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keiossance · 2 years

Text

His Maiden Love

A NSFW One-Shot Fic

Whole thing was formed from a conversation in the comment's section from here that lead to here and now this.

Enjoy this baked rye bread loves 🍞 💕

(Proceed with caution!!)

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Tags: Bell F! Reader, Russell Adler, Russell Adler/Bell F! Reader, These two are (secretly) in a relationship, Maid dress, and more ;), Mature Content 💋

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"..Just to be clear, when you're on guard duty, you both do this all the time?"

"Yeah."

"And no one actually hears you, not even from a mile away?"

"We're currently in a forest that is near from the Safehouse. So yes.

"Not even a German-"

"Whatever question you're going to keep throwing at me, I'll just give you the same damn answer: Yes."

Bell was given the opportunity to be on her guard duty with no other than the brother-in-arms Frank Woods and Alex Mason. Of course, none of it would've happen if it weren't for the permission granted by her own Commanding Officer: Russell Adler. The woman was apparently in shock with how the two kill their time during their shift. Killing their time meant 'shooting practice'.

"You guys have fought enough wars to be experienced sharp shooters. Why do you still do this?" The woman got curious. She can't help but wonder because, after all, these two aren't called legends for a good reason.

"Like what Frank said: to kill time when there's nothing suspicious going on after endless circles around the Safehouse. It's not like we get bored from it anyways." Alex answered as he lines his 1911 pistol and immediately fires the glass bottle that once stood in a metal drum that's at least 15 meters away from them.

"Not boring? You're just shooting glass bottles from a far."

"Okay it may sound and look boring, I'll admit. Which is why we add a bit of challenge for that." Frank piped in.

"Really? Do tell then."

"Well, whenever we get to successfully shoot the three glass bottles, we move the barrels at least 3-5 miles farther than the previous one. Or sometimes, we 'borrow' the other's stuff for practice then place it beside a glass bottle to see if we can shoot the thing or not." Frank explained, having his turn now.

"Wait. Did you, by any chance, 'borrowed' a dark green/brown, small, cylindrical case. For practice?" Bell was suddenly feeling a bit irritated if they did really take it for this use.

Those cases held her favorite Cinnamon and Mint flavored toothpicks that was given by Adler himself. He introduced them to her at first as a 'healthy alternative' to not have the urge to immediately light a cigar whenever she wants to relieve her stress. After she had her first taste, those toothpicks immediately worked like a charm on her. Since then, she always keeps it somewhere where she's the only one who knows the location but occasionally has it strictly close to her still if she wants/needs to carry some.

"Oh, that? We found it on your drawer, just below the table and 'borrowed' it for a short while. Don't worry, it's still in one piece.." Alex reassured her, seeing how she suddenly looked tensed.

'Oh yeah. You're lucky that you two are still sharp as ever to keep it intact-'

"But we also took like a flavored toothpick in each case. It's rare to find quality products like those, especially here, you know? Glad to taste it again." Frank interrupted. And from the moment he had said that statement, something just snapped in her.

'Challenge, you say?'

"I'll take my leave for a while. Just going to use the washroom." Bell then left the two going towards the direction of the Safehouse.

"...She knows that there's no bathroom inside the Safehouse, right?" Alex asked.

---

"I'm back!" Bell exclaimed as she happily skipped small steps towards the duo.

"Well, that was quite a pee you did. We understand you though; Number 2 is a 'pain in the ass' but worth the relieved feeling." Frank joked. The woman simply rolled her eyes with a grin on her face. "...Why that look on your face?"

"Oh, you know, just a little 'something' that I cooked up for today's shooting practice challenge." She skipped past the two and went to reposition the metal drums and place an item on each tall can that is above the drums. She went back to where they were and explained.

"You said you make challenges out of it, right? Since I'm part of the guard shift, allow me to share mine. In our designated bottles, we must ONLY fire the tin cans. But, we will never, EVER hit what's on top of it while the barrels are at a distance of...50 m from where you two usually shoot. And whoever gets to have the less fired shots, wins."

"Huh, quite the challenge compared to what we always do, right Frank?" Alex elbowed the man. The two seemed pretty impressed by how she made a simple thing to kill time seem interesting.

"Yeah. No wonder you can pick up Adler's pace."

"I wasn't his protégé for a reason..." Bell then instructed Mason and Woods what barrels they will fire to, respectively and told them that the order of firing will start from Alex, Frank, and her being the last. The three then prepared themselves.

'Oh, I am so going to beat your asses and make you regret stealing things. Just wait and see...'

---

'I take it back. I should probably bury myself alive right here, right now.'

Rather than what she expected in how whole scenario will play out, Woods and Mason have once again managed to successfully completed the challenge by having to only use their 4 bullets, impressive as always. As for Bell's case, she felt the rising pressure, at the very least, to do better than them. She cocked her pistol ready, aimed her target, and shoot her first bullet.

The sight of the small tin can is still standing but her shot grazed the rim of the metal drum. Missed.

She felt their eyes are suddenly glued to her with anticipation. She realigns her pistol towards the target and fired her second bullet.

Can's still intact. Missed.

She was beginning to feel that she may be the one to have a taste of her own bitter medicine instead.

But that shouldn't be the case.

All it takes is for a bullet to beat them. That's it.

She once more re-aligned her aim, tightly gripped her pistol, took a deep breathe, and fired her third bullet.

'Third time's truly a charm.' The tin can is nowhere to be found.

"Wow. You crack codes for a living, kick ass like it's nothing, and now this? 'Do not piss off nor make Bell mad' is mentally noted and burned in my memory." Alex congratulated Bell with both his hands up in the air.

Bell simply laughed it off and rolled her eyes by how she has clearly impressed the two. "I mean, this is only but practice, am I right. What more if it wasn't? C'mon, I haven't shown to you yet what were the 'stuff' that I had to borrow for this challenge." The three went to where the metal drums were situated.

The duo was in a state of shock when Bell finally revealed the items that she 'borrowed' and placed on top of the tin cans. When Bell saw how they reacted, she asked with a smile across her face "So, what do you guys think?"

Frank went and look at the said woman, pissed at what she had used for their shooting practice. "You made me shoot MY BUBBY KEYCHAIN-"

"And my favorite glow in the dark watch too?" Alex glared, only making her smile even more.

"Yes, I did, Alex and Frank, I thought you said it was for Lazar. Or from the evidence board even?"

"...In all honesty, and just between the three of us alone, I took that keychain as my souvenir. Although I hated the fact that they straight up put Burger Town and thought that their set up looks like some generic America, I'm impressed that they made a small souvenir section for it at least. But that's not the point right now, is it?" Frank pointed out.

"No, it is not. Just like what Mason said: Don't piss me off. And since you did, things like this happens. Plus, I'm just letting you know that stealing personal stuff will be the last thing you use for this. There's a bunch of empty glass bottles and cans that you can find in the middle of this godforsaken place; use them instead. You don't want to cross Hudson now, do you?"

"...It's a tempting offer, but you're right. Noted then." The duo had then agreed with it. "So, what was your shooting practice item?"

"I took a spare floppy disk from my office." The two once again gave her a bewildered look. "Relax, you saw that it wasn't hit, right?"

"Sure, you didn't." Alex then scanned Bell's metal drum and felt relieved after finding that the floppy disk was just lying on the grass still intact. He suddenly looked back at the drum to check if he was seeing things. "Just to be clear Bell, you fired three bullets, right?"

"I did." She answered, suddenly confused over the man's question. "Why?"

"Well, I'm only seeing one hole from the tin can and the other from the drum..."

"...I mean, we are in a forest, it's not like people go here anyway." Bell shrugging off the thought on where the other bullet went.

"True. but what about the animals, Bell?" Frank looked at her with pity, suddenly making her feel scared and guilty and immediately run deeper in the forest as the two followed her behind, getting more anxious if she did actually kill a living being.

---

'...At least it wasn't an animal'

After searching for the other stray bullet, they have finally found where it landed.

The other bullet went straight to a car's tire.

Russell Adler's car tire.

Panic sets in the woman as she tried to fish out in her pocket a case of her flavored toothpicks to at least find ease and properly think on how she will give her explanation to this whole thing happening, unfortunately nothing was there to take out. Feeling more frustrated, she began to frantically pace back and forth while scratching the inside of her palm that is beginning to turn light red in color.

'Why was his car even parked here anyway...Sounds stupid to blame the car just to ease my guilt and take it out to something else but c'mon!'

As if Frank heard Bell's question, "He probably parked the car here so that we won't be tracked that easily. Don't worry Bell, we'll take the blame on this."

"What? no. I'm not going to let you do that."

"Why not?" "Because...I was the one who proposed this whole thing in the first place."

"But we're the ones who usually do this during our guard duty. You can say that's on us." Alex reasoned out. Bell thought that Mason did have a point there. After all, this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for them stealing things for their shooting practice.

"Still, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Which lead to us looking at his shot tire. This is my responsibility, not yours." She spoke. Mason and Woods continued to convince her that she shouldn't shoulder this whole fiasco that they have somehow caused a domino effect to. But unfortunately,

"I guess we can't talk you out of this then." "You can't and you never will." Bell replied, firmly.

"If that's the case then, how are you going to explain this to him or make an alibi out of it?" Alex asked.

"Make an alibi on what to who?" The trio looked to see that the victim in question had suddenly entered the conversation. "What are you all doing here. Shouldn't you be on guard duty right now?" The three were looking at each other and stammering from their words, trying their best to say something. "What the hell's going on?" "I did it!" Bell exclaimed, going in front of the two. as much courage she can muster while her ears ring from nervousness.

"..?" Adler arched his eyebrow and slightly tilted his head out of confusion. "Did what?"

"I-I was the one who shot your car tire."

"Excuse me why?"

"Wait, I thought you already knew?"

"When you only admitted it now. How the hell did that even happen anyway?"

"Uhm..the thing is..Well, actually, the bullet..uhh"

Adler began to feel a little impatient since Bell can't give him a straight answer, that he was about to probe her with more questions until he decided not to seeing how the woman stuttered from her words or she was left with "well...", "you see..", "I uhm.." to no end and also saw that the two behind her looked ready to jump on him if he even tries to push her further than how she is right now. With a defeated sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "You can explain yourself in my office."

And without uttering a word, Bell looked back at the two and mouthed 'it's okay' then followed Adler with her head hung low while the two went back to their guard duty.

---

"...And that's how the bullet got there." Bell explained, still having her head down. Adler decided to hold the problem a while back as well since he presumed that she would only be willing open up to him if it was just two of them in an enclosed room, with no one listening in the conversation. He also noticed that she looked comfortable and a little relieved to have her thoughts collected and properly explained compared to when she was confronted a while ago. But despite the very judgement of his observations, Bell's explanation still seemed off to him. It was as if there's still something missing from the evidence board that he can't put a pin to it yet.

"You're telling me, that the reason why you shot my car tire, is to teach those two a lesson?"

"'Accidentally' shot, but yes." Bell corrected.

"Then presumably, the root cause of your formulated idea, which is dedicated for them alone, had something to do with Woods and Mason upsetting you in a way?" Adler had just made an assumption and it is clear to Bell that he is indeed, sharp. Knowing that her alibis will only keep them both in a loop of arguments, she admitted "...Yes" with a defeated sigh.

"Huh. If that's so, why would you take the blame that they had caused to make you feel this upset then?" Bell finally looked up to meet Adler's gaze. He now has his arms crossed, eyes filled with probable annoyance if it were not for the tint of his gradient aviator shades. But it was still of high chance that he is slightly pissed hearing from his voice that was laced with annoyance as well. "Did they force you to take the blame then?"

"No, they didn't!" Bell defensively exclaimed. She stopped for a second and took a deep breathe before continuing on. She doesn't want to come off sounding irritated. "The reason why I held myself responsible, not only because I carelessly dealt with it alone. I saw how they only get to have time for themselves is during guard duty."

"It's a rare sight to find people like us do what civilians normally do. What's normal for us unfortunately, is simply being here and doing what is ordered. Enjoying whatever moment we get to have." Despite having spent time with the two for a short while, Bell eventually grew on them like they're her favorite siblings in this 'family' they have, same goes with the two on her. And because of this, she would rather take the blame instead of seeing these two have their ass handed. Sure, they've dealt worse than that but, the least she could do is for them to have this kind of peace they rarely get to be in. Knowing that all their life they have only been fighting for their lives, the nation, and the people they swore to protect to, but never take flight to live in one.

The atmosphere fell silent and Bell was ready to take the brunt of what the man is about to throw at her with eyes closed but her head held up high.

"You can make a great inspirational speaker, you know?" Bell felt her breathe hitched as Adler finally spoke. She quickly opened her eyes, looked at the older man, arch an eyebrow, and slightly tilted her head out of confusion. She was shocked by how he reacted after she braced herself into the worst-case scenarios that played out in her head. Instead of brushing off her reason as a sentiment that should not be of concern in their line of work, or scold her for being too soft. He listens and understood that she only mean well for the two. "I understand where you're getting at, kid. We instinctively find ourselves in autopilot to only go forward at a street to fighting off evil, that straying a little or even taking a detour is something we tend to overlook in doing sometimes. Cause all we have ever known was to keep going without stopping." "Well, I guess you've convinced me enough to accept your apology then."

"...Really?"

"Yeah, and don't worry about the tire. There's a spare at the trunk that can replace it in case something ever happens, which is like this. As for Mason and Woods, well, you can still continue on with your guard shift with them. I'm going to let this slide, only for now. You can take your leave." Adler motioned Bell at the door as he goes to his office table to organize his paperwork. Just as she is about to leave and have her hand on the doorknob, she stopped.

"...No"

The older man looked up. "No?"

"No 'you can't accept the apology because you won't'"

"What makes you think that I have not forgiven you?"

Bell huffed with laughter, turning to look at his direction. "Adler, if there's one thing I learned, is that you don't take things like these lightly. You are the type of person who make them suffer, for them to see the consequences of their actions. And you will do so by providing a punishment that's not too much of their liking and not painful enough to torture them." Adler's head shake in disbelief, now standing to be in level with her as a smirk form on his lips. "To be honest, if you had not picked that up so quickly, I would've been guilt-tripping you ever now and then."

Bell gasped. "You wouldn't."

He simply shrugged and placed his hands on hips. The woman could only help but roll her eyes, have an approving smile, laugh and simply say 'Wow', which made Adler softly smile by how she reacted.

"I'm guessing I have to 'punish' you for shooting my tire?" Adler asked and immediately thought of a variety of tasks that he could give Bell. Too much but never hell-like.

"Yes. I will do whatever you want: Finish untouched codes, encrypt confidential files, help the others with their tasks, clean the Safehouse before leaving, or or, I will be the one to manage in replacing your car tire. You know what? I'm going to stop talking. This is your call. Just know, that anything you will order me to do, I'll follow through. No matter what."

"Emphasis on 'no matter what'?" Bell nodded. After a few seconds he immediately went to his cabinet, took out a stapled brown paper bag, and tossed it in Bell's direction which she quickly caught. "You mentioned a to-do list, right?"

"I did, as a suggestion."

"Well then, your punishment will be doing those things that you have suggested tomorrow."

"Okay..." Bell agreed but got confused over something. "So, how's that related to the paper bag you gave me?" She motioned the item in question she is holding.

"Now that, is what you're going to use when you start the 'punishment'. Only open it when you're going to use it tomorrow."

"Noted. Thanks again, for saving their asses." Adler simply nodded and Bell left the office.

---

(Next Day, in Russell Adler's office)

"...Didn't expect that it would fit you."

"Conveniently, it did."

"Has anyone seen you in this?"

"No, I immediately went here, so you're the first."

"Oh...why keep the mask on then?"

"It looks good with it..."

"Mmhmm..."

"...My face is the only thing left for me to cover the embarrassment of having my pride and dignity stripped away by this. Let me have that kind of freedom, at the very least."

"No arguments here."

Bell had woken up and saw that the sun rose brighter than yesterday and never felt so lively. She thought that the universe had provided her a wonderful and productive morning to start off the day. Until she remembered yesterday's talk with her Commanding Officer. She immediately went up for a quick wash and took the paper bag that is placed on her nightstand. After opening the brown paper bag, she found that it is actually an outfit.

A maid outfit in particular.

That very moment ruined her whole mood and maybe, the whole day.

