#are they real ears or prostheses

[unecoccinellenoire]

i wish you would write a fic where … hesperia is flirting with our nathalie. she’s cool with it.

It happens in a matter of seconds. One moment she’s talking to a despondent Adrien on the sofa trying to coax out how exactly he got back to Paris from the train while the television drones on about Monarch and the next an explosion shatters the window.

Bomb, her mind screams at her.

Nathalie throws herself over Adrien instinctively, but her prostheses weigh her down and throw her off balance and when she lands it’s against the sofa without her charge in sight. And then a body lands against hers and panic that Adrien would try to protect her shoots down her spine before she belatedly registers she’s being shielded by someone larger than her not smaller.

As her saviour gently lifts her she relaxes against his purple suit, and lets her eyes rest for a second against the bright light as she inhales that soothing masculine scent of his. She might despise Gabriel right now, she might know that any safety he appears to offer is an illusion, but that doesn’t mean that illusion isn’t working for her right now.

“It’s alright madame,” he promises in a soft baritone that-

-that isn’t Monarch’s booming tones.

She opens her eyes. This isn’t Gabriel. He’d never wear just the Butterfly Miraculous when he has the rest of them, and even if he did this isn’t Hawk Moth. The mask only covers part of his place and his fair hair hangs freely over it.

Her brain buzzes in confusion. Or maybe that’s her ears ringing from the explosion. Either way she’s too out of it to come up with anything more sensible than, “safe?”

His eyes are kind but something sparks in them as he smiles. It looks familiar. It looks like how Gabriel had used to smile at Emilie before unleashing some phrase he thought was exceedingly charming.

“A place like this isn’t a good place for a pretty lady like you,” he says, “much as it’d be a pleasure to keep rescuing you I wouldn’t be much of a hero if I left you in danger like that.”

An embarrassing warmth spreads below her stomach. Flirtation isn’t wholly unfamiliar to Nathalie, for all that she’s buried in an industry where beauty is the currency and she hardly draws attention. But usually the flirtation comes loaded with ulterior motives from people who know who she is.

Then again. This man has apparently stolen the Butterfly Miraculous from Gabriel. No doubt he does know who she is and he does have ulterior motives.

She needs to get it together.

“A pleasure, Isn’t that a bit forward? I don’t even know your name.”

“Hesperia, my lady.” He looks like he’d tip a hat to her if he had one, “and yours? Is it worthy of you?”

“I don’t know about worthy. I’m Nathalie.”

“That’s a beautiful name. Like you. But I really should get you somewhere safe- I don’t like the sound of this Monarch character.”

“Monarch?” She traces the Miraculous on his chest, “didn’t you take this from him?”

“I’m sorry to dash your hopes. This isn’t my universe my dear.”

“Oh.” She studies his face, that tanned skin, those eyes, those cheekbones. “And you’re- a hero?”

She tries to imagine it. Gabriel, a hero and not a villain. Flirting with her rather than eternally loyal to Emilie. She can’t hold the image in her mind. It seems too impossible. And yet the man in front of her clearly exists, clear is a possibility.

“I try my best.” He says, still smiling.

She raises an eyebrow. “When you’re not flirting with random woman?”

Though maybe being easily distracted is a trait it’s easier to reconcile with her Gabriel. The real Gabriel. Because this man is probably someone completely different in his universe.

“Well-“

“Or am I not random? Do you know me back home?” She interrupts. If Gabriel could be a hero, could have moved on from Emilie then maybe-

“I’m afraid not. A loss I assure you. Now, I found you in Gabriel Agreste’s home. Does he have a panic room? A bomb shelter? Somewhere I can stow you safely.”

Her heart fell into her stomach. Of course he didn’t know her. Of course she was just a random distraction to him. How could she be so stupid that Gabriel still had this grip on her even as he cared more about defeating a teenager than he did about her life?

“If he did it wouldn’t be for me,” her tone was as sour as the bile in her throat. It wasn’t quite true. Gabriel had never changed the code to where Emilie lay. She could hide down there. Only she didn’t care not, “Gabriel wouldn’t care if I died.”

He’d as good as told her that. Told her that it wasn’t about Emilie anymore either.

“Nathalie, I’m sure-“

But she can’t bear to hear such reassurances from him. Screw it, she decides, and drags him down by his lapels and stops him with her mouth on his.

He’ll probably drop her and leave her here, or stop her and lecture her about the morality of kissing people without asking first. She doesn’t care right now. She needs him to stop. And she needs to indulge in the pretence offered by his flirtation. That someone could want her, love her.

She wants to kiss someone before she dies.

And she’s dying sooner rather than later.

Hesperia gasps against her. He doesn’t do any of those things she’s expected. He lets her tongue into his mouth, and he’s warm and wet and perfect and he tastes a little like Gabriel’s favourite coffee.

Nathalie is the one to stop, as another crash shakes the roof they’re on.

“You should go.” She says, “put me down somewhere on the streets. I’ll be fine. We’re used to akuma attacks here. And- sorry.”

Those infuriating eyes are all pity, “I think you needed that. I am sorry Nathalie. That you have to live through these, akuma did you call it? Attacks. For whatever this Gabriel Agreste has done to you. And that I can’t see you again. But I have-“

“Your own universe to get back to. I get it. And you wouldn’t like me if you knew me anyway.” He’s a hero after all. Nathalie is the opposite of that. “And I’ll probably already be dead by any time you might come back to this universe.”

His eyebrows drew together, the corners of his mouth drooped down, “I don’t know you Nathalie. But I can tell you that you deserved better.”

“I don’t.” She has no illusions about that. She brought this on herself when Emilie had asked them to let her go. She hadn’t even managed to succeed in saving her. And she’d failed completely to care for Adrien, and perhaps even Gabriel like she’d asked her to. “You should go.”

“Alright,” he jumped down to street level with her still cradled in his arms and then gently deposited her down on the ground, “but Nathalie, do something for me?”

“What?” What could she possibly do for him?

“Don’t lose hope.”

She’d lost that already, had lost it the moment Gabriel had admitted to not just giving his past self the USB she’d meticulously prepared.

The one she’d given him knowing it would save her and Emilie at the cost of the friendship between them because had Emilie never fallen sick they would have continued that relationship of just messages on birthdays and at Christmas that they’d had after Tibet.

Only to discover Gabriel wasn’t even willing to sacrifice his pride.

But looking at Hesperia she finds she didn’t have the cruelty to crush him with that reality. Maybe that means he isn’t Gabriel.

She sighs, “I’ll try.”

And as she watches him leap away she thinks that maybe that wasn’t entirely a lie. That maybe she has no hope for her but herself but she can hope for the Nathalie of that world, that she’s happy and will be loved back. Can hope that the heroes here will beat Gabriel and somehow Adrien can be protected through all of it. Can hope she can do enough to ensure he’s safe.

#nathalie sancoeur #betterfly #hesperia #mirror universe Gabriel Agreste #gabenath #nataleria #hespalie #betterlie #idk what we're calling this #btw sorry anon #both for the lateness and that I think this is angstier than you wanted

[ichorblossoms]

for the ask meme can i get uhhhh yarrow + face, serena + motion, grimm + favorite

HI HELLO JANE!!!!! sorry this took awhile to get around to answering i wrote all the text and told myself i was gonna draw pictures for these and then i got distracted because i wanted to draw. other pictures instead :,D BUT without further ado !!

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

i don't trust my writing skills enough to write a description. their face:

i talked a little bit abt their facial features in this ask, but yeah, the Bee Stuff is definitely what people notice first. yarrow's modification was an experimental one, so while most people are kinda used to seeing humods with fur on their faces or weird ears or maybe horns and whatnot, invertebrate features are rare and jarring. this does cause issues when you're trying to be discreet, so yarrow tries their best to wear bandanas or masks. even pre-modification they actually wear something to the effect of a bandana or surgical mask often; partially because They Are A Doctor and also because they live in a mining town that doesn't give a shit about how much dust is kicked up from the open-pit mining

pre-modification i'm not sure what people would notice first; they have a few small defining features like their dimples, yellow-gold eyes, straight teeth, patchy facial hair, and mole on their right cheek, but overall nothing out of the ordinary. i think it's less features people notice, and a general impression of openess? he's quick to smile, talkative, and expressive, so people usually feel like they can approach him

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

having trained in martial arts for most of her life, serena's very coordinated and flexible! she also has a muscular stature and she can make herself very difficult to move if she doesn't want to. she's aware of her size and generally has a slouch to her posture and walks with a bit of a trudge and lope if that makes sense? she has enough control though to where she can move almost freakishly quiet and it scares people on occasion

ofc she doesn't wear clothes, but she does have her prosthesis!

she's got both an everyday and a sport prosthesis, so while her movement isn't necessarily affected by that, she's less willing to run or do anything intense if she just has her everyday prosthesis on (that's the one i draw, i need to look more into sport prostheses for humans and adapt a design from there)

bc she's a congenital amputee, the only real adjustment she's had to do irt her leg is adapting to a new prosthesis every few years, so she has a solid sense of moving with or without it on. i've been trying to determine if she has smthin like an adapted wheelchair as well, but since dragons are quadrupeds and she's only missing part of a limb, it may not be necessary when she also has her tail and wings to help counterbalance during movement...? there's also the factor that she doesn't have a lot of money, so regardless of what she has to assist her, it's not always top-quality and she's learned to live with a certain level of discomfort and pain

speaking of wings, flying is something dragons can do, but it's a lot like running where most ppl can't do it for longer periods of time unless they train. it's not as necessary in modern society, so most dragons can fly for short bursts if needed/for fun. with the exception of a few who do things like, idk fly to work, most rely on transit bc it's easier. serena's ability to fly is Okay, she's accumulated some damage to her wings over the years (side effect of martial arts where other people have claws and horns), which makes her less aerodynamic and more easily tired out. she's got a good handle on her body and how it moves, so she's actually pretty graceful in the air and not aware of that fact at all. overall, she prefers not to fly, but still maintains a healthy habit of working out those muscles so they don't atrophy, which is a thing that happens with modern dragons.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

am i allowed to saw wrench here. i'm gonna say wrench

saying wrench is grimm's favorite accessory is actually a stretch bc it loathes wearing it, but adores wrench as a companion but if we are purely talking abt clothing here, grimm's not the sentimental sort, so it doesn't hold on to things once they're to worn nor does it worry about wearing things out. which is the boring answer

wrench is only worn as armor a handful of times in-story and in dire circumstances (that i. have not quite figured out yet <3). grimm fucking hates wearing it, hates the way it takes them back to their past, hates the way it doesn't quite fit their body anymore and hurts if they wear it too long, hates why they even have to wear it, but it's protection and a weapon in one, and they don't have many options.

i talked abt wrench a little bit when you asked abt it here, but wrench is both an artifact of grimm's past and a dear friend. as an animal companion/robot grimm does maintain wrench to an extent and it's a good dog that doesn't age like normal animals, they have a close pet/owner bond. when it comes to "wearing" it, transforming (so to speak) doesn't cause any wear and tear on wrench itself, since that is one of the purposes it was built for, but the situations in which grimm would don wrench may result in damage and there's also an element of wanting to keep wrench safe. aside from being armor, wrench can also do stuff like jam signals for short periods of time and sense heat signatures, so it does have an interest in preserving wrench for its own work and safety as well, but it's also a pet, yknow?

post-story i'm p sure grimm and yarrow would get something equivalent to married. yarrow's the romantic and the one to suggest it ofc, but grimm's like "hell, if i'm going to symbolically tie their life to someone else's it wouldn't be anyone but yarrow" and whatever sort of wedding band/necklace/wearable symbol they choose would become grimm's favorite, esp since it represents a version of themself they like being

#asks #THANK YOU AGAIN!!!!!!! #LOVE TALKING ABOUT THEM #i was like 'oh i'll get these asks done [two weekends ago]' and then. i didn't. bc my brain is a goo. and also i'm stupid #oops! all 3/4 view facing right. ignore that hgkflhdlg #honeybee #thicker than water #art #yarrow #serena #grimm

[transhuman-priestess]

you ever do any body mods? i don't have the money for anything serious (i want elf ears and vampire teeth soooo bad) but whenever i feel the mutilation urge, i give myself a small tattoo. i think it gives me the same sense of control + release of tension that self harm would, only i also get the benefits of working on an art project. if you have the money and can find someone to do it safely, scarification might be a good outlet for you?

I have a couple tats and I’d love to get more but I have zero disposable income.

I actually haven’t done any real self harm to myself in a couple years now. I know I post a lot about how fucked up I am but believe it or not I’m actually in a pretty stable place, mentally.

Also, more to the point, the body mods I want don’t exist, or rather, they do exist but medical science won’t let me amputate healthy limbs so I can replace them with myoelectric prostheses

[foxgloveprincess]

Shifting Gears

A Story Written by pisseddaddy (In Collaboration With @foxgloveprincess​)

Pairing: Stucky x Female Reader [First Person]

Summary: Small town life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Especially when everyone’s a piece of shit. We all wear our masks, but how long until they fall?

Warnings: Rape (Non-Con that kinda turns into Dub-Con at the end, Fingering, Cunnilingus, Unprotected Sex, Holding Someone Down, Forced Orgasm, Biting), Dark Fic, Manipulation, Possessive Behaviour, Modern AU, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Cynicism, Cursing, Misogyny. Please proceed with caution. 

Words: 5.7k

Credits: For the beautiful edits of sexy Steve and Bucky made by @nix-akimbo​ and to the anon who inspired this: link

Song lyrics from Frank Sinatra’s ‘That’s Life’.

A/N: Steve and Bucky are veterans but they didn’t fight in WW2 (this is part of a modern AU).

This story was written by pisseddaddy (also known as the nonnie who calls me bunny). If you haven’t read through the asks on my blog between us, she approached me to ask if I could help her with this project and I agreed, stepping in to help her edit her story and share it with all of you (since she doesn’t have a Tumblr of her own). We both have enjoyed working together and are now ready to share this with all of you!

Dividers by firefly-graphics

We would love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post this work, at all.

I guess I would be the Beta on this one, but I’m human and fallible, so all mistakes are my own. 😊 If I’ve missed any tags, please let me know.

Enjoy!

Tagging (with no obligation to read, just if you want): @nix-akimbo​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @slothspaghettiwrites​ @kleohoneyao3​ @caffiend-queen​

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age, thank you!

Life in a small town is simple. Time ticks differently—slower—here.  You do what you need to do in order to survive. Preferably with the least amount of effort.

So, maybe not so simple. But it’s what I’ve gotten used to.

I’ve learned to stay unobtrusive, cautious, always act friendly, speak only when spoken to—just stay as invisible as possible if you don’t want to end up the talk of town. Of course, men are freer than women, their actions less scrutinized, lauded more for less. The scales of equality imbalanced.

I think Orwell understood something vital when he picked pigs for his Animal Farm. Our mayor, for example, is a fine pig, if you ask me. A greedy, slimy, old, ugly brute hungry for power, dominance and luxury—or as he prefers to describe himself, a sensualist with a great love for the finer things in life. His grabby, unwelcome hands pinching every ass they can reach. But he’s not the only dangerous character in town.

Enter two dubious mechanics, Steve Rogers and James ‘call-me-Bucky’ Barnes. Yes, those two know the art of deception.

I will admit, they cut a fine figure, both Adonis-like in stature. And I would be lying if I said they’re not wanking material—tall, ripped, asses you can crack nuts with, the body of real soldiers. Their faces angelic, Rogers’ framed with honey-gold locks and Barnes’ with chestnut brown curls.

Apropos soldiers—they’re veterans. Yep, makes them to two real heroes, I guess. Rogers came out of that hell quite unharmed, but Barnes paid a higher price. He lost his left arm to the fight. Sure, the army compensated him with a first-class prostheses, a cybernetic arm, all shiny titanium. For whatever reason, it seems to be quite the fantasy for the ladies here, but it can’t really replace the real thing.

When it comes to their characters—well, that’s a whole other story. Rogers is the more social one. Always ready with an attentive ear for everyone, respectful to the elders in the community, and helpful where he can be. Barnes is more reserved, farouche even. Maybe because of his arm. Though in general, both always have a friendly smile on their face, a cocky grin here, and a respectful greeting there.

Their lifestyle is, indeed, always the talk of the town. Both living together in a tiny apartment over their shop. You can guess how such an arrangement stimulates the imagination of small-minded people.

The men tend to be more pragmatic saying, “They’re both vets. They saw and did things during their service no man should. Of course, they want to be left alone more often than not. And with the way the women in this town prattle and giggle. Who can blame them? But they’re some fine lads.”

The women are often more imaginative.

As for myself, I’m sure—deeply, instinctually sure—they’re as fishy and filthy as the rest of the town. After all, in the end, we’re all wearing masks.

The only problem is that avoiding them is nigh impossible. They have the only mechanic garage for miles, Goddamnit. When your car is broken, tough shit—they’re your only viable option.

I’m still cursing the day when I had to call them because Putin—my car, named jokingly after the Russian President—packed up. I should have expected it, really. It’s a very old Lada my grandfather bequeathed to me after his death. He bought it in Berlin during his stationing as a soldier in the late 80s, and then brought it home. He often told me stories of how his German friend and he used it to smuggle everything from West Berlin to East Berlin and, sometimes, vice versa. His favourite story involved catching a glimpse of Putin, himself, at Checkpoint Charlie. Although, everyone knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. Yet he swore it until the day he died, and thus, the car earned the name Putin. And the name is still fitting: a death-trap, way past its time for retirement, and the bane of my existence. But I digress.

The first time I met them was actually okay. I can’t really recall the exact circumstances, maybe one night dancing at the bar or out and about at a local funfair. In the end, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is this: it was the first nail in my coffin.

They were friendly, polite, funny—everything the townsfolk usually described them as, but there was a heaviness in the air. The subject of our conversation escaped me. Surely the usual, unimportant small talk like ‘How is work?’, ‘Still unmarried I see’, ‘A nice fella will come and make a real woman out of you soon’. And the only thing you can do is smile, nod like a good puppet, think to yourself that this prick can go fuck themselves, find a shitty excuse to leave, and repeat the same shit with the next person.

But with them—it was as if I was the joke without even realizing it. The skin prickling at the back of my neck, my hairs standing on end. Something set my inner alarm blaring and if I had known what I know now…I would have driven Putin into a very deep, watery grave.

Shit started when that stupid hunk of metal decided to quit its job. I was doing business for Mrs. Baker; a lovely old lady for whom I work.

Usually, I only take care of her accounting. But her only son called in sick—well, really, the sucker either couldn’t hold his liquor or didn’t know his limits—and wasn’t able to do his job. I was asked to do his deliveries. And you can’t exactly say no to an old lady, who’s your boss, and lets you rent for cheap in small town like this without becoming persona non grata.

So, I plastered a smile on my lips, forced out a meek, “Of course, Mrs. Baker. No problem, Mrs. Baker,” and saw to the deliveries as quickly as possible.

Have I already told you that my damn car decided to quit? In the middle of nowhere. I had no other option but to call Stucky’s Garage—God, who came up with that stupid name anyway?

Lucky me, it was just a small problem with the battery. Unlucky me, James ‘call-me-fucking-Bucky’ Barnes was the one I had the honour of working with. That bozo was even creepier than his bestie, Rogers.  

