. It sent a nasty pulse of perverse heat through you, “If you keep it like a good girl, I’ll fuck you in front of them before the trials up.” You were begging before you even realized.

He chuckled while brushing some of your hair back from your face, “Well, let's get you up there on the hook then.” He lifted you with ease and surprisingly gently compared to his treatment just a second ago. You felt the familiar feel of the hook entering you, heard yourself scream, and then you were hanging there and he was patting a cheek of your ass, “Remember, no wiping it off until I say.” and then he was walking off.

You hung there for a few minutes before you saw Jane silently walking towards you. You tried to look away, but she was already lifting you off of it. Settling on your feet had you unconsciously looking up to her. She was taking you in with a raised brow and a slight smirk, “Ghostface, huh?” Hearing her say it was about enough to kill you from embarrassment.

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mxpseudonym · 4 years

Text

Just Good Business II

Pairing: Tommy x Reader

Reader Gender Expression: She/Her pronouns, "wife”

Summary: After your arranged marriage with Tommy Shelby, Tommy is MIA while you become one of the Shelby’s

Length: 1549 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Overtones of forced/arranged marriage, otherwise strong “My husband is clueless” vibes

A/N: Part III is very likely!

Part I | Part III

As far as things that sounded interesting went, marriage wasn't one of them. Sure, the lead up was fun enough, but a wedding wasn't a marriage, that was for sure. Your first few months with Tommy only confirmed it.

You'd consummated your marriage on your wedding night, and even once more, when you decided that sharing the master bedroom was a must. But after that, Tommy was always gone. Over three months, you could count the number of times Tommy came to bed on two hands, and the times you actually woke up next to him on one. If he wasn't in London or Birmingham, which was nearly always, he was locked away in the home office. More than upset, though, it made you curious.

"He does everything on his own, for better or worse," Polly said when you got the Shelby women together for tea.

"Head as hard as a rock," Ada tsked Tommy, who wasn't there to defend himself.

In Tommy's absence, you found yourself getting to know the rest of the Shelby's. It wasn't just relocating from many of your friends and your dubious relationship with your own family that made you cling to them. On occasion, when they allowed themselves to be, the Shelby’s were a lot of fun.

"I can't!" You jumped back from the horse troughs and the goldfish swimming inside with a laugh.

"Stop being a scaredy-cat, y/n," Finn teased, expertly picking up a fish with his bare hands. "You can't even touch one."

"Lady's aren't used to slummin' it, Finn," Isaiah said, nudging his friend with his elbow. Along with meeting Ada for talks about politics and occasionally drinking John under the table, you'd gotten into the habit of throwing big picnics for your new nieces and nephews birthdays. John's small army allowed for two in a month, but that didn't stop you from rallying the troops. Between getting to frolic around the gardens barefoot and teaching the children how to catch fireflies, this was your favorite part about being married. Fish, however, was where your steady nerve stalled a bit.

"It's not too bad, sister," Arthur urged you. Tommy's older brother was sweeter than you imagined. You weren't a fool, you'd asked about the Peaky Blinders during your London escapades. Arthur being comparable to a rabid dog was amongst the rumors. But here he was, kneeling by the troughs and guiding your hand into the paths of goldfish.

"You're okay. Just take a deep breath," Arthur said when you almost pulled away. The soft scales brushed against your fingertips making you shiver, but Finn and Isaiah's cheers of encouragement kept you going until you did it yourself. Arthur cleared his throat while you tried cupping your palms around one.

"How's my brother treatin' you?" he asked.

"I don't see him much, but pretty well, I suppose. Big house, lovely new brothers, who's to complain?" You shrugged.

"If Tommy gives you any trouble, you let us know," Finn said, high fiving Isaiah, who was shaking his head.

"Alright, simmer down, Finn," Arthur murmured, then turned back to you. "He's right, though. We'll talk sense into Tommy."

"Not that you can't do it on your own, Mrs. Shelby. The way Tommy talks about you, I bet you're keeping him in line," Isaiah joked. Arthur gave him a warning look while you raised an eyebrow. How did Tommy talk about you?

"Aunt y/n!" Katie came running around the corner, stopping any questions you may have had.

"Hello, birthday girl!" You hugged her when she was close enough. She really was a spitting image of John.

"Can we eat cake?" She asked.

"Yes, we can eat cake."

The cake was eaten, gifts were opened, and Ada had just joined the children in a game of tag when Francis, the head of the house staff, came to you with word that your husband was home.

People of habit always stay that way, so finding Tommy in his office was easy. Tommy was just about to pour a glass of whiskey when you entered after a brief knock.

"You know, knocking doesn't mean you can just enter," Tommy said, looking over your birthday attire. It included a flower crown from Katie and no stockings.

"Oh? What does it mean, then, Thomas?" You asked with more snap than expected. You did actually tell him about the birthdays. Whether or not he showed up was dependent on the stars aligning. He sat down the glass and turned to you with a sigh.

"Alright, have at it. Go on and tell me your grievances."

There were so many things to say, you hardly knew which to choose first. Where the hell have you been? Where do you get off not greeting anyone in the house before hiding away? Are your manners lost somewhere alongside your damn mind leading to such a greeting? But the bridge of his nose was pinched between his thumb and forefinger, so you weighed your options and chose the most important one.

"Did you wish Katie a happy birthday?" You asked. He wasn't expecting that, you could tell.

"No, not yet."

"Come on, then." You walked to the door and held it open until he walked out first. Seeing Tommy kiss Katie's cheek and slip her a coin was satisfactory enough, so you quickly got swept into the shenanigans going on by the gramophone. Polly told you that you looked wilder that day, and like one of the family. She also mentioned on her way out that Tommy stayed for a bit and could hardly take his eyes off of you while you danced with the kids.

"Polly," you warned. The all-knowing matriarch put her hands up as a white flag.

"There are worse things than your husband loving you and vice versa," Polly said, ever so sly.

Love? After washing up, you thought about what she said while browsing the downstairs library. Of course, there was nothing wrong with loving your spouse, some would even say it was preferred. Even if one of you had something to confess, what did it matter?

"I'm sure you have some things to say to me," Tommy's voice broke through your thoughts and gave you a start.

"Fucking hell!"

"I did knock," he said, smirking a little. You looked over the robe and slippers you'd gotten him, knowing it made him feel too posh but not being able to resist a bit of teasing in retaliation for being ignored.

"It's alright, I was just grabbing a book." You picked one up and walked towards him. "All I have to say is I don't like the way you talked to me earlier. I don't care how stressed you are."

"I'm sorry," he apologized with no hesitation. You nodded and went to leave, only for Tommy to stop you. He pulled you back, his hands on your waist. Nothing prepared you for your husband wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his cheek against your belly. You slowly wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

"Are you alright? Has something happened?"

"I've got blood on my hands, y/n. Done things I'm not proud of," he murmured. You could only just make out what he was saying. "And I don't stop. I want you to be angry with me for bringing you along with this and putting you up in my house then leaving you alone. Talking to you how I did and putting you and everyone in danger." After a moment, you let out a chuckle.

"Thomas, what the fuck are you talking about?" You couldn't help it really, even when you looked down to see those distressed blue eyes. You pressed the back of your hand on his cheeks and forehead. "Are you ill, Sir?"

"I'm not. I mean it y/n, you've no idea what's gone on." Tommy shook his head and rested it on your stomach again. You scoffed at the man.

"First of all, you haven't put me up in your house, you've put me up in my house, remember? I just let you live here sometimes," you reminded him of whose name was on the deed. It was for the sake of business, but it was also a gift. Tommy let the corner of his mouth tug up a bit.

"Second, if you think your wife is dense, think again. Did you think I wouldn't do a bit of research? Ask around? I don't just sit around all day, Polly does like to keep me active, Tom. Plus, one of my mates works at that rum bakery, you think I don't keep tabs on you?" You gave him a knowing look. If you could catch him before he was out the door, you'd have already given him a lecture on getting involved with Alfie Solomons.

"Ah," Tommy hummed. "That's why you told me to tighten up on security."

"Mmhm. Third of all," you grasped Tommy's face and made him look at you. "When I agreed to marry you, did I ask you where your hands have been?"

"No."

"No." You shook your head. "And maybe that's my burden to bear, but I'll always look out for myself, don't worry. And I'm not scared of blood, Mr. Shelby." You leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Clever, bloody woman," Tommy murmured.

"The cleverest," You agreed.

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor

#tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

Text

Zephyr

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Word Count: 2,696

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to Exes and Supher-o’s. This drabble takes place before the events of Exes and Superher-o’s and follows Jungkook as he’s rescued by a superhero love interest.

A/N: The reader in this drabble is not the reader in Exes and Superher-o’s.

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

While standing in line at the check-out counter, Jungkook examined the oranges he’d picked out in his basket. Idly, he recalled Minutia saying the color orange came after the fruit, not before. She loved to spout factoids like that; Jungkook did a pretty good job of tuning her out, but her random facts always seemed to stick in his head.

Minutia was the superhero Jungkook was assigned to as handler. She was fairly loud, fairly opinionated and fairly dedicated to kicking people’s ass on the regular.

She’d mentioned the orange fact when ISA – International Superhero Agency – had recommended Minutia change her superhero suit color to orange. She’d felt very strongly about this and in the end, Minutia had won.

Usually, she did.

Realizing the line before him had moved, Jungkook took a step forward. No longer distracted by thoughts of the color orange, he took the opportunity to scan the grocery store around him.

It was a habit of his – an unfortunate side effect of both his job and the knowledge which came from it. After high school, Jungkook attended an elite military academy on the east coast, but it only took six months before ISA found him.

He’d been out for a morning run when two men in suits cornered him for what they called an opportunity. They’d explained about a different path than the military; an alternative from merely serving his country. Both agent and handlers at ISA held no national loyalty – they merely protected civilians from absolute evil.

Barely had the offer left their mouths before Jungkook accepted.

Of course, Jungkook learned soon after superhero handlers were little more than baby-sitters, but that was beside the point. He genuinely cared about Minutia and knew the work they did together was important – even if his position kind of sucked, since Jungkook was more than capable of defending himself.