Despite the many things that went in her head on how to let this thing cease to exist without Adler noticing it when she took it out of the bag to inspect it, she could only do nothing but go against her mind's will and have her whole dignity handed. After all, she was the one responsible in all this.

"How did you even find the time to buy this get up here, in the midst of all this?"

"I didn't..." Adler subtly eyed in a direction only you two can see each other, presuming he has made eye contact with you right now. "It was delivered exactly on the day when I was on guard duty. Delivery guy said the sender was unknown but there was a note inside it that says: 'I hope this helps you in the near future ;)'. That's about it." Eventually breaking it and turning his attention at Bell.

"And did it help you in any way, even though you aren't the one who's going to wear it?" Bell sarcastically asked.

"It did, for you. You would never have known that you could also look good wearing a dress if it weren't for that..." Adler complimented. The woman was suddenly caught off guard that she felt her cheeks went warm and her eyes instinctively widen a little by what the man said. She tried to keep her composure and decided to quip back at him.

"You only mean it for this dress in particular..."

"Maybe, unless you want me to buy you some other dresses to see if you look great in them too. Do you want me though?" The older man teasingly asked.

When there were no words left for the woman to spat back due to how she could feel her whole face warm and her mind going blank, she simply flung the door open and said,

"Do whatever the hell you want!" And walked away without looking back.

"Roger."

---

Throughout the time, Bell did what was being told of her and the other tasks she had suggested yesterday. Only thing is, she needed to make up a bunch of lies whenever they ask her why was she wearing a maid outfit. Her usual response would be that she wanted to try something new or she wanted to see if she could 'rock' this kind of outfit. Surprisingly enough, besides the first man who saw him in it, the rest complimented that she looked good wearing one and told her that she should ask Adler to buy her some. And that made her day a little less ruined.

Night came and the others have already gone back early to their motels since most of their work was done by Bell herself, who initiated in doing it anyway. The woman let out a sigh of relief after she finished tidying up their storage room downstairs. She hates to admit it, but wearing the outfit made the job less stressful than it should be. It may be chilly on the legs but it sure was also nice to look fancy whenever she needs to turn, giving a little swirl to the dress. Just as she was about to turn the lights out, she noticed that the room in the middle of the safehouse was still on, and someone was there too. She was not sure who was she with left since she was too preoccupied with the tasks she had to do. She decided to check it out and tell them that she's about to close the safehouse. She gently knocks on the door and spoke,

"Uhm, whoever's in here, I hope you don't mind if I let myself in."

Rather than a reply, Bell heard light, muffled thuds and tinkles on the other side of the room.

'No answer? Probably Hudson. Maybe too busy with handling paperwork and fixing inside. Guess I just have to-Oh.'

It turns out that she was right. Almost.

Instead of seeing Mr. Ice Cube, staring her down. It was the other shaded man: America's Monster himself, sitting quietly in the middle while having his eyes on her. "I-I didn't know you were the one who's here..."

"Who did you expect it was?"

"..Hudson..."

"...I'm not going to ask you why anymore. You look tired."

"Well, I just got out of cleaning our storage room. All that's left is for me to officially end the day by closing the Safehouse."

"Correction," Adler slowly stood up and walk towards Bell. "closing the Safehouse is my task and you, still have different task to finish instead." He eventually stopped on his tracks, only half a meter away from her.

Bell tried to maintain eye contact with the man despite feeling flushed and loudly hear the ringing in her ears by how loud her heart was pounding. "A-and what's that?"

Snap. Click.

The woman looked down to see that the collar she wore with the outfit, was now hooked...on a leash. She was confused at first when she saw the red accessory is inside with the outfit as well but paid no mind as to why and wore it anyway.

"Beg, for an apology."

Now she knows.

"Wh-What?"

"You heard me. Say you're sorry."

"W-Wasn't the work enough?"

"It is, almost. You just have to do this one little thing for me to fully forgive you, for your actions."

"And that's...this?" He nodded.

"Like the 'good girl' you are."

'Beg for it. Like a good girl...' Bell pursued her lips and took a deep breathe. She slowly went down on her knees together, head down and eyes looking away. "I-I'm sorry, Adler-"

"I'm up here you know." The woman felt her face warmed and heart skipped. She simply complied and slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze.

The position. The view. The moment.

"I'm sorry, Russ. I didn't mean for it to happen.." Bell pleaded as she tugged the hem of his shirt and let her eyes wander in another direction.

Everything about this. and him...

Had been a long while since she felt this intimate with the man. Bell had believe that Time was only fixated for the endless hunt on Perseus that it long forgotten what would come next after the love they've confessed to each other under the moonlight of Die Landebahn, West Berlin. After the sweet moment passed, it didn't last that long enough for them to process what had unfold that night. So, all they could have thereafter were quick and longing stares, the faint brush of the other's fingers, or having brief close-quarter encounters in the Red Room that sometimes leave either abused lips or marks on places that only the two can see.

She slowly trailed her fingers to the upper edge of his belt and lightly grips it. "Can I still make it up to you?" She gulped with her lips parted and knees spread a little.

And there she kneels, begging. Pleading to spend every minute and every second of what they have right at this moment before it collapses, tonight. Before reality creeps in the morning.

Adler slightly went down, lifted her chin, and caress her bottom lip with his thumb. "Are you ready for what's to come after this? I want to make sure that you're really okay with going beyond what we usually have. I don't want you to think I'm forcing you in anything."

Bell lightly laugh. "Although you took the liberty in taking the initiative for allowing this to escalate, Why stop now?" She then held both the older man's hands and caressed them. "I'm willing to show just how much love I have been pouring onto you from the moment I confessed that night."

"..Okay. You can make it up to me. And you can only achieve that, when you listen. Understood?" Bell nodded. "Good." He then kneeled and pointed left three fingers at her mouth, the middle being atop the ring and index together. "Take them with your mouth."

Bell stared at his fingers and took a while for her to process what was happening at this very moment. She gave her word and committed to this. And she will not back out from it anytime soon. She did what was asked, removed her ski mask, opened her mouth, and took it.

"Suck them in and out...with no teeth scraping." She complied. The term and idea of sucking usually associates to Bell as something that had little to no malice. It had never crossed her mind that such a simple word could go beyond what it usually says or implies that state how innocent it sounds, until now. So, being here in this situation just made her more curious of what other 'words' could she learn after this. She felt flustered and embarrassed at first, thinking that she may be making Adler feel frustrated by how it was difficult for her to adjust in the condition that he set when doing this act. But after a while, she started to get used to it and began to pick up the pace a little.

"And here I thought this is your first.." He stated. Bell looked at the older man and saw him licked his lips, bit the bottom, smirked and mouthed 'Damn' at the view that is given to him. Her eyes trailed and fixated at his crotch.

'How would it feel if..' Her mind trailed off at the thought of taking in, what could be more than the fingers she is currently practicing on. The mere thought of it made her suddenly feel aroused and hear her chest pound.

As she was about to close her eyes to indulge at her imagination, Adler pulled out his fingers and said, "Looks like you're ready." The man stood up, unbuckle his belt, and pulled down his pants with his brief, revealing an erect cock, leaking in precum.

Bell's breath hitched and felt her mouth salivate and open more, surprised of how big it is now that she is personally seeing it up close. She suddenly wondered just how considerate and patient the older man is to wait for her to be ready and committed to give herself to him, wholeheartedly. He has done so much for her. She wants to return the favor this time. The woman pinch the hook of the zipper at the back of her outfit and slowly take it down. She continue to strip away the short sleeves of her dress and unclasp her bra, leaving it loose on her.

"If I'm to do the job, might as well give it my all, no? A view to satiate your longing desires..." She slowly took it off, leaving it on the floor, now half bare in front of him. Silk skin glows along her neck down to her supple bare breasts which have perked up nipples that are prominent in red-pinkish color. She grabbed the sides of his thighs, open her mouth and took him in, doing what she had practiced for. Bell started to move in a slow pace to adjust and feel comfortable at his size while hearing praises and hums from the older man as he rakes her scalp. She attempted to look at Adler and saw him looking at her, quietly groaning and trying to keep his eyes open at the slow sensation she is providing for him. Not only was it quite overwhelming for Bell to see its size, blowing him now and see how he reacts despite her inexperience, made her feel aroused more.

Giving into that feeling, she slowly closed her eyes and began to pick up the pace, making her choke a little and tears form in her eyes.

"...Breathe...with your...nose." He curse under his breathe and started to shorten the leash he was holding as he wraps it on the hand that holds. She did what was told and heard his groans turning into moans mixed with mumbled curses and felt his hand starting to grab a fistful of her hair, signaling that the man is on the brink of reaching his peak.

"Fuck..Bell...I-" Just as he was about to come, out of instinct, the woman pulled out. Releasing all his spent on her face up to her bare chest. The two looked at each other for a while, heavily panting and with eyes never leaving one another, before Bell snapped away from its trance and realizing what she had done.

"Shit! I am so sorry. I know you wanted it clean but here I made a mess instead. I'm sorry for ruining the night.." Bell immediately stood up and looked back at the door. "I-I'll just clean up and go-" Adler stop her from leaving as he grabbed her wrist to pull her back, making her look at his direction once more.

"Who says you ruined the night?"

"I mean-I didn't even try to-"

"Hey. You didn't do anything wrong, at all. Honestly, you were great despite it being your first time."

"...Really?" It was a weird feeling for Bell to get complimented at something that was non-related to their work. But at the same time, she was glad to know she made her lover happy and satisfied.

"Yeah. And to show you my appreciation, I will reward you for being good to me."

"Reward-ah!" She was suddenly pulled away from the door as he yanked the leash, making their faces only inches apart.

"Yes, your beloved reward. If you want to have it, just do as I say."

"...Okay" With that, Bell began to follow as Adler went towards the couch. The man then zipped his pants, sat down, look up at her and tap his thigh twice.

"Sit."

"Huh?"

"Sit here, while you're facing me."

"H-How would I do that?"

"Don't lie to me, Bell. You know how to sit in this way too.."

"..But-" The man simply arched an eyebrow which made her stop what she is about to say next. She went and straddled the man and held onto his shoulders.

"See. That wasn't too hard, was it?"

"Yeah, yeah. W-What now?"

"I'll clean you off. That's the reward."

"Oh. C-Cleaning me. O-Okay, h-how are you going to do that?"

"Just watch..." He slowly leaned towards Bell which made her close her eyes, thinking that they would kiss. The older man chuckled and stopped at the side of her face to lick off away his spent from her cheek, and plant a kiss to it. The woman was a little shocked for a second by what Adler did. The man really knew what he was doing when he pulled that stunt. He continued trailing down her neck towards her bare chest that left once more dark red bruises to specific places her untainted skin had missed for quite some time now, which made her emit noises that was nostalgic for the older man to hear again. "You missed that, didn't you?"

The woman could hum in agreement as she was riding out the haven he brought back to her during their moments in the Red Room. As he reached at her breasts, the man stopped and trailed Bell's half naked body up to her (e/c) eyes. "...Thank you."

"F-For what?"

"For fully entrusting yourself, to me."

Bell was again caught off guard with the sudden words that this man would utter, in which he always says in the perfect of timings. She smiled. " W-Well, I'm not your secret 'protégé lover' for a good reason, you know. I can 'pick up your pace' after all."

"Yeah, you really are the only one.." They gazed at each other for a short while, before slowly leaning towards each other, both lips gently captured with warmth and pure affection. It lasted quite long enough for the two to part for air, foreheads together, and with eyes only for the other. Bell went and look down as Adler took the moment to continue on back to where he left off, licking clean his spent at the sides of her breasts that made her eyes close and let out a shaky breath. He then lightly grazed his tongue at the bottom of her areola, flick her nipple with his tongue while his hand does the same to the other. Like electrifying jolts that spread all over Bell's body, the woman was now a moaning mess as she attempts to say the older man's name in between them and grind her clothed entrance beneath his crotch, making the man more aroused to work his way through in making her feel more pleasurable aches. Maybe it was those fleeting moments they had together, but she suddenly remembered a night having this dream while being in the same scenario with him back at Nam' in 1968.

That very moment, in Nam, felt so real.

This here, was like a dream she'd never want to wake up in.

As she was feeling the heat of the moment, Adler's mouth and hand had already left her now reddish-pink and swollen breasts, glistening from his 'cleaning'. A smirk formed the older man's lips and look up to her. "Satisfied?"

Bell was still heaving from the work he had made of her. She could simple say yes, kiss him one last time, leave the room and end the night believing that there would still be moments like this where they can be alone. Together

Which had high chances of it being more of a pipe dream and less of a reality.

'No.'

Bell gently rake the back of his head and cupped his right cheek, tracing his scar with her thumb that made the man close his eyes and go mad from the longing touch but warm by its gentleness. "P-Please, Russell..."

"Hold me whole and tight. Make me feel like tomorrow will never happen."

The man then slowly open his eyes to reciprocate her lustful orbs that were filled with love and purity, gently smiled, held her hand and kissed its palm. "Of course..."

She then let him draped her arms on his shoulders, gently laid her down on the couch with his hand at the small of her back while the other slowly trailed to her inner thigh. He slipped his middle and index fingers inside her underwear, trace the outline of her folds from below and lightly tug her now sensitive clit, letting a shuddered moan escape the woman's lips.

"..anything for you, my maiden love."

---------------------------------------------------

Author's Note/s: This...took me forever to finish. I never expected to go this far, specifically in this kind of aspect since there is so much to unpack when making these types of scenarios. It was challenging but I enjoyed the challenge in doing it anyways :> Plus, it made my brain get fueled up to add a lot of things to make it 'spicier' that were not initially part of this fic.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this, stay hydrated, and have a good day ahead ;)

------

@tr1ppylady @mayaibnlaahad @animefreak1145 @animelover1145 @smokeywhalee @darlingor

#russell adler #bell call of duty #bell cod #russell adler x bell #bell x russell #russell adler x bell!reader #black ops cold war #call of duty cold war #cod cold war

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rattyoakenbitch · 3 years

Text

youtubers: “don’t touch her” ₊˚ ⸝ corpse husband x reader

❝i don't wanna think about, think about you. drink up, drink up i'm so fucked up, all i want is you.❞

gif credit: n/a song: lykke li - sex money feelings die

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

pairings: corpse husband x reader

warnings: angst, cursing, drinking, smoking, violent language, and minor mentions of anxiety.

summary: i can’t make summaries rn hhh just read it (:

“Sean, there is no way in hell I’m going!”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’ll be fun!”

“That’s what you always say!”

“Ugh, you and Corpse are so stubborn. At least I was able to convince him to show up! You know what you need? To get out of the house more often and come hang with us.”

“Uh huh, yeah, y’all have fun, I got some stuff to finish.”

“Yeah? Like what? Your ten hour nap?”

“HEY! Excuse me -”

“7PM, [club address], you’re showing up.”

“Sean - !”

With that, Sean hung up. You let out an exasperated huff, crossing your arms and pouting like a toddler who was just denied a toy. You were invited, or more accurrately forced to celebrate whatever the hell Sean and his friends achieved. With lives like theirs, it seemed like there was always something to celebrate.

You, on the other hand.. Well, you were just little old you. You met Sean by mere chance. It’s a very long story, but you shared some things in common, like your love for video games. However, that was about the only thing you could relate to with Sean and his little friend circle. You were more passionate about writing, as well as reading short horror stories.

Now, that’s where you clicked with Corpse Husband.

He was an underrated YouTuber, whose main uploads were narration videos on creepypastas and horror stories. That’s until he blew up with his Among Us gameplays, collaborating with big names like PewDiePie, Jacksepticeye, and CrankGamePlays (EEF!!!).

You met over an Among Us stream with said YouTubers and immediately hit it off. You shared a dark sense of humor, love for horror, and music. You knew of Corpse before, but only then did you discover that he produced music, which you absolutely enjoyed (and blasted in your house for days on end).

When you found out you lived not even twenty minutes away from each other, you’d occasionally meet up, mostly at his house considering he only went out once in a blue moon. You’d sometimes even spend the night at his place, staying up late, gazing up at the stars, getting deep into conversation and opening up about things you never blurted out to people. But when you were with Corpse, everything just came naturally. You felt safe with him, and hopefully, he felt the same.