But it wouldn’t be the last time I saw him. After that day, the damn car broke down three. more. times.

Have I said it would’ve been a wiser decision to just drown Putin in a very deep lake?

The sun shone bright and warm as I drove home one day. And this bucket of bolts decided it would be a great idea to play ‘Guess Who’s Quitting’—again.

Not again, please, I silently prayed, resting my head against the steering wheel, eyes squeezed shut and a wave of hopelessness washing over me. How is it possible that this damn car kept fucking breaking down? I just had a car repair last week.

I drew a deep breath into my lungs, calming my initial panic. Stucky’s Garage was not an option I wanted to choose. The last three times were uncomfortable enough—Barnes’ leering stare inspecting me like a prized breeding cow. I bet if he could, he would have weighed my breasts like udders, inspected my eyes and teeth for illness, and given me a slap on the ass when he was through and decided to buy me. I didn’t care if they’re well respected and nice to everyone else, every time I found myself around them, a sickening feeling washed over me and my blood ran cold.

I could call the auto shop of the neighbouring town. But fuck, they’re miles away—definitely not gonna drive all the way here. And even if they did come, how was I supposed to explain myself? People would talk when they heard word of it.

What would I say when they asked, “Cutie, what’s with that nonsense?” or confronted me to say, “We’re all a big family. We support each other.” And those would be the G-rated conversations.

Sighing heavily, my only option loomed over me like a weight on my shoulder. So I scrounged around my glovebox, found their card, and extracted my mobile phone from the depths of my backpack. Reluctantly, I typed each number into the keypad and waited with bated breath as the line rang.

“Stucky’s Garage what can I help you with?” greeted a deep, melodic voice.

My eyes closed as I gathered my voice and mumbled in reply, “Yeah. My car. It’s broken…again. It won’t start. I’ve checked everything. Don’t know what the problem is now.”

 A sonorous chuckle resounded over the phone speaker in response. “Well, kitty, give me your whereabouts and I’ll pick you up.”

My eyes glanced about my surroundings, muttering my location along the road. And with a final word, the call ended.

Wiping my sweating palms on my baggy jeans, my mind wandered in contemplation. My attention finding a focus on the denim, somewhat peculiar in a town where proper women wore only skirts and dresses. Jeans were for men, baggy and often ill-fitting, paired with a white ribbed tank and a chequered shirt. My fashion choices often made me stick out like a sore thumb, but I had my reasons—one being that pig of a mayor with his wandering hands—reason enough to forgo being considered a true lady.

Lost in thought, Rogers’ truck surprised me as it pulled up to tow my car. My eyes flashed to the clock on my dashboard, mildly stunned by such a hasty arrival. Rogers stepped out of his vehicle, his figure strong and broad, the tails of his open button-down shirt waving in the wind.

“Again, kit-kat”, he laughed, leaning his forearm over the window of my car and lowering himself to catch a peek of me, “It seems you enjoy our services quite a bit.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I rebutted bluntly, “I had my car fixed last week and now it’s wrecked again. I’d say you’re doing a sloppy job.” My fury bled into my tone, vexed by his audacious claim and raring for a fight.

“Now, girlie, you better behave and watch that dirty mouth of yours,” he bit, his tone strict and eyes wild, staring me down as his jaw ticked in irritation.

I choked out a small “sorry,” and climbed quickly into his breakdown vehicle. My mind raced, struck by my knee-jerk response to his ire—that was new, addressing him so weakly. Despite my normal meek and mild demeanour, they never failed to draw out that fighting instinct. My eyes narrowed as I watch him hook up my car to his truck, more wary of him than before.

The truck shifted slightly as he hauled himself into his seat, a heavy sigh breezing past his lips, “I know it’s frustrating that your car keeps breaking down. Tell you what. Today we’ll fix your car for free.” He cut his eyes to me, dark with mischief and desire. His hand reached over to pet my thigh, fingers stoking up and down in a sensual caress. “You know, cause of the sloppy job.” His lips quirked in a cocky smirk—bastard.

I held my tongue and nodded, shifting on my seat to squirm away from his touch.

You’re probably thinking: ‘Oh God. That’s gonna be a long ride.’ You’d have been wrong. It was a blip in comparison to what happened after.

The ride itself didn’t take long and Rogers managed to drive without further inappropriate advances. Unfortunately, the moment he stopped in front of the garage I realized how completely alone I was with the two men whom I despised. My stomach immediately sank with dread.

“Get out and tell Bucky we’re here, will you, kitten?” Rogers requested—though with the brutish grunt of it from his lips, it sounded much more like a demand than an actual question.

My feet found the solid ground outside of his truck, kicking up dust in my wake as I hesitantly scuffed my way into the shop. The air smelled of old oil, rust, wet concrete, and cigarettes. Music drifted around the room, old-fashioned crooners lilting their lyrics as a soundtrack. Something from the 50s or 60s, some of my personal favorites. Frank Sinatra, a man who knew his setbacks, the love of my life. My ear perked up, catching the words as they played from a crackling radio.

I said that's life (That's life)

And as funny as it may seem

Some people get their kicks

Stomping on a dream

But I don't let it, let it get me down

Cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin' around

I reached the counter, a big used book and a bell sitting atop the cracked linoleum. Staring at the bell, I couldn’t bring myself to tap on it and draw attention to myself. Instinct screaming at me to turn around and run away—leave this place and my car and get as far away as possible. Just leave a note and get the hell out of here.

But before I could force my body to move, Rogers suddenly stood behind me, trapping me between him and the counter. His fingers smacked the small mechanism of the bell, the ding shattering any chance I had for a hasty escape. The sharp chime echoed through the room and down the hall. Rogers’ smell invaded my senses, a strong musky scent that tickled my nose.

His breath brushed against my ear, “Kitten, what is wrong with you today? You seem so tense. Here let me help you,” he whispered soothingly to me, like a secret meant for just the two of us.

He started massaging my shoulders, his hands kneading all the knots. I bit back a moan of pleasure. It felt so good—sogood. His fingers pressing against all the tension locking up my back, muscles melting as the stress drained away. Fuck. Never in my whole life had I received such amazing treatment.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice scathingly scolded, ‘Bitch. Focus. He’s touching you without permission,’ but it was so far away, so easy to ignore. And the massage felt so good. I couldn’t help but dissolve into a needy, mewling mess.

“That’s it. That’s it, kitty. Let go,” his voice soothed, lulling me further and further away from rationality.

I didn’t even notice the small rhythmic brushes of his pelvis. How he rubbed his hardening cock against my ass—smoothly, gently. I was so lost in state of needy hunger that I missed Bucky approaching from down the hall, eyes dark and hyper-focused on the scene like a predator.

“Having fun, I see,” he chuckled, an amused smile on his smug face, posing in place like he owned the whole damn world in his stupid blue jumpsuit. The upper part wrapped around his waist, the arms tied in knots, exposing his athletic chest barely covered by the stretched cotton of his white tank.

My eyes caught the glint of his cybernetic arm. The first time I had ever allowed myself to look, curious at the design of the prosthetic. The plates shifted as he flexed and crossed his arms over his chest. Was that clicking coming from his arm?

That noise, that mechanical whirr, was enough to snap me back to my senses. With a heave of force, I pushed Rogers away, leveraging just enough space between the counter and him to squirm out. My cheeks filled with embarrassed heat, mentally berating myself at my folly.

All I wanted was to leave this damn place, so I let that instinct guide me, turning on my heel and ready to run. But before I even took one step, Rogers caught me, holding me tight against him, my back crushed to his chest. One of his arms settled between my breasts, the other wrapping around my belly, yanking my body back around and forcing me to turn my attention to Barnes.

“Now, now. No reason to be embarrassed. In fact, you should feel flattered. Usually, we don’t treat our customers so warmly,” he taunted, cleaning his flesh hand with a dirty cloth and removing the glove from the other. “Furthermore, Steve already told me that we’re fixing your car for free. Sloppy jobs aren’t something we want to be associated with.” He stared at me, a shit-eating, self-satisfied grin stretching his lips—God, I wanted to punch it. “Follow me into the office where we can discuss your problem.” Barnes bid as he turned away and led us back to a small office.

I didn’t want to move. Really, I didn’t. But Rogers had me in such a strong grip and with every step he took, he nudged my feet forward, forcing me to match his progression down the hall. And then there we stood in that damn room, the door locking behind me with a click.

The room was littered with junk, cupboards lining the walls, piled high with papers. A desk sat in the middle, smeared with oil stains and ink smudges. An ashtray pushed to one corner of the desk, filled with a mound of ash and stubbed out gaspers.

Rogers sat on the desk, positioning me to hold me tight while sniffing at my hair like a rabid dog, running his nose over the skin behind my ear. My shirt hung off my shoulders, dishevelled and wrinkled. The strong man and my fear immobilized me while Barnes stood proudly at my front, one hand on his hip, cocky smirk mocking.

“Surely you remember our first encounter,” he said, stalking toward us.

I shook my head in denial, thoughts jumping with each step closer he took. He paused before me, cocky grin melting away, and I tensed. As if it wasn’t enough that Rogers was already violating my personal space, Barnes reached out, stroking my cheek tenderly with so much naked adoration in his eyes—it certainly wasn’t helping me one bit.

“That’s okay,” he assured softly, “We remember. The mask you wore. Always so good. Always a smile on those beautiful lips. Always answering meekly. Always so polite.” He chuckled quietly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “But we saw through your façade. So much contempt and disdain in those shiny eyes. It’s kinda surprising how much hate fits in such a lovely body.”

My head shook. I didn’t want to hear this—I wanted to get out of here. Wriggling my body, I contorted my posture to push, pull, kick—anything to escape—but Rogers and Barnes held me steady in their unrelenting grasp.

“Yes,” he purred, “the truth hurts. But it’s not like this is news to you.” His voice dropped low, secretive, sultry. “It intrigued us how well you played you part. Always giving your opposite the feeling of superiority, never taking it for yourself. That’s what people like—feeling superior—and if you play your role well enough, they’re willing to pay. Handsomely.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, needing answers. Because this conversation—or, better, monologue—made my palms sweat and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My initial feeling of dread spread over my whole body, dripping down my spine like molasses.  

“Because we want to give you what you really want. Freedom. Freedom from this constricting social cage.” His fingers brushed delicately over my cheek. “I mean, in the end, a wild cat like you doesn’t belong here.” A twinkle glittered in his eyes, shining at me in delight.

A flicker of anger danced through me as I bit out, “Deal.” I jerked my head away from Barnes’ caress. “Let me the hell out of here. I don’t fucking like your games.”  My shoulder dug into Rogers as I thrust it back, trying to get away.

“In due time,” he replied cryptically with a brief nod to Rogers, and suddenly I was pressed face first onto the table. Barnes moved behind me, pushing my hips painfully against the edge, resting over me and caging me with his body. “Stevie, hold her arms.”

In a flash—too quick for me to really react—Rogers had my upper arms in a vice-like grip, stretching me out in an awkward position across their desk. Continuing to wriggle like crazy, determined to gain my freedom, the reality slowly set in that I was completely trapped. The fight within me intensified, my lips pulled into a feral snarl as I bucked and kicked back, heated adrenaline rushing through my bloodstream.

“Wild cat. Don’t make things more difficult,” Bucky grunted, tearing at the zip of my jeans and ripping the denim down to my knees, “It will happen one way or another.”

With his foot, he pushed my jeans to my ankles, the sound of his boot thumping against the floor. My knees smacked against each other at the harsh movement, my whole body nearly falling backwards. Only Rogers’ hold on my upper arms, tightening immediately in response to my loss of balance, kept me in my bent position.

“Steady. Steady.” A breathless laugh left Barnes’ mouth. His groping hands pushed my hips back against the edge of the table, pinning me in place. “I imagine you must be totally confused,” he mused, stroking the exposed skin of my rump in a soothing gesture, hovering over me once again. His hands wandered under the hem of my shirt, tracing upward along my side to place his warm palm against my belly and knead the bit of excess flesh there. Though I remained motionless, my teeth ground together, seething at his boldness. But both men paid my ire no mind. And when Bucky was satisfied, he moved on until his fingers graced the underside of my breasts. Stroking the skin there delicately but refraining from really touching them.

Humiliation surged hot up my spine, splashing across my cheeks, which I tried to hide in the crook of my arms. But Rogers kept them firm in his control, giving me no leeway to hide from my violation.  

Barnes dipped his head closer to me, his breath tickling me at the nape of my neck, “I know you’re scared,” he crooned into my ear, “but this will be good for you—for us.” His hand cupped my tits, kneading them lewdly, rolling my nipples between his pinched fingers and sending little jolts of pleasure down to my pussy. Small moans escaped my lips, forced out from his ministrations even as I tried to bite them back.

My chest rose and fell heavily with my gasping breaths. And Barnes took my reluctantly debauched state as a signal to move to the next level.

“Stevie, hold her tight. She’s gotta stay put.”

Barnes lowered himself down to his knees, hooking his fingers into my white panties and pulling them carefully down, until his view of my ass was unobstructed. My legs shivered. From what, I didn’t know—the cool air, the fear, the potential for pleasure, the adrenaline.

“We’re not gonna hurt you. Never,” Steve rasped, blue eyes blown black with lust, his fingers gently stroking the skin of my upper arms, even as he held me tight.

The vulnerability of my position gnawed at my guts, a nauseous, terrified feeling. The newness of this situation added to the sickness—never had I let a man so close to my most intimate parts—but Barnes didn’t care.

He spread my legs as wide as the taut fabric of my jeans would allow and dove in, lapping doggedly at my lower lips and clit. Nothing could prepare me for a sensation so new, so foreign. I shrieked at the first contact of his tongue and tried to escape, pushing my weight on my hands and tipping forward to stand on my toes.

Steve only laughed, preventing any further movement and pushing my upper body back to lean on my elbows. His fingers brushed over the apples of my cheek, a warm caress, as he tilted his face dangerously close to mine.

“This is important,” he assured, eyes sparkling with an adoring stare. “We need to bond.” His teeth flashed at me when he smiled, the expression making my knees weak. “You know, men fall in love with a woman before sex.” His fingers continued to brush over my cheeks, my skin prickling under his touch. “Women fall in love afterwards. We already love you. We love you somuch.” His voice dropped to a low whisper, his words ringing in my ears like a sinister threat. “Now it’s your turn.”

Before my mind could even fathom the stupidity of his statement, Steve’s lips descended, capturing mine in a tender kiss. Working together with Bucky’s ministrations, my mind whirled, too distracted to form even one clear thought.

It was just too much.

Though Steve started kissing me softly, almost chaste presses of his lips against mine—small butterfly kisses that intoxicated me—they soon turned sloppy, wild, feverish. Throaty, whining mewls rushed past my lips, but Steve swallowed every noise I made, muffling me with flicks of his tongue.

Steve assaulted my senses from the front, Bucky from the rear—his needy mouth sucking at my folds, licking with the flat of his tongue from my hole to my clit, thrusting inside my fluttering walls.

I freed my lips from Steve’s, gasping in desperately needed air. He allowed me the short reprieve, but kept my face close. Exchanging breaths between our gaping mouths, his breath fanning into mine, my moans responding in answer.

“Bucky, I think she’s close,” Steve groaned, eyes flitting briefly over my shoulder before returning to my face.

A sharp, surprised shriek punched out of my lungs, my pleasure killed in an instant. Jerking away from Bucky, my nose pushed into Steve’s cheek, shock coursing through my veins. What the actual fuck—that ass just bit me, that fuckhead really just bit my pussy, hard.

“Bucky is a bit of a biter,” Steve explained easily with a laugh.

I moved my face away from his as much as he’d allow and stared into his eyes, dumbfounded. No shit.

Steve only laughed harder in response, his fingertips digging into my cheeks. Even Bucky joined in the amusement, chuckling into my sensitive folds, another brush of his teeth over my swollen flesh prompting my hips to jolt away. But with their combined grip, even in their mirth, they didn’t let me get far.

Slowly, Bucky stood from his position behind me, nibbling on my inner thighs and my rump. His legs pressed to the back of mine as he loosened up the knot of his sleeves around his hips, jostling the rest of his jumpsuit until it hit the floor. He shoved up my shirt, kissing along my spine until he draped over me again, pressing his nose to the back of my neck. His feet shuffled forward that miniscule bit more to press our bodies flush together. The air whooshed out of my lungs as his teeth nipped at my nape, his facial hair tickling over my skin.

His dick slotted against my pussy lips. His pelvis rocking languidly, coating his cock with my arousal.

Panic lanced through me, feeling the heated weight of his girth so close to my entrance—a slap of reality splashing over me. Like a wild, captured animal I wriggled my body—once again fighting to get free.

But my movements had the opposite effect from my aim, Bucky groaning deeply, his hard cock pressing more insistently between my folds. I ceased my struggle immediately, but the damage was done. He nearly collapsed on top of me, rutting against me whilst restraining my movements. Only Steve supported us on the desk, holding my arms diligently.

Steve caught my face before it could hit the sturdy wood, his large hand engulfing the right side in a touch too hot.

My eyes met his, pleading, “You said you want me to be free. So let me go. I don’t want this.” Tears pricked the back of my eyes, threatening to spill out and down my cheeks.

“Wild cat,” he cooed in response, “Everything has its price. You of all people should know that.”

As if to punctuate his partner’s remark, Bucky thrust into me. Never in my whole life had I felt so stuffed and full. With every inch Bucky pressed into me, he groaned and panted harder, the caress of his breath fanning across my skin.

“Fuck, kit-kat. You’re so damn tight. Made for my cock,” he moaned, throaty and guttural—more like an animalistic growl than any man-made noise.

The pain of being split on Bucky’s cock was not bad—physically. But, God, why was this situation so fucked up? I wasn’t supposed to like it. Yet I could not deny that I felt the slick drip of my juices down my thighs.

I took a deep breath, centring myself so I could form some cohesive thought. Calm down. A natural reaction of the body is to protect itself from any harm. Deep breaths. Stay calm. This didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t take long to become somewhat accustomed to his intrusion inside me. And, as if psychic, he chose that moment to start moving his hips gently, pulling out and pushing in. It felt good—too good. My teeth sank into my lower lip and my fingers curled, scrambling for purchase on the wood top of their desk.

Bucky’s tentative jolts quickly turned into something more deliberate. One hand gripping my hip, the other—the metal one—cupping my belly again. His fingers pressed against my flesh, the bulge of him inside me appearing and disappearing with each thrust of his dick. He groaned, long and low and deep.

“Kitten, feel this,” he prompted, grasping my left hand and placing it on my belly. He secured my hand in place with his metal one, interlacing his fingers with mine.

It felt so strange, feeling him thrust inside me, feeling the shape of his cock enter and re-enter, feeling his metal hand clasping mine. It was intoxicatingly, perversely erotic and I couldn't help but moan.

My orgasm built slowly, so lost in pleasure that I missed Steve letting go of my arms, stepping away from us. But then I registered his presence somewhere behind me.

“Bucky, baby, lift your shirt. Give me a good show,” he rasped, breathy and tense.

Bucky grunted in annoyance, but straightened his posture, allowing Steve a full view of our bonding. Metal fingers retracted from mine, his hand moving from my belly. He told me to stay in place, his left hand mimicking his right and clamping over my hip.