Handlers were required to be proficient in various martial arts; they often trained the newbie superheroes who arrived at the Agency. Jungkook was a ninth-degree black belt in Taekwondo, a red belt in Jiu Jitsu and a tenth-degree black belt in Judo. He also had a blue belt in Krav Maga, but this had more to do with lack of time than capability. Jungkook could assemble and disassemble most weapons in the time it took most people to fire them, but all that meant nothing in the face of superpowers.

Minutia could simply freeze Jungkook and kill him if she wanted to; he’d never see it coming.

Not that Minutia would kill him, of course. Stifling the image, Jungkook moved up in line. His super was relentlessly moral, even if she had some rough edges and enjoyed pushing boundaries.

It was the rest who worried Jungkook, like the supervillains they fought. Aided by supernatural powers, supervillains were capable of great destruction. It was the main reason Jungkook stayed at his job – if anyone stood a chance against supervillains, it was superheroes.

“Bag?”

Surprised, Jungkook looked up. “Huh?”

“Bag,” the cashier girl repeated, rolling her eyes. “Do you want a bag?”

“Oh – no.” Jungkook shook his head. “I have my own. I –”

An explosion rocked the street outside, shattering the windows in a hailstorm of glass.

On instinct, Jungkook dove to protect the rude cashier with his body. There was bulletproof lining beneath his clothes, for which he was grateful. He’d just come from shooting practice at Headquarters and hadn’t had a chance to change out of his gear.

Glass harmlessly bounced off his torso, although a few shards sliced his face, leaving blood as he winced. Reaching up to grip counter, Jungkook surveyed the damage.

All the windows of the supermarket had been blown in. The blast seemed to have originated from the street – at least, Jungkook assumed this based on the direction of people running.

“Stay down!” he yelled, and launched himself over the counter.

People obeyed, crawling towards the store’s interior aisles. Jungkook hoped there was a door in the back, otherwise they’d trap themselves like fish in a barrel. He wasn’t surprised when people followed his command. People tended to respond positively to authority in times of chaos.

Yanking a Glock from his jacket, Jungkook dashed from the store. Cocking his head to one side, he surveyed the street for danger.

There – at the end of the block, he saw a cloud of dust settling.

Keeping his gun steady, Jungkook rushed towards the scene. Halfway there, he realized he’d left his groceries behind and nearly groaned. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. Such was the life of superheroes and handlers.

As though in response to his thought, someone emerged from the chaos.

Only one person; tall, with hulking muscles and what looked to be three arms. Nope, wait – that was machine gun. Fuck.

Jungkook lunged to the side as the man opened fire. Luckily, much of the street was deserted from the blast and few people were hurt. Propping himself up on one knee, Jungkook squinted from behind an overturned car and fired.

Five shots, each in quick succession aimed at the man’s torso. Three of them hit, sending the man to his knees, only for him to snarl, his gaze snapping upwards.

Jungkook watched in horror as the bullet wounds began to heal, pushing metal from flesh with alarming speed.

Of fucking course, he was a supervillain.

Flipping around, Jungkook pressed his back to the car and considered his options. He should call for Minutia, or another super – teeth gritted, Jungkook pushed this option aside. He could do this on his own; this was a fight he could win.

Winning against rejuvenation wasn’t unheard of for someone like him. It meant his opponent healed abnormally fast from their injuries, but they could be overwhelmed if Jungkook kept up momentum.

Before he could finish this thought, the car Jungkook sat against flipped overhead.

Eyes wide, Jungkook watched it crash and roll down the street. A small crowd darted away as they screamed and Jungkook stifled an eye roll. Civilians were so predictable. They never got out of the way like they should; instead, they pressed closer and tried to video it all on their cell phones.

Twisting around, Jungkook found the supervillain grinning at him while he flexed a muscle.

The machine gun lay discarded in a pile of rubble. Jungkook’s heart sank, since it meant the villain was out of ammo, which likely meant he’d been using it in other locations.

When the villain wrenched a storm grate from the ground, Jungkook came to his senses. Survival was priority number one. Fighting someone with only rejuvenation would’ve been hard enough; it would be near impossible to fight someone with rejuvenation and strength.

Rolling away, Jungkook managed to escape said trajectory of the grate.

Metal smashed into the space he’d just occupied, leaving a human-sized dent in the pavement. Flipping himself upwards, Jungkook shot as he moved. This was a move best left to the movies, unless you happened to be an obsessed-with-video-games-superhero-handler trained in four different kinds of martial arts.

Jungkook was just that.

“Catch me if you can!” he yelled, taking off down the street.

He zig-zagged as he moved, craning his neck to peer overhead. The new plan was: keep the villain’s attention on Jungkook until help arrived, which wouldn’t be long. Given the immediacy of the destruction, ISA would likely dispatch someone with the ability to fly.

All he had to do was stay alive until then. Smirking a little, Jungkook dug in his heel and spun around.

Luckily, he had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Pushing up the sleeve of his jacket, Jungkook waited until the villain was within fifteen feet, then pressed a button. 70 mA of electrical current shot out from his wrist, arcing with blue-white light to hit the villain in the chest. A product created by Namjoon, otherwise known as the superhero, Brainblast.

The volt was enough to stun or kill any other man, but the villain simply gasped and sunk to his knees.

He writhed for a moment, clawing at skin which simultaneously burned and healed. The distraction was all Jungkook needed to run, aiming his gun and – someone swooped down to blast the villain back with air.

A smirk on your face, you lowered both hands to your sides.

Jungkook skidded to a stop. Your superhero alias, Zephyr, was one of the most popular superheroes on the face of the planet. Intelligent, formidable, and rated a seven on the ISA power scale, despite only having one superpower: control over the air and winds.

You were also ridiculously hot; Jungkook had harbored a crush on you for years.

He still remembered the day you arrived at the Agency. Higher-ups said Zephyr (the Greek god of the west wind) was traditionally a male name and wouldn’t make sense to serve as your moniker. You’d said to fuck off and written it down anyways.

This memory made Jungkook smile, even as you sent another wave of wind down the street. Shaking his head, he pulled himself back to reality.

Hovering a few feet off the ground, wind whipped at your hair. You’d explained to him once you didn’t really fly – it was more the wind currents obeyed your commands and took you where you needed to go. Jungkook didn’t really get the difference, but he couldn’t deny you looked badass doing it.

While the villain struggled to stand, you glanced down at Jungkook.

“You alright?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

Jungkook tried not to frown. “I’m fine,” he said, despite the disheveled state of his hair and clothes. “I had him, you know.”

“Right.” Your expression turned dubious. “It’s just that –”

You were cut off by said villain throwing a car at your head, which you managed to stop with a thrust of your hand. The winds obeyed your command, wrapping around the car to set off to one side.

Gaze narrowed, you rose even higher. “It’s not that you’re not capable!” You yelled to be heard over the wind. “But –”

A sewer grate flew through the air and, without turning, Jungkook shot it down from the sky. Pieces rained around them like confetti.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Right.” Sheepish, you smiled. “Just keep doing that. Distract him and I’ll try to knock him out. Keep him alive, though!”

Jungkook nodded, giving a grim smile before moving forward.

He broke into a run, alarmed by how fast the villain seemed to heal. Even if two supers had the same power, they tended to vary in intensity. This villain must be rated high even without his super strength.

The device on Jungkook’s arm wouldn’t recharge for another five minutes, so he relied on his gun to keep the villain occupied. A shot to the kneecap; another to his shoulder. Keeping your words in mind, Jungkook tried not to hit anything vital. Even rejuvenation might not be enough to heal the man if he shot him in the heart.

High above, you flew gracefully upwards. Jungkook nearly stopped to stare; you arced through the sky like a dancer, claiming the winds as though you owned them. Caressing the breeze with one hand, you turned around and – fuck.

Jungkook had let himself get distracted. Swearing aloud, he dove behind the nearest car and heard something shatter.

Rolling to the other side, he propped himself up on one knee and shot. The villain yelped, stumbling forward as the bullet hit his elbow.

This time, it took greater concentration for metal to be squeezed from his skin. The villain panted as he stood, clearly winded and Jungkook’s heart leapt, realizing they’d tired him out.

This turned out to be the opening you needed.

Swooping down, you reached out a hand, and – wind whipping about like a force field – slowly closed your palm.

The villain gasped, his eyes going wide as he clutched his throat.

Shakily, Jungkook pushed himself upwards to stand.

One of the most dangerous powers associated with air manipulation was creating a vacuum. You achieved this by removing the air entirely; a feat which required great skill and concentration.

It only took a few minutes for the man to be so deprived of oxygen, his eyes rolled backwards. His legs wavered a second, then he slumped to the ground.

“Saoirse!” you yelled, floating down. “Cuffs!”

A woman with red hair – your handler, Jungkook presumed – ran from the nearest subway station to quickly cuff the man’s hands behind his back. Jungkook could see the moment the villain’s power drained from his limbs.

Standing before them, you watched, although it seemed to pain you.

Picking his way through the wreckage, Jungkook came to a stop by your side. Glancing your way, he noticed the breeze continue to play with your hair, as though it couldn’t bear to be parted for long.

“Do you ever wonder what this does to us?”

Confused by your question, Jungkook blinked. “What do you mean?”

“This,” you said, waving a hand at the wreckage. In the distance, Jungkook could hear sirens screaming. “All the death, the destruction… even the people on the other side. Does it ever hurt you sometimes?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Truthfully, it did bother him when he saw himself in the villains they faced. Sometimes he was fighting genuine evil, but occasionally the villains had reasonable grievances – worse, sometimes they’d merely been raised to see the ISA as evil.

Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to hate those kinds of villains and yes, it did hurt when he took them out.

Sensing his hesitance, your shoulders slumped. Jungkook’s stomach twisted, wanting to fix whatever it was you were feeling. He hesitated, wanting to say you weren’t alone.

“Never mind,” you said, managing to smile. “Another bad guy defeated, right?”

“Right.” Jungkook’s gaze remained upon yours. “I guess.”

Before you could say anything more, Saoirse called your name.

“Guess I should go,” you said, rising into the air. When you glanced his way, Jungkook found himself wondering what you were thinking. “I… thanks for helping today, Jungkook.”

“Anytime.”

This time when he smiled at you, it was genuine.

You rose another few feet, then hesitated. “It’s been awhile since I came by the training arena, huh?”

Jungkook shrugged, as though he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Of course, he had.

“You’re still the one they’ve got training the new recruits?”