Night approached, the clock striking 5PM. You figured you’d get ready since Sean was dead set on you coming to the party. You showered, did a minimalist glossy makeup look, and chose an outfit, which consisted of a half neon green and black skirt that stopped mid thigh, and an oversized distressed band tee which you tucked into your belt. You slipped on a pair of ripped, striped thigh-highs with mismatched colors, (white stripes on one and neon blue on the other), and your platform boots that made you look like a Bratz Doll. You didn’t bother with your tangled hair. You teased it with a brush but didn’t put any effort into styling it, since it’d get messy anyways. To finish your look, you clipped on a choker and dangled a couple of layered chains around your neck.

Corpse would tease you, saying you had a “dog collar”, but you knew he secretly liked it.

All dolled up and ready to go, you hopped into your car and followed the GPS to the address Sean sent you. Drunk couples stumbled out of the club, dates headed inside, and old wasted guys were thrown out. Oh boy, you were not ready for this.

You were the anxious, anti social type. Not because it was edgy or cool, but you simply didn’t know how to handle social situations. However, it comforted you to know Corpse would be there by your side so you didn’t need to chat and flirt with strangers.

It’s not like you wanted to meet anybody new, anyways. Though nobody was aware of it, you had feelings for Corpse. Cliche, right? You knew you shouldn’t have, but you developed feelings for him. It made you feel strange and weird, considering you haven’t caught feelings in a while.

You came up with the bright idea of slowly drifting away from Corpse to maybe help de-escalate these feelings, but you were going to run into him at the club, so what the heck.

You headed inside, your eyes scanning the crowd and pushing through, searching for your friend group. You spent a couple minutes cluelessly looking around the club, but to no avail. Then, it was as if a light bulb clicked on over your head; you never thought to phone Sean.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid.” You reached into your purse to get ahold of your phone when a pair of strong, manly hands and cold metal which you assumed to be rings wrapped around your shoulders, gripping you tightly.

“Boo!”

You felt your heart stop and ran out of the man’s grasp, spinning around to look at who it was.

“Oh, did I scare you?”

The man’s deep, monotone voice rumbled above the sound of the music and shouts. Then you recognized that unique and distinctive voice.

“Corpse!! What the hell?”

His nose and jaw was covered by a black mask, with a print that looked like Frank from Donnie Darko, which was also Corpse’s signature look, seen in his channel art.

Despite Corpse being a faceless YouTuber, only very few people have seen his face, including you and Glam&Gore who he featured in his narration videos. You thought he was very handsome, his baritone voice matching his appearance. You had to admit, you were a little disappointed he chose to wear a mask. You loved seeing his facial expressions, especially his precious smile that would light up the room when he’d let out little fits of laughter. But you got over it and respected the fact that he wanted to remain anonymous.

“You dickhead,” you scoffed, smacking Corpse lightly on the shoulder. Corpse towered over you, looking admittedly both intimidating and seductive. If you were a stranger, you’d probably be running off, but you weren’t scared of Corpse. He was a big softie and a teddy bear.

Corpse chuckled lowly, slinging his arm over your shoulder and leading you to Sean’s group. He was protective like that, even if you were just friends. Now you could see why Sean, at one point, speculated that you and Corpse had a thing going on.

“So, Sean forced you to tag along, too?”

“Pfft, yeah, that’s Sean for you.”

“Hey, there’s my favorite couple,” Sean joked, patting your shoulder. You rolled your eyes at his drunk antics.

“Shut up, don’t make me choke you like I hate you,” you mocked in return, eliciting a fit of laughter from the group.

“Remind me to never hang out with you losers again,” Corpse mumbled sarcastically under his breath.

The night went by in a flash. Sean, Thomas, Felix, and everyone else was blackout drunk. Luckily, Mark was there to assist them. Since Mark couldn’t drink, he would be the designated driver that night. Corpse hung out by himself, sometimes getting approached by women who he politely turned down.

You, on the other hand, were downing alcohol like your life depended on it. For you, it would take more than the average number of drinks for you to get wasted.

“Y/N, don’t you think you should slow down?” Corpse questioned cautiously, resting a hand on the small of your back.

“Does it really look like I’m thinking right now?” you drunkenly slurred, following with a giggle. You waved to the bartender, calling for another shot, which he slid over to you, but not without hesitating after noticing your state. You pushed Corpse off of you, probably more harshly than you intended, and took the shot.

“Okay, Y/N, fuck this, I’m taking you to my place. We can’t stay here and you certainly can’t drive back home when you’re drunk,” Corpse scowled, stepping closer to you. Again, you shoved him back.

“No.. No..” You sighed, holding your pounding head in your hand. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Y/N, you’re drunk -”

“I’m not letting you of all people take me.”

Corpse blinked. “What does that mean?” He knew you were drunk, of course, and you were probably just blurting nonsense.

All of a sudden, tears escaped your eyes, racing down your blushy cheeks.

“No.. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” You began to shake and tremble as tears started to uncontrollably spill down your face. Corpse didn’t waste another second to take you in his arms, hushing you. “Your hugs are so warm.. I hate it. I hate feeling this way. It’s all my fault.”

“What did you do, sweetheart? You can tell me.”

Your heart ached when you heard his pet name for you.

“I think I may like you more than you like me.. I-I didn’t mean to! Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have,” you sobbed into his white tee, clinging onto him. “I love you so fucking much, it hurts. I shouldn’t have!”

Corpse stopped for a moment, processing your words.

You.. felt the same?

Corpse had to tell you. You were drunk, but he needed you to know.

“Y/N, I -”

Suddenly, you had a moment of clarity. Realizing how close you were to Corpse, you backed away, wiping away the mascara tears under your eyes.

“I - I think I had too much to drink.. I just need a smoke..”

Without giving Corpse the chance to protest, you ran off into the crowd, struggling your way through.

Corpse began to get worried when you didn’t come back. He waited impatiently on the barstool where you left him, anxiously playing with his rings.

He was just about to get up and look for you, when he caught a glimpse of you stumbling out the exit with another man who guided you, gripping your arm tightly.

Corpse fumed, his face going red and heartbeat speeding up. He went after you, knowing damn well you didn’t know this man.

The man took you to his car, placing you atop the trunk, your legs dangling over the edge. He stepped in between your legs, caressing your face. Everything was a blur. If your mind was clear, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to trust this random guy, who was probably ten years older than you.

“You’re too pretty to be crying,” he whispered, leaning in closer to your face, until a yell stopped him from proceeding any further.

“Hey, asshole, she’s drunk! Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“C-Corpse?” You hiccuped, hopping off the trunk to get a look at the approaching figure. It was indeed Corpse. His eyebrows were pressed together angrily at the sight.

“You know this dude?” the man said loudly and smugly, just to get a reaction from Corpse. “Relax, my man, I’m just tryna take this pretty girl home.”

“Well this pretty girl happens to be mine, and I won’t let you take advantage of her,” Corpse growled.

You stood by the stranger, clinging to him as you watched Corpse’s face twist into an expression of heartbreak when you didn’t budge. He then noticed the bruises around your arms and wrist, supposedly from the man’s strong grip. He was unbelievably furious.

“Ha, doesn’t look like she’s your girl anymore.” The man’s lips twisted upwards into a devilish smirk, only pissing Corpse off some more. Oh boy, was he ready to snap. He reached into his pocket, when..

“Wait,” you managed to slur out, breaking up the argument. You reached out towards Corpse like a child. His facial expression immediately softened. He gave you a loving smile and immediately took you into his arms, holding you protectively.

“Now, I suggest you get in your car and never come back,” Corpse threatened.

“Oh, yeah? Or what? I’ll kill you and take your girl, you motherfucker!”

Without hesitation, Corpse took out his switchblade, looking the man in his eyes.

“Say that again?”

You watched as the stranger’s whole tough act fell apart. Without another word, he ran to the driver’s side of his car, fumbling with his keys.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Corpse mumbled, not taking his eyes off the man until he reached his own car. You held his hand the whole way, processing what had just happened. Corpse noticed your distant expression. You got into his car, shutting the door and slumping back into your seat. He tore off his mask, taking in deep breaths to calm himself. Then he looked back to you.

“Princess?”

You looked to Corpse, your eyes teary. “Hey, Corpse.” You didn’t seem to be as drunk, your mind a lot clearer after the incident. “D-Did you mean anything you said back there? About the..”

“About you being my girl?”

Corpse took your hand in his, squeezing it comfortingly. He leaned forward and cupped your face with his free hand. “Absolutely.”

With that, you leaned towards him, hesitantly pressing your lips to his. Your lips tasted of alcohol, but Corpse didn’t care. He was admittedly taken back, his breath hitching, but he released the tension from his body and kissed you back, pulling you over to the driver’s seat atop him. There wasn’t much space, forcing you to press closer to Corpse, deepening the kiss.

Still being a bit drunk, you were clumsy and kind of ‘out of it’.

“I’d hold onto something if I were you,” Corpse mumbled, breaking the kiss momentarily to guide your hands to grip his shoulders. But you were impatient and reconnected your lips with his, no doubt causing him to blush even more than he already was.

You couldn’t help yourself and giggled into the kiss, causing Corpse to chuckle along with you, departing from the kiss again and resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so fucking adorable when you giggle.”

You hummed in response, offering Corpse an innocent grin as you pecked all over his face.

“I’m so glad you’re mine.”

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Henry’s characters music taste

@radaofrivia has given me the best idea, so here we go, defining their taste in music!

Walter Marshall - Heavy Metal, Black Metal, Prog, alternative metal and good ol’ 90s grunge but every now and then some rap too. Let’s face it, guy works in highly dark profession, only wears black, has a beard and semi-long hair. Don’t let the law enforcement job fool you, he needs to release some aggression.

Fave artists: Alice in Chains, Gojira, Tool, Opeth, Rage Against the Machine, Faith no More.

Captain Syverson - the answer is staring us in the face. Captain BDE is an old-schooler. He loves the fathers of metal; old rock classics and country rock and he ain’t into whatever these kids today listen to.

Faves: Lynyrd Skynyrd, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Black Sabbath, AC/DC.

August Walker - August doesn’t listen to that modern shit. Classical music is what really gets him off. And when I say off I mean it.

Faves: Mozart, Bach, Vivaldi, Beethoven. Though secretly a Lana Del Rey fan. She sings about daddy...

Clark Kent - Human puppy cub Clark is soft. He loves the more indie type of music and soft rock/pop hits.

Fave: He’s into The National, The Revivalists, Interpol, Franz Ferdinand.

Napoleon Solo - First thing first, he’s a music man. Secondly: look at him, he’s a Sintra fan. Boy is smooth. He’s into those 50-60′s good ol’ artists, rocknroll and of course italian love songs.

Faves: Frank Sinatra, Elvis, Ray Charles, Cream, The beach boys.

Will Shaw - is into R&B, Hiphop and 90′s rap. He also loves some rock but not as much, just the very popular ones.

Faves: Tupac, Snoop Dogg, Mos Def, The weekend and Foo Fighters

Evan Marshall - Stoners rock and alternative rock. Evan likes everything that’s unconventional and expands his horizons.

Faves: Melvins, The Black Angels, Acid King, Dax Riggs, Queens of the Stone Age.

Charles Brandon - Ok... he doesn’t really live in our days but let’s say he did, Charlie boy would be into all the erotic music chill music, trip hop, electro-pop

Faves: Massive Attack, Lovage, Goldfrapp, Portishead, Zero 7, Justice.

Geralt of Rivia - Yeah okay another one... but if he did live in our days, Geralt would be totally into Melodic death metal, Power Metal, Folk Metal and every nerdy fantasy metal there is.

Faves: Epica, Insomnium, Behemoth, Amon Amarth, Sabaton, Alestorm.

Mike - Nu metal and goth-synth metal(?), the guy is from the early 2000 after all. He’s into whatever they are playing at that party

Faves: Linkin Park, Korn, Disturbed, Orgy, Deftones, Static X.

Randy Lee James - He’s a romantic puppy and he’s into cheesy 80′s pop and 80′s glam metal, he’ll be blasting those on his boat and offer you to join him for a dance.

Faves: Aha, Duran Duran, Tears for Fears, Bon Jovi, New Order.

Melot - Our boy is a little bit brooding, guess what? He’s into Thrash metal, everything that’s tough and angry is for him.

Faves: Pantera, Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer.

#Henry Cavill #walter marshall #Captain Syverson #Clark Kent #Melot #Randy Lee James #Napoleon Solo #Geralt of Rivia #will shaw #Nomis #Night hunter #Sand Castle #Tristan and Isolde #August Walker #Mi6 #The Man from Uncle #Evan Marshall #The Tudors #Charles Brandon

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

I always find it strange how often I see people criticising James Ironwood for bringing the Atlas Military into Vale for the Vytal Tournament. Forgetting that one, the Vytal Tournament is an international event that houses who knows how many people from across Remnant that are in need of proper official protection and not what are essentially the equivalent of hired mercenaries. And that two, Blake Belladonna, did pretty much the exact same thing. She, along with Ghira and Kali Belladonna brought hundreds of barely trained civilians into Mistral, the supposedly second most racist nation mind you, to fight against what is basically a terrorist attack on Haven. Honestly, most people who hate James probably hated him from the very beginning, ignoring any good he did. Simply cause he’s military.

The argument — and I see these exact words a great deal — is, “Ironwood brought an army to a peace festival. He’s always been a bad guy in the making.” This, like so many other interpretations of RWBY, is technically a truthful statement, making it easy to miss that the spirit of the statement isn’t truthful. They’re missing the second half of our context: “Ironwood brought an army to a peace festival because he’s knows they’re not actually at peace.” That’s the difference between a guy who brings an army to a peaceful celebration because he’s paranoid and wants to exert unnecessary control over the event, and a guy who brings an army to a peaceful celebration because he’s one of a handful of people who know they’re secretly at war. A war he has just learned it picking up again. You can make anyone’s action look simplistically evil if you withhold enough information. “They punched me!” with an implied “For no reason other than that they’re awful” is very different from “They punched me!” followed by an admission of, “Because I attacked them first.”

This is the heart of Ozpin and Ironwood’s disagreement in Volume 3. You can’t convince the world that a war doesn’t exist and do everything necessary to prepare for an attack. Either you play at peace and risk everyone’s safety, or you prepare and you risk their panic. What’s particularly interesting to me though is that the fans who argue that Ironwood has always been a dictator in the making simultaneously seem to dislike Ozpin, yet both of their actions are intimately tied up in one another’s. I’ve personally never thought that telling the world about Salem was a smart move, just given how many people have reacted negatively to that information, but we nevertheless have to acknowledge that Ironwood is only “bringing an army to a peaceful event” because of Ozpin’s secrets. So if fans hate Ozpin for his secrets, why aren’t they sympathetic towards what those secrets have encourage Ironwood to do? If the world knew about Salem, they’d also know there was only peace between the kingdoms, not the kingdoms and Salem, and they’d likely understand why an armed force was necessary. They’d arguably have wanted one. See: the cheering over the paladins, Ozpin jumping on using the army since they have one now, hiring people to guard the train, Blake’s solution being to lead a quickly formed army into Haven, etc. The fandom ignores that armed forces were, for the vast majority of our story, presented as both necessary and wanted. Hell, I’d argue that’s still the case. If we erased Ironwood’s military from the story under the argument that it’s intrinsically bad, then Atlas is gone. Salem would have overrun the city and decimated the civilians with no opposition. The argument is that the military is unnecessary because we have good hearted individuals to defend the people instead, but where are they now? Most are dead thanks to Lionheart’s actions, those remaining are far away, and those here hung out in a mansion trying to decide if they would fight. The dialogue says, “Soldiers who follow orders are bad, be more like the huntsmen who decide to help out of the goodness of their hearts” but the plots says, “Those soldiers kept a kingdom alive when our supposed heroes decided not to help.”

To be frank, at this point the concept of our group being the “simple souls” to contrast the evil military man is absurd. They went to an institution to train as soldiers — in everything but name — so that they could impose safety and law on the world through the use of dangerous weaponry, many of which are a type of gun. They accepted official licenses for this career, gifted to them by a military general. They became a part of that military for a significant length of time. They achieved their goal prior to this by stealing and utilizing military property. And despite what some in the fandom may say, the group is no more of a democracy than the Ace Ops are: everyone follows Ruby’s orders. Again, a general in all but name.