My eyes flicked over my shoulder, catching sight of Steve shoving his jean under his ass, enough to free his cock, stroking it slowly and massaging his tip.

“I don’t think I can’t hold it any longer,” Bucky panted, fingers pulsing around my hips, digging into my skin, sure to leave bruises. “She’s too damn tight and so warm. Fuck, best pussy I’ve ever had.” His movements became more erratic, pushing my hips upward into a strange angle so that the brush of his pelvis assaulted my clit.

And, Goddamn it, if that wasn’t exactly what I needed. I came. Hard. With a silent scream on my lips, a deep guttural moan bubbling up behind it.

Bucky followed me into his climax moments later, the sensation of his warm spend spurting into me accompanied by the sudden heavy weight of his body. Our chests heaved with deep inhales of much-needed oxygen, our respective highs flushing through our systems. His breath brushed across my shoulder as he peppered small kisses everywhere he could reach. He buried his nose at the base of my hairline, whispering a small, breathless, “Hot bitch,” like a sweet nothing.

When he found his strength, Bucky pushed up to hover over me again. His cybernetic hand touched my throat, forcing my face to meet his. He bent to give me a chaste kiss, leaning his forehead gently against mine. His eyes closed, a content expression painting his features.

Absurdly, that felt more intimate than the sex itself. Just then, a thought sprang to mind—that was our first kiss. The whole time he never kissed me, only Steve. A confused intrigue fluttered in my belly.

“Bucky. Move.”

Reluctantly, Bucky let go of me, huffing in irritation at Steve’s impatience.

My limbs felt like jelly, Bucky’s cum running down my thighs in globs and I barely had the strength to hold myself up. But before I fell Steve caught me, swiftly flipping my body around and until my back met the table.

Sweat clung to my body, the exertion finally taking its toll. But in the end, I honestly didn’t care anymore. I knew what happened next and had no strength to fight it.

While Steve took his time, pulling off my shoes and removing my jeans, freeing me from the makeshift restraints, Bucky pulled up his jumpsuit and dragged a chair next to the table. His eyes remained locked on my form, as he adjusted his seat to find the perfect spot. He took my hand and intertwined our fingers again, resting our hands on the table next to my head.

My mind floated, lost in the foggy absurdity of the moment, when Steve suddenly grabbed my legs and dragged me closer. I squeaked—a pathetic sound—and scrambled for a hold on his biceps for some sort of security.

“My beautiful wild cat,” Steve purred, bending over me with a glint of dark lust in his eyes. “Now it’s time to love me.” He captured my lips with his, his cock splitting me open and hitting home.

So here I am—and this shit is definitely far from over. But when did I start calling them by their first name?

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king

I've been up and down and over and out, and I know one thing

Each time I find myself laying flat on my face

I just pick myself up and get back in the race

#stucky x reader #dark stucky #tw rape #reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark fic #mechanic stucky #modern au #tw non con #tw dub con #dark fanfiction

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Nikaidou Kouhei

I’m so sorry you had to wait for so long, boo, but if you see it I hope you’ll like it! Absolutely agreed on that Nikaidou deserves much love too! Please enjoy ♡  You can check tosikowrites tag for more.  Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Before the unfortunate incident with Ogata and the bear happened, Nikaidou was such a braggart both about himself and his amazing s/o. They are the best around. He is one lucky guy to have them as a partner.

His main love language was going overboard with praise and physical touch. Not a day went by without Nikaidou paying at least one sweet compliment to the subject of his adoration. In addition, his face lighted up when they praised him for anything, be it his soldier's courage or deep dark eyes. Sometimes their dialogue turned into a verbal duel over who will overcompliment whom and it could last for half of the hour until one of them just started spilling the dumbest figures of speech imaginable.

But after the incident, things changed. Now he is all distant and quiet and then in a blink of an eye manic one running around in a stupefying delirium. When the painful realization of the horrors he and his poor brother endured becomes too clear, too close, Nikaidou’s whole world shrinks to the neck of a morphine bottle.

Physical contact? Well... After another maim, it is better to refrain from touching his bare skin altogether. But when Nikaido calms down (with the help of morphine or on his own), you can try to hug him and pat him on the head. Nikaidou himself refrains from initiating anything physical since the absence of his hand leaves him feeling less of a man and makes full-fledged embrace impossible. It truly saddens him.

In general, without his wonderhat and prostheses, Nikaidou feels extremely vulnerable and any touch of the skin near the supposed location of the ear, a stump of an arm or leg burns him like a red-hot iron. It is enormously aching, but for their sake, he can ignore it for a while. Their care is a medicine that is always in abundance but he is not the most compliant patient.

Once in a blue moon, he decides to give them a gift. The last one was made by Edogai. His fancy gloves of dubious origin have no frills, but are very pleasant to the touch, solid and hard. He has a hat, they have gloves, they match perfectly!

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Quite literally friendship-emotional-rollercoaster. Becoming friends with Nikaidou is easy but maintaining this friendship requires effort. It most likely originated in cold soldiers' barracks from occasional small talk about the harshness of military life. As expected, Kouhei’s friend is Yuhei’s friend too, - find trouble, make it double, - making them a famous trio of rascals that brings nothing but distress to other soldiers.

Prior to the loss of the ear, scalp, arms, legs, brother, a good chunk of sanity Nikaidou would like to hang out almost every day, drinking, visiting geishas, sitting on the war department porch, and enjoying heated debate about the future attack. Picking on others is also one of their favorite activities. A little bit of gossiping? Yes, please. Do I need to mention they usually get to serve detention together as well.

After numerous injuries, he gets an unpleasant pulling sensation in the abdomen when the thought of losing them pops In his head. Nikaidou can afford one more limb being cut off thanks to confidence in Arisaka’s natural ingenuity but losing them? Not like they can be replaced by anyone. Moreover, they are dear to his heart because they are a living reminder of the deceased brother.

Lets them talk into the ear and translates whatever comes from it as a form of… conversation. Nikaidou looks like he is about to throw a tantrum when he once again has to work with Usami or Kikita instead of his dear friend. They are also the one Tsukishima can turn to when Lieutenant Tsurumi isn’t around and Nikaidou refuses to give up a bottle of morphine.

Friendship with him is like talking to a different person every time. He is an irrepressible optimist, a child in a crippled body, that shares frightening thoughts about capturing the Immortal Sugimoto. He is also an anxious tangle of nerves hiding from the daylight like it will burn him alive. He is also a serious veteran that will shot the enemy on the spot if they get too close to him or them.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Pick a wrong time and you’ll get to cuddle a wood log instead of a breathing human being. It is a matter of luck and good timing instead of a cute date idea with a loved one. Nikaidou, if in a playful mood, would tease his s/o pretending he has no idea what they want from him. Maybe, they want to shake his hand? Real one or a wood one? As soon as they make a move, he will crawl away with a wide snide smile on his pale face. Eventually, Nikaidou will surrender to their mercy and tight overwhelming embrace but before that happens, he will have some fun playing naïve dummy. Any other time when Nikaidou is obsessing over random idee fixe he will ignore any attempts to cuddle him and even may jump away from them like from the flame. His perception of the touch varies depending on the mood it seems.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

To keep it short, no. Nothing and no one can convince Nikaidou that he has even the slightest chance of becoming a family man. The very thought of something like this makes him burst into hysterical laughter. He is not suitable for this, it is not worth trying so broken man Nikaidou has already joined Ogata’s little I’d Rather Kick A Bucket Than Settle Down club. Mediocre in both cleaning and cooking, doesn’t need constant persuasion to do either.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Endured torment reduced the potential emotional pain to almost non-existing so it won't be difficult for Nikaidou to just leave, to cut them off for their own good. The assumption that they need to end the relationship indicates a major shifting in Nikaidou’s life (maybe, he already knows that his life will end this evening) but at this point, the break-up doesn’t seem like a significant event anymore. Heavily sedated he mutters something unintelligible and then with Arisaka’s bayonet precision cuts the rubbish and announces that they are no longer a couple, they won’t see each other, they should not look for each other under any circumstances, and walks away. No hesitation, no doubts, only humility and disconnection.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Would love to get married someday, spend the rest of his life with a loved one far away from the horrors of war and the gold hunt. However, its possibility seems so elusive and unattainable that Nikaidou decided to put this thought on the back-burner. Now his mind is preoccupied with the desire to slit Sugimoto the Immortal open so even if there is a loved one by his side Nikaidou is highly unlikely to propose. Any hints and mentions of the wedding fly into one ear and fly out of the other.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Nikaidou began to appreciate moments of vulnerability and gentleness after life dumped the pile of shit on him. The tides of tenderness are always unexpected but most often they happen in the middle of the night when he jumps up drenched in a cold sweat from a nightmare. That’s when he snuggles closer to them like a child scared by dreadful thunderclaps and branched lightning. There are not so many things he needs to be happy: a gentle kiss on the top of the head would do just fine. Nikaidou also shows his soft side when the silly childish nature overcomes the bereaved byproduct of the war he has become. Then life seems a little more fun for him, and even more pleasant with their fingers squeezed in his hand. Otherwise, he is completely closed off both physically and emotionally and if confronted can’t even figure out what a person wants from him.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Each of their meetings awakens an irresistible desire in Nikaidou to embrace them in his arms and spin them around to the sound of their ringing laughter. However, as soon as he leans forward, slightly bends the knees so they can jump up for a hug, invisible threads pull him back. You can pinpoint an exact moment when it hits him that Nikaidou awkwardly straightens up and looks bewildered for where to put his hands.  In addition, he feels guilty either for the fact that he cannot give what they are asking for or for that he is so self-critical. If they still decide to take the initiative and hug him Nikaidou will not protest. So to say he never hugs them first but will return a hug half of the time.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It doesn’t take him long to confess, I’d say, time ranges from three to six months. Since Nikaidou quickly becomes comfortable with patient people who return his love, he will not miss the moment to mention how he feels. Each of his declarations of love is unique. Sometimes Nikaidou grabs them by the hand and runs away into the sunset to recite a verse in a secluded corner. Sometimes he spins around with puppy delight and chatters nonsense, mixing it with I love you. I really do. Did I tell you that I love you? Wait, did I? It’s impossible to get a serious confession from him even when Nikaidou gives the impression of a collected person. Absolutely ecstatic when his s/o whispers sweet nonsense and words of love into his ear. You can see it by the changes on his hat.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Nikaidou is one of those people who can go batshit crazy in the blink of an eye because of one wrong word. Even silence in combination with an appraising gaze flares him up like a red rag does so on a bull and there is no going back from this point. He is laconic. No empty threats, no long prelude. Once Nikaidou draws out a knife it’s between his rival and God. This man doesn’t mind getting messy since every outrageous deed of his will be blamed either on painkillers or someone else. Tsurumi probably won’t want him to end up behind bars or on the scaffold.

Won’t ever accuse his s/o of being unfaithful and will turn blind eye to red flags because… Perhaps he is simply not ready to lose another loved one. Without realizing it, Nikaidou ignores veiled disparaging phrases and undisguised interest in someone else for the sake of peace of mind.

That doesn’t mean he won’t kick man’s ass to prevent subsequent misunderstandings.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Messy, greedy, and ingratiating. He was pretty popular among girls way back in time so you can call him an experienced one and it shows. When Nikaidou is struck by unexpected amorousness in public, he will occasionally plant a kiss on his s/o’s cheek or shoulder. No, social unacceptability does not matter at all in a face of his feelings. In private he is just uncontrollable: Nikaidou goes from kisses to bites back to nibbling exploring them from head to toes. Prefers to kiss his s/o behind the ears, on clavicles, grooves between the ribs, etc. Any place where there is almost nothing between the bone and the covering skin makes his neurons fire additional dopamine. At the same time, he can be wayward about being kissed so the safest options are kisses on the cheek or nose.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

I have reasonable doubts that any mother would want their kids to hand out around such a seasoned soldier as Nikaidou is but if it ever happened, they would have a fun time together. He turns into an absolute sweetheart when a little child grabs him by the hand and drag him along to show some sloppy hand-made craft. Even if Nikaidou tried to be harsh and unapproachable, his mask would fly off as soon as a high-pitched voice asked to play tag. Nevertheless, he prefers to stay away from kids to avoid scaring them with whatever frightening that could break through in his behavior. No need to give little one a recurring nightmare about limbs occasionally falling off to rumbling mirthless laughter. Never thought about having kids of his own but would definitely ponder if his s/o brought up this question. So, maybe, they and one or two cute little girls could make a perfect family?

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

They are erratic. To begin with, Nikaidou rarely spends nights with his loved one so catching him in the early hours is a tall tale. Much more often he visits them at lunchtime or even later in the afternoon having already fulfilled the plan to vex the top of the division. His mood has already dropped from a mania mark to ecstasy or normal level of excited agility making Nikaidou a skilled handyman, a voluble interlocutor, and an ardent lover three in one. While there is a free minute, he wants to mend creaking boards in the hallway right after describing the latest adventures in the smallest detail. May kiss them now and there between looking for the right tools and starring outside for a few sec. Overall Nikaidou endeavors to get the best of hours spent together.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Just like with mornings, staying over in his loved one’s place is a gemlike rarity. By the end of the day Nikaidou still in full swing and keeps the same attitude as earlier. When his battery finally dies, he turns into sluggish sessile mollusca Nikaidou homebodius that refuses to leave the secure shellhouse even if they beg him tearfully. Since outdoor activities are no longer an option, his s/o can try reading out loud, playing different board games, or chatting. Sleep quickly overpowers Nikaidou and he drags his loved one to bed or, if they don’t really want to sleep, tricks them into sitting next to him while he is peacefully dozing off.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Before the accident, he doesn’t feel the need to talk through every little event that happened to him during the conscious years of his life. If they ask specific questions, Nikaidou will still describe the past in general. The childhood did not differ from theirs, filled with small problems and big discoveries (as for a child). Teenage years? Well, nothing special, been there, done this… Neither he asks too much about his partner's past.

After all of the shit he endured, suspicion forces Nikaidou to always be alert and keep the banalest things to himself. You have to be a trusted person with a big T for him to open up at his own will.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

In a relatively safe environment and next to a loved one Nikaidou lowers his guard and allows himself to be amiable despite all irritants. He is too tired to worry, too tired to resort to passive aggression leave alone yell at them or show his anger in any other way so expect small sighs as a reaction to most stupid mistakes. Sometimes he just bursts out laughing instead of commenting on another misunderstanding. They may raise their voice in exasperation and Nikaidou would rather meekly look down than do the same in response. In a relationship, making him angry is not an easy task.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Nikaidou has a very selective memory which requires a strong emotional outburst to remember a thing. No matter how important it is in the eyes of his loved one or even in his own without proper reinforcement he won’t memorize it. For example, hypothetically and forgetting how he feels about the idea of family and marriage, on his wedding day he is overflowing with real solid happiness so naturally, this significant date will be engraved in his memory for life. Yet an important statement thrown in the boring conversation is unlikely to catch his attention. He pays little attention to anniversaries, remembers their birthday 5 times out of 10, and honestly is ok if they are just as thoughtful.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first moment of non-sexual intimacy like bathing together. It left Nikaidou speechless in unsuspected awkwardness of being perceived as he is, without the chance to hide or leave. For the first time in a while, he finds himself wondering what another person thinks of him, what sees in from of them, what feels toward him. Thanks to their love Nikaidou finds himself comfortable in his skin and a little more grounded. In a good way.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Congratulations on acquiring the iron man of the century with a wide range of body modifications to make this life safer for you and your loved ones. He won’t think twice to use Arisaka’s creations, both mechanisms hidden in the limbs and simply rifles created by his design, to disintegrate the slightest threat to his dearest. Not everybody around is seen as an enemy even though Nikaidou is terrified of losing them especially taking into account the unfolding carnage. Won’t ever ask them to protect him, won’t let them do it under any circumstances and if they show willfulness, he will surely scold them after a scrape.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Thinking ahead is the fate of weaklings. He has thought out one or two dates before realizing how tedious they appear so after that Nikaidou decided to invest only in the form of spur-of-the-moment ideas. Remembers about the anniversary if his loved one hints at it coming but diligently picks up a classic gift for them under the supervision of Tsukishima or Tsurumi himself. Likes to do chores? Hell yeah. When in a good mood Nikaidou can replace a whole group of handymen.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Not particularly that ugly? This is a problem that seeps into everyday life slowly and imperceptibly but sooner or later his small misdemeanors in everyday social interactions start to show. He misses one social cue, makes the situation kind of uncomfortable but doesn’t notice it until someone cautiously points it out. He tends to interrupt mid-sentence, often gets lost in thoughts and it puzzles him if a person finds it rude. Nikaidou navigates in society more or less successfully but can inadvertently bring a little awkwardness to the group.

Well, he is prone to all sorts of addiction. Not only painkillers. Any stupefying substance is at risk of transitioning from I’ll try it once just to know what’s like to I’ll go commit multiple atrocities if I don’t find a bottle or two.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

You probably don't expect to hear it, but outside the usual rush, Nikaidou prefers to keep himself neat and clean despite his style being on the weirder end of the style. He takes good care of his wooden limbs and repairs minor injuries himself. If the damage is done is beyond the limits of his capabilities, Nikaidou has no problem with asking Arisaka for a replacement. Definitely gets attached to clothes from his meager wardrobe easily.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

One of those people who won’t have energy left to go on without them. It’s misery. The devastation. The finish line right before the steep cliff that you don't have a spare second to stop from flying out into the abyss. Thirst for revenge helped him get back on his feet after losing his twin brother, who knows if it works twice. Overpowering sorrow sends Nikaidou into a frenzied episode of weeping and sobbing, he screams and wails like a wounded animal. If their killer is still around, he’ll try to cut them open in a fit of blind rage.

May fall in short psychosis and spend days sitting by their lifeless body, caressing heavy cold hands and peering in their lifeless eyes. Irreversibility of what is done hits him hard leading to gradual burnout.

And if they decide to leave him Nikaidou will hold a grudge. Everything is far from being as bad as in the previous scenario though, he just wants some space and everybody to shut the hell up as he stabs random objects. Secretly hopes for them to change their mind and come back. Somehow feels guilty about not being good enough.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

After 15 minutes of thinking, I came to the conclusion that I have none. Sorry!

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

It goes without saying changing Nikaidou is a waste of time like he is far from being a malleable clay and even further from mulling about adapt to someone's tastes. The thought is so bizarre that it fails to reach his subcortical structures and even if it did Nikaidou would rather flip a table and jump out of the window than agree to that idea.

The cold aloof type doesn’t get a pass either since without some effort on the part of the other person, they won’t pass the greeting milestone. Good luck in staring from afar as he evanesces with someone else's riffle running away from jaded Tsukishima.

People accustomed to planning every second of their lives with the scrupulousness of a busy businessman will have a hard time dealing with spontaneous shifts in Nikaidou’s mood and schedule. Half of the time he has a problem drawing a clock if you know what I mean.