“Yep,”

“Hm.” A small smile crossed your lips. “Maybe I should stop by. Show the newbies how it’s done. We could work up a sweat.”

Jungkook’s heart nearly stopped when you dropped him a wink. Before he could speak, you rose further into the air.

“Bye, Jungkook!” you called, and zipped off down the street.

The sound of your voice faded into the sounds of the city and Jungkook stood there another moment before coming to his senses. His phone began to ring in his pocket.

Fumbling for the device, he sighed when he saw the name on the ID.

“Hello?” he said, lifting the phone to his ear.

“YOU’RE ALIVE.”

Wincing, he held the phone further away. “Minutia?”

“Who else would it be? Of course, it’s me, you idiot! I had just gotten my morning coffee and was passing that pizza place when I happen to catch a glimpse of the TV – and what do I see? You, fighting a fucking supervillain alone!”

“I wasn’t alone,” Jungkook shot back.

“Yeah, those cowering civilians looked real intimidating.”

“Zephyr showed up at the end, it was fine.”

“Oh,” she said, somewhat mollified. “Alright, then. She’s cool. But seriously, JK – be more careful, would you? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Pulling his hand away, Jungkook squinted at the receiver. “Huh?” he said, returning the device to his ear.

“Yeah, who’d pick up my dry cleaning?”

“Bye,” Jungkook grunted, and hung up the phone.

Still, he smiled as he turned to walk down the street. People stared as he passed, pointing and whispering about the state of his clothes. Jungkook heard the word super being muttered, although he didn’t bother to correct them.

He was too busy turning your words over again in his mind. Does it ever hurt you sometimes?

The truth was it did. All the time.

He just didn’t know if there existed a better path than the one he was on.

#jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook drabble #bts drabble #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook superhero #bts superhero

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agerefandom · 3 years

Text

Something Wrong

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Regressor!Katsuki Bakugou (aka. Kacchan), worried!Izuku Midoriya (aka. Deku), worried!Shouta Aizawa (aka. Sensei), caregiver!Eijiro Kirishima, and the rest of 1A as background characters

Words: 4,000

Summary: Izuku notices Kacchan regressing in class and makes the mistake of following him when he leaves, intending to try and help.

Content warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence. Dissociation. Trauma. Bullying. Prevented (unintentional) self-harm. Self-neglect. Physical abuse. Verbal abuse. Mild burns. Blood. This fanfiction raises many questions and issues and doesn’t necessarily solve all of them, although everyone receives physical care by the end.

Author’s Note: Please note the content warnings and exercise caution when reading. I just finished the third season of My Hero Academia, and I have many emotions about the way the relationship between Katsuki and Izuku is handled by both the writers and the characters in the show. I’m also aware that their dynamic is a popular one in the fandom, and thus something I might be asked to write when I open requests again. This story was my attempt at figuring out how I felt about that. (Conclusion: I’m willing to write regressor!Katsuki with other caregivers, but not with Izuku, and vice-versa. I promise my regressor!Katsuki fics will not all be this angsty. I just had to get this one out of my system.)

Something was wrong with Kacchan today.

Izuku spent a lot of time looking at Kacchan from day to day, since the taller boy’s head blocked his view of half the blackboard. Even in Junior High, Izuku found himself often watching Kacchan from the back of the class. He was always in motion: his leg bouncing and his fingers tapping on the sides of his desk.

Here in 1-A, many of the students had trouble sitting still. The classroom was always alive with the shifting of fabric and clicking of pens, and any students with sensory problems had to wear sound blockers when trying to get work done (Izuku himself took advantage of that sometimes, although it made his tendency to mumble a little worse).

Today, though, something about Kacchan’s tapping fingers was different. They wouldn’t stay on the desk. He kept lifting his hand to his face, tapping them against his jawline and then around to his mouth. Izuku couldn’t see what Kacchan was doing, but he knew that the other boy had often teased him for biting his fingernails in Junior High (Aww, are you sucking your thumb, Deku? I always knew you were just a baby!) so surely Kacchan wouldn’t have the same habit. And even more strangely, Kacchan kept whipping his hand down and away from his face, keeping it frozen at his side for a few minutes before his fingers started tapping against his leg and the entire cycle would restart.

There were other signs, too: Kacchan wasn’t taking notes, Izuku’s view of his notebook around his shoulder confirming that he was just scribbling random lines across the pages. As careless as Kacchan seemed, he was a good student, and his friends often asked to copy his notes. There must be something wrong, Izuku knew it.

Maybe he didn’t sleep well last night? Izuku knew that Kacchan had been having trouble sleeping since the kidnapping. He started playing loud music at all hours and snapping at anyone who asked him to turn it down, even Kirishima and Kaminari. Eventually, they had to bother Aizawa about it, and Kacchan had been threatened with his sound system being confiscated. That seemed to stop the noise, at least when it was lights-out. But Izuku could still hear him pacing sometimes.

Most of the class had nightmares about their various villain encounters, and insomnia meetups were a regular occurrence in the dormitory common rooms. It had been nice to find out that the others had been struggling to sleep since everything started. Izuku had originally assumed he was alone in the experience. Calming down after a nightmare was easier with Denki chattering about the game he was playing or Koda’s quiet presence sharing the space.

But Kacchan never came out of his room to join the others when he couldn’t sleep, and only the distant sounds of pacing and the darkening circles under his eyes allowed Izuku to notice when he was doing worse.

Shoot, Izuku had started missing some of Aizawa-sensei’s lecture because he was so distracted by Kacchan. He turned his attention back to his notes, scribbling desperately to catch up with the lecture slide before it changed. He could always borrow notes from Tenya, of course, but he didn’t like to bother his friends about things like that.

Izuku snuck another glance up and saw that Kacchan’s fingers were back up to his mouth. His head was tilted slightly down, as if he were looking at his notebook, but his pencil wasn’t moving.

Was Kacchan asleep, maybe? That wouldn’t last long: for all of Aizawa-sensei’s naps, he didn’t tolerate students falling asleep in lecture, his capture weapon quick to pull a napping student’s chair out from under them.

Just as Izuku started to worry, there was a harsh shriek of metal against floor as Kacchan pushed himself to his feet.

“Bathroom,” Kacchan blurted, and stalked for the door with his shoulders a tense line.

Confusion and worry warred in Izuku’s stomach, and he was standing before he could think twice about it.

“Same, yeah, bathroom,” Izuku said, and speed-walked out of the room before Aizawa could remind him that only one student was allowed to leave the class at a time, according to school rules.

The hall was empty, which meant that Kacchan must have taken off running as soon as he’d left the class.

Izuku paused as the door closed behind him, considering his options. There was a possibility that Kacchan had abandoned class entirely and gone back to the dorms, but he probably would have taken his backpack with him if that was the case. Usually, Kacchan went straight for the training rooms when he was upset, but they would be in use by classes right now.

In the absence of a better idea, Izuku decided to check the nearest bathroom and see if Kacchan had been telling the truth.

Izuku’s shoes squeaked quietly against the hallway as he approached the door to the boy’s bathroom and pushed it open. The sound gave him away, but he distinctly heard a gasp, followed by a sharp sniffle.

“Kacchan?” Izuku called out, letting the door close behind him.

There was no answer. Izuku walked fully into the bathroom, easily picking out the stall that Kacchan was hiding in. It was the only one with the door closed, but Izuku could see that Kacchan had pulled up his feet to avoid being seen. Something was definitely wrong, he’d never known Kacchan to be this desperate to hide.

“Kacchan, are you okay? Are you sick?” Izuku approached the door, straining his ears. He could hear Kacchan’s breathing, familiar from the years they had spent together.

“Fuck off, Deku,” Kacchan snapped.

Izuku could hear the tears in his voice, and something like curiosity unfurled in his chest. He hadn’t seen Kacchan cry in years. Izuku was the crybaby, and Kacchan was the one who got to tease him for it. What was going on?

“What’s wrong?” Izuku leaned against the line of sinks, staying in front of the stall. “Did something happen?”

“I told you to go away!” Kacchan shouted. “Nothing’s wrong, you idiot. Fuck off!”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Izuku told the stall door. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he would get to the bottom of this. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Deku…”

Izuku could hear the warning in that growl, but he ignored it. Just as he always did.

“Come on, Kacchan.” Izuku tried a softer voice. “It’s okay! I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

Kacchan started to laugh, and something in Izuku’s stomach twisted. That wasn’t a good sound. It was strangled and getting louder, the tears abandoned for hysterical cackles. Izuku shifted to standing, but stayed in front of the stall. Maybe he was getting somewhere?

Sure enough, the lock clicked open, and the door swung inwards to reveal Kacchan.

Kacchan was standing on the floor now, his uniform even more rumpled that usual. His eyes were red-rimmed, tears still streaking his cheeks.

“You? Make fun of me?” he managed between the harsh laughter. “Deku, you wish.”

Kacchan stepped forwards, and Izuku knew what was going to happen only a second before his hand wrapped around Izuku’s neck and pushed him back into the line of sinks. Pain shot up through Izuku’s spine from where the edge of the counter hit his back. Kacchan didn’t stop pushing, forcing Izuku’s head to lean back against the mirror behind him.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Always rushing in, Izuku lectured himself, closing his eyes to avoid the furious expression on Kacchan’s face. He had only wanted to help, but he knew Kacchan, and knew that he was at his most dangerous when he felt vulnerable. Why had he put himself in danger?

Force of habit, said a cynical voice in the back of Izuku’s head.

“You don’t listen, huh? Everyone thinks you’re so smart, but you and me know different.” Kacchan’s hand wasn’t pressing hard enough to cut off Izuku’s airflow, but he could feel his quirk starting to heat up the air between them, the sting of a thousand sparks jumping from Kacchan’s palm. Not enough to hurt, not really enough to leave burns, just a red mark that would fade in a few hours. Izuku kept his eyes closed. Kacchan had set off one of those tiny sparks in his eye once, and Izuku had needed an eyepatch for a whole week. Of course, Izuku had spent that time pretending to be Peg Leg the Pirate Hero, but it had still hurt.

“I was worried,” Izuku managed, bringing up his hand to try and tug Kacchan’s wrist away. Kacchan intercepted the attempt, making a tight fist around Izuku’s hand.