Ironwood is a bad guy now. He has been since he shot Oscar with (I think) a clear intent to kill. I’m not disputing that and, to be frank, I have a great deal of criticism for militaries in the real world and in many other forms of media. However, I’m constantly surprised by the fandom’s simplistic “Of course he’s bad, he’s military” take when the show was not critical of the military until Volume 7 and our heroes have far more in common with that evil military than they do differences. Whenever I hear, “Ironwood brought an army to a peace festival” my brain immediately goes, “And Ruby stole from, then attacked, someone she was at peace with. Then attacked others rather than accept accountability for her actions. Blake raised an army because she deemed it necessary. Everyone is using upgraded military tech to win their fights. Everyone carries licenses given to them by a commander.” Ironwood is evil because of the actions he’s taken now — murdering people, threatening to bomb Mantle, etc. Ironwood is not evil because he made use of organized forces with deadly weaponry to protect the people. If that’s our standards for evil here (in the show, crucially, about fighting monsters that are a constant threat) than our whole cast is “evil” too. The image of Ruby pointing her gun at Cordovin to get what she wants and the image of Ironwood pointing his guns at the Ace Ops to get what he wants is not nearly as far removed from one another as they should be. The fandom is just very good at coming up with excuses for the cute girl threatening people.

Honestly, there’s a whole other essay there about the importance of character design and the influence that has on how forgiving we are of their actions. Ironwood is a white passing man with a serious personality and half a metal body. Ruby’s design emphasizes that little girl look, is the second youngest of our group, and frequently has moments where she’s made out to be adorable. It’s no coincidence that the fandom has an easier time shrugging of her — and her friends’ — displays of violence. All of which is a great example of why you should plan out your story themes ahead of time! There is a fundamental problem with, eight years in, pushing an anti-military message when you’ve already designed your world around military necessity, made your heroes a part of those institutions twice over, and began all this with the idea, “What if a 15 year old had a high powered sniper rifle and was given free reign to decide how she’ll use it to protect the public? Would that be cool or what?” RWBY began as “Teenagers are given fantasy guns to shoot monsters, how epic” and has now tried to become, “Teenagers are given fantasy guns to shoot monsters attacking their home, how horrific. This is an institutional problem that, if we kill this one guy, will instantly be solved.” That really doesn’t work.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #mymetas #Anonymous

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helpimobsessedwithpercyjackson · 4 years

Text

ATLA + PJO:

Leo showing Sokka his designs for the Argo II and Sokka describing his war balloons and submarines to Leo

Percy takes Katara into the middle of the lake and they practice water bending. Percy learns so much from Katara and vice versa

Toph: so you’re an earth bender?

Hazel: I don’t think so?

Toph: so what are you?

Hazel: I don’t know, when I get stressed out precious metals pop up.

Toph: Woah! You metal bend!

Hazel, near tears, surrounded by gems: I don’t know!

Leo loves Ty Lee’s enthusiasm so much, Toph threatens to bash them over the head with rocks if they don’t stop dancing around and encouraging everyone.

Nico: my mom died and then my dad erased our memory and put us in a casino for seventy years and then when we got out my sister joined an immortal group of hunters and then died and then I learned my dad was the god of death so I ran away because I thought no one would accept me and then I turned the tide on a literal war as a child then the guy I was secretly in love with went missing and I found him then I went through the deepest pit of the Underworld, got captured, went into a self-induced coma to survive, got rescued by my crush who then fell into the same pit I just got out of, then had to lead an entire group of teenagers to rescue my crush, then got outed by a god, then traveled across the world with a giant statue constantly getting attacked, almost dying several times in the process.

Zuko: that’s rough buddy

Suki and Annabeth bond over their idiotic genius boyfriends

Katara shows Will her healing, he’s super jealous that he can’t use it but being a demigod and all, he’s able to learn a little bit after a lot of practice on a very annoyed Nico

Mai not liking Piper at first but Piper is so kind and actually listens to her and doesn’t put her down for Mai’s lack of emotions that they start hanging out more and more and Mai teaches Piper how to throw Katoptris.

Aang: so how did you guys tell your girlfriends how you felt? I really like Katara but I don’t know how to tell her

Percy: shit dude, I don’t know. She just kissed me and now we’re dating

Jason: a goddess gave her fake memories of me?

Leo: I too, was kissed, and now I have a girlfriend

Frank: I pulled her out of some dirt and then she kissed me on the cheek later

Aang: thanks this was the least helpful conversation I’ve ever had

Annabeth and Sokka talk about their favorite plans they’ve come up with and have a really long discussion about being an asset without having special powers.

Zuko and Aang use Leo to practice firebending so they can practice on an actual person without hurting anyone.

Hakoda and Sally discuss waiting for their children to come home from super dangerous missions that they can’t help with

Nico and Mai being emo together

Zuko: so then my sister tried to kill me and my friends

Connor and Travis: hey our brother did that too!

Zuko: then she went insane. You too?

Connor and Travis: ...he did not do that no

Frank turns into a flying bison, Leo asks why they didn’t just put a saddle on Frank instead of building an entire ship

Reyna and Mai have very similar yet very different energies... they’d be friends

Percy and Sokka practice sword fighting together, Sokka gets super good, Percy learns some new comebacks

Jason and Aang fly around. Aang tries to fly on his own to look as cool as Jason (it does not work.

Chiron and Iroh try to pass around wisdom to these children running around. No one listens to them. They go inside and drink tea

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oforamuse · 4 years

Text

sun in my eyes

it’s moments like this, when they’re alone and mickey’s walls slowly, slowly start to come down, when he smiles at one of ian’s jokes, when he opens up about something unexpected, something personal, when he passes him a cigarette to put between his lips that’s still wet from being between his, that makes it all worth it.

or, a missing moment during ian and mickey's summer together in season 2 inspired by davenzi’s first kiss // read and comment on ao3

It’s hot. It’s really fucking hot.

Ian’s exhausted and feels gross. Sticky. He barely slept at all last night - a bedroom with three sweaty boys and no working AC unit to relieve them sucks at the best of times, let alone during a hot summer night. He’d spent most of it sitting at the window with a cigarette, hoping to entice some sort of breeze their way.

It didn’t work.

Summers in Chicago are brutal. The heat, the humidity, the constant sweat dripping down the back of your shirt.

It’s unbearable.

Ian presses his forehead against the cool glass of the Kash and Grab’s drink fridge, a crate of mismatched beers resting on his hip as he takes a moment to breathe whilst restocking.

He’s there for a moment, possibly longer - in this heat he can’t tell, time moves by so fucking slowly - when Mickey slumps against the door next to him.

‘You good?’ Mickey says, his back pressed against the glass. He smells of smoke, sweat and the cheap brand of detergent the Milkoviches use, when they use it, all balled into one.

‘Hot.’ Ian groans, twisting his head away from the glass and pulling himself upwards, leaving behind a smeared sheen of sweat where his forehead had just been.

Mickey eyes him, ‘Fuckin’ gross, man.’

‘Fuck off, it’s too fucking hot.’ Ian wipes a hand across his moist forehead, already missing the cool relief from the glass of the fridge door.

He watches as Mickey pushes himself off the door and twists, pulling it open and grabbing a chilled beer from the back. He presses it against his forehead, just as Ian had done with the door, Mickey’s eyes are closed for that brief second of can against skin contact and Ian allows himself that moment to look, unbeknownst to the other man. Mickey’s got a shine on his forehead that follows down his neck, he’d been unloading boxes from a delivery just before - clearly it took it out of him. He’s wearing a threadbare tank top which sticks to his torso in a couple of places, the left side of his ribcage, his upper chest, and it’s all he can do to chew the inside of his mouth to stop him from doing something stupid like moaning out loud.

Mickey’s eyes open and he averts his gaze quickly - getting caught staring isn’t worth the shit talking afterwards. It’s easier this way, he’s learnt now, stealing his gazes secretly and in small doses.

Mickey twists the bottle cap off deftly and chugs half of it down in a single fluid motion.

‘You gonna pay for that?’ Ian asks, forcing himself to look away from the way Mickey’s throat moves as the liquid goes down. He steps past him and leans his back against the store’s counter, crossing his arms over his chest, steadying himself. ‘I’m the one who’s gonna have to make up for that.’

Mickey shrugs, and moves the bottle from his lips and burps loudly, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Wanna get out of here?’ He asks, ignoring Ian’s question with a grin - which is pretty much what he expected, really, because Mickey likes to take his liberties where he can - especially when it comes to taking free shit from work.

Ian pulls a face at the suggestion - it catches him off guard slightly so it’s a quick reaction, but it doesn’t completely throw him off balance. He’s used to being caught off guard by Mickey these days. He shrugs and sighs, ‘We’ve got like an hour until we close up- it’ll be my ass gettin’ shit if Linda finds out we bounced.’

‘I can’t spend another minute in this shithole, I’m sweatin’ my balls off man.’

Ian scoffs, toes the line, flirts maybe, ‘Your balls seemed pretty okay an hour ago.’

An hour ago when he’d been down on his knees giving Mickey head in the back of the store’s cooler. It was too hot to fuck fuck, they soon quickly realised after a miserable attempt - two sweaty, overheated bodies are worse than one and decidedly they settled on mutual blowjobs.

Mickey swipes at his lip, ‘Whatever- there must be some sort of fuckin’ human rights violation makin’ us work in this.’

‘You want a working AC? You pay for it. Linda sure as hell won’t.’

‘Can’t be fuckin’ legal.’ Mickey grumbles, throwing the empty beer bottle in the trash with an exaggerated toss. ‘Fuckin’ criminal.’

Ian rolls his eyes and gets back to restocking shit in the fridges - there’s only a few more crates to get through anyway - then he can get back home and more importantly, the above ground pool with his name on.

It only takes another ten more minutes of sluggish working, the sweat dripping down his back doubling, for Ian to consider Mickey’s offer. Hardly anyone has stopped by the store today - they had a small barbecue rush when they first opened up, but as the day got warmer, customers coming by to pick up beer, ice or snacks dried up.

Neither one of them had bothered to unlock the door after they’d gone out back, Ian realises now and no one’s knocked in the last hour, so it’s not like there are people lining up outside wanting to spend a dollar or two. Linda’s busy with the new kid, so he knows she hasn’t been watching the cameras recently…

He drops his empty crate next to where Mickey’s situated himself at the counter - apparently given up on his jobs for the day a while ago.

‘Alright, where do you wanna go?’

Mickey looks up from where he’s been flicking through a magazine, his left eyebrow quirked upwards.

‘Changed your fuckin’ tune.’

‘Let’s just get out of here.’

They gather their shit quickly and Ian shuts everything official down, dumping the cash from the day into the safe underneath the till. He’ll double count it tomorrow. Linda won’t know.

Once they step out onto the humid street, with the store’s lights switched off, deliveries shoved to the side for tomorrow and the door locked behind them, Ian turns to Mickey.

‘Dugouts?’ He suggests, tipping his head in the direction they’d take - it’s become their usual spot this summer, they’ve spent a couple nights fucking against the chain link fence, sharing beers, cigarettes and laughs.

Mickey looks at him for a moment, considering, then says,

‘Nah man.’ shaking his head and chucking a thumb over his shoulder, ‘This way.’

He follows Mickey’s lead up the steps into the station and they jump over the turnstiles to the L, ducking onto the first train that pulls onto the platform. It’s the middle of the work day still so it’s pretty empty and somehow, by some miracle, they managed to snag a carriage with a working AC.

They don’t speak for most of the ride, Ian periodically looking up at Mickey at every stop until eventually he gets distracted from keeping track. They finally pull into a station about 20 minutes later and Mickey grunts out a gruff ‘Gallagher.’ and he has to pull himself up and out of the doors before they close.

Mickey leads them half a mile or so down a few blocks and Ian can feel the sun burning down on the exposed skin at the nape of his neck - he’ll regret his lack of sunblock later when he’s dealing with Fiona’s disapproving glare at the pinked skin, he knows it.

‘What are we doing walkin’ so far in this heat?’ Ian says, though lets it trail off as Mickey stops abruptly, pausing on the sidewalk.

They’ve stopped in front of a tall, locked metal gate with a PRIVATE PROPERTY sign hooked over the top - there’s a giant padlock on the front but a couple bars have been bent out of shape, presumably to bypass without a key. Ian looks up at it, craning his head slightly to get a good look behind. It seems like it opens into a dim shady alleyway between two buildings, even in the yellow haze of summer it gives him the creeps.

Ian’s about to ask why they fuck he brought him here when he’s stopped by Mickey pulling himself up and over the fence, the muscles working in his arms as he goes. It’s a bit clumsy and when he drops down into the alley on the other side, he loses his balance slightly but recovers quickly in his cool but cocky Mickey like fashion.

He smirks at Ian, a challenge burning in his eyes and even more so in his tone when he says, ‘You comin’?’

It’s on.

Ian drops his cigarette to the ground wordlessly and reaches up to grip the top. He hooks his foot onto one of the metal bars that’s slightly curved inwards and launches himself over the top. He drops down next to Mickey with an edge more grace than Mickey did - it’s the ROTC training in him, he quirks his eyebrow.

‘Yeah, yeah okay, tough guy -’

The nickname’s said mockingly, it’s a new one for him - appearing only recently after Mickey had got back from juvie - and something warm in his stomach, something not from the heat of the sun, bubbles at the idea that he cares enough, perhaps, to give him a nickname.

They walk down the alleyway, which to Ian’s surprise, opens up to a green, sparsely albeit, field lined with bare boned trees and trash. There’s a building in the middle of it, but from the outside Ian can tell it’s been a while since it saw round the clock action. There’s broken windows, peeling paint and graffiti tags smattering the outside walls. It’s the type of place Frank and his homeless friends probably come to get drunk- or teenagers to fuck, perhaps.

It’s probably what they’re here for, honestly.

‘Where the fuck are we?’ Ian asks as they walk closer, the building looking more and more worn as they approach. They share a cigarette, passing it slowly between them with clammy fingers.

‘Used to come here with my cousins, good place to smoke.’ Mickey says with an exhale, then drops the butt to the ground and snuffs it out with his heel, ‘Not this shit though.’

Ian pulls a face cause it seems like a pretty far place to come to smoke, but he doesn’t press the issue - fuck knows the Milkovich reasoning for things, and instead asks,

‘You got the weed?’

Mickey gives him a, of course I’ve got the fuckin weed, raised eyebrow.

He stops them at a basement level window - it’s covered up by a broken door - seemingly haphazardly placed there by whoever was here last. Mickey moves it out of the way, shoving it against the outer wall and creates just enough space for an averaged sized person to slip through the window and inside.

‘Hope you’ve got your shots.’ is all Mickey says before he drops down and slides through the low window. There’s a bit of shuffling, then he hears Mickey calls, ‘Gallagher.’

I hope the free clinic covered the shots for this shit, is what Ian thinks as he follows Mickey down into the building, landing with soft knees once he drops through.

Despite the high summer sun outside, it’s dark inside - almost too dark, and Ian fumbles for his lighter in his back pocket as Mickey leads them through the dark passages of what he assumes is the old building’s basement.

‘Too dark for ya?’

Ian kicks the back of Mickey’s knee and he buckles, losing his footing for a moment and placing his hand on the wall to steady himself.

‘Fuck you.’ Mickey says, there’s a little bite to it but he’s laughing, a light, chesty chuckle.

‘Too dark for ya?’ Ian imitates, waving the lit lighter in front of Mickey’s face, teasingly almost.

‘Fuck off.’ Mickey tosses back, exasperated almost, but fondly enough that it doesn’t sting.

It’s playful and easy, really, to exist in the thrumming energy they’ve grown between them. It’s easy to be around each other like this, when the weather is too hot to focus on anything except making dumb jokes, fucking and sharing a beer.

Like friends, friends and so much more.

He follows Mickey through the derelict rooms and hallways, up broken stairs into higher levels out of the basement. It’s lighter now, the sun comes through cracked windows and Ian gets to have a good look around. It’s dusty and there’s broken shit everywhere, but it’s pretty much been shelled out of anything that might’ve been left behind of worth - this is the Southside after all.

‘Fuckin’ long way to go just for a place to smoke, Mick.’ Ian says, voicing the thought he had earlier as he tucks the lighter back into his jeans now that he doesn’t need it.