Sugimoto’s relatives lmao, Nikaidou would definitely doesn’t like that in a partner.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Turns into an unmovable stone by ten and passes out with clenching on their hand using it as a pledge of good sleep. If he did not manage to fall asleep, it means that Nikaidou could not spend all his energy during the day and will have to do this in the middle of the night. Don’t be surprised if you wake up to a newly planted garden or Nikaidou stuck in the roof. No, I don’t know how.

Dreams mostly about his brother. Surprisingly, nightmares rarely bother him and Youhei appears in bright scenes, basically, in an alternative universe where they never have joined the army and stayed forever in the fondest hometown. After such dreams, Nikaidou wakes up with an unpleasant feeling of a lump in his throat but at the same time, even such an illusory meeting with his brother gives him the strength to keep going.

Indecisive whether he prefers to sleep with prostheses on or not. Prostheses on and Nikaidou is ready to protect and attack at any time but he would not want to make them uncomfortable

#golden kamuy #golden kamuy headcanon #golden kamuy imagine #nikaidou kouhei #tosikowrites

[the-insomniac-emporium]

On one hand, I really want to draw Artemis DeVough and get, like, a full ref sheet for her

On the other hand, my vision of her is so clear in my head, and if I don't get it right I will be Upset

she's a dork and I love her

goofy looking lesbian. wears the weirdest earrings (almost exclusively dangly ones). likes headbands/wearing bandanas on her head. freckles. messy, short blonde hair. one of her legs is prosthetic, and she has several prostheses (made by her twin brother). one of them is intentionally a couple inches longer than her real leg, and she pairs that one with a high heel because she's a dramatic motherfucker. some people think she's trying too hard to be quirky, but she's very genuine in her absurdity

#j has ocs #Artemis DeVough

[adrenalinesaint]

@corvidamned​ asked

1. What is your favorite trope to rp? 3. Who are your longest rp friends? 6. Name 3 things you love most about your muse/muses.

Favorite Trope

To be quite honest, I don’t know many tropes by name and never frequented the website TV Tropes, as many rpers tend to. Most of my knowledge of tropes in general comes from character archetypes and genre-specific, so I guess I can expound on those? Some, but not all, archetypes I favor include the femme fatale, the addict, the bard, the bumbling sidekick, and the bad boy. Some, but not all, genre-specific tropes I enjoy are cyberpunk corporate-owned prostheses (visa vis Major Kusanagi from Ghost in the Shell -- she doesn’t own her own body, Section 9 does), and amicable conversations w the devil in southern gothic or horror.

Longest Rp Friends

This is a tough one bc I tend to disappear for months at a time. But I’d like to think these folks are still my friends.

@the-arkham-librarian​ @corvidamned​ & A couple folks who have moved on from tumblr to other sites for their rp (mostly discord).

Tho to be honest, my Very Longest Standing friendship w other rpers is my irl friends. We’ve run the gamut from Dungeons and Dragons to Uncharted Worlds and Powered by the Apocalypse. We even did a Blades in the Dark once that was pretty neat. If anyone has any recs for new ttrpgs to try out, I’m all ears. Tho keep in mind!! We play over discord, so no actual tabletops lmfao.

3 Things I love Most About my Muse(s)

I’ll relegate this answer to DC-only muses. Lmk if yall want more/others, and/or a list of muses I’ve got in this noggin of mine.

Jonathan

His addiction. I can’t quite explain why, but writing an addict makes me feel less alone. Maybe I’m addicted to some stuff in my life too. I don’t really know for sure.

His disposition. Over the years I’ve worked hard to cultivate a nuanced disposition for my Jon. He started as very gruff and standoffish, but over time I’ve come to realize that being mean doesn’t make a person scary. It’s being kind, and knowing when to take that away.

The rpc and their general reception to my Jon. Everyone has always been very welcoming and supportive. I’ve really never gotten a negative word on this blog, except for the times people have tried to cancel me for making Granny Keeney a closeted lesbian. You decide if that’s a cancellable offense. Overall, everyone is very supportive and generous.

Lindsay @bloody-merry​

She was literally a throw-away character from a single comic that most people don’t even consider canon. I fucking love this. This means I get to do literally whatever I want with her. She’s essentially my OC now. Fuck off, DC, you didn’t treat her right. Let me take over.

Her overall arc so far, and what I’ve got planned for her in the future. I’ve had a lot of fun writing her as a relatively friendly and carefree young adult, and even more fun knowing that her high spirits are running on borrowed time. Know this: a day will come where Lindsay and Jonathan are indistinguishable except by gender and physical presentation. And it will hurt. A lot.

The way established rogues and heroes react to her. At first, they hear she’s the Scarecrow’s protege and think well, here comes a fight. But she’s just hyped to see real supers in person and wants a selfie. Also please don’t tell Jon. He’ll get furious if he hears she was acting buddy buddy with his nemeses.

Edward Nygma (coming soon)

Fashion. Eddie is one of my two muses who are obsessed with and adore fashion. Granted, that doen’t mean you’ll like his fashion. Au contrare, you’ll likely see him and think why is this man wearing so many prints at the same time? Well, that’s the riddle, ain’t it? It got you looking at him though. And that’s the point, moron!

My aggressively queer son. He is gnc and when asked his gender his response is a simple “Figure it out, dummy.” Don’t let the flamboyance lull you into an easy assumption that he’s strictly into men, though. And don’t let his flirtatiousness make you think he’s actually got any follow-through.

He’s Just Plain Fun. His banter and his style are just a hoot, fam. Fuck I miss this rowdy riddle boy.

#.ooc #.answered #.inbox #corvidamned

[shutupandshipit]

Coming Home - Part 2

Summary: When Katsuki stepped off the plane, he was greeted with the familiar heat of Musutafu in summer. Humidity like he was sitting in a sauna. He’d been all over America in the past five and a half years, but nothing was quite like the weather of home. It could be similar, primarily along the east coast, but just not quite the same. Just similar.

Breathing in deeply, he gripped the small hand in his and started down the ramp to where he could see Best Jeanist leaning against a car with illegally blacked out windows. Katsuki idly wondered if he was absolutely roasting in his hero uniform.

“Your hand is sweaty, Papa.”

“Your’s isn’t much better, little monster.”

…..

Or where Katsuki disappeared to America to find someone to make prostheses for him. He was gone for five and a half years, and returns with a little tag-a-long.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (just for language mostly)

Chapter: 2/2

Part 1 <-Previous

Follow-on: Christmas Preemie

Part 2: what’s in the box?

Katsuki woke with a sudden start to cool sheets and aching ears. The events of the night trickled back slowly as he lay there, blinking into the sunlight peaking in at him around the edges of his curtains. No, not his curtains. They were a disgusting pea green color that had been left there by the owner who had rented the place to them. He'd have to remedy that as soon as possible.

In the confusion of the first good night's sleep he'd gotten in a long time, he could convince himself that everything had been a dream. He was still in America, miserable save for the time he spent with Katsumi. But with a rustle of sheets, Izuku's lightning storm and mint scent misted the air.

Katsuki buried his nose in the pillow Izuku had used, inhaling his scent for several long moments. He'd spent years without his mate's scent. Or he should say, the scent of the person he'd like to be his mate eventually. His alpha's scent. His Deku's scent. If scents could be made into perfumes, he would carry around a bottle of Izuku's scent just to pull out when he missed him. And he did miss him. Katsuki had gotten over the knee jerk reaction to deny any soft feeling towards the other hero a long time ago. It was hard to keep hold of them when he adored their daughter who was the spitting image of her father.

A crash and resounding laughter from the kitchen jerked him from his reverie. His hearing aids squealed, and he flinched before snapping his prostheses into place with a grunt. The palm of his prosthetic arm sparked feebly, but there was no sweat in the arm's tubes to light off. They'd be filled soon enough as he started to move around, collected from ports hooked into his armpit's sweat glands.

He took a moment to let the pain settle, running through his pre-operational checks before pushing to his feet.

His hearing aids squealed again, and with a grunt, he pulled them off. The world around him hushed into silence. He should have thought of taking them out before going to bed that night. He hadn't though, not with Izuku's hands on him. There was the very real chance he wouldn't be able to use them for the rest of the day, not with the way his ears were aching. The ringing built slowly until it was filling his head with static. Tinnitus, the worse part of anything he'd done to himself. Even worse than the prostheses. It would fade in and out throughout the day, leaving him in silence or giving him a splitting headache. There was never an in between.

In the kitchen, the counters were dusted with pancake or waffle mix. Fruit and vegetables sweat by the sink, begging for him to save them from a terrible butchering. Smoke rose damningly from a pan on the stove.

Standing over it, Izuku stood with Sumi on his hip and a spatula in his hand. They laughed in unison as Izuku failed to flip the pancake. 'I'm so bad at this. Your papa is a way better cook than me.' They looked so natural together. Izuku's curls against Sumi's. Izuku's smile matching the one of Sumi's face perfectly. Their freckles vibrant and an identical map across their faces. There was no mistaking what they were.

Katsuki couldn't hear them, obviously, but in five years, he had become passable at reading lips. And reading Izuku's had never been a problem.

'Me too,' Sumi confided, trying just as unsuccessfully to flip the pancake. When she finally got it over, they cheered together with hands raised high above their heads.

Katsuki leaned against his doorjamb, watching the pair interact until Izuku caught sight of him.

Red bloomed in his cheeks as he grinned. 'Kacchan! Good morning!' What Katsuki wouldn't have given to see those lips form his name on his worst days in America.

'Morning, Papa! We're making breakfast!' Sumi frowned down at the pan before turning serious eyes on him. 'Trying to. We burned the pancake.' When she looked back up at him, she frowned and pointed to her ear. She pointed the tips of her index fingers at each other, jerking them towards each other twice. 'Hurt?' the sign asked.

Nodding and stepping away from his room, Katsuki surveyed the destruction of his kitchen. He sighed. Raising his hands to sign to Sumi, 'That's because you two can't be trusted in the kitchen. The heat is way too high. How have you already managed to destroy my kitchen in only a day?'

Sumi grinned and translated for Izuku, but didn't actually answer. Izuku scrubbed at the back of his head, eyes darting over the area. 'We were hungry and didn't want to wake you up, so we thought we'd give it a shot. I'm going to clean up. Don't worry.'

Sighing and rounding the counter, Katsuki pulled on the apron he'd hung up the night before and bumped Izuku out of the way with his hip. 'Well, we have to finish breakfast first. Tell Deku he's eating that burnt monstrosity. Also, can you ask him to wash the dishes so you can set the table?'

Sumi nodded, and turned in Izuku's arms to hold his cheeks between her hands. As the three of them got to work, Katsuki fell into the ease of it all. Their scents mixing together in a harmonious chorus. Katsuki and Izuku orbiting around each other as if they'd never stopped. Sumi incorporated seamlessly into the movement as she worked with Izuku.

Katsuki was, fundamentally, happy for the first time in a long time. Even the usual self consciousness of his bare prostheses and deaf ears couldn't find its way into his body. When he was with Izuku, he was the most confident version of himself.

Breakfast went off without a hitch as Sumi did her best to teach Izuku a few basic ASL signs.

Across the table from them, Katsuki smiled and proceeded to say everything dirty he possibly could. He did them while Sumi's eyes were turned away, and was so lewd that Izuku didn't need to know sign language to know what he was saying.

Face red at a strawberry, he cried, 'Kacchan, stop!'

'Never.'

'Papa, stop teasing Daddy!' Sumi signed as she spoke, glaring at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her in challenge. “I do what I want, punk,” Katsuki said aloud, and though he couldn't hear himself, he knew they had come out correctly when Izuku's shoulders began to shake with laughter.

They were finishing breakfast when Katsuki's eye was caught by a light flashing by the couch. He'd completely forgotten that he'd left his phone out in the living room at the end of the night, and he stood to grab it. He groaned when he saw the name for the video chat request. Accepting the call, he held up a finger without looking at the screen as he returned to the kitchen to find something to stand his phone against. When he had it set up, he stepped back to greet his now ex-boss.

Negative was an imposing woman to say the least. Her eyes were inkwells, blending almost perfectly with her black skin. Her outrageously large Afro was starkly white and just barely being restrained with a Ground Zero themed bandanna she'd bought for the sole purpose of annoying him, but had ended up using often. She was tall and broad shouldered and took up space in a room with her mere presence. Every day he saw her, he thanked the stars that they were both gay. He'd met her wife, a teeny tiny beta woman who was the reason for the term 'lipstick lesbian', and still didn't understand their union.

'What?'

Negative signed as she spoke, mouth tight with consternation, 'You didn't call me, you punk ass bitch. I told you to call as soon as you landed no matter what time it was.'

Katsuki sighed, rolling his eyes. 'Stuff came up.'

'You're a dirty liar. Where's my goddaughter?' she demanded. Cynthia, her wife, appeared in the frame with the widest smile in the world. Her long rainbow dreads swayed as she waved at him and blew him a kiss.

“Hi, Cynthia.” He glanced away from the screen towards the table where Katsumi was waving wildly.

'Is that Shonetta? Aunt Shonetta, I'm over here! I'm over here!' Sumi was yelling, ready to crawl straight across the table to him, but Izuku had an arm around her waist to keep her in place.

Rolling his eyes back to the camera, Katsuki picked up the phone and switched the camera to show Izuku with his still rather sleep-mussed hair and Sumi look just like him. “Shonetta, Cynthia, Deku. Deku, Shonetta and Cynthia.”

Izuku waved at the camera. 'Actually, my name is Izuku. It's nice to meet you.'

Cynthia had crowded in next to Shonetta, staring intently at the screen with wide eyes. Katsuki scrambled to mute the call before she said anything that he was going to regret. 'Holy shit, that's baby daddy, isn't it!' They had always been good at talking while signing for his sake, but sometimes, he wished he couldn't understand them at all.

Which was, of course, a dirty lie. Shonetta and Cythia had singlehandedly kept him sane in America. He had a lot to thank them for. The biggest reason them guiding him through his pregnancy which had been more difficult than most for many reasons. It would take an act of god for him to give them up. Katsuki returned to the counter, glaring at the two women as they continued speculating together.

'Thought you had better taste than that, Kat. Isn't he kind of plain looking?' Shonetta asked.

Cynthia slapped at her wife's arm. 'Be nice! He's adorable! Sumi looks exactly like him! Take us off mute really quick.' Katsuki complied with her request as Shonetta squawked indignantly at not realizing he had muted them in the first place. With a roll of her eyes, Cynthia waves at the camera again. 'Good to know you made it back alright, Kat, Sumi. I've got to get to work, but hope to talk to you soon! Don't be strangers. Bye, Sumi! I love you both!'

Katsuki doesn't turn to catch Sumi's reply, just nodded to Cynthia. "Bye."

When Cynthia seemed to be completely gone, Shonetta turned a wicked grin toward him. 'So, is he... stuff? Have you already-' she signed. By the end, she wasn't even using actual words, just making hand gestures that were so lewd they even made Katsuki's face heat. She was the one he'd learned all of his sign language from, after all.

'No!' he signed aggressively, 'God, you are a menace to society! Leave my mate out of this!'

'Oooooh, mate already?' she crowed, flapping her hands instead of signing. She wrapped her arms around her belly as she began to chortle, and he could almost hear the exact sound of her laughter in his head.

He wanted to strangle every last breath out of her as he peaked at Izuku's red cheeks through the gaps in his fingers. Growling, he reached for the phone. “That's enough out of you. We're alive. You've seen us. Bye. Go die in a ditch.”

Shonetta only continued to laugh as he ended the call, and turned to the table. Without so much as he beat, he pointed at Sumi. 'Breakfast is over. You know the drill. Yoga and then a run. Chop chop. Go get changed. We've got a lot to do today, and not a lot of time to do it.'

Sumi nodded once before turning to Izuku to explain.

'I've got to start heading over to the agency anyway for patrol.' Izuku stood, smiling.

Without missing a beat, Sumi jumped from her chair to wrap her arms around his body and pressed her face into his stomach.

Izuku was taken aback, arms raised to shoulder level as his eyes flicked between Katsuki and Sumi. After a still moment, he let his arms drop around her. He lowered his head, his mouth obscured from Katsuki's views. Sumi grinned up at him before bounding off toward her room.

Izuku turned to look at Katsuki, scrubbing at the back of his head. 'Can I... see you guys again? Tonight maybe?'

“Whatever.” Katsuki pulled Izuku into his body. They tangled together, hips pressed flush, tongues twined, hands on waists and hands in hair. When they parted again, he said, “Gotta make up for five years.” He stared into Izuku's green eyes, brushing a thumb across his cheek. He dropped his eyes to Izuku's lips when he felt them brush against his, pulling back enough just to see what he said.

'Of what?'

“Everything.”

…..

Weeks passed, and things changed. Sumi started going to school. It was weird for her starting Kindergarten in the middle of the school year, but she adjusted well enough.

Katsuki started going back to work. He had more than enough to keep him busy. Relearning the streets and districts of his home city. Figuring out who was still in the city, who was new, and who he would work best with. Reestablishing himself in Japan, and painfully crawling his way up the ranks. Adjusting back to his old hero uniform with the minor adjustments he had made. When he'd gone to America, he hadn't been expecting to stay there for five and a half years, so he hadn't thought to bring his uniform. It wasn't particularly suitable for America anyway, so a uniform had to be made for him while he was there. But just like his original uniform wasn't suitable for America, his overseas uniform wasn't suitable for home.

Izuku became a constant fixture in his and Sumi's life. Every afternoon they came home, it was to Izuku standing on their doorstep. Every night when he fell asleep, it was with Izuku in his arms to soothe the nightmares. Every morning when they left, it was with Izuku beside them. He was around so often and frequently that Katsuki eventually gave him a key, a drawer in his wardrobe and a chunk of space in his closet.

After starting late night patrols again, Izuku was the only one he trusted to watch Sumi. Eventually, he started to let him take over more and more parental responsibilities until they were sharing them as equals instead of Katsuki remaining in his steadfast single parent routine.

He trusted Izuku implicitly, but even that trust was under scrutiny when it came to Sumi.

So, when Katsuki returned home one night with his heat building beneath his skin to Izuku curled on the couch alone, knees pulled to his chest while he watched hero videos, the slightest sliver of betrayal lodge in his chest. “Where's Katsumi? You were supposed to pick her up,” he growled dangerously as he stood behind Izuku, all protective omega father in his voice and stance.

Izuku tilted his head back to look at Katsuki, expression smooth and his scent doing a passable job of being calming. “With your parents and my mother.”

“Why?” Ever so slowly, he began to deflate. He wasn't exactly happy that his daughter was with her grandparents without his knowledge, but happier than if Izuku had forgotten to get her from school.

Blinking slowly, Izuku lifted his head and turned to patiently gaze at him. “We talked about this, remember? When the time came for your heat, Katsumi would stay with your parents and my mom. I know you'll start tomorrow, I could smell it on you every time I passed you on the streets today, but I thought it'd be nice to have a night for ourselves. I wanted to have a date night. Watch a movie, eat some take out, cuddle on the couch. Date nights don't normally include being accompanied by five-year-old daughters.” His expression remained pleasant, but longing crept into his voice. “We haven't spent any time alone together as a couple since you got back. I thought it'd be nice.”

Katsuki stared at him, silent for a long moment while he let his words settle in. Breathing out the spike of betrayal and anger that had stabbed him, he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I'm going to bathe first. Did you order something already?”