“Worried about me? You should worry about yourself, pipsqueak. You know I can take care of myself.” Pop pop went the tiny sparking explosions, starting to hurt the tender skin on the underside of Izuku’s chin. Those little burns could layer up and get painful eventually.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. “I know.”

“Do you? Do you really, Deku? Then why did you follow me?” Kacchan shouted, and Izuku felt spittle hit his cheeks.

“I don’t know!”

Izuku pushed out with his free hand, and was surprised when Kacchan’s grip on his throat subsided, the other boy stumbling back. He opened his eyes and saw his hands sparking, the power of One For All coming to his defense.

Kacchan had only been pushed a few steps back, and he was grinning now.

“You want to fight, shitty Deku? That why you followed me here?” The same little sparks were going off in Kacchan’s palms, flashes of light that made Izuku’s throat ache just watching them. At least they were away from his skin now.

“I don’t want to fight.” Izuku dismissed One For All, feeling the buzzing energy dissipate from his body. Kacchan’s cheeks were still blotchy, his eyes wild, and Izuku couldn’t bring himself to get on the offensive against him. “I’ll leave if you want.”

“Oh, no,” Kacchan hissed. “You had your chance to leave, but you just had to see me, huh? Wanted to gloat some more. Are you happy now, Deku? Want to rub it in?”

“I… no!” Izuku waved his hands in front of his face, feeling his eyes widen. “I’m not gloating! What? Why would I be happy that you’re sad?”

One moment, Kacchan was glaring down at Izuku with sparking palms, and then his face suddenly crumpled. His eyes closed, and he curled inwards, his quirk turning off as his hands went to grip his elbows. “Fuck,” Kacchan muttered. Izuku was close enough to hear his breathing hitch. “FUCK!” he shouted, and brought his hands up to his face, sparks flying again, this time against his own skin. It didn’t affect him, of course, his skin resistant to his own fire, but Izuku automatically started forwards. Kacchan’s eyes were still vulnerable, and he could damage himself.

The movement caught Kacchan’s attention. His head snapped up again, and Izuku could see the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Deku?” Kacchan asked, and he sounded… confused.

“Y-yeah, it’s me,” Izuku said. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t-” Kacchan shook his head, bringing his hands up to his face again.

“Careful!” Izuku stepped forward and caught his hands, keeping the sparking palms away from Kacchan’s eyes, even as the tiny explosions started to burn Izuku’s fingers. “Kacchan, what’s wrong?”

Kacchan had frozen under Izuku’s touch, but Izuku could feel his hands shaking.

“What’s wrong?” he echoed, and his voice sounded wrong. Tense and tight and young. “What’s wrong with me, Deku?”

“It’s okay,” Izuku said. “You’re okay. It’s just anxiety, I think. Just breathe, okay?”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

Izuku didn’t see the attack coming this time, as he was pushed back against the mirrors for a second time. This time, the push was less controlled, and he felt the back of his head hit the mirror with a cracking noise. Hopefully, that was the glass.

“Kacchan!” Izuku reached out, trying to grab his shoulders. “It’s just me, it’s okay.”

“Shut up!! Stop trying to… COMFORT ME!” Kacchan shouted, and backhanded Izuku across the face. The sharpness of the pain made Izuku gasp, but it was easy enough to bring his head back up. “I don’t need your help! I told you to leave!” And Kacchan hit him again. “I told you to leave me alone!”

This is familiar.

The sour smell of the bathroom, the hard line of the counter pressing into Izuku’s spine, and the surrender to the pain of blows to his face. Usually, it had been Kacchan with a number of other boys, two of them holding Izuku’s arms, but Kacchan had never really needed the physical backup. Izuku was helpless enough on his own. Quirkless, couldn’t even stand up to a friend. Couldn’t stand up to one person. The burns, the bruises, the feeling of floating above himself as the pain became sharper yet somehow more distant.

I’ve been here before.

Izuku couldn’t remember the first time Kacchan hit him. He felt like it should have been a turning point in their relationship, like it should have made him see the other boy differently. But Kacchan had always liked to hit people. Like heroes, he said, practicing his Detroit Smash on all his friends. Like heroes, he said, when he tied Izuku upside-down and left him for the teachers to find. He just wanted to be like a hero, and heroes talked with their fists.

Izuku could feel tears on his cheeks as blood filled his mouth, but he hated the tears more than the copper taste on his tongue. He hated that crying had always been his first line of defense. When he was excited, when he was sad, even when he was angry, he could barely speak through the tears that rose up and choked him. It was just more for Kacchan to mock, calling him a baby, calling him weak, calling him useless.

I’ve never been anywhere else.

Izuku couldn’t tell if Kacchan was using his quirk or just his fists. The sharp impacts felt the same at first whether his hands were on fire or not, the heat of the pain blocking out the deeper burns. He would only know later how bad the damage was, whether he would need to hide his face on his way back to the dorms.

It was a shock when the punches stopped.

Izuku stayed where he was, leaning back against the counter. He didn’t know if he could move if he tried. His arms felt numb, his face stinging, and his head was distantly aching. He could see through his eyes, but it felt like he was watching from a long way away as he watched Kacchan draw back and wipe his eyes.

They had both been crying this time. That was unusual.

What happened next was even more unusual.

“I’m sorry,” Kacchan whispered, then turned and walked out of the bathroom.

There was silence.

Izuku drew in the first breath he was aware of, and stood up. It hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. He turned and saw the splintered mirror behind him, blood streaking down it. Head wound. That explained the warmth soaking the back of his school uniform. They always bled a lot. He could see the shattered pieces of his reflection, a red puffy face and tears still rolling down his cheeks. It would be a few hours before the burns and bruises really become visible. For now, he was just red all over, as if he’d gotten a bad sunburn. By tomorrow, everything would be a rainbow of white and red and green-red-brown, but for now… it didn’t look so bad.

Izuku limped out of the bathroom and walked towards his class as quickly as he could manage. He knew he would disrupt the lecture, he knew the broken mirror would be charged to his mother, he knew it was going to suck to open the door, but it didn’t matter. He needed help.

Sure enough, Izuku pushed the door open and was met with a collective gasp from the class.

Aizawa was kneeling in front of Izuku before he knew what was happening, his hands resting gently on Izuku’s shoulders.

“Were you attacked?” Aizawa demanded, his eyes flickering over Izuku’s face and back to the door he’d walked through.

Izuku ignored his teacher, shrugging under Aizawa’s hands and dragging himself towards the person he came for.

“Kirishima,” Izuku said. “You need to find Kacchan, he’s really upset and I’m worried about him. I think he might be in danger. He wouldn’t listen to me, but… maybe you can help.”

Kirishima’s face swam in Izuku’s vision, shocked and concerned.

“Did he… are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Izuku smiled. “Please just find Kacchan.”

“O-okay?” Kirishima said, and Izuku stepped out of the way to let him leave.

“Deku!” Ochaco’s hands were the next to land on Izuku’s shoulders, less carefully than their teacher. Izuku fought the urge to flinch and smiled at her. “Did Bakugou do this? Are you okay? Oh my god, you’re bleeding a lot…”

“It’s just a head wound,” Izuku explained. “They bleed a lot.”

“Do you have a concussion?” That was Tenya in front of him now. With how much his vision was swimming, it probably was a concussion.

“Don’t worry!” Izuku said, trying to wave them off, but then Tsuyu was also in front of him, looking worried. “I’m okay! I’m sorry for interrupting the lesson!”

“He looks like he’s gonna pass out,” Denki commented.

“I’m not going to pass out!” Izuku said. “I’m fine!” He had a concussion, sure, but he’d gone to class with a concussion before. He would probably miss most of the notes, but that was okay. He could catch up later. “I need to text Kirishima…”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Aizawa was there again, looming over Izuku’s classmates. Izuku winced, dropping his eyes to the ground. He was definitely going to get in trouble. “Everyone, back to your seats. Stop crowding him.” Izuku moved to obey, but Aizawa’s hand blocked him. “Not you, Midoriya, stay where you are.”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt.” He risked a glance upwards and saw Aizawa’s unreadable expression, his mouth more downturned than usual. “I should have… I thought I could help. I’m sorry.”

“You’re a hero, Midoriya,” Aizawa sighed, and Izuku had never heard anyone say the word ‘hero’ with so much weight. It didn’t sound like a compliment. “Of course you thought you could help. Can you walk to Recovery Girl, or should I carry you?”

“I can walk, sir! But I really don’t need to visit Recovery Girl. She… doesn’t want to see me anymore.” Izuku winced, thinking back to all the times she had threatened to stop treating his injuries if he didn’t stop visiting so often.

“That isn’t her decision,” Aizawa said in a tone that allowed no argument. “Her job is to treat our students. And my job is to protect them. Now, for the rest of you, I expect you to behave while I’m gone. Start any more trouble and you will be expelled when I return. I’m not lying this time.”

From the dead silence that met his words, no one doubted him.

“Come on, Midoriya.” A hand was offered, wavering in Izuku’s reluctant vision. It took him two attempts to accept the hand, his depth perception all but gone. Eventually, though, Aizawa’s fingers wrapped around his, and Izuku was led out into the hallway. Aizawa’s grip was gentle, but Izuku could still feel the callouses on his fingers and palm, the marks of a lifetime of hero work.

It was easy to focus on that warm sensation as Izuku stumbled down the hallway after Aizawa’s long-legged strides, his head spinning.

“I really am sorry, Aizawa-sensei.”

“Save it until it’s time to tell your story,” Aizawa told him. “I won’t make you go over it while you have a concussion, but we’ll talk after.”

“Okay,” Izuku said meekly.

I hope Kacchan is okay, Izuku thought as he followed Aizawa into the elevator, trying to stay on his feet as the world spun around him.

Eijiro leaned back against the wall, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

Katsuki was curled up with his head on Eijiro’s lap, his favourite stuffie tucked under one arm. Eijiro’s cheek hurt, where Katsuki had gotten a strike in before Eijiro’s quirk had been able to protect him. Eijiro’s quirk was what made him able to be Katsuki’s caregiver, able to stand up to the worst of his tantrums. And today had been a bad one.

The walls were scorched, and even Eijiro’s hair was blackened. Eijiro had tried not to fight Katsuki, but eventually he had to protect the room from being set on fire. It was always awful, holding Katsuki down as he screamed threats and struggled and wept. But eventually, the tension had drained from his body and left him sobbing, and Eijiro had let his skin soften and pulled him into an embrace, Katsuki melting against him.