Mickey slows as if they’re about to reach their destination and tips his head towards an open door on the other side of the hall, ‘Won’t be sayin’ that for long.’

They walk through the opening into-

A swimming pool?

The room is huge, with high ceilings, peeling walls and unfilled space, and in the middle there is a large rectangular swimming pool.

It’s empty, absolutely bone dry and clearly hasn’t been used in a long time.

‘Hottest day of the year and we are at a pool with no water.’ Ian comments as they walk around the edge - where you’d go to dump your stuff before jumping in, past the metal ladder. His voice echoes in the empty space, ‘Makes sense.’

Mickey flips him off, ‘Guess I’ll smoke this joint by myself then.’

‘This was a fucking great idea.’

They sit on the side of the pool, their legs dangling over the edge, nothing but warm air where the cool water should be.

It’s not as hot, thankfully, there’s even some sort of breeze whistling through and it cools the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He leans back on his hands as Mickey rolls a blunt on his bent knee and checks the place out properly.

The pool walls are tiled blue - or at least they used to be, once, when this place was pristine and in regular use - but now there’s a few chipped away, leaving the walls a smattering of blue and white, it’s mismatched and worn.

Three lane dividers still hang from the shallow end to the deep, it’s hard to imagine that this place was used once, that people would come here regularly to exercise, swimming back and forth down each lane.

They talk about nonsensical things whilst they smoke, his stomach is warm and happy.

‘How’d you find this place?’ Ian asks after he exhales, placing the blunt into Mickey’s expectant fingers. He shifts on his ass, twisting to get a good look at the place.

It’s pretty fucking cool, he’s got to admit. There’s something about abandoned places, especially something as big as an empty swimming pool that fascinates him. Mickey was right, it was definitely worth the way to go just to smoke.

Mickey doesn’t answer for a moment and Ian watches out of the corner of his eye as he smokes.

Inhale, hold, exhale, inhale, hold, exhale.

Then, almost just as Ian forgot the question he asked, Mickey speaks.

‘Dad pissed me off one day. I left and I just walked.’ He sniffs, holding out the blunt for Ian to take. He’s not looking at him though, his eyes are glazed slightly and Ian doesn’t know if that’s the weed or…well, something else. ‘I kept walkin’ and I found this place.’

‘You walked the entire way over here?’

They must be at least an hour’s walk or so from Canaryville, it was a good 20 mins on the L - not the easiest walk you want to do by yourself.

‘Yeah.’

‘You come here a lot?’

‘Every now an’ then.’ Mickey says keeping his gaze fixed ahead of him, his voice is stiff, detached almost, and Ian finally, finally understands what he’s saying.

This isn’t where he comes to smoke weed with his cousins.

This is where he comes to escape. To hide.

This is where he brought Ian when he felt the need to get away, do you wanna get out of here?

Even if it was just from the stuffy, too hot store they both work at.

It’s moments like this, when they’re alone and Mickey’s walls slowly, slowly start to come down, when he smiles at one of Ian’s jokes, when he opens up about something unexpected, something personal, when he passes him a cigarette to put between his lips that’s still wet from being between his, that makes it all worth it.

Makes all the longing, all the kiss me and i’ll cut your fucking tongue out, all the brash, insistent arms length distance between the two of them worth it.

He knows deep down, no matter how ridiculous it may seem, one day it’ll be worth it.

Mickey’s vulnerable in that moment, guard down and beautifully open.

They’re in this weird, weed, emotion, heat heavy haze. The tension is thick and Ian feels the urge to press in closer, despite the temperature, to touch, to comfort, to get them both off, perhaps, but the moment breaks when Mickey pushes himself off the pool’s side and drops down to the tiled floor, right into where the water should be.

Ian quickly takes one last toke before stubbing the joint out, holding the weed in his lungs, his throat, and only exhaling as he drops down to meet Mickey on the pool floor.

Mickey elbows Ian in the ribs, kicking things off and they spend a few minutes chasing each other up and down the empty pool, swinging off the hanging lane dividers like kids. It’s sloped from the deep end to the shallow, so it’s more work than it looks and Mickey ends up doubled over in the deep end, catching his breath.

‘Too fuckin’ hot for that.’

‘You started it.’ Ian points out, a smug grin plastered on his face because he knows he’s faster than Mickey, could outrun him too and that’s more likely the reason Mickey wants to stop.

‘Whatever.’

‘We’re actually underwater right now.’ Ian says, feeling a little high, it’s dumb but he’s enjoying himself. The after effects of the weed buzzing warmly through his veins and perhaps there’s something more, perhaps it’s the effects of them.

He feels light, lighter than he has done in a while.

‘Shut the fuck up.’ Mickey rolls his eyes, his tone is playful though and he smirks, bringing the blunt back up to his lips. He’s amused - and just knowing that he’s the source of Mickey’s amusement, he can make Mickey laugh, gives him the push to keep going.

‘No- we are , look-’ Ian says with a chuckle, he points up towards the peeling sign above their heads that says WATER LEVEL on the tiled wall. He does this dumb movement with his arms, like he’s swimming or something, it’s goofy, but Ian doesn’t care, ‘That means we can’t breathe right now.’

‘Yeah okay- that weed got to your head.’ Mickey says, pushing himself up off the wall. ‘No more for you.’

‘Bet I can hold my breath longer than you.’

‘The fuck are you talkin’ about, man.’

‘Bet I can hold my breath longer than you can.’ It’s flirty, Ian knows it, Mickey knows it.

Ian knows he’s toeing the line of what’s acceptable and what’s not. It’s a dangerous game to play, one wrong move could send Mickey running. He’s feeling lucky.

There’s something in Mickey’s eyes and Ian wonders if the weed is getting to him too.

Or if it’s something else.

‘Yeah, yeah, okay.’

Ian pushes.

‘Let’s see then’

‘You kiddin’ me.’

‘What? Afraid you’ll lose?’ Ian smirks, he knows the way to get Mickey to play along is to test the waters of how far his ego will go.

‘Fuck off.’

They take an exaggerated deep breath at the exact same time, their cheeks inflated like they’re in some Nickelodeon cartoon.

Mickey breaks after a handful of seconds - can’t be more than 7 maximum, and Ian barks out a laugh.

‘Ha!’ He claps his hands together, ‘I told you.’

‘Fuckin’ rematch.’

‘Yeah, yeah, okay.’ Ian mocks, echoing Mickey’s earlier words. He picks up on it too, if the curved corner of his mouth is anything to go by.

They take a deep breath together again, and Mickey’s eyes are teasing, almost.

He looks so fucking good in this light, even with the shitty beard he’s trying to grow. The bright, summer evening sun beams through a broken window on the ceiling, casting a warm glow on Mickey’s face. It’s fucking ethereal.

It occurs to Ian, Mickey all playful and soft edged in the humidity and heat, at ease, that he could kiss him right now.

Wants to kiss him right now.

Wants to kiss him right now more than fucking anything.

He could step forward, press his lips to Mickey’s and deal with the consequences later. Take what he so desperately wants.

Give Mickey what he knows he wants.

Wants but will never let himself have.

Maybe. One day.

He doesn’t though. Instead, the thought catches him so off guard, distracted by the what ifs and what could possibly be, that the breath he’s been holding falls out of his mouth in a dramatic, breathy, ‘Fuck.’

Mickey holds his for a split second longer then lets out a triumphant noise, fist pumping the air for good measure when he exhales.

‘Beat you, bitch.’

The utter cocky glee on Mickey’s face makes him feel like he can fly or some shit - right out the building and into the sky. Then suddenly they’re laughing, full out body wracking laughing, it’s the weed, it’s them and they’re moving closer and closer - this is the way it goes with them, heat be damned. They’ll quickly move on to shirts off, pants down, Mickey bent forward-

There’s the bark of a dog.

They freeze. Mickey even has his hands on his belt, ready-

‘Hey! You two!’ A voice bellows and it echoes, bouncing off of the walls, cringing into their skin. Their heads snap up towards the intruder and they’re greeted by a red faced security guard and his massive dog on a leash.

It’s a fucking angry looking dog.

They book it, only stopping for a millisecond for Mickey to scoop up the rest of their stash, then they’re off, running as quickly as they can, dodging their way through the building’s twisted hallways and empty rooms.

They laugh the entire time, stumbling into each other as they scramble through the window and out onto the field.

The dog’s bark can still be heard behind them so they don’t stop, their feet pounding the dry, yellowed grass, their breath falling out in heavy and exhausted puffs.

‘Fuckin’ asshole!’ Mickey shouts over his shoulder, his voice carrying in the muggy air, picking up his speed now they’re in view of the fence.

His voice, the warm sun, the blood pumping through his veins.

It feels like bliss.

Let’s keep going, Ian thinks as he matches his speed with Mickey’s, let’s just keep fucking running.

He could run by Mickey’s side for the rest of his life.

#gallavich fic #gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #shameless fic #davenzi #my 4 boys <3

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immodestmussorgskyy · 4 years

Text

campers anonymous

“Alright, everybody. Our meeting is in session!” Wraith gave the room a warm smile and rang his bell twice. “Let’s start with names? Trapper, how about you go first?”

A few audible sighs could be heard. Wraith could practically feel some of the eyerolls the killers were giving, most notably Ghostface and Legion, but remained optimistic.

Trapper wrung his hands nervously and looked around the room. Almost all of his fellow killers sat around him in a circle, except the ones that refused to attend. Even the ones that were wearing masks seemed to stare at him expectantly. He cleared his throat.

“Um, my name is Evan. But you guys know me as Trapper. I’ve been clean from camping for two trials now.”

“Hi, Evan.” came the monotone chorus of voices around him.

“Okay, your turn, Billy.” Wraith gestured towards the hulking and deformed creature sitting to his left.

“My name is Max. I…” he looked to the floor in shame. “I haven’t really stopped camping at all.” To everybody’s surprise, the chainsaw-toting maniac had a very polite and subdued voice.

“Hi, Max.” this time, the greetings were followed by some murmurs of consolation.

Everybody turned towards the Shape, who sat motionlessly in his chair. Nothing could be heard from him except for muffled breathing. Wraith wasn’t even sure why he came to the meeting. He never contributed, nor did he greet anybody or try to create a welcoming environment. Nobody pushed him to come to Campers Anonymous, but he showed up anyway. It was puzzling, to say the least.

“I know our friend the Shape here isn’t really comfortable with talking, so I’ll introduce him to you all. Everybody, this is Michael. I’m not sure how long he’s been camping--” said Wraith.

“Not at all, actually!” piped Spirit. “I mean, he used to, but ever since we had our last meeting, he’s been doing really well.” she offered the Shape a smile, which he did not return or acknowledge.

“Excellent! Well, everybody, say hi to Michael! Ghostface, how about you--”

“Hi, hello, whatever. My name is Danny, and I haven’t been clean from camping the hook at all, ever, because I don’t fucking camp.” Ghostface leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. Nobody could see his expression behind his mask, but everybody knew that he had that signature why am I here, fuck all of you look on his face.

“Oh yeah? You don’t camp? Sitting in a bush next to the hook with your stupid shroud shit counts as camping, you dumbfuck.” Legion retorted viciously. “Why are you even here, anyway?”

“It’s called stalking, smart one.” Ghostface’s voice grew venomous as he flipped Legion the bird. “And I’m here so I can laugh at you amateurs that still get kills from camping.”

“Stalking, my ass. That is literally camping. The only difference is that you’re sitting in a bush like a complete kook.”

“Hey, why the fuck are you here, then? If you haven’t already noticed, you’re the only one from your little family that got invited here, because the rest of them are actually decent at killing.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Legion growled, springing from his chair with his hand on his knife. “If we could harm each other your guts would be all over the floor, you little bitch. And for the record, I’m here because I actually want to improve my skills and better myself. Bet you don’t know what that’s like at all.”

Ghostface scoffed and waved his knife in the air nonchalantly. ��Whatever you say, King Frank. Keep crying. Somebody will change your diaper eventually.”

Legion gave an enraged scream and charged towards Ghostface, but was grabbed by the hood and pulled back by Trapper. Wraith gave him a look of gratitude.

“Didn’t I say no weapons at our CA meetings? Please, this is no place to fight. We’re all here to better ourselves.” he rubbed his nose in exasperation and prompted the others to continue.

The greetings went around the circle, even to Huntress and Plague, who had obvious language barriers. Plague was also sitting six feet outside the circle, coughing into a bloodstained handkerchief. She didn’t seem to mind the separation, every now and again enthusiastically contributing something that nobody could really understand.

“Our topic today is successes. Little victories. I know that camping can make us feel very isolated and guilty, but today we’ll share our stories of success. And if you don’t have any successes you can think of, tell us something positive about your last trial.” Wraith adjusted his glasses and gave another smile to the group. “Our discussion will be popcorn style today, friends. Just speak whenever you feel ready.”

Nobody spoke.

Finally, Nurse interrupted the long silence and cleared her throat. “I tried using three blinks instead of camping the hook in my last trial. Two people escaped, but I felt better that I didn’t camp them.” Some nods of approval went around the circle.

“Thank you for sharing, Sally. Anybody else?”

Spirit raised her hand. “I stopped camping a few trials ago and I’ve really improved my chasing skills. I think I’m doing a lot better with my phase walking abilities, too. I hope you all know what it’s like to not be a camper one day.” She rested her hands on her lap and gave everybody a proud smile.

“That’s great, Rin. I’m glad that you experienced that.” Wraith said warmly. “What about you, Frank?”

Legion shrugged. “I never really camped to begin with, but I’ve been trying to look for other survivors more instead of just patrolling the hooked ones. Nothing special about it, though.”

“Hey, that’s progress.” Nurse rasped. Legion gave her a nod.

Just then, a loud, metallic scraping could be heard from down the hall, accompanied by heavy footsteps. Plod, plod, screeeeech. Plod, plod, screeeech.

“Oh, great. That triangle-headed freak is going to join us.” grumbled Ghostface, who was shot an irritated glance by Wraith. The Executioner stopped and stood in the doorway.

“Pyramid Head! I’m so glad you could make it. Please, find a chair and have a seat.”

As if pondering his request, the Executioner tilted his massive pyramid head to the side, then plodded forward. A few of the killers flinched at the screeching of his blade on the floor, then jumped as he dropped it with a loud clang. He moved slowly and deliberately, pulling one of the small chairs from a stack in the corner of the room and forcing himself between Ghostface and Legion. The chair he was perched atop was dwarfed by his massive stature. Secretly, Wraith was glad the silent beast of a man was here. He would at least serve as a barrier between the two squabbling young men.

It was curious as to why the Executioner showed up to these meetings, too, considering the fact that his entire existence was dedicated to executing judgment against survivors. Wraith was surprised that he even cared enough about a survivor’s trial experience enough to come to a meeting about ending camping addictions. Like the Shape, he didn’t speak, but at least made low rumbling noises of agreement occasionally. It was sweet, in a bizarre way, that he at least enjoyed everybody’s company enough to sit in silence and spectate their group therapy.

“Do you have anything to share with us today?” Wraith said, offering him a cheerful smile. He always asked, even though the Executioner rarely gave him any acknowledgment or answer. But it was Wraith’s imperative that all killers deserved to be included, even if they didn’t have anything to contribute.

The monstrous man sat silently for a moment, then stood and retrieved his blade. He heaved it from the ground, dragged it with a loud screeeech between his and Ghostface’s chairs. The smaller killer huffed and glared at the back of his bloodstained helmet. The Executioner dragged it to the middle of the circle and held it out proudly towards Wraith, almost offering him the handle, its tip digging into the linoleum floor.

Upon closer inspection, the grimy, impossibly sharp edge of his blade was covered in fresh blood and viscera that could only be survivor guts.

“Oh? You’ve… gotten more kills?” Wraith guessed.

The Executioner nodded and motioned with his hands as if asking him to continue.

“You’ve gotten more moris?”

He nodded eagerly, resting the handle of his blade under his arm to clap in excitement. He mimed a crushing motion with one of his hands, then thrust it forward like he was stabbing something. Wraith beamed. It was exciting seeing one of the more shy killers get a little excited over their memento mori offerings. The Executioner dragged the blade behind him back to his seat and rested it gently on the ground next to his chair.

“Okay, well, this is boring as fuck and I have better things to be doing.” Ghostface sneered.

“Oh yeah? Like whacking off to pictures of people in the shower, you perv? Have fun.” Legion said.

