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yanderenightmare · 4 years

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yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncon, profanity, abuse, anger issues, anxiety, arson, bullying, child neglect, child abuse, drugs, addiction, anorexia, guilt, pills, unprotected sex, stalking, trauma

TIP-JAR

PART ONE

IN CASE OF FIRE: PUSH ALARM - PART TWO

IN THE TRAILER

She ran away from him in the hallway.

He’d warned her of what would happen if she did.

Knowing it was a matter of when as the next day he was left waiting, grazing the halls of where she’d left him with a kicked ball-sack on the dirty school-floors, all lovesick and frenzied with fire ants raging over his skin and a manic promise that one way or the other he’d get her. Lying in suspenseful spiteful wait to tell everyone what type of slut the little spitball in class 3c General Studies really was.

But, timing was everything, and as the day went by without him spotting her he realized the opportunity to ruin her reputation in school wasn’t going to rear its head.

She was home…

Sick.

Or, that’s what she’d told the school. One quick question at the reception told him so.

She was home.

Home in that run-down trailer-park sorry-excuse for a home she despised, the one she cried about so often, the one with neighbours who didn’t give two shits worth a damn about who she was or that her mother was a crackhead-whore in no position to take care of her.

She was there instead of at school begging him to stop, begging for him to give her a second chance, begging him to kiss her, like she was supposed to do.

Standing outside her trailer, he wondered if whether her mom was home or not. He wondered if either one of her neighbours would care if they saw him break in, if it even was considered breaking in.

He spotted her mother slouched on a beach-chair beside some other trailer with a needle still stuck to her arm, ugly destroyed skin sizzling in the summer-heat, mouldy flip-flops sticking to her feet.

He cringed at the sight of it, but knew then that his pursuit would go on unprovoked, which at the very least brought him some sense of relief.

She’d gotten in through scholarship as she in no form or way could afford a school like UA. That much was clear, unlike how unclear the crystal-meth shards decorating the plastic salon-table placed on the outside of their van was.

She transferred half-way through the first year, all on the account of pure hard work.

He could respect that.

He did respect that. Given she was quirkless and all. It was the reason she’d caught his eye.

It all went sideways when she rejected his invitation to Homecoming.

He’d already gone miles away out of his comfort-zone, out of his element, talked himself into asking her out, only for her to turn him down.

Him.

Best student in Hero-course 1A at the time.

Rejected.

He knew it was petty of him to bully her because of it, but… she didn’t only make a fool out of him, she broke his fucking heart.

He could have listened to Kiri, and tried to forget about her through some other extra, but... he wanted her. He’d decided. She was his. And a quirkless trailer-rat like her was in no position to just say no.

In some sick sense he believed she deserved better. Him being better. But, he would like for her to ask for his help, instead of him just giving it to her. He would like to see her grovel, beg, just a little bit, or a lot. He wanted to see her regret her decision. He wanted to see her sorry. He wanted to see her want him as much as he wanted her. And he wanted it to be her who initiated it.

But… he could see that wasn’t happening. He could see that his unorthodox methods of courting her through continuously trying to bend her until she broke only consisted of her rewinding or snapping back like a rubber-band.

She was distracted, too busy being broken by what life had given her, too busy with juggling different shifts, bills, schoolwork, to be thinking about him and how he pushed her around a bit at school.

He eyed the cracked paint of the faded trailer with much the look of a snob on his face. Fingers brushing over the door-handle, testing how much noise it would make if he were to pick the lock, coming to a complete loss.

He could barely believe it… the door was unlocked, and when he stepped inside he was even more distraught to see there was no existing lock there to be locked in the first place.

Meanwhile her mother was too busy slowly dying to better protect her daughter from depraved humans who could come and do just about anything they wanted with her.

Meaning… just look at him.

Soft snores brought him back to where he was once he closed the door behind him. Making the short way to the source of the groggy sounds, feeling his stomach flutter at the thought of how wrong it was of him to be there, sneaking about like some love-obsessed sick stalker, getting turned on by hearing his prey sleep.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

And why didn’t he care enough to stop?

He stood at the foot of her bed, hands in the pockets of his trousers, head tilted to the side to view her sleeping frame.

Sleeping on top of the covers, not under.

He doubted it was because of the heat, the same way he doubted the mattress beneath was clean.

She was curled onto her side, knees bent and tucked up. Cute with that teddy-bear she used as a pillow, silly and stupid but cute because of it, especially in her uniform despite having left the tie and blazer off.

She was wearing her uniform.

Meaning... she’d either gone to bed with her clothes on and slept through the entire day, or she had planned on going to school this morning, but weaseled her way out like the weakly coward she was.

Well, in that case… what he was about to do would serve her right then...

Ought to teach her lesson.

He lifted his hand out of his pocket, producing a finger to poke her ankle softly, before stroking up a path alongside her socks, all four other digits joining in the stride before the fabric came to an end and his callous fingertips glided onto the doughy flesh of her leg, over the dome of her knee and onto her even softer thigh, coming to the edge of her skirt.

He always liked her in that skirt.

That’s where his mind was at as he started lifting to see what underwear she was wearing, yet never getting that far as something sharp dug into each side of his wrist.

Her nails weren’t of course any close to lethal, yet managed to surprise him as she whipped around to meet him, digging the talons into his roughened skin.

She might not have prioritized figuring out who it was that was currently touching her in her bed, but she had assessed the situation enough to know that someone was in fact in her house and touching her, something of which is not a good omen when you live where she lived, nor in any other situation for that matter.

He tried subduing the splash of struggles that followed her awakening by climbing and crawling some further up on the bed in order to control what myriad of flailing limbs came at him.

Soon, hands that had primly started clawing at him were safely locked in his much larger hands.

“Oi, relax! It’s just me!”

As if it being him would have any other effect than of rising her already racing heartbeats. Yet, even as her lungs heaved for as much air as her tight chest would allow her, he managed to capture her focus, her hands pinned to each side of her head whereas her feet were stopped amidst their kicking, crushed beneath the weight of the much stronger, much more encompassing mass and weight of Katsuki’s legs.

He hunched over her, back arching with his face a mere half-foot away from her own, the only thing supporting his upper-body being his arms, which were stretched out and grasping at her wrists, pushing them into her pillow.

Her eyes were large with craze-ridden fear as they locked with his recognizable carmine ones.

“Bakugo?”

Shocked and scared, with the creeping feeling of anticipation waving over her again, now all for different reasons then when she first understood there was an intruder in her caravan.

Somehow, it being Bakugo gave her an even starker unsettling eerie feeling than if it had been a total stranger. Maybe because oblivion is bliss and knowing what is to come makes the inevitable that much more inescapable.

Still, she demanded he tell her, even though she thought she might already know the answer.

“What are you doing? Why are you here!?”

“You weren’t at school.” He stated, spoken as though it preforming as explanation enough, though serving as far from it to the girl beneath him, the confusion shown in the way she scrunched her brows together.

He noticed, contemplating whether or not he should make his reasons known, but deciding against it and for playing with her for just a little while longer.

“I thought, since you managed to wiggle your way out of your punishment at school, I’d bring the punishment to you.”

He searched her features for any cracks in her composure, but though she looked beyond uncomfortable, she made no moves to push him off.

Her eyes squinted instead, narrowing at him.

“I’m not scared of you, Bakugo. I know you’re not gonna hurt me.”

Her body started twisting under him. The action far from vigorous, mainly meant to show her discomfort as she knew she wouldn’t go anywhere unless Katsuki decided she could.

And though the intention to her wiggling was not to evoke his arousal, it most certainly managed to do just that.

He inhaled sharply and she felt her body freeze up, seize at the feel of his hips making a shift to slot himself against her, grinding down onto her flattened and unmoving body.

“Hurt you?”

He let out a low rumble of a laugh, like building thunder.

“Who said anything about hurting you?”

Her breath strained as his eyes scrunched closed upon her jerking, his own teeth sinking into his bottom-lip to maintain the hiss on his tongue at the pull in his pants, his head descending to nuzzle against her chest, spiky hair poking at her chin.

Mouth breathing hot breaths onto her ear, causing her to whimper.

“Thought you just said you weren't scared?”

She swallowed thickly, improperly giving his rhetorical question an answer, feeling her wrists go numb under his hold and her blood running cold.

“Bakugo…?”

He didn’t answer and she felt herself go even more rigid at the absence of his voice.

It wasn’t often Katsuki didn’t speak back to her when she willingly spoke to him. In fact, it was never. But now, he was quiet, too quiet, making the frightening rugged sound of his heavy breathing overwhelm her ears, dulling her senses in the process before everything being sent into hyperdrive upon the feeling of his hand leaving her one wrist to cup her breast outside her shirt, giving the mound a careful and slow yet full squeeze.

She yelped at the sudden attack, her body jumping up against him, making yet another teasingly harsh contact with his clothed cock.

This time he hissed, both upon her delicious little struggles but also because her newly freed hand had actively made the decision to pull his hair as a desperate means of making him move.

It worked to some extent, at least in freeing her other hand which opened for the opportunity to drag herself out from beneath him.

Yet, the action was stopped in a series of rather clumsy fighting, where Bakugo managed to retract the upper-hand once again, pinning both her wrists with one hand whilst tugging loose his tie with the other.

He’d slotted himself between her legs now, her skirt spreading and hiking up her thighs as she struggled to stop him from tying her wrists together and fasting them to the handicap-bar mounted on the side of the bed, yet failing.

Her body free for him to touch now, to tamper and play with, and she felt her heart catch in her throat, small pleas coming erupting from the place because of it, but he didn’t seem to hear her, and if he did, he was electing to ignore the pitiful sounds.

His hands traveled down her sides, thumbs rubbing over the scratchy material, the fabric of her shirt stiff as a result of using dollar-store laundry detergent.

White shirt; made up of thin fabric to make the fight against the Tokyo-heat easier, yet resulting in it being so temptingly easy to make see-through with just a little spill of water. Water Katsuki was always so eager to pour, either with light teasing spritzes from his water-bottle or in carrying her over his shoulder into the showers and holding her there as the water rained down upon her, drenching both her and himself, then offering ever so mockingly if she would like to borrow a shirt, because unlike her he had a dorm-room with fresh and dry clothes, whereas she only had that one uniform and all other clothes made up of more holes than actual textile.

He chuckled at the memories as his fingers moved up-front and centre to tamper with the buttons.

“I bet you just hate this uniform, don’t yah?” His voice, although maintaining the snicker, was soft. Not loud and abrasive and rushed, but as though he was enjoying himself, thoroughly at that, drinking in the moment.

His movements too, were slow; careful.

Large warm hands stroking down the bare skin of her stomach, feeling the tremors as he did so, with eyes glued to those perfect mounds found beneath what looked like a well-worn sports-bra, making him wonder what she’d look like if he were to dress her up in expensive red lace. She’d be mouthwatering to look at either way, and breasts are just as soft whichever way they’re dressed… it’s not like the bra is staying on for too long anyway.

He swallowed thickly to stop his mouth from dripping.

He tucked her shirt out from her skirt, taking a moment to grip her midriff and squeeze to try and ease her struggling.

It only resulted in her thrashing even more, whirlwinds of panicked get-off-me’s and fuck-you’s and stop’s spilling from her mouth in rapids, but the plead seemed to repel off Bakugo’s ears like water off a ducks back where the desperation only aided in satiating his sick sadism, in the same fashion tears fell from her eyes aided in making his stomach churn or flutter with something he could only describe as bliss, her arms trying to the best of their efforts at tugging at her bonds, to no avail except for making the skin found their chaffed and sore.

He spent a few seconds deciding whether he wanted the skirt on or off as he felt up the fabric between his fingers, more memories flushing his mind with such sweet and potent nostalgia of him lifting up the short excuse for coverage in the school-halls every day to sneak a peak at her underwear, or those times he would bend her over classroom-desks and push his bulge where it would fit so snuggly against her ass.

“Kinda feels like this skirt gets shorter and shorter for each year...” He mused, stroking up the skin of her thighs, lifting the fabric in the process, revealing a pair of black cotton boxers which, despite being lackluster, forced a groan to rumble from his chest.

The fuck-you’s had turned to please’s and the change made a smirk curl onto his lips as he put his lips to the inside of her thigh before pulling away to look down at her, all spread open and quivering for him.

Breasts all perfect, squished together in the comfort of her bra, hair splayed on top of the pillow, her nose turning all red and adorable with her eyes brimming with both panic and tears.

Her skin felt so soft and untouched beneath his fingertips as he stroked up and down her thighs, pulling them towards him, as far as the bonds on her wrists would allow, slightly struggling with how much the panic had taken a hold of her, her legs kicking and flailing.

But he liked it that way.

Messy and desperate.

“Don’t be difficult, Quirkless, you’re not getting out of this.” He spoke so calmly, so collected and controlled and determined. As though he wasn’t doing anything wrong, as though this was his right. “This is the only thing you’re any good for anyways.”

He leveled with her clothed little sex, slung her legs over his shoulders, watched as she squirmed upon his breath, heard her whimper and plead with his name as he stuck his tongue into the fabric, her legs doing a little involuntary kick while her thighs where firmly secured in his hands.

“Worthless quirkless little pussy on legs.”

She sobbed as his fingers latched around the ribbon of her underwear, pulling, tearing the fabric, with no need to pull it down her legs, just a need to pull them off.

A content and knowing smile made its way onto his lips, yet she was unable to see it in her position, something of which she was thankful for, or… as thankful as one can be when being defiled by a friend.

Not that Bakugo was much of a friend anymore, but he had been, at some point before he'd offered more than one concerning opinion about quirkless people and their place in the world.

Of her place in the world.

He didn’t share her nostalgia though, not when the future was smiling at him with the face of her shaven warm pussy right in front of him.

“Did you get yourself all nice and ready for me? Huh? Knew I was coming?” He teased as she shook her head sporadically, unable to form any type of words in her overwhelming embarrassment and fear and panic.

He grinned smugly, despite knowing it was due to her spot on the swimming-team she kept herself clean and hairless, also knowing that the only reason she took swimming-lessons was because she and her mom couldn’t afford the hot-water bill, making her take showers at school instead, and that a spot on the swimming-team gave her a free-ticket to using those showers anytime she wanted.

How many times had he snuck in there to watch her soap up her body?

How many times had he palmed his erection to the sight of her?

How much he’d wanted to waltz in and take her against the cold tiles, make steam roll off the walls, hearing her voice echo his name...

Now he had the real deal though, no more time for fantasies.

She was smart, she was resourceful, but not enough to put a lock on her door.

She was lucky if one thought about it.

Lucky it wasn’t just any random guy who walked in and took her like Bakugo was going to take her.

Lucky it wasn’t just anyone’s tongue jutting out to lick up her spread folds.

Lucky it was Bakugo who was hugging her thighs close to him, using them as soft warm pillows as he nuzzled between them to lick and suck and bite at the little bundle of nerves found right there in front of him.

Lucky it was Bakugo that had her squirming and quaking and whimpering and crying.

Because, taking everything into consideration, she was safe with him.

Safer than she would or even could be with anyone else for that matter.

Who else could really protect her like he could, like he will, like he has?

She should be grateful he still wants her after she rejected him, humiliated him like she did. She was sure going to pay for it tonight. But first, he could at least treat her to what she had been missing, especially when thinking of how much he was going to take from her before the day let up.

It almost made him feel bad.

Almost, being the keyword, because without it he wouldn’t have thought it funny how many noises she could make without alerting anyone from outside, how no one cared whether she blubbered out common sniveling protests and screams of his name, begging him to stop, or those equally loud yet scarce moans that sprung from her despite her not wanting them to, each time he sucked too hard or too harshly on her clit, teeth rubbing over the sensitive skin found there. Her hips dancing a panicked series of shimming from side to side, controlled in his grasp and only aiding in his tongue finding new places to lick and suck at as he laid abusive worship onto the temple between them. Nose bumping and dipping and rubbing onto places too tender as his mouth moved lower.

Her knees jolting as he kept them spread open, claws digging into the grabbable flesh each time she would pound the ball of her heel into his back, the movement always falling still upon the building simmering threat of explosions in his palms, pain much sharper than that of his nails.