Katsuki had fallen asleep as soon as he’d stopped crying, and Eijiro had no idea what mood he would be in when he woke up: ready for another fight or craving cuddles and nostalgic cartoons.

Eijiro thought of Midoriya’s face, all red and wounded but trying to smile, waving away Eijiro’s concern and worrying only about Katsuki.

We can’t keep going like this.

Midoriya didn’t deserve the treatment he got from Katsuki, they all knew that, but there was nothing they could do. Katsuki turned on his friends just as fast, accusing them of taking the other side. Eijiro only knew bits and pieces of the pair’s history, and it had always disturbed him, but… it had never seemed like his business. Now he wondered if he should have put his foot down sooner.

Something was wrong with the two of them. Midoriya, all bloody and raw and waving them away with that innocent smile, as if he didn’t feel the pain at all. Katsuki, desperate for affection, screaming as Eijiro’s arms had wrapped around him, struggling until he was too exhausted but accept the simplest kindness of human touch. Constantly lashing out at anything that tried to help him.

Eijiro had always wanted to stand by Katsuki, but sometimes he found himself scared of Katsuki’s actions and where it would lead them. He wanted to believe that he would stand up to Katsuki if he ever went too far, but…

The image of Midoriya’s tear-streaked, smiling face flashed in Eijiro’s mind again.

How far is too far?

Eijiro closed his eyes and tried to push away all the big questions. He needed to rest so that he could be ready for whatever mood Katsuki would wake up in.

Maybe they could figure this out. Maybe he could ask for help, explain what’s going on. Someone else must know better than him. He was only fifteen, after all. How was he supposed to help, really? Why hadn’t anyone stepped in already? It felt like something was terribly wrong, but maybe this was normal. Was he worrying too much? Was he worrying too little?

Eventually, Eijiro managed to fall asleep like that, sitting up against the wall with his thoughts running in circles and Katsuki’s head resting softly in his lap.

#bnha agere #fandom agere #agere fanfiction #tw trauma #my writing #my stories #not a request for once!#tw self harm mention #i wonder if i should have a general tag for the darker stories i write?#i feel like tw trauma will cover most of them in a general sense #anyways #bnha #my hero academia

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madlymiho · 4 years

Text

Today we’re celebrating the wonderful and amazing birthday of the sweetest artist around, I’m talking about my dear dear @elliemehl 💗!

Darling, you have been such a dear friend to me, and I’m so happy I met you! You did something incredible for my own birthday, so I couldn’t miss the occasion to spoil you a little bit in return! 🙈

Please never change, you’re such a golden-heart, I’m lucky to have you around! Happy birthday!

words: 4734

warning: NSFW!

Tensions on the Polar Tang (read after the cut)

It’s not the first time he feels wide awake at night, piercing grey eyes gazing at the ceiling with a certain tiredness, unable to find some sleep, even in such a quiet place than his own ship. Perhaps it’s because he has been working for hours today, and that his mind is clouded with information which definitely wouldn’t disappear before he would reach the lands of his dreams, or maybe it’s an entire different reason he’s not able to face. Something stuck in his head, like a broken record, always playing the same particular music. You kissed. It has been such an intense yet short moment that sometimes he’s not entirely sure if it was real in the first place. It felt like a suspended moment he wasn’t ready to live, the two of you finally surrendering to that silly game you’re both thoroughly practicing since you have met. Months of teasing, comments and comebacks, all of this ending up in your soft lips crashing on his when he circled your nape to pull you closer, just enough for him to remember their taste, before you both took your distances. You never really talked about what happened that night, but Law blames the booze and your hormones for such a desperate moment. He’s a captain after all, he has his own duty, and you’re only just a temporary guest among the crew. The very fact you’re sleeping in the room next door shouldn’t upset him like this, not especially when he’s experiencing a cruel lack of sleep for years, his bad habits creating some tensions within his heart family. Yet, he feels like there’s something untold between the two of you; a childish emotion he’s unable to face because it would admit that his heart has another function than pumping his blood to his brain. He, the captain with one of the most violence and coldest reputation, couldn’t let someone in. The last time he did that ended up pretty nastily, his precious organ scratched so deeply that he didn’t want to bond with anyone after that. It’s a risk he doesn’t know if he wants to take it, and all those questions are harassing him at night when the object of his obsession is spending some time on the submarine.

“Tsst, you’re a jerk.” Law curses himself while he stretches his legs, slender fingers massaging his temples for a moment.

He lets loose another sigh, profound this one, before he eventually decides that sleeping would be optional, one more time. He’s used to these kinds of short nights anyway, it wouldn’t ruin his schedule, at least that’s what he hopes for. Now back on his feet, he doesn’t even bother to put something to cover his chest, his jogging pants dangerously sliding down his thighs, only maintained by the little knots he made just under his V spot, saving him from losing them for good. After all, there are almost only men on the Polar Tang, and if Ikkaku is up, she’s not the kind of woman to get upset because her captain is wandering half-naked on his ship. Tired, but definitely awake, Law eventually leaves his cabin, sliding both of his hands in his jogging pants pockets, hesitating for a moment when he passes by your door. Perhaps you’re also in the same agony? Would it be truly dangerous to knock on your door and finally surrender to the urge of your complicated passion? Even if the siren call is more than tempting, Law doesn’t oblige, step by step getting away from the temptation, as he’s heading to the kitchen to eventually grab a snack, if Bepo didn’t have one of his numerous night munchies, otherwise, he’s already certain that he wouldn’t find any leftover in the fridge.

As he’s getting closer from the kitchen hall, he notices a soft light emanating under the doorway, as he doesn’t make a move for a moment. It’s not unusual that someone is awake at this time of the night, but none of his crewmates would have bothered to close the door. Almost sure that he’s about to bust you there, Law firmly grips the handle of the door, opening it without a single hesitation, despite his squeezed heart within his chest. Indeed, he has been right ; you’re there, reading a book you’ve probably brought yourself onboard, since none of his crewmates is interested in collecting them in the first place. Or perhaps it belongs to Ikkaku, one more time? She’s a surprising woman for sure, however Law could bet all his money that she has nothing but mechanical or engine readings to offer.

“Sleep troubles?” He whispers, pushing on the door to offer you the sought-after privacy you were looking for. “A book on this ship, that’s a rarity.”

You lift you stare up, trying your best to muffle all those emotions dancing wildly in your guts, as you heard him entering in the first place. You didn’t want him to see that obvious look on your face, but despite your preparation, Law always managed to catch you off guard.

“Actually, I stole this one on your shelves,” you answer with a soft smile, lidding your eyes for a second. “I thought it was written in another language for a while, it’s unreadable.”

It only brings a frown on Law’s face, while he steps closer, one hand in his jogging pockets, dangerously pulling down those comfort pants he’s wearing, the other one grabbing the book to have a look on the cover. He smirks, and throws you one of his teasing stares you have a very hard time to handle.

“Anatomy and the study of the body.” He reads loudly, slender and tattooed fingers lingering on the relief of the cover. “I didn’t know you want to become a doctor,” he pauses, and pushes the book back in front of you. “Or maybe you’re looking for a way to study bodies a bit more? Looking for a partner, miss Eileen?”

Ah, bastard. You know he’s always up to tease but you’re never truly ready for his taunt. You roll your eyes impatiently, and dismiss him with a wave of your hands. It only increases the smug smile on Law’s features, because he knows you always have such a hard time to handle his comments and comebacks. However, he’s also certain you’ll eventually come up with something; your body language is already betraying your need to shut his bratty mouth.

“Don’t get cocky; I have the perfect partner if I want to, he already agreed to help.” you eventually raise your stare up, closing the book with an impatient gesture, while you’re getting back on your feet.

Law raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms around his chest, already thrilled to discover what you’re going to throw to his face.

“Is that so?” He asks with his eternal sensual tone, another step closer bringing the both of you almost glued together. However, he believes you’re too stubborn to actually back down and take a step backward. Ah, you sure know how to play this game too… “And who’s that partner? So far, I’ve always seen you alone. Are you hiding someone on the sub?”

“Bepo.” You abruptly snap. “I have a certain interest in… fluffy gigantic bear. Impossible to find someone matching that kind of body.”

Law wants to snort and laugh, but he manages to keep an utterly serious face, as he tilts his head just slightly, his golden earring gleaming under the light of the kitchen.

“The only body interest Bepo has is to find a way to develop his already more than concerning excess weight. Unless you’re trying to match a polar bear density and his goal to nap for three months during winter times, I guess you’ve stolen the wrong book. However, if you’re really serious about this, should I put a lock on the fridge for you too?” He tuts you, and notices the massive effort you’re making not to burst into a powerful laughter. He peers down at the plate full of biscuits you probably picked for your night munchies while studying, his smirk growing wider on his mischievous features. “Oh, that explains a lot. You’ve already started.”

You immediately look at him with your best pouting face, slamming your fist right into his bare shoulder. Of course, he could have easily eluded the punch, but he believes he deserved it.

“What are you trying to say, you zombie doctor?” You growl, but you can’t help but have this floating smile appearing at the corner of your lips.

“I’m just saying…,” he takes another step forward, his warmth breath ghosting your features, his fingers softly skimming the hand closed on his anatomy book. He can’t miss your flinch, nor your artery suddenly palpating to his proximity. “That if you want to make things right…,” his thumb rubs the top of your hand, his piercing grey eyes focused on yours. You gulp. He smirks like a demon would do. “You should increase your stealing skills and actually pick the good book.”

And as his face feels dangerously close to yours, Law uses it as the perfect distraction to retrieve the book you stole. He knows it’s really unfair to play with your emotions like this, and your lust, but he has to control himself in the first place. You kissed, but it doesn’t mean he should surrender to his own desires, even if he terribly wants to have a reminder of the taste of your skin. He wishes that his hands could explore your body, whispering how perfect you look for him, but he can’t. He doesn’t allow himself to cross that barrier, and he believes it could be one of the worst ideas. You both have this incredible attraction, something deep and burning, setting on fire every inch of your souls, yet you couldn’t accept your common desire. You couldn’t ruin whatever you’re sharing right now.

“It’s time for you to sleep.” Law decides, a sudden sadness crossing his usual teasing irises. “It’s not reasonable to be awake right now.”