“Listen, kid, I’m not going to tolerate more of your bullshit--”

The Executioner roared and grabbed each of the young men by their collars, shaking them violently. The two fell back into stunned silence as they were dropped back onto their seats. Hopefully, this would shut them up for a while.

“Uh… can I go now?” Oni said. Wraith nodded at him. “I haven’t stopped camping at all.” He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “But last trial I got to mori somebody right at the exit gate.”

“Were they the last one?” Trapper asked.

“Yeah. But they just hid the entire time and didn’t do any gens, so I figured their teammates wouldn’t really mind.”

“Nice.”

The rest of the killers went around and shared their stories. The positive developments made Wraith gleam on the inside. Only two meetings in and everybody was getting to know each other, even developing friendships, and even the shyer killers were beginning to speak up. Except the Shape, but nobody was really bothered by the silent man anymore. Soon, the clock on the wall read 12:30 and killers began giving their goodbyes and filing out of the room.

“Bye, suckers.” Ghostface hopped out of his chair, the first to leave. He said that he only came to these meetings to gloat, but Wraith knew better. He just enjoyed the company.

“Thanks for the meeting, Wraith.” Legion said gruffly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he exited the room. Spirit gave a little wave. The rest of the killers streamed out the door, discussing things quietly with each other. The Executioner trailed after them slowly, dragging his blade down the hallway. Soon, the only person remaining in the room with Wraith was the Shape.

“Yes, Michael? Did you have something you wanted to discuss with me?”

The Shape stood up and shuffled towards the other killer. He reached a hand out, gesturing for Wraith to hand him his clipboard and pen.

“Oh? Do you need to write something?”

He nodded and took them from Wraith’s hands, writing a message in careful, small handwriting. It read: Thank you for doing this. I have a serious habit.

Wraith smiled reassuringly and gave the Shape’s shoulder a soft pat. “Always my pleasure, Michael. You’re welcome to share at our next meeting. I promise nobody is going to think any less of you.”

The masked man looked at Wraith for a good long moment, then nodded slowly and left the room. The gentle killer made a few last notes on his clipboard and began stacking the chairs back up with a content sigh. Things were beginning to look up for his camping compatriots.

Check out this story and the rest of its chapters on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011980/chapters/65940853

#dead by daylight #pyramid head #michael myers #the wraith #the trapper #evan macmillan #phillip ojomo #the nurse #sally smithson #the spirit #rin yamaoka #fanfiction #fluff #just a cute lil thing i came up with after getting camped

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phantoms-lair · 5 years

Note

Scooby and the Gang having quirks? That would be cool. Like, four superpowered kids and their probably also superpowered dog are amateur detectives instead of heroes. But they frequently run into other pro heroes, (like Scooby Doo team up) and have to help in anyway they can without breaking any quirk related laws. (Which they probably already do on a daily basis but they dont want to do that around pros, could get arrested.)

The signs had been there for quite a while, but none of them had picked up on them. At the time it seemed like another internet hoax. A baby that glowed in Japan. A woman who could create ice in Italy. But in the age of video editing, no one took them too seriously.

It didn’t become real for the gang until about a year and a half after the glowing baby started the craze of people declaring they had super powers. They had been on a road trip and Fred had been repairing a tire when his lug wrench snapped.

“Oh no,” he moaned. A spare tire he had, a spare wrench no so much. “I think we need to call the auto service."

“Like, let me.” Shaggy made a gesture like he was pulling something from thin air and grasped an identical wrench from the air.

“How did you do that?” Fred asked, impressed. “You’re wearing short sleeves, so you couldn’t have been hiding it up them.”Shaggy shrugged. “Like dunno, man. I want something, I reach for it, and it’s there.”

“Very funny, Shaggy.” Velma plucked the wrench from his hand. “Carbon steel, just like Fred’s old one.”

“You can tell, just by looking?” Fred asked, even more impressed.

“Certainly. It’s not that hard, you just focus on something and you can tell, you know?”

“No.” came the response from all of them.

“Really?” Velma asked, surprised. “It’s really not that hard.”

“It’s not that it’s ‘not that hard’, Velma. It’s flat out impossible.” Daphne explained, leaning out the Mystery Machine’s window.

“No, it’s not. I do it all the time.” Velma argued back.

“Hey, do you think this could be related to that superhero thing?” Fred asked, a note of excitement in his voice. “With people randomly developing super powers?”

“Fred, that’s not a real thing.” Velma rolled her eyes.

“Well, why don’t you test out whether Shaggy’s ‘power’ works while Fred fixes the wheel.” Daphne offered.

“I’m telling you super powers don’t exist.”

“I can’t believe this exists.” Velma said with tonelessly as she looked at the building in front of her

“Like me either.” Shaggy shuddered. “Like in comic books the government creating a registration list for supers always precedes real bad stuff.”

“At least you guys have it easy.” Fred pointed out “Tell them your power, demonstrate, then you get your registration card. Daph and I have to go through a whole battery to figure out if we even have a power.”

“I guess we meet up back here when we’re done.” Daphne gave them all a hug. “Good luck everyone.”

“I have a power!” Daphne ran out, waving a tiny plastic card. “You know how I haven’t been falling into trap doors as much anymore? I have some kind of radar and I’ve been subconsciously sensing the right way to go.”

“That’s great,” Velma said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster for the laws of physics breaking further.

Daphne knew how she felt, though, and didn’t take offense. “Shaggy’s not out yet? I figured he’d be fast, like you.”

“He was. But someone heard Scooby talking and turns out that’s not normal. So now they’re investigating animals developing powers.”

“What even is normal?” Daphne wondered out loud.

“Not the same as it was five years ago,” Velma agreed sadly.

It was about half an hour later before Fred came out. “Hey, where’re the guys?”“Sweet Freedom!” Shaggy and Scooby all but bounded out of the building.

“That took a while. They really weren’t ready for a dog with powers, were they?” Daphne smiled.

“Nah, they took that pretty well. Even had a metal working guy who could make a dog tag for him.”

Scooby moved his tag aside to reveal a new one under it, identifying him as a Class C Shapeshifter.

“Class C?” Velma inquired.

“Minor body changes, can’t change color.” Shaggy shrugged. “What kept us so long was the lectures.” he groaned.

“Lectures? What lectures?” Daphne looked to Velma and Fred to see if they had any idea what Shaggy was talking about.“‘Creating cash is still counterfeiting’, ‘Don’t make enough gold to crash the economy’. And like, it was heavily hinted I should go easy on making jewels and stuff.”

“I guess your power is kind of easy to abuse.” Fred admitted.

Daphne put a hand on Shaggy’s shoulder. “Diamond’s values are artificially inflated so make as many as you want.”

“Like, I’d rather just go get a hamburger or twelve.”

“At least something still makes sense.” Velma muttered.

“This is really bugging you, isn’t it?” Fred asked.

“Of course it is! Superpowers make no sense. Everyone in the world getting random ones? Even less sense. This is not something science can explain.”

“Yet” Fred added. “This isn’t something Science can explain yet. They’ll figure it out. Who knows, maybe you’ll be at the forefront of the discovery.”

Velma gave a weak smile. “You always know what to say, Jones. Come one, let’s get Shaggy his burgers before he wastes away to nothing.”

Shaggy and Scooby were in the back of the Mystery Machine before anyone could say anything else.

The others laughed and headed to the van. Fred was secretly relieved that everything had distracted his friends from the small plastic card in his wallet. For the most part it was the same as theirs, Photo, State ID Number, Date of birth. The only difference was next to Power: was the word ‘None’.

“I suppose it would become inevitable that the bad guys started using their powers,” Daphne sighed as the illusionist was packed into the back of the police car.

“But we solved it anyway.” Velma was grinning. “We just needed to expand on what we previously considered was possible.”

“And, like, we even did it before the heroes showed up.” Shaggy grinned. Probably the most predictable thing in all this were the real life superheroes starting to show up. New laws were being shaped, but right now it was a little bit of chaos. Still, they lived in a world with superheroes and Shaggy couldn’t help but think that was cool.

Two officers approached them. “Looks like everything all wrapped up. We just need to straighten up something on you statements.” The younger one said kindly.

“On your statements you were asked to write down your powers, but one of you didn’t see the need to comply.” The older glared at Fred who shrunk away.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just-”

“Tell me what your power is, now.”

Fred felt his mind haze over. “I don’t have one. I’m just normal.”

The cop raised his eyebrow in disbelief. “Really? That must feel pretty terrible.”

“It does. I feel like dead weight weighing everyone down.”

“For the love of God, Frank, knock it off.” The younger cop shook his partner and the cloud lifted from Fred’s mind.

He snapped back into reality and realized the gang had closed ranks around him. Velma and Daphne were on either side, Shaggy behind him with a hand on his shoulder, and Scooby in front of him, hackles raised. Then he remembered what the cop had made him say and felt shame start to well up inside him. Sure he had been jealous, but it was okay as long as he never voiced those feelings. Only now someone had taken control of his tongue and forced the words out.

“We should be fine, why don’t you kids head on home.” The younger cop waved them off and pulled his partner away.

“You know none of us think you’re dead weight, don’t you Fred?” Daphne asked softly.

“I know. It’s just in my head.” Fred had never felt so small in his life. “Can we go home? Please?”

The Gang never brought the incident up again. They’d never been specially showy with their powers (or quirks as they were coming to be known), mostly out of deference to Velma’s discomfort. Now it was complete radio silence. Fred was grateful on one level that his friends were that considerate over something so amazing, but still wished Officer Frank had never made him say anything. He couldn’t help resenting the man, and had taken to letting Velma do most of the talking to law enforcement. He felt a little cowardly over it, but figured with Scooby and Shaggy scared of everything under the sun he was allowed this.

They had just figured out the mystery of the ‘Banshee’ haunting the old shack and were at Fred’s favorite part - setting the trap.

“Okay, I think all we need is about a foot more twine and I think this trap is set.” Fred looked at his handiwork proudly.

“Like, bad news, Fred. We’re out of twine.” Shaggy said sadly.

“What do you mean out of twine?” Fred asked. It didn’t make sense. Sure Shaggy couldn’t conjure something like an engine, but twine was barely any effort.

“I brought up everything in the Mystery Machine. There’s none left, man.” Shaggy shrugged.

“But can’t you just make more?”

“Oh. I, like, don’t do that anymore.” Shaggy hunched his shoulders a bit.

“What do you mean you don’t do that anymore? That’s your quirk. It’s- wait.” He thought none of them were talking about their powers. What if-? “Did you guys stop using your powers, because of me?”

The silence that met him told him all he needed to know. “Okay, no. We are not doing this.”

“Fred, if our having quirks make you feel bad, then we don’t need them. You’re way more important to us than that.” Daphne insisted.

“Look. Yes, I’m upset that I don’t have a power. I’ll even go so far as to say I’m jealous that you guys do. But at no point did I want you guys to feel like you had to give up your powers. I mean, there’s plenty else to be jealous of. Velma, you’re so brilliant, sometimes I feel like I can barely add two and two together. It’s hard not to feel plain when Daphne lights up a room with her amazing personality and ability to coordinate an outfit to look as amazing on the outside as she is on the inside. And it would definitely be nice to be able to eat twice my body weight and never worry about gaining a pound like Shag and Scooby do.”

“But I would never want Velma to dumb herself down, Daphne to make herself dull, or Shaggy and Scooby to not eat as much. Because those are quirks of being you, and your powers are a part of that now. You’re all so amazing, and now you’re even more amazing, and I don’t want to take any of that away from you. I know my insecurities are all in my head, but if you guys have to give up parts of yourself for me? Then I really am weighing you down and I refuse to let that happen. Ever.”

Before he knew what was happening, Fred found himself in the middle of a group hug.

“Oh hey, What do you know? Looks like we had more twine after all.” Shaggy slipped the couple of feet of twine he had conjured into Fred’s hand.

“Great.” Fred grinned. “Let’s go catch us a banshee.”

“They’re approaching fast. Shaggy and Scooby are about ten yards away. The Banshee is a yard behind them.” Daphne had her eyes shut as she concentrated on the image her radar was sending her.

“Let us know when they’re clear.” Fred held one rope and Velma the other. With Daphne’s quirk, it was easy to avoid accidentally capturing the boys in their traps.

“Now!”

As Shaggy and Scooby sailed past, Fred and Velma pulled and the Banshee was launched off the floor and into a net, which twisted around before being deposited in a hay baler, leaving the banshee trapped and unable to move.

“Call it in, guys. We got her.”

Soon enough the police arrived, along with a token force from the Hero’s Union.

“As you can see, we’ve caught the so-called Banshee terrorizing the area. Or should I say, Lanie Mayfair.” Velma pulled the mask off the so-called banshee. “She claimed she’d never gone near Baker’s Shack for fear of the banshee, but the soil on her shoes was the exact composition of the mud outside the shack. The feeling of dread and fear people reported were actually a low level psychic quirk that inspired those feelings.” That’s why they had to call in the Hero’s Union. Any crime with quirks used had to go through them. “The Banshee’s wail was prerecorded, and played over a series of speakers, including one hidden in the Banshee’s choker.”

“But we checked the records when the reports first came in. No one currently in the area has a quirk like that.” One of the Hero’s Union reps pointed out.

“Because she kept it a secret. I bet if you looked up Lanie’s records her power would be listed as ‘None’. Lanie’s an experienced conwoman. She knew how useful her quirk would be and pretended not to have one during registration. A quirk like that would be easy to overlook since it wouldn’t produce a visible or physical effect.”

“Very good Velma. But you’re wrong on one count.” Lanie grinned nastily. “It’s not a minor psychic quirk.” That was all the warning they got before a wave of pure despair shot out of her.

Fred felt his knees buckling under him. All those insecurities Frank had brought up, his lower self worth, jealousy, and guilt over being jealous, flooded to the surface once more. But he shoved it down. He had laid those demons to rest. He looked up and noticed everyone else wasn’t faring so well, not even the police or heroes. Most looked full of despair, with some weeping openly. Fred thought Shaggy was doing a little better, only to realize that while he didn’t look miserable, he didn’t look anything, as if there was no life in him.

“See how pathetic you are?” Lanie asked haughtily. “How completely wretched and worthless your life is?”

“Don’t you dare say that about any of them!” Fred snarled, rising to his feet. “My friends are the most amazing people on the planet! They’ve - we’ve put away dozens of low end criminals like you away. I mean, look at you. We’ve got you trapped and your quirk certainly isn’t going to help you escape. Seems we’re doing better than you.”Lanie’s jaw had dropped and the others were starting to rouse from whatever stupor they had been put into.

“We need to get to Fred.” Velma, who had been nearest to Lanie, forced herself up and pushed herself off the baler and towards him. On the way she grabbed Daphne and pulled her along. Shaggy had snapped out of his unresponsive state and he and Scooby were closing ranks too. Fred didn’t think he need the protection, she was still stuck in the bale, after all, but he appreciated having his friends by his side.

“You’re finished Lanie, and your two-bit quirk isn’t going to save you,” Daphne snapped, anger clear in her voice.

“Lanie...Mayfair.” One of the fallen heroes was back on his feet, though shaky. He headed towards the gang. “This is your only warning. Release your quirk.”

“No! How are you doing this?! All of you should be lost to despair! How can you even move!?”

The hero lifted his hand and there was a small zap before Lanie started twitching and the feeling of despair vanished completely. “Alchemist, we’re going to need to keep this one sedated.”

“Right.” The other hero touched Lanie gently. “That should keep her out for the next few hours.” She turned to Fred. “Thank you for your assistance. Without your help, this would have been a mess.”

“I just snapped out of it first.” Fred shrugged. “I was just lucky.”

“Fred, you didn’t just snap out of it first, you drove it back.” Velma corrected. “That’s why I wanted to get everyone near you, you were canceling out the effect.”

“How? I mean I don’t have powers, they ran a bunch of tests to make sure I didn’t have powers. How could I cancel out the effect?”

“We do need a better way to test for Psychic quirks,” Alchemist commented while the police officer worked on getting Lanie out of the bale. “If that’s two missed right here.”

“Two? But I-”

“Fred, you do have a power, it’s just the opposite of that witch’s.” Daphne explained. “I could feel it battling hers, driving away the darkness it was putting in my mind. The closer I got to you, the stronger I felt.”