Beaming, Izuku stood on his knees and beckoned Katsuki in for a chaste kiss. “I picked up food from that weird restaurant you like. That one place that has your favorite extra spicy California Roll.”

“Did you get me an extra spicy California Roll?” Katsuki asked, hands resting lightly on Izuku's hips.

Izuku scoffed. “Of course, I did. Do I look stupid to you?” When Katsuki started to open his mouth for a snarky reply, he slapped a hand over his lips. “Don't answer that. Jerk. Just go take your shower.”

Growling low and suggestively in his throat, Katsuki nipped at the soft pads of his fingers, sucking a digit into his mouth for the briefest of moments. When he pulled away, Izuku's face was flaming and he was smirking in satisfaction. “Keep it in your pants for now, Deku. You've got me for three whole days.”

Izuku whined pitifully before slumping back onto the couch in a boneless heap. He pressed his hands over his burning face. “You can't just do stuff like that, Kacchan. I'm not used to it anymore. Especially since we haven't done anything yet.”

Katsuki leaned over the couch, tugging a few fingers away from Izuku's face to look him in the eye. “Yeah, because we were waiting for my first heat together again. Well, it's here now. Prepare yourself because I've got five years of pent up sexual frustration to get out over the next three days.” He grinned viciously.

Again, Izuku whined. “Oh my god, I'm gonna have to go jerk-off or something so I don't cum the moment you touch me.”

Katsuki's smile only grew more vicious. “Do it or don't. You're going to have to figure out a way to satisfy me anyway.”

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. “Thank god for ruts,” he whispered because when Katsuki's heat hit, Izuku would be catapulted into a rut.

Forty-five minutes later found take-out containers empty and Izuku leaned back against Katsuki's chest while they watched video after video of highlights from All Might's career. They hadn't been able to find a decent movie that they both wanted to watch, and settled for something they were always okay with. Fifteen minutes later though, Izuku turned in Katsuki's arms to face him.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at him, but remained silent in the face of Izuku's determination.

He pressed close, nipping at Katsuki's lips, coaxing him into a slow make-out session as he crawled his way into Katsuki's laps. Knees on either side of the other hero's hips, he ground languidly down into him.

Hissing, Katsuki ripped their mouths apart as he bucked up into Izuku. “Jesus fuck, Deku, are you trying to make me come in my pants?” He could feel Izuku's smirk against his pulse point rather than see it, and shivered.

“No. But I want you to know I'm going to ride you before anything else. I haven't been filled with anything other than toys in five years. It's all I've been able to think about when we're alone since you got back,” Izuku whispered, breath husky as it ghosted across the exposed skin of Katsuki's ear around his hearing aid, “No one wants to top an alpha. Either way, no one could ever live up to you. You're the best, you always have been. I want you to fill me up. I want you to pin me down and dominate me like only you know how, Kacchan.”

Katsuki groaned deep in his throat, biting shallowly into Izuku's collar bone, fingers bruising against his hips. “And no one wants to be topped by an omega. God,” he breathed, “I've missed you. You're the only alpha I'd waste my time on. No one else could ever compare.” Once upon a time, the admission would have made him embarrassed and then angry at his own embarrassment, but now, it was simply the truth.

“I've never been able to look at anyone else,” Izuku whispered, ducking his head to catch Katsuki's lips again, “You're my only. You're my forever even if I'm not yours.”

Katsuki didn't get the chance to reply as Izuku sealed their mouths together again. They were teeth and tongues and sharp canines and blood mixed with saliva. They were rolling hips and heat and moans and needy pleasure.

“Deku-” Katsuki gasped, but Izuku swallowed down his own name.

“Bedroom, Kacchan, please. I need you,” Izuku gasped between kisses and panted breaths. He moaned into Katsuki's mouth when Katsuki gripped his ass and effortlessly lifted them from the couch. Arms twined around shoulders, legs wrapped around that ever so slender waist.

They tumbled into bed with foreheads pressed together and gasped laughter.

It was hours later, after Katsuki had taken Izuku, allowed Izuku to manhandle his protheses off and his heat had fully set in that Izuku said anything. “I want to exchange mating bites.”

Katsuki was panting, face pressed into the sheets as his body wound back up for another cresting wave of his heat. His mind was hazed with lust, muzzy and indistinct, but he understood that clearly enough. “Still?” He was just curious, but he couldn't tell what his voice sounded like. Sarcastic? Accusatory? Interested?

“I never stopped wanting to,” Izuku whispered while he gently guided Katsuki onto his back and then to sit up so he could press a water bottle to his mouth. “I've only ever wanted to be with you, Kacchan. Ever since we were little. Even when we weren't anything more than rivals.”

Katsuki accepted the water gratefully while Izuku proceeded to wipe his body down with a warm, damp cloth. “I thought you would have stopped after I disappeared without even a text. For keeping Katsumi from you. All of it.”

Leaving the cloth in the bathroom sink, Izuku climbed back onto the bed behind him. He pulled Katsuki flush against his chest, hooking his chin over his shoulder. “No, I'm a stubborn as you are.”

Katsuki pressed back into Izuku, tilting his head so their temples were pressed together. “I don't think I'm ready,” he whispered, eyes closed as he tried to think through his jumbled thoughts.

“There's no rush. You don't ever have to accept. I'll wait for a long as you need even if that means waiting forever. I'm very patient.”

“It won't be forever, idiot. Just... not yet.” Turning his head more completely towards Izuku, he growled, “Now, less talking, more kissing.”

“Needy,” Izuku said with a giggle, but gave him what he wanted all the same.

…..

Katsuki was just walking into the office after his shift -nine in the morning, no coffee since midnight, no Katsumi since the morning before- and he was frustrated. The night hadn't been a good one, and with blood still drying in crusty patches all over his uniform, he was as unhappy as they could come. He just wanted to see his daughter for the first time in what felt like days and cuddle with her and his alpha on the couch.

“Kat! Thank god!” Kirishima shouted, running towards him. He wrapped strong fingers around his bicep, dragging him towards his office. “Come with me. Have you heard?”

“Good fucking morning to you too,” Katsuki snarled, but out of pure mental exhaustion, allowed himself to be dragged into his best friend's office. The door slammed shut behind them, and Katsuki went to raid Kirishima's coffee counter when he was released. “What the fuck's up with you anyway? It's too early in your shift to be acting like a jackass.”

Standing by his door, Kirishima rung his hands, staring out the clouded glass window instead of looking at Katsuki.

When he remained silent, Katsuki snarled and stepped into his space. “What the fuck is going on, Eiji?”

Kirishima jolted, head dropping in submission.

Katsuki stomach curdled with a sudden rush of nausea. It had been a long time since he'd seen Kirishima bare the back of his neck to him, and the last time he had, Izuku had been in a coma with no chance of recovering anytime in his immediate future. He gripped Kirishima's shoulder tightly, positive that his anxiety was being transferred through every pore. “What the fuck is going on?”

Whining, Kirishima covered his hand with his own, “I'm not supposed to tell you. The boss told me to just keep you out of the way so they can handle it.”

“If you don't fucking tell me, I'm just going to go out there and find out what the fuck is going on myself!”

“The- Uh- Your-” Kirishima groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Some villains have taken a kindergarten school hostage. The call just came through a few minutes ago. The boss and some of the others have already gone-”

Shoving Kirishima aside, Katsuki tore through the door, heart beating a million miles an hour. 'Not again! Not again! Not again!' He burst into the sky towards Katsumi's school, sun bright and hot overhead. He could see the specks of other heroes moving in the same direction, then he saw a flash of green lightning disappear between the buildings.

He wanted to call out. He wanted Katsumi to be safe. He wanted Izuku to be safe. He wanted them both in his arms, and for none of this to be happening. He stumbled to a stop down the street from the school, just like he had the first time. When he saw the flames, his vision went black.

…..

When he came to, it was to the feeling of his breath wheezing in and out, warm familiar weight pressed against his chest, and Izuku staring straight at the ceiling with a far away expression. His fingers worked over something in his palm. His eyes were red, cheeks tear stained. His uniform was bloody and torn, but for once, he was whole. It felt like the first time Katsuki had ever seen him completely unbroken after a battle. Only thing was, he couldn't actually remember what had happened in this battle.

Agonizingly slow, he turned his head to look down at his chest. Katsumi laid there curled in the smallest ball possible, her own face tear stained and her legs removed. Her mane of green hair was tangled and dusted with dirt and ash.

He went to lift his arm, the one she wasn't sleeping on, but found only his stump. Frowning, he turned to glare at it. His mind was what he suspected was drug slow, and he couldn't really understand why his prostheses and hearing aids had been removed. He hadn't gotten that hurt, there was no way.

Lifting his eyes, Izuku was staring at him with a mouth all misshapen like a soft noodle and tears pouring down his face.

'Don't cry, idiot,' he wanted to say, but his hand was held captive and he wasn't sure if his voice was audible. He only knew that when he tried to speak, pain bloomed in his throat. Closing his eyes, his throat vibrated with a groan.

Fingers balled up the front of his gown, pulling the neckline taught against the back of his neck. A hard line pressed into his chest, and Izuku's fists shook against him.

'Don't. Cry. Izuku,' Katsuki tried again, and again, there was pain. He'd been expecting it this time so he was able to crack his eyes open despite the pain.

Izuku was sobbing against his body, forehead pressed to his chest. Head so close to Sumi's that their hair mingled, dirty and green and beautifully curly.

In his chest, Katsuki's heart silently swelled and burst when Sumi extracted a hand from beneath her body to pat Izuku's curls. Closing his eyes, a hot tear tracked down Katsuki's cheek with the sheer relief of having them both with him. He couldn't remember the battle, but for the second time, his daughter's school had been attacked. For the second time, he'd been close to losing her. This scene before him could have ended up as a very different one.

Katsuki could feel Izuku's lips moving against his chest, breath rapid fire with words he couldn't hear. He only opened his eyes again when he felt small fingers press to his ear.

Sumi wasn't looking at him, but instead at Izuku, tugging against his hair to get him to lift his head. When he finally complied, eyes blurry with fat tears, she tapped on Katsuki's ears before pointing to her own.

Izuku's eyes darted up to Katsuki's face. After a moment of staring, he scrubbed quickly at his eyes before stepping away towards a table that had four prosthetic limbs and three bags on it. Sitting back down, calmer than before even though his lips were still that same soft noodle shape, he handed Sumi one hearing aid.

Together, they hooked Katsuki back up. Very carefully, Sumi turned them on, staring at his face intently as she turned the volume up.

The beeping of his heart monitor faded into existence followed by Sumi's and Izuku's breathing. “Good,” he said, and his voice was barely a croak passed the pain. Wincing, he lifted his unpinned hand to his throat.

Izuku and Sumi reached for his hand at the same time, stopping him from touching his throat. “The doctor said not to touch,” Sumi told him.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow over at Izuku.

Tears crowded Izuku's eyes immediately again, and tracked down his face. His voice trembled as he whispered, “You were really hurt, Kacchan. The villain got you by the throat. You were fighting her alone while everyone else was either fighting the rest of her gang or rushing to evacuate the kids and staff. I couldn't get to you fast enough. I thought you were going to die. I felt so useless seeing you like that.”

“Now you know how it feels, dumbass.” Gritting his teeth, he breathed through the pain.

“Don't call Daddy that! It's mean!” Katsumi glared at him, lip puckered in a pout and her own big red eyes beginning to fill with tears. Her lip trembled, and then she was sniffling as her tears fell. “I-I was so scared, Papa. I thought you were gonna leave me and Daddy alone. I don't want you to die, Papa.”

Katsuki pulled her in against his chest, pressing as kiss to her forehead and holding her tight. When he looked to Izuku, he held out his stump, motioning him forward.

Izuku crowded in against his side, and the two loves of his life cried against him for long enough that their tears soaked his gown and the hard edge digging into his shoulder from Deku's palm pissed him off. “Deku, what the fuck is in your hand?” he growled through gritted teeth, “It fucking hurts.”

“Papa, you have foul language,” Katsumi whispered, but didn't pull away from him.

Izuku jumped away from him, his tears abruptly stopping as roses bloomed in his cheeks. He stammered and stammered and stammered a whole lot of nonsense until Katsumi's giggles interrupted him. “Sumi!” he cried.

“Just show him, Daddy! You don't have to be nervous!”

“Oh, yes I do!” Izuku argued back, “He could say no!”

Katsumi waved away his concern. “He's not gonna say no.”

“He might! I think I might know him just a little more after knowing him longer than you have!”

“Not in the last five years! I know him the best. He's gonna say yes.”

“How about you let 'him' decide for himself since he's sitting right here,” Katsuki interjected before the banter could continue any further, “Just spill it, Deku. My head's all fuzzy and my throat hurts, and I'm annoyed that my daughter knows more about whatever this is than I do.” Oh. Oh, he was going to regret all that talking later. He already was.

Izuku's eyes flickered between Sumi and Katsuki until he finally swallowed thickly. “Don't try to kill me. The doctors only stitched up the hole in your side a few hours ago.” He closed his eyes tightly.

Katsuki blinked rapidly at his alpha, those words sticking on repeat in his head. There had been a hole in his side? Just how much had the villains fucked him up? Well, clearly enough to land him in the hospital with some very good drugs running through his veins. Drugs that were clearly impairing his thought process.

'Not the point right now, dumbass,' Katsuki silently reprimanded himself.

'Alpha offer. Alpha wants. Give to alpha. Care for alpha,' his omega chanted, nearly prancing from one side to the other, 'Alpha offer family. Alpha offer commitment. Take. Agree.'

Izuku hadn't even opened his hand yet, so Katsuki turned a snarl inward, 'Shut the fuck up, and stop jumping to conclusions.'

'Omega conclusions. Our conclusions. Want. Take. Mate. Alpha. Family.'

Mentally rolling his eyes, Katsuki tried to ignore his omega's constant stream of consciousness in exchange for watching Izuku closely. Slowly, his fingers uncurled, and Katsuki's brain completely shut off. The monitor over his shoulder picked up its pace. His omega began to leap for joy in his chest, each jump punctuated by a beat of his heart.

When Katsuki just continued to stare, Izuku cautiously opened his eyes and with his mouth set in an uncertain line, opened the box. In a cushion of black velvet, a gold ring with two diamonds and a single emerald sat unobtrusively. “I've had it for awhile, but I was trying to get up the courage to actually ask you. I've never really thought about it, but after you came back, I couldn't stop thinking about it. And after the attack, I realized that I don't have the luxury of being afraid.” Inhaling deeply, Izuku finally met Katsuki's eyes. “I want to spend my entire life with you and Katsumi. I want to be your husband, your mate, a father to our daughter and everything in between. If you weren't in a hospital bed right now, I'd get down on one knee, but since you are, I'll just ask. Katsuki Bakugou, will you marry me?”

Completely speechless, Katsuki just continued to stare down at the ring in Izuku's hands. He realized Izuku's hands were shaking about the same time he realized that his eyes were filling with tears.

“K-Kacchan?”

“Papa! Answer Daddy!” Sumi cried, bouncing excitedly beside him on the bed, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on! Come on! Come on!”

Instead of answering aloud, Katsuki just stuck out his hand.

A sigh exploded from Izuku's chest. “Thank god,” he whispered, setting the box off to the side as he took Katsuki's hand in his mangled ones to slip the ring on his finger.

Katsuki dragged him forward, pressing their mouths together while Sumi cheered loud enough that a nurse peaked into the room. “One condition. You stop running headlong into situations that will get you killed,” he said.

“Okay, but only as long as you don't end up in situations that land you in a hospital bed. My heart can't handle it,” Izuku whispered against his lips, eyes still closed even though Katsuki's eyes were open again, “I can't go through this again. I don't want Katsumi to go through it again. You two have been through enough.”

“All three of us, but now you know how I felt every time I saw you in a hospital bed.” Izuku didn't need to open his eyes for Katsuki to see him roll them.

Sumi wiggled her way between them. “Does that mean Daddy is going to come live with us from now on?”

“I wasn't aware that he wasn't already,” Katsuki said snarkily.

“Yay!” Sumi swung around on the bed to face the nurse and Best Jeanist who was now beside her. “My Daddy and Papa are going to get married! And when Papa gets pregnant again, I'm going to have a little brother and maybe even a little sister! And Uncle Eiji is going to be Best Man, and oh! Uncle Tsu! You can be ring bearer! Wait, no! I'm going to be ring bearer, but you can walk with me!”

A thin blonde eyebrow rose, but Best Jeanist didn't say anything as Izuku and Katsuki began to splutter.

“Woah!” Katsuki croaked, pain thrumming through his neck, but he couldn't stop, “Who said I was gonna give you a brother, little monster? You're already enough. Just be happy with your cousins.”

As their banter continued between the three of them around and around, Katsuki couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed with Best Jeanist and the nurse's eyes on them. This was his family. This was his mate and his daughter. When their wedding day came, he was going to scream that truth from the rooftops.

He'd never been happier in his life.

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakugou-midoriya katsumi #omegaverse #omega!katsuki #alpha!izuku #deaf!katsuki #disabled!katsuki #my writing #coming home #two shot #christmas preemie

[aces-to-apples]

For the meme, Maul and Jesse, "Finding the other wearing their clothes" please?

hEY SO I KNOW IT’S BEEN LIKE TWO MONTHS AND MY BRAIN IS USELESS GARBAGE BUT AFTER SEVERAL FALSE STARTS HAHA HERE HAVE WHATEVER THE FUCK THIS IS

@bootlegged-tea

For this ask meme

Citrus Scale: Lemon

Warnings: Blowjobs, Unsafe Sex, Orgasm Denial/Delay, Sexual Frustration, uhhhhh sexy power games ig??

Here on AO3

NOT SAFE FOR WHALES

1. Finding the other wearing their clothes + 15. One character adjusting the others jewelry/tie etc.

“These are new.”

Stepping into Jesse’s space, Maul rested his chin on his lieutenant’s shoulder and met his eyes in the mirror before them. He seemed unbothered by the intrusion into his rooms, shifting his weight and leaning back slightly into Maul’s chest, even, but rolled his eyes at the comment. “This is yours,” he replied, needlessly straightening the black fabric that fell down his torso.

Indeed, the shirt was pilfered from Maul’s clothing stores and obviously so—it stretched across Jesse’s broader shoulders and thicker arms in a very visually pleasing manner. The dark trousers, sturdy boots, and unpainted beskar greaves were Jesse’s own. However, “I was speaking of these,” Maul murmured into his ear, moving a hand from Jesse’s shoulder down his chest and pushing aside the plunging neckline to reveal his lieutenant’s latest indulgence.

Where once had been undecorated flesh, Jesse had seen fit to adorn his chest with a metal bar through each of his nipples, flanked on either end with small blue jewels that sparkled in the light. Maul brushed a careful thumb over one of them and could feel the shiver begin at the base of Jesse’s neck and move down his spine.

“Oh. Those.” Jesse blinked rapidly, his gaze having gone distant at the touch. He raised his chin slightly. “It’s my body. I can do what I like with it.”

“Indeed, you can,” Maul said, thinking of the golden stud at the top of his own left ear—an addition he’d made just before being sent to Naboo. He moved his hand to cup Jesse’s pectoral, firm muscle covered by soft fat that felt good in his hand. “And I, for one, am quite enjoying the results.”