Before you can eventually protest, he raises his right hand and creates his room around you, the walls of the sphere enveloping the kitchen, but also the corridors and the rooms of the Polar Tang, a bit further away. In a blink, you’re standing in front of your bed, frustrated and unable to understand why he suddenly changed his mind. You are certain he wanted to kiss you like the other night…

“I’m sorry Eileen.” Law whispers while he’s now alone in the kitchen, the room gently cracking before it would disappear for good.

He hides the biscuits in the larder, because he can’t let Bepo find something if he ever wakes up hungry in the middle of the night. He believes it’s also time for him to have his own rest. While he turns around to reach the door, he quickly has to take a step backwards, watching you rushing in one more time, a deep frown on your eyes, and visible anger spreaded on your features. He sighs, and crosses his arms around his chest, somehow silently scolding you for never listening to him. Well he knows it’s quite unfair to room someone away in their cabin in the first place, but he’s still the boss on his ship, and he believes as a doctor, he already knows what’s the best for you.

“Didn’t I tell you to go to bed?” Law snaps, the corner of his lips unable to hide that little grimace of irritation. He doesn’t like when his authority is challenged like this, or perhaps he loves it, but feels slightly guilty to sense those emotions. “Go to your room.”

You take a step forward, raising your eyes to prove that you’re not in the mood to follow his orders, fingers immediately gripping the corner of the anatomy book he keeps against his chest.

“No, I’m not tired. I want to read, and you have absolutely no power nor any reason to tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

Cocky. He can’t help but smirk to the sentence, pleased to see that you’re still this wild fire he can’t tame, but also amused with your pouting features. Even though he tightens his grip on the book, and takes himself a step forward, until you have no choice but to plaster your back against the door.

“I’m still the captain here. I gave you an order.” He states with a severe voice, before he eventually throws the book away, ignoring the fact that it might damage it. He notices your visible confusion, his smirk growing on his features. “What am I supposed to do with a guest who can’t behave?”

You cock your head, strands of your brown hair skimming your shoulders, while your hazel eyes gleam with a certain challenge.

“You’ve answered the question yourself, captain.” You whisper, finding yourself having a hard time to breath properly, the proximity increasing your heartbeat. “I’m your guest, not your crew mate. You can’t treat me like them…”

He presses the palm of his hand against the cool door, his body moving closer, as he traps you there, and forbids you to escape his presence.

“I should treat you differently, then?” His voice is nothing but a long snarl, deep and sensual, sending so many goosebumps down your spine that you’re unable to answer for a minute. “That’s what you want? Something… Different?”

You can’t help but nod to the question, your eyes betraying that desperation, your stomach falling in the depths of your guts, as he comes closer and closer. His palm against the wall eventually falls on your cheek, the pad of his thumb describing the slowest caress you have ever experienced. You breath in and out harshly, anticipating the next movement even if it’s hard to tell what Law has in mind. In addition, for him, the game feels terribly intense, his own excitement almost unbearable. He wants to remember the taste on your lips. To have them printed on his flesh and bask on their scent. He doesn’t feel parted anymore, driven by lust and despair, unable to repress those emotions he has been fighting for so long. Not now that you’re looking at him this way. Not now that he feels the same agony nailing you there, in front of him.

“Guests like you are such a pain in the ass.” Law growls, before he eventually crushes his lips on yours, softly at first, almost too slowly. But soon enough, the desperation wins over reason, the sensuality of his kiss turning into something more intense, needy, and messy.

His slender fingers begin to explore your hair, fondling its softness, playing with your brownish locks, while his mouth doesn’t stop for a second. He doesn’t allow you to catch some fresh air, he doesn’t allow you to think. There, plastered against the kitchen’s door, you’re at his mercy, trapped under his claws. He slams your body harder against the entrance of the cafeteria, both of his hands now cupping your jaw, while he deepens the kiss. He opens his mouth, the tip of his tongue gently entering your cavity, yours immediately meeting his to share the most passionate dance. Both of your breathing are heavy, uncontrollable, a raging fire you both can’t contain anymore.

“Fuck…” Law snarls, while he parts his lips just slightly, not enough for you to escape from their eternal caress over yours. “I don’t want to stop.”

His plea sounds desperate, but you certainly share the emotion. You’ve kissed once. You have already been there together, but it has never been like this. You have been able to stop before things would get complicated. You have been able to find a way to control your emotions, and your desires. Yet now, it seems that you’re both unable to find a way to stop the wheel. You clench your fingers on his arm, pulling him closer, Law obliging, his body leaned with yours as both of his hands follow the curve of your back, only to fall in your rear and grope it.

“Don’t stop, please.” You mumble, your lips brushing his, your hazel irises focused on his. “I don’t want to stop either.”

He hesitates. Should he deny that eternal lust you’re both sharing? Should he act like the man or the captain? Duty over passion? Usually his heart would have been clear about the answer… Though Law can’t lie; he’s a man of many flaws. If he believes he should listen to that little voice in the back on his head, his fingers are already acting differently, palping the curves hidden under your jeans, eager to explore this unknown and unconquered territory, turning your sweet little person into his. He hums longly, his own mind on fire, trying to figure out his own feelings. But while he’s focused on this complicated task, he flinches when he senses the palm of your hand exploring his chest, following the muscles and the dark lines of his tattoo. He can’t be reasonable all the time, after all. A pirate isn’t reasonable. A pirate takes what he wants, and when he craves it.

“Yeah, fuck that.” He answers to his own torment, slamming your body back against the door, pinning both of your hands above your head, his mouth devouring yours in the most unconventional way. There, he can finally unleash what he has always been afraid to explore, his tongue meeting yours instantly, sharing the same passionate dance repeatedly, until you would suffocate and beg for more and some fresh air at the same time. He eventually abandons your pinned hands, one arm rolled around your waist, as he makes you spin, clumsily for sure, but enough for him to find the kitchen table. He helps you jump on it, making sure that you’re all settled and comfortable, at least, in the heat of the moment.

“Here?” You mumble between two kisses, swept in another world, while you can definitely feel the smile growing on his lips.

He grips the bottom of your top and lifts it over your head, while both of his hands finally fall onto your thighs, pulling you at the edge of the table.

“You can’t be picky.” He says with the same warm and tempting tone, his mouth exploring the crook of your neck, fingers eagerly working to unbuckle your pants. “Are you playing the prudish girl with me now?”

You hum loudly to the sensation of his digits on your warm skin, the heat of your body irradiating the entire room, as you wiggle on your legs to help him undress you.

“What if someone comes in?” You warn him, but Law immediately bites your neck, sensually teasing the area with his sharp teeth. “L…Law, I’m serious…”

He knows you’re perfectly serious and wary, yet he doesn’t have time, nor the motivation, to find another spot. Perhaps you could have settled for a more comfortable place, but right now, you’re both surrendering to the lust of the moment, and there’s no time to be afraid. You’re both taking a risk like this, but it’s something he’s more than willing to commit.

“Then, be loud enough to make them understand they really shouldn’t come in.” Law smirks devilishly, as he slides his fingers right into your already damp panties. “That’s what I thought; you really don’t want to go anywhere yourself, do you?”

As he talks, he begins to brush that more than sensitive and needy area of yours, coating his slender digits with your natural wetness, spreading it over your lips and clit, his grey eyes focused on your face, just to be certain that he’s doing an amazing job. He can’t believe he has been depriving himself from this sight, your parted lips and frown beautifully indicating that you wouldn’t survive such a temptation tonight. Too bad, Law thinks, because you’ve definitely signed for the entire show now, and the very thought sends even more blood down into his groin. Without any rush, as his golden stare is focused on your features, he begins to add more pressure down there, his lips finding their way back to yours, stealing another passionate kiss, his own cold heartbeat awakened after so many years. Lust is uncontrollable at this point, his expert fingers increasing their pace, until soft moans and harsh whispers would be swallowed in his throat. You move your hips to follow the rhythm, unable to remain calm and patient now that you have him this way. And surely, he doesn’t wish for you to behave either, devouring you right here with his mouth, fingers skillfully providing you waves of pleasure.

“Law…” You let loose desperately, as he increases the pace of his knuckles one more time, eager to see at what point you would break and ask for more.

He smirks against your skin, sensually finding that sensitive spot there, in the crook of your neck, his teeth peppering the area with the most dangerous nibbles. You find yourself bucking your hips to have more, a greedy monster unable to stop, at the edge of having the most powerful orgasm of your life. Perhaps Law felt it, because as soon as you begin to moan harder, he withdraws his fingers, abandoning your needy flower, as he looks at you with a certain satisfaction. Gently, he brings his coated digits to his mouth, shamelessly tasting you, before he eventually presses his palm over your shoulders and invites you to lay back onto the table.

“I guess you’ve earned it.” He growls, pulling both his jogging pants and underwear down, revealing his hardness, proudly bumping against his abs. “I wanted it for so long, Eileen.”

Words are escorted by expert movements of his hands, as he places them on your thighs, pulling on them to find the perfect place, his thumbs caressing your thighs up and down. Once he’s sure you’re in the best position, he grabs his manhood to rub it a few times on your wet lips, each time watching you losing your mind ; he definitely believes he can drive you crazy for minutes like this, yet, he’s also aware that you’re both quite needy and impatient right now. With a slow push of his hips, Law penetrates you, inch by inch, a long shiver running down his spine as he can’t believe how incredible you feel right now. You’re tight enough to drive him insane, his fingers clenched on your skin, a discreet plea escaping his lips. You close your eyes, arching your back, before you manage to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand falling to grip the edge of the table.

“Don’t tease…” You frown, somehow anticipating another of his little games, as you feel your patience disappearing for good.

However, it’s definitely not in Law’s plans to tease any longer, his hips suddenly bucking so hard that you see the stars for a second. No, really, he doesn’t wish to waste anymore time, somehow understanding that it has been far from being enough. Right there, narrowed walls trapping his cock inside of you, your face expressing nothing but pure bliss, he doesn’t wish to act cowardly. He wants you to be his, and only his. So without any word, hands coming up to caress your waist then breasts, Law thrusts at first with an easy pace, the room slowly filled with the filthy sound of your collading skins. You moan, your fingers looking for his, your eyes unable to look away, watching his grey eyes lidded, and his dark cheeks tainted with redder colors. You love what you see, finding how beautiful he can be one more time ; a demon of lust and passion, taking you right here, after so many months of teasing.