She wanting nothing more but to wrench away, especially upon feeling the shameful treacherous dripping of herself down onto the bedsheets, disgusted with her body, humiliated beyond repair, with the tongue of Katsuki lapping up what mess he had made out of her, teeth from a grin gracing in feather-light motions, yet still managing to shoot electricity up her core.

All she could do was pant and sob through moans and trying her best to force out more protests even though she knew it was to no use, until she felt him pull away, leaving her cold in loss of contact with heat.

She doubted his removal was because she’d begged it from him.

Her doubts being answered as she heard the crisp clatter of a belt-buckle opening.

Her eyes were swimming, gifting her with more panic as she wasn’t even able to see what he was doing, yet knowing, again wishing she didn’t, wishing she was rather deaf as well as blind, wishing all her senses to simply give away, all so that she didn’t have to witness what she was surely soon going to have to be the victim of.

She heard the clothes dropping to the floor, looked up at him through bleary blurry eyes, still recognising the sandy nuance of his skin fully on display before her.

His large hands found her knees again, prying them open. His hips fitting between her thighs.

“Ba- ba- Baku- go, plea- please, don’t- don’t… stop.” She choked on her tears, on her fear, on her panic, on the feeling of the cold breeze making her exposed sex shiver and beg for something warm to fill it up, on her disgust.

“Don’t stop?” He snickered, pinching her clit between his fingers, making her arch with a whine before trying to wrench away, yet stopped by his hands steadying on her knees, spreading her open for him.

His cock-head delved between her folds, and he had to catch a pathetic whimper from escaping his throat, settling for biting his lip instead and ridiculing the reason as to why he was feeling so weak in the first place. Growling at the little girl beneath him, all tied up and defenceless and hopeless and pathetic, but still able to make him feel so small.

“I knew you were just a stupid slut.”

It helped hearing her scream for him.

It helped hearing her choke on her own gasps as he filled her tight little space up with the warm length of his cock.

It helped feeling her squeeze and seize around the girth of him, hugging him close and tight, filling and stretching her out so nicely.

She had resorted to hectic crying, no words, no protests, just sobbing, hiccupping, coughing up her own cries.

And, although he imagined himself growling and groaning he fell short of those guttural rusty sounds and fell prey to whimpering like a lovesick puppy humping a plushie-toy instead.

His hands holding onto her hips as though letting go meant death as he rolled his hips into her, feeling her warm velvety walls welcome him home.

It felt so good he nearly barreled over, his face buried in her chest, hand coming up to enclose over her mouth as so to stop the cries and hear those soft muffled moans she made instead.

Small stifled broken wet mews spurred into his palm, as he kissed a trail up the valley of her chest and onto her neck, whispering with his breath shaky.

“If it makes you feel any better… this is my first time too.”

He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe because he was suddenly regretting his decision of being a monster, or maybe because the fright of being vulnerable disappeared at the feeling of conquering what made him afraid.

“I spread a rumour in second that I fucked Ururaka just to see your reaction.” He let out a breathy laugh, the open smile on his face indicated his nostalgia, as though it were a fond memory. “But you didn’t care at all did you?”

He snapped his hips forward, hitting something painful making her scream beneath his hand, opening it to hear her sob out in whimpers.

“Did you?!” It was accusatory and loud and right next to her ears, as he bared his teeth.

She was sure she was bleeding, feeling as though he was tearing her up, splitting her open, every harsh thrust felt deep within her abdomen, churning her guts.

“I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor- sorry!” She spluttered out, more thick gulps of tears streaking her cheeks with red.

“You know what I think?”

He leaned in closer, his nose poking into her cheek, lips brushing her ear, hands now having moved to cup her knees, pushing them up into the bedsheets beside her shoulders, hiking her up to meet his sharp thrusts.

“I think you wanted this…”

She shook her head as his grin gleamed from seeing her discomfort.

“Leaving your door unlocked like that, you were begging for this to happen.” He laughed, biting her earlobe, heavy balls clapping against her ass.

She sniveled. “You- you know we can’t afford-” She started, but was cut off by her own broken moan as Bakugo yet again made another sharp movement, sending an earth-shattering smack to fill the crammed space of her RV, and then again cut off by Bakugo’s own response.

“Yeah? But you could still afford that dress you wore to Homecoming couldn’t you?” He sounded crazed, upset and angry and obsessed with making her regret it. “When you went with that fucking extra instead of me?”

His forehead pushed against hers, eyes a feral red and large with rage, watching in sadistic glee as she scrunched her eyes together in pain, trying to block his voice out from her head.

“Yeah, I bet you’re sorry now.” He growled, again taking a break from his series of shallow thrusts to push deep into her, making her whine in wet agony. “That was the worst mistake of your life and you’re gonna make it up to me tonight.”

He pushed himself up, looking down at the crying mess he was buried inside, licking his lips.

She couldn’t stop apologising, as he fucked into her, her hands going numb under the bondage of his tie around her wrists.

“I’m sorr- sorry-” She croaked, face burning from her tears.

“Yeah? You better be.”

He gathered her ankles in his hands, holding them up, one hand coming to roll her sock down her leg.

“You’re gonna be.”

His hand caressed her small bare-foot tightly, thumb digging into her sole, his mind drifting to how cute and tiny it was, smaller than his hand, and strangely soft for someone who chooses to walk everywhere to save money.

“I’m sorry-” She blubbered. “I’m- I’m sorry...”

She struggled for breath between her apologies and cries, forgetting how to inhale as Bakugo’s cock crammed into her, stripping her lungs of their air.

He kissed the pad of her foot, before leaning down again, hands once more cupping her knees and pushing them against the mattress.

“Good.”

She quaked beneath his stare, his sharp teeth too close as she cringed at the wet creamy sloshing sound of his cock pounding into her.

She had to look away, wanting to twist to hide her face in her pillow and cry until he was done.

But he wouldn’t have that.

“Hey, look at me when I fuck you.”

Gathering her face between his fingers, he scrunched her lips together as his own face closed in, his teeth coming to bite down on the vulnerable pout.

“You’re nothing without me, you understand that?”

One of his hands seized around her throat, adding slight pressure to accommodate his words.

“Good for nothing.” He spit. “Except for being my little slut, right?”

His claws scratched her throat, making her mewl and suck at her bitten bruised lip, tasting the metal.

“Come on, slut, I asked you a fucking question!”

Again, he angled his cock to jut into her painfully, making her gasp in strained pain at the stretch, followed by a sob.

“I’m just a slut-” She sniffled, eyes spiralling when looking into his unforgiving scarlet ones.

He smiled again, kissing her cheek.

“Who’s?”

The kiss became a lick, as he dragged his tongue up her tear-slicked cheek.

“Who’s slut?”

He felt her tremble and stiffen under his tongue, her eye’s squeezing shut.

“Your slut.” She answered, but it proved not to be good enough as another sharp painful thrust hit her core. “Bakugo’s slut.”

She knew it was wrong the second she said it as a growl rumbled against her neck, his teeth gracing, scraping against her tender flesh.

“Katsuki’s slut!”

The words all broken and wet and beautiful coming from her bloated and reddened lips.

He placed a chaste kiss to her jaw, nibbling his way up to her mouth, whispering upon them. “Yeah, that’s right, you’re nothing without me.”

He kissed roughly, growling for her to kiss back, hand still tightly locked around her neck, begging for her to refuse him only for him to squeeze the life out of her.

His tongue pushed into her mouth as he slobbered and drooled above her, mouth sucking on her lips, trailing down her jaw and down her throat, nibbling and biting and lapping at her skin like some hound drooling over steak.

His hand left her throat to grasp her clothed breasts as he hit a particular spot, calling an unintentional bucking of her hips into him, making him groan in pleasure, his own thrusts gaining speed, hitting that same spot he now knew would make her unravel.

“You’re so lucky to get my cock.”

He worked himself into a taller position again, dragging himself off her chest to admire what artwork he’d made of her collar and chest.

“Say you love it.”

She shook her head, a petty begging-look on her face.

It was a weak protest, almost enough to make him let it go, yet still outweighed by his need to make her pay.

His hips suddenly thrusting into her deeply, sharply, in all the ways he’d found out hurt.

She cried out. “No, no, Bakugo, please!” Panicked sobbing, her chest arching in pain, her legs coming to kick him off, yet were stopped as he pushed her knees into her chest. Jutting into her brutally.

“Say you love it and I’ll go slower.”

He saw her knuckles whiten at how hard she was balling her fists, tugging at her bonds desperately.

“I’ll fuck you good.” He promised, finding himself grow excited upon the thought. “Nice and slow like lovers do.” He had to snicker, even as she sobbed and hiccupped up screams that caught in her throat at his sharp thrusts, her eyes screwed tightly shut, allowing no tears to drop yet leaving them swimming in stinging salt.

His head dropped again to her temple, lips nibbling lightly on her cheek bone, his heavy breaths sounding louder than what snapping noise was made between his hips and the softness of her ass.

“Come on…” He drawled an impatient growl into her ear, a rumble that strung another whimper out from her.

More sobs followed, broken in their execution. “I love it… I love it.”

She hadn’t screamed it the way he wanted, but hearing it hang loosely onto her cries, all trembling and weak, was somehow better than what he thought he’d wanted anyway.

He slowed down, enough to lessen the sound of flesh slapping flesh and for the squishy noise of him filling her up again and again to replace it.

“What do you love?”

He made his way to rip open the seams of her shirt on her shoulder, not caring in the moment that she didn’t have a spare uniform to replace it. The shirt gone before she could even answer his question.

“You’re cock, I love you’re cock.” She sobbed, as her bra met with the same fate her shirt had, leaving her in just her little black skirt and one sock remaining, her tits springing loose, bouncing on both her cries and Bakugo’s movements.

“Fuck, good, such an obedient little pet.”

His head fell into the newly presented bare flesh with a moan, heavy panting as he slobbered up the valley between her breasts, palming the soft mounds before twisting the nipples between his fingertips, pulling at them, playing with them, his mouth sucking and biting, teasing the tender sensitivity.

His hands quitting their torment in favor of holding onto each their knee to keep her spread open for him as he rolled deeply into her spot.

“Feels so fucking-” He groaned, not bothering to finish the thought, before another impulse struck him.

His position in having his face buried in her neck and his body laid tight and snug on top of hers moved, making her feel the wisp of a chill coat her as their warm sweat-slicked bodies parted, feeling almost as though they were glued together as he pulled away, cock still being kept warm inside the comfort of her walls.

His hands came up to fickle with the knot that kept her hands locked above her head, his fingers sloppily tugging to loosen the tie, before gripping her hips tightly in a fashion meant to make sure she understood that despite being loose she was far from actually free.

Lifting her up of the spot she’d sunk into on the mattress and on to straddling his torso, his feet hitting the ground with a dunk with her propped up on his thighs, every little movement of his adjusting making his cock poke and message into other new dangerous places, places too tight to be attacked in whichever reckless unthoughtful way Bakugo saw fit.

Fingers running, or rather digging into her skin and making way to rake up her sides, grabbing and clinging to her midriff to pull her close, with his thighs beginning to impatiently move in a boyish manor to satiate the need for friction his member craved.

One arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand made to grab her chin, allowing him to look over her, again tempted to bite into those lushes red lips, all bloated and made for his teeth to gnaw on. Yet, his mouth made way to her neck instead, licking up her throat, sucking on the thin skin, wanting to make his mark flourish in red explosions all over her.

“Be a good quirkless slut and bounce on my cock, make yourself useful for once.”

His knees jolted upwards making her hop, followed by his cock sinking deeper into her.

Her hands held uncertainly mid-air made to grip his shoulders at the further intrusion, biting back another cry, however unable to keep the sobbing sigh from rupturing her throat.

However, she wasn’t given long to recover as his hand came down to plant a red-hot slap on her ass, making her jump on her own.

“Come on, don’t be shy.”

She started moving, unsure of what or which way to do it, finding the rhythm of rocking her hips forward after a while, earning a disgusting sigh of satisfaction from the blonde holding a bruising grip on her.

“That’s right...”

His arm moving to hold a death-grip on her waist, thumb digging into the underside of her ribs, poking each time she lolled forward and at the same time threatened her to stop.

His other hand came to grip her face again, stiff lips crashing against teary lips. Sucking her face as though stealing her life-source, only breaking between breaths to announce cocky cruel comments and instructions.

“Stay right there, slut.” A thrust from his hips accompanied the nickname, making her wince and lurch forward into him. “Aww that’s cute.”

Both his hands went under her skirt to grab at her ass, lifting her up only to sleeve himself inside her once again.

“Does that feel good? Huh? Right there?”

Another slap and she rested even harder against his chest, trying to find comfort in the pitch black her screwed-shut eyes left her in, yet the overwhelming scent of caramel wasn’t easily ignored, and neither was how perfectly his cock sunk into her.

His hands fingered the fabric of her skirt as he bumped into her from beneath. Tugging on the textile until ripping it off, the action earning her gasp as she was now wearing nothing but her one sock, the skirt having provided as some false sense of coverage.

“Is the slut enjoying herself?” He mocked, a salacious grin constantly spreading on his face between moans and grunts.

She shook her head, the urge to fight herself to freedom awakening yet again as her hands moved to push at his chest.

“No… stop.”

But her back was supported, or rather steadied, with Bakugo’s large palm, little sparking ignitions gaining control of her struggles quickly, the fight leaving her body with a whimper of defeat, just as quickly as it had arrived.

Another sharp thrust ripped a strangled moan from her and he grinned.

“Liar.” He snickered. “You’re gonna cum on my cock like a good little slut 'cause that's the only thing you know how not to fuck up, only thing your whore mom ever taught you.”

Forcing her hips to roll faster, the slick coated their thighs as her tits bounced for him.

“Does she share this bed with both you and her crackhead fuck-friends?”

He couldn’t defend his need to make her cringe in his arms, why he wanted to see her ashamed, why he wanted her crying into him.

“Such a freak. Are you gonna cum on the same sheets your mom sleeps on?”

Sharp fingers dug into her cheeks again, all because he wanted to be entertained by the show of her breaking.

He pulled her hips closer, fighting to hit that spot that had her mewling earlier, wanting to hear her mewl again, wanting to prove his point.

Once he found it she fell flush against him, melting in his hands, soft-spoken moans falling like drool down her chin.

“Like that, right there?” His words fell hot on her lips as his thumb pushed into her mouth and down onto her tongue, holding her chin in place.

Her eyes crossed then upon his cock nudging in just the right way against her cervix, as well as her brows drawing up into a pretty eruption.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groaned, clutching tighter onto her hip, rocking her forward to meet his thrusts. “Are you gonna cum on my cock, huh?”

With his thumb still dipped into her mouth, she tried her best to retort.

“No…”

It couldn’t be referred to as defiance as it was too pitiful to be called that.

“Yes, you are.”

He sucked on her collarbone, making his way up by kissing a trail of slobbering kisses and bites to her ear.

With his hips still angled just right, his thumb left her mouth to grip her other hip.

He could feel her tight little pussy start to convulse around his shaft, small flutters that squeezed him tightly, milking him.

She hated that she wanted to spill over so badly. The surging swimming boiling buzz constantly teased by Katsuki’s plush cockhead pushing and poking and jabbing at her cervix again and again.

She felt it coming, the snapping, breaking, splitting, the building coming close to bursting, yet she was reminded of who she was with in her reach for bliss and found herself regretting chasing it.

“No, no, not with him, not with him, not-”

It was too late as she tried holding it back, tried grasping it as hard as she was clamping down on his cock, as hard as she was digging her nails into his shoulders.

The movements of his hips slowed down.

“There you go. Feel good, slut?” He mocked as her body spasmed, skin freezing over under his touch, feeling disgusted, skin-crawlingly disgusted with herself and how she was unable to control the continuous spasms that seemed to ricochet through her spontaneously. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.”

His speed picked up again, humping into her, making her ride through her orgasm, feeling the almost painful ticklish pressure build again upon each time he bottomed-out ruthlessly inside the comfort of her wet walls.

“No, Bakugo stop, stop!” Her pleads weren’t met.

“Is it too much?” He laughed, gathering a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck in order to make her look up at him, making her wince as he spit his words into her face. “Mommy didn't do too good a job at raising her slut, I see. Can't even handle cumming without crying." He jeered, mock pouting at her with his forehead pressed into hers, blood-soaked orbs forcing eye-contact from her wide tear-stained ones as she whimpered. "Aw, is my cock too much for the little whore?”