“Like, no wonder we missed it.” Shaggy laughed. “Feeling better when you’re around just sounds like a side effect of being around you.”

“I...have a power?” Fred couldn’t keep the raw hope out of his voice.

“You do indeed.” Taser clapped his hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s obvious that, unlike Mayfair, you took the tests in good faith. But I think you need to get your registration straightened out as soon as possible.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, Sir!”

“I can’t believe this is real.” Fred stared down at the card in his hands. It was identical to the one he’d been carrying around for months, only instead of the word ‘None’ next to Power: it said ‘Morale Boost’.

It wasn’t a flashy or powerful quirk. Certainly not something a hero in a comic book would have. But it was his quirk. Something he had that could help his friends. And he wouldn’t trade it for any other power in the world.

#Ghost Writing #Scooby Doo #BNHA #Decided to set this during Gen 0 #So we have registration cards and the Heroes Union instead of Pro heroes #and why they wouldn't know the the trick to telling an individual with a undetected quirk from someone with none #I decided to go with the quirks I had given the gang in a recent ask and realized iding Fred's would be pretty hard #and th plot went from there #Anonymous

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leagueofliberation · 5 years

Text

They fly in without any real direction. AFO didn't have time to calculate how they would land and to be frank about it, he didn’t care.

Giran’s only warning is an animalistic shriek from Shigaraki as the flailing body of a skeletal figure was thrown across his office. He lands awkwardly next to Giran had spooked right out of his chair, hand already hovering underneath his desk where a gun had been stashed.

The startled broker stopped midway when he realizes it's Shigaraki. His look of panic turns into one of puzzlement. It doesn't last for long though because the flying body of Twice was the next one to come hurtling in. Not for the first time in that minute span, as Twice’s massive frame misses him by a hair, Giran finds himself wondering what the hell was happening. Twice sees him and immediately waves hello with a smile.

Next comes Magne, she crashes onto the ground but by the devils, luck managed to miss the sharp corner of the large, handcrafted oak desk. Dabi was not as lucky (or perhaps he was the luckiest of all). He smacks face-first into Magne’s crotch. Dabi, who had been (unfortunately) jolted awake by the portal asks her if she's a eunuch. Before Magne can rightfully smack him back into unconsciousness Toga falls on top of Dabi. Giran distractedly hears Toga comment something along the lines of Dabi having a firm ass, to which replied “fuck off”, and decides he doesn’t need to hear the rest of that conversation.

The others seem to fall in with much more ease. Mr Compress somehow lands gracefully and with only a few hairs out of place. Spinner lands perfectly ninja-like on the pool table. However, his awesome landing was cut short as Kurogiri crashed into him.

It takes a while for the group to compose themselves.

First, they had to watch with some discomfort as their all-powerful, very inspiring leader, Shigaraki, crawled with “Father: grasped in hand to the nearest open closet. (He didn't seem to notice the machine guns being stored in there, or that the metal box he was sitting on was holding a grenade launcher). Then, Twice gave Giran such a hug that he let out a sound reminiscent of what a dogs chew toy makes when squeezed. So, yet another minute was taken as Giran regained enough oxygen to speak.

As the league waited Dabi muttered something about what a fight that was. Toga loudly questioned how he would know, he "slept" through the whole thing. Dabi: I was kicked in the face. Toga: By a guy older than Giran!

Giran looked at her, slightly perturbed as to why words were being thrown at him, “when I don't even know why you're here.”

Magne swats Dabi's face away (he hadn't bothered to remove himself from her lap) and explains everything. The first words out of Giran’s trash mouth? "What about the bar?" Kurogiri gives him a look that clearly means "not now".

Afterwards, there's this very awkward moment where they all stare at Shigaraki who is still hyperventilating as he clutches his corpse hands. Nobody wanted to be the first one to ask if the fight was still airing, and if so could they watch. Finally, Giran excused himself under the gauze of a very important phone call. He was gone for 10 minutes before Twice became curious and went outside too. It’s there that he saw Giran watching the whole thing on a portable TV radio he kept inside his coat pocket.

Giran looked up with a sheepish grin, "I usually only use this at funerals." Twice did his best to give him a most judgemental look, "which, the way this fight is going, we may be attending." The urge to not be mad at Giran was strong (he had ever so secretly wanted to continue watching the fight as well). Twice peaked over Giran’s shoulder. “All Might is getting the crap smacked outta him!” "All Might has no chance!” Giran nodded, although it was unclear which persona he was agreeing with.

Twice was gone for 5 minutes before Dabi decided that's he too was bored of watching their leader have a panic attack. He leaves, tactlessly shutting the door with an audible click of the lock, only stopping his exit when he sees Twice and Giran huddled together. He needs no context. "What's the score?" "All Might just flew through a building." Dabi decides he has time to stick around and watch. He stands on the other side of Giran.

Toga’s attention span lasts a mere second longer than Dabi’s with a dramatic yawn she too departed. Mr Compress follows immediately after. They spot the three men pressed together with wide eyes. The roaring cries of Endeavour can be heard, "what's going on with that weak little body!"

"I thought Endeavour hated All Might," Twice mused. "No, he loves him," Dabi deadpanned. "What, really?" "Yeah, everyone gets it wrong. They're really gay for each other." "Who's gay for who now?" Toga butted in. Shoving herself between Dabi and Giran, much to the former's annoyance. "Endeavour wants All Might to Plus Ultra him up the ass." "I knew it," Mr Compress said as he peered over Twice's shoulder to watch the mess unfold.

Spinner and Magne were in an all-out war to see who would leave first. Neither wanted to be that guy (or gal). Finally, Magne decided that she couldn't ignore the increasing "oooh's" and Ahhh's coming from behind the door. Spinner gratefully followed her, not realizing she wasn't leaving. Swinging the door ajar she sees the group huddled together.

"Oh damn!" "That's going to hurt in the morning." "He has a tiny penis too." "How do you know that?" "Guys, shush, All Might isn't hot anymore."

Magne stared at them with the biggest disappointed sister look, about to give them hell, when the last sentence sunk in.

"All Might isn't hot anymore!?" "No, he's got less meat than a veggie burger."

Magne immediately walked over, unable to ignore such life-changing news, shmooshing herself up against Twice to get the best (least crowded) view. Spinner decided that it couldn't hurt to at least see what all the fuss was about. Standing on his tippy-toes to glance over Dabi's. Unfortunately, he bumped into Toga who shoved him back. This incited a verbal argument which can be best summed up as, "if you don't let me watch I'll turn you into beef stew", to which Toga replied, "I know an excellent recipe for grilled lizard legs".

The volume increased to a point where even Kurogiri couldn't ignore it. He stepped out. Nobody noticed.

Suddenly a booming voice echoed across the hall.

"Silence."

As if God himself had commanded the room. Everyone in the room- perhaps for the first time in their individual lives- did as they were told.

Well, almost everyone.

Giran’s eyes remained glued to the portable. "My God!" he exclaimed. His eyes were so wide, his face so taken aback, that the momentary command Kurogiri held over the room was broken. Everyone stopped to stare.

"It's over..." Twice stated dumbfounded. "Who won," everyone else questioned loudly. The crowd of villains, this time joined by Kurogiri, regrouped around Giran

"I don't see anything." “I can't see shit." "Wait, no, the smoke is clearing!" "Is that--" ”I told you!” “You didn’t tell me shit!” "Both of them?" "They're both--" "He's alive!" Kurogiri exclaimed with the voice crack of a pre-pubescent teen.

From the closet, Shigaraki could hear the muffled sound of what was either a giddy school girl or Twice shouting, "All For One survived!" Though the crushing sense of responsibility loomed over him he breathed a little easier.

The group outside cheered loudly at the victory. So excited were they that nobody seemed to notice the uncharacteristically long silence from Giran. It was the end of an era. After all, if you had lived to see the rise and fall of such greats, who could help but feel the cosmos shift a little?

Twice glanced at his friend who he couldn’t help but notice seemed a little misty-eyed.

“Are you crying?" "I'm just thinking about all the money I won."

---

A new chapter has begun for both sides, and it's going to be a bloody one

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raph-peruggia · 5 years

Text

This self-para contains a lot of possibly triggering material so it’s under the cut. Trigger warnings are listed below and in the tags. At the bottom of the post, there is a short description of what happens for those who don’t want to read a detailed depiction of events. Reading this self-para is not necessary to be able to RP with Raph. Stay safe and comfortable ya’ll.

Raph does not expect the referee to side with him. He protests because it would be remiss of him not to, but he knows the moment that the Jackal falls back that he is the victim of a successful setup. The Jackal hits the court with a comically loud cry. Raph wonders dully what he really sounds like when he's in pain. He tightens his grip around his racquet until his knuckles turn white and nods quietly at the red card because there is no use fighting it, not with his history at least. The Jackal is gently escorted off the court as if he's made of glass. And Raph walks slowly to his side of the court of face Wymack.

He expects disappointment and rage in equal measure, perhaps resignation. Wymack surprises him when he says nothing. He looks at Raph as if he is assessing him, eyes darting over his face and body while his expression remains neutral. When he's done he nods towards the locker room.

"You can go."

Raph wants to stay for the rest of the game. He wants to see the outcome. But he knows a dismissal when he hears one so he heads to the locker room without argument. He stops just short when he reaches the entrance.

Someone has been inside the locker room before him.

The signs are subtle. The security camera aimed at his block or lockers has shifted its angle ever so slightly as if someone pushed it out of and back into place. The top number on his lock as changed to 5 when he is certain he left it at 60.

Raph's mouth goes dry. He has no knife hidden beneath his Exy uniform so he keeps a tight hold on his racquet. The locker room is not very large and the layout is uncomplicated. In less than a minute he has made sure that it is clear. To be safe, he even pulls himself up to squint through the dusty grate over the air vent.

There is no one there.

It takes him a very long time to open his locker. He does not want to. He is afraid of what he will find inside.

His hands don't shake as he slowly spins the combination wheel one way and then the other. He's long since been trained out of shaking when he's scared.

His things are in order. His clothes. His duffle bag. Even his knife is exactly where he left it.

Raph moves to lift the nearly folded square of his hoodie to check beneath it. Then, he goes still.

There's a cigarette box there, stark against the orange metal of the locker. The edges are very slightly worn, as if someone had been using it for a while. When Raph finally forces himself to pick it up, there's a muffled rattle inside. He opens it and sees that there's only one cigarette left, long and white as a bone.

----------------------

It is easy to get the Jackal alone. He is stupid. He thinks that the locked door of his hotel room is enough to keep him safe.

He is wrong.

Raph watches him for a time through the slats of the hotel’s closet door. The Jackal looks happy, smug even. He speaks to his teammate about the game and then shoos him off to go and enjoy the amenities of the hotel while he gets some sleep.

He does not sleep when his roommate leaves. Instead, he pulls out his duffle bag and searches through the inner pocket for a moment before he produces a neat roll of money.

Raph watches him count it. When he's sure the Jackal is engrossed in the task he carefully slides the door open so be can step out.

Raph is quiet. He's light on his feet. The Jackal doesn't notice him until it's too late.

His mouth trembles beneath Raph's hand. He falls back against the bed, struggling to get out from beneath him but Raph is larger than him. He's stronger and he's infinitely more cruel.

His free hand he fists the Jackal’s hair. “I will slam your head against the wall if you scream. You do not have a concussion now but you will if I do. It will be a very bad one. If you force my hand I will make sure it effects you for the rest of your life,” he says very calmly.

The Jackal stills beneath him. He's crying now. Raph watches tears slide from the corner of his eyes to the hotel sheets below.

He does not ask him why he did it. The reasons why are fanned out in the bedside table, half counted.

"Who paid you," he asks instead because that is what really interests him.

The Jackal gasps for air when Raph lifts his hand from his face. Raph can tell he's considering screaming so he twists his hand a little tighter in his hair and lift his head up and away from the headboard as if he’s planning on slamming it back. It's gratifying to hear him sob.

"This - this guy. He came up to me b-before the game and said he'd give me 500 if I took a fall and made it look like you hit me," the Jackal blubbers. "Man I didn't know they'd give you a red card. Honest."

"Do not lie," Raph warns gravely. "I am not afraid to damage you permanently."

"Don't do that," the Jackal begs. "Please man don't do that."

"Describe the man to me and tell me where and how he approached you," Raph orders.

"He was b-big, white...in a b-black coat. Kinda older. He-he came up to me before the game in the b-back parking lot ...asked me if I wanted to make some money and take down a Fox.'

"And you said yes before knowing which Fox?" Raph growls. The Jackal makes a jerky move that starts as a shake of his head before, ashamedly, turning into a nod.

*I j-just wanted us to w-win," he says in a small, wet voice.

Raph uses his free hand to take out his knife.

"No man," the Jackal writhes beneath him. "I'm sorry man. Shit don't do that. Please."

"What did he ask you to do?" Raph asks, holding the blade very close to his face so that he goes still. "Be specific."

"H-he said to take a fall if you ever got close to me. S-said if I messed around with your teammates enough first you'd respond."

"Did he give you the money then or after?"

"A- after...I went to the locker room and it was just in my bag."

"Is that all he asked you to do? Do not lie."

"Yeah man yeah. Please put that away man you don't need to use that.," the Jackal whines.

Raph keeps his knife where it is. He doesn't feel particularly inclined to cut the Jackal yet, but he likes seeing him afraid. "Did he say why he was asking you to do this?"

"He said-" the Jackal starts. He pauses, helplessly, to sob before he starts again. "He said he wanted to see what you would do."

"Well," Raph says grimly. "This is what I would do. Are you glad you took the money now?"

"N-no," the Jackal says. He moves to shake his head but stops when he notices Raph's knife again, hovering over the left side of his face. He makes a choked noise and closes his eyes. "I'm sorry man. I'm sorry. I'll never do it again."

"I will tell you this once," Raph says. And he can feel the rage inside of him like a physical thing. He wants to scar this man. He wants to toss him out the window of his hotel room and watch him fall. He wants to hurt him. He could. It would be so easy.

But if he does that then there will be no place for him at Palmetto, or anywhere ever again. He is not ready to give this up. Not yet. Not now.

"Listen to me," he says, looming over the Jackal now, all of his weight bearing down on him. "You are not safe. You've never been safe. Every time you thought you were safe because you locked your door, because you traveled in a group, because you set an alarm, you were wrong. You were just lucky enough not to cross paths with someone like me.

The Jackal is crying again. Raph twists his hand in his hair before he lets him go. "Now you have. And if I ever decide that I want to hurt you then I will and there is nothing you or anyone else can possibly do to stop me. Do you understand?"

The Jackal nods, very slowly. He is looking at Raph now and the horror is clear across his face.

"You're a monster," he whimpers, shuddering as Raph presses the cold, flat edge of his blade to his cheek.

"Yes," Raph agrees. "I am."

He leans over and takes the money from the bedside table. The bills are fresh and unmarked. He wads them up in his hand and then tosses them out the open window beside the bed.

He leaves after that. Clambers down the fire escape and on to the waiting street below. When he heads south towards campus he spots the Jackal again.

The man is crawling on his hands and knees, peeling wet money from the asphalt. Every few seconds he looks up and around himself. Raph wonders if the Jackal thinks seeing him will do anything to stop him.

-----------

It's nearly two in the morning when he gets back to Palmetto. He doesn't bother returning to his room. Instead, he walks until he's in the woods on the opposite end of campus. When he is certain he's far enough out that there's no chance of another human being seeing or hearing him, he finally lets himself collapse.

His back hits the trunk of a tree and he can feel the fabric of his hoodie catch in its bark as he slides to the ground.

He does not care. He doesn't really care about anything at the moment.

He curls in on himself as tightly as he can, pressing his knees hard against his closed eyes.

Frank is back. There is no doubt about that, not with that description, not when his favorite brand of cigarette is sitting inside of Raph's locker.

Frank is back and he is testing him. Raph does not know why. He does not know what he wants. He does not know if he wants him back.

And worst of all, Raph is not happy to have him back. He is not even relieved.

By all rights, he should be. Frank is not finished with him yet. He wants him, in one way or another. This is a good thing. This is what he's wanted, secretly in the darkest and most hidden parts of him. There's a chance that he can return to the place he really belongs, alongside the closest thing to family he has ever had.

He should want this. He should want it more than anything. He should be overjoyed.