For a moment, you wonder how many minutes you can resist before begging him to continue what he has started previously, when his fingers were teasing your most sensitive area, waves of pleasure travelling through your veins like the sweetest illness. You wonder if he will ever go back to this, or only fuck you like this, his hips adopting a steady yet controlled pace, each time extracting more groans from your throat. He definitely knows what he’s doing, but god, you want so much more! You want to see how cruel he can be, the sadistic doctor taking care of this entire operation, until you would met under the power of his aura.

“Harder, please! Fuck! Please, touch me, give me more, Law…!”

Your words are almost like a scream ; you straighten yourself back up to roll your arms around his neck, your mouth immediately finding his. You want more, you need more. This is the greedy monster speaking within you at this point, and not the controlled woman you can be. You feel the droplets of sweat cascading down your spine, and his own heat enveloping you as a second skin. He chuckles, and slams his hips with a harsher pace, one of his hands coming between the two of you, only to play with your swollen clit.

“I didn’t know you could be such a glutton, even for sex,” He growls with a sensual voice, his tongue playing with your earlobe, now that you’re all plastered against him. He rolls his thumb over your clit, focused on your reaction. “Come on, don’t you want to be louder than this?”

Oh, he can’t help but play with you after all, now that his lust is tainted with the desperate need to tease you. You seem completely swept away, and he loves to have you this way. He slows his pace, only to have the privilege to watch his shaft coming and going so gently inside of you, his thumb sometimes coming down to coat more of your wetness.

“You really wanted me, do you?” He whispers against your skin, gentle kisses dropped in the crook of your neck. “You’re so fucking wet for me. I bet I can make you come over and over again…”

The sweet promise extracts another plea from your throat, as you move your hips to escort his slow thrusts, teeth digging into the skin of his shoulders. Satisfied to see that you’re not even able to answer, he presses his thumb harder on your clit, suddenly adopting such a quick pace that you can’t help but let loose that promised whimper he has desperately wished to hear. It feels too much! You can’t control yourself anymore, digging your teeth and your nails in his skin, trying your best to muffle those lovely sounds he’s the only one allowed to hear. As you finally reach your own nirvana, Law feels himself quite unable to resist the siren call, your walls clenching his cock so hard, that every of his thrust sends him at the edge of his end. As he kisses you one more time, he eventually follows your lead and cums as well, his growls disappearing in your mouth. After a moment when the both of you ride out your orgasms, he eventually pulls out, and wraps his hands behind your back.

“Are you okay?” He asks, almost tenderly, hoping you don’t regret what just happened between the two of you.

“Yes,” you reassure with a firm nod, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “But I’m so sleepy right now…,”

He smirks and rolls his eyes, creating a room around you both, and holding you tighter than before. He can’t believe you almost made him believe that you weren’t sleepy… Well, for once, he doesn’t wish to scold you anymore. That’s probably for the best, if the two of you can get some sleep at this point.

“Not in my room…” You mumble one more time, eyes peering up with a certain authority.

For Law though, you only look like a demanding kitten, not that frightening but terribly cute, and he eventually sighs.

“I guess for once, I’ll give you the privilege to use the captain’s cabin.”

As you disappear from the kitchen, the two of you plastered together, Law intimates himself that it can’t be the only night you share together. Right there, with the warmness of your body against him, he begins to realise that you won’t ever be just a guest for him…

#one piece scenario #one piece headcanon #trafalgar law #trafalgar d. water law #law one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece writing #trafalgar law x reader #not suitable #lemon #elliemehl #happy birthday bby!

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wisteria-lodge · 3 years

Text

Character Analysis: Sorting Hamlet & Horatio

using the @sortinghatchats system

PRIMARY = MOTIVE. WHY DO YOU DO THINGS?

LION Primary’s sense of morality and ethics comes from inside. Things just feel right or they feel wrong. BIRD Primary gets their morality and ethics from the world outside them. They decide what they think is right. BADGER Primary is focused on the good of the group. Who cares if something is technically “moral” if people are getting hurt? SNAKE Primary is a lot like Badger, but instead of protecting the group, their highest law is the well-being of the individual people they love.

SECONDARY = METHOD. HOW DO YOU DO THINGS?

LION Secondary gets their power from being direct, honest, completely themselves. Their “plan” is just keep going until someone stops them. If they see a locked door, they kick it in. BIRD Secondary collects tools and skills. They build things, find things, learn things. If they see a locked door, they go through their box of keys until they find the right one. BADGER Secondary is fair, hardworking, and shows up. They’re good at getting people to trust them, and good at getting people to help them. If they see a locked door, they knock. SNAKE Secondary knows the right mask to wear for each situation. They’re adaptive. They go in the back way. They find the third option. They’re the ones who know how to pick the locks.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK has one heck of a Bird primary. He’s a philosophy student who “consider[s] too curiously,” thinking over the morality of his actions while playing thought-experiment games with Horatio. He knows his uncle is guilty, he suspects it from the beginning, but he can’t act on that gut feeling until he has some real proper outside evidence. He gets a bad feeling about the duel, but dismisses it as “foolery… such a kind of gain-giving as would perhaps trouble a woman.” Then decides that he can’t allow himself to suspect a trap behind every corner, and goes in to fight.

This is why sticking him in Elsinore Castle is such a good dramatic set-up. Everyone there is basically gaslighting him - treating the fact that his uncle married his mother and became the new king (instead of Hamlet, the old king’s son) as totally and completely normal. To stay sane, he needs Horatio standing there reaffirming his version of reality - yes, you’re right, the funeral and the wedding were weirdly close together. I believe you.

The other thing that makes me think Bird primary is the way Hamlet’s worldview changes. At first he’s lost, tortured by indecision (a very Bird primary problem). But then he talks to the Norwegian soldier and has the epiphany that people kill “even for an eggshell” [read: “for one corn chip”] all the time. He says “from this time forth / my thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth” and then they are. From then on, Hamlet’s the perfect Revenge Protagonist. Kills Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, zero guilt, doesn’t back down from the duel, stabs and poisons Claudius. In the last act he looks really Lion, because he’s adopted a more Lion-flavored personal philosophy.

Hamlet definitely models Snake secondary. But he’s very bad at it and fools no one. A short rundown of the critiques of Hamlet’s acting:

POLONIUS ~ “though this be madness/yet there is method in it” CLAUDIUS ~ “what he spoke, though it lacked form a little/ was not like madness” HORATIO ~ “these are but wild and whirling words my lord.”

(Arguably Hamlet fools Ophelia. Arguably.)

There’s also the Bird secondary model he uses to stage the elaborate psychological trap that is the play-within-a play, and forge the letter that kills Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Good penmanship, knowledge of plays, just some of the tools in Hamlet’s toolbox.

But, neither of those methods seem to be especially healthy for him. Hamlet is most comfortable, and most powerful, when he can just stare someone down and say the true thing. “I know not ‘seems’” is pretty much the first thing we hear him say. Again, it’s kind of cruel that this character is stuck in Elsinore, forced to wear so many alternate models.

So, when Hamlet is stressed he gets abrupt and he gets direct. He does that on/off thing which is very Lion secondary. (Do nothing… do nothing... do a bunch of stuff, all at once.) That climatic sword fight at the end is pure charging lion. He seemed to get along well with the pirates? And since Shakespeare is a writer who finds lion secondaries particularly tragic, it makes sense he’d give one to his most iconic tragic hero.

This also means Hamlet house-matches Ophelia, which is ultimately why I think they don’t work. They’re too alike. I’m not going to speculate much on which sortings are compatible with each other (hell if I know) but I will say this: being in a romantic relationship with your exact match is probably a bad idea. You are just going to double down on the weaknesses and have trouble coming up with alternate solutions when things go wrong.

Also, the way the Closet scene plays out makes me think that Gertrude and Hamlet both have to be Lion secondaries. Gertrude starts off using her snake secondary model, trying to deflect and maneuver around her son, but he uses that Lion to just be threateningly honest until she starts giving him real answers. Basically they scream true things at each other until they both calm down. Lion secondaries… are comforted by cathartic fights, in a way that I don’t think the other secondaries are. For Gertrude and Hamlet, it’s actually a wholesome bonding experience.

HORATIO is a really clean example of a Snake primary, and I love that for him. The only reason he does anything is because of Hamlet. That’s only thing in his life that matters, or possibly even exists. (“I do not know from what part of the world / I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.”) When Hamlet asks him why he’s come to Elsinore, the place so terrible it will drive you to alcoholism, Horatio says, “I came to see your father’s funeral.” I came because I thought you needed me. That’s it. Horatio stays in an incredibly dangerous and precarious situation because he doesn’t want Hamlet to be alone. He kind of needs to be a Snake primary, he doesn’t make sense otherwise.

As for secondary - Badger. He’s a badger. Horatio is the kind of solid, dependable guy who you call if you’re having ghost problems. And even though the guards think he has special ghost-busting knowledge (being a graduate of Wittenberg and all) that’s not how Horatio handles the situation. He talks to the ghost, he wants to know where it is coming from. Wants to know how he can help.

Horatio, possibly uniquely (since everybody else is a snake or lion secondary) has a really good grasp on the interpersonal dynamics of both the court and Denmark as a whole. When he needs to make Gertrude listen to him - make her take the Ophelia problem seriously - he talks about how her ravings are going to sew social unrest, that people are going to listen to her and hear what they want to hear. And at the end, he completely takes the reins from Fortinbras. Get me up on a stage, let me talk to the people, I know exactly hoe to calm them all down. Horatio’s got the courtier secondary.

He’s got such a correct and such an elegant mask (“custom hath made it in him a habit of easiness”) that I do think there’s a strict Badger performance in there as well. But nothing underneath it except more Badger. I don’t see him use the skills of any other secondary, and it’s Badger that he falls back on when he’s under pressure.