“Yes, stop!” She couldn't care less if she was answering some cruel nickname , the painful pressure assaulted inside her was something too vehement she needed to make relent, but yet again was her plead answered with a lack of mercy in an eerie whisper and nothing more.

“I’m not finished yet.”

All she could do was beg for him to finish… so that’s what she did.

“Please...”

He gathered her face in his hand again, fingers squishing into her cheeks hurtfully as he made to sneer into her face.

“Please what? Please fuck your whore cunt harder? Please make you cum again?”

Even as he snickered and mocked, his cock twitched at the sight of her.

Eyes all puffy and swimming in her own tears, eyebrows knitted together, begging for mercy.

Completely and literally held in the palm of his hand, yet her gaze still managing to make him feel fuzzy with the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

“Oh fuck, say you love me.”

Cold dread made up most of her body, what else was the rising crippling shameful feeling of something sweet knotting up somewhere in her lower abdomen again, this time harder than before as her already abused high was continuously pocked by Katsuki’s swollen cockhead kissing her cervix harshly again and again and again, driving her insane. And all of it made his demand impossible to answer, impossible to even comprehend.

Yet, she was in no position to refuse with her face held up between his fingertips and his crimson eyes boring holes straight into her terror-wide heart.

“Say you love me or I’ll cum inside you.” His voice lacking all she considered still human. Not a hint of remorse or guilt or shame or pity.

She gulped on her breaths, yet managed to voice the words. “I love you, Katsuki.”

Her eyes now unable to look away from him. Even as he picked up the painful pace, stabbing at her core, in places she had no former knowledge of, places the length of her fingers could never even as much as dream of reaching.

“Fuck.” A boyish virginal whimper laced the moan that escaped him at her words, satisfaction easing the raging and crazed look on his face. “I love you too.”

His toes curled painfully, cold and numb against the floorboards.

“I love you.”

Hands warm and sliding against dewy and doughy flesh.

"I love you."

Something pulling, straining, building to burst was chasing release, sending spasms to shoot through his shaft.

"I love you."

He knew what was coming. He knew it would be better than ever.

“We’ll get you a pill later, ‘kay?”

The guilt was washed over with the promise of painting her walls.

“It’s fine.” He tried reassuring as he felt her revolt in his arms, all her strength fighting to get off him, yet was no match against the force of his hands holding onto her, and his need to explode inside.

She resulted to begging instead. “No, no, Katsuki stop, don’t, please!”

Feeling her hope being crushed in his palm, picturing his laughing face as she turned her vision to black, his feral smile like supersonic light, dangerous and deadly and made to rip throats out.

And then it was done, she felt the last thrust like the last blow through her gut.

Cream filling her up, smearing between their thighs, Katsuki’s head resting on her shoulder with his hands holding onto her hips, fingers marking their presence into her back yet softening their grip with each of his panting breaths landing on her breasts.

Her blood ran cold through stiff veins, as though she were dead. Her skin crawling, as though rotting with mites.

Sickness.

Sickness in her lungs, in her throat, building, climbing up her pipes.

She slung herself off in a hurry, and with Katsuki coming down from whatever sick high he was riding, he wasn’t alert enough to catch her, which was probably a good thing because after her staggering her way to the bathroom, feeling his cum and her wetness leak out of her and drip along the inside of her thighs, she only barely made it in time to open the toilet compartment, get to her knees in the small space and haul her guts out into the small stained bowl.

Feeling like her mother, each time she came home all sweaty, mascara smeared with tears on her face like a garbage racoon, sticking her fingers down her throat and gagging until she collapsed on the floor, face laid in her own puke.

She heard Katsuki’s heavy footsteps, one and two before his hand met with her neck. Collecting her hair in a ponytail in his grip with the other hand encompassing her naked back.

She was afraid he was going to pull her up, expecting her scalp to soon scream in protest at the feel of her hairs being ripped up from their roots.

Yet, as she awaited the torture… all she felt was the slow stroking of carefully placed paths running up her spine and then down to the small of her back in a manor either meant to be comforting or patronizing, with her hair being kept away from her face as she retched on repeat.

It was mostly just water and acid, and Katsuki made a mental note to make her eat later as he helped her up with his hands under her arms, supporting her when seeing how her shivering rendered her knees too weak to stand on her own, lifting her up on a tiny counter which would have been impossible for him if he were to try and sit on it, yet seemed the perfect size for her.

The ruff base of his thumb brushed the spit from the corner of her mouth, her large eyes meeting his own as he leaned in, soft weak hands only barely pushing against his chest in an act to stop him, but his lips pushed onto her anyway.

Parting with a string of silver connecting them, and he couldn’t help but fall prey to how beautiful she was even in her broken ugliness, how prettily her eyes fluttered with sticky eyelashes clutching together as though hugging for comfort, stray wisps of hair dancing in front of her face. Her wet breaths, sobbing breaths, hiccupping breaths, trembling past those soft pillow-y and blossomed lips, plump and full and bitable, or huffed through her nose, sniveling and sniffing and so very unfairly precious.

His thumb stroked over those lips, watching them quiver.

He took time admiring her, feeling her cold fingertips vibrate against his chest, wondering if she could feel how hard his heart was hammering inside his ribcage with how much she was shaking. Wondering if she knew just how much he’d wanted this, how long he’d wanted this, how despite him ignoring her cries, that she understood how this wasn’t in vain, how he wasn’t just doing this because he could, that he was doing this because he needed to, that he wasn’t doing this because he hated her but because he loved her, loved her too much to let her simply slip from between his fingers again.

His fingers latched onto the band of her sock, pulling it down and off at her toes, finally leaving her completely bare.

“Let’s get you in the shower.”

He moved to pick her up, uncaring of her newly sparked urge to fight him.

“No, Katsuki…”

She tried pushing, she tried making him stop despite everything being slippery and sticky and gross. The want to cry herself to sleep knowing and finding some comfort in the fact that Katsuki was done with her and long gone outweighed the want to get clean.

“The water’s cold, you won’t like it.” She argued in a weak attempt to sway him from the idea, yet knowing full well that he didn’t care.

“Come on…” He drawled as he caught her bothersome fists by the wrists in his massive hands. “We’ll take a shower and then we’ll go get your pill…”

He fought to find eye-contact.

“We both know you don’t have the money for it anyway…”

Typical of him to mention her situation. Typical of him to use it against her. And though it was typical, though it was predictable, it still made her heart clench, her soul twist, her spirit crumble.

He swore he saw something start to break in her eyes, wanting to deliver the final blow to snuff out whatever fight she still had left.

He leaned in more, his nose brushing against hers.

“You need me.”

Her struggles stopped at that, Katsuki wrapping her legs around his back to support her as he carried her to the shower. Her cheek resting on his shoulder, completely deflated.

It wasn’t at all as in the movies. Sweet couples who help wash each other’s hair, warm bodies gliding against one another, soft perfect handprints printed on the dewy glass.

She hadn’t been lying, the water was freezing as the showerhead spritzed the water down on them with a force close to that of aching.

They didn’t both fit in the crammed space either, Katsuki was sure that even him alone wouldn’t fit in the tight space, where he was left to have one foot on the floorboards outside the door, water rushing into the hallway, running down his leg, but he didn't care.

His frame blocked the door completely, allowing her no shape or form of exit as he made her stand there, under the showerhead, hair slicking to her neck and nipples perking into hardness under the freeze, goosebumps strutted and coated her flesh from head to toe, her cheeks and lips blossomed with a purple hue, her eyes closed, head dipped in discomfort or shame or embarrassment or sorrow or a bit of everything and even more.

Her body trembled beneath his warm hands, as they cupped her breasts, palming them and playing and pinching with her back hunching in a weak effort to get her discomfort across, despite knowing how he didn’t care, with the fact having been proven time and time again.

His warm calloused fingertips brushed down her abdomen, eyes stark and loud as they looked at her body, thinking of how unblemished and beautiful her skin was as opposed to him, no roughness or ugly greenish bruises, just milky smooth and rosy suppleness and all his.

His hand traveled further, causing her small ones to reach out and grip around his wrist, both hands giving their best effort at trying to stop him. Though his other hand was quick to wrap around her throat and extract a sweet gasp with the movement.

Her hands removed their pressure yet remained on him as he brushed featherlight touches over the sensitiveness of her sex, fingertips dipping into her folds, slithering in the slick velvet of his cum mixed with her wetness.

A sob ricocheted through her as her toes curled, fingers bending and nailing into his wrist. Still, he continued. Fingers pushing inside, pumped knuckle-deep inside the puffy spongey walls, reaching deep before scissoring, making her knees bend, yet kept from falling by the hand around her neck keeping her up like a noose as he curled the two digits.

Her eyes avoided his, looking down at his limp cock who somehow seemed just as intimidating as before, like a sleeping beast ready to wake at any second.

Yet, as much as he played with her sex, his own remained still.

He picked her up again as he saw more of her skin going purple, not really wanting her to get sick, just refreshed.

Water flooded on the soft-with-mould floorboards in the tight hallway as her feet dragged against the walls when he yet again carried her to the bed. And as much as she wanted to fight as he placed her dripping body down onto the sheets, she couldn’t find the energy. Tears, however, still managed to drip down her face, unhurriedly gliding down her cheeks, warm in stark contrast amidst the freezing shower-water.

“Do you wanna hear something really fucked up?”

It was rhetorical, but he wouldn’t have gotten an answer either way.

“I used to be jealous of your crack-whore mother…”

Her face cringed, confused yet still not desiring to know what he meant.

“Fuck, I’m still jealous when you come to school and I see that there's somebody else who makes you cry harder than me.”

She had to swallow in order not to gulp.

“You’re sick.”

Those were the wrong words, for as quickly as they entered the air, he was once again on top of her, squeezing the breath from out of her lungs.

“I’m sick?” He questioned, fingers plunging inside her, a forced moan ripped from her throat. “You’re the one cumming and creaming and squirting all over my cock while crying.” He bit out while starting to pump into her cruelly, finding it easier now as she was already wet from before. “Telling me you love it, telling me you love me.” He laughed as he sneered. “Who would’ve known what a slut you are. So desperate you let your own bully fuck you like this. You fucking whore.”

His pushed his thumb into her clit cruelly, a sadistic smile on his face as she struggled.

“Stop, shut up, shut up!” Her palms made to push at his hard chest, yet was weakened as she felt the burning sweetness start to pool were his fingers poked.

“You don’t like that nickname? No? Aww, that’s fine.” He hissed, then scoffed. “It’s not true anyway...” He muttered beneath his breath, trying to find what sweet spot his fingers could reach as so to have her unravel beneath him again, wanting to lick the sin from her expression, wanting to bathe in his victory of making her his. “How did it feel to have my cock balls deep inside your precious little virgin innocent cunt, huh? Better yet, how does it feel to know how I am your first? First to kiss you, first to fuck you, first to make you cum.”

“Fuck you.”

Any remnants of strength was now spent on those last words, as the rest was spared to support her oncoming orgasm, the one she could feel clawing, sucking all senses up as though preparing for an implosion.

“That’s right…” He whispered. “Fuck me. Your first and your last.”

His ominous tone had her guts churning, which in some sick sense only added to the pooling dam that was about to snap inside her, but she kept her eyes wide, further digging into what his words meant, wondering if this would be her last day on earth, wondering if Bakugo would be the last person she'd ever see, ever feel, ever touch.

“You look like I’m gonna kill you.” He observed as he curled his fingers once again, making her hips buckle into his hand, which in turn made him grin. “Nah, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

His head dipped so that he could nibble at her neck, lick up the tender flesh with his fingers pumping in and out of her, coated in slick, collecting and drenching in his palm.

“I’m just gonna make sure no one ever touches what’s mine again…”

She couldn’t explain why the growl in his voice had her abdomen doing flips.

“Including that fuckface slut you call a mother.”

His fingers scissored, her back arching as she moaned.

“You’ll be lucky I even let you graduate.”

She couldn’t quite catch what he was saying anymore, just the lilt in his tone which had her falling apart beneath him, the walls of her pussy fluttering in pleasure.

“People go missing all the time.”

Her toes curled and she braced herself.

“That way I can have you all for myself.”

His warm lips pressed against her neck, his growls reverberating on her skin.

“All mine.”

His fingers poked at something that was about to burst and as she wanted to climb further up on the bed to escape it, she also wanted him to follow.

“Where you belong.”

And there it was, body melting into the mattress, all shame obsolete in those seconds.

Unable to see him lick her orgasm off his fingers as her eyes had crossed and traveled way too far into the back of her skull.

Unable to prepare for his kiss as her mouth hung open, soft feeble moans cut loose into the air, captured by Bakugo’s mouth.

She didn’t catch the second he stopped kissing her, nor did she catch the moment he got off the bed.

She must have fallen asleep for a short while because when she opened her eyes again Bakugo was dressed, rummaging through cabinets containing worn out clothes and things like it, seeming displeased with most of what he found.

She looked to her side, where placed on the bed was a towel, fresh underwear and a bra.

She motioned for the towel first, feeling the shameful wet stickiness between her thighs, hurriedly wiping it clean before putting on her garments, looking up to see Bakugo staring at her, having found something suitable to dress her in.

“Put this on.”

She didn’t bother looking at what he’d so graciously offered her of her own clothes.

Her eyes narrowed at him instead.

“I don’t want your help.” She sneered, looking away, crossing her arms over her chest as so to hide herself from his piercing gaze.

His fingertips were quick in clutching her cheeks, raking them into her skin as he turned her head back to look at him.

“Too bad, you need it.”

The fabric was cast at her lap unceremoniously, the soft silky feel cold against her bare thighs.

“Put it on.” The growl was followed by him removing his hand with a push.

She huffed before looking down at the presented article, wondering what Bakugo wanted to dress her up in, her lips forming a disgusted snarl.

“It’s my mother’s.”

The yellow summer-dress, flowy and frilly in texture, something she’d never wear, something Bakugo knew well she would never wear.

“It’d go to waste on her.”

This made her look up, curiosity or maybe even a form of flattery evident in the curl between her brows.

The sudden eye-contact catching Bakugo off guard as he’d shared the uncharacteristically tender opinion of the girl out loud.

He scoffed, crimson eyes darkening in an attempt to hide the building flustered panic, masking it with a growl instead.

“Put it on, I won’t ask again.”

She fingered the fabric for a while longer before treading it on over her head, letting the skirt dress her thighs with a featherlight fall.

Looking like a spring-daydream, not at all as though she’d just lived through a nightmare.

With her drying hair falling in messy curled tousles down her shoulders, Bakugo reached out a hand to fasten the small wispy strands coming to tickle her forehead behind her ear, grabbing her wrists in favor of her hand when he pulled her up.

“Let’s go. I can’t stand this shithole.”

Wondering if he should have said that he couldn’t stand her in that shithole instead.

TIP-JAR

PART ONE

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knchins · 2 years

Text

Kuroshiro - Chapter Four

Summary: Hayami and Suguru were teenagers in love until the day came when he decided to turn his back on the sorcery world and become a curse user, which left his best friend Satoru to pick up the pieces.

Pairing: Geto x Fem OC x Gojo

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Major manga spoilers, (Adult) Child abuse - physical/verbal, Mentions of parent death, Mild violence, Slut shaming, Suicidal ideation, Mentions of blood, Mentions of PTSD, Hurt/Comfort

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Chapter Four: Twisted Roots

Haya sat next to Utahime, still feeling the drain from using so much cursed energy as Ijichi listed the casualties of the attack on Jujutsu High. She could hardly pay attention until the name of her best friend was mentioned. Ijichi explained that the current theory was that the cursed spirit Nanami had fought was the one who had killed the deceased.

She had some sense of the danger Nanami had been in when he fought the spirit one on one. He had even become injured during the fight and had her fussing over him like an annoyed older sister even though he was older than her by a few weeks.

“Do you think we should share this information with the students or the other sorcerers?” Utahime asked, looking at her boss, Principal Gakuganji. Haya huffed angrily, already knowing what his answer would be. Gojo was looking at her, though his head was turned as if he wasn’t. It was impossible for anyone to tell what he was looking at due to his blindfold being back on.