Settling back more firmly against him, Jesse smirked at him through the mirror. “That so?” he asked, challenging.

Maul hummed. “I have a gift for you,” he said, bringing his other hand out from behind his back. Hanging from his fingers, a short, thick rope of twisted silver at the center of which rested a large dark blue stone flecked with green and gold.

Eyes flicking from the necklace to Maul and back, Jesse fixed him with a stern look. “Looks like a collar. I’m already wearing your clothes. You really don’t have to play that hard into the joke, an’edee.”

Suppressing an eye-roll, Maul held it out as an offering. “Ignore that,” he advised. “What does it feel like to you?”

Jesse plucked it out of his hand and brought it close to his face to examine. When he brushed a thumb over the smooth surface of the stone, Maul felt his whole body flinch as if he’d received an electric shock.

“It’s warm,” Jesse said, eyes wide, sounding a little breathless. “And it”—his eyes drifted closed for a beat—“it almost feels… alive.”

Pleased, Maul wrapped his arm around the lieutenant’s middle and pulled him even more snugly against his body. “It’s a Kunda stone,” he explained, watching as Jesse stared at it, transfixed. “They are naturally in tune with the Force and are known to protect those in possession of them from many mind-altering effects.” He waited a moment, unsure what reaction the next piece of information would garner. “I… thought you might enjoy wearing blue again. Since you haven’t painted any of your new pieces of armor.”

Jesse’s gaze darted to his in the mirror again, before he turned in their embrace and nudged their noses together. “Thanks, vod,” he said, nipping at Maul’s mouth just a touch.

They spent a moment fiddling with the clasp and settling it around his neck so that the stone rested at the hollow of Jesse’s throat. It looked good against his skin.

Maul pressed their lips together more firmly, licking at his lieutenant’s mouth and crowding him until his back was pressed against the glass. Jesse’s body was hungry for him, pulling him closer and closer, responding eagerly to his touch.

He tugged at the belt that kept the shirt that Jesse wore neat, pushing all fabric onto the floor and running his hands firmly up and down his chest and belly. His ver’alor had developed a taste for heavy Alderaani cuisine and rich desserts of all kinds, and they both reaped the rewards.

No less the body of a warrior for it, Jesse had a layer of squishy softness over everything now, a give to him that made his body a delight to touch and be touched by.

He moaned when Maul cupped his hands around his pectorals again, rubbing both thumbs over the pretty new additions. They were no doubt still extremely sensitive and Jesse wrapped his arms around him and pulled him impossibly tighter, grinding against Maul’s belly with increasing urgency.

Pulling away slightly, Maul ducked his head and placed a kiss against the center of Jesse’s throat. Then lower, pressing the flat of his tongue against first one nipple then the other, relishing in the noises it drew from him. And lower still, sinking to his knees as he nipped his way down Jesse’s chest and belly, squeezing at his thickened waist with firm hands. He had been so skinny back on Mandalore, unhealthily so, and it pleased Maul to know he was taking good care of this man.

He peered up at Jesse as he began to unlace his trousers, watching the way he pressed the back of his head against the glass with his eyes closed, chin tilted upward and breathing heavily. At the pause, Jesse marshalled his senses enough to look down and apparently found the sight arresting enough to let his head fall back and rattle the mirror, letting out a strangled little groan.

Maul smiled, pleased, and watched his throat bob with a swallow before returning to his task.

His ver’alor always seemed to welcome sex and this was no different. He was fully hard already, but when Maul his tongue up the underside of his length, he made a sound that was as much confusion as pleasure.

“Ngh. Plast?” he said, sounding frazzled, desperate.

Still considerate, despite the fairly common adage that stimulation felt better without prophylactic barriers. Jesse himself had been particularly disdainful of the idea, rolling his eyes when it was mentioned. Maul said nothing, confident that another swipe of his tongue, and then another, was reply enough.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done without, though it also wasn’t their general preference. The combination of salt and skin was an inoffensive taste, fastidious as Jesse was; pre-come was fairly unpleasant, both in concept and practice; the results of their couplings, though Jesse carried no diseases, they both heartily agreed was, in a word, disgusting.

Maul let all of that fall away as he continued on his mission, using his hand to provide more substantial stimulation and listening as his ver’alor became less and less inhibited above.

He whined and dropped a hand to pet at Maul’s horns when he finally wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. Neither were unpleasant sensations, Jesse’s fingertips scrabbling at the sensitive bases or the weight of him on Maul’s tongue.

“Maul,” he panted, somewhere above, sounding gratifyingly desperate, “can, ngh, can I—”

His hips twitched and Maul slid a hand around one of his knees, slipping it over his shoulder, careful to keep his dorsal horn away from the vulnerable flesh of Jesse’s inner thigh. He amused himself by gripping the underside of that thigh and spreading his legs just a bit wider, digging his fingers into the thick flesh and moving with it when his hips jerked.

Jesse said his name again, high and pleading, so Maul took him deeper into his mouth, relaxing his throat and using his grip on Jesse’s body to coax him into a gentle, thrusting rhythm.

He breathed carefully and let his eyes drift shut, moving his tongue in ways that he’d learned would elicit pleasing noises from the lieutenant. It didn’t take long for the rock of his hips to pick up speed, Jesse babbling in various languages overhead.

The lieutenant was frequently talkative during their activities, always gracious and complimentary towards Maul—his hands, his mouth, his voice, his skin, even his prostheses. Nothing was dismissed, leaving him feeling off-kilter, with a peculiar warmth in his chest. Jesse had once even gasped that he enjoyed the feeling of Maul’s mind in his when he came.

His thrusting grew rougher and he brushed a fumbling thumb across the stretch of Maul’s lips, moans reaching a familiar fever-pitch. At this, Maul finally pulled away with a parting swirl of his tongue.

He replaced his mouth with the full dexterity of his hand, amused when Jesse used his grip on his horns to pull him to his feet, clearly desirous of more kisses. Smirking, he nipped at Jesse’s chin, said, “The meeting with the Black Sun and Crimson Dawn leaders should commence in just a few minutes,” in a tone of innocence he had learned from Jesse’s memories of the one called Hardcase, and removed his hand entirely.

The sound of outrage and denied pleasure was particularly satisfying as Maul turned and headed for the door, resettling his own clothes with unsteady hands.

After a few seconds of disbelieved panting, Jesse called out, “You’re a real chakaar, I told you that lately?”

Maul hummed, just before the threshold of Jesse’s bedroom, and pleasantly reminded him, “Just before I left last time, actually.” Then he bared his teeth at his ver’alor in something resembling a grin and strolled out the door with his hands clasped behind his back.

He was two hallways down when he felt their bond ripple with the unmistakable feeling of Jesse’s orgasm, edged with unsatisfied frustration and just a hint of amusement.

#ask meme #answered asks #sw fic #fic bits #by apples #not safe for whales #star wars #the clone wars #jesse/maul #king of the damned #gehatik'e #arc trooper jesse #darth maul #citrus scale

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Kind of a dumb thought, but how do you think the Animorphs would've handled morphing if any of them had glasses? They almost certainly wouldn't be able to morph glasses, so that could be a pretty big impediment for them unless they figured out a way around it.

I built on someone else’s headcanon about human!Tobias needing glasses here.  Honestly, I don’t see it as being a huge impediment.  The kids might not be able to morph glasses, but if they can morph jeans and earrings then they can almost certainly morph contacts.  Even people with vision too myopic for contacts to handle fully (I’m dating one; I know the struggle is real) can get partial help from contacts, so there might be squinting and headaches involved, but it wouldn’t be catastrophic.

The later books get somewhat into the question of “how to morph without prostheses” with the Auximorphs, including with much bigger prostheses than corrective lenses.  However, they’re not really around long enough for us to get any good answers about how they do it outside of “it’s a pain in the butt” and “the non-disabled morphers lend a hand.”  It’s interesting to wonder what would’ve developed longer-term if several Animorphs were forced to spend so much demorphed time without wheelchairs or glasses or other things they needed to get around.

#animorphs #animorphs meta #glasses #auximorphs #prostheses #access from hell #morphing #anonymous #asks

[psychosistr]

Talk to Me- Chapter 4

Summary: On their way home, Domino and Steelbeak take a detour through the park. The pair take their time talking, getting to know each other, and reveal old wounds that bring them closer together.

Notes: Slight trigger warning for this chapter for mentions of gun violence, police brutality, and some minor bodily horror regarding Steelbeak’s beak (but it’s nothing overly graphic).

-First Chapter-

“-and I still have all of the dresses in my closet.” Dominic said, an amused smile on his face as he reached the end of his story.

The pair of agents had finished their dinner over an hour ago and, with neither wanting to end the date quite yet, had stopped at the park on their way back home. The gates had been locked as part of the local government’s vain attempts to keep petty criminals, supervillains (particularly Bushroot and the rest of the Fearsome Four) out at night; the locks didn’t slow them down for more than two seconds before they were in. Still, the locks did serve a different kind of greater good now- they allowed Dominic and Steelbeak to have the scenic park all to themselves as they walked wherever they felt like and talked the night away.

Steelbeak laughed at the other man’s tale, shaking his head as he walked beside him. “Wow, that IS crazy. You’ll have t’ show ‘em to me sometime- bet they look real good on ya.”

“I suppose I could model one or two of them for you.” Dominic looked at the other bird expectantly. “Same question: What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever had to do on a mission?”

They’d started playing “fact trade” a while ago. Dominic remembered it from his school days and thought it would be a fun way for them to get to know each other better. The rules were simple- they would take turns asking each other questions and whoever refused to answer one would lose. Both of them were too stubborn to give up easily, so they’d been going back and forth for over half an hour already.

Steelbeak pondered the question for a moment, tapping the base of his beak before an amused smirk slipped onto his face. “Alright, so, this one time F.O.W.L. High Command’s got me stealin’ all this rubber for- and I ain’t jokin’ on this one- a giant, bouncin’, remote-controlled SUPERBALL.”

“Oh, this is already off to a great start.” Dominic nodded along as he listened.

“I know, right? Think the guys were runnin’ outta ideas.” Steelbeak chuckled before continuing. “So, like I said, I’m tryin’ t’ steal this rubber and- big shocker- Dipwing Dork keeps showin’ up t’ stop me, only he ain’t alone this time.”

“Did he have his sidekick with him?” The loon’s mind wandered briefly to the handsome, well-built pilot that seemed to tag along with Darkwing wherever he went. He’d have to see about getting him alone sometime without his annoying boss around..

“Yeah, but this time he’s got someone else, too.” Steelbeak continued. “See, it’s this weird alien- real’ stupid lookin’ with muscles ten times the size of his brain. The guy’s got crazy powers and takes out me an’ the eggmen all on his own. Second fight with the guy, I get thrown in a closet and hear ‘em arguin’: The guy’s there gettin’ trainin’ from Dorkwing on how t’ be a ‘real hero’, but he’s so annoyin’ that even DARKWING gets fed up with ‘im!” He chuckled a little, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold in his laughter long enough to finish his story. “So, I figure, why let that much power go t’ waste? I put together a superhero costume usin’ what I got in the closet…and come out with a towel on my back, a plunger in my hand, and a friggin’ BUCKET on my head I’d pecked a couplea eye holes in!”

“A bucket?” Oh, that image would be in Dominic’s head ALL NIGHT. “And that worked?”

“It did! Told that chump I was a ‘superhero trainer extraordinaire’ named ‘Professor Steelcluck’, and he FELL FOR IT!” Steelbeak laughed, holding his side as his laughter left him wheezing. “OH man, I’m tellin’ ya, that was even better than gettin’ Darkwing an’ Gizmoduck t’ fight each other!”

The rooster’s laughter was contagious, making the darker bird laugh too. “I wish I could have been there to see it.” After they’d both settled down, Dominic looked up at the taller man. “It’s your turn.”

“Let’s seeeee…” Steelbeak hummed as he thought his question over. Then, as if the humming gave him an idea, he grinned. “Oh, that’s a good one: What kinda music do ya like?”

“I actually don’t listen to music that often.” He replied. “Sometimes I’ll put on classical music if I want something in the background or I’ll find an artist here and there whose style I enjoy- like the one on the radio earlier- but I don’t really have anything I’m particularly interested in.”

“Classical stuff, huh? I’ll have t’ remember that..” The other bird muttered to himself before holding his hands out in front of himself like he was playing a piano with a chuckle. “I ever tell ya ‘bout the time I had t’ go undercover as a concert pianist for a couple months?”

“No, you haven’t.” So his assumption from before had been correct. “I didn’t know you played.”

“Yeah, can’t do nothin’ fancy like read sheet music, but I got a pretty good ear an’ can play a few songs if I hear ‘em enough times. Spent two months travelin’ ‘round the country playin’ songs so me an’ my ‘entourage’ could break int’ all the swanky hotels, music halls, and galleries the band played at- we cleaned ‘em out an’ snuck everythin’ out in the instrument cases.” Two light fingers lifted up and tapped the side of his beak, producing a dull “thump” like an empty plastic cup. “That’s where I got this one- stands out less than my usual piece. Not as good in a fight, but it works when I gotta blend in..plus it’s heck of a lot better for preenin’ than the metal one.”

“I can imagine..” Dominic winced in sympathy at the thought of trying to preen his feathers with such sharp, jagged metal- he’d probably end up tearing skin with a beak like that. That thought actually brought to mind a question that had been on his mind for some time now and, knowing that it was technically his turn, he felt it was a perfect time to ask. “Why do you use prosthetics, anyway? Were you injured during a mission?”

“Nah, nothin’ that excitin’.” Steelbeak said while scratching at some of the feathers around the edge of his beak with one finger. “Good old fashioned case of police brutality: I was fourteen, got caught stealin’ from this high-end mall. I was faster than the security, but it was one of those places where they had cops patrollin’ the area on speed dial- couldn’t outrun the cars an’ they grabbed me when I tried t’ climb a fence. One of ‘em pinned me t’ the ground while the other one stomped on my beak..said they were gonna ‘teach me a lesson’.” He winced, rubbing a finger over the beak to comfort what was likely a phantom pain. “Hurt like heck..broke most of it off..guess I got lucky it didn’t get infected, but it sure felt like it did..” Dominic saw the feathers on the rooster’s comb fluff slightly before he shook his head. “Anyway, when I signed up with F.O.W.L. I got access t’ all those sweet free doctors an’ surgeons- they whipped up the fakes an’ gave me a new identity. Still got some of the real one underneath, though. Stings sometimes, but it don’t hurt as bad when I cover it.”

“……” Dominic debated for a moment over the request he was about to make. Would it be rude to ask? “..I want to see it.” He finally said after a minute, his curiosity winning out. “If you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

“…” Steelbeak stopped walking to look down at him. “It ain’t exactly pretty t’ look at.”

“I don’t care- I want to see it.” The loon repeated resolutely.

“Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn ya..” He reached up to the sides of his beak with both hands and started applying pressure with his fingertips. After a moment there was a popping sound and the material shifted, looking more like it was loosely resting on something rather than connected now. He took the top part of the false beak in one hand and the bottom in the other and carefully pulled it away.

Once he finally got a full look at what had been hidden under the plastic, Dominic could certainly see what Steelbeak meant: It was not a pretty sight.

A large portion of it had been broken off, leaving behind dark scars that contrasted the natural yellow color. The closest part to still being intact was a long strip along the upper-right side of the rooster’s mouth, reaching almost the same length as the prostheses. Right beside that, though, was a sharp, jagged drop that didn’t go back up until almost reaching the middle of his mouth. After that there were two small slivers of his beak centered around the middle, leading to one last piece on the left that was barely an eighth of an inch longer than the other two. And that was just the UPPER mandible- the lower one was nothing but one half-length sliver in the middle and a few scattered fragments. Then, to top it all off, both parts of his beak were fixed to a thin metallic frame outlining the normal shape of a beak with a wire-mesh connecting the natural pieces to a series of metal posts that had been drilled into the hard tissue at the base of his beak and two small metal bolts at the corners of his mouth.

Looking at it left Dominic with some harshly conflicting feelings. On one hand, while it wasn’t the most beautiful sight in the world, it was quite an interesting feat of medical and scientific engineering. On the other hand, though, it was sickening to think that two fully grown men would pin down a child and permanently disfigure him in such a horrific way.

“It really doesn’t hurt..?” Just LOOKING at it made his own pointed beak ache- the loon shuddered to think what it must actually feel like.

The taller bird gave a calm shrug, able to still speak surprisingly clearly. “Not like it used to. Smarts a bit every now an’ then, but it’s mostly just phantom pains. Talkin’ an’ other stuff don’t bother it, but if I try t’ eat without one of the fakes it feels like gettin’ kicked all over again.”

“I see..” He took one last look at the mix of broken tissue and metal before looking up into the rooster’s eyes again. “Thank you for showing me.”

“Eh, don’t mention it.” Steelbeak brought the prosthesis back up to his mouth and slipped it over the metal frame all the way up to the base, popping the corners onto the bolts with an audible click. After opening and closing his mouth a few times to check it, he looked back down at Dominic as they continued their earlier pace. “Hey, whose turn was it again?”

“Yours.” The loon replied, walking beside him at an even pace.

“Right, right..” Taking a minute to think his next question over, Steelbeak eventually came up with something and gave the loon a curious look. “Why’d ya join F.O.W.L., anyway? Sharp, good-lookin’ guy like you had t’ have options, right?”

“Not really..” Dominic looked up at the moon as they walked. “My mother lost her job right when I was about to graduate from high school. Before I knew it, I was forced to drop out and we were living on the streets. Without a diploma I couldn’t get accepted into the college I’d applied for and I had to beg for money on street corners just to get by.” He scowled a little, the memories of those days still bitter and unpleasant for him. “The recruiter for that sector, Di Amund, approached me after he saw me take down two police officers on my own- they were trying to arrest me for vagrancy and, well, you know what happens when someone tries to pin me to a wall.” He heard a hum of acknowledgement in response. “He told me that I would be paid well, get to travel the world, and even be given a place to live. I took the enrollment bonus he offered, gave it to my mother, and left for the northern academy as soon as I could.”

Their walk had led them to the lake in the middle of the park, it seemed. Once Dominic’s story concluded, Steelbeak crouched down by the bank to pick up a few stones. “Livin’ on the streets, huh? Bet that must’ve been rough.” He split them up, keeping half for himself and offering the other half to Dominic. “Livin’ like that’s gotta be hard..bet ya picked up a few things that stuck with ya, right?”

“I suppose..” Dominic took the offered rocks, picking one and tossing it across the water’s surface to get about three skips before it sank.

“Ya probably have trouble throwin’ food away when it’s stale.” Steelbeak tossed one of his own rocks, getting four skips out of it. “Not the stuff that gets moldy or goes bad like meat, or vegetables, or dairy- I bet ya know just how sick you can get offa that junk- but I bet ya probably still keep the dry stuff like chips an’ crackers after their expiration date ‘cause it don’t make sense throwin’ it away, right? Sure, they don’t taste that good anymore, but they’re still good t’ eat an’ it bugs ya wastin’ that sorta thing.”

While he was in the process of throwing another stone, Domino halted and turned his head to look at the other bird- the resulting toss only getting one skip. “How do you-?”