But when Raph searches inside himself for the joy and relief he'd imagined would be there, he cannot find it. He cannot find anything.

He is empty. Completely hollow.

For the first time in a very long time, he cries.

--------------------------------------------------- TLDR Raph gets a red card and returns to the Fox’s locker room early. He finds out that someone has been inside and broken into his locker. When he checks his locker there is a cigarette inside left by Frank. Following this Raph tracks down the Jackal who took a fall during the game. Raph breaks into his hotel room and threatens to slam his head against the wall if he does not tell him who paid him to flop during the game. He also threatens him with a knife. When he is done questioning the Jackal Raph leaves and then just kinda goes into the woods and cries about it.

#selfpara #tw #violence #injury #concussion #abuse #knives #assault #raph literally threatens a guy with violence for most of this selfpara #cigarretes #unhealthy relationship with an abuser

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itsaudreyhornebitch · 6 years

Text

Total Knock Out

*cheers excitedly* I'm so happy you're taking prompts! I had this idea for an AU where: Frank’s a famous boxer and Karen the sports reporter gets to interview him on live tv after his win and no one knows that they’re dating until he kisses her right before walking off for a shower (or smth) :') ♥♥

@frank-kastle

Karen looked wildly out of place—she was well aware of this fact. In truth, she’d gotten quite used to it; to sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of inebriated, sweaty men, all yelling and jumping and carrying on like teenagers. With her pencil skirt and patent leather heels, she seemed like she belonged in a board room, not shoving past sloppy, drunk frat boys on her way to the locker room at Barclays.

In her early years working as a sports reporter for CBS NY, she had tried to blend in with the crowds: baseball cap, jersey, sneakers, jeans. She’d done the beer-in-the-hand, locker room talk, eating hot wings, ‘just one of the guys’ bit (as most female sports reporters do when they are just beginning), mostly in the hopes of gaining a little bit of respect. Of being treated like an equal, by fellow reporters and athletes alike. But she’d quickly learned that it didn’t matter how she dressed—or how competent she had proven herself to be, time and again—because as long as she had a pair of tits, respect was really out of reach. Despite her near-encyclopedic knowledge of sports history and statistics (baseball, basketball, football, boxing—you name it), she was still a woman. A tall, attractive, blonde woman; and that, apparently, outweighed every other fact about her. She was, she’d realized about a year into the job, no more than the “hot chick from CBS with the killer legs” (a direct quote from one of the players for the Mets who hadn’t realized his mic had been on).

So eventually she’d said “fuck it”—fuck all of it. Trying to dress the way she thought she should; trying to play the part of the “cool girl”; trying to appeal to the lowest common denominator, who wouldn’t even show her basic human decency. She was a professional—one who was fucking great at her job—so she was going to dress like one. Silk blouses, red lipstick, and an elegant updo. And fuck anyone who tried to demean or devalue her talents.

“Woah, woah, woah. Watch the equipment there, sport.” Foggy Nelson, who had been Karen’s camera man for the past five years, bumped into her side as he tried to avoid a man stumbling around with Frank Castle’s face on his t-shirt. “Fucking hate this part, walking through the crowds. It’s like nobody respects an expensive Hasselblad around here.” He cradled his camera close to his chest, protectively.

“Who could’ve possibly guessed that boxing fans weren’t all secretly AV equipment enthusiasts?” Karen threw over her shoulder sardonically, side-stepping a puddle of what looked suspiciously like vomit. She swatted at a hand that tried to grope her ass in passing, biting down bitter words.

“All I’m saying is that boxing matches are the worst. The crowds are always rowdier. And way drunker.” Foggy shook his head, trailing Karen in the path she was cutting through the mass of bodies. “Why couldn’t you cover something nice and mild? Like golf? Or badminton? I love badminton!”

“Because there’s no glory in being mild, Foggy.” Karen navigated them to a quiet hallway off to the side of the main lobby, slipping behind a door marked “Employees Only.” Foggy hesitated for a moment before following her—Karen always knew the back ways and secret passages in every arena and stadium they visited, though he had never asked how. Part of him liked to imagine that she spent her evenings poring over blueprints like a bank robber planning a heist. “You know the saying, Fog,” she ducked under a velvet rope clearly meant to keep people out, “no guts; no glory.”

“Yeah, but why does the guts part have to be so fucking literal?” Foggy grumbled. He hated boxing—hated it. The blood and the bruises and the teeth flying. It was all a little much for him. He preferred the quiet sports, like tennis and baseball, where the chances of someone spitting blood on the camera lens were far less likely.

Karen, on the other hand, lived for it. Had grown up watching boxing matches with her father and her brother; even took classes at the gym. So every time there was a big WBA event in need of coverage, Karen was the first to volunteer, dragging Foggy along for the ride.

And tonight’s match…well it was one for the record books.

Frank “The Punisher” Castle in a comeback match against Matt “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen” Murdock. As soon as the event had been announced, pay-per-view numbers had shot through the roof. Tickets to the live show were selling for the thousands; people who didn’t care about boxing were amped for the match. Even Foggy had been less reluctant about taking on the assignment than he had been with boxing matches in the past. It was that big of a deal.

Five years ago, Frank Castle had been the name on everyone’s tongues—a pure powerhouse of a boxer who could take a hit like nobody’s business. Classic slugger—unpredictable in the ring—lacking finesse, sure, but overwhelming in his ability to apply constant pressure to his opponent; unrelenting in the offense and impenetrable defensively. He’d seemingly come out of nowhere (though some sources claimed he’d worked his way through the underground circuit, which could never be conclusively proven), and brawled his way to the WBA’s number one spot, pound-for-pound. It was a meteoric rise, which Karen had followed obsessively.

Until three years ago, when he’d been injured in a shoot-out in Vinegar Hill. The story that had circulated for months after his injury was as follows: Frank, walking home from the gym one night, sees a young boy being mugged by a group of gang bangers. Having a touch of big-fucking-hero complex, he decides to intervene. Manages to take out three of the assailants before another crew of gang bangers shows up—the boy being mugged apparently one of their own. Guns are drawn—shots are fired—Castle ends up in the hospital with a bullet in the brain and three in the torso.

Three years in recovery—three long fucking years of physical therapy and re-training his body and itching to get back in the ring—all because he had decided to play vigilante. There were rumors that he would never fight again; that his body was beyond repair. But Frank ignored them all and set his sights on the impossible. Someone told him to stay down, and you could guarantee he wouldn’t listen. So he worked hard—and smart, with the help of his trainer, Curtis Hoyle—for three years, knowing that the world hadn’t seen the last of The Punisher. Not by a long shot.

In the meantime, with Castle out of commission, there had been a power vacuum in the world of NYC boxing. A number one spot in the WBA sitting empty, waiting for a new challenger to claim. Enter Matthew Murdock: an out-boxer with enough dexterity and agility to more than make up for his lack of pure voltage. His ascent to power had been much slower than Castle’s—he didn’t have the raw brawn that had made The Punisher so devastating in the ring. But he did have technique. A style of fast-paced, defensive fighting that was damn near impossible to copy. And soon enough, he had claimed the number one spot in the WBA, a new kind of champion.

Until tonight, when a returning Castle had gone 10 vicious rounds with Murdock, defeating him at the 40 minute mark with a brutal TKO, the likes of which the boxing world had never seen before. Murdock had been carried out on a stretcher.

It was the fight of the decade, and Karen was eager to get her interview with Castle, for more reasons than one.

They took several sharp turns, down one deserted hallway after the other, before suddenly emerging at the entrance to the locker room marked “Frank Castle,” which was being guarded by a brawny man in a tight, black t-shirt that read “Arena Security.”

Karen flashed her press badge as she approached the door.

“Sorry ma’am,” the guard shook his head. “No press for another half hour, at least. Castle’s recovering.”

“Oh, uh—” Karen flipped over her badge so that her name, in large, bold letters, was visible. “I’m Karen Page.”

“Oh!” The guard made a surprised little noise, and stepped to the side. “Sorry, Miss Page. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Quite alright,” Karen shook her head, reaching for the door knob. “Thank you.”

Foggy hoisted his camera on his shoulder and shook his head. It was another one of Karen’s little secrets—how she was mysteriously able to weasel her way to early access with some of the athletes. Frank Castle, especially. Every time they’d worked together to cover one of his matches—in the early days, before his injury—Karen found a way to get them into the locker room while other reporters waited behind in the press line. But he wasn’t going to question it—his job was just to point and shoot.

Frank looked up from his place on the bench as the door to the locker room opened; he squinted hard in an attempt to see through his left eye—the one not completely swollen shut. It had been about ten minutes since he’d stepped out of the rink, bloodied and victorious, which meant that it was still too early for press. For endless interviews and answering asinine questions, all while dreaming of a hot shower and a cold ice pack.

“Good showing out there, Castle.”

Frank grinned (in spite of his badly split lip) as soon as he heard her voice—Miss Karen Page, his favorite reporter from CBS NY. He managed to focus his good eye enough to get a look at her, pristine and lovely in her high heels and pressed blouse. Golden hair falling out of a sophisticated twist. Damn, but she looked like a dream.

“Well hello there, Miss Page.” He smirked, leaning back against the lockers, his head making a soft thudding sound as it hit metal. “First one on the scene, as always.”

“You know me,” Karen shrugged with a grin. “Gotta get first blood.”

“Well,” Frank spread his arms wide (and Karen couldn’t help the way her eyes darted to all those sweaty, glorious muscles on display), “plenty of blood to go around.”

“I can see that. You gonna get a medic in here for that eye? Looks like you broke the socket.” Karen took a step forward, raising her hand as though to reach out and touch his face. Thinking better of it, she let her arm fall to her side.

“You know me,” Frank mimicked Karen’s statement. “I’ll just rub some dirt on it.”

Foggy cleared his throat from the doorway, eyes flitting between the two with amusement. Frank Castle was notoriously difficult to interview; laconic, dismissive, and grumpy—getting him to answer a question with more than one sentence was like pulling fucking teeth. With everyone else but Karen, that is. As soon as she strolled onto the scene, all of the sudden Frank was a fucking professional, giving multiple-sentence answers and smiling at the camera like he was goddamn Regis Philbin. Foggy had seen enough painful, awkward footage of Frank shutting down interviewers to know that the way he acted with Karen was far outside the norm. And part of it was clearly due to Karen’s skill—that woman could get a Cistercian monk to talk—but part of it was due to the obvious affection Castle had for her. An affection that—again—it wasn’t really Foggy’s place to question.

“Oh, you remember Foggy?” Karen pointed at the disgruntled camera man, wearing his uniform of baggy, khaki cargo shorts and graphic t-shirt (this one had an image of Princess Leia doing the Rosie the Riveter pose, with the words “We Can Do It” over her head).

“Hey.” Frank grunted, bobbing his head in recognition.

“We’ve only got a minute before we go live, Kare. How do you want me to set this thing up?” Foggy removed the cover from his camera lens, squinting through the eye piece.

“Uh…” Karen glanced around, hands on her hips. “We can get it in front of Frank’s name on the locker. That okay? It’ll be a short interview—just a few questions—so you won’t have to stand for too long.” She looked at Frank, head tilted to the side.

“You can put me anywhere you want me, ma’am.” Frank suppressed a grin at the blush that began to creep its way up Karen’s neck.

“Uhm yes.” Karen cleared her throat, gesturing for Frank to stand. “How about right here?” She moved into position, smoothing a hand down her skirt.

Frank rose with a deep groan, feeling his body protest at the movement. Karen’s eyes immediately shaded with concern.

“You sure you’re okay? We can postpone for a bit if you need an ice pack or something.” This time she did reach out to touch him, putting a steadying hand on his arm as he sidled up next to her.

“Nah, I’m good.” He let his gaze dart down to her pale, delicate fingers on his skin, and felt the heat of it blaze a trail down his spine.

“Okay. But you pass out during this interview and I’ll never forgive you. It’s live, so we can’t edit it out.” Her voice was stern.

“Would make for great T.V. though.”

“True.” Karen pretended to consider for a moment. “Never mind. If you do pass out, give us a little warning so Foggy can get it all on tape.”

Frank snorted, then groaned again when his split lip began to throb.

“Sorry, sorry.” Karen hid a chuckle. “Won’t make you laugh again. I promise.”

“Okay, okay.” Foggy cut into the conversation, having finished setting up his equipment. He reached into his bag and tossed a microphone Karen’s way. She just barely managed to catch it. “Karen, turn that ear piece on.” She reached up to flick on the audio feed in her ear. “We’re rolling in 5, 4 , 3…” he trailed off, mouthing the last few numbers. Karen raised the microphone to her lips.

“Good evening, New York. I’m Karen Page for CBS NY, here in the locker room at Barclay Center with Frank Castle, also known as The Punisher, just minutes after his unbelievable victory over Matthew Murdock.” She shot a grin his way. “So tell me, Frank, how does it feel to be back in the ring after such a long recovery period?”

“Well, Karen.” Frank put a little something on her name—something that felt like affection. “Feels real good. Like coming home.” He shifted on his feet deliberately until his arm was brushing against hers. She raised a subtle eyebrow at the move.

“You certainly looked at home in the ring.” Karen turned her body toward him just a touch more, and Frank bit back a smirk. “Were you at all nervous about going up against Murdock’s singular brand of defense? Facing such an unfamiliar out-boxer with your style of slugging must have been a challenge.”

“Nah—wasn’t nervous.” Frank shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a move that made his muscles bulge, and he counted it a victory that Karen’s eyes darted quickly—almost imperceptibly—to his pecs. “Curtis had been training me like the devil leading up to the fight, so I was really prepared for anything Murdock could throw at me.”

“Speaking of Curtis Hoyle,” Karen tucked an escaped strand of hair behind her ear, and Frank’s eyes tracked the move. He was a sucker for all that blonde hair. “I heard that he was instrumental in helping to speed along your recovery, after the unfortunate incident three years ago.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Frank bobbed his head in a nod. “Curtis kept me thinking about the future—focused on recovery. Worked with my physical therapist to create a training schedule. Brought me tapes of matches to study. A lot of Murdock’s matches, actually.”

“I’m sure it was difficult being bedridden while Murdock climbed the rankings. Do you think the idea of facing off against him kept you fighting to heal?”

“For sure.” Frank dropped his arms again, letting the right one lightly skim down Karen’s side as he did so. Her delicate shiver was glorious. “Thought a lot about getting to reclaim my title while I was training. Also thought a lot about all the people I missed seeing while I was out of commission—the fans, my favorite reporters,” the quirk of his lips was entirely too charming, “my fellow boxers. Focused on them and it made recovery a lot easier.”

“Well, we certainly are glad to have you back in the ring.” Karen’s eyes flicked to Foggy, who was giving her the 30 second signal. Time to wrap up the interview. “We’re going to let you hit the showers, now. Thanks for taking the time to talk with us at CBS NY.”

Frank couldn’t help it—he really couldn’t help it. Karen looked so damn gorgeous in her work clothes, with that serious expression on her face and her lips painted red for the camera. And he’d had enough of light teasing; of brushing against her like that was all he was allowed to do. He knew he wasn’t supposed to do it—that they were keeping their relationship under wraps for just a little bit longer—but he was helpless. When she turned those big, blue eyes on him—damn it—he really was a fool.

“Sure thing.” Frank smirked. “I’ll see you at home, sweetheart.” He ducked his head quickly, before Karen could react, and captured her lips with his own. She made a surprised squeak, hands flying up to press against his bare chest, before melting into the kiss ever so slightly.

“What the fuck?” Foggy’s whisper echoed in the quiet locker room.

Frank released Karen’s lips with a smack, winking at her devilishly before turning to head for the showers.

“I—uh—” Karen stuttered, turning to the camera with wide, dazed eyes. “I’m Karen Page and this is CBS NY sports.”

Foggy gave her the signal that they were off air, and they stared at each other for a long time. Speechless. Foggy looking bemused and Karen looking shell-shocked. The sound of the shower turning on in the background shook her from her brief catatonia.

“Uh…I can explain. We—he—uh,” She fumbled for words, but was cut off by Foggy.

“Oh my GOD, Karen Page! You are seeing The Punisher!” He laughed, slapping his thigh in joy. “Good on you!”

“Yeah, I…” Karen grinned. “Good on me.”

#kastle #karen page #frank castle #the punisher #request

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