She could sense it, however. She always could tell when he was looking at her even if she couldn’t see it to prove it. She made a point of looking at Principal Yaga instead of him. Despite the fact that he had saved her from being obliterated by hollow purple, she was still very upset at the deception of Yuuji being alive for all this time.

“It’s probably better to keep this among the higher-ups,” Yaga said, looking down with a thoughtful expression on his face. “We don’t want to give curse users certainty that special-grade objects were stolen. Has the curse user we captured spilled anything?”

Ijichi looked at his clipboard with sheer exasperation. “Well it’s not hard to get him to talk but most of what he says is irrelevant nonsense. However, he claims that he only participated in the attack because he was ordered to as part of a deal.”

Haya’s gaze moved to Ijichi then, curious about who had really pulled the strings with the attack. Certainly, a curse didn’t orchestrate the entire thing? Ijichi went on to explain verbatim what the curse user had said. Though the person they described did not ring any bells for Haya, she still wondered if perhaps this was remnants of the curse users that followed Geto back when he was still alive.

“Is there any sorcerer skilled at getting confessions?” Gojo asked though he knew the answer.

“I am,” Haya replied simply, but her methods were a little…unorthodox.

“He’s too injured for you to question, Kuroishi.” Principal Yaga said. “We will find another way.”

Haya scoffed, her fists clenching angrily at being told she couldn’t do something. The problem was Haya had a tendency to ask questions with her fists and while that worked for some people, everyone in the room doubted it would work for their prisoner.

Utahime asked how they got through Master Tengen’s barrier in the first place and Gojo explained his theory on how. Haya only half-listened as she thought about the six fingers that were taken. If given to Itadori, then he would become all the more powerful. She was certain she’d be unable to kill him if had eaten that many.

Though she was uncertain if she could kill him regardless. She had never actually killed anyone before, though she had no doubt that she could if the situation call for it. But what situation ever called for killing a child? On top of that, she was certain Miyu would never forgive her if she found out. The idea of losing Miyu made her heart ache and Gojo wondered why she looked so forlorn as she stared into her lap.

It was then decided that the students would decide if the goodwill games would be canceled or not. Haya had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, not so much about the games but about the call she received from her father earlier. She excused herself, giving a small bow to the principals before leaving to go find Miyu to again make sure she was alright.

Instead of going to the baseball game that was held the following day, Haya went to her family’s estate to deal with her father. She knew Miyu would be upset that she was not there to watch her play, but the gravity of the situation with her father was more pressing. She had to find a way to stall the kill order on Itadori’s head for as long as possible. That or get a firm idea of what the consequences would be if she could not complete the task.

So she sat, forehead on the tatami mat beneath her in a bow as her father entered the room. Haya was frowning, a mixed expression of anger and fear that she was thankful he could not see. Her brows slackened as she raised up once she was addressed.

“Sukuna’s vessel is alive,” Daiki said plainly and Haya merely nodded.

A hand collided with the side of her face, his ring catching her eyelid just enough to make it bleed. “Gojo Satoru hid this child and you want me to believe that you had no idea what he was up to?”

Haya cursed Gojo inwardly as a thin trail of blood oozed down her cheek. She shut the one eye, praying it wouldn’t swell too much. “We are not together. I didn’t know.” She replied in the calmest voice she could muster. It was only a half-truth. They had been together during the time but they weren’t currently. At least, Haya said they weren’t. Somewhere inside her, she knew the breakup wouldn’t last. They’d get back together like always. History was doomed to repeat itself indefinitely.

“Of course you were.” His voice was like venom as he spoke, “probably because you open your legs for anyone.” It worked its way into her ears and blood and heart. “Maybe if you were faithful like your mother had been, he wouldn’t keep leaving you.”

She closed the eye that had been open, knowing she shouldn’t say what she was about to say. “Gojo Satoru is a bigger slut than me, father. Maybe you should take it up with him.”

He grabbed her tight bun in his fist, yanking it back so hard that she saw blinding white stars speckle her inside of her eyelids. Maybe if she was lucky he’d finally kill her. No, that’d mean he’d have to face the consequences of his actions for once. While she could conceal his bruises and keep a very angry Gojo away, if she were dead then there would be no stopping the six eyes from getting his revenge.

And Revenge, Gojo Satoru would certainly get for the loss of his love. Even if it wasn’t a healthy love, it was still real.

Haya felt something crack as he hit her sides repeatedly with the wooden cane he kept by his side, not for support for walking but to punish his brat children whenever they stepped out of line. Maybe if she had been born under a different sun, like her brother, she would be able to keep her mouth shut. She could be subservient. She could just ignore the looks of ill-will and snide remarks of her appearance or personality.

But Haya was more like fire than water. All fury and rage and contempt. Her tongue was sharp and holding it only made her taste blood. He had tried many times to beat the flame from her soul but it would never work. It could never be snuffed out by the likes of him.

She only wished she had the nerve to fight back. While he was her abuser, her attacker, her torturer, he was still her father. A father that had once loved her very dearly when she was so tiny that she could hardly remember it. What changed, she asked herself over and over. The accident hadn’t been her fault. Her mother protecting her only daughter from a curse, her mother who had always been frail and not meant for the sorcerer world, her mother who had truly been her father’s soulmate gone at the hands of a thing she could barely understand the existence of at the time.

Haya thought back to the happy times as his hits continued. His anger was unjust yet somehow she felt deserving of it. Somehow it had been her fault. Somehow she had destroyed his world like she continued to destroy her own. So many things she wished she could be but she simply was not. Life could be so cruel sometimes.

When he was done, when his anger had been quelled by the sheer exertion of force onto his youngest child, Daiki stood straight, tapping his cane on the ground in a single for Haya to right herself from her hunched over position. Blood dripped down her face and she was certain she had broken a rib or two. She longed for Gojo more than anything. There was no place on Earth safer than by his side or in his arms. She wanted to cry.

“Exterminate Sukuna’s vessel or I’ll exterminate you.” Her father whispered darkly into her ear and the coldness she felt from both shock and pain made her shiver. Then her suspicions had all been confirmed. Haya wasn’t meant to complete this mission. She wasn’t meant to survive.

She was meant to die.

Gojo knew something was up with his ex-girlfriend. She had made the clear that night that they were broken up due to his deception and while he couldn’t really blame her for being upset he also thought she was being a tad bit ridiculous. Even Miyu had already forgiven Itadori for not telling her he had been alive this whole time.

When she didn’t come to the game, he actually became worried. While he put on a smile and joked around with the students, it still pestered him that she was not there for Miyu like she normally was. When he asked the teen about it, Miyu simply said that her mother had a mission and couldn’t make it. He knew that to be untrue. Principal Yaga wouldn’t have given her an assignment until the goodwill games were over. If it was something that pressing then he just could have sent Nanami or another first-grade sorcerer.

The game had finished by the time he felt her enter through Master Tengen’s barrier. He forced a smile at his students who were celebrating their win and made a flimsy excuse about needing to leave.

Once he was gone, Itadori asked where they thought he was really going. To which Fushiguro replied that it probably had something to do with Hayami. He had been used to their ups and downs, having witnessed them for years now.

“Haya-sensei seemed really upset that I was still alive.” Itadori mumbled, “Do you think she wants me dead too?”

Miyu was quiet but the thought of Haya wanting Yuji dead deeply upset her. He was, after all, still a very good friend despite what he had done. Could her new mom really be hiding something like that from her?

“It’s not like that.” Fushiguro replied simply, “her family specialized in vessels at one time before they were outlawed. Her father probably wants you dead but she never agrees with anything he says.” He chose to leave out the part where Haya typically paid for those disagreements. “She’s probably just mad at Gojo for not telling her.”

Yuji nodded, hoping that that was indeed the case. He still didn’t quite understand why everyone wanted him dead. He could so far control Sukuna, though he knew things would get more dangerous the more fingers he consumed.

Panda called the three over to a celebratory lunch that the school was going to host and with that, the conversation died.

Ijichi had picked Haya up from her childhood home and driven her back to the school as she laid a broken mess on the back seat. She just wanted to sleep. For hours, days, weeks, the rest of eternity. Her head and torso hurt the most, and she was sure that she had already started to swell grotesquely. She had mumbled something to him about not telling Gojo when she had collapsed into the back of his car, but Ijichi had no intentions of keeping this from him.

Ijichi saw Gojo waiting for them as he parked the car, wondering how he knew they had arrived. He kept a finger to his lips, signaling Ijichi not to say anything and Haya was too out of it to sense his presence. As soon as the car door was unlocked, the back door by Haya’s feet was opening and Gojo looked over at her with a deep frown.

He didn’t have to ask who did it, because he already knew. As gently as he possibly could, he pulled her into his arms and picked her up to carry her to Shoko. Luckily the medical wing wasn’t far from the entrance of the school and he could avoid the students getting there.

Haya’s small hand came up to clutch his shirt, finding comfort in the familiar uniform fabric. Her eyes were closed but she still knew that it was him. She finally felt like she could safely relax and was thankful that he wasn’t bombarding her with questions. There was a pang in her chest of wanting to remain close to him. It was hard to tell him to fuck off when she needed him most.

Rage flowed through him as he held her small, trembling body in his arms. He hadn’t expected her to be in such bad shape when he saw her and it was taking all of him not to demand answers. Though obviously, the only one she’d let do this to her was her piece of shit father, he wanted to know why. What had caused her father to be so outraged this time? Was it really over Itadori?

He’d have to wait until she was somewhat healed before he could probe for more information. She looked so small, so defeated, so vulnerable, and it reminded him of the time he found her after Geto had his way with her, only with more blood and less heartbreak.

Why hadn’t she just told him? He would have gone with her. He would have protected her. He would have made her father answer for all the horrible shit he’s done in the past. Though he knew their relationship was the cause of a lot of their arguments, he couldn’t imagine that Daiki would go this hard over them breaking up again.

He wondered if Haya had said anything to provoke him. He knew how hard it was for her to keep her mouth shut sometimes. As angry as it sometimes made him, he’d never have the heart to physically hurt her.

He laid her down on one of the hospital-style beds and fetched the good doctor who had been in her office going over some paperwork. Shoko didn’t seem too surprised when she saw Haya looking worse for wear. She had been forewarned that her services would be needed by Haya herself. Shoko began some basic healing as she asked Gojo if he knew what had happened.

“No. She didn’t even tell me she was going over there.” He muttered with aggravation. He hated feeling like he couldn’t protect her, especially when he so easily could have.

Haya’s family life was a terribly kept secret. Everyone knew how her father treated her but no one said anything either. It was a clan matter and they were all outsiders. Haya even said she didn’t want help when it came to him. She wanted to handle it all on her own, though she never found the nerve to actually do that.

Shoko managed to heal the lacerations and the bruises and even fixed the cracked ribs. She was talented at what she did and was slowly passing that on to her little cousin who had been a quick learner. When she was finished, she stepped away. “So, I heard you two broke up again.” She added, obviously playful and not believing it to be true. Everyone knew they couldn’t resist the magnetic pull to one another. It was a running gag whenever they called it quits. No one believed it except the women that had been lusting after Gojo in the first place.

While none were stupid enough to square off with the well-muscled Haya, they waited like vultures for the love to die so that they could sweep in and hopefully make Gojo see the error of his ways. Unfortunately for them, he never did. As much pain as she brought him, he still loved her deeply. Sometimes he feared that he always would.

“She’s mad I didn’t tell her about Itadori.” He said with a shrug. “She’ll get over it.”

Shoko merely snorted. It seemed the two of them could get through anything, which was apparent after Geto’s death. She had been sure that they were done for good that time. Maybe they had a pesky red string of fate connecting them and that’s what brought them back again and again.

Haya let out a soft groan as she brought a hand up to her head to hold her still-swollen face. She recognized the stiff mattress of the bed almost immediately and knew that she was in the infirmary. She heard the voices of Gojo and Shoko and immediately regretted not pretending to be still unconscious.

“Hey beautiful,” Gojo said with a smirk, and Haya knew he was being sarcastic. She was sure she looked anything but right now with the swelling that was yet to go down. She knew that she probably looked like an ugly mess right now.

She opened one eye to glare at him, the other she was unable to open just yet. Though Shoko had healed her, it would take a few hours for her appearance to go back to normal. She’d still be sore for a while until the initial shock of her physical trauma was gone. “What are you doing here, Gojo?” She asked though she knew the answer already.

He tutted, “so ungrateful. I’m the one that carried you here.” He replied playfully and a sour expression crossed her face. She should have known he’d figure out that something was up. He could always tell when she was lying and sense when she was in danger. Though he was acting more joyfully than she thought he would. Probably because Shoko was present.

“I’ll leave you two kids to it. Haya, you’re staying the night here so don’t think about leaving.” the doctor said pointedly before walking back into her adjacent office. Gojo’s jovial expression dropped once he was sure she was out of earshot.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going over there? I would have gone with you.” He asked in a hushed tone, his aggravation with her showing now. Haya gave him an equally annoyed look, not really wanting to talk to him. When she didn’t answer he continued, “are you going to at least tell me what happened?”

Haya huffed, but she knew it would help her feel better to get it off her chest. “He thinks I knew about Itadori being alive.” She said, “And that you left me because I’m a slut. You know, the usual.”

He didn’t seem any more pleased that she had answered him, mostly because he was thinking of all the ways he could just kill Kuroishi Daiki in his head. “You should just get back together with me then and he’ll have nothing to complain about.”

Of course, Daiki would always be able to find something to complain about. Though overall he was more lenient when she and Gojo were together. Still, she didn’t look like she thought he deserved her back just yet. “No, Gojo.” He nearly flinched at her not using his first name, “I’m still very much mad at you for not telling me that he was alive. You had every opportunity and you know you can trust me to keep something like that secret. You chose to deceive me, and that not only hurt me but it hurt my daughter too.”

He let out a long sigh, hating how she wouldn’t just see reason. Didn’t she know by now that he was always right? How troublesome. “You said yourself if he was alive then you’d have to kill him. How was I supposed to tell you?”

She was quiet then, finally seeing his side of things. It still didn’t quell her anger and hurt. “You know as well as I do that I am not capable of that.”

“Desperate people are capable of things they wouldn’t normally do,” Gojo replied. Haya frowned more, not liking to consider herself desperate. But, again he was right, she was desperate. Desperate for parental love and acceptance. Desperate for approval and a pat on the back. Desperate for a job well done. Gojo knew all of this because he sometimes knew her better than she knew herself.

As she tried to think of a response to that, Gojo decided to ask another question. “Did you receive any orders while you were there?”

Haya thought back to the words her father had whispered into her ear before she stumbled outside and into the car. It was only right that Gojo knew. “Yes.” She said, deciding to be forthright. “Exterminate Sukuna’s vessel or I’ll exterminate you.” She specified.

His hands twitched as they threatened to ball up into fists. He didn’t care if Haya wasn’t his girlfriend, she was still the one person on the planet alive that he was closest to. No matter how furious she made him or how much she hurt him, he doubted he could ever willingly let anything bad happen to her.

“What are you going to do then?” He asked, his tone forced. She could tell he was upset. It wasn’t as if a breakup meant that your feelings were suddenly turned off. Though things would be much easier if they were. Maybe then they’d be allowed to live separate lives.

“Let him kill me, I guess.” She said, and he could tell she was being facetious. Her flippant attitude annoyed him more than calmed him. He wanted to shake her until she acted appropriately for the situation at hand. Gojo was normally one to play around, I mean he could handle the world if he needed to, but sometimes the situation called for seriousness. This was one of them.

“Hayami.” Gojo said, and she nearly flinched. An angry Gojo could be quite frightening, not that he’d ever hurt her in that way but it was a reaction she had picked up while growing up in an abusive household. An angry man usually meant a swinging hand. Although the only person who knew her that had ever dared to throw a fist at her was her own father. Still, humans were fragile things, it didn’t take much to condition them to fear emotion.

He noticed her reaction and immediately felt guilty, but not guilty enough to stop. “I know you won’t harm a child. Definitely not Sukuna’s vessel. Let me protect you.”