“I bet ya have a few shirts or pants with little holes an’ tears in ‘em stashed away in your drawers, right?” He wasn’t looking at the loon as he spoke, his eyes on the lake as he threw another stone- five skips that time. “They’re kinda beat up, but they still fit just fine, so ya keep ‘em ‘round for the days when ya know you’re not gonna go nowhere or see nobody. Y’know you could just buy more, but why waste the money when ya don’t gotta, right?” Another stone, six skips across the water. “Ya probably hate not bein’ able t’ shower right after gettin’ dirty, too, huh? Longer ya go without it, the more it bugs ya ‘cause it brings back memories of when you’d have t’ go days, probably even weeks without one.” There was a far off look in his eyes as he threw his last stone, the rock reaching almost to the other side of the water before it sank. “And ya can’t sleep without some kinda weapon nearby..but it ain’t just ‘cause of the trainin’ with F.O.W.L.- it’s ‘cause part of your brain still thinks you’re gonna get jumped, even though you’re in a locked room an’ not in an open alley somewhere, right?”

“…You’re right.” Dominic had been looking at Steelbeak the whole time he spoke. At first he’d been surprised that the other man knew some of his less obvious habits so easily, but now, after seeing the distant look in the rooster’s eyes and listening to the tone of his voice, he understood where that knowledge came from. “You used to live like that too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah..” A small, melancholy smile tugged at the lighter bird’s beak as he watched the ripples slowly roll across the lake from the stones that he’d thrown. “Used t’ live with my old man in a rinky-dink shack way out in New Duck City. Spent most of the time inside ‘cause the old man flipped his lid anytime I tried gettin’ out, for some reason. Never went out t’ eat, never went t’ the doctor, and definitely didn’t go t’ school- had t’ teach myself t’ read an’ write an’ junk ‘cause he sure as heck wasn’t gonna. Only ever got one visitor..” His attempt at a smile started to fall as the last of the ripples slowly went still. “My ma- least, I think she was my ma, she didn’t really come ‘round that much, could’ve just been some broad he liked, but we had the same eyes so I called her ma- anyway, my ma disappeared when I was about eight. Old man got way worse after that..started comin’ home with black eyes an’ bloody shirts, and even askin’ ‘bout what he did earned me a cuff upside the head. Then, one night about two years after my ma stopped comin’ around, there was all this racket outside and I kept seein’ red an’ blue lights through the curtains…got outta bed an’ went t’ see what all the noise was about..” He gave a short, strained laugh and shook his head, the lake finally still enough that both of their reflections were visible in the water’s surface again. “The old man went down swingin’- up ‘gainst ten cops with just a glock and he STILL took out half of ‘em…right before they iced ‘im. After that they started comin’ for the front door. I didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout cops back then, all I knew was they were the guys that just plugged my old man full of holes and thought they were gonna do the same t’ me…so, I ran out the back and kept on runnin’..” He took a deep breath and sighed, finally looking away from the water and up towards the sky. “Didn’t have nowhere else t’ go and no one t’ turn to, so I just kinda drifted ‘round from one alley t’ the next..went on like that for a few years, gettin’ by with what I could get for free and stealin’ what I couldn’t..”

Dominic wasn’t really sure what to say at first.

That was…a lot to unpack.

For all of his flashy style, expensive taste in clothes and cars and gifts, and his general demeanor, Dominic never would have guessed that Steelbeak dealt with that sort of thing from such a young age. Ending up on the streets in his teens had already been hard enough to survive day to day- he could only imagine how much worse it was for a child who should have been just starting middle school…

Black fingers tossed a stone across the lake, distorting the reflections again as it skipped five times. “How did you end up in F.O.W.L.?” A distraction, he eventually decided, would probably be better than sympathy in that moment.

To his relief, Dominic saw the life slowly returning to his partner’s eyes. “Now that,” Steelbeak began with a smile slowly forming on his beak once more. “Is a fun one..” He took one of the rocks the loon handed him and threw it at the lake, getting four skips. “So, I’m skulkin’ ‘round the classy part of Featherton lookin’ for chumps t’ fleece, when I see this guy goin’ off on some poor bird sellin’ hot dogs out of a cart. The guy’s a real jerk, y’know? Yellin’ at the girl, tellin’ her she don’t what she’s doin’, sayin’ she gave ‘im the wrong change- just bein’ a real tool, y’know?” He smirked, chuckling quietly. “Then I see his wallet stickin’ outta his back pocket and think to myself ‘This must be karma’s way of teachin’ ‘im not t’ be such a prick’, and who am I to argue with karma, right? So I snag his wallet when I’m walkin’ past- the moron don’t even notice ‘til I’m duckin’ ‘round the corner. He had over two hundred in there, it felt like I’d won the friggin’ lottery!” He watched as Dominic threw a stone, six skips that time. “I treat myself t’ a nice lunch in one of the lower-class joints on the other side of town, stock up on groceries, then head back t’ the half-finished construction site I’d been crashin’ in for the past couple weeks. I turn in for the night, thinkin’ I had a pretty good day…” He kneels down by the bank and finds another stone. “ ‘Course, that changed when I woke up t’ someone grabbin’ me in the middle of the night.” He found a suitable rock and threw it without standing up, only getting three skips. “It was the guy whose wallet I stole- he’d tracked me down an’ brought his buddies for backup. I see one of ‘em pullin’ out handcuffs an’ think they’re cops, so I grab the knife I keep up my sleeve and start fightin’ back. I get in a few good licks before I bolt, even slice the guy with the wallet right up over his eye.” Unable to find any more rocks, he eventually stood back up. “I almost get away, when BOOM! Some big guy in an egg-shaped helmet clothes-line’s me when I’m goin’ down the stairs. I fall down, black out, and wake up tied to a chair in a dark room. Buncha guys start askin’ me questions ‘bout who I’m workin’ for an’ I tell ‘em ‘Hey, if I had a job, ya think I’d be pinchin’ wallets and sleepin on rebar?’- I figured I was gonna die anyway, so might as well go out swingin’, y’know?” He chuckled, watching Dominic throw the last of his own stones out into the water- beating Steelbeak’s best toss and actually reaching the other side. “Nice shot. So, they keep at it for a while, even start pullin’ out guns an’ threatenin’ t’ kill me. When I don’t break down cryin’, the lights come on and this big TV comes outta nowhere- it was my first time meetin’ High Command. Turns out the chump I pickpocketed was one of their top generals and’ they were impressed ‘cause, not only did I manage t’ steal from a general AND take out a bunch of their guys on my own, but it turns out they can’t find any record of me even EXISTIN’- no birth certificate, no social, nothin’..guess my old man never wanted anyone t’ know ‘bout me, for some reason..anyway, High Command offers me a job. Same sorta thing they tell everyone they pick up off the streets- ‘come work for us, you’ll get money, a place t’ live, blah, blah, blah’. Didn’t have much t’ lose, so I signed up. Was too young for the academy, so they just had me shadow my first partner and learn the ropes from ‘im. Officially joined when I was fifteen, got full agent status a year later, and the rest is history.”

Dominic looked at the lighter bird curiously. “Wait- you were only sixteen when you became an agent?”

Steelbeak returned the questioning look with a proud smirk. “Ye-p. Youngest agent in F.O.W.L. history ever. Earned my promotion after that little ‘incident’ with my first partner: High Command figured I’d proved my loyalty and was good enough t’ start field work.”

“……” Red eyes gazed down at the slowly stilling reflections of the lake before, after deciding there was nothing else to do over there, Dominic started walking down the trail again. “I think I owe you an apology.”

Steelbeak followed after the shorter bird, looking down at him with one brow cocked curiously. “I ain’t gonna argue with ya on that one, but I gotta know- for what?”

“For..how I treated you at first.” He was reluctant to do so, but the loon decided he’d swallow his pride long enough to give the other man the apology he deserved (though he wasn’t willing to look him in the eyes just yet). “When High Command transferred me to Saint Canard, they originally told me that I was being reassigned as the apprentice for the chief officer of F.O.W.L.. I assumed someone with such a high rank would be much older than me, probably someone close to retirement looking for a protégé to pass his secrets on to…and then I read your file. The first thing I saw was your date of birth and I thought ‘Wait, we’re both 33?’. I felt so..insulted that they would want to make me an apprentice for someone who was only two months older than me- it felt like I was being demoted.” A frustrated sigh left him as he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing some of the longer strands back briefly before they fell back into place. “Luckily they changed my title to ‘partner’ by the time I arrived, but the whole thing still left a bad taste in my mouth when I was already in a bad mood…and I’m pretty sure it showed in my attitude. I didn’t realize that, despite our age, you had so many more years of experience.” Finally, he looked back up into the other’s dark eyes. “So..I’m sorry for how I treated you when we first met, you didn’t deserve all of the attitude that I gave you- only some of it.”

“Wow,” Steelbeak said with a quiet snicker. “That looked excrucriatin’.” Dominic was about to tell him that, yes, it hurt him immensely to say that out loud, but he was surprised when the other bird’s cocky smirk softened slightly and he looked away while running a hand over his comb. “But…I gotta take my share of the blame, too. I know I ain’t the easiest guy t’ work with.” He sighed and looked back down at Dominic’s inquisitive gaze. “Truth is, I didn’t expect ya t’ last this long, most partners don’t last a month with me. They usually get killed, get on my nerves so much I just let ‘em die, or I get on their nerves so much that they take the first transfer they see- one guy even took a demotion down t’ eggman in the arctic just t’ get as far away from me as possible. I’m..kinda used to them just comin’ an’ goin’ now, so I try not t’ get attached..I don’t even bother learnin’ their names most of the time.” The corner of his beak lifted up in a half smile. “Believe it or not, you’re the longest lastin’ partner I’ve ever had. I didn’t really know what t’ do with ya after the first month went by and you were still here, so I tried bein’ more social but..well…guess the damage was already done, huh?” The look in his eyes was gentle, almost pleading when he next spoke- an expression that Dominic wasn’t used to seeing on him. “Can we just, I dunno…start over? Start things from this week and pretend everything before didn’t happen?”

Pretend none of it ever happened?

The rude introductions, snide remarks, venomous words, and cold glares that made up the bulk of their first month together…The awkward trips to bars and restaurants where he’d blown Steelbeak off in favor of some good looking strangers…That horrible first dinner where Steelbeak had obviously been trying to impress him like he was another one of his usual arm-candy “dates”…The unnecessarily expensive gifts and the inevitable frustration that followed…

To pretend that none of that happened and just start over from this week- to start from that day in the break room where they’d shared a nice meal and had pleasant conversation while toying with the idea of having dinner at Steelbeak’s apartment sometime in the future- that, honestly, was one of the best suggestion he’d ever heard.

A soft smile spread across the loon’s dark beak, the smile instantly easing the other bird’s expression back into an equally soft look. “I’d like that.”

For a while, neither of them said a word, they just gazed into each other's eyes. They’d bared a lot to each other, exposed old wounds (literally, in Steelbeak’s case), and, with just a couple hours of actually talking to one another, had grown closer than they had in the months they’d worked together. In a way, it was a little silly: If they’d just talked to each other like normal people, they could have avoided so many awkward or unpleasant moments and may have even been further along than a first date by now. Well, they couldn’t go back and fix things, but they could definitely treat this as a new beginning and try not to repeat their past mistakes.

Before they’d realized it, they were at the end of the path back at the gate leading out of the park.

Dominic felt his smile fall ever so slightly. He really wasn’t in the mood to leave yet, not when things were going so well..

“Hey, stripes,” Steelbeak’s voice caught his attention and Dominic looked up at his partner curiously, seeing that the rooster’s focus was set on something on the other side of the fence. “You’re packin’ heat, right?”

“Always.” Dominic patted the side of his shirt, right over where he had his guns holstered beneath the fabric.

A smirk that promised mischief spread across the rooster’s face when he met his partner’s eyes, pointing at something on the sidewalk just outside of the park. “Ya packin’ ice, too?”

He looked at the object curiously, a matching smirk appearing on his own face when he found the object in question. Oh, this was going to be fun.

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

End Notes: This was probably my favorite chapter to write for this story. Coming up with a backstory for Steelbeak was way more fun then it probably should have been, but I couldn’t resist going all out x3

I also had a lot of fun thinking up what his beak would look like under the prosthesis and drew inspiration from the fact that I’ve had A LOT of dental work done in the past and actually have an artificial tooth with a post drilled into my upper jaw, so I thought about using something along those lines for Steelbeak but on a more extreme scale. I’m actually really satisfied with how it turned out, overall ^.^

#darkwing duck #dwd #steelbeak #Dominic Domino #steeldomino #100 follower giveaway! #talk to me

[vector--prime]

Vector Primes Holoform

Like any other Transformer, Vector Prime has two holo emitters. One female and one male. Preferably, he preferred to use the male emitter rather than the female one. The female emitter is only used for emergencies when it has to go underground or when its main emitter is broken. This holo emitter consumes very little energy, so Vector Prime can use far more capabilities. Even the fainting spells have become significantly less with this emitter but they are still there.

The Holoemitter

The holoemitters Vector Prime uses are older models. The first holo emitter, who is also the female, is still of the first generation. This emitter is also one of his first Holoemitter. The technology of this emitter is unfortunately not fully developed and so the synchronization can be much more difficult than its second emitter. Over time, he got used to it and was able to perfect the synaptic connection. He consumes a lot of energy with this emitter, and so it can happen that without warning, re faints because he can be spiritually pulled into the multiverse. It is rare, but there have been situations in which he scared some people or even Transformers.

The second holo emitter is one of the most up to date and very advanced in technology. In this holoemitter, it seems as if you have put the spark of the actual body in a small proform. This Holemitter can behave and immitate like a real human. That is, food intake, digestion, aging or even sex is like a human. The only thing you have to adjust here is the sensitivity. It took a while for the timekeeper to find the perfect sensibility. His first day among the human in this emitter was one of the hardest. So it happened that he had a knife in his heart and felt no pain at all. He had to go underground and change his holo form. Only a few years later he found the frequency of human sensation and adjusted himself accordingly.

The female Emittter

Name: Amaterasu, Sakura, Kami or Okami

Height: 1,70 m

Weight: 55 kg

Eye color: red

Hair colour: pink white

kin color: white

The female holoemitter is very similar to the body of his first dimensional counterpart, which is why that is why he uses this emitter only in emergencies.

Although Vector Prime can still use its abilities in this form, they are very limited. He can use portals and teleport himself, but this consumes a lot of power andhe  has to make sure that the synchronization with the emitter isn’t restricted. If the synchronization falls too fast, it loses consciousness and takes a few hours to recover. In this situation, he is completely defenseless and he is still weak after restoring the synchronization. Aside from his abilities, he can also use flies and without wings in this holo emitter.

For a time he lived in the then young Japan and was eventually called because of his skills and strength as the goddess of the sun. He never used his abilities in front of humans, but one day a Herald of Unicron found him and forced him into a fierce fight, forcing him to use his abilities. At some point, this fight came to such an extent that the sun remained covered for months and he disappeared without a trace. In fact, he retreated to the multiverse to recover from the fight he had once lost. Only some time later, he returned to the land and banished the herald of Unicron, who wanted to devour the sun with his ability of darkness and harvest energy. Although Vector Prime couldn’t shine or stand for the light, he was still worshiped by humans. He vehemently denied this and even withdrew several times, but the belief in Amaterasu still remains. He isn’t exactly proud of the event at the time and the real strong influence on the people there. That's one of the reasons why he rarely uses the female holo emitter. His names in this holoform are Amaterasu, Sakura (due to the color of his clothes and hair) or simply Kami or Okami.

The male Holoemitter

Name: Viktor

Height: 1,85 m

Weight: 78 kg

Eye color: blue (right) and white (left)

Hair colour: white

Skin color: white

In its male holoform, Vector Prime enjoys far more freedom and even rages properly on a social level. He is rebellious, messy, loves sex and enjoys a rock'n roll life - at least as far as he can tell. He hasn’t taken any hard drugs since he once completely exaggerated and took too much of it. The synchronization went from 100% to 0% within 10 minutes. Since then, he prefers to stay with the alcohol, which sometimes fogs his sensory organs. He has adapted his life so much to the modern that he lives in a chaotic apartment in the working-class neighborhood of Washington D.C. lives. He plays the electric guitar and even sings in a band. The band performs occasionally in small pubs. Although he likes to exaggerate in this holoform and sometimes celebrates parties, so keep away from all crime, so as not to be targeted by the authorities or the like. Should this happen, so he pretends his death and disappears for several decades or he lives on as a woman.

In this holoform, he has far more opportunities to use his abilities and doesn’t lose consciousness so quickly. Only when he uses his stronger powers, it can happen that he loses his consciousness. In addition, one can recognize in this holoform its innumerable scars, as well as the interfaces of the prostheses, which he possesses. Say, on both arms and legs you can see technological transitions to his organic body. He disguises his prostheses, so that he really looks like a human being. When you scan he, you only recognize organic tissue and no technology. In addition, his predacon form sometimes shows up in his holoform. He gets dandruff in some places and two big white horns that replace his ears, besides, his eyes light up. This human dragon form only occurs when he is emotionally unstable and unable to calm down.

Particularities

Vector Prime is pierced in his male form on the genital after losing a bet. In the beginning he hated it, meantime he got used to it.

In his female form he has hardly any boobs, so that he seems more androgynous than female.

In the female holoform, his voice is high and cold, like a sharp katana.

The feminine form prefers kimonos, while Vector Prime wears various garments in his male holoform. Mostly jeans, vests, shirts and half finger gloves.

In the male form he wears earrings and piercings, and his white hair is combed back like a punk hairstyle.

Vector Prime can also fly in its male holoform, using two white feathered large wings that look like angel wings. This he really only used in extreme emergencies.

#Vector Prime #Holoform #Humanformers #Informations

[hopeless-gods]

oh! you have hearing problems, eri? i wear hearing aids too 0:

hell yeah deaf squad

but yeah i suffer from noise induced hearin loss

the noise bein angelic screechin back on lowwaa

i mean land of wwrath an angels my undeniably shitty an annoyin quest planet

feathered mistakes a nature didnt evven havve a fuckin mouth an yet they nevver failed to make the most dreadful an infuriatin noises one could imagine

it wwas gettin quieter ovver time though an i thought that wwas cause i wwas killin them by dozens but turns out it wwas just my ears reactin badly to constant shriekin an gunshots

i guess my impairment wwas easy to notice cause the evver helpful blueberry biscuit ovver there wwho already had built prostheses for like half our friends came up to me like a knight in shinin armor an offered assistance despite the age old rivvalry an shit

an i said fuck off landdwweller scum mind your owwn business

but only the first twwo times wwe talked about it an after that he put together my first pair a hearin aids

the ones im wwearin rn are also his creation an theyre REAL high quality

anywway i havve the most talented kindest most beautiful boyfriend this has been a psa

#dan #asks #anonymous

[recentanimenews]

Dororo – 03 – Made to Live

The sun sets on a hillside by the sea, and a man is at work crucifying “rebels” with all the passion and intensity of a guy filling a vending machine. There’s a detached, workmanlike quality to his ghoulish work.