Horatio grounds Hamlet with his combination of solid Snake primary and solid Badger secondary. The prince is so much more stable and leveled out when he’s in a room with Horatio. It’s also very funny that Snake Badger has been identified as the love interest sorting, and like - well - I see it.

tl;dr

Hamlet - Bird primary / Lion secondary, unhealthy Snake and Bird models

Horatio - Snake primary / Badger secondary, Badger performance

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jostepherjoestar · 3 years

Note

After seeing tha La Squadra ask with the yakuza games I was wondering how the group would react if the yakuza La Squadra member had a few of their old yakuza friends visit Italy and their the characters from the yakuza games (let’s just say it’s in the same universe)

🐉 Former Yakuza La Squadra member gets a visit from Kiryu & Majima🐉 (multiple asks in one) (2,1k)

sfw // gn reader (reader is the former yakuza member)

After discovering Majima and Kiryu shared a mutual friend that had moved to Italy and joined a gang there, they were curious to know how they were faring, deciding on a whim to pay them a visit. Their old pal had left quite the impression on the two men back when they were part of the yakuza.

Set in an AU where the Yakuza in-game happenings and JJBA events take place in the same universe, the game does not exist, it’s just real life for the characters and La Squadra’s newest recruit that used to be in the Yakuza happened to be friends with Kiryu and Majima back in the day.

(Btw my interpretation of Majima when he’s alone with Kiryu is that he mostly drops his act and since he’s in a new country he is a little more timid towards strangers, don’t get me wrong, he will still start shit but maybe not as quick.)

It was a bright and sunny day, the sweet spring wind still holding some winter chill as it blew through your hair. You were sat on the bench across from the safe house, arms spread wide on the backrest, cigarette dangling on your lips while you basked in the warmth of sunshine. You quite enjoyed sitting like this, making it an uninviting scene for passersby or your teammates, not wanting anyone near you so you could relax in peace. Of course still on guard, never truly letting it down, there’s enough people out there that have a bone to pick with Passione, especially your division. You took another long drag of the cigarette, the overwhelming smoke entering your lungs like ashy clouds. But as you heard some rustling you reached over to grab the smoking bud and pressed it into the ground with your foot. There was something suspicious going on, you felt like you were being watched. You casually peered through half closed eyes at the building in front of you, no one had been staring through the windows. No, it felt like it came from a different direction. Lazily you stood up, stretching your core, twisting your middle from side to side while letting your arms get some movement, readying your body for possible combat. As you turned, you saw a trashcan wiggle in your peripheral. The movements looked very unusual, was there a cat stuck in it? But the can was placed so precisely on the corner of an alley, someone could easily be standing right around the bend to surprise-attack you. Picking up a rock and throwing it right at the middle of the can, even making an indent, you felt a bit idiotic for doing it. But still there was no further movement or sound. You were still curious so you without much thinking you crept closer. If it was an animal in need you’d feel bad to have left it to suffer.

As you stepped nearer, now in front of the dented can, having full vision of the alley you were met with someone you didn’t suspect in the slightest. “Kiryu-san?” You questioned, face frozen in shock. “Wh-what are you doing here? Am I dreaming?” you asked while rubbing your eyes, maybe if you rubbed them hard enough you’d wake up. The large man’s furrowed eyebrows softened as he was met with your familiar form. A small smile formed on his lips but he stayed quiet for some reason, opting to kick the trashcan in front of him instead. It burst open, the lid sent flying further into the alley as you both ducked for cover. “What the fuck Kiryu-chan?! I told you I got this!” Majima’s figure popped out, the snakeskin jacket crumpled from what looked like sitting in the confined space for far too long. You couldn’t believe your eyes, you’re sure your mouth was hanging open with eyes wider than a deer in headlights, like your brain had crashed and burned. “Ya went and ruined the surprise Kiryu-chan! And ya went and broke Oushi-chan as well.” The one eyed man gestured angrily while complaining, he’d planned out the perfect way to surprise you: to shock and fight you. But the only thing that snapped you out of your stupor was that stupid nickname, Oushi-chan. He basically called you a bull, giving you the nickname after you’d stormed angrily down the stairs of the Tojo Clan head office after a particularly frustrating meeting and nearly threw Majima down the stairs as you raced on by. “Stop calling me that! And what in the name of all that is sacred are you doing in Italy?” You hushed your yells as to not alert the entire neighbourhood of their arrival, helping the older man out of the trashcan. “We’d thought it was nice to come and visit you, see what you’ve been up to.” Kiryu calmly explained. “And calling was too expensive? You guys really scared the shit out of me!” Still filled with disbelief at their sudden appearance, but glad to see those familiar faces again. You did miss them too, the short time you shared with them still being remembered fondly. “Glad to see ya haven’t changed, ya did get an Italian accent though.” Majima playfully jabbed as he slung his arm around your shoulders. “Oh you’re one to talk about accents old man.” You prodded back as you pushed his arm off in annoyance, not taking any of the man’s teasing that easily. “Before you ask how we found you, I’ll explain.” Kiryu’s voice was still as deep as you remembered, telling you how they knew you were in Naples and even knew of Passione, it was just a matter of time until someone pointed you out (after some mild intimidation). Not that it was hard to spot you among the Italian men in your team. Hard for these two to talk, back in Tokyo you’d spot that grey suit and angry scowl from a mile away. And let’s not even pretend that Majima’s no-shirt-tacky-jacket-leather-pants look was any less eye catching. You huffed out a laugh, the shock of seeing these two finally wearing off as they started asking questions about how you’ve been and how work is. Happily chatting on the bench you were previously lounging on.

“So… what’s the nature of yer squad exactly? I mean ya look meaner than before, if that was even an option.” The one eyed man jested in a hushed voice, sure that it was a sensitive topic. “Well I like to think we’re the cleanup crew, bringing a bit more harmony to this field of work.” Ignoring his comment about your looks, sure that they helped you in this line of business. “That’s one way to phrase it.” Kiryu huffed out a chuckle, leaning his hands on his knees as he looked at you with a sympathetic smile. He admired your fervour, it was one of the reasons he was so fond of you. After hearing how you stood up against Majima and he didn’t slice you to bits, he was impressed at how you persuaded Majima to settle it through a game of hanafuda. The stoic man knew you liked to be alone, being used to it himself or rather preferring it somewhat over putting his loved ones in danger. He actually asked you to join his family if he ever became patriarch of his own one, he put a lot of trust in you.

After some more catching up you decided that perhaps you should show them around the house and introduce them to your teammates. Knowing how much they loved hearing your stories about your time in the yakuza, they’d surely appreciate to meet your old pals. You stepped in with the two men in tow, stopping in the entry way to hand your friends some slippers, it was a habit you never let go since moving here and you’d even convinced the rest of your house mates to go along with it. “Hey guys, I have some friends I’d like you to meet! Please don’t be weird!” You yelled loudly enough for the entire house to hear, even your capo on the top floor would be able to. Formaggio, Prosciutto and Pesci sauntered out of the living room, looking quite bored before noticing your two friends. Now they seemed interested. “So who’s the eye-patch guy and mister giant?” Formaggio joked as he elbowed Prosciutto who tutted his colleague for touching his suit. “Well these two gentlemen are my friends from Japan… from the yakuza…” it was so awkward to add that they were also involved in such things. You were pretty sure Kiryu was nearing his end run with the organisation anyway. “Oh and they do not understand a single word you’re saying, I’ll translate and yes I will filter out your jokes Formaggio.” You said in a serious tone. The two men behind you stood awkwardly awaiting any signal from you, Majima eyeing your teammates up and down, trying to get a good impression of them. Pesci seemed scared by the men but trying his best not to show it, only shaking a little. Majima thought him a perfect target to tease, holding himself back from his usual persona. “Prosciutto. Pesci. Formaggio.” Your blond colleague introduced them curtly, hands still in his pockets. Kiryu understood the introductions and gave a little nod, Majima followed with a grunt. “This is Majima-san and Kiryu-san.” The mingling of Italian and Japanese still being something you were trying to get used to, only having been able to speak Italian since you arrived. You led the men into the sitting room, the three colleagues retreating back to their card game while you and the other two sat down on the couches. Your colleagues weren’t really that interested it seemed or maybe just unsure of them for now. As you excused yourself to get some drinks for your guests, you were a little worried to leave them by themselves, you knew they could handle themselves physically, but it was more the communication part that you were worried about. You returned with a couple of glasses filled with juice as you saw Melone had slinked inside the living room, gently placing himself on the one seater next to the couch. “So who are these guys?” He asked curiously while leering, perhaps making Kiryu blush a little since Melone kept staring at him. You quickly introduced them to him and shushed him out of your seat, instead he sat on the armrests of the chair. Majima sat up a little, not really liking the looks of the purple haired one. “Is he always like that?” he asked, being a little weirded out. “Yes, yes he is.” You replied with a sigh as your teammate kept staring with a grin on his face, happy to just quietly observe.

You nearly sprung out of your chair when Risotto entered the doorway, feeling like you’d overstepped by bringing in your friends. Majima cocked an eyebrow at your behaviour, not knowing what superior could make you act like that. That was until he turned around as well. “Risotto I-, excuse me for bringing them in but they came all the way from Japan to check up on me.” You pleaded in a hurry as your capo took in the people in the room. “Don’t worry.” He said while giving a nod to the guests while taking them in, having a bit of a stare off with Majima or more like Majima didn’t want to lose eye contact. He felt an innate need to fight Risotto, not because he wanted to hurt him, he just wanted to see what the large man was made off. Risotto reminded Majima of his dear friend next to him. “I’ll be going back to work but please treat their guests nicely.” Risotto aimed his comment at the other men in the room, seeing them not really interact with the guests just yet. You sunk back down in your chair and sighed in relief. “He’s got ya whipped Oushi-chan.” Majima joked as he saw your cheeks get a little flushed.

Slowly but surely with lots of hard work the men actually started talking (with your help translating), Kiryu was still a bit demure but you didn’t expect him to be otherwise, respecting his usual style. After a while Prosciutto even invited them to play a round of cards, all sat around the table while he dealt them. A simple game of blackjack. You actually quite enjoyed the intermingling of your past and present, happy to know there were still people looking out for you back home. Not even sure if you were still allowed to call it home, having perhaps found a new one.

And yes Melone did ask to fight Majima, who quickly agreed since he thought the lithe man was weird and needed some readjusting. Of course Majima won, you sternly asked Melone not to use his stand. The whole thing was quite amusing actually, even Kiryu seemed to enjoy it.

#cozy ask #jjba au #jjba x reader #jjba fic #jjba x y/n #la squadra x reader #risotto x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #formaggio x reader #melone x reader #yakuza

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