Since her second year of high school, Haya had been physically strong. She had done an obscene amount of strength training after she chose to use a cursed tool that was heavily reliant on physical strength. The harder she hit a curse, the more of its energy her tekko would take away. This meant that her build had gone from petite to muscular pretty fast.

She received plenty of comments from her family on how she had made herself undesirable, at least until she began formally dating Gojo. If a Gojo wanted to be with her, then certainly she was doing something right. Though her father would just say she was a seductress that got him by spreading her legs.

What a charming man.

Haya felt like she was going to cry. She didn’t necessarily want to, but the stress had been weighing down more heavily as of late. Gojo grabbed her hand gently and squeezed it. “You can be mad at me about Yuuji, that’s fine. You don’t have to forgive me for lying to you. But I’m not going to lose someone else. I’m not going to let you die.”

She rubbed at her good eye with her free hand before nodding, “Okay…okay.” She muttered, feeling embarrassed that she wasn’t strong enough to handle it herself in the first place. At least he wasn’t making her forgive him in repayment.

There was a short comfortable silence as Haya managed to gather her emotions back together. “Who won the game?”

Gojo smirked, “We did, of course. You know, your daughter was pretty good out there. She definitely takes after her mom in the athletic department.”

Haya cracked a smile, “of course, I’ve been training her since the day we met. How to pick up boys and how to knock them out when they misbehave. The first part she’s not so good at yet.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, “if she dresses like you then she’ll have no problem.” He teased, referring to her typically revealing attire. He knew she stopped being modest as a stab at Geto, but it became quite becoming of her. He rather liked being able to stare at her exposed skin whenever he pleased, even when they were off again.

She laughed, though he had half expected her to get angry. “She has a better sense of style than me, to be honest.”

“You mean, she likes to wear actual clothes?” He corrected her.

“I wear real clothes!” Haya protested and he just chuckled in response.

He propped his head upon his hand, his elbow on her bed. “You know you’re a MILF now, right?” He said with a shit-eating grin.

Haya stared at him, unsure of how to respond to that. “Just say you want to fuck me, Satoru, don’t make it weird.”

“If you’re Miyu’s mom, does this make me the dad?” He asked, his smile growing.

“Absolutely not, you’re the weird uncle. Nanami can be the dad.” She said with a huff.

“Oh? You’re leaving me for Nanamin now?” He replied, pretending to be hurt. “How could you?”

Haya tried not to laugh at the expression he was making. “Easily, you’re a jerk.”

“I’m your jerk.” He replied, a little more serious now.

She let out a sigh of defeat, “yes, you’re my jerk.”

Interlude Four coming Sunday, March 20th Geto and Gojo lay their eyes on Haya for the very first time. A/N: I'm taking next weekend off. I know I'm going to need the mental break <3

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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A little exercise (Part 1/?)

(I’m trying out a new process to help me with my writing and to get me out of the block I’m currently in. I find that analyzing preexisting personalities and ones of my own devising help me better understand how characters will interact in my writing. So, I started small and outlined some of Fane’s major relationships. I’m eventually going to go down the whole list from family to Inquisition members, but right now, I just focused on family.)

Relationships:

“Friendships are like roses; you tend to their delicate petals, nurture their roots, and provide them with water, sunshine, and fertile soil to keep them satisfied, all so they may flourish with life and love. But what happens when the rose bush flowers from an innocent bud to a crimson bloom, bringing thorns in its wake? You bleed, you hurt, and you regret ever planting the seeds. So, do I desire a literal garden of people with thorns as sharp as glass? Not at all.”- Fane Lavellan regarding companionship

Clan Lavellan:

“Fane is brash, volatile, and temperamental at the best of times, Spymaster. You do not wish to see him at his worst. Many of our clan and the outlying forests have been met with his ire. Even so, he is not a bad child. None of his actions are vindictive or of ill intentions. Fane is simply misunderstood, like so many others. So, if you must demand more of him, then you must tread lightly. That is my advice to you and your Inquisition.” - an excerpt from a letter from Keeper Deshanna sent to Haven after the explosion at the Conclave regarding Fane’s demeanor

Fane is exceedingly slow to warm up to people, even with those of his own kind. Among Clan Lavellan, Fane was seen as an anomaly; his two toned eyes and stark white hair breeding fear and wariness in his clan members, as well as his unusual physique. What’s more, many of the clan avoided him for fear of triggering his volatile rage which, when at its peak, would render aravels or trees completely obliterated. So, as far as friends go, Fane never had many among his clan; only communicating with his sister, and at times, the Keeper. Fane’s disinterest in cultivating relationships also stems from his desire to keep the evidence of his father’s abuse away from prying eyes and ears. This did not stop him from attempting to bridge the gap between him and his people, however. At a young age, Fane proved to be an adept hunter; stealthy and graceful despite his hulking frame. Sadly, his effectiveness to provide did not win the hearts of his clan, since many of Fane’s methods were unorthodox to the Dalish. When such a simple attempt was ineffective, Fane took one last step to try and wedge himself into belonging; his vallaslin. Despite not believing in any of the elven gods (another pit that distanced him from the Dalish, as Fane is and was not shy to voice his opinions regarding them), Fane opted to have the vallaslin of Sylaise tattooed onto his face at the age of sixteen; only a year after his father’s magical experiments on his body began. Once again, this did not do what Fane had hoped for, since the ritual and implementation of the tattoos barely registered a flinch or grimace from the elf; his mind and body already so scarred and traumatized by the use of magic and physical tools that Fane merely viewed the sacred act as another experiment in which his father’s rules of “No crying, no screaming, no telling anyone” played on repeat within his head. Due to that stoicism, his clansmen simply began to view him as unfeeling and cold, some going so far as to call him a ‘snowy haired demon’. From that point on, Fane severed all association with his clan, and attempts to win favor were replaced with complete indifference. Interactions were kept to scouting missions and group hunts, and such things like gatherings or holidays, Fane spent either alone within the forest or with his sister. It may have been this rift of association that spurred the Keeper into choosing Fane for the mission to spy on the Conclave, or perhaps it was a way to help both Fane and the clan from anymore turmoil. However, when the explosion at the Conclave completely shifts his small world on its axis, Fane is more or less forced to traverse a battlefield in which he is outnumbered in both strength and personalities.

Mhairi Lavellan (Sister):

“First mother, then father..I can’t lose you, too, brother. I have no one else besides you for family.”

“Hmph, don’t be so dramatic, My. Even if something were to happen to me, the clan would still be here for you. The clan’s your family as much as I am.”

“The clan is your family, too, brother. Why do you think they don’t care for you like I do?”

“Because they don’t. I’m a monster, remember? They’re all probably breathing a sigh of relief that I’m leaving.”

“Would you stop that?! You’re one of the people just like any of the others! More than that, you’re my brother! So, don’t talk as if you’re nothing. You are everything to me, Fane. Everything and more.” - a conversation between Mhairi and Fane before he leaves for the Conclave.

Mhairi and Fane’s relationship is much like any siblings; occasional bickering, unconditional love, and patience with each other’s oddities. However, unlike most siblings, whose likeness of personalities tends to breed contempt, Fane and Mhairi are, by all means, anathema to each other. Oil and water. Fire and ice. The sun and moon. All these things describe the two’s odd relationship. Fane, while holding a deep well of his love for his sister, has difficulty showing such platonic feelings, opting for simply watching Mhairi with an attentive eye and merely giving stern guidance to the younger when necessary. Whereas Mhairi is more bubbly and easygoing, wishing to help her brother bridge the gap that he had created with the clan and constantly reasserting to him that he is loved and cherished. Such attempts at reconciliation have only thus far vexed Fane, but the message from his sister is not lost, even if he does not outwardly show it. However, like with the rest of the clan, Fane has kept the actions of their father a secret from Mhairi; the only secret he has ever kept from his sister (besides the information of him being a dragon. Fane himself is unaware of his heritage until after Adamant. Even after he understands this information, he does not tell her until at least around the time of the Exalted Council.). Fane has gone to great lengths to keep the brutal past of his abuse from his sister. Such actions include: hiding his acute sensitivity to magic, which is the hardest since Mhairi is a mage, his night terrors that leave him sweating and hyperventilating in the morning, avoiding any and all physical contact from his sister or others since his body still harbors phantasmal pains from the abuse, and dismissing any questions or concerns from his sister when she zeroes in on his pain. Despite these actions on his part, Fane still gives in to his sister if she is particularly persistent or if she is on the verge of tears. In these moments, Fane will endure the pain on his body for a light hug or give a vague response to a question of concern. In conjunction, Mhairi is always trying to find ways to bring back the person her brother was before the experiments began, much to Fane’s dismay. She will oftentimes gift him with sentimental items such as; flowers (primarily Gladiolus since it is a flower the two have an emotional attachment to), handmade pendants, a history book (knowing that he is secretly curious of outside society), and his favorite foods (mainly chocolates). All attempts are usually met with soft refusal or awkward shuffling on Fane’s part, but internally, the misunderstood elf screams with joy every time such a thing is bestowed upon him by his sister.

Eloris Lavellan (Mother):

“Cerulean eyes like the deep lakes in the forest. Sunlight glistening off of golden strands like wheat. Shimmering, rippling across the surface with gentle strokes. Calm and patient even when I’d yell. Never scolding. Never hating. Her words hang upon my mind like her hand when she would guide my own across the page. ‘A summer breeze. A winter’s gale. All things are natural if you allow them to unveil.’ Her words. Her lesson. ..You were angry?”

“Yes, I was. I can’t even remember why now. But, she told me it was nothing to be ashamed of. She said all emotions were natural just like the wind and trees. I just had to..let them out.”

“Who was she?”

“..My mother, and that is all I’m saying about it.” - a discussion between Fane and Cole about Fane’s mother.

Fane’s memory of the relationship with his mother, Eloris, is one of the few things he cherishes, and is one of many things he does not openly share, even with Mhairi. Before she died of a wasting disease when Fane was fifteen, Eloris guided Fane throughout his earlier years, teaching him how to write in both the common tongue and elven, as well as speak and read. Fane describes her as ‘the gentlest soul upon a fragile landscape’ since never once did she harshly scold him or yell in anger at his prickly demeanor, which Fane had even as a child. Instead, Eloris taught Fane the wrongness of his actions with poetry. After outbursts or moments of frustration, Eloris would sit with Fane under a tree or in a clearing, and simply read to him, recounting tales and lessons through elegant scripture. Such a technique had oddly proved effective, calming Fane and cementing delicate lessons of patience and open mindedness, that to this day, while slightly more difficult for him to keep, still connect him with his deceased mother. These tiny memories of his mother’s poetry were something that helped Fane through much of his father’s abuse. So much so, that Fane himself began writing and collecting different forms of poetry after his father’s disappearance, and throughout his time with the Inquisition. This odd fixation also reflects in Fane’s way of speaking, and sometimes his versed tongue has to be deciphered by someone more familiar with him or those who understand cryptic dialogue. At times, it even causes him frustration. Even so, Fane keeps the memory of his mother with him wherever he goes, and secretly endeavors to keep the promise that he made to her. The promise to protect their family, no matter the cost.

(I’m still working on Fane’s father, so he might be the last one I touch on in the list. Anyways, this is just a little exercise to finally cement Fane’s overall character. All of the dialogue is just stuff I thought up on the fly, so take it with a grain of salt in reference to canon.)

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #oc: fane lavellan #male lavellan #warrior lavellan #lavellan #my ocs #dragonage #dragon age hell #writing #fanfiction #character analysis #just trying to figure out my thoughts #since it tends to derail when i write #maybe i'll start another playthrough with fane to help #hmm #meh #oc: mhairi lavellan #female lavellan

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enthusiasticsobrietyabuse · 3 years

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Bob Meehan - Times Advocate: Sunday, August 26, 1984

The story of a con man who helps kids kick drugs

Robert Meehan describes himself as a hippie, a rebel, a former heroin addict and a con man. There is no one better qualified, in his mind, to help teenagers get off drugs.

Meehan is the director of a Valley Center drug-rehabilitation program for young drug abusers called SLIC - Sober Live-In Center - Ranch. The former director of a major Houston-based drug rehabilitation program, Meehan has won high praise from clients and their parents, who have included comedians Carol Burnett and Tim Conway.

Despite that praise, however, Meehan's methods have attracted considerable controversy. He left the Houston Palmer Drug program in 1980, after television reports questioned the accuracy of the program's vaunted success rate and Meehan's possible conflict of interest in receiving a lucrative hospital consulting fee.

Meehan's problems did not end when he left Houston, however.

The county has declared SLIC Ranch to be in violation of zoning ordinances, and the state has threatened to close it down unless Meehan gets proper license to run a drug-treatment program. The county has also questioned SLIC's ties to a burgeoning self-help drug program called Freeway that has a satellite programs throughout San Diego County.

SLIC, which charges $4,000 a month and caters mainly to children of affluent parents, has also prompted concerns among drug-counseling professionals. Some worry that the cost of the program is excessive and that it relies heavily on non-professional counselors to provide treatment. They also express concern that Meehan could exert undue influence over his impressionable young charges.

Meehan established SLIC Ranch in 1981 as a privately-funded live-in center for young drug abusers requiring daily counseling to overcome their habits. Between 10 and 16 young people live in a rambling ranch-style house, supervised by Meehan and recovered drug-abusers who have gone through the SLIC program themselves.

While two professional psychologists are associated with the program, the emphasis is on former drug addicts and recovered alcoholics whose counseling approach is: "I've been there before." Meehan himself is a former heroin addict and recovered alcoholic.

Meehan, who wears his hair shoulder-length and sports tight designer jeans and a gold chain necklace, both dresses and acts hip - partly, he says, to gain the trust of his young clients.

"They say, 'Wow, look at this crazy old hippie,'" said Meehan, who does not care to modernize his image.

"I'm still a rebel. I'm still a hippie. I don't know how to change. I love the cause. I feel like I've got as righteous a cause as the Vietnam War."

Meehan said he can understand how parents bringing their kids to SLIC might be leery of him, given his appearance.

"I don't know if I'd trust me," he said, laughing. "But beneath this hair is a red neck. I'm a Republican. Voted for Reagan."

But when he talks about drugs, Meehan speaks in a voice that teenagers can understand.

"It's the Cheech-and-Chong generation," Meehan is fond of saying to his clients. "They're committing suicide on the installment plan."

Meehan often harps on the comedy team of Cheech and Chong, whose trademark is overindulgence in marijuana. In sharp contrast to some health professionals, Meehan regards marijuana as one of the most dangerous drugs used by teenagers.

"Marijuana is the most insidious chemical in society today," because it affects the mind, Meehan said. "I'd rather the kids were shooting heroin."

Meehan's message and his style often prompt adulation from the young people in his care.

"He has the answer to everything," said 16-year-old girl from La Jolla who said she was having trouble getting along with her mother, who had recently remarried. "He has love. It's like one big family. We work together and play together, and it's fun. And Bob's our big daddy."

Meehan, 41, the son of an Irish policeman, grew up in Baltimore. He said he started taking drugs at age 12.

He became an alcoholic and a heroin addict, spending four years in state and federal prisons for drug convictions. While in a Texas jail, Meehan was befriended by an Episcopalian priest. Upon his release he became the janitor for the Palmer Memorial Episcopal Church in Houston.

The priest urged Meehan to stay off drugs by counseling some of the local kids with drug problems of their own. Meehan said that at the time he was "a crazy kid with a 'hellatious' ego and visions of grandeur" and too flattered to turn down the offer.

The informal, self-help group began in 1972 with six members. It grew to become the Palmer Drug Abuse Program, which, according to Meehan, has had 30,000 participants. Meehan described it as "the most powerful drug program in the world."

It was closely modeled after the Alcoholics Anonymous program, with recovered abusers helping their peers.

Palmer garnered national publicity in the late 1970s, when actress Carol Burnett sent her daughter, Carrie Hamilton, there for treatment. Burnett was so impressed with her daughter's improvement that she and her husband accompanied Meehan on the "Phil Donahue Show" and other television shows to tout the program's success.

But Meehan's claims that his program had a cure rate of 75 percent to 80 percent attracted some sharp scrutiny.

In January 1980, CBS' "60 Minutes" TV program broadcast a piece on Palmer. According to a transcript of the broadcast, Meehan conceded under repeated questioning by Dan Rather that he did not have documentation to support his alleged success rate.