He’s finally snapped out of it when a woman arrives, perhaps his wife, pleading for him to stop. She is run through by a soldier and dies right in front of the man.  Whoever she is, he is now awake to the horrors he is committing, and decides to put an end to it, by leaping from the cliff into the sea.

Because this scene was in vivid color and the following scenes in monochrome, there’s some initial confusion as to which scene took place first—especially since he seemed to off himself. Here man, named Jukai, has a young apprentice in Kaname, who is also a recipient of one of his miraculous prostheses. Villagers and out-of-towners alike line up outside his workshop hoping he can help their loved ones live normal lives again.

We learn beyond a doubt the crucifying was a part of Jukai’s past when Kaname hears a rumor from one of the out-of-town beneficiaries of his services that Jukai once served Lord Shiba. Jukai didn’t die in the jump, but was picked up by a foreign ship and taken to their country, where he learned his prosthetic-making craft. He works not for forgiveness or atonement, but simply because he believes his life was spared so he could learn the craft and use it to help as many people as possible.

An honorable a notion that may be, but Kaname’s father was killed by Lord Shiba’s reign of terror. While he wants to kill Jukai for revenge, he lets him finish an arm for a young boy whose only crime was crossing paths with a samurai…then he sheds the artificial leg Jukai made for him and hobbles off, unable to live or work with Jukai anymore.

A bit later, while walking along a riverbank, Jukai, alone again, stumbles and discovers the boat bearing the newborn babe with no eyes, ears, limbs or skin…yet still clinging to life and clearly wanting to live. Jukai finds another reason to keep living himself, and builds all the parts necessary for Hyakkimaru to not just survive, but thrive.

As Jukai raises and trains Hyakkimaru (a name he gave him), Daigo’s healthy second son Tahoumaru is born, and grows into a highly skilled but also arrogant young man, who also rues the deserated diety his mother keeps around as a memento of her firstborn, of whom Tahoumaru probably knows nothing.

Jukai learns that whatever special gift Hyakkimaru possesses that enabled him to survive this long also draws demons to his vicinity. Hyakkimaru can’t feel pain, so he feels no fear, and dispatches each demon to cross his path with relative ease.

But when Hyakkimaru ends one specific demon and his left leg suddenly and miraulously grows back (ironically the same limb Kaname lost), Jukai concludes that someone made a terrible deal with the demons that resulted in Hyakkimaru losing almost everything. He’s seen firsthand that Hyakkimaru can retrieve those parts that were taken from him by fighting, so Jukai trains him to kill, even as he curses himself for doing so.

For while Hyakkimaru, like Jukai, was given the gift of survival under incalculable odds, Jukai laments that the boy is destined to spend that life mired in violence, blood, despair, and loneliness. But he lets him go anyway. He cannot choose for Hyakkimaru how to live the life he was given, nor can he accompany him on his quest without getting in the way.

Back in the present, Hyakkimaru explores his newfound sense of pain by stepping on the fire with his real foot, then stomping it, prompting Dororo to stop him. Pain is clearly so foreign to him that he’s not sure quite how to react to it; fortunately, he has friends in Dororo and Biwamaru to make sure he doesn’t get in too much trouble experimenting. Dororo, meanwhile, won’t soon forgive whatever scoundrel allowed so much to be taken from his friend.

Meanwhile, Jukai, alone once more, continues to ply the battlefields, fitting the living and the dead alike with his handmade prosthetic limbs, unable to go anywhere or do anything else, but still able to do at least this much.

By: braverade

#Anime #News #RABUJOI – An Anime Blog

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

blood and wine, chapter one

Here it is, the first chapter of my first-ever OC fanfiction. I hope you’ll give it a chance, even if it’s not what you would normally consider reading. If you admire me at all as an author, please give it a shot, as this story is very close to my heart. :)

Find it here on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677440/chapters/33910176

Summary:

“It’s a scream that pulls her back to reality, one that is quickly muffled and cut off- but not before she’s able to pinpoint the source of the sound. She shouldn’t interfere, but she can’t quite bring her limbs to keep moving, to keep herself walking forward and far away from the sounds of a struggle. The man who shoves past her suddenly stiff body with a mumbled expletive doesn’t share her qualms, hurrying away even as her stare burns twin holes between his retreating shoulders.

Coward.

Then she’s alone beneath the flickering lights of the row of the half-broken lamps lining the street, and she’s moving towards the alley at a near-run. Her need to keep a low profile be damned, Maia is all-too familiar with the memory of what it feels like to be a girl whose screams are ignored.”

//

She’s an ex-assassin turned reluctant vigilante living in New York City. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: I know that most people avoid OC fanfiction, but I’m hoping that you’re here because my reputation as a somewhat decent writer has convinced you to give this a chance. :)

Now onto the important story stuff:

This will take begin by taking place roughly six months before Civil War, in late 2015, which is when it was canonically established that Peter Parker also began his vigilantism. For now, this story will be told from the OC’s POV, but that may be subject to change in later chapters. OC was born a year earlier than Peter, in 2000, making her a year older, and as of this chapter, 15.

Enjoy!

Chapter One: the price of salvation 

By the time Maia starts heading back to her apartment, a combination of the encroaching darkness and the biting cold seems to have been enough to have effectively chased most people back into the comfort of their homes. It’s only November, but the chill of the approaching winter has arrived early. She doesn’t mind the cold- she’s been in far worse situations to care about such a minor discomfort- and if the benefit of it is that the streets will be emptier, it’s an annoyance she’s more than willing to endure.

She lets her thoughts drift as she walks, imagines herself as one of the masses. Imagines returning to a brightly lit home with the scent of cooking food hanging heavy in the air and the sound of laughter to greet her ears as soon as she steps through the door, warm and genuine and purely inviting. It’s a silly, childish fantasy for her to indulge in, but it keeps her mind occupied for several blocks, so she allows it to drag on.

It’s a scream that pulls her back to reality, one that is quickly muffled and cut off- but not before she’s able to pinpoint the source of the sound. She shouldn’t interfere, but she can’t quite bring her limbs to keep moving, to keep herself walking forward and far away from the sounds of a struggle. The man who shoves past her suddenly stiff body with a mumbled expletive doesn’t share her qualms, hurrying away even as her stare burns twin holes between his retreating shoulders.

Coward.

Then she’s alone beneath the flickering lights of the row of the half-broken lamps lining the street, and she’s moving towards the alley at a near-run. Her need to keep a low profile be damned, Maia is all-too familiar with the memory of what it feels like to be a girl whose screams are ignored.

It takes less than a minute for her to beat the would-be rapist into unconsciousness. She feels like she’s cheated somehow, in trading a single minute of her time to save a woman now gasping out breathless strings of thanks in her direction. She’s spent so much of her life inflicting this same kind of violence, but never before for the benefit of people like the woman in front of her now, never in defense of the innocent.

Having the scales tip in a different direction is such a foreign feeling to her that it almost makes her dizzy. Even with Yasha on their hunts for the men who used to hold the whips, fighting never felt like this. It was still something dirty and brutal she had been wielding against the dirty and brutal men she used to serve.

Now, it feels like something else.

Now, it feels like salvation.

Concealing her face is nothing new to her, but by the time a fight usually begins she’s already ditched her wigs and false prostheses because people don’t usually get to walk away from her alive. Neither last very long once in-combat, anyways, and she doesn’t have the time or patience to apply them on a nightly basis. Nano masks are expensive and won’t withstand any real hits, and she’s really not in the mood to mimic common criminals by running around the city wearing what looks like a sock with cutouts for her eyes and mouth over her face. There’s the face-guard she’d worn on several missions that didn’t require a stealth infiltration, only straightforward assassination, but it works and feels like a muzzle, and she knows the design had been intentional.

Weapons didn’t need to talk. Weapons had mission objectives and targets to kill and no room for independent thought. And she may still be a weapon but that’s not all that she is anymore so she tucks the face-guard back into the bag she keeps in the corner of her closet where her old tactical suit and gear remains, having done nothing but gather dust for the past year. She’s outgrown what she used to be in the time since Yasha had set her free from the control of the Ouroboros in more ways than one.

The old bodysuit now feels tight and constrictive when she tries to slip into it again, and she remembers what it was like when her skin had clung close enough to her bones that it had been easy to count her ribs, one by one. They had liked to keep their weapon hungry, honed to a perpetually razor-sharp edge by discomfort and desperation. There had been times they wouldn’t let her sleep or eat for days just to test the limits of her body, her mind, her commitment to the task at hand, no matter how inane.

Now she understands what it’s like to be well-fed, to have enough flesh between skin and bone to dull the sharpness of her ribs and her collarbones. Her body is still sleek and muscled but no longer unhealthily slender, no longer bordering on breakable. Sometimes, in the dead of night when she can’t force herself to sleep, she likes to visit the 24-hour stores just to stare at the aisles full of food she can eat without waiting for a command, choices she can make without the heavy drum beat of a directive banging against the inside of her skull.

A month ago, she’d finally indulged herself and bought a fridge to furnish her apartment and had fought hard to keep from succumbing to the urge to self-punish for such a selfish, unnecessary act. She’d succeeded, then. A day later, Maia had ended up kneeling beside the bathtub and holding her head underwater until she’d almost passed out for treating herself to a hot cup of chai from a street vendor with kind eyes. She’d ended up on her back on the floor of the bathroom, vision blacking out at the edges as she struggled to breathe, hating herself for her failure to resist the voice inside her mind reminding her that she was an asset, and assets consumed sustenance for survival, not pleasure, and she deserved to hurt for the luxury of a single cup of chai. It was a battle she lost as often as she won, fighting to beat the vestiges of her programming back into the smallest, darkest corner of her mind.

In the end, she chooses a fitted black cloth neckpiece that she can keep around her throat until she needs to use it. It works well when she pulls it up to cover the lower half of her face, effectively concealing all of her features below her eyes. The lower end of it tucks neatly into the collar of the new custom black tactical suit that she’d used the man hired to act as her guardian to acquire. He was an accommodating man who didn’t mind taking orders from a girl less than half of his age, so long as she kept him on her payroll. The mask won’t provide much in the way of protection, but it‘ll keep her face concealed while still allowing her to speak, and that’s all she really needs.

None of the petty criminals and street thugs she confronts pose any real threat to her, but there’s still something exhilarating about the prospect of winning fights where she’s no longer on the wrong side. It’s new, different, and it doesn’t make her limbs feel heavy with regret when she lashes out with every intention of drawing blood.

The one rule she imposes upon herself is simple- no killing.

It takes longer to subdue her opponents sometimes, when she’s fighting a group and has to remind herself not to snap someone’s neck or crush anyone’s skull against the cement, but she leaves them all alive, albeit unconscious, and that’s a victory in and of itself for a girl who was raised to kill without a second thought. It costs her, leaving her with injuries she wouldn’t normally sustain if she didn’t care about leaving her opponents with a pulse, but every cut and bruise feels like a prize. She relishes the pain that she carries home with her after a night out on the streets, each and every single one of her aches serving as a reminder that she had left those people alive and with every reason not to step out of line again.

She’s been on the streets for nearly two weeks when she finally comes across another vigilante. The city turns out to have more of them than she expects, once she started paying attention. She’s seen blurry images of him on the news enough to already know who he is, but it still doesn’t stop a flicker of excitement from bursting to life in her veins when she finally meets the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

He moves in a way that has her wondering who trained him, aware of every single thing around him even without turning to look. She’s been trained similarly to be aware of her surroundings, but his spatial awareness is so obviously superior that she’s almost envious.

Maia watches him fight, patiently waiting at the opening of the alley where he’s currently beating the crap out of a couple of muggers. The would-be victim had already run past Maia and back out into the streets, clutching her bag and probably hurrying to retreat to the relative safety of her home. She hadn’t even spared the masked girl a second glance in her rush to flee.

When he’s finished- which she notes with a mild sense of disappointment because it would’ve been a genuine pleasure to continue to watch him fight- he turns to her and tilts his head in query.

“I’m not here to fight,” she says, mindful of the way he’s already tensed in preparation for an attack.

“Then what are you here for?” He growls back, something dark and dangerous lining the edges of his tone, a threat so visceral that she can almost feel it permeating the space between them.

Maia steps deeper into the alley, and the shadows embrace her form like an old friend.

“Well, it seems we’re in the same business, so I thought I should introduce myself.”

“You seem a little young to be in this business.”

She doesn’t allow herself to stiffen, even as her heart skips a beat at his words. Whoever the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is, he’s more perceptive than almost anyone else she’s ever come across. What gave it away? Maia’s trained her whole life to become a ghost, yet within a minute of introducing herself to this man in an alley, he can already tell that she’s still a teen?

“I took down those guys at the docks last week,” she tosses back, forcing herself to sound flippant and cold, “I think my age is the last thing you should be concerned about.”

It’s not quite a laugh that she manages to get of out him, but it’s close.

“I guess you’re right about that.” He nods, relaxing his stance and lowering his billy clubs to his sides. “What should I call you?”

Maia hums for a second, a little thrown by the question. She hadn’t quite considered creating a name for her nighttime alter ego yet. This new hobby of hers doesn’t feel so much as dressing up as it does dressing down, stripping away the costume of normalcy and returning to the truth at the core of her being, the part of her that has violence etched deep into the very marrow of her bones.

“Dealer’s choice,” she replies, and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really laughs this time. It’s a rich, warm sound that echoes brightly in the quiet stillness of the alley.

“Alright. How about ‘Jane’?”

“As in, Jane Doe?” She doesn’t bother stopping the smirk that stretches across her lips, hidden beneath the fabric obscuring her face from view.

He shrugs, and the gesture makes the tiny horns of his mask catch some of the faint moonlight that trickles down from high above.

“Why not?”

She frowns, considering it. Something stirs in the recesses of her mind, and she tugs the memory loose with practiced caution. She thinks she was a Jane, once, in Europe. One of her earliest missions. But the memory holds no trace of blood, so she agrees with a shrug of her shoulders and the barest tilt of her head.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to be called ‘John,’ then.”

“You can call me Mike.” He smiles, then, almost wickedly, and she’s sure there’s a joke in there somewhere that she’s most definitely not in on.

But even beneath the mask, she finds herself smiling too, and just like that, Maia somehow ends up befriending the Devil.

to be continued...

#marvel fanfiction #original character #peter parker #Ao3 #fanfiction #writing

[petrichorate]

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao: Thoughts

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (Junot Díaz) 

What a unique book. Junot Díaz’s voice alternates somewhere between poetry and crassitude, and his characters similarly waver between the realm of science fiction and the all-too-genuine fickleness of reality. I remember my dad bringing this book home for World Book Night back when I was a sophomore in high school; it took me five years to sit down and finally read it. 

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao almost feels physical in its structure, its descriptions, and its hard-hitting, brutal-yet-flippant style. The characters are entrancing. They’re not likable to me, not in the normal sense—but they’re understandable and real. Díaz generously sprinkles in footnotes, painting for us in broad strokes the past atrocities of the Trujillo dictatorship in the Dominican Republic. I love the casual interjections of Spanish colloquialisms, the general sense of which I could mostly grasp, even though my Spanish is by no means up to par. If I had to pick one word to describe this book, it would be: rich. Rich with language, rich with a country’s history and with characters’ repeated histories, rich with stories and the supernatural and rich with life. 

Here are some excerpts that particularly struck me:

A beautiful description from Lola, about her relationship with her mother: “But she just stood there shaking, in her stupid wig and her stupid bata, with two huge foam prostheses in her bra, the smell of burning wig all around us. I almost felt sorry for her. This is how you treat your mother? she cried. And if I could have I would have broken the entire length of my life across her face, but instead I screamed back, And this is how you treat your daughter?”

On how easy it is to love even someone who has committed atrocities: “On the other hand, he was tormented by his crimes. When he drank too much, and that was often, he would mutter things like, If you only knew the diabluras I’ve committed, you wouldn’t be here right now. And on some nights she would wake up to him crying. I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t mean it! And it was on one of those nights, while she cradled his head and brushed away his tears, that she realized with a start that she loved this Gangster.” (This reminded me of this excerpt from The Handmaid’s Tale):  “He was not a monster, she said. People say he was a monster, but he was not one. What could she have been thinking about? Not much, I guess; not back then, not at the time. She was thinking about how not to think. The times were abnormal. She took pride in her appearance. She did not believe he was a monster. He was not a monster, to her. Probably he had some endearing trait: he whistled, off key, in the shower, he had a yen for truffles, he called his dog Liebchen and made it sit up for little pieces of raw steak. How easy it is to invent a humanity, for anyone at all. What an available temptation. A big child, she would have said to herself. Her heart would have melted, she’d have smoothed the hair back from his forehead, kissed him on the ear, and not just to get something out of him either. The instinct to soothe, to make it better. There there, she’d say, as he woke from a nightmare. Things are so hard for you. All this she would have believed, because otherwise how could she have kept on living? She was very ordinary, under that beauty. She believed in decency, she was nice to the Jewish maid, or nice enough, nicer than she needed to be.”

A beautiful comparison to Eden: “A month before it all blew up, the Gangster took Beli on a vacation to his old haunts in Samaná. Their first real trip together, a peace offering prompted by a particularly long absence, a promissory note for future trips abroad. For those capitaleños who never leave the 27 de Febrero or who think Güaley is the Center of the Universe: Samaná es una chulería. One of the authors of the King James Bible traveled the Caribbean, and I often think that it was a place like Samaná that was on his mind when he sat down to pen the Eden chapters. For Eden it was, a blessed meridian where mar and sol and green have forged their union and produced a stubborn people that no amount of highfalutin prose can generalize.”

The book is scattered with science fiction and fantasy references that were amazingly well-integrated:  “A great darkness descended on the Island and for the third time since the rise of Fidel people were being rounded up by Trujillo’s son, Ramfis, and a good plenty were sacrificed in the most depraved fashion imaginable, the orgy of terror funeral goods for the father from the son. Even a woman as potent as La Inca, who with the elvish ring of her will had forged within Baní her own personal Lothlórien, knew that she could not protect the girl against a direct assault from the Eye.”

Lola, on the dread of the first judging glance from her mother: “And then the big moment, the one every daughter dreads. My mother looking me over. I’d never been in better shape, never felt more beautiful and desirable in my life, and what does the bitch say? Coño, pero tú sí eres fea. Those fourteen months—gone. Like they’d never happened.”

Oscar, on fear taking over regardless of how we think we’d act in our imagination: “While they argued with the colmado owner about prices, Oscar thought about escaping, thought about jumping out of the car and running down the street, screaming, but he couldn’t do it. Fear is the mind killer, he chanted in his head, but he couldn’t force himself to act. They had guns!”

Yunior, on not ending up with the woman he values the most: “Before all hope died I used to have this stupid dream that shit could be saved, that we would be in bed together like the old times, with the fan on, the smoke from our weed drifting above us, and I’d finally try to say words that could have saved us. ______ ______ ______. But before I can shape the vowels I wake up. My face is wet, and that’s how you know it’s never going to come true.  Never, ever. It ain’t too bad, though. During our run-ins we smile, we laugh, we take turns saying her daughter’s name. I never ask if her daughter has started to dream. I never mention our past. All we ever talk about is Oscar.”

#reading list #junot diaz #the brief wondrous life of oscar wao #books