Rather also questioned Meehan's $50,000 annual consulting fee from a Houston hospital to which Palmer routinely sent young drug addicts for costly medical treatment. Meehan said during the interview that he saw no conflict of interest.

Meehan was also asked about his power to "persuade" some of the program's vulnerable young clients.

"I have that power," Meehan said. "I certainly do. I've been a con all my life. Just now I'm using it in a good way, see."

Following the "60 Minutes" piece, Meehan was asked to leave Palmer. In retrospect, Meehan now says, he could have prevented his firing by paying more attention to program details.

"I wasn't doing a damn thing wrong," he said. "I didn't mind the store. I was naive."

Meehan came to San Diego to work for Contemporary Health Inc., which was consulting with Center City Hospital, now Harborview Hospital, to establish a drug-abuse program. But his work for the hospital was short-lived.

"My methods are very unorthodox," Meehan said. "I was always fighting the staff."

While working for the hospital, however, Meehan helped establish a self-help counseling program called Freeway. It was modeled directly after Palmer and named after a rock music group formed at Palmer to entertain the kids in the program.

Freeway was started in 1982 by Jac Coupe, a former Palmer counselor, and by other Palmer employees who has left Texas after Meehan's departure. It now has centers in Coronado, Point Loma, Solana Beach and the newest one in Fallbrook.

The program, whose services are free, is funded in each community by local civic groups and churches. It is open to people 13 to 25 seeking help for drug and alcohol problems.

Participants are encouraged to attend weekly group-counseling sessions and to follow a 12-step program to achieve sobriety. Those who are severely addicted are referred for hospital treatment. In some cases, however, Freeway counselors conclude that a young person needs more intensive counseling - at SLIC Ranch.

Those who go to SLIC for a typical one-month stay range in age from 13 to 24, with the average age about 16. Most are psychologically - not physically - addicted to drugs. They have come to get free of dependence on marijuana, alcohol, speed and LSD.

Pat, a 19-year-old Rancho Santa Fe youth, realized he needed help when he mugged a woman to get money for his $600-a-week cocaine habit. John, a 21-year-old alcoholic from Clairemont, had tried a variety of alcohol treatment programs with no success.

SLIC participants live in a spacious ranch house, set among the oaks and hills of Valley Center, with a garden and pond-shaped swimming pool. They share bedrooms dormitory-style, with three or four to a room.

The participants are required to prepare their own meals to their own tastes, and there are no planned menus. Cereal and hot dogs are staples.

The rules prohibit drugs, alcohol, sex and violence. However, smoking, which is allowed, is prevalent.

"We don't care about cigarettes, diets and vitamin intake," Meehan said.

Participants spend most of their days in counseling. During their free time they are allowed to lounge by the pool and play rock music, much to the dismay of the neighbors. Occasional field trips are taken to Disneyland and other amusement centers.

SLIC residents are supervised by a staff of six, most former SLIC residents themselves. At least one staff person is on duty 24 hours a day.

One of the supervisors, Jackie Moors, 26 got off drugs a year ago after going through the SLIC program. Moors, who started doing drugs at age 10 and progressed until she was shooting up crystal methamphetamine, credits SLIC with turning her life around.

"The next stop would have been either jail or death" without SLIC, she said. The program worked, she said, because "people really cared about me." Her young son stays with her at the ranch.

Meehan said one goal of the center is to show residents "how to have more fun sober" than on drugs or alcohol.

Every weekday SLIC residents are transported by van to a rented house in Escondido, where they spend six hours in therapy and discussion.

The sessions are directed by Meehan and by Peter Sterman, a psychological assistant, who cannot practice without supervision of a licensed psychologist. His supervisor is Dr. Carl E. Morgan of San Diego.

In the evenings and on weekends, the residents are often taken to meetings of Freeway or Alcoholics Anonymous.

Last month the state notified Meehan that the center was operating without a license and threatened to close it down unless the center meets state standards required for a so-called residential-care license.

SLIC has been operating without a license because Meehan has successfully dodged the requirements, according to Tom Hersant, director of the San Diego office of the state's Community Care Licensing Division.

He told state officials that the ranch was operating not as a residential-care center providing therapy to live-in clients, but as a "boarding house," with the boarders receiving their counseling off the ranch in an Escondido house.

Meehan told the Times-Advocate that he attempted to avoid licensing to keep costs down.

Last month state investigators who has been suspicious of the arrangement finally confront SLIC officials.

"They told us, 'All right, already. We do provide therapy,'" Hersant said. "Suddenly now they're 'fessing up that they offer therapy."

State officials informed Meehan that a license would be needed.

To obtain a license the center would have to meet fire safety standards, provide a medical checkup for new clients to insure they are getting the appropriate treatment, and keep records evaluating the clients' progress. SLIC would no longer be allowed, as it does now, to mix clients younger than 18 with those older than 18.

Please see Ranch, page B2

Meehan has insisted that the licensing requirements are minor. He said he would comply, though he feels that the regulations would bring too much formality to the relaxed way he runs the program.

Not only must the ranch be licensed, but the counseling program run at the Escondido house must obtain a separate license to offer drug counseling. Once a facility is licensed, the state inspects it once a year to insure that standards are met.

Hersant said SLIC has agreed to apply for the two licenses. The licensing approval usually takes 90 days. If no licenses are obtained, he said, the state will move to shut SLIC down.

Meehan said he plans to meet the state requirements, but he dislikes the paperwork.

"I will comply to whatever extent I have to, to help young people," he said. "At the same time, I just want to do my thing."

Meehan said his problems with the state occurred because of negative publicity generated by the ranch's landlord, Clayton Blehm, an Escondido accountant. Blehm was sentenced in June to one year in jail for zoning violations at the Valley Center property that included adding illegal structures around the ranch. He is out on bail awaiting an appeal.

Blehm has also been cited by county zoning officials for allowing SLIC to move in without getting a major use permit - required to run a treatment center in a rural-residential area. The zoning investigations were prompted by complaints from neighbors, some of whom said that a drug treatment center did not belong in their quiet neighborhood and that they were repeatedly disturbed by loud music.

Last year SLIC and Freeway were the subject of an "informal investigation" by the county Division of Drug Programs. The investigation was prompted partly by complaints from a San Diego city schools official concerned that Freeway encouraged some young persons to stay away from school for one to three months to avoid their drug-using friends.

The report concluded that the complaint was the result of lack of communication between the school district and Freeway and that the two should work out an understanding.

The county investigation was also prompted by concerns about SLIC's relationship with Freeway.

"On the surface," the report said, "one might question the referral relationship, since both program directors hold a personal acquaintance that foes back to the Palmer Drug Abuse Program in Houston. However, DDP has no documentation information to suggest there is any impropriety or conflict of interest in the referral process."

Meehan said he has no break-down on where SLIC clients come from, but that many are referred by Freeway. He said SLIC and Freeway have no financial arrangements, because that would be unethical.

"There can't be," he said. "There's absolutely no financial arrangement either way."

Meehan urges all SLIC residents to attend Freeway counseling sessions after they leave the ranch. That is critical to staying sober, according to Meehan.

"If we can't hook a kid into Freeway," he said, "his chances are less than 60 percent of making it."

Some who go through the SLIC program are advised to live with "Freeway families" for several months, rather than with their own families. Meehan defended the practice for some clients, contending they would fall back into bad habits at home.

Asked whether continued reliance on Freeway would hurt a client's chances of becoming independent, Meehan said, "It's a very safe group of friends to have. I don't know if it's an unhealthy dependency."

According to Meehan, 90 percent of those who have gone through the SLIC program in the past 18 months have remained sober or off drugs after they left. He said that figure comes from undocumented reports from Freeway officials. "I hate statistics," he said.

Despite its concerns, the County Division of Drug programs concluded that there was "no documentable evidence" to prevent the county from recommending SLIC and Freeway as treatment centers.

At the time of the investigation, Meehan was serving the first year of a three-year term on the county's Advisory Committee on Drug Abuse. The 11-member volunteer committee helps county officials select drug-treatment programs to receive county money.

Freeway centers, which are privately funded, are generally located in affluent regions of the county.

"They're in the ones that can pay for it," Meehan said. "They have raised the money."

Parents in those communities can also afford to send their children to SLIC. The $4,000-a-month cost of attending SLIC has raised eyebrows among professional drug counselors.

By comparison, the county-funded McAllister Institute of Training and Education in El Cajon charges about $720 a month to treat women with drug problems.

Jessica Lewis, program director for Community Resources and Self-Help Inc., which has a county contract to treat drug abusers in San Diego, said the program has never referred anyone to SLIC. Lewis said her program's clients cannot afford Meehan's program.

"His target audience is kids from families that are financially successful," she said. "He's earning big bucks. More power to him. He has a mindset of big business and the heartset of helping people. I don't question his sincerity."

During his "60 Minutes" interview four years ago, Meehan said he was worth more than the $100,000 he was then making. He would not say in a recent interview how much he makes running SLIC.

Meehan, who lives in Rancho Bernardo, said that despite the $4,000-a-month per-person SLIC Ranch fee, he is not getting rich.

"Where that profit is, I haven't seen it yet," he said. "I make enough to pay my bills and save $100 a month."

Some health professionals were reluctant to speak candidly about Meehan's program. One noted that Meehan, because he sits on the county advisory committee, wields influence over the finances of many local treatment programs.

Nevertheless, some drug-treatment experts expressed reluctance to refer clients to SLIC because of its reliance on non-professional counselors. After sitting on a panel discussion with Meehan, Greg Baer, head nurse of the substance-abuse unit at Southwood Psychiatric Hospital in Chula Vista, he said he would not recommend Meehan's program for anyone.

"I just question his ability to be therapeutic," said Baer, whose program also treats adolescents for as much as $10,200 a month. "The people we deal with need a therapeutic approach from people who are knowledgeable... you need to have knowledge of what you're doing and not just go with a gut feeling."

Baer criticized SLIC's exclusion of the families of young drug abusers from its treatment program.

"If Johnny is going to return home, you have to discuss how this is going to be done... Otherwise you are doomed for failure," he said.

Some professional counselors said they worry about Meehan's influence over young people. Lewis said it is important for an organization such as SLIC, which treats emotionally-dependent people, to be accountable to a licensing or watchdog agency. Otherwise, she said, clients can be exploited.

"It's a pain in the neck," she said, "but I'm prepared to answer to those (licensing) people. There are enough people looking over our shoulder to make sure our clients are safe."

John Adam, a licensed psychologist in Coronado who has monitored SLIC Ranch and Freeway for more than a year, said he is concerned about the unorthodox nature of the counseling. Adam said the adulation that SLIC participants feel toward Meehan resembles hero worship.

"Any time you depend on the charisma of a leader, you fear that results will fade with time or distance from the guru," he said.

Meehan said he knows that he has tremendous influence on this young charges, but he tries to use that to good purposes.

"I'd like to think I'd become one of their local heroes instead of Cheech and Chong," he said.

But he acknowledged that his relationship with the clients could lead to problems.

"Yeah, it scares me," he said. "You get into a real guru (situation). This is where cults can begin."

"I have an advantage, though, because they're here only 30 days. I cut them loose emotionally when they leave here."

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kotolocke · 5 years

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Entry #03: Violet City.

Get ready boys, this is where the serious battling starts. And it starts with a big tower dedicated to a living vine. I love Pokemon. We’re gonna cover Lyra’s adventures in Sprout Tower, Route 32 and Violet Gym. But first—

—apparently Falkner gets some guy to stop people who haven’t beaten the monks at Sprout Tower? Violet City seems hella interconnected so expect a world-building post on that soon. Regardless, on with the show!

Sprout Tower.

Okay, first off, this place is so interesting? I always forget about it but seeing as this is a place Lyra visits early on in her journey it’s pretty significant in shaping her ideas of what being a trainer is all about.

She’s taking part in an ancient tradition, and she needs to honour it by making sure she trains her Pokemon in such a way that is respectful to them and the Pokemon handlers of the past. She also kicks these monks asses very hard. Who’s the training master now?

Of course, we’re in a new area so we’ve got a chance to get a new friend, so meet Plum!

I really need to stop forgetting to take snaps of Pokemon in battle smh. I may have cheated a little and waited until night to go into the tower so I had a shot at getting Lyra something other than a Rattata and as you can see it payed off! Back to Plum though, he’s a pretty dower Pokemon. Ghost-types tend to come in two flavours; extremely silly and playful, messing about with other Pokemon and people for their own amusement or serious and weary of others, sometimes even vengeful—people tend to be scared of them and this sometimes leaves them feeling bitter and lonely. Plum’s a mild version of the second variety, he’s sombre and baleful, preferring to wear opponents down with status moves rather than go on a full out offensive. He’s a little weary of Lyra and her party when he’s first captured but he also appreciates the fact he’s finally in company that’s obliged to be nice to him. Small mercies.

I’m not gonna cover the rest of the randos in the tower because they and their dialogue belong in a world-building post, so let’s climb on up to the top...

...Where Lyra has her second encounter with Silver. Or half encounter? Can it really be considered an encounter if it’s not clear if they saw each-other? They did in blog canon anyway, Lyra insisted he must have cheated because there’s no way a mean, useless trainer like him could have defeated a great sage, Silver told her to shut up because weak trainers and their puny Pokemon have no business judging others. Which causes the Elder to level this choice criticism @ Silver:

Which, ofc, pisses Silv right off.

So just to reiterate, early-game Silver’s an asshole, but this whole exchange kinda makes me wonder how uncommon Silver’s attitude towards Pokemon is? I’ll probably write a more in-depth world-building post about it later but as much as the games try to emphasise this ‘you should love your Pokemon!’ attitude, I don’t think many trainers really love their Pokemon with the same intensity I see Lyra loving hers? I mean HGSS in particular have a plot-line about how it’s actually not good to make Pokemon evolve before they’re ready but plenty of Gym Leaders and E4 members have Pokemon that are too low of a level to be at the evolutionary stage they are. I think Silver’s a very extreme trainer and very few people are as callous as he is towards his Pokemon, but. The Elder is absolutely in the minority of people who don’t think of Pokemon as “tools of war”—most treat their Pokemon decently, with respect, but they are primarily seen as living weapons that require a firm hand. Pokemon were once seen as enemies of man in feudal times and most people still don’t feel as friendly towards them as they would other humans.

Anyway, enough world-building, let’s talk about Lyra’s battle with the Elder.

If you couldn’t tell, this Hoothoot was legitimately the first Pokemon that gave me any trouble and I actually got kinda scared Nutmeg was gonna faint but ultimately it didn’t take too long to defeat him. In blog cannon this fight probably makes Lyra realise that she’s gonna have to get a little more serious about battling if she wants to make it as a trainer. She’s good at training Pokemon to unleash cool little tricks and strategies in battle but I think at this point in her journey she sometimes keeps Pokemon out for longer than she should ‘cause she wants to show off a cool trick she came up with. And, well,

seems to have worked on the Elder; he clearly likes her stuff!

Route 32.

Before Lyra goes ahead and does battle Falkner, she’s gotta get a little extra training in. Though the message still hasn’t quite sunk in, the battle with the Elder makes her realise she should probably try to toughen her Pokemon up a little should they get stuck in a tight spot again.

Now behold our potential new teammate from this area, a Bellsprout!

Unfortunately, Cabbage hit her with a crit Razor Leaf and she fainted in game. In blog canon she just ran off into the treeline and Lyra decided it would just be kinda cruel to pursue her. Hopefully she can just synthesise the damage off.

Now, it’s time for a t-t-t-t-training montage! A couple of cool things happen whilst Lyra’s training in this area. First up and probably most important—

—Pod evolves! At this point Lyra’s been on the road for around a week and a half so his pupation time is up and he’s finally a beautiful Butterfree! He’s very eager to try out some of the techniques Lyra, Cabbage & Nutmeg have practised; he can fly but he’s not got claws like Meg has so he relies on a combination of spores and powders (like Cabb) and special moves. Lyra earns Pod’s eternal love by basically letting him go ham on a bunch of wild Bellsprouts and scaring them off with a Confusion he lets loose while flying around in high-speed circles. Lyra did feel bad about that later but in the moment she was just happy to see her little man so excited.

Best!! Friends!!

Another member of the team starts to grow closer to Lyra at this point too; the newly caught Plum!

As previously mentioned, he starts off pretty gloomy and he kinda struggles to keep eye-contact with Lyra because he’s a little shy. He’s also not used to being out in sunlight; it doesn’t hurt him or anything but it takes a while for his eyes to adjust to it. But as soon as he realises Lyra’s highkey fascinated by him—Ghost-types are amongst the most poorly understood Pokemon and thus she hasn’t been able to read up on them much—and genuinely wants to work out how to put his weird ghostly powers to best use, he gets attached to her really quickly. He’s just never had anyone be so vocally supportive of him before! And all the rest of her Pokemon are so nice to him too??

Plum loves his new trainer so much!!

Violet Gym.

It’s time baby.

Hell.

Yeah.

There’s not too much to say about the trainers leading up to Falkner. They were pretty easy and one of them comments on the fact that Lyra’s mad strong. My headcanon that the protags are prodigies isn’t a headcanon lads, it’s just Facts.

See? Anyway the dojo-esque vibes in this Gym kinda made me wonder; are Gym’s called gyms because the trainers under the leader train their Pokemon there? Are they kinda like advanced Pokemon schools? Obviously the trainers have to be at least decent to be able to act as a leader’s gatekeeper but they’re probably there primarily to train under them. It’s definitely a topic for a worldbuilding post. Anyway that’s not important right now, what’s important right now is—

—Falkner.

Lyra had no trouble dealing with his first Pokemon, a level 9 Pidgey didn’t face up well against Lyra’s team of level 11s. Blog-wise, Scritches dealt with it very quickly by using a Quick Attack aimed at the ground to knock it out of the air.

But the level 13 (under-leveled!) Pidgeotto that followed was an absolute menace. It was absolutely the bulkiest Pokemon Lyra had battled against so far and that combined with it’s Roost move made it incredibly difficult for her Pokemon to get any damage on it.

completely

rased

her

team.

As the fight progressed, Lyra began to cotton on to the fact that there was something not quite right about this Pidgeotto. After a Pokedex scan revealed it’s odd level, she began to suspect that this wasn’t a Pokemon that Falkner trained himself. It took a highly skilled trainer to get a Pokemon to evolve and unorthodox (and sometimes cruel) methods to get a Pokemon to evolve before it’s reached a level of power that it normally would need to do so. And Gym leader Falkner might be, but highly experienced trainer he is not.

By the time her last Pokemon went down, Lyra was fuming mad and extremely anxious. She rushed back to the Pokecentre and spent the next six hours flying between panic attacks as she hoped and prayed her Pokemon would pull through and utter rage at the fact that a league official would use a Pokemon that they had not only not trained themselves but also potentially abused. When her Pokemon were finally stabilised and returned to her she was still pacing around the Pokecentre for an hour after, trying to work out how best to tackle Falkner in a rematch.

Eventually she decided that she had focused too intensely on raw attack power. If she was going to deal with a trainer who made use of some underhanded training techniques then it was only logical that she would have to get him back with some nasty tricks of her own. She and Plum were going to need to spend a little extra time training together, and I’ll be going into the details of it in the next entry.

#kotolocke.

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sammielikessstuff · 3 years

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When the Mask Comes Off Fandom: Persona 5/Royal Chapters: 10/?? Summary: Her only crime was being a girl trying to stand up to a man. Now branded a violent criminal and a slut, Chiyo’s been shipped off to the city to live with a stranger and get through her year probation in peace. At her new school, it becomes clear that the corruption that put her in this situation goes far deeper than she could ever have ever imagined. Finally seeing the world for what it is, Chiyo decides to use what’s been given to her and stop being scared and finally get furious. Even if it means committing a few thefts and crimes along the way. FemJoker AU

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of rape

Ryuji let out every curse he could recall and then some in such a flurry, it became little more than enraged gibberish. He repeated the process when Chiyo explained what happened to her when she was alone with Kamoshida. Including his ultimatum.

“I assume you’ve made up your minds then?”

On the table sat Morgana. Though she wondered how he passed the staff and students, Chiyo did not put it past Morgana to have followed them down here. “I have,” said Chiyo, “I’m doing it.”

“So have I,” added Ryuji. “We’re not dealing with just physical abuse! He just tried to blackmail Chiyo. He raped that girl! She could die because of him! I don’t give a rat's ass what happens to that shitbag!”

“He’s punished either way.” Chiyo removed her glasses, making sure her eyes were truly dried. Then she used the hem of her turtleneck to clean the lenses.

Morgana purred, “Then it’s settled.”

“So, uh… is gettin’ rid of a Palace hard?” inquired Ryuji. “You’ve tried it before, right?

“When did I ever say that?”

“Well, you do talk a big game.” Chiyo put her glasses back on and slumped her shoulders. “And apparently that’s all it is.”

Ryuji’s eyes rolled skyward, exasperated. “Oh, that’s just fuckin’ wonderful!”

“Is it true that you’re getting expelled?”

Chiyo whipped around to find Takamaki, red-eyed, and miserable. “Takamaki?” Chiyo gasped. “I-I thought you’d be with Suzui…” She regretted saying it as soon as it came out of her mouth.

“Her parents and family all rushed to the hospital. I didn’t want to impose, so one of her relatives drove me back,” Takamaki explained. “Enough about me, everyone’s talking about your expulsion.”

“That asshole’s at it again,” hissed Ryuji. “So you came all this way to tell us that?”

“If you’re going to deal with Kamoshida,” Ann began finding the conviction to speak, “let me in on it too. I can’t just sit back and do nothing after what happened to Shiho!”

It wasn’t as though Chiyo didn’t think Takamaki had a right to this. She had every right. But could Takamaki even go to that other world? And that was ignoring how Takamaki would react to the cognitive Takamaki. “This has nothing to do with you,” Ryuji said without tact. “Don’t butt your nose into this…”

“What Ryuji means is,” Chiyo said quickly before Takamaki could respond. “Is that you probably don’t want to get caught up in this method. It’s… rather unorthodox.”

Takamaki stared at her for several agonizingly slow seconds. She didn’t say anything but furrowed her brow. Scrunching up her face, she took off running. “Goddamnit,” murmured Chiyo.

“I know.” Ryuji rubbed his temples with one hand. “But we can’t take her somewhere like that. You saw that other her in that Palace thingy.”

Ao3 || FF.net

#fanfiction update #wtmco #persona #persona 5 #persona 5 fanfiction #persona fanfiction #persona 5 royal #joker (persona)#joker (p5)#fem!joker #fem!joker au

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padawanlost · 6 years

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I know that there are so many theories, but I want to read this from you. Do you think Anakin would have joined to the dark side if he had been Qui-Gon's apprentice? (Sorry for the english)

Yes. If aretalking about scenario where the only thing that changes is Qui-Gon survivingMaul, then yes.

Anakin fallis not on Obi-wan, it’s on Palpatine. Obi-wan’s (and the Order) failure to carefor Anakin properly made him more vulnerable to Palpatine’s manipulation but itwas Palpatine who gave the final push. In canon, as desperate as he was to savePadmé, Anakin never considered joining the Sith until Palpatine planted the DarthPlagueis seed. The Council’s actions made Anakin distrust them and Obi-wan’steaching methods did little to help him deal with his mental issues but none ofthat ever made him want to go Dark Side. They made him question their ways andhis own desire to be a Jedi, but Anakin’s decision to go dark side is not onthem.

Obi-wan failedAnakin because he failed to protect him from Palpatine and to help Anakin todeal with his emotions is a healthy way and. And, honestly, I don’t thinkQui-Gon would have made that much differently in shielding Anakin fromPalpatine or giving him the psychological help he needed and here is why:

Palpatine

After theQui-Gon told the Council about Anakin being the Chosen, Dooku took theinformation to his pal Palpatine who in turn, took it to his master Plagueis.From that moment on, the Sith wanted Anakin. Maul was sent to Naboo to killQui-gon and Obi-wan and abduct Anakin. So, no matter who survived that fight,Palpatine would have gone after Anakin.

Palpatine wasworse than a dog with a bone. He believed Anakin was destined to belong to him.That’s why I don’t see Palpatine just letting Qui-Gon happily train a healthyand happy Anakin. He would have meddledthe same way he did with Obi-wan. He would have slowly undermined therelationship and Anakin’s trust on the Jedi Order and the Senate.

The onlything that, maybe, would have gone differently would be Qui-Gon reaction toMace Windu allowing Palpatine total unsupervised access to Anakin. But itwouldn’t have been a big difference. Where Obi-wan accepted it easily, I thinkQui-gon would have put up a fight. He would lose, of course, and eventuallyallow the lessons to take place (because despite of what the fandom likes tobelieve, Qui-gon was very much a Jedi™ who still listened to the Council andobeyed).

Soeverything Palpatine did to Anakin (manipulating, abusing, gaining his trust andrespect, etc.) when he was under Obi-wan’s care, would also happen if Qui-Gonwas in charge.

Shmi Skywalker

This isprobably the most divisive part of the scenario. I’ve seen people going from “Qui-gonwould have saved Shmi and brought her to live at the Temple with them” to “Qui-gonwould have left her for dead”. Honestly, I think most people seem to forget itwas Qui-Gon who trained Obi-wan and that Obi-wan spent a lot of time trying to bethe kind of teacher Qui-Gon was. Much like Obi-wan, in the end of the day,Qui-Gon was a Jedi. Different than most, but still very much a Jedi. A Jedi whostill had some faith in the Order’s ways and the attachment rule was a prettyimportant part of it.

I can seeQui-Gon trying to do something to ease Shmi’s life (after seeing how muchAnakin was being affected by concern for his mother) but I don’t see himallowing Anakin to keep any type of close relationship with Shmi. We need toremember here that it wasn’t Obi-wan who forbade Anakin and Shmi from beingtogether, it was the Jedi Council. Obi-wan was allowed to train Anakin, butonly if he did it by their rules. In canon, when a young Anakin decided toleave the Order, Obi-wan was told he would have to leave it too if he wanted tokeep on training Anakin. It was the Jedi equivalent of “our way or the highway”.I don’t see it being any different with Qui-Gon. He would have tried to findloopholes to explore but, in the end of the day, he would have followed his ordersthe same way he did in TPM because he was a Jedi before anything else.

It’s notfair to put what happened to Shmi and Anakin only on Obi-wan’s shoulder. He wasfollowing the orders of his superiors. Older,wiser and far more experienced beings than he was. Master he was train fromchildhood to follow and worship. Same as Qui-Gon Jinn. As we saw in TPM,Qui-Gon’s issues with the Council was that he openly disagreed with them, notthat he openly disrespected or went against their orders. Qui-Gon was told notto train Anakin – he didn’t like that order, he made clear he didn’t like thatorder – but he obeyed.

I see theShmi’s situation staying the same in the ten years following TPM, not because ofQui-Gon or Obi-wan but because of the Jedi Council. Things would go differentlyonly when Anakin started having his visions. Where Obi-wan dismissed Anakin’sdreams due to his known (and constantly criticized by the Council) attachmentissues, Qui-Gon (more inclined to believe in the more “mystical” aspects of theForce) would have listened.

Shmi’s death

But ifQui-Gon saves Shmi from the Tusken Raiders why would Anakin still go dark if abig part of his issues and obsession to save his loved ones from death are adirect result of his failure to save Shmi? Because she still dies. Palpatine cannotallow such a positive influence undermining all his hard work. She need to go,the same way Qui-Gon, Obi-wan, Ahsoka and Padmé had to go in canon. For Palpatine’splan to work he needed Anakin desperate and isolated and an Anakin surroundedby loved ones is not something he can accept. The “when” would have changed,but I have no doubt Palpatine would have done anything is his power to keep Anakinfrom being happy and that means Shmi’s death.

Master and Padawan

Qui-Gon andAnakin’s relationship would probably be less tumultuous than Anakin and Obi-wan’s.Obi-wan was as a well-intentioned as Qui- Gon but lacked the experience necessaryto guide a child as troubled as a Anakin and to challenge the Council. They wouldhave different approaches and teaching styles but to the same overall resultbecause Anakin’s fall as never about them as individuals.

I didn’tmatter who trained Anakin because as long as Palpatine was in the picture andthe Jedi refused to change. As long as Anakin was being influenced by the Jediand Palpatine he would never be stable or healthy enough to handle stressful situationsproperly. And as long as he remained troubled he would be vulnerable toPalpatine’s manipulations.

Anakincould have been trained by any Jedi – Obi-wan, Qui-Gon, Yoda, Mace WIndu, PloKoon, etc. – but it wouldn’t have mattered because they were all fundamentally unequippedto deal with a child like Anakin. Obi-Wan’s failings were the Order’s failings.And Qui-Gon, as unorthodox as he was, was still part of that Order and prone tothe same failings.

An Anakinthat doesn’t join the Sith is an Anakin who can’t be easily manipulated byPalpatine, who is emotionally stable, self-confident and with healthy copyingmechanisms. An Anakin who doesn’t fall is a mentally healthy Anakin, whichimplies an Anakin that received psychological help for all his traumas. And thatis not something that could be achieved with him under the control of the JediOrder. Not because they didn’t care, but because mental health was notsomething the Jedi– as they were – knew how to handle properly.

Therefore,as long as the Jedi Order remained the same and Palpatine remained in power, therewould be only two possible options for Anakin: the Sith or death, becausePalpatine wouldn’t allow anything else.

Even ifObi-wan or Qui-Gon had trained Anakin far away from the Jedi Order, as long asPalpatine was aware of Anakin’s existence, he would find a way to manipulatethe situation in his favor because he desired Anakin more than anything. And Palpatine,being nothing more than a spoiled child, would rather break his toy than to letanyone play with it.

As much asI criticize Obi-wan’s teaching methods, to say that if someone else had trainedAnakin everything would have beenfine is incredibly unfair to Obi-wan. He made his own mistakes, it’s true, butall his efforts were constantly undermined by the Jedi Council constant unhelpfulcriticism and by Palpatine’s manipulations. Qui-Gon, or anyone else, would facethe problems.

For thingsto be different, truly different, a lot would have to change and that sort ofchange doesn’t help overnight or without some serious events compelling peopleto change. Qui-Gon’s presence alone wouldn’t have been enough to wake theCouncil from their complacency or to counterbalance all of Palpatine’s powerand influence.

Anakin wasa kid trapped in the middle of tug of war game between two powerful organizations.It didn’t matter the name of the individuals pulling the rope, as long as thegame was being played Anakin would never be allowed to find peace.

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downsbeatrice · 4 years

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nickireadstfc · 7 years

Text

The Raven King, Chapter 6 – The Return Of Sassmaster McSavage

In which the Foxes and the Ravens meet, no one has any kind of chill, everyone has eaten a healthy dose of Extra and Dramatic for breakfast, and no one can keep their mouths shut – but most importantly, in which shit gets so, so fucking real.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Raven King.

You guys.

You GUYS.

Remember how you keep telling me I’m not even ready?

Yeah. ABOUT THAT.

I am writing this immediately after just because I could not wait to comment on the absolute FUCKERY that went down just now.

Fun drinking game: Take a shot every time I swear in this chapter. I have no chill left.

Let’s start at the beginning.

They pulled onto the interstate with thirteen people on board: the Fox team, the two-man staff, and Aaron’s and Nicky’s dates.

Shame. I would have paid to see Andrew and Renee going as wonderful platonic goalie BFF dates.

It quickly becomes obvious that we’re in for a wild fucking ride when Mighty And Stoic Kevin Day already starts having panic attacks while still on the bus.

It wasn’t just Riko Kevin was afraid of. In twenty minutes, he’d be facing his entire former team. (…) Neil didn’t know much about [Tetsuji Moriyama]. The one time Kevin mentioned him he’d slipped and called him “the master”. Neil didn’t need to hear anything else after that.

Oh yeah. THAT SHIT.

Seriously what the FUCK is up with that family. This is 24601 shades of fucked up.

Wymack, sensing Kevin’s panic (not that that’s fucking hard at the moment) resorts to some ah – unorthodox methods to keep his striker calm.

Wymack pulled a bottle of vodka out of the bag and put it down beside Kevin. “You have ten seconds to inhale as much of this as possible. Go.”

It was alarming how much a man could drink when he needed an emotional crutch.

Kevin doesn’t need an emotional crutch, Kevin needs an emotional wheelchair. An emotional prosthesis. Jeez. I’d be drinking, too, if I had to go meet my lifelong abusers face-to-face at a fucking banquet, having to make polite conversation with the people who broke my hand, my self-esteem and probably my will to live.

Also, I’m starting to consider Wymack not the dad of the team, but more the grumpy uncle – not huge on emotional sappiness, getting them hard liquor, constantly calling them out on their bullshit, yet loving them all fiercely. #dicksoutforwymack

Wymack (…) turned to Neil.

“You,” he said, “attempt to behave this time. Don’t pick fights with him today.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Meaning: So, so many fights will be picked today. So many. You are not even ready for all the fight-picking my short-tempered sassy ass is about to do.

With that, the banquet is off!

Thick cushioned mats covered the polished floor to keep table legs and chairs from scraping up the wood. (…) Neil had never seen so many people on an Exy court before. There was still plenty of room to walk around between the tables, but Neil hated seeing a court repurposed like this.

Oh my gooooooood shut the hell up you obsessed knob. It’s not being used right now, so we might as well use it to fit everyone for the banquet. It’s just a wooden floor, for fuck’s sake.

And now – this is where shits starts getting good.

Did I say Neil was Extra™? Did I complain about Kevin being too dramatic?

Forget all that. Meet the true masters of Extra And Dramatic™ – introducing: The Edgar Allan Ravens.

The Ravens hadn’t brought dates. They hadn’t brought any colour along, either. All twenty-two of them were dressed head-to-toe in black. The twenty men wore the same shirts and slacks, and the two women wore identical dresses. They even sat the same way, all with their right elbows on the table, all of them with their chins in their hands.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS.

Uniform is one thing, but sitting the same way, like ARE YOU ACTUALLY REAL. HOW IS THIS AN ACTUAL THING ACTUAL PEOPLE FUCKING DO.

Of course, some sly fucker in the organization committee had the hilarious idea to sit the two teams directly across from each other. Of fucking course.

Dan, ever the model captain, introduces herself and her team to Riko, as if he didn’t get completely annihilated on national TV by her striker just a few weeks ago.

That Fucker™, however, isn’t having it.

“I know who you are,” Riko said. “Who here doesn’t? You’re the woman who captains a Class I team. You’ve done admittedly well despite your disadvantages.”

“What disadvantages?”

“Do you really want me to start listing them?” Riko asked. “This is only a two-day event, Hennessey.”

OI SCREW YOU YA BIG FUCKNOODLE. I will not have you insult my treasured lionheart daughter like that.

Also, I thought her name was Wilds? The fuck is a Hennessey.

(Side note: I am sorry you guys, this recap is going to be ridiculously long. Every single line here is gold. Blame Nora for writing the sassiest, shadiest, most shocking and just in general best chapter of this series so far.)

It’s time for a new character introduction, one I’ve heard many of you ramble on about on the interwebs – that French dude.

Neil didn’t recognize the man, but he didn’t need to ask. The black number three tattooed on his left cheekbone meant he could be no one but Jean Moreau.

Lovely. Another one of those dumb ass face tattoo fuckers. I’m filing you as French and pretentious, my dude.

“You look familiar,” Jean said in heavily accented English.

“If you watched Kathy’s show you saw me there,” Neil said.

“Ah, you are right. That must be it. What was your name again? Alex? Stefan? Chris?”

In eight years on the run Neil had been through sixteen countries and twenty-two names. Hearing one name from Jean wouldn’t mean anything. Hearing three wasn’t a coincidence.

Alright, French and pretentious AND TERRIFYING. COOL.

What the hell??? How??

“Blame my mother,” Neil said. “She named me.”

“How is she doing, by the way?” Riko asked.

That Fucker™ knows. He knows.

This was bound to come around at some point. Kevin being too traumatized to recognize Neil was nothing short of amazing, but I guess we can’t always be that lucky.

It was nice knowing you, Neil, because your ass is fucking dead.

Neil might have answered, but Dan beat him to it with an annoyed “Don’t antagonize my team, Riko. This isn’t the place for it.”

“I was being polite,” Riko said. “You haven’t seen me antagonistic yet.”

And I don’t think I fucking want to, hombre.

Excuse me for a second while I nerd out over the most unexpected reference of this entire series:

Neither of them [Kevin and Jean] had anything else to say to each other, but they stared each other down unblinking. Andrew lost interest before long and leaned forward.

“Jean,” he said. “Hey, Jean. Jean Valjean. Hey. Hey. Hello.”

……………………………. did you just.

JEAN VALJEAN. AS IN, BREAD DAD. AS IN, THE PROTAGONIST OF ONE OF MY FAVOURITE MUSICALS/FILMS/FANDOMS OF ALL TIME. Like, I’ve done Les Mis cosplay. Several times. That’s how dedicated I am.

I AM #SHOOK.

However, I am decidedly not liking Jean Valjean – or either of That Fucker™’s posse, actually. They first take a few moments to talk shit about Andrew (“publicity stunt”, can you fuck the fuck off) and then they come for my firstborn daughter Renee.

The woman now on Riko’s right gave a loud snort. “If someone like that replaced you in goal, you must be downright terrible. I can’t wait to watch one of your matches. I think it will be entertaining. We would make a drinking game of it but we don’t want to die of alcohol poisoning.”

“Yeah, that’s be a shame,” Dan said with heavy sarcasm.

DAN <33333

My darling angel, however, doesn’t take the bait.

“Do we have to start off so poorly?”

“Why not? You’re poor at everything else you do,” the woman said. “Is it honestly fun to be so terrible?”

“I imagine we have more fun than you do, yes,” Renee said.

Correction: My darling angel does take the bait – and brings the fucking shade.

“Fun is for children,” Jean said, looking away from Andrew.

If he’d been going to say anything else, he forgot it when he got a good look at Renee.

First of all – “fun is for children”, can you fucking chill, Monsieur Pretentieux Superlatif.

Second of all – what’s that “suddenly stopping talking when he sees Renee” thing about?? Do they have shared history as well? Is he just blinded by her angelic beauty and wants to bone her?

I am absolutely NOT LIKING the latter possibility. Protect my daughter.

The Ravens continue being The Absolute Worst™, talking about how Kevin “belongs” to them (can u fuckin not) and should come to his senses and return to them (as fucking if).

“You should reconsider our offer before we rescind it for good, Kevin. Face the facts. You pet is and always be dead weight. It’s time to –“

“What?” Andrew turned a wide-eyed look on Kevin. “You have a pet and never told us? Where do you keep it, Kevin?”

ANDREW LET ME LOVE YOU. I had to laugh so hard at that, oh my god. That’s the only proper way to respond to something like that, tbh.

That Fucker™, however, has found a new target to harass – ya boi Neil, who has kept admirably quiet so far and has probably bitten off his own tongue at this point trying to avoid bursting out in sass rants.

That is, until That Fucker™ comes for his mom.

“What a coward,” Riko said with exaggerated disappointment. “Just like his mother.”

Cue the moment I stopped breathing.

“You know, I get it,” Neil said. “Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court – yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time.”

HOLY FUCKING –

“I know it’s not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you are physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don’t think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.”

I had to take a moment. I had to put the book down and fucking scream for a moment.

SASSMASTER MCSAVAGE STRIKES AGAIN, Y’ALL.

I AM YELLING AND CLAPPING MY HANDS LIKE AN EXCITED SEAL FFS NEIL I L O V E Y O U.

Neil leaned forward and look down at the table at Dan, who sat with her face buried in her hands.

“Dan, I said please. I tried to be nice.”

Oh my GOD. That is just the cherry on top of the sundae of EPICNESS that just went down.

I SAID PLEASE.

I cannot handle this. I cannot. Holy shit.

Jean turned on Kevin and spoke in quick, furious French. “What the hell is this?”

“His antagonism is a personality flaw we’ve learned to live with,” Kevin said.

Pfftftftftftt. Kevin is entirely done with this situation and I love it.

However, fun times are immediately the fuck over, as Jean Valjean hints at someone having “bought” Neil and assumes Kevin had recruited him because of that.

And just as I was beginning to wonder hat hell he is talking about – he drops this.

“Riko will have a few moments of your time later,” Jean said. “I suggest you speak with him if you do not want everyone to know you are the Butcher’s son.”

WHAT.

OH SHIT T H E Y K N O W I FUCKING SAID IT OH SHIT WHAT.

Kevin, who has skillfully repressed his memories of Neil up until this point, is about as shocked by this development as I am and has to go have some emergency vodka, like, asap.

Neil, on the other hand, shows some wonderful, wonderful signs of character development.

“Neil, if you can’t be here say so,” Wymack said. “Abby can take you elsewhere until it’s time to leave. Get out of here and get some fresh air.”

It was the perfect opening, but Neil couldn’t take it. If he did, he really would go, and he wouldn’t come back. Running wasn’t easy, but it was easier than trusting Andrew. But Neil remembered the weight of a key in his palm, its metal soaked through with another person’s body heat. He remembered Andrew’s promise to see this year through with him.

“No,” Neil said, finally finding his voice. “I knew this was going to happen. I just wasn’t ready for it. I’m fine.”

Ma BOY <3 Neil slowly learning to trust people and deal with his problems is my No 1 kink.

Actually, No 2 kink. No 1 would be Neil absolutely shade-wrecking people.

They leave their mess of a seating arrangement and find some new spots elsewhere, and later go mingling with the other teams. This goes surprisingly well, mostly due to the fact that it gives Neil and Kevin an excuse to talk about Exy and Exy alone – which is, as we all know, the only fucking thing those two morons can talk about.

However, those admirable avoiding tactics only go well for so long.

It took him a few seconds to realize the Ravens were coming. The entire team was crossing the court toward Kevin, walking in V formation like a flock of birds going south.

Are you serious. What level of dramatic holy SHIT.

Did they, like, form this like a dance formation before walking over? Riko instructing everyone where to stand, ‘no, you over there, leave equal amounts of space, come on guys, just form a diagonal line, we need to get going, we need to look intimidating, gUYS’

Or do they do this so often that is has become second nature by now and it’s just how they go everywhere?

I genuinely don’t know which option I find funnier.

But wait – it gets better.

Riko stopped further away than Neil thought he would, but Neil understood a moment later. The rest of the Ravens kept going, flipping their V until they’d trapped the three Foxes between them.

I am crying so much how is this a thing you do, literally what level of Extra and Dramatic™ are you ON, I cannot deal with this.

Please – next time I comment on how extra the Foxes are being, remind me of The V Incident.

Now, just as I was thinking ‘oh shit, this is going to go south again so quickly’… Foxes to the rescue!

Renee appeared out of nowhere at Kevin’s other side. She looped one arm through Kevin’s and held her free hand out to Jean. “Jean, wasn’t it? My name is Renee Walker. We didn’t really get a chance to talk earlier.”

Confusion eased Jean’s stoic mask into something more than a little uncomfortable, be he accepted her handshake. “Jean Moreau.”

For real, I’m so interested in what the fuck is going on with these two. My money is on shared history. This could be my Renee’s-backstory-hungry brain talking, but reading their passages this sounds v v likely.

Did someone say backstory??

[Matt] held out his hand but didn’t look surprised when no one took it. “Guess the pleasure’s all mine.”

“We’re sure it is,” the Raven striker said, “seeing how you’re dating a prostitute.”

“Stripper,” Dan corrected as she showed up and wound an arm around Matt’s waist. (…) “Hopefully you’re smart enough to distinguish between the two professions. If you’re not, I have serious concerns about your academic standings.”

FUCK, YEAH.

DAN, MY GIRL MY DUDE MY DAUGHTER.

She was a stripper! Holy shit! And she’s not ashamed of it, but admits it freely and is even proud of it! Holy! Shit!

Positive depictions of sex workers in pop culture is so, so rare, and I’m so happy we get some here. I did not expect this and I’m v pleasantly surprised right now.

“Hennessey, right?” one of the strikers said. “Such a good name for such a fierce spirit.”

“We were a little disappointed that you didn’t sign up as part of the entertainment tonight,” one of the others said. “We were looking forward to the show.” (…)

The striker grinned at Matt over [Dan’s] shoulder, then tilted forward and sucked a deep breath against her neck.

Dan brought her stilettos between his legs inn a vicious punch.

I repeat myself: FUCK. YEAH.

Also, that’s what a Hennessey is. Noted.

Fun backstory done – That Fucker, Senior™ has arrived. Tetsuji Moriyama is about everything I don’t want near my Foxes, combined into one slimy sack of asshole. The whole “master” thing still both scares and infuriates me.

However, we don’t have to spend long enjoying his absolutely unenjoyable company as Neil is called off to have a little tête-à-tête with That Fucker, Junior™.

“Nathaniel, it has been so long.”

NATHANIEL???????

Did we just discover Neil’s true name, holy shit?????

Nathaniel is a beautiful name, though. I’ve always liked it. Shame.

Apparently, the way That Fucker™ could find Neil so quickly was by getting a glass with Neil’s fingerprints on it from Kathy Ferdinand. Well, fuck.

Riko started across the room on slow steps. “Jean says Kevin did not know who you are. After seeing Kevin’s reaction, I’m inclined to believe him. (…) But you must know who you are, so I am very, very curious to know what you think you are doing.”

Bitch, aren’t we all! Aren’t we fucking all!!

And now- we’ve reached the point where shit gets so, so painfully real.

Did I say earlier I stopped breathing when Neil was dragging Riko?

Fuck that. That was nothing compared to what followed next.

I was not remotely ready.

“You have already cost my family a sizeable fortune and eight years of trouble.”

“How?” Neil asked. “The money I took was my father’s.” (…)

“Nothing your father owned was his!” Riko snapped.

What.

Riko grabbed Neil by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. Neil’s head hit hard enough to rattle teeth.

“I refuse to believe she never told you. All this time running and you never asked why?”

What.

“You were not running from your father, Nathaniel. You were running from his master.”

WHAT.

WHAT IN THE FUCKING WHAT????

What Riko was suggesting was impossible. The Butcher was one of the biggest names on the eastern seaboard. He made Baltimore his home, but his territory extended from D.C. to outer Newark. He had a fiercely loyal syndicate and a penchant for grotesque executions. (…)

If the Moriyamas really were powerful enough to keep a man like the butcher under lock and key Neil was so far in over his head he might as well be six feet under.

That is amazingly worded, well done. Also, I’m kinda peeing my pants here.

If I’ve looked this up correctly, that’s a territory about twice the size of New York City.

Like. Imagine controlling New York City. And then that – TWICE.

And THEN imagine controlling the guy who controls all of that, and then some more.

Yeah. You dead, bro.

“Learn your place. I will never tolerate this level of disrespect from you again. Do you understand?”

Neil was already in his coffin. He might as well nail it shut. “Yeah, I understand you’re a complete asshole.”

Riko: Neil, no.

The Foxes: Neil, no.

Common sense: Neil, no.

Me: NEIL, FUCK NO.

Neil: Neil, yes.

Thankfully, Matt arrives in order to save Neil from digging his sass-induced grave even deeper, and after some nice threats about ratting his shitty ass behaviour out to the ERC, Riko finally fucks off.

“I don’t think Riko likes me very much. Should I be disappointed?”

Are you fucking serious bruh. Are you serious.

Matt looked skyward as if searching for patience.

Which is, incidentally, the No 1 reaction people have to Neil speaking more than a few polite sentences at a time.

Never talk to me or my short-tempered sassmaster idiot son ever again.

And with that trainwreck of an encounter, the Foxes take their curt leave from the banquet. Some more comments are made – Neil and Kevin will have A Talk™ tomorrow, Andrew got called Doe earlier by Jean Valjean because that was his preliminary surname when he entered the foster system (which probably means the Ravens also know more about Andrew than we should be comfortable with) – but all of that pales in comparison to the absolute FUCKERY we just witnessed.

Holy shit.

I have to go, like, breathe into a bag for five hours.

See you Wednesday.

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#nicki reads tfc #tfc #trk #aftg #nora sakavic #the foxhole court #the raven king #all for the game #I know this is late but this was also a 3.5k monster so I'm really not sorry at all #enjoy my suffering #I'm still not okay

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